Numbers

I’m not sure when we got there, I don’t remember saying the directions, and, truthfully, I don’t remember anything else besides closing my eyes as I leaned against the car window. But the next thing I knew I was waking up in a bed. I was laying on top of a bed with a light blanket pulled over me. I looked around the room as I slowly sat up, not wanting to send pain racing down my back and into my toes. I recognized the room, it was slightly familiar. Its bare walls and old, aged wallpaper of pink flowers decorated the walls. The doors were chipped and hanging crookedly on their hinges.

I stood from the bed and heard the floor boards slightly groan with my weight, I smiled. I remembered a shadow, a figure from my past, standing from this same bed. I remembered smiling as the floor boards creaked under her feet as she shuffled forward. A sound from down the hall pulled me out of my thoughts. I quickly made my way from the room and looked down the hallway. To my left stood only one door, discolored and half hanging like all the rest, to my right were more doors and a stair well at the far end of the hall.

I took care to try and walk as silently as possible. I remembered, somehow I remembered all of the places where the boards were weak. I danced down the hall and quietly went down the stairs. The sounds got louder until I could almost tell what they were. It sounded like pots banging against pans, I heard voices exclaiming but I couldn’t make out the words. I heard laughter and smelled the smell of cooking. As my feet touched the brown carpet of the down stairs floor I turned to where I knew the kitchen would be.

The voices got louder, clearer. “I think I know what I’m doing, miss fowl mouth! Now why don’t you just sit there and think about that good hair care treatment we were talking about, while I fix the good doctor up stairs something to sink her teeth into.”

I smiled, stopping just before I entered the kitchen to listen. It had to have been Luke, only Luke would talk about hair care in a situation like this. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cynthia’s voice snarled, “You wouldn’t be able to tell an omelet from a subway train if it came up an introduced itself to you!”

“Would you two stop,” Rose’s voice snapped in a quieter tone, “If you keep going on like this then you will wake up the good Doctor. Now cook your food and be quiet! We have actual work to do if you haven’t noticed.”

“Spying?”

I jumped out of my skin and turned around, clutching the wall so I didn’t fall flat on my face in the process. Paul stood before me with a large smile on his face and one eyebrow raised in question. I took a deep breath, and returned his smile becoming aware of my split lip for the first time since I woke up, “I wasn’t spying,” I muttered, “I was…listening…behind a wall.”

“Because that makes much of a difference?”

“It’s completely different,” I quietly exclaimed, peering behind me to make sure no one was coming out of the kitchen, “I wasn’t on taking the information I heard to the government or anything.”

Paul gave me a strange look and I paled, “Okay…bad joke.”

“No it was a good one,” he chuckled, “just not in this context. So what do you say? Should we join them,” he motioned to the kitchen behind me.

I started to agree, but stopped, “Where were you?”

He gave me the same look he gave me the first time we spoke. He looked confused but I couldn’t help but picture the blindingly white walls around us as I remembered the first time I started all of this. I smiled at his expression but probably not for the reasons Paul thought, “I don’t understand the question,” he murmured.

I chuckled, siding new pain down my right side, “Why aren’t you with the others?”

“Oh,” he blushed, “I was looking at the rest of the house. You said it belonged to your family?”

I nodded, “A while ago,” I remembered the old shuffling figure again. I smelled the delicious smell of her cooking and smiled at the memories that my family had within these walls, “But no one lives here anymore and no one had the heart to sell it. So did you find anything interesting?”

“Well I found usable stuff in the basement…like blankets that someone had kindly stored in plastic boxes for our use. And there are couches and chairs in the living room which were covered in white sheets when we got here…but I think Rose disposed of those almost immediately.”

“I didn’t take Rose as the maternal type.”

“I think it’s more like the cleaning type.”

“Are you kidding,” came a call from behind me, I turned to see Luke peeking out from the door of the kitchen, “It’s more like the OCD type,” he came into the hall, “Now you, Miss Jodie Foster, I don’t care if you were once a movie star you should be in bed until someone allows you to get up. And you,” he pointed to Paul, “Force her to stay there if you have to tie her to the bed yourself.”

With that Luke disappeared back into the kitchen and the sound of clanking pots once again filled the hall. Paul turned to me with a slight smirk on his face, “Well I guess I have my orders,” he muttered motioning for us to start our walk towards the stairs.

I sighed and followed him. We walked to the stairs in silence, I was the first to step on them but Paul held me back, “Are you sure you can- “ he motioned to the stairs, too embarrassed to finish his sentence.

“I came down here didn’t I?”

He chuckled slightly to himself, “I guess that’s true.”

I climbed the starts almost as slowly as I descended them only moments before. I took care to avoid the ones I remembered to be loud; I forced myself to not glance back at Paul who I could hear was climbing behind me. It was almost a relief when we reached the upstairs hallway. I continued to lead the way to the room I had woken up in, the room from my memories, my grandmother’s room. I slowed as I came to the door and turned to Paul, I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to say anything. But nevertheless I opened and closed my mouth with every intention of speaking to him, of saying something that sounded right. Yet nothing came out.

He reached around me and gently opened the door, “After you,” he said with a innocent smile. I flushed and quickly stepped into my room.

“You don’t have to stay up here, ya know,” I murmured as I went to sit on the bed again, “I promise I’ll stay up here, out of the way.”

Paul had hardly stepped into the room when he paused, he looked worried as he regarded me, “You’re not in the way,” he murmured slowly.

I opened my mouth again, and again nothing came to my lips for a long time, “That’s not what I meant,” I started.

Paul came quickly to the bed and sat down hard, “Yes it is, that’s exactly what you meant,” he gently took my shoulders and held my gaze with his green eyes that seemed to trap me, “You’re not in the way. Do you hear me Olivia?”

I was in the metal room. I was pushed up against the wall. I could feel hands, his hands, exploring, caressing, grabbing. His hand slipped under my shirt and touched my bare skin. His touch made my skin crawl. It made me want to vomit, want to scream but his tongue had already forced its way into my mouth. “Olivia,” a voice called back to me from somewhere else, “Olivia are you alright? Hey, answer me!”

And then I wasn’t in the metal room anymore. I was in the place of my childhood; I was in the place of kindness and love. At least it was back then. I was no longer fighting back hands that wouldn’t obey but grasping onto Paul’s until my knuckles had turned white. I was shaking, I was panting as if I had run a mile, and I was looking into Paul’s large worried eyes. “Olivia,” he slowly said, “Are you alright?”

“I-I,” I stuttered shaking my head in disbelief. I was at the house in East Point; I was not at the institute anymore. I wasn’t waiting for Julianne to come in and ask her pointless, unanswerable questions. I was in a room with old wallpaper that was peeling off the walls and where the doors were chipped and with Paul sitting in front of me. I was safe, I was home, I was away from the man with the cracking knuckles. I felt the tears running down my cheeks before I knew I was crying. I felt the coldness of a sob climbing up my throat and threatened to break away. I turned my face away from Paul, I didn’t want him to see this but I couldn’t stop the tears once they had started.

“Oli- Olivia what happened? What’s wrong? You have to talk to me!”

“Stop,” I croaked, letting the tears fall as I turned back to him, “Just stop, please.”

“No,” Paul said firmly, “you’re going to talk to me. You’re going to tell me what happened in that institute that could bring you to this.”

“Bring me to this?” I jumped off the bed and wiped my still streaming tears off my face as best as I could with the back of my hand, “If you truly want to know what could bring me to this Paul then all you have to do is think back. Think back to the time when there were more than six bodies in the walls of the institute. Think back to the days when I killed hundreds of people because I was ordered to!”

I hadn’t realized I had been shouting until I heard my voice echo back to me. The tears still ran free on my cheeks and I just barely held off my sobs, I just barely held myself together. Paul got up off the bed, slowly as I assume he was attempting not to set me off again. Truthfully I didn’t know what had come over me either. He made his way slowly towards me and gently took my hand, “Please come back to the bed.”

I looked into his eyes again, I was about to say I couldn’t but I found my feet moving before I was able to say anything. I found myself sitting on the bed before I could bring myself to pull away. And I was pulled close into Paul’s embrace before I could protest again. Only then did the sob escape my lips. Only then did I allow myself to weep against Paul’s chest and allow him to comfort me. Only then did I officially break down and let everything that happened hit me. I remembered the horror of the kills, the repulsiveness of the secret testing, the shock of the kidnapping, and the blind terror of…the man, then the thrill of the escape.

I had blocked it all off to just function. I had shut off the idea of emotion. I had had to, I couldn’t have continued to think of the bodies as people who had once been able to think and have families. And then they became my friends, then they had become individuals if only to me. Then I had had to kill them. It all hit me at once.

I was vaguely aware of what Paul was saying. It was something like, “It’s okay. You’re safe…we’re all safe.”

But I couldn’t really make out most of it because of my sobbing. I heard someone out in the hall and I tried to pull away from Paul, but I couldn’t fight against his comforting arm. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. I heard the door creak open as someone stepped into the room, “Crying is good for the soul,” said a sweet voice from the doorway, “but telling the truth is good for everyone.”

I looked up through the blurry shield of my tears and caught sight of Rose’s pale face looking down at me. She carried a bowl of food, what it was exactly I couldn’t see, but she set the bowl and a glass of water on the old bedside table. She nodded to Paul and shot me another worried glance before she disappeared down the hall again.

This time I was able to push away from Paul, but he still kept his worried gaze on me as I reached for the glass of water. I gulped down half of the contents before I attempted to say something. I looked at the bowl of food on the bedside table, “Where did we get food,” I croaked.

“It seems that Luke’s talent can’t only just make his skin reflect the world around him but also that which he touches. Gab’s not sure how he does it but we needed food…desperate times I guess.”

“Wouldn’t the detectors go off in the store anyway,” I asked trying to keep the conversation going in this direction.

“The employees just think that the detectors are going off for no reason and need maintenance,” he shrugged.

I slowly nodded. “You really should eat.”

I turned back to him, “You should probably too.”

“I can eat later…but you need to eat now. You’ve been asleep most of the day.”

I picked up the bowl from the table and studied its contents. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was. It seemed to be something that had tomatoes, potatoes, and possibly eggs in it. It was all mixed together in a rather large lump and coated with cheese. Maybe it was some sort of omelet, but not one I had ever seen. I tentatively took a bit and burst of flavor entered my mouth. It was a lot better then it looked, I soon found myself shoveling the mixture in my mouth without further question.

I felt, rather than saw, Paul staring at me. I felt his eyes on my back as I bent over the bowl to shovel in its contents. I didn’t meet his gaze. Truthfully I did everything I could to pretend he wasn’t looking at me, but by the time I had finished eating there was no pretending anymore. I set the bowl aside with some reluctance and then turned my gaze to my hands. Paul chuckled, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone eat that fast.”

I whipped around to him, “Well I was hungry and you told me to eat.”

“Yes…but I didn’t tell you to not taste your food,” he laughed.

I felt my cheeks grow warm as his chuckles slowly turned into a laugh. He got up, trying unsuccessfully to stop his laughter, and grabbed my bowl from the bedside table. “I should take this back down stairs.”

He turned on his heel and left the room quickly, stifling chuckles as he did so. I watched him go. I watched how his feet barely made a sound as he walked on the old floor boards, I watched as his large hand swayed back and forth as he took another step, and I watched his shoulders shook slightly in barely concealed laughter. I watched him disappear around the corner going into the hall and then I came back to myself.

What was I doing? What was happening to me? Could what that man did to me really cause me to act like this? Crying one minute and then completely fine the next? Or was my subconscious trying to tell me something that my conscious mind didn’t want to understand? Or was it just the simple pressure of what we did only a day ago finally catching up with me? Or was I over thinking this? I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, I had to think. I had to calm down and think everything through but every time I closed my eyes I saw him again. The nameless man giving me unwanted caresses. Forcing me back into the wall, forcing his tongue between my teeth. I felt sick all over again, I felt myself flush, I couldn’t draw myself back to where I was safe. I couldn’t pull away from the man that had me pinned. Then I heard footsteps in the hall.

My eyes snapped open and I quickly dropped my hand onto my lap. I pretended to study the wall paper, I pretended to be interested in the old design that still decorated the walls, but I couldn’t keep the man’s unwanted touch from my mind. Someone, I assumed it was Paul, sat down on the bed again, “I was told to stay up here…apparently I’m hopeless when it comes to cleaning,” it was Paul.

“Maybe they just assume because you’re a historian?”

“Or they called my mother and asked her how orderly I was as a teenager,” he chuckled as he attempted to joke.

I cracked a smile, but that didn’t seem to be reassuring enough. Paul’s chuckling died on his lips, he sighed, “I wish you would tell me what is going on,” he muttered, and then he sat up, “Am I doing something wrong?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to leave? I can go if you want…I can just go…do…be somewhere else. Are you angry at me?”

I looked at him confused, “Why would I be angry at you?”

“I,” he started then looked down at his hands, “I don’t know…but that’s the only reason I can think of for why you won’t talk to me.”

I looked at him for a long time, willing him to meet my gaze. He only stared at his hands which were loosely folded on his lap. I scooted closer to him on the bed, and then he did look up at me startled that I had suddenly moved. I acted without thinking. Maybe I did what I did so the images of the man would leave my head, or maybe my subconscious had other motives. Whatever my reason I had leaned forward and kissed him. He tensed under my touch and when I realized what I had just done I immediately fell back, mouth open in shook for my own actions. “I…” I didn’t know what to say, “Paul, I-“

He had an awed expression on his face, which was what had made me stop. We stared at each other for what seemed like a life time. This time I wasn’t the first one to move. Paul pulled me closer, gently, and gently he knotted his hand in my hair to pull my mouth to his. He was gentle, loving. It was a sharp contrast to the man in my mind. His hands didn’t wander; they stayed at the small of my back and in my hair. I wrapped my arms around him, drawing him closer, needing him closer. He slowly slid me onto his lap and held me all the more tightly. I opened my mouth and let him come in. He didn’t force his tongue between my teeth as the other man had, he wasn’t rough, or make me want to vomit. He was kind and there and everything I needed.

As he pulled away, slowly, gently like everything else, he simply stared at me. As I stared at him. He didn’t move but neither did I for many moments until I leaned against his chest. I snuggled into his chest. I felt safe there, I felt as if my time in the metal room was melting away. I listened to his breathing, I felt his heart beat as it raced, I felt his arms holding me tight, and suddenly I was happy. Suddenly I remembered Luke’s humor, and Cynthia’s bluntness, and Rose’s observations, and Gab’s silent calculations, and the officer’s protective instincts. I felt Paul kiss my hair as I thought, “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he murmured.

I smiled, “I was going to apologize,” I said into his chest, “But I guess I’m glad I don’t need to.”

His arms became tighter as he held me against him. He smoothed my hair with his hand as he spoke, “Never,” he said gently, “You don’t ever have to apologize to me.”

Part of me knew he wasn’t just talking about the kiss. That part of me soared with joy and delight, that part of me wanted to love him and keep nothing back. But then there was the part of me that thought all of this was too good to be true. That part of me knew what I was doing was hopeless and could only lead to heartbreak for both of us. But I couldn’t force my mind to think of the long term as I sat there in his arms. As I leaned against his chest and listened to his heart and his breathing I couldn’t think about anything else clearly. At that time I was only thinking about that moment, and what was happening to us right then.

“Olivia,” Paul hesitated for a moment not sure how to go on. I knew what he was going to ask and I tensed in his arms, he sighed, “Why can’t you just tell me?’

I pulled back so I could see his face. He let his arms slid down as I pulled back, and I met his worried gaze. I studied his features for several minutes. The way his brow creased with worry, the way he slightly frowned when faced with a challenge, even the way his eyes seem to absorb me gave me pause. “I…it doesn’t matter,” I heard myself mutter, “It happened and now it’s done.”

The only problem with that is that it did matter. It mattered more then I was willing to admit to myself, more then I was willing to believe. Paul saw through it too. He frowned at me but said nothing. I opened and closed my mouth, not sure what to say. I wasn’t sure if I should tell him the truth, and if I should I didn’t know where to begin. I could force the words out of my mouth. My brain wouldn’t form them into complete sentences.

Suddenly there was a crash from down stairs and the sound of laughter rang throughout the house. I jumped at the sudden noise but settled back down into Paul’s arms when I realized it was just someone from down stairs. Paul chuckled as he wrapped his arms around me again, “I’m here to talk whenever you’re ready…you know that right?”

I settled back into his embrace and sighed, “I know,” I murmured into his chest before I allowed myself to relax and close my eyes for a moment.

The last thing I remember was Paul kissing my forehead and gently rocking back and forth.