The Operator
Page 88
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Pulse racing, she collapsed onto the couch, elbows on her knees and head in her hands. “Will you please stop fiddling with that,” she whispered.
“You didn’t say with sugar on top.” Jack chuckled. His attention went to the steel door that led into the big communal room, and she wasn’t surprised when a light knock sounded, shortly followed by Silas’s voice.
“Peri? I found some more tea.”
Great. Her expression scrunched up. “Come on in.” She tried to pull herself together as the door opened, a flush of noise coming in with Silas. He had a thermos in one hand, a bag with a pharmacy logo on it in the other.
“Here you go, Peri.” The wide-shouldered man closed the door with his foot, pace fast as he came to refill the ridiculous teacup already on the tiny table. “Nice and hot.”
She sighed, but the deep breath spun in her gut and made her that much more ill. “I don’t care if it keeps me hydrated, it tastes like Chernobyl cardboard,” she said.
His eyes flicked up, then back down. “I’ll just put it over here.” He hesitated, finally setting the thermos on the bedside table before gingerly sitting on the couch with her. “How are you doing?”
Jack raised one eyebrow and tossed his phone to the bed. “How are you doing? He asks you how you’re doing?” The game show blared from the unplugged unit. Her mind had even added a glint of light from the bedside lamp, and she marveled that her imagination could invent such detail. “Take the Evocane and get on with your life. You can’t kill Bill if you’re dead, and this is going to finish you.”
With only two doses? Peri rubbed her pounding head. “I’m fine,” she whispered. Her hand shook as she reached for the cup, and she pulled it back, curling her fingers under to hide it. With a start, she realized the host of the game show was Steiner. Shit, I’m going crazy. “Just fine,” she added as her stomach cramped. Not again . . .
Peri flashed hot, then cold. Miserable, she pulled the afghan up and around her. It felt as if she had the flu, and she was sure it would get worse before it got better. “I’ve not been accelerated. I can stop taking it if I want,” she whispered, feeling the pain of that broken promise to her bones.
“I’ll get you through it,” Silas said, and she huddled into herself, feeling the couch shift as he scooted closer, that plastic bag he’d brought in crackling. “I have some stuff that might help take the edge off. Get you over the hump.”
“Hump? It feels like a mountain,” she said, her hope crashing as he pulled a box from the bag. Nicotine patches? Is he serious?
Jack ambled out of the bathroom and pointedly set the wastebasket next to her. “Like that’s going to help.”
Peri’s gaze flicked from the trash can that really wasn’t there to Silas. “At least he’s trying,” she said aloud, then flushed. Silas knew about Jack—hell, Silas had been the one who put the illusion in her mind—but it was still embarrassing. But there was only interest in Silas’s eyes when she met his wondering expression.
“Jack is here?”
“’Fraid so,” she muttered, closing her eyes and holding herself together as her arms began to tremble. She was glad Silas was with her. She didn’t want to do this alone. By morning she’d either be dead or through the worst of it. The need to do something was growing, making her fidget even as her muscles began to twitch in earnest. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
“I guess that means your higher functions are still okay,” Silas said, finally getting the box open and peeling the back off a patch.
Peri pushed her sleeve up. The plastic felt alien against her, and she tugged her sleeve down to hide it. “Maybe I should chew it. What else you got in that bag?” she prompted as a cold sweat broke out on her.
“Something better than nicotine patches, I hope,” Jack muttered.
“You can just shut up, Jack!” she exclaimed, pulling her knees to her chest to try to hold in the ache. God, it’s like being pregnant, she thought, then wondered whether she had been once and had forgotten. “I’m okay,” she insisted when Silas leaned to look into her eyes, but when she tried to unclench herself, a new wave of vertigo hit her, and her sight grayed. Her head felt as if it were splitting. Jack’s game show had gone into sudden death, and the colors and spinning lights were making her ill.
“Will you turn that TV off before I throw you into it?” she moaned, her stomach roiling.
Suddenly everything cycled down to one point in her gut. “Oh, no. I’m going to puke.” Surging to her feet, she ran to the tiny bathroom. Muscles rebelling, her stomach heaved. “Get out,” she demanded between the harsh gags, and Silas reluctantly left her alone. She was shaking even worse when she finally looked up, hunched under her afghan in a cold sweat. Silas was talking to someone.
LB. Embarrassed, she flushed the toilet and rinsed her mouth out. The water hurt both her ears and her hands. It was warm against her but made her fingers ache.
“How long has she been like this?” LB asked, his voice clear over the chattering water.
“It didn’t get bad until an hour or so. It comes and goes in waves. Each one is worse.”
Their voices serrated over her nerves, but she was more afraid of the silence, and she started when she pulled her face out of the sink and found Jack behind her, cool and collected. He was beautiful, but her eyes were red and her face slack. She looked a hundred years old, and she turned away, unable to believe there would be a tomorrow. She wasn’t going back to Bill. Evocane was a leash.
“Babe, why are you putting yourself through this?” Jack said. “What does it matter if someone is telling you who you can and can’t go after? You’re still doing what you love.”
“Go away,” she muttered, pushing past the hallucination to shuffle back out, not meeting either man’s eyes as she listlessly sat down. She hadn’t wanted LB to see her like this, but he probably knew the hell she was going through better than she did. “Welcome to the party,” she rasped, needing two hands to bring that cup of Silas’s tea to her mouth. It still tasted like crap, but she needed something, and she almost spilled it as she gulped it down, her hands were shaking so badly.
“You look like run-over shit,” LB said, making tears of self-pity prick at her eyes. “Hey, ah, I thought you’d want this back,” he added, setting her tattered diary on the foot of the bed.
“You didn’t say with sugar on top.” Jack chuckled. His attention went to the steel door that led into the big communal room, and she wasn’t surprised when a light knock sounded, shortly followed by Silas’s voice.
“Peri? I found some more tea.”
Great. Her expression scrunched up. “Come on in.” She tried to pull herself together as the door opened, a flush of noise coming in with Silas. He had a thermos in one hand, a bag with a pharmacy logo on it in the other.
“Here you go, Peri.” The wide-shouldered man closed the door with his foot, pace fast as he came to refill the ridiculous teacup already on the tiny table. “Nice and hot.”
She sighed, but the deep breath spun in her gut and made her that much more ill. “I don’t care if it keeps me hydrated, it tastes like Chernobyl cardboard,” she said.
His eyes flicked up, then back down. “I’ll just put it over here.” He hesitated, finally setting the thermos on the bedside table before gingerly sitting on the couch with her. “How are you doing?”
Jack raised one eyebrow and tossed his phone to the bed. “How are you doing? He asks you how you’re doing?” The game show blared from the unplugged unit. Her mind had even added a glint of light from the bedside lamp, and she marveled that her imagination could invent such detail. “Take the Evocane and get on with your life. You can’t kill Bill if you’re dead, and this is going to finish you.”
With only two doses? Peri rubbed her pounding head. “I’m fine,” she whispered. Her hand shook as she reached for the cup, and she pulled it back, curling her fingers under to hide it. With a start, she realized the host of the game show was Steiner. Shit, I’m going crazy. “Just fine,” she added as her stomach cramped. Not again . . .
Peri flashed hot, then cold. Miserable, she pulled the afghan up and around her. It felt as if she had the flu, and she was sure it would get worse before it got better. “I’ve not been accelerated. I can stop taking it if I want,” she whispered, feeling the pain of that broken promise to her bones.
“I’ll get you through it,” Silas said, and she huddled into herself, feeling the couch shift as he scooted closer, that plastic bag he’d brought in crackling. “I have some stuff that might help take the edge off. Get you over the hump.”
“Hump? It feels like a mountain,” she said, her hope crashing as he pulled a box from the bag. Nicotine patches? Is he serious?
Jack ambled out of the bathroom and pointedly set the wastebasket next to her. “Like that’s going to help.”
Peri’s gaze flicked from the trash can that really wasn’t there to Silas. “At least he’s trying,” she said aloud, then flushed. Silas knew about Jack—hell, Silas had been the one who put the illusion in her mind—but it was still embarrassing. But there was only interest in Silas’s eyes when she met his wondering expression.
“Jack is here?”
“’Fraid so,” she muttered, closing her eyes and holding herself together as her arms began to tremble. She was glad Silas was with her. She didn’t want to do this alone. By morning she’d either be dead or through the worst of it. The need to do something was growing, making her fidget even as her muscles began to twitch in earnest. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
“I guess that means your higher functions are still okay,” Silas said, finally getting the box open and peeling the back off a patch.
Peri pushed her sleeve up. The plastic felt alien against her, and she tugged her sleeve down to hide it. “Maybe I should chew it. What else you got in that bag?” she prompted as a cold sweat broke out on her.
“Something better than nicotine patches, I hope,” Jack muttered.
“You can just shut up, Jack!” she exclaimed, pulling her knees to her chest to try to hold in the ache. God, it’s like being pregnant, she thought, then wondered whether she had been once and had forgotten. “I’m okay,” she insisted when Silas leaned to look into her eyes, but when she tried to unclench herself, a new wave of vertigo hit her, and her sight grayed. Her head felt as if it were splitting. Jack’s game show had gone into sudden death, and the colors and spinning lights were making her ill.
“Will you turn that TV off before I throw you into it?” she moaned, her stomach roiling.
Suddenly everything cycled down to one point in her gut. “Oh, no. I’m going to puke.” Surging to her feet, she ran to the tiny bathroom. Muscles rebelling, her stomach heaved. “Get out,” she demanded between the harsh gags, and Silas reluctantly left her alone. She was shaking even worse when she finally looked up, hunched under her afghan in a cold sweat. Silas was talking to someone.
LB. Embarrassed, she flushed the toilet and rinsed her mouth out. The water hurt both her ears and her hands. It was warm against her but made her fingers ache.
“How long has she been like this?” LB asked, his voice clear over the chattering water.
“It didn’t get bad until an hour or so. It comes and goes in waves. Each one is worse.”
Their voices serrated over her nerves, but she was more afraid of the silence, and she started when she pulled her face out of the sink and found Jack behind her, cool and collected. He was beautiful, but her eyes were red and her face slack. She looked a hundred years old, and she turned away, unable to believe there would be a tomorrow. She wasn’t going back to Bill. Evocane was a leash.
“Babe, why are you putting yourself through this?” Jack said. “What does it matter if someone is telling you who you can and can’t go after? You’re still doing what you love.”
“Go away,” she muttered, pushing past the hallucination to shuffle back out, not meeting either man’s eyes as she listlessly sat down. She hadn’t wanted LB to see her like this, but he probably knew the hell she was going through better than she did. “Welcome to the party,” she rasped, needing two hands to bring that cup of Silas’s tea to her mouth. It still tasted like crap, but she needed something, and she almost spilled it as she gulped it down, her hands were shaking so badly.
“You look like run-over shit,” LB said, making tears of self-pity prick at her eyes. “Hey, ah, I thought you’d want this back,” he added, setting her tattered diary on the foot of the bed.
