Antitype by M. D. Waters Page B

light forces tears. I squint and jerk my head, but the strong hand catches me around the forehead, fingers snagging on attached wires, and repeats the process on my other eye. I feebly bat his hand away.
    The man leans straight-armed onto the table and stares at me.
    â€œHm.”
    â€œ
Hm
, what?” This voice comes from a man out of my line of vision but sounds very close.
    The gray-eyed man lifts his head and pulls down the mask, revealing a bulbous nose and pockmarked skin. Matching gray whiskers shade his upper lip. He glances between me and the man who has yet to show himself. “It’s too early to tell.”
    â€œBut?”
    â€œBut . . .” The gray-haired man trails off and sighs. He scans me from head to toe, eyes narrowing. “But I think we have finally done it.”
    A soft chuckle sounds behind me. “You, my old friend. You have finally done it.”
    This gray-haired man reaches for my face. I instinctively jerk my head away, but he only pulls colored wires off my forehead, gathering a group of them in his palm. “Only time will tell,” he says.
    The moment drifts away as the words are absorbed into the vast space of my mind. By the time I think to be frustrated, it is too late. Nothing has meaning. Not time. Not words. Not the reason I am here.
    I am simply tissue, blood, and bone.
    New.
    In the beginning of life.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    The vibrant green leaves turn into shades of orange, red, and yellow. Sweltering heat becomes cool breezes through narrow slits in large, square windows.
    With the passing of time comes a lasting comprehension of language, color, texture, and scents. He says I knew them all along, and what I have yet to learn, he will teach me. I think he will reward me one day if I can only get my lessons right. Except today he tells me something new, and one word I do not understand.
    â€œYou are my wife,” he tells me.
    I study his lips while they frame the words. He has a lovely mouth and I reach out to touch it often, but he never lets me. He says I must focus on one thing at a time.
    â€œI am your wife,” I say carefully, and the words sound right, so I smile.
    His head falls forward and broad shoulders lift with a heavy sigh. Dark hair spills forward, hiding his expression. He is upset with me but I do not understand why. I tell him what he asks of me and only that. Is this not what he wanted?
    â€œNo, Emma.”
    He lifts his head, and eyes the color of seawater stare back at me. I know this color because it is in a large photograph in my room. They tell me the photograph is of the sea before, but they do not tell me before
what
.
    â€œI do not understand,” I say.
    He leans back in his chair and combs hair away from his face with long, slender fingers. The dark strands slick back and hold in their usual style. “You’re repeating my words only to please me.”
    He turns his head and squints into the sun shining through the windows. With an elbow propped on the chair’s arm, he raises a hand to his chin and massages his jaw.
    Leaning forward, I attempt to catch his gaze with my own. “This is what you wanted,” I whisper.
    Those beautiful eyes turn my way and he stops rubbing his chin, still saying nothing. He only watches me in agonizing silence.
    Then, abruptly, he stands and buttons the front of his suit jacket.
    It is dark blue today. I like this color on him.
    Bending over me, he presses a whisper-soft kiss to my temple. “One day you will say it and believe it.”
    He leaves the room and now I understand. I must learn about this word “wife.”
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    We spend day after endless day in this lounge, and I think I finally understand. “You are my husband, Declan Burke. I am your wife, Emma. We were married in a small ceremony with only our closest friends atop our mountain.”
    His smile, after so many weeks of frowns, warms my