hand.
Oliver shook it. “Take me to her now.”
He knew it was a dangerous request, knew he was exposing his
weakest point to Lobo, but he was unable to keep himself from it any longer. He
had to see her and know she was all right.
“As you wish.” Lobo’s voice had gone deadly calm, all
emotion stripped from it.
He’d played his last card, and he knew it. All he had now
was the hope that Oliver would keep his end of the bargain.
Lobo led Oliver through a tunnel feeding into the cavern
from the other side. Down another long mining tunnel they went until they came
to a door, similar to the one that had kept him secured.
“She has not . . . rallied the way you have, Mr. Ripley, I
should warn you.” The man’s tone was grave. “You may decide after seeing her
that the best thing would be to leave her here in a doctor’s care.”
“Was she hurt?” Oliver growled, his fists clenching at his
sides. Regardless of Lobo’s finely spun fairy tales and explanations, he’d
still held them prisoner and was responsible for whatever state Miranda was in.
“No.” Lobo shook his head. “Physically, she’s fine. Perhaps
she doesn’t have the strength that you do. She seemed to give up, go into
herself somehow. The doctor said he’s seen it before. It’s almost as if she’s
in a coma. Mentally, she’s given up on life and her body has not caught up
yet.”
His Miranda was strong. Brave. A fighter. She’d never give
up, never be so weak. There had to be some mistake. Or Lobo was lying, and they
had hurt her.
Oliver’s fists clenched at his sides. His breath caught in
his throat, and his heart pounded in his chest. He reached out with his mind
and found nothing of Miranda that greeted him. “Open the door. Now.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lobo nodded. “I only wished to
prepare you. I am not immune to love and, despite how you’ve tried to hide it,
it pours from you. Perhaps you will be the one to break the spell her mind has
on her body and bring her back to the living. I truly hope you can.”
He reached into the pocket of his long leather coat and
brought out a key, fitting it in the lock and turning it.
Before he’d withdrawn it, Oliver reached around him and
pushed open the heavy wooden door, rushing into a chamber almost the twin of
the one he’d been kept in. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her lying
there, in a bed that dwarfed her and made her look frail and child-like. He
strode to her, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, the way one might if
in a hospital, visiting someone seriously ill, as if even the disturbance from
his weight upsetting the mattress might somehow hurt her.
“Miranda.” Oliver leaned over and studied her still face,
covering one of her hands with his.
Her fingers were cold and did not move. She did not stir at
all, though Oliver saw a pulse beating strongly and evenly in the hollow of her
throat.
He turned to Lobo who had followed him into the room.
“Has she been like this ever since you brought us here?”
Oliver traced the outline of Miranda’s cheek with a fingertip, reaching inside
of her with everything he had and finding . . . nothing.
“Yes. She heard you cry out on the road and she collapsed.
We carried her here and here she has remained.”
“How long have we been here?” He should have asked that
before, but he’d been too concerned about other things.
Oliver thought of the notebook he and Miranda had started
writing in as they’d traveled through the mountain pass, the lists of questions
and answers and possibilities, how they’d written it all down and felt so smart
for trying to think of everything. But life always found a way to show him that
it would not be figured out.
“Six days,” Lobo said.
“You said a doctor looked at her. He must have done
something. How could she survive like this?”
She looked like some princess in a goddamned fairy tale. Not
a hair out of place, her lips cherry red, her short hair full and
Oliver shook it. “Take me to her now.”
He knew it was a dangerous request, knew he was exposing his
weakest point to Lobo, but he was unable to keep himself from it any longer. He
had to see her and know she was all right.
“As you wish.” Lobo’s voice had gone deadly calm, all
emotion stripped from it.
He’d played his last card, and he knew it. All he had now
was the hope that Oliver would keep his end of the bargain.
Lobo led Oliver through a tunnel feeding into the cavern
from the other side. Down another long mining tunnel they went until they came
to a door, similar to the one that had kept him secured.
“She has not . . . rallied the way you have, Mr. Ripley, I
should warn you.” The man’s tone was grave. “You may decide after seeing her
that the best thing would be to leave her here in a doctor’s care.”
“Was she hurt?” Oliver growled, his fists clenching at his
sides. Regardless of Lobo’s finely spun fairy tales and explanations, he’d
still held them prisoner and was responsible for whatever state Miranda was in.
“No.” Lobo shook his head. “Physically, she’s fine. Perhaps
she doesn’t have the strength that you do. She seemed to give up, go into
herself somehow. The doctor said he’s seen it before. It’s almost as if she’s
in a coma. Mentally, she’s given up on life and her body has not caught up
yet.”
His Miranda was strong. Brave. A fighter. She’d never give
up, never be so weak. There had to be some mistake. Or Lobo was lying, and they
had hurt her.
Oliver’s fists clenched at his sides. His breath caught in
his throat, and his heart pounded in his chest. He reached out with his mind
and found nothing of Miranda that greeted him. “Open the door. Now.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lobo nodded. “I only wished to
prepare you. I am not immune to love and, despite how you’ve tried to hide it,
it pours from you. Perhaps you will be the one to break the spell her mind has
on her body and bring her back to the living. I truly hope you can.”
He reached into the pocket of his long leather coat and
brought out a key, fitting it in the lock and turning it.
Before he’d withdrawn it, Oliver reached around him and
pushed open the heavy wooden door, rushing into a chamber almost the twin of
the one he’d been kept in. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her lying
there, in a bed that dwarfed her and made her look frail and child-like. He
strode to her, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, the way one might if
in a hospital, visiting someone seriously ill, as if even the disturbance from
his weight upsetting the mattress might somehow hurt her.
“Miranda.” Oliver leaned over and studied her still face,
covering one of her hands with his.
Her fingers were cold and did not move. She did not stir at
all, though Oliver saw a pulse beating strongly and evenly in the hollow of her
throat.
He turned to Lobo who had followed him into the room.
“Has she been like this ever since you brought us here?”
Oliver traced the outline of Miranda’s cheek with a fingertip, reaching inside
of her with everything he had and finding . . . nothing.
“Yes. She heard you cry out on the road and she collapsed.
We carried her here and here she has remained.”
“How long have we been here?” He should have asked that
before, but he’d been too concerned about other things.
Oliver thought of the notebook he and Miranda had started
writing in as they’d traveled through the mountain pass, the lists of questions
and answers and possibilities, how they’d written it all down and felt so smart
for trying to think of everything. But life always found a way to show him that
it would not be figured out.
“Six days,” Lobo said.
“You said a doctor looked at her. He must have done
something. How could she survive like this?”
She looked like some princess in a goddamned fairy tale. Not
a hair out of place, her lips cherry red, her short hair full and
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