“Hmm…maybe that is Cayenne’s role for you as well.”
Brie stared at the cat with a bemused expression. “Wouldn’t that be a strange twist of fate?”
“While you two get reacquainted, I’ll make my famous tomato bisque so it can start simmering. I’m determined to make that baby bump happy.”
“My little one won’t be happy until her daddy is well again.”
“Ah, but you forget the legendary power of my soup.”
Brie laughed. “I’ll concede your soup does have supernatural powers.”
“So while I prepare it settle down on the couch. Watch yourself a girlie movie and veg out.”
She couldn’t stomach the thought of watching TV, since that was what she’d been doing the night of the crash. Instead, Brie picked up the cat toy and headed toward the sofa. She let the feathered bird drag along the ground, knowing it would be an irresistible temptation for Cayenne.
The cat crouched down, wiggling her hind end as she prepared to attack the moving object. Brie let out an involuntary squeak when the attack came.
Cayenne was a ferocious beast!
She jumped on the feather creature and curled herself around it, clawing the poor thing with her powerful hind legs. It didn’t take long until Brie pronounced the toy dead. She held up the lone feather still attached to the string and looked at Master Anderson, pouting. “Your cat killed my toy.”
He nodded proudly. “Best huntress I know.”
Brie dangled the feather above Cayenne, barely fast enough to jerk it up before the tabby leaped into the air to end the toy’s misery.
“I would hate to be a bird around her,” Brie muttered.
“No chick better mess with my Cayenne.”
Brie sat down on the couch, gingerly laying what was left of the bird on the coffee table. The moment Brie put the stick down, it was if a switch had suddenly been flipped inside Cayenne. The master huntress morphed back into a cuddly feline, jumping on Brie to curl up on her lap. When she started to purr, Brie bit her lip at the adorableness of it.
“She’s just too darn cute.”
Master Anderson chuckled from the kitchen. “Yes, she’s the best companion a man could ask for.”
“Except for a devoted submissive, of course.”
“Trust me, Cayenne is far less complicated.”
Brie tsked, shaking her head in disagreement. “But I didn’t get you Cayenne so you could continue living a solitary life.”
Master Anderson came out of the kitchen with two grilled cheese sandwiches. Cayenne launched herself off of Brie and enthusiastically brushed her body against her master, weaving in and out of his legs. He held the plates above his head and used them for balance as he successfully avoided tripping over the affectionate feline.
He shrugged as he handed a plate to Brie. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with being alone, Mrs. Davis.”
Brie looked up at him frowning slightly as she took it. “No, there isn’t, unless you have a soulmate waiting for you somewhere.”
Master Anderson cleared his throat as if the suggestion made him uncomfortable. “Hmm…” He sat down beside her and a long, muffled farting noise escaped from under the sofa cushion.
Brie started to giggle. “Really, Master Anderson, I’m trying to eat.”
He threw his head back and let out a full-on belly laugh. Afterward he wiped his eyes and exclaimed, “Oh hell…I needed that.”
Once his laughter subsided, Cayenne jumped up onto Master Anderson’s lap, extremely interested in the sandwich on his plate. He smiled at Brie, explaining, “Cayenne has a thing for my cooking. She puts her nose up whenever I try feeding her traditional cat food.”
Brie picked up a piece of her sandwich and watched with satisfaction as cheese oozed from it. She purred in pleasure. “Nothing like a grilled cheese sandwich.”
“Melty goodness for the soul,” Master Anderson agreed, taking a bite of his before breaking off a piece for Cayenne. The cat licked his offering several times before gracefully taking it from his hand.
“I would give you and baby bump the soup, but it needs to simmer a while so the flavors can be fully realized.”
“I can’t wait to meet you here for dinner tomorrow, Master Anderson. It’s been a while since I had anyone waiting for me at home.”
He put his muscular arm around her shoulder. “I’m sure, but all that’s changed now.” He frowned at her reproachfully. “You know that you only needed to reach out and I would have been here in a heartbeat. Heck, any of us would.”
Brie shrugged. “I didn’t think I needed it. My sole focus this whole time—the only thing I care about—is seeing Sir open his eyes. Even now, I’m panicking a little because he might wake up and I won’t be there.”
“Thane doesn’t need you to live at the hospital twenty-four seven, young Brie.”
“It’s not what he needs, it’s about what I need. I have to be there when Sir awakens.”
“And you will be—looking all rosy-cheeked and giddy, the picture of health. Then he will turn to me and say, ‘Well done, Brad. Way to take care of my girl while I was out for the count.’”
Brie giggled. “That will not be the first thing out of his mouth.”
He held out his hand. “Wanna bet?”
“Ten bucks.”
“Fine, show me yours and I will show you mine.” Brie dug a ten dollar bill out of her purse and placed it on the table. He whipped out his wallet and put down a twenty, taking her ten. “Hah, I was needing a ten.”
Master Anderson then picked up the twenty and put it on Sir’s desk. “When it comes time to collect on the bet, we can explain it to Thane.”
“Good, because I’ve already decided what to buy with it,” Brie informed him.
“What?”
Brie grinned to herself, imagining numerous whoopee cushions to hide all over his new home. “My secret.”
Cayenne moved back to Brie and settled on her stomach, closing her eyes with a look of contentment. Brie started to pet her, grateful for the physical connection.
“Looks like she’s settling in just fine. I’ll go finish up in the kitchen while the two of you females bond.”
Brie laid her head back against the arm of the couch, taking Cayenne’s example and closing her own eyes. It was nice to hear the sound of dishes clinking as the aroma of cooking food wafted from the kitchen.
It was…normal.
And normal felt so incredibly good to Brie right now.
Hope
Brie woke up early, before the sun had even risen, and quietly dressed. Cayenne was not happy with the earliness of the hour and moved onto Brie’s pillow to snuggle back down. Brie couldn’t blame the cat, and petted her on the head before she left.
“Sleep well, little huntress.”
Brie snuck past the guest room, dutifully getting one of her nutrition drinks and a protein bar from the pantry. When she opened the pantry door, however, she found a note.
I made you a breakfast burrito chock full of healthy veggies with cheese and eggs for protein, so put down those poor excuses for nutrition and take it instead. You’ll find a lunch bag in the fridge with your name clearly printed on it.
Brie smiled as she opened up the refrigerator and saw an insulated lunch bag with “Brie and Baby Bump” written on it in permanent marker. She grabbed it out of the fridge and snuck a peek inside. Not only was there a foil-wrapped burrito, but a big container of his soup, a spoon, and plenty of fruit and raw vegetables—plus a few of her soda crackers.
She looked down the hall, deeply touched by his thoughtfulness.
Brie entered Sir’s room with a sense of real hope. It was amazing what a good night’s sleep and a home-cooked meal could do for a person.
“I’m back, Sir!” she exclaimed, brushing back his hair back to give Sir a kiss on the forehead. “I hope you had a good night’s rest. I know I did.”
Brie went on to tell him everything that had happened with Master Anderson: fro
m playing with Cayenne, the silly bet, the good food, to the fun of the whoopie cushion. She laughed out loud just talking about it.
As was her new habit, Brie kept stealing glances at his heart monitor, hoping to see a change in his breathing or heartbeat, but it remained as constant and unchanging as ever. Still, she couldn’t contain the optimism she felt as she took out her burrito and left him for a short time to heat it up.
When she returned, Brie took a big bite and purred. “Doesn’t that smell delicious, Sir?” She took another, making a genuine sound of pleasure. “Oh my, this is even better than the first bite. Master Anderson is an incredible cook!”
Brie had the brilliant idea of wafting it up to his nose and for the first time, there was a reaction on his monitor—a slight increase of his heartbeat. Proof positive that he was there and that he was aware enough to smell the food. Brie continued to share the smell of it as she wolfed down the burrito, realizing she’d forgotten the satisfaction of feeling full.
She sighed in contentment when she was done, patting her bloated belly. “I bet you are satisfied too, little one.” Brie balled up the foil and aimed it at the wastepaper basket. It rolled against the rim before falling in.
“Score!”
She smiled at Sir. “Just like old times.”
Brie was inspired now, certain that if she could find the right combination of stimuli he would come back to her.
She brought her fantasy journal the next day. “Do you remember when you told me to write this, Sir? You didn’t get the chance to read it, so I thought I would read it out loud to you now.”
She caressed the page before beginning. “I was inspired by our Fiji experience.”
Brie took a deep breath, wanting to convey the story in the same spirit it was written, ignoring all the tubes, monitors, and the sterile environment of the hospital.
“I am the proud daughter of my father, Semi—the leader of the isle. Our island is the jewel of the sea. With lush vegetation, abundant sea life, fresh water, and long white beaches, it is the envy of all of our neighbors. But what makes our island unique are the rocks that are found here.
We are known as the warrior artists, esteemed for our unique stone carvings and intricate neck ornaments. Word of our work has traveled far, and we are often approached for trade. It benefits us to trade, because it allows my father to keep the peace while maintaining our prominence among the other islands. Although we are a peaceful people, throughout history, bloodshed has stained our isle. We are not savages, but we will fight fearlessly to keep what we have.
I would die to protect my isle and its people…
I am headed back to speak with my father after finding an unusual blue stone. It glitters in the sun, and I trust my father will be able to tell me what it is. I’m already envisioning the shape of a dolphin, my fingers itching to work on it.
My mind is distracted as I top the crest of the hill that overlooks my home. To my horror I see strangers surrounding the village and hear the terrified cries of my family and friends as they are herded to the center.
I instantly drop to the ground, hoping I have not been spotted. I cannot fathom how my father was taken by surprise, but I quickly begin formulating a plan of rescue as I watch the foreigners.
A cold chill envelops me when I realize they are not of this world. Their skin is a ghostly white, not like the deep brown of ours, and they speak with strange utterances. I caress the knife by my side, grateful for its protection. My father always insisted I carry a weapon at all times. Now I understand his vigilance.
I creep a little closer, wanting to observe these otherworldly beings before I make my move. I know that one must understand the enemy to defeat them.
I crouch low and observe the ghost who appears to be the leader. As horrified as I am by his appearance, I am fascinated by the color of his hair. It reminds me of the color of our sand.
My heart beats faster as he separates from the group and heads up the hill toward me. I flatten myself to the ground.
His eyes…they match the blue stone I hold in my hand.
Is it a sign?
I wonder if I am meant to slay him. Normally, such a kill is reserved for the chieftain, but am I not the daughter of one?
I look up briefly at the clouds and silently sing my death song to the ancestors.
I will kill him, but understand there is no way I can survive the onslaught of the foreigners. The chaos caused by the death of their leader and myself will allow my people to overcome their captors.
It is an honor that I have been chosen by the gods for this.
I let go of the rock as I tense for the attack, the blade gripped tightly in my other hand. I attack before he even sees me coming, but he is strong and agile, avoiding the worst of my blade. I only leave a minor wound.
However, I have been trained to fight and return with a swift side kick that causes him to lose his balance. Before he can recover I am on top of him, my knife raised and my path clear.
But I hesitate for the briefest of moments when I gaze into his strange eyes. That hesitation costs me the kill. He rolls his body over, taking me with him and I find myself crushed by his weight. I struggle for all I am worth, but know I am about to die without victory.
The ghost man chuckles to himself. It infuriates me, to be laughed at and I break one hand free, reaching between his legs to squeeze the life out of his manhood. He freezes for a moment and that is all I need to push him off.
There will be no hesitation this time.
I raise the blade, ready to drive it into his ghostly heart—but I am never given the chance. Rough hands grab me from behind as the knife is wrestled out of my grip. It falls to the ground along with any chance of victory.
The men are not gentle when they pull my arms back, and I grimace from the pain but refuse to cry out. Instead, I hold my chin up, ready to meet my ancestors with the dignity of a warrior.
One of the men presses his blade against my neck, but the ghost man speaks and the sharp blade is removed. He moves in closer to stare at me as if I disturb him as much he unsettles me. I close my eyes, unnerved by those blue orbs and silently curse at the rock on the ground.
I thought it foretold my victory, but its true purpose was to announce my doom.
The honor of death is denied me, and I am further humiliated when his men drag me through the village. I bow my head in shame, having failed in my duty. I cannot look my father in the eye as they parade me past.
I have betrayed my people by failing to protect them.
They forced me towards the strange vessel they came in. It is truly horrifying in its size and structure. Surely this ship will return to the bowels of Mother Earth and I will become like these ghost men.
I begin biting, clawing and writhing, trying to break myself free from their clutches, but four more appear to subdue me. I am helpless as they carry me onto the dreaded craft.
The size of it is daunting. I understand that any being that could build such a thing intends to conquer the seas. I look back to my isle, knowing my people are lost. They do not deserve what these ghost men will do.
The sweaty, foul-smelling men drag me down below to a dark room and tie me to a post there. One tries to touch my chest but I gnash my teeth and he barely avoids the bite. The other men laugh, smacking his back as they exit the room.
I glance around, the only light coming from two small round windows. I spy a weapon displayed on a wall and smile. How stupid are these ghost men?
With determination, I begin rubbing the rope against the pole, unmindful of how it cuts into my skin. My only goal is to escape with their prized weapon.
The rope is thick and my progress is slow, but the heat of my bindings lets me know my efforts are working. I hear heavy footsteps and instantly stop, bowing my head to communicate my defeat.
The door opens and I hold my breath as he approaches. I know it is the blue-eyed ghost; his smell permeates the room. Whereas the other men’s odor is disgusting, hi
s is not, and that frightens me.
He says something, but I do not move.
To my disappointment, he reaches around to feel the ropes that bind me and laughs. He forces my chin up with a strong grip and looks me in the eye. Again he speaks. I cannot understand his words, but the tone of his voice is passionate—not angry.
He lets go of my chin and takes a seat on a bed in the corner. He lays back casually and dares to smirk at me.
Anger rises up like fire inside my belly. I know the danger he represents and will not be made to feel like a fool by his dismissive manner. I snarl in response.
He nods his head, seeming to enjoy my fury which only infuriates me more.
The ghost man starts talking again in a smooth tone as he stands up and starts to remove his protective clothing. My eyes are transfixed, like a small animal who is about to be snuffed out by its predator but is unable to move. I watch as he removes his shirt and exposes his chest to me.
My eyes widen. Although his skin is as ghostly pale as the face, it is covered in the same sand-colored hair—like an animal. I swallow. He is truly not of this world…
My gaze is riveted on his naked chest as he slowly approaches me. Chills take over when I feel his touch on my cheek and he leans down to kiss me. The connection is so foreign it terrifies me, but I am powerless as my body instinctually responds to the kiss.
The ghost man breaks away with a knowing smile. He puts his hand to his chest and utters the sound, “James.” He then points to me.
I close my lips tight.
“James,” he repeats in a commanding tone.
I try to say the strange name, but my mouth is not used to uttering such sounds.
He nods his approval at my attempt, leaning in for another kiss. My heart races when our mouths connect. I am certain now he has put a spell on me.
His tongue parts my lips, and this time I am the one to pull away, truly frightened by the strange kiss.
The ghost man chuckles, caressing my cheek again. He has a dark magic that soothes my soul.