Sisterhood

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

The best known cases of psychic linking are twins. Twins are often capable of echoing each other’s thoughts, as if the very fabric of their brains were one.

Mythologically, the strongest psychics occur in threes, usually female. Adding a third seems to create a harmonic resonance, enhancing the abilities of all three members of the triad.

Our study proposed to isolate the genes responsible for linking, and engineer a triad, bringing psychic phenomenon out of the realm of mysticism and into the laboratory. Highlighting this distinction, the term “psionics” was used to refer to the measurable, provable, scientific manifestations of psychic phenomena.

Dr. Petra Michalak, “An Introduction to Psionics”

[Los Gatos, CA, USA — Dana]

I leapt to my feet. How long had Donald been there? Had he heard anything? My pounding heart made up for the beats it had lost when he touched me. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You were on the phone.” He was using his work voice, the one he used to talk to clients, the one he used to make it clear to crazy people that he didn’t think they were insane.

I tried to remember what I had said to Kevin. Too much. Donald had heard too much. I walked across my studio, putting the phone on the charger and space between us. The easel formed a flimsy barrier. He had never hurt me physically, but I knew his response would be unpleasant.

He stood still, hands at his side, almost ignoring me as he examined the details of my drawing. “That is good. There’s so much action, a real feeling of menace.”

While I couldn’t sense his emotions, I could sometimes pick out clues by his body language. Right now he wasn’t giving anything away. That made me even more frightened.

Donald moved closer to my drawing and stared at the attacker. “You’ve got a lot of detail.”

Was it possible he hadn’t heard anything? I forced myself to breathe steadily.

He squinted to make out the details.

“Is that a Beretta with a can? It looks like a Mini Cougar F Series. When did you learn about guns?”

“Can?” The end of the gun did seem unusual.

“Silencer. You put a silencer on the end of the gun, Dana.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” When had Donald learned about guns? It wasn’t standard training for a psychiatrist, was it? I glanced up into the black abyss of his gaze. Why couldn’t I read his soul?

He looked back at the picture. “Has something happened to Marie?”

“I think so. I haven’t heard from her in a month.” The trembling had almost stopped. Maybe he hadn’t heard anything, or hadn’t understood what he had heard.

“That’s not so long.”

“She’s in trouble.”

He walked across the room and picked up one of my usual drawings, examining the way the sunset paled behind a dark ridge of mountains. A bright swath of water split the foreground. The deep blue sky was the color of Marie’s eyes. “You know her job is sensitive. She’s been skirting rules to stay in contact with you. Companies like SciTech sometimes need their people to disappear.”

“I’m cleared to know where she is.”

“She’s probably working.” His voice was calm, reasonable. His logic was as smooth as the porcelain sink my hand rested on.

“I’ve had nightmares. I know something is wrong.”

He dropped the painting, cracking the frame. I flinched. How much damage would he do this time? Too late to try and move the conversation out of my haven.

“You…know.” The way he said “know” with a sneer made me wish I could force a link to his mind. Donald hated to be reminded of psionics. It didn’t fit into his belief of how the human brain worked.

He stalked back to stand in front of the picture of Marie. “You think something like this has actually happened? Because you had a dream.” It was infuriating having him looking down his clinical nose at me as if I were some sort of misshapen bug he’d been asked to study. No, not a bug. To him, I was a mouse.

“Yes,” my voice squeaked, the anger slipping out like air from an over-filled balloon. I didn’t need to provoke him.

“You don’t know where she is. How can you be sure this is real? You’ve been under a lot of strain. Nightmares would be a normal….”

My chest tightened and I could feel the emotion about to burst out of my over-filled lungs. I clenched my teeth to hold in the shriek. “Don’t mention the baby.”

I took a deep breath. Arguing with him was pointless. I could not remember ever winning. “I know, Okay? Besides, I know she’s in Europe.”

“How long have you been off the meds?”

I blinked at the sudden change in topic. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play games, Dana. Your anti-depressants. When did you stop taking them?”

“You can ask Apollina….”

He gripped my jaw and turned my face so our noses almost touched.

“I don’t need to ask her, I could see the madness in your eyes from across the room.”

“They weren’t anti-depressants.” I wrenched my face out of his grasp and took a small step back from him. “You weren’t trying to help me get over the trauma of the miscarriages.”

His laughter was more of a spasm. “No. I was trying to prevent this sort of episode.” He pointed at the painting. “Dana, you’re sick.”

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. His eyes closed, and then opened. He seemed to beseech the ceiling for guidance. After a slow, lung-cleansing breath, he brought his carefully calibrated gaze back to my face. “Who was on the phone?”

“An old friend.”

“Old guy friend?”

I tried to shrug. “You don’t have to worry. It was just Kevin.”

The color drained from his cheeks, making him as dichromatic as my drawing. “The Kevin you knew in college?”

“Yes.”

“I thought he was….” Whatever he intended to say, he changed his tactic. “He was into some weird stuff. I don’t want my wife hanging around a maniac like that.” He walked past me and picked up the phone.

“Listen, this may not be real.” He hit the code to call the last number back. After a pause, he hung it up. “The last call on this line was from a political party.”

“Then he blocked the number somehow. I am not imagining this, and I am not hallucinating.” I tried to keep my temper in check. Screaming would not make me seem more rational. “I want to spend Christmas in Paris with Marie.”

“Dana, you need those medications.” He leaned one hand against the wall. “Don’t trust intuition. Try to think logically. If you haven’t heard from her, how do you know she’s going to be where you can find her?”

“Marie will be there.” I couldn’t explain how I knew, but she would meet me if she was alive.

“You can’t go half way around the world on a hunch.” He pointed at my drawing. “It could be dangerous.” He paused. “I want you back on your meds, at least.”

“No.” I stared at him, willing him to understand, reaching out with my mind even though I’d learned years ago he had no psionic receptors. It was time to fight. I could feel my adrenalin surging, anger solidifying, but was interrupted when the phone in his hand rang.

He glanced at the number and answered while glaring at me. “What?”

The argument was not over. The dam of Donald’s control was near breaking. Could I get past him? I stepped back, calculating the distance to the door. His hand clamped my arm like a canvas while he listened to whoever was on the phone.

“I can still….”

The tension flowed out of him like water through a turbine. His smile released a flash of joy so strong, I could almost smell the ozone. “Of course.” His eyes went to where his hand was still bruising my arm and released me. He mouthed, “Sorry.”

I rubbed blood back into my arm, but didn’t try to run. The sense of impending violence was gone, replaced by a surging wave of relief. “I’ll take care of things on this end. Thank you for letting me know.” He hung up the phone and picked me up, spinning me around, knocking the easel over and sending chalk skittering to the corners of the room.

My feet hit the ground. He smiled into my eyes, eager to share his joy.

“I have the most amazing news. One of my patients has had a miraculous recovery. If you want, I could go to Paris with you.”

I caught my breath and my balance. I tried to wend my way through the trap closing around me. Tried and failed. The change was too abrupt, my emotions too tightly wound for subtlety. “No. I want to go alone.”

“If that is what you want, my dear, then that is how it will be.”

I blinked. My brain was screaming a warning. Donald could not be going along with my wishes. Whoever had been on the phone, it hadn’t been a patient.

“No argument? You’re letting me do what I want?”

“I have been a pain, haven’t I?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Work is so intense, sometimes I bring it home with me. Maybe I’m projecting my patients’ maladies onto you. I’m sorry.”

He was lying, but if it meant I could get away, I didn’t care, and yet I was nervous. There was a trap here still, I just couldn’t see it. “I have too much time to think, here alone all day.” I gestured at the beautiful room, encompassing all of the elegance bequeathed to him by his parents. “You’ve got me in a gilded cage, Donald, but I need space.”

“Of course you do, and there’s no reason you should be cooped up in this house.” He took my hand and stroked the palm with one long finger.

I stifled the shiver of loathing his touch sent up my spine.

“I’ll stop trying to keep you home. Paris at Christmas-time is supposed to be lovely. A change of view would give you more fodder for your art, right?” Who had called that he now saw my being out of town as a blessing?

Time alone with Marie was what I needed. I had loved Donald once, and bless his soul, there were still times when it seemed he read my mind like a textbook case in a psychiatric journal. I’d given up on the hope that he could understand me, and now I very much needed to be understood. Donald had the psi potential of a rock.

I no longer had a taste of Marie’s presence, but I couldn’t believe that she was dead. Something had made her shut down the link. Was she trying to protect me or herself?

I sent her an email suggesting we meet in Paris. If she didn’t show up, I’d find her, somehow. There had to be a way to break through her shield.

The wheel on my favorite suitcase was broken and my passport wasn’t in the safety deposit box. My initial preparation for the trip was not going well. Apollina bustled around my bedroom, trying to help.

“You’re going to love Paris at Christmas.” She shook her head at a sweater I held up. “Too heavy. The snow won’t stick, but it’ll be slushy.” Her eyes grew dreamy. “Your feet get wet and cold and then you drink the Vin Chaud and nothing matters anymore.” She sighed with longing. “You are meeting your friend?”

“Yes. We’ll be in art galleries most of the time. I don’t think it will be slushy in there.”

She frowned and glanced towards Donald’s closet before lowering her voice. “This friend, is not a handsome man?”

I was shocked. “No, I’ll leave the handsome men to you.”

She pouted. “You could use a little romance. He wouldn’t notice.” Her pinched nose left no doubt as to which “he” she was referring to.

“I’m married.”

She sniffed. “Well, so is he.” She gathered up the sweaters to be taken to the dry cleaner and hustled out, her petite flounce showing her disdain for Donald. Great. Even the maid was giving me marital advice.

Passport. Needed to find my passport. The last time I’d had it was on that trip to Victoria for the convention Donald had needed to attend. I’d given it to him to put away…so, like everything else he forgot, it was probably in his desk.

His office was the opposite of my studio. Where I loved giant windows with lots of light, he surrounded himself with dark, hard lines. Papers from various cases covered his desk. I had no idea how he could function in the mess. I sat in his executive chair and began digging through the drawers. Finding the passport in the bottom drawer, banded together with his and a handful of receipts, I snatched it from the bundle and bits of paper flew all over the floor. I got down on my hands and knees to gather them up. When I sat up to stuff them back in the drawer, I slammed my head onto a protrusion in the chair well.