Chapter Thirteen
Everything is dark around me when I awaken. The stage is bare and the apparatus hanging from the ceiling is still hanging there as though it was never used.
I’m in Kovac’s arms. One of his heavy hands delicately moves the blonde hair from my face. We’re alone where we began.
“I wondered if it was all a dream. Like being in slavery never happened?”
“Maybe so, and you’re still dreaming?” he speculates. “Eventually you’ll wake up.”
“I think I have.”
“Oh?” He’s so very kind.
“Broc was here.”
“Where?”
“Today, tonight, whatever, I felt him.”
“Maybe. Was he blond, looked like a cowboy in a guerrilla’s clothes?”
“Yes!” I start at him anxiously, my mind in a flurry of excitement.
“Then he wasn’t here.”
“But?”
“I read about him in your journal.”
Is he jealous? I
