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The first touch brought nothing. No sensation or image or thought at all, and he had a brief thought that maybe he couldn't "read" such broken minds.
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Ian slid his hand into hers, locked his warm fingers around her cool flesh and squeezed. Heat flared in his fingertips, throbbing, burning.
An image crept into his mind, almost coyly at first, dancing at the edges of his consciousness. He had to make an effort to clasp it, had to concentrate as he'd never done before.
Greenfields dotted with flowers . .. raindrops splashing from one autumn red leaf to another ... a dapple gray pony cantering along a twisting silver river.
She stopped rocking and turned to look down at him. Her apathetic eyes fixed on him.
"Elizabeth?"
She almost smiled, or so it seemed. "Elizabeth," she repeated.
A young black-haired girl picking flowers ...
Ian withdrew his hand slowly. She wasn't in pain, of that he was certain. She wasn't in anything. She was a blank slate, a feeble, childlike adult who would never get better, never be the self she was before, a vegetable in a woman's body, granted the rudiments of speech but no ability to understand or empathize or experience.
For a second, he couldn't breathe for the pain in his chest. The last bit of his hope died hard.
He'd been wrong. He'd thought that caring for Selena was like caring for Maeve. But it was much, much worse. At least Maeve knew her name and had a few good days. Even Elizabeth, brain-damaged beyond repair, had thoughts inside that beautiful head of hers. Selena had nothing. That's why his psychic powers didn't extend to her. Her mind was gone, empty. There was nothing to see, no images to pick up.
She wasn't his chance for professional salvation.
The fisherman had been right to bring her to Lethe House. It was where she belonged, among the other half-wits and crazies who never improved. At the realization, he felt a stinging sense of shame, then a burning loss. Shame because, as usual, he'd thought only of
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himself, his needs, and loss because the fantasy he'd created shattered in a million broken bits. He could never heal Selena, never re-create a vibrant human being from the pathetic shell-like woman sitting before him. He could be Selena's keeper, but she had no need for a physician. She was nothing to him; they were simply two people who shared a roof, coexisted in a place where lost, lonely people came together but never quite connected.
It was as good a definition of hell as he'd ever heard.
Selena. Elizabeth. SelenaElizabeth. The images of the two women blurred in his mind, merged until they were indistinguishable.
There was no future for his mysterious goddess, just a lifetime of perpetual care, years spent sitting in chairs and stroking dead animals and mumbling nonsense.
And through her, there was no future for Ian. Just the same dark, lonely present stretching out before him like a prison sentence in solitary confinement.
With a tired sigh, he rose and walked out of the room.
Outside, in the darkened hallway, Giles and Johann stood side by side. Giles looked up at Ian, a pathetic question in his watery eyes.
Ian closed the door shut behind him, trying to ignore the headache that had begun at the base of his skull. "She's not in any pain, Giles. She's ... in the past. Her childhood, I expect. I've never felt such happy, peaceful thoughts from a person before."
Giles's face crumpled. "Oh, thank God .. ."
For the first time, Ian experienced a certain joy in his curse. "I'm glad I could tell you that, Giles."
Giles swiped at his eyes and looked up. "Now let me tell you something, Ian. I know the trials you've had with Maeve, and believe me, they're nothing compared to the hell of brain damage. I'd trade my soul for one moment a year when Elizabeth knew who I was."
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Ian nodded. He knew that Giles expected more, but he couldn't find a voice, nor words to speak.
"Don't expect anything from your patient. Send her to Bloomingdale or Danvers. Forget about her, and don't get emotionally involved. This kind of thing . . ." Giles's voice vibrated with emotion. "It can break your heart."
Ian couldn't answer. Nodding, he turned and headed down the shadowy walk. He could hear Giles and Johann behind him, but he didn't care, didn't pay attention. He just wanted to get the hell out of this place.
