Maya Banks - Whispers in the Dark

 He wanted to kill them. For a moment he considered giving in, but he knew it wouldn’t alter the fate of the other captive. These were animals with no honor.

 And then a single gunshot rang out, echoing first through the soldier’s mind and then bleeding into Shea’s consciousness. She blinked and stared glassy-eyed through the windshield as she watched the other captive fall forward to the floor, blood streaming from his head.

 Grief welled, though she wasn’t sure if it was her own or her soldier’s. There was self-condemnation and guilt. He considered that the other captive was better off because he at least wasn’t suffering any longer.

 Why were they keeping him alive? Why didn’t they just kill him and end it all?

 His emotions bombarded her, a mixture of determination to survive and the desire to be free of his pain. He hated that he was so weak, and self-loathing was sharp and bitter in his mind.

 It wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for his death. Turn your hatred to the animals who deserve it. Not yourself.

 Who are you?

 The demand was strong. He was still in the grip of a terrible rage. It consumed him, even more so than his pain. She could feel it sizzling through his veins and into hers. It was white, nearly electric and blinding in its intensity.

 Someone who wants to help you.

 How can you possibly help me?

 The weary question slipped into her mind. She knew he expected no answer. He didn’t even think she was real.

 She went completely still when he was suddenly hauled to his feet and roughly dragged from the room where the dead man lay. It was silly. They couldn’t detect her. And yet she was afraid to move, afraid that anything she did might make the soldier react and draw more abuse from his captors.

 When he was thrust back into his cell, he hit the floor hard and then crawled toward his corner, the same corner he huddled in day after day. Night after night.

 Unable to resist, she wrapped her arms around him and held him as he shivered violently in reaction to the torture he’d endured. The air around them was stale and warm and yet he quaked as chills raced up and down his body.

 She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath and then focused on her task of ridding him of his pain.

 This time she didn’t make a single sound. Her jaw was too locked, her body too rigid. She didn’t think she could have cried out, though in her mind she was screaming at the things he’d endured.

 When she was done, she lay limply to the side, her head tilted sideways as she struggled to regain her senses. She sensed his question, knew his brow was furrowed in confusion as he mentally took stock of his painless state.

 He rubbed the marks on his body, ran his hands over his wounds, testing, poking, baffled by the fact that he no longer felt anything.

 Do you know where you are?

 She tried to inject strength into her question. Confidence. But she failed miserably. The inquiry came out as a faint whisper, barely audible in his mind.

 Immediately his frustration was strong and a sense of helplessness gripped him, as strong as any pain he’d previously felt.

 No.

 There has to be something we can do. You can’t continue like this. Is there anyone who can help you?

 She felt his sigh. He rubbed his head tiredly and then pushed both palms into his eyes and curled his fingers over the top of his skull.

 My brothers are looking for me. I know it. They won’t give up until I’m found. Dead or alive.

 I could contact them.

 The offer spilled out before she thought better of it. Regret was instant. How could she place herself and Grace in danger? How could she trade themselves for this unknown man?

 And yet as soon as the question rose, she knew that she had no choice. She wouldn’t leave him to die. His survival had become all-important to her. She didn’t even know why exactly. Or how they’d forged the connection they had. It was just another random aspect of her gift. As random as everything else when it came to her abilities.

 He laughed. It was hoarse, cracked and ugly sounding. His voice was rusty from disuse. He rubbed his eyes again.

 How can you help me? You aren’t real.

 She wasn’t going to argue her validity to him. She barely had the strength left to maintain her connection to him, but now more than ever, she sensed that he couldn’t bear to be alone. He was inching ever closer to the edge.

 Assume for the moment that I’m real, that I’m standing in front of you and yet no one else can see me. I can move in and out without detection. What would you tell me that could help you? How would I contact your brothers?

 He shook his head. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with myself.

 Damn it, talk to me! She pounded her fist against the steering wheel in frustration. Stop with the denial. What have you got to lose? If I’m not real, then no one will come. But is anyone going to come anyway? Tell me what I need to know to help you. There has to be something I can tell them.

 He went silent as he weighed her words. Hope slid through his mind, but he extinguished it as soon as it came alive. He refused to descend into fantasy. He believed it was the final straw, that if he allowed himself this hope, he would truly be checking out.

 Tell me your name. Tell me who you are so I can help you.

 Nathan…He drew in a breath and then let it out. Nathan Kelly.

 She dragged herself upward in her seat, worried that if she remained on the side of the road for too long, she’d draw unwanted attention.

 Wearily she pushed her hair from her face and fumbled with the keys as she attempted to start the car again.

 Nathan.

 She hadn’t realized she’d sent the name out until he responded.

 If we’re making introductions, I’d at least like to know what the insane part of me calls herself.

 She bit her lip as she maneuvered back onto the highway. Exhaustion dragged at her, pulling relentlessly until she could barely keep her eyes open.

 He frowned and put a hand to his head. Are you…Are you all right?

 He was irritated that he’d ask, that he’d accept that she wasn’t his own crazy manifestation, and yet he could feel her just as she could feel him, and he sensed her weakness and pain, especially now that his was gone.

 She smiled faintly at his reluctant concern for her.

 I’m Shea, she finally said after battling over whether she should even divulge that much.

NATHAN leaned his head back against the rough stone surface of the cell wall and stared sightlessly into the dark. His pain was gone. Sort of. He could feel it hovering on the fringe, almost like he was catching impressions of pain from someone else but not exactly feeling it in his body.

 Was she real? It wasn’t possible.

 But then did it matter if his imagination got him through this ordeal?

 Shea. She’d said her name was Shea. And she wanted to help him.

 Was he crazy? Was this some cruel trap hatched by his captors as a way to drag information from him? How could they get into his head? He’d heard of subliminal shit, but he’d never given it a thought. Besides, how the hell did someone subliminally talk to you? Shea—whoever she was—wasn’t planting ideas. She’d taken his pain and she was suffering. Because of him.

 She’d been silent for several long seconds now, and panic grabbed him. His pulse sped up, and a knot formed in his throat that remained no matter how hard he swallowed. Regardless of whether she was real or imagined, he didn’t want her to go.

 Shea.

 He tested her name in his mind, liking the way it sounded. The way it felt.

 I’m here.

 She sounded weak. He frowned. What did you do? How is it you can take my pain away?

 That’s not important. You have to tell me how to help you. Isn’t there anything you can tell me about your location? Who is holding you? What branch of the military are you with? Surely there’s someone I can contact.

 He could sense the hundred questions bursting into his mind from hers. She was frustrated and impatient. She needed information fast because she feared not being able to hold their link.

 He frowned again and felt the beginnings of a throb in his head. He was feeling her pain.

 Every one of his instincts told him that this was crazy. That this was some bizarre manifestation brought on by endless torture. He’d broken from reality.

 But if that was true and he was merely imagining this entire conversation with Shea, then it couldn’t hurt to tell her how to contact his brothers.

 Hope flickered and he angrily called it back. He wouldn’t put stock in this insanity. He knew that any disappointment could finally break him completely.

 Nathan, hurry.

 He palmed his temples and pressed, closing his eyes. Sam Kelly. He lives in Dover, Tennessee, with the rest of my family. Garrett, Donovan, Ethan and Joe…God, where was Joe? The idea that his twin could be in a similar hell sent fear crashing through him. No, Joe wasn’t here. Nathan would know. He would have heard. Joe wasn’t even on the same team. He’d be home by now. Maybe even discharged already. Nathan had to believe that because he couldn’t bear any other alternative.

 He felt her stir again, and he got the sense of her stepping out of a car. Had she been driving? She drifted farther away and alarm slammed into him again. Sweat covered him and he swallowed rapidly.

 Then she touched him. The sensation of her hands on his shoulders, soothing and warm. A gentle brush of her lips against his temple.

 Give me a moment. I have to make sure I’m safe. I won’t leave you. Not yet.

 The next moments were the longest of his life as he sat in the darkness. There was…nothing. No distant cries. No sounds of violence. It was so quiet that unease slithered down his spine until he was gripped by panic again.

 They wouldn’t come again. Not so soon.

 He licked his dry, cracked lips. He’d sell his soul for water. Food, he’d long since lost the desire for. But water. He could make himself ill on it if only he had it.

 He thought of his brothers. His mom and dad. Imagined himself at home in the loving hold of his family. Where were they? Were they looking for him now? What had the army told them about his disappearance?

 But even as he thought of rescue and of going home, he wondered if he’d ever be the same Nathan Kelly again.

 He didn’t feel like a man. He felt like an animal. Less than an animal. His mind didn’t even work the same as before. He was reduced to basic survival. He coped from one hour to the next, locked in hell.

 As a soldier he lived with the reality that each day could be his last. Death wasn’t something he could afford to be in denial over. It wasn’t what happened to other people. It happened to his fellow soldiers on a daily basis.

 And now he realized that there were some things worse than death. Death meant peace. It meant rest. It meant relief from unimaginable conditions. Even animals were afforded more dignity than he was. Sometimes simply enduring was worse than death.

 He didn’t fear it. A part of him welcomed it.

 He slid a hand over his bare chest and down to his gaunt belly. He could feel each rib. Dirt and blood covered his naked body, but he’d long since gotten over the outrage of being stripped of his clothing.

 Imagine that you’re in a hot bath and that food surrounds you on all sides.

 Startled by the soft intrusion, he laughed softly at the image she painted in his mind. Are you safe? Where are you now? Why do you think you’re in danger?

 She was bone weary and pain beat relentlessly at her head. She was curled into a ball. On a bed? If she was in danger, she was extremely vulnerable. Had she locked the doors? Did she have means to defend herself?

 It’s you we need to concern ourselves with, she murmured in a drowsy voice that hummed like sweet honey through his head. Tell me more now. I can’t…I can’t just call your brother up. It’s too risky for me. But I can send him a letter. Or…She huffed in frustration and closed her eyes as she tried to gather her senses. Her battle confused him. He had no idea how any of this was possible. I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.