Chương 37: Ch 22b - Investigation

"Sit down!" Wyndeer barks in annoyance when Draig tries to take up his customary leaning pose. The darker turn of Wyndeer's mood makes Cara wish she could shift further back into her armchair. The depth of the chair is designed for someone with longer legs. Only when sitting forward can her knees fold against the seat; sitting back in the chair means the cushioned seat continues beyond her thighs, past her knees, to midway down her calf, leaving her legs protruding into space.

She remains perched forward, hoping this conversation wouldn't take long. Draig settles himself in the chair opposite her, easily resting his shoulders against its back. She realises she hasn't spoken to him since their departure from the Wixam. Wyndeer had escorted her directly onto the shuttle and from the shuttle to her room where Magse had been her only visitor. Since then, Draig has only lingered from a distance.

He studies her with an impassive look on his face as he absently draws small lines across the arm of the chair with his index finger. She reaches up to brush her hand against her cheek, the place where he had caressed her in comfort after the attack. Wyndeer clears his throat. She hastily whips her hand down to her lap and turns her attention to where he sits.

"Shards, Cara." he says, his authoritative tone is back. She chews on her bottom lip.

"You were clearly affected when you held the shard yesterday. Before we start another trial, I want to understand what happens when you hold one." He clears his throat again.

"As we agreed Cara, we are going to trust one another. I'm going to ask you about the shard. You are going to answer truthfully. Is that clear?" She nods, then, remembering his preference for a verbal commitment, says, "Yes."

"What happened when you used the shard yesterday?"

"It did the warm tingling thing again," she answers with a shrug. He presses his lips together and takes a noisy breath in, "What thing?"

"The same as when I've touched it before. I get this sort of buzzing, tingling feeling in my hand." She hovers her left hand over her right and wiggles her fingers as she moves it up over her wrist.

"Do you feel the same sensation every time?"

"Yes, I think. Sometimes it's stronger than other times." Her hand has continued to travel up her arm and now rests on her chest, where it moves in small self-soothing circles. Across from her, Draig traces his bottom lip with his finger, deep in thought as he continues to watch her.

"Was it strong yesterday? Is that why you passed out?" Wyndeer continues his questioning.

"Yes, I guess." Wyndeer looks displeased, he huffs out a long breath, leans forward and tries again, "Was it strong on the Wixam, when you also passed out?"

"I guess." She doesn't add that she had felt a healing energy both those times. She had been reflecting on the sensation as she had sat outside. Both times the energy had seemed very strong, she had felt it travelling across her body. Both times she had fallen into a deep, powerful sleep and woken up refreshed. No, that is the wrong word, she thinks. Not refreshed, healed. Healed from physical injuries. Her hand strokes her neck, all the pain has gone, she feels nothing when talking and eating.

And healed mentally too. The wall of memories that had built in her mind. It had reappeared this morning after her long sleep. The healing has packed her memories away, keeping them available but abstract; unable to send her spiralling into despair and grief. She has awoken mentally healed, with a resilience to face this world. Wyndeer sits with his elbows on his knees, staring intently at his hands that are pressed firmly together, the tips of his fingers pale from the pressure.

Draig watches her, his focus is on her hand as she strokes her healed neck. Snatching her hand down she wedges it under her thigh. Draig tilts his head in a quizzical look. She shifts in her seat, angling herself towards Wyndeer. She is trying not to lie to Wyndeer but she wants to keep the healing to herself. The ability to heal oneself. She can't think of anything less human and more alien. She wants them to see her as a normal human because that's what she is. Isn't she?

"I need clearer answers Cara," Wyndeer demands, returning to a stiff, upright position.

"Was it strong yesterday?"

"Yes," she responds quickly, not wanting him to doubt her answers.

"Was it stronger than on the Wixam?" he presses.

"I- The same? I think they were about the same."

"Cara," he admonishes, "No, I think. No, I guess. Which was stronger, here or on the Wixam?"

"I don't know. I-," she flusters, "the Wixam. It was stronger on the Wixam." Wyndeer nods.

"When you touched it initially. When we first arrived at the bunk house. How strong was that?"

"Uh, I'd say, not very." He frowns.

"Weak and brief," she clarifies, "The same thing, it buzzed and tingled but very briefly. Then I dropped it."

"What do you mean by 'buzzed'?"

"You know, a buzzing feeling like when-" A pang of loss traps the words in her throat. She was going to say like when the haptics on your iPhone buzz in your hand, but, of course, he won't understand the reference.

"Like the buzzy vibration feeling I got from the cuff when Flavitt was setting it up," she says instead. She presses her forearms against her thighs and feels the hard cuff on her left arm. She often forgets it is there. Wyndeer nods in understanding.

"A haptic buzz. And what do you mean by tingling?"

"A light tingling, like gentle prickles on my skin. In a nice way," she says, then adds, "I think it comes from the light."

"What light?"

"The light. The light that-." She slows down her explanation. She needs to be careful not to reference the healing energy.

"The shard glows when the buzzing and tingling are starting." This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Wyndeer shoots a questioning look at Draig who shrugs back at him.

"I haven't seen a light when you've used the shard," Wyndeer says.

"No?" she asks in surprise, looking from one man to the other.

"Do you see anything else?"

"Just the glow of the shard." She thinks of how it wove up her arm and danced in glittering whisps beneath her eyelids. It isn't much of an omission, she reasons to herself, it is all an extension of the same light.

"Does it light up before you touch it?"

"No. It just lights up when it's starting to buzz and tingle. You really don't see it?" He stares at her intently. Ignoring her question, he continues with his own.

"And the second time in the bunk house. Did it light up, and buzz, and tingle?"

"I don't remember," she replies quickly. His grey eyes narrow, "You don't remember?"

"I don't remember," she repeats quietly.

"You don't remember feeling the shard buzzing and tingling, or seeing it light up?" he challenges again, his tone hardening. She hears the distrust building in his voice. He is sat forward in his armchair; she is perched at the front of hers. She is suddenly conscious of how quickly the open space between the two of them can be crossed and wishes she could stand up from her chair to put some distance between them.

"No," she says slowly, hearing the vagueness in her voice that he will surely hear too.

"You remember holding the shard?" he fires back quickly.

"Yes. I was holding it. You wanted me to hand it over."

"Then you used it," he pushes.

"I- No I didn't use it."

"You refused to hand it over. Then you used it." His accusatory stare pierces into her"No I didn't. I don't know how to use it." She looks at Draig. His face is impassive. He watches her.

"Cara," Wyndeer snaps her attention back to him, "it was agreed. What happened in the bunk house, what happened to Crathsun, was caused by you using the shard."

"I was holding it, yes. Maybe I caused that- that- what happened." She flounders under his pressure. Her legs try to push up from the chair, responding to her instinct to run. Her chair backs against the wall, Wyndeer's chair, like Draig's chair, pins her in the room.

"But- but I don't know how."

"You must have done something," he continues to push her for answers.

"I didn't. I didn't do anything." She glances down the room. Magse and Crathsun are sitting at the far end of the table, deep in conversation. Crathsun is gesturing as he speaks, his arm drawing a wide arc up over his head. His head had been hastily bandaged when he had appeared in the exit passage. Her voice begins to crack; she can feel the threat of hot tears. Her words tumble out faster, falling over themselves, "I was holding the shard. You wanted me to hand it over. I didn't care about the shard."

Crathsun had moved towards her.

"I wanted to leave." She had told him to stay away but he had moved towards her.

"I just wanted you to leave me alone." Her voice breaks into a heavy whisper.

"I just wanted to leave. I wanted to go home." She looks up at the ceiling, willing the building tears to drain away from the back of her eyes and not escape down her cheeks. She huffs out long, humid breaths as she fights for control. They sit in silence. Her blurred vision ebbs away. Her breathing calms. Forcing her shoulders to relax, she returns her head to look at them. Wyndeer has sat back into his chair and is deep in thought, his finger and thumb are pinching at his cleft chin. Draig's chair is empty.

Unsure if she too is allowed to leave, but too scared to disturb Wyndeer's thoughts, Cara waits. Her body is rigidly still other than her hands. Her fingers rotate through a pattern of pinching the tip of each finger, alternating hands after each little finger.

"Cara." Wyndeer eventually disturbs the silence.

"Is there anything else about the shard you want to tell me?"

"I don't know how to use it," she repeats. She glances at Draig's empty chair. Argatta had objected to Vheece's torture approach, would Draig reinforce her view here at the outpost?

"I don't know, please, I don't want another patch." Wyndeer frowns at her. His hand, casually resting on the arm of the chair, curls into a fist. She flinches, moving a hand up to cover her throat. In her short time here, she has seen more violent behaviour from this small group of strangers than she has ever experienced. Back home, her inner voice extends the thought, than she has ever experienced back home.

"If you are cooperating, there won't be a need for a control patch," he growls. His eyes linger on her hand at her throat.

"What that Blue did won't happen here." She swallows hard.

"Joss did not represent me with her actions." She nods mutely, allowing a slight rounding of her shoulders in a release of tension. Wyndeer stands up abruptly, "I'll get Crathsun to get a shard. You will try again."

"What here? Now?" she startles. He towers over her; bones crack in her neck as she looks up at him.

"In the hall," Wyndeer replies. He considers her for a moment.

"Stay here. I'll call for you when we're ready." ….. She had not stayed in her seat, but neither had she dared to venture far. She stands by the window, trying to reconjure the buoyancy she had felt earlier that morning. Outside the wind has picked up. Many of the shrubs and grasses are bent over in appeasement to the wind.

"Water?" Draig offers, appearing at her side, holding out a cup. She suppresses her yelp with a muttered thanks. Taking a long drink, she is surprised to realise that she is thirsty. Unsure what to say to him, she takes another long drink which finishes the cup. She wonders if perhaps she can fake continuing to drink to avoid a conversation but decides that might cause her further embarrassment when he inevitably finds her out.

"I believe you," he says, not looking at her but gazing out at the sea, "about not knowing that you used the shard in the bunk house." Cara flexes her shoulders, it feels good to hear his affirmation. Nevertheless, she doesn't want to go over the conversation again, so she just nods.

"I'm not convinced you told the truth about how the shard makes you feel though," he continues. She stiffens and risks a sideways glance. His gaze remains captured by something beyond the glass. She turns back to the scene in front of them, looking for what it might be, trying to ignore the increase in her heartbeat. He leans in, she feels his warm breath on her ear as he speaks in a low voice.

"You have made quite an overnight recovery." Her heart pounds in her chest. She fights the urge to step back from him, instead she leans away slowly and raises a protective arm over her chest, her fingers casually trying to conceal the pale yellow bruises on her neck. He doesn't know, she tells herself, he's just fishing.

"Just a good night's sleep I guess." she offers back.

"Perhaps," he murmurs in her ear, seemingly closer than before, "or perhaps it's connected to the sensation the shards sent up your arm?"

"I didn't mention the-" She clamps her mouth shut, mentally kicking herself.

"I don't know what you mean," she corrects, overdoing a nonchalant tone. She is reaching the limits of her curving spine, if she leans back anymore, she is at risk of losing her balance. He is being careful not to touch her, but she is fully aware of the warmth of his body crossing the slim gap between them.

"If you're going to lie, don't let Wyndeer catch you," he warns. She startles, jolting backwards, losing her balance. He catches her easily, his large hand pressing into the small of her back. Though his arm is snaked around her he maintains the gap between their bodies. As she fumbles her protest he adds, "He's trying to help you in his own Wyndeer way. Let him. See where it takes you." His indigo eyes lock onto hers, searching for something.

He smells of a hint of sweetness on salty sea air with a warming nutmeg undertone. She takes a deep breath, in this moment only interested in drinking in more of his scent. She blinks. Indignant at his invasion of her space and at her body's reaction to him, she tries to pull away.

"I thought you hated him?" she snaps. She tries to twist her waist away from his hand. He counters by releasing his hand causing her to fall backwards where he catches her again. The indigo darkens as a frown forms between his eyes.

"This isn't about me," he growls. He tilts her upright, releases his hand and stands back in one fluid motion. She rocks on her toes, reaching out to brace herself against the window as she finds her balance. The cup is still in her hand; it clunks dully against the glass. She stares at it, as if it is the cause of her current state of confusion.

"It's time to go to the hall," he says, sweeping an open arm towards the doors, "I'll take you."