“I saw Isabelle,” he says.
I blink up at him, not processing his words.
“When we were in the atrium,” he reminds me.
A wave of affection for him fills me to bursting, though it’s also mixed with pain. He’s trying to make me feel better, make me feel less crazy. But that can’t happen, no matter how hard he tries. “No, youthoughtyou saw something, which is completely normal in that situation. But it was just your brain filling in details that—”
“I know what I saw,” he says through clenched teeth. “I know my daughter.”
I want to argue with him. Wishful thinking is not at all the same as a full-on delusion, and I, of all people, should know.
“Her hair was in braids, with the little yellow butterfly bands at the top. Her favorites,” he says slowly, but his gaze is focused somewhere past me.
A chill skates over my skin. His distant stare likely means he’s pulling the image up from his memory. But it’s hard not to turn and check for myself. Would I see a little girl standing behind me? I shiver.
“In times of stress, we see what we want to see,” I say, foldingmy arms across my chest. “Captain Gerard, in that message, it was probably the same thing. Everything was going to shit, and she wanted to see her wife one more time.”
He shakes his head slowly in disbelief. “You are so determined to blame yourself.”
I gape at him. “Excuse me? How in the hell is this not—”
“Has it occurred to you yet that that’s evidence of four people—you, me, Lourdes, Captain Gerard—seeing things that aren’t there?” he demands.
It hadn’t, no. “But that’s assuming that Lourdes—”
“Yes, that’s assuming that you didn’t willingly torture Lourdes—someone you’ve gone to great lengths to protect even at the expense of your own comfort—in some bizarre game of cat and mouse without remembering it.” He pauses. “Look at it from my perspective: What’s more likely in this scenario? You doing that or Lourdes seeing something that’s not there when we have documented evidence that hallucinations have occurred here before?”
I close my mouth.
“Claire, I don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t know what you…”
Are.That’s the word he wants to say.
“… what you can do or see or whatever. But I know you.” He drops to his haunches, forcing me to look at him. “You wouldn’t hurt someone, not on purpose.”
The gentle but firm confidence in his voice, in me, makes my vision blur with tears. “But I have. It wasn’t intentional, but the results were the same.”
Kane makes a frustrated noise. “What happened on Ferris, on that highway, those were accidents. Period. So, yeah, I can lock you up and take charge.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “But I’d rather you stop trying to distance yourself because you’re afraid and help me figure out what the hell is happening to us instead.Yourteam, your people.” He rests his hands lightly on my knees, squeezing. “I need your help.”
He waits for me to respond, but I can’t. The thought of voluntarilyputting them at risk, putting him at risk, feels like a leaden blanket, holding me in place.
His expression shifts, hardens, like concrete setting before my eyes. “Fine.” He stands and strides off toward the bridge.
People died the last time I didn’t distance myself!The words come to me but he’s already gone.
Frustration and guilt war in my chest. If he’s wrong and I’m right, that’s more pain and suffering laid at my feet, more that Iown. I’ve worked hard to avoid that, to avoid getting close to others in general, just in case.
But… if Kane’s right and something else is going on here? My refusal to get involved might come at a high cost. I, at least, have some experience in dealing with the not-real-that-seems-real.
Which might make me the best person to help. Or, the worst.
Fuck.
I rub my shaking hands along the legs of my jumpsuit, the worn fabric comforting in its familiarity. They’re my team, my responsibility. And I’m terrified to endanger them… with me. But if something happens to them, when I might have helped?
I can’t live with that, either. And in the end, I suppose that’s what it comes down to. What you can live with or what you’re willing to die for.
Pushing myself to my feet, I head after Kane.
