Field of Graves(71)
“Then you remember the story of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Where all of humanity was kept underground, in the dark, chained to their seats, their heads immobilized? And the only things they were allowed to see were the shadows on the walls. Remember the puppet masters? Those who controlled the images of what humanity was allowed to see? They’d show humanity the shadow of a woman, or a chair, or a mouse, and that was the only representation they would ever know as a woman, or a chair, or a mouse. But one man was strong enough to break the chains, and he snuck out of the cave into the real world. The sunlight was so strong his eyes teared and stung, and when he could finally adjust to the light, he saw what a real woman looked like, and a real chair, and a real mouse. And he ran back into the cave to tell the others, to let humanity know they were being tricked, duped into believing what the puppet masters wanted them to believe.”
He ran his hand lovingly across Jill’s cheek. She didn’t resist, and he could tell she’d fallen under the spell of the morphine he had given her. He felt himself stir, but it wouldn’t be right. He couldn’t take the chance that he would harm the child.
She was so lovely, her mouth slightly open as she slipped into sleep. Oh, just a moment or two of that softness couldn’t hurt. He’d be so gentle and sweet.
He loosened his pants and pulled down the blanket. Jill was naked in the bed, and he stretched out beside her. As he entered her unconscious body, he whispered the rest of the story in her ear.
“And the man returned to the cave, but humanity was stupid and didn’t believe him. They finally got fed up with his lies and killed him. But no, my darling, that won’t be the fate of our son. He will be strong, strong enough to lead them all out of the cave, into the light, and let the lives of all those worthy begin again.”
59
After an hour of arguing, Taylor relented and agreed to head home for the night. The whole crew had ganged up on her, insisting that she was too sick to go through another all-nighter. They’d all had rest, and she hadn’t. Marcus and Fitz had taken it upon themselves to secure a warrant for the records of all the professors from the classics and theology departments at Vanderbilt, and were on their way with a court order to drag Vanderbilt’s dean out of bed to gain access to the names of their possible suspects. Lincoln was setting up to run the names they retrieved through his databases and look for past indiscretions that would help solidify their case. Price had practically forced her out the door, handing her jacket and purse to her and walking her to the stairs that led to the parking lot.
Baldwin drove her into the night, stopping briefly at the Walgreens drive-through to pick up a prescription for antibiotics Taylor’s doctor had called in for her. He followed her directions and got her home.
Taylor lived in a remote, rambling log house with lots of windows, perched on several acres of land. She loved watching the animals, kept the bird feeders full all year and salt licks out for the deer. The inside of the house was as comfortable as the outside, with a soft leather sofa, throw rugs, and a big fireplace with logs stacked perfectly on the brick hearth. A second-story loft overlooked the open living/dining room, and Taylor made her bedroom up there, along with her precious pool table. She was as dependent on the table as she would have been on a drug to help her relax in the middle of her sleepless nights. It was a great pastime for an insomniac. She had an office set up in the bedroom downstairs, with inset bookcases filled with everything from hardbound classics to paperback mysteries. It was lived-in, comfortable, away from the world she had to deal with day in and day out. It was a little lonely at times, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. It was a casual and comfortable lifestyle for her.
Seeing Baldwin in her space confused her. He fit so well. As if he’d been a part of her world from the beginning.
Baldwin got Taylor laid out on her couch, a mug of steaming green tea sitting on the coffee table next to her. Taylor was impressed by his domesticity and bedside manner. He had been clucking over her like a mother hen since they got to her place, and was currently in her kitchen, using her pots and pans to make her an omelet. Normally, she would have been uncomfortable having him wait on her hand and foot, but she felt so lousy, she didn’t have the strength to argue. She relaxed a little, letting herself enjoy his ministrations. She heard him humming to himself as he put together her food, then laughing and scolding the cat for trying to get into the eggs.
As he came back into the living room carrying their dinner, he couldn’t help but notice that despite being sick, run-down, and sleepless for two nights, Taylor looked beautiful. She’d changed clothes when they’d gotten there, and was casually dressed in cutoff jeans and a long-sleeved University of Tennessee T-shirt; her bare feet revealed toenails polished hooker red, which surprised him a bit. She didn’t seem the type. He was surprised to find himself wondering how he could fit into the sanctuary Taylor had created for herself.
He shook his head, laughing quietly. Man, he was getting the cart before the horse. But he recognized he was finally coming back to life, and he liked how he felt when he was with her. As strange as it was, he sensed that it was right.
They ate together in silence, both anticipating their next moves. Baldwin finished his eggs, pushed the plate away, and gave Taylor a smile.
“You want me to make a fire?”
“Aren’t you just the little domestic?” she teased. “Yes, that would be nice. Thanks.” She settled in deeper, grabbed her cup of tea, and watched him. She was drawn to him in a way she couldn’t understand. It was more than lust: Though he was a very handsome man, he was still much too thin and had dark circles under his eyes. But she could sense the change in his energy. The sense of purpose he carried with him was palpable.