The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(72)

Miraculously, Raul put down his golden French fry, uneaten, and dispelled the silence with a musical laugh. “Mom. Look at me for a second.”

The woman’s harsh gaze turned toward Raul, and as her eyes met his, a mystical transformation occurred. Her look went beyond love to one of adoration, maybe even worship.

“Mom, I invited Heather because I like her, and I wanted you and Dad to get a chance to meet her. Did you hear what I said? I like her. And I expect you to like her too.”

If he had slapped his mother’s face, her expression could not have been more pained.

“Raul, I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You know I would never question your judgment or think to stand in the way of your desires. Please forgive me.”

To Heather’s horror, the woman began to cry, burying her face in her hands, sobs shaking her body. By this time, the people at the nearby tables had not only quit looking at them, most had found a good excuse to move to another part of the restaurant.

Raul rose and walked around the table to his mother, taking her face between his own palms. A look of beatific peace came over the young man’s face.

“Mom, I know you meant only the best. You have protected me for so long that it is hard to stop doing it. But I don’t need protection now. You know that, don’t you?”

Mrs. Rodriguez nodded.

“Good. I am not angry with you. I just want you to be nice to Heather and to like her as I do. Can you do that for me?”

Mrs. Rodriguez nodded more vigorously, achieving a rate of 3.13256 head oscillations per second.

When Raul released her face, Mrs. Rodriguez turned to face Heather, and if it had not been for the wet trails of tears down her face, Heather would have thought she was a different woman, so bright and cheery was the smile warming her features.

“Dear, I am sorry that I gave you such a grilling. I let my overzealous protective instincts cloud my judgment.”

Heather struggled to breathe. “I completely understand. No apology necessary.”

Not only did Heather not understand, she felt almost as if she had once more fallen down that rabbit hole after Alice. A quick glance at Mr. Rodriguez put her farther down that hole. He did not look apologetic, merely pensive, studying her as if deciding what further damage she might do.

Mr. Rodriguez glanced down at his watch. “Well, would you look at the time? If I don’t get you kids back to class, I’ll be answering to your principal.”

With that, he stood and led them like a row of ducklings, first to dump the trash, then out and into the beat-up, old Suburban.

Raul held her hand for the car ride back to school and up onto the steps after getting out of the car. Just before they passed through the door, he leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek.

“You did great,” he said. “Gotta run to my class, though. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Somehow Heather found her way to her locker and then to physics class with the right books, notebook, and pencil. As the class began, Heather stared at her teacher, Mr. Harold, with no more comprehension than a zombie. Unseeing. Unhearing. Beyond emotional exhaustion.

The frequency of Mr. Harold's vocal-cord variations, the amplitude in decibels of each syllable that escaped his mouth, the fluctuations of the classroom air temperature in degrees Kelvin, all formed numbers and equations that cascaded through her mind like water rushing over Niagara Falls. Heather gave up on following the lecture as the beauty and peace of the mathematics washed her brain clean.





Chapter 50





Mark sat up in the darkness, a cold sweat drenching his body. For several seconds he had difficulty remembering where he was, the dark room as unfamiliar to his newly awakened senses as some sleazy Juárez hotel room. The clock shone the time at him in luminescent, bloodred numerals, reminding him of a dimly recalled stained-glass window.

2:03 a.m.

His room. He remembered now. He had gone to bed in his own room, so that must be where he now awakened, even if it seemed thoroughly alien in the post-midnight darkness.

Mark listened to the stillness in the house, his enhanced hearing analyzing the smallest of sounds. Down the hall he could hear the breathing of Jennifer in her room. In his parents’ room, amidst his dad's soft snoring, the sound of his mother’s own rhythmic breath softly whispered.

The old house creaked, issuing a small crackling sound as the timbers adjusted to the wind. Outside, that wind moaned through the pines, the sound rising to a wail before dying out completely.

It had been many a year since he had awakened from a dream in terror, but that was apparently what had just happened. The details of the dream were vague, and when he tried to focus his attention upon them, they drifted away as if they didn’t want to be remembered.

But that was crazy. He did want to remember. In fact, he had a strong feeling that he needed to remember the dream, that somehow his very survival depended upon pulling its contents from the depths of his mind.

That new kid. What was his name? Raul. Yes, that was right. He had been in the dream, although Mark couldn’t think why that would frighten him. All Mark had to do was reach out, grab Raul by the neck, and give a quick squeeze to snap him like a twig. But something in that dream about Raul had scared him.

Mark felt the sweat-soaked bed and received another surprise. Where were the sheets and blankets? Even the bottom sheet was missing.