Season Of Strangers Part 30

"The message I'm to deliver is that the testing of human subjects has been suspended. The Visitors will soon be leaving. At least for a while, all of us will be safe."

"How do you know this?" Robert Stringer rested his coffee mug on the arm of his chair. "How can you be sure?"

"Where the Visitors are concerned, it's difficult to be sure about anything. I only know the message came from one of the superiors. I believe he is someone we can trust. I believe the Visitors are discovering, perhaps for the very first time, the terrible consequences their testing has had on the people of Earth."

The room fell silent, then erupted with all of them talking at once. Dr. Winters called for order and they started their rounds of questions, quiet Willis Small, the nonfiction author, asking more than any of the rest.

There weren't many answers to be had. She wasn't about to mention Patrick Donovan or Commander Zarkazian. She refused to mention Julie.

"I know it sounds far-fetched. But the truth is, everything that's happened to us is totally out of the realm of credibility. Give yourself a chance to believe it could be true. Put your fears to rest and give yourself the chance to feel safe."

She wasn't certain they would. Fear was a daunting opponent. It gnawed at you even when logic told you it was senseless to be afraid. Yet as she looked at each hopeful expression, she prayed she had done some good.

As for herself, she had meant what she had told Brian. She intended to get on with her life, to count this as just one more of life's never-ending experiences. What had happened had dramatically changed her. But unlike the others, Laura believed it had made her stronger, not weaker. Oddly enough, in her case, the change was for the best.

Laura smiled as she left the meeting and headed for her car. She slid into the driver's seat of her aging white Volkswagen Beetle, sparing only a quick glance at the Save the Whales-Ban Sonar Testing b.u.mper sticker riding on the dash, waiting to be put on.

She slapped the little stuffed dolphin that hung from the mirror, a treasure she had purchased from a craft seller down at the beach, watched it dangle back and forth on its string.

She started the engine, the tension draining from her muscles now that her task was completed, thinking of Brian, eager to be home. She couldn't wait to see him, couldn't help feeling an urgent need to be with him. In his own way, Brian had been as true a friend in this as Julie, who had stood steadfastly beside her from the start.

Julie. Thinking of her sister made the smile on her face turn sad. In the end, it was Julie who would suffer the most from this. It was Julie who would lose the person she so desperately loved. For years, Laura had believed her sister wouldn't let herself fall in love. Not after their mother's ill-fated marriage. Certainly not after her own failed attempts.

Then Patrick had come along-a new Patrick, a man of strength and self-a.s.surance-and Julie had tumbled head over heels. Now the odds were good that once Patrick was gone, her sister would never fall in love again.

Laura's thoughts returned to Brian, waiting for her at home, and she felt an almost desperate need to see him.

She hoped the d.a.m.nable baseball game was over so that they could make love.

A week was so very little time. Not nearly enough days to build memories that would have to last a lifetime. Julie didn't care. Patrick had been returned to her and for as long as he was there, she was going to make every minute count.

As he had suggested, they took time off from work, deciding to explore California, starting with a trip along the coast. Julie had always loved to drive, to see what might lie around the next bend in the road. Flying meant a cabin full of strangers and they wanted to spend their time alone.

As she had expected, Patrick took in the magnificent scenery like a starving man at a buffet. It was one thing to remember the places Patrick Donovan had seen, he told her. It was another thing altogether to experience those places firsthand.

Like the afternoon they drove Highway 1 to Big Sur. They were traveling in Patrick's black Porsche, two small soft-sided suitcases barely fitting in the trunk. They had spent the night at Morro Bay, then stopped at the Hearst Castle in San Simeon and gone on the tour of the estate.

"It's incredible," Patrick said, staring at the front of the huge Mediterranean, revival-style mansion. Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, he craned his neck to look up at the beautiful frescoed ceilings. "I could never have imagined anything so as magnificent as this."

"There are places like this all over Europe," Julie told him as he marveled at the gold candelabra, fine Chinese porcelains, Italian marble hearths, and priceless paintings. "Today people frown on spending this kind of money. I guess they figure the dollars would be better spent feeding the hungry ma.s.ses."

Patrick shook his head. "There is no poverty on Toril. Some of us have a bit more than others, but the disparity between us is not very great. No one individual could ever ama.s.s enough of a fortune to commission beautiful works of art like the things in this house. What the people of Earth don't realize is if it hadn't been for the great division of wealth in your world throughout the ages, none of your magnificent antiquities would exist. No castles, no palaces, no pyramids. You'd find yourselves living in the pale dim world of sameness that I am forced to exist in."

"I never thought of it that way." She paused as the group stopped beside the huge Neptune pool, its bottom shimmering with gold. "I suppose it's different today than it was back then."

Patrick shook his head. "Nothing has changed," he argued as they walked along. "It takes money to accomplish things. Great fortune often equates with great beauty. That beauty is pa.s.sed on to us all-or will be, once the art and architecture commissioned by the men of wealth today is pa.s.sed on to future generations."

Julie said nothing to that. She wasn't sure she agreed with him, but it was an interesting concept. She let her mind digest the possibility while Patrick absorbed their surroundings, beauty Julie saw with fresh, new eyes.

They left the mansion and continued northward. Traveling the narrow curving road to Big Sur, they paused to take pictures of the jagged coastline, white plumes of foamy surf shooting up against the rocky sh.o.r.e. In the distance, sea lions basked in the sun, the sound of their husky barks drifting across the turbulent sea.

At a turnout farther along the route, Patrick asked a fellow tourist if he would mind taking their picture, and both of them smiled into the lens of the yellow Kodak disposable camera he had bought. Julie couldn't help wondering if the lens would capture the wistful, happy-sad expression she wore on her face.

They visited Carmel, Monterey, and San Francisco, then headed inland, arriving five days into their trip at Yosemite National Park. Labor Day had pa.s.sed, thank G.o.d, so the usual number of tourists had thinned to a manageable trickle. They stayed at the famous Ahwahnee Hotel, built of stone and ma.s.sive timbers on the floor of the sculpted Yosemite Valley, in a quaint, private cottage off by itself.

They slept late that morning, their bodies nestled spoon fashion in a log-hewn bed beneath a colorful Indian blanket, Patrick getting up long enough to build a fire in the small rock fireplace, then climbing back under the covers. His skin was icy cold, so she snuggled up to help him get warm. Snuggling turned to kissing. They made slow, sensuous love and afterward she lay curled in his arms, watching the flames in the hearth.

Their mood was lightly teasing. She playfully tugged at the hair on his chest. "By the way, Mr. Tough-guy, I finally figured out why you were never afraid of Sandini and McPherson."

He arched a thick dark brow. "How do you know I wasn't afraid?"

"Were you?"

Patrick chuckled softly. "Not really."

"That's because you knew when the time came to face them you would be gone."

"I knew I would be leaving. I could have left even sooner if the threat they posed had become too real."

Julie's fingers absently traced a slab of muscle on his chest. "The old Patrick...he would have done what they asked, wouldn't he?"

He sighed and leaned his head back against the pillow. "I don't think he would have wanted to...but yes, I think he would have."

"Not you, though. Not even if you were staying. You would have opposed them anyway."

"What they're doing isn't right. People are going to be hurt. I can't condone that."

She bent her head, pressed her mouth against the flat spot above his navel. "I know you can't. That's one of the reasons I love you so much."

He groaned as she trailed soft kisses upward, bit the tiny nub of his flat copper nipple.

"You're playing with fire," he warned, arousal roughening his voice.

But Julie simply retraced her path, moving downward this time, ringing his navel with her tongue, moving lower. He was hard, she saw, her fingers stroking over the thick ridge of muscle that had risen beneath the covers. She eased the blanket back, bent and took him into her mouth.

Patrick gripped the covers, a breath hissing out from between his teeth. Julie felt a shot of satisfaction. He would leave her, she knew. Their time was almost over. In the end she would lose him, but as she continued to stroke him, Julie was determined that he would never forget her.

Twenty-Two.

The days careened past, slipping through their fingers like sand through an upended hourgla.s.s. They made every moment count, soaking up each experience with quiet desperation.

As Julie had hoped, Patrick loved Yosemite. They hiked steep trails into the woods, walked paths along babbling streams, and climbed to points that overlooked bottomless precipices.

Arming themselves with plastic garbage bags pulled on over their clothes, they carried a picnic lunch up to the top of Vernal Falls.

"There are no waterfalls on Toril," Patrick said, stopping along the steep trail to admire the rainbows created by the thick spray of water. "There are a few small hills, but no deep valleys, and even those few places lie beneath great domes that keep the temperature constantly controlled."

To Julie it seemed a terrible injustice for a vital man like Patrick to be forced to live indoors.

When they finally reached the top of the steep trail up the falls, Patrick seated himself on a rock near the edge so he could watch the pounding fury of the water rushing over the cliff. With his T-shirt damp and plastered against his muscular chest, his eyes full of wonder and his black hair wet and clinging to his forehead, he had never been more attractive.

She had never felt so close to despair in knowing their time together was nearly at an end.

They returned to their cabin late in the afternoon, made love for a while and then napped. Instead of eating supper in the dining room, Patrick ordered room service, trout almondine for her, chicken noodle soup for him, and they stayed in their charming mountain cabin. Sitting cross-legged on the braided rug, they ate in front of the small stone fireplace, Patrick in a pair of sweatpants, Julie wearing one of his shirts.

"It's been a wonderful week," he said when they had finished, his back propped against the sofa, Julie sitting comfortably between his legs, his arms wrapped around her waist. "I'll never forget it. I'll never forget you, Julie."

A hard lump rose in her throat. "Please, Patrick...if you talk that way you'll make me cry, and I want these last memories to be happy."

His breath came out slowly. He nodded and glanced away. "I just wanted you to know."

The lump in her throat ached harder. She knew. How could she not? It was the most wonderful week of her life. She felt the warmth of his lips against her temple, firm, warm lips, beautifully carved in a face so handsome it made her breath catch every time she looked at him.

"If you could have stayed," she said softly, "do you think you could have been happy? You're a scientist. Your people are obviously far advanced in intelligence. Do you think you would have been able to spend a lifetime here on Earth?"

His chest rumbled softly. "As you said, I'm a scientist. My specialty is the study of life-forms that inhabit other worlds." His hand smoothed over her hair, long dark fingers slipping through the strands, a firm yet gentle touch. "I've only begun to understand the people of Earth. Can you imagine how much there is for a man like me to learn? I could live here a thousand lifetimes and it wouldn't be long enough."

"I wish you could stay."

"Julie..."

"I know. I promised myself I wouldn't say it." She glanced toward the flames in the hearth, watched the red-orange fire licking upward. "I just wanted you to know."

He didn't speak, but a fine tremor pa.s.sed through his body.

"I wish we had more time," she said. "I wish we could stay here forever."

"So do I. Unfortunately, we can't," he said gently, kissing the top of her head. "We have to leave here in the morning. It's time to go back to L.A."

A sliver of ice slid through her, seemed to wrap itself around her heart. She tried to stop the tears from pooling in her eyes, tried to brush them away when they slipped down her cheeks. "Couldn't we stay just one more day?"

He only shook his head. "It's time, Julie. It's time for me to go home."

She turned into his arms and he held her as she cried, stroked her hair and whispered soft words of love. When the fire burned low and a chill invaded the room, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed. They made love with aching tenderness, and a fierce, almost frantic pa.s.sion.

They packed the car just after dawn, a cold day in the mountains, cloudy overhead, sharp with the sting of the coming fall.

"I wish you could have seen the trees in autumn. The leaves turn such lovely colors, russet and yellow, bronze and crimson."

His hand came up to her cheek. "And a dark red with hidden streaks of gold, the color of your hair."

She tilted her face into his palm. "It's beautiful. I know you would love it."

"You're beautiful-and I know I love you."

She went into his arms, trying not to cry, then giving way to her tears and sobbing softly against his shoulder. "I feel like I'm dying. I feel like I'm breaking in two."

He didn't answer, but he tightened his hold around her. "I don't know how I'm going to live without you."

They stood that way for long, silent moments, holding each other, the car engine running, shrouding them in white billows of cold morning air. In silence, each of them pulled away.

Julie forced an overbright smile and opened the pa.s.senger door. "We had better get going. L.A.'s a long way away."

Patrick simply nodded. He held the door while she slid into her seat, then rounded the car and climbed behind the wheel. Mostly in silence, they drove the curving road down out of the mountains into the San Joaquin Valley. The scenery was as breathtaking as it was on their way in, but this time Patrick didn't seem to notice.

They reached his apartment late that evening and Julie stayed over. Neither of them mentioned his leaving, but it hung like a pall over their heads, a deep jagged wound that neither of them could mend. In the morning he went to the office, determined, it seemed, to finalize Patrick's affairs as best he could before he left.

He spoke to each of the people he worked with, praising each of them in some special way, letting them know how important each of them was to him.

Saying goodbye in his own quiet way.

Julie wondered how much longer she could continue without breaking. The only thing that kept her going was the knowledge that this was as hard for Patrick as it was for her. She knew the pain he was suffering. She didn't want to make it any worse.

They spent the night together then returned to the office the following morning, Patrick working hard on last-minute details.

"I want to leave this place in the kind of shape my father would have wanted. I want to make this as easy on him as I can."

Patrick didn't notice the slip, but Julie did. My father. The words sent an arrow of pain into her heart. Dear G.o.d, nothing had ever been so hard.

She worked beside him, sifting through escrow files, clearing up loose ends, helping him any way she could. She promised she would do her best to help the staff relocate, or a.s.sist Alex in finding someone else to manage the office after he was gone. But every time she looked at him, all she could think was who is going to help me?

She knew she looked awful. The color was gone from her cheeks and she hadn't been able to eat. Patrick didn't look much better. He wasn't sleeping at all and just barely eating. She guessed he no longer cared about his health. Why should he? Any day now, he would be gone.

Babs looked at them both with dark worried eyes, but so far she had said nothing. Julie was grateful. She was living on the edge and she wasn't sure how much more she could take before her slim thread of control finally snapped.

It was almost noon when he stuck his head through the door. "It'll be lunch soon. You need to have something to eat. Why don't we go get a sandwich or something?"

He didn't even like sandwiches. But he was obviously worried about her so she said yes just to please him. "Where shall we go?"

"There's that little cafe on Wilshire...Joey's. That's usually pretty good."

She almost smiled. Patrick was the last man on earth who would know anything about "pretty good" food. The thought made her smile. She must be so tired she was getting rummy.

Outside the office window, a breeze snapped the flag beside the sign above the door. She took the sweater off her arm and slung it around her shoulders, grabbed her purse, and walked past him out the door. They walked along the sidewalk and turned left at the corner, making their way along Wilshire Boulevard. Traffic buzzed past, horns honking, people swearing at each other the way they always did, but Julie barely heard them.

They had almost reached the restaurant when Patrick suddenly stopped. Julie turned to look at him, saw him take another unsteady step and stumble backward, landing hard against the rough brick wall.

"Patrick! My G.o.d, what is it?"

Leaning heavily against the wall, he dragged in several panting breaths, his face as gray as the cement beneath his feet. He grimaced as another sharp pain speared through him.