The door beeped. Clare jolted and looked over her shoulder. Peter had returned, beaming as he carried two thick bathrobes. “Good news. The social media company two floors below us was also in the habit of spending nights in the tower. And apparently, they were accustomed to luxury. I even found an unopened pack of toothbrushes.”
“Oh, now that’s some good news.” Clare took the bundle of items from him.
“You remember where the bathrooms are, right? Just across the hall.” Peter was already backing towards the desk with his laptop. “Otherwise, make yourselves comfortable here. I’m going to try to get ahead on my work. Meeting the pair of you has restored some enthusiasm, so I hope you won’t think I’m too rude if I take advantage of it.”
“Of course not. Do you need quiet while you work?”
“No, not at all.” He laughed. “I’m used to being in a room full of people. It might actually help me Zen into it if I have some background noise. Help yourself to dinner, such as it is. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
He sank into the desk seat and pulled the laptop an inch closer. Clare watched curiously. A change passed over Peter as he began to work. He opened a chart filled with numbers and fractions, and within seconds, the animated smile faded into tight-lipped focus. His eyes developed a glaze as he tapped at numbers. Clare had the impression that he’d tuned them out. It was fascinating, if a little unsettling.
She crossed to the window and nudged the blinds back. The sky was hidden by clouds, but Clare guessed it had to be night. The storm hadn’t lost any of its ferocity. When she pressed close to the glass and angled her chin down, she could make out the edge of the horde assaulting the building. Very little of them were visible between the dark sky and heavy clouds. But occasionally, she saw distant glints as they tilted their heads back at the perfect angle to catch some of the window’s light on their eyes.
Chapter Forty-Nine
She let the blinds fall back into place. Dorran stood by the chairs, watching her. She tried to shake off her uneasiness as she crossed to him. “I could do with a shower. How about you?”
“Mm. Very much.”
Clare led the way, weaving between the desks to reach the hallway and the bathrooms. They took turns using the shower. Helexis’s amenities were vastly more spacious than the riverboat’s, but the water heater had been turned off as part of Peter’s efforts to conserve fuel. Clare stayed in the freezing water just long enough to rinse the shampoo out of her hair, then she rushed through the towel-drying to get the dressing gown around herself. She was still shivering when she stepped into the main part of the bathroom, where Dorran had finished brushing his teeth. He swept her into a chair, pushed the bath mat under her feet, and grabbed a fresh towel to dry her hair for her.
“I miss Winterbourne’s fireplaces.” Clare, teeth chattering, clutched the dressing gown’s lapels as Dorran squeezed moisture out of her hair.
He chuckled. “It had some attractive features.”
“Do you miss it?”
She watched his expression in the mirror. He took a breath but didn’t speak immediately, instead keeping his eyes focussed on her hair as he combed it. “Sometimes. A little.”
“You grew up there. It’s normal to be homesick. Especially when the outside world is so much different to what you’re used to.”
“Do you miss your home?”
Clare still thought of her cottage occasionally, though it encroached on her thoughts less and less frequently with each passing day. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug then let them drop. “I miss what it represents. My old life, where I could sit in the garden when it was sunny and wave to the elderly couple across the street when they went out for walks and buy a new book each Friday then try to find somewhere to fit it on my bookshelf. But I wouldn’t want to go back there.”
“No?”
“I can imagine what it must look like. The plants would all be dead. The neighbours would be gone. I don’t think there would be any life or joy left in it at all. This way I can preserve it, whole and undamaged, in my memories.”
“I can understand that.” Dorran put the brush aside and handed Clare a hair tie. As she pulled her hair into a ponytail, Dorran opened the first aid kit on the table. He cut off the wet bandages marking her body, discarded them in the bin, and began redressing the ones that needed it.
The cuts on her stomach and thigh, less than four weeks old, had almost completely healed. Red lines marked where the skin had once been torn, but even they were fading. The bite on her forearm, still recent, was knitting together.
“I saw you were healing quickly, but I did not suspect it was tied to the stillness,” Dorran murmured. “No sign of infection. No delays to progress, even after extensive blood loss and less-than-optimal nutrition. No lingering effects from the cyanide. I am not a fool enough to be grateful for the stillness, but at least this is one result in our favour.”
A side effect of an infection I can’t escape. Clare’s fingers twitched. She clenched her hands into fists in her lap.
Dorran lowered his brows, his eyes sad. “I am sorry, my darling.”
“It’s—it’s fine.” Clare hoped, if she repeated it often enough, she might actually believe it. “We’re safe, and we’re still together, and that’s the most important thing, right?”
He bent to kiss the top of her head, his fingers lingering over the tape holding a bandage in place.
Clare brushed her teeth while Dorran showered. When he emerged two minutes later, he was shivering almost as badly as she had, the dressing gown tied tightly around himself. He patched his own scrapes and bandages quickly, closed the kit, then held out a hand. Clare took it as they returned to the office area.
She used her badge to open the door. The space felt vacant; Peter was still at his desk, head down, fully absorbed into his formula, but he looked painfully small compared to the breadth of the room. The rapid key tapping blended with the drum of falling rain. Clare hesitated as the door swung closed behind them, but Peter didn’t even seem aware that they were there. It felt wrong to interrupt him.
They resumed their spots on the couch and picked through the vending machine food. The apples went first; Clare and Dorran were both starved for fresh food. They split a packet of salty peanuts. Clare’s stomach had finally quietened enough that she could eat, but she tried to moderate what she had. The foods were all high in salt and sugar. She pitied Peter for having to live off it for a month.
Clare tried to rest, leaning against the chair’s corner and stretching her feet in front of the heater. It was like trying to take a nap with a beehive directly above her head. Her mind whirred, frantic and confused, and the more she tried to ignore it, the worse it became. She needed something to do.
Peter had told them to make themselves at home, but she didn’t like the idea of encroaching on any of the other desks. They held too many memories from their past owners. Just looking through the papers and touching the discarded jackets and trinkets would build up an idea of the man or woman who had marked that area as their own. Clare didn’t want to let that into her head. It would hurt too much.
The bookcase behind them held novels and games. Clare loved reading, but she didn’t think she could fall into any of the books that night. The fantasy escape they offered felt hollow. She leaned close to Dorran and whispered, “Bed?”