Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“I can’t. It’s locked. It’s barred from the outside.”
“No, it’s not. Not anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. Open it.”
She came slowly to her feet, pulling the girl that was her along, the dog following behind. She put her hand on the lever and pushed at the door, opening it easily. Oh. Tanner stood outside now, reaching his hand out to her. “I’ve been waiting for you to leave that freezer,” he said. “Come on out. It sucked in there. It’s time to leave for good.”
She grasped his hand, hot tears leaking down her cheeks. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you again,” she said.
“I’m not gone for good. But you still have a lot to do here. Use your gifts. Go live, Picasso.”
“I love you.”
“I know. I love you too.”
She stepped forward, through the mist, putting one foot in front of the other, her hand held tight to the Saint Bernard’s collar. The mist grew thicker, swirling, the light and numbers dissolving into it as it, too, faded. Outlines formed, and she became aware of soft sounds. Whispered voices drawing closer. She felt something beneath her. A soft chair. She felt so sleepy, but also somehow wide awake. There was this deep feeling of . . . joy flowing through her. Her heart was so full. She squeezed her fist. She was no longer holding the collar. That was okay. She wasn’t alone.
She felt softness on her cheek, brushing her tears away, and raised her heavy lids. Ambrose. He was right there, peering at her, his expression worried but also hopeful. His gaze went to her lips, and then he smiled, returning what must be her own expression. She swallowed, trying to find her voice. “Hi,” he said. His voice was gentle, so gentle.
Those soulful eyes. She’d gotten lost in those eyes the moment she’d met him. Some part of her had recognized them. Perhaps it wasn’t only his soul she’d seen, but also her own mirrored there. She lifted her hand and brought it to her stomach, where she knew the tiny flicker of a brand-new heart beat beneath her skin. A son she’d met for an instant, a baby boy who had his father’s eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Lennon sipped at her cup of coffee as she gazed out the window of Ambrose’s hotel room. It was a plain room even by economy-hotel standards, but to Lennon, even that looked inviting and . . . safe. Yes, it was just a room, but it was comfortable and secure, and she felt gratitude for the fact that Ambrose had invited her here to recover from the experience she’d gone through, the one she was still processing. But though she was still allowing the time she’d spent in the belly of her trauma, so to speak, to settle in, she felt deeply changed by it. It’d been life altering, empowering. And she’d come away with a peace and an . . . understanding that she felt but still couldn’t quite explain. Maybe she’d never be able to. Or perhaps that would take time.
The most shocking thing was that Lennon had only been in Dr. Sweeton’s chair for five hours. Five hours that had seemed like a lifetime. Others completed seven days, or even two. But the doctor had determined that she needed far less than that. It wasn’t necessary to bring her to the scene of an event that had lasted months, or years, as was the case with abused children or many soldiers suffering from PTSD. And it definitely hadn’t been necessary to take Lennon all the way to her base and build her attachment centers and central nervous system back up again. “You formed bonds,” he’d said. “You learned to love and trust. We don’t need to rewire you.” He’d said it with a smile, but it had caused Lennon’s heart to speed, proved by the quickened beeping from the heart monitor connected to her chest.
Ambrose had glanced at it and squeezed her hand, and her heart had slowed, certainty replacing her momentary fear. It said quite a bit about her trust in Ambrose, she knew, who had agreed to be by her side, along with two women she’d met who had also gone through the process. Even so, Lennon had wanted a video recorded on her phone, and once that had been set up, she’d signed consent forms, and then she’d willingly taken the cocktail of hallucinogens and sedatives.
She took in a big cleansing pull of air and then sipped some of the hot coffee, the mug warming the palms of her hands and sending another trickle of gratitude through her body. The rain outside drummed on the pavement, streaking the glass, and everything was just so clear and beautiful. She felt more herself than she ever had, this wondrous, shimmering hope making everything brighter. The only thing she could compare it to was when she’d been a child watching a bubble grow and grow on a wand her mother held. Such wonder had filled her as rainbows appeared in the shifting translucence, her mother laughing as it detached from the wand and floated up into the sky.