Waves of black surrounded him, and Jordan moved to stand right in front of him.
Lucas eyed him warily, and Jordan felt a shot of pain and sorrow through his heart. It would be so heart-wrenching to see people dying before they actually did and not being able to do anything for them. He couldn't imagine the agony and helplessness Lucas must have felt on a daily basis, and tears pricked his eyes.
"I feel sorry for you, Lucas," he whispered.
"Why's that?"
"I see black around you. Death is black. You see death daily, and you know there's nothing that can be done to help those people. That would make anyone crazy, yet here you stand calm and collected. How do you do it?"
He didn't wait for an answer as he glanced over at Brody, now talking fast, as if he couldn't get the words out fast enough. "You're surrounded in blue. You can control the ocean, and the ocean is blue."
Yes, he definitely was on a roll, and he shifted over to Garrett.
Brown. Things that were brown … stuffed animals, nuts, chocolate … and bears. Garrett could turn into a bear.
He became so excited, he wanted to jump up and down and high five himself, which was a stark contrast to a few moments ago when he'd been all blubbery in front of Lucas. He put his arms out and spun around in the middle of the room until he became dizzy. Swaying where he stood, he stared at Ruben.
"What the hell is he doing?" Garrett growled.
Brody sighed. "Tripping. The dude's on LSD, remember?"
"You have dark orange flickering around you," Jordan said to Ruben. "Fire. You can start fires."
Ruben nodded. "That's right, Jordan."
As he looked around the room again, he noticed Joe had left, while the doctor sat in a corner watching him, a clipboard on his lap, a pen in his hand. Their gazes met for a moment, then the doctor made some notes. Jordan wondered what he wrote, but decided he didn't really care. He tried to find a color around him, but didn't see anything but blank air. What did that mean?
The doctor seemed incredibly irrelevant at this point. Going over to the bed, he sat down again and stared at his hands. Red.
Blood was red. Of course. He had blood on his hands. So much blood. This year, he'd killed a dozen people without feeling, without remorse. He'd become the perfect killer-one who planned and executed the assassination with no pesky feelings to stand in his way.
A person became who they were based on their past experiences, such as the upbringing from their parents, their interactions with family, friends, and those they came into contact with on a daily basis. Every interaction affected a person in a small way, bringing out feelings about the situation and the other person.
He couldn't remember anything from his past. He didn't know what made him feel good, what he didn't like, except for basic things, like lumpy mashed potatoes. What about the weather? He knew it snowed in some parts of the world, and certainly, at some point in his life, he'd been in it. However, he had no recollection of seeing the white, fluffy flakes fall from the sky, feeling the bitter cold against his cheeks. He imagined a warm cup of hot cocoa or tea would feel amazing on a cold, wintery day, but he couldn't say for sure.
He knew he hated being out in the rain, and that had been because of his time in San Francisco and Washington D.C.
The sun warming his back happened to be one of his favorite things, but again, he'd come to that conclusion based on his experiences the past year, not from any memories he could dredge up from earlier in his life.
He didn't even know what side of the bed he liked to sleep on when with another person because he hadn't gotten laid since the accident.
How fucking depressing.
It was as if Group Nine had not only taken away all his memories, but his ability to feel.
The firestorm of pain that trekked through his body sent him flat to the mattress as he stared at his hands. So much blood … so many lives he'd taken, and the anguish of each death plowed through him, making his bones hurt and his stomach churn.
Had those people had families and people they cared about, and those who reciprocated? Surely, they'd had. Most people did, didn't they? No matter how lonely a person may feel, there had to be someone out in the world who wished them well, that wanted them healthy and happy. He'd not only killed, but also potentially destroyed other innocent lives.
Just call him the son of Satan; an all-out wrecking ball of humanity.
Brody's voice brought him out of his reverie. "You okay over there, Jordan?"
He turned his head and stared at the man with the wavy blue aura, wanting to talk about his thoughts, but then his mind jumped to something else, leaving the others behind.
Ava.
What color would he see around her?
"I want to see Ava."
Garrett shook his head. "She doesn't want to see you, man. She's upstairs asking for updates, but she didn't want to be down here."
That simply wouldn't do. The need to see her became as critical as the air he breathed.
Standing, he walked over to Garrett and fell to his knees in front of him. "Please. I'm begging you. Just go ask her to come to me. If she says no, that's her prerogative, but it's imperative I see her."
He brought his gaze to Garrett's, who stared down at him, shaking his head.
"You're never going to live this one down, Jordan."
He rose to his feet and began pacing as Garrett went upstairs, the concrete floor cool against his bare heels. Still feeling a bit warm, he dropped to his knees again and then stretched out face first. In the beginning, a little chill went through him as his stomach connected with the floor, but as he rested his cheek down, he sighed with contentment. Once he talked to Ava, he'd be much more comfortable.
30
"Aaaaavvvvvvaaaaaa!"
She shut her eyes against Jordan's screams that had been going on for the past ten minutes. Garrett had come upstairs and told her that Jordan wanted to see her. She'd declined. The past few days had taken their toll on her. She could barely sleep last night, and she now walked around feeling tighter than a taut rubber band. She wanted to be there for Jordan, but she also had to think about herself. No one knew what his trip would be like, and she didn't think she could take it if he said awful things to her or to the others, or started acting out of his mind. Yes, the doctor had assured her that nothing of the sort would happen, but she also didn't trust him. For now, it would be best to try to stay away from the situation downstairs.
The little bit she had slept last night, she'd had nightmares of him clawing at the cement walls and picking at his toenails until he bled. Right now, she felt too fragile, her skin too thin, to face him. Zach had offered to stay with her, and he slowly stroked Savannah as they sat in silence.
"Aaaaavvvvvvaaaaaa!"
She glanced over at him. "Did … did you see anything about this in your mirror this morning, Zach?"
He shook his head. "No, but at the end of the day, everyone looks fairly happy."
Decisions-when life put you at the fork of the road and you stood there, uncertain which path to take. She wanted to end up on the path that led to 'fairly happy,' but did she get there by going downstairs, or staying right where she sat?
Garrett appeared again. "As you can hear, he really wants to talk to you."
"Why? Maybe he'll forget about it in a little while."
"I doubt it. He's been talking about colors he sees around people, and staring at his hands a lot. Cried for a little bit, and then got down on his knees and begged me to get you."
She sighed and put her face in her hands. He sounded pretty harmless.
"Aaaaavvvvvvaaaaaa! Pleeeaaassseee!"
Harmless and completely tortured, and visions of homeless puppies caught in the rain swam in her head. It hurt her heart to listen to him.
Grunt rose from his place in the corner and came over to her, nudging her hand, as if he urged her to go to Jordan. She stroked his tufts and decided she needed to find strength somewhere within her, for her own sanity.
"Aaaaavvvvvvaaaaaa!
"I don't think he's going to let up, honey," Zach murmured. "But of course, it's your choice."
She looked up at Garrett and he shrugged.
"He's getting on my nerves, but that's not your problem."
Standing on shaky legs, she quickly decided to go to Jordan, and hurried toward the stairwell before she could change her mind, Garrett right on her heels.
"We won't let him hurt you, Ava."
She nodded. It wasn't physical pain she worried about. Sometimes, words hurt a lot more than a fist.
Taking a deep breath as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked up.
He stood before her in a pair of sweatpants, his hands on his hips, his dark hair a tousled mess. His shirt lay on the floor next to his feet.
Her breath caught at his male beauty-a wide, muscular chest, a slim waist, his sweatpants slung so low on his hips, she could see the V of his hipbones.
She met his gaze, his handsome face looking very upset. However, when he saw her, his features softened into a small smile.
As she approached him, she felt the heat from Garrett right at her back. Brody and Lucas also moved in behind Jordan. It didn't do anything to curb her nerves, and she tried to steel herself against anything he may say or do.