people.”
“You mean you’re psychic?”
“I suppose it’s something like that,” she answered. “Most of the time the Sight comes to me like a…a blackout. I lose myself to visions and am not aware of what’s happening around me. I draw what I see.”
“And that’s what happened when you drew this?”
“Yes. Last night.”
Morgan stared at her for a few moments, his brow furrowed in thought. “Do you have any idea why you drew this?”
She nodded and looked down for a moment. “I think maybe there’s a connection between us.”
“A connection?”
“Well, several actually.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “First of all. The day of this accident. You said that your father was trying to save a child. An infant girl?”
“Yeah. So?”
She shook her head and sighed, twisting her hands together in her lap. “Was this in June?”
“June 21.”
She nodded and gave another sigh, a sound of resignation that he didn’t understand. “I don’t know who my parents are. On June 21, 1979, Nadine Tosto found me on the side of a road. Abandoned. She said that the only clue was the embroidered shawl I was wrapped in. It had the word Hope stitched into it.”
Morgan felt the blood drain from his face and a shock jolt his body. “The woman who died in the accident. Her name was Hope.”
She nodded. “I think she was my mother.”
“No.” Morgan shook his head, disagreeing in a harsh tone. “It’s not possible. My father went back for the child and there was an explosion. No one survived it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“I’m telling you it’s not possible. I was there. I saw it. The only way the child could have survived…hell, there isn’t a way.”
“Okay. But it’s an awfully big coincidence, don’t you think?”
“There seem to be a lot of those today,” he murmured, thinking of Nadine Tosto.
“What do you mean?”
Morgan rose and walked to stand in front of the kitchen sink, staring out of the window. “I was running this morning and twisted my ankle. A woman stopped and gave me a ride home. She walked me to the door and then left. But a few moments after I closed the door, she knocked on it and gave me a card. Said to call her if I needed help. With the voices.” He took a few steps to pluck a card from a small basket on the counter and turned to hand it to her.
“Nadine?” she asked with surprise evident in her voice.
“Nadine,” he said and nodded. “The same woman you’d gone to see and ended up here on my doorstep.”
Sara considered it. It was clear to her that Fate’s hand was at play. She was convinced that she was the child Morgan’s father had been trying to save. The timing fit. The problem was Morgan claimed that neither his father nor the child had survived. Could she be wrong? Was her conviction based on need? Did she just want to believe or was it real?
Suddenly her head popped up to look at him. “Voices?”
Morgan blew out his breath and leaned back against the counter. “Three days after my father died, I woke with…whispers in my head. I couldn’t understand what they said. For years I only heard them occasionally. But as time passed, they became stronger and more frequent. I thought I was going insane. Nothing could stop them. I tried drugs and alcohol and sex and therapy, and running myself to exhaustion and still I couldn’t stop them.
“They’ve been my companions and tormenters. They rob me of sleep, make it impossible for me to sustain a relationship and scare the hell out of me. And I don’t know how to get rid of them.”
He walked over and sat down in front of her, reached out and took her hands in his. “And one of the few times they’ve been silenced is when I’m with you.”
Sara couldn’t stop the tears that welled in her eyes. She felt his pain as if it were her own, understood the torment and fear. Every ounce of her energy became focused on one thought. To ease his suffering. To eliminate his pain. Nothing
“You mean you’re psychic?”
“I suppose it’s something like that,” she answered. “Most of the time the Sight comes to me like a…a blackout. I lose myself to visions and am not aware of what’s happening around me. I draw what I see.”
“And that’s what happened when you drew this?”
“Yes. Last night.”
Morgan stared at her for a few moments, his brow furrowed in thought. “Do you have any idea why you drew this?”
She nodded and looked down for a moment. “I think maybe there’s a connection between us.”
“A connection?”
“Well, several actually.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “First of all. The day of this accident. You said that your father was trying to save a child. An infant girl?”
“Yeah. So?”
She shook her head and sighed, twisting her hands together in her lap. “Was this in June?”
“June 21.”
She nodded and gave another sigh, a sound of resignation that he didn’t understand. “I don’t know who my parents are. On June 21, 1979, Nadine Tosto found me on the side of a road. Abandoned. She said that the only clue was the embroidered shawl I was wrapped in. It had the word Hope stitched into it.”
Morgan felt the blood drain from his face and a shock jolt his body. “The woman who died in the accident. Her name was Hope.”
She nodded. “I think she was my mother.”
“No.” Morgan shook his head, disagreeing in a harsh tone. “It’s not possible. My father went back for the child and there was an explosion. No one survived it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“I’m telling you it’s not possible. I was there. I saw it. The only way the child could have survived…hell, there isn’t a way.”
“Okay. But it’s an awfully big coincidence, don’t you think?”
“There seem to be a lot of those today,” he murmured, thinking of Nadine Tosto.
“What do you mean?”
Morgan rose and walked to stand in front of the kitchen sink, staring out of the window. “I was running this morning and twisted my ankle. A woman stopped and gave me a ride home. She walked me to the door and then left. But a few moments after I closed the door, she knocked on it and gave me a card. Said to call her if I needed help. With the voices.” He took a few steps to pluck a card from a small basket on the counter and turned to hand it to her.
“Nadine?” she asked with surprise evident in her voice.
“Nadine,” he said and nodded. “The same woman you’d gone to see and ended up here on my doorstep.”
Sara considered it. It was clear to her that Fate’s hand was at play. She was convinced that she was the child Morgan’s father had been trying to save. The timing fit. The problem was Morgan claimed that neither his father nor the child had survived. Could she be wrong? Was her conviction based on need? Did she just want to believe or was it real?
Suddenly her head popped up to look at him. “Voices?”
Morgan blew out his breath and leaned back against the counter. “Three days after my father died, I woke with…whispers in my head. I couldn’t understand what they said. For years I only heard them occasionally. But as time passed, they became stronger and more frequent. I thought I was going insane. Nothing could stop them. I tried drugs and alcohol and sex and therapy, and running myself to exhaustion and still I couldn’t stop them.
“They’ve been my companions and tormenters. They rob me of sleep, make it impossible for me to sustain a relationship and scare the hell out of me. And I don’t know how to get rid of them.”
He walked over and sat down in front of her, reached out and took her hands in his. “And one of the few times they’ve been silenced is when I’m with you.”
Sara couldn’t stop the tears that welled in her eyes. She felt his pain as if it were her own, understood the torment and fear. Every ounce of her energy became focused on one thought. To ease his suffering. To eliminate his pain. Nothing
Similar Books
