27. Deargán
DEARGáN
Icouldn’t immediately identify what was different. The rug was aligned. The tea tray was arranged precisely. The chairs were positioned the way I preferred.
And yet…
I shifted in my chair, trying to get comfortable. Christ. Did one of the cleaners rearrange my cushions?
Shite. She was looking at me expectantly, as if she’d said something I’d missed. Her posture was upright, her breathing steady, hands folded in her lap.
I cleared my throat. “What did you say?”
She smiled softly, patiently. “It’s very stuffy in here today.”
Something tightened inside me.
The old her would have snapped at me, argued with me, perhaps sassed about my not paying attention.
“Maybe,” she said, “we could take our session outside. To the maze, perhaps?”
“That’s…” I paused with a blink. “That’s Rua’s favorite spot.”
I watched for her flinch. For her resistance. Her instinct to defend her true name.
She smiled. “Yes. It is my favorite spot.”
I sank back into the chair.
She was no longer unstable. She was docile. Integrated with the identity I had designed for her.
I should feel satisfaction.
Instead…
I stood, unable to stand this damn chair anymore. This damn room.
“Get your coat.”
Out on the grounds, the air was cooler, a pale Irish summer sun overhead. The gravel shifted underfoot as we entered the rose maze, the tall thick hedges blocking the outside noise.
The paths inside the maze were narrow, forcing us to walk closer than I liked. I began to wish for the predictability of my therapy room, where I could position the chairs as far apart as I needed.
There were no staff here. No other patients. No witnesses.
We were alone.
No deviation, Bron. No indulgences. This was just an assessment. A chance to see her in a different environment.
My shoulders tightened as the inches between us seemed to crackle. Like an odd static. That was irrational. Hedges didn’t create static.
She must not have felt it. Because her shoulders relaxed as we walked, a small smile toying with the corner of her lips.
“This maze doesn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the grounds,” she said. “It feels… newer.”
“Yes, they installed the maze after—” I cut off.
That was unnecessary information. I had no reason to provide it.
Silence settled again, but it seemed different from our usual silences. Like it was shared. Rather than the result of bitten back words.
She began to hum softly, just barely within my hearing. I had to lean a little closer to her to hear it.
It was a sweet little melody, made sweeter by her lovely voice.
A note from her file came to mind.
Roses. Melodic associations.
“Is that the sound the roses make for you?” I asked before I could prevent myself. Too much curiosity was a dangerous thing.
She nodded but did not stop humming. In fact, she hummed louder, as if choosing to share it with me, the sound of her inner world.
Something in my chest tightened just a touch.
For a moment I wondered how she didn’t shatter under the weight of it, living with constant sound layered over constant sensation. Perhaps that was why she favored loud and crowded clubs, places where she could drown out the world before it drowned her.
The maze split into two and she went to turn down the left path.
I reached for her elbow before I realized what I’d done. “That way leads to a dead end.”
I released her immediately.
But my hand retained the warmth of her skin longer than it should have.
Irrelevant, Bron.
I clasped my hands tightly behind my back and focused on a steady pace.
Her arm brushed mine as we walked, that irritating heat spreading down my arm.
I forced my jaw to unclench and walked even farther along the edge of the path, my right shoulder brushing against the dark leaves.
Her arm brushed mine again.
“You know this place well,” she said, an observation, not a question.
“I spent some time here before,” I said, then forced myself to stop speaking. I did not need to give her any more information.
“Oh. I see,” she said. “You grew up nearby.”
“No.”
The lie came too quickly.
I cleared my throat and said nothing further.
At the next fork, the roses changed color. Red rosebushes lined the left path. Black baccara roses lined the right, so dark they were almost the shade of midnight. The shade of bruises. Like spilled blood.
She turned right and I followed her, letting her guide us.
I could have redirected her.
But I did not.
I told myself that I was giving her the modicum of control.
In truth, I wanted to see where she would choose to go.
Her shoulder brushed my arm again.
This time I did not step aside.
“So,” I asked, feeling decidedly unsure of why the hell I was bothering to speak, “what do you like about it out here?”
“Just…” She smiled, tilted her face up to the sun, and sighed. “Doesn’t it feel like we’re the only two people in the whole world in here?”
“I suppose.”
“Like…” Her shoulder brushed mine again. “…anything could happen in here. And no one else would ever know.”
I did not answer immediately.
The ghost of her skin lingered against my arm, heat where there should have been none. I became acutely aware of the narrow sliver of space remaining between us.
The path dipped slightly, a shallow puddle crossing it.
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d extended my hand and she had taken it, her soft fingers like a small bird in my palm as I guided her across.
I released her as soon as we cleared it.
The touch was brief. Practical. Unnecessary.
But I flexed my fingers once and adjusted my cuff.
Ahead, the exit was visible, a gap in the rosebushes.
I checked my watch. The session time had elapsed. Protocol dictated we return.
“One more turn,” I said.
The extra minutes with her would reveal something useful.
I did not examine the secondary motivation curled underneath it.
My therapy room was stuffier after our last session out in the maze. I shifted in my seat, annoyed at how suffocating it felt.
She sat in the chair opposite, the chair I’d positioned slightly closer than last time. Not enough to be improper. Enough for me to feel the gap closing between us. The air between us felt charged from the maze, like something unfinished had followed us back inside.
“How are you feeling, Rua?” I asked.
I noticed the deliberate way she sat, the way she placed her hands in her lap.
“I’m grand, Doctor.”
The formality of it rankled me.
“Please, call me Deargán.”
The request surprised even me. I told myself it was about breaking clinical stiffness.
Not at all because I wanted to hear how my name sounded in her mouth.
She smiled, almost coy.
For some stupid reason, her gaze made my skin feel warmer.
I shifted back in my chair and fixed my gaze on her ear, forcing myself to catalog instead of feel. I counted the steady rise of her chest, the tension in her fingers, the small hitch in her breath.
I wondered if she would request to take our session outside again.
She didn’t say anything. She just waited.
Right.
I decided not to open the session with the usual checklist of sleep and appetite. “Have you been dreaming?” I asked.
She paused. “Yes, Doctor.”
My lips pressed together. I almost demanded she call me Deargán.
I stopped myself. It was better this way. Professional distance. Though the disappointment that followed was sharper than I expected.
“Anything recurring?” I asked. I reached for the table and poured the tea automatically.
“Could I have coffee?” she asked lightly.
I looked at the tea, then at her.
Rua never liked tea. She liked coffee with a touch of milk, no sugar.
My God. She was melding with Rua’s identity. She’d stopped fighting against it.
I should have felt triumphant. Victorious. Satisfied.
But if she became Rua fully, she would lose that fire. That defiance. That stubborn streak that made my blood rush in anticipation.
If she became Rua, I would lose Liath.
I didn’t want to lose Liath.
The thought unsettled me.
I made an espresso, deliberately leaving out the milk, and slid the black cup and the sugar bowl across the table to test her.
She smiled again and didn’t reach for either.
“A touch of milk, please.”
I poured in a touch of milk and watched to see if she reached for the sugar. She didn’t.
She lifted the coffee—Rua’s coffee—and took a small sip. A quiet sigh left her.
“Actually,” she said, “I’ve been dreaming about… you.”
Something in me sharpened. I forgot to write. I forgot to breathe for a second.
“In what capacity?” I asked, my voice carefully neutral.
I refused to lean in. I refused to show that I cared about her answer. But my pulse stuttered once, hard enough that it kicked against my throat.
She tilted her head, considering me. Then she lifted the cup deliberately and took a slow sip before answering. “We were in a maze and we were trying to get out.”
“Go on.” I leaned forward before I realized I’d moved.
“There was something after us,” she said quietly. “But it never showed its face. The space kept changing. Sometimes you knew the way. Other times I did.”
I caught myself, straightened, cleared my throat, and wrote something meaningless on the page, my pen digging into the paper harder than necessary.
Clinically, it was simple. A shared experience integrating into dream content. Transference. Projection.
But for some reason, I couldn’t stop making it mean more. Her subconscious was incorporating me.
“It was easier when we worked together,” she added.
Somehow her subconscious was reshaping me as an ally rather than an adversary.
I briefly wondered if we could be allies. What if I told her the truth? Perhaps she would step toward it instead of fighting it?
I needed Rua for me to win.
But perhaps I didn’t have to destroy Liath in order to make her Rua.
The thought was dangerous.
“What’s the end game, Doctor?” she asked, cutting into my thoughts.
Shite. She knew about my revenge plan. But how?
For a split second I saw the entire architecture of it collapse under the weight of her gaze.
Pie’s voice intruded without permission. You promised me you wouldn’t fail again.
The old guilt cut like a blade along my spine. This was what happened when I hesitated.
When I wanted.
Bron, think rationally, man.
She hadn’t outright accused me of anything, so I wouldn’t defend myself.
“What do you mean?” I asked, a safe, neutral question.
“Patients don’t stay forever,” she added lightly. “Like, what do I have to look forward to? After, I mean.”
Ah, she was asking me about what happened after Magdalene.
With a flash of irritation, I realized I didn’t know. I didn’t have a plan for after.
I had never planned for an after.
I’d planned for utter destruction. Nothing came after.
“That’s,” I started, “not something you need to worry about yet.”
She nodded, accepting it easily. Too easily.
There was a future forming in my mind. I didn’t know what it was. Not for me. Not for her. And I didn’t like that I was thinking in those terms at all.
But maybe she’ll come with me if I ask?
The thought was so absurd it almost made me laugh.
I cleared my throat and took a sip of my tea, giving myself time to center myself.
“That’s enough for today,” I said.
She stood without prompting and walked to the door. She paused at the doorway and looked back at me. Her gaze catching mine made my breath hitch.
“My nights feel safer when you’re in my dreams, Deargán.”
Hearing my name from her mouth did something sharp and unwelcome to my chest.
She turned and disappeared out the door.
I rose without realizing I’d moved and followed her as far as the doorway.
I watched her walk down the corridor, her chestnut hair swaying around her shoulders, her steps light.
She didn’t look back.
My fingers flexed once at my sides.
I was disappointed the session was over, even though I’d ended it.
I considered calling her back. Inventing a clinical reason. Asking one more question.
I didn’t.
I stepped back into the room and slowly closed the door.
The silence was wrong. The room felt smaller than it had before she entered.
Something in my chest was hot and tight. Like a sharp pull with a restless edge.
This feeling inside me…
This was a liability.