By Paths Coincident

Chapter 16

Eve Baird was drowning in a whirlpool of horrors. In her past, death was stalking her team, and in her present she had nearly killed one of her own. She could find no firm ground to stand on, no shore for which to strike. Her heart was beating against her ribs like a caged wild thing.

Just breathe, she tried to remind herself. But even breathing was nearly unendurable. She had spent years where every inhalation and exhalation seemed to require a conscious act of will, a ferocious determination to bear unbearable pain. Please don't let it happen again! a voice wailed in despair, deep inside her.

Stone was speaking to her, and her mind lunged for his voice as if for a lifeline—the only part of her world that felt solid and safe.

"If you wanna talk, I'm here to listen," he encouraged. "Sometimes talking about an intrusive memory can help."

Eve knew he was right. Her long ago therapists had told her that putting the experience in a new context could provide a sense of perspective and could help her mind establish that the memories belonged to a different time and place. She tried to focus on Stone's face. He sat beside her with that infinite patience, so calming and reassuring, not crowding her, not rushing her confidence. If the whole situation had not involved his cousin, Eve would never have hesitated to trust him.

And yet, she did not have the luxury to spare him. The abyss crumbled open at her feet.

She knew just how far down she could fall. And fallen, she could not keep her Librarians in Training safe. Once again, feelings would have to take a number and stand in line behind the necessities of the job.

She opened her mouth to attempt to tell him what had happened eleven years ago, the emotions and sounds and sights of which still superimposed themselves on this quiet, peaceful room. If she could just force the memories out of her head and into the air, perhaps they would not haunt her. Perhaps, by sharing them with Stone, she could diminish their power.

But no words came. Eve's hands flew to her throat as if she could physically pry her story loose; however, the only sound that emerged was a choked off gasp for air. Her mind was full of disjointed images, but they refused to form themselves into language. How could she describe an experience for which there were no words?

The minute she stopped trying, her traitorous voice returned. "I can't talk about it," she told a concerned Stone.

"That's okay," he said. "You don't have to tell me anything."

"No, you don't understand. I want to talk about it, but I just can't." Shivering, Eve folded her arms across her chest. A surge of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her. This had happened before—this inability to speak. At first, she had attributed it to her throat trauma, but then she had been unable to write about it either. "The words won't come."

Stone, bless him, did not even blink at that revelation. "I do understand," he said gently. "Traumatic memories are hard to express in words alone. Right now your memories are primarily dissociated emotional, perceptual, or sensory fragments with no coherent verbal, symbolic, or temporal basis. You need help to process information symbolically."

Eve stared at him, reminding herself that she knew very little about her LITs but that all of them were geniuses in their own ways. Nevertheless, Stone managed to astonish her more frequently than did the other two. Perhaps it was the greater gap between his projected persona and the man who hid beneath the surface. Cassandra struggled every day to overcome any perception of fragility and to reveal the strength she possessed—she wanted so badly to be seen for who she really was. Ezekiel, as the Apple of Discord had revealed, was almost entirely what he appeared to be. Both of them wore their gifts as laurels, well-earned and on display.