Hours after his return to the Center,
both Commander Thom and Daphne were basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking.
Their bodies, clothed in a white sheet, softly spooned each other in a
weary embrace, safe from the outside world. Both of them were still awake,
with different thoughts streaming through their minds.
Daphne was still distressed over
Thom’s violent reaction toward Eric Anderson. It was the first time she
had been acquainted with her husband’s fury. It scared her for many reasons,
one being her own safety. If he found out she had watched him on Zepher’s
monitors, or that she was continuing her library work for the community,
would he react the same towards her? She kept her inner turmoil at bay,
trying to pacify her own fears by gently stroking her husband’s strong
arms as he held her close from behind. She still did love him, though.
She knew if she did have the courage to leave him he might destroy her
with the same intensity as he loved her. She had nothing else but him to
lean on…she turned her face towards his, feeling his warm, heavy breath
on her cheek.
“I missed you so much,” she told
Thom.
“I missed you too,” he answered.
“Was the kidnapping successful?”
“Yeah baby, it was. Although that
boy did give us some trouble with his biting and scratching…he’s in the
Quiet Room now, resting.”
“Did anything else happen at the
house?” she asked him. This would be his chance to set the record straight,
she reasoned to herself.
“Nothing else…the transaction was
surprising peaceful,” he told her calmly, with a straight face. His eyes
showed no signs of remorse. You are a liar, you bastard, Daphne
thought as her smile remained strong, never faltering from his gaze. It
was not the time to confront him. She answered, “Good, Honey. Let’s go
to sleep.” As she turned her back to him once more, Daphne knew that she
would never completely trust him again.
In that same moment, Thom had some
misgivings about his wife’s possible reaction to his dilemma -- she was
not enough sexually for him anymore. Since that fateful night his fingers
traced the nude image of Frieda Anderson on the monitors several weeks
ago, he knew that he needed more sex. But he also knew that Daphne was
a busy woman with her projects, and even though he never had any complaint
about her technique in bed, he still wanted more, some variety with another
woman.
If she knew, she would leave
me, and then I would kill myself, he thought. Daphne was monogamous,
and a jealous woman. He would have to lie to her to get what he wanted,
which pained him. How can I do this without causing her suspicion?
Suddenly, an idea came to him. Instantly
he whispered in her ear, “Daphne, are you still awake?”
“Yes…barely,” she answered, her
voice muffled. Her face was against a pillow.
“I need to get your opinion on something.
Can you sit up?”
“Sure, just a second,” Daphne answered,
yawning. She pulled herself up slowly, bringing the sheet up to cover her
chest from the cold air in the room. “What’s up?”
“I was observing today when the
men were bringing the boy inside…”
“The boy’s name is Gareth, Thom,”
she told him.
“Right…anyway, Gareth was acting
up and giving them a real hard time as they carried him away. Perhaps because
he isn’t used to many men?”
“What do you mean?” Daphne answered
as she stretched her arms over her head, relieving some tension.
“I mean that Gareth is not used
to people except his family, like his mother and sister,” he explained.
“You forgot Eric, his older brother,”
she informed him.
“Oh yeah, right…” Thom nodded his
head. He had no guilt for striking him earlier. What was done was done.
Thom continued, “As I was saying, maybe what Gareth needs is a woman to
handle him and take notes on his drawings…so he wouldn’t act out as much.”
Daphne considered this, “Thom, the
child’s autistic. He can react violently at any time, at males and females,”
she pointed out.
“I know that, dear. Just hear me
out, okay? I believe that he can calm down with a woman around, so we can
find out what we want until his sister comes to get him. In this case,
we would have some valuable background information for our benefit, so
when Frieda arrives, we could use the information to our advantage…” he
said.
“And then we could eventually find
out Dr. Anderson’s whereabouts more quickly,” she told him.
“Exactly. You’ve read my mind. You
are so clever, and that’s why I’m crazy for you,” Thom said as she held
her close. During their embrace, he was thankful that she didn’t actually
sense his underlying plan for bedding the new research assistant, whoever
she was.
Daphne however had an idea of her
own. Still locked in their embrace, she asked Thom, “Honey…what if I could
be your assistant?”
Shit. What can I say to her?
He forgot that Daphne was always so enthusiastic in helping him with research.
Sweat started to wet his brow.
“Did you hear me, Thom? I would
be happy to help you keep an eye on Gareth,” she offered.
“Uh…that’s so sweet of you,” he
flustered. She let go of him, giving him a concerned look, stroking the
right side of his face lovingly.
“Are you all right?” she asked Thom.
Suddenly his eyes brightened with another plan. Smiling, he answered, taking
her hands into his, “Yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking about the possibility,
and thank you. But,” he stopped to sigh, his eyes softening for bad news:
“I will need an individual who is knowledgeable with children and interpreting
art, and besides, you are so busy with your other responsibilities…”
“I know some stuff about art, and
it’s your fault that we don’t have children. You told me you didn’t even
like children, and did not care that I wasn’t able to have any,” she told
him, surprised by his reason. Both of Daphne’s ovaries were non-functioning
due to an undetected virus she had had when she was a teenager living in
China. By the time her parents could save the money for the X-Ray, it was
too late.
“I did not mean it like that…I thought
since you have a hard time distinguishing Debussy’s paintings from Pollock’s,
it might pose a problem,” he tried to defend himself.
“Wait a second…Debussy wasn’t a
painter. He was a music composer,” she answered.
“Really?”
“Yes. You probably meant Monet,”
she corrected him.
“I’m sorry. Anyway, your grand knowledge
of music is not needed in this particular situation. Name one painting
Monet did.”
“Ummm… 'The Raft of Medusa?'” she
guessed.
“Not even close,” he told her. That
work was created in the 17th century. Monet was in the 19th century.”
“So who painted 'The Raft of Medusa'
then?” Daphne loved to put him on the spot.
Apologetically he grinned, “I don’t
remember,” he admitted, shaking his head. Daphne giggled. He continued,
“But we need to find a woman who could answer that question without having
to spend precious time looking up the correct answer. She needs to think
on her feet, especially with handling Gareth. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do. I just wanted to help,”
she answered, hanging her head slightly, which made Thom feel sorry. He
took his hand and lifted her chin up to meet his eyes.
“I know, Daphne. Both of us are
so busy, and I wanted to give you a break from another project, that’s
all,” he told her. Will she believe me? Thom wondered.
She looked at him, trying to hold
back her growing disappointment. She wanted to still be involved, if she
was not able to do the actual work. She then asked, “Okay. I will let you
do this, only on one condition.”
“Anything.”
“Let me find her.”
He sighed. This was going to be
harder than he thought, but he knew he had no choice.
“Daphne, it’s a deal. You will start tomorrow morning,” Thom
informed her. This was not the plan he had imagined. He didn’t want them to meet
each other. As she hugged him, his chest grew weary. But he had no guilt about
what he had planned for the new assistant.
