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I. Lindsay
I closed my eyes, unable to breath. It couldn’t be real; it had to be a nightmare. Then opened them again and felt a stab of pain in my heart. The room was dark, ill – lit by the faint moonlight. I was again home, in US, in the familiar surroundings but nothing was the same. Connor was dead. I will never see him again. Never. I hated this word; I hated everything that was final. None of us was immortal, I knew it but I would have never thought that it also referred to Connor, that he would die. To me he always seemed untouched by life as well as by death. He was invincible. But like all humans I was wrong. Now Connor was dead.
I turned to my side and switched on the light. It was three o’clock in the morning just as I thought it would be. I simply couldn’t sleep. I got up and went to the bathroom. In the mirror I caught a glimpse of a woman I didn’t seem to know. The same reddish hair as mine, the same face but different eyes. Even the color was different from gray, almost black, darkened by grief. Before I could stop myself, a sigh escaped my lips, almost a sob: "Connor, where are you?"
No answer, only silence. How could three be anyone if he was gone? I walked back into the bedroom and dialed Connor’s number, still hoping. All I wished was to hear his voice, to ask him how he was doing. Someone picked up: "Yeah?"
A sleepy voice, voice I didn’t know. "Could I talk to professor Doyle?" I asked, knowing it was foolish, hot tears already filling my eyes. "Sorry, it’s the wrong number, lady, take care." Tears ran down my cheeks. That was the problem: it was the right number. But Connor was not there. I wished I were dead. I wished it had been me on that damned plant. I wished it were Connor, not me who had to suffer from that feeling of guilt. No, it was unfair to think like this. I didn’t want Connor to suffer. My only wish by the explosion was that he died immediately, without suffering, free from all the torturing pain. I knew that Connor had problems and I was sure that Elsinger had his fingers in the case. I hated him. I always knew he was dangerous but I’d have never thought Elsinger could kill someone so cold – bloodedly. Not him. Not my Connor. "You’ve got a nervous breakdown," Anton said as I accused Peter of leaving Connor alone. He may be right. He was indeed. I knew hating someone wouldn’t bring back Connor but I just couldn’t help it. It was only human and who was I? Just a weak hysterical female, that is what the most in the O.S.I.R. considered me to be. Not our team, of course. But I could see none of them. I was sick of them staring after me with compassion, whispering, "Poor Lindsay, she misses him badly" behind my back. My God, Connor, come back to me!
It was almost dawn and still I sat, staring into the darkness. I didn’t care about the time. About nothing. I thought about the lost chances. It wasn’t until we came to Russia that it dawned on me: I loved Connor. I’ve loved him from the first day we met. He was my mentor, my older brother, and my comrade –in – arms whom I trusted wholeheartedly. Through all the years he became my second self. Now he was dead.
I must have been day – dreaming (I should rather say dawn – dreaming) cause I startled, hearing telephone ringing. I let it ringing and waited for the voice mail to start recording. Then I heard Pete’s voice: "Lin, I know you’re home, thinking how it could be if He were still alive. Stop it; come on, Lin, I also miss him and if you wish, it’s me who is to blame for his death but stop behaving the way you do. For my sake, Lin, for your own sake. Pick up!" I didn’t move, remaining where I was. Peter. My best friend, a man with whom we shared so much. Now there was Connor’s death standing between us. It was like a silent war was on. My fault, of course: I considered Pete guilty of Connor’s death, desperately looking for a scapegoat. I shouldn’t do it, I knew and still I couldn’t help it. Peter had to fight his own fears and feelings of guilt while I was inventing a reason for torturing him. It was selfish and stupid but only too human. "Lin, please pick up," Peter continued. After a while he added: "Ok, I understand. See you at work then." I sat and listened to the silence. Everything was so awfully wrong! Suddenly telephone shrilled once more. I thought it was Peter and so reached up for the receiver.
"Lindsay? Is that you?" my heart skipped a beat. It was a voice I knew as good as my own. It was his voice. "Connor?" my lips were uncontrollably shaking. It couldn’t be true, it was just a delusion. "Yes, it’s me. Look, Lindsay, you must help me. I’m short of time. I’ll call you later." I simply sat there, receiver still in the hand. My mind was racing, my common sense shrilled in alarm but my heart was overfilled with joy. He was alive. Connor was still alive. The ancient clock on the wall stroke half past six. It was time to get ready for the work. Another sleepless night was behind me.
I took a shower and started to get dressed, wide – awake and troubled. As I got out of my house, it was already day. A bright clear winter day was dawning and I could smell snow in the pure air. I shuddered: I was reminded of Russia and the exploding plant. Then I quickly collected myself: Connor needed my help and I couldn’t let him down. Not this time.
I got into my car and turned on the ignition. I didn’t look back at my house and didn’t hear telephone ringing in the empty room. I wish I had.
As I came to a standstill in front of the O.S.I.R. – building, I saw that the parking lot was almost empty. It wasn’t surprising though; it was too early for the scientists to appear. Entering the hall, I immediately saw Elsinger. My anger took over me and I hurried into the opposite direction only not to yell at him. But it was too late: Elsinger saw me.
"Lindsay, could I talk to you?" he asked in his usual oily way. How I hated him!
"Sure," I made my way back and together we went to Elsinger’s office. "It’s about Matt," Elsinger started as he closed the door. "You don’t give him a chance he deserves, Lindsay."
"I don’t give a damn about it. You should have known I would react that way before you killed Connor," I answered coldly. He looked at me with his watery blue eyes, saying nothing. I could almost hear how his mind was racing, looking for a possibility to find out how much I knew. I was in no mood to give him that pleasure. After a while he finally asked: "Do you accuse me of killing Doyle?"
"Think whatever you like," I turned to go. "You make a big mistake," he warned in a low voice.
"You’re playing with fire."
"Just like Connor did?" there was scorn in my voice and I did nothing to hide it. "You robbed me of an only man I loved and I doubt you can hurt me more than you did." I exited the room without looking at Elsinger. I shouldn’t have done it.
As I came to the office, there was Peter sitting at the conference table. "Hi," I came in and sat down near to Pete. "I’m sorry I didn’t pick up." He raised his head and I was overcome with tenderness. Poor Pete, he suffered a great deal. "It’s all right," he said, taking my hand. We sat silent for a few moments. "I’ve got a call just after you phoned, it was Connor," it was me to break the silence. Pete’s tired eyes didn’t give anything away: "You must be kidding." I could see his disbelief and suddenly understood he wasn’t going to believe me. "No, he asked for help." "Who?" a voice asked, making both of us startle. I turned around and saw Praeger, our new Case Manager. Earlier this week he simply walked in and announced he was the new boss. We all were stunned: Pete hoped he’d be the next Case Manager and to be honest that is what all of us thought. But it was different and it was a hard blow to Peter. As Praeger shook my hand, he looked in my eyes, grinning: "Well, cutie, we’re going to be good friends, I hope." All I said was a polite "how do you do". Thinking back I understood that Praeger was a typical anti – Connor image: he was usually dressed in leather coats, jeans and mostly wearing a funny looking hat. No trace of serious blue – gray eyes, attentively watching each of us: Mathew (that was Praeger’s name) always had a mocking look in his eyes, chewing a gum and grinning. He was the same this morning.
"None of your business," Peter answered. He didn’t like Praeger from the first day they worked together. I guess it was rivalry but it could of course something else I couldn’t see. "About an old friend of mine," I hurriedly added, hoping Mat won’t start a fight. He only shrugged but his grin disappeared. Peter again turned to me: "I’ve been patiently listening to all your stories, Lindsay. I know you miss Connor but you can’t bring him back, inventing something." I stared at him in aghast: "You mean you think I’m just lying to you. You think I’m just laughing at you?"
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