CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Two weeks later.

 

Angela turned off the television in the private hospital room. Everything on there seemed so trivial. She would be leaving the hospital soon. Her brother would be relieved to get back to his job, but she didn’t care about hers.

Her boss had been understanding, but anxious for her to work from home. She’d had to explain exactly how handicapped she was.

At least Sas had been right. The doctors had been impressed with the care she’d had in the bush and were able to save most of her hands. She would have all functionality back eventually after a lot of physical therapy. They would just look hideous unless she decided on plastic surgery, which could improve them, but not make them look completely normal again.

She didn’t even care. She was alive and that was what mattered. If Sas hadn’t found her, she wouldn’t be worrying about her hands at all because she’d be dead.

And that’s what bothered her. She’d never given him a chance to explain. She’d been so shocked, she just wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. When she asked Michael if he could get a message to Sas, he’d declined.

That’s when she realized there was another reason for her being in the hospital so long. Her brother had arranged for her to be watched in the psych ward. Luckily, she’d learned from her favorite nurse, Nancy, that she could check herself out since she’d been a voluntary check-in, but it had strained her relationship with her brother. His over-protectiveness went too far sometimes.

There was a knock at her door and then an older gentleman peeked his head in. “Excuse me, Miss. I have the library cart with me. Would you like to read a book?”

She hadn’t read anything since leaving Sas and the idea appealed to her. “I think I might. Do you have any good ones?”

The white-haired stocky gentleman wheeled the cart in. “That depends on what you like. I have a lot of recent releases and a few classics. What’s your preference?”

She’d never been in to old books, but Sas had given her a new appreciation for them. “Definitely a classic. I haven’t read many of those. What would you recommend?”

The man bent to the lower shelf and pulled out three books. “I have The Three Musketeers, Frankenstein, and the Complete Comedies of Shakespeare.”

“Ick, I’m definitely not a Shakespeare kind of girl.” She gave him a small smile.

He nodded and put the rather large book back.

The Three Musketeers she and Sas had already read and from the looks of the book, so had many other people. “I’ll try Frankenstein. It’s not scary, is it?”

The older man chuckled. “I don’t know. I’ve never read it. Just seen the movies.”

She nodded as he lay the book on her lap. Her physical therapist wanted her to use her hands now that the surgery was over, so this would be a good exercise. Hopefully, the story would be exciting enough that she would want to use her hands to turn the pages.

“Enjoy your book.” The man wheeled the cart to her door.

“Thank you.”

After he was gone, she started reading. From what she’d seen in the movies, the monster came to life with electricity, had electrodes in his neck and walked around with his hands out in front of him.

It confused her to read the letter at the start of the story written by a man who was attempting to cross the Arctic Ocean, but when Victor Frankenstein appeared on an ice float, her interest was piqued.

Hours later, she placed a paper napkin in the book to hold her place and set it on her tray. She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She wanted to read more, but it was two in the morning and her eyes were tired.

She lowered the back of the bed. The story was far different from what she’d expected. Dr. Frankenstein described his creature as “beautiful” and bigger and better than man. Her heart went out to it when it awoke and Victor ran away. She shuddered when it killed Victor’s brother and let the servant girl hang for the crime.

But when the monster told his own story to Victor, she sympathized with him all the more, especially when he begged for a mate. She loved the idea that he would have someone to spend his life with that was just like him.

When Victor literally tore apart the female mate in front of his creature before bringing her to life, she broke down in tears, angry with the scientist and hurting for his invention. She wanted to find out what happened, but she’d have to wait until the morning.

Closing her eyes, she drifted off.

~~*~~

He crouched in the shallows of Redding Lake, his need for sustenance his only thought. Watching the chub swim near him, he grasped one in his hand and threw it to shore.

More darted by and he watched, waiting for the right time to strike. When another swam too close, he struck, grabbing it up and throwing it to the bank to join the others.

“Hey Sas!”

He whipped his head around at the interruption and growled, baring his teeth.

“Whoa there, it’s just me, Timber. I’m not another grizzly you need to tangle with.”

He ignored the man and went back to watching fish. He was hungry. He must eat.

“Listen, you’ve got a couple dozen of these beauties lying all over here. What do you say we gather them up, take them to my place and fry them for dinner?”

Yes, dinner. He stood and walked back to shore.

“Uh, Sas, where’s your coat, shirt and, um, shoes? Aren’t you cold?”

He started to gather up the fish, but he hadn’t brought a bag.

“Here, use my bucket.” Timber held it up. “I was going to do some fishing, but you did enough for both of us.”

He took the bucket and threw the fish in. When he had them all, he looked at Timber. “Dinner.”

“Right. This way.”

He followed Timber to his cabin. It was small and smelled like wood smoke, not mint. He liked that. He brought the pail to Timber’s counter and set it there.

Timber moved past him and grabbed a towel from a hook. “Here. Take off your pants and dry off. I’ll hang your pants here to dry.

While Timber prepared some of the fish, he did as requested, not willing to think beyond immediate needs. Eating, sleeping, breathing, and staying cool were his main focus now. He didn’t want interaction with anyone. He didn’t want to think.

Timber threw some of the fish in the pan and the scent filled the cabin.

He walked to the table and sat, the towel around his waist.

“Here. You need this.” Timber set down a steaming mug.

He lifted the cup and drank the warm tea. It was good.

Within minutes, Timber placed the food before him and he started to eat. The strong meat of the chub tasted of the wild. Timber piled more fish on his plate, so he continued to eat until he was full.

Timber was just sitting down to dig in, but he was done. Standing, he looked around the familiar space and found the couch. “I’m going to sleep.”

“You do that, big guy.”

Lying down, he closed his eyes. This was a safe place away from her. It was good. He welcomed sleep, the first he’d had in days.

~~*~~

Angela couldn’t stop reading Frankenstein, her heart in her throat as the creature killed Frankenstein’s best friend and wife. Despite the sun streaming in her hospital window, she shivered at the heinous acts.

Then she wanted to yell at Victor as he chased the creature through country after country until he finally died on the ship trying to find a path across the Arctic Ocean. Her eyes watered as the creature came onto the ship and felt the loss of his creator, admitting to the captain he’d gone down a bad path.

His final words had her crying again. “I shall quit your vessel on the ice-raft which brought me hither, and shall seek the most northern extremity of the globe; I shall collect my funeral pile, and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch, who would create such another as I have been. I shall die. I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume me, or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet unquenched.”

At the end of the story, the creature jumped off the ship and disappeared into the darkness of the arctic.

She let the book lie open on her lap. She’d hoped to be entertained, but instead she was sad, as if she had been a part of the story. She was just too emotional since leaving Sas, her own feelings tangling up in the tale.

Sas was no Victor Frankenstein. He was more like the creature than…she felt the blood drain from her face.

No.

Shelley’s story was fictional. Sas was a real man, or rather something other than man.

Her mind conjured up the image of Sas standing naked at the end of the bed. He never did tell her where his scars came from, choosing to decline to answer. He looked like he’d been sewn together. He also said he’d been abandoned from his first breath, not from the day he was “born” as most people would state it.

She shook her head. It couldn’t be.

She ran over everything she could remember about him, all of it fitting with the story from the country he came from to the others he’d lived in. They were all there in the story.

It just wasn’t possible. Life wasn’t a story, it was reality. The backwoods stories of Timber and Sturge came to mind.

Those were nothing more than dramatic interpretations of real life, not complete fiction. Not the story of an immortal, of which there was no such thing. Sas would have to be, what? Two hundred years old? Three?

She stiffened. Images of the bear attack and the skin healing before her eyes pushed their way forward. Quickly, she flipped back to the title page, causing the napkin she’d stuffed into the book to fall out. She picked it up, suddenly remembering the scrap of yellowed paper that fell from Sas’ Three Musketeers book. It had the initials VF.

Victor Frankenstein.

“Oh, my God.” She stared unseeing at the title page. Because he was born of the dead, was he immortal? Had the creature tried to kill himself only to discover he couldn’t die? She focused on the date beneath Mary Shelley’s name. 1818. Quickly, she flipped the pages to the first entry, the letter from the sea captain to his sister. It was dated 17__.

Had Mary Shelley actually written the “true” account as the sea captain told it to her, thinking it was no more than an exaggerated story like the rest found in the cold wilderness? But what if it was true?

The ramifications of that thought stunned her. Sympathy flooded her and her heart ached as she meshed the creature from the story with Sas. Despite all he’d done, or maybe because of it, he’d saved her life, taken care of her…loved her.

She licked her lips. She had to see him. She had to find out the truth. No more declining to answer. And what if what she suspected was true? She shook her head. That wasn’t important now. Right now, she needed to get out of the hospital and find transportation to Savik, preferably without her brother’s knowledge.

For some reason, Michael had concerns about Sas’ “influence” over her. She couldn’t blame him. The first thing she’d done was cry all over his shoulder when they found each other. And she’d refused to talk anymore about her relationship with Sas once she’d discovered Michael had every intention of never letting Sas see her even if he showed up at the hospital.

She was thankful she hadn’t divulged to anyone why she’d run away from the man who not only loved her but had saved her life…twice. Of course, she’d been in shock, trying to process what she’d seen.

She stared at the book in her lap as tears formed in her eyes. Maybe she could buy it from the hospital. It meant so much to her right now…if she was right. She had to confront Sas with it.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist to avoid the stitches on her hand, she sniffed. Crying wouldn’t help anything. She looked for the nurse call button then checked the clock. She grinned, Nancy would be her perfect partner in crime for getting away. Pressing the button, she waited.

~~*~~

Sas woke up to find the cabin empty. It wasn’t his cabin. It was Timber’s. Slowly, the memories of the day before came back to him. Or was it two days before? He felt groggy as if he’d been drugged.

He shrugged. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He had to keep his mind blank and focus on his bodily needs and right now, he had to urinate. He stood and swayed. The drugs Timber had given him must have been strong. He’d have to see if the old man had more, but first he had to go outside.

Walking across the floor in his bare feet, he noticed the texture of a new rug Timber had added to his home. His little cabin felt comfortable, safe.

Sas opened the door and walked out into the bright sunlight. He glanced down at the shadows. Late afternoon. No wonder he had to urinate. He walked over to a grove of trees behind Timber’s house and relieved himself.

What happened to his shirt? Did he leave it back at his cabin? He shrugged. He was supposed to hide his scars, but he didn’t care anymore. Wandering back into the cabin, he closed the door before heading for Timber’s larder. Maybe there was more fish left from yesterday.

Opening the cold box, he took out a pile of wrapped food and set it on the table against the wall that Timber used as a counter. Lined up at the back of it was a row of bottles. Sas grabbed one and opened it. Ugh, it smelled of alcohol and cinnamon.

He looked at the label. It was whiskey. Timber said everyone drank it. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a large swallow. Coughing, he set the bottle down. Why did people drink that?

He unwrapped the food as a warmth spread throughout his body. It felt good. He hadn’t felt heat in a long time except with—he grabbed the bottle again and gulped down more of the burning liquid. Don’t think.

Again, the heat warmed him from the inside out. Leaving the food on the table, he held onto the bottle, walked back to the couch and sat.

He took another swallow of the whiskey and focused on it flowing down his throat and into his gut before the warmth spread from there to the ends of his fingers and toes. He grinned. This was good. Tipping the bottle back again, he gulped.

The bottle was almost gone when the door opened and Timber walked in. “Hey Sas, good news, you’re never—well, son of a biscuit eater, what have you gotten into?”

He held up the bottle. “Whithkey.”

Timber rolled his eyes. “Boy, you just filled your gut with that on top of a bunch of drugs. You’re going to be sicker than a seal in an oil spill.”

He shook his head. He never got sick. He couldn’t die. He had to stay alive and live his torture. Didn’t Timber know that? He opened his mouth to tell him, but the man swiped the bottle out of his hand.

He scowled. “I need to finish that.”

“No, you don’t.” Timber walked to his porcelain sink and emptied the bottle.

That was stupid. What a waste.

Timber picked up the food from the counter and dumped it into a skillet. “It’s freezing in here. Why didn’t you add wood to the fire?”

He leaned back, feeling lethargic. “I’m warm.”

The old man shook his head as he crouched to stuff his stove with wood. “No doubt. That whiskey will burn a hole right through your stomach.”

An image of the grizzly puncturing his stomach rose to fill his mind, and he pushed it away quickly before anything else followed. “Feels good.”

Timber rose. “I bet it does.” He placed the skillet on the stove along with a pot of water.

He let his head loll to the side so he could watch a chickadee on a branch outside. The bird’s quick movements were far more interesting than Timber cooking. He let his eyes close, happy to drift off into oblivion.

“Sas. Sas! Wake up. You need to drink this.”

He opened his eyes to find Timber’s hand on his shoulder and a cup of steaming liquid in front of his face. “What?”

“Drink this.”

Seeing no reason not to, he took the mug and sipped the chamomile tea. The scent of venison filled the cabin, and his senses came more alert. “Food?”

Timber, back at the stove, scraped the skillet. “Yeah, food, so that whiskey doesn’t make you sick. You need to sober up, my friend.” He brought a plate of hot venison and vegetables to him. “Here. Eat.”

He set the mug on the end table next to the couch and took the plate. He picked up a hot carrot and stuck it in his mouth, sweet honey sauce flowed over his tongue.

“Uh, Sas? Use these so you don’t get my furniture sticky.”

He looked up to find Timber holding a knife and fork. He took them and set the plate on his lap as he cut into the venison steak. Everything had honey sauce on it.

When he finished, he set the plate on the end table and drank the tea.

“How do you feel?” Timber’s voice from across the room, reminded him he wasn’t alone anymore.

He preferred to be alone. He nodded.

“Good.” Timber strode forward and pulled a chair from his table over and straddled it. “It’s time for you to talk.”

He looked away. Talking was useless.

“Sas, I have some very good news for you, but a lot of people went out of their way to help you, and we deserve some answers.”

He snapped his head back to stare at Timber, hoping his gaze would stop him from continuing.

“Don’t give me that scary stare of yours. I’ve known you too long. You wouldn’t hurt a hair on my head.”

He wanted to deny it, warn him of what he could do, but even as he opened his mouth, he knew in his gut he’d never hurt the older man.

“Now that I have your attention. I want to know why you have scars all over your body and how come you can walk around half naked in below zero temperatures and why you can wrestle with a grizzly and take a bullet to your chest and not have a scratch on you?” Timber raised one eyebrow. “Well?”

He looked away. It didn’t matter anyway. He couldn’t stay in Alaska any longer. It was time to move on, away from his memories. “I’m immortal.”

Timber slapped his leg. “I knew it!”

He snapped his gaze back to find Timber smiling like a jackpot winner.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Timber waved his hand. “We’ll keep your secret. It’s not every day we have an honest to goodness Sasquatch living among us.”

His brain focused on Timber’s first word. “We?”

“Just me and Sturge. And Ginny. But we won’t tell anyone else.” Timber chuckled. “Actually, I’m honored to call you a friend.”

He lowered his brows in confusion.

“If you’ll live forever, how come you have so many scars? You look like you were torn apart and put back together? Were you abducted by aliens or something?”

He shook his head, still off balance from Timber’s reaction. “You don’t think I’m a monster?”

“Hell, no. Why would I think that?”

Angel does. The thought came unbidden to his mind and a wave of misery hit him so hard he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the howl that threatened.

Timber laid hand on his shoulder. “Listen, Sas, I know you’ve had a rough past. I don’t need to know it all to see it in you. I know you’re hurting since Angel left. That’s why I went to Sturge to ask for help for you.”

“Help?” There was no help for him. His existence stretched before him, miserable and tormented unless he could revert back to how he’d been his first few days of life. Primal.

“Yes. I was worried about you. You were going wild on me, and I didn’t want to lose you, so I contacted Sturge and he made a run to Savik to make a radio call.”

He still didn’t understand what this had to do with helping him. If they wanted him to talk to a psychologist, they didn’t know him at all.

Timber sighed. “Sas, Sturge went to call Angel.”

Angel? “No.”

“Yes, but guess what? He didn’t have to. She had called Grubber and told him the first window in the weather and she would be flying in to Savik, with or without Charlie.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Why?”

“She said she wants to talk to you. No surprise there considering how that woman likes to talk.”

He frowned at Timber. “You talk more than she does.”

Timber chuckled. “Well, there is that. I think maybe she wants to come live here.”

His heart leapt, but he squashed it. “Did she say that?”

Timber looked down at his thumb, suddenly finding his fingernail very interesting. “No, but why else would she want to talk to you?”

He stared at the older man, anger simmering inside him. “To ask me questions like why I didn’t die from a bear attack? To determine if I’m really the monster she thought I was? Just tell her I am and save her a trip.” His heart twisted in pain. If she came, it would destroy him. But wasn’t that what he wanted?

Timber picked at his nail, clearly uncomfortable. “I told her you would meet her in Savik.”

Rage poured through him. This man, who claimed to be a friend, wanted him to lay his heart bare again? “No.” He barely kept from shouting. Instead, he stood and strode toward the door.

Timber jumped up and followed him. “Listen, I’m only trying to help. Maybe if you could talk to her, she’d want to stay. You two are meant for each other.”

He snarled at Timber and yanked the door open. “I’m meant for no one.” He ran out of the cabin and through the trees, heading north toward his mountain.

Anger boiled inside him. He’d finally blocked all feeling, reverting to existing only, and now the woman he’d loved—he did love—would return to torture him anew. He couldn’t see her. He needed to leave Alaska. Now.

When he reached his cabin, he stepped inside and the scent of mint filled his nostrils. It was like the claws of the grizzly tearing through his gut all over again. He slammed the door behind him and stared at his bed, a bed he hadn’t slept in since Angel left. He would burn the place to the ground. It was the only way to escape her.

Moving to the stove, he stirred the ashes until the banked coals beneath glowed red. Throwing in pieces of kindling, he waited for them to catch before pulling one out. He walked to the bed and held the fire over it.

Memories filled his head of them making love, her body against his as she slept, her mouth opening as he fed her, her green eyes lighting with pleasure as he answered one of her innumerable questions.

She’s coming back.

He would be gone.

And miss the chance to see her again?

The fire on the wood licked at his fingers as it burned down.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill the memories of the happiest time of his life. They were all he had. He dropped the wood on top of the stove where it burnt out.

Moving back to the bed, he lay down, the scent of her enveloping him, making him remember everything. His memories were vivid, filling his heart and torturing his soul.

He would rest then pack a backpack of supplies and books. It was better to leave than let hope ignite again.

~~*~~

Angela zipped up her jeans and after three tries, she finally got them buttoned, too. Her hands were still sore and they looked awful, but that she could use them somewhat was exciting. Seeing Sas again was exciting, too.

Charlie had called her yesterday, finally agreeing to fly her in. He had been a little put out that she was willing to use another pilot. Who knew bush pilots were territorial? Or maybe it was just him. The people in Savik really liked him and that had to feel good.

A knock on her door had her looking up. “Nancy.”

The woman’s dark eyes twinkled. “So today’s the day. About time.”

She laughed, her spirits lighter than they had been since the grizzly attack. “Yes, it is.”

“I’m so excited for you, going back to the man that took such great care of you.”

She grinned. “If he’ll have me and if he answers my questions.” She turned away and added the last of her clothes to a small bag. Her brother had bought her a few more items after her surgery.

“Angela, did your brother tell you the results of all your tests and which ones we couldn’t do?”

She turned. “What do you mean, couldn’t do? He told me that all my tests came back good except for those that were taken just before the surgery. Was there something else?”

Nancy frowned. “How about something you might want to discuss with the man who took care of you?”

“Sas? Why would I need to talk to him about—oh. Do I have an STD? We didn’t exactly have protection. Should he get tested?”

“Uh, no.” Nancy patted the bed. “Sit down.”

Oh, God, it was bad. She sat on the bed, a new fear growing in the back of her mind. “What is it? What didn’t my brother want me to know? He’s too protective. Tell me.”

“Oh honey, it’s not bad. It’s just that you’re pregnant.”

“Pregnant? But how…”

At Nancy’s knowing look, she blushed, memories of her and Sas making love flooding her mind. It made so much sense. “Wow.”

Nancy lifted her eyebrows. “Wow? That’s it?”

“It’s such a shock. I didn’t expect it. I probably should have, but I didn’t think the timing was right and I had my pills up until, I mean, I almost died and…wow.” She placed a stitched hand on her abdomen. The fact was, she’d lost track of time and now she was pregnant. She was going to be a mother!

“Are you going to tell him?” Nancy’s smile had faded.

“I have to, but I don’t want him to want me just because of a baby. Shoot, a baby? I never even thought about whether I wanted children.”

Nancy’s smile returned. “That’s not something you have to think about now. It’s a done deal.”

It was. She would be a mommy. “I don’t know how to be a mother. Mine died when I was six.”

“All you have to do is love that little one with all your heart. The rest you figure out as you go.”

She gave the nurse a half-hearted smile. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were aware. That was the test I was worried Michael hadn’t told you about. Your brother reminds me a lot of mine. He’s very protective.”

At the mention of Michael, she squinted her eyes. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me!”

“Now there was a lot going on with you between the surgery and your emotional state. Trust me, what your brother did is nothing compared to mine.”

Her curiosity piqued, she had to ask. “What did he do?”

Nancy chuckled as she pushed the monitor back towards the wall and rolled the tray away from the bed. “Let’s just say that the last guy who broke up with me got a knock on his door and a gun in his face.”

“Oh, my God. He didn’t shoot him, did he?”

“No, more’s the pity.” Nancy laughed. “But he did scare the bejesus out of the asshole.”

Angela felt her heart calm down. “Thank you for putting things into perspective for me.”

“My pleasure. I’m going to miss you. I don’t often get patients in this wing who aren’t addicted to one thing or another. If you’re ever in Fairbanks again, look me up and we can go shopping. Trust me, if you decide to live up past Savik, you’ll be dying to go shopping.”

Angela hopped off the bed and gave Nancy a hug. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome.” Nancy wiped at her eyes, which were suspiciously watery.

Angela turned away, not wanting to cry, too. She picked up the letter she’d written for her brother. Yes, she was a coward to sneak away without telling him, but it was what she had to do, and he’d ask far too many questions, or worse, insist on going with her. “Could you give this to my brother when he comes in?”

“I’ll be happy to.” Nancy glanced at the clock. “He won’t be here for another four hours. Will that give you enough time?”

She grinned. “Yes, I’ll be halfway to Coldfoot by then.”

“Good. Now get the rest of your stuff packed. The wheelchair will be here any moment.”

“I had hand surgery. I don’t need a wheelchair.”

Nancy headed for the door. “Hospital policy.” She opened it then turned and winked. “Nothing but the red-carpet treatment for my friends.”

As the door closed, Angela grabbed up a tissue and wiped her own eyes. Hopefully, she’d be able to take Nancy up on her shopping offer. Of course, that depended on whether she ended up living in Alaska or back in San Francisco.

She licked her lips. Would Sas even be willing to see her after the way she’d left? Her heart tightened for the eightieth time in the last two days. Now that she knew his history, she viewed her last moment with him from his point of view, and it was heart-wrenching.

Then there was that sliver of doubt that she was completely wrong and he wasn’t the creature Victor Frankenstein had created. Those doubts weren’t strong though because of his scars.

There were only two other explanations she could think of for those. The first was that as a child he’d been purposefully scarred to look like Frankenstein’s creature, but that didn’t explain how his body healed instantly. The other explanation was that he was an alien and that was as hard to swallow as Sas being three hundred years-old. The only way she could discover the truth was to make him talk.

She straightened her shoulders. Getting Charlie to fly into Savik near the end of November was a cake walk compared to getting Sas to talk, but she had to…for their baby’s sake.

Placing her hand on her abdomen, she took a deep breath. She could do this.