Free The Devil's Dream: Waking Up by David Beers Page B

knew he sounded crazy, speaking to her like this, but who else did he have? He barely had himself, and in some ways he didn't, not with Morgant making surprise entrances. He had no one else to run this by, no one to consult with. He had never needed counsel before because no one could think through things at the same level as he could. Here though, his emotion clouded everything—emotion and brain deterioration, he supposed. He needed someone that could look at the man sitting next to him, with his thin frame and dark hair, and make a decision whether or not Matthew was being duped. The only person he could turn to was the voice inside his head. The voice of the woman he built an entire shrine to when The Wall's cold embraced him. He turned to his wife now, even if it was only his own brain whispering back at him. Maybe it could give some objectivity. Maybe somehow his brain could see the truth through her vantage point.
    I am, she answered, her voice sounding like she hadn't needed him to tell her a thing.
    Is this our son? Is this someone we conceived?
    His own eyes looked over the young man. He was attractive, and his blue eyes matched the color of Matthew's own. Even now, in this new body, his blue eyes had carried over somehow. And was that a hint of Rally's chin, so elegant, on the boy's face?
    What if he is, Matthew? What if he's a part of us? Does that mean that he's on your side? Does that mean he won't get you killed the first chance he sees? She asked him. And if he did, would it matter? Would you love him anyway despite it?
    If this was Hilman sitting across from him, the answer would have been yes. If Hilman had slit Matthew's own throat, Matthew's last thought would be how much he wanted to hug his son, one more time. This person though, did he feel the same? Could he ever feel the same?
    That doesn't matter, Ral. I need to know if it's him. If I have another son. I can't make any other decisions until I know if this boy is mine.
    Look at him closely. Start at his eyes, Matthew. They're blue, true, but what do they say? Are they wearing a disguise to cover up something else?
    Matthew stared at the kid, trying to look past the obvious genetic relationship their eyes shared. Vick was scared, but had he been when he first woke up? Had he been scared when they first started talking? No. He had accepted what was going on as easily as if he had woken up in his own bed. Now he was crying, but not at first—at first, he had been still. Calm. Asking questions and accepting what he saw. There wasn't terror when he awoke. Had the doping agent Matthew used caused that? Maybe, but only for the first few seconds of him waking. After that, hormones should have taken over and adrenaline should have surged through him. It didn't happen.
    If this was Matthew's son, his own bloodline, the kid should still have been frightened. He didn't know Matthew. He had been kidnapped. He was riding around, tied down naked in a van driven by a dangerous, dangerous person, and he didn't show fear until Matthew asked him about it.
    What else? Rally asked. What else is there here?
    Her voice pushed him onward because his own wouldn't. His own wanted this to be his son, but now, opening up the person that sat before him, he saw things that he didn't before. The chin, was that really Rally's, or was it his imagination wanting it to be Rally's? The house he had walked through— how much attention were you paying there, Matthew? None. He'd been intent on getting to Victor, on seeing what he looked like. Matthew started pulling up the memories his brain stored like pictures in an album. Even when he wasn't paying attention, his mind was, capturing the world around him and keeping it all for later use.
    The lock on the back door, it had been perfect. Mint condition, like Matthew was the first person to use it. When he arrived at the house, he had slid in his tools, only listening for the click to tell him the door was unlocked, but now, looking back,