Resonance, J. B. Everett [the top 100 crime novels of all time txt] 📗

the theory around. There was no talk of papers or panels or meetings, just the ongoing discussion between the three of them.

 

Holy shit.

 

David had it, too.

 

Jordan popped up and pulled the three pages from the printer, holding the first one next to the computer screen. The time was identical. And so were the bumps and ridges in the theta waves.

 

They ended at the same time as well. What the hell was going on over there an hour ago?

 

He highlighted and printed again, not bothering with typing this time. Jordan stood and waved at the printer. He told himself that three seconds wouldn’t make a difference in whether or not Jillian made it, but he still swore at the cheap printer. Jerking the page free even before the machine released it, he darted out to find Landerly. Seconds later he ripped through the opening of the records tent, already explaining before he had even made eye contact. Landerly’s head snapped up and Jordan knew he had read the hope there. But he also saw the cell phone pressed to the old man’s ear, and he stopped mid-word.

 

He waited while Landerly waited, listening to what was being said on the other end of the line. Landerly nodded, though the listener wouldn’t see it, and did what Jordan guessed was as close as he would get to actually rolling his eyes. So Jordan held up the printouts, knowing that Landerly could look while he disagreed with whoever was talking. He pointed out the blips and bumps.

 

But that only lasted a second before Landerly yanked the paper out of his hands and interrupted the person on the phone. “Listen, we have evidence of brain activity. We can’t take her off. I’m faxing it over, and you’re authorizing this.”

 

Jordan smiled.

 

“Goodbye.” It wasn’t friendly, more curt and resigned than anything. And Jordan was glad that he only had to deal with ‘the brass’ through Landerly. Dealing with Landerly was tough enough.

 

Landerly held the pages back out. “Make copies and fax them back to Atlanta. Attention Brassard.” He nodded to Jordan. “Good work.”

 

But he didn’t ask anything about what Jordan had found, didn’t examine the lines any more closely. He had turned back to his books and charts before Jordan realized that he had been dismissed.

 

Feeling blank inside, he stepped away to photocopy his pages, walking softly, no longer at the breakneck speed he had used to get here. He was at the tent flap when Landerly’s voice caught up with him. It was almost softer than the air, and held the loss of all Landerly’s years. “Did you forge those?”

 

Jordan was stunned speechless. His mouth hinged open, but no sound came out. Finally, he found his voice. “No!”

 

But he was too late and Landerly spoke over him, drowning out his protest. “Never mind. Those pages are keeping her alive. I don’t want to know.”

 

With utter disbelief he turned back to his boss. “They’re real. I didn’t forge them.”

 

Landerly just smiled. “Don’t act so insulted. You do have a history of it, you know. I just hope that you did a good job, so they won’t discover it.”

 

God, it was unpleasant to be a grown man and feel like a scolded kid. It was just the kind of kick in the pants he could do without these days. His voice was soft, not betraying his frustration.

 

“They’re real. I swear it.”

 

Landerly nodded his head. “Good. Good. Plausible deniability and all.”

 

Jordan simply left. He had found a way to keep Jillian alive, and right now it didn’t matter if the doc believed him or not. Jillian had her funding.

 

In a slow daze that told of the middle of nights spent sleepless and tense, he wandered over to the communications tent and looked up the numbers. He pushed buttons and sent the pages through, thinking that Jillian would have had the Atlanta fax number memorized. He promised himself she’d be glad to rattle it off when she came around.

 

Without any of his previous impatience, he didn’t pay much attention to the pages chugging through the fax. He simply blinked one moment and realized the machine had gone silent, and the pages had fluttered around his feet.

 

He made copies in the same daze, then shuffled back to the tent where Jillian and David slept. But as he pushed his way through the flaps he heard the moan.

 

His head snapped up. Hoping.

 

But he knew that hadn’t been her voice. He knew the voice that moaned. And while he was anxious, and excited, he was also deeply disappointed.

 

Walking over to the bedside, he began talking before he even got there. “David?”

 

Fingers twitched. Eyeballs moved beneath the eyelids in a pattern similar to REM sleep, but now identifiable as coming out. The moan came again, sounding more like the creak of old hinges than anything human, and Jordan wondered briefly why their bodies weren’t getting more used to this. Why it wasn’t seeming just like a normal waking up.

 

As usual, a stray glance cast its way toward Jillian, but registered nothing.

 

David, however, was rapidly coming around. His eyes fluttered. His hand clenched in a full grasp, and his right arm twitched, eliciting a swift intake of breath that Jordan guessed was none other than pain from having pulled against that dislocated shoulder.

 

“Son of a bitch!”

 

Jordan almost laughed at the words. They weren’t perfectly formed. But he could tell what David had said.

 

“Hey, David.” He smiled at the man on the gurney. Maybe this meant Jillian would wake up, too. But then again she had gone under first.

 

Jordan pushed that thought away, it would do him no good, and he turned back.

 

David’s eyes focused on him and he spoke again. “Son of a bitch.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“I’m not supposed to be here.” The words were thick but no longer slurred.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

A sigh of defeat escaped David, and for the first time that Jordan had ever seen, the regal bearing slipped away from him. “I was staying awake. I was … well, I guess I wasn’t.” He turned to look at the wall, and Jordan heard the whisper, “Shit.”

 

So he distracted David, waved the EEG papers in front of him. “You want to tell me what happened about an hour ago?”

 

“What?” It worked. David was no longer swearing nor looking at the blank white canvas in front of him.

 

“About an hour ago both you and Jillian registered some brain activity.”

 

“Really?” He reached for the papers with his left hand at the same time he asked, “What time is it now?”

 

“About two a.m.”

 

David examined the readouts in front of him, and, as smart as he was, Jordan figured he had at least a rudimentary knowledge of what he was looking at. “So that’s what it looks like.”

 

“What what looks like?” Jordan held up the second set of papers. “Jillian’s got it, too. What is it?”

 

David took a breath and gathered himself, looking at Jordan, really looking at him, for maybe the first time ever - not just sizing him up, but reading him. And maybe even reading correctly. Jordan couldn’t say he liked it. David reading him made him damned nervous. But he needed to know. “What is it?”

 

“Jillian will have to tell you.”

 

That was what happened when David read you. Nothing good could come of it. So Jordan nodded and tried again. “Maybe you can ask her next time you see her.”

 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

 

His mouth opened for a rude comeback, but he noticed David pointing with his right finger. The hand wasn’t good for much besides pointing to the left, but it did its job now.

 

And he heard it: a rustle of sheets.

 

Abandoning David, he flew the three steps to stand directly beside her. Eyelids quivered with the rapid movement beneath. Her fingers twitched again, and her chest moved like she would moan.

 

But she couldn’t, because of the tube down her throat.

 

So Jordan stood over her, barely feeling the smile that spread unknowingly across his face, as her lids fluttered and fluttered again before opening. “Welcome back.”

 

Her eyes burned. And all she could think was that this was the worst part, so she forced herself through a few rapid blinks.

 

Jordan stood over her, an idiot grin on his face. “Of course you came back, I just saved your life.”

 

What the hell does that mean?

 

But she really couldn’t give it much thought. She couldn’t talk yet. She still felt rusty. But if she could have she would have started in. That was just like her and Jordan. She wakes up from a coma, and he starts sparring with her.

 

It felt good to be home.

 

The air was better over here, or something.

 

But she closed her eyes, letting the grit slide past. Because she remembered what David wanted her to do. What she was pretty sure she had agreed to do, just before she drifted off to sleep.

 

“No! Jilly!” Jordan’s voice, frantic with worry, broke through her morbid thoughts. She felt his hands on hers, smacking at the back of them, touching her forehead, resting on her cheeks. But she couldn’t much blame him for panicking when she closed up and shut out the world. She did keep slipping into a coma. So she opened her eyes to the relief on his face. And only then did she register the sounds around her.

 

Crickets chirped in the background, a few birds made calls in the middle of the night. It sounded like home. But overlaying all that was the bleep of a heart monitor, the hiss of a ventilator, and the feeling that she was wired to everything. Only then did she catch a glimpse at the edge of her vision, and managed to tie together what the dry feeling in her throat was.

 

She was intubated.

 

And Jordan would never have done that to her if he hadn’t had to.

 

A moment of pure panic settled over her. Now that she knew what the tube was, she had to get it out. Her brain knew she shouldn’t remove it herself, but her hands scrambled for purchase and her eyes watered.

 

Her chest fought for the right to breathe, fighting the ventilator.

 

Warm strong hands closed over hers, and while she knew it was Jordan, and that she should have been comforted, the hands pushed hers away, stopping her from her goal. Before she could protest, his face was over hers, his eyes staring at her, making certain she understood. “Jilly. You have to wait. Let me listen, then we’ll take it out.”

 

He was lying. He wouldn’t necessarily remove the tube. Only if the sounds were right. Only if she was going to breathe well enough for herself when he took it out. But she wanted to believe.

 

The urge to swallow was overwhelming. She wanted to fight, but she tamped it all down, knowing that Jordan was right. And she simply blinked a few tears back, as she felt his hand slide under her shirt. The plastic circle of the stethoscope touched her once, twice, waiting each time, while she forced patience upon herself.

 

She counted.

 

“You’re good.”

 

The words brought a flood of relief, but no real comfort. She managed a slight nod, filled with panic and tension, when he asked her point blank if she was ready. Jordan walked her through coughing, while he steadily slipped the tube up her throat. She had to cough twice, even though she knew it took most patients only once.

 

Finally when she was able to breathe for herself, she felt like oxygen was flooding her, even though she was fairly certain she’d been getting more of it through the machine. Her lungs worked rapidly, reestablishing their dominance.

 

Again she felt the hands. They grabbed hers and pinned them at her side. Why? Why was he holding her down?

 

Again, teal eyes looked into hers. “Jilly, you’re shaking, you were about to knock out your IV.” His arms came up to hold her, one hand stroking her face, and only as he said the words, “Jilly, don’t cry” did she realize that his fingers had come away wet.

 

So she squeezed her