He was caught between the past and the present, but that had to be his dancer, Zyah, and her voice was filled with anxiety. Player couldn’t help but like that. But what the hell was she doing down in the dungeon with them? That must be why her scent was everywhere. The fuckers had gotten her in spite of his trying to stop them. Or maybe he was out of his mind again. He had to let Steele take care of everything when he was so far gone.
“You’re aware of certain psychic gifts, Zyah.” Steele’s voice was calm. Matter of fact. “I don’t need an MRI to tell me what I need to know. If I have to do surgery, I can do the surgery here, repair his brain.”
“Are you crazy?” Zyah’s voice dripped with tears. “He’s going to die. He’s bad. I’ve seen his brain. I can look into his mind. I can’t do surgery, but I can repair certain things. Even in a hospital, a brain surgeon might not be able to fix that damage. I had no idea it was that bad.”
“Zyah, leave the room if you can’t be quiet,” Steele commanded.
No one disobeyed Steele when he talked in that voice. Firm. Low. Definitely all doctor. Player felt him then, inside his head. Moving shattered pieces around. The pain was excruciating.
“Let go, Player,” Steele said.
Player tried to stay awake, to push at Steele, to tell him to take him away from all of them. He wasn’t safe. Couldn’t Steele see that? Steele only looked at his brain, not what was going on inside of it. He didn’t see the damage inside, where he was so fucked up he kept going back and forth between his childhood and present day. Between danger and safety. He didn’t know what really happened to him when illusion became reality.
Steele sighed with relief when Player succumbed to the pain of the terrible wound. Zyah gasped and moved closer as if she could bring him back.
“He’s not dead. Move around to the other side.” Sweat broke out on Steele’s forehead. He wasn’t altogether certain he could save Player. He glanced at Savage. Met his eyes. Shook his head.
He wouldn’t give up. He had a gift—an extraordinary one. He’d trained from the time he was a child with the best surgeons Sorbacov could provide for him to study under. He was a prodigy. He devoured books, and once the information was in his mind, his gift took over, allowing him to use his mind to heal. It had taken years to strengthen that talent, shape it into what it was today, allowing him to do surgery, to give Player the chance to live when he wouldn’t have survived going to the hospital and undergoing brain surgery. No possible way would he have made it. Although the brain was an extraordinary thing and Player was an extraordinary man.
Steele fought for him for hours, working meticulously, healing him as he put him back together. He was aware, and a little shocked, that Zyah was right there with him, watching him, in Player’s mind, which connected to him. How she’d gotten that way already, he had no idea, but he knew, from what Player had said about her, that she was talented.
It took the better part of the night to repair the damage to Player’s brain. Steele had never attempted a surgery and healing of that magnitude before. It left him shaky and exhausted but triumphant. He was certain Player would heal very fast, especially if he continued to work on him daily.
Pain exploded through Player’s head, bringing with it images of White Rabbits and caterpillars and lobsters on cyclones. He felt sick to his stomach and didn’t want to open his eyes or move one inch in case he might vomit. He was aware of Steele close. Talking to him. Working on him. He felt warmth in his head.
“I want to take him home with me. We brought the van this time. I think we can get him down the stairs and transport him safely now. It’s been a few days. I’ve got a much more sterile environment, and I have to work on healing him, although, already, I’m seeing an improvement.” There was satisfaction in Steele’s voice.
Player didn’t feel like there was improvement. He didn’t want to go to the doc’s home, where his wife and child were, either. It was too dangerous, with his mind already spinning his illusions. He could see the bench and table in his mind where he built his bombs. That wasn’t good. It was never good. Not if all those things were lining up. He couldn’t open his eyes no matter how hard he tried to pry his lids apart.
“No.” Zyah’s protest was instant. Player recognized her voice. “That’s not a good idea. He has to stay here.”