The Scribe - Hunter Elizabeth (библиотека книг бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

“Yes, he is.”

“That’s good.”

She forced herself to turn and smiled. “I’m optimistic. Istanbul might just become my favorite city.”

“Because of the doctor?”

They kept walking, strolling farther through the cisterns. Ava paused at the edge of a tour group, but the guide was speaking German.

“Partly. But I think the attraction was here even before I met him. There’s just something about this place, you know?”

“I don’t know, I—”

She interrupted him with a laugh. “You’re from here, so you probably don’t really get that. I mean, I know people love L.A. Love Hollywood, but it never seemed all that special to me because I grew up there. Istanbul is probably that way for you.”

“No.”

He had stopped behind her. Ava turned to him. “No?”

“I understand. It’s part of the reason I came back. This city… It feeds the soul.”

A strange fluttering started in her chest. “I didn’t know my soul was hungry.”

“Didn’t you?” He smiled. “Hmm.”

“Oh, Malachi…” Ava turned and pretended to read a sign. “The things you say in a single ‘hmm.’”

She felt him step closer. Could feel her body react. His lips were sealed, but his voice whispered to her. Taunting, teasing whispers that begged her to come closer. She turned her head, and her heart raced as his eyes dropped to her mouth. He leaned down, parting his lips as if to speak, but before he could say anything, a child bumped into Ava from behind, giggling as she sent Ava stumbling into Malachi’s chest.

He caught her elbows, and she heard him suck in a breath.

There was a flash of awareness. A sense and a silence. In that second, his pure voice was the only thing she heard, and the sense of harmony threatened to overwhelm her. Ava gasped.

She needed.

Wanted.

Needed.

Utter and complete peace enveloped her for a brief moment, then it was gone when Malachi dropped his hands. Eyes blinking, he backed away, and she let out the breath she held. Once again, the voices wrapped around her, muffled—like a distant chorus they circled and taunted her.

For a second, they had been gone. Completely gone.

And his voice was the only thing she’d heard.

“Malachi?”

“Hmm?” His face was an impenetrable mask, half-cloaked in darkness.

“I…” What was she going to say?

Touch me.

Hold my hand.

Can you make them go away?

“I… don’t feel very well,” she breathed out. “I’d like to go back to my hotel now.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, immediately ushering her toward the exit.

Did he know? Could he feel it, too? Ava shook her head to try to shake some sense into it. Of course he hadn’t felt it. He wasn’t nuts. The odd feeling was probably a result of the strange mood in the underground cistern combined with dehydration and an unexpected—and entirely impractical—attraction to the man.

It had snuck up on her, but she was honest enough to acknowledge it, even as she recognized the futility of the attraction.

What man would want a relationship with her? Her lovers were fleeting. They had to be. Prolonged contact only made her condition worse. Her longest relationship had been during college. It was only three months before he’d been overwhelmed by her, and she by him. She’d flooded him with her energy, her moods, her manic bursts of activity.

“I can’t keep up with you.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“Too much, Ava. You’re just… too much.”

Too much.

It was all too much. She and Malachi walked through a tour group coming down the stairs. Dozens of people brushed past her, almost causing her to stumble. For a second, tears welled in her eyes. She saw Malachi reach for her hand instinctively, then he stopped, drawing his fingers back like a child not allowed to touch. She stayed close behind him, letting his broad shoulders clear a path through the crowd. When they finally reached the outdoors, the sound of traffic overwhelmed the wash of voices. The honks and shouts of the drivers were an unexpected relief.

Ava slipped on her sunglasses and, without waiting for her shadow, started back to the hotel.

Her appointment with Dr. Sadik couldn’t come early enough the next day. She left Malachi drinking tea at a cafe across the street and walked up to the office, opening the door on the third floor landing before she made her way down the hall and into the office. The pleasant receptionist greeted her with a smile.

“May I get you some tea, Ms. Matheson? You are a few minutes early. Dr. Sadik should be ready for you shortly.” She rose before Ava even answered, moving to the corner where a pot of the tea sat in a clear carafe. Taking one of the modern armchairs, Ava held out her hand when the young woman brought her the drink.

“Thank you. And please, call me Ava.”

“Such a beautiful name,” the receptionist said with a smile. “Please let me know if there is anything else I can get you, Ava.”

“Thanks.” She settled in, sipping the tea and listening to the quiet hum of the woman’s mind drift over the meditative music that filled the room. In a few minutes, she heard the door on the other side of Dr. Sadik’s office close, signaling that his other client had left. A few moments later, his smiling face poked through the door.

“Ava! How are you this morning?”

Immediately put at ease by his presence, she rose. “Doing fine, thank you.”

The look in his eyes told Ava that he knew there was more to the story, but he didn’t prod in front of the receptionist. She walked to the office and quickly took a seat on the chaise. “Is Rana here yet?”

The nurse who helped with the massage was usually there when Ava came in the office.

“She is running just a bit behind today. I apologize. Why don’t we talk for a few moments?”

She took a deep breath. “Sure.”

“How have the voices been?” He cut straight to the chase.

“Um… good.” She smiled tentatively. “Well, better.”

Dr. Sadik nodded, his gold-rimmed glasses flashing in the light from the window. He was sneaking up on middle age, but something about his expression and manner seemed far older. It was probably just a cultural difference.

The doctor said, “I believe I told you to expect that, did I not? We are not attempting to cure you of anything, because it is my belief, and yours as well, that there is no mental illness to cure. What we are doing is learning to manage the unique circumstances—an unusual perception, shall we say—under which your mind works.”

“Yes.” She let out a breath and tried to relax. “I like it. I feel better. And I’m glad you don’t think I’m crazy. You’re probably the first person to treat me who doesn’t think so.”

He smiled. “I told you, you are not my first patient with this condition. And the others saw relief with the treatments, as well.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Did Rana say how long she’d be?”

“Just ten minutes or so.”

Most of the pressure-point massage happened in the head, neck and shoulders, but Dr. Sadik seemed to be very cautious about contact with Ava unless his nurse was present. He’d insisted on it from the beginning, which had put her at ease. Ava was eager to end the small talk and get on with her appointment.

“How are you enjoying Istanbul?” he asked. “You are traveling alone, am I correct?”

“I am. But everyone here is so friendly, I almost feel like I’ve been here before and they recognize me.”

He smiled. “Turks take hospitality very seriously. It is a wonderful part of their culture.”

Their culture? She frowned. Ava had assumed the doctor was Turkish. “Yes, well… I’m enjoying it. I’ll definitely come back. Someone I met told me that Istanbul feeds the soul. I think he may be right.”

She caught a flash in his eyes, as if he recognized the saying. Was it a common proverb in Turkey? The expression fled, and polite interest took its place again.