Page 1 of Wild Highland Rose (Time After Time #4)

H e was floating in darkness—deep, impenetrable darkness. He tried to open his eyes, to see. But there was nothing. Only the dark, its blackness surrounding him like a living thing. Moving. Breathing.

He lay still, focusing on the sound, listening to the rhythm. A beep, sharp and high pitched, provided counterpoint for the hissing, a fractured melody of sorts.

The sounds washed over him, their hypnotic tempo soothing, seductive.

Whoosh beep beep, whoosh beep beep.

He tried to move an arm, his brain telegraphing frantic messages to limbs that couldn't or wouldn't respond, but there was nothing.

No pain. No sensation at all. Only the hollow ring of his thoughts as he floated through the darkness—adrift in a syncopated sea.

He tried to remember where he was, who he was, but his mind stubbornly remained blank.

He concentrated harder, and then harder still.

Pain broke through the dark, hot and crimson. Unbearable.

Panic rose, the cacophony of sensation almost unbearable. He fought against his fear, sinking back into the soothing sound of the mechanical music, the pain receding with each throbbing beat.

The rhythm was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He struggled for memory, but there was only blackness. God, what he wouldn't give for light. The darkness was claustrophobic, closing around him like velvet, filling his eyes and his mouth—smothering him in softness.

As if in answer to his prayer, a flare of light pierced the darkness, its brilliance almost blinding.

The automated cadence faded as he concentrated on the resplendence.

Slowly it widened until it resembled a luminous doorway and he felt himself being drawn forward, its cool beacon, compelling him onward, fear fading in its wake.

Whoosh beep beep, whoosh beep beep.

The noise intervened, pulling him back, the light disappearing as suddenly as it had come. Frustrated, he tried anxiously to see something in the darkness. Anything. But there was nothing, only endless black and the pulsing rhythm.

Mentally, at least, he closed his eyes, trying to imagine color and texture where there was none. To shut out the darkness and recapture the light. It began as a pinpoint, growing steadily larger, until the doorway reappeared, this time in glorious color.

He could see through it now. Greens and blues and yellows.

So bright it almost hurt his eyes. The light grew larger, embracing him, surrounding him, his senses springing to life.

There was grass, silky and soft beneath his cheek, and sky, azure blue, dotted with wisps of cloud.

Wind kissed his cheek, crisp and cold, and in the distance, he could hear the bubbling of a small stream, its musical sound blessedly devoid of rhythm.

Sighing with relief, certain that the nightmare had ended, he rolled onto his side, the warmth of the sun lulling him into sleep.