Junior Dalton's head rose and settled next to Brian, winked, then vanished.
The fire on the shore faded, died. The only light left in the cavern came from its large red embers. As Brian continued to spin, waiting for judgment—to return to the living world—he looked to Marie. "Come with me," he yelled.
In his mind he heard, farewell, Brian, then Marie's naked image dissolved, became blue neon gas, dissipated, and was gone.
The whirlpool spun faster, faster. The cavern was a blur. Colors and shades blended until all was black.
The thrusting wind in his ears...thwump, thwump. His eyes were forced inward.
Once the Medi-Vac helicopter had settled and the dust had cleared, Brian opened his eyes.
"He's awake," someone yelled.
The Arizona sun stabbed Brian's dilated irises and he lifted his arm to shadow his face.
"Quickly. Over here."
Slowly, pain spread from his leg to his groin. His spine protested the jagged ground on which it rested. Scratches and cuts, bared to the warmth of the sun, dotted his body with pin cushion discomfort.
Two men and a woman knelt beside him.
"Keep still," the paramedic with the thick mustache said."You're a very lucky man."
As the paramedics wrestled his painful limbs onto a stretcher, Brian considered his luck: Tortured through an afterlife illusion...not lucky; understanding that the only woman he'd ever loved was a part of that illusion...not lucky; being pushed from a cliff and falling fifty feet, almost to his death for Christ's sake...really not lucky.
But as he was lifted from the ground, he turned his head and understood what the mustached paramedic had meant. Jimmy Peters lay crushed in a puddle of blood; his dead eyes were wide with terror. Somehow, Brian had landed on top of him.
"Keep still." This time the female paramedic offered the advice. She cradled his head and secured a neck brace under his chin. She was very pretty. Her eyes reminded him of his illusionary love.
But Marie was gone. All he had now was rehabilitation, a full load of summer classes, and Professor Chutney. He realized that he'd never see Marie again, not even in his dreams. His nights would be infected by the image of Jimmy Peters' crushed skull, his horror-filled stare. He'd dream of some place far below, where bones burned brightly on the walls of Hell, where Jimmy, the skeleton, Peters hung screaming for an eternity.
And questions: Who, really, was Marie Lefonte? When did she live and why did she deserve such a horrible death? And what had Jimmy Peters done to humanity? What evil secrets had he hidden?
The paramedics hoisted Brian into the helicopter and shoved a needle into his arm.
Thwump...Thwump, the helicopter blades.
Thwump...Thwump, the spinning Circle of Judgment.
He'd never pass anatomy now. His mind would be preoccupied. There were too many answers to be researched. Maybe it was time for a change. He hated pre-med classes anyway, didn't he?
"This yours?" the female paramedic asked.
All scholars had written about the heavenly afterlife but Brian had a different story to tell. Marie would have wanted it; Junior would have wanted it. It was his judgment.
"Yes, it is," Brian said. "Would you please put it on?"
The female paramedic looked at her companions, each nodded in turn, and she placed Junior Dalton's straw cowboy hat on Brian's head. It fit perfectly.
#####
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The Edge of Hell Page 6
