The REASON Series - the Complete Collection

by Zoey Derrick

  Does this have anything to do with the tattoo on my back?

  “Everything. Although, young one, it is not a tattoo.”

  I nod my head. I’m growing well aware of that. I swear I saw it shimmering last night. What on earth is it?

  “Why, what else would an angel have upon his back?”

  My knees buckle as reality strikes. Wings?

  The answer to my question comes in the form of a tingling sensation radiating across my back. The reinforcement of my conclusion leaves me shaking my head. This is all just way too much. Are you going to keep blindsiding me when you start talking?

  “Yes, and no. Now, young angel, know that I will be ever-present and will do my best not to frighten you.”

  I push away from the wall and begin moving back down the hall. Finally I reach the elevator and press the up arrow.

  There are so many unanswered questions, I feel like my head is going to explode. But something that the other voice told me comes flooding back.

  The voice before, she said something about helping Vivienne. What did she mean?

  “She meant that we can only help her start the process. The rest is up to her. You are here to protect her, to keep her safe and to help her heal.”

  How on earth am I supposed to do that?

  “Be here.”

  Well that won’t be hard., I have no intention of leaving. Not until she does.

  The elevator finally arrives and I step in. As the elevator rises, all the angst and anguish I felt earlier returns. I get this strange sense of emptiness, and I wonder if the voice has gone.

  When I get no answering reply, I’m assured that she is. At least for now. With each passing floor, my anxiety rises, and the buzz strengthens across my skin. But for the first time in all of this, I feel a sense of hope.

  Ten

  I’ve never been a fan of hospitals, let alone waiting rooms. The last time I spent any amount of time in one was after the accident. My youngest brother, Ronin, had survived the initial accident, then surgery, only to pass away about six hours later. We waited, Victoria and I, for nearly four hours while he was in surgery. We had already found out about Dad and my other brother, Shane.

  I spent hours pacing the room while Victoria slowly lost her mind. She was far closer to Dad and Ronin than I ever was. I had always been closer to Mom.

  All things considered, I will take this waiting room over that one, only because I feel completely confident in Dr. Alston’s abilities as well as my newfound sense of hope.

  Though that doesn’t stop me from pacing the room, thankful that I’m the only one in here.

  My phone starts to vibrate. Hoping that it will offer some distraction, I pull it from my pocket. My eyebrows knit together.

  “Blake.”

  “Mikah, it’s Detective Stevens.”

  “Have you caught Riley yet?”

  “No.” So not the distraction I was looking for. “I called because I received your recording. How in the hell did you obtain this?”

  “It’s a simple voicemail recording. Leaving a voicemail is public record.”

  I can hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. “I see your point. How is she?”

  My eyes water almost instantly at his seemingly innocent question, but his sense of guilt is palpable even through the phone. “She’s in surgery, so I don’t know.”

  “Alright. I’ll try back later.”

  “Detective?”

  Another sigh. “Yeah,” he says, clipped.

  “How are you holding up?” I ask. Doubtless, his dead officer weighs heavy on his mind.

  “Officer Anders was a good friend of mine. I’m...” Pause.

  “No need, Detective. I understand.”

  “Thanks, Blake.”

  “Yup. When my people get in touch with you, let me know if you need anything from them. Or from me.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” I hear the disconnecting click.

  I pull the phone from my ear and hit end. I take a step back when I see more of the missed calls. My leg bumps into a chair, so I sit down and begin scrolling through them.

  Most of them are from Jack, and looking at the time on my watch and the call log tells me that the majority of them were from before Elton left his message. It’s good to know that, had I been coherent and not hearing voices in my head, I would’ve had a heads-up about what he knew before calling me.

  I go flipping through the emails. I quickly see why Elton knows about my severing ties to Bennett and Lisbon, which means pulling out of the condo project we broke ground on a couple weeks ago. Elton knows that he cannot continue without MSBE’s involvement. Ninety percent of the investors on that project only joined in because I was fronting the majority of it. The project was a major risk, given its location.

  Jack has also forwarded some more information regarding Riley and his involvement in Rebecca’s death.

  I can’t look at this now. I don’t need to have what could’ve happened to Vivienne shoved in my face.

  Jesus. Vivienne. She was done, gone, out of Riley’s life, and by the sounds of it, never to return. She could’ve had anything she wanted out of Elton. Or Riley, for that matter. She could’ve used them, blackmailed them, anything. But she didn’t. Why?

  I know why. She’s not that type of person. Her determination to be independent through all of this is my answer. Whether it is to prove it to herself or not, she’s determined to make it on her own.

  Eleven

  A hum radiates quickly through my body as the sound of footsteps registers in my ears. This time it’s light, but doesn’t tickle. Someone that I know is coming?

  After four more steps, a man steps into the doorway. My heart races for that brief second before recognition, and then the humming stops.

  “Red. What are you doing here?”

  “I came by to check on you.”

  “How’d you know I was—…”

  “You would think, after the last three years, you would know the answer to that question.”

  I nod my head. “She’s in surgery.”

  “I feel awful about this.”

  I look to him, puzzled. “For?”

  “I was there. Last night. Waiting for her to return home from work. If I’d gotten there sooner I—…”

  “Stop. There was a cop who was killed in Riley’s quest to get to her. Do not think that it would have been any different with you had you arrived earlier.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and look down at the floor. “The truth is that I don’t know when the cop was killed. Riley could have been in that building for hours before she got home. Or he could have managed to sneak his way in, leaving the cop for later. Something that surprised me most was the fact that her door was locked, but only the knob.” I wonder idly if Riley had left, met with his father outside of my building and then went back.

  The buzz comes back, same as a moment ago, as I hear Red’s shoes hit the carpet.

  He sits down next to me. “I know, but still, it makes me wonder.” He stops talking and I can sense his mood change to distress. “Good Lord, Mikah, you’re bleeding.”

  I give Red a sideways glance as I try and recall how I could have started bleeding. He’s looking at my back. Shit! “Where?” I ask, a little bit of panic in my voice. I can’t feel any pain anywhere.

  “There, on your shoulder and your back. Let me look at it.”

  “No, it’s fine it’s probably not my blood,.” I say, as my body runs cold and as the vision of Vivienne splayed out on that bed, blood everywhere, goes flashing through my mind.

  “Jesus, Mikah, you’re white as a ghost.” I try - and fail - to dispel the image from my mind, so I open my eyes, attempting to give myself something else to look at.

  Red is quick to distract me. “You alright mo chara?”

  My lips turn up slightly at his use of Irish and English together. “I think so.” Is all I can manage to say at this point.

&n
bsp; “I have some jeans and a t-shirt for you in the car if you’d like?” Red asks. I just nod. “Alright, I’ll be right back. Anything else?”

  “Coffee would be great. Thanks.” I look up at him. There is pity on his face, and though the look doesn’t bother me, I can understand now why Vivienne would see that look and hate it.

  “Sure thing.” He turns and walks out of the room.

  Looking through the glass at the nurse’s station reveals that nothing has changed. Though I can’t see everything, I can see that line number four, Vivienne’s line, still says she’s in surgery with Dr. Alston.

  Despair washes over me in a rush. Come on, damn it. Something. Anything.

  Twelve

  A few minutes later, Red returns with a bag containing a pair of jeans, a gray t-shirt and my sneakers.

  “Will you stay here? Wait until I get back?”

  “Of course, sir,” he says with a smile.

  I give him a half-hearted lift of the corner of my mouth and head toward the desk.

  “We haven’t heard anything yet, Mr. Blake,” says the young blond nurse behind the desk.

  “I figured as much. But I need to change my clothes. Is there a restroom I can change in?”

  “Not really, but room three—” she points to her left and down the hall “—is empty. Feel free to use it to change and freshen up.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  As I pass the whiteboard, I glance just to make sure that nothing has changed. Nope. Still says Callahan, OR 4, general/personal, Alston, 2 hrs.

  So much for two hours; it’s been nearly three.

  I pick up my pace, wanting to be back in the waiting room when Dr. Alston comes out.

  Room three is obviously a recovery room: There’s no bed, but there are several machines that appear to be turned off. I can’t help but notice the ultrasound machine in the corner opposite everything else. The room smells like bleach and sanitizer. Fresh. I silently hope this is not where she will go when she’s out of surgery. She deserves better than this room.

  I shake my head and get to work unbuttoning my shirt and pants and kicking off my shoes. Opening the bag reveals a stash of toiletries – shampoo, conditioner, shave gel, a razor, two combs, cologne and deodorant – and I smile a little at Red’s foresight.

  Once I’m down to my undershirt, boxer briefs and socks I head for the bathroom.

  I take stock in the mirror. There are dark red to brown spots of varying sizes on the shoulder of my undershirt. It is also ripped in several places. My other shirt wasn’t like this, was it? No doubt Red would have thrown a bigger fit about my being looked at had my shirt been ripped.

  I turn around to pick it up to check, but before I can complete my turn, something on my back catches my eye. I turn my back to the mirror and look over my shoulder, and the emptiness I felt earlier disappears completely, replaced by the sense that someone is with me.

  “Do not fret. You have done well, young angel. You knew I was here.” It’s the same voice as in the hallway.

  “What is all over my back?” I stare blankly at the silver-gray tint to the back of my already gray shirt.

  “Ah, young angel, it has begun.”

  “What, damn it? What is going on?” I nearly shout, and then quickly silence myself, hoping no one heard my outburst.

  “Calm, Mikah. Remove your shirt and you shall see.”

  I reach for the hem and turn my head back toward the room before pulling my shirt over my head. I take a deep breath as the voice starts to sing.

  Is the singing really necessary?

  She laughs. “No, young one, it is not, but I am bored.”

  “Seriously?” I say out loud. “I’m on the verge of a damn freak-out and you’re bored. Brilliant.”

  She laughs again. “Mikah, you will quickly see that I am bored constantly. You, young angel, are alive. Blood courses through your veins, your heart beats. But I, I am left here in whiteness for eternity. Yes, I get bored – very easily, mind you – and the only time I get to have any amount of fun at all is when I am in your head.”

  I shiver at the thought of this voice having a good time in my head. “How long have you been in my head without me knowing?” She laughs again. “This really isn’t funny, Seraphina.”

  “You are right, Mikah. Getting your wings is serious business.”

  “My what?” I’m thrown. Wings? Real wings? “How am I supposed to go walking around with wings on my back?”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.” I feel an attitude shift in my head, almost like excitement. “Go ahead, take a look in the mirror. You will see.”

  I begin to turn my head and the excitement bubbles. But it’s not my excitement.

  Seriously?

  “Oh, come on. This is fun,” she says, and now I can hear the excitement in her voice.

  I try to shake her excitement off and turn my head a little bit more. I don’t know what to expect, and I’m freaking out about what I’m going to see. Good grief, stop being such a baby.

  “I agree.”

  “Would you stop that?”

  She giggles. Out of all the angels in...wherever she is...I get stuck with the damn comedian.

  “Hmph,” she huffs.

  Finally, I continue turning my head until I’m able to see my back.

  Thirteen

  There on my back, in vivid detail, are two beautiful wings with white, gray, and silver feathers. They are nothing but a flat, two-dimensional image, yet they seem to be alive.

  My knees give out and I tumble to the floor, breathing heavily.

  She is quiet for a few moments while this all soaks in. “The legend is true, an angel are you,” she finally says.

  I’m unable to speak aloud. You can say that again. But me? Why me?

  “Because, young angel, it is who you are. It is who your mother was and is to this day; though she never grew wings while she was alive, she is one of us now.”

  Can I see her?

  “Perhaps in time. She is one of our máithreacha, who are very busy.”

  Máithreacha? Mothers?

  “Yes. They are second in command to our máthair go léir. Your mother was the one who spoke to you first and, as you no doubt guessed, she can be a bit testy.”

  How did I not recognize her voice? It’s a voice that plays in my head constantly whenever I do something profoundly stupid.

  “If you think about that long enough, I’m sure you can figure that out.”

  Suddenly I understand: She didn’t want me to know it was her.

  “Or perhaps you didn’t recognize her because you were not thinking of her that way.”

  I think back to the voice in the chapel. I still can’t hear it as my mother’s, but I take Seraphina’s word for it.

  Anxiety washes over me as I contemplate the responsibilities that might come with these wings. What happens now?

  “We wait until the right time and place for you to take control of them. Then you can learn to use them to your advantage.”

  I let out a rushed breath, thanking the stars that I can deal with this later. Given that there was blood on my shirt but no pain, I’m not quite convinced that I’m not dreaming.

  In the instant that thought crosses my mind, sharp, white-hot pain races around my body, and I fall flat on my back.

  Alright I get it; I’m not dreaming!

  The pain stops, and I regain control of my own body and senses. I stand up and look into the mirror, this time facing forward. Where the blood had soaked into my t-shirt on my shoulder and chest, there is...nothing. Absolutely nothing there.

  “You’re a fast healer, young angel.”

  “The door at her apartment. The one I shattered with my shoulder. It caused all that blood, but where...where are the cuts?” I whisper.

  “As I said, you are a fast healer.”

  “I... What? Jesus. Is there anything else you want to tell me about before I discover it for myself and go ballistic?”

  “You’ve
already had enough for today. Get dressed and go back to the waiting room. I will do what I can to leave you alone for the rest of the day.”

  I nod, and once again the emptiness returns. The hum in my back disappears. I flex my shoulder, testing its strength, but it feels fine. Completely normal. Which ranks up there with talking to angels in my head in my list of strange things that have happened to me today.

  Fourteen

  As I walk past the nurse’s station, I glance at the board and it’s changed: Vivienne’s name is no longer listed on the forth line. I jog back to the waiting room.

  Stepping into the room, I notice Red in the corner, reading a magazine, and a family sitting opposite him. I walk straight up to him. He puts down his magazine.

  “Has Dr. Alston been here yet?”

  “No, but the nurse came in and said that she was out of surgery and the doctor would be in as soon as she could.”

  I let out a rush of breath as a weight lifts from my shoulders. She’s out of surgery. “Oh, thank stars.”

  He chuckles a bit at my expression, something he does all the time. I explained to him once why I have a hard time thanking God or some other higher power for the things that happen to people. After you’ve lost your mother, your father and your two brothers and you have a sister that is lost inside her own head, it’s hard to be thankful for the things that God does.

  I take a seat, though I know it’s going to be pointless; I’m beyond keyed up, and I feel like pacing again. But I don’t want to freak out the family sitting across from us.

  What a damn mess today has turned into. First Vivienne, and then angels start talking to me in my head. Now my back. How in the hell does this stuff happen to me? Why me? I cannot seem to find a reason for it. I grew up believing that to become an angel you had to die first, be pure of self, and follow a spiritual path. All of these things I’m not.

  Wings? Really? How on earth am I supposed to hide these things? What in the world is going to happen to me – physically and mentally?

  I’ve only been sitting here for a few minutes when the skin on my back starts to crawl. I shiver and grab the back of my neck, massaging it, hoping that the contact will lessen the sensation. But instead, a strong sense of unease comes over me. I feel restless. I need to move, be doing something – anything but sitting here idle and waiting. But I can’t make myself move.