What Lies Between (Where One Goes Book 2)

by B. N. Toler

  My blood pressure rose. “I said I would try, but only after I helped those girls.”

  “I have helped you!”

  “How?” I shouted. “You have done nothing but bitch and moan about what you want. I helped those girls, not you. The only thing you did was lure those poor girls away from their families, all so you could willingly present them to your husband to be his playthings to abuse and murder!” My fists were clenched at my sides, my voice hoarse from yelling as the months of failure and helplessness exploded out of me. Then I said something I’ve never said to anyone before, alive or dead, “I hope when you do finally cross over that you rot in hell. Though, that may actually be better than you deserve.”

  My words hit a nerve with her, and she reeled back as if I’d slapped her. I didn’t wait to hear her rebuttal, zipping past her and bolting for the stairs. Click was still screaming, and my heart was shredding as guilt consumed me.

  “Stop!” Agnus shouted, morphing in front of me. My steps faltered as the pain in my head increased and felt like an icepick, jabbing at my brain. I keeled over and held my head, one arm on the banister to keep myself from falling. Unsympathetic to my pain, Agnus took advantage of my halted escape, putting her mouth near my ear and whispering hatefully, “If I had found you when you were a little girl, you would have come with me, too. He would have been so pleased with me bringing home such a pretty little thing.”

  I raised my head to scream at her, but the pain in my head splintered, branching out, blurring my vision. The burn seemed unending, radiating through me until it suddenly stopped. The pain disappeared just before my legs collapsed, my arms helpless to catch me as I began to fall.

  Then…there was nothing.

  George

  After my meeting at Kern’s office, I took a cab back to the hotel and grabbed baguettes and coffee from the lobby bakery, hoping to distract Charlotte with food and caffeine so she wouldn’t question if I’d actually been running for two hours. While I didn’t think she’d be angry, I wanted to wait to tell her about Marlena, and that she had agreed to come all the way from London to assist in any way she could, until after today’s visit with Click. I honestly wasn’t sure how Marlena could help, but she had to be able to do more than I could, all things considered; I just didn’t want Charlotte to think I doubted she could help Click on her own.

  “Your King has returned bearing gifts for his Queen,” I announced as I traipsed playfully into our hotel room, setting the food on the desk. I drew up short when I realized the bed was empty, the sheets and comforter still twisted from our night. I knocked on the closed bathroom door. “Babe…you in there?” I asked before cautiously opening the door on an empty bathroom. Figuring she must have gone in search of coffee and food, I took a quick shower.

  Concern clenched my stomach when she hadn’t returned by the time I was dressed, and it only worsened when I called her cell and she didn’t answer. Something wasn’t right; she wouldn’t ignore my call. I searched the room frantically for a note, praying she wouldn’t have gone to see Click without me, but after several minutes of searching, and another unanswered attempt to call her, I knew that’s exactly where she was.

  Damn it! I knew I should have said something before I went to see Kern.

  Twenty minutes later, I rushed out of the cab and bolted inside the house.

  “Charlotte,” I gasped, rushing to her motionless body at the bottom of the stairs. My heart thundered in my chest as I carefully felt her neck for a pulse, doing my best not to jostle her in any way. A grateful sob burst out of me as I finally felt a weak thump against my fingers. She’s alive, thank God. I held my hand to her nose and felt warm air move across it, confirming she was breathing. I gently ran my hands over her, trying to determine if anything was broken, but I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I dug my phone out of my pocket and dialed 911.

  “Charlotte, babe, wake up,” I said as I waited for the call to connect. I didn’t see any blood, which had to be a good sign, but she wasn’t moving.

  “911, what is your emergency?”

  “My wife fell down some stairs and is unconscious,” I said quickly. As I gave our location to the dispatcher, I moved a hand back to her neck, but this time, I didn’t feel anything. No, no, no! “Shit!” I yelled, pulling the phone from my ear and putting it on speaker before I dropped it beside me.

  “Sir, I need you to tell me what’s happening,” the dispatcher said calmly.

  “Her pulse is gone!” I yelled at the phone as I rolled Charlotte onto her back to begin CPR. “Hurry, please!” I cried, tears spilling down my cheeks at I fought to keep my wife alive.

  “Help is on the way, sir.”

  I vaguely registered the voice coming from the phone. “Come on, Charlotte! Stay with me, dammit!” I begged, my world shattering with every movement.

  Ike

  Panicked eyes met mine, the mix of confusion, happiness, and disbelief echoing the emotions running through me as we both absorbed what was happening.

  Charlotte was here.

  With me.

  Which could only mean one thing.

  She was dead.

  I wasn’t sure the elation I felt was appropriate given that fact, but I couldn’t help it.

  She blinked a few times and shook her head in disbelief before her gaze returned to my hand still holding her wrist. Suddenly, she sprang up and launched herself into me and wrapped her arms around my neck, toppling me over backwards with the force. Rolling us to our sides, I held her tightly, my hand gripping the back of her neck. My senses were in overdrive, relishing in the tightness of her arms around me, her sweet scent, and the softness of her hair against my skin.

  Have I gone mad? Was this real? I was holding Charlotte, for the first time. How many times had I wished I could take this woman in my arms and now, finally—it was happening.

  She was really here.

  “I’m dreaming, right?” she sniffled into my neck, her fingers digging into my back. “This isn’t real, is it?”

  I closed my eyes and squeezed her tighter. “It feels real.” Pulling her back, I cupped her face with my hand to hold her still so I could give her a good look. “Damn, I’ve missed you, woman,” I managed, my voice raspy with emotion. Her cheek felt warm against my palm, wet with tears, but her skin was so damn smooth, the way I’d always imagined it would feel.

  Reaching up, she took my face in her hands and pulled me to her, kissing me hard. Wrapping my arms around her, I held her tight, giving into the moment. Rolling her on to her back, I threaded my fingers in her hair and slowed the kiss, letting the feel of her wash over me. I took my time—noting the softness of her lips, the way she tasted—giving credit to the significance of finally having the one thing I’ve been craving since crossing over. It was everything I’d dreamed it would be, and I had no intentions of letting it end.

  Charlotte abruptly broke off the kiss, pressing a hand against my chest to create distance between us as she covered her mouth to stifle a sob. Panic and pain filled her eyes as she struggled to get out from under me. Startled by the sudden shift, I moved off her as fast as I could. “What is it?” I asked as she scooted away from me and stumbled to her feet.

  Tears streaked down her face as she gulped for air, her breathing ragged as she fought to speak. Pain lanced my heart as she finally stuttered, “G-G-George.”

  George

  Aneurysm.

  The word rolled around in my head as I stared silently at my wife. My chair was as close to the hospital bed as I could get it, my arms resting on the mattress as I held her limp hand, careful not to disturb the IV line taped down her arm. Soft black lashes rested against her delicate cheeks as she lay motionless. Sleeping. In the madness and fear I was feeling, it was the only thing holding me together—Charlotte wasn’t in a coma, she was just sleeping—but deep down, in a dark place I refused to acknowledge, I knew the truth.

  The door to her room opened and my father stepped inside, his expression gaunt as Cha
rlotte’s father and mother followed behind him. My father was the kind of man that liked everyone, but he didn’t particularly care for Wayne Acres, none of us did. Not after he’d cast Charlotte out into the world, refusing to believe she could see the dead. But my father, being a better man than me, had put aside his discontent and offered himself as a friend to the Acres in their time of need.

  Staring at her daughter from the doorway, tears welling in her red-rimmed eyes, Tracey Acres’ hands trembled as she covered her mouth in an attempt to muffle her crying. I winced at the sound of her broken sob, her reaction to seeing Charlotte in this state every bit as gut-wrenching as imaginable. Charlotte didn’t look a thing like her mother, who looked like the quintessential small-town school teacher with her simply styled brown hair and practical clothes. No, Charlotte looked just like her father with his gray eyes and dark hair.

  I forced myself to a stand, my body heavy from the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours, and I was wearing thin from lack of sleep. I edged around the bed, but stopped, unsure of what to do. Most in-laws would hug, especially in a situation like this, but the Acres and I had never really established that kind of rapport.

  If there was tension or a rift between me and my in-laws, I’d have to own a part in that. Charlotte tried her best to let the past go, but I wasn’t sure I ever would. Though, one could argue had they not cast her out, I would have never met her. Then where would I be? I grimaced at that thought. High? Hiding? Possibly dead? I glanced back at Charlotte, my chest aching. She saved me.

  Don’t take her, God. Please. Please don’t take her.

  “Any updates since we spoke this morning?” Wayne asked in a gruff voice.

  I shook my head.

  “I’d like to speak to the doctor,” he grumbled.

  “Rounds are in two hours,” I said flatly.

  “I want to speak to him now.” His tone was demanding.

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I tilted my head in disbelief. Did he think I was keeping updates from him? “Like I said,” I met his firm stare with equal determination, “they’ll be back in two hours.” My tone held a bite. This was my wife we were talking about. Did he think I wouldn’t have harassed the hell out of everyone for information already?

  “I was told you found her in some crack house,” he bit out.

  “That’s where the girl she was helping was,” Tracey intervened before I could respond.

  “Oh, right,” he said with a disgusted snort. “This souls-lost-in-limbo nonsense. And I suppose you just let her run off into a dangerous city by herself chasing these delusions?” He spat accusingly at me.

  I stepped toward him. “Wayne, if you have something to say to me—”

  “George,” my father said quietly, stepping between us and laying a hand on my shoulder to keep me in place. “This isn’t the time.”

  I nodded, taking in a deep breath to calm down. My father was right, but I wasn’t about to let Wayne throw his weight around and put my wife at greater risk by spewing his opinions about Charlotte’s mental wellbeing. I shifted to meet Wayne’s glare over my father’s shoulder. “I’m not interested in trying to convince you of Charlotte’s gift; you’ve more than proven it would be a waste of energy I don’t have. But if you wish to remain here and be able to see your daughter, you need to get one thing straight.”

  “George…” my father began insistently, but I cut him off.

  “No, Dad. This needs to be said.” I gave him a quick glance, and he nodded and stepped to stand beside me, facing Charlotte’s parents. I looked back to Wayne and continued, “I didn’t let Charlotte do anything. You know better than anyone that she does what she wants, and she wouldn’t have gone alone without good reason. That being said, you’re right. I should have been there with her, and I’ve thanked God every single second of the last twenty-four hours that I found her when I did. I am the one that’s been by her side everyday for the last three years, and I’m the one that will still be by her side when she wakes up, and everyday after that until I die because I’m her husband. I will not keep you from her, but I sure as hell won’t let you barge in here and act like you know anything about what’s best for my wife. You lost the right to demand anything on her behalf the day you threw her out of your lives.”

  At that moment Tracey flew to Charlotte’s side, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “Charlotte, honey,” she cried. “I’m so sorry. We’re here now. I’m here with you, sweetie.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes. Where was she when Charlotte was alone and about to end her life? Where was this bleeding-heart mother then?

  “Wayne, now is not the time to pick a fight,” Tracey said tersely. “Our daughter is in duress.” Casting her tear-filled gaze to me, she promised, “We won’t talk about her gift anymore.”

  I turned back to Wayne, his expression slack as he watched his wife cry at Charlotte’s bedside. After a few long moments he cut his gaze to mine and reluctantly nodded. He wouldn’t press it any further, but neither would he apologize.

  Fine, I’d made my point; though, part of me still wanted to throttle the man. My father must’ve seen my expression and had an idea what I was thinking because he cleared his throat, drawing my attention. The lingering anger leached out of me when I realized he was struggling to hold himself together just as much as I was. Charlotte was a part of the McDermott clan now. He considered her a daughter, and this was as tough for him as it would be any father.

  “George, why don’t we let them have some time with her and get you something to eat?”

  Wayne’s head perked up as he glanced at me, no doubt eagerly hoping I’d take my father’s suggestion.

  I hesitated, knowing my father was right but not wanting to leave Charlotte.

  “Come on, George,” my father insisted with a squeeze of my shoulder. I didn’t like it, but I nodded.

  “I’ll be back in an hour.” I said tonelessly as I passed Wayne.

  Out in the hall, my father rested his hand on my shoulder as we walked toward the elevators. “I know you’re not their biggest fan, but they are her parents.”

  “Only when it’s convenient for them,” I snorted, unable to stop myself.

  Two people were already waiting as we approached the elevator, and my father shifted in front of me, forcing me to stop a few feet away. “George,” he began in a stern tone I knew well. It was his tough love voice. He was about to say something to me that I wouldn’t want to hear but needed to. Fathers have that ability to teach you and scold you all at once and you respect them for it. My dad was a master at this. “Charlotte is their daughter, you can’t change that, and son,” his voice cracked slightly before he cleared his throat, “if she dies, they’ll have lost two children. The only children they have.” The elevator dinged and we stepped inside. I pressed the button for the lobby as the doors slid closed, the weight of his words threatening to break me. In that one statement he’d summed up the impact Charlotte had on all of us, and what it would mean if she didn’t wake up. My wife, their daughter, might die.

  “I know you’re hurting,” he continued quietly, “and you’re protective of her, but you’re going to have to put yourself aside here, son, and remember we all love Charlotte. We’re all scared, and we’ll all be devastated if anything happens to her.”

  His words were meant to right me, keep me on track and remind me not to let my emotions get the better of me, but it felt like a punch to the gut every time he said anything about Charlotte dying. “Please stop saying that. Stop talking about her dying,” I said curtly, refusing to let my voice convey the agony I felt at just the thought of losing her. “I’ll try, Dad,” I promised. “Just no more talk about her dying. Okay?”

  He nodded his agreement as the doors opened to the lobby. I bolted from the elevator, not waiting for my father as I headed straight for the cafeteria. I needed something strong, but I wasn’t sure the coffee would be enough.

  Charlotte

  I’d been elated. Ike McDermott’s ar
ms had been wrapped around me. I’d felt him, felt his warmth. I’d dreamed of it for so long, and it’d finally happened. The moment had consumed me, eradicating any rational thought as I’d held onto this man I loved so dearly.

  Thank you, God, I’d silently prayed. Thank you for giving me this, finally.

  Then my happy floating moment slowed as a heaviness began to settle around me. Yes, I was here with Ike, but for that to happen it meant I had to be dead, which meant—No!

  George was alone. I’d lost my husband.

  Reality sliced through me as I’d pushed Ike off me and scrambled away. I was left with two overwhelming, but conflicting, emotions—the joy of being with one of the men I loved, and the pain of losing the other. My world had flipped. How could I celebrate this reunion with Ike, knowing I was leaving George alone and widowed?

  As I sobbed, my hand covering my mouth and tears spilling down my cheeks, Ike watched me, uncertainty thick in his stare. He had to know what I was thinking, and I had no doubt he felt as conflicted as I did.

  “Breathe, Charlotte,” he insisted, his voice calm and quiet. Reaching out cautiously, he stepped toward me, as if he was afraid I might attack him. I smacked his hand away, anger seizing me.

  “Don’t do that,” I snapped as I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my arm.

  “What?” he asked, shock edging his voice as he rubbed his hand.

  “Don’t treat me like you’re afraid of me.”

  He reared back ever so slightly, then he quickly collected himself. “Well,” he shied awkwardly away from me, “I am—a little.” He winked as the corner of his mouth lifted into a teasing smirk.

  I glared at him and warned, “Ike…”

  “Well you did just smack my hand,” he surmised, lifting one brow. “You’ve been threatening to hurt me since the day we met.” He rolled his shoulders back, then crossed his arms, tilting his head up and to the side, as if trying to recall a memory. “You threw the brush at me…then a pillow.” He frowned before meeting my gaze again. “And you threatened to kick me in the balls, like, at least seven hundred times.”