Resurrection

by Sara Reinke

  Jay had slept for almost seven hours after that. His mother had blamed Paul for his stupefied state, thinking he had bullied his younger brother. And then there was Danny, he thought. She didn’t understand, and I couldn’t tell her what had happened. Hell, I didn’t even know what had happened. And it sure as hell wasn’t something I talked about with Jay, at least not then.

  Paul gave his brother’s hand a light squeeze. He brought Daniel back from the dead. Some how, some way. He doesn’t know how it happens any more than I do. Only…he didn’t bring Daniel back, not all of the way.

  Daniel had never been able to speak again except for the weird, guttural sounds he’d been making when he had first come to in the woods. He’d never gone back to school. All of the doctors seemed to concur that he had some kind of brain damage from falling out of the tree. He’d been sent away to a special home for retarded children because he had to be hand-fed and wear diapers since he’d piss and shit his pants. Danny’s mother had eventually had a nervous breakdown because of it all.

  That was the first time it happened, Paul thought. But not the last.

  Paul had suspected when it happened the second time, the night of Jay’s senior prom, because Jay had come stumbling home in the middle of the night and had slept most of the next day away.

  Mom and Dad had been pissed at him, but only because they thought he was sleeping off a drunk from the prom. But I knew. I remembered. And then when I’d heard about the girl he’d taken to the dance, Eileen O’Connell, and how they’d had to put her away in a convalescent home because she’d had some kind of breakdown, well, then I was damn near positive.

  And so he’d taken Jay out one night while he’d been a college student at Columbia, Missouri. The two of them had sat up, drinking beers and eating pizza at Shakespeare’s, and talked about raising the dead.

  “I can never bring them all of the way back,” Jay had told him helplessly, drunk and slap-happy from the beer. He’d laughed, but it had been a miserable, unhappy sound. “I don’t understand. Why the hell does this happen to me?”

  Paul supposed the only time Jay would have wanted to use his gift, his power, his curse―whichever you wanted to call it―was when Lucy had died.

  Only Jay had been in a coma, Paul thought. He had no idea she died in the accident. He didn’t find out until almost two months after she’d been put in the ground.

  Paul knew if Jay had been able to raise Lucy, if he’d been able to sense her death, to lay his hands on her, he would have tried, whether he’d wanted to or not. Because Jay couldn’t control his powers; rather, they controlled him. He’d once told Paul he’d finally come to fully understand that the third time he’d raised someone.

  But that time…that was too horrible to think about.

  Jay whimpered lightly in his sleep. His brows lifted in visible distress and he gasped for breath. Paul leaned forward and cupped his face between his hands, speaking quietly, trying to comfort him. “It’s okay, Jay,” he whispered, even as Jay’s expression softened and he slept once more. “I’m here. I’m here.”

  * * *

  Paul woke with a start when he heard Jay vomiting in the bathroom. He had fallen asleep in a chair beside Jay’s bed, and was completely disoriented at first. It took him a moment or two to remember exactly where in the hell he was, and why he had a nasty crick in his neck.

  The bed was empty, the covers shoved back in a messy pile. From the bathroom, Paul heard the distinct sound of his brother retching, followed by the toilet flushing. He got up, rubbing experimentally at his sore neck and went to the bathroom doorway. Jay sat on the floor, naked, cradling his head in his hands.

  “Where’s Marie? She’d think she’s died and gone to heaven,” Paul said.

  Jay didn’t open his eyes. He just uttered a soft, breathless groan and shot Paul the bird. “Fuck you, Paul,” he whispered, his voice ragged and hoarse.

  Paul went to him, kneeling next to him. He put his hand on Jay’s shoulder and enfolded him in an embrace. Jay trembled against him, his breath fluttering, his shoulders shuddering. “It…it happened again,” he whimpered, sounding so pained, so frightened, so damn vulnerable and childlike that Paul’s heart wrenched

  “I know,” he whispered, his lips brushing against Jay’s hair. “It’s alright.”

  “I tried,” Jay pleaded. “I…I tried, but I can’t make it stop…I…I can’t…”

  His voice broke and he huddled against the shelter of his brother’s chest. Paul kept his arms fiercely about Jay, holding him, comforting him. “It’s alright, Jay,” he whispered, over and over. “It’s alright.”

  Finally, Jay heaved a sigh, composing himself somewhat, and pulled back from Paul’s embrace. He opened his eyes, wincing as if even the dim light from the bedroom beyond the threshold hurt him. He forked his fingers through his hair and shoved it back from his face. “How long was I out this time?” he whispered.

  Paul glanced at his watch. “I’d say a good twenty-four hours.”

  Jay blinked up at him, his eyes round and stunned, as if he’d just taken a swift punch to his groin. “What?” he gasped. He began shaking again. “Oh, my God…”

  Paul reached for him, but Jay shied away, pressing himself against the side of the tub, folding his arms around his midriff. For a long moment, he said nothing and merely sat there, shivering and in shock.Then he blinked again, his eyes flying wide. “The girl!” he exclaimed. “The girl―did you see her? Is she here?”

  He scrambled to his feet, and stumbled clumsily for the door. Paul hurried after him, getting an arm around Jay’s waist before he spilled ass over elbows onto the floor.

  “Did you see her?” Jay asked again, urgently.

  Paul shook his head. “She’s gone, Jay. Marie said she bolted out of here earlier today like her ass was on fire.”

  Jay’s disappointment, his despair was immediately visible, and Paul didn’t understand. “I saw her sitting on the edge of the bed,” Jay said. “She was crying, and I tried to touch her, to get her to stay, but I scared her. She was so scared…she jumped up and told me not to touch her, then ran away.”

  Paul blinked, startled. “She spoke to you?”

  Jay nodded. “And she’d gotten dressed, Paul. She was wearing some of my clothes, and she’d found her things…her shoes, I think, and her keys. She was scared, but I don’t think it was of me. I think it’s because she knew what happened―she remembered.”

  He clutched at Paul’s shirt, his eyes bright and excited. “She was back, Paul,” he whispered. “She was all the way back.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jo remembered the wink of light against the knife blade, and the man’s eyes glittering as he’d stabbed her. The light had come from the stairwell above, dim and pale, and the man was little more than a looming shadow against the backdrop of darkness.

  She remembered terrible pain in her head; he had struck her hard from behind. She’d crumpled to the ground, dazed from the blow. He had fought with her pants, struggling to jerk her uniform slacks down from her waist. She had heard the seams strain and snap from his efforts.

  She had tried to fight him, but the pain had been too great, her consciousness waning. She had pushed at his hands, kicking feebly with her feetThat was when she had noticed the fleeting flash of light against metal; a hunting knife with a broad, hooked blade.

  “No,” she had whimpered, shaking her head, holding up her hands in a desperate attempt to shield herself. Her breath had hiccupped in her throat, her heart frozen with terror. She remembered the light from the stairwell above glistening in the man’s eyes, like moonlight against silver. “No…please…!”

  He’d swung the knife at her; she had felt the breeze of the blow against her face and then there had been terrible pain just below her left breast as the blade sank deeply between her ribs. Again and again, he stabbed her, driving the knife into the meat of her belly, her thighs.

  She couldn’t defend herself; her strength waned and her mind abando
ned her. Her last conscious thought was that she could smell her own blood, bitter and metallic, as it pooled around her hips in a broadening circumference, and then the shadows overtook her and she blacked out.

  She had escaped from something horrific into something wondrous, a dream in which she rested in an enormous bed. The mattress, dressed in chocolate-colored, silk sheets, stretched out for endless miles in any direction, with no visible borders. Warmth seemed to radiate up through the bedclothes and mattress, seeping into her form, soothing her. Golden light spilled, aglow against the silk, from no apparent source she could see.

  If Jo could have imagined heaven, this would have been it. She closed her eyes and smiled, stretching languidly beneath the sheets. She was naked, but unafraid and unashamed. She luxuriated in the soft, tickling smoothness of silk against her bare breasts, her stomach, her legs.

  Her attack could not have been further from her mind. It seemed to her some horrifying but distant distraction, and all she had to do to forget it completely was lie still and quietly in this magnificent bed, free from any cares or troubles.

  A soft rustling of silk drew her attention, and she opened her eyes to discover a young man lying in the bed beside her. He was extraordinarily handsome: large, dark eyes framed by a tumble of dark hair, sharply etched features and chiseled cheeks offset a long nose and thin mouth. The sheet lay swathed around his waist, and Jo could plainly see that he was naked, too. She admired the play of the mysterious golden light against the plain of muscles stacked neatly at his stomach, the lean lines of his arms, the bridge of muscles between his shoulder and neck.

  If she could have imagined a heaven, this would have been it.

  “Well, hi,” she said, smiling at him. She felt warm and happy and sleepy in this place, so completely relaxed, she was nearly dazed.

  He smiled, and the warm sensation within her only grew. “Hi, yourself,” he said.

  She rolled onto her side to face him and reached out, brushing his hair back from his face. “God, you’re beautiful,” she murmured, making his smile turn somewhat shy as he cut his eyes down toward the bed.

  She pressed her hand against his cheek and raised her head from the mattress. She felt no shame here, no inhibitions, nothing that might have prevented her from acting wholly on impulse, giving entirely into what she wanted or needed. She leaned toward the man, canting her head to kiss him.

  “Come back―” he began to say, and then Jo’s lips settled against his, drawing his breath and voice to simultaneous, startled halts. He stiffened, as tense as a fence post beside her, his entire body going rigid with surprise, and when Jo’s lips parted slightly and the tip of her tongue prodded gently, curiously against his, he drew back, his dark eyes wide.

  She didn’t allow him time or breath to protest. She kissed him again, deeply this time, and after a moment’s uncertain hesitation, she felt him relax against her, succumbing to the kiss. He whimpered softly, his hands tangling in her hair, drawing her firmly against him. He eased her back, settling atop her, and Jo opened her legs, parting her thighs to envelop his hips. She could feel his arousal, the hot, hardening length of him pressing against her inner thigh. She could feel his need in the mounting urgency of his mouth against hers.

  He began to kiss her throat, his lips drawing hungrily across her skin. Jo closed her eyes, turning her head to allow him full access, and closed her fingers in his hair to guide him. His hand fell against her breast, his fingers pressing in firm, wondrous circles, tracing against her nipples, sending shivers of delight racing through her.

  He let his mouth take the place of his hand, his lips working their way slowly, sweetly from her throat to each of her nipples in turn. The tip of his tongue danced against the sensitive buds, causing Jo to gasp for breath and clutch at his shoulders. As his mouth tended to her breasts, his hand slipped further southward, sliding between her legs and down to the auburn thatch of hair marking the apex of her groin. Here, he began to move his fingertips slowly, deliberately, and Jo’s voice escaped her in a fluttering moan of sheer delight.

  He drove her to the brink of explosive pleasure with his hand, and then his fingers slipped away, leaving Jo shuddering with need, whimpering for him. He shifted his weight and entered her, sliding deeply, easily into her warmth, and he moaned softly, breathlessly . He began to move against her, sliding his hand beneath the firm curves of her buttocks and raising her leg to allow him deeper access. He marked a swift, powerful rhythm, driving himself into her, as Jo arched her back to present her hips to him.

  They moved together, both of them gasping and clutching at one another. She seized his hair, pulling him toward her as her lips met his fervently, fiercely. She had no idea how long this wonderous eternity lasted but she had wished it would never end. It was the most phenomenal, exquisite lovemaking she had ever known, and he brought her to climax repeatedly, intense waves of release washing over her again and again.

  At last, he found release of his own, and he cried out sharply, hoarsely, his body stiffening with pleasure. When he was finished, he crumpled against her, gasping for breath, his hair disheveled, his entire body awash with a sheen of exhausted sweat.

  They lay together for a long moment, trembling and silent. This is heaven, Jo thought. This has to be heaven. Nothing else could be like this.

  When at last he raised his head, propping himself on his arms, Jo looked up at him. He smiled at her, weary and winded, as she touched his face, tracing the curve of his mouth tenderly with her fingertips. Who are you? she thought. My God, I could fall in love with you.

  “Come back with me,” he whispered, brushing his hand against her face, smoothing back disheveled waves of auburn hair.

  She blinked at him. “What?”

  He leaned toward her, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, letting his lips brush her mouth. “Please,” he breathed. “Come back with me.”

  * * *

  Damn it, I have to quit thinking about it. About him, Jo thought, frowning.

  She had been making notations on a chart―ten milligrams of zolpidem given by mouth to a patient―when her mind wandered back once again to three days ago when she’d woken up in an unfamiliar bed. With that man.

  Everything was confusing lately. There wasn’t a mark on her, which didn’t fit with memories of a brutal attack and being stabbed repeatedly. Jo shook her head, her frown deepening. Just a dream, she told herself for at least the ten-thousandth time. It was all just a dream. The stairwell at the mall, the man with the knife, the heavenly lovemaking in an unending bed.

  She shook her head again. That alone proved it was all just a dream. No sex that good could ever be real.

  Logically, she knew it couldn’t, yet it still kept creeping into her mind, distracting her from her work―and ordinarily nothing could do that. She prided herself on her dedication to her job and her patients. When she hit the floor for her shift at the hospital, she left all of her personal problems behind. She had long ago mastered the fine art of shoving everything else in her mind aside and steeling herself, focusing on the task at hand. A history of broken hearts had given her plenty of unwanted practice.

  She finished her annotation as she pushed the dream from her mind. She returned to the nurses’ station, locked up her medicine cart and completed her logs on her patients’ charts. She debriefed the next on-duty nurse on the patients she’d had in her charge and then gratefully clocked out for the day.

  “Are you alright, Jo?” asked one of her coworkers, a nurse named Charles Toomis, as they rode together in the crowded elevator to the hospital’s main floor.

  “I’m fine,” Jo replied. A glance told her Charles wasn’t buying that a bit. They had worked together for almost two years. He was a tall man, thick through the chest and stomach with strawberry blonde hair and a well-trimmed mustache. He was probably her closest friend and knew her well enough to recognize when she was lying.

  “I’m just tired, that’s all,” she said. “Really.”

&
nbsp; “You haven’t seemed like yourself for the past couple of days,” he said. “You’ve been acting sort of out of it.”

  Jo laughed. “It’s almost Christmas, Charles. I am sort of out of it. Out of money, out of patience, out of gift ideas…”

  Charles laughed with her. “I hear you.” His laughter faded and he glanced at her again, his brow lifted. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes,” she said, awarding him her most reassuring smile. “I promise I’m fine.”

  The elevator reached the lobby, and the two of them waited for the crowd ahead of them to exit first. Charles caught the door with his hand before it could slide closed again, and held it open for Jo with a genteel bow.

  “See you tomorrow,” she told him, slapping him fondly against his belly with the back of her hand.

  It was all just a dream but, even so, the idea of parking her car in the dimly lit hospital parking garage still left her unnerved and Jo now parked in the visitors’ parking lot outside. This meant finding a space that was a wearisome hike from the building, but at least it was a hike that was outdoors and in daylight. Jo squinted as she started across the lot. It was cold and she moved swiftly, eager to escape the chill.

  “Jobeth!” she head someone call from behind. She slowed to a puzzled halt, turning to look behind her. Nobody ever called her “Jobeth” except for hospital administrators. And they don’t call you out in the parking lot unless you’re in deep shit.

  She saw a dark haired man walking toward her in a long black overcoat that flapped about his shins as he moved. He wore sunglasses, but slipped them off as he drew near. When she saw his eyes―as dark and wondrously expressive now as they had been in her dream―Jo drew back, her breath tangling in her throat.

  It can’t be…!

  “Jobeth Montgomery?” the young man asked―the man she had imagined making love to, the man in whose bed she had awoken three days ago.