“That was beautiful to watch,” Kennedy sneered. “But I’m afraid your conclusion is quite incorrect.”
Hero looked up to see Camron standing over them, his face bruised and bloody, as he lowered the pistol to the base of Ian’s skull. Terror unlike any she had ever experienced flooded her. “No, please!” she begged with a sob, holding out a hand in supplication.
“Say goodbye,” he snarled piteously, and Hero knew that she had only a moment to do just that, as Ian curled protectively around her, his only thought even then to save her.
Her eyes met Ian’s, and in a split second that look said everything of their regrets and of the love that could have been theirs. A single tear slipped down her cheek. Why? Why had fate given so much? Given something neither of them knew they wanted or needed, only to rip it away?
Why? Her heart cried, twisting painfully. “Ian …”
A shot rang out, and Ian’s eyes widened. “No!” Hero screamed hoarsely, clutching Ian to her as the force of the shot threw him against her. “Ian!”
He looked up at her one last time, but the life was already leeching from his loving brown eyes. His lips moved, “Hero … my love …”
The pistol fired again.
“No, Ian, no!” she sobbed as agony clawed at her heart. Anguish ate at her soul as she cradled his bloodied head to her breast, pressing a kiss and then another against the crown of his head. Tears fell heedlessly now, mixing with his blood.
Never had Hero known such pain existed. A thousand bullets could not hurt so. “Please, don’t go!” she whimpered. His arms began to relax, but Hero couldn’t bring herself to care over her precarious position. He was gone. Gone! For her. Ian had died for her. He could have taken Camron apart, but instead he had come to save her. Pain engulfed her, numbing her to everything around her. No wind, no thunder of the waves below. Nothing. “I love you,” she choked out the words hoarsely from her tear-clogged throat. “Always. Forever.”
“Very touching, Lady Ayr,” Kennedy grumbled, putting a booted foot against Ian’s slumped shoulder and pushing. “But it is time for us to say goodbye as well.”
Hero gasped in alarm as she realized what Camron intended to do, and instinctively reached with one hand for the wall that still stood.
“No!” came a thundering shout just as Camron pushed Ian again. Behind Camron, Hero could see her father running along the ramparts toward them with both Cooper and Simms on his heels. “Get away from her, evil monster!”
Kennedy turned and raised the pistol again, but this time the fall of the hammer was met with nothing more than a click. He cocked and fired again with the same result before he was tackled to the ground.
Just a few seconds more and she might have been saved. Hero tried to hold on, but without Ian’s support and with his weight pressing against her, she stood no chance. She clawed at the stone wall and then the air.
Her father’s anguished face faded away. The rush of air pulled at her hair and skirts and the cacophony of crashing waves filled her ears. The last thing Hero saw was Ian’s blank eyes as they fell together. She reached out for him …
Then there was only darkness.
There is nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be …
― John Lennon
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Again! Hit her again!”
Arching against the electricity that was being forced through her body, Mikah inhaled deeply, the air wheezing through her constricted throat. She opened her eyes in shock, waiting for the impact of her body against the rocks below. It did not come, though pain consumed every part of her. Around her, red lights were flashing, just as they had been in her dream. People were everywhere, their faces morphing under the undulating light. One hovered over her, eyes filled with concern, and Mikah’s eyes closed once more in confusion. “Ian?”
“She’s back, she’s back!”
The voices shouted over one another, and Mikah opened her eyes again just as a mask was placed over her mouth. Mikah inhaled the oxygen, the purified air sending her head spinning more than the bewilderment already was. “What happened?” she mumbled into the mask.
“Try to relax, Miss Bauer,” one man, a paramedic by the look of him, said. “You were hit by a car, do you remember?”
Car? Mikah thought, shaking her head. No, she had fallen, fallen from the balcony … and shot. She’d been shot! Frantically, Mikah lifted a hand to her arm, only to feel nothing.
“Just relax, Miss Bauer,” the paramedic insisted. “You’re going to be fine.”
Fine? Mikah looked around at the faces hovering around her, frantic with confusion. Where was she? Where was Ian? Who were all these people? Then out of the crowd of bystanders, Mikah recognized a face. Myles Gordon, the curator of GoMA, was there, as well as the intern from the front desk. Where was Ian? Mikah struggled to pull the mask from her face. She needed to ask. She needed to find out what had happened. She needed to find Ian.
“Where is he?” she asked, panic edging her slurred words.
“The man who hit you is being taken into custody,” Myles said, kneeling by her side. “There were witnesses aplenty. Drunk driver.”
“No, where is Ian?” Mikah insisted, frantically denying the truth that was already sinking its claws into her. “He was just here.”
Myles frowned and traded quizzical glances with the paramedics. “I’m sorry, Mikah. I don’t know who you are talking about.”
Mikah closed her eyes, weak with defeat. Searching her mind, she remembered coming out of the museum. Not minutes ago but days ago. Weeks ago. The car that had transformed into a carriage just as it was about to hit her. There was the struggle, the worry, the certainty that she was going insane. But then there had been Ian and her surrender to the madness. Impossible love. A fantastical contentment.
What was it now? Mikah felt disappointment crashing down on her. A dream? Had it really all been just a dream?
“No,” she moaned in denial. “Please God, no.”
When Mikah woke again she was in the hospital. There was white and powder blue all around her, an IV in her arm, and an older, weary-looking man sitting by her side. He was in his fifties, a little gray but otherwise tall and fit. Her hand was enfolded in his. The dry warmth was instantly comforting.
“Papa …” Mikah swallowed against the scratchy dryness in her throat, but the words were loud enough to draw his attention.
He stood and leaned over her, brushing a tender hand against her forehead. “Hello, princess.” Caring filled Sean Bauer’s eyes as he bent over and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “You gave us quite a scare.”
“Papa,” she said again, then shook her head in confusion.
“Papa?” he repeated with mock amusement. “I think you’ve been here too long if you’re talking like that and have already picked up an accent, Mikes.”
She had an accent? The right word came to her then and she squeezed his hand. “Daddy.”
“There you go,” he said with a smile, but it immediately changed to a frown when she tried to move. “No, don’t try to move. Just lay still.”
“What happened?” Part of her knew but the other part was still lost in bewilderment. Or was it denial?
“You were hit by a drunk driver.”
“I—I walked in front of him,” she said, recalling the moment. “I forgot the cars were on the other side of the road.”
Her father shook his head. “Either way, he was still drunk and he’ll pay the price for it. We’re just lucky that you’re going to be all right. The doctor told me that they thought they had lost you there for a minute.”
“Lost me?”
“They said your heart stopped beating for over a minute.” His voice shook with emotion as he rubbed her hand between his.
“I died.” She spoke the words dully, but the truth lingered inside of her. She had died, and a part of her remained so. In her mind, Mikah saw it all again. The fight. The gunshots.
“No, no,” Bau
er denied, but she could hear the truth and lingering fear in his voice. “We were all scared to death when they finally got ahold of us. The museum here had called the museum in Milwaukee and they contacted us. Mom and the boys wanted to come too, but the doctors said too many people wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” And she was. The problem was that she was incredibly unhappy to be there. But what other fate had awaited her? A sudden stop against ragged rocks. Mikah shook her head, trying to remember that it had been only a dream.
Her father rambled on about head injuries, but Mikah was torn by rejection of the thought.
How was that possible when it all had felt so real? The pain searing in her arm … in her heart. The life dulling in Ian’s warm eyes until they were flat and lifeless. Mikah bit back a sob as the true pain, the pain of love lost, engulfed her.
“It’s okay, princess,” her father crooned as he gathered her in his arms as she cried. “It’s easy to be overwhelmed when something like this happens. Everything will be fine.”
Would it really?
A week later, Mikah looked out the airplane window as it dragged her away from Scotland. Away from a land that was filled with memories of people, places, and a love that had never happened. A counselor at the hospital had come to talk to her following the accident, their standard practice after near-death experiences.
Hesitantly she had mentioned what had happened, where she had gone, what she had done and felt. How real it had all been. The shrink had looked skeptical and uncomfortable. Mikah could hardly blame him when she thought the whole thing incredible as well.
What she had come away with from all the technical jargon the uncomfortable therapist had imparted was that strange things happened to people who “died.” The experiences were widely varied. Some saw a bright light or the faces of past loved ones. Others had horrific visions or felt nothing at all. It would pass, Mikah was told, with time and therapy. She had a life, with family and friends who loved her. He said she shouldn’t dwell too deeply on the experience when she had so much to live for.
With a comforting pat on the hand, the counselor had left and not returned.
He hadn’t understood her at all, or perhaps Mikah had not explained it very well. Talking about it had only made it worse, more real rather than more of a dream. She had cried and stuttered ridiculously, making a fool of herself. Breaking her heart all over again. How could she explain or justify loving a dream? How could she expect anyone to understand the pain that ate at her heart and soul?
Her father might understand if he believed her tale at all. Or her mom. The two of them loved deeply and obviously. From their stories, Mikah knew that they had met and fallen in love at sixteen, when no one had believed it would last. They had never dated anyone else. In the forty years since, with thirty-five years of a marriage and five children, they had rarely been parted.
Mom had told Mikah when she was just a teenager that Sean Bauer was her soul mate. Finally she understood what that felt like.
“All right, princess?” Sean asked with concern, and Mikah turned away from the window with a tight smile and a nod. It would do no good to worry those who loved her. They would worry not over her loss but her very sanity.
Still she couldn’t help but ask: “Dad, how would you feel if Mom died?”
“You’re going to be fine, you know,” he said reassuringly, taking her hand.
“I know,” she lied. “I’m just wondering.”
Watching him think about it, Mikah didn’t even need to hear his answer. It was there for her in the dull, sorrowful look in his eyes, in the tension that held his body. She could almost feel how his heart slowed and thudded unpleasantly. He said it anyway.
“I guess I would die a little as well.”
Yes, that was it exactly.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Milwaukee Museum of Art
Milwaukee, WI
November 2012
“Mikah! What are you doing here? It’s the biggest shopping day of the year! Go home!”
“You think I’m going to brave those crowds, Bernie?” Mikah called over her shoulder on the way to her office, spinning her key ring around one finger. “I might be crazy but I’m not downright stupid!”
The front desk attendant at the Milwaukee Art Museum laughed and waved, and Mikah joined in until her office door closed behind her. The smile faded away as Mikah shed her coat, scarf, and purse and dropped into her office chair with a weary sigh, as if forcing happiness took a lot of effort to maintain.
And it did.
The last two months had been filled with people hovering about her with open concern. While she appreciated their caring, she had quickly tired of everyone voicing their worries and had decided the quickest way to solve the problem was to be happy … or at make them all think she was.
It was getting harder and harder to do because some part of Mikah was certain that their jokes about being crazy weren’t simply jests. Why else would that dream adhere to her so? This wasn’t like before, when it had been a few random, vague dreams. Now it clung to her like a memory that wouldn’t fade, and she didn’t know how to make it go away.
Of course, there was part of her that didn’t really want to. She wanted to keep Ian alive in her mind and heart. And that was simply nuts.
She had talked over the problem with a few trusted friends, who provided honest sympathy but told her that she just needed to let it go. Date. Have fun. Live a little. She would never meet new guys if all she ever did was go to work and go home. They teased that it would require a little more variety than that.
Mikah had even gone to see a psychologist, who had told her the same thing. Not in so many words, obviously, but the gist of their sessions had been the same.
Only her best friend, Kris, had agreed that she’d gone around the bend.
Pure honesty; she loved that about Kris.
Acceptance is always the first step in conquering any obsession. But Mikah was dragging herself to the second step just as she did when she dragged herself to work each day, and it wasn’t just the snow and slush of early winter holding her back. When she had first gotten back from Scotland, she’d dreamt of Ian again and again, reliving those finals moments on the balcony.
Never the tender moments or the sensual ones, like she had known before any of this started. Just the terror and pain. Reliving his death over and over until she would wake screaming, her heartache tearing her to pieces.
Now there was nothing. She hadn’t had a dream of Ian in weeks. It was if the story that had been building in her mind her entire life had run its course. It was over.
All she was left with were memories that she hoarded as if they would be ripped away from her as well. In a true moment of madness, Mikah had found herself talking to him out loud one night, telling him about her day.
It had to stop. She knew it but somehow she couldn’t let him go.
Getting a cup of coffee and carrying it into her office, Mikah sat, elbows on her desk, and buried her face in her hands, rubbing at her eyes. She couldn’t go on like this. This obsession was starting to affect her work.
Picking up a pile of mail, Mikah thumbed through them with half a mind. Flyers for estate sales, letters of small country museums closing and looking for a home for their exhibits, catalogs, and so on. Mikah worked through the pile, and about half way through, pulled out a thick 9 x 12 envelope. Slicing it open, she pulled out an auction catalog, only to drop it with a gasp as she pushed away from the desk.
Scrambling to retrieve it, Mikah stared down at the auction catalog with eyes wide with shock. Rubbing her eyes, Mikah looked again. Dùn Cuilean? No, it truly was. It was actually a real castle and not just a figment of her imagination. How was that possible?
Clutching the catalog, Mikah grabbed her coat and purse and ran from the museum, ignoring Bernie’s worried cries. She slipped and skidded across the employee parking lot until she was in her car.
Starting i
t, Mikah gripped the steering wheel with both hands, taking a deep, shuddering breath. She looked up at the museum, its arcing white spines opened wide today, giving the impression of a bird or glider ready to take flight. Her heart racing and blood pumping, Mikah thought she was ready to soar as well.
“Mikes, come on in!” Kris called from the sofa when Mikah simply opened the door and entered without knocking. She tossed her purse unceremoniously into a nearby chair.
“Well, Kris, I think I’ve finally truly lost it.”
“What? Again?” Kris answered sarcastically. “Come, have some wine and shock me again.”
“Kris, it’s eleven in the morning!”
“And I’ve been up since five shopping, honey. I need a drink,” Kris replied, looking over the top of the glass at Mikah. “You look about ready to pop. What’s up?”
“Okay, I know you thought I was going completely cuckoo there for a while, and I was right there with you. I was a believer,” Mikah said, stripping off her coat and pacing the room.
“And something has happened to change all that?”
“Yes. This.” Mikah tossed the catalog into Kris’s lap.
“And this is?”
“That is Cuilean, Kris. Dùn Cuilean. My Cuilean!” Mikah was nearly panting with excitement as she tapped the picture on the cover.
“You do need a drink … or two.” Kris said, flipping through the first few pages of the catalog. “So, it’s similar. A castle is a castle, isn’t it?”
“Not similar,” Mikah insisted with a shake of her head as she dropped down next to Kris on the sofa and took the catalog, opening it to a random page and pointing. “The same. Look at this. Item 27. That is the painting that hung next to the window in the dining room. Item 48. That is my music box. The one Ian and I danced to.”
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