by DJ Erfert
Johnny leaned closer. “Just how many times did you save him?”
“Seventy-six.”
“Whoa, you remember exactly?”
Lucy’s voice caught in her throat. “I had to watch him be killed that many times, Johnny. Why wouldn’t I remember each one of them? He was my husband, and I loved him.”
“I’m sorry, Lucy. You said before that you were married? Did he leave you?”
“You could say that. He died saving my life.”
“He died?” Johnny shook his head. “But didn’t—couldn’t you see a window before—?”
Lucy covered her face with her hands and let the tears come as the memories of Mac’s final death flooded to the surface. No matter the reasons for his decisions during their marriage, he’d given his life for hers in the end.
Johnny didn’t let her grieve alone. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. The questions stopped. Instead, he gave her his compassion and a shoulder to cry on. And she needed his closeness. Lucy wrapped her arms around his chest and clung to him, years of pent up pain and loneliness draining from her eyes, wetting his shirt.
She was tired. Tired of death.
Eight
The crying ebbed. Johnny’s arms loosened, but he didn’t let her go. Lucy stayed against his chest, listening to the slow beating of his heart beneath her ear while he ran his hand down her back in gentle stokes. His steady breathing consoled her as much as his touch did.
“Thank you.”
“It’s not a problem,” Johnny said with his lips against her hair. “Do you want to stop talking?”
“No, no …” Lucy sniffed. “I want to tell you about Mac. He—he was very important to me.”
“I can tell.”
“We met in Kosovo when he gave me a package to deliver to DC. He, uh, decided to tag along with me. Our exit out of Yugoslavia wasn’t exactly smooth, and, well, we had some hardships, and a few laughs before we finally made it back to the states. We got married two months later. We had … a lot of adventures, and he taught me so many things—he made me a better agent, and he kept my secret.”
“How long were you married?”
“A little over five years.”
“Wow, and you saved him that many times in five years?” Johnny ran a caressing hand down Lucy’s hair. “He must’ve had very dangerous missions.”
Lucy shrugged a single shoulder. “They weren’t really, it’s just that, well, Mac knew I had his back, and over time he took more chances in the way he did his job. There were a few times when he was injured, where I couldn’t change the window completely, but that just made him look more …” she stopped when she remembered the accolades he’d get from Assistant Director Bancroft, all the handshakes he’d get in the hallways at the agency, but he had protected her, kept her safe—hadn’t he?
“Two years ago, while we were on an assignment in Paris, I was in the alley while Mac went inside to download some information. Anyway, I wasn’t feeling very well that day, and I didn’t notice when a woman came out of a doorway a little farther into the alley. She had a gun. But Mac must’ve seen her from the window. He tackled me just as the woman shot at me. I was able to return fire, but not before Mac took the three bullets that were meant for me. He died in my arms.”
Johnny asked, “And you couldn’t see a window around him?”
“No. The woman wasn’t after Mac. I was her target.” Lucy pushed up onto her elbows and looked into Johnny’s caring eyes. “I can’t see myself in the windows. I always have to watch other people die. Tonight, if those agents had decided to attack only me, and I didn’t notice their truck drive up …” Lucy shrugged a single shoulder. “I wouldn’t have had a window, and they might have succeeded in killing me.”
“That makes sense.”
“What does?”
He gently stroked Lucy’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “When I was going through that window with you on the freeway, I could see me getting shot, and I could see that semi-rig bursting into a fireball as it skidded toward me”—he brushed his thumb against her temple—“but I never saw you. I realize now that I was seeing out of your eyes.”
She nodded. “I only had that window because other people died, not because I saw me die. Do you understand?”
“It was the same on the staircase this afternoon, wasn’t it?”
Lucy nodded again. “I had to watch you and your friends get killed before I noticed that man in the suit at the bottom of the stairs. I was such an idiot for not paying closer attention to my surroundings.”
“You didn’t know that they were after you before today?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been attacked?”
“You mean besides when I was with Mac? No.” Lucy sat up straight and pulled the blanket up higher on her shoulders. “When I was eleven I made up my mind that I was going to develop as much skill and strength as possible to deal with any situation I might come up against because of my windows. I didn’t think all the deaths would be as easy to change as pushing a little girl off a bicycle. So I asked my dad if I could take Taekwondo. My dad drove me to the dojo four times a week for six years without ever complaining. I learned to defend myself, and in doing so, I learned to help others.”
Lucy hugged her knees to her chest. “I thought the job with the CIA was perfect for me. They trained me better than I could have ever done alone. And I was free to go where I was needed.” Grinning, she added, “I had to do some fast talking a few times in school when I left campus or was late for class, but on the job I’ve never had a report questioned or been asked about my location, and I’ve never had to punch a time clock.”
“And your parents are okay with all this?”
“It’s just my dad and me.” Leaning tiredly against the cushion with her shoulder, Lucy said, “I can remember having my first window when I was very young. I had to watch my mother die.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
Lucy sighed as she tried to pull a buried memory up to the surface of her mind. “When I was six months old, I was in a strange house. I can remember every detail of the place. I can see the crisp color of the white walls in contrast to the dark green of the carpet.” Lucy lifted her palms and touched her fingers together. “I can even remember the texture of that carpet under my hands as I crawled.”
Looking up past the television, she pointed at the wall. “There was a colorful neon sign lit up. It was a Hamm’s Beer sign, with a bear sitting in a canoe at the top of a moving waterfall. It was mesmerizing.”
“Lucy, kids that young can’t remember things.” Johnny sat upright. “And they certainly can’t read.”
“I know, but I’ve had nightmares about this so many times that it’s been pressed into my memory. I’ll never forget it.” She took a shallow breath as her chest tightened like drying leather, remembering the terror of that night. “I started to crawl toward the hallway because I could hear my mother and a man yelling at each other. I could see her with her long blonde hair down past her waist. She was wearing a lavender t-shirt, and she had on a long skirt. I couldn’t see all of the man, but his voice sounded familiar—somehow. He was just inside the bedroom at the end of the hall.”
Lucy took another breath, slowly letting it back out before she continued. “And then suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I felt that icy wind hit me, and all the color in the house disappeared. The Hamm’s sign wasn’t moving any longer—it was in stark black and white and grays, like everything else, everything for except my mother at the end of the hallway surrounded by that deadly window.
“Then she turned and was coming toward me, but before she could get out of the bedroom, the man grabbed her and turned her toward him—he had a knife!”
Lucy stared into the face of a man she’d known for less than a day and steadied her voice. “I watched him stab my mother in the chest. Her body fell to the floor, but”—she gasped—“he didn’t stop! And then things changed. It was as if it never happ
ened. I could hear my mother yelling at the end of the hallway. The neon sign was in color and was moving again. I realized that my mother was about to be killed. I wanted to warn her, but all I could do was cry.
“The nightmares about her death only faded after I got into the university. I was in that house, Johnny. My dad found me there after she’d been murdered.”
“How did he find you?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember if he told me. Sometimes I wondered—”
“Wondered what?”
Lucy hesitated. “Sometimes, after I woke up from having the nightmare, I got the feeling my dad had been there while she was being murdered.”
Johnny searched her face. “You think your dad killed your mother?”
“I … I don’t think so. I can’t see him doing anything violent. He’s so gentle and kind.”
“Couldn’t you recognize the sound of his voice?”
She shook her head hard enough to bring her hair down into her face. “I’ve never heard my dad yell.”
“Couldn’t you see him?”
“No—no!” Lucy pressed the heels of her hands over her eyes, trying to snuff out the image of her mother’s body. “All I could see was—was a man’s arm holding a bloody knife as he, as he—”
Johnny pulled her into his arms again. “I’m sorry,” he said, stroking the damp hair out of her eyes. “Don’t talk about it anymore. It was too long ago for you to remember. Besides, I’m sure it wasn’t your dad. How could you have lived with a man for all those years and not know his temperament?”
Lucy pressed her face into Johnny’s warm neck and sighed. “I’m so tired. How much longer do I need to stay awake?”
He looked up at the clock. “How does your head feel?”
“I feel …”
“Lucy, don’t say it!”
“… like I got beat on the back of my head with a heavy metal object.” She tilted her face up. “Can I have some aspirin?”
“No.” Johnny released her. “But I’ll give you some Tylenol for the pain.” He got up and repositioned her pillows before leaving for the bedroom.
The down-filled pillows taunted her, beckoning for her to lie down. Their attempt to seduce her into a deep sleep was petrifying. But after Johnny’s reaction a couple of hours before, she dared not give in to the temptation without his blessing. Lucy pushed her hand into the middle and felt them give under the gentle pressure. They were squishy soft. She could use one for under her head and the other to ball up and hug to her chest. Those, along with the micro-fiber blanket wrapped around her, would secure her with an incredible night’s rest—if only Johnny would tell her it was all right.
“I’m proud of you.” Johnny came back into the living room carrying a red, soft-sided bag with a white cross emblazoned on the side. “I thought you would’ve crashed while I was gone.” He set the bag on the floor next to the couch. After lifting the coffee table aside, he knelt down in front of Lucy and pulled open her blanket. “Put your feet down.” He patted her ankles.
Lucy set her feet on the carpet and sat up straight. “What are you going to do?” She watched him unzip the medical bag.
“I’m going to give you a quick physical before letting you go to sleep.”
“It’s been long enough?”
Johnny slipped a blood pressure cuff around her arm and secured it down before putting the stethoscope in his ears. “Yeah.”
Feeling her fingers grow fat with the pressure of the nylon band was weird, bordering on painful. Lucy hated physicals, even though some yearly contact with doctors was a necessary part of life. But with Johnny being so close, holding her arm, she would put up with the discomfort as long as she could gaze into his face. His ministrations didn’t last nearly long enough before he ripped apart the cuff.
“Your pressure is”—Johnny grinned up at her—“fine.” He used the stethoscope and pressed the chest piece firmly against her ribs.
“Are you listening to my heart?”
“Shush.” A minute later he said, “You have a strong heart.”
“I know. I need one.”
Johnny sat back on his heels and stared at her for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you do.” He dropped the scope into the bag and found a penlight. “Let me look in your eyes one more time.”
As he leaned in, Lucy tried to keep the whimper of disappointment out of her question. “Only one more?” Johnny sat back down on his heels and stared at her again. When he spoke, his voice held a gentle tenderness that surprised her.
“I hope not.” Johnny ran his hand around her neck and lifted her chin with his thumb. “Hold still,” he said, shining the light into one eye and then the other.
The exam was brief. He sat back and turned off his penlight, turning his attention to retrieving a packet of Tylenol from a side pocket of the medical bag.
Handing her the pills, he said, “Let me get you some water.”
The small packet in her hand held two tablets closed off to the world for their own protection. Isolated, like Lucy. She’d been keeping herself in her own little world, cut off and lonely from anyone who might hurt her. As she watched Johnny fill a glass with water, she thought about what his life might be like, and if there would be any way she could fit into his daily routine, if he would even want her.
When she heard the single beep of his phone go off, yet again, she noticed he chose to ignore it.
“Here,” Johnny said, handing her a glass. He took the packet from her hand and tore it open, dropping the tablets onto her palm. As Lucy swallowed the pills, he opened another chemical icepack from his bag and rubbed to activate it. He took the empty glass from her hand and gave her the icepack. “Okay, it’s that time. You may go to sleep now.”
“You promise I won’t die?” Lucy asked as she grabbed the top pillow and clutched it to her chest.
Johnny sat on the couch next to her hip and pulled up the blanket. “Since I can’t see my own windows, I can’t guarantee a meteor won’t come crashing through the roof and knock you on your head.” He gently ran his fingers through her wet hair, moving a few strands off her face. “But I can promise you that you won’t die from your head injury, if that makes you feel better.”
Lucy pushed the icepack under her hair and let the cold sensation seep into her skin. “It does,” she said with a sigh of relief.
Johnny leaned down closer, sliding his arm under her back. “I don’t think I thanked you for saving my life—twice.”
Before Lucy could tell him he didn’t need to thank her, he kissed her again. Time slowed to a stop while in his arms. Powerful bolts of desire surged through her body, bringing to life in her a longing—a frantic yearning she’d desperately missed. Lucy felt herself reeling in blissful dizziness as she clutched at his shoulders, trying to keep him close.
“Thank you,” Johnny said when he pulled back, his voice gruff and low. He carefully repositioned the icepack to the back of her head. “If you need anything during the night, a drink of water, or you get hungry, or need the bathroom …” He pulled the blanket up over her shoulder. “Just feel free to help yourself to anything you want.”
“What if I want … you?” Even saying those words sent Lucy’s heart racing.
Johnny brushed his lips against her cheek. “Then you’ll know where I’ll be,” he whispered, and he kissed her before clearing the coffee table of dishes.
A tingling sensation lingered on her skin where his mouth had touched. Her lips continued to throb after being crushed so insistently. Lucy closed her eyes and listened contently to the soft clinking of bowls and spoons being washed while she thought about just where he would be after the dishes were done. A dozen steps would take her into his bedroom and into his arms. He had clearly invited her.
Maybe she should have insisted on him taking her back to her hotel, but Lucy had only basic first-aid training, so she needed Johnny tonight.
More than that, though, she found herself wanting him just as much as needing him. He�
�d listened to her spill her guts about her secret, and he hadn’t been repulsed by the truth. He amazed her with his ability to accept. He believed everything she’d told him.
Lucy’s thoughts turned toward tomorrow. There was a report to write up outlining her being chased on the staircase and on the freeway by the men-in-gray. She also needed to explain, in a creative way, why she had to follow the last-ditch protocol of destroying her package instead of letting it fall into the hands of the foreign agents, lest her superiors question her actions.
Even if she did write about what happened, she’d probably be fired for lying on a report. Sometimes telling the truth just didn’t work. Lucy knew one thing for sure; she couldn’t let anybody at the agency find out about her curse, or she’d be royally screwed.
Nine
As hard as Johnny tried, he couldn’t close his dresser drawers without making noise. The pre-morning light filtering in through his one window didn’t help much as he tried to find his gym clothes. He had forty minutes to get over to the fire station and meet Dusty, or he’d never hear the end of it.
“Good morning.”
Johnny was forced to catch his breath when he turned and found Lucy standing in the doorway. Seeing her with her long hair tousled from sleep, and wearing his pajamas, forced an emotional regression back to his adolescence. Suppressing a strong urge to reach out and kiss her again, he ran his hand through his bed-head hair. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
She touched the wall, and the light turned on before she stepped into his room. “I don’t remember being asleep.”
Johnny grinned. “That’s good. At least you slept.”
“I still have a headache, just in case that was going to be your next question.”
“It was, actually. Why don’t you fix yourself an egg, and then you can have some more pain medication.” Johnny dug out his sweat shorts from the drawer. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Until then, you need to rest.”
