by Rachel Lee
Higher up the mountain he went, the motorcycle's engine screaming in the night, searching out one plantation spur after another, always upward, upward, until there were no more roads at all. His motorcycle was a street bike, and its suspension groaned as he bounced and flew over rills of hardened magma. The jarring impacts left his legs burning. A searing stab in his back told him he'd strained a muscle, at the very least. He put the thought out of his mind, allowing adrenaline to numb the pain.
Higher, higher, until the sharp edge of the mountain almost seemed to disappear before him. He slammed on the brakes and half rolled the bike, knowing he was at the volcano's rim, the scent of sulfur stinging his nostrils.
He grabbed the bag and stepped to the rim, looking back at the onrushing black cloud.
* * *
The man had run out of room to run. It had him now. There was nowhere to go. It closed in on the man with a fury that had lain brewing for two centuries. Death had come, and it was death's messenger.
It would get past the barrier, and then…this was going to feel so good….
* * *
Dec waited until the cloud was upon him, then turned and threw the bag of gold over the rim, aiming for the faint glow of a small fissure fifty feet below. He prayed that his aim was true.
* * *
Noooooooo! The man had thrown its gold over the edge. Killing would be too kind for him. And kill him it would. But first, the gold. The gold that held its very soul. It swooped past the man and chased the bag down.
* * *
Dec felt an almost physical blow as the cloud swept over him and down after the plummeting bag. For a moment he thought he'd missed the mark. But gravity had a mind all its own. Retching at the sulfurous cloud, he watched.
* * *
The gold was almost within its reach. Just at the end of its grasp. And then it looked beyond the falling bag, into the opening maw of hell itself.
* * *
With a brief, bright glow, bag and shadow passed into fire and ash. His aim had been true. Annie Black was no more. He had won. He and Markie had won.
Markie!
28
If the ride up the mountain had been frightening, the ride back down was nothing short of sheer terror. Pulled by gravity, spurred by the knowledge that Markie lay dying, Declan abandoned all caution as he shot down. The bike's tires alternately skidded on the smooth lava face and grabbed harshly at roughened edges, leaving him in a constant battle for balance and control.
He didn't see the giant snake of cooled molten rock until the last instant, hardly long enough to brace himself, let alone avoid it. He hit it at an angle, and the front wheel of the motorcycle kicked hard to the left. He felt himself rise with the back of the bike, in eerie slow motion, tumbling in midair, the bike's engine now whining free.
Pure instinct, honed by years of riding, told him to let go, throw his head forward and try to roll as he hit. The maneuver worked, but it could do only so much to lessen the damage of a human body crashing and tumbling across rock. Dec heard the pop in his back, beneath the shoulder blade, a split instant before the pain of the fractured rib surged into his consciousness. Air flew from his lungs as the world turned over and over, the moon doing an insane dance in the sky, until finally he came to rest.
He was hurt. That much was obvious. The question was, how much? He lay still and, trying to discipline his thoughts, took inventory. He'd broken a rib, definitely. Each breath felt like a knife in his back. His left ankle throbbed. But when he flexed it, the pain was manageable. A sprain, at worst. The sticky, wet, burning smears on his hands spoke of multiple lacerations. He looked up at the moon, said the names of the days of the week in reverse and held an arm out in front of him. It was as stable as could be expected.
He was hurt. But he could still ride. He had no choice.
He screamed as he hefted the bike upright, the sound echoing off the mountain, booming out into the distance. Biting his lip, he climbed back on the bike and restarted the engine.
Every bump, however tiny, was now an exercise in agony. His body screamed for him to slow down. His heart and mind knew there was no time.
Markie was down there…paralyzed…aware…no doubt terrified…and very possibly…dying.
There was no time to slow down.
* * *
So this is death, Markie thought. She could still hear Kato's mournful howls, feel his warm breath and cold nose as he nuzzled her neck. But she couldn't open her eyes to look at him. It was all happening at a distance, as if to someone else's body. The buzz in her head and her inability to move told the real story.
This is what it feels like to be dead.
She realized that she missed the comforting rhythm of her own heartbeat. Odd that she had rarely noticed it when she had been alive. There had been the time when she was sixteen, that first time she'd looked into a boy's eyes from mere inches away as she'd leaned in to kiss him. And there had been the day she'd opened the letter from the veterinary college, wondering if she had been admitted. The times she'd tightened her mouth as she was dressed down by the man she thought she'd loved. And the one sweet time she'd been undressed by a man she truly loved. Yes, there had been a few times when she'd been aware of the beating of her own heart.
But not enough, she realized. Too often she'd ignored that steady, soothing presence. Taken it, and the life it gave, for granted. Its absence was a silence she had never imagined possible.
This is death.
* * *
This was not death.
Kato knew it, and tried to communicate it to Markie. Her soul had not taken flight, and while he could tell she no longer breathed, that her lifeblood no longer flowed as it had, he sensed her essence still firmly planted within her shell. Its grip was growing tenuous, though, and he began to fear her soul might yet shake free.
So he reached out to her with his own essence, tried to make her even more aware of him than she had been in the past. He invited the Markie spark inside her to join with his spark and see the world through his eyes.
She would think it was only a nice dream, but it might distract her from her chance to escape her confining shell. It might make her smile, and he might carry her along for a while on the music of the night scents and the aroma of stirring leaves. He knew she didn't perceive those things the way he did. She was crippled. But now, reaching out to her, he set her free in a new way.
Smells were like music, and sounds were like smells, and all of them held a rainbow sparkle of color. Everything carried with it a message.
He shared that with her as he lay beside her, his head on her breast, his fluttering nostrils blowing air into hers.
Keep her here.
That was his imperative.
See? he asked her consciousness. See how every breath is a new window into an ever-changing world? Over there, by the door, where you cooked the meat you had marinated. Can you still taste it? I can. And here, in the earth. A family lived here once, in the time before time. They ate fish seasoned with sugar cane, and its essence is still right here, in this dirt. Come see my world with me. Be with me. Always.
Please?
* * *
Even the slightest bump in the road felt like a javelin driving into Dec's chest, but he knew he could safely ignore it. His lung wasn't punctured. The rest was mere pain.
The moon was bright now, as if the last cloud had blown away. The highway stretched before him like a silver ribbon, and the air felt lighter than it had in weeks.
In weeks.
Had Annie's presence been poisoning the entire island that long? And how the devil had Tim and his cohort managed to rouse her? How had she been wakened all those years ago at the fort?
He hoped that after he reached Markie, he still gave a damn about those questions.
* * *
Kato heard it long before Markie would have. He is coming! Hear the roar? He is coming! Don't give up!
The world of his senses was strange and confusing for
a human mind, accustomed to organizing the world in human ways. And yet, it was beautiful. Markie now saw why dogs behaved as they did. It wasn't simply that every hour of every day was a new adventure. Every breath was a new adventure.
If she had neglected the sound of her own heartbeat, how much more had she ignored the rising and falling of each breath, the taste of the air, the sheer joy of drawing in air the way a child might wander through a candy store, senses wide-open and hopeful. Every heartbeat, every breath of her life, had been a miracle waiting to be seen. And she had missed so many of them. So many.
Yes, Kato, that is where I made the Korean spare ribs that I shared with you. And yes, I can still taste them. I remember the look in your eyes when you took that first, tentative taste. Then you looked up at me with that silly, happy wolf grin. That day, in that moment, I felt as if I were truly alive. I felt one with you. And yet…
Yes, Kato answered. You needed another of your kind with which to share that moment. If I let myself think of such things, I, too, might long for my kind, for forests deep and wonderful, for the hunt, for the kill. But know this, my human mate. I live each breath. Each heartbeat. And each breath is filled with you. Your scent is with me every moment. Your warm touch is never more than a moment away. And in that, in each breath, in each heartbeat, I am content with you.
A wash of joy flowed over Markie's being. I will forever bless the day that God brought you to me. There will never be another like you.
Nor you, Kato replied. Nor you.
* * *
Declan climbed off the motorcycle and made his way to the back. What little breath he could draw froze in his throat. Markie lay there, still, not even the rise and fall of breath, Kato beside her, his head on her breast, his nose pressed to hers.
He cocked an ear in Dec's direction, but his focus remained on Markie. Yet there was no whimper. No long, painfully empty howl of grief. It was as if they were sleeping together.
Except she wasn't asleep.
He limped to her side and painfully lowered himself to his knees. Kato's eyes turned to him, golden and soft, his black face relaxed.
"I'll try, boy," he said around a gasp. "I'll try."
He drew out the second bottle, the antidote, and a second syringe, knowing this was as dangerous as the shot of tetradotoxin he'd given her earlier. The antidote itself was toxic. And even for those who did survive, brain damage was all too common.
For a moment, he paused. Her life had not been in vain. She had lived, and loved, beautifully. If he let her be, she would pass peacefully into the arms of a God whose existence he no longer doubted. If he gave her the antidote, he might save her life and destroy her mind. Was it for her that he wanted to save her life? Or for himself?
For he knew, with complete certainty, that there would never be another like her. No one else whose merest smile could touch every crevice of his being. No one else he would ever want in his arms, in his loins, in his heart. For his sake, he could try to save her.
But what about her? As he'd told Joe Gardner, it was always about the patient. And though he loved her with all his heart, she was a patient now. A patient whose life he might already have ended. A patient who even now might well be reaching up to the heavens, stepping into the embrace of God. And if ever a human being deserved that embrace, she did. What would she want? What was best for her? To draw her back into his arms or surrender her into God's?
It was Kato who answered for her, turning to nuzzle his hand, the hand holding the syringe, and nudge it toward her arm. She wants you, man-mate. We want you.
Drawing as deep a breath as his ribs permitted, he whispered a Hail Mary and pushed the needle into her vein. With slow, steady pressure, he pushed the plunger.
All he could do now was wait.
And hope.
Epilogue
Gary held Wendy in the morning light, the rise and fall of her breasts in somnolent breath a warm pleasure to behold. Life had taken so much. Love had given it back.
He reached out to caress her hair, and she stirred a bit, her lips curling into a faint smile. Warm lips. Lips he could kiss for the rest of eternity and never tire of. Her features, softened in sleep, free of worry, bore the kind of beauty that made poets put pen to page, made singers put voice to word, gave flowers a reason to bloom.
She was all his. And, in the love they had shared last night, the words they had exchanged, the new promises they had made, she was all his.
And he, all hers.
Only they would know the significance of the tiny gold chain she now wore around her neck, or the reason she had let out a tiny gasp of pleasure as he had sealed the clasp with glue. Most people, he knew, would never have or want to have the kind of love, the kind of life they had pledged to each other.
But new days brought new beginnings. It was the love, the life, they both needed. To be whole.
And one.
Her eyelids slowly opened, and her eyes met his.
"Good morning, my darling. I love you."
She smiled. "I love you, too…Master."
* * *
Dawn hadn't waited by Tim's bedside, although she had slept—as much as she could—beside Brindle every night. The dog was healing now, stronger, eating, able to walk at least for short distances. Tim had betrayed her love. But Brindle had not. And she would not betray Brindle.
It was Brindle's low growl that had announced the decision. Tim had come to the house after his release, but he got no farther than the front door before Brindle passed judgment. Never again.
And Dawn agreed. Never again.
She had told the police everything, sparing no detail, however damning it might be. To her surprise, her father-in-law had come to sit beside her as she talked. When she wept, he had touched her hand. When she finished, he had looked at the detective. Not a look of authority demanding obeisance, but that of a father-in-law seeking mercy and understanding.
The detective had nodded. She had acted in self-defense. She was free to go home.
And it would be, she had decided, her home. Here, in the heart of Old Martina Town, near the music of beach bands, the laughter of children. She had declined Abel's offer to come live with him until she found another place. This was her place.
And Tim had no place in it.
Brindle's growl, and Dawn's unstinting stare, had said all that needed to be said. With a silent nod, he'd turned and made his way back to the taxi. Charges would be filed, and perhaps had been already, for animal cruelty. As for the deaths…under the law, he was not responsible for what could only be seen as supernatural acts. Though he had set in motion the chain of events, the law could not hold him to account. That would be for another court, in another life, with another Judge.
The memories would never be totally washed away. But neither should she be chained to them. She was alive. And Brindle was alive. And in the mastiff's bottomless brown eyes, she saw hope.
She clipped the leash to her collar and motioned toward the door. "C'mon, girl. Let's take a walk."
* * *
Dec knelt beside Markie as Father Pedro recited the prayers of the consecration. The Christmas homily had been full of life and hope and the inherent promise of a God who would come down to earth in the form of a baby. In the consecration, that same God became present in the bread and wine offered for communion. It was, Dec thought, a profoundly intimate experience. Touching God. Tasting God. It was…making love.
And what better person to share that with than the woman who knelt beside him? Markie's recovery had been brief and remarkable. She was not the same woman he had known. No one who had endured what she had could be. Her eyes were more contemplative now. The lilt of her voice still carried music, but it was a richer, fuller music. It was the music of the universe, and beyond.
He reached out and grasped her hand as he listened to the prayers, and looked back at all the years, all the ways he had pretended against what he had always known. God is love. And love is beautiful.
Markie took his hand in hers. The hand that had taken her away from Annie, the hand that had given her over to a new world, the hand that had brought her back so that she could share that new world with him. The air in the church was rich with incense and the faint tangy scent of poinsettias. Here and there, a faint whiff of perfume, probably a Christmas gift opened early. And beneath it all, the impatient shuffling of children anxious to get back home and dive into their presents.
She had no such need. Her present was right here. Kneeling beside her. The man who had taken her life and given it back. And, forever, claimed her heart. Last night, when he had haltingly whispered the words, she had felt a peace unlike any she had ever known.
Yes, Declan Quinn. I will marry you.
Her present was right here, in every heartbeat, in every breath.
Her present was life itself.
* * *
Kato waited for them at the window. Watched them park. Watched them walk up to the door. He would not meet them at the door, though. He had other plans. For just as Markie had stepped into his mind, he had stepped into hers. And for the first time, he had understood this day when humans opened gifts, laughed, ate hearty meals of turkey and ham, and basked in the comfort of each other. He had known, and he had known what he needed to do.
Finding it had been easy, now that he knew the scent of gold. Nudging the box off her dresser had been a bit of a challenge, but only a small one. On another day, in other circumstances, she would have been angry with him. But not today. She would understand.
And so he trotted back into her bedroom and waited. Listened to them calling his name. Wished he could laugh in their way. Instead, all he could do was lift the corners of his mouth, let his jaw hang loose, and smile at the thought of the moment that would happen so soon now.
He heard them walking down the hall. Heard them open the door. Listened at the Markie's first gasp as she saw the pile of jewelry on the floor.
