by Sarah Wynde
Dillon’s eyes narrowed. His subconscious was annoyed at him? That seemed . . . odd. Okay, so maybe his mind had plenty of reason to be disgusted with his emotional actions, but that voice had felt like a response to not knowing who the white light was. Was he being stupid?
He waited, but his subconscious was silent.
Dillon shook his head, dismissing the idea, and stared at the red auras. Who were they? He should be able to figure it out, he thought.
Listen.
That was the voice again.
Concentrate.
A slow smile turned up the corners of Dillon’s lips. He closed his eyes, the better to focus on his ears, and with all his heart, all his soul, listened as hard as he could and concentrated even harder.
And then the smile turned into a grin.
*****
“Dillon?” Sylvie spoke out loud to the restaurant, not caring what people might be thinking. “Are you here?”
She ignored the curious gazes directed her way. People were taking seats, obviously expecting to order food, eat dinner, move on as if nothing had happened.
“Think how much you’ll save on air-conditioning.” That was Max Latimer, calling out to someone in the kitchen.
Sylvie glanced at Lucas, asking the question without words.
“Cold spots, remember?” he told her. “Ghosts absorb atmospheric energy and make the temperature drop.”
She nodded, then closed her eyes and tried to feel if a cold breeze was coming from any specific direction. It was cold. But not so much so that she could say that one direction meant more than another. “Dillon?” she tried again.
No answer. She hadn’t expected one, not really.
She took a deep breath. Did she care about the people watching her? No, not after the day she’d had.
She took another step forward. “I told you why I left,” she said. “But I didn’t tell you this. I love you. I don’t know you. I chose not to be part of your life because I thought it was best for you. But I would do anything for you. You . . .” She swallowed hard, feeling the tears springing to her eyes again. She was too tired, too exhausted to be thinking clearly. But did she need to? Did it matter?
“You were the most beautiful baby. When I looked at you, I thought that I had never seen anything so wonderful. I’ve seen the pictures since. I know it was hormones, and me being a mom. You were a little lump of baby, just like every other baby, but to me, you were the world. I loved you with all my heart. And you still have it. I will do anything for you. Whatever you need, I will give you if it is in my power to give. And if it’s not, I’ll find a way to get it. Dillon . . .” She let her voice trail off and then strengthened, she kept going. “Find a way to tell me what you need. I will get it for you. I will make it happen. You just have to tell me how.”
She waited.
Behind her, she felt Lucas.
‘Love.’ His thought was a whisper, filled with grief. ‘He would answer if he could.’
‘He will answer,’ she told him back, her response fierce. ‘He will answer.’
And then her phone rang.
*****
Akira slid into the booth, her face alight with happiness.
Sylvie looked up from her phone. “We disagree on Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” she reported. “I’ll have to watch it again, but I don’t know. I thought it was pretty damn hokey.”
“So I hear,” Akira responded. “I’m supposed to tell you that it’s a statement of feminist empowerment.”
“All that fake karate? Please.” Sylvie rolled her eyes. And then she paused. “Does that mean—”
Akira nodded. “I’ve been waiting outside. The energy around the restaurant started slowly diminishing a while ago, but Zane wanted to be cautious.” Akira rolled her eyes, but Sylvie could tell from the amusement in her smile that she didn’t really mind.
Sylvie leaned back, letting her head rest against the booth. She closed her eyes.
Lucas tugged her closer, until her head was resting against his shoulder. She could feel the warmth and joy emanating from him.
“Our boy is okay?” For some untold time, Sylvie had been talking as text messages appeared on her phone. They’d started with personal history but had quickly—very quickly—devolved into television, books, movies, politics, even a touch of religion, if Joss Whedon worship could be considered religion.
Ty, Jeremy, Rachel and her mom were sitting at an adjacent booth, Joshua having long since dropped into an exhausted sleep on Jeremy’s shoulder but Rachel still bubbling over with excitement. Max, Grace and Natalya were at a third booth, poking at their desserts and talking desultorily, with Zane just taking a seat with them. Otherwise, the restaurant was deserted, the hour long past any reasonable closing time.
“He’s fine,” Akira reported. “He’s been pumping his excess energy into texting, but he’s fully back in this dimension.”
Sylvie sighed with satisfaction and turned her face into Lucas’s shirt front. “Good,” she mumbled.
He stroked his hand down her hair and her back. She lifted her face and looked up at him. ‘Happy?’ she thought.
‘Happy,’ he confirmed. And then he bent his head and took her lips and she stopped thinking entirely.
*****
Christmas Day
Dillon didn’t care about presents any more, but watching his family exchanging gifts, teasing each other, being silly, and celebrating the holiday felt like the most fun he’d ever had.
His mom had gotten the phone call from the sheriff the day before. She was free to leave the state if she so desired. The district attorney had decided no charges would be pressed. In another hour, she and his dad would catch a plane to North Carolina to spend part of the holiday with her family.
“So is Rose really . . .” Akira started.
“Don’t say it,” he told her. “She gets weird about that word.”
“But, Dillon,” Akira protested.
“I’m serious,” he said. “She thinks it makes her sound like a goody-two-shoes or a Christmas tree ornament. She swears if you ever say it again, she’s going to turn into a poltergeist just to make you stop.”
“But . . .” Akira began to complain and then stopped herself. “All right, I won’t say it. What about you, though?”
He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
“Are you going to head through a passageway sometime soon?”
He looked over his shoulder. No passageway had appeared. He shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
Akira frowned. “Are you okay with that?”
Dillon spread his hands. “I wanted my parents to be together and to be happy. They are. But I guess this dimension needs something else from me before it’s ready to let me go.”
Akira sighed.
Dillon grinned at her. “Aren’t you curious to find out what it is?”
Author Note
If you enjoyed reading about Dillon, Sylvie and Lucas, please consider leaving a review at your favorite online retailer. For any author, but especially those of us self-publishing without marketing budgets or PR people, Reviews = Sales = Money = Time = Stories making their way from our imaginations to your screen. Your support makes all the difference.
You can find me on the web at http://sarahwynde.blogspot.com/ or http://www.facebook.com/sarah.wynde or on Twitter as wyndes.
Thanks for reading!
Acknowledgements
Some writers write because the act of putting words to paper is like oxygen for their souls. I write because it’s less expensive than playing World of Warcraft. (Unemployed graduate-school dropouts need cheap hobbies.) That said, I could not possibly have kept writing through this incredibly difficult year (see: Dedication) without the encouragement of all of the people who wrote reviews for A Gift of Ghosts, sent emails, and posted comments to my blog. This book literally would not exist without you. Thank you so much.
I’d also like to thank everyone who reviewed A Gift of Thought as it was posted o
n fictionpress.com, with special thanks to Luckycool9 for his helpful insight and to Caroline Humphries who got me writing again when I wasn’t sure I ever would.
Rachel Sager cheered me on every step of the way. I owe her more than I can repay. I hope she lets me return the favor someday.
The folks at Project Team Beta (http://projectteambeta.com/) emailed me and asked if I wanted beta readers: saying yes was an easy decision and I’m grateful I did. My thanks to the beta readers who read early chapters, but especially to the wonderful and talented Shellynne Waldron and Jordan Walterman for their insight and commentary and all their help with those pesky commas. Mike Kent found the first chapters of A Gift of Ghosts on critiquecircle.com, loved it, told me so, and gave me the confidence to self-publish it. And then he offered to beta-read A Gift of Thought. I greatly appreciated all of his suggestions (even the ones I ignored—the world needs more parentheticals!) and his help making A Gift of Thought a better book. Heidi Eckstein found the first draft, “meh, but entertaining”: her honest criticism was much appreciated and truly useful. Stacy Taylor read the first draft and posed great questions; I’m grateful for her help. Finally, I had an incredible stroke of good fortune when Yvie Burleson agreed to beta read: her knowledge of DC and legal issues improved every reference to the city and made the police scenes more realistic (all errors are mine, of course), while innumerable sentences are cleaner, stronger and shorter because of her suggestions. Thank you all!
My wonderful aunt, Marcia Newton, walked the fine line between unconditional encouragement and making smart suggestions for change beautifully, while my wonderful sister, Karen Lowery, stayed firmly on the unconditional encouragement side. I’m very grateful to them both and to all of the rest of my family for their support and enthusiasm.
Finally, special thanks and love to my brother, Werner Sharp, and my friends, Pam Hartman and Suzanne Courteau, for being here for me during a very dark time. You are the safety net that keeps me from falling too far and lets me bounce back up when the drop is over.
Table of Contents
http://sarahwynde.blogspot.com/
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Author Note
Acknowledgements
Table of Contents
http://sarahwynde.blogspot.com/ Copyright Notice
Dedication
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Author Note
Acknowledgements
