by Diane Capri
Elaine blocked the doorway.
“You’re going out now?”
“It’s an emergency.”
“Jon, if you don’t start valuing your own time, your family time, your followers will never respect it. Trust your wife on this. Set some boundaries.”
“Excuse me.”
He took her wrist and gently began to pull it away from the door frame. Elaine jerked it out of his grip and slapped it back down, again blocking the way.
“No. I’m insisting you stay. You’re going to thank me one day for this tough love, baby.”
“What do you want from me!” Now, for the first time, Nick saw healthy indignation in Jon’s eyes. Elaine’s, on the other hand, were shimmering. Crocodile tears, no doubt.
Jon stood there, waiting.
“I...I just want...”
“What!”
“I just want you to set some boundaries!”
He took hold of her wrist again. This time he lifted it off the door frame and put her hand down at her side.
“I’m setting some now: You don’t control me or my schedule.”
And without looking back, he left.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TRANSPORTED OUT OF THE HARTWELL’S HOUSE, he stood on the front lawn with Lena, who was massaging the back of his neck. Her fingers caused a prickling sensation he’d not experienced for a while. The rain had stopped.
“Nice work, Nikolai.”
“I’d still prefer it if you call me Nick.”
“Hope you don’t mind my help on your first assignment.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t need it.”
“You’re welcome, anyway.”
Hartwell’s Audi backed out of the garage and sped down the street, engine roaring as though fueled by the anger Elaine had ignited in him.
“Remember,” Lena said, “all you have to do is keep him distracted. As you can see, the land mines of his life will take care of themselves.”
“Well, that’s...grim.”
“This from a reaper?”
“Ex-reaper.”
“Whatever. Now, your next assignment—”
“About that,” he said.
Lena’s penetrating gaze made him uneasy.
“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Because this one is the most important of the three.”
She snapped her fingers and a three-dimensional image that looked like a holographic projection appeared before them: that same disheveled woman, oily hair snaking around her grimy face, eyes shut tight, lips moving like a crazy person’s—and he had enough experience to know what those were like.
“Something about this subject make you uncomfortable?”
“Not at all,” Nick said. “I just...”
“Her name is—”
“Don’t tell me.”
Lena’s eyes opened wider for a moment and a curious smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She snapped her fingers and the image of the subject winked out of sight.
“Why?”
“I mean, knowing her name would only make it more difficult. You see, ushering someone to the Terminus is one thing, but causing a human’s death?”
Lena smiled. “You’ve got such a tender heart.”
“I’ve nothing of the sort.”
“I just adore that about you,” she said, gently taking his hand.
A tingling warmth ran through his hand, arm, chest. But rather than alarm him because it was so physical, the touch brought him comfort.
“Doesn’t sit well with me is all,” he said.
“You’ve got to remember a couple of things—things you can learn from human wisdom.” She drew quotation marks around the word wisdom. “First, looks can be deceiving. And second, you’re an accessory to a crime if you don’t seize the opportunity to stop it.”
“She’s just a poor homeless woman.”
“Nick, you’re not causing her death, okay? It’s suicide—her own doing. You’re just keeping her on track.”
“How?”
“By reminding her of what she feels about herself, her life. Look, she’s already condemned herself. It’s that simple. But if she talks herself out of it, if she lives, she’ll destroy the future of innumerable souls by misguiding them.” She stepped close and looked into his eyes, her red lips parted enough for him to see her pearly teeth, the tip of her tongue dancing as she spoke. “You don’t want that on your record, do you?”
“I guess not.”
“Come on, Nikolai. It’s just like ushering them to the Terminus, only a little earlier.”
For a brief moment his knees threatened to give out. His thoughts and feelings blurred, had no clarity. Lena’s voice, her eyes, her lips—they weakened him.
Like a wound.
Lena blinked. “A wound?”
“Did I say that out loud?”
She gave him a queer look.
“I only meant...well, allowing a dangerous person like this unnamed subject to go unchecked would be like allowing a wound to fester.”
“That really how you see it?”
“Is there any other way?”
“Good.” Much to his surprise, she pulled his head down to her and brushed her lips against his ear as she whispered. “Then you’re ready.”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Off you go, then.” With a gentle nudge, she prodded him to the sidewalk. There she opened a portal mid-air and Nick, dazed, stepped inside without looking back.
Without noticing the wisps of the dark vapor that followed him in.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LENA BREATHED A SIGH OF RELIEF as Nick left. The assignments seemed simple enough, but why did Morloch consider them prerequisites for consideration of her proposal? Did he really believe two humans at one stadium event could create so much damage to the cause?
It didn’t matter. Nick was more than capable of carrying out these orders, he just needed a bit of nudging and direction.
She turned to the house to find Elaine standing at the open window of her bedroom, gazing down at the street on which her husband had just driven away. She wore the expression of one who’d been devalued, maimed by cruel words and insensitivity. Feelings that resounded in that catacomb of memories Lena tried to keep sealed but could not help allowing to reopen on occasion like the old wounds they were.
“You have to hang on—I’m going to get help.”
“Be...strong, Punkin’...”
No! This is nothing like that.
A sob from the window brought Lena back to Elaine, her face laced with regret, sadness, guilt. This broken and contrite spirit within her could prove troublesome—better do something about it. Whispering to her soul, Lena projected the thoughts:
// WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS, JUST TOSSING YOU ASIDE LIKE THAT?//
A sudden alertness lit Elaine’s eyes. The sadness in her face yielded first to a neutral look, then a growing suspicion.
// IS HE REALLY GOING WHERE HE SAYS HE IS? //
It was working. Jealousy and suspicion were the silver bullets for this human. One last thought should do it.
// STOP KIDDING YOURSELF. IT’S ANOTHER WOMAN AND YOU KNOW IT. //
Elaine grabbed the window and slammed it shut so hard it awoke the neighbors’ dogs into a chorus of barking.
Lena smiled. With Elaine duly directed, it wouldn’t take much for Jonathan to fall into the final steps. Nick’s success was all but ensured.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE HALLWAY LIGHTS WERE DIMMED and the janitors were starting in the offices at True North, Jon’s church. Seven thousand attended every Sunday, millions watched on television.
Carla looked up as he stepped into the reception area. Her eyes drooped from fatigue under the graying hair that made her look much older than her fifty-two years. She nodded at the door to the right of his office.
“In the conference room.”
“What’s going on now?”
It had been a while since anyone had expressed any need for pastoral counsel, especially since the television broadcasts had begun. He’d gotten so used to having his staff handle things that it was gratifying to make this exception and see someone himself for a change. It was good to feel needed again, in a way so-called celebrities aren’t.
“I’ll need you in there with me—mind staying a bit longer?”
“I’m already late to feed Charlie.” Carla’s cat, her only companion, was notorious for exacting revenge if he had to wait too long for his supper.
“Please. For propriety’s sake, Carla.”
She sighed. Heavily.
“All right.”
“Thanks, Carla. Let’s see what’s going on with her.”
He pushed open the walnut door to find a woman seated with her back to them at the long table, her glossy black hair falling around her shoulders. Carla went to the mini-refrigerator and got bottles of water for them.
“Pastor Hartwell, this is Maria Guzman.”
An unreasonably beautiful young woman stood up and turned to face him.
“I’m so sorry to bother you this late—it was raining, I couldn’t find my hotel, I just happened to pass by your church and the lights were on...I’m sorry.”
“Not a problem.” He took her warm hand and shook it. “Please, have a seat.”
Though she smiled, her eyes were full of something bitter, something dark that lay just beneath the surface. They sat opposite each other, Maria’s hands in her lap.
“So how can I help, Ms. Guzman?”
“Maria, please.” She glanced over at Carla, who was sitting at the far end of the table. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what I have to tell you is...well, it’s personal.”
“I understand. But it’s really for your own security that she’s here.”
“What are you going to do, jump my bones?”
Jon let out a nervous laugh.
“Of course not!”
“I’m sorry, that was really crude. I’m just such a mess right now!”
“Don’t apologize, it’s all right. But back to the issue at hand? You can say anything with Carla in the room—trust me, she’s the soul of discretion.”
That she was, but when he turned to her for affirmation she stood up.
“Actually, it’s getting late for me, and Pastor Hartwell is the soul of integrity.” She started walking to the door.
“Wait, Carla—”
“And I have a cat who’ll pee all over my bed again if I’m any later for his supper.”
That elicited a giggle from Maria.
“So I’ll just say goodnight to both of you.”
And with that, she was out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ONLY A FEW SECONDS TO DO THIS.
Even with the scant traffic at this ungodly hour, someone might drive by and report her to the police. Near the edge of the Coronado Bridge, she peered down into the inky water below. Hardly a ripple or wave. How long would she feel the pain of impact? How long would she live feeling the terror of drowning while fighting the instinct to swim, to survive? How cold was the water?
Probably very cold.
Dark and cold. That was exactly how she envisioned her death, for such had been her life. Nothing would stop her now. She’d mentally rehearsed it for months. Twice in the past week she’d come close, then changed her mind. But she’d managed to get this far tonight.
No turning back.
She had to do it—now.
Just then, a seagull flew over her head and let out a plaintive cry. It drew her eyes upward to a blue rectangular sign with white lettering that read:
SUICIDE COUNSELING
CRISIS TEAM 24 HOURS
1-800-479-3339
Too late.
Part of her wished someone would stop their car, get out, try to talk her down. Not that she’d change her mind, she only wanted someone to know that she’d taken her own life—and why. But that would really be inconsiderate of her, subjecting a good Samaritan to such a horrible memory.
It’s time.
With twitching fingers, she gripped the edge of the wall and climbed up. The wind swept matted strands of hair into her tear-stained face. She sucked in a sharp breath through teeth chattering despite the evening warmth.
Just one step forward...
#
Nick stood back from the ledge watching the subject, who looked utterly harmless to anyone but herself. With one foot outstretched over the sixty-meter drop, she asked the cosmic question.
“Why, God?”
Nick tried not to listen.
He hated watching this. He’d ushered the souls of many a suicide victim to the Terminus but always tried to avoid the scene just before they killed themselves. With this assignment however, he was forced not only to attend a suicide but to facilitate it.
She’s just one human. If she goes ahead and jumps, it’s for the greater good of millions.
Nick got up on the ledge and stood behind her—floated, actually.
The woman sobbed softly and pulled her foot back.
Was she reconsidering? This assignment was supposed to be easy. Now he had to listen in to know what she was thinking.
// I HAVE TO DO THIS. NOTHING ELSE WILL STOP THE PAIN...//
“That’s right,” he whispered into her ear. “The pain. There’s no other way to end it.”
She nodded, sniffed, wiped her nose with her sleeve. Then she looked up into the sky.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” She stuck her foot back over the ledge.
“Make it right, then,” Nick whispered. “Go ahead and jump. Maybe that’ll help make up for what you’ve done. You’ll—”
“What?” She pulled her foot back and started crying. “It wasn’t my...” The rest of her words were muffled by sobs.
What kind of inane assignment was this, anyway? Nick listened in.
// NOTHING’S GOING TO BRING HER BACK. I’M SORRY, GOD. I KNOW YOU DON’T APPROVE OF THIS, BUT I CAN’T GO ON. //
“Go ahead and do it. It’s what you want, what you need,” Nick whispered, feeling increasingly uneasy about it all. “You’ll finally find...peace.”
“Peace, yes.” She leaned forward, trembling as she started tipping over the edge.
A sudden chill wrapped around him, went through him. Not a physical sensation, as he was not in a physical state. It had been years since he’d experienced it.
The dark vapor.
Memories flashed through his mind—questionable choices, unauthorized interventions, Sophia, Victoria Station, Clara…
In his dazed state Nick had taken his attention off the subject—now ready to spring, her knees bent. He thought he heard Tamara’s voice but couldn’t be sure if it was really her:
“No matter what, Nikolai, you will always be loved...”
With a profound gasp, the subject cried out, “I’m sorry!”
Filled with anxiety and an odd sense of familiarity, Nick rushed out and floated directly in front of her.
“Wait!”
Astonished, she opened her eyes.
Those eyes.
Those emerald pools.
But before he could piece it all together, she leapt from the bridge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE BODY. THAT WAS YURI’S FIRST THOUGHT as he peered past the wall at the Coast Guard ship whose officers were eyeing Jonas’s boat through binoculars. If they were to come around, they’d find his body hanging from the deck. That would only complicate things.
Making sure he was out of their sight, Yuri pulled the knife from the sheath strapped to his ankle and began to saw away at the thick rope. He wasn’t making much progress and now he heard the roar of the Coast Guard ship’s engine as it began to move.
Yuri let out a gr
unt and slashed at the rope even more feverishly.
The ship was coming to the front of Jonas’s boat and about to turn to the side where his body hung. The rope sliding in his grip as he cut it stung Yuri’s fingers. Just before the Coast Guard ship rounded the corner, the line broke.
A heavy splash below. Yuri shoved the knife overboard, rolled over on his back, and laughed. Just in time.
Five minutes later, a pair of Coast Guardsmen boarded. Yuri remained on his back as if barely conscious.
“Sir?” the male officer said, crouching down at Yuri’s side. “Sir, are you all right?”
Yuri groaned, slowly reached for his neck and rubbed it.
“Hmmm?”
The female officer zipped open a bag, presumably containing first aid equipment.
“Looks dehydrated.”
Yuri sat up and gazed into her face with his best desperate look.
“Thank God you came!”
“I’m Chief Petty Officer Renard,” she said, then nodded to her partner. “This is Seaman Apprentice Grant. Sir, are you all right?”
“It was terrible. A huge storm—you would not believe how big! I hit head...” He rubbed the back of his skull where he’d gotten bumped. “My friend Jonas...he…” Yuri moaned as he touched his neck again. He didn’t have to pretend, the pain was real.
“Jonas?” Renard said, looking around.
“He was up here during storm.” Yuri stood up, very slowly.
“How long were you here?” Grant said.
“I don’t know. Last I remember, ship was going to sink!” Yuri peered over his shoulder and hollered, “Jonas!”
“Have you checked below?” Renard pointed to the cargo hold.
Yuri’s face went cold. “Of course.”
“Mind if we look?”
Dammit!
“Is slippery and dark. Come with me.” He led them down the steps, grabbed the flashlight on the counter and waved its beam around in a cursory scan.
“See? Not here.” He started back to the steps.
“We need to have a thorough look,” Renard said.
“I looked everywhere,” Yuri said. “I think Jonas maybe fell overboard during storm!”
“I think he could be down here, injured.” Grant pulled out his own flashlight. “Let’s make sure.”
