by Gina Ardito
“If you still don’t trust me,” he added as he rolled over and presented his back to her. “You can sleep on top of the blankets. Or conjure up a chastity belt.”
She arched a brow. “I’d rather you conjured up pajamas.”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he managed on a wide yawn. “Even in life, I always slept in the buff.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
The only answer she received was a sonorous snore. Like a plug yanked from a socket, Luc’s last bit of electric pulses had disintegrated, and he’d fallen asleep. In the middle of her bed.
Great. Now what?
She didn’t want to sleep with him in the same room, much less only a few inches away. She sighed. Sure, the sex—or whatever they’d shared—contributed to her restlessness. But another emotion took center stage in her heart right now. Guilt.
How could she have willingly engaged in a physical relationship of any kind with Luc, a guy she didn’t even like, when she still loved Gabe? Even if Luc hadn’t assured her sex in the Afterlife was impossible, even if she wasn’t one hundred percent at fault for the whole sorry episode, she had to take some responsibility for what had happened between them.
Meld with me. What an idiot she’d been to fall for that line! He might as well have invited her to his place to see his etchings.
Which brought her back to Gabe. God, she’d give anything to see him once more, to explain how and why she’d screwed up, to beg his forgiveness—for not trusting him that night at the restaurant and then for betraying him with Luc here in the Afterlife.
A spark flared inside her head. Wait a second. Why couldn’t she see Gabe? She might not be able to speak to him, but she could see him. Be sure he was all right. That she hadn’t mucked up his life when she’d ended her own. Thanks to all her bounty hunting, she knew how to get to Earth. She knew exactly where Gabe lived. Although, she didn’t have the specific coordinates the Board used for locales.
Still…
There had to be a way…
Rising in hesitant inches so as not to disturb the slumbering Luc, she left the sleeping area, headed toward the counter. The clipboard sat, stone silent and empty, a mute chastisement that she was on her own with this decision.
Well, honestly, what did she expect? Some Higher Power would abet her in slipping away from her duties? Of course not. If she wanted this, she’d have to break the rules. With no help from anyone. In fact, she had to be certain no one would know she’d escaped this crummy room with its lack of inspiration.
What had Luc told her? The Board instituted the sterile décor so the residents would forget their lives on Earth, to keep them from becoming distracted.
More likely, to prevent exactly what she was about to do.
Not that she planned to remain on Earth the way those bounties did. She had no intention of becoming one of the sought-after, the lost souls she and Luc chased. No. This would be her own version of a quickie. Without sex. A fast zip to Earth and back. She could do this. She needed to do this. Jodie would never rest until she made some kind of peace with Gabe, even if it were only symbolic. Or on a higher plane.
Fingers crossed for luck, she focused every thought on reaching her former lover’s apartment. An icy breeze wrapped her, prickling her skin, and deep in her head, a stern voice admonished her to halt her journey along this treacherous path.
Ha. Like she’d ever listened to the voice of reason before. And this time, like all the others, she pressed on, heedless. A trap door appeared at her feet, a sliver of light eking through a miniscule opening between jamb and frame. Despite the warning growing louder in her conscience, Jodie began the transport process. Revolution after revolution, she spun faster and faster, a centrifuge separating matter into bits of cosmic dust.
Finer than sand in an hourglass, she poured through the crack in the exit, and out into the heavens beyond. Meteor-like, she hurtled toward her goal in a headlong trajectory. A ticking clock, loud as the mechanism inside Big Ben, echoed each beat of her heart, counting down earthly time. Sparks flew from her astral form as she continued the plunge with more precision than an Olympic diver.
Recalling every cream-colored wall and scarred floorboard, she pictured herself floating in Gabe’s living room. And suddenly, all motion screeched to a halt.
Familiarity embraced her, welcomed her home. Her gaze traveled to the blue and yellow swirls dancing across the Van Gogh’s Starry Night reprint perched above the pre-fabricated fireplace. She spotted the tatty tartan plaid cushions of the couch and wingback chair, the hobnails glinting from the framework of the matching hassock. The distinctive odor of stale grease wafted up from the Spanish restaurant downstairs, mixed with the sting of paint thinner from Gabe’s guest-bedroom-cum-studio in the back of the rented space. She’d made it! A thrill shivered through her. She opened her mouth to call Gabe’s name, and then snapped her jaws shut. He wouldn’t hear her even if she did call out.
So where was he? Vibrations hummed around her, a paranormal divining rod, confirming human activity in the vicinity. Her ears pricked while she struggled to discern his whereabouts. But no matter how she strained, the hum remained dull, indefinite. As if she wore earmuffs.
Propelling across the floor, she checked the front rooms: empty living room, equally barren kitchen. She did, however, note new dishtowels dangling from the oven handle. Wedgwood blue with splashy yellow and white daisies, the pattern was something totally foreign to Gabe’s low-key personality. Where and when did he buy these?
She shrugged. Her time for contact with Gabe was short and here she stood alone, wondering about the new kitchen linens. Who cared where he got the dishtowels?
Let’s remember why we risked everything to make this trip.
With only the rear bedrooms left to search, she sped toward his bedroom at the end of the hall. Although the familiar low-slung platform bed with its lacquered headboard still occupied the room, the décor had changed in its entirety. The white walls she recalled were now mint green, striped with a border wallpaper of dancing teddy bears. In the corner stood a crib with tiny teddy bears holding pastel balloons suspended from a mobile above the mattress.
Disappointment seeped into her soul. Gabe had moved! No wonder she hadn’t recognized those silly towels in the kitchen. Some other family had taken up residence in his apartment. But… if he’d moved, why did the Van Gogh reprint still hang over the fireplace? Maybe he had sub-let the place? Was he allowed to do that?
Her stomach pitched.
Only one room left, and Jodie suddenly had no desire to seek out the contents of that last space. Still, curiosity spurred her to the doorway. Her heart thudded in her ears as she crossed the threshold.
Empty. Except for the portrait-sized canvas seated on an easel near the grimy window. Her heartbeat accelerated. Gabe had always found solace in new projects. So, did he still live here? With a baby in the next room? Which could only mean…
Did Gabe have a family? A child? A dog? A…a wife?
Trepidation rippled in waves as she edged closer to the easel. On the canvas, splinters of sunlight pierced splotches of bright red and orange swimming through an ebony background. Odd. Gabe usually worked in pastels, watercolors indicative of his favorite Impressionists.
Was this piece something new? Something he’d started since her death? When she stood close enough to the painting to realize its significance, she gasped.
In the portrait, a dark-haired woman with ocean blue eyes brimming with tears of agony, drowned in a river of flames. The woman bore a striking resemblance to Jodie. And the background could only be the portal to hell.
The last dregs of energy deserted her, and she fell to the floor, a pool of sobbing ectoplasm.
~~~~
Luc didn’t know how long the blackness claimed him before he grew aware again. Waking came slowly and with difficulty, like swimming up from the bottom of an oceanic riptide. No matter how he struggled, he couldn’t open his eyes to gauge the distance to the su
rface. Forcing himself to remain calm, he called on his other senses to drag him from unconsciousness. A sharp smell stung his nostrils—bleach or ammonia. The rhythmic hum of machines crooned a lullaby near his ears. A hard, immobile object clogged his throat, preventing him from swallowing, much less speaking.
And then the first whisper connected with his foggy brain.
“…medically induced coma…” A male voice, close by, but unfamiliar.
Medically? A doctor maybe? Am I in a hospital?
That would explain the smells and sounds around him.
“No.”
Is that Daphne’s firm denial ripping the shroud of silence?
“…chance it will save his life…” the male voice murmured.
“…understand that…” Yes, he definitely recognized the steel-edged demand in his future ex-wife’s tone. “But Luc wouldn’t want… …kept alive by machine… …a temporary basis…”
How does she know what I’d want? Our entire marriage has been based on what she wanted.
“…Turn the machines off…” she announced, more insistent now. “…let him go peacefully…”
“…perhaps wait…”
“No!” This time she shouted clear enough for the entire ward to hear every word. “I don’t want to… prolong my husband’s agony.”
But for the torture device lodged in his throat—a ventilator maybe?—Luc would have laughed at such false concern from his wife.
Since when do you care?
“…if you’re certain…” The man’s voice faded in and out over the beeping of the damned machines. “…I assure you…” Beep! Beep! Beep! “…chance he could pull through…”
“Of course I’m certain,” Daphne snapped. “Luc and I… discussed this…over the course of our marriage. He wouldn’t want…to be on life support…even briefly.”
“…There are forms you’ll need to sign…” Defeat weighed down the man’s words.
“Get them. Let’s be done with this… so my poor Luc can be at peace and I can mourn him properly.”
Wait. Is the doctor saying she’s going to pull me off life support? Even though there’s a chance I’ll survive?
Clarity burst forth, a shaft of sunlight on his dim mortal coil. He struggled to sit up, to move a hand, a finger, to signal to someone, anyone.
Don’t listen to her! She doesn’t give a damn about me or my wishes. Somehow she found out about the separation agreement. She’s pulling the plug on my life before she loses everything. Game, set, match. To her.
Don’t listen to her! I don’t want to die. Not yet. Not like this.
“Not like this!” His own terror woke him from the nightmare.
Drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a jackhammer, Luc opened his eyes to the familiar bland walls of the room at the Halfway House. Dammit, he’d been revisiting his last day on Earth since his first sleep here. Why the frig did he keep dreaming about his personal slice of hell?
He frowned. No, not a dream. A memory. Daphne’s final betrayal. Fighting off the sheets wrapped straight-jacket style around him, he turned to check on Jodie to be sure his outburst hadn’t disturbed her. But of course, he hadn’t disturbed Jodie at all.
Jodie was gone.
“Jodie!” Shouting his partner’s name, Luc rose from the bed and quickly conjured a new outfit. Another pair of black jeans, another t-shirt. This time, emblazoned on the soft black cotton, a cartoon bucket dangled beneath the sunny yellow words, Come Kick It With Me. Despite shouting loud enough to rattle the walls, his calls to Jodie received no response, and his attuned senses picked up no sign of her presence. No feminine vibration, no scent of earth and flowers, no sultry but hesitant voice echoing anywhere within the walls. He strode to the door, opened it, stuck his head out into the hall. Nothing. Not a wisp or stray ion over the threshold.
With angry force, he slammed the door and then leaned against the jamb.
Shit. Where the hell did she go? The apartment isn’t large enough for her to hide anywhere.
In his unmarried life, when a woman left his bed after a bout of sex, he’d always felt relief. No need to suffer through banal small talk or…God forbid…snuggling. But this was Jodie’s room, and it wasn’t like she had a job to get to, or any of the other lame excuses he’d heard or used over the years. Which meant…she must have taken off in a snit. He forced himself to remain calm, to keep a lid on the impatience crackling in his synapses. What whim set her running and where? Didn’t she realize her idiocy made him look incompetent?
Okay, stay calm. Let’s figure this out. Pacing the narrow alcove, he flexed his thoughts.
Maybe she’d gone to his room? Maybe his snoring had bothered her? Daphne had always insisted he should undergo surgery to correct his deviated septum. The noise he made at night, she’d complained, could scare off a grizzly bear.
But no, Jodie couldn’t have gone to his room. She’d never been there. In all their meetings since they’d been introduced at Ghoul Central Station, he’d come to her. Considering the dozen identical doors lining the hall here, she’d have a tough time figuring which one led to his quarters.
Besides, did snoring exist in the Afterlife? He had no clue. Sleeping, he’d discovered early on, was generally more like recharging a battery than human sleep. At least, that was the opinion he’d had until now. Then again, he hadn’t believed sex existed in the Afterlife. But based on what he’d experienced with Jodie, and the real, human, post-coital slumber he’d fallen into afterwards, maybe he didn’t know everything there was to know about this place just yet. The only spoiler in the entire experience was the damn memory of Daphne’s betrayal, which seemed to be getting more vivid with each dream.
An invisible two-by-four smashed the backs of his knees, and he managed to sink onto a stool near the counter before he hit the floor. Were the two events connected?
Obviously, he and Jodie shared a psychic link, probably as part of the mentor/trainee roles the Board had assigned them. After all, they communicated without speaking. Would such a bond continue beyond consciousness? Would Jodie have experienced the details of his last day on Earth the way he had lived them? Did that explain why she’d taken off? Did she know about Daphne? About what a sap he’d been? Shame washed over him in an icy wave. The last thing he needed was some stranger prying into his private pain. Hell, even Sean didn’t know the full details of his death.
Sean! Had Jodie gone to Martino’s room? The two had been awfully chummy in the Reception Area. Well, he’d track her down. Wherever the hell she’d gone.
Chapter 18
Sean Martino rolled over for another traipse through the Garden of Sleepin’ when a loud banging yanked him into harsh reality.
“Martino!” Luc Asante’s voice thundered through the paper-thin walls.
Damn. Now what?
“Unless you got the call to move on and you’ve come to say goodbye,” Sean shouted, “you’d better get your ass away from my door, Asante.”
“Open up, asshole!”
On an impatient sigh, Sean tumbled out of bed, simultaneously conjuring up a pair of sweat pants. Screw the shirt. I’m not going to offend Asante’s delicate sensibilities. And Sean certainly wasn’t averse to allowing Luc’s cute little partner a sneak preview of his bulging pecs and rock-hard abs.
He staggered to the door, scratching fingernails over his scalp to wake up any still dormant brain cells. The tumbler clicked as he turned the doorknob. He barely noted the sliver of light in the hallway before Luc pushed inside, his expression murderous. “Where is she?”
Sean blinked. “Where is who?”
“Jodie.”
“You lost your partner?” He cupped an ear and scratched his thumb over the hairline behind his lobe. “Again?”
While he paced like a stalking jungle cat, Luc’s frown deepened to a snarl, and his brows knitted into black apostrophes. “Don’t start with me. It’s been a weird enough day without you adding your crap to my shitburger. Jodie’s gone.”
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“Gone where?”
Luc threw up his hands. “If I knew where she’d gone, I’d have caught her already. I woke up and she was gone.”
“Okay, let’s not panic.” Watching Luc’s traversing made him dizzy, and he pinched the top of his nose to regain equilibrium. “Maybe she went out on another hunt.”
He stopped in mid-pace, staring at Sean with wide eyes. “After that last one? Hell, no. You saw her condition when we found her. No way the Board would call her up again until she’d had time to heal.”
“So you don’t think the Board knows she’s gone?”
Luc’s lips twisted. “I’m not sure. I doubt it. And I sure as hell don’t intend to inform them.”
“Why not?”
“Because depending on where she is right now, I could end up looking like a jackass.”
Tilting his head, Sean cocked a brow. “Your concern for your partner warms the coldest corners of my heart.”
“Screw you. You have no idea what it’s like to be responsible for someone else in this place. Hell, I’ve never snitched on anyone. Here…” He pointed to the floor. “Or there.” He jerked a thumb toward the door.
“Aww…” Sean clucked his tongue. “Poor baby.”
“You don’t get it, do you? If I run to the Board to report her disappearance, and she strolls in right afterward, they’re going to assume I couldn’t wait to tattle on her. And I look like Mega-Loser who panics the minute his partner skips out. But if I say nothing and she doesn’t return before the Board calls her again, I’ll be accused of abetting her escape.”
“Okay, calm down. No one said she’s escaped. Not yet.” Exhausted from just watching Luc’s histrionics, Sean slipped onto the nearest stool and indicated Luc take the second seat. “Let’s see if we can’t figure out where she went. Start at the beginning. Tell me everything that happened since I last saw you guys.”
Thank God Luc took the hint and sat. “I already told you. Jodie’s disappeared.”
