by L. M. Reed
With Cecil gone—dying in my arms while I watched helplessly—and Emily happily residing with Sunnie in Bellingham, Washington far away from the bleak, harsh reality of her parents’ deaths, I’d made peace with my own imminent demise.
But the warm furry coat wrapped around me—as odd as it sounded—it seemed to call to me…anchoring me somehow. Analytically and logically, from the severe nature of my symptoms, I knew I should already be dead, and yet I lingered.
Am I in some weird in-between place?
My eyes refused to open, hadn’t opened in…well…I had no idea how long because time meant nothing to me…so I couldn’t use them to figure out where I was or what was happening to me. I couldn’t even tell the difference between day and night.
Seconds had ticked by disguised as minutes and minutes as hours, while hours assumed the proportion of days and I’d lost track…simply living in limbo.
My body had eventually accepted the interminable hunger and tiredness and cold without question.
But then, I’d stopped feeling anything.
As the changes in me took over, I didn’t need to open my eyes to tell me what I already knew…my body had shut down…all functions basically dead.
No longer did I need food or water or to brave the cold to relieve myself, because most of my body was already deceased. I was simply biding my time until my heart and brain finally received the message.
Why then, do I feel such a vital connection to the coat when I shouldn’t be feeling anything at all…and why won’t the coat let me go…?
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I pondered that question, but could find no logical answer.
Chapter 4
Jeanluc
Lifting my head, I stared at the swollen and responsive lips that no longer showed signs of frostbite…only of my kisses.
Pulling her close, I held her to my chest, burying my face in her long and tangled blonde hair, gratified as Dawn sighed contentedly and snuggled closer.
Unwilling to break the silence, I tightened my arms around her. I could feel her length against mine and I wondered how I had ever lived without knowing her kisses and caresses.
What we had just shared had been beyond anything I had known in decades…not since Jordan…and in my mind I whispered, “Mine!” over and over until it grew into a litany I could not stop…could not control.
As I lovingly stroked her shoulders…her back…and hips, Dawn’s hand caressed my chest and I knew it was not enough…would never be enough. I needed more.
Words were unnecessary between us—our actions spoke louder than any words—and as she tilted her head back to find my lips once again, I could not help the feeling of possession that overwhelmed me.
She belonged to me!
Mine…Mine…MINE…
I felt a breeze on my backside…
“Where am I?” I mumbled groggily, disoriented for a moment. “And why is it so bloody cold?”
Forcing my gritty eyes open, I took in my surroundings and remembered…Rod, the plane, the dead doctor, the girl…
The girl…!
Propping myself up on one elbow, I discovered two unexpected surprises waiting for me. Number One, the girl’s disconcertingly vivid blue eyes were fixed on mine, and Number Two, I’d lost my fur.
I hadn’t expected either occurrence.
Even though I had never shifted while asleep, I shoved that concern to the side to be taken out and examined at a later date. Instead, I studied the girl’s pupils and visual response. She appeared to be dazed, but conscious…if not totally aware.
“Hello, Dawn,” I offered in a quiet tone. “I am Doctor Minsk…Jeanluc…perhaps you remember me…?”
Her eyes widened, ever so slightly, in surprise. I wondered exactly which part of our current state of affairs astonished her the most.
For a moment, the humor of the situation struck me, and I allowed a small smile to curve my frozen, stiff lips.
How many women woke up to a naked stranger in their beds? Well, not quite a stranger, and not quite a bed, but certainly the naked part…
Probably more than I realize, I conceded in amusement.
Although I remembered Dawn vividly from Rod and Sunnie’s wedding five years earlier—a mere month after Dawn’s own elopement—I was not at all certain she would remember me.
In her mind, no doubt, I was simply the Best Man to her Matron of Honor. She’d been so wrapped up in her new husband, I felt certain she hadn’t noticed much else.
And that was as it should be.
But now…now when I could have claimed her, I was too late…a lifetime too late.
The situation could not possibly have been any more dismal, and I railed against such waste. Her husband was dead and I had little doubt she would soon follow.
I would never have wished that upon either of them. Dawn’s happiness had been and always would be of paramount importance to me—such was the nature of my kind, our own feelings tertiary at best—and it had been clear to me from the moment we met that the good doctor made her happy.
Although it had been the hardest thing I had ever done in my life, I walked her back down the aisle after witnessing her sister’s vows, straight into her husband’s loving arms before immediately leaving the church.
And I had never second-guessed my actions, for what I had done had been the only thing I could do and still live with myself.
Movement of her partially frostbitten lips drew my attention back to Dawn, and I experienced an inexplicable sadness as I examined the ravages the savage cold had wrought on her previously full and sensual pink lips…lips that I had just thoroughly kissed in my dream…lips that suddenly seemed to be in the throes of some sort of spasm…
I ran my fingers lightly over those lips…lips that I longed to heal…and gently leaned forward to plant a kiss on her discolored forehead.
“Are you in pain?” I asked gently.
I had already given her more morphine than I should have, but I had no desire to make a martyr of her when I strongly suspected she would not be long in joining her husband in the afterlife.
For a moment, frustration gripped me.
This should not be happening…not to her. I should be able to save her.
Consciously, I relaxed, drew in a deep breath, and attempted to clear my mind…experiencing only partial success.
The movement of her lips ceased temporarily, and a slight frown marred her brow. I wondered if I had misread her. Was it possible that she had been attempting to speak?
“You wish to tell me something…?”
At the ever so slight sigh issuing from between her frozen lips, I bent towards her, turning my head and strategically placing an ear as close as possible to the source.
“I am listening.”
If my hearing had not been more acute than the norm, her mumbled whisper would have remained forever undecipherable. Even so, it took several attempts for me to make out the two words she uttered.
“Fur coat…”
“Fur coat…?” I repeated perplexed.
Rod and I had searched the entire plane and hadn’t found much in the way of warm coverings that the couple had not already discovered, and certainly not a fur coat.
The only tarp not currently in use by a living being had been drafted into service as a shroud. My respect and admiration for Dawn grew as I realized what she must have suffered witnessing and dealing with her husband’s death.
“What fur coat, Dawn?”
“Fur coat…” she repeated more forcefully before shutting her eyes and drifting off, obviously exhausted by the effort.
For a moment, I allowed my eyes to roam the body of the plane once more, surprisingly in one piece, but found nothing that even slightly resembled a coat of any kind…much less a fur coat.
Then it dawned on me…I was the fur coat…or had been until I had involuntarily shifted.
Realizing that I could not risk the danger of being in such clo
se proximity to Dawn while I changed forms, I moved out from under the layers, shivering—as much from the dreaded pain as from the cold—then closed my eyes and let the transformation begin.
Chapter 5
Dawn
The coat had returned…as had my incredibly vivid, if odd, dreams. Images flashed through my mind…images of soft, warm fur and a strong, steady heartbeat that spoke to me…
Even though I realized it was all nothing more than a hallucination, it felt so real, and I drew strength from the connection.
My hands gently stroked the fur, burying deeply into the warmth, although whether the motion was real or imagined I couldn’t have said. I just knew that my whole body all at once experienced a surge of some undefined emotion as powerful as any I’d ever known.
Then suddenly, as before, the fur was gone and my hands once more caressed human flesh…such firm and muscled and masculine human flesh…and my fingertips tingled with anticipation and hunger and need as I once more reveled in the passionate kisses of the man occupying my dreams.
At first, I’d thought I dreamt of Cecil, but as I freely explored, I realized that Cecil’s chest muscles hadn’t been nearly as defined as the ones beneath my fingers.
For a moment, I hesitated, feeling a sense of loss. Cecil was gone. He had been my life for five years, a part of me, and I already missed him.
It hadn’t been just about the sex with him, although that had been good, too, but so much more than that. He’d been my colleague, my best friend, my confidante, my lover, and the father of my child…he’d been everything to me.
How, then, could I dream so vividly about making love to another man…? Even one as sexy and attractive as the one I’d somehow conjured in my obviously fickle mind…?
As my heart grieved, my mind and body betrayed it by responding to the sensual caresses of a faceless and obviously experienced lover.
Had I no shame?
Even as I anguished over the question, my recalcitrant hands lovingly stroked the warm, firm skin of my dream man, avidly investigating the bulging biceps and tapered torso, pressing myself close to the unfamiliar yet somehow oddly familiar male body. I realized that I should stop, but I no longer had any control as my lips once more eagerly sought his just as they had before…in my dreams.
It seemed so right even as a resolute part of me stubbornly refused to agree.
Shoving the disquieting voice of dissent away, I relinquished all thought as I simply allowed myself to feel…
Chapter 6
Jeanluc
Once more, I awoke to the cold, having shifted while slumbering.
The dreams I continued to experience while sleeping were nothing short of astounding, and I wondered if those incredibly stunning dreams had somehow subconsciously caused my involuntary transformation.
I had never experienced such an occurrence before, not in well over a hundred years of life, and it was disconcerting to say the least.
Even more disconcerting was the fact that my dreams had once again been centered around the woman I had promised to care for… a woman whose loss of a spouse had not even had time to register in her mind, and most likely would not because she was a woman at death’s door….
And the most disconcerting thing of all…my last dreams had not been of an innocent nature.
Instead of remaining content with ardent kisses as in the previous dream, Dawn and I had made wild and passionate love and not just once, but multiple times…and it had been the most wondrous experience.
Although logically, I knew the broken woman beside me could not have performed any of the acts in my dreams—she barely had any life left in her body and voluntary movement of any type was totally out of the question—it had all seemed so real.
But I knew that could not be.
However, I suddenly found myself with no time to ponder the implications of my errant subconscious as the involuntarily jerky movements of the body next to me chased all other considerations out of my head.
Dawn was in trouble.
Although her vocal cords offered no cooperation, if the frantic movements of her frostbitten lips were anything to go by the woman was screaming bloody murder.
As I took in the eyes rolling back into her head and the contortions of her body, I realized her pain must be excruciating. She gave every appearance of a woman suffering untold torments in her own private living hell.
And I had no idea what to do for her.
In the end, I followed the only course open to me…the only active response that was within my power…I shot her full of morphine.
Chapter 7
Dawn
My whole body had burst into flames…at least that was how it seemed to me…but the worst of the agony centered somewhere near my heart.
I tried to scream, but nothing came.
Writhing in agony, I attempted to claw the scorching hot poker out of my breast, but still it remained…torturing me…tormenting me…
I jackknifed into a fetal position, cradling my excruciatingly painful left breast in my hands as I rolled around on the floor.
A disconnected part of my brain wondered at how my body, savaged by frostbite and very possibly the beginnings of gangrene, could possibly find the strength to move at all, much less in so violent a manner, but also allowed that it was altogether feasible that the movement had no place in reality.
Reality and fantasy had merged as one in my dreams and separating the two had become almost impossible. Was it so unlikely that perhaps since the pleasure I’d felt as I made love with an incredibly sexy yet faceless man could not be real, neither was the hellish pain? But it felt real…so real I simply wanted to curl up and die.
Why can’t I die? Why must I suffer so? Is this my punishment? Is this what happens to fickle women who dream of men other than their husbands?
I’d suffered confusion, disorientation, hallucinations, a mind conjuring whatever it took to escape, and pain so great that I welcomed death with open arms, yet even as I conceded those symptoms, I still couldn’t differentiate between reality and fantasy.
Had any of them been real? Had all of them been real? What was happening to me?
The only thing I knew with certainty…the pain in my breast—whether real or imagined—was like nothing I’d ever known before and hoped to never know again and, as I continued to claw at my breast, I prayed that death would come to claim me…quickly.
Chapter 8
Jeanluc
Powerlessly, I watched Dawn’s body spasm and I realized the morphine had done absolutely nothing for her. Although she showed only slight movement—I doubted she could have managed any more than that voluntarily or involuntarily—judging by the grimace on her barely mobile face, the pain had to be well-nigh unbearable.
And I could do nothing about it.
Anxiously, I watched for any sign of letup, but none appeared forthcoming. A bit confused, I searched for a reasonable explanation as to why her pain would worsen before she died instead of lessen, but I had none. Although I had very little experience in the field of exposure and frostbite, everything I had learned in the various medical schools I had attended over the past century would indicate that all pain disappeared at the end, not returned to cause the type of agony tormenting Dawn.
Obviously, none of the textbook authors had ever frozen to death.
Of course not, idiot, I silently berated myself, otherwise they would not have lived to write the textbook.
Pull it together, I reprimanded myself.
I had never before been guilty of babbling—neither silently nor aloud—but I could tell that I teetered on the brink…brought on no doubt by the helpless frustration gripping me as I watched the woman I wanted engaged in a battle that I could not fight for her.
After what seemed an eternity of eagle-eyed vigilance, I noticed something…something that puzzled me greatly. Dawn’s right arm had gradually shifted position—so gradually that it had not penetrated my consc
iousness at first—and worked its way out from under the covers, eventually coming to rest over her heart.
Though she obviously had no strength left in her hand, her fingers curled ever so slightly over the inside of her left breast.
I froze.
After a few moments, I consciously relaxed. It could not be…it was simply coincidence. Dawn had not even been conscious long enough for any type of connection between us to be formed. In her state of confusion, I doubted she was even cognizant of my presence.
Add to that the fact that her husband had died, by my professional estimation, within the past twenty-four to forty-eight hours, and the whole possibility smacked of the ludicrous.
Still, in her physical condition, to actually find the strength to reposition her hand over that one spot…of all places…
Perhaps her pain had manifested itself in her weakened heart. The heart was also in that same general area and I could not discount the possibility. It was certainly worth investigating.
As I quickly dressed, having quite forgotten my unclothed state in my worry over Dawn’s deteriorating condition, I could not help but notice the flush staining parts of her face so at odds with the deadly pale of the frostbitten areas. She had apparently developed a fever.
Or something else, a voice inside of me suggested.
Shoving the voice down, I refused to allow that thought to gain traction. The timing, the logistics…none of it made sense. No, it was as it appeared…all of her symptoms were consistent with exposure, hypothermia, and frostbite.
Then why does my heart leap at the idea that it could be something else? I queried my subconscious.
Because I am a doctor, and I want to heal her…that is all, my conscious self replied firmly.
But the dream…? Is it not possible…?
There is a way to find out and end this useless speculation.
But do I really want to know…?
Reaching down to retrieve my medical bag, I slowly moved to Dawn’s side and, lowering myself next to her, located my stethoscope, draping it around my neck.
Possessing abnormally acute hearing, normally I never bothered with the stethoscope except for show. However, I suspected that if Dawn’s heart proved to be the issue, I would greatly appreciate the significantly amplified sounds.
Taking Dawn’s hand in mine, I slowly and carefully moved it away from her breast.
