Gun Shy

by Lori L. Lake

  “It’s really not okay,” Jaylynn said. “I love her.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “No, I mean I really love her.” She took a tissue, wiped her eyes and let her hands drop into her lap.

  Lynn squeezed her shoulder. “Like I said, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “She doesn’t return the feelings.”

  “I see. Well, that’s a tough one.” They sat for a moment, Jaylynn letting silent tears run down her face and Lynn patting her upper back. “Lynnie, there’s something else. What is it?”

  Through the tears, Jaylynn let out a chortle. “What is it about me—do I have something written on my forehead? Some sort of display that says ‘Keep Probing’?”

  Lynn laughed. “No. I just know you, that’s all. Nothing is ever simple with you, punkin.” She smoothed a lock of hair out of Jaylynn’s eyes. “There’s always been way more than one layer. So I thought I’d ask.”

  “As usual, you’re right.” She took another tissue and blew her nose. Once she felt more composed she said, “I keep having the same kind of recurring dreams, and they’re scaring the hell out of me.”

  “You used to have bad dreams when you were little, after your dad died.”

  “I still have those dreams.”

  “What? I thought they went away.”

  “Oh, no. You just taught me a way to control the fear. Remember My Hero?”

  “Who could forget! I’ve never had a kid get so excited about an imaginary friend.”

  “She’s not imaginary anymore. It’s Dez.” She shifted uncomfortably on the couch. She met her aunt’s eyes, then looked away.

  “You mean you dream about Dez now.”

  “No. I mean My Hero was—is—Dez, always has been Dez.” Again, she held her aunt’s eyes, nodding, hoping Auntie Lynn would be able to understand.

  “She resembles her?”

  Jaylynn placed her hands palms down on her knees and squeezed, the cords of her hands standing out. “I know it sounds crazy, but she is her.”

  “Okay. So go on.”

  “The first time I saw her, something clicked.” She faced her aunt, and in an excited voice, she said, “I can’t explain it, Auntie Lynn, but I knew—I just knew Desiree Reilly was somehow the one. I feel it here.” She patted her breastbone with her fist then returned her hands to her knees. “It’s like a—like a connection, a strange linking of souls. Every time I look her in the eye, it’s like looking at the other half of my heart. I get this jolt of familiarity—of déjà vu—that doesn’t quit. And even though she tries to pretend otherwise, the same thing happens to her, too—I can tell.”

  “You’re saying she’s your soulmate.”

  “Yes! That’s exactly it.”

  “So what’s the problem between you?”

  Jaylynn sat back, doubt clouding her face. “I don’t know. I—I just don’t understand at all.”

  “Have you tried talking to her about this?”

  Jaylynn’s face reddened. Avoiding her aunt’s eyes she said, “Let’s say I messed that up real good and haven’t been able to broach the subject since.”

  “Hmmm, okay. I’ll say it again. What else is there, Lynnie? I can tell there’s more.”

  Jaylynn didn’t want to recall any of the dreams, but she forced herself to explain anyway. “Remember how My Hero used to come to me in my nightmares and help me escape or rescue me?”

  “Um hmm.”

  “That’s not happening anymore. Now the monsters and aliens—or criminals or whoever they are—they get her and they beat her senseless. They torture her, break her bones, shoot at her, try to devour her, and there’s nothing I can do. It’s terrifying. In my dream I can’t do anything to save her. I run all around, frantically, but I’m totally helpless. I wake up sweating, screaming—Mom had to come in last night to wake me up and tell me everything was all right.”

  Lynn patted one of Jaylynn’s hands. “Hey, you’ll bruise your knees doing that.” Jaylynn stopped clenching her kneecaps and relaxed her hands. “So,” Lynn said. “When did this new development in your dreams occur?”

  “Since I’ve been here.”

  “Jaylynn,” she said in her kindest voice, “Dez just got shot. Your dreams are reflecting reality.”

  “But I can’t help it, Auntie Lynn. I have the most unbearable feeling of foreboding, of anxiety. Every damn time I dream it, it’s like it’s actually happening, like she’s actually dying, and there’s nothing I can do.”

  Lynn peered at her shaken niece, waiting until the hazel eyes met understanding gray eyes. “Listen to me, Jaylynn. What you’re feeling is normal. This happens a lot when people go through a critical incident like you’ve just experienced. It’s normal. You need to talk about it, deal with it. Promise me you won’t bury it.”

  “Ha! Fat chance of that. It’s all I think about.”

  “I see. And you’re scared you’ll lose her for good.”

  “You’ve about summed it up.” Tears came to her eyes again.

  “Will you promise me when you get back to Saint Paul you’ll go see a counselor and talk about these feelings?”

  “Yes. The department provides a psychologist.”

  “Good. Take advantage of it, okay? I’ll be checking on you, you know.”

  Jaylynn nodded. She put her arms around her aunt and squeezed her tight. In a choked voice, she said, “Thanks for listening to me, Auntie Lynn.”

  “My pleasure, dear. I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  After three days of rest, Dez went back to desk duty, where she found she was bored half to death. The days dragged by while Jaylynn was gone. Dez cleaned up paperwork she’d totally forgotten she’d ever neglected. She was more than happy to get the doctor’s clearance to go on patrol again. But it felt empty out on the mean streets of Saint Paul without Jaylynn along. She had to face it—she missed her.

  She wanted to call, but she didn’t know the number in Seattle. Finally she got up the courage to call over at the house and someone named Kevin answered, but no one else was there and he didn’t know Jaylynn’s parents’ phone number. Exasperated, Dez gave up and resolved to wait more patiently, but it wasn’t easy.

  Not until Friday, the fifth day after the shooting, did Dez come home from work and find a note on her door from Luella.

  Dez,

  Jaylynn would like a call at 206-555-3579.

  She doesn’t have your phone # with her. Don’t

  forget it’s two hours earlier on the West Coast.

  Love,

  The Chief Cook and Uniform Washer

  What time did Jaylynn call? Dez hurried to open her door. Without pausing to flip on the lights, she rushed into the living room to the phone. She checked the red LED time indicator on the VCR: 12:20. That made it 10:20 in Seattle. Was it too late to call?

  She didn’t care. She grabbed up the phone, still dressed in the uniform she hadn’t bothered to change out of when shift ended, and when the touch-tone numbers lit up, she dialed, hoping she wouldn’t wake anyone up.

  A faraway voice said, “Hello?”

  “Jaylynn?”

  “Hey you. How are ya?”

  “Ahhhh . . .” Dez felt tongue-tied. She shuffled over to the couch, sat down, and cleared her throat. “Did I wake you up?”

  “Not in a million years. Seems no one ever goes to bed around here. The girls are like rats scurrying around half the night.” Jaylynn laughed, a throaty purr in the phone. “My hours have been so weird—I’ll be totally screwed up for time when I get home.”

  Dez let out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. She is coming back, she thought, and a feeling of relief washed over her, which caused an involuntary shiver.

  “Dez? You still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How about your ribs? Are they healing?”

  “Yeah. Still have the bruise, but I’m back on patrol. It’s going fi
ne.”

  “Good. I was hoping you’d mend quickly. You do seem to heal fast, you know.”

  Dez didn’t want to talk about her own healing. All she wanted to know was when Jaylynn would be returning. She wasn’t sure how to put it so she said, “The lieutenant asked me tonight how you’re doing.”

  “That was nice. Tell him I’m fine, and I’ll be back to work on Wednesday. I’ll fly home Sunday.”

  “Sunday, huh? You need a ride from the airport?”

  “No, don’t worry. Sara’s coming. But thanks.”

  “Okay,” Dez said, trying to keep all hint of disappointment out of her voice. “So I’ll see you in a few more days?”

  “Uh huh. Well, hmm, anything exciting to tell me?”

  “Nope, guess not.” Her mind felt stuck in neutral, and she scrambled around trying to think of something to stay on the line. “Oster stepped on a nail on the street outside the civic center construction site.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, it went right through his boot and into his arch. Had to get a tetanus shot. At least he isn’t complaining.”

  “That’s good. But he’s not much of a complainer. He’s a good guy.”

  “He is.” Dez racked her brain for something—anything—that might be interesting. “Hey! Something good did happen. A cop in a small town in Michigan—Grand Ledge, I think—caught that guy who raped Kristy South.”

  “You’re kidding? How’d they catch him?”

  “I don’t know, but Lieutenant Malcolm told me today they’ll extradite him. So that was good to hear.”

  “Yeah. I’ll have to check on her when I get back.”

  Dez cleared her throat, suddenly tongue-tied again.

  Jaylynn said, “Hey, this is costing you money.”

  “That’s okay,” Dez said in a grouchy voice. “I don’t mind.”

  For some reason, Jaylynn found this funny. Giggling in the phone she said, “Some things never change.”

  Dez was puzzled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ll see you soon, Dez.”

  “Do you want my phone number—you know, in case you need to call or you need a ride or something?”

  “Sure.”

  Dez gave her the number, said goodbye and they hung up. She sat in her darkened apartment, sweating with nervousness, and held the cradled phone in her lap. Get a grip, she told herself. It’ll be okay. After a few moments, her heartbeat returned to normal, and she felt drowsy. She rose and set the phone back on the top of the entertainment center and got undressed in the dark, tossing her uniform on the valet chair. Wearing only a sleeping shirt, she crawled into bed, exhausted, and fell into an immediate sleep.

  The dream began as it often did. She was crazy with pain and grief, pinned into a tight enclosure. Her chest hurt and she could hardly breathe. Dim pinpoints of light illuminated a console in front of her, and as her eyes adjusted, she made out twisted metal rods, cracked glass, and sparking wires hanging down around her in what seemed to be a tiny spaceship. The smell of burnt plastic permeated the air, and for a moment she thought she might vomit.

  All she could think of was getting out. Fumbling at the front of her, she grabbed blindly until she found a metal clasp at her waist, which she pulled, loosening a harness and flooding immediate relief to her ribs. With effort she hauled herself up, and as she did, she rose into the smoky air and up and out a hole in the hull of the craft. Without warning, she fell, and as she did, she felt cool wind against skin and saw her flight suit was melting away. Her knees stung and ached, and when she rose to her feet and looked down, they were a mass of rawness, warm blood running freely down her shins. She brought her hand up, her fingers brushing her abdomen until they were stopped by something shiny and hard protruding from her breastbone. Her fingers groped at a metal rod so firmly embedded that she couldn’t remove it. Her hands dropped to her sides, and she took a step, finding herself on a dirt path that led away from the small craft.

  The full moon shone down upon the hillside, casting enough light to clearly outline evergreen trees and rocks and bramble bushes. The narrow path was emblazoned with silver, and she shuffled along hesitantly as it angled off to the side and led down to a lake.

  Each step was painful and her breath came in short sharp wheezes. Something burned in her eyes, and when she wiped her brow with her forearm, it came away from her head covered in dark, sticky liquid. She was beyond caring and sought only oblivion. Lurching down the path she tripped once on a root and nearly fell, but she recovered her balance and continued down, faltering only once more before she came to stand at the water’s edge.

  The moonlight shone on the lake, revealing gentle ripples near the shore. She stepped one foot forward and felt the cool water lap at her foot. So close, I am so close. Closing her eyes, she took one last breath, as deep as her wounded lungs would allow, and fell face forward into the salty-tasting water.

  Sinking . . . sinking . . . light receding . . . darkness all around. The water grew colder until she shivered with the shock of its continual plunge in temperature. Instead of oblivion, instead of peace, the pressure intensified. She fought it, twisting and struggling. When she opened her mouth to scream, nothing came out. The brackish taste of bile rose up in her throat and choked her. She opened her eyes in alarm, sinking more, feeling the water crushing her. She stopped fighting it. Letting her arms open and fall to either side of her body, she closed her eyes and gave herself to the descent.

  Then she felt it. She opened her eyes, and through the murk watched as capable white hands grasped the metal rod bulging from her chest. Gradually, inch by inch, the arrow was removed until she wept with the cessation of the pain. Strong arms wrapped around her, hauling her upward. She felt the silken pressure of bare skin against her shoulders, legs, and breasts. Each time she made a move or struggled, the ascent ceased, but when she went limp again, the arms tightened around her and they advanced upward until she was aware of moonlight shining bright in her eyes and cool wind brushing her tear-stained face.

  She lay in the water, floating face up, all of the ache washed away, her body cleansed of the blood and grime and wounds. Resting, trusting, suspended in warmth, she became aware of that other presence, those other arms which felt so hauntingly familiar. She turned her head, searching for confirmation and fell into iridescent depths, a smiling presence of love.

  The phone woke Dez, and she had trouble shaking the sleep out of her eyes. She decided to let it ring and tried to roll onto her side. Her body was still stiff and sore, mostly from holding herself so erect and with such caution. She cursed the day they walked into that 7-Eleven. Suddenly it occurred to her it could be Jaylynn calling. She swung her legs over the side of the bed to grab up the phone. Leaning to grab the handset sent a sharp pain through her side. She winced and answered the phone with a hoarse, “Hello.”

  “Desiree?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is your mother.”

  Dez’s heart sank. In those few seconds before picking up, her hopes had raised considerably. “Good morning,” she said cautiously.

  “I’m calling to check on you. How are you feeling?”

  Dez dragged her legs up on the bed and leaned back against the pillows. “I’m all right.”

  “How are your ribs?”

  “I’m healing okay, Mom.”

  “You back to work?”

  “Yeah. Finally done with boring desk duty.”

  Dez heard a faint chuckle. “Just like your father. He never liked being cooped up inside, either.”

  “I’ve had enough of it this year. I was glad to go back on patrol—couldn’t wait.”

  “How’s your partner holding up?”

  “Savage?”

  “I believe her name is Jaylynn,” her mother said dryly.

  “Yeah, it is. I think she’s doing all right. She’s off work for a couple more days.”

  “Don’t count on her doing all that great, dear. She was thoroughly shook up the
other night at the hospital. She was frightened very badly.”

  “Nah, she’s tough.”

  Her mother paused for a moment. “Not everyone can shut out bad things like you can, Desiree. Don’t expect it to be easy for her.”

  Dez started to get mad. Who was her mother to lecture her about Jaylynn? She’d spent—what?—five or ten minutes in her presence? “Gotta go, Mom. I need to take a pain pill again.”

  “All right. Call me if you need anything, okay? You’ve got my number at the clinic, right?”

  “Sure.”

  Dez hung up, feeling quite irritated, and got out of bed to stomp toward the bathroom. Every step made her more aware of how out-of-sync her body was. She moved the shower curtain aside and lowered herself carefully to sit on the edge of the big whirlpool tub so she could operate the faucets. After testing the water temperature with her right hand, she plugged the tub and stood up. She moved over to the sink while she waited for the whirlpool to fill. She grabbed up her toothbrush. Looking in the mirror, she thought she looked old. There were bags under her eyes, and her face looked drawn and more pale than usual.

  A wisp of a dream rose to the surface of her memory. Water. Thrashing and drowning. Pain. She shivered. She couldn’t exactly remember what happened, but she knew it was unpleasant. But it turned out all right, didn’t it? She had this odd sense that something good happened. but it wouldn’t rise up to consciousness. Oh, well, she thought. She brushed her teeth and flipped on the whirlpool jets. She slipped out of her sleeping shirt to step into the steaming, boiling water. Once she’d lowered herself carefully into the tub, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let her mind float off.

  The jets soothed her aching muscles and relaxed her. She sank lower in the oversized tub until only her face poked up out of the water. Deeper she went, relaxing, drifting. She imagined a forest full of blooming deciduous trees, the branches so thick that the tiny path she followed was almost indiscernible.

  She put one leather-booted foot in front of the other, making no noise, and moved along the dirt path. The air was still, not even the sound of birds. She felt the thrum of her own heartbeat, and a thrill of elation ran through her body. She let her left arm reach back, and it was promptly grasped by a warm hand that sent shivers of delight up her arm. She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned. Bright eyes met her own, a pair of laughing hazel eyes dancing with joy. You, she thought. I know you.