Win did as he was told, his legs shaking, the muscles straining, but he backed up against the counter and stood on his toes, stopping only to balance on his zip-tied feet.
I didn’t speak a word. I was afraid to, but I think I chewed a hole in my lip watching this play out.
“Talk to me, Arkady. Get the scalpel into my hands.”
“Bend elbows, lift arms to middle of back, Zero, then let hands touch counter. Scalpel to left, sharp end facing out.”
I was already impressed, but when Win grabbed that scalpel, I decided he was some kind of superhero. The two of them together made quite a team.
“You got it!” I cheered, jumping up from the bench.
“Well done, Zero!” Arkady praised with a clap of his hands.
Win began hacking away at the zip-ties around his wrists with barely a sound, but I knew from the small crimson drops of blood splattering to the floor, he was nicking his fingertips.
“Just a little more, Zero. A little…more!” Arkady shouted when Win successfully freed himself.
Of course, the moment he freed himself was the moment we heard Ritchie and Donald come stomping down the stairs, their voices loud and boisterous as though this were a fun night out.
Win was quicker than I’d ever have given him credit for, due to his limited mobility, but he grabbed that chair and hopped it back over to the place they’d originally left him, swooped down, grabbed the sock to stuff back in his mouth and put his hands around his back—all in a matter of seconds.
“Wow,” I murmured.
“He is impressive, our Zero, no?” Arkady asked me, patting the back of my hand with a broad smile.
However, then I realized, Win had nothing but a scalpel to fight two men who were in peak physical condition, and his feet were still tied. “But his feet, Arkady. His feet are still tied,” I said as a tear dripped down my face and my pulse raced as that sick feeling in my stomach returned. “We have to help him get out of here and back upstairs! He can’t take them both.”
“Hush now, malutka. I will help him. You will see.”
“Aunt Louisa said we have to take him out because we messed up. So you get him, I’ll get her,” Ritchie ordered, lifting the sheet from the body on one of the tables. “We’ll ditch him on the way.”
I held my breath, praying it was my body one second, almost hoping it wasn’t the next.
Just when I thought I might scream from the suspense, he yanked the sheet off the body.
I thought I was prepared. I really did.
But what prepares you for seeing your own dead body?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
But at least we knew where my body and my boots were, right?
And then it occurred to me. Um, I still didn’t know how to get back into my body. I’d never asked Win the specifics about how he’d done it with Balthazar’s. But would it make a difference if what he did wasn’t what I was supposed to do?
Terror ripped through me as Ritchie lifted my body from the metal table, bending at the knees with a groan. “Man, she doesn’t look that heavy,” he muttered to Donald.
Hey! I was a solid one-fifty, thank you very much, and I was working off that last ten pounds. I mean, saving a guy who just inhabited a body can be stressful in the aftermath. I’d had a couple of donuts, okay?
Donald cackled as he scrolled his phone. “She sure was good-lookin’ though.”
“Did you get the crematorium crankin’?” Ritchie asked as he positioned my helpless form. “I want to get this over with.”
“It’s all fired up,” Donald responded, never once looking up.
I don’t know if fainting can happen on Plane Limbo, but I’m pretty sure hearing they were going to burn my body would do the trick if I could.
Just as Win started to bend forward to slice the zip-tie from his ankles, Donald looked up from his phone, making Win flop backward and pretend he was still unconscious.
“I can’t believe that jerk won’t let us cash her in. Who cares if she has a Facebook page with a bunch of friends and family? People disappear all the time and nobody ever hears from them again. Hasn’t he ever heard of Investigation ID or whatever that show’s called?”
Ritchie shrugged his wide shoulders as he slapped the back of my prone body’s thighs. “I don’t know, man. Who cares? What I do know is we can’t afford to lose this gig, Donnie. So stop overthinking everything and just do what I told you. Knock the fancy guy out and wait for me so we can get him in the van. I’ll text you when this one’s nice and toasted.”
Ritchie hoisted me higher over his shoulders, never once questioning the fact that my body was still fluid and not rigid at all, even after allegedly being dead for two days. As my legs dangled, I noted my cute blue boots were scuffed and torn at the back of the knee. If I made it out of this alive, someone would pay.
Ritchie whistled as he went to the door that I guessed led to the crematorium, and as I watched myself bounce on his shoulder and out the door, I realized couldn’t keep track of my body now that Ritchie had left the room. I could only see Win’s point of view.
Panic gripped me, but I kept silent. The most important thing was for Win to get out of this alive.
When Donald went back to his phone, turning his back to Win, my favorite spy bent forward and gave the zip-tie a quick slice and freed his feet.
But Arkady looked distressed. “Zero, you must get Stevie now! She is almost gone. Gone,” he repeated. “Hit him with the chair, Zero, use scalpel as weapon. Do it now!”
“Win, be careful! Please be careful!” I shouted as Win rose on shaky legs.
“Hurry, Zero!” Arkady urged. “Strike now!”
As Win sprang to action, the rustle of sound made Donald stop scrolling his phone and turn around, which meant Win had to act fast.
“Forget me, Win! Get out!”
Win grabbed the chair and launched it through the air at Donald, clipping him in the head.
Donald screamed his rage as he charged Win, his face red with fury, but in the process of hurling the chair at Donald, Win had lost his footing, falling into the counter, where he latched on and hauled himself up.
“Go, Stephania! Get back in your body!” Win yelped before Donald slammed into him, knocking into the counter and scattering the embalming utensils everywhere.
The clatter echoed in the room, bottles of embalming fluid crashed to the floor and the scale slid across the counter.
Win almost doubled over, but still he only grunted when Donald hauled him upward and grabbed him by the neck. Win wasn’t strong enough to withstand much more, I was sure of it.
I fought my panic—fought it hard for all the times Win had gotten me out of a jam. I wasn’t going anywhere until I saw he was safe. Besides, I didn’t know where to go.
“Remember what you taught me, Win? Get him in the eyes! Lift your arms up, get your thumbs ready, and gouge his eyes out!”
As Win’s face turned red, he lifted his right arm up with so much effort, he turned redder and his cheeks puffed outward.
But he still lifted his shaky arm and jabbed the scalpel right into Donald’s left eye, giving it a good twist.
Donald howled, dropping Win to the counter, where he bounced off it and slid to the ground, but he dragged himself upward, his chest heaving beneath the sweater.
And still he was focused enough to yell, “Stevie, gooo! Get in your body! You have to stop him from putting you in the crematorium! I’m right behind you!”
My stomach swirled and buckled when I yelled out raspy and raw, “But I don’t know how to get back into my body, Win! How do I get back? How did you do it?”
Donald was back up again like a weighted punching bag, his eye bleeding, screaming his pain, but that didn’t slow him down. Head down, he grabbed Win around the waist and steamrolled him into the wall, crashing into it with such force, I know I heard bones crack.
But Win fisted his hands together and brought them down in a karate chop
to the middle of Donald’s back, making him sag forward against him. “You,” Win said, his teeth clenched, his chest heaving, “have to run, Stephania! Run!”
Man, Donald was a real hero, wasn’t he? Because sure as the sky is blue, groaning and bleeding and bruised, with only one functioning eye, he roared, “Who are you talking to?” as he came at Win again.
But Win was ready for him this time, and as Donald plowed into him, Win raised his hand high. “My girlfriend, you arse!” he hollered as he landed a final blow by sticking the scalpel in Donald’s neck.
Leaning forward, he braced his hands on his knees as the hat he wore fell to the ground. His knuckles were chewed up and his fingertips raw from cutting the ties loose.
“Listen to me, Stevie!” he heaved raggedly. “You have to run! Run away from Plane Limbo and back into the black void you described.”
I blinked as I processed. “Just run?”
“Run until there’s no more ground beneath you and then jump. Jump as far as you can! Go, Dove! Hurry! Go now!” he yelled as he almost tripped over an unconscious or possibly dead Donald, located his cane, and headed out the door Ritchie had taken me through.
He dragged his left leg, gripping his cane until his hand shook as he went, but I couldn’t watch him anymore if I hoped to find the way back to my body.
I turned to Arkady, fighting tears, and gave him a hug so hard, I thought his eyes would bulge. “I love you, Arkady. I love you so much. I’ll see you on the flip side,” I choked out.
He brushed a kiss to the top of my head and gave me one last hard squeeze, but I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. “Be well, malutka. But you must go now. We are almost at top of your head. You have not a moment to spare. Run! Run now and do not stop!”
With the sound of his voice in my ears, I ran back the way he’d first led me, straight into the black void. I didn’t think. I didn’t consider or make a single moment’s hesitation.
“Run, malutka! Ruuun!” Arkady yelled into the void, his voice echoing all around me.
And then I heard Win, and my heart pounded harder in the inky black of the void, swelling and rising.
“Give her to me!” I heard him bellow.
I ran faster, my legs pumping in time with my heart. The nothingness stretched past me, whizzing by as Win’s voice became more and more muffled. I almost didn’t feel the edge of wherever it was I was supposed to jump off of, but when I did, as I felt the very energy that fueled me thus far begin to slip away, I jumped.
So help me, Isis, I jumped farther than an Olympian champion. Definitely farther than I ever could have in gym class in school.
And as a by the by, let me just give you a brief description of body jumping as told by Stevie Cartwright.
It’s crazy. Like, really trippy.
I felt like I was free falling and immobile at the same time.
And landing back in your body after being gone for forty-eight hours?
Crazier still.
It was like stepping into your skin after shedding a costume. Warm, cold, slippery, squishy and just plain old weird.
But when consciousness hits, it hits you like a rubber chicken to the face. A big slap of awareness while you reposition yourself, but reposition I did, just as I opened my eyes and I saw Win reaching for my leg.
I was still slung over Ritchie’s shoulder when I reawakened and saw Win’s hand. I jolted upright in his arms then, my body suddenly rigid as I became reacquainted with my muscles, my spine so stiff, I thought it might crack.
That left me looking down at him—directly, his blue eyes blank at first then filled with horror. Heat at my back told me I was almost in the crematorium and that made me spring into action.
And then Arkady was there in all his Russian-accented glory. “Poke him in the eyes, malutka!”
I didn’t have to. Ritchie, when he realized I suddenly wasn’t dead, dropped me all on his own. I wish I could say I fell to the ground like a graceful cat, but I flopped like a dead fish thrown on a boat’s deck.
I hit the ground so hard, I thought I might have reinjured my previous butt injury. The drop to the floor made me screech my pain, but Win quickly pulled me upward from my sprawl.
He was one heck of a mess. His face was rapidly bruising and his lip even fatter than earlier. “Go, Stevie! Get up those stairs and get help!” he ordered, using his cane to steady his wobbly legs.
But I shook my head that didn’t quite feel like my head just yet, and clung to him. “Nope! It’s together or nothing!”
“Zero, watch back!”
Win turned around with the speed of light to find Ritchie mostly over his shock, his face streaked with horror as he stumbled toward us, hands outstretched. “Who are you? How did you…?” he cried, still shaking as he looked at me with terror.
“Just call me International Man of Mystery!” Win cackled, seconds before he clocked Ritchie in the head with his cane and knocked him out cold.
Grabbing my hand tighter, he said, “There’s no time to waste! Can you run, Stevie? Are you capable?”
I didn’t know, but I nodded anyway, my lips still having trouble moving.
Dragging me behind him, we stumbled/ran back through the door and he grabbed my purse, flinging it under his arm. Donald was still on the floor, and while I’m not sure what that meant, I did know I was more worried about what waited for us upstairs.
As we hiked up the first few steps, Win stopped, his breathing as ragged as mine. “Tell me the landscape up there, Stephania.”
“Stairs, about thirty more, then to your left and you’re in the viewing room,” I stuttered.
He gripped my hand tighter and pulled, using his cane to brace himself as we went. “Are you ready to make a run for it? We don’t know what waits for us up there.”
I gripped his wrist to steady myself. “Ready. Let’s do this.”
Pulling me behind him, Win took the steps as quickly as he could with a limp and me clinging to him, never letting go of my hand. Somehow—I think it might have to do with divine intervention—we made it up the stairs. When we crested the steps, Win looked around each corner and gave me the all clear. We slipped back into the viewing room—where we ran smack-dab into Jerry.
My hand stiffened in Win’s and my breathing, already harsh, grew huffier. But Win held a finger up to his mouth to shush me. If we could make it past him by slipping behind the vases that hadn’t been ruined while he was engrossed, we could get out.
Still, I seethed when I saw him, wondered where that gun he’d talked about was, but the sound of sirens had him so distracted, when we began to hobble past him, behind his back, he almost didn’t hear us.
Until I tripped and knocked over a vase, sending it flying to the ground.
But I think Jerry was in too much shock to try to stop us, even though he whipped around, his eyes wide and filled with horror. “How?” he sputtered with a squeal. “You! You were dead…”
I stopped short and glared at him, baring my teeth, my disgust bubbling to a boiling point. For all the horrible things he’d done, for all the grief-stricken families he’d bamboozled, I yanked my hand from Win’s and fumbled my way toward him, tripping over the pieces of cracked ceramic vases, almost slipping on the wet floor and flowers. But I didn’t care. I didn’t even care when Win called my name to try to stop me,
I reveled at how his entire body shook with fear just before I balled up my fist and clocked him in the face, a punch so hard it made his head snap back on his shoulders.
“That’s for Mellie Carter and for ruining my boots, you dirtbag!” I hollered with all I had left in me.
I didn’t stop to see what damage I’d done. Instead, I latched back on to Win, who’d begun to sag, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, dragging him with me.
“Just a little more, Win. Just hang on for a little more!”
As we hit the top of the short flight of steps to the funeral home, I heard a whistle and Belfry called out, “Stevie! Over here. In the holly b
ush!”
My eyes flew to the bush, where I saw my beloved familiar tucked into the branches, tiny and ghostly in the rainy night. He hopped out and I scooped him up just as the police cars tore around the corner and down the street toward us, giving him a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ve missed you, buddy,” I whispered.
“Yeah-yeah. Same and all that gooeyness. Now shove me in your pocket and grab your phone. It fell in the bushes when I made my great escape and called the police.”
“How did you get out of there?” I cried.
“Those buffoons were stupid enough to hang your purse in the coat closet, and I’m a lot stronger than I look, you know. I grabbed the phone, dialed 911, and when someone opened the door, I buzzed out behind ‘em. I’m small, but I’m mighty,” he chirped.
“I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you right now, Bel.” I rubbed his soft head against my cheek before I placed him in my purse.
Win managed to stoop down and locate my phone, stuffing it into my purse. “We must hurry, Stephania,” he reminded me.
As though Gooch read minds, his car pulled up right at the curb and he rolled down the window. “Sir? Sounds like it’s about to get all sorts of problematic. You ready to blow?”
I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my stinkin’ life. Cold and sore, I made the short break across the sidewalk to his car.
Win popped open the door to the Kia and motioned me inside, though I saw it was an effort for him, and his legs were beginning to buckle. I slid in with Win falling in behind me. Gooch took off almost before he was able to close the door.
I saw the flash of the police car lights and heard the scream of sirens screech up to the funeral home as we tore off into the night, my heart still racing.
“Are you okay, Win?” I whispered in his ear.
His face was haggard and pale, he was an absolute walking wreck, but he nodded. “Right as rain, Dove. Right as rain.”
All the adrenaline left my body at once and the burst of energy I’d had when I’d punched Jerry evaporated. I melted into the seat as Win buckled my seat belt.
Then he grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Dove.”
Witches Get Stitches Page 19