Lucidity

by CJ Lyons

  Her gaze caught the frosted glass door at the end of the hall. A man's silhouette was pressed against it, his fists drumming a desperate beat on the thick, reinforced glass. A beat that thundered through her skull, blinding her with pain.

  Grace whirled and fled through the double doors at the exit from the ECU, stumbling right into Vincent's arms.

  CHAPTER 19

  Wishing Hour

  Vincent stumbled back as Grace Moran plowed into him. Her eyes were wide, her face a ghastly white, highlighting the faint scars. She looked scared as hell.

  "Are you all right, Grace?" he asked, setting her back onto her feet.

  She glanced around at the oak doors behind her, as if something was chasing her. "I'm fine. I just need to go home," she mumbled. She straightened, then pulled away from him. "What did you call me?"

  "Your name. Grace." He scrutinized her with the eye of a clinician. She was shaking, looked ready to fall down at any moment. "Here," he guided her to the love seat opposite the elevators. "Sit. We need to talk."

  She nodded absently, her fingers tracing the seven staples along her temple, then pulling her hair forward once more to cover them. The incandescent light from the two stick-lamps on the end tables played over her features, softening them. But Vincent's vision was filled with images of blood and torn tissue. Each nuance of healed tissue now revealed the grim secret of its origin. His anger at her for interfering with Alex's care eased.

  He was ashamed of his earlier denouncement of Grace Moran as a victim, even blaming her for what he assumed had happened to her. The woman standing before him was no victim. She was a fighter. Or at least she once was.

  "Why don't you want the surgery?" he asked in a gentle voice, laying his hand over hers.

  She stared down at his hand, then slid hers away, hugging herself around the chest. Vincent wished he had a sweater or blanket to offer her. But all he had was his lab coat.

  "Please," she said, not meeting his eyes, instead staring out the window at the garishly lit helipad on the Annex roof across the void that separated the two buildings. "All I want to do is go home."

  "I know."

  She nodded at that, her gaze still fixed on the Annex.

  "Why didn't you leave yesterday? Why did you stay?"

  "I tried. I--I couldn't. Then I met Kat and Alex--" she broke off, turned to face him as if emerging from a trance. "How do you know who I am?"

  "Sean Kelly is a friend of mine. He says hi, says he hopes you're feeling better. Ingrid is worried too."

  "Ingrid--you were at my house?" Her voice took on an edge. "How dare you. Who gave you the right?"

  "Grace, you're a sick woman. Wandering alone on the streets for all we knew. Dr. Helman was concerned, asked me to find you."

  "Worried about making history, you mean. With me as a guinea pig." She stood now, hands dropping to her sides. "Maybe I don't want to make history. Maybe I just want to go home."

  "To die." He stood as well, facing her.

  "Yes." She challenged him with an upraised eyebrow. "Happens to all of us sooner or later, Doctor."

  "If that's what you really, truly wanted, then you would have left yesterday."

  "I thought you were a pediatrician, not a shrink."

  "Actually I'm boarded in both medicine and pediatrics. But it doesn't take a psychiatrist to see that there was a reason you couldn't force yourself to leave Angels of Mercy, a reason why you're here right now."

  She glanced back over her shoulder at the doors to the ECU. "I wanted to help Kat. No one," she shot a disapproving glare at Vincent, "prepared her for her surgery, what to expect. I promised I'd help and I did. So now I can go home."

  "You're the one who convinced her to finish her download?" She nodded. "Guess I should thank you for that. But what about Alex? Are you just going to abandon him? He's over in his room right now, waiting for you. Begged me to let you stay with him tonight--has some fantasy that you're as close as he'll ever get to a real mom."

  She stepped back until the doors to the Skyway blocked her path. "I didn't ask him to pretend I was his mom--"

  "I know you didn't. But kids," he shrugged, "sometimes their imagination runs away from them. If you leave, it will break his heart."

  Her shoulders bowed as if he'd placed a great burden on her. He only hoped she realized that it was also a fragile burden. A gust of wind rattled the windows beside her. The lights in the Skyway flickered. She raised her head and gave him a half smile.

  "You really do care about him, don't you, Vincent?"

  "Sure I do. He's a great kid. And that's why I got into this business. I'll look the other way if you stay tonight."

  She bit her lip and nodded. "I guess one more night won't matter."

  Jimmy knew he shouldn't have any memory of these things, just as he shouldn't be here now, watching, waiting, yearning for the woman he'd lost four years ago. Four years. Was that an eternity or a heartbeat? Neither, both--he could not say.

  Nor did he understand why he couldn't follow her. His celestial leash seemed to end not quite halfway along the Skyway, beneath the maintenance hatch set into the flat glass roof. So he paced the limits of his domain, remembering, re-living...

  Jimmy and Grace had spent another day in the beehive hut, trapped by the storm. On the morning of the second day, Jimmy woke alone.

  He stood up, groggy, reaching for his shirt. The fire was lit, as were two of his lanterns; coffee was brewing, but no Grace. He turned around in a complete circle but there was nowhere to hide in the small confines of the stone hut.

  Wind howled through the cracks between the stones, echoing the fury and fear Jimmy felt building inside of him. He wrenched the tarp guarding the doorway back, fighting the tempest for possession of it.

  The rain had eased but the clouds were tearing across the sky, ripped into shreds by the banshee-gale that screamed from every direction at once, mourning the spent storm. What little rain there was, was hurled like daggers by the ferocious wind, biting at Jimmy's skin with sharp, painful nips.

  No one with the sense God gave a cow would be outside in this, Jimmy thought as his eyes scoured the horizon, searching for signs of Grace. Nothing. He returned inside, now cold and wet for his efforts, and cursed.

  "Goddamn yank! Where the hell are you?"

  "Here," came the answering voice of an angel from the heavens above. Her sweet alto echoed from the stones and multiplied like a heavenly host.

  Jimmy craned his neck up and saw her, a good twenty feet overhead, perched in one of the openings high in the cone of the stone roof.

  "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! How did you get up there?" he yelled, his own voice bouncing off the stones to return as a mincing parody of his mother's. He now understood Mary Moran's fury when he or his brothers had done something stupid and reckless--and why the sainted lady had gone grey at such an early age.

  "It's lovely!" She balanced on her hands, her legs dangling in free fall as she slithered her shoulders and head through the narrow opening, momentarily blocking the light.

  Her feet were bare, Jimmy saw as he watched her gymnastics with horror. "Come down here at once!" he bellowed, continuing to channel his mother.

  The joyous kicking of her feet was his only reply for a few moments. Then her head and upper body reappeared.

  Jimmy's heart lurched. He spun around, helpless below her as she pushed her body away from the ledge, dangling only by the tips of her fingers. Could he catch her, break her fall if she slipped?

  Her laughter only made it worse.

  Then to Jimmy's horror, she began swinging her lower body like a pendulum, back and forth, taunting and terrorizing him as he watched.

  "Grace, be careful!" he shouted. He was going to kill her when she got down. If she got down.

  Then she let go of one hand. Jimmy's fingers clenched into helpless fists and he couldn't take his eyes off of her as his breath caught, waiting for the fall.

  It never came. With practiced ease, Grace used her
momentum to swing to another handhold, pulling her body along with her so that she was now molding against the curve of the wall, well anchored by hands and feet. As Jimmy watched, she continued down the wall, hands and feet scampering from one hold to the next.

  Like a goddamned monkey, Jimmy thought, still furious at her for frightening him, but admiring of her skill. If it hadn't been for the polished granite walls in Maeve's tomb, she would have gotten herself out without difficulty, he now saw.

  As Grace reached a point about eight feet off the ground the light of the fire and lantern were reflected in the grin she wore. She didn't bother with more climbing but instead leapt to a spot precisely two feet in front of Jimmy, straightening up, arms overhead as if taking a triumphant curtain call.

  "Ta da."

  Her hair was whipped into a frenzy by the wind, her face glowing with effort and enthusiasm, blue eyes blazing in the firelight.

  Imbeciles, Jimmy thought, taking in this reincarnation of Ireland's warrior queens, this passionate, vibrant woman before him. The monks had been imbeciles to give her an Italian name--any fool could see it was the blood of this island that ran deep in her.

  Her teeth gleamed with a ferocious grin and his heart clenched again, but this time not from fear.

  Grace D'Angelo, Grace of the angels, indeed, he thought, unable to tear his eyes from her.

  Devil would be more like it.

  And damn his soul if he wasn't in love with her himself.

  Which, in the end, was exactly what had happened, wasn't it? If he had interpreted Leo's cryptic hints correctly, then Jimmy was about to risk eternal damnation. But if it saved Grace, it was worth it.

  Finally, Jimmy spotted her crossing over the Skyway that connected his here and now with the darkness beyond. Hurry, he urged, knowing that his time was short, their time even shorter.

  Unless she was ready to take the next step.

  "I've something to show you," Jimmy told her as she entered the Annex elevator lobby. She nodded at him distractedly, as if she'd become so accustomed to his presence that she no longer paid much attention.

  When she walked past him, right through him for chrissake!, he scowled. Didn't she know that the more she took him for granted, ignoring the awful and awesome powers that were converging on this time and place, the less he'd be able to help her? He would simply fade away, a distant memory.

  Leaving her alone to face what was coming.

  "Grace!" He forced all his fear into his voice, creating a blast of sound as powerful as a thunderbolt. She jumped and spun toward him, eyes wide. "Please," he softened his tone. "Open the door, come with me."

  Her forehead wrinkled in a frown as she took the two steps needed to cross to the door to the rooftop helipad.

  "Are you sure?" she asked. "I'm not ready. Surely there's more time?" She tilted her face up to him, lips pressed together, the color blanched from them.

  He heard her thoughts, felt her fear and anguish as if they were his own. And in a way, they were. He raised a hand to stroke her jaw, his thumb caressing her lips, saw them tremble beneath his touch. Seeing wasn't enough. He wanted, he needed, to feel her. All of her. "Trust me, love. Open the door."

  Her fingers shook as she turned the key in the lock. It was stiff from lack of use. She needed both hands to twist it. Finally it gave, the key snapping off in her hand as it clicked open. Looking over her shoulder at him, she pushed the heavy steel door open.

  The helipad was no longer in use, but automatic controls switched its lights on whenever darkness approached. Jimmy placed his hand on her shoulder, looking past her at the waning sun silhouetted behind the Tower. "Hurry. Turn the lights off."

  She stepped over the threshold and turned to a small plastic electrical box beside the door. She opened it and flipped the breaker, leaving them in the half shadows of the approaching sunset.

  "Jimmy," she said, her voice tight. "I'm afraid."

  He knew. It always amazed him when he was alive that this woman who appeared so fearless and confident, as strong as any warrior queen, was actually in constant battle with terror. One of his great regrets was that his death had condemned her to a prison of fear.

  No longer. Not if she was strong enough. And Jimmy was certain she was. All he needed to do was to get her to focus that strength, to share it with him.

  Leo had laughed when he'd suggested it, but Jimmy knew he could do it--that Grace could do it. He had that much faith in her, in their love.

  He pulled her to him, enveloping her in his arms, yearning for the feel of her silky hair as the wind rippled through it. "Ahh now, it's going to be all right," he crooned to her. "Do you remember the first time we made love? On top of the fairy mound?"

  She sniffed hard and he felt her scrape together enough strength to brazen a smile. "I remember wild jungle sex on the rocks and an assortment of bruises the next morning."

  He held her at arms length. "Grace, I'm serious. I need you to remember everything about that night. It's important. Think hard. Concentrate."

  For Jimmy that moment six years ago was as real as this one now. He remembered feeling strange all that day after the storm broke, releasing them from their captivity in the beehive hut. The seas were still too wild to risk crossing and the wind kept shifting in strange, unpredictable whirlwinds. As if unseen forces were converging on their island.

  He had led her to the top of the fairy mound that stood over Maeve's and Concolin's graves. They stood together in the ring of stones that circled the peak, holding hands as the sun set.

  "They say that during the blue time at sunrise and sunset, ghosts cross the veil that lies between heaven and earth. If you listen, you can hear their cries as they try to break free," he had told her.

  A strange keening had grown, swirling around them, low and faint, setting his teeth on edge. Grace tilted her head to one side, listening, then raised an eyebrow in skepticism.

  "That's just the wind blowing through the ventilation holes in the tombs," she said. "That's how you found me when I was trapped below, remember?"

  Indeed he did. The memory of her voice calling him to the rocks beneath the earth, an irresistible siren's song, would not soon fade. Nor would his first sight of her. Face upturned, glowing in the light of his torch. His heart had skipped a beat before almost stampeding from his chest. He'd thought for a moment that it was Maeve herself returned to life.

  Who could blame him, looking upon that countenance of fierce determination? If sheer willpower alone could have levitated her from that watery grave, she would have soared free without any assistance from a mere mortal like Jimmy.

  But it was no ancient warrior queen he'd gotten his hands on. Rather a flesh and blood woman who had stirred his soul in ways no woman before her ever had.

  Jimmy brushed aside her rational explanation and took both her hands in his. They stood beneath the lintel stone, facing west. He stretched her arms out so that her palms rested on the vertical stones on either side of them.

  "Can you feel that? The stones themselves are singing."

  She nodded dreamily, then shook herself and pulled away, breaking the connection. "It's only vibrations. I noticed it before down in the monastery. I'll bet it has something to do with water currents."

  He blew out his breath in irritation, not sure why but knowing it was important for her to believe. "Those Jesuits did their job well," he muttered. "Is there anything you won't question? That you can take on faith?"

  "No much. Besides, you're the one who said faith was useless," she said with a smile, challenging him, making a game of it.

  But this was no game. Not tonight. Not to Jimmy.

  "That was faith in religion, not faith in people, in the power of the unknown." He grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her so that her back was pressed against one of the standing stones. She trembled beneath his touch as if he'd trapped a wild animal.

  "What did they teach you about love?" he demanded. "You do believe in love, don't you?" Before she could a
nswer, he lowered his face to hers, pressing his lips on hers, stealing her breath.

  She didn't respond like a frightened animal. Instead she took control, her mouth opening beneath his, her tongue thrusting past his teeth as she greedily stole all that he had to offer. They parted, the sunset painting her pale skin crimson.

  "I believe," she answered his question. She reached out, snagged his hair between her fingers and dragged his face back down to her.

  Jimmy plunged into the kiss once more, then broke it off. "Jesus," he exhaled, trying to catch his breath. "You didn't learn that from any monk."

  The sky was now a glorious mix of purples and indigo, the sun a mere memory that cast a few last glints of gold against the bottoms of distant clouds. As the sun vanished, the full moon became visible directly above them. The wind had risen, now swirled around them as if making them part of the stone ring. He pivoted Grace so that he held her tight, both facing out through the standing stones.

  "This is a special night, a magic night," he whispered. "The autumn equinox, Mabon. A night of thanksgiving."

  "Mabon?"

  "Michaelmas, the English call it, the feast of the Archangel. On this night, spirits can walk among us. The boundaries between heaven and earth are loosed, power fills the air. A night when wishes can come true." A shooting star spiraled across the twilight. "There's your star, Grace. Make a wish."

  Lukas banged his head against his window. She was here, had been here, so tantalizingly close and he couldn't reach her. But he was certain. Not even the stale, re-circulated, re-conditioned hospital air could hide her scent from him.

  As the door from the Annex was opened, a rectangle of light encroached on the twilight of the helipad across from his window. He watched as a woman crossed the threshold. The light behind her surrounded her in a halo, the flashing red lights of the helipad bathed her features in fire.

  His breath caught in his throat as his fingers splayed on the glass panes, straining to reach her. Grace.