Lucidity

by CJ Lyons

  She stood beside him, watching as he sipped the French Roast with satisfaction. "This isn't hospital issue."

  "I spend so much time here that I like to treat myself with small indulgences. Good coffee, dinners catered by Julian's. In fact, I was just about to call in my order for tonight. Would you care to join me?"

  His eyes lit up and she knew she had him. She'd been watching Vincent for a while now, and knew that he enjoyed the finer things in life, including four star restaurants priced far beyond the budget of a resident. Which explained why he was sorely over-extended and buried in debt.

  Once she hung up from ordering a sumptuous meal for the two of them, she regarded him. "I'm glad you met Renee," she said, moving to perch on the arm of his chair. "I was going to wait until it was certain, to surprise you--"

  He glanced up at that. "Surprise me?"

  She bit her lip coyly and nodded. He shifted his weight, his arm brushing against her thigh. "Renee is one of the private investors in my Lucidine Clinic. I told her about your interest in the program and mentioned how terrible it was, the way the Nguygen's malpractice suit might prevent you from joining the staff here--"

  "You told her about that?" His face colored, his brow creasing with a frown.

  "Not the details. She's a real advocate of tort reform, so she has an interest in frivolous malpractice cases. Anyway, she said that if you did decide to join the Clinic staff, she would be willing to approach the Nguygens with a settlement."

  He stared at her, disbelief widening his eyes. She heard his breath whistle through his pursed lips, then felt his body relax beside hers as he realized the implications of her offer. Freedom. From a bleak future of bankruptcy, from the stain on his professional reputation.

  "Why?" he asked. The syllable emerged with a mixture of hope and skepticism. "Why would a total stranger offer to spend that kind of money--"

  Eve waved his doubts aside. "Renee doesn't care about money. She has more than she knows what to do with. She cares about helping people. After seeing what Lucidine did for her son, she realizes that it has the potential to change the world, to change the future of medicine." She traced her fingers along Vincent's strong jawline, tilting his face up so that he stared into hers. "She's a dreamer. Like us, Vincent."

  He held her gaze for a long moment. Eve was certain she'd won. Who would have believed it would be so easy?

  But then he shook himself, pulling away from her, and stood. She watched as he strode across the room from her to the bookcase housing the video screens. His shoulders hunched as he watched the flickering black and white images being recorded.

  She gave him a moment before joining him. "You've seen for yourself how powerful Lucidine can be," she reminded him. "Look. There's Angie. Severe bulimia, depression, self-mutilation, suicidal when she arrived three weeks ago." She pointed to the teenager, still too-thin, but perched in a comfortable chair, reading a book as she snacked on cheese and crackers, her face serene. "When she first got here the only nutrition she got was forced down her through a nasogastric tube that she pulled out every time she was released from her restraints."

  As if Angie knew they were talking about her, she turned the page in her book and laughed, then reached for another piece of cheese. "Look at her, Vincent," Eve urged. "She's happy now. She's cured. Free to live her life again--because of Lucidine."

  He remained silent, glancing at the other active monitor. Charles and Randi playing pool in the group room, their expressions bright and animated. Eve knew they would retire to Randi's room later where Charles would inject her with enough insulin to render her numb, without feeling, as he had sex with her. No need for Vincent to know what went on behind the scenes or that she was using Randi's need to avoid feeling anything, even pleasure, to guide Charles away from his sadistic fantasies.

  Not that either Randi or Charles, both consenting adults, were complaining. But Vincent might not understand. Not yet, anyway.

  "Tell me about Renee's son," he said, turning to face her again.

  Eve was glad that when Renee arrived she had turned off the monitor feed from Lukas' room. If she would have Grace here in the morning, she needed to sedate Lukas tonight, prepare him for the intensive therapy--once Vincent left, that was.

  "A tough case," she admitted, leaning back against her desk. "I almost lost him. The psychiatrists had him so drugged up that the poor guy didn't know what was reality and what existed only in his twisted fantasies. Had no idea what was right or wrong, he was so confused and delusional. You see," she gave him the same story that the rest of the staff had heard, "his wife had died under tragic circumstances and Lukas, he couldn't cope with it. His grief literally drove him mad, to the point where he insisted that she was still alive. It got so bad the psychiatrists declared him a danger to both himself and the women he began to stalk, desperate to find his wife again. They had him committed, pumped up with drugs until he didn't know his own name by the time his mother's lawyers were able to get him released to my care."

  He frowned at that. "And now?"

  "It's been a long haul, but he's almost cured. In fact, he's so improved that he's back working as a consultant, doing market research again." She omitted the fact that he was tele-commuting from a padded room.

  His eyes narrowed in appraisal. A knock on the door announced the arrival of their dinner. "Can I think about it?"

  "Of course," she lied. Poor man, after she finished with him tonight he'd be ready to commit to anything. She'd love to take her time, waltz and seduce him in a way that would give her as much pleasure and enjoyment as him, but time was too short. Ah well, couldn't be helped. "Take all the time you need."

  CHAPTER 21

  Razor's Edge

  Grace rolled over on her side, the plastic-covered mattress crinkling under her weight. The burnt smelt of hospital linens was suddenly replaced with Old Spice and Ivory Soap. She squeezed her eyes shut. Go to sleep, she commanded herself. Just ignore it and go to sleep. This was all a crazy dream. A hallucination brought forth by a broken mind.

  Either that or she was already dead, lying in the rain on the helipad in the dark, crows squawking as they descended to pick at her remains. Her body shuddered at the thought and she almost opened her eyes to decide once and for all which was the truth: death or insanity?

  But then his hand slid over her shoulders, lifting her hair, cascading it through his fingers to rain back down on her. "You've let your hair grow," he whispered, his breath stirring the fine hairs of her cheek. "I like it."

  She cursed her body as it responded to his touch, relaxing as his arm curled around her chest, his fingers playfully stroking hers. If she was dead, a murder of crows currently feasting on her body cooling on the rooftop, then how could he make her feel like this? Unless, somehow, this was real?

  No. It couldn't be--that would be worse than being dead. Because if he was here with her now, and she was still alive, then that meant--

  "I'm here, everything's all right now," he assured her.

  She sucked in her breath even as he rolled her over to face him. Don't look, don't look, became her mantra.

  For four years she'd sold her soul in an effort to resurrect the dead--all that time it was as simple as a brain tumor invading key areas, eroding her mind, stealing her senses. She'd straddled the knife edge of reason for so long, occasionally tempted to topple over into insanity, that now she clung to the knowledge that she wasn't crazy, that there was a reason for this hallucination.

  Please, Lord, she prayed, really prayed, for the first time in years. But that was how desperate she had become, death or insanity was preferable to the possibility that what had happened on the helipad, in the corridor, was real. No. Please, let it be just a dream. Because I can't bear to lose him again...

  His lips moved over hers and she tasted barley and hops of Guinness and the salt of bar nuts. Hands that knew her better than she knew herself caressed her, arousing her and suddenly her hips arched up and he was inside her, where he
belonged.

  Grace cried out as anguish and pleasure tore through her. She writhed across the bed, as helpless in her desire as a horny, love sick teenager. He took his time, using his fingers and mouth to arouse her, to torture her as she lay there, refusing to open her eyes, to acknowledge his presence.

  "Please Grace," he begged, "look at me."

  She was drowning in the smell of Ivory Soap and Old Spice. He called out her name as he climaxed. She raked her fingers over his back as her own release came. Her hands clawed at his skin, the solidity of his muscles taunting her.

  "Aye, Grace, it's been too long," he sighed as he collapsed on top of her, their bodies trembling together. His breathing slowed after a time and his fingers reached up to caress her cheek. She felt his weight shift and he moved up beside her. Still her eyes remained clenched shut, even as she reached to hold onto him, not wanting to release him. Ever.

  It had almost killed her to lose him once, how could she risk it again?

  He brushed his lips against both her eyelids, his light caress tempting, oh so tempting. "Our love lives forever," he whispered. "Did you doubt me? Think that I wouldn't find a way? Tsk, Grace. Anything is possible. You should've had more faith than that."

  Faith? He thought she lacked faith? What did he think had kept her alive the past four years?

  Unable to bear it any longer, she opened her eyes and faced Jimmy's too-solid countenance. "You bastard."

  The sound of her slap echoed through the small room. His flesh was warm, her hand left a pink imprint on his cheek. Grace blinked, then fell against him, her fists pummeling his bare chest, as she collapsed under the weight of her anguish.

  "How could you leave me? You left me, I was alone, alone--" Her sobs choked the words so that they emerged in short, breathless cries of desperation. "And now you're going to leave again, aren't you? Aren't you?"

  "Aye," the word emerged from him in a mournful sigh. "We have until tomorrow, sundown." He held her close, saying nothing until her fury and grief were spent. He rocked her against his chest like a child, humming nonsense syllables as he laid his face against her hair. His heartbeat echoed from his body into hers, each beat mocking her with its vitality.

  "Why, Jimmy? Why did you come to torture me like this?"

  "I came to help you, love. I would never hurt you, you know that. Grace, tell me you know that. Please, tell me that." He raised her face to his, his eyes searching hers. Tears caressed his cheeks.

  Grace traced her finger through his tears. Her breathing slowed and she regained control. She knew now what she had to do. "You have until sundown?"

  "Yes. A day, no more, no less."

  "When you leave I'm going with you."

  "Ah, love, I wish you could. You have to wait your time. Then we can be together again."

  She shook her head, watched as his eyes clouded. "No more waiting, Jimmy. When you leave, I'm going as well. One way or the other."

  "No, no, you can't." He reached a hand to tangle in her hair, tilting her chin up as his forehead creased in a frown. "Please, no, Grace. That's why I came back. To stop you. If you kill yourself, we can never be together."

  "But we could have been together if I made it out of here and went home to die, right?" He nodded, his frown deepening. "Then why wasn't I able to do that? Why can't I choose how I want to live or die?"

  "There are things I know but I don't understand, Grace," he said slowly as if searching for the right words and finding none. "Faith is necessary."

  "Faith? How dare you talk to me about faith! You of all people, you hypocritical bastard. How dare God or whoever the hell is making these rules play with my life!" She glared at him, remembering the convenient timing of the lightning strikes that yesterday had driven her back inside the hospital, blocking her escape to the warm comfort of her home.

  "Did you do it, Jimmy? Did you stop me yesterday? You or whoever is pulling your strings? Why? It's my life, goddamn it!"

  Thunder outside the windows punctuated her words, the force rattling the glass, but she paid it no heed. God--or whoever, whatever--obviously wanted her alive, so what was he-she-it going to do? Strike her dead?

  Sending Jimmy back to her and then telling her he'd be yanked away again was already worse than any torture she could imagine.

  "Jimmy," she said, sliding away from his arms, dodging his warm caress, "tell me why you're really here. 'Cause this sure as hell isn't an answer to my prayers."

  "Christ, you're a stubborn woman. Are you trying to say that you never prayed to have me back again?"

  "It's not the having you here that I've a problem with, and you damn well know it. It's the thought of losing you again." She drew in a ragged breath, hands fisted at her sides. "It'll kill me, Jimmy. You know it will."

  "No. No, it won't. The woman I knew, the woman I fell in love with, is stronger than that." He laid his hands on her shoulders, lowered his forehead to touch hers.

  She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Maybe once. But not anymore. I'm tired, Jimmy. So tired. I just want to go home, lie in our bed, pull the covers over my head and..."

  "And what? Die?"

  "Why the hell not? If it's my time, it's my time, right? What's to stop my walking out that door and just keep on going?"

  "I am."

  "You are? So you broke every law of physics, of science, of heaven and earth to come here and hold me prisoner? Why are you really here, Jimmy? And what's it to do with me?"

  "If you leave, Alex will get that transplant. He'll suffer in agony for eight months before succumbing to pneumonia and finally dying. Alone."

  Grace turned her head, stepped away from him. "I'm sorry, but there's no guarantee the Ethics Committee will listen to me anyway."

  "Without you, Kat might not go through with her surgery. Without it, she'll die."

  "Liar. I already talked to Kat. She's pissed as hell but she's going to have the surgery. Even if it's only to spite me." She narrowed her eyes and stared down at him. "You didn't know that, did you? Why not? Doesn't your boss--Mr. all seeing, all knowing--fill you in on details?"

  He frowned again, swung his legs around and sat up. "I could hear your thoughts before--except when you were over there." He jerked his head in the direction of the Tower. "I have no power there."

  "You hear my thoughts? Then you must be getting an earful right now o-husband-of-mine!"

  "I can't hear them anymore, Grace, not since--" He gestured to his naked body. Then he sighed and slumped back onto the bed. "Why are we wasting precious time arguing? I'm here, really here, and I love you Grace--more than ever. Why can't you let me show you how much? Why can't you believe in me, trust me?"

  "Low blow, Jimmy. Besides, how the hell am I to trust you when you're using me and you won't tell me why?"

  "I can't."

  "You can cross the great divide but you can't tell me what you want me to do or why?"

  "Free will--the choice must be yours in the end, Grace."

  "I made my choice. I want to go home to die."

  His sigh whispered through the room like footsteps through a graveyard, chilling her very marrow. He stood and walked toward her, eyes locked onto hers. She tilted her head, certain he was going to try to change her mind with more of his seductive caresses.

  Instead, he stepped past her and opened the door. He stood in the threshold, palms up, arms wide open.

  "Then go. I won't stop you. But if you do, we'll never see each other again. In this life or the next."

  The hope of seeing him, somehow being with him in some form in the hereafter had been Grace's only religion for a long time. That desperate, ragged, frayed strand of hope was her lifeline. She had clung to it during four long years of endless tortured nights.

  She was a scientist trained to question everything, to take nothing on faith, but that one irrational belief had sustained her where science and medicine had failed so miserably.

  Now she finally had reason to believe that her faith had not been misplace
d, proof of a world beyond scientific measurement or calculation, proof that she hadn't suffered four years in hell for nothing.

  And he was forcing her to choose between the pain of losing him forever and the torture of returning to the purgatory her life had become.

  Her tears flowed silently, blurring her vision as she stared at him. "Why? Just help me understand why you're doing this to me, Jimmy…"

  He wept as well and finally stepped forward, wrapping those strong, warm arms of his around her, pulling her close. "So many questions," he said, "always so many questions."

  He pulled her down onto the bed and held her, rocking her like a child until her breathing and his synchronized and their hearts beat as one. Then his breathing became deep and regular, a metronome that resonated within Grace's memory.

  Who knew ghosts snored?

  Grace lay still, fighting her own exhaustion. She was a scientist for chrissakes, or she once had been one. How could she allow her imagination to run away like this--tumor or no tumor? Still, it had felt so real.

  She glanced over at Jimmy's sleeping form. No, she already knew she couldn't trust the evidence of her eyes. Her body was covered with dried sweat, her breasts and pelvis ached in ways they hadn't in four years. She pulled the sheet up over her. It was wet in spots, smelled of the musky scent of sex. Was that good enough? No. Not like she could do a DNA analysis on a ghost's semen.

  She looked down at her fingernails, remembering the way she had desperately clung to him, scratching at his back.

  And found nothing. Her nails were cut very short, too short to have gathered evidence of human contact much less a ghost.

  The thought finally crushed her. Grace folded her legs into her chest, hugging them, her only grip on reality. Why was she struggling so hard to prove her sanity? Who was she fooling, anyway?

  Then another thought raced through her mind, one that rocked her to the core. Maybe the tumor wasn't heaven-sent after all. What good could come of tormenting her this way?

  Tears and laughter both choked her throat, fighting for control. Hysteria won.