Dead to You

by Heather Wynter

  “And you’re an amazing person for having done that.”

  “But I couldn’t have done it without Sean! And I love him, Gary!”

  “I understand that,” Gary said in a calm, supportive voice. “But you have to be a better friend to yourself too. These things, they can drag on for years, Greer. Sometimes there’s never that moment of … of awakening, of rebirth. As much as we would all hope for the very best—”

  “Do you?” Greer felt her ire rising, the strength she’d acquired on her investigation, mostly in Ecuador. “You’ve wanted me from the start, Gary. We both know it. Oh, you’ve been cool enough about it, professional, waiting out the investigation. And now you see your chance—”

  “No, Greer, I’m … I’m just worried about you.”

  “Well, there’s no need. I’ve learned, I’ve grown, I can handle this.”

  “Can you? How are you handling it so far? Greer, I’m sorry to say this, but … you look horrible. You’re obviously terribly depressed—”

  “You blame me?”

  “No, I … I just want to help, that’s all.”

  But a cold stone sank in Greer’s gut, her blood running cold knowing that he couldn’t help, that nobody could.

  The next day, professionally pretty Kari Kates sat next to Greer at the same art gallery, Onyx, where they’d met before the trip to Ecuador. Many of the paintings that had been hanging that night were gone, sold by grateful artists to eager buyers for fair prices.

  Kari’s Fox 13 Denver news crew was set up—lights and mics and two cameras—to catch what would be the most anticipated interview in the United States.

  “Thank you so much for speaking with me,” Kari said, white teeth flashing and blue eyes glimmering under her long blonde hair. “We’re all just so glad you got back home safely.”

  “I’m glad to be home,” was all Greer felt she could say.

  “The story of your whirlwind misadventure has really captured the nation’s attention. Swept up in an international assassination conspiracy, married to a man who led a double life, the whole star-crossed lovers aspect of the story. How did it feel to go through all that?”

  Greer had to give the moment some thought. She glanced at her friend Roni, standing off-camera for emotional support. The six-foot-tall cross-dressing man stood in a seamless belted red dress. She always seemed to help Greer make sense of things, even in that confused and confusing moment.

  “It was … transformative, to tell you the truth. I feel like … like a different person, a more developed person.”

  Roni winked at her, and Greer turned her attention back to Kari, who said, “You look different, with the hair …”

  She raised her hand to her still-short hair, running her fingers through it. “Yeah, well, once you dye black, you can’t really go back.” The two women shared a little chuckle, Greer enjoying the rare moment of levity in what had become a melancholic existence.

  “What are you thinking about for your future? Your app is selling better than ever since this story broke. People like Jeff Bezos and Michael Bloomberg are dropping your name. I imagine there are going to be job opportunities all over the place.”

  Greer knew she was right, and that she’d probably just inspired a spree of just such offers— more calls for Gary Aires to field. But Greer had other things on her mind.

  “Well, I’m going to be staying local, that’s for sure, at least for the foreseeable future.” She looked around the Onyx Gallery, the result of her own philanthropy and Spencer Lange’s inspiration. But his novels had been a sham, a cover to account for his unemployment as an assassin without a mission. They hadn’t been art—they’d been a con.

  “I will continue to support The Onyx and local artists, of course. At least some good will come of Spencer Lange’s sad legacy. I do think I’ll change the name of the foundation though.” They shared another smile before Greer went on. “But you were right when we spoke last time. There are a lot of other things I could be doing with my resources. Back in South America, the extremes of poverty and wealth are so tightly packed together, and it’s really the same thing here, to a degree, seeing children living on the street, eating garbage. I really do feel now that this should be any good citizen’s number-one priority. So I will be dedicating my time and resources to homelessness and poverty and meal insecurity, just as you and those others were saying.”

  Kari smiled and shrugged one shoulder up to a pretty pale ear, rolling her eyes in professional humility. “I was really only posing the question.”

  “And I’m glad you did. It’s a question a lot more of us should be asking … and answering.”

  After the interview, Greer stepped aside with Roni, still her sympathetic and dedicated friend. “Great interview, hon,” said Roni. “You might wanna think about going into politics.”

  Greer huffed and shook her head. “I prefer to make an honest living.” They laughed and glanced around.

  Roni said, “I don’t suppose I have to ask you where you’re going next?”

  Greer’s smile faded, telling Roni everything she needed to know. Really, she needn’t have asked.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Greer sat in a private room on the sixth floor of Saint Joseph Hospital in Denver. Sean lay in his bed, tubes in his nose and arms, sensors recording electrical impulses still surging through his body, a steady beep from one of the machines indicating his steady heartbeat.

  Greer had been a fixture there since the emergency surgery in Quito, which they were both lucky to find had some of the world’s best medical care. Greer’s own blood helped to supplement what Sean had lost. The internal damage from the knife wound had been more shocking than damaging, managing to miss any of his vital organs. His broken knee had been aggravated by the battle, but that had been set, and the leg was still in a cast as he lay in bed. The fall itself had been the most threatening aspect of his injuries. But in what had seemed like a near-miracle, Sean had landed on Spencer Lange’s body, which cushioned some of the blow to his head.

  But it hadn’t stopped him from slipping into a coma after his surgery. She had flown him back to Denver, and doctors had conflicting ideas on whether he’d ever regain consciousness.

  “If he does,” one had said, “it’s likely that he’ll have no brain function at all.”

  “Sometimes it’s just better to let nature take its course,” another had pointed out.

  She’d wanted to strangle them both, but she’d held herself back. What mattered was Sean, and Greer was ready to pay for every day of his treatment and spend every minute of every day by his side—combing his hair, grooming his nails, talking to him about things that had happened since they’d been back.

  She’d become used to the sad glances of the nurses as they passed, coming and going to check on Sean and bring her a small meal, which she never touched. But more and more, everyone seemed to be accepting what Greer simply couldn’t bring herself to accept. It was too easy to imagine him lying just as he was, tranquil, motionless, but in a coffin and not a hospital bed.

  Her mind and body surged with hot sorrow, rising up and drowning her from within. It had been two weeks of bravery and hope, but she could feel her strength waning. She’d stay by his side for the rest of her life, but for the sake of her aching heart and her miserable soul, Greer wished it would just end if his did.

  She reached out and took Sean’s hand, raising it from his side to hold it up and clasp it with both of her own, tears already collecting in the corners of her eyes.

  “Sean, I … I know you can hear me … or else I’ve been sitting here jabbering to myself for two weeks!” She broke out in a nervous laugh, the tears streaming down her face as her mouth bent in a twisted frown. “I’m not going to do what they keep saying, Sean, I’m not! I don’t care how long it takes, or how much money. I know you’re stronger than this coma. I know it! I’ve seen what you can do. You saved my life in Quito, breaking in on Spencer and me in that hotel room. You … you’re t
he reason we found him in the first place.”

  He lay there unmoving, his hand limp in hers.

  “You were the one who guessed Spencer had faked his own death. You were the one who … you were the one who loved me, Sean. Not Spencer, that’s for sure, not any of the others … you! You always did, you said so yourself, you said so!” Emotion welled up in her, the tears trickling out, running hot down her cheeks. “So you can’t turn your back on that, you can’t! You … you’re not the kind of man to run away. You’re the kind to hold on … you hold on for as long as you can!”

  But it was too easy to remember the moment that even the great Sean Callahan finally couldn’t hold on any longer.

  “Don’t let go again! Pull yourself back up!” She pulled his hand closer and leaned forward, a more deliberate urgency in her voice. “That’s where you are now, isn’t it? You’re on that ledge, still clinging to the window frame. Keep trying, Sean! Pull yourself up! I know you can do it! You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known. You were a US Marine! You can do this, Sean! I know you can!”

  His hand was still motionless, his face unmoving. That slow beep was monotonous, taunting, torturous.

  “Pull, Sean! Gather all your strength and pull!” Her heart beat faster, tears coming faster. “Come on, Sean! Come back to me! I’m here. I’m here in the hotel room. I’m reaching down and holding your hands. I know you can feel that!”

  Greer squeezed his hand tighter, pulling it against her cheeks, tears rolling down his fingers. Her words came fast, coated in sorrow and baptized by tears.

  “C’mon, my love, my life. Please, please, please, please. You’ve got to do it. You’ve got to keep trying. Come back to me, baby, come back to me. I know you can do it, I know you can do it …”

  Still no movement, and a wave of new desperation broke over her, her sobbing finally overtaking her ability to speak. Her body shook with the power of her sadness.

  “Pleeeeeease …” she wailed, her heart exploding in a never-ending stream of tears.

  But a pulse alerted her, a nervous tinge in her arm, her hand. She looked at him through her tear-blurred vision, sniffling and hoping to feel it again. Sean’s hand flinched again, fingers pulling in before relaxing.

  “Sean? Sean?”

  His hand gripped again, fingers drawing in, holding just a bit longer before letting go. The machine began to beep a bit faster, causing new hope to surge through Greer’s blood.

  “Sean! Sean, you can do it! C’mon, baby, c’mon! Keep pulling, keep pulling! You can do it!” His hand squeezed hers again, this time holding firmly. It wasn’t a tight grip, but his fingers didn’t release, and that beeping came just a little bit faster and sounded as if it were just a little bit louder.

  “Good, Sean, good! Tighter, tighter! C’mon, baby, come back to me! C’mon, c’mon, you can do it, you can do it!”

  His hand squeezed tighter, real strength returning as it squeezed hers, holding more firmly. Another sob erupted from her as she nuzzled his fist. “Thank you, Sean, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  Doctors and nurses poured into the room, trading medical commands that Greer didn’t understand—five hundred CCs of this, stat that. But all Greer knew was that she could feel his strength in that clenched fist. She hadn’t lost him—he’d come back … for her. She’d brought him back, and they would never be separated again.

  “Thank you, baby,” she said, the words rolling off her tongue like tears from her eyes. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you …”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The media had become obsessed with the story of Greer Lange and Sean Callahan, two star-crossed lovers who had embarked on a global mission to solve a mystery and wound up saving a life. They’d watched as Greer sat with Sean, waiting for a miracle.

  What happened next had stunned the nation, Greer more than anybody else. Things had taken a turn she never could have expected and could still barely believe.

  Reading from the Book of Romans, the pastor said, “We boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”

  Greer reflected on those words, on how her own evolution had been forged from her suffering, on how she’d become a better person thanks to one man. She looked out over the church, pews filled with familiar faces—her parents sitting in the front row, Gary Aires a few rows back, his smile respectfully replaced with an emotionless mask of reliable professionalism.

  “You see,” the pastor said, “at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though someone might possibly dare to die for a good person. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

  Greer had come to know sinners and saints and angels and heroes. But she’d never known a man like Sean Callahan. He’d helped her discover her more about herself than she ever realized was there, and nothing she would ever do in her life would be outside of the shadow of his amazing influence.

  “Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him! For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! Not only is this so, but we also boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.”

  Greer looked over from the pews to Sean, who stood in front of her at their wedding altar. He was dashing in his black tuxedo, a single wisp of black hair falling over his crystal-clear blue eyes. There was no trace of his injuries, external or internal, after his miraculous recovery. His calm, reassuring smile was unchanged, save for a new sparkle, a happiness that Greer knew she’d brought to him.

  The pastor asked him, “Do you, Sean Callahan, take this woman, Greer Lange, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for as long as you both shall live?”

  “I do,” Sean said, his voice smooth and low. And when he slipped that smooth circle of gold onto her finger, a tremble passed through Greer that made her knees weak and her heart flutter.

  The pastor said, “Do you, Greer Lange, take this man, Sean Callahan, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for as long as you both shall live?”

  Greer smiled, a single tear crawling down her cheek. “I do.” She slipped the ring onto her right ring finger, her two hands clasping his as they had in the hospital when their fates were saved and sealed forever.

  “Then, by the power vested in me by the First Congregational Church and by the Great State of Colorado, I now pronounce you husband and wife. What we have brought together here today, let no person put asunder. You may now kiss.”

  They shared a kiss, his lips strong and smooth against hers. It was a kiss like they’d never had, a whole new chemical reaction. Now man and wife, the kiss was a promise that nothing would ever be the same, and that everything would only get better.

  The crowd clapped and then the couple turned to walk down the aisle to lead their friends and family to a fabulous reception at which all were welcome.

  Their friends and family filled the Onyx Gallery, where a pianist tickled the ivories in one corner, and everyone milled about, mingling, drinking fine chardonnays and merlots, and eating light appetizers of Caesar salad crostini, Iranian caviar, roast duck wings and other succulent delights. It was elegant and understated, and the media surrounding the event brought the gallery and the artists more than Greer could have done on her own.

  But she’d never be on her own again, and to know that
Sean was the one she’d be spending her life with filled her with a glee she could hardly contain.

  Roni came up and gave her a big hug, extending her hand to Sean for a manly shake. But Sean brushed her hand away and embraced Greer’s old friend with an open mind and an open heart.

  “What a wedding, what a party, and what a power-couple!” Roni said. “You’re like … Brangelina on steroids!”

  They all shared a little laugh. “Hardly that,” Sean said. “No more power ... forever a couple.”

  Greer gave him a kiss as her parents, Hal and Nancy Barns, came up with broad smiles and happy embraces, another manly handshake finally taking place, this time between Sean and his new father-in-law.

  It was nice to have them in from Florida, her mother’s graying red hair and her father’s swarthy good looks wonderfully crisp in person compared to the FaceTime app that was always a reminder of how far away they were. But they all had to live their own lives and go where their destinies would take them.

  “So happy for you two,” Nancy said, beaming with visible joy. “And after all that happened down in Ecuador … just horrible, that Spencer Lange.”

  “It’s all over now, Mom,” Greer said. “The past is the past.” She glanced at Sean, who shared her smile. “But the future, that’s what matters. That’s all that matters.”

  “So, you’ll be traveling?” Nancy asked.

  “Some,” Sean said. “Greer has her new work with the homeless, the Phoenix Project, but we’re going to get some travel in for sure. It’ll be nice just to be tourists for a change—see a few sites, have a few laughs—and enjoy a nice, peaceful life.”

  Hal and Nancy shared a little glance before Nancy asked, “Aaaaannnnd … grandchildren?”

  “Someday,” Sean said, “and lots of ’em. But we’ve got plenty of time, and there’s a great deal to see.”

  “Mom, we just got married!” Greer said.