by Dale Mayer
“That’s why we had thought, if we could just get on Maddy’s Floor, maybe there would be hope.”
“There’s always hope,” Queenie said. “But sometimes it’s just not meant to be. Sometimes we’re here for a short time. Sometimes we’re here for a long time. And sometimes our journey includes a debilitating disease or injury.” Her smile was gentle as she added calmly, “We can’t always know the ways.”
The woman smiled, but there were still tears in her eyes. “Maybe if you have some message of hope for Kirsten?”
Queenie glanced at Kirsten. “Do you believe in miracles?”
Kirsten nodded. “And angels and unicorns and rainbows,” she announced, doing a little happy dance.
“Then you keep hoping and asking for a miracle, okay?”
With another head bob afterward, she dashed out to the front of the tent, calling back, “Mommy, Mommy, ice cream time.”
The mother looked at Queenie and whispered, “Thank you.”
As the woman walked outside, Queenie knew she had to say something. “Wait. What’s your husband’s name?”
She turned back in surprise and said, “Brian Callahan.”
Queenie nodded. “Thanks.”
The woman looked at her with a question in her eyes. “Why?”
Queenie didn’t quite know what to say because she didn’t know why she needed to know the name. But it was important. “I’ll put out a prayer for him.” She spoke quietly, hoping she hadn’t insulted the woman.
Religion was one of those topics so very difficult to discuss, particularly when you were a psychic. It seemed that what she did flew in the face of religious beliefs, and she ended up in more trouble than anything.
The woman smiled and quietly said, “Thank you.” And then she walked through the tent flaps.
Queenie sat at the table for a long moment, figuring out what the hell she was supposed to do now. She had the name of this person who needed Maddy’s help, but Maddy was obviously completely overwhelmed with so many other patients. Somebody needed to set up some angel service, where people in need could get the help they required from these people without having to go through the normal institutionalized channels. Because Dr. Maddy certainly wasn’t a traditional healing specialist. That she was a doctor was one thing but that she was incredibly psychic and a strong healer was what made her so very special.
But this Brian Callahan and his daughter, Kirsten, … and the Watcher, … was there a connection? Not that she understood how … Maybe it was the odd lingering energy that made her think of him? That it seemed to be lingering here after the woman and her daughter left? Or was it odder that it was here while those two were here? Maybe she was trying to make something out of nothing.
She still thrummed her fingers on the table, lost in thought, when Kirk strode back inside. “Why are you still here?” she asked, but no strong feelings were behind her words. Her mind was still on this Brian person. “Do you have any connection to Maddy’s Floor?”
Kirk stared at her at the complete change of conversation. “Not really. I’ve met her partner, Drew, once or twice, but that’s all.”
She leaned forward eagerly. “You have?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You have too.”
“I have? When?”
He snorted. “Trust you to not even remember. It was years ago. There was a child you had found who needed help. Drew was part of the FBI team there. At his direction the child was whisked away, taken to Maddy’s Floor so his own Maddy could handle the child’s recovery.”
“His own Maddy?” she repeated, vaguely remembering the incident. But, if she’d been involved in tracking down the missing child, she was often so exhausted at the end that she didn’t recognize anything around her. At times like that, she had leaned heavily on Kirk’s presence, not seeing him as much as feeling him, sensing him. They were linked in a way he didn’t understand, and, because he didn’t understand it, he didn’t acknowledge it. And, because he didn’t acknowledge it, in many ways it just didn’t exist.
He shrugged. “I have no idea where their relationship is right now,” he said drily. “I have way too much on my plate to worry about things like that.”
“Still, if I’ve met him, then maybe I can contact him.”
“Why?”
She sighed. “Because a little girl needs her father to be healed.”
Kirk shook his head. “You can’t do that. You know millions of fathers are dying out there, leaving children behind. You can’t help them all.”
“I know that,” she said, “but, when they cross my path, I feel like I must do something. We can’t all be blind to the world around us. I’d like to believe the right people are there at the right time, and those are the ones I’m capable of helping.” She groaned. “Besides, something’s very odd about this one …”
He stared at her in disbelief. “Look at you. You’re already a wreck. How can you take on something else like this?”
“It could be just a phone call.” She didn’t really believe it herself. “Is it that hard to make a phone call?”
“I don’t know. Is it?” There was a challenge in his voice. “You called me. How hard was that?”
She pursed her lips together. Because, of course, the answer was almost impossible. She’d waited years to call again. But then who could blame her? She rubbed her temples, realizing she still had on the stupid headdress. She lifted it off her head and placed it on the table. For some reason her clarity had been really strong today. Then her abilities were very odd since yesterday. Since the woman in the lake.
“Maybe I can send an email instead,” she announced. “I’m not sure I can do it on my phone.” She pulled out her phone, but she felt this odd sense of disconnection. She glanced around at the room, frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m being watched.” She cast a half glance at him. He had never believed her when she said things like that before.
He stared at her, then looked around the tent. “Is it him again? The Watcher?”
“I’m afraid it is,” she said with an uneasy glance above her. “I wish I knew how he did that.”
“Can you feel his presence?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t understand this.”
He spun in a slow circle. “How can anybody who isn’t involved in this shit understand?”
She stared at him. “Do you really want to?”
He frowned. “I always tried to understand.”
She raised both hands, palms up. “Place your hands on mine.”
He stared at her suspiciously.
She gave a broken laugh and dropped her hands. “So you don’t really want to learn.”
“You never asked me to hold out both hands before.”
“You never said you wanted to understand either,” she countered. “With one hand, I can see into your world. With two hands, I can allow you to see something in mine.”
He stared at her. “Why did you never give me that offer before?”
“I’m stronger now. I have better control. It’s hardly a one-way street.”
At that he pinched his lips together; then slowly he held out both hands, palms down. She put her hands under his and slowly they connected.
Instantly he straightened. “What’s that buzz? Voices?” he asked. “Have you got a radio on?”
“Those are the people calling out to me. Those are the ones I haven’t been able to completely shut down. I do have most of them shut down. Otherwise you would be screaming at the noise level.”
He stared at her. “All the time?”
“All the time.”
“When did you learn to put in those blocks?”
“After I almost died,” she said. “Because of those voices that I refused to listen to, I got as ill as I did. When I got pregnant, I promised myself and my son a better life, so I walked away from that work. Shut down my ability, but I couldn’t shut out the voices. I
tried to block them out, tried to ignore them, but it didn’t work. It burned out my energy levels, wore me down …” She gave a tiny shrug. “I got sick and almost died …”
He took a step back, breaking the contact. “Are you saying you weren’t physically ill but just worn down from listening to all that?”
“At the time that each one of those people were pulling on me, each one wanted a piece of me. And I couldn’t keep feeding them. They were taking all my energy, and it took everything I had to stay alive and to stay well. So, yes, my defenses went down, and I got ill. I didn’t have enough energy to heal, and I was burning up and out. … So it really had only one ending …”
“How is that possible?” He stared at her in disbelief.
“You didn’t used to be so disbelieving,” she said.
“No, that’s quite true,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s like I lived in a completely different world when I was with you. Then, just like that, it all changed, and it’s like I’m only living half a life. Living in a gray world, not one full of color. Our life was busy,” he admitted. “Okay, crazy busy, but it was a good crazy. It was a good life. We were doing good things. Now it’s simpler, … colder, less chaotic. And not as rewarding.”
“I think that’s a self-defense mechanism.” She stood, put the money jar underneath the counter and walked to the tent entrance.
“Explain,” he demanded.
“When you were with me, you were wide open. You were learning. You were becoming so much more than you are. You were my grounding rod. You kept me stable through all that craziness.” She spoke quietly. “When we split up, you stopped, closed off that avenue to you, and I didn’t have that to count on. So I started on a slow slide down on my own. But, for you, you built a new life, a saner one.”
The noise of the amusement park was always there in the background—the crazy music, the chimes, the men calling out for the games, the laughter, the cheerfulness. But the thing that she loved the most was the smell. Cotton candy, hot dogs, popcorn. When she’d first come here, she’d laughed and thought it was great; now there was a solid rightness to it all.
Kirk grabbed her shoulders roughly.
She spun to take a look at the anger in Kirk’s face. She smiled. “You don’t really understand, do you? I was a wreck then. I needed space. I needed to heal. So I pushed you away. And you left.”
“Oh, no you don’t. We’re not making this all about you again.”
She stared at him and laughed. “Absolutely. Let’s make it all about you.” She poked him in the chest, forcing him back a step. “You, there one day and then not the next. You had all these cases you were trying to solve, and you kept bringing them home, asking for my help. I felt I had to help, that I had no choice. You …” But she saw, at every poke, at every backward step he took, that he really hadn’t understood.
He grabbed both her wrists and said, “Why did you never tell me about this?”
She snorted. “Tell you what? Tell you I was afraid that, if you no longer needed me, you would walk away from me? That, when you got your shiny new promotions and raises and the accolades and admiration from everyone around you, you would no longer need me? That I worked harder and harder to keep giving you more and more? Sure, I wanted to help all those people too. But it was you I was trying to help the most. And why? Because I felt like, without me doing that, you didn’t love me. That your love was conditional on me helping you close all those cases.” She shook her head and backed away. “And you proved it when I was washed up and sent you away. You left. Never to return. I was more the fool, right? Because I am the one who sent you away. You must have been waiting for that chance. Walk away as the good guy, free and clear …” She gave a half laugh. “And, when you walked away, I crashed.”
“What do you mean, you crashed?”
She snorted again. “What do you care?”
“How did you go from a crash to being pregnant, then in the hospital with your son all of a sudden?”
“I hit rock bottom,” she said simply. “Finding out I was pregnant was my miracle. I learned to take better care of myself—for him. I finally had another reason for living. My son.”
She smiled, although tears were in her eyes. “At least I thought so. But raising him alone, without any employable skills, was brutal. I’d spent so many years helping the police and doing small private jobs that I didn’t know how to make a living any other way. I tried and failed as I became so sick from overwork and stress that I ended up hospitalized, and we all know what happened after that, don’t we?” she said bitterly.
“I’m so sorry,” Kirk said. “I had no idea that’s how you felt in our relationship.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Fatigue plagued her voice. “Like you said, it was a long time ago.”
“I feel like we were young,” he said quietly. “Maybe too young.”
“You mean, young and stupid? Young and ambitious? Both selfish? Both worried about our futures instead of trying to enjoy the now?”
She didn’t even worry about his reaction. She turned and walked to the front entrance of her tent. She pulled open the curtain, pinned it back so it stayed open and said, “You need to leave. There’s absolutely no benefit to having you here, and, right now, just enough is going wrong that I don’t want you around. You’re a distraction I can’t afford.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Yeah, you did. And?”
“I would like us to be friends.”
She studied him, amusement filtering through her. “We’re as much friends as we can ever be,” she said sadly. “You have no idea what we are, what we had, what we could have had.”
“I know you made me crazy,” he said as if in explanation. “You always knew everything. I’d bring you home files, and you’d immediately pick up the salient points I had been struggling to find. I always felt insecure, less than when I was around you,” he said suddenly. “Stupid. Missing things that seemed so obvious when you pointed them out.”
She stared at him. “What?”
He shrugged. “You ‘got’ it. I never seemed to. I’d have these files all laid out, and I’d be pouring over them, making notes. … You’d walk up, and, within seconds, you’d pinpoint the sentences in each of the reports that made sense, the ones that pulled together as clues, forensic evidence. I’m much better at it now. But, at the time, I was so insecure and felt like I had nothing to offer.”
“Nothing to offer us?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe. I don’t know. I certainly didn’t do a ton of soul-searching back then. I know I walked away after you told me it was over. You’d become something I didn’t recognize. The police, all my friends, peers, bosses, they were all talking behind my back. It made it very hard for me. Plus you wanted nothing more to do with me—with my world.” He straightened. “You were adamant, if you remember.”
She stared at him. “Right. I made it hard for you. Then I made it easy for you.” She shook her head, motioned toward the outside. “And now I’m asking you again, please leave.”
He walked toward the front and stopped. “How will you protect yourself from this Watcher guy?”
“No idea,” she snapped. “But I will survive. I always have.”
“Life isn’t just about surviving,” he said quietly. “You need to work on thriving.”
Her lips twitched, but only sadness was inside her heart. “It’s hard to thrive when you’ve loved and lost.”
And then, as he stepped through the gate, she whispered, “Twice.”
*
He wasn’t sure he’d heard the last part of her comment correctly. Kirk turned around to ask her about it, but the curtain dropped in his face. As a message, it was hard to argue with. She’d always been like that, always clear about how she felt. So that was why her words today stunned him. They didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. To think she’d felt so insecure about their relationship, about how he
felt about her.
It blew him away that she thought he wouldn’t love her if she didn’t continue to solve all those cases. He’d hated what those cases had done to her. But he knew she needed them, she thrived on them. He’d firmly believed she was doing her soul’s work. He couldn’t imagine her not doing it. How was he supposed to deal with that now?
A lot had been wrong with their relationship way back then. Also a hell of a lot had been right. And maybe the stuff that had been so right had scared him. Because the stuff that had been so wrong had terrified him. He hated to look back and see the young man he’d been, both insecure and needy. Things he never would have expected himself to be.
They had been through so much together that it was like living ten years in one. It had been exhausting. He didn’t know how much of that was his fault. The cases that never seemed to end had opened up this big antenna and sent out a message: if you need her help, call us. Because they had cases upon cases, people upon people, coming to them for help. She’d never said no. But then neither had he.
Maybe she was right in the sense he had loved the fact they were closing so many cases, that people were getting their loved ones back—or at least exposure of the never-ending deaths. They had done a ton of good. But it had also taken its toll on them. They had been partners in all ways. And yet, somewhere along the line, they’d forgotten to look at all the good things they had, the reasons why they were doing what they were doing. It was hard to consider how much he’d been to blame.
But there was no doubt he had been. Maybe not all the blame but more than he’d ever allowed himself to acknowledge before. And that was tough. He considered himself a fair shooter, but the years without her had been even more difficult than he could have imagined. He hated that he felt drawn back to her. Absolutely hated it. No way he wanted to return to the nightmare circumstances of their previous relationship.
And he knew there was no way he could. What they’d had, had been good while it lasted, but he’d moved on. He was really sad that she hadn’t. Was she was still caught up in her grief? Or was she doing much better? There’d been nothing he could do to help her back then. Could he now?