by Gina Ardito
Christ. Was that the punishment the Board had doled out to her? Talk about cruel. No wonder she was so angry. So bitter. He said nothing to her statement. What could he say? Nothing in his miserable time here compared to the hell enforced on her.
Taking her hand, he clutched her fingers and squeezed.
Eyes dull as her aura, she offered him a sad smile, granting him her gratitude for not trying to placate her with useless words. “Come on.” She staggered to her feet. “I’m ready to beat you fair and square this time.”
Chapter 9
After four orb ball games, which left them tied at two wins each, Sean sought a quick recharge of energy before returning to his desk to check in on Isabelle. He found her curled up in bed, napping on an early California evening, shades drawn against the magnificent sunset outside her bedroom window. Dread forced Sean from the office into her bedroom. Why the hell didn’t she move? Had she died already?
Before he set foot on her floor, the wall of pain rose up from nowhere. He nearly cried out when he absorbed her suffering as if it were his own. Lightning pierced his head, sharp and radiating. Somewhere through the haze, he heard her breathing—labored and shallow, but there nonetheless.
“Hey, Belle,” he called softly, as much in deference to his own suffering as hers. “You okay?”
She rolled over, a grimace tightening her jaw. “Headache,” she murmured. “One of the side effects of the tumor. Today’s a bad one.”
Yeah, he could tell. He only wished Xavia had taken the time to warn him that he ran the risk of empathizing with his offenders if he got too close. Afterlife empathy, a phenomenon that allowed spirits to feel the pain of their subjects, took effect without warning. All that was needed were two people who shared a common link: betrayal, love, or, apparently, a working relationship. Because now, the throbbing in his skull made his eyes water.
At least, if the discomfort became too much for him, he could return to his own realm. The farther he got from her, the less pain he’d experience. Poor Belle didn’t have that luxury. Knowing what she suffered, he struggled to devise a distraction to ease her pain. But, what? Somehow, he didn’t think a cold cloth on her forehead would do much good. “Anything I can do?”
“Take me out of here? Someplace special?”
“Absolutely. Where would you like to go?”
“Somewhere beautiful and inspiring. And totally relaxing. You choose. You’re the otherworldly one.”
“No dice. This is your dream.” He struggled against the pain to paste a smile on his face. “I’m here on your sufferance. Think about it. Picture any place you’d like to be right now. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”
“Mmm...” On a purr and sigh, she replied, “The Maldives.”
“Good. Now, open your eyes.”
Tranquil blue surrounded them: perfect sapphire sky and crystal aquamarine lagoon. They walked on sugary sand, both garbed in white. Sean wore a short-sleeved, lightweight shirt and rolled up cotton pants. Isabelle, a wide-brimmed sun hat protecting her skin and eyes from the bright solar rays, strolled beside him in a lace-embellished gauzy dress.
“Damn, you’re good!” she exclaimed. “I was kinda picturing a magic carpet ride, like in Aladdin. You know, ‘A Whole New World’ and all that? I loved that movie as a kid.”
He had no clue what she was talking about.
“You know. Aladdin? The Disney movie?” She waved a hand. “Never mind. That was after your time. I keep forgetting you died when I was still in Pull-Ups.”
“Pull-Ups?”
“Toilet training pants for little kids.”
“Charming.” And a fact he really would prefer not to discuss right now. “I take it the headache’s gone?”
She nodded and grabbed his hand in hers. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Leaning into him, she placed her head on his shoulder.
The action—and the sensations her closeness engendered—stunned Sean. Her silky hair, blown by the gentle sea breeze, tickled his cheek. The perfume of her skin enticed him to breathe her into his lungs. Her light touch stirred memories long buried inside him: memories of life, of being human, of being in love. What the hell? Or was this some form of heaven?
The water washed over her bare feet, and she sighed with delight. “This is amazing. More beautiful than I imagined. I don’t think photos could ever do this fantasy justice.”
He said nothing more, allowing her time to relax and absorb the paradise she’d craved. He felt her tense muscles go slack and enjoyed the way her eyes lit up as she drank in the rounded bungalows perched on stilts yards away from shore. “Think we can stay here for a while? Take up residence in one of those for a few decades? Forget the world?” Her breathing, deeper now, lost the pain-filled edge he’d detected in her bedroom and took on an even cadence.
“We can try,” he said, skimming a hand down her shoulder. Christ, he could actually touch her. And feel her warmth beneath his fingertips! “But, remember, this is only a temporary respite. You’ll find yourself back in your room the minute you wake up.”
“What do you suppose the bungalows look like on the inside?”
Cocking his head like a conspirator sharing nefarious plans, he whispered, “Wanna take a peek?”
She bounced on her toes. “Can we?”
“We can do whatever you want. This is your dream, remember?”
“Let’s do it.” She scanned the line of thatch-roofed circular buildings with private decks, some with Jacuzzi tubs. “Which one?”
“Which one’s your favorite?”
After careful consideration, she pointed to the last one in the line. “That one.” The words left her lips, and she and Sean stood on the deck, hot tub bubbling with steamy water. An ice bucket nearby held a chilling bottle of Champagne, and two crystal flutes—each cradling a ripe strawberry—waiting to be filled.
Her laughter rang out over the tropical breezes. “You sure know how to wow a girl.”
He shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
“I bet.”
“You want to soak in the tub or check out the interior first?”
Her joy infused the air with colorful sparks—fireworks for him alone. “I’ve seen enough bedrooms for a while. Let’s hit the tub.” Again, her words became action, and without so much as a transition, they were both neck-deep in swirling water, two glasses of chilled bubbly on the deck beside them. She laughed. “I could get used to this. Do you give all your suicide cases this kind of treatment?”
“I have no idea. You’re my one and only at the moment.”
Her smile broadened. “Well, I like being your one and only.”
He liked the way she made the term sound. Possessive and yet, satisfying. She sat across from him in this tub of pounding bubbles, skin glistening from water and perspiration, relaxed and happier than he’d ever seen her. He’d given her this day, this gift. And she’d responded with unabashed pleasure. If he had the choice, he’d continue her dream to a passionate end.
Something about the pure romance of this place brought out the lover in him. If he were human again, he’d start nibbling at that sweet juncture where her neck and shoulder met and allow his mouth to lead him into more...delicious...areas. Then again, if he were still alive, he’d be thirty years older than her current age, making him, Christ, over sixty now. No way in hell she’d be hanging here with him, even if he could’ve afforded a vacation like this on his cop’s salary.
His thoughts must have showed on his face because she tilted her head, brows arched in concern. “Hey. You okay? Is something wrong?”
“Huh?” He shook off the black mood on a quick pulse of circuits. “No. Of course not. Everything’s perfect.” He swept a hand over the garden setting with its scarlet trumpet flowers and lush greenery providing the ideal privacy hedge from onlookers. “How could it not be? You sure know how to pick a place.”
She sipped the Champagne and leaned her head
against the tub to stare up at the sky, her expression dreamy. “I saw photos of this place online when I was searching for a honeymoon destination for me and Carlo. Unfortunately, he had a shoot in L.A. three days after our wedding, so...” Leveling her head again, she faced him with her eyes narrowed, lips twisted in distaste. “...we put off the trip.” She swallowed a larger gulp from flute. “And never went.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I’d much rather be here with you.” Tilting the flute to her lips one last time, she drained the rest of her drink. “This is the best dream I’ve ever had.” She pointed at his still-filled glass. “You’re not gonna drink that, right? Can I have it?”
“By all means.” He traded her empty flute for his full one.
After another long sip, she swallowed and asked, “So what happens if Justin comes into my room to check on me while I’m here with you? I mean, you keep saying this is a dream. Does that mean, if someone looks for me, they’ll find me in bed with a big shit-eating grin on my face?”
“That’s exactly what it means.” He wagged a finger. “But remember, if they wake you, all of this disappears.”
“Including you?”
“Including me.”
“Justin better not wake me anytime soon, then. I’m not ready to leave here yet. Or to leave you.” Another sip. “Can they hear what we talk about? All the stuff I’m saying. Like if I talk about the tumor, and Justin happens to be in my room or outside in the hall, will he hear me?”
“No. Not unless you speak aloud—which, would wake you up before you said too much that might incriminate you. At that stage, even if you said ‘tumor,’ you could always pass it off as a nightmare if he asked about it.”
Her relief came out in one long exhale. “Good.”
She’d given him a window to discuss a crucial part of her recovery, but he’d have to dance this narrow line carefully. “I have to admit,” he remarked, struggling to maintain a banal composure, “I don’t understand why you’re afraid to tell them about the tumor. Your friends, I mean.”
A rosy blush infused her cheeks, partly from the warmth of the water, but also, he guessed, from embarrassment. “I will, eventually. I mean, I won’t be able to keep it a secret forever. Once I start peeing my pants and babbling to myself, Justin’s gonna notice something’s wrong with me.”
“I think he already suspects something’s wrong with you.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “But suspecting’s a long way from confirming.” At his sharp look, she added, “The thing is, Justin’s an uber-sensitive soul. And right now, he’s still shaky over my suicide attempt. If I tell him about the brain tumor, the poor guy will melt into a weepy mess that we’ll have to scoop off the floor. And he’ll never let me go home. He’ll keep me at his house, guarding me like a prison matron.”
Which was a major reason why Sean believed she should tell him the truth. He could use a few allies—people who would keep an eye on her when he couldn’t. “Justin’s your friend, Belle, and he loves you. So does Tony. They deserve to know.”
“I know. You’re right. I promise I’ll tell them both soon.” She drained the second glass. “After I’ve gone back home, though. It’ll be easier then. On all of us.”
~~~~
“Are you sure you’re ready?” Justin’s plaintive question slinked into the labyrinth of Isabelle’s ear and reverberated inside her skull.
Was she sure? Hell, no.
In fact, the prospect of walking into her rented bungalow—a place she hadn’t seen since the EMTs had rolled her out three weeks ago—scared her stupid. No doubt her desperation lingered in the air within those walls like rancid milk. So, here she stood, on the portico, terrified to open the damn door.
She wished Sean was with her.
When she’d asked him to come along, he claimed he was always with her, always watching her, but could only communicate with her when she was asleep. He’d mumbled something about realm limits and probation, but the rules seemed stupid to her. Wasn’t he her guardian angel? If she chose to take her own life, she’d have to be wide awake to carry through with her intentions, right? So, if she opted to put a gun to her head, would he wait until she fell asleep before he intervened? Somehow, she doubted it. One thing she did understand, though, was being ignored. She’d had a lot of practice at being on her own lately.
Casting her gaze at the perfect azure sky dotted with cotton candy clouds, she took a deep breath and whispered, “Okay, I’m going in. You’re with me, right, Sean? I can do this.”
Funny how just talking to him gave her strength. So maybe there was some kind of sensory link between them, even when he couldn’t speak to her. The fingers on her left hand curled as if she could clasp Sean’s hand in hers.
His voice echoed in her head. “Let’s go, Belle.”
Some well of inner strength straightened her posture as she slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door. The emptiness hit her like a brick. Compared to Justin’s home, full of warmth and love, this place was a prison cell. She’d only moved in after her marriage to Carlo disintegrated, and she’d never shown the slightest interest in adding any personal touches to the decor. The taupe-painted walls held no artwork, no photographs of loved ones, no memories of good times with good friends. In the den, the fireplace sat hollow and cold with a barren mantel above. Under normal circumstances, with a resident intent upon creating a cozy living space, the bungalow could have reflected charm and hominess. Sunshine would have streamed in through the open windows to create light patterns on luxurious furniture, plush carpeting, and imported ceramic tiles.
Isabelle, paralyzed with self-pity, had added nothing of value, sentiment, beauty or comfort. And wasn’t that a metaphor for her whole miserable life? What had she ever done in her thirty-plus years on this earth that made the slightest bit of difference to anyone? Oh, sure, fans told her how much the role of Bethany had meant to them, but any decent actress could’ve taken that part and made the same impact. All she did was spew the words a team of writers typed up for her week after week. Big deal. When she died, no one would mourn her loss. Not in any significant way. Her death would be a blip on the entertainment networks, followed by speculation like, “Remember her? Whatever happened to her after Shipp Shape ended?”
The answer? Nothing. That’s what happened. Not a damned thing. She’d wallowed in her own misery, never making a difference to anyone.
You can change that. You still have time.
Was that her conscience or Sean’s voice in her head? She didn’t know. Wasn’t sure it mattered. The words illuminated her darkest corners with glimmers of hope. Could she really use the little time she had left to leave behind some kind of legacy? Something meaningful, not just some stupid television or movie role. Something that mattered.
So, what mattered to her? To be honest, she’d never cared enough about any particular cause to get involved. Oh, she believed in things—political and social issues—just not to the point where she wanted to be a spokesperson for any of them. Not even her brain cancer. She’d be damned if she became one of those celebrities hawking her illness and “lending a face” to calls for a cure. Besides, once those malignant cells started munching on her cognitive segments, she wouldn’t remember her own name, much less any obligations to some charity.
What do you want out of life, Belle?
Okay, that time she recognized the husky quality used when Sean said her name. Either she was asleep, or he’d found a way to communicate with her without the “realm limitations.” Or, her illness was farther along than anyone suspected.
What did she want? “Not to die so soon,” she retorted.
“You know I can’t fix that,” he replied.
Diving into the deepest part of her soul, she searched her catalogue of fears for another answer. The truest answer. “I don’t want to die alone,” she whispered. “I want someone who loves me there with me at the end.”
“Then you know what you have to do.�
�
Yeah. She did. She should’ve done it before coming here. Face-to-face would have been better for this kind of news. But she couldn’t make the trip back now and maybe, on second thought, she would be able to feign strength by not having to look them in their teary eyes when they learned the truth.
With a deep breath, she picked up the phone, ignored the blinking number reflecting the multitude of messages waiting to be played, and dialed.
As if anticipating she’d call, he picked up before the second ring ended. “Hey, sweetie. You okay?”
“Yes and no,” she replied. “I have something to tell you and Tony.”
Chapter 10
Watching Isabelle tell Justin about her diagnosis, Sean longed to split himself in two. That way, half of him could hold her so she didn’t fall apart; the other half could bolster her friend, who really did shatter at the news. Poor Justin sank to the kitchen floor, bawling, while Tony tried to piece together what was happening based on one side of the phone conversation.
“I knew something was wrong,” Justin wailed. “I just knew it. You’ve lost weight, your color’s all off, you walk funny, and every once in a while your memory seems weak...” He sniffed. “You should have told us from the start.”
“What?” Tony asked. “Who should’ve told us what?”
“I wasn’t ready,” she confessed. “It’s a lot to digest.”
“Oh, God, Belle, can’t they do something for you? Radiation? Chemo? A transplant of some kind?”
“Yeah, sure, Justin,” she retorted. “A transplant. People are lining up to donate their brains to needy patients.”
“You know what I mean. Maybe if they just remove the diseased portion if it’s not too...” He must have realized how close he came to insulting her intelligence with that line because he switched gears on the next breath. “Forget it. I’m upset and I’m talking stupid.”
“It’s okay,” she replied. “Believe me, no matter what you say, it won’t sound half as stupid as the things I’ve thought since I first heard the diagnosis.”