Seeming to sense his dilemma, Grandma Luke spoke.
“There’s more than one way to travel to the other side,” Evelyn said. “Less dangerous than what you’ve already experienced, but still very risky.”
Grandma Luke reached to a table beside her chair and opened a battered cigar box. Inside was a collection of papers, some yellowed with age. She searched through them, found a dog-eared business card, and offered it to Donovan.
“This man will help you,” Evelyn translated.
Donovan took the card.
Chinese characters.
An address printed below them.
Rachel stared at it over his shoulder. “This is crazy,” she said. “Why did I even bring you here?”
Grandma Luke smiled at Rachel and spoke again.
“My granddaughter has always been a reluctant believer,” Evelyn translated. “She knows this is the only way, but the truth frightens her.”
“See what I grew up with?” Rachel said.
“I know you’re scared, Rache, but think of Jessie. Right before he was shot, Gunderson asked me if I was willing to die for my little girl.” Donovan paused, then said, “What would your answer be?”
50
IT WAS AN apothecary shop, but unless you were suffering from a serious brain-cell deficiency, you wouldn’t mistake it for the local Walgreens.
A three-block walk from Grandma Luke’s apartment, it was tucked into a narrow cul-de-sac as if hiding from the world, a secret to be shared with only a select few.
There were no signs advertising its presence. Only a dilapidated door and a dirty window filled with what looked like industrial-sized mayonnaise jars holding moldy powders and pickled substances of unknown origin. They reminded Donovan of the kinds of things unwitting reality-show contestants are forced to swallow as America watches. Whatever was in those jars did not look particularly medicinal.
“You sure this is the right place?” he asked.
Rachel nodded. “My grandparents used to bring me here.”
“You must’ve had an interesting childhood.”
“Life,” she sighed. “An interesting life.”
He knew that sigh included the current situation, and he wondered if the reluctance Grandma Luke spoke of had gotten the better of her. Was her support finally starting to waver?
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t forget,” he said, “I’ve done this before.”
The smile she offered was small, but enough to satisfy him. He reached for the door. A bell tinkled as he opened it. Stepping inside, they found a middle-aged Asian woman looking up at them from the book she was reading. “May I help you?”
She sat at a counter littered with jars of various sizes, filled with the same unappetizing substances as those in the window. The wall behind her was lined with wooden drawers, each about the size of a shoe box, which Donovan assumed held various medicinal mixes of stuff from the jars. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, permeating the air with an almost overpowering mustiness.
Donovan ducked under something brown and approached her, handing her the dog-eared business card Grandma Luke had given him. He was vaguely aware of music. A faint strain coming from a distant room.
It sounded like Jimi Hendrix.
The woman read the card, nodded. Handing it back, she flipped the book facedown, then came out from behind the counter and moved to a curtained doorway at the back of the store.
Donovan and Rachel followed.
Pulling the curtain aside, she gestured and said, “Last door on your left.”
They stepped past her, Hendrix’s guitar growing louder as they navigated a corridor with faded linoleum and drab green walls that were vaguely reminiscent of a fifties-era hospital. At least there weren’t any jars in evidence.
Donovan looked around. “Your grandparents bring you here, too?”
“It’s all new to me,” Rachel said.
The last door on the left was open just a crack, Hendrix really cranking behind it. Donovan knocked on the doorframe, but got no answer. He knocked again, louder.
Over the music, a voice called out, “Yeah?”
Donovan pushed the door open to find a twentyish, overweight Chinese-American man standing in the middle of a cluttered room. He was playing air guitar, a burning cigarette tucked into a corner of his mouth.
Donovan felt a momentary twinge. Was it a Marlboro?
Without stopping, the man said, “What can I do you for?”
Donovan glanced at Rachel. “I think there’s been a mistake.”
They were about to turn away when the guy snatched up a remote, silenced the music, and looked at Rachel. “You Mrs. Luke’s grandkid?”
Rachel paused. “You’re Mr. Wong?”
“In the flesh,” Wong said, looking her over. “Where you been all my life?”
Donovan glared at him, then took Rachel’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Wong held up a hand. “Wait a minute, wait—don’t get your panties in a wad. You’re the one picked up the stray hitchhiker, right?”
Donovan paused, looking at the guy. Had Grandma Luke really meant to send them to him?
Wong noticed the look and smirked. “What? You were expecting some wise, old kung fu master? You white boys are all the same.”
Donovan didn’t respond, but that was exactly what he’d been expecting.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Wong said, “but nobody’s snatching any pebbles outta my hand and I sure as shit ain’t gonna call you grasshopper. But I will promise you one thing: I can get you where you want to go.”
He held out a hand to shake. “The name’s Jimmy, by the way.”
Donovan ignored the hand, taking in the clutter of the room: a desk piled with Asian girlie magazines, an ashtray overflowing with butts, a bookshelf full of hardbacks that hadn’t been dusted in months.
He didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “You’re saying you can help me?”
“If I can’t, nobody can,” Wong said, withdrawing the hand. “All I need from you is the answer to one simple question.”
“Which is?”
“Visa or MasterCard?”
HE LED THEM back down the hall to a set of double doors. “I inherited this place from my grandfather. My old man was a drunk, so the business skipped a generation.”
He pushed open one of the doors and gestured them inside. Donovan eyed him warily and Wong grinned right back. “Don’t let the youthful façade fool you. I’m an old soul.”
They stepped into a windowless room with an exam table at the center. The only other furniture was a chair, a counter and sink, and a large storage closet tucked into a corner. There were more jars on the counter, containing an unappetizing array of brown and green liquids.
“Take off your shirt and shoes and hop aboard,” Wong said, patting the table.
Donovan hesitated, then did as he was told, feeling a bit self-conscious as he pulled off his shirt and climbed onto the table.
Wong cracked his knuckles and rubbed his hands together rapidly, as if trying to warm them. Moving around behind Donovan, he placed his palms on his bare back and slowly worked them across it.
After a moment he said, “I’ve got one word for you: chaos. You got a lotta shit going on inside there.”
No kidding, Donovan thought.
“Like I said, I can get you where you want to go …”
“But?”
“There’s a speech my grandfather always gave his clients, full of fortune-cookie wisdom and metaphysical mumbo jumbo about chi and meridians and the manipulation of the body to release the soul … But the bottom line is this: I’m gonna stop your heart. And the condition you’re in right now, once I get it stopped, I might not be able to start it back up.”
“I knew this was a bad idea,” Rachel said.
“She’s right. It probably is. You sure you don’t want to reconsider?”
Donovan thought about Jessie and shook his head. What other alternative was there?
“You understand,” Wong told him, “if you don’t come out of this thing, I’m gonna be in a bit of a pickle. Cops’ll be all over me and I’ve got a reputation to think about.”
“You’re backing out?”
“I didn’t say that. Things get crazy, I can always tell ’em your ticker just stopped—without mentioning, of course, that I’m the one who stopped it.”
“Then what are you getting at?” Donovan asked, feeling impatience bubble up.
“Another couple grand would ease the pain.”
“Fine,” Donovan said. “Whatever you want.”
Wong grinned. “I take back every bad thing I ever thought about you.”
That was when Rachel turned and left the room.
SHE WAS HALFWAY down the corridor before Donovan caught up to her. He grabbed her arm. “Rachel, wait.”
She stiffened at his touch, then turned on him, her eyes angry. “What are we doing here, Jack? This guy’s a joke.”
“You heard Grandma Luke.”
“I know, I know. I’ve been hearing stuff like that all my life. But how the hell do we know what’s real and what isn’t?”
He took her by the shoulders. “This isn’t just a grandmother’s story, Rache. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. And right now it’s the only reality I have.”
“But this guy’s talking about stopping your heart, for God sakes. Don’t you think that’s just a little bit nuts?”
“Then why the hell did you bring me here? Why take me to your grandmother in the first place?”
She looked at him, tears brimming. “I can’t do this, Jack. I can’t watch you die. When they told me you drove off that bridge, I …”
She let the words hang, her fear and vulnerability displayed without filters, telling him everything he needed to know. There was no mystery to solve. There never had been. All this time he’d been too blind or too stupid to see that. It was the same mistake he’d made with Jessie. And Joanne. Too self-absorbed to really see the people around him. To understand how they felt about him.
He focused on her eyes. God, she was beautiful.
Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She fell into it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It lasted only a moment, but in that moment Donovan lost himself completely, feeling his own apprehension melt away.
“I need you here,” he whispered.
Her arms tightened around him.
They stayed that way for a while, Rachel pressing her cheek against his bare chest, stirring something inside him that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Then, tears still clouding her eyes, she pulled away from the embrace. “I swear to God, Jack, if you don’t come back, I’ll kill you.”
WHEN THEY RETURNED to the exam room, Wong was smoking another cigarette.
“So,” he said. “Everybody on the same page now?”
Donovan shot him a look, then squeezed Rachel’s hand and climbed back onto the table. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Wong dropped his cigarette, stamped it out, then turned to the counter and poured something green into an ornate ceramic cup.
“Drink this,” he said, handing it to Donovan.
“What is it?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know. It’ll help relax you.”
Donovan stared at the liquid and saw what looked like flecks of dark flesh floating in it. He swirled it around a moment, then put the cup to his lips and knocked it back.
The taste was so bitter he nearly gagged. He managed to swallow, the liquid burning a trail down his throat and landing with a thud in his stomach. He instantly felt nauseous, thinking for a moment that he might throw it right back up.
“Jesus,” he said, closing his eyes.
Wong took the cup. “Got a bit of a kick.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
Wong set the cup on the counter. “When you’re ready, lie faceup for me.”
Donovan waited for the nausea to subside, then opened his eyes again and saw Rachel staring at him with concern. He gave her a reassuring look, but couldn’t quite fight off the feeling that the room was starting to sway. Grabbing the side of the exam table, he swung his legs around and lay back.
Wong was over at the closet now, pulling it open. “Just so you know: Before I took over the business, I spent two years as a paramedic. If things get hairy, there’s always this …”
He reached in and grabbed hold of a metal cart, rolling it out into the open. It held a bulky, premodern defibrillator. The rubber on the paddles was so worn that patches of steel shone through.
“It’s old,” Wong said. “But it works.”
Rubbing his hands together again, he moved back to the table and stood over Donovan. “Last chance to change your mind.”
Donovan felt his body starting to relax. The medicine kicking in. He glanced at Rachel and could see that she still wasn’t happy with this. But she nodded.
“Do it,” he said.
Wong moved to a dimmer switch on the wall. “This isn’t your first trip, so I won’t bother with any tour information.”
He turned the dimmer, reducing the room to near darkness. “You’ve got about six minutes. Anything longer and your brain is toast.”
HE STARTED WITH the soles of Donovan’s feet, running his thumbs upward toward the toes, then back down again, pressing them hard against muscle, so hard it was almost painful.
Donovan felt his tension leak away and suddenly realized how tired he was. He’d been running on fumes ever since the accident. That he’d managed to survive this long was an act of sheer will.
Now Wong’s magic hands were leeching the negative ions from his body, sucking the tension away. He felt himself sink deeper into the table as the hands worked their way to the tops of his feet, then on to the shins, the calves, moving upward to his thighs, thumb tips pressing into selected pressure points, each one sending what felt like a pulse of electricity through his body and straight up into his brain.
By the time they reached his shoulders, the table beneath him had melted away. He felt weightless, floating on a cushion of warm air. Wong might not look like much, might not have the most pleasant demeanor in the world, but he knew what he was doing. No question about it now.
Donovan stared up at the ceiling. After a moment it began to recede, growing smaller and smaller as his body sank into a kind of velvety darkness. Like the table, the room seemed to melt away, and he was no longer floating—
—but falling.
The sensation was so abrupt and unsettling he jerked in surprise and opened his eyes—
—only to find himself back on the table, beneath Wong’s capable hands.
He hadn’t even realized his eyes were closed.
His heart beat rapidly. Wong touched his chest, his voice uncharacteristically soothing. “Easy now. That’s just a preview of coming attractions. You’ve been through it before, so just relax.”
The hand moved along Donovan’s chest, fingertips pressing gently into the flesh. He let himself relax again, heart beating against Wong’s fingers, gradually slowing until it was little more than a lazy thu-thump that seemed on the verge of stopping altogether.
For some reason, the thought of that didn’t concern Donovan. It felt right. Natural.
“Good,” Wong whispered. “Almost there.”
Then he lay one hand flat on Donovan’s chest as the other cupped his chin.
“Say hello to Jimi for me.” With a quick, economical motion, he pressed hard on Donovan’s chest while jerking his head to one side.
Donovan felt a faint crack as the room instantly melted away and darkness enveloped him.
A split second later, he was gone.
51
CHAOS.
Wong had been right. That was the only way to describe it.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself in familiar territory, hurtling like a rag doll through the eye o
f a hurricane, a whirling wormhole of light and sound, a jumble of voices murmuring incoherently in his head.
Only it was different this time.
This time there was pain. Pain so deep he thought he might scream.
It started in his chest and spread rapidly through his entire body, expanding his organs until they felt as if they were about to burst. And just when he was certain it couldn’t get any worse, the pain deepened, widened, devouring him whole.
He remembered a horror movie he’d once seen, Jennifer Jason Leigh tied between two trucks as their engines revved, threatening to rip her apart. He felt as helpless as poor Jennifer, his flesh stretching, bones cracking, his ever-expanding organs ready to explode.
And then it happened. Something gave inside and he screamed, a long, agonized wail that sounded almost foreign to him.
But he wasn’t the only one screaming.
Someone else was here with him. An appendage. A conjoined twin. Their interconnected bodies were ripped apart by some unseen force. Turning his head, he found Gunderson staring back at him like a mirror image, a look of pure agony on his face. His usually malevolent eyes were bright with fear.
Then, invisible hands grabbed Gunderson and yanked him into a fold of darkness—
—and it was over.
The pain gone.
His body whole again.
Hurtling though the wormhole.
ONCE AGAIN, THERE was a light at the far end. A bright, flickering bluish white light that beckoned to him, as inviting as a mother’s open arms. It was a promise of safety, security, warmth.
Love.
And he knew exactly who was beyond that light. Could feel them. The murmur of their voices floated past him. Through him.
We’ve you
missed son
Join
Come us
Donovan felt himself relax, letting their voices carry him ever closer to the light. It shone from a doorway of some kind, framing the hazy silhouettes of his long-dead parents.
We you
love Jack
Forever always
and
I love you too, he wanted to cry, but something held him back. As much as he’d like to be with them, as much as he wanted to feel their embrace, he knew this wasn’t where he needed to go. Whatever bliss the light offered, whatever promise it held—
Kiss Her Goodbye (A Thriller) Page 23