Back to Life

by Linda O. Johnston

  “I’ll shoot her again,” Ron said. “Unless you kill me.” His face was nearly white and there was a madness in his eyes.

  Instead of shooting Skye, he aimed at Trevor. The blast reverberated again in the small room. The shot got Trevor’s upper arm—making him drop his weapon.

  “Kill me—you know how.” Ron smiled almost angelically toward Skye. “It’s how I want to go. And you know you want to use it.”

  Trevor had made a promise to Skye, but this guy was obviously a maniac. The only other way of stopping Ron would be to move out of the way fast and let the sharpshooters behind him take the suspect down.

  He prepared to do that. Skye seemed to understand what he was thinking. “Can’t we help him?” she pleaded.

  “Do it!” Ron shouted. “Or I really will kill her.” He again aimed his weapon toward Skye. Toward her head.

  No time to see if his team could react fast enough. “Die, then, you bastard!” Trevor yelled at him. “Die. Now. You hear me? Die!” He repeated the command yet again, praying it was enough and that he really did have a special power.

  Trevor lunged just in case, ready to take any bullets the SOB shot—only to see Gollar’s face grow paler.

  Skye screamed and Gollar’s body fell lifelessly to the floor.

  As she crawled toward the man who had been her friend, Skye knew that the sounds echoing in her mind were not the chanting she always heard when faced with the dying.

  “Ron?” she whispered brokenly. She held his limp hand, closed her eyes and sought out his presence on the rainbow bridge so she could at least try to help him in that way.

  To no avail. His spirit wasn’t there.

  He hadn’t died as mortals usually did. Indirectly, she had caused his death, and her forebears knew it. Their keening chant was even more mournful than usual, filled with desolation and grief.

  She knew that, wherever his spirit had fled, he would not live forever in the halls where his ancestors and innocents dwelled. She hated that idea. Was there nothing she could do?

  She began to cry, her sobs blending in her mind with the wails of her ancestresses.

  One of their own had been struck down—and as the result of what she had created in a stranger.

  No—not a stranger. Trevor. The man to whom she’d felt instantly connected.

  She had known at that moment that he had something left to accomplish. To be her lover? The man with whom she would share her life? That was what she had come to believe so briefly, notwithstanding the power she had imparted to him.

  Even then, even knowing of his personal, violent quest for justice, she hadn’t assumed that the reason he demanded to live, the destiny he had yet to accomplish, would be something she would hate. Would despise.

  Had he survived just to do what he had done here, today?

  To use his power to kill someone she cared about?

  Just then, Trevor came over and knelt beside her. He put his arm around her and held her close.

  “Is the victim okay?” she asked.

  “The EMTs have her. Looks like she’ll be all right.”

  Skye realized that the small room had become crowded with medics and crime scene investigators. One guy bent over Ron, touching his throat, checking his wrist for a pulse.

  “And Bella?” she demanded, starting to inch toward her dog, who had moved away and was sitting up now. There was blood on the floor near her, but she did not appear badly injured.

  Tritt was with her, looking her over. The older K-9 officer appeared relieved as he glanced toward Skye. “Looks like she was just grazed. I’ll get her right to the vet.”

  “Thanks,” Skye said in relief. She wished she could go along, but protocol would require that the EMTs look at her and take her to the hospital for further evaluation.

  Trevor had promised her…Technically, he had kept his promise. The power over life and death that she had inadvertently given him—he had used it wisely. To save her life.

  But he had nevertheless used it to kill someone she had cared for, deeply.

  Something had snapped in Ron. He had apparently craved power over life and death, too. And assumed his own perverted form of justice. Expressed his jealousy, and hatred of women. Awful, yes. But he still shouldn’t have died so terribly.

  Could she still hope he’d have a peaceful existence afterward? Why hadn’t she been able to help him? Couldn’t she help him now?

  “Okay, miss. Your turn. I understand you were shot.” One of the EMTs, a young lady, was bending over her.

  “I’m fine,” Skye said, ignoring the pain in her chest.

  She glanced up toward Trevor, then closed her eyes and lost consciousness.

  The chanting sounded far in the distance. Skye listened as it grew closer. She still couldn’t understand any words, but she felt one with it.

  This time, the chanting was for her. She had willed herself here.

  She opened her eyes. She stood on the rainbow bridge. Alone. She still wore her protective police garb, or at least a shimmering semblance of it.

  Could she cross the bridge by herself? She had to try. Maybe she had been wrong. Even if she had heard a lamentation instead of supportive chanting, even if she’d had no vision of the rainbow bridge, maybe Ron was there, on the other side.

  She had to hope, despite her belief otherwise.

  Maybe he was going to be with those who crossed over with the assistance of Skye and her Valkyrie sisters and ancestors.

  Please let that be so! she begged silently as she walked forward, surprised that the bridge felt so solid beneath her feet. Before it had always seemed the consistency of water. Smelling something sweet, she headed toward where a light shone so brightly that it obscured what was beyond it.

  The sad keening had stopped.

  Was that a castle’s turret she saw glistening in the brilliance? A church spire?

  She had to go see for herself.

  Hearing something behind her on the bridge, she turned. Was that Hayley she saw approaching? And Kara? “No!” she called to them. “Stay away!” She pivoted and started hurrying toward the light.

  “You must not go on,” said a distinct female voice from somewhere within the glow. “You know that, Skye. It is not your time.”

  Skye knew that voice. It was clear and melodic. One of those who chanted to her?

  Her eyes hurt as she strained to see into the illumination and fix it in her mind so she could remember it all—just in case what the voice said was true and she could not continue on.

  “I need to make sure that Ron is all right,” Skye explained as she took another, tentative step.

  “You know better, my dear. He had choices to make, and he opted for the wrong ones. That was why we wept for him. And why you could not help him join us for eternity.”

  A willowy female figure appeared at the edge of the light. With all the luminosity around her, Skye had a hard time making out her features. She seemed to be dressed in cloudlike vapor. Her hair was almost as pale as her surroundings.

  And her face? Hazy, too. Yet she looked vaguely like Skye. Like her mother, and her grandmother, too.

  “Yes, I am one of those who came before you,” she said in accented English. “And I know you and those of your generation are less accepting of what you are told of your heritage. You ask too many questions.” She seemed to smile. “I cannot tell you all. And when you go back to where you belong, you will only have a vague recollection of what you experience here. It will seem dreamlike, as it should. But let me assure you that those who cross this bridge and do not return are at peace. The stories of Valhalla that are shared among your family have some truth to them, and many souls could attest to that.”

  “But Ron,” Skye persisted. “He’s not there? What happens to his soul?”

  “It has gone…elsewhere. But if he truly regrets what he has done, he might be sent back for another chance.”

  “Reincarnation?” Skye asked. “And Valhalla? And other legends—they’re r
eal?”

  She received no answers. The woman’s appearance seemed to evaporate slowly as the light surrounding her began to fade. No more shimmering towers beyond her. And the bridge at Skye’s feet started to lose substance.

  “Skye! Wake up! Come back!” Two different female voices shouted in her mind. “It’s not your time. Open your eyes.”

  But she wasn’t ready. Still had no true answers. Wanted—

  “Please, Skye, come back to me.” This time the voice was deep. Masculine. Trevor.

  And she did.

  “Welcome back,” said Hayley. She was clad in a white medical jacket. Her pretty face was damp and her light blue eyes were bloodshot, as if she had been crying. She bent down and gave Skye a big hug. “You had me damned scared.”

  “Yeah, I was with the EMT team that first got into that place,” Kara Woods said. Her strong-featured face was somber, almost angry. “But most people don’t, er…well, avoid our help when we try to do—you know.”

  Skye did know. She looked around. She had already realized that she lay in a hospital bed, with white sheets drawn up to her chest. Her clothes had been exchanged for a standard, faded aqua hospital gown.

  And her friends’ circumspection in what they said told Skye that they weren’t alone. She turned slightly and realized that a nurse stood beside her, fussing over an IV that dripped something into the back of her hand.

  She rolled her eyes as she looked back at her friends. “You don’t want to get dehydrated,” Hayley chided. “But if you need something for pain—”

  “I’m fine,” Skye assured them, her voice hoarse but strong. Physically she did feel fine. Emotionally? Well, she was drained. She recalled her visit to the rainbow bridge, seeing Hayley and Kara, and the woman she had spoken with…but it was hazy. Fading.

  What she focused on, though, was Trevor. Where was he? She’d heard him. Or had she imagined it?

  She hated that he had willed Ron to die that way. Maybe he’d felt he had no choice. But the pain caused by what he had done, her self-blame for what had happened to Ron and the lack of time to help him regain a grip on reality was agonizing. But no medication could alleviate this pain.

  She looked around. “Trevor?” she asked.

  “He came to see you, then left when you started to stir,” Kara said. “I suspect he thought he wouldn’t be welcome.”

  “When can I get out of here?” she asked.

  “You should stay overnight for observation,” the nurse said.

  “But if you want to go, I’ll be leaving in about an hour,” Hayley said, “and I can stay with you this evening to make sure you’re all right.”

  “Yes,” Skye agreed. “That’s what I want to do.”

  She glanced at Kara, who also nodded. “I’ll be glad to keep an eye on you, too,” she said.

  “So was it real, or were you hallucinating?” Kara demanded, running one hand through her hair in obvious frustration. She was now clad in a snug white T-shirt that showed off her curvaceousness and black denim jeans.

  They were back in Skye’s home, sitting in her living room. They had ceded the red sofa bed to her and were sitting on the sleek wood-framed chairs with pink pillows. They had helped themselves to a glass of wine from Skye’s supply, but they refused to allow her anything stronger than fruit juice.

  “I have no idea,” Skye said. “The woman who spoke with me—I’ve no idea if she could have been real. I have this image that she resembled…well, me!”

  “So you still can’t say for sure who does the chanting we hear, or what the afterlife looks like?” Hayley, too, was no longer dressed for work and had put on a light green button-down shirt that she tucked into jeans. Her light hair looked as limp and exhausted as the rest of her.

  Skye had been too tired to change into anything other than her blue ABPD uniform. She’d shower and get ready for bed once she could convince her friends that she was all right and didn’t need them to stay overnight. She wanted to be alone.

  But not totally alone. She had talked to Tritt, who’d rushed Bella to the veterinarian. Fortunately her dog’s wound had not been serious, and she would be returned home within the hour.

  “I want to say that what I saw, what I remember of it, was real,” Skye said, then sighed and took a sip of the iced cran-apple juice from the glass on the sleek wooden coffee table in front of her. She returned it to the coaster. “The woman…well, she felt real. I identified with her, as if she was my great-something grandmother. My ancestress, in any event. She said my recollection of what I saw and felt would fade, and it has some, already. But the way she described what was beyond, at the end of the bridge—and what would happen to Ron—it all seemed so real at the time.”

  “Then Ron may not be punished forever?” Kara asked eagerly.

  Skye shook her head. “Assuming I wasn’t just delirious.” She sighed. “On some level, I know why Ron felt he had to do what he did. And we knew he admired Trevor’s determination to mete out justice his own way. But Ron, well, his decisions were based on anger and hatred of women, I guess. Us. He carried his version of justice much too far.”

  Skye had hesitated over Trevor’s name. Maybe he’d been there, in the hospital with her, but he’d left. Maybe she’d just imagined him calling her back. And if he had, it might just have been due to his feelings of guilt for how this had ended up.

  She had to acknowledge to herself, if not to Trevor, that even if she hated what he’d done and how he made her indirectly responsible for Ron’s death, he had done what he thought was needed to save her life.

  She understood that. But how could she live with it? And how could she deal with seeing Trevor in the future, when every time she looked at him she would remember what he’d done?

  “Ron didn’t just skirt the law to achieve his perverted goals,” Skye continued sorrowfully. “He raped and killed.”

  “He went after drug-dealing prostitutes,” Hayley said belligerently. “Those women were hurting others, at least by their pushing drugs.” She stopped, looked at Kara, then Skye, and sighed. “Hell, we all knew Ron was envious of our life-and-death abilities. Maybe we should have realized how much. What he did was horrible. Unforgivable. But maybe, if we’d understood what was going on with him, we could have prevented what he did.”

  “I should have guessed what was going on with him,” Skye said sadly. “A while back, there was talk about some of the guys helping detectives check on phone messages to Marinaro. I think Ron got involved, so he might have gotten the idea for his own copycat killings then, with the idea he could blame them on Marinaro, with enough detailed information about Marinaro to make the allegations stick…. I just don’t know. And then, once, Bella got so confused at a crime scene. I suppose she picked up Ron’s scent and not Marinaro’s.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Hayley said staunchly. “That wasn’t enough to figure out what Ron was up to.”

  Skye sighed. “Maybe. But this has all been…well, awful. I think I’ll go to Minnesota for a while. Talk to my mother, and both of yours, and some of the others. Get their opinions on how genuine what I learned was—about our powers, and about the other side, and…well, everything. And maybe I’ll get a little extra TLC.”

  “Good idea, kid,” Kara said. “Give me enough notice, and I’ll try to come along.”

  “Me, too,” Hayley agreed. “Now, why don’t you get some sleep? We’ll just camp out here for the night.”

  “I’ll get some sleep,” Skye agreed, “but I want you both to leave. I really appreciate your being there for me, but right now I need to be alone.”

  “No way,” Kara said.

  Hayley stood, obviously ready to protest, too, but the doorbell rang.

  “Must be Tritt with Bella,” Skye said. “With her here, I’ll be fine. Honest.”

  She was half right. Hayley went into the hall outside the living room to answer the front door, and as Skye heard her talking to someone, Bella bounded into the room and onto her lap. Her right
hind leg was bandaged, but otherwise she appeared fine as she started to give Skye canine kisses right on the face.

  When Skye laughingly moved her to the side to thank Tritt, she saw it wasn’t her K-9 cohort who stood in the doorway to the living room.

  It was Trevor.

  “Hey,” Hayley said, “I think you’re right. It’s time for Kara and me to go home.”

  Skye opened her mouth to protest, to invite them to stay the night after all, but it was too late.

  Chapter 20

  “H ello, Skye,” Trevor said softly, not moving from the doorway even when Bella returned to him and nuzzled his legs.

  Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure what to say. He knew what he wanted to do—take her into his arms and never let go.

  He’d thought he had lost her.

  Hell, he had lost her. But at least she was still alive. He’d done what he had to in order to save her even though it meant killing her friend.

  “Come in, Trevor,” she finally said, her voice as melodic as always yet with a layer of frost on it. “We need to talk, and now is as good a time as ever.”

  He didn’t need any further invitation. He strode toward the sofa. She looked so pale sitting there on the bright-colored upholstery. Her skin was white and drawn, and all the light shades of her hair seemed to be washed out as it lay askew on her shoulders.

  But she had never looked more beautiful to him.

  He had thought a lot, in the last few hours, about what to say to her.

  She didn’t rise to greet him, so he stood there awkwardly for a minute.

  And then he sat beside her on the sofa. Bella must have sensed the tension, for she joined them, sitting so her body squeezed between their two pairs of legs, her dark head and shining nose a contrast with the red of the sofa where she rested it. She looked first at Skye, and then at him, as if wondering what was wrong, what would come next.

  So did Trevor.

  Skye obviously wasn’t going to make this easy on him. But, hell, there was nothing he could say to make what had happened go away.