And, of course, his little brother, Steve, was dead. He shuddered at the memory of his final cries, his dying pleas, claiming the witch had left him. He shook his head and moved on; he didn't like thinking about that.
He'd had a lot of time to come to understand, if not appreciate, how amazing Eleanor Grimm's feat of resurrection had been, and how intricate its many machinations. He saw now that his family's life during the thirteen years following Eleanor Grimm's first death, had been governed, if not predetermined, by her plan to be reborn in Little Steve. Leaving her money to him had only been the physical part of the plan; the rest had been pure power of mind. Everything, from his mother's overprotectiveness of Steve and insistence on homeschooling him, tojen's need to mother him and have him around, even to her buying Grimm Memorials, had been part of Eleanor's plan-commands planted in his mother's and Jen's minds before Eleanor Grimm died: commands meant to protect her in her new vulnerable, infant existence.
Only things hadn't worked out exactly as she had planned, and somehow she had lain dormant in Little Steve until ... when?
His thirteenth birthday! That's when Steve had seen the TV program, Jackie remembered. Somehow that had triggered her wakening? he wondered.
Thirteenth birthday. The obvious hit him; more than likely it had been puberty that had brought forth the possessing spirit of old Eleanor Grimm. That was more her style.
He looked over at the table where a letter from his editor lay. After the news of the new murders at Grimm Memorials had come out, the publishing company had sent a senior editor to see him in the hospital and press a $500,000 advance on him for the rights to his story. Heavily medicated and not thinking clearly, Jackie had mumbled about how he thought he would do a book about Eleanor Grimm's life. The editor had jumped all over it, ready to offer anything to get him on board, coughing up another half a million for the publishing rights to it, also. In a morphine-enriched state of mind, he had seen himself as capable of great things and signed.
He regretted it now. The letter on the table-sent because he had told the hospital switchboard he didn't want to take the editor's repeated calls-was a query as to when he could expect the first draft of the book. The publisher wanted it while the story was still hot. Jackie would have liked an answer to that question as well.
"It's not like I won't have plenty of time," he muttered, looking down at his legs, now useless as a result of the injuries he'd sustained at the hands of the witch in his brother Steve's body. "It's not like I'll be playing tennis, or hiking, or even going for a fucking walk any time soon."
A car pulled into the lot below, sunlight glancing off its windshield and catching his eye. It was Chalice driving her late sister Stella's beat-up Ford. She got out, joined by her niece, Virginya, who got out of the passenger's side. Virginya immediately looked up, directly at Jackie.
"How are you feeling?" Chalice asked. She stood awkwardly by the bed, leaning against it as if unsure of whether to sit on its neatly made surface or remain standing. Her awkwardness was evident every time she walked into the room and was unsure of how to kiss and hug Jackie in his wheelchair.
"I feel like dancing, but my legs don't want to cooperate," he joked, then wished he hadn't.
Chalice couldn't take it and started crying. "I'm so sorry, Jackie," she said, but remained by the bed.
"Hey, it's cool," Jackie said. "Come on, we've been over and over this. It's okay. I understand. You've got responsibility now. You've got to take care of your niece. She's really special. Take good care of her. Besides, I've got a long road of rehab ahead of me. Before you know it I'll walk again, but that's a long way off. You don't need to be tied to that you're going to have your hands full with Ginny."
They both knew he was lying. The doctors had told him he was paralyzed from the waist down for life. Not the result, surprisingly, of the blow to his head, but of an injury to his spine while being dragged down the crematorium stairs.
Chalice looked like she wanted to say more, but Jackie smiled at her and shook his head. "Really, it's okay. What we had was special and I'll keep that memory forever. But this is something I have to do alone. I wantyou to go. Really."
Slowly, Chalice walked to the door before stopping and half turning. "Ginny wanted to say bye to you alone after we ... I can just tell her you're too tired, though."
"No,"Jackie said. "Let her come in. I'd like to talk to her one more time."
She left and Jackie fought back the lump in his throat. He knew she still loved him-he still loved her-but he knew with him paralyzed it wasn't fair to ask her to stay with him. She'd never leave on her own, but he knew if he didn't push her away now, her love would sooner or later turn to pity, maybe even resentment eventually.
Jackie punched his unfeeling legs. The witch had finally gotten him good. She'd gotten them all. He shivered at the thought just as Chalice's niece walked in.
"Cold?" Ginny asked.
Jackie shook his head. "No. Just thinking. You know, I've been wondering howyou knew that the witch was still in Steve at the end. I was kind of out of it, but I heard him. I thought he sounded like his old self."
Ginny didn't answer and wouldn't look at him.
"Ginny?"
`Jackie," she said, still not looking at him and remaining by the door. "I'm sorry about your brother ... but he knew what had to be done. I ... I wish it could have ended differently...."
Jackie realized she was crying.
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she said quickly, her voice breaking.
Before Jackie could speak another word, she ran out of the room. For a moment Jackie thought to follow, but then wondered, What's the use?
The use? a voice inside spoke up. Ever hear the phrase: "Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it"?
In the car, Virginya sat in the passenger seat, staring at Jackie's hospital window as they drove away.
"I'll never forgive you for what you made me do," Virginya whispered.
"What?" Chalice asked. She'd been crying since they'd left the hospital and her voice was thick with mucus.
"Nothing," Ginny answered. "Just thinking." I'll never let you out. I'll never let you get control and hurt anyone ever again.
The voice that spoke up inside her head was weak, but clear:
We'll see, dearie.... We'll sex....
Grimm Reapings Page 33