Dying by the Hour (A Jesse Sullivan Novel Book 2) (16 page)

“Sure,” I say and try not to sound surprised she’s leaving or disappointed that she is apparently dissatisfied with my attempts at a fancy cheese spread. “Chipotle is down the road.”

Nikki smiles. “Sure. Do you want anything—?”

“Cindy,” she says, flashing her perfectly white teeth and extending her hand toward Nikki. “Cindy St. Clair.”

Nikki must recognize the name of one of the few death replacement agents in the area but she does a good job of not reacting to the name. “Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you, darlin’,” Cindy continues. “I just ate.”

Nikki grabs her coat off the back of the chair and slips through the front door. The rush of it all makes it hard to adjust. A couple of minutes ago I was kissing Nikki and now Cindy is standing in my apartment.

“Do you want tea or something?” I try to hedge my confusion by giving myself something to do. “I believe I have coffee too.”

“I can’t stay long,” she says. She crosses to the corner and sits on the edge of the big arm chair, as if the only way to avoid being swallowed by the thick arms is to perch precariously on the edge of the seat.

“I assume this is work related.”
Jesse embarrassed me in seminar today. Jesse said this. Jesse did that.
Most of the time when people want to discuss Jesse, it’s to complain. “So what did she do?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s not like that.” Cindy presses her palm against her chest. “I’m just
so
worried about her.”

“Why? What’s happened?” I sink into the couch, and pull a pillow into my lap.

“Has she ever talked to you about—” Cindy stops and exhales. I’ve never seen her look so uncomfortable. She’s bouncing her leg in place and her back is bowed forward protectively. “I mean, you and her, you’re best friends, right? Of course she’d tell you.”

“
What
?” I demand. She’s killing me. “Just tell me.”

She pulls at the end of her bob then proceeds with a doubtful look. “Does she ever talk to you about Gabriel?”

“Who’s Gabriel?” I ask.

Cindy’s lips pursed. “Never mind. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

Cindy stands and moves toward the door but I stop her and push her back into the chair. I’m confused and almost angry at the idea Cindy knows something about Jesse that I don’t. Jesse, who I practically wait on hand and foot, can’t possibly have secrets I don’t know about.

“No, tell me,” I demand. “You said you’re worried and I’m sure I would be too. And who else can help her?”

“I shouldn’t have come,” she says.

“Just tell me,” I say and tuck my hair behind my ears. “Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.”

She considers me for a long time and I begin to worry Nikki will come back before this conversation is over and now I’m not sure I want Nikki here at all.

Cindy nods as if agreeing with someone I can’t hear. “Okay, yeah. Of course, you probably are the best person.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Now what’s going on?”

“Just remember you asked for this, darlin’.”

“I know,” I say. “So start from the beginning.”

She exhales long and slow before speaking. “Do you remember last year, the whole
church
thing—and what am I saying! Of course you remember—you were there, weren’t you? Well about that time, this whole Gabriel-Raphael problem started up too.”

I don’t fixate on this new name Raphael because I want her to keep talking. “This problem began a year ago, around the time I was kidnapped and we were all attacked in the Church basement.”

“And I can’t believe they still let that place stay open!” Cindy exclaims.

“They pleaded ignorance of course and the evidence just disappeared,” I say. “But please, continue. Something about Gabriel and Raphael a year ago?”

Cindy arches her eyebrows and tilts her head. “I started seeing angels. Sweet Jesus, I’m not kidding. I can tell by your face you don’t believe me, but you’d better. I saw honest-to-God angels. Well, one angel anyway, with wings proclaiming the word of God.”

My mouth slides open. I could feel my mind hollowing out, opening up from the unexpected turn.

Cindy goes on, gesturing as if this is her point. “I saw Raphael and Jesse saw Gabriel.”

“Last year?” I ask. “She saw an angel last year? And she just found you and told you about it?”

But not me. Why not me? Oh god, if she’s hallucinating—if she’s sick—

“No, no—okay. Let me back up. I saw angels. I might have been a little upset about it and I went to Gloria because that woman sees the strangest things,
bless
her heart. I thought she’d be able to help me get a handle on this, you know? Instead, she takes me to Jesse, gets us to admit to each other that we’ve been talking to imaginary men. Gorgeous men, mind you, at least Raphael is—
was
—but invisible nonetheless. And we go to get brain scans and find out there is nothing physically wrong with us, but yet here we are, talking to them anyway.”

“Gabriel?” I ask. “And Raphael.”

“Exactly,” Cindy looks relieved.

“Wait, back up,” I say. “Why did Gloria bring you to Jesse?”

Cindy shrugs. “She must’ve known that Jesse was hallucinating.”

My head is swimming with this information. How could Jesse be having hallucinations and not tell me?
Why
wouldn’t she tell me? “Go back to the part about why you’re worried now, if this was a year ago.”

“I think she’s still having hallucinations,” Cindy says.

“But you aren’t?” I ask.

“No,” Cindy says. “It all just went away. Now I can use the toilet just fine and I haven’t seen a single thing in months and months.”

“Were you afraid to use the bathroom with Raphael watching?” I ask. I’m having a hard time trying to figure out what is important in this conversation and what I should focus on. One problem is simply Cindy talks too fast.

“Oh goodness, no, but that would be terrible. No, my problem was toilets would sort of explode,” she whispers as if someone can hear us. “I wouldn’t even have to be in the bathroom. But if I did need to use the restroom, I had to be sure I was nice and
calm
first.”

Too much information. “So why do you think Jesse is still hallucinating?”

“She asked me some questions at the seminar today and she was—” she says. “I don’t know, it was just an impression I got. She seems on edge, you know? I’m not saying we need to commit her. I’m just saying someone needs to help her. If she lets it go too far, well,
you
know.”

I do know. If someone were to find out Jesse was hallucinating, then only one thing will happen. She would be given a one-way ticket to the asylum, just like her mentor Rachel. I don’t blame Jesse for keeping this quiet and I’m really glad she didn’t bring it up in front of Nikki.

But why wouldn’t she tell me? Doesn’t she know she can tell me anything?

The buzzer on the building sounds and I know it’s Nikki needing to be let back in. Cindy stands as if a fire has been lit under her ass and rushes toward the door. I push the button on the intercom unlocking the front entrance.

“I better get going anyway,” Cindy says. “I’m meeting Momma for dinner. She’s staying with me ‘til Tuesday.”

“Thank you,” I say.
Even though you told us you just ate.
“For coming to me with this. You could have gone to Gloria again.”

“I tried but she wasn’t home,” Cindy says.
Or she didn’t come to the door for you
, I thought.

Cindy proceeds down the hallway toward the stairwell. She passes Nikki, laden with a food bag. She flashes a grin as she passes. “Nice to meet you, honey. See you around.”

“Good night,” Nikki says to the passing whirlwind of glamour and shine.

“Everything okay?” Nikki asks. She’s watching me, clearly curious.

I force a smile despite the pounding in my ears. “I hope so.”

Jesse

P
art of my FBRD-certification requires that I be psychiatrically evaluated every few deaths because of the high risk of going totally batshit crazy.

“How are you today, Jesse?’ Herwin, my therapist asks. He invites me into his office, moving stacks of paper out of a desk chair so I can take a seat.

“Stiff,” I reply, coming into the dimly lit room. “Do you have time to do my eval?”

Herwin is wearing his usual brown tweed suit. I think it’s his work uniform or something. Maybe someone should tell him to mix it up every once in a while. After all, all this brown tweed—his outfit and the 70s era furniture—packed between four white cinder block walls is just too oppressive.

I stretch myself long on the couch, but it is lumpy and I can feel the springs through scratchy upholstery. Once I settle in, Herwin moves his chair closer and pulls out the pointer light. The lights in the warm room soften, making the pointer light look like a searchlight pouring into my skull.

“Just try to relax and listen to the sound of my voice. Okay?”

I grumble some kind of agreement.

The longer I stare at the light the more relaxed I become. I drift off and before I know it, Herwin is out of his chair, exchanging the pointer light for the soft glow of the lamps. He offers me a tissue and I have to sit up to wipe the water out of my eyes.

“How do you feel now?” he asks.

“Still tired. Still sore.” I pinch my eyes shut beneath the tissue. “What’s the prognosis?”

“So far so good,” he says, taking just a moment to adjust his bowtie.

As I toss the damp tissue in the direction of the wastebasket and miss, the temperature changes.

I know this feeling—

The way a room warms suddenly, the feel of a person standing near me.

I’m terrified to look up, to turn my eyes in the direction of the large white wall with a hint of shadow on it. Whatever Herwin was saying has been completely obliterated by the pounding of my heart in my ears.

Finally I dare to sneak a glance.

Gabriel stands on the very same spot where I first saw him a year ago, a black smudge against the white cinderblock wall. That time he’d been casual, almost bored, with his black wings folded over each dark sleeve of his suit jacket. His impossibly green eyes merely curious and watchful. Now he reaches toward me in panic, stretching his arm out as if to catch me from falling. His black wings wide and glorious cast menacing shadows on the wall behind him, before he fades into the darkness entirely.

“Oh shit.”

“Excuse me?” Herwin asks and looks up from his legal pad.

“Uhhhh,” I start, scrambling for something normal to say. “Want me to put a quarter in a jar or something?”

Herwin laces his fingers. “That is not necessary. You’re an adult and can express your feelings in whatever language you feel is most appropriate. However, I must ask, what has garnered such a strong reaction?”

Eyes still fixed on the wall behind him, I try to think of how to tell the truth without giving myself away. “I think some things are just coming up again. From last year, I mean.”

“You were kidnapped. Your loved ones were physically assaulted in front of you and you yourself were attacked,” Herwin says with a sympathetic and grave face. “It is only natural that those experiences should resurface and upset you from time to time.”

“But I was doing so well.”

“Try not to think of it as a competition, Jesse,” he says, steepling his fingers. “There is no prize for most well-adjusted person.”

There is when you do what I do for a living. The prize is staying out of the nuthouse.

“I find the best way to deal with traumatic events such as these is to face them head on,” he says. “Look at them without turning away and recognize how strong you are for surviving such a horrible ordeal. By acknowledging your own strength, it’s easier to remove the fear.”

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll try that.” But I don’t mean it. And I can tell by the totally bummed look on Herwin’s face he knows I’m just telling him what he wants to hear. But what are my options? There’s no freaking way I’m just going to embrace Gabriel. How the hell will that remove the fear? Because I’ll be too crazy to fear anything, I guess.

When Gabriel came last time my whole life fell apart. There’s no way in hell I’m just going to invite that back in. I need a clear head. I need to be ready for whatever Caldwell will throw at me next.

Ally

G
loria’s house is dark when I pull up. Her yard looks dreadful. I’m surprised she hasn’t had the city called on her for codes, what with the overgrown grass and random collectibles in the yard. A tire here. A barrel drum there. God knows where it came from.

I pull up the short gravel drive and park in the back. The single wood step, bent and warped with time threatens to snap altogether as I climb up to the door and open the back screen. I knock once but no one answers. When no one comes I use my spare key to let myself in.

“Gloria?” I call out.