Immortal Flame (25 page)

Allie weakly lifted her right hand to touch his chest. “You're okay,” she said. “Quincy? Sarah?”

“They're fine, Allie. They're safe.”

“No, he's going to kill them, too.” When she closed her eyes, a teardrop rolled out of one corner.

“He's dead now. He can't hurt them.” Peter caressed her cheek. “I'm so sorry for everything. I'm sorry I brought this down on you.”

She inhaled rapidly as she shook her head. “My choice,” she gasped out. “Thank you … ”

Her bloodied body. This torture. Her fear. Every bit of it was his fault. It had to stop. He had to stop. The answer clicked as Barnaby entered the house. Peter's world was over without her.

“Good Lord, son, is she alive?” The older man put a hand out to her bruised neck.

“Barely. Please call an ambulance.”

“Dante can get there faster,” Barnaby said.

“I know, but she needs oxygen right away. The ambulance is safer.”

Barnaby picked up the phone and gave dispatch the information.

Dante returned with a tube of Neosporin and strips of bed sheets. Even the unshakable Swede paled and turned away at the sight of Allie's injuries.

Peter squirted ointment on the fabric and pressed it over the sucking chest wound to create a seal, willing her to stay alive.

Dante reappeared with a sheet and gently draped it over Allie. He shook his head. “The minion's death was much too swift. I wish I could kill him again for this, bro.”

“Me too, Dante.”

They met the EMTs in the driveway, where Peter laid an unconscious Allie on the gurney. The ambulance personnel placed an oxygen mask on her while electrodes recorded her rapid heartbeat. The medics transferred her to the ambulance and sped off, lights blazing and sirens blaring.

The house was deathly silent. Blood covered the kitchen walls and floor. Peter stared in shock at his soaked clothes. He hadn't said goodbye to her. He might never get the chance.

“We'll clean up before the police get here,” Dante said.

Barnaby nodded. “Go wash up. You'll want to stay with your lady. They won't let you in the hospital if you're covered in blood. And when you're done at the hospital, you come get me. We'll talk about what needs to be done.”

Peter stopped dead in his tracks. The Meaningful Kill. He understood.

Barnaby smiled sadly.

Allison's life boiled down to brief flashes of images.

There was a prick on her arm in the bouncing vehicle as an EMT placed an IV. She tried to answer his questions, but blackness covered her again in a blissful blanket.

Bright lights shone overhead. Buddy stood over her, his kind face creased with worry as he called out rapid-fire orders.

Odd, he's normally quite calm
.

She heard her own desperate rasping. She clawed at her throat. Couldn't get enough air. Gentle hands held her arms down. She heard the air poofing in and out of her sucking chest wound.

An open pneumothorax sounds different when I'm the patient
.

Buddy's mumbled apology as he prepped for a chest tube placement. The fire of thousands of intercostal nerves flaring when Buddy drove the tube between her ribs and up and into her pleural space.

A tidal wave of darkness.

Sarah's tears, her cool hands touching Allison's bruised cheek.

Buddy's call for four units of O negative blood, run wide open.

Allison knew why he was asking for that much blood.
Well, that's bad
.

A rumbling movement as the OR crew and anesthesiologist ran her gurney down the hall. Fluorescent lights flashed above her bed.

One, two, blank. One, two, blank.

A bump as they entered the OR.

The general surgeon, his gruff face hidden by a mask, bent over to talk with her about bleeding thoracic vessels. Her lung remained collapsed despite the chest tube. He needed to fix both issues.

Yup, that sounds about right
.

Also he mentioned that the orthopedic surgeon would be in to repair her collarbone.

Roger. Whatever they have to do.

She skimmed along in rolling waves of agony until the anesthesiologist covered her nose and mouth with a bag valve mask and cranked up what she hoped was isoflurane. She slid into a painless abyss.

No air, but blackness. Allison was back in the mine. Her chest ached. Throat sore, she wanted to rub her neck, but her arms wouldn't move. Struggling, she realized her left arm was fixed in place across her body. And she was intubated, which felt like drowning alive as the machine regulated her breathing.

Stay calm, ride the vent
.

Easier said than done
.
She needed to remember how this felt when she intubated patients in the ER in the future.

Maybe the nurses would turn up the Propofol drip so she could go back to sleep. Allison couldn't speak. The tube and beeps and pain were starting to get to her.

I can't exactly ask for help.

Quiet beeps punctuated the ventilator sounds.

In,
whoosh
, out,
click
. In,
whoosh
, out,
click
.

Warmth started in her right hand and traveled through her chest out to her head and toes. Her entire body relaxed.

She was pain-free.

That makes no sense.

She curled her hand into the heated hand that held hers, and she met Peter's dark brown gaze. She wanted to touch his rough cheek, but couldn't work up the energy.

“Allie.” His voice cracked.

She started to get mental feedback from his anguish and tried to block him but couldn't un-fuzz her brain enough to do so. Pain, not physical but mental, pressed down on her mind. All she wanted to do was reassure Peter that she would be okay.

That he would be okay.

Why wouldn't he be okay?

So she rode the vent and the waves of pain coming from Peter. She pushed against his agony with her love for him.

Love?

Oh God, no. She had no intention of falling in love with him. The plan was to find a normal man, right?

He lifted his head. “You're crying. Are you in pain?”

That's not why I'm crying.

“I'll get the nurse,” he said.

His warmth was gone, but his pain continued to flow into her mind, relentless waves of torture. Something sliced into her chest. Or was it his chest?

He called to her, as if from a great distance. As if he were being pulled away.

Away.

She searched along the faded lines of pain.

Silence. Had she imagined him?

“Al?”

Allison squinted against the fluorescent lights.

Sarah's haggard face was wet, her eyes red-rimmed. “You're awake.”

When Allison tried to reply, the tube abraded her throat.

Don't fight the vent.

Sarah was gone, replaced by an ICU nurse.

“Want off the vent?” The nurse studied the flow sheet.

Allison nodded carefully, the endotracheal tube scraping with the movement.

“Okay, Dr. Al, you know the drill.” The nurse deflated the ET tube balloon. “Give me a few good coughs.”

Allison complied despite searing agony in her ribs. By her third or fourth cough, the tube was out. The nurse placed a Venturi mask with its stale, plastic, oxygen scent over Allison's mouth and nose. She welcomed the oxygen over face.

Sarah's face floated back into view. “How's your pain?”

“Decent,” Allison whispered. “The worst is my right side.”

“Not surprising. Dr. Bart had to open your chest to stop the bleeding. And you still have a chest tube. You'll be sore for a while.”

“Quincy?”

“She's receiving IV fluids. She had some frostbite on one foot and might have a little nerve damage but should be fine. She's demanding ice cream now. I left Bryce to sit with her for a while. She's driving me nuts. But you and Peter did a good thing finding my girl.” Tears rolled down Sarah's cheeks as she leaned into Allison's one-armed embrace.

“It was Peter who saved Quincy.”

“No, it was a joint effort. You two make quite the team.”

Allison's smile cracked a swollen lip. “I know. That's the problem.”

“What's the problem? You like him and he likes you.”

“It's not that simple with me, and you know it. I want a normal relationship with a normal man.”

“I know you do, sis. You've always wanted that.”

“I can't have that with Peter.”

Sarah patted Allison on the leg. “You of all people should understand. In life you sometimes get what you need, not what you want.”

“Speaking of Peter, where is he?”

Sarah didn't meet her eyes. “We haven't seen him since last night.”

• • •

“What are we doing?” Dante asked from the driveway of Allie's house.

Peter rubbed his chin. “You can't come with me. But if you can stick around La Grande for a while and watch over Allie, I'd appreciate it.” The image her of last night, laying on the hospital bed with all the wires and electrodes attached to her, haunted him.

“Anything, bro. When are you returning?”

Peter glanced at Barnaby, who shrugged.

“No idea,” Peter said. “Not even sure I'll return.”

Dante's eyebrows rose.

“But I have to try.”

“Well, then good luck to you. I'll watch over your lady.” Uncharacteristically serious, he clapped Peter on the arm and took off for the hospital.

Peter turned to the stooped old man. “All right, now what?”

“I don't know. There's no manual for this kind of thing.”

“How'd you do it?”

“You know I can't give details.” He rubbed his bald head. “But I might suggest you go somewhere private and safe, where you have some connection to humanity. Where you find meaning. Where you can focus.”

Peter squinted at the sunny sky. “Can you still hike?”

“Not quickly, but yes.”

“I can give you the Sherpa treatment up there. I don't know about coming back down.”

“I'll manage, son.”

They stopped in the local outdoor store and picked up warm clothes for Barnaby, sleeping bags, backpacks, and food. Throwing everything in the back of the truck, Peter drove back up to Wallowa Lake. Both men rode in pensive silence, broken only by the slush hitting the wheel wells of the truck.

“Will it work? Getting out of my contract?” Peter finally spoke.

“If it does, you'll be the second person in the last century, that I know of, who has tried it and succeeded.”

“But you can't tell me anything about how to do this?”

“No. You have to do what you feel is right. You already have an idea of how to proceed. I've seen it on your face.” Creases bracketed Barnaby's wise eyes. “I'll be there to help minister to you in any way needed.”

“Sounds like it could be bad.”

“I wish I'd had someone there to help me when I completed my contract.”

Peter nodded in appreciation. “Anyone who hasn't succeeded?”

“Verily, I think I'm the only other person who's thought to try.” He chuckled, stretching gnarled fingers until they popped. “I had an excellent reason, too. My Jane was the most lovely woman.” He smiled sadly. “Maybe anyone who succeeded years ago simply got old and died of natural causes?”

“That sounds nice right about now.”

“I know precisely what you mean.”

They pulled into the trailhead parking lot, right where Allie and Peter had started their search for Quincy. Their old tracks were still visible, although the snow had melted some with the warmer weather today. Shouldering the heavy backpack, Peter started hiking. When the trail became steeper, he offered to give Barnaby a lift.

The older man shook his head. “So far so good. I might be old, but I'm not completely decrepit. Not bad for over 400 years old, hmm?” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “But let's keep the pace nice and slow.”

“Sure thing.”

When they reached the cabins near Aneroid Lake, Barnaby whistled. “This place is beautiful.”

“I didn't stop to sightsee last time I was here, but you're right, it's nice.”

Peter led them to the hiking club yurt and opened the door. In unspoken agreement, he set the fire and they settled down for the night on the two remaining pallets.

He had no idea what to expect tomorrow. No set plan. All he wanted was to free Allie from the evil that dogged him, and to do that, Peter would have to separate himself from the evil.

Would he survive?

Was that even the point?

Allie had made it clear she wanted a relationship with a normal man. If he became human again, would that be enough for her? After the decades of evil deeds, would she accept someone like him?

Who cared?

Bottom line was Allie's safety. As long as she was out of danger, he'd live out his years as a hermit but have satisfaction knowing she'd be safe.

If anything else came out of his actions tomorrow, well that would be a bonus.

• • •

The next morning, he woke with a belly full of churning hope and dread. He'd finalized his plan late last night. It seemed logical. Besides, there were no other options. God, he hoped his hunch was correct. If he was wrong? Well, at minimum, Allie would be safe.

The day began cold and clear, with ice covering Aneroid Lake and the granite cirque that shadowed it on one side. Pine trees dotted the terrain, and birds chirped in the spring sunshine.

He should've enjoyed the scenery, but he had work to do. Barnaby couldn't give him any pointers, so Peter operated on instinct. Going down to the lake, he used an axe to chop ice away from the shore, opening up a ten-foot section. The clear water lapped on the snowy shore.

Hauling supplies from the yurt, Peter spread out a large tarp and placed several items on it.