In Your Dreams (10 page)

“Good. I could
use the distraction. And I’m betting you can, too.” Another roll of his hands
produced a new orb, this one in a screaming red hue. “You ready?”

Xavia bent
slightly at the knees, focused her attention on the glowing fireball. “Go for
it.”

“Wanna make it
interesting?”

She relaxed her
stance. “How?”

“Loser tells the
winner a secret.”

Suspicion
slinked up her spine. What devilment was he up to? Her forehead furrowed. “What
kind of secret?”

“Any kind she
feels comfortable divulging.”

She
? Oh, he did
not
just say that.
She was going to wipe the floor with this arrogant cockroach. “Or any secret
she demands
he
tell her.”

He held out his
hand. “I take it we have a deal?”

“Oh, we have a
deal,” she replied as she shook on their agreement. “Be prepared to get your
butt waxed, Martino. When I’m through with you, you’re gonna be baby-smooth.”

~~~~

He whipped the
orb at the far wall. The ball of light careened toward Xavia and, in a blur of
kinesis, she connected, slapping the orb in a rebounding trajectory. On its
next bounce, Sean aimed for the lower corner, hoping to bank his shot and throw
off his opponent’s rhythm. No dice.

She lunged,
slammed the crazily spinning missile to the right, and on his next attempt to
retaliate, he missed by a fingernail. The orb flew past, hit the ground, and
snuffed out on a hiss.

“Your point,” he
conceded.

Barely breathing
hard, she spun a new orb, this one a neon orange. “You can’t say I didn’t warn
you, sucka.”

He let her win,
of course. She needed the victory. While he had no idea what caused her
breakdown in the office, the tantrum, coming on the heels of whatever had
occurred between her and her Elder Counselor, had left her more brittle than
kindling. He knew the sensation well, and understood how smacking orbs released
the helpless rage. During the match, he kept her on her toes, sporadically
taking the lead then falling behind by a point or two, only to smash an orb
past her and catch up again.

When the score
became twenty to eighteen in her favor, she offered a victorious smile and
flipped a hot pink orb into play. “Game point.”

The orb sailed
into the lowest part of the wall, ping-ponged off the corner, and brushed past
his outstretched hand to land on the floor with a dying sizzle. He dropped his
arm to his side and straightened his posture before turning to face his victor.
“That’s the game.”

“Don’t feel bad,
Martino,” she said, her smile glittering halogen white. “I’ll give you a chance
to get even.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I have a
feeling I’ll be playing this often.” She sobered. “Thanks. I needed that.”

He gave a quick
nod in reply.

She held out her
hand, waited for him to take it, and gave him a firm, determined shake. “You’re
all right, Sean Martino. A pain in the ass, but all right, just the same.”

Fluttering his
lashes with the exaggeration of a silent film ingénue, he clasped his hands to
his chest. “Golly. That must mean you like me. You
really
like me.”

“Don’t get
carried away,” she retorted, her lips twisted in a grimace. “I really like
Brussels sprouts, too. Doesn’t mean I want a steady dose of ‘em.”

He chuckled.
“Okay, then, since you won today’s Great Orb Challenge, I guess I owe you a
secret. What’ll it be?”

Heaving a
disgusted sigh, she sank onto the floor against a stack of crates and brought
her knees to her chest, hugging herself inside her very own comfort cube. “What
do you miss about life, Sean?”

He quirked a
brow. “That’s it? That’s the great big secret you wanna know?”

“No, but since
you let me win, I’m letting you off easy.”

“I didn’t let
you win.” Her head shot up, expression sharp, and he amended with a
self-deprecating grin, “Okay, maybe I didn’t give the game my all. But it’s not
like I had to tie one hand behind my back or anything. You’re really good.”

“Not good enough
that you would play fair.”

He shrugged.
“Don’t be offended. I’ve got more experience down here than you. And I figured
you’d been beaten up enough today.” He sat beside her, his back to the
crate-less wall, and cocked his head to stare at her with curiosity. “You wanna
talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Come on.” He
jabbed an elbow into her arm. “I was right about orb ball, wasn’t I?”

Her eyes misted,
and she scrubbed her hands over her
face.         “I lost a kid today,” she
said through her splayed fingers. “He was sixteen.”

He sucked in a
sharp breath. “Wow. That’s tough.”

“You have no
idea.” She dropped her head back to her knees then burrowed beneath her folded
arms. “I’m a major league screw-up here.”

“Oh, knock it
off.” He pecked an index finger into her hunched shoulder until she lifted her
gaze again to glare at him. “You’re the department head so you can’t suck that
bad.”

“Go haunt a
house!”

Good. He’d
managed to get a rise out of her. An excellent start.

“Can’t.” He
offered an apologetic shrug. “My inter-realm privileges were revoked when I was
transferred to your department.”

“Fabulous.” Acid
dripped from her lips. “My lucky rabbit’s foot must have come from
Frankenbunny.”

Funny how he
preferred her sarcasm to the self-pity she’d donned during her office tantrum.
Xavia’s natural aura shone gold with emerald highlights. But whatever troubled
her now had tarnished her colors, like silt in a freshwater stream.

As a detective
on Earth, he knew how to get a witness or victim talking even when the trauma
numbed them or hurt so much they preferred to forget. Sure, it sucked at times,
to manipulate the devastated into reliving painful memories. But it was a
necessary evil. And a talent that came in handy when dealing with the bitter
spirits on this side of life, as well. Those old cop instincts still flourished
inside him. So he’d keep needling her until she broke.

“What happened?”
he asked, his tone soft as a lullaby. Easy, impassive, with a hint of concern
flavoring each word. “To the kid?”

“I don’t know.”
She twisted her hands, pulled at her fingers. “He was bullied in school, opted
to take the high dive. His mom found him hanging in the basement, barely alive.
They got him to the hospital, but he lingered in a coma. I couldn’t pull him
out. No matter what I said, no matter what dreams I came up with for him—and
believe me, I went Big Time—nothing worked. He just...gave up.”

“I’m sorry. That
must have sucked. Was this the first time you lost one?”

“You mean, since
I lost my fifteen-year-old son on Earth?” Her voice shook on the confession.
“No. Malik was my fourth.”

“Out of how
many?”

“What the hell
does it matter how many?” Sparks flew in violent arcs from her form. “You think
if it’s four out of a million, their lives have less meaning than if they’d
been four out of a hundred? One more dead black boy don’t matter, right?” She
shoved her arms out straight, and for a brief moment, Sean was able to see the
vicious slices, oozing life’s blood from her slashed veins. “This is what I did
when my son died. Because he mattered to
me
. They all matter to me!”

“Easy.” His hand
shot up in surrender. “That’s not what I meant. If I upset you, I’m sorry.”

Her posture
sagged, and her muddy aura darkened to shadow-gray. “Did you have kids,
Martino?”

He shook his
head. “Can’t say I did.” In
any
of the lives Verity had shown him. In
fact, he usually died alone. And miserable.

“Then you can’t
possibly understand. Not that fathers really get it anyway. No one suffers the
way a mother suffers when she loses her child. Long before anyone else knows
anything—sees the bright eyes and the first smile—a mother carries her child
beneath her heart. For nearly a year, he’s a part of her. You can’t separate
one from the other. What she eats, he eats. What she feels, he feels, too. And
after birth, as that child grows to adulthood, his mom nurtures him. And the
situation reverses. What the child feels, the mother feels. Every scraped knee,
every careless word, every tear that child sheds is etched in her heart.” She leaned
her head against the wall and closed her eyes. “If I had known my boy would die
before his sixteenth birthday, I might not have given birth to him. Or I’d have
given him up for adoption in the hope I could change his destiny. Because all
the good memories—and I have plenty—can’t soothe the agony of knowing I’ll
never see him again. Not in any lifetime. In my greatest moment of weakness, I
damned us both for eternity.”

Christ. Was that
the punishment the Board had doled out to her? Talk about cruel. No wonder she
was so angry. So bitter. He said nothing to her statement. What could he say?
Nothing in his miserable time here compared to the hell enforced on her.

Taking her hand,
he clutched her fingers and squeezed.

Eyes dull as her
aura, she offered him a sad smile, granting him her gratitude for not trying to
placate her with useless words. “Come on.” She staggered to her feet. “I’m
ready to beat you fair and square this time.”

After four orb
ball games, which left them tied at two wins each, Sean sought a quick recharge
of energy before returning to his desk to check in on Isabelle. He found her
curled up in bed, napping on an early California evening, shades drawn against
the magnificent sunset outside her bedroom window. Dread forced Sean from the
office into her bedroom. Why the hell didn’t she move? Had she died already?

Before he set
foot on her floor, the wall of pain rose up from nowhere. He nearly cried out
when he absorbed her suffering as if it were his own. Lightning pierced his
head, sharp and radiating. Somewhere through the haze, he heard her
breathing—labored and shallow, but there nonetheless.

“Hey, Belle,” he
called softly, as much in deference to his own suffering as hers. “You okay?”

She rolled over,
a grimace tightening her jaw. “Headache,” she murmured. “One of the side
effects of the tumor. Today’s a bad one.”

Yeah, he could
tell. He only wished Xavia had taken the time to warn him that he ran the risk
of empathizing with his offenders if he got too close. Afterlife empathy, a
phenomenon that allowed spirits to feel the pain of their subjects, took effect
without warning. All that was needed were two people who shared a common link:
betrayal, love, or, apparently, a working relationship. Because now, the
throbbing in his skull made his eyes water.

At least, if the
discomfort became too much for him, he could return to his own realm. The
farther he got from her, the less pain he’d experience. Poor Belle didn’t have
that luxury. Knowing what she suffered, he struggled to devise a distraction to
ease her pain. But, what? Somehow, he didn’t think a cold cloth on her forehead
would do much good. “Anything I can do?”

“Take me out of
here? Someplace special?”

“Absolutely.
Where would you like to go?”

“Somewhere
beautiful and inspiring. And totally relaxing. You choose.
You’re
the
otherworldly one.”

“No dice. This
is
your
dream.” He struggled against the pain to paste a smile on his
face. “I’m here on your sufferance. Think about it. Picture any place you’d
like to be right now. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you
go?”

“Mmm...” On a
purr and sigh, she replied, “The Maldives.”

“Good. Now, open
your eyes.”

Tranquil blue
surrounded them: perfect sapphire sky and crystal aquamarine lagoon. They
walked on sugary sand, both garbed in white. Sean wore a short-sleeved,
lightweight shirt and rolled up cotton pants. Isabelle, a wide-brimmed sun hat
protecting her skin and eyes from the bright solar rays, strolled beside him in
a lace-embellished gauzy dress.

“Damn, you’re
good!” she exclaimed. “I was kinda picturing a magic carpet ride, like in
Aladdin
.
You know, ‘A Whole New World’ and all that? I loved that movie as a kid.”

He had no clue
what she was talking about.

“You know.
Aladdin
?
The Disney movie?” She waved a hand. “Never mind. That was
after
your
time. I keep forgetting you died when I was still in Pull-Ups.”

“Pull-Ups?”

“Toilet training
pants for little kids.”

“Charming.” And
a fact he really would prefer not to discuss right now. “I take it the
headache’s gone?”

She nodded and
grabbed his hand in hers. “Thank you.”

“You’re very
welcome.”

Leaning into
him, she placed her head on his shoulder.

The action—and
the sensations her closeness engendered—stunned Sean. Her silky hair, blown by
the gentle sea breeze, tickled his cheek. The perfume of her skin enticed him
to breathe her into his lungs. Her light touch stirred memories long buried
inside him: memories of life, of being human, of being in love. What the hell?
Or was this some form of heaven?  

The water washed
over her bare feet, and she sighed with delight. “This is amazing. More
beautiful than I imagined. I don’t think photos could ever do this fantasy
justice.”

He said nothing
more, allowing her time to relax and absorb the paradise she’d craved. He felt
her tense muscles go slack and enjoyed the way her eyes lit up as she drank in
the rounded bungalows perched on stilts yards away from shore. “Think we can
stay here for a while? Take up residence in one of those for a few decades?
Forget the world?” Her breathing, deeper now, lost the pain-filled edge he’d
detected in her bedroom and took on an even cadence.

“We can try,” he
said, skimming a hand down her shoulder. Christ, he could actually
touch
her. And feel her warmth beneath his fingertips! “But, remember, this is only a
temporary respite. You’ll find yourself back in your room the minute you wake
up.”

“What do you
suppose the bungalows look like on the inside?”

Cocking his head
like a conspirator sharing nefarious plans, he whispered, “Wanna take a peek?” 

She bounced on
her toes. “Can we?”

“We can do
whatever you want. This is your dream, remember?”

“Let’s do it.”
She scanned the line of thatch-roofed circular buildings with private decks,
some with Jacuzzi tubs. “Which one?”

“Which one’s
your favorite?”

After careful
consideration, she pointed to the last one in the line. “That one.” The words
left her lips, and she and Sean stood on the deck, hot tub bubbling with steamy
water. An ice bucket nearby held a chilling bottle of Champagne, and two crystal
flutes—each cradling a ripe strawberry—waiting to be filled.

Her laughter
rang out over the tropical breezes. “You sure know how to wow a girl.”

He shrugged.
“It’s a gift.”

“I bet.”

“You want to
soak in the tub or check out the interior first?”

Her joy infused
the air with colorful sparks—fireworks for him alone. “I’ve seen enough
bedrooms for a while. Let’s hit the tub.” Again, her words became action, and
without so much as a transition, they were both neck-deep in swirling water,
two glasses of chilled bubbly on the deck beside them. She laughed. “I could
get used to this. Do you give all your suicide cases this kind of treatment?”

“I have no idea.
You’re my one and only at the moment.”

Her smile
broadened. “Well, I like being your
one and only
.”

He
liked the way she made the term sound.
Possessive and yet, satisfying. She sat across from him in this tub of pounding
bubbles, skin glistening from water and perspiration, relaxed and happier than
he’d ever seen her. He’d given her this day, this gift. And she’d responded
with unabashed pleasure. If he had the choice, he’d continue her dream to a
passionate end.

Something about
the pure romance of this place brought out the lover in him. If he were human
again, he’d start nibbling at that sweet juncture where her neck and shoulder
met and allow his mouth to lead him into more...delicious...areas. Then again,
if he were still alive, he’d be thirty years older than her current age, making
him,
Christ
, over sixty now. No way in hell she’d be hanging here with
him, even if he could’ve afforded a vacation like this on his cop’s salary.

His thoughts
must have showed on his face because she tilted her head, brows arched in
concern. “Hey. You okay? Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” He shook
off the black mood on a quick pulse of circuits. “No. Of course not.
Everything’s perfect.” He swept a hand over the garden setting with its scarlet
trumpet flowers and lush greenery providing the ideal privacy hedge from
onlookers. “How could it not be? You sure know how to pick a place.”

She sipped the
Champagne and leaned her head against the tub to stare up at the sky, her
expression dreamy. “I saw photos of this place online when I was searching for
a honeymoon destination for me and Carlo. Unfortunately, he had a shoot in L.A.
three days after our wedding, so...” Leveling her head again, she faced him
with her eyes narrowed, lips twisted in distaste. “...we put off the trip.” She
swallowed a larger gulp from flute. “And never went.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I’d
much rather be here with you.” Tilting the flute to her lips one last time, she
drained the rest of her drink. “This is the best dream I’ve ever had.” She
pointed at his still-filled glass. “You’re not gonna drink that, right? Can I
have it?”

“By all means.”
He traded her empty flute for his full one.

After another
long sip, she swallowed and asked, “So what happens if Justin comes into my
room to check on me while I’m here with you? I mean, you keep saying this is a
dream. Does that mean, if someone looks for me, they’ll find me in bed with a
big shit-eating grin on my face?”

“That’s exactly
what it means.” He wagged a finger. “But remember, if they wake you, all of
this disappears.”

“Including you?”

“Including me.”

“Justin better
not wake me anytime soon, then. I’m not ready to leave here yet. Or to leave
you.” Another sip. “Can they hear what we talk about? All the stuff I’m saying.
Like if I talk about the tumor, and Justin happens to be in my room or outside
in the hall, will he hear me?”

“No. Not unless
you speak aloud—which, would wake you up before you said too much that might
incriminate you. At that stage, even if you said ‘tumor,’ you could always pass
it off as a nightmare if he asked about it.”

Her relief came
out in one long exhale. “Good.”

She’d given him
a window to discuss a crucial part of her recovery, but he’d have to dance this
narrow line carefully. “I have to admit,” he remarked, struggling to maintain a
banal composure, “I don’t understand why you’re afraid to tell them about the
tumor. Your friends, I mean.”

A rosy blush
infused her cheeks, partly from the warmth of the water, but also, he guessed,
from embarrassment. “I will, eventually. I mean, I won’t be able to keep it a
secret forever. Once I start peeing my pants and babbling to myself, Justin’s gonna
notice something’s wrong with me.”

“I think he
already suspects something’s wrong with you.”

“Yeah.” She
sighed. “But suspecting’s a long way from confirming.” At his sharp look, she
added, “The thing is, Justin’s an uber-sensitive soul. And right now, he’s
still shaky over my suicide attempt. If I tell him about the brain tumor, the
poor guy will melt into a weepy mess that we’ll have to scoop off the floor.
And he’ll
never
let me go home. He’ll keep me at his house, guarding me
like a prison matron.”

Which was a
major reason why Sean believed she should tell him the truth. He could use a
few allies—people who would keep an eye on her when he couldn’t. “Justin’s your
friend, Belle, and he loves you. So does Tony. They deserve to know.”

“I know. You’re
right. I promise I’ll tell them both soon.” She drained the second glass.
“After I’ve gone back home, though. It’ll be easier then. On all of us.”

~~~~

 “Are
you sure you’re ready?” Justin’s plaintive question slinked into the labyrinth
of Isabelle’s ear and reverberated inside her skull.

Was
she sure? Hell, no.

In
fact, the prospect of walking into her rented bungalow—a place she hadn’t seen
since the EMTs had rolled her out three weeks ago—scared her stupid. No doubt
her desperation lingered in the air within those walls like rancid milk. So,
here she stood, on the portico, terrified to open the damn door.

She
wished Sean was with her.

When
she’d asked him to come along, he claimed he was always with her, always
watching her, but could only communicate with her when she was asleep. He’d
mumbled something about realm limits and probation, but the rules seemed stupid
to her. Wasn’t he her guardian angel? If she chose to take her own life, she’d
have to be wide awake to carry through with her intentions, right? So, if she
opted to put a gun to her head, would he wait until she fell asleep before he
intervened? Somehow, she doubted it. One thing she did understand, though, was
being ignored. She’d had a lot of practice at being on her own lately.

Casting
her gaze at the perfect azure sky dotted with cotton candy clouds, she took a
deep breath and whispered, “Okay, I’m going in. You’re with me, right, Sean? I
can
do
this.”

Funny
how just talking to him gave her strength. So maybe there was some kind of sensory
link between them, even when he couldn’t speak to her. The fingers on her left
hand curled as if she could clasp Sean’s hand in hers.

His
voice echoed in her head. “Let’s go, Belle.”

Some
well of inner strength straightened her posture as she slid the key into the
lock and pushed open the door. The emptiness hit her like a brick. Compared to
Justin’s home, full of warmth and love, this place was a prison cell. She’d
only moved in after her marriage to Carlo disintegrated, and she’d never shown
the slightest interest in adding any personal touches to the decor. The
taupe-painted walls held no artwork, no photographs of loved ones, no memories
of good times with good friends. In the den, the fireplace sat hollow and cold
with a barren mantel above. Under normal circumstances, with a resident intent
upon creating a cozy living space, the bungalow could have reflected charm and
hominess. Sunshine would have streamed in through the open windows to create
light patterns on luxurious furniture, plush carpeting, and imported ceramic
tiles.