In Your Dreams (11 page)

Isabelle,
paralyzed with self-pity, had added nothing of value, sentiment, beauty or
comfort. And wasn’t that a metaphor for her whole miserable life? What had she
ever done in her thirty-plus years on this earth that made the slightest bit of
difference to anyone? Oh, sure, fans told her how much the role of Bethany had
meant to them, but any decent actress could’ve taken that part and made the
same impact. All she did was spew the words a team of writers typed up for her
week after week. Big deal. When she died, no one would mourn her loss. Not in
any significant way. Her death would be a blip on the entertainment networks,
followed by speculation like, “Remember her? Whatever happened to her after
Shipp
Shape
ended?”

The
answer? Nothing. That’s what happened. Not a damned thing. She’d wallowed in
her own misery, never making a difference to anyone.

You
can change that. You still have time
.

Was
that her conscience or Sean’s voice in her head? She didn’t know. Wasn’t sure
it mattered. The words illuminated her darkest corners with glimmers of hope.
Could she really use the little time she had left to leave behind some kind of
legacy? Something meaningful, not just some stupid television or movie role.
Something that
mattered
.

So,
what mattered to her? To be honest, she’d never cared enough about any
particular cause to get involved. Oh, she believed in things—political and
social issues—just not to the point where she wanted to be a spokesperson for
any of them. Not even her brain cancer. She’d be damned if she became one of
those celebrities hawking her illness and “lending a face” to calls for a cure.
Besides, once those malignant cells started munching on her cognitive segments,
she wouldn’t remember her own name, much less any obligations to some charity.

What
do you want out of life, Belle?

Okay,
that time she recognized the husky quality used when Sean said her name. Either
she was asleep, or he’d found a way to communicate with her without the “realm
limitations.” Or, her illness was farther along than anyone suspected.

What
did she want? “Not to die so soon,” she retorted.

“You
know I can’t fix that,” he replied.

Diving
into the deepest part of her soul, she searched her catalogue of fears for
another answer. The truest answer. “I don’t want to die alone,” she whispered.
“I want someone who loves me there with me at the end.”

“Then
you know what you have to do.”

Yeah.
She did. She should’ve done it before coming here. Face-to-face would have been
better for this kind of news. But she couldn’t make the trip back now and
maybe, on second thought, she would be able to feign strength by not having to
look them in their teary eyes when they learned the truth.

With
a deep breath, she picked up the phone, ignored the blinking number reflecting
the multitude of messages waiting to be played, and dialed.

As
if anticipating she’d call, he picked up before the second ring ended. “Hey,
sweetie. You okay?”

“Yes
and no,” she replied. “I have something to tell you and Tony.”

         
Watching Isabelle tell Justin about her diagnosis, Sean longed to split himself
in two. That way, half of him could hold her so she didn’t fall apart; the
other half could bolster her friend, who really did shatter at the news. Poor
Justin sank to the kitchen floor, bawling, while Tony tried to piece together
what was happening based on one side of the phone conversation.

         
“I knew something was wrong,” Justin wailed. “I just knew it. You’ve lost
weight, your color’s all off, you walk funny, and every once in a while your
memory seems weak...” He sniffed. “You should have told us from the start.”

         
“What?” Tony asked. “Who should’ve told us what?”

         
“I wasn’t ready,” she confessed. “It’s a lot to digest.”

         
“Oh, God, Belle, can’t they do something for you? Radiation? Chemo? A
transplant of some kind?”

         
“Yeah, sure, Justin,” she retorted. “A transplant. People are lining up to
donate their brains to needy patients.”

         
“You know what I mean. Maybe if they just remove the diseased portion if it’s
not too...” He must have realized how close he came to insulting her
intelligence with that line because he switched gears on the next breath.
“Forget it. I’m upset and I’m talking stupid.”

“It’s
okay,” she replied. “Believe me, no matter what you say, it won’t sound half as
stupid as the things I’ve thought since I first heard the diagnosis.”

“You’re
coming back here, Belle,” he insisted. “You’ll stay with Tony and me. We’ll
make sure you eat well. We’ll get you the best specialists. You can rest and
not worry about anything. We’ll figure out a way to make you better if we have
to travel the world to find you a cure. I saved your life when you tried to
kill yourself by getting to you with minutes to spare. I’m not about to lose
you to some lame brain cancer. We’re gonna beat this, too.”

By
now, Tony had managed to grasp the gist of the situation and sank into the
chair at the kitchen table across from Justin. At Justin’s declaration, he
nodded with so much emphasis, the tears he’d struggled to hold back slid in
silver streams down his cheeks. “Absolutely,” he shouted so she could hear him.
“Whatever you need. We’re your family. We’ll fix it together. Come home, Belle.
Where you belong.”

On
the other side of the conversation, Isabelle sniffed back her own tears. “Thank
you. But, for now, I need to stay here. Figure out what I’m going to do with
the time I have left.”

Justin’s
sigh punctuated the air between them. “Who’s your doctor?”

“Regalbuto
out of Cedars-Sinai. He’s good, Justin. I’m just too far gone for conventional
treatment. The tumor’s in a dicey spot, and it’s big.”

“So
what’s the next step?”

“He’s
recommended an aggressive radiation therapy treatment, but—”

“Good.
When do you start?”

“I
haven’t said yes yet. I’m not sure I want to go through it.”

“Why
not? Belle, if it can save your life, why wouldn’t you?”

“Because
he’s already said it’s a long shot. And the side effects if something goes
wrong aren’t pretty. Loss of basic motor skills, impaired vision, paralysis...”

“All
the more reason why you need to stay with us. Your choice. You can either come
back here, or we’ll move into your mausoleum. Whichever you choose, Tony and I
are going to take care of you through the whole process.”

“It’s
going to get really ugly at the end, binky,” she warned. “I’m not blowing smoke
up your butt.”

“So?
You think we’ve never seen ugly before? You think your brand of suffering is
worse than that of the friends and family we’ve lost over the years?”

Right.
Shame inflamed her cheeks. She’d forgotten the HIV victims they’d cared for,
Tony’s niece who’d died of leukemia, and of course, Justin’s mother. “No.”

“Come
home, sweetheart. But first, call Dr. Regalbuto and tell him to sign you up for
the treatment. No matter what happens, Tony and I will be there for you.”

As
she hung up the phone, she cast her eyes at the sky. Sean’s clipboard zeroed in
on her face, on the relief filling her expression with misty happiness. “Thank
you. Without your help, I don’t think I would have had the courage to tell
them.”

“You’re
welcome.” He touched his fingers to the image of her cheek, and she blinked as
if she felt the contact.

“How’s
she
doing?”                                                     

Sean
looked up into Xavia’s interested expression. Regular games of orb ball had
rejuvenated her, although a tint of gray still muddied her aura every once in a
while. “We’re making progress. Her friends will stand by her, which gives her a
good support base. That’s a lot more than you and I ever had, eh?” She turned
to walk to her office, but he lobbed one additional comment in her direction.
“By the way, that reminds me. Why didn’t you tell me she can hear me outside
her dreams?”

She
pivoted back to face him. “What do you mean?”

“The
dream thing. I mean, I’m only physically there with her in her dreams, but she
can hear me talk to her when she’s awake.”

“Wait.
What do you mean, you’re ‘physically there with her?’ Do you mean you actually
travel between here and Earth? Like you did as a bounty hunter?”

Confused,
he hesitated. “Well...yeah. Doesn’t everybody?”

“No.”
She perched one hip on the desk edge. “Tell me, in detail, exactly what happens
between you two.”

“When
she’s awake or when she’s asleep?”
          “Awake or asleep. The
impact is the same. Let’s start with the first time you
transported
to
her. When was that?”

“Umm...the
first time we talked, I guess.” He shrugged.

“In
the hospital?”
          “No. After she was
discharged. At Justin Penn’s house. She started dreaming about a stroll on some
boardwalk, and I used the opportunity to slip into her subconscious. Only I
didn’t stay in her subconscious. Suddenly, wham! There I was, seated on a bench
beside her.”

“Are
you sure you didn’t imagine it? Maybe you miss that part of your job so much that
your
subconscious is placing you there?”

He
glared at her with impatience. “I may not have spent a lot of time in this
department, but I was a bounty hunter for eons.”

“That’s
my point—”

“Unh-unh.
Let me finish. I’ve gone to thousands of locales to bring back spirits. I’ve
visited horse farms, hospitals, restaurants, all kinds of places with unique
sensory qualities. And I’m telling you, I experienced things with Isabelle I
haven’t felt since my suicide.”
          “Like what?”

“Like
the taste of salt air on my tongue. Like scaring seagulls into flight with a
wave of my hand. Like a person’s fingers curling around mine.”

“You
touched
her?” Her eyes widened, and she leaned closer to him as if
gauging the truth in his expression.

“Yes.
And
she
touched me.”

“More
than once?”
          “She even put her head
on my shoulder. And the last time I visited her, she had a headache—a headache
that
I
felt in my own skull.” He leaned back, pushing the clipboard to
the farthest corner of his desk, shielding Isabelle from any scrutiny. Unease
dripped inside him in rainy rivulets. “I’m beginning to think none of this is
normal procedure.”

“Hell,
no!” The denial came out as a shout, and she stole a quick glance at the other
probation officers, but none raised their heads, remaining focused on their
offenders. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You may have done all kinds of
things as a bounty hunter, but none of what you’ve just described is supposed
to happen between you and your offender in this department.”

“Really?
How do you suppose I got so lucky?”

She
shook her head. “I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is that maybe the
Elders forgot to recircuit you before you were transferred here. I’m guessing
there’s a difference between how bounty hunters are wired, compared to the rest
of us. You guys are the only ones able to travel between realms. I would
imagine, somewhere inside you, you’ve still got inter-realm communication
possibilities left over from your former vocation.”

A
mistake by the Elders? “No way.” He folded his arms over his chest. “The Elders
don’t miss a trick. If I have some ability other probation officers don’t, it’s
not an oversight. It’s intentional.”

The
dull patina darkened her aura again. “It’s a trick,” she murmured. “Some kind
of test.”

“Yeah,”
he growled. “I have a feeling the bastards are setting me up for a major league
fall. They must think I’m gonna screw up so badly they’ll have a reason to get
rid of me for good.” Like Luc and Jodie.

“What
are you going to do?”

“Prove
them wrong.”

                                                                        
~~~~                

From the safety
of her closed office, Xavia watched Sean Martino hover over his clipboard. In
the entire time he’d worked in this department, he had never been out of her
sight—except when she met with her Elder Counselor. And even then, he found her
there outside the auditorium. So, how could he transport to Earth to be with
his offender—to touch and be touched by her!—while still at his desk here?

Was it possible
the Elders had screwed up his circuitry? Or had Sean pegged their true motives
with his “test” theory? And if this was a test, where did she fit into the
puzzle? She sank into the chair behind her desk and planted her face in her
hands.

Goddammit, why’d
they have to stick him in
her
department? Every time she thought she had
the hang of this place, someone played, “Let’s fuck with Xavia,” and threw her
off the sanity ledge.

Still, she had
to admit. She had pretty much done a one-eighty on her assessment of Sean
Martino. Well, maybe more like a one-ten or one-fifteen. Not a full about-face,
but she had a more positive opinion of him now than she had when he first
strutted into her office. And a much lower opinion of the Elders.

At least, his
orb ball game had helped release some of her pent-up frustration. Too bad she
couldn’t form an orb that resembled Uriah’s head. Her thoughts shocked her, and
she glanced around to make sure no one read her mind. Stupid, really. If her
Elder Counselor wanted to spy on her, he didn’t have to be in the same room.

When she’d first
discovered the sensory link that allowed the Elder Council members access to
every aspect of their charges here—including thoughts—she’d thanked her unlucky
stars she never had to be naked or vulnerable since her demise. The dead never
showered or used a toilet, a major upside to no longer being a human: no
indignity to fret over.

Plenty of other
worries existed—like keeping another poor being on Earth from winding up here.
Picking up her clipboard, she followed the downward spiral of her newest case:
Nicole Zuniga. Nicole’s pain-filled eyes took center position on her screen.

The teenaged
daughter of a single mom, Nicole had fallen hard for the school’s star
basketball player, allowed him to ply her with alcohol at a party and, in her
drunkenness, suffered indignities that were recorded by classmates before going
viral on the Internet. When even her closest friends began taunting her for her
lewd behavior, she caved to the peer pressure and overdosed on over-the-counter
sleep aids.

Her suicide
attempt only fueled her classmates’ animosity toward her—so much so that Nicole
became physically ill with dread at the prospect of returning to school.

Her one ally,
besides Xavia, was her mother, who beseeched the Board of Education, local
government officials, and eventually took to the media in her quest for help
for Nicole. Becoming a cause célèbre, however, only alienated Nicole even more.
Total strangers weighed in about her situation with comments that ran the gamut
from “She shouldn’t have put herself in that position,” to “The boys involved
should be castrated or gang-raped in jail.” As publicity about her story grew,
Nicole fell deeper into a prison of loneliness and depression.

With Malik’s loss
still wounding her, Xavia doubled her efforts to save Nicole. She would
not
allow bullies to steal another child’s bright future.

The biggest
problem in dealing with teenage offenders was their refusal to understand that
the high school years made up a miniscule portion of their lives. Unable to
fully grasp the concept that most of life’s problems were temporary, they fell
prey to despair and, too often, death.

Not this time.
Xavia would kill herself again before allowing Nicole to come to that miserable
end. She just had to find a way to reach the child. Easier thought than done,
though. How could she take away the shame, the betrayal Nicole felt, and
replace those emotions with hope?