Until I Die Again [On The Way To Heaven] (Soul Change Novel) (28 page)

He gave her an odd look. “I’d say you were crazy. Why would you want to do that?”

She sat up straight, her shoulders stiff. “Crazy enough to put me away in the Sharp Rehabilitation Center?”

“The what? Oh.” His face colored. “You heard about that?”

“I overheard you and Dr. Hughes talking about it in the hospital. I’m not crazy.”

“Hallie, it’s one thing to chase your dreams. It’s something different to chase your nightmares. They’re manifestations of some dark, subconscious part of your mind, probably a side effect of the coma. If you feel that strongly about it, I’m taking you to a doctor, just to have him listen to you. Maybe he can hypnotize you.”

Her heart raced. A doctor? A shrink? And if he wanted to hypnotize her, what would she say in her trance? They’d commit her to Sharp Rehabilitation Center for sure, and she’d never find out the meaning of her nightmares. No, she couldn’t let that happen. She froze, trying to keep the panic from her face.

“It was just a thought, nothing more. They’ll go away. If they don’t soon, then we’ll talk to someone.” She would never see a doctor about it, especially to be hypnotized. She hoped the article would clear up a few questions she had about the day of her death. Maybe once she knew all the answers, then they would go away.

“Look like you got some important mail there, Mrs. D,” Juicy said with a nod toward the envelope in her hand.

Hallie sidled up to the bar and scooted into one of the swinging chairs. “How did you know?”

His brown eyes twinkled, set off by gleaming white teeth. “I could tell you I have special powers.” He tapped a finger to his nearly bald head. “But in truth, I see how you clutch the envelope in your hand.”

He mixed her up a Hallie’s Comet and plunked it down in front of her before adding a red hibiscus flower. She pulled it out of the glass and slipped it behind her ear. Juicy mixed up a couple of drinks for poolside customers, moving with a slight bounce to the reggae music that played everywhere in Caterina. Music that now seemed a part of her soul.

She and Juicy had had many conversations over the last month and a half, but they never again talked about her aura. Every time she saw him, he smiled brightly and said, “Ello there, Mrs. D,” in that sing-song, knowing way of someone who shared a secret.

Although she couldn’t wait to read the articles that had just come in on the plane, she needed courage. She never let go of that envelope, not once during her entire drink.

When she got up to leave, Juicy said, “Be careful, Mrs. D.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Why did you say that?’

He leaned forward on the bar. “I don’t know why I say that. It just come out of my lips.”

She hesitated. “Do you chase away evil spirits, Juicy?’

He shook his head. “Oh, no, Ma’am! I stay far, far away from dem. And you should, too.”

Her heart felt like a thickened lump inside her. “What if they come after you?”

Juicy’s brown eyes grew darker. “Den I say, run from dem, sweet. Run as fast as you can.”

She found her pace brisk as she walked down the beach to the rock where she and Jamie made love the first time. Now she could find her way across the rocks, even in the dark. The afternoon sun made her squint as she ripped open the envelope. The lump inside her grew larger, pressing against her ribs. Looking at her face, at her old face, made it hard to catch her breath.

Just as Clarisse had promised, she had sent Chris’s obituary. She took a deep breath, staring out into the vast openness of the sea before shifting her gaze to the paper in front of her. Through a glaze of tears, she read her sister, Paullywog’s, goodbye letter. There was also a family photo, and Hallie pressed it to her heart for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut.

Her photo was also in the article, next to a picture of the bridge with a gaping hole in the safety railings.

HOMETOWN GIRL KILLED IN CAR ACCIDENT

Maven native Chris Copestakes, 23, plunged to her death inside her car off Crystal Bridge yesterday at approximately 6:00 p.m. She died from massive injuries at the hospital shortly after arrival. The sheriff’s department was unable to determine whether a malfunction or driver error caused her loss of control because of the condition of her automobile.

“Malfunction? It was a semi, not a malfunction!”

Copestakes’s boyfriend, Alan Messino, was distraught over the accident. “She was acting weird before she left. I shouldn’t have let her leave. I kinda thought it was PMS.”

“PMS? PMS! He’s saying that my period made me lose control of the car?” She screamed and stomped her feet on the hard, wet rock. “Why is he making it look like I lost control of the car?”

The article went on, with friends and family speculating about her state of mind. She took the pencil she had borrowed from the front desk and underlined the pertinent points. Then at the top, she wrote, “MURDER?” She made the question mark into an exclamation point.

Something flashed in her brain, accompanied by a spear of pain. Something from her nightmares, maybe? Or from her lost memories? It was Alan, clutching her in his arms, alarm ringing in his eyes.

“Please, Chris, give me a chance to explain.”

“I am. Right now. Then I’m going to the police.”

“No, you can’t do that! Let me explain it all, and then you can do what you have to. I can prove I’m innocent.” He looked desperately around, grabbed a notepad, and scribbled down an address, along with a primitive map. “Meet me there in exactly one hour. You’d better go now; it’s going to take you that long to get there. I’ve got to pick something up, the proof. Then I’ll be there.”

“Why can’t I come with you to get the proof?”

“Because…because I have to break into this guy’s apartment to get it. I don’t want you to be involved in that. Don’t look at me like that, babe. I’m not going to run. Here, the keys to my cars, my trailer. I’ll be at that address, and I will prove to you that I’m innocent.”

“Who are you really?”

“My name is Randy Vittone. Alan Messino isn’t dead. He’s the one behind this. Chris, he’s blackmailing me. I can’t go to the police, but you can. I’ll show you that Alan’s not dead. If you turn him in, then I’ll be free, and we can get married.”

The memory faded, leaving her mind clawing for more. She could feel betrayal and shock. What had she found out that Alan was going to explain? What proof was he going to get her, and who was Randy Vittone?

She shuddered, remembering the dream about Alan pulling off a mask. Then he’d revealed himself to be someone else. She tucked both articles into the mangled envelope and sat staring at nothing for a long time, wondering how much was reality, how much nightmare.

After hours of tossing and turning, it seemed like Hallie had only been asleep for a few minutes when she heard the noise. Her eyes flew open at the sound of the sickening thud of metal against bone. Then a muffled yelp from the pup. She looked around in the blackness, hoping the noises had been another nightmare. For a moment, she was lulled into that belief. Then Jamie groaned. She saw a shadow of something coming down on his head, heard another thud.

She jerked up in bed. God, this was no nightmare! The dark figure reaching for her was no figment of her dreams. The rough hands yanking her from the warm confines of bed, no illusion.

“Jamie!” she screamed as she was tugged away from his still form. She reached for him, but the figure pulled her away, holding her hair back so she had to look up to keep her scalp from disengaging from her head.

“You betrayed me, Hallie.” Mick’s voice hissed. “You gave the Manderlay back to Wainthorpe!”

“The gem doesn’t belong to us. I gave it back, and he promised not to press charges. Go steal someone else’s gem, but leave me out of it!”

“Look at you, slut! Sleeping naked next to him.”

“He’s my husband. I belong with him.”

Mick’s grip tightened on her wrist, her hair. She was almost doubled back now. “Self-righteous bitch! You and the Manderlay belong to
me.
Since I can’t have the Manderlay, I will have you. Do you understand me? You’re mine.”

“Please,” she whimpered. “Don’t hurt him.”

The wicked sneering laughter made her heart stop beating for a moment. “He’s probably dead. If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure he didn’t feel a thing.”

“Nooooo! Let me see if he’s all right.”

He yanked her arm around toward him, finally letting go of her hair. “Come on.”

She dug in her heels, leaning all her weight backward. He let her go, and she dropped to the floor. She tried to scramble under the bed, but he grabbed her ankle and yanked her backward.

“You’re coming with me. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll kill the dog, too.”

Her sobs almost obliterated her words. “Noooo! Please let me go. Go away.”

His fingernails dug down the length of her legs, harder with each word she uttered. She knew she was making him madder, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered if Jamie was dead.

No, he can’t be dead. Can’t be.

She reached for the bed and grabbed onto the sheets. Mick pulled her back and succeeded in freeing her death-grip. She had a handful of sheets. And a howl inside her like a banshee. He slapped her so hard, she had to run her tongue along her teeth to see if they were loose. The last thing she saw was the pup cowering in the corner and Jamie’s limp form in the darkness. She struggled harder, but Mick’s grip was like a steel clamp.

She wrapped the sheet around her as he dragged her through the house and down the pathway she and Jamie had so recently walked down arm in arm. Jamie, her protector and lover. When she felt something wet and sticky, she held her hand to the light. Blood. Jamie’s blood.

She cried out and dropped down to her knees, but Mick dragged her along the sand toward the beach.

“I have to go back to him. He needs me.”

“I need you, Hallie. But you deserted me. You gave our future back to Wainthorpe, then ran away.” His voice became a growl. “And you made love to him.” He leaned down to where she crawled backward to the house. “Every time you kissed him, you rammed a knife into my heart. Every time you touched him, my skin burned. But you didn’t care. I told you that you couldn’t toss me aside. You will pay, Hallie.” His breath was coming in short gasps from his rage. He clutched her chin in his fingers, but his voice rose. “And then you’ll be glad I disciplined you. You’ll be glad.”

She slapped his hand away and tried to get up to dash back home. He leapt at her, causing them to fall. He crushed her with his weight and the force of gravity, knocking the breath out of her. She glanced at the house one last time before he dragged her kicking and screaming toward the beach.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked as they headed toward the expanse of rocks. “You can’t get off this island. They’ll find you!”

He turned around and slapped her again. His brown eyes gleamed feral in the moonlight. Brown, greasy locks of hair hung down in his face. Suddenly, his eyes glazed over, and he pulled her close, stroking her head.

“I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t want this to happen. But you left me no choice. It’s your fault, don’t you see? You knew how I felt about you, how much I loved you, and you betrayed me. It’ll be fine, darling. You’ll see, I’m going to punish you for what you’ve done, and then everything will be fine.”

He was psychotic. Manic depressive. She tried to get away again, but he yanked her hair back. Damn her hair. Tears blurred everything around her, making Mick seem more distorted than he already was. She was shaking beyond control, trying to tie the sheet tighter around her. The stickiness of Jamie’s blood clung to her fingers.

Click.

“Now, darling,” Mick was saying through her dazed thoughts and the fear pounding through her brain. “Don’t make me use this.”

She stared through the blur at the knife he held poised at her chest. “Mick, don’t,” she heard herself utter, the strength draining from her.

He touched the blade to her chest, drawing a tiny line of blood down to where the sheet covered the top of her breasts.

“I’d rather see you dead than with another man, Hallie. Are you going to come nicely now?”

She nodded, afraid to move and drive the knife deeper into her skin. The stinging made her fingers curl. With his hand on her back, he guided her toward the beach as a gentleman would guide his date through the crowd at a party. They climbed the rocks, leaving Caterina behind and entering Contigua’s dense forest. Only a thin strip of beach reflected the moonlight. And there, several yards away sat a yellow raft.

She turned to him. “You’re going to kidnap me in a raft?”

He pressed close to her, and she controlled the urge to spit in his face. The sour smell of his sweat engulfed her.

“No, my darling, I plan to take you away in that.” He pointed to the sea of darkness, to the tiny light that bobbed up and down.

Her heart leaped into her throat. He was going to take her away in a boat and keep her a prisoner forever!

“Mick, you can’t do this. It’s not right; somewhere deep inside you, you know that.”

“Oh, but it is perfectly right. You made your choices when you gave that gem back. Come. And no tricks.” He held the flat, cold blade of the knife to her cheek.

She walked to the raft, which he pushed out over the wavelets and held for her. Still holding the sheet around her, she climbed in. The water, so clear and blue in the daytime, looked black and murky. Mick climbed in easily, as if he’d had lots of practice doing it.

“Row,” he ordered.

She rowed. Slowly. Then she started rowing backward toward shore again. He didn’t catch on until they were only a few short feet from shore after ten minutes of rowing.

“Hallie,” he said with a huff of impatience. “Don’t fool with me.”

“Go to hill,” she said, trying to cling to Jamie in whatever way she could. She started rowing toward the bobbing light again.

When they neared the large silhouette of the boat, Mick stood and readied himself to grab a rope. Her eyes widened as something brushed beneath the raft, then lifted Mick’s half up, knocking him off balance. In her confusion, she fell out of the raft, ready to be eaten by a shark. Her heart leapt as slick hair rose to the surface. A blond shark!