Forty-Four Book Twelve (44 series 12) Read online

  When we drove to the hospital that final time, she barely weighed a hundred pounds and was gasping just to breathe. The disease had the upper hand and as we made our way through the streets and I saw her pale, anguished face glowing in the darkness, it hit me that death would be a blessing.

  As the memory of Kate and I arguing at the mortuary came rushing back, the sweet smell of pine was replaced by the stink of rotting flowers and death hanging thick in the stale air.

  “We don’t need to look in here,” I whispered. “Mom already picked out the one she wanted to be buried in. Let’s go.”

  But Kate had ignored me. She was eyeing the dark wood coffin in the corner and we walked over to it slowly. She ran her fingers across the smooth, polished surface.

  “Your mother must have been very special for you to be looking at that one,” the man said.

  His teeth were too white and his words rehearsed. He could just as easily have been selling parcels of swampland or used cars. I tried to catch Kate’s eye, but she didn’t pay attention.

  Instead she nodded at him.

  “Well, you have excellent taste. That one there is made of mahogany. It’s the Mercedes of our showroom.”

  “Kate, let’s go,” I said.

  I could feel something bubbling deep inside me, making its way to the surface.

  “How much?”

  “Kate, no.”

  “Abby, shut up. How much is it?”

  “It comes in just under ten thousand,” the man said. “But, of course, we would apply the fifteen hundred she’s already paid. That would bring it down some.”

  “Kate, let’s go.”

  “How about I give you two a little privacy?” he said, staring at me. “But just to let you know, we do have one available in the back.”

  “Please, Kate. There’s nothing here we need.”

  But she wouldn’t budge. It was as if the coffin was hypnotizing her.

  “Abby, give me a minute to think!”

  “What’s wrong with the one she picked out?”

  “It’s too plain and simple. And… it’s not right. It’s not right because that wasn’t her. She wasn’t plain and simple. She was special, just like that asshole said.”

  “You’re being stupid,” I said. “It’s what she wanted. And she did that for us, so this wouldn’t happen. But here we are anyway.”

  Kate was a million miles away. I wasn’t even sure she could hear me. Her hand fell into the coffin, over the satin interior, brushing across the pocket where you could place pictures. She touched the small pillow.

  “Maybe we can get a collection going or something,” she said, her eyes wild. “You know, from the family. Maybe her friends would chip in and help out.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure what family she was referring to and all of our mom’s friends seemed to ride bikes to work and had roommates. We didn’t know anyone who drove a Mercedes, let alone could afford to be buried in one.

  “She wouldn’t want this, Kate,” I said again. “It’s not who she was. It’s not who we are.”

  “You’re saying she doesn’t deserve the best?”

  “Of course that’s not what I’m saying.” My voice was ragged and getting louder. “I’m saying that it’s not the best. There is no best here. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. It does matter.”

  And that’s when I lost it.

  I started yelling at her and then screaming and then crying. Tears flew out of my eyes and down my hot face. I had never felt like that before. Standing here in this peaceful workroom, I couldn’t remember the words, they were muffled and distorted through time and space, but I could still taste the anger at the back of my throat. All the pain and heartache that had turned to heartbreak exploded out of me like lava from a volcano.

  Thankfully, Kate saw the snap.

  She stared at me with softer eyes and then wrapped her arms around my quivering body, pulling me into her. We stood there for a long time like that, me sobbing out of control with my face buried in her chest.

  “Shhh, it’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay. You’re right, Abby. You’re right. Let’s get out of here. We’re going to get through this. We have each other and we’re going to get through this. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  CHAPTER 30

  I stand on a beach at twilight watching the water gently lap up onto the sand. The sky is thick with low hanging clouds, moving quickly above me. The air has a chill to it, full of the smells of fish and salt and seabirds. Behind me is the house where I once stayed when I was kidnapped. I can see the windows and the lights inside and the front door. I can see the dock that stretches out into the water. I can see the small boat.

  I look down and see that I’m carrying a sword. I grasp it tightly as I bring it up and stare at it. It feels heavy and yet right in my hand.

  I stand tall, whisper three Hail Marys, before my eyes catch the dark figure coming down the beach toward me in the distance. As it gets closer, I see that it is the man I’ve come here to meet, dressed in black, his step full of dark purpose. His hair is swept back and he too is carrying a sword.

  I take in a deep breath to steady my nerves. And then another. I remind myself that I am strong, a warrior of the light. I am strong and I am ready. I will move as swift as the wind and bring upon him the force that turns rock to sand. I will attack like the fire and be as still as the mountains across the water.

  A light drizzle begins to fall. I hear seagulls. I smell the ocean water. The waves keep lapping at the beach. I stand, waiting to cut him down.

  There is a gleam in his eye as he walks up, stopping just a few feet away. He’s within striking distance. But as soon as I have the thought and begin to judge and measure the distance between us, he reads my mind and moves back a few steps. His eyes laugh. His expression reflects his arrogance.

  “As always, Abigail, a pleasure,” he says, his voice full of honey and vinegar. “It’s been too long.”

  I look into his eyes and then study him.

  “I’ve been waiting for you. It seems we’ve been dancing around each other for so long. It’s time to bring this to a close.”

  He lifts his sword, kissing it with mine.

  I say nothing but hit back.

  And the battle begins.

  He attacks first and lunges at me, but I’m agile and quickly jump out of the way. At the moment he shifts his feet, I strike like lightning, full strength toward his chest, but miss and fall to the ground. I get up fast and back away, narrowly missing the tip of his blade.

  “I thought you might enjoy knowing what I have in store for you when this is over.” He circles around me slowly. “When I rip your heart from your chest, I will display it prominently. Say, in the study where we talked? Or perhaps the mantle above the fireplace. I have already picked out the crystal chalice where it will be housed.”

  Again he lashes out, barely missing me, as the sword whispers by my right ear.

  The dark sky clears and the fight continues long into the night. As the stars shine bright overhead, I can see that he is finally slowing down. His will is still strong, but something has been lost. The speed is no longer there when he attacks and he has become vulnerable when he defends my counters. I am close to victory.

  We circle each other again.

  “It’s time to give in, Abigail. To accept your fate.”

  “I accept your death,” I say, the first words I’ve spoken. “Nothing more.”

  He still has the energy to laugh and his eyes dance in the moonlight.

  “You cheated Death the last time you were here on this island,” he says. “His wait has been long, but I suspect it will be all the sweeter.”

  The gurney pops in my mind. The one I was strapped to. The swimming pool is there again, below me. And the scientists standing around with clipboards, watching me die.

  I attack him from a place of anger and vengeance, knowing at once it is a terrible mistake.

  His blade is surp
risingly swift as it enters my chest. I drop to my knees, staring up and seeing a smile sweep across his face.

  “Farewell, Abby.”

  He pushes it in the rest of the way, the pain so terrible, the end so quick, that I barely hear his wild laughter or the first words of a forgotten prayer as they gurgle in my throat.

  CHAPTER 31

  As the frogs croaked into the early morning hours, I sat out on the porch dwelling on my death. How many was this now? How many times had I failed? Five? Or was it six? I wasn’t sure. Even in my own visualizing exercises, I couldn’t beat Nathaniel Mortimer.

  I held the St. Christopher’s medal between my fingers, thinking that Abuelita had been right. I wasn’t going to get through this in one piece. Darkness would prevail and my death would be left in its wake, insignificant in the big picture as my birth was the day I was born.

  But at least I knew why I had lost.

  It wasn’t because of some physical shortcoming. I was strong and fit in the battle, from beginning to end. I felt the power surging through me. That wasn’t it. And it wasn’t because I was scared like I had been in those other battles. On this occasion I didn’t flinch when I saw him walking toward me. I was able to fight him to a standstill. I might have even had the upper hand, especially as the battle raged on. He was growing weary. I had seen it in his eyes.

  I lost because I had allowed him to get under my skin. He was talking throughout as was his habit and in the end the things he said wore down my focus as much as my physical strength wore upon him. In the end, I succumbed to the strain like Zidane had done in that World Cup final under the merciless taunting of Materrazi. One lapse in concentration. That’s all it took.

  I gave myself over to anger and he killed me.

  If there was any chance at all to beat him, I would have to keep my emotions in check. But that wouldn’t be so easy. I had managed the fear. But that wasn’t enough. When he spoke, it was nearly impossible for me to ignore the things he said.

  I closed my eyes and listened to the night.

  I wasn’t ready to die. I thought of my life back home in Bend, of all the people I loved. More than anything I wanted to see them again. I wanted to talk with Kate over tea by the fire late into the night and go out to the clubs with David. I wanted to cook again and get back to school to finish my degree. I wanted to hear Miguel’s stories about working with that French drill sergeant and I wanted to sip cocoa on a snowy evening in front of Lyle and Paloma’s hot chocolate cart. But most of all, I wanted to see Ty. Even if he hated me. Not to say anything. Not to tell him I was sorry or how much I loved him. But just to see him again. One more time. One last time…

  It was late and time to get to bed. But as I started to head inside, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It was faint at first, but it grew louder as I stood there listening.

  A ghost moaning in the night.

  CHAPTER 32

  But it wasn’t a ghost.

  It was Anna.

  I walked over to her bungalow and cleared my throat so I wouldn’t scare her as I came into view. But it didn’t work.

  “It’s Elizabeth, from next door. Didn’t mean to jar you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  She was sitting on her porch in the dark, but I could make out her tear-streaked face.

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was nasally. “Well, nothing a couple shots of whiskey wouldn’t cure. If only...”

  “I hear that,” I said.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  She blew her nose into a tissue.

  “No. I was up dealing with my own demons. I guess some nights just aren’t meant for sleeping.”

  “Want to sit down a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  I took a chair. The frogs had finally gone to bed and the grass looked like a black ocean beneath the bright moonlight.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I said.

  “I don’t think it would help. I’m beyond words. Right now I’m like a spider stuck in the toilet, trying to crawl up the slick porcelain sides. And there are times when I wonder if I should just jump in the water and get it over with.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. But when she looked over at me, her expression softened.

  “It’s just been a stupid night. Most of the time during the day the past seems just that, the past. But at night sometimes it’s so real you can almost reach out and touch it. It swallows you up and that’s all there is. There’s no present, no future. Just the terrible things you’ve done. And there’s no escaping it.”

  I didn’t have to use too much imagination to be able to relate to what she was saying.

  “So what’s your story?” she said. “With all those books you’re always reading, it’s like you’re here studying for finals or something.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess the walls were closing in. My life was getting seriously out of control and I knew I had to get away for a while before things got real ugly. Real ugly. The reading just helps to relax me.”

  She nodded.

  “I asked Sister Ruth today if I could stay a little longer,” she said. “I was expecting her to say no, but she was nice about it and told me that I could. She gave me another week. Of course, I have to keep up with my chores.”

  “Good of her.”

  “Yeah, I think she’s one of those ‘bark is louder than their bite’ types. Underneath that harsh nun armor, she’s got heart. But I guess you know that, right? You must have got through to her ’cause you said you’ve been here a while.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said.

  We fell into a long silence after that.

  “You got a boyfriend?” she said finally.

  I shook my head.

  “No, not anymore. How about you?”

  “I do, but I shouldn’t. He’s bad news and I have this habit of always going back to him. That’s mostly why I’m here. Trying to kick free of him. In high school I fell in with a bad crowd. Roy was part of that and I’ve been with him off and on ever since. He’s forced me to do…” She sucked in some air and looked down at her feet. “Well, things I’m not too proud of.”

  It sounded like the flash I had seen of her with a bruised face had been real.

  “But you’re here now,” I said.

  “I’m here now. So you’re friends with that guy who lives out by the trail? I see you talking to him sometimes.”

  “Father Carmichael?”

  “Father? He’s a priest, huh? I didn’t know that. He didn’t say anything about it when he introduced himself.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment. When we had talked that first day, Father Carmichael told me right away that he was a priest. I wondered if this meant he had come to a decision about leaving the Church.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Sorry. What were you saying?”

  “I was saying that he talked me into going to confession for the first time in a long time,” she said. “I thought it would make me feel better, but I don’t think it did.”

  I nodded.

  “Do you believe in forgiveness?” she said, her voice as small as a church mouse. “I mean, do you think that God forgives you if you’ve done things that are really, really terrible?”

  When I thought of Nathaniel, I didn’t want to believe in forgiveness. He had destroyed so many lives, mine included, that I wanted him to suffer and die with all the vengeance and wrath found in the Old Testament.

  But Charlie Modine was different. He had killed his wife and when Samael finally forced him to face what he had done, the truth of it crushed him. I believed he was sincerely sorry and I always hoped that he would somehow find forgiveness. And what about Samael himself? Would God forgive him his sins, whatever they were? Whatever an angel had to do to be cast out of Heaven, it had to be pretty bad.

  Jesse was also in need of forgiveness. He was driving too fast that day and he had paid the ultimate price, cutting his own life short and almost taking
me with him. I knew he was still haunted by it.

  And what about my part in it? Was I the domino that set things in motion that day? Did I distract him just enough right before the car hit the ice?

  “I don’t know, Anna,” I said after a while. “All I know for sure is that there are a lot of us who need it.”

  She drew in a breath and let it out slowly.

  “It would take a big heart to forgive the things I’ve done.”

  “Well, if it’s true that Jesus died for our sins, maybe a small part of Him died for you. And for me.”

  “I hope that’s true,” she said, looking out. “I really do.”

  CHAPTER 33

  As I waited for Sister Charlotte to get back from making copies, I glanced over at the wall behind her desk and saw that she had replaced the broken frame. The picture still showed some signs of water damage, but it wasn’t too bad. It was now displayed in a larger, matted silver frame and was hanging on the wall.

  I was helping her organize a small art conference that was scheduled for the weekend. It was that workshop on painting religious icons. My job was to gather all the copies necessary to fill fifty packets.

  After Sister Charlotte returned with a huge stack, we brought in a large table and laid the papers out in piles. She gave me some folders and I started writing the names on the covers.

  “I was glad to see that the picture survived okay,” I said. “That’s a nice frame.”

  “Yes. Elizabeth, I’m sorry about all that. I apologize if I came across like I was blaming you or something. It wasn’t my intention.”

  She gave me a small smile.

  “Don’t worry about it. I understand. I would be upset too.”

  She took the picture off the wall and brought it over.

  “That’s Kristy,” she said. “She was my older sister. We were very close.”

  “Where was that taken?”

  “Caddo Lake. We went fishing there every summer with my dad. That was our last summer together. She died the following year.”