“Cary? Cary, open your eyes.”
The voice echoed in his head, but sounded distant. Chloe?
“He’s waking up. Call a nurse. Call a nurse.”
No, not Chloe. His sister, Kelly.
He started to open his eyes, but they felt glued shut. He took a deep breath, and the scent took him back. Back in time. Back when he was sitting beside his mother in the hospital.
What the hell was happening?
Cary forced his eyes open. He wasn’t in the hospital. He was back in Room Six. But he could swear. . . He remembered talking to Chloe, being in her bed. Had he physically been at Chloe’s place, or had she been right and it was just a dream? He looked around the room and they were one person short. It took him a second to realize it was Susie Talbot, the woman with the bad hip that had stopped hurting.
He looked at Beatrice Bacon, who he thought had the most snap in the room. She had her nose stuck in a book with a half-naked guy on the cover. The seat next to her was open, so he stood and moved to sit beside her. She lowered the book and stared at him over the spine.
“What?” she asked.
“Susie’s gone?”
“Yup. She got moved up to Room Eight.”
“What happens in Room Eight?”
“She’s passing over.”
“Sorry.” He inhaled. He thought of hearing his sister’s voice. Of talking to Chloe. Of kissing Chloe. More than ever he hoped the next bell was for him. He wanted to live.
“Don’t be. She’s ready.”
He finally got the nerve to ask. “Did I . . . go anywhere?”
She nodded. “You were given a pass. I hope you used it wisely.”
“Wisely? What was I supposed to do?”
“I can’t tell you that. He gave you brains and wants you to figure it out yourself.”
“He?” he asked.
She pointed to the ceiling.
“Really?”
“Really. That said, I imagine the pass had something to do with that girl you were connected with.”
“Connected? To what girl? Chloe? The girl who was here?”
“Yup. Wasn’t that where you went?”
He nodded. How the hell did she know where he’d gone? “But I’m not connected with her. I mean, I like her, and I’ll admit I’m attracted to her. But . . .” The word ‘connected’ sounded serious. He didn’t do serious.
“You two didn’t talk?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah. Some.”
“So what did you do?”
He just smiled and decided to let her assume.
“Oh, please,” she said sarcastically. “He doesn’t send people on booty calls.”
Cary frowned. “I didn’t say we . . .” He passed a hand over his face and stared at the door. He hadn’t tried walking out. Could he? All the sudden the answer just seemed to be there. There was no leaving until the bell rang. He glanced at Beatrice. She’d gone back to reading.
After a few minutes, he asked, “Exactly what do you mean by ‘connected?’”
She lowered the book and studied him. “You’re a cop, you figure it out.”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Then it occurred to him. “Wait. How do you know I’m a cop?”
“How? Maybe I’m more than just a smart ol’ lady. What are you, other than a coward?”
“You think I’m a coward?” he asked, completely confused, suddenly questioning his earlier judgment of her being the sharpest senior citizen here. She was as bat-shit crazy as the rest of them. A coward? He wasn’t a coward!
“You’re scared,” she accused. “Now, right now. You’re scared.”
“I’m uneasy, yes. For all I know, I’m gonna die, but I wouldn’t call myself a coward.”
“I didn’t mean about dying, you numb nuts. About living. Dying is easy. Living is hard. You’re scared about meeting Chloe.”
“I live. I did anyway.” Cary decided to forget the mention of Chloe.
“You call what you did living? I’m getting more real emotion off this fictional book than I’ve gotten off of peeking into your last four flings.”
His mouth dropped open. “Peeking in on my flings? How could you. . .” Four? That had been how many women he’d been with in the last two years. Oh, hell, nothing was impossible up here. He frowned at her.
“You say the same thing to all of them. ‘Oh, baby, you do it for me.’ I admit you went out of your way to make sure they enjoyed it physically. You’ve got the tools to get the job done. But emotionally you’re a cold fish and a terrible lover.”
“I . . . I . . . What are you, some kind of supernatural voyeur?”
“No, it’s my job.”
“Your job?”
She leaned in and quietly whispered, “I’m an angel of love.”
“You’re Cupid.” He laughed. “Cupid reads romance novels?”
She frowned. “Hey, how else am I going to keep up with how things are done? And frankly, young man, you should try to read one, you might learn a thing or two about real emotion.”
“This is nuts.”
“And . . .” Beatrice added, “I didn’t say I was Cupid. I said I was an angel of love. I don’t like being compared to a half-naked cherub. That guy gave us all a bad name. He’s crazy. Shooting people with that bow and arrow is insane.”
“You are insane,” Cary said.
“And you’re still a coward.” She stuck her nose back in the book. He sat there thinking about his pass to see Chloe, and wondering if he’d messed up by not doing something he should have.
“Hey?” he said, and gently pushed her book down a few inches to see her eyes.
She glared at him over the spine of the book. “I’m in a good scene, if you don’t mind. With real emotion, not the fake crap you dish out. Seriously, you didn’t enjoy that last girl.”
He let out a deep huff of frustration. “Look, I’m sorry I offended you, but I have a few questions.”
She didn’t agree to answer his inquiries, but she didn’t move her book up either and her gray eyes stayed locked with his. As crazy as it seemed, he spotted intelligence in her eyes.
“This pass thing, how was I supposed to have used it?”
She hit him in the head with her book. “Aren’t you a cop? Didn’t they train you at all? Where did you get your license? At the bottom of a Cracker Jacks box?”
“We don’t get . . .” She hit him again. He rubbed his head and halfway considered arresting her for assaulting an officer. But frankly he didn’t know if his badge was good up here. Up here? Had he accepted he was really . . . “What am I missing?”
She frowned. “Weren’t you shown how Chloe almost met her maker?”
He nodded. “Yeah, but . . .”
“Did you notice anything? Besides the size of her breasts?”
His mind went to her breasts. Then he remembered that the truck that had hit Chloe had looked like the same truck driven by the person who shot him. Had it been? Had it been the same person? What did that mean?
Shit. Beatrice was right, he’d stopped thinking like cop. He needed to figure out who had shot him and if it was the same person who ran over Chloe.
And she was back. Back there. Could she be . . . in danger? “Okay, I get what you’re saying, but to do my job you need to send me back.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do-overs. Why is it that you humans always ask for do-overs?” She looked up at the ceiling. “And you! You promised me that this was going to be an easy one!”
• • •
“Chloe?” The voice stirred her from the deep sleep, but it didn’t wake her up.
“Hmm?” She rolled over and let herself sink into her pillow. The Egyptian cotton felt cool on her cheek.
“I need to talk to you.”
The little alarm bell seemed to chirp. It was him again—Johnny Depp/Cary Stevens. Her imaginary boyfriend. Lifting her lids, she saw him stretched out beside her.
He’d kissed her. She remembered what his lips tasted like.
“You aren’t real.” She bit down on her bottom lip.
“Just listen, okay?”
She didn’t answer.
“You were hit by a black Chevy truck, and I was shot by a guy driving a black Chevy truck. I think it’s the same guy. I’m worried that—”
“Why do I keep dreaming about you?”
“You need to listen. You could be in danger.”
She blinked. “There’re a lot of black Chevy trucks.”
“Not that many without front license plates. And the truck that hit you didn’t have one, did it?”
She let herself remember. Saw it barreling towards her. Her heart leapt. “No,” she said a little breathless.
“What happened when you came back here? Have you seen—”
“Here, my apartment?” she asked.
“No, when you left Room Six. Did you just show up here?”
“No, I was in the middle of the street on a stretcher. A paramedic was over me.”
“Were the cops called out? Do the cops know about this?”
“Yes. They came to the hospital and questioned me.”
“Did you tell them about the missing license plate?”
She sat up. “No, I didn’t remember that until you mentioned it. I told them about the black, possibly Chevy truck, and that I saw the driver.”
He sat up, too. “You saw the driver?”
“Yes, I’m supposed to go down to the station tomorrow.” She glanced at her clock on the bedside table. It was almost six. “Today.”
“What station? What county did your accident happen in?”
“Hoke’s Bluff.”
“Damn.”
“What?” she asked.
“I was in Glencoe. So they might not be looking at your case and mine as linked.” He stood up and paced at the foot of her bed while he threaded his fingers behind his neck and squeezed. The he stopped and faced her. “Look, Beatrice is saying shit that makes me believe that you might be in danger. Are you sure what happened to you was an accident?”
“Yes, he wasn’t even looking up when he hit me. I think he was texting or something.”
“How good of a look did you get? Could you describe him?”
She nodded. “That’s why I’m going to the police station. They’re going to have someone do a sketch.”
“What did he look like?” he asked.
“He was blond, fair skin, too fair. Like . . .”
“Albino?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Shit. I think I know who it is. A kid. J.D. Andrews. I think it’s Andrews.”
“Who?”
“He’s a kid mixed up with the Black Bloods gang. A couple of months ago we arrested him and questioned him about selling drugs.” Cary did another two laps at the end of her bed. “Damn it, I need to get in touch with Danny.”
“Danny?” she asked.
“My partner.”
A bell rang. He looked up and then back at her. “That’s not for me. It’s your door bell.”
• • •
Chloe woke up. A ringing filled her head. She looked around the room to make sure she was alone. Of course she was alone. She grabbed her pillow and hugged it and her heart commenced to pounding a little faster.
The ring started again. He was right. It was her doorbell. No, he wasn’t right. There was no ‘he.’ He didn’t exist. He wasn’t real.
He was just . . . her imaginary boyfriend.
Cary Stevens was a figment of her imagination.
Someone pressed her doorbell again and then again. Still feeling groggy, she looked at her clock. Six a.m. Who would be at her door at this time?
She popped out of bed and went into her living room. A loud knock sounded at the door. Cupcake ran out of the kitchen and darted into the bedroom. She almost wanted to join her. Her gut said whoever was poking at her doorbell could not be bringing good news. Good news only arrived after eight.
“Who is it?” she asked, moving a little closer to the door and hugging her pillow tighter.