Aaron had no idea how long it had been since he’d been ripped away from his glimpse of nirvana, but the vortex slowed again, suspending him in front of a red door with a brass handle this time. He turned away. The door turned with him, placing itself directly in front of him. Closing his eyes didn’t help either; the door still floated in the blackness, taunting him. He shook his head. Whatever was behind this door wasn’t something he was ready to face. When the handle turned, his whole body trembled. And then the portal swung open, and Aaron’s stomach rolled.
Beyond the door, Quinn, in a tight black dress, stood in the cemetery of St. Angeles. Sunglasses swallowed her face, hiding her eyes from his. Misery and remorse pulsed through her, and he could feel every tear falling from her cheek. Her emotions jumbled inside her like a box of broken glass, each one slicing into his soul as she mourned the loss of someone she loved. Aaron swallowed the boulder in his throat. Not just anybody—him. This was his funeral.
“Quinn!” His voice sounded hollow, empty. “I’m here. Look at me.” She stared at the ground; he felt guilt pinch her gut as his name crossed her lips like a prayer. Could she sense him? The longing to hold her in his arms overwhelmed him, and he balled his fists at his sides. Aaron ached to run to her, but he remained trapped in the dark tunnel that held him, forced to be a voyeur to her pain. Would the torture ever end? If he could get through the portal, he would be home, with her. Closing his eyes, he focused all his thoughts on walking through the doorway and into the cemetery, but his body was stuck, suspended between life and death.
“I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.” He sent out his appeal, a steady knock against the door that could bring him home. Quinn could bring him home, if she would just look at him. “Please, look at me. Please help me. I want to come home. Dammit. Look at me!” Fingers clawed at the air, and his soul begged to be released.