Eternally Yours 1 (13 page)

 
    “So from the following equation,” he said in monotone, “we can draw the conclusion that x equals three. Understood?”

 
    Mr. Eihler clucked his tongue. “Pitiful. Look at these poor kids. Even the honors students are hopelessly lost.”

Rising from his perch, he floated forward. He passed Jodie, traversing the aisle, knocking a book off the desk of a napping student.

     Blam!
The kid jerked awake, and a sea of heads turned in his direction. Mumbling an apology, the student slid down in his seat, eyes blinking rapidly to clear the sleep away.

 
    “As I was saying,” the teacher announced, refocusing the class's attention to the blackboard. “Once we have solved for x, we are ready to turn our attention to solving the example for xy. Understood?”

 
    Mr. Eihler shook his head. “I spend half my time just trying to keep these kids awake.”

 
    Jodie smiled. “Very ingenious way of doing so.”

 
   “It’s all I have now.” The former teacher's frown intensified. “You're here to take me away, aren't you?”

 
    Spreading her hands wide, Jodie shrugged. “‘Fraid so.”

 
    “Will you at least allow me a little time to say goodbye first?”

 
    Should she? A battle erupted inside Jodie. What if he planned to slip away while she waited here? Luc would never let her live that mistake down. And worse, she'd lose her opportunity to remove the shackles of trainee.

Still, Mr. Eihler's request seemed such an innocent thing. The town had named the school after him, for God's sake. Of course he wanted one last chance to make peace with what had occurred
. He needed to say goodbye to the students and staff. To the place where he'd spent so many hours of a well-lived life.

Damn. What should she do? What would Luc do? Ha. Easy. Luc would say something like, "Sorry but we're on a time constraint..."

Which helped her make up her mind regarding how she planned to answer the poor man's request. “How about you show me around this place before we leave?”

Luc's grumbling ran through her mind.
Careful, Devlin...

Stay out of this, Luc,
she communicated to him.
This is my bounty. I'll handle it the way I see fit.

Don't make me come up there.

Don't treat me like I'm five.

Regardless of her trainer's impatience, Mr. Eihler clearly thought her idea a splendid one.
“I'd love to show you my school!” Smiling broadly, he floated forward. “Come along then, young lady. Might I ask your name?”

“I'm Jodie Devlin, Mr. Eihler.”

“Well, then, Miss Devlin, come this way.” Hovering near the door, he waited for her to join him, and then swept a hand over the poor trapped students listening to Mr. Monotone’s soliloquy regarding x's and y's. “This, of course, was my classroom.”

“Uh-huh.”
What else could she say? She understood that territorial instinct eating at his heart. How would she feel to see the employee who took her place at work? What if Gabe had a new girlfriend? Could she bear to see him touch someone else day after day? Hear him call some other woman my lovely the way he'd always used that special endearment for her?

Ahem!
Luc cut in again.

Relax,
she told him.
I'm just speculating.

If only she could slam the door inside her mind to keep him out of the loop.

Sorry, babe. Psychic links trump doors every time.

“Shall we continue?”
Mr. Eihler cut in to her mental debate with Luc.

“Yes,”
she replied. Firmly. Loud enough to drown out any argument Luc might want to voice. "Let's go."

Mr. Eihler led her into the hall, pausing by a bank of green metal lockers littered with magazine clippings of teen heartthrobs and cartoon stickers.
One floor tile held a large red heart. “This is where...” He looked away.

“I understand,”
she said.

“
He was a good kid, straight A student all the way.” Mr. Eihler cocked his head in her direction. “Did you know that? Honestly, an excellent student. He really didn’t want to hurt anyone. But his pride…” He sighed. “His pride demanded it. You see, he’d asked a pretty sophomore to the tenth grade dance—Cheryl Ames. She agreed to go with him, and he was over-the-moon excited. Spent all the money he’d saved from his summer job on the corsage, detailing his car, even bought a tux rather than renting for the night.”

“How sweet.” Her heart, if she still had one, cracked. Somehow, knowing how the story ended made the details about the characters even more devastating.

“Like I said, he was a good kid.”

“What happened?”

“Cheryl stood him up. Said she’d never agree to go to the dance with a dweeb like him.” Mr. Eihler shook his head. “Poor Eric couldn’t face the ridicule that following Monday. He brought the gun to teach someone a lesson. To avoid the teasing and the jokes he knew he’d have to bear. Instead, he ruined his own life and ended mine.”

The last two words came out in a harsh whisper, and Jodie allowed him
a moment to regain composure. Finally she added, “Show me something happy, Mr. Eihler. Something you loved.”

To her surprise, he led her to the gymnasium.
“Didn't think a math nerd like me had a physical side, huh?”

“Umm...” she faltered. “Well...”

“Come on.” He yanked open the door, and a cacophony assailed them both. Dozens of teenage girls raced around the polished wooden floor, their sneakers squeaking as they ran relays from one side of the gym to the accordion wall fifty yards away.

Tweeeeeeeeeet
! A whistle blew and the girls stopped all motion to turn toward the sound. A willowy blonde teacher, mid-thirties in age, strode from the gym office. “Let's hit the showers, ladies!”

“
Miss Adina Kendall,” Mr. Eihler told Jodie, his tone laced with pride and admiration. “We'd only started dating a month before...the incident...but I knew from the moment I first shook her hand she was The One. Isn't she lovely?”

Once again, Jodi
e's thoughts rocketed to Gabe. “Your scars don't make you any less lovely in my eyes...”

Mr. Eihler's heavy sigh d
rew Jodie out of her memories. “I never got to tell her how much I loved her.”

“I think she knows.”

Doubt shimmered in the man's eyes. “Do you?”

Jodie of
fered him her brightest smile. “Absolutely.”

At least I hope so. For all our sakes.

With a somber nod, Mr. Eihler turned away. “I'm ready to leave now.”

“
Then take my hand.”

Chapter 11

Their next bounty involved a child, always a difficult task since, in Luc’s opinion, kids didn’t respond to logic the way most adults did. Once, he and Daphne had volunteered to watch her nephew for a week. Daphne had convinced him to take on the spoiled brat by claiming it would be “good practice.”

“You know,” she’d added with a wink, “for when we have kids of our own.”

By Tuesday, three days into the experiment, he’d sworn off ever having kids. Within those first seventy-two hours, the ten-year-old hooligan had spilled fruit punch on the white leather sofa, pulled down the silk draperies in the master bedroom, and nearly set fire to their kitchen. In fact, by the time Sunday rolled around, Luc had taken to calling the kid Damien.

Now
, when he thought about that hellish week, he sensed the ulterior motives behind his wife’s scheme. She’d never planned to have a family with him, but didn’t want to be the “bad guy.” Her nephew had simply been another means to an end in Daphne’s mind games. That experience taught him a valuable lesson: kids require limitless attention and strong, steady reins. Therefore, someone as soft as Jodie couldn’t possibly deal with the demands of some nineteenth-century boy.

D
eep down, he wanted her to fail. Not because he wanted her to remain with him. But Jodie Devlin was
not
bounty hunter material, much less ready to solo, despite the fact she thought differently. So the best option was for her to fail on the hunt. Then he could go to the Board to tell them what he already knew: she was too damn soft for this job.

Oh, sure.
Catching Eihler had been a lucky break, a fluke. The teacher was a rule-bound fellow, apt to go when called. But the little boy they sought now would no doubt prove far more difficult.

Michael Samuels wandered the ruins of Holy Arms Asylum,
where his mother had incarcerated him soon after he was diagnosed with epilepsy. After several bouts of electroshock treatment and heavy doses of drugs, Michael underwent surgery to remove part of his temporal lobe. He died from a grand mal seizure during the procedure.

When Luc and Jodie
landed among the broken slabs of concrete and weedy patches of dirt, the abandoned site sat as gray and cold as refrigerated stainless steel. Michael’s body lay buried beneath hard-packed soil. Time and weather had long ago erased his name from the wooden cross marking his plot of eternal slumber. But the child, like so many others, refused to sleep peacefully, preferring instead to wander a place barren of life, love, and laughter. As if summoned by Luc’s thoughts, a series of delighted giggles pealed across the windswept field.

Thump! Thump! Thump!
A large red rubber ball bounced toward them.

Luc caught the ball and waited, ears pricked for any sign of the child. But the laughter faded, and a pregnant silence permeated the chilled air.
He stole a glance at Jodie who hovered nearby. When the hell would the kid make a move? Stubborn brat.
Okay, fine. Let’s sit this out for a few minutes.

Time crawled. Somewhere overhead, a bird chirped. Wind rustled the few leaves clinging to skeletal branches.
Still, the boy remained hidden. Just when he considered yanking the kid out of whatever hidey-hole he’d crawled into, a spark flashed from the top of a row of overgrown bramble bushes.

“There he is!” With the ball cradled under his arm, he jabbed a finger at the orb rising into the platinum air.
“Go get him.”

A whorl of pale blue light floated forward, stopped, and then
disappeared behind the thorny stalks. In direct imitation of the boy’s actions, Jodie took a tentative step forward, and then stopped. Neither woman nor child said a word. The only sound now came from a pile of brittle leaves that skittered over the ground, rustling a windswept tune.

“Say something,” he hissed.

She shot one quick glare in his direction, a glare that clearly resonated,
Back off, pal
, before returning her attention to the bushes. “Michael?”

No answer.

Shrugging, she tried again, in a sing-song tone. “Mikey?” Silence. Then a little more firm, “Mike?”

Nothing.
The light didn’t reappear, the child made no sound. Yet, she continued to wait, frozen in place, still as an ice sculpture.

All right. Enough nonsense.
Time for him to intervene in this otherworldly stand-off. “Come along Michael Anthony Samuels,” Luc announced with the sternness of a parent. “Time to go home now.”

Rather than thank him for his help, she fired back,
Are you serious? Shut up and let me do my job.

“No!”
The boy’s emphatic denial rent the frosty air.

Luc arched an eyebrow
.
There. You see?

See what?
Jodie retorted.
You have to know how to talk to children.

From the hedgerow, l
aughter rippled again, childlike, joyful, expectant.

Expecting what
? Luc wondered. A parade? Balloons? He didn’t have a clue what would flush this kid out of the hedges.

“Mommy, I’m waiting!
”

The boy’s high-pitched call skittered icy pebbles down Luc’s spine.
Turning to Jodie, he frowned.
Okay, fine. You’re in charge, babe. The children expert. What do you suggest we do now?

An indulgent smile spread across her glowing features, sparking a
cyclone of warmth in his core.
He wants you to play with him.

Like hell!
Luc retorted.
I’m not his mommy.

She nod
ded at the ball he still held.
Toss that back.

He pulled the ball tighter against his chest, shieldi
ng it with a protective elbow.
No.

Yes.

I’m not here to waste time playing games.

She s
ighed.
I would’ve expected someone who’d never grown up to have a better grip on the way a child’s mind works. Toss the ball back, and then hide yourself somewhere.

He growled.
What fresh hell have you devised for me now?

It’s not hell
, she replied on a laugh.
It’s hide-and-seek. Or maybe dodgeball. Or some combination of the two. I’m not one hundred percent sure…

I’m not
about to play hide-and-seek with the two-hundred-year-old spirit of a six-year-old boy.

If you don’t,
I will.
Jodie inched closer to where the boy hid in the bramble bushes.
And if I do it, we could be here for a looooooong time.

As if he’d overheard their unspoken communication, Michael Anthony Samuels had the audacity to giggle.

Well? Who’s playing, Luc? You or me?

Pride warred with expediency inside
Luc’s swirling electrons. Finally, he let out a carbonated sigh. “All right, fine. I’ll play with the little brat.” With a half-hearted air, he tossed the ball.
Thump
!
Thump
!
Thump
!

Did anyone ever tell
you that you throw like a girl?

He shot Jodie a look of annoyance, and then watched the ball slow
ly bounce toward the hedgerow. When the toy’s altitude reached no higher than Luc’s ankles, a pair of small grubby hands burst from the densest bush and grabbed the bouncing ball. A moment later, the hands flung it back to Luc.

On the second toss
—this time Luc threw with a little more effort—skinny arms appeared with the hands to catch the missile. Then a stained linen shirt came into view. At last, after a dozen back-and-forth throws, a small boy stood out in the open. Dark curly hair corkscrewed around his head. Eager brown eyes, glinting with enthusiasm, sat above a crooked, gap-toothed smile.

Luc studied the kid, unable to mask his surprise. “He looks so normal.”

“He
is
normal,” Jodie replied. “What exactly did you expect? A spinning head and pea soup vomiting? This isn’t Hollywood, babe.”

He recognized his own advice
—and sarcasm—spouting from her lips, and he narrowed his eyes. “Cute.”

A smile flashed over her features, but
Luc barely noticed. Pain suddenly seared his brain—forks of lightning that drove him to his knees. An ear-splitting hum reverberated through him, jerking him in a thousand different directions. Christ! The pain! Screams of agony echoed in his ears.

Just as quickly as the torture began, the feelings evaporated, leaving Luc staring at an expectant Jodie.
“Luc?”

Taking a deep breath, he recollected his senses and growled,
“You’re still on thin ice, Devlin, and you know it.” He held up an index finger. “One more screw-up like the Finch Fiasco, and I’ll advise the Board to pull you out of bounty hunting for good.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…”
Rather than show trepidation at his threat, she stuck out her tongue, and then returned her attention to the child. “Come along now, Michael.”

When she held out her hand, the boy sped forward and clasped her fingers.
Adoration wreathed him in an aura of spun gold. “Please, miss. May I ask where we are going?”

Hugging him close, she tousled his curls. “To a better life than you had here.”

Bah. She’s too soft for this job. Always has been, always will be. The sooner I’m rid of her, the better. For my record
and
my sanity.

Though
Sherman had promised Jodie’s mistakes wouldn’t tarnish his standing as the best in the field, Luc didn’t fully trust the ancient spirit guide. Life had taught him to trust no one. Even a man’s closest companions could be bought, if the price was right.

But another problem had arisen, which required serious contemplation. E
ver since Jodie’s arrival in the Afterlife, Luc suffered the tortures of the emotionally damned with each bounty they chased. There’d been the anger with the Captain and that embarrassing helplessness with Kristin Esterby.

While Jodie had traipsed around Eihler’s school
, Luc had slumped against the flagpole outside—
bleeding for Chrissake—
from five holes in his chest. The blood wasn’t real, but the sensation of life slowly oozing away terrorized him just the same. Thank God, he’d managed to pull himself together before she’d emerged with the teacher. But now some kind of electro-shock treatment threatened to split his brain in half while Jodie palled around with this kid. Luc was cracking up, and Jodie Devlin was the source of all his torment.

Ahead of him, Jodie skipped beside Michael, arms swinging in half-arcs as
she sang in nursery rhyme style. “I won the bet, I won the bet…” She turned, flashing a triumphant smile over her shoulder. “Don’t forget our deal.”

“I haven’t forgotten.
” Forcing a smile, he held up a hand. “But bear in mind. Just because I tell the Board you’re ready to solo doesn’t mean they’ll listen.”