Kiss Her Goodbye (A Thriller) (33 page)

 “He’s back?”

 “No … maybe. It’s pretty weak.”

 “For godsakes,” Rachel said, then flicked the switch. “Move.” There was a whir and a high, sustained whine, and she brought the paddles down on Jack’s chest. He jerked in response, his body bucking beneath her.

 Wong felt his wrist. “No change.”

 Rachel wanted to scream. Wanted to grab Jack by the shoulders and shake him awake. Slap him a few times for being such a goddamn fool.

 Instead, she flicked the switch again and readied the paddles.

 Wong, meanwhile, yanked open a nearby drawer, rifled through it, then pulled out a vial of medicine and a syringe big enough to vaccinate a small elephant.

 “What the hell is that?”

 “Epinephrine,” he said. “Stimulates the heart. If this doesn’t do the trick, nothing will.”

 Rachel stared at the syringe dubiously, then brought the paddles down.

T
HERE WAS ANOTHER
clap of thunder and the wormhole expanded, swirling furiously above Gunderson’s head. He felt a jolt in his chest and a twinge of triumph. His time here was about to end. He was only moments away from his new life, his new career.

 His new Sara.

 Oh, the things they’d do.

 He remembered the moment he’d been shot, that sudden feeling of loss, the abrupt end to life as he’d known it. Then the wormhole, the light, the yearning to head toward its promise—but at the same time resisting, not yet ready to go.

 And suddenly there he was, stranded in limbo, refusing to accept his fate, using his time here to learn the rules of the place, just like he had in prison.

 Then Deputy Fife showed up and he knew that was it. Fate intervening. The
Ching
giving him his second chance.

 He’d only had time to hitch a ride, but after a while he thought, why not go for the big prize? Sharing was a blast, but a nice warm body of your own is even better. A nice
new
body, unblemished by a pesky little thing called a criminal record. A body that placed him right smack in the middle of enemy territory.

 And the best part? Everyone would think he was one of
them.
 

 He felt another small jolt and the clouds above him grew more frenzied, the wormhole widening.

 Arms outstretched, palms facing Donovan, he gathered up his energy, working up a really good hate, ready to knock Barney even deeper into the pit, where he was sure that Bobby and Luther and God knew who else were waiting for him.

 He almost felt sorry for the guy.

 Almost.

D
ONOVAN STARED UP
at Gunderson’s hands and braced himself, knowing what was coming. The minuscule ledge beneath his feet continued to crumble, sending rocks and debris into the abyss below. If he didn’t resist this blow, he’d be joining them soon.

 Then the bees began to buzz and a ripple in the air rolled toward him. He focused on it, trying to stop it in its tracks, to will it away, but it was no use. This wasn’t a fair fight. He didn’t have the skills he needed to compete with Gunderson. Not here.

 It smacked him head-on like a big rig at high speed. The impact ripped him away from his perch and he was once again falling, arms flailing, the sparks below crackling wildly.

 Above, Gunderson turned and flung his arms upward toward the whirling wormhole, waiting for it to snatch him away.

 Donovan closed his eyes, knowing this was it, he’d lost, Jessie gone from him forever.

 “Forgive me,” he whispered as he plummeted deeper and deeper into the pit.

 Then a voice in his ear said, “There’s nothing to forgive, Jack,” and something or someone grabbed his wrist, stopping his fall.

 Coming to an abrupt halt, he slammed into the abyss wall. His eyes flew open and there, crouched on the rocks, arm outstretched, hand gripping his wrist—

 —was Jessie.

 Not his
daughter
Jessie, but Jessie-Anne, his
sister.
And she was smiling at him, her face lit up as he’d never seen it before. A face at peace.

 The face of an angel.

 “It’s not too late,” she said. “It’s never too late.”

 Donovan felt a choke of emotion rise up from his chest. Her hand released him and he clutched the wall, wanting instead to throw his arms around her.

 “Jessie-Anne …” he said, but couldn’t find words to follow it.

 “Lead with your heart, Jack. Always remember that. If you lead with your heart, nothing can stop you.”

 And then, without warning, she began to fade from view, leaving only the trace of a whisper in his ear. “Glass half full,” she said.

 Then she was gone.

 Donovan clung to the rocks, feeling tears well up, her words swirling through his head.

 
Lead with your heart, Jack.
 

 And with sudden clarity, he understood. Although his physical heart had been stopped, everything that had happened to him here, every change, the baggage he carried, had been based not on intellect—but emotion.

 It was Gunderson’s hunger for vengeance, a fully formed, unadulterated hate, that had fueled his ability to control and manipulate this world so easily.

 The power of the heart, not the mind.

 That was the currency here.

 And armed with that knowledge, and the desire that accompanied it, Donovan felt a renewed sense of hope.

 Just as Gunderson had said in that train yard as he lay in Donovan’s arms …

 This wasn’t over yet.

H
ANDS STRETCHED TOWARD
the sky, Gunderson stared up at the wormhole, waiting for it to take him. Another loud thunderclap and the now familiar jolt to the chest told him his wish was about to be granted.

 “Come on, goddammit!”

 The swirling black maw widened in response, wind kicking up around him, and he felt its power take hold. His feet lifted off the ground and he began to rise.

 “Yes!” It was finally happening. The moment he’d been waiting for ever since that cop had put a bullet in him. “Take me,” he shouted. “Take me!”

 But then, from out of nowhere, a voice said, “I don’t think so, Alex”—

 —and Donovan appeared directly below him, wrapping his arms around his legs.

 What the fuck?

 Gunderson kicked, trying to shake him off, but the bastard had a lock on him so tight, he could barely move. One look into Donovan’s eyes and Gunderson realized that something had changed.

 Donovan knew. He understood.

 And that, ladies and gentlemen, was not part of the program.

 Feeling himself being pulled back toward the ground, Gunderson fought desperately against it, trying to break Donovan’s grip. But Donovan was a bulldog, would not let go, and a moment later they hit the earth, a tangle of arms and legs.

 Pain shot through Gunderson as rocks dug into his flesh, scraped his bones—a sensation he wasn’t accustomed to.

 They rolled to the edge of the precipice. Then, all at once, Donovan was straddling him, hands around his neck, an intense, unstoppable fury in his eyes.

 “No more puzzles, Alex. Tell me where she is!”

 Gunderson brought his arms up, trying to break Donovan’s grip, but was powerless against his rage. The earth beneath them began to rumble and crack, steam hissing up from newly formed fissures.

 “Tell me, goddammit! Now!”

 “Fuck you!” Gunderson croaked, and the ground shifted, another fissure opening up directly beneath him, the earth crumbling away on either side.

 Electric tentacles reached up and wrapped around him, pulling at him. Donovan jumped back, narrowly avoiding the widening fissure. There was another loud thunderclap, and above, the swirling wormhole sucked at Donovan, his hair whipping wildly in the wind.

 “Where is she, Alex? Tell me!”

 But Gunderson ignored the command, watching in horror as the wormhole enveloped Donovan.

 “No!” he shouted. “No!”

 Then the wormhole swallowed Donovan whole and whisked him away.

 And the agony Gunderson felt was so deep that he was almost certain it would last an eternity.

J
UST WHEN SHE
thought they’d lost the fight, that the epinephrine had been a bust, Jack’s body bucked wildly beneath the paddles and his eyes flew open as he gulped a bucketful of air. Feeling a rush of sweet relief, Rachel burst into tears and threw her arms around him.

 “Oh, my God,” she said. “Oh, my God.”

 She glanced at Wong, who was now leaning against the wall, his body slack, face full of shock, looking like a man who was seriously considering a career change.

 “The hospital,” Jack croaked. “Take me to the hospital.”

 “We’ve already called,” Rachel told him, hugging him close. “The ambulance is on its way.”

 “No,” Jack said. “That isn’t what I mean.”

 “What, then?”

 “The convalescent hospital. Saint Margaret’s.”

 “What?” Rachel said. “Why?”

 Jack looked at her, a look she knew all too well. A look that meant she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.

 “Sara’s window,” he told her. “I have to find Sara’s window.”

Part Four
LIGHT

53

T
HEY GOT THERE
in less than half an hour.

 After making it abundantly clear to Donovan that this was against her better judgment, that he needed to go to the hospital—
now
—Rachel brought her car around and used her considerable driving skills to get them there in record time.

 No doubt about it. He was gonna have to marry this woman.

 Despite the ordeal he’d just been through, Donovan felt surprisingly good, thanks in part to sheer willpower, an abundance of hope, and the adrenaline Wong had pumped into his veins.

 There were only a few scattered cars in Saint Margaret’s parking lot. They took the elevator to the second floor, and when the doors opened, Donovan was relieved to see that Nurse Baker had not returned. Instead, a lone nineteen-year-old was manning the nurses’ station.

 “Sara Gunderson,” he said. “What room?”

 The nurse looked at him as if he were something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. “I’m sorry. Are you family?”

 Donovan frowned and flashed his credentials. “Just take us to the goddamn room.”

 Looking flustered, the nurse came out from behind the counter. “Follow me,” she muttered, and headed down a hallway.

 A moment later she led them through a doorway into a small, dank room, a single bed against the wall, surrounded by a collection of medical equipment, including a ventilator.

 The woman on the bed did not even remotely resemble Sara Gunderson. She looked like ninety pounds of nothing. A sickly old woman on the brink of death.

 But it was Sara all right. Eyes closed, chest rising and falling to the wheezy beat of the ventilator.

 Donovan looked around, surprised not by what he saw—but what he
didn’t
see. His stomach lurched.

 “The window,” he said. “Where’s the window?”

 The nurse studied him, clearly confused by the question. “She … doesn’t have one. This is a converted storeroom.”

 “How long has she been in here?”

 “Sir, if—”

 “How
long?”
 

 The nurse flinched. “Ever since she was admitted. Why?”

 Donovan glanced at Rachel, feeling the ground beneath him roll. Overcome by a sudden, intense despair, he found a chair and sat, the nurse eyeing him with a mix of distrust and concern.

 “Are you okay, sir?”

 “Get out,” he spat.

 “Sir, I’m not sure what you’re—”

 “Out,” he repeated. “Get out.”

 Looking frightened now, the nurse turned and scurried out the door. Donovan felt Rachel looking at him and held a hand up.

 “Don’t say it,” he told her. “Just let me think.”

 He lowered his head and stared at the floor, studying the pattern in the linoleum. Everything he’d been through and this was where it ended?

 No. There was something here he wasn’t seeing. There had to be.

 The puzzle. Concentrate on the puzzle.

 One word. Ten letters.

 
All you had to do was look out Sara’s window.
 

 Cursing himself for being so bad at these things, he glanced up at Sara, watching her chest rise and fall. “Come on,” he said. “Help me with this.”

 What had Gunderson meant? If there was no window in the room, what other kinds of windows were there? Sara’s eyes? The window to her soul?

 No. Too literary for Gunderson.

 Ten simple letters. What could they …

 And then it hit him.

 Rising, he crossed to the bed and searched the nightstand next to it, but it was littered with medical paraphernalia, nothing else.

 “Come on, goddammit.”

 “Jack,” Rachel said. “What’s wrong? What are you looking for?”

 And then he found it, partially hidden by one of the machines, taped to the wall directly above Sara’s head.

 Ten letters.

 
Photograph.
 

 A Polaroid photo he’d seen at least a half dozen times: Alexander Gunderson smiling for the camera, standing in front of the Lake Point Lighthouse.

 “What is it?” Rachel asked.

 Donovan ripped the photo from the wall. “Sara’s window.”

54

H
OLD ON, JESSIE.
 

 
He’s coming to get you.
 

 
…Jessie?
 

S
HE STRUGGLED TO
open her eyes and peered into the darkness she’d grown so accustomed to.

 Was that the angel’s voice she’d heard?

 Had she finally come back?

 The angel had left her a while ago, promising to return, but Jessie didn’t hold out much hope. She was too tired, too weak to believe anymore.

 She couldn’t stay awake for more than a few seconds at a time. The cold and hunger and thirst that had consumed her those first few hours—or was it days?—had been replaced by numbness, and the places on her skin that had been rubbed raw by the duct tape no longer hurt.