Speed of Light (26 page)

Rumi broke his unusual quiet. “No one knows the truculent hell you’ve been through, lass, but this is a minatory, threatening revelation. I fear for all of us. That is difficult to let go.” Rumi crossed his fingers and frowned. “Not impossible, but now I feel as though you must live up to your photic soul instead of down to your weaknesses.”

Juliet nodded, her gaze set on the fire’s blaze.

She didn’t need us to make her feel worse or she’d curl into a ball and be useless in the coming fight. “Rumi, Ms. Asura and her group know us. If they want to come after any of us, at any time, they will. They don’t need Juliet to do it. Right?” I asked him.

He nodded in agreement.

How do we salvage this? Repair the damage? Rebuild on truth?
I glanced at Tens, wishing he could read my mind.

Of Juliet I asked, “Does Ms. Asura think you’re cooperating? Right now, does she believe she’s scared you enough and motivated you enough to follow through?”

“I don’t know. She’s been showing up more, like she’s watching me all the time. And when I tried to buy time, that’s when Mini was …”

“Attacked?” I filled in.

“It was a warning, then. If she can get to creatures of the Creators, she can get to any of us.” Tens began carving a tree branch. I knew he did his best thinking when his hands were busy.

Movement at the edge of the woods caught my attention, but Tens’s voice brought me back.

“She attacked Mini to prove you’re more vulnerable and will believe her threats. You won’t disobey again,” he said.

“She thinks you’re going to go along with it, right?” Tony asked.

“It appeared that way to me,” Fara said.

“And she’s not threatened by your presence?” I asked Fara.

“No, she does not see me as powerful.” Fara grinned. “She is the stupid one.”

I nodded. “Good. We let her think that. You’ll have to talk to her again. Convince her you can find the book with more details from her.” Not only would this give us more information, but also Juliet needed to make restitution for her own well-being. We could tell her we understood or that she was forgiven, but until we proved that and she demonstrated she was worthy of our trust, nothing else was going to matter.
Not really
.

“Okay,” Juliet said tentatively.

What is she thinking?
“What is it that you want? Honestly?” I asked her, forcing myself to slow down and really listen.

Her brows furrowed and tears chapped her cheeks. “My parents. I can’t stand the idea they are hurting and trapped between the worlds. I want my mother transitioned beyond the window and healed. And I want to know who my father was, if he’s dead too.”

Oh, Juliet, how can one person be so lonely? Especially when you don’t have to be
.

Tens’s voice carried over the crackle of the wood fire. “Juliet, think about it. If your father was dead, he’d be at the window too. He’d be there waiting for you. If they’d desecrated his remains, he’d be there, too, caught as you say.”

Brilliant!
Why hadn’t that occurred to me?
Of course he’s still alive
. Her head snapped up and she focused on Tens. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think he’s dead. I don’t think Ms. Asura knows where he is.”

Tony thoughtfully circled. “That makes sense. Maybe Roshana didn’t know either.”

“It’s the number-one rule in interrogation—leave lots of blanks and let the suspect fill them in. You learn the best information when they assume you know more than you do,” Nelli pondered out loud. “What else do we know about your father?”

“He’s out there? Really? You think it’s possible?” Juliet’s voice blossomed with excitement.

“Hiding,” Rumi added. “Or when the news broke about DG, he’d have seen you. By all accounts you look like your mother, yes?”

Tony answered all of them, “We think he was with Roshana at DG, but how they got north to me I don’t know. She wouldn’t talk about him at all. And, yes, Juliet looks almost exactly like her.”

I wondered if Roshana’s eyes held the same tortured sadness as her daughter’s.
How do we break this cycle?

“Maybe he thought he’d put her in more danger if he came forward. There would be questions he couldn’t answer,” Nelli pondered. “Bales started looking for a man with the last name of Ambrose about the age of Roshana. That’ll only work if she took his last name. He doesn’t have anything solid yet. But he’s the best; he’ll find your dad.”

“Where did Bales go?” I asked, noticing that Bales was missing out of this discussion.

“He had a lead,” Nelli said, breezing over my question.

“Juliet, you still have to be accessible to Ms. Asura. We have to let them think we aren’t working together against them. Can you do that?”

“How do I behave as if you don’t know what’s going on?” Juliet didn’t sound as if she believed her. “How can I pretend nothing has changed tonight?”

“We must all be Tartuffes and operate under pretense,” Rumi said.

Nelli nudged Gus. “Uncle Gussy, tell them what you told me.”

“No, Nelli, it’s not the time. Forget I mentioned it,” Gus declined.

“It’s exactly the time. If we’re busy throwing a wedding, the Nocti will think we have no idea what they’re up to. It’s perfect.” Nelli nodded.

“Wedding?” I asked.

“Faye changed her mind. She said yes.” Gus sighed. “But it’s not as important—”

I could hear Auntie’s voice in my head as crystal clear as if she stood next to us. So I said, “Gus, loving is the reason for living. It’s the only way to fan Light brighter.”

Juliet smiled through her tears. “If you’ll let me, I’ll make the cake.”

T
hrowing an impromptu wedding required all of us and then some. The hospice staff fully supported our plan to surprise Faye. I walked down East State Street to Rubia, an old gas station converted into a European-style flower market. Rumi told me their buckets and tubs, overflowing with every possible color and fragrance, would meet our needs. It was like walking into a van Gogh or Monet garden come to life.
Perfect
.

“I’m Sarah. How can I help you?” With bright blue eyes and deep dimples, she welcomed me into the shop and instantly felt like a friend.

I glanced at the clock. “I need to put together a bridal bouquet and a groom’s boutonniere.”

“Okay, let me get an order form. What date are you looking at getting married?” She bustled to take my order.

I cringed. “I’m sorry. I mean now, um, for today. We don’t have much time.”

To her credit, she merely steered me toward the abundant peonies, roses, and daisies in stock. “I can have it ready in thirty minutes. Does that work?”

“Thank you.” I grinned.

While she worked on that, I headed down the street to Pillowtalk and picked out a beautiful white linen and lace nightgown.

Rumi assured me he had Gus’s attire under control as well as the jewelry. Tens was picking out and delivering decorations for the tiny terrace patio. Nelli and Bales kept Faye occupied watching television and writing goodbye notes to out-of-town friends.

Tony covered the ceremony vows that Faye mentioned as being so important to her. Juliet and Fara composed the celebration’s food; Juliet seemed lighter and more hopeful than I’d ever seen her.
I hope it lasts
.

So maybe it wasn’t traditional to get married in a hospice, while waiting for death to creep closer, but it was living until the very end, and that was Faye’s number-one goal.

To fully live up, until life continued beyond this world. It’s a good goal
.

After picking up the flowers and meeting Tens, we headed to the center. He left me at the front doors while
he snuck his assembled Eden around to the back. Faye’s hospice team knew all about the plan. Faye, and even Gus, not so much. I liked surprises when they happened to other people.

Before the ceremony, though, I needed to prep the facility for Juliet to enter. Her time at the window still drained her.
I’m lucky it’s getting easier for me
. I headed inside to clear the space for Juliet. If there were willing souls, they needed to use me today. I was almost to the point I could control my physical self while operating the window.
Closer, anyway
.

There was a comfortable living room space near the front doors, so I planted myself in the corner of an alcove. I hoped I appeared to any onlookers like I was meditating. I didn’t have long to wait for the first soul to find me. Delia knew they might have more empty beds today than expected.

The window scene opened before my eyes like the curtain of a dressing room.

“I haven’t been here in years.” A well-dressed coiffed and set lady wearing a mint-green skirt suit, white gloves, and a pillbox hat stood next to me at the window.

“Where are we?” I asked. It was a restaurant with floor-to-ceiling Greek-inspired white pillars and shining crystal chandeliers.

“The LS Ayres Tea Room, dear. I modeled here when I was young.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “We’d wander the tables while ladies
lunched. Before those reality shows, you know, there was actual reality,” she said with a sparkling smile. She waved to a group of similarly done-up ladies. “There are my girls. Five daughters, three grand, are at that table right there.” She pointed, then frowned. “I have to wait for the rest to come over, don’t I?” She turned back behind us.

I tried to find words to reassure her. “I don’t think it feels like very long.”

“Thank you, dear.” She patted my arm and gracefully walked through the window.

I blinked, hearing a rhythmic thump and squeak. Hardwood polished to a high sheen, a whistle blew and a basketball court filled with boys running drills. Their shorts were tiny, their socks pulled up over shins high above canvas sneakers. The seats of the pavilion were full of cheering spectators. Chanting and excitement echoed off the rafters high above.

“Wow.” The scoreboard seemed captured at halftime of a game.
What decade is this?

An old man shuffled next to me. “1954. Hinkle Fieldhouse. We beat Muncie for the state championship.” He hesitated. The crowd started to chant a name and he stood a little taller. “That’s me.”

“What are you waiting for?” I asked.

“What if I’ve lost my shot? After all these years.”

“I think it’ll come back to you as soon as you hit the court.” I took his arm to aid him.

As he crossed over, his slacks and flannel shirt changed into a matching basketball uniform, and he rewound into
the height of his youth. He turned, saluting me with a big smile as the announcer called his name.

I opened my eyes back in the hospice. The room was empty, and no one, dead or living, came near me. I waited a few more minutes, then called Juliet’s cell phone. “We’re good to go here.”

“We’re just pulling in. Thanks for, you … you … know,” Juliet stuttered.

Why are you thanking me for caring about you?
“Of course.” I hung up, walking down the carpeted hallway.
What is different about this place?
I can’t describe the feeling, but there wasn’t the rush I experienced at hospitals. These were souls not-quite-ready, or ready but not in such distress they needed to leave their bodies at the first opportunity.
There’s a calm expectancy, but no hurry
.

Extra-wide doors opened off the hallway much like an apartment building. The halls all radiated out like spokes on a bike wheel. It was softly lit and quiet, a feeling of hush-a-bye pervaded the air. Like a library. As if no one wanted to interrupt very important work.

To my left, rainbows spilled into the hallway, bright and iridescent, shimmering with all the colors of existence. Curious, I moved forward. I squinted at the rays, as if I couldn’t quite make out or focus on all the shapes and layers within it.

A man’s voice called out an invitation. “Come in, please?”

“I’m sorry. I saw—” I waved my hand at the light that seemed to be everywhere and come from nowhere.

“You’re right on time.” A tiny man who barely made a shape under the sheet nodded.

“Do you need a nurse? Is there someone to call?” I asked.

“You’re here. I am ready.”

I felt like I missed pieces of this conversation. “To die?”

“To be released, to be freed from this body.”

Why aren’t we at the window?
I felt the same woogy, shaky feeling I got in my knees when someone crossed over. However, I was firmly planted in this room.
No fainting, no light-headedness, no needing to sit down just in case
.

“Come closer,” he instructed.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why it’s not working,” I said, struggling to will us to the window.

“It’s working perfectly.” His voice was serene and warm.

The colors seemed to shrink, coalescing, to move across to the head of the bed. The room shifted so its corners rounded in. It was as if the geometry of the world was swooshed into a new shape.

“Can you see me?” I asked.
Is he dying? Does he see light in me, or have we reversed our roles?

“Yes.” The light moved across the bedding and combined above his head like a mist.

He sat up and arranged his body in what I can only guess was a meditation pose, with his legs crossed and hands on his knees. He smiled at me beatifically. “Tell
them to rejoice as I go on now. To the place beyond the windows, to the light itself.”

His eyes closed and the iridescence shimmered, bursting like a firework from the top of his head. His body stayed upright in the seated position even as a drop of blood trickled from his nose.

He’s dead
. I went to get a nurse.

She seemed visibly shaken when she entered the room and saw him sitting upright. He seemed frozen in what she called the lotus position. “Did you help him? Lift him? He hasn’t moved on his own in two months.”

“He said he was—”

She gasped. “He spoke?”

I nodded. He’d sounded fine.

“He had ALS. He hasn’t said anything to anyone for six months, long before he got here. His nephew brought him.”

The door was pushed open and a young man in his thirties stood there. “He’s gone?”