five
Gaderel
Iarrive a moment too late.
Not to rescue anyone, but to pull the spines of those gunmen out through their mouths.
The inside of the lounge is a veritable bloodbath. There are easily over a hundred bodies in here. No survivors, per the shooters’ orders.
I pause beside one body.
Including her…
I crouch down, unable to pull my eyes away. She rests on her side where she fell, legs tucked beneath her. There’s blood on her knees and palms, but that’s nothing compared to the enormous, gaping, ragged hole in her chest. The arteries have pumped out her life’s blood, much of it coating her chest, neck, and face. Her heart is pulp.
My beautiful dark-haired dancer is dead.
I close my eyes, reaching out with my cosmic energy. She’s in the white light, floating in it. The warmth of it wraps around her, and though she’s terrified and confused, she’s soothed. She knows, intrinsically, that she’s going to be all right, even if her time on Earth is done, and even if the last thing she saw were the murders of her loved ones. This shattered, mangled body lying on the floor isn’t even a memory.
You can’t have her. She’s mine.
My black fog surges forward toward the white light. I clench a fist; frightened, the white light releases her, and she falls back into my fog. She’s not soothed now. She’s terrified.
My fog isn’t warm like the light. It’s icy cold.
Still, I need her to know.
You’re safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you now.
I pull her with me, down, down, down. The fog seeps into her mouth, her nose, her eyes. It crawls down her throat, fills the hole in her chest, the tears in her heart, the shredded remnants of the arteries. The fog closes the wound, restores her. It surges lower, closing the tiny cuts in her palms and knees from the broken glass she crawled over to try to rescue her friend. The golden-tan skin becomes perfect once more.
I open my eyes and look down just as she opens hers and sucks in a violent gasp of air.
She’s still bloody, but she’s whole. Restored. Better than before.
Our gazes meet, and then she promptly faints.
The sound of sirens pierces the air from above and below.
I snarl, snapping my head toward the sound. The cops. They’ll enter the lounge in seconds. They’ll find my beautiful one breathing. They’ll take her away.
No. She’s mine.
I scoop her into my arms, and with a thought, we disappear.
* * *
My Earthly dwellingisn’t far from the lounge—the remnants of it, that is. But I want to ensure we are not interrupted by anything, so I decide to take her to a realm between Heaven and Hell, a little spatial curtain I pull aside and slip behind that creates, essentially, a bubble of protection. We cannot be found by angel or demon here.
Sazahn loves the beach, so I bring her to a tent situated on a sandy white beach where it’s perpetually either sunset or sunrise. The sky is stained shades of orange, pink, purple, deep purple, and navy. The ocean tosses in the distance, the roar of it soothing and quiet.
Layers of sheer white fabric that make up the ceiling and walls of the tent flap softly in a gentle, balmy breeze. Sazahn lies on a low bed on the floor, the mattress luxuriously soft, the blankets the right thickness to ensure the perfect temperature. White candles rest on a couple of small tables and a few on the floor. With a thought, I create a tray of food for her, for she’ll be hungry when she wakes. Fresh fruit, sweet pastries, wine, and refreshingly sweet water.
I glance at her, impatient for her to rise, so I gently place my thumb on the center of her forehead and issue the command.
Awake.
Her eyelids flutter, then fly open. Her blue-gray irises are so like the ocean on a cloudy day.