New Moon Rising Page 17

  We spent the remainder of the day boxing documents and computer equipment and humping it all back to our field office. The next few weeks are going to be tedious, but rewarding. I think my favorite part will be going out to the properties and telling people they’ve been ripped off. Citizens don’t mind feds so much when we bring good news.

  Ugh. I need to burn off some of this excess energy or I’m never going to be able to sleep.

  Careful not to disturb Danny, I slip out of bed. Usually when I need to clear my head, I go jogging around Hillcrest Park, which is a short distance down the road from our house. A few minutes past eleven at night isn’t exactly the greatest time for a run, but this area’s pretty free from crime. I’m also a trained federal agent with a gun. I’m no Jackie Chan, but I can hold my own against punks.

  I change into my running shorts, a tank top, and sneakers before slipping my shoulder holster on. Might as well wear my badge on a chain around my neck in case a random cop decides to give me the third degree for having a Glock.

  After kissing the sleeping Danny, I head out into the hall and creep into Anthony’s room with the stealth of a ninja. Well, at least a thirty-one-year-old suburban mom version of a ninja. He’s out like a light, mouth open, “catching flies” as my husband would say. I snug his blanket up, give him a kiss on the cheek, and cross over to Tammy’s room. She’s gotten in the habit of sleeping on her left side in a fetal position. It’s adorable, but it makes me wonder if she’s having bad dreams. Her lack of squirming or making noise eases that fear, and I give her a kiss on the head.

  Keys, check. Cell phone, check.

  Okay, guys. Mommy will be back in a few minutes. Just need to tire myself out or I’m going to be awake all night.

  The July night is warm and dry, the moon bright in a cloudless indigo sky. Stepping out of air conditioning makes it feel warmer than it probably is, but by the time I’m back, I’ll be more than ready for AC. After doing a few stretches to limber up, I head off to the left, following the road up toward the woods―or what passes for woods in Fullerton―at the park.

  Our neighborhood is quiet, save for a single barking dog somewhere behind me. Houses go by, some with lights on, most dark. Guess people around here don’t burn the midnight oil very much. At the end of Shady Brook Drive, right before the little spur connects to Lemon Street, repetitive high-pitched squeaking echoes from a bedroom window. Everything inside glows blue from a television screen, which paints the shadows of a man and a woman going at it on the wall.

  Nice. At least close the curtains.

  I cut over the spar and jog past Lions field, running along a thin strip of trees that separates it from the road. Lemon Street will take me to the park entrance, opposite where Virginia Road cuts off to the right. That’s a nice curving path around the woods. I keep saying woods, but I really shouldn’t call a section of trees like 150 feet wide and 600 feet long “woods.” It’s not even close to the forest around where I grew up. But still, it’s nice scenery.

  Or it used to be. I can’t help but think about that strange night when I lost my sense of direction in such a small patch of wilderness. I’ve been jogging around this area for years, and I’ve spent my fair share of time going into the trees as well. I don’t remember them being that thick, nor that dense. The more I think about it, the less sense it makes that I could’ve gotten disoriented.

  Whatever. Had to be stress. I stop trying to think about anything and focus on the mechanics of jogging: breath flowing in my lungs, blood coursing through my veins, the rhythmic thudding of my sneakers on the pavement. All the stress of the investigation is over. I take a huge breath in my nose and let it out my mouth, visualizing worry and anxiety extruding from my body along with it.

  An unusual sense of apprehension draws my attention toward the trees again. Though I don’t see anyone, it feels like I’m being stared at. Maybe it’s that homeless guy that ran away when we had the blowout? It couldn’t be that gang, could it? Inexplicable malice radiates from the darkness between the trees, adding urgency to my stride. Without even thinking, I go from jogging to a light run. Maybe I should’ve stayed inside.

  Come on, Sam, don’t flake. I’ve got training and a weapon. Still, the unsettling feeling that something is extremely wrong won’t leave me alone. I slow to a stop, breathing hard, and scan the woods. It’s oddly dark despite the full moon, but nothing’s moving. That strange, paralyzing fear that hit me here last time―and again in my house when Tammy screamed―doesn’t happen again, but the memory of it haunts me enough to tighten my airways. It makes no sense at all, but I feel like I’m being stalked.

  Oh, hell with this. Time to go home. Maybe I’ve got a migratory blood clot or something from that bruised rib and it’s screwing with my brain, making me hallucinate things. Tomorrow, I’m going to at least talk to a doctor.

  I hurry back along the road with the trees on my left. Each time my sneaker pounds pavement, my need to get home builds. Before I know it, I’m near to sprinting with no idea what I’m running away from. At the moment, I don’t care if I’m going crazy, I need to get home, back to my family.

  A curve in the path ahead comes up fast. Usually, I’d take the left turn about halfway around the bend then loop around the big round field, but screw it. I’m heading straight through the trees back to Lemon Street.

  Seconds away from reaching the bend, the world becomes a blur. Stars and road flash by in my vision along with a sense of flying. Not a sense―I am flying. A tremendous crack rocks my body as I slam into something hard and collapse to the ground, staring up at the tree I just crashed into. I can’t tell if the tree broke or if the snap came from my spine.

  “Ugh.”

  Sprawled on my back, I can’t summon the will to move at all. I merely breathe hard in silence. Seconds tick by before the pain starts, worse than the bruised rib. A strangled scream leaks past my teeth. Did I get hit by a car from behind? Except I’m in the woods, still far enough not to see the road. Yet…

  Yet I must have flown twenty feet or more.

  Not flown, I think. Hit… or thrown. Something’s out here.

  I manage to straighten my left leg. Good. Back’s not broken, but even that motion triggers searing agony. A shoe scuffs dirt behind me, lighting off an explosion of panic. I gasp and grunt, trying to get my arm to cooperate and reach across my chest for my weapon. Dammit! Why can’t I get up! Involuntary tears roll down my face, whether from fear or pain I can’t tell. Oh, damn this hurts. I bet I’ve got broken ribs on both sides this time.

  A deep, bestial snarl rumbles in the dark.

  Shit!

  Forcing my hand closer to my Glock feels like I’m splitting my back open, but I keep trying. Sweat runs into my eyes and the taste of blood leaks into the back of my throat. Oh, shit. That’s a punctured lung. No wonder I can’t breathe. Ngh! Come on. I can get help. Just need to fire a couple bullets into the dirt. Someone’ll hear it and call the police.

  I can’t help but scream as I force my arm the last few inches. The instant my fingertips touch the gun, a man’s sinister laugh slithers out of the night from about twenty paces. Gasping in pain, I force my grip closed on the handle. Before I can draw the weapon, a man pounces on me with such force we go sliding away from the tree over the dirt.

  The pain that blasts my shoulders and back rips a jagged scream from my lungs and leaves me seeing a blur of white spots. A glimmer flashes before my eyes. Time drags to a standstill as a beautiful ruby and gold medallion dangles in front of me. Tranquility lasts a mere second, destroyed when a sharp, penetrating pain spreads over the side of my neck. A feeble squeak leaves my throat, melting into a wet gurgle. I gag, choking, coughing, and spitting out blood.

  Slurping fills my right ear along with squishing, and the grinding of teeth on bone. I’m dreaming. I’m having a nightmare. This jog isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. I’m still lying in bed with Danny. No one’s cutting my throat open in the middle of Hillcrest Park at midnight.
That sort of thing doesn’t happen around here. Not to a federal agent.

  The empty sky fades away. I’m standing in Mary Lou’s house, watching my sister have a panic attack in her hallway. I think she’s staring into Ruby Grace’s bedroom. The little girl’s screaming for her mother, but Mary Lou backs away, an expression of abject terror on her face. She runs off down the hall, leaving the child to scream.

  Darkness.

  The hallway right outside my bedroom door fades in. I’m standing at the end of the hall near the living room, watching myself walk out of the bedroom and freeze in fear. Tammy screams for me. I want to get to her, more than anything in the world, but this bizarre visioning won’t let me move at all. Not-me growls and advances into the hall, wild-eyed and feral, dragging herself into Tammy’s bedroom.

  Everything fades, leaving me gazing up at star-flecked indigo once more.

  My breaths come shallow, gurgling. I can’t feel anything. No pain, only the soft coolness of the ground at my back. A baffling sense of disdain fills me toward Mary Lou, like she’s pathetic and unworthy. I want nothing to do with her.

  No! I try to shout, but only gurgle more. That’s not true! My sister is not pathetic!

  Something leaps on me again. My body thrashes side to side, but there’s no pain, only a vague feeling of something rubbery pulling away from my throat. An animal snarl cuts the air above me, and the creature leaps off into the darkness once more.

  My arms don’t want to move. Gray creeps into the periphery of my vision. I’m… dying.

  No. I don’t want to die! Tammy! Anthony! Danny! I have a family. I can’t leave them!

  Hot tears roll down the sides of my head and gather in my ears. I refuse to give up. I’m not gonna go like this. No way. I’m only thirty-one. It’s not my time.

  Time.

  I have only seconds left on this Earth. Images of the last days, months, and years flicker by in a slideshow. Every time Tammy smiled at me. Anthony’s first word, his trying to fill in the hole Tammy dug on the beach. Tammy curling up at my side when I’d been shot, knowing I was in pain and having no other way to help but be there for me.

  Great sobs roll over my brain, my body incapable of expressing them to the world.

  Our wedding night, the happiest moment of my life until I held Tammy’s newborn body in my arms. Danny and his best man Jeff Rodriguez hitting the champagne a little too hard and almost falling straight into our wedding cake. A flash, and I’m making love to Danny on our wedding night.

  I’m a child again, playing in the woods around my parents’ trailer/tent mess. How many times had I run off to be alone, to get away from my brothers? I’d grown up feeling apart from them, ignoring them so much, resenting my parents. Loving the forest. Why did I love the forest so much? I didn’t know. Maybe I was a witch. Or an elf in a past life.

  I’ve got seconds left to live, and I’ve wasted so many years.

  Mere seconds, that I’d give anything in the world to cling to for just a little longer.

  How many hours have I wished would race by at the office, bored out of my skull and wanting to go home? My mind voice laughs at the absurdity of it. How the value of time can shift so dramatically. Here, one tiny second is the most precious thing, but waiting for my wedding, I tried to make months fly away as fast as possible.

  If only I could hold my children once again. To have Tammy cuddle up beside me and tell me I’m going to be okay.

  The cold breeze invades my neck and goes down my throat. It shouldn’t do that. I shouldn’t feel the wind going inside me with my mouth closed.

  Seconds left.

  My last thoughts won’t be fear. I won’t die like that.

  I picture my children smiling, refusing to think about them being told Mommy’s dead. I can’t do that to them.

  No. I’m not going to die. I can’t put my family through that. Danny needs me. Tammy and Anthony need me. I won’t give up. I won’t succumb. The heartbeat echoing in my head slows, barely noticeable. Nothing hurts anymore. No pain. No awareness of having a body. My mind fills in the sensation of little Tammy curling up at my side. I can’t give up. I won’t stop clinging to life.

  I refu―

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Afterlife

  Vivid and bizarre images fill in the darkness.

  Scenes of war with spears and primitive weapons play on the black canvas of my mind. I stand upon a stone ziggurat, surrounded by grassy plains. Men with swords clash on the steps below me, their white tunics flickering orange in the light of torches. Blood flies into the air from grotesque wounds. Each time a man cries out in anguish, the urge to laugh at his misfortune wells up within, horrifying me more at my reaction than the spectacle itself. I know the men at the base of the steps want to destroy me, but they are weak and pathetic―and they will fail.

  The dream of battle swirls again into void. I’m falling backward in an endless plummet. Minutes or hours pass, I can’t tell. Something glints off in the distance and falling becomes flying. A lone figure appears distinct in the murk, out jogging at night. Like a diving hawk, I fly down at myself in total silence, hovering behind as I run along the trail in Hillcrest Park. Not even the clap of sneakers on paving makes the slightest sound. The thick, confident voice of a woman with a strong accent breaks the oppressive silence.

  Hello, Sssamantha.

  My eyes snap open.

  Beeping comes from my left. Drab white ceiling tiles blur in and out of focus above me. Something rigid squeezes my neck and presses painfully at my right shoulder. I’m aware of fabric against my arms and legs. It occurs to me the beeping keeps time with my heartbeat, though it seems a little too slow.

  Holy shit, I’m alive!

  I can’t move my head at all, so I pivot my eyes around. The hospital room is small, and a curtain drawn around the bed blocks most of my view. A blurry figure occupies a chair to the right of the bed, but I can’t keep looking in that direction due to the horrible glare in the window, like the sun is parked inches from the glass.

  Feeling spreads over me as the minutes tick by. The most bizarre thing: my nerves sense individual threads in the sheets. It’s too strange for words, not that I can talk, and I lose time sliding my finger side to side under the bed, mystified at the sensation. Scraps of voices drift into my awareness from outside. Dozens of people in a myriad of conversations mix with plastic crinkling, shoes squeaking, the thrum of an elevator, and the whirr of the air conditioning.

  It soon becomes maddening, trying to focus on any single thread of ideas. Too many people talking all at once, like I’m back in high school in the middle of the cafeteria. A frustrated moan leaks out of my nose.

  “Sam?” asks Danny, his voice rough and cracked. His chair emits a loud creaking noise as he stands. “Are you awake?”

  When he leans over me, we make eye contact. He looks like he’s aged ten years from the last time I’d seen him… and he stinks. Not in a horrible way, but that ‘Danny smell’ he’s always had about him is ten times more intense, so strong it settles on my tongue like a flavor.

  I try to speak, but only manage a feeble wheeze.

  “Don’t talk.” Danny grasps my right hand in both of his, and chokes up. “The doctor said you won’t be able to talk for, uhh, a while.” He looks down. “There’s a chance you might not be able to again.”

  Oh no… I blink tears out of the corners of my eyes. It doesn’t matter. I can live without talking. I’m alive; that’s all that matters. Or am I? Time seems to freeze still, Danny hovering over me, tears running over the stubble on his cheeks, the echoing din of the hospital corridor a meaningless haze of sound. Did I survive or is this another strange post-death dream? Could I be still lying on the road, my brain shutting down as it burns up the last traces of oxygen?

  The stretched second passes.

  Danny bows his head against my knuckles and weeps. “I thought I lost you, Sam. I’m so happy you’re okay. Whatever your new reality is, I’ll be there for y
ou. This changes nothing between us.”

  I try to ask, “how bad?” but what comes out of me is just air blowing down a tube.

  He sniffles back his tears and strokes my hair. “I couldn’t handle it if I lost you.” Again, he falls to bits and sobs on my shoulder.

  Barely able to move, I lay there and absorb his grief. Why did I have to be so stupid and go jogging at night? This is my fault. All this pain on his face is my doing. What has he told the kids? As soon as I worry about them, the beeping gets faster. Tingles run up and down my limbs, the sense of coarseness in the fabric intensifies to a bed of sandpaper.

  The most maddening itch imaginable spreads over my neck and right shoulder, under heavy bandages and a thick, plastic contraption that’s immobilizing my skull. Wrapped in torture I can’t escape from, the sheets that feel like they’re flaying my skin off to the army of ten thousand fleas crawling over my throat, makes me want to scream. All I can do is blow air. Even if I could move my arms, I wouldn’t be able to scratch under the brace.

  A splintery crunch happens nearby.

  “Gah! Sam!” shouts Danny.

  He tries to jump back, but can’t get his hand out of my grip. When I realize he’s howling in pain, I let go, and he collapses back into his chair, cradling his hand. He stares at his broken finger and back to me.

  “Sam?” He asks, blinking rapidly.

  I try to convey apology with my facial expression.

  “You broke my finger… are you in pain?”

  Wheeze.

  “Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

  I blink once.

  Danny hits the call button with his left hand. “I’ll get the nurse or someone to give you a shot or something.”

  My gaze turns downward, guilty. The flare up of sensation fades, leaving the sheets normal but the itching is still driving me crazy.

  “A couple out jogging found you.” He lets off a manic laugh. “Who the hell goes jogging at midnight?”