Deadworld (35 page)

Let me in, hon, before it’s too late.

Laurel walked across the room now, approaching Drake in slow, resisting steps. Jackie began to cry. She could not even yell for her to stop. Be stronger, damnit!

Trust me! Just let go. Let it all go.

What had she said?
You’ll have to let me in there.

“Laurel Carpenter! You will come to me now.” Drake’s voice was more insistent than it had been previously. One hand pressed tightly up against Nick’s chest while the other beckoned.

Laurel’s face contorted, lips creased into a razor-thin line, but she continued the inexorable march toward Drake’s outstretched hand.

Jackie glanced over at Nick, who struggled to shake the cobwebs out of his head. The ghosts had paused, apparently too afraid to approach the now-angered Cornelius Drake.

Shelby’s voice was an urgent hiss in her ear. She could barely feel the fingers digging into her shoulders as Shelby pushed her forward to get up. “Fucking Drake. I’ve got to help her.”

The pressure on her released, and Jackie slumped over to the floor. This was it. She was going to die alone on the stone-cold floor in this wretched world of the dead, no peace, and no comforting hand holding hers as she faded away into darkness. This was not how it was supposed to be, not at all.

Laur, I love you. Just take me out of this place.

The blessed relief of her friend’s touch welcomed her into the end.

Chapter 58

Laurel vanished. One moment she was there, struggling against Drake’s coercive pull, and the next she was gone.

“What?” Drake appeared to be as perplexed as Nick was angry.

The distraction was all the time Nick needed, however, as the crushing weight of Drake’s powerful hand eased from his chest. Pulling together the raw, spiritual energy that had been surging into his body, Nick was able to bring his left arm across his body with hammerlike force to Drake’s elbow. The reprieve allowed much needed oxygen back into his lungs.

If Drake had not taken Laurel, where in hell had she gone to? She was their way back. If she was gone, they were as good as dead, and all this was moot.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Shelby come barreling at Drake. She must have realized as well the seriousness of Laurel’s disappearance. Behind her, Jackie lay prone on the floor, curled up in the fetal position, unmoving. It occurred to him then that Shelby was not hell-bent for Drake because of Laurel, but because Jackie had finally died. The one truly living being in this cold and barren Deadworld, and he had let her slip away, unable to overcome the fear of what he was. Too little too late.

Drake turned back; the hand once outstretched to get Laurel balled into a fist to smash Nick in the face. The half second Nick spent staring at Jackie’s unmoving body would have been enough for it to land, but Shelby took Drake out at the knee, buckling him to the floor.

The ghosts, ready for the opportunity, rushed in upon Nick, flowing up his arm in a mad rush of energy. It was almost enough to fry his synapses. The kinds of things possible with such power were limitless, far more than he had imagined back in the days of drinking real blood. The prospect was terrifying. Shrouding it all in a smoldering, dark haze was the image of Jackie’s dead body. Such power meant nothing now. He had wanted only to save her, get her back to the world of the living where she might be saved. She deserved no less. It was his fault for letting her get dragged into this mess. He should have forced her out, broken the law, tied her up, or taken whatever means necessary to ensure her safety. He should have done a lot of things that had been necessary. Now, however, only one necessity remained.

Nick leaped on top of Drake, funneling the raw energy into his clenched fists, burying them again and again into the pale, haughty face. The rage and frustration of the decades suffered at the man’s relentless vengeance poured out of him, finding release but little solace or satisfaction in the rupturing of skin and cracking of bone his fists inflicted.

After the seventh or eighth punch, Drake’s broken mouth twisted into a smile. “You can’t kill me here, Nicholas. Your friends are dead or dying. Good show, though. I did not believe you had it in you.”

Nick clamped his hands around Drake’s head, thumbs digging into those soulless gray eyes. “You’ll die, you fucking bastard, even if I have to twist your withered head right off your body.” He began to bear down, pushing against the force of Drake’s will that worked to pry his fingers free. “Even if I burn myself away, you’re going to burn up with me.”

Drake’s hands locked onto Nick’s wrists, squeezing down against the bones, and Nick could feel the pressure building, beginning to grind bone and ligament together.

Behind him, Shelby’s voice was strained. “Goddamnit, Nick. Hurry up.”

She was clamped around Drake’s legs, but her strength had waned with the time among the dead. Her help would not last much longer. Nick pushed back with everything he had, hoping to crush Drake’s skull. His thumbs ground down, fluid beginning to seep out.

A lightning jolt of pain flew up his arm along with the sound of cracking bone. Cornelius had begun to break his left wrist. The smile on Drake’s face remained unflinching even as blood begin to drip from his sockets. Doubt crept into Nick’s mind. Perhaps the vampire could not be killed in this place. A few more seconds, and it would not matter. His wrist was going to give out, and his viselike grip around Drake’s skull would fail.

Then something was on his back. For an instant Nick thought it one of the goons come over to try to pry him off, but the voice in his ear could not have been any sweeter, any more of a relief to his guilt-ridden conscience.

“Take us out, Nick. Now!”

Jackie. But the words were Laurel’s. Somehow Laurel was in control. Her voice whispered through all the rampant energy supercharging his body, urgent and insistent. “Cynthia,” she said. “Hospital.” Jackie’s arms wrapped around his neck, and Nick understood where they needed to go.

Open the door and push them all through.
Nick let her in, using her guidance to open the doorway back to the world of the living. The change of focus diverted his energy away from Drake’s crushing grip, and Nick felt his wrist give way, grinding to pieces beneath his skin.

For the first time, Drake’s victorious smile faltered. Going back through did not appear to be on his list of options. He tried to throw them off, push them aside before that door could be opened.

Pushing three people from one world to the other had been rough, but now there were five, one of whom was doing his best not to go through. They had to overcome not only the tension of the doorway itself being pushed open beyond its rightful bounds, but Drake’s panicked efforts to pull it closed. For the first time in 180 years, Nick realized he had more strength than his nemesis. The unharnessed energy, with which he had been unsure how to focus before, exposed itself with its true power. The power did not give him the ability to wreak havoc upon another, but the power to manipulate that fabric of time, space, and spirit between the living and the dead.

The door yawned opened beneath them, and Nick rolled over into it, his good hand hooked into the bones of Drake’s face. Jackie’s body clung to his back, and Shelby wrapped herself about his legs as the pull of the other side stretched him. The pathway was hardly big enough to let them through, but the tug of life grabbed a hold of the part of him that still lived, conforming his body to it, bending and twisting bones and stretching him to the point of breaking as they were drawn through.

Laurel’s voice yelled in his head, full of a panicked urgency.
Push, Nick! You’ve got to push us through.

I’m trying.
The door was meant for one, not five.

She’s almost dead. Get us through. Now, damn you.

Like he did this every day, just dragging people around between the lands of the living and the dead. It didn’t help that one of them had a very strong desire not to go through. Push as he might, however, the doorway was not big enough. All the focus in the world could not direct enough energy to widen the opening. They were not going to make it.

You’re trying too hard, Nick. Let us go.

The voice was not Laurel’s this time. It might have been Gwen’s, or some conglomeration of all the spirits that swam through his veins. Laurel had spoken of it before when they had traveled through. But to just let it go now, when using spirits’ energy was all that was giving them the chance to get out, made Nick hesitate. Everything had been put into his hands. Jackie was on the verge of death, and vindication for all that had happened, all that he had done, surged within him. He was finally able to do something to right these wrongs, and he had to just let it all go? If this was wrong, there would be no strength left to do anything, and they would all be dead.

The time to ponder was gone. Fate, he supposed, would have to decide. He could only hope the dead were right. Nick relinquished control, effectively letting go of his grip on the door. For a moment, they were all pulled back, swayed toward Deadworld by Drake’s force of will.

The dead within Nick dispersed from his body in a blinding flash of white light, pulling at every cell from the inside out. It was the intense, painful relief of pulling a knife from a wound, at once agonizing and then a flood of relief.

Awareness of his body and everyone around him began to dissipate. Fog and darkness seeped into his pores, filling every opening, saturating him down to the marrow with a cold that felt like it must have come from the dead void of space itself. Nick wanted to scream, tried to, but he could not tell if he actually did. Was this it? Had death finally come to embrace him, mocking him in the end with this final failure? The moment lasted a second or eternity. There was no point of reference. He could only hope and pray.

Nick fell through, tumbling into the nothingness between the worlds, the desperate grips of those around him clinging for dear life. At the last, he focused his awareness on the one good hand he had left. If there was any justice left in the world, its grip would not fail.

Chapter 59

Bright light. Bright fucking light.
Shit, I died.
The grogginess of sleep distorted Jackie’s perception for a moment as consciousness finally took a hold of her body. The sticky crust around her eyes gave way at last, however, and she blinked at the streaming rays of sunshine coming in through a hospital window. A chrome pipe rose above her next to the bed, dangling a clear bag of fluid. Okay, it sure as hell was not heaven.

Looking down at the sterile baby-blue blanket covering her body, Jackie noticed a sleeping figure in a green overstuffed chair. Nick’s head leaned back against the top, lolling to one side, snoring softly. A glance to the other side of the room revealed that she was in a single room. What the hell had happened? Did it matter? She was actually warm. How long had he been sitting there?

“Nick . . .” Her voice cracked, mouth dry and parched as bone.

His head snapped up, wide awake in an instant. His eyes were puffy and dark. A single Band-Aid bridged the gap between them. “Jackie! You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” she said. God, it hurt to talk. “Water?”

He leaped to his feet. “No problem. Be right back.”

Nick bolted out the door, which Jackie found amusing until she heard him shout, “Nurse! She’s awake. She’s goddamned awake.”

Before she had time to really ponder the ramifications of his excitement over her just waking up, a pair of nurses and a doctor came hustling into the room. The next two hours went downhill from there. God, she hated the fucking hospital. At least they had brought water. By then, half the crew from headquarters had come by to see her, hardly able to move as she was and with tubes running into her arm. A parade of doctors and nurses had stormed in and out, poking and prodding, and the whole time, Nick had sat there in his chair, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his hands, watching her intently. Occasionally, a bemused smirk would cross his face when she would finally get frustrated at the hospital staff and tell them to leave her the fuck alone. The sun no longer beamed through the window when quiet made its blessed descent on the room.

“Thanks for the water, Nick,” she said, trying in vain to find a comfortable position in which to lie. She settled on her right side, the left arm laying down her side. The pink, welted line of the wound at her elbow smiled back at her, remarkably healed.

She should have died, they said, flatlined for three minutes before being brought back. Nobody had provided any worthwhile information, least of all Nick, who had remained more or less silent the entire time other than greeting those who came to visit. Belgerman had said nothing, other than stating that he was thankful she was alive and would be fired if he saw her in the office within a month. “Don’t come back until you are ready,” he had said. Ready. Was one ever ready to go back to work after something like this? She just wanted some answers.

“Sorry,” Nick replied. “I was just . . . very pleased to see you awake again.”

“Has it really been five days?”

He nodded. “Seven, counting our time on the other side.”

“But . . . how?”

“I don’t know.” Nick gave her a nonchalant little shrug. “Time doesn’t work the same over there, I guess.”

Yeah, whatever. Nothing would be the same after that place. “Drake’s dead though, right? I mean, really and truly dead?”

“Yes. When we came back, he was so full of holes even his power couldn’t save him.” Nick absently flexed his right hand. “Don’t worry, we made sure.”

Jackie thought better of getting any clarification on that one. “Good. That fucker needed to die.”

Nick smiled. “Yes, he did indeed.”

“I guess I owe you one now.”

“No. No, Jackie you don’t. I’m just glad we got you back. It was more Laurel than me anyway.”

Laur. Jackie had hardly thought about her since waking up. Fresh tears stung her eyes. More than anything, she wished her friend was with her now. “I’m going to miss her.”

Nick got to his feet and picked up the tissue box sitting on the side table next to the chair. He set it down on the serving table next to her bed. “I don’t think she’s gone, not yet anyway.”

Jackie pulled out a tissue and wiped at the tears running down onto the pillow. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he agreed. “And I’m truly sorry.”

Jackie knew he did not speak of her death. She wadded up the tissue and threw it at him. “You couldn’t have stopped us, Nick. You really think you could have done anything to keep us away?”

He walked back over and sat down, sagging back in the chair. “No, probably not.”

“No probably about it, Sheriff. Not everything in this world is your fault.”

“Okay, okay. Relax, please. You’re right, just a bad habit.”

“Not bad,” she said, letting her head fall back into the pillow. The small effort had sapped what strength she had regained. “Just wrong.” They were silent for several seconds. She didn’t want to argue with him. He had saved her life, after all, and here he was, just sitting in her hospital room, and had been for, what? Hours? Days?

“Have you been sitting here the whole time, just watching me?”

“Off and on,” he said. “I felt it was important that someone was here when you came around.”

“It could have been weeks, for all you knew.”

He smiled that oddly reassuring, law-enforcement smile that said he knew better. “No. I knew it would be soon.”

“What, you can see into my head or something? One of your little vampire tricks?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ll bet all the girls love that.”

Nick sighed. “It’s not something I generally do with anyone.”

“Because you’re too good for that, I suppose?” The look he gave her made Jackie flinch. “Sorry. I’m tired and bitchy.”

“There has to be a connection of some kind for it to work.”

“Connection? Can you ever directly answer anything I ask you, Nick?”

He chuckled. “Fine. There has to be an emotional bond, some trust, for it to work.”

“So we have a bond then?”

“Apparently, we do.” He got up and picked up the water pitcher from her bedside table. “Get some rest, Jackie. You need it. You’ll be out of here by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Know that for a fact, do you?” A bond. What did one make of a bond to an 180-year-old vampire sheriff?

“You’ll be out of here the second you’re able, and not a second later.” He grinned and set the water pitcher back down. “Back in a minute.”

Jackie watched his solid, bruised figure leave. Damnit, there was a bond. She closed her eyes, pushing his image out of her mind. What the hell was she going to do about this? With everything? Her job was fucked. Her best friend was dead. She had almost died. Where did you go from there? The question faded into the oblivion of sleep before Nick returned.

The following afternoon, she was more than ready to leave. If one more person marveled at her recovery, she was going to deck them. Shelby, at least, had come along, exhibiting her usual charm. Then the doctors fell all over themselves to get things signed off. When they finally cleared Jackie, she sent Nick off to bring the car around front.

“He really likes you, you know,” Shelby said after the hospital-room door closed behind him. “You couldn’t have paid me to sleep in that fucking chair for five days. No offense.”

Jackie stopped packing her overnight bag that someone had brought in with a change of clothes. “He was here the whole time?”

“Yep. Our sheriff is about as loyal a dog as they come. I had to make him go home and take a shower after the first two.” She laughed at Jackie. “Don’t look so surprised. You guys have been through a lot.”

She tried to imagine sitting there in that green hotel-lobby chair for five straight days.
Would I have been that dedicated?
For Laurel. She would have done it for Laurel because Jackie had loved her more than anyone. God. Not even possible that was why Nick had done it for her. It was just the circumstances.

“He just wanted to make sure someone was around when I woke up, someone who knew what happened.”

Shelby patted her arm. “Guess that’s why he never asked me to take the chair for a while.”

Jackie pulled a Northwestern sweatshirt over her head and zipped the bag. “Can we not discuss this right now?”

“Sure thing, hon. Just saying is all, and I know Nick. There’s something there.”

Jackie shouldered the bag. “Can we go?”

They stopped at the gift shop on the way out, and Shelby bought a bouquet of flowers. Jackie thought for a moment she might be giving them to her, but Shelby said nothing, just smiling with those perfect, brilliantly red lips. Nick waited with the car doors open when they stepped out of the hospital side entrance.

“Get in,” he said, pulling the bag from Jackie’s shoulder. “We move fast, they won’t even notice we’ve left.”

Jackie looked around but saw nobody out of the ordinary. “They who?”

“There’s more than a few folks around interested in how you vanished from the basement of a burning funeral home and reappeared two days later,” Shelby replied. “You can go around front and conduct an interview or ten if you want.”

Jackie quickly ducked into the backseat of the car and hunkered down. What a nightmare that would be. She had not even considered that possibility. “Let’s go.”

They wound through the city’s streets, still wet from an early morning rain. It was cool and breezy, a typical early fall day in Chicago. Nothing, however, felt typical anymore. Jackie had seen things no living person had any business seeing. She was getting a ride home from a couple vampires, one of whom she could not decide what to think of. The man, a good-looking one at that, had saved her life. By itself, that had some potential right there. A couple weeks ago, it would have made for a rollicking, drunken night of sex, and then it would have been back to work the next day, out of sight and out of mind. But now?

Life had shifted in a very peculiar direction, and Jackie could not decide what to make of it. Begrudgingly, she had to admit there was something there with Nick, and it could easily be chalked up to the intensity of circumstance, but there was something more. Yet was it really there, or just because she wanted it to be there, needed it to be there? She could not go back to her old life and ways. That Jackie no longer existed, the one who had bled out into the mouth of the man sitting in the front seat. What was left? Did it matter?

Jackie stared at the bouquet in the seat next to her, bright and summery in color, an overabundance of daisies packed into its tightly wound band.

“What are the flowers for?”

Shelby looked back with a sympathetic smile. “Laurel.”

Before she could wonder why, Nick turned his car into the driveway of the Montrose Cemetery. She stared out the window, row after row of marble stones filing past. They made their way to the back of the property, where it butted up against the edge of the LaBagh Woods. In a few more weeks it would be a beautiful setting with the trees changing into their fall dress. When Nick stopped the car, Jackie could plainly see their destination a few meters off into the manicured lawn, where a mound of flowers still adorned a fresh grave.

For a long minute, Jackie could only stare out the window at it. The finality of everything, of what had happened to them, the unheeded warning to leave all this alone, grew out of the ground before her in an absurdly mocking pile of cheerful color. She began to cry.

“Go,” Shelby said.

Nobody had mentioned the funeral or that she had missed it. The tears would not stop. While she still had any nerve left to get out of the car, Jackie picked up the bouquet from the seat and stepped out. The air had become oddly still and silent. At the foot of the grave, Jackie stopped, holding the flowers limply in one hand. Such a trifling thing to bring them here, a wholly inadequate gesture to someone who had been so much more than just her friend. She wiped at the tears with the back of her other hand, throat too constricted to force out any words. Not that any words could convey her feelings at that moment.

“They’re pretty,” Laurel said. “Daisies are my favorite flower.”

Jackie knelt down and set them at the edge of the others, managing at last to force out a single, choked word. “Hi.”

“It was a lovely funeral,” Laurel said. “Pernetti even cried like a baby.”

Jackie’s clipped laugh came out more as a sob. “Sorry I missed it.”

“It’s okay,” Laurel said. “Better this way anyway.”

Probably so. They might have carted her off if she had begun to have a conversation with the dead. “I’m so lost now, Laur. It’s like I’m treading water out in the middle of the ocean. I don’t know where to go from here.”

“I know. I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t.”

“You always had the answers.”

Laurel gave her a sad, sympathetic smile. “Even if I had them, I can’t give them anymore, hon. You have to find your own way, leave all that old stuff behind, and start fresh. You’ve got a second chance at life now. Don’t be afraid.”

Afraid. None of the old terrors compared to this. “Do I deserve another chance?” She had not thought to ask the question, but it came out before she realized.

“Don’t,” Laurel snapped back, pointing an accusatory finger. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, so stop. You deserve it as much as anyone I’ve ever known. I wouldn’t have loved you if you didn’t deserve the best life has to give.”

Jackie sniffled and wiped the tears away again. “Okay, fine. I deserve it. So what happens now?”

“I don’t know. How about you go home and have a bath? Give Bickers some love. He misses you.”

“God, I totally forgot about him. He’s probably peed in every corner of my apartment.”

Laurel laughed. “He’s fine. You’ll be fine. Do something that will make you happy.”

Happiness was the furthest thing from Jackie’s mind at that moment. “I don’t see that happening any time soon.”

“There’s a little bit of it waiting right back there in the car.”

“What? Nick? I . . . I don’t really know what to think of that man.”

“Then don’t. Just do. He’s looking for the same things you are.”