Divine by Choice (20 page)

Oh, wonderful. Why the hell hadn't I thought about this? Of course Rhiannon had interacted with my friends and family. Of course she had offended and hurt everyone. I mentally shook myself. I'd just spent six months cleaning up her messes in another world, which included convincing Gene's mirror imagine, Carolan, that he didn't need to hate me because I WASN'T FRIGGIN RHIANNON, and I would never hurt Alanna. It was only logical that she had crapped all over this world, too.

“I can explain that, Suz.” I ignored Gene's hostile stare and focused on the woman who had been like a sister to me. “I wasn't myself when I said that. Hell—” I attempted a girlfriend smile “—I haven't been
myself—”
I made sure I enunciated the word carefully “—for months.” I looked into her eyes, silently begging her to see the differences between Rhiannon and me. “I really can explain. Can we go somewhere for a cup of coffee or something?” I brightened as I remembered. “Isn't there a
Panera right down the street?” I knew there was. Suz and I had met there and snarfed down their wonderful pecan rolls many a morning.

I saw her face begin to soften into familiar, loving lines, and she opened her mouth to reply.

“No.” Gene's answer beat hers. “We are not meeting you anywhere.”

I looked at him—I mean, this time I really looked at him. He had always been a medium-height, ordinary-looking, plump, older guy. Fifteen years older to be exact. He had just turned a rather barrel-chested, high blood–pressured fifty. He was plain—way average-looking, especially when compared to Suz's sparkling cuteness. The only things he had ever had in his court were his intelligence, and the fact that he absolutely adored my best friend. You can forgive a lot for total adoration.

Actually, I realized that I had come to like and respect Carolan much more than Gene. Huh. Carolan was actually a doctor—he healed people. Gene was an academic, a university professor dork. He had a doctorate (two actually), but he wasn't a doctor. Know what I mean? Gene was pudgy; Carolan was lean and wiry, making him look (and act) a decade younger. I hadn't really thought about the differences between them until that moment; I'd just accepted that Carolan was Alanna's love because Gene was Suz's.

Now I watched something ugly take over Gene's face—jealousy, and I knew that even when Carolan had hated “me” because he thought I was Rhiannon, that hatred hadn't been jealous or envious. It had been based solely on the fact that Rhiannon used and hurt Alanna. Carolan was a better guy than Gene, and not just because in Partholon he'd kept himself in better shape and was a gifted doctor, instead of just an overeducated academic nerd. Carolan would never be jealous of
my closeness with Alanna—just the opposite. With the clarity that comes with intuition, I realized that the reason I identified Gene's jealousy so quickly was that I had glimpsed it before. Way more than once. Like when I had just “dropped by” Suz's house on a Saturday afternoon to take her out for an impromptu girlfriend lunch. Or when his voice had suddenly turned cold through the cell phone as Suz reminded him that she and I had set aside Thursday evenings for
our
time, and he would have to do without her for a couple hours. And in the way he couldn't quite disguise the sarcasm in his voice when he used to say that Suz and I probably wouldn't mind being joined at the hip. Literally. But until now he'd always managed to charm his way out of any awkwardness. I mean, I guess I'd never considered whether Gene actually liked me, or just tolerated me. He was good to Suz; that was good enough for me. It pissed me off to realize that all this time he must have been camouflaging his jealous dislike, and now Rhiannon the Impostor had given it a viable excuse to be let loose. (Although I was also pleased to note yet another example of mirror images being different—for whateverthe-hell reason…nature versus nurture…blah…blah.)

“I asked Suzanna, not you.” I met his furious gaze calmly. “Since when do you answer for her?” I kept my voice down. I didn't want some kind of ridiculous Jerry Springer episode to call the Wal-Mart shoppers' attention away from falling prices to us. I glanced around, relieved that the passing people were concentrating on not slipping on the ice instead of our little drama.

“Shae…” Suzanna's sweet voice speaking the nickname I hadn't heard in what felt like six years rather than six months made my heart squeeze. “Maybe we can meet later?” she said hesitantly, her eyes sliding nervously between Gene and me.

“I really need to talk to you now, Suz. It's important.” I tele
graphed her the
it's-an-emergency, girlfriend
look we had been successfully sending to and receiving from each other for years. The look that means Drop Everything, Something's Wrong. A veritable girlfriend SOS.

To my abject horror she simply shrugged her shoulders and avoided my eyes while she said, “I just don't think it's a good idea.”

“You
don't think!” I said through gritted teeth, giving Gene a pointed glance.

“Look, Shannon,” Gene sneered, “you need to face it. Your life has changed. You've made it clear that Suzanna doesn't fit in your new lifestyle. You've grown apart. It's not like you two were ever the same kind of people anyway.”

I felt like he'd slapped me. Of course Suz and I weren't the same kind of people. That's what made us such great friends. She and I approached situations and life from different perspectives. She was more conservative; she thought things out. I was more outgoing; I tended to jump into things without thinking. We complemented each other. I encouraged her to wear shorter skirts and speak her mind. She prompted me to button one more top button and try to keep my mouth shut (occasionally).

I wanted to shout this in his pompous face. Then I noticed Suzanna's expression. It was begging me not to say anything. Unshed tears brightened her eyes. She looked like a woman who had just had to choose between her best friend and her husband.

Gene's hand tightened over hers where it still held securely to his arm. She put her other hand over his in a gesture that I recognized as one that she made automatically to reassure him. She had chosen, and what else should I have expected? My life had gone in a different direction—one she couldn't follow. What did I want her to do, leave the father of her
children for me? No, I didn't want that, not even if I was never able to return to Partholon.

“I understand,” I said, trying to make my voice sound normal.

Gene snorted sarcastically.

I ignored him, keeping my eyes locked with Suzanna's. “I'm sorry for the pain these past months have caused you.” I wanted to add that it wasn't me who had caused you that pain—that someday I would explain—someday she would understand, but I knew that probably wouldn't happen. Like her, I had shifted my focus. Our lives were irrevocably changed. So instead I just smiled sadly at her and told her the only truth I could. “I'll miss you. I love you.”

I saw her mouth tighten, and as Gene hauled her past me, the garish lights of Wal-Mart illuminated the tears that spilled down her cheeks and mixed with the never-ending snow.

As I stumbled forward, the red and blue lights of the Broken Arrow police cruiser pulling up next to the stranded Impala threw bizarre whirling shapes on the snow. Clint's strong arm reached around my shoulder and steadied me. The electric doors whooshed open, but my feet wouldn't take me much farther inside, so they stayed open behind us. The cold air at my back contrasted sharply with the heated air blasting from an air duct above us. I didn't know I was crying until Clint handed me a tissue. I nodded my thanks and wiped my nose.

“She was my best friend,” I said stupidly.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

A herd of bag-laden shoppers bumped around us, and Clint took my arm, guiding me to the side of the glass entryway. I shook my head violently from side to side.

“I just can't believe she—” And I stopped. She what? She didn't leap forward and gush,
Oh, Shae, I knew all along it wasn't you! I suspected the whole, you've-been-sucked-into-a-mirror-dimen
sion-thing-the-entire-time truth!
Please. How could she have even imagined it?

I breathed deeply, stifling the sniffles that a serious snot cry always caused me to have. I blew my nose and looked up at Clint.

“I guess I should apologize. That was an ugly scene.” I smiled sheepishly at him, but he wasn't looking at me. His was looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined either side of the electric doors, and his attention was focused there.

“Clint?” I started to question him, then I felt it—an internal skittering that was teasing and thick and sickening—like I'd walked into a room where a mouse had curled up inside the wall and died, and was just beginning to stink. I spun around so that I faced the row of windows.

The steady snow was like a veil of white beads against the dim curtain of evening. The light had been fading for the past several hours, and the gray day turned people in the parking lot to ghosts of themselves. The cop was helping in the final stages of attaching the chains to the Impala's tires. With a jolt of surprise, I noticed Suzanna and Gene were standing just a few feet from where we had been talking. Only now they weren't touching each other. Suz's arms were wrapped across herself in a defensive gesture. One of Gene's hands was fisted against his side; with the other he pointed and gestured angrily. Suzanna shook her head decisively, and took a step away from Gene and toward the building. Gene reached out and grabbed her arm. They were drawing the glances of the people who hurried past them.

Then from the corner of my vision I saw a dark fluttering movement, like the wings of a bat against the night sky. My head snapped to the right and I squinted hard, trying to get a clear look at what I thought might be there, all the while hoping fervently I was mistaken.

“There…” Clint pointed to a spot behind the stuck car. At first it just looked like it was a shadow of the car—until I reminded myself that the sun was setting and could not be casting an enormous, ink stain of a shadow.

Then it rippled, gliding forward and under the chain-wrapped spinning wheels of the car. The engine growled.

What happened next was with nauseating swiftness. I started forward, but instead of opening, the doors stayed closed as the fluorescent lights flickered and went out. At the same instant I saw Suzanna shake free of Gene's restraining grip. As she hurried back toward the electric doors, Suz was still looking at Gene, saying something to him over her shoulder, so she didn't see the churning wheels miraculously catch on the surface of the evil-darkened ice. The Impala surged forward and straight into Suzanna. She wasn't thrown into the air by the impact. Instead she fell forward and the car bucked and heaved as it rolled over her.

I tasted bile in the scream that was wrenched from my mouth. My hands were fisted against the glass, pounding futilely on its closed surface. Then the lights blinked once and glared back on. The door whooshed softly open. Clint was at my side as I rushed forward into the throng of people rapidly gathering around the accident site.

“I'm a nurse, let me through!” a solid-looking blond lady ordered, and the ring that had already formed around Suzanna parted quickly. The nurse dropped to her knees and out of my range of sight. I could hear the disjointed clicks and mutters of the officer's radio as he called for an ambulance.

“Stay back! Stay back!” The cop waded into the mélange of people, arms spread wide as he held the crowd at bay. His eyes were focused on the scene in the middle of the ring of onlookers. I pushed my way into the group.

Suzanna lay on her side perfectly still. Her body was facing
me; her head should have been pointed in my direction, too. But her neck was twisted back at an impossible angle so that instead of her face, I was looking at the back of her head. I blinked quickly, not really understanding what I was seeing. An ever-widening pool of brilliant scarlet was spreading all around her head and shoulders. Steam was rising from where body-warmed blood met frozen ground.

And somewhere in the midst of the horror before me, I heard the echo of a gurgling laugh as a dark shadow dissipated into the night.

“So much blood,” I felt my numbed lips whisper. “Suzanna!” The cry was wrenched from me.

The man who had been kneeling at her side lifted his face. Gene's skin had turned a ghastly shade of gray. His shock-blue lips were pressed into a thin line.

“You did this,” he hissed.

“We have to go.” Clint's voice was as strong as the arm that encircled my shoulders.

“I can't leave her,” I sobbed.

“You can't help her, Shannon. She's dead.”

Those words,
she's dead,
felt like a physical blow to my body.

“Back off, folks! Back off!” The one uniform had been joined by several more.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” An agonized shout came from the man I recognized as the driver of the Impala. He staggered through the group surrounding Suzanna's body.

“Sir! Please step over here!” One of the cops pulled him away.

“Oh, God! The car wouldn't stop!” The man was sobbing uncontrollably. “I buried my foot in the brake, but nothing happened. I swear it!”