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Would he spend the rest of his life hating me?
Something soft and cool brushed my ear, a breeze in the windless night. I
opened my eyes. All around me, the alley grew dim. Colors bled together into
shapeless blobs that darkened with the rapid deceleration of my heart. The
pain in my chest ebbed into a warm, focused feeling that lifted my whole body
from any sensation.
Then the space that separated the shapeless blobs got smaller and smaller as
the darkness became absolute. In the distance, I saw a point of light. It
swelled and spiraled toward me.
In medical school, we d been taught theKubler -Ross theories of death.A
glimmering tunnel, all your relatives and the deity of your choice waiting to
welcome you.
When I d gone on to my internship, I d heard the nurses talk about  The Man
at the End of My Bed, a vision they claimed patients always reported on the
night of their death.
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Both versions of dying had been terrifying and alien to me, looming in the
future like a standardized test or a root canal, something unpleasant you
couldn t avoid. What I was experiencing now was peaceful and gradual, my
senses dropping away one by one as the intense light widened in my fading
vision.
Instead of seeing heaven, I saw the alley and the street beyond. At my feet,
I saw my lifeless body, torso splayed open like a macabre storybook.
I wished I could see the world around me all my life as it appeared now,
painted in the washed-out tones of a watercolor. Suddenly, where the sidewalks
had been empty before, pale shadow forms drifted aimlessly in an eerie ballet.
A big orange tabby cat jogged down the alley, pausing to sniff my body.
The animal s vitality and life took my breath away. The shadows spotted it at
once and reached their long fingers out to touch it before it hissed and ran
back where it had come from. I wanted to follow it. I needed to touch the cat
and feel the life there. But something held me down like an anchor.
A pull at my spectral chest reminded me that my body still had breath and
life. I wanted to just die already.
So this is what it s like to become a ghost.
I heard Nathan s voice. When he passed the alley, he stopped, sniffed the
air.
He howled in fury.
He dropped to his knees beside my body, arms spread as if he didn t know what
to do first. Sadly though not too sadly, because everything I felt seemed to
come through a filter I realized he wanted to save me.
I wanted to tell him not to bother. It was too much work, and I was just too
tired.
The shadows shimmered and pulsed, but they didn t swarm Nathan the way they
had the cat. I didn t blame them. There was no life in him, no color. Just
pale shades of sadness, and we already had those.
Nathan lifted my head in his hands and kissed my dead lips. A tear splashed
against my cold skin. It couldn t have been mine.
The tenderness there made me feel something. Regret?
My new companions beckoned, and I reached out to them. Not with my hands. I
had no hands. Neither didthey . But they surrounded me, and their embrace was
warm and comforting.
Nathan raised his wrist to his mouth and bit down. Dark blood dripped into my
slack mouth.
The ghost people wavered and dimmed.
No!
I tried to fight, but piece by piece I came alive again. First I heard sounds
more clearly. Then I felt a little pain, and the sensation of hot, sticky
blood pooling in the back of my mouth. I swallowed, and the pain grew, until
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all I felt was agony and hunger.
I closed my lips over his wrist. When I drew more blood into my mouth, a
tremor went through him.
 You re going to be okay, he rasped.
He held my broken body in his arms.
 I saw them, I whispered. I drifted away again, but this time there were no
lost souls to welcome me.
I was stranded in the darkness.
Twenty-One
Born Again (Not That Way)
Ihad no concept of time over the course of my recovery. It moved from
darkness to light, and not at regular intervals. Sometimes I opened my eyes,
but my vision was as soft and unfocused as a newborn s.
Occasionally, pictures splintered my mind. Some were unrecognizable, but a
few were my own memories from a skewed perspective, as if I were watching
myself in a movie. In the most frequently occurring flash, I saw my own
lifeless body in the alley. It was like a scene in a horror film, and it
repeated over and over.
The longer I slept, the worse my hunger grew. When it finally outweighed my
fatigue, I woke, cranky and hurting.
Though my memory was fuzzy, I knew I was in Nathan s bed. His scent was all
around me, and my body reacted with surprising ferocity. It demanded I find
him.
At first I was afraid to move. I remembered my throat had been cut. With no
idea how long I d beenasleep, I didn t know how much I d healed. When I
touched my neck, I felt only smooth, new skin.
 You re awake.
I knew Nathan had entered the room before he spoke. I sensed him. He looked
haggard, as if he hadn t slept in days.
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand.  Is it really noon?
He nodded.  How are you feeling?
His eyes were ringed with dark circles; his face was drawn and pinched. When
he spoke, it sounded like his vocal chords had been raked across a cheese
grater.
 I hurt, I answered truthfully. Very badly. And I m hungry.
He scrubbed his face vigorously with his hands and blew out a long breath,
much like a man who was faced with a task he was too exhausted to undertake
would do. But he smiled encouragingly.  Let me take care of the pain
first,then I ll see what I can do about getting you some blood.
I shifted carefully in the bed, white-hot spears of pain ripping through my
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torso as I did so.  How long have I been out?
 Eight days. Nine if I give you enough meds.
 What about Cyrus? I thought he looked angry at the mention of his name, and
he had every right to be. But I had a right to know.  Did you kill him?
Nathan looked away from me.  No, we didn t kill him. I suggested we postpone
the mission in case you survived to bitch at me when you found out that we
went without you.
At least he hadn t lost his sense of humor. Beside the bed, he d set up a
folding card table stocked with clean towels, the first aid kit, and numerous
boxes of gauze and medical tape. Most of these were empty.
He lifted a needle and measured out an injection of something. I didn t care
what it was as long as it took away the crushing feeling in my chest.
Gauze wrapped around my torso, giving me the appearance of a
fashion-conscious mummy wearing a tube top. I pressed my hand to my ribs and
another sharp ache pierced down my body.  I can t breathe.
Nathan sat next to me on the bed, carefully trying not to make any movements
that would jostle me.  Yes you can. Take deep breaths. If you panic, you ll
hyperventilate.
He pulled back the blankets and wrapped a tourniquet around my arm. I
flinched when he sank the needle into my vein, and acute pain billowed through
my limbs.
My memories played out like a rough cut of a movie I only knew half the plot
to. The sound was bad, the visuals confusing. There were threads of a coherent
story, but no pattern to weave them all together.
 What happened to me?
Nathan s face, lined with tension, tried to soften.  What do you remember?
 Sounds.Pain. And horrific, physical torment.But I didn t want to recall that
now.  I remember coming back downstairs for the keys, and after that,
nothing.
He shook his head.  You never made it downstairs, Carrie. I found you in the
alley.
The alley.I remembered thesky, that it had been almost dawn and I couldn t
move.  Did I burn?
 No. Gently, he removed the needle and recapped it. Although I d already
lectured Nathan about this, I didn t bother correcting him. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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