Haunted (Anna Strong Chronicles #8)

Haunted (Anna Strong Chronicles #8) Page 22

Chapter 61

RELIEF?

Stephen broke up with me. I didn't have to break up with him. I didn't have to come up with the thousand reasons I couldn't make the move with him to Washington.

I don't have to feel guilt. I don't have to feel remorse.

When I realize what I am feeling, that I'm off the hook, another emotion wells up.

Alarm. Because I must be crazy. Certifiable. I just lost one of the most wonderful men I've ever known and all I want to do is breathe a huge sigh of relief.

And celebrate.

I am seriously deranged. Or am I in shock?

I push myself up from the table and start back to Max's room. On the way through the hospital lobby, I stop at the gift shop to check out the newspaper headlines. There it is on the front page of the Monitor. Two days and the battle against Pablo's men and his subsequent arrest is still front-page news.

Along with a photo of me sitting at Max's bedside in the hospital.

I stomp to the elevator. Fucking cell phone cameras. Anyone could have taken that picture of me with Max and I'd never have known it. I didn't know it. It could have been someone on the staff, one of Max's DEA buddies, a reporter.

Anyone.

No wonder Stephen was so pissed. The expression on my face, the way I'm bending toward Max. It would be easy to misinterpret concern for something else.

And yet... Why am I getting angry?

I'm halfway down the hall when my phone rings. I'd forgotten to turn it back off. I duck into a waiting room and check the caller ID. It's David with a text message.

It's simple. Sorry to hear about Max. Take as much time as you need. Call if you need anything.

Good old David. At least he's one man I don't have to worry about disappointing.

We're way past disappointment.

IT'S BEEN THREE MORE DAYS AND MAX STILL HAS NOT regained consciousness. I'm going crazy from the anxiety, the boredom, the hopelessness.

My own wounds have healed, the bullets working their way to the surface of my skin as I expected and pushing their way out. It hurt like hell when they erupted like pieces of shrapnel. I have them in a little glass jar. Macabre, but I figure Max will get a kick out of seeing them when he recovers.

Once he gets over being pissed because my wounds healed so much easier than his.

If his wounds heal...

An annoying, worrisome thought has worked its way into my head the last few days. I could save Max. I could turn him.

But at what cost? If I could be sure he would not condemn me for turning him into a creature he once ran away from, I would do it.

When I try to ask him, to whisper the question in his ear, I get no response.

I have never turned another human. I realize I am not ready to take the responsibility without his consent. I am too much of a coward.

And so I sit and watch and hope I've made the right decision.

On the sixth day, Max's doctor tells me to go home. That Max's condition is not likely to change soon... if at all. The damage to his internal organs is severe. The loss of blood, the trauma, has led to pneumonia. The fact that he is unconscious is really a blessing. At such time as they deem it safe to move him, he will be transported to a hospital in San Diego. I can check in every day by telephone and if his condition does change, they will notify me.

I hate to leave. I don't want Max to wake up and be alone. His DEA buddies assure me that someone will visit every day. The same agent who embarrassed himself by telling me how crazy in love Max had been with me promises to keep in close touch with the hospital and with me.

I'm bone weary and homesick so I agree to leave. I call my pilot from the hotel, but as luck would have it, my plane is in for its annual inspection. There is an "international" airport in McAllen where I book a flight to San Diego. It's going to take five hours and one plane change. I'm spoiled. I'd forgotten how much trouble it is to fly commercial.

I pack the few things I've acquired since coming to McAllen, stop one last time at the hospital, board the commuter jet for the first part of the trip and settle in for the flight.

I have a window seat so I buckle in, sit back and close my eyes. The same themes that plagued me for the last five days slide into my consciousness.

Max. Stephen. Vampire.

Nothing I can do about Max now, or Stephen. Vampire is content and quiet for the time being so any control issue is moot.

Another person worms his way into my consciousness.

Two people, actually.

Daniel Frey and his son.

I realize I want to see them. I realize I need to see them.

And I'm suddenly flooded with warmth.

Chapter 62

WHEN I UNLOCK THE FRONT DOOR TO MY COTTAGE, I find I have to push at it to get inside. Something's jamming it. At first, vampire instincts kick in and I think, shit, someone broke in. I drop my carry-on and brace myself to face an intruder.

But I detect no strange smells nor do I hear anything except the ticking of a clock and the chirping of my telephone alerting me that I have voice mail.

Allowing my shoulders to relax, I shove the door inward. As soon as I'm inside, I see what's wedged against it.

My things from Stephen's apartment. The clothes I'd left there, some toiletries, a toothbrush. All deposited neatly inside a paper bag. At some point, the bag had fallen over, which explained the jam.

There's a note, too. From his sister, Susan.

Stephen didn't have time to return these things before packing his apartment and leaving for Washington. I told him I'd do it. You'll find your key under the doormat. Not very original, but then, neither are you.

Susan Whoa. She's really pissed at me. The only thing missing is "bitch" at the end of the last line. I suppose it never occurred to her how difficult it would have been for me to leave San Diego.

Then again, Stephen is her brother. She may have seen those pictures of me with Max at the hospital, too. She was here to experience Stephen's hurt and anger and sense of betrayal firsthand.

It doesn't matter that there was no betrayal.

No intentional betrayal anyway.

I crumple the note and toss it into a wastebasket on my way upstairs, drop the bag and carry-on on the floor in my bedroom and throw myself across the bed. My bed.

Feels good.

SUDDENLY, MAX IS STANDING AT THE FOOT OF MY BED.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Did I fall asleep?

He smiles. "Hey."

He's wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He looks good. "Hey, yourself. When did they let you out of the hospital?"

"An hour ago. I was afraid you weren't going to wake up in time."

My head is fuzzy with sleep. I give it a shake and focus on Max. "You really look good. I just left Texas a few hours ago. You made a miraculous recovery."

"In a way." He takes a seat on the end of my bed. "I have something to tell you. And I don't think I have much time."

I smile. "Why not?"

"Oh, you know, places to go, people to see."

"You realize Pablo is in custody."

"Yes. But that's not why I'm here."

I prop myself up straighter against the headboard and try to concentrate. My brain isn't cooperating. It seems to be trying to cut into my thoughts, to tell me something. I tell it to shut up, that I only want to listen to Max. I lean toward him. "Go on."

He sighs. "First, I owe you an apology. I didn't treat you very well when I found out you are a vampire. I was afraid of what it meant... to me. Stupid because it meant nothing. Not really. Above all, you are a good woman, Anna, and my biggest regret is that I realized it too late."

I shrug. "You can make it up to me."

He shakes his head. "No. Believe me, it's too late. But there is something else. Learn from me. You have a real chance at happiness now. Take it."

My turn to shake my head. "If you mean Stephen..."

"No. Not Stephen. There is another. You know who it is." He stops, tilts his head as if listening. He nods. "I only have a few more minutes. Don't regret what happened in that hangar. I know you've been wondering whether you will always be stronger than vampire. You only need to want it. All the strength you need is within yourself. You are right about Culebra. He has found new meaning for his life with Adelita. He has found a way to make up for past mistakes. He has finally found peace. Make sure he understands he is not to blame for what happened to me. He fought as hard as I did to stop Pablo and Luis. He needs to concentrate now on the future. Let the past die."

I tilt my head. "But how did you know what I was thinking at the hospital? You were unconscious the entire time."

"All the same, I heard your thoughts. Loud and clear. In fact, it was those thoughts that kept pulling me back when I was ready to let go." He laughs. "Your will is too strong. I was relieved when they sent you home."

"I don't understand," I say while my gut is saying, of course you do. You know.

"It was my time, Anna."

Anger wells up and with it fear. Fear of losing a friend. Fear of losing Max. "No. I don't want you to go."

"It's too late. It's a tribute to your power that I was allowed to hang around this long. To say a proper good-bye. I'll miss you, Anna."

"No." I lunge forward on the bed, reaching for his hand.

It slips through mine as though made of fog.

He smiles a slow, sweet smile and raises his hand in farewell.

And then before I can reach out again, he is gone.

It isn't until I'm awakened by the ring of the telephone on my bedside table that I realize the truth. That I realize Max had come to me in a dream. I know what Max's doctor is going to say before his somber voice officially informs me.

Max has died.

I hold my head in my hands and let the tears fall.

Chapter 63

I'D BEEN TO THE FUNERAL OF ONE OTHER LAW ENFORCEMENT agent... Warren Williams' "son," Ortiz. Max's funeral is full of the same militaristic pomp and circumstance. Over a hundred agents are in attendance as well as high-ranking officials of the DEA and its Mexican counterpart. I'd forgotten that Max had been a marine until a twenty-one-gun salute echoes like ancient thunder over the hills of Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery. As Max had no family, the flag that draped his casket is taken to be flown on the cemetery's Avenue of Flags.

David came with me to the funeral. He and Max were never friends, but he respected him. He also knew that Max and I had been lovers once. He was the first one on my doorstep when he heard of Max's death. He holds my hand and lets me lean on him as the proceedings come to a close. One by one the guests leave.

Now we're the only ones left. I insisted on staying out of sight during the service. I hate funerals. I've never been comfortable sharing my feelings, especially with strangers. David didn't question it. He's never been big on public displays of emotion, either, and he knows my history... I lost a brother when I was seventeen. There were enough public displays of emotion at that funeral to last an eternity.

I touch David's arm. "You can go now, David. I appreciate your coming with me, but I'd like a few minutes alone."

He looks around at the deserted gravesite. "How will you get home?"

"I'll go back to the caretaker's office and call a taxi," is what I say. In my head, I'm thinking a little physical exercise, like an eight-mile run home along the Pacific, is just what I need to clear my head. I dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and athletic shoes this morning for just that reason. And as another excuse to stay out of sight of the more traditionally clad mourners.

I knew Max would understand.

David nods and leans over to kiss my cheek. He doesn't ask why. He doesn't try to talk me out of it. He simply leaves.

I wait until he's gone before approaching Max's grave.

I kneel down and touch the side of the casket. "Culebra sends his love. He couldn't come, Max. He didn't want to leave Adelita and she doesn't have her formal papers yet. He was afraid they'd have trouble getting back across the border. I think it was more than that, though. He knows you were shot with one of those ATF rifles. He's sick about it. I told him you didn't hold him responsible, that it's more the fault of the ATF genius who thought up the gun sting, but he doesn't believe it. Maybe you could tell him, pay him a visit the way you did me?"

I stand up and pull a rose out of one of the floral arrangements and drop it onto the casket.

"Thanks for saying good-bye, Max," I whisper. "Sorry if I held you up. Safe journey."

Chapter 64

THE RUN ALONG THE COAST RENEWS MY SPIRIT. THE air is crisp and the sky clear. A low winter sun sends shards of light bouncing off a calm ocean. A perfect January afternoon.

A hell of a start to the new year.

Max gone.

Stephen gone.

My family gone.

At least with my family, it's only "gone" in the sense they no longer have a home here.

No. Not true. They'll always have a home with me.

I'm back at the cottage, seated on the deck off my bedroom, watching the ocean. I spoke with Culebra after I got home from the service. He will not be easy to console; his guilt over Max runs deep. But Adelita is there, and his voice when he speaks of her is hopeful and full of wonder. He's already enrolled her as "his niece" in a Catholic school in Tijuana. She starts at the beginning of next week. In the meantime, she is adjusting to his unconventional lifestyle and even finds the rather special clientele his bar caters to fascinating. I think the fact that she revels in feeling safe and secure for the first time in her young life has much to do with the ease of her acceptance.

And spending a week with a vampire.

The parallels between Adelita and Trish are remarkable. Both have found real family in bonds of love rather than biology.

A car honking in the alley draws me back. I look down to see a taxi pulling into the driveway. I wave that I see him, shut and lock the slider, grab up my bag and run downstairs.

I have one more journey of my own to make.

To a Navajo reservation.

I wonder how my parents will feel about a new grandson.

The End.