Author's note: If you haven't read my previous story "Jessie" then this chapter will likely not make sense. That book connects directly to this chapter. If you haven't read it, I would recommend taking a break from To My Senses to read that one.
This chapter contains very little sexual context. If you've been reading specifically for the erotic sequences instead of the plot, this would be a chapter to avoid.
Thank you for your views and your votes, and your public and private comments. I really do appreciate it all.
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"What are you doing here?" My mind couldn't process this, and my head ached. Nothing made sense. This was impossible.
"I should ask you the same question, Gary. What are you doing here? Again?"
"Again?" The weaponlight on the Sig cast crazy shadows over Tori, and I rose heavily from the bed, flipped on the bedside light. Jessie didn't stir and I moved to kneel beside her.
Tori's voice stopped me from trying to shake her awake. "Don't bother."
"Why?"
"Because."
I stood and placed the Sig on the end table, turned my attention to the woman impossibly sitting in the chair across the room. She looked better than when I'd seen her last - no bandage or brace on her leg, no cane resting nearby, no weak, tired air of defeat hovering around her. She looked young and vibrant, my old neighbor before violence and pain and death had intruded into our lives. She was dressed in a faded denim skirt and a cut-off Terminator t-shirt that exposed her slim waist, and even with Jessie sleeping behind me, all that skin on display made me hungry for her.
"How did you get on board? How did you find me? Aren't you supposed to be in California with your mom? How are you here now?"
"How are you here, Gary? All the other lives you could be living, and you choose to remember the life that hurt the most?"
"Remember? What the fuck are you talking about?"
Her voice was gentle. "The explosion, Gary. The car bomb. You saved Jane, at the cost of your own life. Pulled her from your truck before it blew."
The room seemed too small to contain my pounding head and the ringing inside it, and all the air seemed to have been sucked out, leaving a crushed feeling in my chest. I staggered, supported myself on the bedpost.
I did remember.
I'd lived a few years with Jessie after this day. Driven to Denver with her. Nearly died there. Sienna had come back, and we'd taken care of her and her daughter. I hated to admit it, but I'd fallen in love with her. Her past had caught up in spectacular fashion, a former Marine named Morgan. He'd bombed my truck, just as I feared when I took Sienna and Jane in.
I remembered the fated feeling of walking up to a guillotine as I made the choice to rescue Jane from the Suburban...and then the piercing, burning pain of the explosion just a few feet behind me, the feeling of being hurled through the air by the shockwave.
I looked up at Tori seated in the chair at the other end of the bedroom. I ground my teeth together, forced out the impossible words I know were true. "I'm dead."
She signed. "Not yet. But you will be. Soon. You're in a coma, dreaming. Close to waking up."
"I'm gonna die?"
Tori nodded gravely, fine black hair swinging around her finely featured face. "Yeah. You've been on a ventilator for a while. You have an infection. Antibiotics aren't going to cure it, and you're not strong enough to fight it."
I sighed. Closed my eyes for a long time. I didn't expect death to come like this. I'd expected a long life, or more recently, a quick and violent end.
Tori was still watching me when I opened my eyes. "You ok?"
"Does it matter? I kinda have to be."
One side of her mouth curled upward in a smirk.
"So why are you here. You die too? Are we soulmate ghosts? Are we communicating telepathically?" It sounded stupid to say, but I said it anyway.
Tori laughed, and the sound ripped at my heart. Dammit, I'd missed that. "No dummy. I'm still in Colorado, probably. Last you know of me I am. No, I'm you."
"Me?"
"Yeah. I'm the part of you that wants to stop. Wants to rest."
I was sitting on the bleachers in Greene Park, a few blocks from my house. There was a frosted glass bottle of Chopin in my hand. "I don't know how I could've done anything different. Every FUCKING choice, I've had to make. I couldn't live with myself if I DIDN'T do everything I've already done. It's like fucking...fate or something. And I'm sick of it. I want it to stop!"
By my side, Jessie didn't even notice Tori standing at the foot of the metal seats.
Another flash and I was standing in a basement in Minneapolis looking at a bloody mattress, surrounded by restraints and the surgical instruments necessary to perform the most unnecessary, destructive, disgusting surgery humanity had held over from the dark ages. I turned to Mike and said "No."
I stared through the red dot on top of my Sig, the dot skittering over Morgan's chest, and I couldn't help but flinch as fire bloomed at the end of his Beretta.
I sat with my back to the unfinished wall of the townhouse attic, an empty bottle of Chopin by my side and the muzzle of my dad's Browning warming under my chin. My face was hot with shed tears, my nose and throat were thick with mucus, and I'd never felt so alone, so broken, so tired, so worthless. Tori stood in front of me. "Wanna fuck?"
Across the yacht bedroom, Tori gazed at me, her eyes soft and sympathetic. "You don't have to keep fighting, Gary. Fighting other people. Fighting yourself. Fighting to wake up. It's time to rest. You earned it."
"You mean die."