Hiding in the Shadows (33 page)

Faith was surprised. “Why not?”

“Because I knew what was going to happen to me. I’d known for a long time.”

“Couldn’t you change it?”

“No. Like I said. Things have to happen the way they happen. And there was you. I knew as soon as we met that you’d play a part in all of it. I just didn’t know how.”

“It’s my fault, what happened. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

Faith was surprised. “No? But—”

“When you come to the end, you understand what’s really important.” Dinah looked at her intently. “You understand.”

“But all the pain. The fear. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“As I said, things have to happen the way they do.”

“But I’m sorry you died.”

Dinah seemed to hesitate, then said, “Something always has to die so that something else can live. You do understand that, don’t you?”

Faith began to feel uneasy. “Yes, but … I remember now, you said once you found the MacGuffin, you wouldn’t be dead anymore.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“But—”

“I’m not dead, Faith. I never have been, not really. You’re the one who’s dead.”

Faith stared at her, at the odd little smile, the compassionate blue eyes. She reached out instinctively, and froze when Dinah reached out as well. After a moment, Faith forced herself to go on, to stretch her hand slowly toward Dinah’s
.

When their fingers touched, she felt the cool, smooth surface of a mirror
.

Faith opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She was wide awake, so wide awake that she felt as if she’d never sleep again. Slowly, she turned her head on the
pillow and looked at Kane. He slept with the absolute stillness of utter exhaustion, muscles totally relaxed. It was no wonder. This was probably the first decent night’s sleep he’d been granted in weeks.

And, of course, they had made love until nearly dawn, again and again, unable to get enough of each other. She thought he had memorized the texture of her skin, and she was certain she would always know him, forever, even in total darkness.

Carefully, she eased out from under his arm and sat up on the side of the bed. The clock on the night-stand said it was just after eight-thirty.

She made sure he was covered and still sleeping deeply, then gathered her things and slipped from the bedroom. She took a shower, allowing the hot water to ease the ache of muscles unaccustomed to love-making, to all the unusual exertions of the day before, then dressed and went to the kitchen.

His special blend of coffee. She stared at the bag for a moment, then dumped an approximate amount into the filter, poured water into the top chamber, and waited for it to drip through to the pot below.

When it was ready, she fixed a cup with her customary load of cream and sugar, then carried it into the living room. She looked at her bare wrist, then grimaced slightly. No watch, ever, because they never wanted to keep running for her. Somebody had told her once that it was the magnetic or electrical field of her body. Faith’s body.

The clock on the VCR said quarter after nine. She picked up the phone and called the hospital, asking them to page Dr. Burnett for her. He was there, of course. Even early on Saturday, he was there.

“Faith, is anything wrong?” His voice held a bit of an edge and it took her a moment to remember their last meeting.

“There’s something I need to ask you,” she replied, sweeping his anger aside.

“What is it?”

“Before I came out of the coma, did you believe I would?”

“Faith, I told you how unusual—”

“You know what I’m asking you.”

He was silent for several moments, but her patient waiting seemed to drive him to answer finally. “There are certain criteria we use to determine patient viability. Certain minimum levels of brain activity, for instance—”

“Was I below those minimum levels?”

“Faith, there’s no absolute in medicine.”

“Was I below the minimum levels?” she repeated steadily. “Was I considered a viable patient with a future?”

“No,” he said, then hurried on. “But there was a flicker of brain activity, and I’d told Miss Leighton on her last visit that there was always a chance. I’d seen some remarkable things … and you were breathing on your own, so of course there was no question of—of—”

“Nobody was going to unplug anything?” Faith finished, her voice shaky now.

“No, of course not. And Miss Leighton refused to give up hope. She was very upset when she left that last day, but still determined. I’ve never seen anyone so determined to save another person. If strength of will could have done it, you would have awakened
that day. As it was, only a couple of weeks passed before you did.” He paused. “It’s a shame she never knew she was right.”

“Yes. A shame. Thank you, Dr. Burnett.”

“Faith … about what happened the other day—”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “We were all a little touchy that day.” She cradled the receiver gently.

After a moment, she got up and carried her coffee to the piano. She sat on the bench and flexed her fingers, looking at them with a little frown. Then she touched the keys tentatively, one here, one there, not a recognizable tune.

The buzzer sent her quickly to answer the intercom so that the sound wouldn’t disturb Kane, and a few minutes later she opened the door to admit Bishop.

“I didn’t think you’d be so early,” she said. “Kane’s still asleep, and I’d rather not wake him.”

Bishop eyed her thoughtfully and smiled. “I see.”

Faith uttered a soft laugh. “This time, I doubt it. But never mind. There’s coffee—mine, I’m afraid, but help yourself or make a fresh pot, whatever suits you.”

Bishop watched her retreat to the piano, his smile fading and brows drawing together. “I stopped by the station on my way here,” he said, coming farther into the room. “Richardson filled me in. He also … showed me the results of Dinah’s autopsy. Nothing really unexpected. Except—”

“Except time of death,” Faith said, pressing a key gently with one finger.

Bishop came to the piano and stared down at her. “Yes.”

“She hadn’t been dead a few days. She’d been dead a few weeks. About … four weeks.”

Slowly, Bishop said, “The coldness of that bomb shelter, the lack of air and humidity—all slowed the rate of decomposition, made it appear she’d died recently. But the autopsy proved otherwise. The M.E. wasn’t willing to estimate closer than three to six weeks.”

“Four,” she said softly. “Just about four.”

“Faith—”

“You know, it’s the strangest thing.” She placed all ten fingers on the ivory keys, then looked up at him. “Just a few days ago, I could do it, but now … I’ve forgotten how to play the piano.”

Bishop gazed at her silently.

“Isn’t that strange? And isn’t it strange how I was able to pick those locks last night, when a few days ago I didn’t even know that was a lock pick in the pocket of the jacket? Isn’t it strange that I keep looking at my wrist as if I should be wearing a watch, when I know I’ve never been able to? Why I keep using my right hand instead of my left?”

She took her fingers off the keys and held one hand out to him. “How’s your bullshit detector?”

Bishop hesitated for only an instant before taking her hand. They stared at each other, her green eyes calm and his silvery ones penetrating, searching.

He sucked in a breath suddenly, and his face whitened. “My God.”

Faith drew her hand gently from his. “Isn’t it strange,” she whispered.

Bishop seemed not to know what to say at first, but finally asked, “Does Kane know?”

“I think … he wonders. I think he’s sensed something. But who could
know
such a thing? Who could even imagine it to be possible?”

“It’s a second chance,” Bishop said. “How many of us are granted that?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t that simple and you know it.”

“It should be that simple.”

“Really? And how would you feel? Put yourself in his place. He’s getting ready to bury her, Bishop. He’s spent weeks grieving, letting go of her because he thought he had to. What am I supposed to say to him now? Never mind?”

Bishop looked at her curiously. “Her?”

Faith’s smile twisted. “Put yourself in my place. Do you really think anything—anybody—could ever be the same again? Could ever be what they were before?”

“No, I suppose not.”

In the silence of the apartment, they both heard the distant sound of the shower starting, and Bishop said, “I think it would be best if I made myself scarce for a while. I’ll go back down to the station, see if there’s anything I can do to help Richardson.”

“Coward,” Faith said with a stab at humor.

Bishop smiled, but his eyes were grave. “It might be … best … to wait awhile, you know. Give it some time, allow both of you to adjust.”

“No,” Faith said. “Not after last night. This time, we have to be honest with each other.”

Bishop didn’t ask any more questions. He reached over to touch her hand, then said, “I’ll be around.”

“I know. Thanks.”

He got as far as the door before she said his name quietly, and he paused to look back at her.

Faith touched an ivory key softly, but she was looking at him. “You’ll be going back to Tennessee.”

“Will I?”

“Yes. Pretty soon, I think. After the first of the year.”

“What will I find there?” he asked slowly.

“Evil. And something else, something you’ve been searching for for a long time.”

Bishop took a quick step toward her, then pulled himself up short. In a very controlled voice, he said, “I don’t suppose you can tell me how it all turns out?”

“No,” she said, lying. “Just—be careful, Bishop.”

He was motionless for a moment, then nodded abruptly and left without another word.

Faith stared at the door a long time after he’d gone, then got up to freshen her coffee. What was the use of knowing what was going to happen before it did? Fate seemed to have a stranglehold on events; no matter what she’d done in the past to try to avert tragedy or even disappointment, it always seemed to happen just the way she’d seen it.

“Be very careful, Bishop,” she whispered.

When Kane came into the living room a few minutes later, she was sitting on the couch watching a news program on television detailing the exciting events of the previous night.

“I made some lousy coffee,” she said, offering him a faint smile.

He leaned over the back of the couch, sliding his fingers into her hair and drawing her to him for a
kiss. The kiss held hunger, and something else, and when she could, despite what she’d told Bishop, Faith involuntarily said, “Tomorrow is soon enough, isn’t it?”

Kane stroked her cheek, then came around the couch to sit in the chair across from her. “Soon enough for what?”

“To say whatever it is you feel you have to say.”

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “It’s between us, Faith. I don’t want anything between us.”

She braced herself. “What’s between us?”

“This guilt.”

Faith knew, but asked anyway. “Guilt?”

“Guilt. Because Dinah’s been gone not even two months. And I’m in love with you.”

Now that the moment had come, she wondered how on earth she could tell him. How she could convince him when even a part of her still didn’t believe it. But she had to try.

It sounded so simple in her mind, so incredible when she said the words aloud. “Dinah isn’t gone. She’s here. She’s me.”

Kane didn’t move, didn’t seem surprised. But he said, “How is that possible?”

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The human will is … a remarkable thing. Dinah wanted to survive, wanted it very badly. But her body was … It wouldn’t survive. She knew that. She had known for a long time it was going to happen. And she knew something else, something Dr. Burnett told her just hours before they grabbed her. That … Faith … hadn’t really survived that crash. That only the barest flicker
of brain activity could be recorded, just enough to keep the body breathing, the heart beating. A living shell without a mind or a soul.”

Kane said unevenly, “But two separate women … You can’t expect me to believe—”

“You already believe. You
feel
it’s true even if everything you’ve been taught about life and death and the soul insists it can’t be possible.”

“How? How is it possible?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know how. I know there was a … connection between Dinah and Faith before the crash, a closeness that was immediate and powerful. I know that each of them was psychic to a degree and in different ways.” She shook her head again. “Maybe that had something to do with it. I don’t know how. I only know that it happened.”

“You speak of Dinah and Faith as if … as if you’re neither of them.”

She thought of her words to Bishop, and conjured a smile. “In a way, I’m … the third point of the triangle, created when the other two touched. I woke up without a memory, and for a while I was caught between the two people I had been, neither one nor the other but with shadowy recollections and half-conscious mannerisms and muscle memories. I could even play the piano. For a while.”

Kane glanced at the piano and remembered her sitting on the bench looking lost and bewildered. Still, he said, “This is so … unbelievable. How do you know it isn’t what you believed all along, a psychic connection? That it isn’t as simple as you remembering things Dinah said to you while you were in the coma?”

Softly, she said, “Dinah sat by the bed and talked
to an empty shell, Kane. There was nobody there to hear, nobody to remember what she said.”

Unable to be still a moment longer, Kane rose and began moving around the room. He knew she watched him with grave green eyes.

How could she claim—How could she
believe—

“Faith—” He stopped, looked at her.

Understanding, she said, “I’ve gotten used to the name. We’ve all gotten used to the name.”