Kiss Her Goodbye (A Thriller) (30 page)

 After a moment he said, “I’ve got one word for you:
chaos.
You got a lotta shit going on inside there.”

 No kidding, Donovan thought.

 “Like I said, I can get you where you want to go …”

 “But?”

 “There’s a speech my grandfather always gave his clients, full of fortune-cookie wisdom and metaphysical mumbo jumbo about chi and meridians and the manipulation of the body to release the soul … But the bottom line is this: I’m gonna stop your heart. And the condition you’re in right now, once I get it stopped, I might not be able to start it back up.”

 “I knew this was a bad idea,” Rachel said.

 “She’s right. It probably is. You sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

 Donovan thought about Jessie and shook his head. What other alternative was there?

 “I’m sure,” he said.

 “You understand,” Wong told him, “if you don’t come out of this thing, I’m gonna be in a bit of a pickle. Cops’ll be all over me and I’ve got a reputation to think about.”

 “You’re backing out?”

 “I didn’t say that. Things get crazy, I can always tell ’em your ticker just stopped—without mentioning, of course, that I’m the one who stopped it.”

 “Then what are you getting at?” Donovan asked, feeling impatience bubble up.

 “Another couple grand would ease the pain.”

 “Fine,” Donovan said. “Whatever you want.”

 Wong grinned. “I take back every bad thing I ever thought about you.”

 That was when Rachel turned and left the room.

S
HE WAS HALFWAY
down the corridor before Donovan caught up to her. He grabbed her arm. “Rachel, wait.”

 She stiffened at his touch, then turned on him, her eyes angry. “What are we doing here, Jack? This guy’s a joke.”

 “You heard Grandma Luke.”

 “I know, I know. I’ve been hearing stuff like that all my life. But how the hell do we know what’s real and what isn’t?”

 He took her by the shoulders. “This isn’t just a grandmother’s story, Rache. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. And right now it’s the only reality I have.”

 “But this guy’s talking about stopping your
heart
, for God sakes. Don’t you think that’s just a little bit nuts?”

 “Then why the hell did you bring me here? Why take me to your grandmother in the first place?”

 She looked at him, tears brimming. “I can’t do this, Jack. I can’t watch you die. When they told me you drove off that bridge, I …”

 She let the words hang, her fear and vulnerability displayed without filters, telling him everything he needed to know. There was no mystery to solve. There never had been. All this time he’d been too blind or too stupid to see that. It was the same mistake he’d made with Jessie. And Joanne. Too self-absorbed to really see the people around him. To understand how they felt about him.

 He focused on her eyes. God, she was beautiful.

 Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She fell into it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It lasted only a moment, but in that moment Donovan lost himself completely, feeling his own apprehension melt away.

 “I need you here,” he whispered.

 Her arms tightened around him.

 They stayed that way for a while, Rachel pressing her cheek against his bare chest, stirring something inside him that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

 Then, tears still clouding her eyes, she pulled away from the embrace. “I swear to God, Jack, if you don’t come back, I’ll kill you.”

W
HEN THEY RETURNED
to the exam room, Wong was smoking another cigarette.

 “So,” he said. “Everybody on the same page now?”

 Donovan shot him a look, then squeezed Rachel’s hand and climbed back onto the table. “Let’s just get this over with.”

 Wong dropped his cigarette, stamped it out, then turned to the counter and poured something green into an ornate ceramic cup.

 “Drink this,” he said, handing it to Donovan.

 “What is it?”

 “Trust me, you don’t want to know. It’ll help relax you.”

 Donovan stared at the liquid and saw what looked like flecks of dark flesh floating in it. He swirled it around a moment, then put the cup to his lips and knocked it back.

 The taste was so bitter he nearly gagged. He managed to swallow, the liquid burning a trail down his throat and landing with a thud in his stomach. He instantly felt nauseous, thinking for a moment that he might throw it right back up.

 “Jesus,” he said, closing his eyes.

 Wong took the cup. “Got a bit of a kick.”

 “Thanks for the warning.”

 Wong set the cup on the counter. “When you’re ready, lie faceup for me.”

 Donovan waited for the nausea to subside, then opened his eyes again and saw Rachel staring at him with concern. He gave her a reassuring look, but couldn’t quite fight off the feeling that the room was starting to sway. Grabbing the side of the exam table, he swung his legs around and lay back.

 Wong was over at the closet now, pulling it open. “Just so you know: Before I took over the business, I spent two years as a paramedic. If things get hairy, there’s always this …”

 He reached in and grabbed hold of a metal cart, rolling it out into the open. It held a bulky, premodern defibrillator. The rubber on the paddles was so worn that patches of steel shone through.

 “It’s old,” Wong said. “But it works.”

 Rubbing his hands together again, he moved back to the table and stood over Donovan. “Last chance to change your mind.”

 Donovan felt his body starting to relax. The medicine kicking in. He glanced at Rachel and could see that she still wasn’t happy with this. But she nodded.

 “Do it,” he said.

 Wong moved to a dimmer switch on the wall. “This isn’t your first trip, so I won’t bother with any tour information.”

 He turned the dimmer, reducing the room to near darkness. “You’ve got about six minutes. Anything longer and your brain is toast.”

H
E STARTED WITH
the soles of Donovan’s feet, running his thumbs upward toward the toes, then back down again, pressing them hard against muscle, so hard it was almost painful.

 Donovan felt his tension leak away and suddenly realized how tired he was. He’d been running on fumes ever since the accident. That he’d managed to survive this long was an act of sheer will.

 Now Wong’s magic hands were leeching the negative ions from his body, sucking the tension away. He felt himself sink deeper into the table as the hands worked their way to the tops of his feet, then on to the shins, the calves, moving upward to his thighs, thumb tips pressing into selected pressure points, each one sending what felt like a pulse of electricity through his body and straight up into his brain.

 By the time they reached his shoulders, the table beneath him had melted away. He felt weightless, floating on a cushion of warm air. Wong might not look like much, might not have the most pleasant demeanor in the world, but he knew what he was doing. No question about it now.

 Donovan stared up at the ceiling. After a moment it began to recede, growing smaller and smaller as his body sank into a kind of velvety darkness. Like the table, the room seemed to melt away, and he was no longer floating—

 —but falling.

 The sensation was so abrupt and unsettling he jerked in surprise and opened his eyes—

 —only to find himself back on the table, beneath Wong’s capable hands.

 He hadn’t even realized his eyes were closed.

 His heart beat rapidly. Wong touched his chest, his voice uncharacteristically soothing. “Easy now. That’s just a preview of coming attractions. You’ve been through it before, so just relax.”

 The hand moved along Donovan’s chest, fingertips pressing gently into the flesh. He let himself relax again, heart beating against Wong’s fingers, gradually slowing until it was little more than a lazy
thu-thump
that seemed on the verge of stopping altogether.

 For some reason, the thought of that didn’t concern Donovan. It felt right. Natural.

 “Good,” Wong whispered. “Almost there.”

 Then he lay one hand flat on Donovan’s chest as the other cupped his chin.

 “Say hello to Jimi for me.” With a quick, economical motion, he pressed hard on Donovan’s chest while jerking his head to one side.

 Donovan felt a faint
crack
as the room instantly melted away and darkness enveloped him.

 A split second later, he was gone.

51

C
HAOS.
 

 Wong had been right. That was the only way to describe it.

 When he opened his eyes, he found himself in familiar territory, hurtling like a rag doll through the eye of a hurricane, a whirling wormhole of light and sound, a jumble of voices murmuring incoherently in his head.

 Only it was different this time.

 This time there was pain. Pain so deep he thought he might scream.

 It started in his chest and spread rapidly through his entire body, expanding his organs until they felt as if they were about to burst. And just when he was certain it couldn’t get any worse, the pain deepened, widened, devouring him whole.

 He remembered a horror movie he’d once seen, Jennifer Jason Leigh tied between two trucks as their engines revved, threatening to rip her apart. He felt as helpless as poor Jennifer, his flesh stretching, bones cracking, his ever-expanding organs ready to explode.

 And then it happened. Something gave inside and he screamed, a long, agonized wail that sounded almost foreign to him.

 But he wasn’t the only one screaming.

 Someone else was here with him. An appendage. A conjoined twin. Their interconnected bodies were ripped apart by some unseen force. Turning his head, he found Gunderson staring back at him like a mirror image, a look of pure agony on his face. His usually malevolent eyes were bright with fear.

 Then, invisible hands grabbed Gunderson and yanked him into a fold of darkness—

 —and it was over.

 The pain gone.

 His body whole again.

 Hurtling though the wormhole.

O
NCE AGAIN, THERE
was a light at the far end. A bright, flickering bluish white light that beckoned to him, as inviting as a mother’s open arms. It was a promise of safety, security, warmth.

 Love.

 And he knew exactly who was beyond that light. Could feel them. The murmur of their voices floated past him.
Through
him.

We’ve you

          missed son

Join         
Come us

 Donovan felt himself relax, letting their voices carry him ever closer to the light. It shone from a doorway of some kind, framing the hazy silhouettes of his long-dead parents.

        We you

love Jack

              Forever always

and

 I love you too, he wanted to cry, but something held him back. As much as he’d like to be with them, as much as he wanted to feel their embrace, he knew this wasn’t where he needed to go. Whatever bliss the light offered, whatever promise it held—

 —it did not hold Gunderson—

 —or Jessie.

 And if he let himself pass into the world beyond that doorway, he knew instinctively that he would never come back. When the body on the table in Jimmy Wong’s exam room opened its eyes, it wouldn’t be Donovan behind them …

 … but Gunderson.

 Gunderson would win. He was sure of it.

 And Jessie would be lost.

 He tried to resist, but the light seemed to extend toward him, feathery tendrils reaching out like friendly alien visitors.

 “No,” he murmured, working up whatever resistance he could muster—which wasn’t much.

 The tendrils kept coming.

Join
       us

son    

 “No!” Donovan shouted, trying desperately to twist away from the light. “It’s not time. Not now.”

 The tendrils drew closer, the murmurs louder.

We love

            you
Jack  

 Try as he might, Donovan could not turn away. The tendrils pulsed and expanded, threatening to envelop him.

 “Stop, goddammit! Let me go!”

 But it was too late. The tendrils surrounded him now, slithering across his body, wrapping their blissful warmth around him, sinking into his flesh and filling him with a feeling of indescribable joy—a joy so intense he thought he might cry.

 Should he give in? Should he let them take him?

 It would be so easy.

 Soooo easy.

 And what harm would it do? He would be with people who loved him.

 Forever and always.

 —But what about Jessie?

 Where would
she
be?

 Resist, Jack. You have to resist.

 “No!” he shouted, arms and legs flailing against the invasion, trying desperately to break away. “Let me go! Let me find Jessie!”

 And at the mention of her name, the tendrils abruptly withdrew. A roar of wind filled his ears as something grabbed him from behind—

 —and yanked him into darkness.

H
E DIDN’T KNOW
he’d lost consciousness. Couldn’t remember exactly when it had happened.

 When he came to, he expected to see the same stark landscape he’d seen before. The turbulent sky, the crooked spine of mountains that etched the horizon, the crowd of people forming a ragged line along the narrow pathway.

 But no. He’d brought a new set of baggage this time.

 Familiar, but different.

 Instead of the purgatorial landscape, he stood alone in the middle of—it took him a moment to realize this—of the abandoned train yard.

 Gunderson’s train yard.

 A full moon illuminated the dilapidated carcasses of a dozen or more freight cars. The remains of an old caboose, looking much like the one that had been obliterated when the land mine killed A.J., stood just to his right.