PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1) (34 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

The rain had turned to sleet. Day to near-night conditions. The road to muck. Neal’s steps had slowed to a desultory jog. He was bare-headed. Wind had whipped the fedora off somewhere near the beginning of the wall. He hadn’t wasted the effort or time to chase after it. He’d pulled the backpack off and cradled it in his arms to make the load feel lighter.

And...finally!

The rental car came into view.

Neal yanked the left side back door open, tossed his backpack in. Slammed the door. Pulled the driver’s door open and dove into the space. The disposable phone was in a cubbyhole on the console. Neal powered it on.

He had two bars of communication available.

Ten percent power.

He punched in the numbers of his personal cell. It took forever to connect. All he heard was dead space, and then...thankfully! It rang. Eric answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Eric!”  Neal shouted.

“Boss man! Long...! You coming back? Because I...tell you, I’m already...! You didn’t say...trade unions. And...worse...when they argue.”

“Delegate. Call in one of the negotiating firms.”

“You never did.”

“It’s my forte. Not yours. Delegate what you don’t know. That’s the number one rule. Now, listen! We don’t have much time on this call!”

“You keep fading. Where...you? The Amazon?”

“You need to do something for me!”

“Sure. What do you need?”

  Eric’s words were interspersed with static. The signal sometimes strong. Sometimes so weak, Eric’s words were barely discernible. Neal gripped the phone harder.

“Transfer half my holdings to the Reagan Straith family. In Scotland!”

“Half...to Reagan who? Where?”

“The Duke of Straithcairn! Make it an anonymous donation.”

“To Duke of what? Where?”

“Reagan Straith! And, forget being anonymous. Deliver the news personally!”

“Reagan...? Straith. Where again?”

“Straith Castle! Northern Scotland.”

“You want me...Scotland?”

“Yes! And, while you’re there, make sure and meet Miss Annabelle Straith.”

Neal chuckled. Shook his head. Eric would be perfect for Annabelle. And –
what the hell
. Since Neal was messing with fate again, he might as well add in matchmaking.

“You want me to transfer...the Duke...Straithcairn...Scotland. Half. You want...half? Of everything? That’s...lot of zeroes! Billions!” 

Eric’s words were breaking up, but it sounded like he had the basics. Neal relaxed as he realized it. Muscles moved in spasms throughout his jaw. Neck. Shoulders. Lower back. He hadn’t known he’d clenched them that tightly.

“Yes! That’s exactly what I want!”

“Can I transfer companies...trade unions?”

“Good bye, Eric! And good luck. And, since I’ve never told you this – I love you. If I’d had a son, I would have wanted it to be you.”

“What...that?”

“I love you!”

The phone connection went dead. Neal tossed the cell phone onto the floorboard. He didn’t know if Eric had heard the last, but the kid would figure it out. Neal had wanted to adopt him. That part was in his will. If Eric didn’t get the idea then, he wasn’t the man Neal thought he was.

The storm had gotten worse. Neal’s lower legs were hanging out the door, getting pelted with sleet. Already, he felt  frozen. It took an act of will to get his legs in. He’d forgotten this was a right-hand drive car. He slid along the seat, and managed to get his legs into position so he could drive. He sat up. His left arm was acting up. Neal leaned over to pull the door shut with his right arm. Grabbed for the ignition key. Started the engine. His left side wasn’t responding. He had to adjust the fan blower with his right hand. Neal set the heat blower to high. Then sat, looking at the frosted windshield, while he absorbed the chill from an instant dose of cold air.

He hadn’t noticed it before because he’d been so intent on reaching the car and his phone, but he had a myriad of dots blocking his view. Neal flexed his right hand. Then the left one. The left responded visually, but he couldn’t feel it happen.

Great.

He was experiencing another transient ischemic attack. He hadn’t brought a clot-blocker pill with him on this trip. He hadn’t brought any pharmaceuticals. He must have been too used to being in a young, physically fit, young man’s body.

Or he’d made another subconscious move, setting himself up for disaster.

The engine gradually warmed. The air coming through the vents was a blessed relief. Neal moved his hands to the defroster to dangle his fingers in the blast of warmed air. Get them flexible enough so he could steer. Only his right arm moved. Neal had to physically lift his left arm with the right one and manipulate it to the top of the dashboard. He couldn’t even feel the heated air. His forearm rested on the steering wheel. His fingers dangled above the defrost vents. Neal couldn’t feel any of it.

He needed to get indoors. Settled in a quiet, dark room. He wondered if the Straith family would assist, and automatically knew they would. Goodness radiated from Annabelle just as it had from his Ainslee. The Straith family would help him. At the very least, they would have an aspirin tablet he could take.

But to get there, he needed to rely on his right side. Good thing this was a right-hand drive car. Automatic transmission. His left arm was useless.

He leaned across to program the wipers with his right hand. Move some of the heat to the floorboard as well as the window. Turned it down a notch. Switched on the headlamps. The sleet had turned to snow. It filled the bottom of the windshield when he was back in position to drive. Neal reached across his body to change the wipers to full power. He put the gear selector into drive next. The car lurched forward before he was ready. He braked with a jerk.

That was stupid, Neal.

But he’d moved. Neal changed the gear selector to reverse. Angled the tires. Lifted his foot off the brake, and the car immediately lurched backward. He braked again. The car slid quite a bit before it stopped. He repeated the process a half dozen times, with resultant jerking motions and sliding, until he was fairly certain he faced the correct way. It was nearly impossible to tell. What had been a track before was barely discernible in the headlamps.

This was bad.

He was suffering a T.I.A. Left-side movement was impossible. He had a half mile to go before he’d reach asphalt. The ground was slick. His tires had dug all kinds of ruts into it, making traction difficult. The weather was near blizzard-conditions. Night had fallen rapidly. He didn’t have any power left on his cell phone. He hadn’t packed for winter conditions. And, there was more.

Neal glanced at the fuel indicator.

Damn it.

He hadn’t refilled the gas tank before driving the final leg. The fuel gauge was showing just above empty. Things couldn’t get much worse. But the instant he thought that, they did.  

The car acted like it had a mind of its own. The engine whined. Neal didn’t have to step on the gas pedal. Every time he let off the brake, the car lurched forward uncontrollably. Neal fought the steering wheel for control with his right hand as much as he directed anything with it. Snow began building up on the windshield. He needed to let go of the wheel and reach across in order to move the heat from the floor to the defrost mode again. That sounded tricky.

He was leery of putting the vehicle in park. The car was stuck in drive. But he needed to do something about the window situation. The wipers were thumping in concert with his heart as they smacked into the obstruction of packed snow.

Neal leaned heavily on the brake. The car continued sliding forward. He reached for the wiper control knob, and the moment he looked up, the ghostly white visage of a standing stone blocked his path. It was right in front of him.

What the hell?

Neal yanked the steering wheel to the right. The car shuddered, responded, and then began sliding. It jammed into something next. Rolled. Neal smacked a hand to the ceiling to keep in place. He wasn’t wearing the safety belt? Had he really been this stupid?

His right arm responded. His left was still paralyzed. The car rolled again. Neal moved to the door handle. He’d rather be out in the elements than inside this death trap. He shoved the handle down. Pushed with everything he had against the door. Nothing budged.

The car rolled again. He crashed against the inside of the left door, smacking his head on the lever. The door popped open. Neal shot out. Slammed into the ground with a shoulder-crunching force. He gave a pain-filled grunt. Caught a glimpse of snow-covered rock. Sheets of blinding snow. And the edge of the ground. Neal curled into a fetal position. He’d broken his shoulder. Probably had internal injuries. The car was still stuck in gear. Neal watched open-mouthed as his rental disappeared over the edge of a cliff.

He gasped for each breath. Waited to hear the sound of the car smashing against the rocks at the base of the cliff. Or maybe it would reach ocean. Sink out of sight. Nobody would ever know what had happened.

Unless he survived.

And then it hit him. Why hadn’t he just gone down with the car? Ended this existence? He had a better chance of finding Ainslee in the next realm than this one. Would he really rather live with heartbreak for the rest of his life?

Neal put his head to the ground. Shook with the anguish that came from losing love. The one that dogged his every second anymore. Found that the agony of never being with Ainslee overrode even the pain of his injuries.

But, maybe.

If, he was lucky.

He wouldn’t survive this.

It was possible. Nobody knew where he was. He had internal issues. It hurt to breathe. He might have fractured a rib or two. His shoulders were ablaze with fiery pain. He might expire of his injuries. Or exposure might get him.

He could hope.

Nobody would be looking for him. He hadn’t even committed to attending supper with the Straith family. They probably wouldn’t check up here for him. And by the time anybody realized he was missing, it might be too late. Who would suspect he’d escaped the car? Hadn’t gone over the cliff in it? They’d find the car. His cell. Belongings. Passport.

God. This hurt.

Death couldn’t be any more painful.

And that’s when he started praying for it.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

A light appeared above him. Neal groaned. He was on his belly. Lying flat.

How had that happened?

He lifted his head. Caught sight of the glint of something. About two inches away from his nose. The light got brighter. A pin-dot of illumination in a world of dark. The thing that had caught his attention sparkled again. Neal pushed hair out of his eyes, sluicing off rain as he did so. Narrowed his eyes. Brought the item into focus.

It was his spiral signet ring.

Damn thing.

He reached over with his left hand and picked it up. Looked at it for a moment. This little piece of jewelry had such power. It was hard to fathom, actually. Too bad it didn’t have the power to fix things.

Neal palmed the ring. Moved it to the little pocket of his vest. Lowered his cheek to the rock surface. He felt rough. Like he’d taken a spill. Nothing drastic. That was really odd. He should be in massive pain from his car wreck by now.

And he was getting drenched.

“Neal? Are you there? Neal!”

Neal’s mouth gaped open. His eyes widened.

I’m back?

He pushed up with such a swift motion, his bottom half slid off the cliff face. And he was
not
willing to die now! He grabbed for rock. Clawed and scrambled his way back onto the ledge. The move scraped his palms. Elbows. Knees. Ripped fingernails. And it all felt miraculous. Beyond wonderful.

He was on his knees and looking up as Ainslee’s face came over the balcony edge. Which was the perfect position for the prayer of thanks his heart automatically gave.

Oh, dearest God! Thank you!

It really was her – his Ainslee! She held a lantern aloft in one hand. The flame inside was secured behind glass panels. It fought for life against the maelstrom. Her other hand held her cloak hood above her head, making a shelter as she peered toward him. She was still wearing the dark rose colored gown. He caught a glimpse of the neckline through the cloak opening. She had an anxious look on her face.

But it was her face.

There was no mistaking it.

“Neal?”

“Right here, babe.”  Neal’s voice was jubilant. Wildly excited. Loud. He was surprised he didn’t burst into tears, or bust into  song. He’d heard of that sort of emotional overload happening. Right now, he knew exactly what it felt like.

“Oh, no! What happened?”

“Um. I. Fell.”

In love.

“Do you need help?”

“Shouldn’t. I mean...if Garrick could climb this thing, I sure can.”

“Garrick?”

“Oh. Uh—.”

Crap.

He’d forgotten. Garrick and Lachlan and their mother had just passed away. It felt like he’d been gone a year. Aged ten of them. Neal stood shakily, pressed his back against the rock face. The wind-driven rain whipped his kilt about him. Nothing had ever felt as glorious.

“I’ll be right back!”

“Wait!”

The light disappeared with Ainslee. That put everything before him into perspective. He faced a black void.

Unwritten history.

His to live.

At Ainslee’s side.

Neal pressed his pocket. Felt the outline of the ring. He wasn’t quite finished messing around with fate. He had to get this piece of jewelry to Iain Straithmore in New York. Somehow. It needed to be passed down from father to son, so that Neal could receive it two hundred years from now and use it to get back here.

Was time really that...set? Cyclical?

“Neal? You still there?”

The light came back. So did Ainslee. Her question was entertaining. And profound. Of course he was here. There wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be.

“Yeah!” he called back.

A rope dangled over the balcony ledge.

“You found a rope?”

“’Tis from the servant bell. We can always restring it.”

“Oh. Good call. You secured it?” he asked.

“Aye!”

“Not to any of the furniture, I hope. Except...maybe the bed?”

“’Tis tied to the door handle.”

“Oh. Smart. Very smart. Thanks, love. Be with you in a moment.”

Being twenty-six and athletic were fantastic things to be. Neal climbed the rope without any trouble. Heaved a leg over the balcony. Raced to Ainslee. Snatched her up into a heart-filling hug. Followed by a soul-searing kiss. Any notice of wind or rainfall disappeared. Time stopped. The lantern fell. Glass shattered. The flame went out.

But none of that made the slightest dent in the how bright his soul felt. Nor how high it soared.