Speed of Light (32 page)

It was as if we were all trying to do our best to do something, anything. And yet, all we could do was let Faye’s body let go one cell at a time.

A big-screen television played in the corner of the room, the only reminder that life in the world around us continued to spin and turn, even though in this room it felt as if time stood still.

“Were you at the track when the crash happened?” Gus asked Tens.

“Yes, but we didn’t see it. I was tailing a group of suspicious guys.” We’d decided this was not the time to tell Gus that Sergio was playing us.

“You track them down?” Gus asked.

“Not fast enough.”

“Did you see it here?” I asked Gus. “What happened exactly? The radio commentators were all over the place.”

His face full of sadness and disbelief, he reported, “One of the drivers is in critical condition. Two others are in serious condition. Brain trauma, broken bones, burns.”

“Are they going to be okay?”

“No one’s saying. Looked like tires blew out or maybe an engine seized. They’re still analyzing the footage.”

I grabbed a napkin and quickly sketched the tattoo. “Did you see anyone with this?”

“Is that the symbol Juliet was told to find?” Rumi asked.

“I have to ask her, but it was on the balloon that day and I think I saw a tattoo like it,” I answered. I didn’t think I’d seen the marking in Auntie’s journal or anything that Rumi showed us.

“A couple of the emergency crew wore patches like that maybe? I’m sorry, kid. I wasn’t paying that close of attention to know if I saw it or not.” Gus sighed.

A deep, resounding exhale from Faye was followed by moments of nothing before her chest gulped air. We all froze and then continued.

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. I saw a couple of impressive race fans.” I changed the subject and regaled him with stories about who and what I saw on the other side of the window. By the time I’d finished, we chortled, because I had to make up words for a lot of what I saw.

“Oh, you mean the crew boss?” Gus chuckled. “It’s like listening to Rumi with your made-up talk about the cars and racing.”

I’d added layers to my descriptions. Auntie wrote about tears and laughter and being on the same continuum. Seemed to me while we were sitting here talking, eating, and telling stories next to Faye that we were on that continuum ourselves. Waiting for the grief but trying to live a little in the meantime.

Juliet and Fara came in with Tony and helped themselves to food. They sat on the floor. The room wasn’t large, but we all wanted to be here. I tried to catch Juliet’s eye, but she avoided me, as if she had another secret. I almost sighed.
What now?

I happened to glance over and saw Mini under Faye’s bed, twitching her tail and watching all of us, her stony expression unreadable. The few remaining bandages weren’t so white and were picked and clawed at as if she’d felt unbearably confined in them.

Custos nosed opened the terrace door and joined in our vigil. The storm was gone, blown through as quickly as it came up. The sky was a darkening blue, a few stars shone down, but the air was warm. The light breeze blustered with a sweet fruity aroma as if the Creators swigged grape soda before exhaling a sigh across us.

Tony finished opening the doors at Gus’s motion. The room felt twice as big and as if we’d invited the world to join us.

Delia came in. “I’m checking in for this shift. I’ll be Faye’s nurse tonight.” She tripped over Custos. “I did not see the dog here”—she winked—“but see if you can’t get them to sit across the room, away from the door, just in case someone else has better eyesight?” She smiled as Mini and Custos did exactly as asked. Delia sighed but shook her head.
I’m sure that isn’t the weirdest bit about this
. “We have a harpist who will be here in a couple hours. Do you want me to have her play?”

Gus’s face crumpled as he said, “I think that would be nice. Music is Faye’s life.”

“Very good. Call me if you need anything else, okay?” Delia snagged a cookie Rumi held out to her.

Time passed and conversations ebbed and flowed. Tony unwrapped a notebook of more Indiana history and books of history he thought might be relevant to our search. I picked up a book about Buddhism. I was searching for more information on how the yogi had gone to the Light on his own. It might explain how to aid Roshana and Auntie without their remains.

After a time, Bales joined us, beelining for a kiss and a tight hug from Nelli. After hellos, he sat himself near Tens and me. “We need to talk,” he whispered low as Gus turned up the volume of the television for the night’s newscast.

As they showed the crash and aftermath for the tenth time, we moved to the terrace and Bales leaned close to say, “I got a call from a friend on the force that they’re setting up a serial-killer task force. He gave me a list of locations they’re waiting to search until next week’s news conference.”

“Serial killer?” Could humans think Nocti were serial killers? Maybe. Especially if they crossed the line and aided in the bodily death. Fenestras didn’t kill people to take their souls to heaven, but DG alone was proof that Nocti operated differently.

Bales nodded. “We’re not the only ones turning up
remains. The designation helps the locals put more resources on the case. There’s a rumor the FBI is showing up to take over.”

We nodded. More resources meant more people poking around, not a development that would make the Nocti comfortable.
And not one important to figuring out where Roshana is buried
.

“I’m going to drive out to an abandoned school and start poking around,” Bales said.

“Don’t go by yourself.” I shook my head in fear.

Bales shrugged me off. “I’ll be fine. Criminals don’t hang around their dumping grounds.”

“Maybe we’re not talking regular criminal, though,” Tens answered.

“Odds are there’s nothing to find. It’s a long list of buildings.”

“But—”
I don’t have a good feeling
.

“Meridian, this is my job. I’ll be fine.” Bales wouldn’t listen.

Tens and Bales continued to talk about what we’d seen at the track while I went back into Faye’s room. I watched as Gus tenderly moistened Faye’s lips and mouth with a sponge that looked more like a pink lollipop. He brushed her hair off her face and whispered in her ear.

The weather report on the news called for severe thunderstorms moving from the central United States, over central Indiana tomorrow. Even if the track was cleared for more qualifying, which seemed up for speculation, the weather might not cooperate. Besides, after
all the accidents and injuries, I didn’t understand why the entire event wasn’t canceled. But then I knew more people might die.
Maybe I’m biased
.

“How are you?” I asked Nelli, who hadn’t taken her eyes off her uncle.

“It’s hard to watch him,” Nelli answered while Gus massaged lotion on Faye’s arms.

Faye’s erratic breathing hadn’t changed.

Delia came into the room. “Would you like the harpist to play now?”

“Please.” Gus nodded.

The harpist set up on the terrace. She closed her eyes as she plucked the strings. The notes were melodic and soothing. I heard the ocean, the rush of waves in the background. I closed my eyes, lost in the cocoon of sound.

She began to play the next song when both Rumi and Juliet startled me by saying in unison, “I know that song.”

The harpist paused as if interruptions happened all the time. “Shall I stop?” she asked.

“No, no, what is the name of this threnody, this song?” Rumi begged.

“The hymn ‘I’ll Fly Away.’ ”

“Please continue.” Rumi hummed along and Juliet merely paled, white and drawn. Rumi began to sing quietly under his breath.

Juliet lifted her head. “That’s my mother’s lullaby, but with different words.”

“I remember she sang it to you all the time.” Tony knelt, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t remember the words, though.”

Maybe I can reach Juliet through this song
. “What are your mother’s words?” I asked Juliet. “Do you remember?”

Her eyes grew wide and scared. “It was about the creek.” Her voice cracked. “She was at DG.”

“Sing it for us.” Fara gripped Juliet’s hand as if imparting
badly needed strength. She nodded at the harpist who waited a beat, then started at the beginning of the song again.

Juliet squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Then she sang along, her voice thin and reedy:

Abruptly, Juliet stopped and leapt to her feet. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I need air.” She ducked out of the room. Fara scrambled to follow.
Why do Rumi and Roshana both have words to the same song? What is the significance?

As we composed our faces, Mini bounded up onto Faye’s bed, trailing bandage like a second tail.

“Guys?” Tens headed toward Faye.

Her breathing is different
. Sometime while we’d been listening and singing, Faye’s breathing had changed. Became more intermittent.

We moved as one over to her bed and joined hands. The nurses said it could be any time at all. Tony began reciting the Lord’s Prayer at Gus’s request. The harpist began playing again, this time a tune that didn’t matter; I barely heard it before I was at the window.

I blinked. I felt Tens’s hand gripping mine and had the sensation of standing at Faye’s side in our circle. Yet I was also outside of my body, my Fenestra spirit hovering at the afterlife’s window.

“You told me the truth.” Faye sat next to me in a stiff-backed floral upholstered chair. Her voice suddenly as strong as it was when I’d first met her.

I nodded, unsure of what to make of the chair.
No one’s ever sat next to the window. What is the reason?

“It’s very beautiful over there, isn’t it?” Faye asked.

I considered the view out her window. Huge old trees shaded a light green farmhouse. Fields upon fields of corn swayed in a breeze. “Where are we?” I asked.

“My daddy’s farm. I recognize that tire swing tree—I spent hours in the summer up that tree, hunting cicadas. The corn is all tassled up. Ready to pick. I went through pairs of gloves like glasses of water every summer. Corn’ll cut up skin like nothing else. There’s a pig roasting. Can you smell that?”

Suddenly, the air circulated around us. I caught a whiff of scent on the breeze that ruffled the cornfields and sounded like whispers and rattling. What I didn’t see were any people waiting for her arrival.
Her parents should be here at least. Siblings? Her first husband
. Usually there were even souls who simply seemed to welcome newbies.

“Faye?” I asked.

“She’s not ready.” Faye frowned.

“Who? I think you are.”

“Oh dear, I’m very ready, but my daughter, she’s not.”

“You grew up here?”

“Yes. Now it’s a strip mall, but when I was a girl, this was the whole world to me.”

“Where is your family? They should be here to meet you,” I said, almost to myself.

“Oh, they know I’m not coming today. Ma’s probably making her slaw and watermelon Jell-O salad with Cool Whip. Hated that concoction, but she served it every holiday and special occasion. Daddy’s got the pig going; he’s probably on the porch shucking sweet corn or picking through the ripe tomatoes for the perfect ones to slice and salt.”

Does she have a choice?
“You’re not going?”

“No, I’m sorry, dear, but as much as I’d like to, I must go back, at least for a few more days. Can’t you hear her?” Faye’s hand trembled as she reached for mine.

In that moment, I tuned back into the conversation in the hospice room. I saw both places, one with my eyes, the other with my soul.

Dolores had blown into the room, moaning and whining and sobbing. She’d draped herself over her mother’s lap, carrying on like there was an Academy Award on the line.

I tried to persuade Faye to let go. “She’ll grieve you no matter what, you know. If you’re ready—”

“Ah, Meridian, a mother doesn’t leave her child unless
she absolutely has to. I can tell I have a little more fight in me. We’ll be back here again. And now I can tell Gus where to find me.”

With a wistful glance and sigh, the window scene slid away and I was firmly back in my body, leaning against Tens’s side.

“Mother, don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare,” Dolores carried on.

Faye’s hand moved and touched her daughter’s. “Shush. You’ll wake the dead.” Her voice was raspy with disuse.

“Mom?” Dolores screeched.

Our chain broken, we moved away to give Faye, and her daughter, some space. Gus didn’t go far at all. I didn’t blame him.

After explaining, I asked Delia about Faye’s rally. “What just happened?”
How did Faye go from not speaking for hours and ready to die to eyes open and talking?

“It works that way sometimes. The dying aren’t necessarily released by the loved and force themselves to stay here. As long as possible. Longer than they should maybe, simply to make other people happy.”