Ted Dekker - The Bride Collector

“But you see, that’s the problem,” Allison said. “To you this is all considerable trouble. Where does that leave Paradise? I think we need to consider her needs in this exchange, don’t you?”

“Yes. Of course, but I wasn’t aware that we’d failed to do that.”

It occurred to her that they were both treating her like a child. She wasn’t a child. “I don’t have any needs you can take care of, Mr. Raines. And the last thing I need is for you to play matchmaker, Allison.” Too much information. She couldn’t seem to stop putting her foot in her mouth! “I don’t have the slightest interest in that aspect of this encounter. But you’ve come all this way, so let’s finish.”

Before I ask you to hold me, Brad, because the truth is I would dream about a man like you every waking moment if I allowed myself to. I would lay myself on a sacrificial altar to float through space with you. But I can’t so I won’t, not ever.

Nonsense! It just wasn’t true!

She stepped around the stainless-steel island and approached the gurney.

“I’m sorry, Paradise. Really, we don’t have to do this if you feel uncomfortable.” Brad, yes Brad, because his name was Brad, stepped to the other side of the body. Allison seemed content to remain where she stood.

“It’s fine, Mr. Raines. I just don’t know exactly what you expect me to do.”

“You said you saw these… ghosts… a couple of times before. Twice when you came in contact with deceased bodies.”

“Yes. But I have to tell you that most of the ‘ghosts’ I see are just figments of my imagination.” Blue butterflies flying through the window behind you, sailing to space, singing wonderfully. “I can’t explain what I saw or why I saw it.”

“What did you see?”

She hesitated, reaching back for the memory. “I saw the ghost of the paramedic leaning over one, telling her that everything was going to be okay. I saw his ghost.”

“Or the dead person’s last memory of him,” he said gently, with true interest.

She nodded. “Or her memory of him.”

The exchange bolstered her all of a sudden. And Brad Raines was a beautiful man. She couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t. It was no wonder that Andrea was so suspicious of him. His face was smooth, like a boy’s, even though his jaw was strong and he was maybe thirty. His brown eyes looked like dark amber crystals, his lips were smooth, and his hair looked soft. She would like to touch it in her dreams of him.

She was ashamed that she was still looking at him. Why didn’t he look away? Was he so amazed at her courage, staring back at him even though she couldn’t measure up? Was he surprised that she didn’t understand her place as the rag he used to shine his shoes? How dare she stare into his eyes!

The moment of silence stretched and Paradise fought an urge to run away.

“Thank you for doing this, Paradise,” Brad said. “I realize how awkward this is for you, and I want you to know that I don’t expect anything. It doesn’t matter if you don’t see anything.”

It was kind of him, and she thought he meant what he said.

“But since we’re here, why don’t we give it a try?”

She nodded.

Brad reached down, took the hem of the sheet in his fingers, and pulled it down. Her eyes were on his fingernails, how clean they were. Being clean and tidy must be important to him. She didn’t know how to be like that, and she hated herself for it.

“Her name is Melissa,” Brad said.

Paradise blinked and looked at the dead woman’s pretty, pasty-white face. There was a cut above her right temple. Perfect lips, perfect skin.

She hated Melissa.

But that was ridiculous. She hated no one, not even her own father. What was getting into her? “She died last night,” Brad said.

Her mind began to fill with the circumstances surrounding the woman’s death, abstract images that come from her own imagination. The dancing lover and the ape biting off her face.

Paradise was suddenly unsure she could go through with this. Mnemophobia offered only a fine line between the fear of bad memories and the fear of creating new bad memories, and though she’d worked through it all with Allison, she now felt those old fingers of fear reaching up inside of her.

It should be me, she thought. I should be dead instead of this beautiful woman. I’m not even a woman, not really.

But she was here and he was waiting and the fear of disappointing him was as great as her fear of creating a bad memory by touching such a beautiful dead body. So she stretched out her hand, tried and failed to still her quivering fingers, and gently touched Melissa’s white cheek.

She felt only the bloodless skin, chilled by the refrigerator’s cool air. She saw no ghosts. No visions. Not even an image spawned by her own overactive imagination. Just a dead girl on a gurney, cold to the touch.

Paradise left her fingers on the face and glanced up at Brad, whose eyes rose to meet hers, searching.

What did you expect, a butterfly to fly out of her mouth when I touched her? A frog to leap out of my shirt? A ghost to pop out of her? I never did deserve to be in here with you, so may I crawl back into my corner now? I’ll just rock and moan for a while like a good monkey.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Nothing, huh?”

“I told you.”

“Nothing at all? Not even a… thought?”

“Nothing.” She removed her hand. “I’m s…”

But she didn’t get to say sorry, because in that moment her vision suddenly went black. A voice echoed in the darkness, speaking to her. “I’m going to drill some small holes in your heels, about half an inch wide, but don’t worry, as soon as your blood drains out, I’ll plug them back up. You’ll still be beautiful. Perfect. Okay?”

A woman’s voice: “Okay.” Melissa’s voice, only it felt like it was coming from Paradise, because in this moment, Paradise was Melissa.

Her mind reeled with objection and she reached for something to steady herself. Flesh filled her hand. Melissa’s flesh. But Paradise was in a full panic and felt like she was going to fall, so she held tight.

“Melissa?” A man’s voice filled her head. His voice. Did she know this voice? Had she heard this voice, felt this hot breath on her cheek?

A face filled her vision. His face. A handsome clean-cut face with strong cheekbones and dark hair. Genuine, smiling eyes as he reached a gloved hand for her cheek and stroked her skin with his thumb.

“So beautiful, my dear. You are his favorite, remember that. And that makes you my favorite, because you were lost but now you are found. I found you. Think of me as God, it will help you.”

Horror at the sound of that familiar voice slammed into Paradise and robbed her of breath. She tried to pull her hand away, but her fingers were latched on to the body’s cold flesh as if they wanted more. A part of her needed to know more.

Paradise screamed and jerked back with all her strength. Her hand slipped free and the blackness cleared, but now she was reeling backward, tripping. She crashed into the stove behind her and fell to the ground, hard.

The landing knocked the wind from her, silencing her scream. She lay on the smooth concrete floor, shivering. Allison’s calm voice reached out, but Paradise was already clawing on her belly for the safe place.

For the white fog, where all that was bad would not find her. Slowly, she inched toward it, desperate to reach the safety before the monsters grabbed her legs and pulled her back into the darkness.

Dear God, save me. Don’t let them get me. Take me in your arms, hold me, don’t let evil eat me. Please, don’t reject me!

She struggled to all fours and crawled forward as the first wisps of white fog drifted past her. She was shaking on the kitchen floor, and two voices, a man’s and a woman’s, were trying to calm her, but in her mind she was entering the fog.