J Duncan - Deadworld

“Good,” Nick replied, his mouth an inch above hers. “I was looking forward to that kiss.”

Smart-ass. The thought dwindled away beneath the warm caress of his mouth. It was not a kiss full of lust, but the soft, lingering brush of affection and care that did more to warm her then anything sexual. Jackie could hear his voice in her head, a quiet, repetitive chant to relax, breathe, and feel the warmth of his skin against her own.

The shivering began to subside. Her muscles unclenched to some degree, at least so that her body no longer screamed in pain with every movement. Sadly, and all too soon, the contact with his mouth ended.

Nick’s face still hovered above hers, the eyes glowing with luminous blue light. “Better?”

Jackie nodded. “I feel drunk.”

“I know. Can’t do much about that. Think you can move okay now?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to. It feels good to lay here like this.”

Nick smiled down at her. “Wish you could, but we need to move.”

“Why?”

Laurel’s voice startled her. “Drake’s still on the other side, but he’s got his goons out in force. He must know something went awry with his plans. I can’t find a safe spot for us outside.”

Nick eased Jackie up into a sitting position next to him. “Meaning what? Inside?”

“Yes. We need to get by the front doors.”

“I have no idea what the inside of the Hancock building looks like, Laurel.”

She nodded. “I know, but you know what someone in there looks like.”

“Does it work like that? You can travel to a person as well as a place?”

“You can go where your mind wills, Nick. Different rules. Can you remember what your wife looked like?”

Jackie felt him stiffen against her, his voice a whisper. “What?”

“Your wife. Gwendolyn, I think? Can you still envision her strongly?”

Jackie looked over at Nick, who stared in silence at Laurel, his mouth a thin, pale line. She recalled the room up behind his office, filled with all the memorabilia from his old life and family, obsessive in its detail. Then there was the painting. Oh, yeah, he could envision her strongly. Question was, did he want to go there?

Jackie touched his arm. “Nick? You okay?”

He turned toward her in slow-motion, eyes glassy and distant. One shoulder offered a barely discernible shrug. “Yeah. Just not what I was expecting. I haven’t seen her in… a long time.” He turned back to Laurel. “You sure she’s there?”

“You think Drake would let them go before you got here? Isn’t the point here to make you suffer as much as possible?”

Nick’s back stiffened. “You make a good point, Ms. Carpenter. Thank you.”

Laurel smiled. “Get cold feet at the last moment, Sheriff, and I’ll kick your ass.”

Nick’s mouth puckered in consternation. “Not sure she’s going to want to see me.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “She loved you, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, I suppose she did.”

Jackie recalled what Nick had said about the events of his wife’s death. Would she ever get over something like that? Much like him, she would blame herself, no doubt about that. But Gwendolyn had wanted him to do it. The children, on the other hand… Jackie laid her hand on Nick’s thigh. “She’ll be glad to see you, Nick. They all will.”

He stared at her for a moment, the eyes locking on to hers and holding her perfectly still. There was a brief look of anger there, a “don’t be a presumptuous bitch” gaze that melted away as quickly as it had come. “Unlikely, but thanks.”

“She won’t blame you,” Jackie said. It was not a certainty, but she felt reasonably sure that this Gwendolyn would know exactly how Nick would be feeling and act accordingly. “I wouldn’t.”

He said nothing, but his mouth relaxed, one corner flickering with a smile, and he turned back to Laurel. “All right, I’ll try to take us to her and see what happens.”

“Great,” Laurel said, walking over to the couch. “Nick, hold on to Jackie and focus. I’ll help give you the strength to get us there.”

Nick stood up and offered Jackie his hand. “You ready to do this?”

“Could I ever be?” She reached up and let Nick pull her up to her feet. Her body swam in syrup, sluggish but, thankfully, not shaking any longer.

“He’ll get us there, hon,” Laurel said. “Just concentrate on Gwendolyn.”

Nick’s hand squeezed Jackie’s. “I’ll get us there. Trust me.”

The surety of his words brought little comfort. They were walking into a death trap with no plan for getting out. Then again, she was dying. A few hours, and the life in her would freeze into a solid block. There was nothing in this wretched place to make sticking around worthwhile. Worse, she could die and find herself in the same place.

“Okay. I guess.” She put her arms around Nick’s waist and held him tight. His body had the same musty, dry smell as the air around them. Laurel’s cold presence closed in behind.

“Let’s go, Nick,” Laurel said, her voice in Jackie’s ear.

A voice, lost somewhere in the haze that filled her brain, was screaming to her to wait, that she was not ready at all, but Jackie knew they had little choice or time.

Nick’s arms pressed against her, one at the small of her back, the other cupping her head against his chest. “Relax, Jackie. Let’s get this prick.”

Jackie closed her eyes and imagined the Hancock building in her mind, an iconic symbol in the Chicago skyline, sleek, black, and-in this shrouded ghost land-full of death. After a little extra help from Laurel, they were off.

The trip to the Hancock building likely took seconds to complete, but it was more than enough time for a thousand panicked thoughts to bounce at random off each other inside Nick’s head. The worst being the dreaded notion that his family would be far from pleased to see him again, ghosts full of rage and hate for abandoning them in this place and failing to save them back when he had a legitimate chance to. A part of him was convinced they would attempt to kill him for what he had done and since become. What was there to understand? He had let them down in the worst way imaginable and been unable to bring them the justice and peace they deserved. If they wanted him dead, Nick was ready to accept that fate.

Except there was the dying woman in his arms. What would they say when he left to try to save her? Because if there proved to be a chance to do it, as Laurel stated, he would leave them again to save her. Jackie was still alive, and his family was not. After all these years, would they understand? A part of him was ready to just say, “Screw it,” and spend what remained of his time in the arms of his family. It had a certain appeal. He was tired of all this and ready for it to end, but the sheriff inside would not and could not stop. It would be selfish of him to relinquish the badge at the very end, not to mention cowardly. Yes, as much as it would break his heart, Nick knew that no matter what awaited him in the Hancock building, he would leave them all to save the one among them who still lived. There would be no living with himself to do otherwise. He only hoped his family would understand.

All the fears were moot, however, if Drake killed him before he had a chance to do anything. Failing again before all of those who had come before would be the last and worst slap in the face.

Nick could feel them before they arrived, a swarming mass of spiritual energy, some of which had a pang of familiarity. There were dozens of them, but none so significant or intense as the one he zeroed in on, which Laurel pushed them toward, and that Nick found himself standing before in a dissipating swirl of bone-cold mist. His throat constricted, and for a moment he might as well have been dead, given the frozen state of his heart.