“I know it seems unbelievable,” I began, but she shook her head.
“I believe you,” she whispered, her voice growing lighter. She held out her hand and motioned for me to come closer.
I released the handle and went back to her bedside.
“I knew you were connected to him,” she whispered. “That night he—you—died… when he touched me, I had a vision. A vision of him smiling.”
I sat down in the chair, heavily, listening to her words.
“Then that first time in the diner, that time I met you again… when you touched me… I had the exact same vision. I’ve never been more confused. When I touch someone and get a vision, it’s about that person andonly that person. But here I was, touching a stranger and having a vision about someone else. Someone that died.”
“You have visions?” I asked, understanding dawning. I finally knew what Charming was after. And I also finally understood why she’d been so sure I was connected to the man who got hit by the bus.
She nodded. “Ever since I was a little girl.”
Her voice cracked on the last word and I reached to grab the pitcher of water and pour her a glass, holding it out so she could sip through the straw. She drank it gratefully and then fell back against her pillow.
“You should rest,” I told her. “You’ve been through a lot.”
She reached for my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “Please don’t go.”
“You want me to stay?”After everything I admitted?
“I feel like I only just found you,” she whispered.
“Listen to me, the guy you think I am… the guy that got hit by that bus. Thatisme. The me standing in front of you. I know I look different, but I’m the same. I still tried to kill you.”
“Stay,” she whispered, her eyes getting heavy, but the grip on my hand remained.
I pulled the chair closer and sat down, knowing I should go but wanting to stay.
* * *
She was sleeping when I slipped out the door. The doctor said she was going to be just fine, would probably sleep all night long and be released tomorrow. My clothes were rumpled and ripped, I had blood all over my shirt, and my face hurt from all the cuts from the shattered windshield. I needed some glasses because I couldn’t see and it was giving me a headache.
I told myself those were the reasons I was leaving.
But I couldn’t fool myself, no matter how badly I wanted to.
I was leaving because I couldn’t sit there and watch her die.
No, she wouldn’t die from the car accident. But she was dying. Somewhere right now Charming and G.R. were plotting against us, against her. I couldn’t sit by while someone planned the death of the only person I ever loved.
That’s the thing about death. It doesn’t care about love. It doesn’t care if you’re not done living. It doesn’t stop… It keeps coming until it claims everything a person has, until there’s nothing left.
When I walked by the waiting area I saw Hobbs leaning back in a chair with his feet outstretched before him and his ankles crossed. He had his hands lying over his middle and his head leaned back, looking up toward the ceiling. His eyes were closed. I stepped up before him and he opened his eyes and straightened.
“Is she all right?”
I nodded. “She’s sleeping and I need to get cleaned up. Can you drive me home?”
The Roadster was totaled. And I really didn’t care.
“Of course.” He stood. The gray suit he always wore looked fresh and unlined—even though he’d spent most of the night sleeping in a hospital chair.
In the car, Hobbs tried to talk to me. “About the accident, sir, what happened?”
I leaned my head back against the seat. “I don’t want to talk about it, Hobbs.”
