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You know what?
It all kind of sucks.
There’s an unfamiliar smell, and my body jostles slightly as if I’m being carried away. And I’m cold.
Is this hell?
Has Xavier cast me into the depths of hell by setting me free in his demented, wicked way?
The smell becomes more pungent, and I blink back the tears forming.
“Take it slow,” a familiar voice says.
“Where am I?” I don’t recognize my scratchy voice.
“Halfway across the country now. You were out for a while.”
I open my eyes, and the blackness turns to soft colors of tan and grey. Clouds drift by. Heaven is very bland. “Where is the pearly gate?”
I blink, and Dean comes into focus with a small smile. “This isn't heaven. It’s Xavier’s private jet. Do you want some water?”
I nod, confusion streaming through me as Dean stands and heads to the back of the cabin. “What happened?” I whisper mainly to myself.
“He was right about the fainting when you see blood.” He laughs, walking back toward me and holding out a small glass. “It wasn’t even real blood, and you were out.” He snaps his fingers together.
I sip the cool water, letting it trickle down my dry throat. “Xavier shot me,” I whisper again.
The image of the gun in his hand, him pulling the trigger and ending my life, brings back tears.
I glance down, wiping at my blood-stained dress. “I’m not dead?”
“Hardly. That was some show, huh?”
“Show?” Is this my purgatory? To be stuck with Dean while he speaks in riddles?
“Yeah, I kept telling him it wouldn’t work.” He runs a hand through his hair, a smile illuminating his face. “But, Xavier was confident you’d faint when you saw the blood.”
“I don’t understand.”
He turns and rifles through a cabinet beneath a flat screen tv. “He’s been planning this all for so long, and what a chance he took with you.”
“How so?”
“The gun was a prop gun, but it sure did the trick. Your dad bought it—hook, line, and sinker.”
I sit up. “My dad thinks I’m dead?”
“Dead as a doornail, kid.”
I take another sip of water. “Why did he do this to me?”
Dean glances at me. “Were you happy? Did you really want to marry Ian?”
“Well…”
He cuts me off, “Because I hear they perform weddings in prison. You can visit him, and conjugal visits might work out.”
The thought of visiting Ian in prison makes me smile for a second, but I would never. “Well...no, but...”
