Shattered Mirror (Eve Duncan #23)(67)
Darkness.
*
Noise.
So much noise.
Screams. People crying. Sirens. Helicopters.
Crackling. Something was burning …
She opened her eyes. Ambulance. She was lying on a stretcher in an ambulance.
Joe.
But not Joe. His head was bandaged and his face was black with soot except for the streaks on his cheeks. Tears. Joe had been crying. She reached out and touched his cheek. “Joe? Okay?”
“Hi.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Not okay.” His voice broke on the words. “You’re going to remember in a minute. I had them give you a sedative, but it’s not going to do much good. So I’m going to tell you what’s happening while you can still process it. Norwalk did what he does best and wired the entire square to blow. Not just the ice-cream shop, the whole damn square, so he could have his fantastic ‘statement.’ Thirty-six shops and they don’t know how many victims yet.” His voice was a little unsteady. “Together with the ice-cream shop, they’re guessing at least fifty victims.”
“Ice-cream shop,” she repeated. There was something to recall about the ice-cream shop, but it wasn’t coming clear. “Norwalk…”
“You’ll remember him very soon. What you have to know is that he’s very good at what he does. Those blasts were superefficient. When they went off, no one inside could have survived. It wouldn’t have mattered if we’d managed to get inside. We wouldn’t have found anyone alive. There were a few bodies blown out by the explosion, but even they didn’t survive.” His hand tightened on hers. “You have to understand that. There was nothing you could do once that explosion went off. There was nothing I could do.”
He sounded so desperate, she realized vaguely. Poor Joe, why did he sound so sad and desperate? Why was he pleading with her to understand? She always understood that he did his best. Always.
Explosion?
What had he been talking about?
But the mist was clearing now.
Red and gold. Red and gold.
Red!
She screamed!
Joe grabbed her close, holding her, rocking her back and forth in an agony of sorrow. “I know. I know. Hold on to me. I can’t make it right, but just hold on to me.”
“Michael!”
“I know.” He kept repeating it. “I know. Hold on to me.”
“He didn’t get out?” She couldn’t believe it. “Of course he got out. It’s Michael. Michael couldn’t die. God wouldn’t let Michael die.”
“I didn’t think so either.” The tears were running down his face again. “Not Michael. We need him too much. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“There’s some kind of mistake. I lost Bonnie. I can’t lose Michael, too.” The pain was unbearable. She had to get away from it. She was thrashing back and forth, trying to escape.
Red and gold. Red and gold.
Fire.
Had Michael felt the fire?
No, Joe had said it had happened when the explosion went off.
Michael had died when the explosion had gone off.
No!
Red and gold.
Death was like sleep.
Michael curled up in bed, asleep, with her bending over him.
Red and gold.
“Eve.” Joe holding her tight. “Let me help. Let me do something.”
What could he do? What could anyone do?
If Michael was gone, what could anyone do?
Empty. The world was empty.
Red and gold.
Don’t let the red come again.
Please don’t let it come.
It was a monster, like Norwalk was a monster.
The pain was increasing. She could feel herself curling in a fetal position to get away from it. Go away. Go away. Go away.
Yes, that was what she had to do. Go away and never come back.
Red and gold.
Red and gold.
If she went away, that monster red would never come back. There would only be the dark.
Red and gold …
Darkness.
No, not really darkness.
Swirling gray mist, cold against her hot skin.
Why was it hot?
Fire.
“No, Mama. No fire. Not for me,” Michael said. “Don’t cry. I’d never leave you. Not even like this.”
Red and gold.
But she could see him now. Red-and-gold knee socks. Red shorts, gold jersey. Not smiling. Sad. So sad. But it was Michael, and she could feel the agony of his worry for her.
“Michael?”
“Please don’t hurt like this.” His eyes were moist with tears. “I can’t stand it. I don’t know what to do about it. I want to come to you, but I can’t right now. You might have to come to me.”
“Then I’ll come to you. Just tell me Joe’s wrong.” But he might mean something else. “Or if he’s right, tell me how I can come to be with you there.”
“No, you mustn’t think about that!”
“Then tell me your dad’s wrong.”
“Is that all it takes to make you stop hurting? It’s true. Dad’s wrong, Mama…”
Cold mist.
Darkness …
And then the overhead light of the interior of the ambulance.
Joe’s face above her.