While I Was Away(70)

He's scared. He's just scared. He can't mean this.

“But I'm not your patient anymore,” she pointed out.

“But you were,” he argued. “And I just can't. It would be taking advantage of you when you're not well yet. I'm sorry, Adele. I really am.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to keep the hurt at bay. Then she rolled away, giving her back to him. If she was going to cry, she sure as shit wasn't going to do it in front of him. Wasn't going to do it in front of some stranger.

Except he's not a stranger, he's your soulmate, only he's forgotten that, and what could possibly be worse than that?

“I never asked for anything,” she finally managed to respond in a reasonably level voice. “It's okay, Jones. I mean, Johannes.”

He moaned, then she felt his arm slide around her waist. She squeezed her eyes even tighter as the tears started falling.

“Don't call me that,” he breathed against her neck. “Don't ever call me that. I hate that name. I'm Jones to you.”

No, you're not, because Jones would never ever hurt me. Jones would know me for what I am to him, and you don't know me at all.

“It's okay,” she whispered. “It's okay, it's okay, don't worry. It's okay.”

She kept repeating it. After a while, it wasn't even for him. She was repeating it for herself.

And she cried and he held her and that made her cry even more and he apologized again and that made her cry the most.

After what felt like an hour, exhaustion began to take over, thankfully. Her tears had been mostly silent and Jones had long since fallen asleep behind her. She relaxed in his hold, then leaned back against him. Sighed as she felt his breath on the back of her head. If this was her last night being so close to him, she was going to revel in it as much as she could.

Please let me dream tonight. Let me dream of us and let it be good and let it be the last time ever.





32




An old, familiar cabin stood to the left.

A jagged cliff was to the front.

To the right, a poppy field stretched off seemingly forever.

To the back was more of the same.

Not possible. This. Is. Not. Possible.

Jones spun in circle. Once. Twice. A third time so quickly, he almost fell over. He caught his balance, then shoved his hands into his hair.

He couldn't be here. How was this possible!? It was all exactly as Adele had described it. The sun was setting, but he could see the brilliant red of the poppies. When he looked closer at the cabin, he saw that it was his own, the same in every detail.

This is a dream. Jesus, of course it's a dream. It's those pictures, they got in my head. And she talks about it all the time. I think about it all the time. I'm in her dream. No! That's not possible. This is my dream, induced by her talking about her dreams. That's all. THAT'S ALL.

He was pretty sure he was going to have a panic attack.

It didn't feel like a dream. It didn't quite feel like reality, either, but it didn't have the odd, disjointed feeling that most dreams had – it had texture, it had a certain realness to it.

And the detail! There was nothing fuzzy about this place. And he knew – he just knew – it was the same place Adele had been to. Not the same dream, but the exact same place. He could feel her presence, her mind, her soul, all around him.

This isn't possible. This can't be possible. I DON'T BELIEVE THIS IS POSSIBLE.

A loud booming noise behind him brought him around again. In the distance, a storm seemed to be brewing. He blinked a couple times, wiped at his eyes, then blinked again. Not just a storm – there was a goddamn tornado out there. He stumbled backwards, then turned back to the cliff.

And there sat Adele.

Jones approached her slowly, glancing back at the twister every now and then. It didn't seem to be moving any closer, but he didn't trust it. He wound his way through the poppies, flicking his head back and forth, until he reached the cliff.

She had her back to him, all of her soft brown hair pulled over one shoulder. She was on the very edge, her legs dangling over the precipice. Next to her, the ground was all torn up. As if a giant had gouged a chunk out of the cliff face. And suddenly he knew what it was.

This is where her tree was, the magnolia. It was big, and had pink flowers. Because pink is her favorite color.

“How do I know this,” he whispered.

Adele didn't say anything, just smiled and kept staring across the canyon. He licked his lips nervously, glanced once more at the tornado, then finally sat down next to her.

“Why am I here?” he asked. She shrugged.

“Why was I here?” she asked back. “Who knows.”

“You're not real,” Jones challenged her, and she laughed.

“Of course I'm not,” she startled him by agreeing. “Ask me a question only I'd know the answer to.”

“Um ... what's your oldest brother's birthday?” he asked, and she laughed again.

“I have no idea. I only know what you know.”

God, was this what it had been like for Adele? Four months of cryptic conversations and riddles? It was amazing that she'd woken up obsessed with him – he would've woken up hating her.

“Then how? How did I get here? How do I know all this?” he asked, leaning forward so he could try to look into her eyes. She refused to face him.