The Trouble With Dying Read online

  My throat feels raw. Auckland is my home and friend and mentor all rolled into one. I miss it.

  Fortunately Nate returns at that moment, distracting me from my pity party.

  “Hey, Pix,” he says. “Are you here?”

  He pauses, cocks his head to one side for a moment. Then shivers and smiles.

  “Yeah, you’re here.”

  I return his smile, even though he can’t see it. What does it feel like for him, I wonder, when I’m here? How does he know when I’m not?

  “Good news. The doctors have said you’re well enough for me to visit again.” He grins at Faith-in-the-bed. “Not that it would’ve stopped me, but still, I’d rather not break their rules any more than I have to.”

  He pulls the chair up to the bed and sits down. Then sets up his ipod and speakers on the bed.

  “Time for some music,” he says. “I don’t know if you were in the room last time I played this for you, but here it is again in case you missed it.”

  I recognise it instantly. “My favourite song.”

  “Hallelujah,” he says. “You’ve loved this for years.”

  He settles back in the chair, and whereas last time the music seemed to make him introspective, this time he’s far more relaxed. He sits with a half-smile on his face, his heel moving in time to the music. As the song progresses he even sings the odd phrase.

  Goosebumps break out on the back of my neck. He has quite the baritone voice going on. Is there anything this guy can’t do?

  With the song still playing, he speaks. “I love this song too, you know. It reminds me of us. You and me and Friday night pizzas, listening to music, talking about anything and everything and . . .”

  He pauses, reaches for Faith-in-the-bed’s hand, kisses her knuckles. My pulse kicks up.

  “. . . And eventually I’d shut you up with a kiss . . .”

  He breathes deep.

  I imagine him shutting me up and forget to breathe at all.

  “I loved journalism. And the investigative stuff?” He shakes his head, gives a half-smile. “That was amazing. I couldn’t believe I was getting paid to do something that was so much fun.”

  My ears buzz. My heart pounds hard and fast. Nate was an investigative journalist. That explains the offshore assignment he mentioned the other day. Is he still working in journalism?

  His face grows sombre. “But Pix, if I’d known it would split us up I would’ve walked away. Truly. You were everything to me.”

  I pause to think about it. Then frown. I feel like I know Nate so well—but what do I really know about him? Is he single? No idea. Sporty? No idea. Works out, for sure. But doing what, exactly? No idea. Career? Journalism, maybe—and maybe not. I don’t know where he lives, or what he does, or . . . anything, really.

  But I do know he’s a long-time, loyal friend.

  And I do know he loved me.

  “I never told you what that offshore assignment was. And I know it’s too late now, but just so you know, I would’ve told you about it back then if I could’ve, but I couldn’t. You wouldn’t have been safe.”

  He interlaces his fingers with Faith-in-the bed’s and the intimacy, the warmth, comes straight through to mine. I have to force myself to concentrate on his words.

  “We were snooping on some really dangerous people. It started off as standard intel gathering, but what we uncovered was huge.”

  He pauses and I suddenly notice the music has finished. I also notice Nate’s no longer relaxed. He’s sitting poker-straight in the chair, tight-jawed and intent. Whatever they uncovered obviously affected him deeply.

  “We had to dig deeper,” he continues, “so I went undercover. That’s why I went off the radar for so long.”

  Poor man. He was doing his job, something really dangerous, and even though he’d asked me to wait for him, I didn’t. How could I have done that to him?

  I wish I could remember more, because right now, with everything he’s telling me, all I can conclude is that Nate is an amazing, generous, kind-hearted guy and I’m a fickle little bitch who didn’t deserve his loyalty.

  He shakes his head. “I never expected the operation to take so long, but I was in it up to my neck so I had to see it through.” His voice hardens. “And I did not want those bastards anywhere near you or my family.”

  I want to comfort him, show him I understand. But with no steamed-up mirror out here, all I can do is move close and hope he can feel me. I place my hand over his, and for a few moments we sit in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

  He tilts his head back, eyes closed, face to the ceiling. He inhales. Slowly exhales. “Did I do the right thing? For us—no.”

  He opens his eyes, looks down at his hands.

  “But it was kids’ lives at stake. They were kidnapping kids to order and on-selling them.” He shrugs. “That was something I couldn’t walk away from.”

  I turn and kneel in front of him, wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging him close, and is it my imagination or did he just lean into me?

  I touch my forehead to his. “You did the right thing.”

  “Please forgive me,” he whispers, and it breaks my heart to hear him say that. He doesn’t need my forgiveness: it’s I who need his.

  “Oh, Nate.” My head reels. He made such a heroic, self-sacrificing choice. And I may not have known why at the time, but I do now.

  My throat is raw with emotion. “No forgiveness is necessary.”

  I take his face in my hands and gently, quietly, kiss him. He is a truly beautiful person. Selfless, humble, principled. I feel honoured to have him in my life.

  My body tingles. Somehow, the fact that he sacrificed our love to save all those children is making me fall for him all over again.

  And it hurts so much to have these feelings for Nate because I gave up the right to feel anything for him years ago. I married Geoff.

  Almost as if he’s heard my thoughts Nate straightens, kisses Faith-in-the-bed’s hand once more, gently releases it, and stands. His face is etched with grief; grief that echoes my own.

  “It’s always been you, Pix. Always was, always will be. But I knew it might not be the same for you. You might grow up and move on.” He shrugs. “I couldn’t blame you when you did. I’d been gone a long time.”

  He goes to the window and stands there, head bowed, hands in pockets. “It hurt like crazy, but I guess that’s life. Nothing’s forever.”

  Nothing’s forever. Heartache invades me with ninja stealth, quick, lethal and merciless. It’s the same heartache . . .

  The doorbell rings.

  I carefully place my gorgeous wee bundle, still sleeping, on the sheepskin rug and open the door.

  Nate stands there looking at me. Just looking.

  I devour his face with my eyes, as if he might be gone in a second, as if it’s the last time I’ll see him. For what seems an eternity we stare at each other. He looks older, somehow. As if in the intervening months he’s suddenly grown up.

  I guess we both have.

  “Hi, Pixie.” His words are light but his eyes are intense.

  At the sound of his voice something inside me awakens. My hands shake. My heart shakes. My whole treacherous body shakes. I want to grab him, squeeze him, never let go. Instead, I curse him.

  “You bastard.”

  I slam the door in his face but his foot stops it. And then he’s in, gathering me in his arms, bringing me back to life, telling me exactly what I don’t want to hear.

  “I missed you, babe. Missed you like air.”

  His lips are on my face and his hands are in my hair. I feel myself falling, sinking, drowning in his nearness. I push at his chest, crying and shaking and needing him more than ever and hating him for it. Because that is over. Gone months ago. Gone in the wake of Tess.

  Tess doesn’t need him, doesn’t even know about him. She has Geoff. So do I.

  Nate feels my body stiffen against his and he pulls back a little. That’s when he looks p
ast me and sees baby Tess. She’s still sleeping but she’s there, a far more imposing presence than her fifty centimetres suggests.

  Shock ricochets from his eyes to mine.

  I turn away from the hurt in his gaze and go to Tess, picking her up and cradling her in my arms.

  “This is Tessa. Tess for short,” I say.

  The question is in his eyes. I force myself to meet his gaze impassively. He swallows. Breathes deep. “Your mum didn’t say.”

  “Mum?” What’s Mum got to do with this?

  “That’s how I found out where you were.”

  Mum knew he was back? She should’ve warned me. I bend my head and kiss Tess, breathing in her sweet baby smell, grounding myself in the reality of her existence.

  She is my reason. For everything.

  “How . . . When?” He can’t frame the question clearly but we both know what he means.

  “Geoff will be home soon. My husband,” I add. “You’d better go.”

  He nods. Follows me to the door. Walks out into daylight.

  “Faith, I . . .” He stops. Turns. Pulls me into his gaze.

  I meet the challenge directly, calmly. Tess gives me strength.

  “Congratulations. I’m . . . Geoff’s a lucky man.”

  “And I’m a lucky woman,” I say quietly.

  He nods. Message received.

  “Take care.” His hand comes to my cheek in a caress I remember so well. For a moment I forget myself, turning my cheek into his hand. My heart splinters.

  “You’re looking good, Nate.” I smile through the pain.

  He nods again. “You too, Pix.”

  “Give my regards to Jim,” he says.

  “Geoff.”

  “Right. Geoff.”

  He turns then and walks away, down the path, out of my life all over again.

  And it hurts. All over again.

  I drag in a ragged breath, stifling a sob. Oh God. How can one thing hurt so much, for so long?

  I may not have seen it before, but I see it now: my whole identity is wrapped up in Nate. Nate made me who I am, and who I’m not. How could I not see that in rejecting him I actually rejected myself?

  I’m choking; drowning in the reality of my life’s biggest mistake.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A nurse appears in the doorway, phone in hand. “Mr Sutherland? Nathan?” Then, as Nate nods and smiles, “I have a call for you.”

  He looks startled. “For me?”

  With a frown and a murmured ‘thanks’ for the nurse, he takes the phone. “Hello?”

  As he listens, his eyes narrow and his mouth sets. “Yes, I am, and I won’t be leaving any time soon.”

  He pauses. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Clearly whoever he’s speaking to argues the point, because his expression darkens.

  “This is nothing to do with me fighting you. I’m just keeping Faith safe, Ma.”

  My stomach turns in on itself. He’s speaking to his mother. Sylvia, a.k.a. my murderer.

  “You know perfectly well why not,” he says, tone clipped.

  Dread’s poisonous tendrils wrap around my heart. His words repeat in my head, and the more they repeat the more certain I am they can mean only one thing. Nate knows. He knows whom I need protection from, and he’s just told Sylvia he knows.

  If she really can reach beyond life to get to me I am in deep doggy doo-doo.

  “You want me to be fair?” The words erupt from Nate’s mouth. “I don’t give a monkey’s about fair. Nothing about this is fair, Ma. Nothing. So let’s not talk about what is or isn’t fair. The only thing I care about is what’s right.”

  A pulse keeps time in his temple as he listens.

  “No way. I’m not going to let you—” Nate hesitates. He looks at Faith-in-the-bed, then at the bathroom door.

  The silence lengthens. He drops his gaze. Rubs a hand over the back of his neck. Then sighs. “Fine. Come in. Since you’re so determined. But I’ll be here the whole time, okay? I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

  # # #

  When Sylvia finally walks in, wearing a long black cloak, she looks every bit the wicked witch. Regardless, I’m relieved. I’ve never seen Nate so restless as this past hour. He’s been so distracted I haven’t been able to grab his attention, even for a few minutes.

  My stomach churns. I need to tell him his mother was involved in my accident. He clearly already suspects her; I need to let him know he’s right.

  I should’ve told him sooner. But I didn’t know what to say, how to break such hideous news to him.

  Goddamit, why does this have to be so hard? All I needed was five blasted minutes with him and the mirror. And now it’s too late: she’s here. Geoff’s accomplice. Nate’s mother. My attacker.

  I watch, nerves sparking in my belly, as Sylvia greets Nate and he keeps his distance. The sparks become fireworks as she removes her cloak and folds it over the end of the bed. She turns towards Faith-in-the-bed. I watch those three feathers swaying gently at the side of her face, and the fireworks in my gut threaten to explode into an all-out panic-fuelled bonfire.

  “Oh, Faith,” she says, reaching out to smooth Faith-in-the-bed’s hair.

  My scalp prickles with the echo of her touch.

  “Darling girl,” she says.

  Two-faced toad. My lips set in a grim line.

  Sylvia places her hand on Faith-in-the-bed’s forehead and closes her eyes. She breathes deeply, in through her nose and slowly out through her mouth. She repeats it. And that’s when I feel her probing, searching, coming for me.

  Fuck.

  I slam my mind shut and pull my energy in, close, trying to protect myself from her psychic invasion.

  “What are you doing?” asks Nate from across the room, but although his tone is guarded he makes no move to stop Sylvia touching me.

  I want to shriek, ‘Stop her!’ and ‘She’s going to hurt me!’ and ‘Help!’ but I stay silent. I don’t know how her psychic powers work, nor what she can do with them, so my best strategy is HIDE. Don’t give her anything to work with. I edge closer to the corridor, increasing the distance between us.

  “I’m reaching out to Faith,” murmurs Sylvia, eyes closed. “I thought I’d found her but . . . maybe not.”

  She focuses once more on her breathing, in via nose, out via mouth, and once more I feel her probing presence. I escape out into the corridor and imagine a thick brick wall between us.

  Sylvia speaks again and her words, though muffled, are still audible. “No. I’ve lost her. Either she’s not letting me in or her coma’s too deep.”

  I watch them through the window.

  Nate frowns but says nothing.

  Then he reconsiders. “Ma, there’s something I . . .”

  He doesn’t finish, but there’s an edge in his voice that has Sylvia pinning him with her aqua gaze.

  He shifts uncomfortably. “Forget it.”

  She turns back to Faith-in-the-bed and gently withdraws her hand from her forehead, then closes her eyes and murmurs something I can’t quite hear. Opening her eyes again, she holds her hand an inch or two above Faith-in-the-bed’s face then sweeps down from forehead to chin.

  My head clears. I feel lighter, less frightened, calm.

  Sylvia nods to herself then turns her attention to her son. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “No, I . . .” Again, he trails off.

  She raises an eyebrow and waits.

  “Fine.” His eyes are hard, assessing. “Tell me this. If you’re really so psychic, why can’t you feel Faith?”

  She doesn’t answer, and suddenly I see what he’s getting at. Maybe she’s not psychic at all. Maybe she’s been faking it all these years.

  Hope leaps in my chest. She might not be as dangerous as I thought.

  Of course, she could still have a weapon concealed in the folds of her skirt—but I doubt she’s going to kill Faith-in-the-bed with Nate in the room. No, the biggest thr
eat she poses is in reaching me psychically and killing me that way.

  Please, please, let that threat be gone . . .

  “If you’re a fake, Ma, now’s the time to ’fess up.”

  Her eyes glint. Then she smiles. “I’m as fake as you are, son.”

  The room quietens. My hope dies.

  “You’ve always had it in you,” she says, her voice soft. “It was simply a matter of when you’d stop suppressing it.”

  Her eyes hold his. For several seconds they don’t speak, but they seem to be holding a whole extra conversation.

  Finally Sylvia breaks the silence.

  “I wondered how long you’d hold out for,” she says, eyes twinkling.

  “Don’t,” says Nate.

  “I’m not.”

  He shoots her a mock-glare.

  “Okay,” she says, “maybe I was. But I won’t, I promise. I’m just relieved you found yourself in time to help Faith.”

  Help me? My mouth dries. Help me die, more like. She’s thinking she’ll be able to use Nate to track me down.

  Well, I’ve got news for her.

  Nate isn’t the threat here; his psychic skills are only in their infancy. It’s Sylvia I need to worry about. But forewarned is forearmed: I remember those feathers and I know what they mean. I won’t let her find me.

  “I guess I owe you an apology,” says Nate.

  “No, son, you don’t. I hoped this day would come and now it has and that’s all I need.”

  He nods, then frowns. “Why can’t you find Faith? She can’t be in a deep coma. I’ve spoken to her.”

  Sylvia turns a slow full-circle. “Well, she’s not here now.”

  I swallow convulsively, imagine that brick wall again, and try not to move a muscle.

  He stills too, listening or feeling or whatever it is he does with me. Then he shrugs. “I don’t feel her, either. You think she’s okay?”

  “For now.”

  Her words are a dagger’s thrust of dread to my heart.

  “You’ll know if she’s not,” adds Sylvia, indicating Faith-in-the-bed.

  “True,” says Nate.

  I want her gone. Out of my room, out of my life, before she makes an enormous mistake. Surely she must see that if she kills me it’ll destroy any chance of her reconciling with Nate? He’ll never forgive her.