Death Angel
That had worked out, then. Good.
He was silent a minute, she guessed to give her a chance to talk if she were so inclined. She wasn’t.
Giving up on that tactic, he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, watching her intently. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and rubbed his hand over his jaw. Andie watched him with faint puzzlement. He acted as if he was perturbed by something; surely he wasn’t that upset because she hadn’t made this huge breakthrough in speech.
"What was it like?" he finally asked, his tone suddenly hushed, a little unsure.
Her own mouth almost fell open. She blinked at him in astonishment and a tide of red washed into his face. "Never mind," he muttered, getting to his feet.
Was he asking about the other place? Surely he wasn’t crass enough to ask what it was like to have a tree puncture her heart. Besides, he was a surgeon; traumatic injuries would be nothing new to him.
He knew she’d been dead, that the medics hadn’t made a mistake. Yet here she was, a living, breathing, walking-well, sometimes, when they made her-miracle, and what she’d said to Dina had somehow tipped him off that she’d been to that other place. Maybe he’d seen it before. Maybe another patient had told him about it, and he was curious. Maybe he wanted her to say that she didn’t remember anything, so he could put his trust completely in science, where he felt most comfortable.
She lifted her hand to keep him from walking out the door, and a beatific smile lit her face. "Beautiful," she managed to say, the single word taking so much effort that she felt winded.
He stopped in his tracks. Swallowing, he came to stand beside her bed.
"What do you remember? Can you tell me?"
He looked torn, as if he wanted to hear something that would allow him to disregard what she said as an oxygen-deprived brain producing hallucinations, but at the same time he wanted to believe in something more.
She needed to talk. She needed to get through this barrier, once more make the connection between the world inside her head and the world on the outside. The breach had been helpful, giving her the time she needed to adjust, but now it was time for her to fully rejoin this world, because it was the only world she had.
With that thought, her surroundings suddenly popped into sharper focus, as if everything had been blurred while she lingered between both places. She had made the final decision to stay, she realized. Until now, she had been in a limbo of sorts, lingering there while she thought things over, but now she had decided: she would stay here, and try to earn herself a place in that other world.
Talking suddenly became easier, a Mission Possible, even though it was still an effort.
"I remember everything."
Relief washed over his face. "Was there a tunnel? With light at the end of it?"
Describing the other place wasn’t going to be easy, because words literally couldn’t impart the utter tranquillity and joy, the quiet beauty. But right now he wasn’t asking where she’d gone, just the process of getting there.
"Light. No tunnel." Had she missed out on something, or had she gone too fast?
"Just light? Hmm."
There it was, the doubt, the instinctive fallback on the science he knew. Bright light could be explained by a misfiring, dying brain. She wondered how he could square that with her lack of brain damage. Because she didn’t want to steer him wrong, and because she held a grudge against him, she voiced the random thought that had earlier popped into her head. "Stop screwing around on your wife."
He paled, then turned red again. "What?"
"She’s going to find out, if you don’t stop." Suddenly irritated, she pulled the sheet higher, as if she wanted to shut him out. "If you don’t love her, then get a divorce, but keep your pants zipped until then. Act like a grown-up."
"Wha-? What?" He said the same word for the third time, his mouth opening and closing like a guppy’s.
"Believe me now?" She scowled at him. She would have flounced on her side and turned her back on him, but flouncing was out of the question. Instead she just narrowed her eyes at him and silently dared him to deny her accusation, though he was more likely to tell her to mind her own business.
She could see him struggling not to do exactly that. He was in his early fifties, a man who had spent his entire adult life perfecting the science and the skill with which he saved lives. Like most surgeons, he had a healthy ego, which was a polite way of saying it was monstrously huge. Doing what he did required a huge helping of self-confidence, and he was accustomed to being the boss. Finding himself abruptly called on the carpet by a woman whose life he had saved, and who undoubtedly owed him a large amount of money for his services, wouldn’t go down easy.
He started to snap back at her. She saw it, and scowled harder at him. "Don’t start doubting just because I didn’t see a tunnel. I guess some people do. I didn’t. I had a tree stuck through me-a small one, but still a tree-and I went fast. So sue me."
He crossed his arms again and rocked back on his heels, a man who wasn’t inclined to surrender without a fight. "If you had a real near-death experience, you’re supposed to be mellow and happy."
"I didn’t have a ‘near death’ experience, I had a death experience. I died," she said flatly. "I was given a second chance. So far as I know, having that second chance doesn’t mean I have to fake being in a good mood. If you want to know what I remember, how about this: I remember looking down and seeing a guy go through my purse, then steal my laptop. Did he get all my money?"
He was so easy to read, even now, when he was trying to school his expression. His shock was evident, at least to her.
"No, I believe there was a considerable amount of cash still in your purse, but no ID, and no credit cards."