SEVENTY-ONE
My eyes open.
I’m looking around and wondering at this strange version of an afterlife. Odd, that Warner is here, that I still can’t seem to move, that I still feel such extraordinary pain. Stranger still to see Sonya and Sara in front of me. I can’t even pretend to understand their presence in this picture.
I’m hearing things.
Sounds are beginning to come in more clearly, and, because I can’t lift my head to look around, I try instead to focus on what they’re saying.
They’re arguing.
“You have to!” Warner shouts.
“But we can’t—we can’t t-touch her,” Sonya is saying, choking back tears. “There’s no way for us to help her—”
“I can’t believe she’s actually dying,” Sara gasps. “I didn’t think you were telling the truth—”
“She’s not dying!” Warner says. “She is not going to die! Please, listen, I’m telling you,” he says, desperate now, “you can help her—I’ve been trying to explain to you,” he says, “all you have to do is touch me and I can take your power—I can be the transfer, I can control it and redirect your Energy—”
“That’s not possible,” Sonya says. “That’s not—Castle never said you could do that—he would’ve told us if you could do that—”
“Jesus, please, just listen to me,” he says, his voice breaking. “I’m not trying to trick you—”
“You kidnapped us!” they both shout at the same time.
“That wasn’t me! I wasn’t the one who kidnapped you—”
“How are we supposed to trust you?” Sara says. “How do we know you didn’t do this to her yourself?”
“Why don’t you care?” He’s breathing so hard now. “How can you not care? Why don’t you care that she’s bleeding to death—I thought you were her friends—”
“Of course we care!” Sara says, her voice catching on the last word. “But how can we help her now? Where can we take her? Who can we take her to? No one can touch her and she’s lost so much blood already—just look at he—”
A sharp intake of breath.
“Juliette?”
Footsteps stomp stomp stomp the ground. Rushing around my head. All the sounds are banging into each other, colliding again, spinning around me. I can’t believe I’m not dead yet.
I have no idea how long I’ve been lying here.
“Juliette? JULIETTE—”
Warner’s voice is a rope I want to cling to. I want to catch it and tie it around my waist and I want him to haul me out of this paralyzed world I’m trapped in. I want to tell him not to worry, that it’s fine, that I’m going to be okay because I’ve accepted it, I’m ready to die now, but I can’t. I can’t say anything. I still can’t breathe, can hardly shape my lips into words. All I can do is take these torturous little gasps and wonder why the hell my body hasn’t given up yet.
All of a sudden Warner is straddling my bleeding body, careful not to allow any of his weight to touch me, and he shoves up my shirtsleeves. Grabs ahold of my bare arms and says, “You are going to be okay. We’re going to fix this—they’re going to help me fix this and you—you’re going to be fine.” Deep breaths. “You’re going to be perfect. Do you hear me? Juliette, can you hear me?”
I blink at him. I blink and blink and blink at him and find I’m still fascinated by his eyes. Such a startling shade of green.
“Each one of you, grab my arms,” he shouts to the girls, his hands still gripped firmly around my shoulders. “Now! Please! I’m begging you—”
And for some reason they listen.
Maybe they see something in him, see something in his face, in his features. Maybe they see what I see from this disjointed, foggy perspective. The desperation in his expression, the anguish carved into his features, the way he looks at me, like he might die if I do.
And I can’t help but think this is an interesting parting gift from the world.
That at least, in the end, I didn’t die alone.