53. Forever More
Chapter 53
Forever More
Mordida Hospice Center—Four weeks later
C erissa shifted in her chair, unable to come to terms with her surroundings. Decorated in soft pastels, with touches of real wood furniture, the private room delivered the living into the hands of the Grim Reaper and gave a sense of calm. The only things disrupting the illusion were the drip…drip…drip of the IV fluid bag, the muted hospital monitors, the metal-framed pneumatic bed—and the sleeping patient lying in it.
Cerissa couldn’t keep her mind from wandering. She abandoned her e-reader to stare at the wall across from her on the other side of Karen’s bed. Another pastel watercolor of people having fun on a sailboat.
Was that really what designers thought people wanted to see as they lay dying? Pleasures they’d never experience again? Or did the corporations just buy them in bulk and hang them everywhere?
Across from the foot of the bed, placed against the wall, a low, walnut-stained table held a collection of framed photos—Karen’s loved ones. Rolf and her, taken by a professional photographer at one of the Hill’s formal events, glowing with happiness before she got sick. Karen and Cerissa standing together on the mandapa, laughing in each other’s arms. Karen with her parents and two sisters at their home in Napa. A candid shot of Karen playing tug-of-war with Mort and Sang—the two German shepherds teamed up on her to drag her across the grass and were winning.
When Karen died, the next patient would move in, and their family images would replace hers in an endless termination-of-life circle.
Arrive alive, leave dead.
Once Karen ceased fighting the disease, she’d started drinking Rolf’s blood again to help with the symptoms, and the cancer’s growth rate skyrocketed. Last week, she made the move to Mordida Hospice Center. She didn’t want to die in Rolf’s house and taint his home with her death. Plus, the doctors could manage the meds better at the center. So Rolf paid for the best hospice care he could find nearby.
Cerissa’s heart ached. The pain was so intense her chest felt like it might split open at any moment. While the hospice center had all the material comforts to make the dying process easier on Karen, nothing kept Cerissa’s anguish at bay. She hated everything about hospice, hated everything that made her feel so powerless. Karen was too young to die. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t right. One more drug might have done the trick.
Emaciated, pale, and listless, Karen lay sleeping in a cotton shift with the image of a big black bear and Bear Hug printed on the pink fabric, her mouth open, her breathing labored, sweat beading on her forehead.
Cerissa’s phone buzzed. The reporter had arrived.
With the curtains pulled back, the late afternoon sun glinted off the rails of the hospital bed, and Cerissa shook her bestie’s shoulder, then pushed the button to raise the head of the mattress. “Karen? Wake up, sweetie. He’s here. I’ll help you.”
Cerissa had timed the reporter’s visit so the next dose of morphine would be due shortly after he left. With any luck, Karen would be lucid for the interview and testy from the pain. She’d need that testiness to make it through the ordeal.
The backrest rose enough that Karen could reach for a drink of water, her hands shaking. Cerissa swept up the cup and brought it to Karen’s lips, holding it until Karen signaled she’d had finished, then returned it to the bed tray.
“Are you ready to do this?”
“Y-yeah. Where’s my brush?”
Cerissa found it on the side table, and styled Karen’s hair the best she could. The straight auburn hair had gotten matted from sleep and sweat and hung limply. Her skin was so mottled her freckles had disappeared.
Karen pursed her chapped lips together. “Gloss?”
“Right here.” Cerissa unscrewed the wand and applied a peachy gloss to Karen’s lips. Anything darker would just make her look paler. “I’ll escort them in.”
“Okay.”
A nurse’s assistant waited outside the door with the reporter—and a video crew.
“Thank you, I’ve got this.” Cerissa nodded at the assistant, who headed back to the front of the hospice. “Which of you is Benjamin Fisher?”
“That’s me. Call me Ben.”
Cerissa shook his hand. Tall with broad shoulders, he either worked out with weights or had played football in college.
“And who are you?” he asked.
She handed him a business card. “I’m the owner of the medical waste disposal company you maligned. Dr. Cerissa Patel-Vasquez. Did you bring a copy of the dossier?”
He held up a folder. “Right here. You get it after the interview.”
“Very well. But no video cameras. They can wait out here.” She gestured at the hallway chairs. “Karen has agreed to be interviewed by you, but she—she doesn’t want any video of her to be streamed by strangers. She’s dying from ovarian cancer. You’ll understand when you see her.”
Cerissa led Ben into the room and shut the door behind him to ensure the camera crew didn’t cheat and record Karen from the hallway, then introduced him. This had been Karen’s brainchild. After reading the Mordida Gazette articles, and hearing how Tig wished she could get her hands on the dossier to see what other “proof” was in it, Karen floated the idea of being interviewed, and the chief agreed it couldn’t hurt. If the reporter spoke with someone from the Hill who was dying, and clearly not immortal, maybe they’d drop the special report series.
Ben’s gaze locked on Karen’s pale skin, illuminated by the sun. Cerissa had opened the curtain to drive home the point that Karen wasn’t a vampire. Shock gripped his face, and he sucked in a breath. Dying wasn’t a pretty process.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Ms. Turner.”
“Th-then give us the dossier and leave.”
“I wish I could do that, but first, I need answers. Tell me about the…creatures…who live in Sierra Escondida?”
“There are no creatures. We-we’re a bunch of eccentric rich people who want to be left alone—and you’ve sent every conspiracy-prone, supernatural-hunting nut job our way.”
“Because the people who live there aren’t mortal.”
“Don’t be stupid.” She paused, panting to catch her breath. “Of course we’re mortal. I wouldn’t be here dying if I wasn’t mortal.”
A guilty frown slid across Ben’s averted face, then he turned back to Karen, shaking his head. “It doesn’t mean others aren’t immortal—”
“And you think if they were, I wouldn’t choose to become one of them over going through this?” Karen waved a hand at her bloated abdomen and then gestured at the room. “Do you know anyone who would choose to die this young and this painfully?”
At those words, Cerissa’s eyes welled up, ready to overflow. But she sucked in a breath, forcing down the sharp pain chewing its way through her lungs.
“I—” Ben began, then cleared his throat. “But the blood sample, the lack of children, the disappearing bags of donor blood—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, put a sock in it. We have a lot of residents who use Sierra Escondida as a second home. Their children go to school elsewhere or are homeschooled.”
Cerissa shook her head. “And the blood doesn’t disappear. It’s sent to my Biologics Research Lab for research purposes.”
“What are you researching?”
“I’m sorry, that’s proprietary information. But I will tell you this. The blood vial you received? It wasn’t from anyone who lives on the Hill.”
“How do you know?”
She considered telling Ben someone stole the sample from her lab, but since that was a bald-faced lie, it would dig her in deeper. “I know the project the blood was stolen from. An innocent bystander was killed during the theft. The whole thing is under investigation, and you may not want to admit to receiving a proprietary sample stolen as part of a murder plot.”
He hooked a finger around the collar of his button-down shirt, tugging. “Mur-murder? What murder?”
She bit her lip—she’d said too much. “I can’t reveal anything more. But I’ve reported my suspicions to the authorities, so don’t be surprised if you’re called in for questioning.”
Maybe Ari could play FBI agent and interrogate Ben. That might be the final push to dissuade the reporter.
His eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head. “We’ve received no murder reports connected with your business.”
“I didn’t say the killing occurred in Sierra Escondida. But you won’t be happy when you’re charged with conspiracy and receipt of stolen goods.”
“Like I said, I’ll believe it when it happens. But that doesn’t explain the expired blood you collect. You’re not feeding it to vampires, are you?”
Cerissa choked. Instead of focusing on the telltale signs and implying his suspicions—as most of his newspaper articles had done—Ben actually used the V-word.
Karen snorted. “You watched too much Buffy in the nineties. Sheesh.” A coughing fit overtook her. She sucked on one of the peppermint-flavored swabs, running it over her lips before using it to point at Ben. “Quit drinking the Kool-Aid, dude.”
“But no one has ever seen the mayor during the day. There’s too much pointing to him being a vampire.”
Cerissa tsked . “The mayor appeared in court in broad daylight last year wearing protective gear. As his doctor, he’s authorized me to disclose the details. He has a skin condition and must avoid direct sunlight.”
“A skin condition, you say?” Ben smirked.
“Yes, polymorphous light eruption, and it’s well documented. Or is the Mordida Gazette going to discriminate against those public officials with medical conditions for the sake of your crackpot theory? I’m not sure your lawyers will like it when they read the lawsuit being prepared.”
Ben looked mildly chastised at that. “So, you mean to tell me there’s really nothing strange happening in Sierra Escondida?” He waved the dossier. “Why would anyone send this unless it’s true?”
“Because they’re an asshole?” Karen asked with a straight face.
Cerissa suppressed her laugh. “I think what Karen is trying to say is that they might have a grudge against our town.”
“What kind of grudge?”
“If I had to guess? We have a homeowners association with regulations. They might be angry over something the board did. Stirring up trouble is their way of getting revenge.”
Karen’s face contorted with pain, and she grabbed at her abdomen. “That’s it. We’re done. It’s time for my next dose of morphine, and you need to go.”
Cerissa plucked the dossier file folder from his fingers and, with a hand on his elbow, escorted him out the door to the chairs where his camera crew waited. “Please,” she said, infusing a shot of her aura into him. “Please leave us alone. There’s nothing here for you to investigate.”
Dazed, he ambled down the hallway to reception with his camera crew following him. Hopefully, this would be the last they heard from Ben.
By the time she got the nurse to administer Karen’s next dose, a text from Henry dinged on her phone. The guys would arrive soon to give her a break. She sighed. Ever since Karen went into hospice, Cerissa had stayed with her as much as possible.
As the morphine did its job, Karen snoozed. Her parents and sisters visited most of the week, trading off shifts with Rolf. The family had been told the same story: Rolf slept during the day because of a hereditary condition. So they visited with Karen when the sun shone, and Rolf and Henry took the night shift. The room came with a sleeper couch for family, and Cerissa used that when she needed to rest.
Yesterday, Karen urged her family to return home to Napa. Her sisters had children, and it wasn’t fair to keep them away for so long. Her parents were old enough that they depended on her sisters for transportation. Karen convinced them she’d live another week or two.
It wasn’t the truth. The doctors had told Cerissa they didn’t expect Karen to live more than a day or two. But Karen confided she didn’t want her family to watch her die. At least they’d had the opportunity to say goodbye.
Shortly after dusk, Rolf hurried into the room, anxiety in the way he moved. His shoulders drooped when he reached Karen’s bedside, and he gripped the metal rail tightly. Karen gasped in little breaths as she slept. He straightened his back, calmed his expression, then took her hand and kissed the back tenderly, and she woke.
“Hey there,” she weakly whispered.
“How are you feeling, Liebling ?” He stroked back her hair from where it’d plastered against her face as she slept. “Are you thirsty?”
He held the water cup to her mouth before she could answer.
Cerissa excused herself and stepped outside to give them privacy. Henry greeted her with a hug and a kiss. Tears started falling from her eyes again. She tried to put on a brave front for Karen, but the tears would well up without warning until she couldn’t contain them.
Henry kissed the top of her head and held her tightly. “I’m sorry, mi amor .”
Pressing her face against his chest provided a small comfort even as her throat tightened with grief. When she leaned back, she saw the lines around his eyes had deepened. The strain on all of them was showing, and as much as she hated leaving, her own physical health required she change forms at least once per day. “I’m going to flash back to the house, and get some cougar time.”
“You’ll eat something?”
“Uh, sure.”
Food would always be his love language, and she loved him for the emotional support even when she had no appetite.
“Cerissa, you must take care of yourself.”
“I’ll eat a sandwich.”
“Promise?”
She couldn’t resist the plaintive plea in his deep brown eyes. “I promise.”
“Very good. I will call if anything changes.”
“Thank you, Henry. For everything.”
She exited the hospice, found a secluded spot outdoors, and flashed back to her bedroom on the Hill. The emotional turmoil was too much to handle in human form, and she couldn’t keep dosing herself with stabilization meds. She desperately needed to change forms. Morphing to a blond, black-tipped cougar, she stretched out on her bed and slept.
When she woke, she forgot where she was and why she was there. Then she remembered. She checked the clock. Two hours had passed and no call. But Karen might need her. So she morphed back to human, changed into clean clothes, and, as promised, ate a sandwich. Then she picked up her purse and grabbed her medical bag. Karen was getting close enough to death that Cerissa wanted additional medications on hand. The center had plenty of painkillers, but just in case anything in the Lux repertoire would be better, she’d have her jet injector, too, despite Agathe’s concerns. She flashed back to a deserted area outside the hospice center’s back parking lot, entering through the ambulance bay.
When she eased open the door to her room, Karen was dozing. Henry and Rolf sat in the two guest chairs and spoke in quiet whispers.
The door’s squeak roused Karen. She looked pasty white and labored to catch her breath. “Hey there,” she murmured.
Cerissa tried to smile as she walked to Karen’s bedside. “Hey yourself.”
Rolf rose to his feet and laid his fingers against the pulse in his mate’s neck. “Karen…” He curled his fingers, brushing his knuckles over her neck. “It’s not too late. I could turn you now and you wouldn’t have to die. Stay with me. Please. Be my wife.”
Sadness wallowed in his eyes, and the tenderness in his voice constricted Cerissa’s heart.
Karen blinked slowly. “I’m sorry,” she said groggily. “I should have said yes sooner.”
Rolf froze. “Yes? You’ll let me—”
“No, I meant— No, I don’t want you to turn me. I meant—” She gasped to catch her breath. “I should have believed you…about marrying me.”
“I— Of course I meant it, Liebling . I love you.”
“Then please marry me now. Tonight. We have the license.” Karen panted again. “Call Father Matt. He’ll do it. Please?”
Tears flooded Rolf’s eyes, glistening in the low light of the hospice room. “If that is what you want. But I don’t have the ring with me.”
Cerissa bit back her own tears. “I can take care of that. Tell me where the rings are, and I’ll flash in, grab them, and flash back.”
“The armoire in my bedroom,” Rolf said. “Top drawer, with my tuxedo jewelry and watch boxes.”
“Got it.” She’d been in their house often enough to know which was his room, and which was Karen’s. “Loose or in a box?”
“Blue velvet box.”
“I’ll be right back.” Cerissa scooted out of the room as Henry phoned Father Matt. Even if Matt wasn’t available to perform the ceremony, she could call Ari, and he’d do it. He’d offered when she and Henry married, but she didn’t want to be married by the head of the Church of the Winged Popcorn Kraken. Ari had incorporated the ordination mill to make extra money, and after smoking some pot and watching a B monster movie, invented the name when the munchies set in.
The blue box was right where Rolf had described. She opened the lid. The smaller gold band would interlock with Karen’s engagement ring. The matching band for Rolf was in the same box. Tears dripped down Cerissa’s cheeks, her lungs tight, her heart cracking in two. She snapped the lid closed, wiped the tears from her face, and flashed back.
By the time she returned, they had confirmation that Father Matt was on his way. Henry filled her in that Rolf had lied to the priest and said he had the council’s waiver to marry without the one-year wait. The lie gave Father Matt deniability if the council got nasty. Rolf had requested their approval, but the council had sat on it, claiming they were required to post a thirty-day notice before holding the hearing.
What utter bullshit .
Karen had shown her the town clerk’s reply after Rolf submitted the waiver application. The length of notice had to do with the council ensuring the mortal wasn’t being rushed and didn’t change their mind later. That wasn’t the concern here. Cerissa couldn’t imagine the council taking issue postmortem anyway, even if they found out.
When Father Matt walked in carrying a prayer book, the same book he would read from at Karen’s funeral, Cerissa’s throat tightened.
“I’m honored to be here.” He stopped on Karen’s right-hand side and squeezed her arm. “What kind of ceremony do you want? The full Episcopal is long. Perhaps a shorter service?”
Karen smiled at him. “That sounds good to me. Go straight to where you make this one”—she pointed a shaky finger at Rolf—“mine forever.”
“I can do that.” Father Matt opened the book to a small card inside.
Rolf took Karen’s left hand in his.
“Dearly beloved, we’re gathered here to witness the joining of this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
At the foot of the bed, Cerissa leaned into Henry, his arm around her waist, holding her up. The tears flowed silently again, and she let them.
“With love and commitment, they have decided to join their lives together as husband and wife. True marriage is more than joining the bonds of marriage of two persons; it is the union of two hearts filled with love. First Corinthians tells us, ‘Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance. Of faith, hope and love, the greatest of these is love.’”
The words reminded Cerissa of her own wedding. She bit her lip, replacing her emotional pain with a physical one to stop herself from sobbing aloud.
“Rolf, do you take Karen to be your lawful wedded wife, to love her, to honor her, to care for her as long as you both shall live?”
“I do.”
“Karen, do you take Rolf to be your lawful wedded husband, to love him, to honor him, to care for him as long as you both shall live?”
“I do. And even after death, I will.”
A teardrop fell from Rolf’s face, landing on Karen’s hand, splashing on the thin, fragile skin.
“Then Rolf, repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed.”
Rolf slid the ring onto Karen’s finger until the band nestled against the engagement ring. “With this ring, I thee wed.”
“And Karen, now it’s your turn.”
Karen held the band for Rolf, her hand shaking when she tried to raise it, and Rolf gripped her wrist as he threaded his finger through the gold circle. “With this ring, I thee wed,” she whispered.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”
Rolf lowered his lips and pressed a gentle kiss against Karen’s dry, chapped ones. When he pulled back to look into her weary eyes, he said, “I never want to let you go.”
Something inside Cerissa broke. A sob escaped her, and Henry pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly.
“Let’s step outside.” Father Matt gestured for Cerissa and Henry to leave the room. “We can take care of the formalities in the hall.”
Henry signed as the first witness in his elegant handwriting, and once Cerissa got her tears under control, she scribbled her name as the second one. “But Karen and Rolf need to sign, too.”
“Give them a moment. I’ll go back in and get their signatures,” Father Matt said. “Sit. Sleep. There’ll be time for you to see Karen again, but right now, those two need to be alone with each other.”
Cerissa nodded and eased onto the small gray couch outside the door of Karen’s room. “We’ll wait here. Let them know.”
Henry joined her, and Father Matt went inside to finish the paperwork.
Karen had gotten her last wish. But even knowing that, Cerissa couldn’t stop the tears from falling.