ON EDGE (Decorah Security) Read online

  They both watched as he moved slowly in and out of her, his hands on her breasts again, tugging and twisting at the nipples.

  They had satisfied each other not long ago, but neither of them had quenched their thirst for the other. The water beat down on them in torrents now, matching the torrents of pleasure coursing through him. Again he held back, waiting until he felt her spasm before following her into ecstasy.

  She collapsed against him, her head drifting to his chest, then turning so that she could nuzzle her lips against him.

  He reached to turn off the water, then grabbed a fluffy towel which he used to dry her off as she did the same with another towel she must have conjured out of thin air. A very useful talent.

  Scooping her up in his arms, he cradled her against his chest, intending to carry her back to bed.

  Then from one moment to the next, she was gone. Vanished. And then he was gone, too.

  Chapter Six

  Frank wasn’t sure how long he was nowhere. It could have been minutes, hours, years or a century. But he awoke with a gasp, his body jerking painfully as his eyes flew open.

  In pain and confusion, He looked up into the faces of two nurses and a doctor standing over him. The doctor was Southwell who was in charge of the internal medicine program on the trauma floor.

  “Wha. . .?” Frank tried to ask.

  “Take it easy.”

  Frank wet his dry lips and waited a moment before trying again. “What happened?” he managed to ask.

  The doctor’s face was strained.

  “You were dead. We got you back.” Southwell gestured toward the crash cart beside the bed. On it was a defibrillator, and the doctor was holding the paddles.

  “My heart stopped beating?” Frank clarified as he struggled to wrap his mind around the situation.

  The doctor nodded.

  Frank tried to square the information with his previous memories—starting when he’d finally gone to bed the night before. He’d put himself into a trance, forced himself deeper, and ended up in the jungle where Ariel lived. He’d been attacked by her guards. She’d saved his life, and they’d made love.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Southwell asked.

  Unwilling to say anything that would get him transferred to the psych ward, he said, “Going to bed.”

  “And you were here in bed all night?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “What does that mean?” Southwell demanded.

  “I suppose somebody could have moved me. Like if I were unconscious,” he said, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut instead of coming out with that last speculation.

  Before the doctor could ask another question, an orderly came in. “Dr. Southwell.”

  “Excuse me.” The physician detached himself from the group gathered around Frank and went over to the orderly, where they conferred in low voices. Finally Southwell returned.

  “What?” Frank demanded.

  The doctor hesitated.

  “What?” Frank said again, his gaze drilling into Southwell’s.

  “Gordon is recovering.”

  Frank felt everything inside himself clench.

  “From what?”

  “He had a heart attack. We managed to revive him.”

  Frank turned his head toward the window, seeing the first glimmer of dawn, then looked back at Southwell.

  “You’re saying both of us had heart attacks tonight.”

  “You didn’t have a heart attack. We believe you suffered a cardiac arrest, but we’ll have to run some tests.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  Southwell went into a technical explanation that Frank couldn’t follow very well. But the bottom line was that Gordon’s heart had been damaged, and his had not.

  “Why did it happen to me?” he asked.

  “We don’t know, but we’re going to check you over, starting with some blood work.”

  One of the nurses stepped forward with a blood-draw tray.

  “What, you think I’m on something?” Frank asked as she inserted a needle into his arm.

  “We’re checking every possibility.”

  “Just us—me and Gordon—nobody else?” Frank asked.

  “Yes.”

  “So I guess it’s not something like Legionnaires’ disease infecting the hospital.”

  “Legionnaires’ causes respiratory distress and possibly mental confusion.”

  Frank sighed. “I was just using it as an example of a disease that sweeps through a confined population.”

  “Yeah.”

  When the nurse was finished with the blood draw, Southwell listened to his heart, had him cough, and other stuff you’d expect in a routine physical.

  “We’ll schedule you for more tests in the morning. Meanwhile, I want you to stay in bed where we can keep an eye on you. Don’t put on your prosthesis.”

  “Okay,” Frank agreed, although he really didn’t have much choice about complying. As Leonard had said a couple of days ago, he was in a hospital. And the doctor had reminded him that he only had one leg.

  With a hitch in his breath, he looked down toward the bottom of the bed. He could see one leg under the sheet and the place where the other leg should have been. In Ariel’s alternate reality, he’d had two legs. He hadn’t really expected to come back here and find he’d grown the missing limb again as he’d done there. But the empty place under the sheets triggered a spurt of emotion he worked to suppress.

  “What?” Southwell said.

  “Nothing,” he answered, not wanting to talk about the feeling of being cheated—in more than one way.

  He tried to lie in bed, looking what they would consider normal, while the medical team checked the monitoring equipment before they cleared out of the room.

  When he was finally alone, Frank clenched his fists. Until a few nights ago, he’d been a typical patient in the amputee unit. Then he’d stepped into another plane of existence, where he’d met two women.

  He’d thought one was evil and one was good. But now it looked like they were both evil, only Ariel had hidden it better. She’d bided her time, waiting to strike him when he was most vulnerable.

  He’d been drawn to Ariel—fixated on her after their first meeting in Gordon’s room. He’d longed to see her again, and he’d worked hard to get into the other plane of existence because he’d wanted to be with her. His mistake.

  Now he knew the truth. That first kiss had been a lure to get him into a place where he’d be totally vulnerable. In the other plane, she’d tried to kill him twice—with some sexual stuff designed to distract him between attacks. The first assault outside her house was from what she called her defense mechanisms. The second time she’d sent him back here at the right moment for his heart to stop, but luckily he’d been in a hospital at the time, and the staff had revived him.

  Well, he’d learned his lesson. He was going to stay away from her. She’d come across as sweet and nice, but that was apparently just a pose.

  He gritted his teeth as he remembered the joy of making love with her. She’d told him she was a virgin, and she’d given him the gift of her virginity. But he knew she could manipulate physical reality. She’d given him back his leg—at least while he was in her alternate reality. If she could regenerate a whole leg, why not a little membrane that made her a virgin.

  A cynical laugh bubbled up inside him, but he broke it off before it reached his lips. He was remembering what it had been like making love with her. She’d seemed to want him. The way she’d responded to him had made his heart soar. But now he was pretty sure she was simply a wonderful actress.

  He looked up and saw one of the nurses standing in the doorway. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Your heart rate’s elevated.”

  He shrugged. “I guess I’m upset about almost dying.”

  “Understandable,” she answered. “Shall I ask the doctor to give you something to help you calm down.”

  “I’m fine,” he sai
d, struggling to sound calm. Jesus, he was grappling with weird stuff he couldn’t discuss with anyone, and the nurses’ station was monitoring his every physiological reaction.

  She watched him for a few more moments before turning and walking away.

  He lay in bed, trying to calm himself down, when he wanted to get up, attach his damn leg and go down the hall to see Roger Gordon. Was the man still going to deny that something was going on?

  But what was it, exactly?

  The nurse returned with some breakfast which he couldn’t eat because it tasted like wet newspaper.

  They wouldn’t even let him walk around. They put him in a wheelchair to take him around to the various labs—where he had everything from an EKG to an MRI.

  Nothing came out abnormal, including the results of the drug tests. He wasn’t taking anything besides what the hospital had given him.

  As they wheeled him around to the respective departments, he kept looking for Gordon. But the guy was nowhere in sight. Had they deliberately put the two of them on a different exam schedule? Or was Gordon too sick to leave his bed?

  He couldn’t ask, because he wasn’t going to act like he was obsessed with the guy. Not after the conversation he’d had with the shrink.

  By the end of the day Frank was exhausted, but he had one thing to be thankful for. After the results of the tests, they removed the monitoring equipment for a few hours, and they even gave him permission to get out of bed to go to the bathroom, put his prosthesis back on, and eat in the dining room—where he sat by himself at a table in the corner, enduring glances from the rest of the patients. Everybody knew he’d almost died early in the morning—which was why he was going back on telemetry for the night. And as the hospital finally quieted down, he fought to hide the raw edge of his nerves.

  Night was the first time he’d gone into that other place. Night was the time he’d fought his way back in because he wanted to find Ariel.

  Now he lay in bed with his heart pounding and his hands clenched around the sheets.

  Did he think that holding onto a security blanket would anchor him to this reality?

  He didn’t know.

  One of the night nurses came in to offer him something to help him sleep. He declined and lay rigid in bed, feeling something tug at him.

  When he slid his eyes to the side, he thought he saw the jungle where he’d stepped into that other plane. Not just the jungle. He imagined he saw Ariel at the edge of his vision, reaching toward him.

  He felt the tug of her will. She was trying to pull him in there again, but he resisted with all of his own will because whatever she had been to him was just an illusion.

  Chapter Seven

  They let him go back to his normal routine the next day, and when he walked into the mess hall, he saw Gordon across the room. They stared at each other, and Frank wondered if the other man was finally willing to talk about what had happened. But when Frank started across the tile floor, he saw the other man stiffen. Making a quick decision, Frank changed course and headed for an opposite corner, where Derby and Callahan were already sitting.

  “How are you feeling?” Callahan asked.

  “Pretty good.”

  “They know what happened to you?”

  Frank shook his head. “I wish they did,” he lied. He was pretty sure what had happened to him, but he couldn’t tell these guys. He couldn’t tell anyone, because that would only make sure everyone knew he had lost his marbles as well as his leg.

  He went through his usual day, but as the night closed in, he felt edgy. He’d felt the pull of the alternate reality the night before. He didn’t want to feel it again, but he was pretty sure he would.

  Did going there mean death? Or was that an overreaction? And did his defiance mean his will to live was getting stronger.

  There was no way to answer any of those questions as he went through the steps of getting ready for bed, laying his artificial leg within easy reach for the morning.

  But after taking the leg off, he kept glancing at it, feeling vulnerable without it. Finally, he got up and eased it on again, wondering why he was doing it.

  Did he think the leg was extra insurance that Ariel couldn’t pull him back into the other plane of existence? It was a half-assed theory because she could get rid of the leg with a lightning strike. Or just a wave of her hand.

  He tried to stay awake, watching subtle images flicker at the edge of his vision. Maybe he was going crazy, and he should go back to Dr. Leonard and lay it all out. He dismissed that thought as soon as it surfaced. The doctor wasn’t going to help him. He’d just take the opportunity to write a report on Frank Decorah’s deteriorated mental condition.

  He tried to stay awake, but finally he dozed off—only to snap alert when he heard a strangled cry from down the hall. He went rigid. This was just like the first time—Gordon calling out for help.

  Last time Frank had gotten up and rushed to the other man’s aid. This time he lay still with every muscle and nerve screaming, praying someone else would hear the call and go to the rescue.

  He pictured the scene, remembering how the woman in black had looked leaning over Gordon. Had she been in his room leaning over him when he’d had his cardiac arrest? And nobody had been able to see her.

  Sitting up, he leaned toward the door, listening intently for assurance that someone else was going to take care of the Gordon problem. But he heard no running feet, no urgent questions from a nurse. Instead he heard Gordon moaning.

  Shit!

  Unable to lie there and let Lilith kill the man, Frank heaved himself out of bed. Was this the reason he’d left the prosthesis on? Because he’d known something was going to happen?

  How could he? Or was this some kind of trick to get him out of bed. But why? There wasn’t any barrier at the door to his room. Anyone who wanted to come after him could just come in. He went to the closet and looked for the knife. He’d left it in the other plane, but there was no reason for it to stay there. In fact, it was where he had hidden it when he’d first decided he wasn’t going to stay weaponless in the hospital.

  He pulled it down and pulled off the sheath, wrapping his hand around the leather handle as he hurried grimly out of his room. Once again the hall was bathed in green light, and once again it looked like the nurses were asleep at their station. So they could wake up in surprise when they found Gordon dead.

  Frank clumped down the corridor and turned into the other man’s room, holding the knife down beside his right leg. His breath caught as he saw what he had expected. A blond woman wearing a slinky black dress and spike heels was leaning over the man in the bed.

  Lilith, in the same pose as when Frank had first seen her in here.

  But the scene wasn’t exactly the same. This time Gordon’s eyes were open, and his whole face was suffused with panic as he looked up at the figure hovering over him. Then his gaze swung to Frank, and hope bloomed on his features.

  “Help me,” he croaked.

  “You know I’m here?”

  “Yes. Please, for God’s sake, get her away from me.”

  Frank focused on Lilith. “Get the hell off of him,” he shouted.

  She smiled at him, and he saw the true vision of evil lurking below the surface of her beautiful features.

  “Thank you for coming. It’s you I want, not him.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s the difference between a bowl of oatmeal and a prime rib dinner. He’s boring. You would make a much more tasty meal.”

  “You can’t have me. And you can’t have him either.”

  She laughed—not a pleasant sound. “If you think you can stop me, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “You’re the one who is mistaken. Get the hell out of here.”

  “Not until I have what I came for.”

  Frank saw Gordon staring wide-eyed at the exchange, but he ignored the other man, keeping his focus on the demon, or whatever you wanted to call her.

  You shouldn’t be able to
kill a demon with a knife, but then Frank shouldn’t be able to get into this alternate reality. Since he was here, anything was possible.

  Still his chest felt constricted by giant steel bands as he advanced on the woman thing.

  He stopped about four feet away, testing his balance. Last time she’d knocked him to the floor. He was going to let her think she could do it again, then slit her throat with the knife.

  He moved as though he were unsteady on his feet, watching the satisfaction on her face. Then he lunged.

  When he threw her off balance, they both went down. But he was already raising his arm to ram the knife into her chest, drawing a gasp from her. He pulled the knife free, raising his arm again as he jabbed the blade deep into her body.

  “Die, you bitch. Die,” he ground out as he kept chopping at her, feeling the violence boiling inside himself and transferring itself to the knife.

  He was winning. He was going to vanquish her. Yet, in the end, it was something no human being could accomplish.

  From some hidden well deep within the demon, a surge of energy coursed through her. Even as he thrust at her, he felt her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away.

  His free hand scrabbled at her, trying to keep her within reach, but she pushed him down with more force than he would have thought possible with the wounds he’d inflicted.

  As he flew backwards and sprawled on the floor, he saw her expression change to one of triumph.

  “You think you can defeat me?” she challenged. “You are only a weak human piece of dirt.”

  “And what are you?”

  “A being far more powerful.”

  “An evil being.”

  She laughed. “You can define evil as you wish.”

  She would finish him off, then go for Gordon. He spared a glance at the other man and saw him lying in the bed, consumed by fear as he watched the end of the battle.

  But Frank wasn’t willing to give up. Or if he was going to lose, he would die trying to defeat this monster.

  He pushed himself up and began to claw his way toward the demon again, but now he felt an invisible wall between them like when he’d tried to fight his way into the other plane.