Vortex by Catherine Coulter

Mia

Bellevue Hospital

Friday

Mia watched Kent’s family trail to the elevator headed down to the cafeteria for lunch. She’d just gotten back from One Police Plaza for Alex Harrington’s news conference. It was her chance and she had to hurry. The doctors had told the press his condition was critical, but he was still alive, even breathing on his own, and that was amazing enough. The surgeons refused to speculate whether he’d survive, and the Harper lawyers and family wouldn’t let the police near him. If he died, Alex Harrington would win. Everything Kent knew would be buried with him.

Would he even be able to talk to her, understand her? She had no idea, only that she had to try. When a nurse walked out of the automatic SICU doors, Mia slipped in. She walked purposefully, as if it was natural for her to be there, as if she belonged, directly to his cubicle and pulled the curtains closed behind her. The small space was dim, utterly still and quiet except for the faint hiss of his oxygen.

He lay on his back on the bed, white as the sheet pulled up to his neck, a clear plastic half-shell oxygen mask over the bottom half his face, loose enough for him to speak.

He looked diminished, a shell of himself, insubstantial as a ghost. He looked like a man who was dying. His arms lay exposed on top of the sheet, intravenous lines running to his wrists and to his neck. Vital sign monitors and infusion sets on aluminum poles surrounded his bed.

Please be awake. Please hear me, please be able to talk to me.

Mia leaned over him, whispered close to his cheek, “Kent?”

She waited, whispered again, “Kent, wake up. It’s important you speak to me.”

Slowly, as if with great effort, his eyelids fluttered. She held her breath, waited, willing him to answer her. He slowly opened his eyes and stared up at her blindly. He looked disoriented, uncertain, but he’d heard her voice, so at least on some level he was aware of her.

“Kent,” she whispered again. “Can you hear me? Understand me?”

His eyes stared at her, through her. He whispered, “Aolith?”

She froze. Aolith? He thought she was Serena?

Mia drew a slow breath and gently took his hand in hers. His flesh felt slack, his skin clammy. She squeezed lightly, to reassure him, and said quietly next to his cheek, “Yes, Kent, it’s me, Aolith.”

His voice was only a whisper of sound, his words slurred. “You came because I’m dying? Did you come to tell me you forgive me? I’m so sorry, Aolith, I never wanted you to die. I can feel your hand. How is that possible?”

Mia leaned in close, lightly touched her fingertips to his forehead. “I know, Kent, I know. Perhaps you can feel my hand because soon we’ll be together again. That night, Kent, my last memories. We had so much fun. You were Snake, dazzling me with your swordplay.”

He fell silent, the soft hissing of the oxygen again the only sound.

“Kent?”

He forced his eyes open, but they seemed empty, still blind. He breathed out her name. “Aolith, the mystical one, perfect for you. I’m so sorry.”

She squeezed his fingers again, leaned in closer. “I was in a void, floating, just floating, no one to talk to, then suddenly I was here with you and I knew why. I need you to tell me where you and Alex buried me.”

“Am I dying?”

“I don’t know, Kent, but maybe that’s why I’m here. I know you didn’t kill me, Alex did.”

“You saw Alex put a roofie in your drink and he was really mad so he hit you, hit you with his fist against your head, too hard, and you were just—dead.” He jerked at the memory. Mia kept stroking his fingers, prayed for all she was worth.

“I know you didn’t want me to die. Please, Kent, tell me where I’m buried. I can’t bear this not-knowing. I’ll be trapped in this void until I know.”

Tears slipped out of his eyes, trailed over his cheeks.

Mia wiped his tears away with her fingertip. “It’s all right, Kent. I forgive you. It was Alex, not you. Why did Alex start the fire?”

“So we could get you out. Aolith, I hated that you died, I hated burying you, leaving you alone. I never forgot you.”

“I know you didn’t. You’re not like Alex. He forgot me, as if I’d never existed, as if he’d never killed me. But Kent, I know you’re different. Please help me.”

He blinked, his eyes still sheened with tears. She wiped away another tear before it slipped under the oxygen mask. She said in a soft voice, “Remember that night at the rave, how we were laughing? I enjoyed that so much, I thought we were so much alike, but then I saw what Alex did, and then I was afraid, and felt this great pain, then nothing at all. Kent, please tell me where I am. No one knows what happened to me, where I’m buried. My parents grieve for me. Please tell me, Kent, tell me where I am.”

“You’re in a beautiful place, Aolith, in Valley Forge National Park. Near Pauley’s Farm.”

He was fading again, his eyelashes fluttering, his breathing slowing.

“Where near Pauley’s Farm?”

His voice was dreamy, as if he was seeing the place again. “Not far off the dirt road, by that huge old oak tree that stands alone. In the summer I knew its leaves would cover your grave, shade it. It would be nice.”

“Where, Kent?”

She was losing him. She leaned close, her warm breath on his cheek, willing him to speak, and he whispered, his voice insubstantial, “A rough path off a narrow road that leads to the Schuylkill River Trail and that old oak tree. I’m sorry, Aolith, I’m sorry.”

She leaned down, kissed him on the cheek, whispered, “Thank you, Kent. I hope you won’t die.”

One of his monitors began to beep. The curtain flew back and a nurse stepped in. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

Mia jumped out of her way. “I’m his sister. He was awake and we were talking. Please, help him.”