Page 58 of King of the Dawn

“Get it the fuck together, Jericho,” I said to myself, using that fake Brett Bradley voice. I slammed my head against the headrest, welcoming the pain jolting up the back of my head. It was better than the palpitations I was feeling in my chest.

I didn’t know if minutes or hours had passed. I kept my eyes closed, hoping that when I opened them, I’d be in a new place, in a new life.

Maybe I should find my way into French Africa, wage war with some drug cartels in South America, or go back to eliminating targets in the global triangle trade. Doing some good for humanity may soothe my soul. Not as much as she could - but it would be something.

Maybe a bullet to the brain might relieve me of this heart ache. Fuck!

I slammed my head on the head rest again, feeling the sting as it permeated from the back of my skull up to my forehead. If I could give myself a migraine, maybe it would keep me from thinking of her. Replace one gut wrenching misery for a superficial one.

I must have fallen asleep, because a soft voice tickled my ear. I knew I was dreaming.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” My sweet little Evie, and her haunting voice. The melody of it. Fuck, I missed her so much I was hallucinating about her. I clenched my fist.

Maybe a descent into madness wouldn’t be so bad. If she was there with me.

I felt a cool hand on my cheek and I leaned into it. I could even smell her now. Her floral scent. That musk, and earth, and moonbeams.

I clenched my fists, trying to bring myself pain. I needed to pull myself from this hallucination - this glorious dream - but I also couldn’t. Not when I could feel her. I turned my cheek into her palm, not willing to open my eyes. Wanting to feel this just a moment longer. Just a moment more… just one more minute of her scent.

“Husband.” I could hear her voice call to me, like a siren on the rocks. I would smash myself on those rocks again and again just for the illusion of her. I felt a tear roll down my cheek.

It startled me. The moisture on my cheek wasn’t a dream. Nor was the slender thumb that wiped it away. Or the warm lips that kissed beneath my eyelashes.

I fluttered my eyes open, blinking back the moisture. Her pale, moon face was inches from mine, smiling with those eyes the color of the forest in the summer. Her lips were parted in a kind smile, her hair wild around her head like a fiery halo.

“I’m dreaming,” I whispered, tilting my head towards hers.

“Then I’m dreaming too,” she whispered, her voice so ethereal and lovely.

I shook my head slowly at first, then much faster. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

She was cupping my face, and stroking my cheeks. A thing I had done for her a dozen times in my short time with her. Such a short time, but also a lifetime ago. I reached up to grab her wrists.

“You’re there. In that bookshop.” I tell myself, delirious and heartbroken, and I heard it in my own voice. “Happy. I need you to be happy, Evie. Is this why I’m dreaming of you? Did I drink one of your teas and now I’m telling everything to visions of you.”

“You’re so self-sacrificing,” she whispered to me. “Do you really think you’re dreaming, husband?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “There’s no other explanation for this.”

The angel haunting me brought her knees up to either side of mine, straddling me in the tan leather chair. The weight felt real. Her touch, her scent. The mind could do such crazy things.

She took my hand in hers and kissed the palm, her moist, warm, red lips feeling so tender on the callous. Then, her teeth came down on the skin that connected the index finger and the thumb. Skin crunched between her teeth, and a small drop of blood appeared on her bottom lip.

I yelped and pulled my hand away.

“Son of a bitch!” I said, shaking my hand.

“Not dreaming,” Evie said, a self-satisfied grin on her face.

Not dreaming. I wasn’t dreaming? What?

“You’re not supposed to be here.” I looked down at her. She was wearing the same clothes that she wore that morning. That little plaid woolen skirt, and knee high boots. Her hair was a pleated mess, and those eyes… “You’re supposed to be with Ryan.”

“I’m supposed to be with you.” She shook her head. “I’m your wife.”

“You don’t have to be!” I yelled, shaking my head. “I’m not trapping you. Sign the divorce decree. You’ll be protected. You’ll want for nothing. Please…”

I slammed my head on the headrest again, feeling the shooting pain rip through my skull one last time.

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