Page 87 of Final Vendetta

“This is it, isn’t it?” I asked, looking at her. “We’re dead.”

Her smile faltered for just a second. “Doyouthink we are?”

I looked around the idyllic scene — the flawless blue sky, the gentle waves lapping at the shore. It felt like paradise. Our own personal heaven. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t belong here.

“I don’t know if I’ve earned this. I don’t know if I deserve it.”

Imogene squeezed my hand. “You’re a good man, Samuel Tate.” She leaned toward me, touching a kiss to my cheek. “But you’re an amazing man, Gideon Saint. Never doubt that.”

Our eyes locked for a brief moment before she stood up gracefully, brushing invisible grains of sand from her clothes.

“What are you doing?” I asked, squinting against the bright light behind her that cast a halo around her silhouette.

She shrugged. “I have to go.”

Panic flared in my chest and I shot to my feet, reaching for her. But no matter what I did, she remained just out of my grasp.

“What do you mean? Where are you going?”

She glanced at Ollie, who stood at her side, his tail wagging slower now. “I don’t know. It’s just... It’s our time.”

“No,” I pleaded. “You can’t go. Stay with me. Please.”

She faced me again, her expression tender but resolute. “It’s time for you to go, too.”

She started walking away, Ollie following obediently behind her.

“Imogene!” I tried to follow, but the sand beneath my feet seemed to hold me in place. “Come back!”

She didn’t stop.

The world around me blurred, and her figure faded into the light. I screamed her name once more. This time, the sound wasn’t muted. It was loud, causing me to startle.

Suddenly, everything was different.

The harsh fluorescent lights above me were blinding in a different way, the sterile smell of antiseptic replacing the salt and flowers. I blinked rapidly, my heart pounding in my chest as my surroundings slowly came into focus. The stiff sheets, the rhythmic beeping of monitors, the IV taped to my arm. Everything was sharper, more painful than the dream.

This was real. I was alive, stuck in some hospital bed.

But where was Imogene?

Did she somehow come to me in that dream to say goodbye?

The thought propelled me forward, and I forced myself to sit up. Ignoring the painful sting, I ripped the IV from my arm and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My body trembling from the effort, I took a step, then another, pushing down the lightheadedness consuming me as I stalked toward the door that seemed to get farther and farther away.

When I finally opened it and emerged into the hallway, a brunette in green scrubs hurried toward me.

“Sir, you shouldn’t be out of bed. You need to lie down and rest!”

“Where is she?” I demanded, my voice rough as I leaned against the doorframe for support.

“Please, you’re in no condition?—”

“Where is she?” I roared, shoving past her.

The hallway stretched before me, a maze of identical doors and glaring lights. I stumbled forward, my bare feet slapping against the cold floor.

“Imogene!” I bellowed, my cry echoing down the corridor.

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