Page 97 of Fighting Conviction
“C-Cici? Is that you?”
The love of his life stood behind the kitchen counter as if she’d never left. She lifted her serene smile but continued to knead the bread in front of her. “Well, of course it is, silly.”
Cici turned to an awfully familiar teenaged girl in the corner of the kitchen. “Hurry, dear. It’s not their time. She needs your help.”
The girl’s dark curls bounced as she nodded her head and gave a wistful smile, mischievous and sad at the same time. “One last time,” she whispered before breathing deeply. After a quick exhale, she opened the door to the pantry and closed it behind her.
“W-who was that?”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear. We have to be quick, too, I’m afraid.”
The Cici of more than a decade ago stopped kneading the dough to tuck a short curl behind her ear. She looked happy, young, healthy. The sight brought tears to his eyes.
“But y-you’re…”
“I know, sweetie.” The faint wrinkles around her eyes crinkled in worry. “I know.”
“You know? You know you’re… gone?”
Cici gave a faint smile and brushed her hands against her apron, leaving flour just like old times. Whenever she’d baked, he’d always teased her because while the welcoming scent of bread filled the air, clouds of flour covered everything else.
She took a step toward him, but he staggered back when she all of a sudden appeared in front of him with her hand stretched out.
“It’s time to go, Neal. We can go together now. I’ve been waitin’ for you.”
Neal blinked at her hand in confusion.
“I’m sorry, dear. But we have to go. It’s now or never.”
“You’re… gone. I saw you…”
He blinked and he was in his bathroom, watching the past unfold like a movie. One that had been a constant rerun in his mind for eight years.
He pushed his fingers down her throat and shoved her head into the toilet before she threw up on him. The hacking and choking hurt his heart, but losing her would kill his soul.
“Leave me alone, Neal! Just let me go! I don’t want any of it anymore!”
“No, stop.” Cici’s command killed the vision and walked behind him in the now empty bathroom. “Don’t think about that. Not now. It’s all over. Just come with me and you’ll never worry again.”
She stretched out her hand and he stared until another vision took over and he found himself in their bedroom.
He stretched his open palm, waiting for Cici to give him the orange bottle. She’d been hiding the pills under the mattress again. As a nurse, it was easy for her to get them and he didn’t want to rat on her and get her fired. Besides, sometimes her job was the only thing that got her out of the house. She’d sworn she’d stopped and he’d checked around the house, but the pills kept turning up, like weeds choking the life out of his beautiful garden.
“All you have to do is clean yourself up, Cici. You can do it. Just dial it back, one step at a time. We’ll do it together.” His hand twitched as he tried to be firm, but not so insistent she shut down, or snapped and refused to listen.
“The physical pain was less.” The memory evaporated and a healthy Cici stood in front of him. “But the emotional…” She clutched her heart, leaving powdery flour on her chest.
“You got dependent on the pills. And the depression got worse,” he muttered.
She gave a small smile. “Not a great combination, huh?”
“God, you were so sick for so long…”
He was an apparition in the bathroom again, watching the scene they’d gone through in real life more times than he could stomach.
He pulled her head from the toilet after she’d finished coughing and wiped her lips with a cool cloth.
“Say it with me, baby. I can get better. We’ll do it together.”
