Someone Found

Christ, how she wanted the world to be fair just this one time, wanted fair to be more than another extraneous four-letter word thrown into the mix. She wanted it to be her turn at fair.

Tasha pulled in a deep breath, immediately regretted the effort then struggled to push it back out. It hurt – what the hell didn’t hurt? Pain radiated; white-hot pricks hammered her nerve endings as the anesthetizing effect of adrenaline from her fall wore off. Tiny breaths, then. She labor-panted and fought to stay conscious.

She couldn’t pass out. She had to hold on for the medics. If she lost her fight against the pressing blackness, she would lose the last of Demitri. Again. And this time felt like it would be forever. She closed her battered fingers into a fist and suffered through the pain, welcoming it as a sign that she was still here, still in control. Like a mantra, she used the anguish of her injuries to call out to him.

Little more than mist in her in mind, Demitri was ghostly visible but impossibly intangible. And yet, with the barest thought of him a sense of completeness filled her; somehow whole as though she’d been mended, healed through his very essence. His face was only a blur of angles, his smell antiseptically removed, even the sound of his voice faded. Elvira and her magical jumping had left this hole in her. Yet some tiny thread of remembrance needled Tasha, pricking and refusing to be still.

Sirens shrieking in the summer air ground to a halt with a squall of tires. The dull thud of doors clunked, bags popping against the cement, footsteps pounding on the pavement. Sounded like the medical cavalry had arrived.

A breeze, the poorest excuse for any air at all, brushed against her cheek, and sudden fire heated her skin. He was there in that touch, the warmth of his fingers, the surety of his caress, as though time had bent from one century to another, and he reached through for her.

“Demitri,” the plea whispered from her.

“I’m here, my love.”

Sensations rushed at her: sandalwood and cigars, the husky timbre of his voice, the warmth of his breath. Another caress feathered her skin, this one firmer, more real, and intently now. Tasha opened her eyes. Demitri’s beloved face filled her vision, close and concerned, the crisp press of an EMT uniform covering the width of his broad shoulders, the strength of his muscular thigh snug near her side. He was all things alive and wonderful.

“Are you real?” she breathed.

“Always.” His fingers gently soothed her cheek. “You needed only say no to Elvira, to willingly release the penance and make the choice for love. For us. The power has always been inside you to break the spell, sweetheart.”

“I will love you forever, Demitri,” she promised.

“And beyond.” He sealed his pledge with a single brush of his lips before he straightened and with professional efficiency popped the earpieces of a stethoscope into place. He warmed the metal disc with his breath before placing it against her heart. “Now, let’s make sure forever last an eternity.”

Someone Lost

Her eyes became her only words.

Air rushed through her body and her words and thoughts disappeared. Where?

The woman’s body plummeted from the three-story balcony. She tucked her head to her chest and curled into a fetal position.

“Tasha!” A man screamed. Anguish fractured his voice and her heart. She collided with the unmoving concrete sidewalk. Bone cracked and shattered, the impact forcing air from her lungs.

She looked skyward, frantic to find him. She knew she had lost something. How could the woman survive the pain of such loss? Someone crucial, critical to her life – lost.

The agony of her heart tempted her to relinquish this body to the physical pain and imminent death. Darkness loomed above. She closed her eyes.

“Elvira, please. Please, save her.” The tormented plea whispered in her head and the wind.

A chilled hand touched her neck. “She’s got a pulse.” She opened her eyes to see a man dressed in the blue, a policeman. His lips thin and eyes tight with tension.

He flinched at her unexpected gaze then his face smoothed into a mask of reassurance. But pinpoint pupils suggested a frantic rush of adrenaline and reflected her face. She knew that person his brown eyes mirrored back. That was her, the real her.

She was Tasha Downey. And he wasn’t the one.

“Where?” She croaked.

“It’s okay, we got him. An ambulance is on the way.”

Sun high in a noonday sky heated the pavement. She smelled the man’s acrid sweat. The grime and debris on the sidewalk pressed into her flesh. Trapped once again in a dying body. Her own shattered and traumatized body.

A siren blared, carried on the wind as it raced across city streets. The policeman left, replaced by a new shadow. A woman with orange hair knelt at her side, bracelets jingled and clanked as she moved.
“Tasha,” she said softly. A smooth cool palm soothed her brow and brushed her hair back. “Hold on, honey. I’ll jump you into another while this your body heals. You don’t have to endure this pain.”

“Elvira,” she thought.

“That’s right baby, it’s me. I’ll take care of everything.”

“No.” Tasha said.

“Now there is no reason to struggle through the pain of healing. When you finish this next job you’ll be recovered.” Elvira took her hand and squeezed. “Ready?”

“No.”

Forehead wrinkled and eyes squinting, Elvira frowned. “Now listen to me, you have a penance to serve,” she scolded.

“No more. Where is he?”

“Who?” She checked her nails feigning ignorance and boredom.

Tasha’s squeezed Elvira’s hand. Her body wasn’t paralyzed, just damaged. She tightened her grip. Elvira winced and pulled her arm back. Her jewelry sparkled and flashed.

“Demitri. Don’t take away my reason to live. Don’t.” Tears blurred her vision and clogged her throat. "Don't."