"I love you," she whispered, and knew she always had.
CHAPTER 16
"So I guess it's all over now," Dinah said.
"I guess so. "
"Puzzle completed, treasure found. Bad guys vanquished."
"You might have been more help," Faith accused.
Dinah smiled. "It had to happen the way it happened. Things do, you know. So don't feel bad."
"About Kane?"
"You love him. I wanted to, but ... I couldn't, not the way he deserved."
Faith was surprised. "Why not?"
"Because I knew what was going to happen to me. I'd known for a long time."
"Couldn't you change it?"
"No. Like I said. Things have to happen the way they happen. And there was you. I knew as soon as we met that you'd play a part in all of it. I just didn't know how."
"Its my fault, what happened. I'm sorry."
"I'm not."
Faith was surprised. "No? But..."
"When you come to the end, you understand what's really important." Dinah looked at her intently. "You understand."
"But all the pain. The fear. I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"As I said, things have to happen the way they do."
"But I'm sorry you died." Dinah seemed to hesitate, then said, "Something always has to die so that something else can live. You do understand that, don't you?"
Faith began to feel uneasy. "Yes, but ... I remember now, you said once you found the Macguffin, you wouldn't be dead anymore."
"Yes, that's what I said."
"But..."
"I'm not dead, Faith. I never have been, not really. You're the one who's dead."
Faith stared at her, at the odd little smile, the compassionate blue eyes. She reached out instinctively, and froze when Dinah reached out as well. After a moment, Faith forced herself to go on, to stretch her hand slowly toward Dinah's.
When their fingers touched, she felt the cool, smooth surface of a mirror.
Faith opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She was wide awake, so wide awake that she felt as if she'd never sleep again. Slowly, she turned her head on the pillow and looked at Kane. He slept with the absolute stillness of utter exhaustion, muscles totally relaxed. It was no wonder. This was probably the first decent night's sleep he'd been granted in weeks.
And, of course, they had made love until nearly dawn, again and again, unable to get enough of each other. She thought he had memorized the texture of her skin, and she was certain she would always know him, forever, even In total darkness. Carefully, she eased out from under his arm and sat up on the side of the bed. The clock on the nightstand said it was just after eight-thirty.
She made sure he was covered and still sleeping deeply, then gathered her things and slipped from the bedroom. She took a shower, allowing the hot water to ease the ache of muscles unaccustomed to lovemaking, to all the unusual exertions of the day before, then dressed and went to the kitchen.
His special blend of coffee. She stared at the bag for a moment, then dumped an approximate amount into the filter, poured water into the top chamber, and waited for it to drip through to the pot below. When it was ready, she fixed a cup with her customary load of cream and sugar, then carried it into the living room. She looked at her bare wrist, then grimaced slightly. No watch, ever, because they never wanted to keep running for her. Somebody had told her once that it was the magnetic or electrical field of her body. Faith's body.
The clock on the VCR said quarter after nine. She picked up the phone and called the hospital, asking them to page Dr. Burnett for her. He was there, of course. Even early on Saturday, he was there.
"Faith is anything wrong?" His voice held a bit of an edge and it took her a moment to remember their last meeting.
"There's something I need to ask you," she replied, sweeping his anger aside.
"What is it?"
"Before I came out of the coma, did you believe I would?"
"Faith, I told you how unusual I..."
"You know what I'm asking you."
He was silent for several moments, but her patient waiting seemed to drive him to answer finally. "There are certain criteria we use to determine patient viability. Certain minimum levels of brain activity, for instance..."
"Was I below those minimum levels?"
"Faith, there's no absolute in medicine."
"Was I below the minimum levels?" she repeated steadily. "Was I considered a viable patient with a future?"
"No," he said, then hurried on. "But there was a flicker of brain activity, and I'd told Miss Leighton on her last visit that there was always a chance. I'd seen some remarkable things ... and you were breathing on your own, so of course there was no question of..."
"... of "Nobody was going to unplug anything?" Faith finished, her voice shaky now.
"No, of course not. And Miss Leighton refused to give up hope. She was very upset when she left that last day, but still determined. I've never seen anyone so determined to save another person. If strength of will could have done it, you would have awakened that day. As it was, only a couple of weeks passed before you did." He paused. "It's a shame she never knew she was right."
"Yes. A shame. Thank you, Dr. Burnett."
"Faith ... about what happened the other day..."
"Don't worry about it," she said. "We were all a bit touchy that day." She cradled the receiver gently.
After a moment, she got up and carried her coffee to the piano. She sat on the bench and flexed her fingers, looking at them with a little frown. Then she touched the keys tentatively, one here, one there, not a recognizable tune.
The buzzer sent her quickly to answer the intercom so that the sound wouldn't disturb Kane, and a few minutes later she opened the door to admit Bishop.
"I didn't think you'd be so early," she said. "Kane's still asleep, and I'd rather not wake him."
Bishop eyed her thoughtfully and smiled. "I see."
Faith uttered a soft laugh. "This time, I doubt it. But never mind. There's coffee — mine, I'm afraid, but help yourself or make a fresh pot, whatever suits you."
Bishop watched her retreat to the piano, his smile fading and brows drawing together. "I stopped by the station on my way here," he said, coming farther into the room. "Richardson filled me in. He also ...showed me the results of Dinah's autopsy. Nothing really unexpected. Except..."
"Except time of death," Faith said, pressing a key gently with one finger.
Bishop came to the piano and stared down at her. "Yes."
"She hadn't been dead a few days. She'd been dead a few weeks. About ... four weeks." Slowly, Bishop said, "The coldness of that bomb shelter, the lack of air and humidity — all slowed the rate of decomposition, made it appear she'd died recently. But the autopsy proved otherwise. The M.E. wasn't willing to estimate closer than three to six weeks."
"Four," she said softly. "Just about four."
"Faith..."
"You know, it's the strangest thing." She placed all ten fingers on the ivory keys, then looked up at him. "Just a few days ago, I could do it, but now ... I've forgotten how to play the piano."
Bishop gazed at her silently.
"Isn't that strange? And isn't it strange how I was able to pick those locks last night, when a few days ago I didn't even know that was a lock pick in the pocket of the jacket? Isn't it strange that I keep looking at my wrist as if I should be wearing a watch, when I know I've never been able to? Why I keep using my right hand instead of my left?"