Page 20 of Hidden Truths

He said his prayers, sent a kiss to Rae, knew he would be blessed when Kellen joined him all too soon.

“Get out of town.” Elyse used the barrel to gesture toward the door. “Your wife is dying. You don’t want to be here for the fallout that’s going to followthiscrime of passion. You’d never make it back in time.”

Max grabbed his backpack and his tire iron and headed for the car.

He hoped the scene in his rearview mirror would be the last he ever saw of McFarrellville.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SOMETHINGWOKEKELLENfrom her sleep. A demand. An order.

Get up. Get up now!

She found her spirit self at the door of her room, then in the corridor. She looked around, trying to see what she had been called to do.

Harrison Benchley was at the far end of the corridor, walking alone toward her, and toward his room. He was, as always, cold and without emotion, but in Harrison’s pocket, he held a scalpel.

Where had he got that?

He grasped the handle with his prosthetic hand. He caressed the blade with his forefinger. He jumped when its sharp edge sliced that artificial part of him. He frowned fiercely, stopped walking, pulled one of the hands he loathed out of his pocket and stared at it. He experimented, moving his fingers, proving to himself he hadn’t made a fatal mistake. He needed that hand to slit his throat.

Dependent. Loser. Cripple.

He would do it tonight.

His physical therapist had said,I can’t make him want to live.

Want to live? Worse than that. He’d been working so hard on his rehabilitation so he could die. So he could kill himself.

Kellen’s gaze zoomed over to the woman in scrubs. As always, she was there at the end of the counter at the nurses’ station, watching him, loving him. His wife, the woman he’d cut out of his life.

Kellen had to do something. She had to stop him. Before she finished the thought, she was beside him. She spoke to him as she spoke to others. “You want to live. For her. You love her.”

Her words slid off the bleak shell of his indifference.

“Listen to me. Listen to me!” She tried to take his arm, but without flesh, she couldn’t touch him. “I’m here,” she said. “I’m talking to you.”

He remained still, looked around.

He’d heard her!

No, he hadn’t. He was simply making sure no one had observed him, that no one would try to stop him. He placed his hand in his pocket again and started walking.

Kellen kept up with him. “Look at her. That’s your wife. She’s here every day to see you. She loves you. You love her. Look. Look!”

He was on alert. He observed his surroundings, but he wasn’t really looking. He was so shut off he didn’t see through Megan’s feeble disguise to the woman he had lifted, helped, embraced, loved.

In another few moments, he’d be in his room, slashing his throat, making sure that even if he was found, no one could possibly save him.

Kellen had to do something. But she couldn’t touch him, couldn’t make him hear her.

She had to go back to her body. Now. Now!

At once she was in her room, staring down at the Kellen on the bed, at her bandaged head. Beneath those bandages, a scar bisected her mostly bald skull. The bruising on her face showed brightly against the pallor of her skin.

Kellen knew—sheknew—that if she did this thing, if she allowed her spirit to enter her body, she would be alive again, conscious, aware.

She was being allowed this chance to save a man’s life, but she had a decision to make. If she accepted, her recovery would be miserable, demeaning, difficult and, maybe, might never be complete.

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