Free 314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy) by A.R. Wise Page B

she was really there. “How?”
    “Grace, I’m so sorry,” said Desmond as he took a step closer.
    “Stay away!” Grace staggered back, terrified of the approaching phantom.
    Desmond’s visage faded away.
    Grace’s sneakers hit a slick patch of grease and the sole of her shoe squeaked as it slid out from beneath her. She nearly avoided a fall, but then her clumsiness interceded and sent her flailing backward. She bashed into a stack of hefty cardboard boxes that were used to tote vegetables. The sturdy stack of boxes did little to soften her fall, and she tumbled to the floor, smacking her hip against the tile. Her sunglasses fell out of her hair and the delicate, plastic frame cracked when they bounced off the greasy, black and white tile.
    She was crying out in fear as she tried to recover from her stumble. Grace pressed her hands on the slick floor, a week’s worth of gunk beneath her that Juan should’ve mopped, but he was never concerned much about cleanliness. As she slipped again, she cursed the cook.
    “Grace,” said Desmond, although his voice was the only proof of his existence.
    “No!” Grace got to her knees, her hip pulsing from the impact with the floor. “Stay away from me.” She gave up trying to get to her feet, and crawled to the back door that led to the alley. The fire station was just behind the diner, and she planned to escape there and plead for help.
    Grace gripped the door handle and used it to help herself up. Then she pushed the back door open without daring to glance backward. A blinding flash of yellow light greeted her, and she instinctually raised her arm to shield her eyes.
    The light was warm, but pleasantly so, its heat a soothing influence on her addled senses. Once she experienced the warmth of the rays hitting her, Grace’s fear subsided. She lowered her arm, unafraid of the light that greeted her outside of the building. Despite its intensity, the light didn’t hurt her eyes. She gazed out, and felt her eyes begin to produce tears. Within the glow she caught sight of human shapes moving, casting shadows that the rays burst past, like crepuscular, heavenly light piercing clouds.
    “Dezzy,” said Grace, but she couldn’t look away. “Are you seeing this?”
    “Yes,” said Desmond as he approached from behind Grace.
    She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. As the glow warmed her, she realized she wasn’t afraid of anything. The rays caressed her skin, as tactile as anything that had ever touched her before. It felt like the warmth was seeping into her, and slowly pulling her in, piece by piece. Dots of sparkling white floated away from her, and up along the path the rays cut through the sky. She felt like a budding flower that was feeling the first rays of a sunrise as it burned away the fog.
    “I’m dead, aren’t I?” asked Grace, but not with trepidation. Unlike any moment in her entire life, she was fully aware that death was not something to be afraid of. The realization was equally invigorating and tranquilizing, a sensation unequaled in all of her years on Earth. Human beings live with a constant dread of creeping death – that specter looming large over every other facet of life. Despite any promise that religion holds, or assurance that a pastor gives, an uncertainty about mortality rests deep within. Once that fear was allayed, Grace experienced a burst of joy that could only be rivaled by the deepest love.
    “Yes,” said Desmond. “I think we’ve been dead for a long time.”
    Grace recognized sadness in Desmond’s voice, and she turned to him, hoping to carry him into the light with her. He was standing in the kitchen, out of the rays that reached down.
    “Come with me,” said Grace as she held out her hand.
    Desmond shook his head. “Not yet, Gracie. Not without my boy.”
    “Are you sure he’s not up here already?” asked Grace.
    “I heard him here, somewhere. I know he’s still stuck down here, and I’m not leaving without