Free Cupid's Revenge by Melanie Jackson Page A

be here when my wife comes.”
    “Ah. Do you think she’ll be coming soon?” My question was mild.
    “I’m not sure.” Thomas looked suddenly sad. “I think I killed her,” he confessed.
    “Killed her?”
    “Yes, we were having an argument. In the car. And I wasn’t paying attention and all of sudden there was this truck coming at us. It hit her door.”
    “That’s what they told me at the hospital,” I answered. “But I have some good news for you. Your wife didn’t die in the accident. She only broke her arm. She’s fine and so are you.”
    “Really?” For a moment I thought he looked a little disappointed. “This isn’t heaven then?”
    “No. You’re in a coma and this is the place where people wait when they are uncertain about whether they want to live or die.” I was simplifying but this wasn’t a moment for a lecture about the nature of the Narcoscape.
    “Oh. It seemed kind of empty.” He thought about this. I was glad that he didn’t appear disbelieving of what I’d said. “Where would I go if I wanted to die?” he finally asked.
    I pointed to the left where a great cloud wall marked the edge of the Narcoscape. As always, the Egyptian temple was nearby.
    “That looks… ominous.” It did. It should. It was death. “I don’t think I want to go there.”
    “Okay. I can take you back to your wife then.”
    “Alright.” He got up slowly. “Can I bring my painting?”
    I looked at his canvas. It was good. It had been good when Monet painted it a hundred years ago too.
    “Sorry. Nothing from the dreamside can cross over. Maybe you could paint some more when you get back home.”
    “No. I’m not any good back there.” He didn’t sound that unhappy.
    “Can you clean your hands up a bit?” I asked him.
    “What?”
    “The paint. Make it go away,” I instructed.
    “I can do that?”
    “Of course.”
    Thomas stared at his hands and then grinned as the blue and green smears disappeared.
    “Wow. That’s cool.”
    “Very cool. Take my hand, Thomas. We’re going home.”
    Using my free hand to set my sunhat on my head, I used the other to anchor Thomas so we could begin our journey back to the wakeside.  My internal clock that retains some awareness of the passage of time wakeside said that we needed to hurry, but I said nothing to Thomas as he paused a moment to look a last time at our surroundings and enjoyed the gentle breeze of a fine Spring day.  Although the grass was still red, I had to admit that I was beginning to find the color change to be pleasantly unique if not downright appealing. Wakeside, everything was gray and gloomy as November deepened into winter.
    Walking across the meadow now thick with wild flowers, I was enjoying the tickling sensation of the foliage on my ankles.  I was especially enjoying the awareness that since this was a dream, the grass would probably not be infested with ticks and other forms of parasite.  Ah, what a feeling to stroll through a blemish-free world with a man’s hand in mine.  Thinking back, I had a hard time remembering the last occasion I’d gone strolling with a man, let alone strolling in such a romantic setting. Too bad Thomas was married and we were on such a short clock. It was a place that invited one to linger. Some days I missed my husband so much that I thought I might die from the emptiness.
    Looking up into his face, I found that he could hold my gaze without being self-conscious of his pleasure, so I followed suit and allowed myself to just enjoy the moment.  I didn’t let myself think and I didn’t let myself remember. Throwing my head back, I listened to a chorus of red bluebirds happily chirping as they flew across an azure sky.  Thank God he at least got the color of the sky right. A green one would have ruined the mood.
    We had traversed the majority of the field and were approaching the tree line that marked the border between Thomas’ dream canvas and our exit when the trouble began.  I first sensed