Read Hell Transporter (Between) Online
Authors: Cyndi Tefft
He crushed me against him, his mouth hard and demanding on mine. His righteous anger and indignation flooded me as he flung open the gates of his mind. On the heels of his anger though, flowed a powerful sexual intensity and my mind reeled in overload as graphic images of myself exploded in rapid-fire succession. The collection of his mental snapshots of my body astounded me and I trembled beneath him as he pinned me to the floor.
He stripped away my defenses with fierce determination. The force of his love and raw lust for my body consumed me. He suckled my neck and the heat of his tongue on the sensitive hollow of my throat sent shock waves over my skin. I wanted him to stop and I struggled to keep my mind closed to him, but I was overcome with the strength of his emotions and could not pull away from him. His hand slipped under my shirt, his touch like an electric jolt to my heart. I saw an image of myself on the beach at the cabin where we’d first made love, and I felt him shake with desire at the memory.
He wound his fingers through my hair as he kissed my ear. He was thinking of the first time he’d ever seen me, along the water’s edge. My breath caught in my throat as I saw myself through his eyes. The wonder and joy on my face as I ran through the field of wildflowers was a picture of unspeakable beauty. Then he flashed forward to the ball at the Palace of Versailles when I first told him I loved him. His aching passion filled my senses so fully I thought my heart would burst.
He stopped kissing me then, and pulled me to my knees, gripping me tightly as he relived the night I’d been taken from him. He was reaching for me and screaming my name, and the depth of his anguish cut me to the core. I struggled in his arms, unable to take any more. He changed the images, remembering the moment he’d pulled me out of the fire. His heart had soared when I’d called his name. The sight of my soot-streaked face was the most beautiful thing I could imagine.
The strength of his love covered me completely, like a blanket of snow blocks out all darkness. It seeped into the marrow of my bones and settled in my soul, routing out any remains of doubt. A profound peace stilled within me as I knew the truth of his heart with unshakeable certainty.
He couldn’t know that, though, since I had not opened my mind to him. He knelt in front of me, his eyes searching mine for answers.
Pressing my hand to his heart, I whispered, “I believe you.”
Show me.
He responded in his mind, and I felt his heart flutter nervously. I opened the gates to him then, completely exposed and vulnerable. I didn’t want to hide anymore. I didn’t want to be afraid of what he might see. He had utterly and completely destroyed my insecurities and I wanted to do the same for him. Nothing was hidden as his mind became one with mine. We didn’t need to speak, not out loud or even in our heads. Formless questions and answers flowed between us with the speed of thought.
With hands moving like reflections in a mirror, we undressed and feasted on each other in the flickering orange glow of the firelight. When his eyes scanned my body, an acute sense of possession and passion welled up within him.
You are mine, you belong to me
—his flesh said to me, demanded of me, and I responded in kind. No one would ever come between us again. Soaring and spinning as we moved together, my consciousness was entwined with his. We were clenched tight to one another like two eagles mating in flight, interlocked in passion and falling, plunging, unable and unwilling to let go.
The fire was no more than glowing embers by the time we finally lay still in one another’s arms. Inch by inch, we closed the gates of our minds to one another and became two once more, but we would never be the same again.
The next weekend, Ian, Paul and Aiden went to Portland to get kilts for the wedding and I worked on homework. They were gone all day Saturday and were coming back late on Sunday, so I vowed to get as much studying done as possible while he was gone. I was happy for him to be able to get out of town and see some more of the city. I knew how much he enjoyed spending time with Paul and he looked up to Ian like a father, so I figured he’d be safer with them than with me anyway. He tried to drag me along, but I promised to stick to Steph like glitter on a stripper, which he didn’t find funny at all, but he finally relented.
The worst part was that we’d agreed to not talk in our minds, so the hell transporter wouldn’t be able to appear while we were apart. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that would work, but it seemed like a small price to pay for his peace of mind. Still, I felt like someone had cut the string that connected us and I didn’t like it. Not one bit. By Sunday night, a piss-poor mood had settled in and taken residence with little chance of letting up.
Freaking hell transporter. I thought about its blood red eyes, its skeletal face, its razor sharp claws, and instead of fear, I felt rage, anger at what it was stealing from me, frustration at not being able to take it out, and an itching need to act. Now.
I tapped my fingers on the keyboard of my laptop, trying to concentrate on American History. It was no use.
My inbox chimed for the third time in an hour and I groaned. Another question from Mom.
She was sucking up every spare moment I had with all the wedding planning details, so that I barely had a second to breathe. She was constantly texting or emailing me questions: “Do you want the table favors to be tied with a green ribbon or with gold lace? What kind of flower do you want for Aiden’s boutonniere? Do you have any special songs you want played?” The number of decisions to be made was overwhelming, and while I was unutterably thankful she was planning the wedding, I was getting really irritated at all the interruptions.
Staring at my computer screen, I was unable to formulate a coherent thought for my report on mob families from the 1920s. With a growl of frustration, I gave up and closed my laptop. Steph looked up from her homework, her white-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.
“You want to get out of here? I need some fresh air,” I asked, grabbing my coat.
Her sandy blonde ponytail bounced on her shoulders as she shook her head. “No, you go ahead. I need to get through this calculus assignment tonight because I’ve got an orchestra concert tomorrow and I won’t be able to do it later. Can you believe he assigned three pages of homework? Come here, look at this!” She waved her mammoth textbook at me, indignant. The last thing I wanted to do was look at math equations.
“That totally sucks,” I commiserated, giving her a sympathetic look as I slipped out the door.
The feel of the cool night air on my face was exactly what I needed to re-energize my brain and I smiled, breathing in the damp, earthy scent of the fallen leaves that littered the campus grounds. I’d just rounded the corner of the dormitory when I caught sight of Mona out of the corner of my eye. Facing away from me, she was having an intense conversation with someone I couldn’t see. As I kept moving toward her on the path, I realized there was no one there. She appeared to be arguing with herself.
“Mona?” My voice sounded loud in the stillness of the evening.
She whirled around in surprise and fixed me with an evil glare, all her normal affectations gone.”Where is he?” she demanded. Her voice cracked with desperation.
“Who?” I asked, taken aback by the change in her.
“Don’t play stupid. Aiden, where is he?” I told her I didn’t know and she narrowed her eyes at me in disbelief. “Yes, you do. You just don’t want to tell me.” I straightened up, uncomfortable with the look in her eyes.
“Why do you care? What do you want from him?”
She barked out a laugh at my question. “I would have thought that was pretty obvious by now. You’re not very bright, are you?”
“Leave him alone. He doesn’t want you.” Knowing it was the truth gave me a strength I’d not had before.
“You think it matters what he wants!” She shot me a pitiful look like I was unbelievably stupid. When she spoke again, her voice was cold and vicious. “Mark my words, doll. I will have your sweet Aiden. And if you’re lucky, you might just get to watch.”
That was it.
I launched myself at her with an unbridled fury, a cry of hatred erupting from my chest. Her eyes flew open in surprise. I grabbed fistfuls of her hair and yanked. As her neck snapped backward, she punched me hard in the throat. I fell to my hands and knees, unable to breathe. Her high heels clicked on the pavement as she ran off. She’d knocked the wind out of me and as I struggled to pull air into my lungs, I had a horrific flashback of the car accident when I’d punctured my lung. A cold sweat broke out all over my body at the memory.
When I pushed myself off the ground, I noticed the strands of her dark hair still clenched in my fist. Disgusted, I flung them on the ground and turned to go back to the dorm room.
“That was hot.”
The disembodied voice made me turn and peer into the darkness. Derek stepped from behind a tree, decked out in his usual black from head to toe. His eyes slithered over me like I was an all-you-can-eat buffet and he couldn’t decide where to start. Backing away from him, I tripped on the edge of the sidewalk and started to fall. His hand shot out and grabbed my arm. The spicy scent of the chewing tobacco in his lip assaulted my nose.
“Careful. Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out here alone. Where’s Loverboy tonight? Left you by yourself, did he? I’d be happy to take care of you.”
I yanked my arm out of his grasp. “What is it with everyone wanting to know where Aiden is?” I leveled a glare at him. “And no, not now, not ever, Derek. Leave me the hell alone. I mean it.” I turned and ran, all too aware of his piercing gaze following me in the darkness.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Aiden and I drove up to stay with my dad. When I was a kid, we always went to my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving because my mom hated to cook. When my parents got divorced, holidays became awkward. I couldn’t be in two places at once, so no matter what I did, one of them was going to be disappointed. I knew my dad would be alone if I didn’t spend the time with him, so I told Mom to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s without me and compromised by agreeing to go shopping with her on Friday.
I spent all day cooking in my dad’s kitchen, making a twelve-pound turkey with mashed potatoes, stuffing, green bean casserole, yams, and cranberry sauce. I’d never cooked an entire Thanksgiving meal by myself before, and I was completely exhausted. Aiden offered to help, but I wasn’t organized enough to really put him to work, so I shooed him off to watch the Macy’s parade with Dad. I could hear them talking while I cooked. I laughed, thinking about the humongous balloons and elaborate floats on the screen. They were such a holiday staple for me, but I couldn’t imagine how odd they must have looked to Aiden.
After the meal, Aiden helped me with the dishes and then settled into one of the easy chairs in the living room to watch the football game. Dad explained the rules and Aiden was very animated alongside him, cheering for whichever team my father favored. Curling up on the sofa with a pillow and a blanket, I listened to them for while, then drifted off to sleep.
The next day, Dad took Aiden to the indoor driving range at his private golf club while Mom and I hit the mall. Finally able to talk openly about the wedding plans—since Aiden wasn’t around—she grilled me on some final details.
“The clock is ticking, Lindsey,” she said, her tone laced with worry and anticipation.
“I know, I know. I swear I’ll tell Aiden soon so you don’t have to keep it secret anymore.” He had asked a few questions about the wedding but so far I’d kept my answers vague. He knew something was up, but didn’t press me, probably figuring I’d tell him when I was ready. And that was exactly what I’d hoped.
Ian and Sarah invited us over for dinner the following Tuesday, November 30
th
, for their St. Andrew’s Day feast. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, but I’d tasted Sarah’s amazing cooking before, so my mouth was watering before we even set foot through the door.
“Saint Andrew is the patron saint of Scotland,” Ian explained to me later as we sat down to eat. “He was one of the twelve disciples of Christ and when he was martyred, he asked to be crucified on an X instead of a cross, saying he wasn’t worthy to die in the same manner as Jesus. The Scottish flag, which we call the
saltire
, is blue with a white X in honor of St. Andrew. The Irish have St. Patrick’s Day and we have St. Andrew’s Day. ‘Tis a time to remember all that’s great about being a Scot.” He winked at Aiden and raised his whisky glass in tribute. “To Saint Andrew and to Scotland!” We joined in the toast, clinking our glasses of scotch together.
“That reminds me,” I said, addressing my hosts. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for the birthday gifts. It was very sweet of you.”
Sarah patted my hand, heavy diamond rings dotting her fingers. “You’re very welcome, sugar. We’re sorry we couldn’t be there. Did you have a nice birthday?”
Thinking of the night I’d spent with Aiden, I struggled to hide my grin. “Yes, I had a very nice birthday. Thanks,” I murmured, hoping she wouldn’t notice the color I knew was staining my cheeks. I changed the subject in an effort to distract her before she could ask any more questions. “So, this is quite the spread you have prepared. What is this?” I pointed at an unfamiliar dish on the table.
“Oh, that’s a venison casserole with chestnuts and vegetables, made from the deer the boys took when they went hunting.” Sarah nodded proudly at Aiden and Ian. “There’s also Finnan haddie, which is haddock with cheese,” she pointed at one dish after another, “kailkenny, which is potatoes with cabbage in butter, and fried herring rolled in oats.” She shook her head with a resigned smile at Ian. “And what Scottish meal would be complete without haggis with neeps and tatties?”
“Neeps and tatties?”
“Yellow turnips and mashed potatoes.” She scooped a spoonful onto my plate and handed it back to me. I took a tiny sliver of the haggis and put it in my mouth. “Just don’t ask what’s in the haggis, dear. You don’t want to know,” she said as my lips closed around the fork. My mind conjured up all kinds of disgusting ideas of what could be in haggis. I had to force myself to swallow. Ian let out a full belly laugh while I choked it down.
“What do ye think, lass?” Aiden asked, fighting to keep a straight face.
I sucked down some ice water and did my best to be polite. “I think it’s… um… an acquired taste,” I replied and Ian slapped his knee, hooting with laughter. Sarah admonished him to be nice, though she was grinning herself.
Aiden piled the haggis on his plate. “She doesn’t like parritch, either,” he said to Ian, whose mouth dropped open in feigned outrage. He then proceeded to tell me how good it was for me, just like Aiden had done before.
Sarah came to my rescue. “Don’t you worry about it, honey. I’d rather have fried chicken and a buttermilk biscuit any old day, but I think you’ll like the cranachan we have for dessert. It’s toasted oats in whipped cream made with berries and splash of whisky.”
I put on an innocent face and turned to Sarah. “Do you suppose they drink so much whisky to drown out the flavor of the food?” She gave in to a fit of giggles while the boys made indignant remarks about my lack of respect for Scottish cooking, and on St. Andrew’s Day, no less.
Once the blustering settled down, Ian winked at me. “Aiden, you’d best keep an eye on that one. She’s right quick,” he said.
Aiden squeezed my hand under the table. “Och, aye. That she is, indeed.”
After the meal, I helped Sarah clear away the dishes. As she rinsed the plates and stacked them in the dishwasher, she said, “You were a really good sport tonight, Lindsey. Lots of girls wouldn’t even try haggis, so I’m proud of you.” I flushed under her praise and she continued, talking almost to herself. “Having you and Aiden around these past few months has been like a breath of fresh air. I can’t remember the last time I saw Ian this happy. You know that Aiden’s just a few years older than our son was when we lost him?”
I nodded, remembering the photo of their son Johnny in his football jersey.
“What was he like?” I ventured, sensing that she wanted to talk about him.
“Oh, Johnny was such a handsome boy. So sweet. And he loved Scottish food.” She laughed with a faraway smile in her eyes. “When he was happy, it was like the sun itself shone in front of you. He never met a stranger; he loved everyone. After his first day of kindergarten, I asked if he’d made any new friends. He said, ‘Mom, I made ALL the friends!’” She seemed to glow from the inside out as she remembered him, but then her smile faded and she grew quiet. Wiping the same spot on the counter again and again, she stared at the kitchen cabinets. I stood, watching her, not sure what to say. Finally, she stopped and put a hand out as if to steady herself.
“But on his sad days, it was like he was someone else altogether, with no joy at all. The shadows would begin to darken his eyes and shut him down. It broke my heart every time, but there was nothing I could do to help him. There was nothing any of us could do.” She shook herself and put on a brave face. “I miss him every day, but I pray he’s happier now, that all of his sad days are over.” She didn’t sound at all convinced, though, and I put my hand on her arm in support. Her smile faltered a bit, and we hugged each other close. She smelled like flowers and baking bread, scents that seeped into my heart and made themselves at home. When we pulled away, she dabbed at her eyes with the dishtowel.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t burden you with my troubles. It’s just that today is the anniversary of his death and it’s the first time in a long time that Ian and I have had someone to share it with. Thank you.”
I felt my own tears welling up and I hugged her again.
The guys had gone outside to get the fire pit going while Sarah and I did the dishes. It was a cold night but clear, and the orange flames danced against the dark backdrop of the sky. I grabbed my coat and wandered out to join them. Ian had his guitar out and his rich baritone voice wrapped itself around us like a warm blanket. When he finished, I clapped and he tipped his head to me with a smile.
“Aiden wrote me a song for my birthday,” I said.
Ian’s eyes lit up. “Aye, that’s right, I knew he’d been working on it. I meant to ask you about that when you brought back the guitar,” he said to Aiden. “Well, let’s hear it then!” He pressed the instrument into Aiden’s arms.
He took it graciously but gave me a look that clearly said, “I’m going to get you for this.” I giggled and settled in, excited to hear the song again. His fingers moved over the strings effortlessly. When he finished, we broke into resounding applause.
“Why, I do believe you’d give Rabbie Burns a run for his money, lad. You’ve his way with the lassies.” Ian wiggled his eyebrows at me and Aiden smiled, but his eyes betrayed a hint of confusion. “You don’t mean to tell me you’ve never heard of Rabbie Burns.” Ian’s voice had a distinct warning tone to it. “Robert Burns? The poet laureate of Scotland? Auld Lang Syne? Burns’ Night, for God’s sake?” The pitch of his voice increased with every question. He sat forward on the edge of his seat, fully agitated now.
“Ian, remember his head injury…” Sarah offered in a soothing voice from beside him but Ian scoffed.
“Aye, I remember well enough this mysterious head injury. I’ve never met anyone with a clearer head on his shoulders, and yet sometimes ‘tis like you don’t know a damn thing about Scotland! I might think you weren’t from the homeland at all, but you’ve got the Gaelic as if it were your mother tongue.” He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated.
“So I told myself that maybe you’d been raised by a primitive clan out on one of the isles away from civilization. But then I learned you bloody speak French and I’ll be damned if you don’t act like a gentleman being presented at court half the time!” Anger and hurt marred his features as he stared pointedly at Aiden, trying to divine his secret.
I squirmed in my seat, my gut twisting into knots. Ian’s line of thinking was a runaway train and we had to divert it. My eyes darted between the two men as the fragile house of cards we’d built began crashing down all around me.
Stop him, Aiden. Say something!
I pleaded in my head but Aiden’s gaze was locked on Ian.
“Maybe we should—“ I started, desperate to change the subject, but Ian pressed on, drowning me out.
“When I took you hunting with Paul, you tracked deer through the woods like you’d been hunting game all your life. I’ve never seen anything like it. But when I told you to show your mate the safety on the rifle, you had no idea what I was talking about! When I took you to the kilt maker, he asked how you felt about the SNP. You hadn’t a clue he meant the Scottish National Party. You don’t talk like any of the lads in Inverness I’ve ever met and you’ve never been to Gellions. That bar has been there since before I was born! In fact, I’ll bet my shirt ye couldn’t even tell me the name of the Queen of bloody England right now if I asked ye!”
He got to his feet, his face glowing red like the fire. Sarah jumped up as well, protesting and trying to calm him down, but he cut her off with a roar.
“Nae, Sarah!” He pointed a finger at Aiden’s chest in accusation. “There’s something wrong with the lad and his story, and I don’t know what it is. But I’m not a fool, and I will not be lied to.” His voice came out in a low growl. “I’ve opened up my home to you and I’ve trusted you, Aiden. But if ye don’t come clean and tell me the truth this minute, ye can take your bonnie lassie and get the hell off my property.”
Sarah gasped but held her tongue.
This was it. It was all over.
Why did I think everything would work out, that he could come forward three hundred years into the future and no one would be able to tell? What on earth made me believe that just because God granted him new life that people would just blindly accept him? I searched my heart to find the answer to this ludicrous assumption. And there it was.
Faith.
Hope.
Love.
There was no alternative. Aiden wouldn’t have a place to stay, a job to do, or a friend to count on in Ian anymore. I don’t know how but we’d make it work, I told myself and knew it to be true. Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to bask in the memory of what these people had meant to us. Ian and his easy laugh, Sarah and the way she fussed over me...
Dammit!
It gutted me to think of losing them, but we couldn’t risk it. We’d told Father O’Malley the truth but not only was I certain he’d believe me, I knew he wouldn’t dare speak a word of our confession to anyone else. This was different.
A tear slipped down my cheek and I brushed it away. Disappointment pressed me down into the stone patio but now was not the time to cry.
Beside me, Aiden was completely calm, like he’d been expecting this for some time. He took a deep breath and squeezed my hand as we both got to our feet. When he spoke, his voice was clear and strong.
“You have the right of it, Ian. I haven’t been completely truthful with you, and I’m fair sorry for it. You’ve been more than a friend to me. Nae, you’ve taken me in like family and I owe you both a debt I cannot repay. I’ll tell you the truth, the whole truth, right now. All I ask is that you let me finish before you say anything.” Ian crossed his arms on his chest and frowned at Aiden, considering. Finally, he nodded. Aiden tipped his head in acknowledgment.
Shock slammed into me, nearly bowling me over. I thought we were leaving, that we were saying goodbye. He was going to tell them the truth? He couldn’t!
Aiden, no...
I pleaded.
Faith, Lindsey,
he replied without looking at me.
I sent up a silent prayer like I was on the Titanic and the waters were closing in.
Aiden continued, his voice unwavering. “I was born in Scotland, at Eilean Donan Castle on the first of May, the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and ninety-nine. And I died there twenty years later in a battle against the English, during which the castle was completely destroyed and my entire family killed. ‘Twas my fault the English knew of the gunpowder they used to blow up the castle.”
I made a strangled noise of protest at his side, but he cut me off.
“It was my fault, Lindsey and I will not deny it. I was so ashamed of what I’d done that I put a bullet in my head before anyone could find out.”
Ian’s mouth gaped open in a soundless
O
. Sarah’s eyes were larger than our dinner plates and her hands shook as she gripped the hem of her coat.
“I spent nearly three hundred years transporting souls from earth to heaven, but I was not allowed entry myself because of what I’d done. Then Lindsey died and met me there in that place in between. She became my wife and her love redeemed my soul. But when she was called back to earth, I couldn’t go on without her and God saw fit to bring me new life again. So here I stand before you, three hundred years away from my time with only my wife at my side and the two of you to call my family. I know it’s hard to believe, but I ask your understanding and forgiveness, Ian. Please.”
Ian’s eyes flickered over to me for confirmation and I nodded silently, my heart in my throat. Emotions crashed over me in an endless wave—fear, worry, nervousness and a heady feeling of relief at having gotten the story out in the open. There was no taking it back now. I waited breathlessly, praying they would believe us.
They didn’t.
Ian exploded in a fit of rage. “I asked you to tell me the truth and THIS is what you come up with? Do you think me a bleeding moron?”
Hope died in Aiden’s eyes at his words, slicing my soul. I started to respond to Ian, but Aiden put a hand on my arm, silently asking me to be still.
“I don’t know what you’re hiding,” Ian snarled, “but you can do it somewhere else. I never want to see you again.”
Aiden only nodded, then took my hand and walked away. I couldn’t believe we were just leaving, that he wasn’t going to fight back. It wasn’t like him. Frustration at his complacency burned inside me, but it wasn’t my fight. It was taking everything I had to keep my mouth shut.
A few steps away, Aiden turned and addressed Sarah.