Chapter 70
San Francisco, California... Pt. Lobos
William Sloan stood on the concrete terrace of Cliff House. Nothing but the paint flaked railing stood between him and a drop to the angry waves below. "At least we got him home," he said loudly, over the wind and water, and the mechanical hilarity of Laughing Sal, in the nearby museum.
"Yes...," Kincaid wearily agreed.
On this perfect San Francisco day, both men stood, gazing out over the sparkling, blue Pacific. A blazing sun warmed the skin, yet a cold, dry, Sierra Nevada wind brought shivers and had blown the clouds and fog far out to sea. On the distant horizon, beyond the Farallon Islands, the grey wall lay waiting.
"We've achieved... what's that trite, American expression... 'closure'?... Yes... 'closure'.... We've 'achieved closure'." Hunching his back against the cold wind, the old man snuggled more deeply into his overcoat. His seventy-odd years were weighing heavily on him. "It's colder here that it was in the Hindu Kush," he commented. "Why is it, Willie... that we're always surrounded by death?... Why does he take so many 'innocents'... and so many of our best... in wars... disease... famine... terrorism... and still, you and I soldier on?... Why have we survived?... Two old buffers who've outlived our usefulness."
"Speak for yourself, Limey," Sloan retorted. "I've got a job... and, with the shape things are in, it's going to be a damned tough one. Though, I've got to admit, in this insane world, fighting Satan's minions seems... what's your odd, Brit expression... 'small beer'?... compared with the evil to which man can aspire... all by himself."
A silence intervened, while both men pondered upon the vagaries of fate. Finally, Ian sighed, "Jesus... William... I hate these affairs.... What would you call it... a 'memorial'?... It's not really a funeral.... A 'parting'?... Perhaps... a 'moving on'?"
"'Moving on'?... Seems as good as anything else." Sloan looked up and met a pair of cold, steel grey eyes. "You could try practicing it.... Move on, Kincaid.... There's nothing here for you... now... and with the way the world's heading, you'll be able to charge a pretty penny for your services."
The Brit ignored the comments. "From a Legacy, procedural point of view.... I know you're an expert at the paper pushing.... Who exactly is the precept of the San Francisco House?... That ring has been passed round so much of late that I've lost track!"
Sloan snorted. "You know damned good and well who the precept is."
Kincaid followed his companion's gaze down to the broad, seaweed strewn beach... to the small group, all dressed in their Sunday best, gathered at the edge of the tides.
Nick ran a finger between his tight, stiff collar and his neck. "Damn... but these dress whites are tight," he muttered. "Don't think I ever wore 'em more than once or twice during my whole hitch." He stepped back as a wave rolled in, foamed across the sand, and slushed out again. The mournful bark of the seal colony echoed against the cliffs, while overhead raucous gulls played on the wind and hoped for a handout.
He watched as Alex, nervous and edgy, fingered a small piece of stone with a carved flower. He knew she was trying to form an impression, anything that would help their "lost soul" find his way home.
"I can't believe it," Nick complained. "All the time I was away... and you guys still can't get one old man to move on... maybe you shoulda called Ghostbusters!"
Her concentration broken, Alex looked up and cast her best, most disdainful, glare in his direction. "It hasn't been for want of trying.... He's one stubborn, angry old man, who doesn't seem to like women much.... Besides, we have been a little busy." A smile softened her expression as she added, "Truth be told... we didn't want you to think you hadn't been missed... both of you."
The SEAL grinned as Derek raised an elegant eyebrow, extended a hand, and took the piece of marble. He held it for a moment, hefting it, shifting it from hand to hand. "This wasn't his," he commented.
"No," Alex agreed, "but it seems to annoy him that it isn't his... and he comes to tell you about it."
The precept closed his fingers around the rock, shut his eyes, and searched.
Nick still had to pinch himself. Again and again, he found himself asking Derek some silly, needless question just to hear that damned, Dutch lilt. As ever in the past few years, he found himself to reluctant to leave his friend's side.
He glanced up over his shoulder to see Sloan and Kincaid standing side by side atop the cliff... watching the activities down here... on the beach... and he knew that, at this moment, they were caught in the same memories. Nick's thoughts drifted back to that awful, wondrous day in "Shangri-la"....
When the fish that were God's mysterious gift to the R'om people had bobbed to the surface of the lake, Nick had watched ibn Sikander's men rush out in their boats to harvest the pre-cooked feast. His heart had sunk when he'd seen a body, entangled in the nets, hauled into a boat, and a shout had echoed across the waters.... "Da'reek Raheen!"
He'd braced himself to see a bloated, boiled corpse that had somehow been ejected to the surface with a burp of volcanic gas. As the fishermen had rowed back to shore, only Yusuf had stood by calmly. "It's OK," he had said repeatedly... and he had been right.
One very wet, very embarrassed, very nude, sputtering, breathless precept had struggled to extract himself from the net and to cover his body with something more than goose pimples. Grinning an unfocused grin at his friends, Derek had been swathed in the fishermen's coats and carried from the boat.
Nick remembered Sloan's caustic remark to his wet friend about throwing back the "guppies." He smiled at the memory.... The catch in the older man's voice had totally given him away.... His true, overwhelming emotions had shone through that sliver of a crack.
"Hellava ride, Nick." Derek's accent had been slurred and thick. He had then slipped away into a long, deep sleep that had lasted for several worrisome days.... As they had put their friend to bed... wonder of wonders... they had found the precept's body to be free of blemishes, as clean and fair as a newborn baby's behind. Not only had he not been burned by the flames, but the scars had vanished... as if all physical evidence of West had gone, for good... along with the scar on his chest, Cantwell's sword thrust to the shoulder, and the marks of fatigue and age brought by illness and pain. Save for his hair, which now bore new streaks of silver, it was as if the past five years had been cast aside.
Nick recalled meeting Yusuf's dark, knowing eyes. The boy had not spoken, but the dancing eyes and the broad grin had told all... and Nick had smiled back and had uttered a silent, "Thank you, God."
Later, the SEAL had climbed up the mountainside, to a high bluff that overlooked the whole R'om Valley. There he had shouted to the top of his voice, "Thank you, God!"... and it was still a phrase that he uttered countless times a day.
Nick's reveries were interrupted by Kat's sharp, young voice. "Mom... what's Derek gonna do?"
Holding Kat close to her, Rachel enveloped her daughter in the warmth of her pashmina. They stood some distance back from the group, but their voices carried on the wind. "He's going to try to get that poor man to... to go to heaven" was Rachel's maternal reply, for which she earned a dismissive roll of the eyes from the young teen.
"How?" Kat demanded.
"He'll talk to him... try to reason with him."
"Oh... sure!... Like that's gonna work!... Then, what's he gonna do?"
"Then he'll try to show him the way.... Take him to the door... so to speak... and help him open it."
"Cool!... How?"
"Just wait and see, sweetie," Rachel suggested.
Nick gave the psychiatrist a long, hard, sideways look, which she never noticed. There had been a sense of unease in the house since he and Derek had returned with Sloan and Kincaid.... and the anxiety lay amongst the women. Both Rachel and Alex had been on constant edge.
Alex's anticipated "talk" with the precept had been put on indefinite hold by Dr. McLean, who had lain down the law to them all... even to Barbara and Ingrid. "By my directive, as a Legacy chief physician and precept," the Scotsman had said, "there will be no questioning... no pressuring... no discussion, unless Derek himself chooses to initiate it.... Physically... he's perfect, but emotionally?... Don't add to it. Don't go there.... He's got a lot of 'issues' to deal with.... On the business level... Van der Linden's death has created an overwhelming situation.... On the personal level.... How in Hades do you wrap your mind around what he experienced?... One might believe that Derek Rayne has been touched by God. He'll let you know when he's ready."
It had left Alex's plans in limbo. Nick sympathized because he had his own questions. However, he was not as sympathetic to Rachel. The psychiatrist could not seem to come to grips with the reality her own eyes beheld. She and Alex, who had been remote and quiet, had been clashing over everything, particularly over how much Kat should be told about where Derek had been over the past year and why... and whether or not the girl should be here today.
Derek had asked that Kat accompany them to the beach and Alex had backed him. The "ghost" had responded to the girl's presence that day at the Ocean Beach Grille, Derek had reasoned. However, Rachel had been reluctant and the discussion had descended into an emotional debate about her daughter's "talents" and future. Both psychics were concerned that unless Kat was shown how to use her gifts positively... how to master their sometimes fearful, sometimes deceptive qualities... she would continue to be vulnerable to exploitation by the Darkside. Finally, as a special favor to their newly returned precept, Rachel had acquiesced and Kat had come along... just to watch... from a distance.
They all watched as Derek concentrated, seemed to sway slightly, then opened his eyes and took a step into the frothy, receding water. A small eddy of light... vapor-like, but unaffected by the wind... sprang up beside him. Clearly visible, even in the noontime sun, it grew and began to coalesce into an old man.
"He's back," Kat whispered, "and he's not a happy camper."
"Where's my place?" The hunch-backed spirit turned instinctively to Derek. "Where is it?" he demanded. The rock flew from the precept's hand, levitated briefly in mid-air, then dropped into the wet sand at his feet. "This isn't mine!"
"Told you," Alex whispered to Nick.
Derek turned to face the apparition and stood firm against a ghostly wind. "We know the stone isn't yours," he said, "but your place is no longer here.... It awaits you.... You must accept your fate.... Go!... Find peace."
"I can't leave my place.... My wife... Hester... I swore I'd wait for her.... She promised to be buried beside me.... So we could go together.... Where is she?... Did she break her promise?... Did she find someone else?... Please... help me.... Where is it?... The place is gone.... Our stone is gone.... She didn't come.... She can't find me." The apparition faded to a glimmer.
Derek met Alex's eye. "I feel such... panic... and... desolation," he told her.
"Yes," she agreed. "I feel him, too. He's so unhappy.... God!... The despair I get from him." Tears came to her eyes. "He's afraid.... He's lost... and so angry. I don't know what else to do for him.... He wouldn't talk to me.... He's told you more than I ever got from him."
"He needs help to move on."
"You can't do it, Boss," said Nick, reading his precept's mind. "You promised...."
Derek seemed not to hear. After a moment's hesitation to prepare himself, he took a step towards the spirit. "Let me help you," he told the wispy fog. "Please, tell me your name.... I'm Derek Rayne."
Nick laid a hand on Derek's shoulder. "You promised," he hissed, trying hard to contain his annoyance. "Come on, Boss.... This can wait.... Another month... what's the difference?... He's been here a long time.... He knows we'll help him... later?"
"Nick's right," Rachel cautioned. Kicking off her pumps, she crossed the deep sand and wrapped her fingers around Derek's arm. "You're on the mend.... Remember what McLean said.... Don't push yourself... especially in this way... not yet.... We don't know what happened to you."
The precept shook off their hands and bent to pluck the stone from the sand. Cupping the chunk of marble in his large hand, he closed his eyes, sent his mind outward, towards the faint form that hovered before him. "Let us show you.... Join us.... See the light?... It offers peace... and healing," he said with absolute certainty.
For a moment, as an ethereal tendril reached towards him, Derek's face, compassionate and still, was softly illumined.... "Ezra?" he called as it touched him. "Ezra Winthrop?" But the light moved away... and grew faint again.
Nick watched his friend's expression and waited for a sign that the ghost had moved on. Instead, the hazel eyes slowly opened. Derek dropped his head; with long, elegant fingers, he massaged his temples.
"You OK?" the SEAL asked anxiously.
"Nooo... can't think... can't quite focus.... It's been a while.... I'm fine." The Dutch lilt seemed stronger. "I'm not seeing the light myself.... It's all just mist.... Ezra... Ezra Winthrop." As he mumbled to himself, his tone became more distant... vague... breathless. "Waiting... waiting for his wife... Hester.... But... she's gone, Ezra.... She went to live with...." Derek hesitated, then stooped to dip his hand into the incoming ripple. His eyes grew distant, as if he was looking at something far out to sea. "The cemetery closed.... Your tombstone was removed.... She died far away... and no one knew about your promises.... Your grave was lost.... Hester went on, thinking to find you there, waiting for her." Derek's voice became more slurred. "Lossst.... all's lossst!"
Nick turned to Alex. "What's going on?" he asked urgently. "Can you 'see' anything?"
The precept pushed himself to his feet. "S'OK," he assured his friends, though his voice was low and strained. He hung his head, took a deep breath, then looked up and explained, "So often 'ghosts'...." He chuckled at the inadequate word. "...stay because one or two emotions have consumed them.... Often rage... about their fate... and the fear of going on.... Their guilts inspire a terror of the unknown. In the living, other emotions usually mitigate... stabilize... but not with them.... That dominating emotion is all that's left. I need to concentrate... focus on the center... to show Ezra... but I can't I can't protect myself... and see the way as well.... Gott... where's the light?"
He looked over at a pair of sad, brown eyes, set in a lovely, dark face. "Alex...," he said, stretching out his hand. "I could use the help."
She stepped forward to take Derek's hand. She tried to sweep away her fears... her memories... her failures. Derek needed her help, and now that she had him back.... Shutting her eyes tightly, breathing slowly, rhythmically, she tried to send out her strength... her calmness, which wasn't all that calm... and her love... to both the precept and the spirit. She hoped that Ezra would somehow respond to her deep feelings for Derek... and would accept her... and be more gentle with her than he had in her other attempts.
The vapor expanded once more, drew closer, and extended itself towards the pair. The moment it touched the precept, Alex flinched. The backwash of combined emotions hit her as a physical thump to the chest. Ezra's fear and rage rode a chaotic whirlpool of emotions that was all Derek's own.
Alex stumbled back in shock and broke the hold the precept had on her hand. "No," she gasped. A chill rolled through her body; she hugged her coat close to cover her confusion. The ghostly wind swirled and moaned. Sand blasted the small group. She turned to shield her face from the stinging particles.
"Come on, Alex," Nick urged. "You know what he's been through.... Derek doesn't need some dead guy rattling around in his brain.... What if he tries to take up permanent residence?"
* * *
Kat had calmly watched the scene unfold. Shaking off her mother's arm, she stepped forward, and, without hesitation, grasped Derek's large hand with her small one.
"Kat!" Rachel cried in alarm as the foggy glow that surrounded the precept now moved to take in Kat as well. She reached for her daughter, but Nick intervened.
Kat's other hand sought Alex's fingers and the three stood united.
A slight smile crossed Derek's face. He could feel the girl's young, fresh, unschooled strength. "Kat," he whispered, "can you see the light?"
"I see it." Her voice was excited. Her hand trembled in his. "It's beautiful... warm... kind.... I can see a pretty lady... dressed old-fashioned.... Can you see her, Derek... in the light?... She's watching... calling....She's been waiting. Awesome!... There's others too!... Are they angels?"
In an awkward motion, Derek reached out to gently stroke the girl's long, blond hair. "No... Ezra," he said, responding to words unheard by any of the others. "This is Katherine.... Your Becky... your daughter... is there with your Hester." Again the precept seemed to gaze far out to sea. "Becky grew up, had a family of her own, and lived a long life.... Look.... Hester's right there.... They both are... in the light.... Go.... Go to them... now."
The thin vapor that had gently eddied around Derek and Kat disappeared, instantly. Derek stumbled forward, as if released. Nick quickly wrapped his arm around his friend and steadied him, while he watched his face for signs that he had returned to them.
Kat grinned at the others. "Wow!... Cosmic!... That was brilliant!"
"Kat?" Rachel stooped down to examine her daughter. "Are you OK?"
"Jeez... Mom!... Don't fuss," the teenager whined, as she pulled away from her mother's grip.
"You watch your mouth, young lady!" Rachel snapped, reassured by a return to the normal state of "teen angst".
"Take care of Derek," said Kat. "He needs you.... I don't.... I'm fine."
The precept opened his eyes and met Nick's concerned gaze. He blinked rapidly, and in irritation with himself, swept his windblown hair back from his brow. "Kat?"
"She's great.... Like a duck to water," Nick informed him, glancing quickly over at the young girl. "Nada.... No problemo whatsoever."
Derek nodded, reassured. "She's very strong... untapped, raw power.... Alex?"
"I'm fine," she said, struggling to master her voice.
"Are you really OK?" Nick quietly asked the older man. "I want you to be there... for this thing.... It's 'ours', you know... not just mine."
"I'm goot," the precept assured him. "Do you think I'd miss it?... 'Your' presentation... a Purple Heart and your second Bronze Star with valorious 'V' no less.... Splendid!... and deserved a hundred times over."
"Yeah... but there's time for lunch first." Nick grinned and slapped his friend on the back. "Come on.... There's this great burger joint down the road...."
"Why don't you take the car," Derek suggested. "Rachel and Kat can go with you.... Go pick up William and Ian before one shoves the other off the cliff." He turned to the ocean, took a deep breath, then exhaled with a sigh.
Nick sensed that somehow an exchange had taken place.... Some "ill humor"... as Derek might call it... had departed... and "something"... some essence known only to Derek Rayne... had replaced it.
"I think I'll walk," Derek said. "It's not that far and it's a lovely day. There's power
and freedom and clarity on the wind... in this sea.... I need to drink from it, while I can." He took a few steps, then turned
back to Alex. "Care to join me, Miss Moreau?" His gaze rested for a moment on
Seal Rock. "The time has come... the Walrus said," he quoted with an inscrutable
smile, "...to talk of many things: Of shoes... and ships... and sealing-wax... of
cabbages... and kings... and why the sea is boiling hot... and whether pigs have
wings...."
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