Chapter 17

…amazing, was the first thought that came to mind as Ralph fought her way out of darkness, groggy and disoriented.

Yes. Nina had said George and Dex had arrived, and Ralph was in the middle of a thought about how amazing it would be if he'd found the person who'd stolen her afterlife identity.

Then, like before, everything had gone dark.

She fought to sit upright but something held her down. Something heavy that smelled of cigarette smoke and beer, with a little sweat mixed in for good measure.

Her wrists burned from the tight hold on them, her arms ached from having them stretched above her head.

How long had she been here?

Where was here? Was she in Hell again?

Maybe? But it didn't feel hot the way it had before.

Ralph swallowed hard, her throat dry, but she forced a question from her lips. "What…?" She struggled, twisting and turning her body, but someone—and it was definitely a someone—held strong. "Let go of me!" she demanded, spitting hair from her mouth.

"Not a chance, bitch. Not until you help me get what I want," he sneered in her ear.

Whoever held her captive was a male someone…

Forcing her eyes open, Ralph stopped struggling and fought not to gasp at the man sitting on top of her, holding her wrists with a grip of iron.

His eyes, deep brown and bloodshot, glared down at her as strings of his greasy hair slashed her face.

It came as no surprise that it was Michael Vorris. None at all.

"Let me go, Michael!" she hissed up in his face.

If he was surprised she knew him, he didn't show it. Instead, he laughed, sucking at his teeth. "So you do remember me, Ms. Tucci." He said it like she should know him, but the only thing she knew about him was that he'd murdered her.

"I remember you're my killer," she sneered right back, lifting her hips in an attempt to shove him off.

"Shit, Ms. Tucci. You really don't remember-remember me, do you? You sure remembered me that night."

She pushed against him, but he felt like a lump of lead. He didn't budge. "That night? You mean the night you shot me?"

"I knew you didn't mean what you said!" he cried, spit flying from his mouth and spraying her face.

What was he talking about?

She didn't care what he was talking about. There was no point fighting with him. He looked strung out, even in his afterlife glow. "Let me go, Michael!"

He giggled, sticking his face in hers, his grin maniacal. "You know, Ms. Tucci, it's kinda hot when you say my name. I mean, I didn't think so all those years ago, I was too little, but now, it's sssexy," he lisped.

All those years ago? "Michael, let me go," she demanded in as calm a voice as she could possibly summon. "I don't know what you're talking about."

But that only made him angry again, and he expressed that by digging his knee into her ribs. "No, no, no," he scolded in a singsong tone. "You're not going to use that teacher's voice on me. It won't work this time."

Licking her dry lips, letting her body go limp, she forced herself to slow down. "What do you want, Michael? Just tell me what you want!"

"I want you to take this half-dead geezer wherever he's supposed to fucking go so I can take the rest of your power, then I'm gonna dump your drained ass in Hell and skip off to the fucking afterlife to take your place! Get it?"

Oh.

That's what he wanted.

Was that how it worked? When she was crossing someone, he could steal her powers? Just snatch them away like stealing candy from a baby?

What kind of gig was this, anyway? No one mentioned fighting off madmen to keep her powers. This was what the big guys upstairs called an honor?

Yep. She'd rather clean toilets. Refund, please!

But won't you fight for what's rightfully yours, Ralph? Fight to do something you were always meant to do? Would you abandon the people who so desperately need you in their last hours?

There was that voice again, this time reminding her she was a coward, non-confrontational. A chickenshit glow stick.

Nothing had fulfilled her more than crossing Kat, finding Gloria. Never. Not even teaching, her first love. How could she even consider giving that up?

But fear is a powerful motivator.

The next words she spoke slipped out of her mouth before she was able to stop them. "Are you insane? How do you know you can do that?"

He dug his fingers deeper into her skin, making her bite her lip to keep from crying out as he pressed his clammy cheek to her lips. "Don't you worry. I know what I'm doing, Ms. Tucci. A little demon taught me how. Now cross this old man and let's get this shit moving!" he screamed into her face.

Too focused on Michael, Ralph hadn't even looked at where she was. As her surroundings came into view, she saw they were in a bedroom, lying on a worn area rug. The place was dark and quiet, with only a small bedside lamp on the nightstand. The shades were drawn, and there were pairs of feet surrounding the legs of a bed.

That was all she could see, trapped on the floor the way she was. But the familiar pull of that gnawing need to offer safe harbor for someone whispered in her ear.

He needs you. He needs you now, Raphaela. Now!

Then words popped into her head. Bruce Michael Henry, eighty-two, retired military, former police officer. Foster father to more than twenty children, who'd all gone on to lead successful, happy lives because of his love and guidance. Known for his volunteer work with the homeless and the mentally disabled, beloved by his community and his wife of forty years, Magda.

Oftentimes, Officer Bruce, as he was called, gave up a meal out, a vacation, so a child could have a new pair of sneakers or money for a field trip.

He'd been infamous for buying a homeless person a meal or a cup of coffee, bringing them blankets in the winter, socks, shoes, helping them pay for a vet visit for their pets, the one thing they held most dear as drifters.

Her heart swelled in her chest, tightening at this man's life of service.

Gasping, Ralph saw his heart then. Everything else around her melted away as his life played out in snippets in her mind's eye. She saw the memories he held so dear.

The babies he'd swung up in the air, showering them with the kisses they'd been denied by their birth parents.

The late-night feedings, the diaper changes. The time and care he'd taken to teach them how to stir a pot of spaghetti, ride a bike, read a book, trust, love…

The tears of frustration when he fought to keep from giving up on trying to reach a foster's heart. The railing he'd done, advocating for a child. The pain he'd suffered when he lost a battle

And as those memories played like a movie before her eyes. Ralph's heart felt the love his was filled with, full to brimming with kindness, with the joy he'd so generously given to everyone, the happy marriage he'd shared with his wife until three years ago, when she'd passed.

Take him now, Raphaela, so he can be with Magda, his one true love.

Even Michael's presence couldn't have stopped her from taking Bruce into the afterlife.

A burst of strength coursed through her veins, pulsing, pushing her to accomplish her goal.

"Get off me!" she roared at Michael, shoving him with all the strength she had, thinking of nothing other than getting Bruce where he belonged.

Somehow, she got him to budge, managing to slip from beneath his body. Ralph rolled to the right and pushed off with her hands, rising to her feet, where she was greeted by at least ten people gathered around Bruce's bed, love in their eyes.

Bring him, Raphaela. He's ready.

She took in the gathering, her breathing growing heavy as she made a decision.

Ignoring Michael's hot breath behind her and the threat that he'd steal her power, leaving her in Hell, she looked at all these people with tears in their eyes, whispering words of love to Bruce, holding his hand, and the voice called to her again.

He was so loved, so dear to these children—all the children he's raised over the years, loving him in gratitude until the end. He deserves the light. He's earned the light, Raphaela.

She hesitated for only a moment, wondering if the people gathered here could see her, but instantly the voice in her head assured her they couldn't.

Ralph floated to Bruce's bed, sitting on the edge of it, taking his hand while his foster children continued to whisper their words of love. She almost wished she could tell them he was going somewhere wonderful, console them.

Instead she focused on the task at hand, she took Bruce's hand, cradling it against her heart as she gazed upon the frail man, his weathered face peaceful, his veiny hand soft against hers.

"Bruce, my name is Raphaela. You're a wonderful man, aren't you? Wonderfully loving and giving. You've lived a life of kindness and generosity. So many of your fosters are here, sharing their love for you, remembering the helping hand you gave them, the love you offered, the family you made them a part of."

I love them all…so much. My life was full. So full because of them…because of Magda. I'll miss them…

Ralph smiled at him, running her knuckles over the soft, wrinkled skin of his cheek. "Bruce, I'm here to take you home, sweet man. Oh, it's so very beautiful, and your lovely wife Magda is waiting. Would you like to go with me?"

The children…

"They're all here, Bruce. They're all safe and happy and want to be with you in your last moments. If you listen closely, you can hear them. Listen," she whispered.

Words of gratitude floated throughout the room, words of thanks, sentiments like, You changed my life, Bruce. You gave me more than food and a bed to sleep in. You showed me how to be part of a family. I can't ever repay you, Bruce. I love you, Bruce. I'll miss you, but I'll never forget you. Never. We're all here and when you're ready…

Bruce smiled, a beaming testament to their beautiful words.

Ready. I'm ready.

Suddenly, his hand gripped hers, tightening.

That light that had appeared above Kat's bed appeared once more, beautiful for Bruce, full of hope and endless joy, and she didn't think about anything else, not Michael, not the people around the bed, nothing but ushering Bruce into the light.

Bruce's spirit lifted from his body, strong and sure, their hands entwined, and Ralph rose with him.

Upon entering the light, Bruce turned to her and smiled, tears in his eyes. "It's…I…"

She understood. Words became moot when confronted with paradise.

Bruce looked down at the people around his bed as his life slipped away and his spirit fully entered the light with tears in his eyes. "I loved them all so much. I was so lucky they were in our lives. It brought us so much joy to share our love. Magda couldn't have…children…and it pained her so, but they made us a family. Because of them, we were a family. "

Ralph's heart clenched as her eyes filled with tears, too. Pulling him into a hug, she pressed her cheek to his. "Magda's here, Bruce. She's waiting to take you the rest of the way. Are you ready?"

"Bruce," a soft voice filled with tenderness called. "Welcome home, honey. Welcome home."

A slight woman in a pretty short-sleeve sundress came out of the light, her arms open wide, her smile beaming. She wore her hair in a cute bob of silver-gray pin curls, tucked back behind her ears.

Magda ran to Bruce, throwing her arms around his neck as they clung to one another.

"Magda," he whispered, pointing down as he gazed at her with more love in his eyes than Ralph had ever seen. "Did you see, Mags? They're all there. All the kids…"

Magda's smile grew as she nodded, cuddling against him as though they'd never parted. "Because of you, my teddy bear. Because they loved you so much. Because you cared. And now you're here with me, and we're together again. Are you ready to go home, sweetheart?"

Bruce pulled her closer, inhaling the scent of her hair, closing his eyes and breathing as though for the first time since Magda had died.

"Ready," he whispered on a happy sigh.

Ralph put her arms around them both. "Then come with me," she whispered in their ears, walking them through the magnificence of the light.

As they stepped deeper inside the glow, they both faced her and waved. "Thank you, Raphaela," Bruce called out before the glow swallowed them up…and they were gone.

She swiped at her eyes, tears of happiness falling down her cheeks, her limbs tired, her soul spent.

"Aw, wasn't that fucking sweet?" Michael mocked before latching onto her and throwing her over his shoulder. "Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to Hell we go!"