Heaven can Wait

  HEAVEN CAN WAIT

  NICOLA LAWSON

  COPYRIGHT 2012

  HEAVEN CAN WAIT

  PROLOGUE

  Dangling upside down in the wreck everything hurt. Elizabeth struggled in a nightmare world of pain and half awareness. Eventually she managed to blink herself back to consciousness. She cracked her eyes open and then immediately closed them to combat a wave of nausea and the stabbing pain that assaulted her brain. She tried her eyes again but only opened them to slits to shut out the abusive glare of the rising sun, it bounced off the rain-slicked tarmac of the road and seemed to spear directly into her brain. Shapes passed back and forth, silhouetted against the light. There was the noise of people talking and shouting. Mechanical sounds, roars of machinery and metal screaming, joined the human sounds. The remains of her car shuddered around her. Fragments of glass were shaken loose. The vibration in the metal transferred into her body and her bones thrummed.

  Despite the pain Elizabeth raised her left arm from where it dangled resting on the ceiling of her car. It was cut and bloodied and when she lifted it a sharp stabbing pain shot up the limb and her hand went numb. She cried out and let it drop back trying to raise her other arm instead. But this time it was like her whole arm was without feeling. She turned her head to the side gritting her teeth against the pain that that caused and saw why. Her right arm was now nothing more than a bloody mangled mess. She must have skidded while the car was on it's roof. Whatever she had hit had collapsed that entire side of the car and her arm was mingled in with the twisted metal. Perhaps being trapped like this was the only reason she was still there. She could think of no other reason why they would suddenly abandon the chase. Elizabeth's head swam and she concentrated on staying awake. It didn't matter why they had given up on her just that they had. Now that the sun was up they wouldn't be able to bother her anymore.

  Her left arm still hurt when she tried to move it but she carried on with the motion. Pain came back into her hand when she lifted it past a certain point. Rather than it being a problem Elizabeth found the sensations encouraging. It meant she had feeling back in her hand. Finally she managed to lift her arm high enough so that her hand found it's target. She rested her palm on, and spread her fingers over, her swollen belly. Her loose sweatshirt, one of the few that she had been able to keep wearing this late into her pregnancy, had fallen down, well up was technically more accurate in this position, to expose the stretched skin underneath. She didn't really think the sweater suited her at all but when you've blown up to be the size of a whale you wear whatever you can. The exposed flesh of her belly was unmarked, untouched by any bruises or cuts.

  With the carnage spread throughout the rest of the car, with the shards of glass and metal that had torn through the interior and the rest of Elizabeth's body, not to mention the impact or impacts that had led to this situation, most people would be willing to grant that the lack of injuries there was lucky. Elizabeth knew that it was more than that. That it was a miracle. Not just something highly unlikely but fortunate in the sense that most people would use the word, but an actual, bona fide, intervention-by-a-higher-power kind of miracle.

  Elizabeth had known what she would feel when her hand pressed over her womb but the actual contact cemented it for her, made it truly real. Her daughter-to-be moved just under the surface. She was eager to come out and join the world. Elizabeth was overjoyed and scared senseless by that thought at the same time. She wanted to show her daughter all of the other little miracles the world had to give but at the same time she wanted to protect her, shield her from the dangers the world also had to offer. With her daughter enclosed within her, Elizabeth had been able to protect her from the mundane dangers and the extraordinary both but when she was born she would no longer be so easy to protect.

  Elizabeth almost gave a small laugh but even the thought of doing so caused her pain. Still, referring to what she had been through to protect her daughter as easy deserved to be laughed at.

  There was a great crash. Glass shattered and metal cried out as it was pulled apart. A patch of brightness replaced the inside of the door on the left side of the car. Everything went quiet and a figure bent down in the doorway blocking out some of the sun. He leaned just inside the car with her.

  "You'll be all right, sweetheart. We'll have you out of there as soon as we can. What's your name?"

  Elizabeth couldn't seem to muster the strength to give him an answer. The figure's silhouette shifted as he moved his head to get a better look at her. She saw him stiffen as his eyes caught sight of her belly.

  "Don't worry, sweetheart. Don't worry." He pulled back so that he was just outside the wreckage and spoke to the others who were out of her view. "There's a pregnant woman in there, and I mean really pregnant. You need to get her out ASAP or we're going to loose them both."

  Hazy black spots floated in front of her eyes obscuring her vision.

  Elizabeth must have blacked out or else they had given her something that had the same effect. When she came to she was flat on her back being rushed through some rooms or corridors. The off-white ceiling flashed past, broken every so often by a flash of yellow as Elizabeth was moved under a light. Figures stood around her pushing her along and talking to each other in short sharp bursts. Elizabeth couldn't make herself concentrate enough to make any sense of what they were saying. There were tubes and wires on her body. A clear bag of fluid dangled above her head.

  A wave of pain coursed through her. Elizabeth had never had a child before but she knew a contraction when she felt one. Her daughter seemed to call out to her in a panic as she tried to escape.

  "There's another one."

  "She isn't up to the strain of a proper birth we need to do a C section if the baby is to have any chance at all."

  The paramedic who had spoken to her while she was in the car was rushing along at her side and noticed that she was awake.

  "She's regained consciousness," he said.

  Elizabeth turned her head slightly to get a better view of him.

  They barged through a set of double doors that flapped closed after they passed. "She's coming." Elizabeth managed.

  The paramedic nodded. "She is. We'll take care of you both."

  Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment and moved her head from side to side. "No. I won't make it. But she will."

  "Don't talk. Try to conserve your strength."

  Elizabeth smiled. He was trying to help her but Elizabeth knew that it was too late for her. But her daughter was all right, she was coming and she was all right, and that was all that Elizabeth needed to know.

  Another voice spoke. "Do we have any next of kin? Do we know who the father is?"

  Elizabeth opened her eyes. Even this could not break her happy, contented mood. "The father won't be able to come."

  She gathered her strength and used the thumb on her left hand to push a silver ring from her finger. She closed her hand around the metal band, encircled by a pattern that might have been letters in some strange alphabet, and reached up to present it to the paramedic.

  He pushed her arm back down. "Don't try to move. Conserve your strength." He repeated.

  "I only have enough strength to keep me going until my daughter can do without. I know I won't last any longer than that."

  The paramedic kept quiet as they hurried through another set of doors. He could see that she was right and that she didn't need him to give her any comforting words.

  Elizabeth reached back over and this time he accepted the ring from her.

  "I want you to make sure my daughter gets this. Promise me."

  She could see the paramedic's instinct was to tell her that she would be able to give it to her herself. He bit back those words and nodded solemnly. "I'
ll see that it gets done."

  She stopped being moved and then the paramedic left her and she was surrounded by a new staff who would make sure that her daughter was born. Elizabeth felt her life ebbing away and the only mar on her contentment was that she would never get to know her daughter properly.

  Everything faded becoming distant. A baby's cry as it used it's lungs for the first time accompanied her as she slipped away into the blackness.

  The baby's father did make it in the end and the paramedic kept his promise to see that Elizabeth's ring went with her little girl.

  "Her mother wanted her to have it," the paramedic said.

  The father held his daughter in one arm and turned the ring around in his fingers, staring at the thin metal band but seeing instead memories of the woman who had worn it.

  Sensing the man wanted to be alone with his daughter the paramedic left them alone in the small waiting room. On his way out he nodded to the bored looking woman flicking through a magazine behind the reception desk.

  "Give them a few minutes alone."

  The woman acknowledged him with a nod and went back to her magazine.

  Five minutes later the receptionist stuck her head inside the waiting room. "Can I get-"

  She cut herself off because she was talking to herself. She could have sworn that no-one had left this room. She shrugged and went back to the desk, he must have slipped out when she was reading. She went back to her magazine and paid the issue no further mind.

  Adam Bridges had died two days ago and now his body rested on a slab in the privacy of Hector Barbossa's inner sanctum. Bridges had been killed in a road traffic accident but his body was in quite good condition. Barbossa had known the body would be in good condition because he had been driving the vehicle that had hit him.

  Barbossa had collected the body and stuffed it in the back of his flatbed truck, underneath a tarpaulin cover to protect the body from the elements and, about as importantly, from the sight of curious eyes.

  With his truck safely hidden away inside the garage he was able to remove the body from the back and carry it down to his cellar where he could conduct a proper examination.

  Bridges was dumped on the stone slab of the operating table-come-altar. Barbossa used a wickedly curved knife with an ebony handle to slice through the material of his clothes and strip him naked. Next, before the examination could take place, the body had to be washed. At the time of his death Bridges’ body had lost control of its usual functions and he had made quite a mess of things. Barbossa wasn’t squeamish by any means, you’d be hard pressed to find any necromancer who was, but if he could avoid working under such conditions he would.

  So the body was hosed down. The cold and filthy water washed over the thick slab, and down the equally thick stone blocks upon which it rested, before being pushed into an open drainage hole in the middle of the floor. After he was through Barbossa would replace the rusted metal grate to keep the rats out but for now he didn’t want anything to . . . cling on.

  There was a slight dint in the skull making Bridges’ head appear misshapen, largely because it was. In washing the body Barbossa had cleaned away any blood or brain matter that might have been exposed by the wound. Not that it mattered, Bridges wouldn’t be needing it for what Barbossa had planned for him.

  He had spent the next couple of days preparing himself and the body for the reanimation ceremony. Now, in the appropriate ceremonial garb, or near enough anyway, he made his way down the steps to the torch lit cellar.

  Having naturally burning torches in an enclosed space like his cellar wasn't really a good idea. The first time he had done this he had been unable to complete the ceremony because the smoke had so affected him. Now an extractor fan whirred away quietly in the background removing the worst of the fumes. Barbossa spent only a moment wondering how his ancient predecessors had managed.

  Barbossa’s examination of the body had revealed it to be in nearly perfect condition. The impact with the road hadn't caused a graze or broken the skin at all. The body had been washed but that hadn't been the end of the preparations. Fragranced oils had been rubbed into his skin, all of it, and into his hair. That last had been the most difficult, having to massage the oil into the matted mane without further damaging the already damaged skull.

  With the body fully cleansed and prepared Barbossa had begun preparing himself. He had abstained from solid food and sexual intercourse. Barbossa didn't often get the chance to participate in actual sexual intercourse so his abstention translated to him refusing himself self-pleasure. His sustenance was provided by a disgusting tasting drink, a thick purple liquid that left his mouth cloyed with a lingering aftertaste. Barbossa purchased the drink over the internet from a reputable online ‘magik’ store. They delivered the stuff by the crate load and Barbossa stored it in a wine rack in the back of his pantry. There was a link on the website that would have detailed the ingredients and method of preparation for the brew but Barbossa had never had the inclination to click on it. Killing and raising the dead was one thing, what you took into your own body was a different matter entirely, and he was a firm believer that ignorance could be bliss. His final preparation was to bathe in a bath spiced up with the same oils he had used to cleanse the body.

  His private inner sanctum, his converted basement, was lit by the flickering glow of the four natural torches. They gave everything an orange cast, except for the ceiling which, despite the best efforts of the extractor-fan in the wall, was clogged with an inverted blanket of black smoke. The rest of the room was kept clear, free of any clutter that might have a detrimental effect on his mindset during the ritual.

  He swept his dark cloak out of the way of his arms as he approached the stone altar and the currently dead body which lay atop. The tools Barbossa had laid out beside the body and the rituals that were about to take place would see to Bridges' reanimation.

  Hopefully this time Barbossa's client would be satisfied with the results.

  He had been as thorough as he possibly could be, taking an hour and a half to complete a procedure which he could get through in less than an hour. He had presented his client with the finished product and spent almost another half an hour waiting while his work was scrutinised. Finally he received the okay from his client. Well, not actually his client because they had never met face to face, all of Hector's dealings with the client had been conducted through a lawyer. Necromancy wasn't technically illegal as long as the practitioner was properly licensed and had filed all of the appropriate papers. Hector was licensed but the work he was doing for this client was strictly under the counter stuff. No records and no way to trace the zombies, of course there weren't that many necromancers around so if anything went wrong Hector might find himself spending a day down at the cop shop. The fresh-faced lawyer probably thought this was all being carried out above board, that's why someone so wet behind the ears had been lumbered with the job.

  The young lawyer, Hector would have put him at maybe twenty-four, said, “The work is satisfactory. You are required to provide my client with another dozen units to the same standard."

  Hector might have balked at that, it had taken him four attempts to satisfy the client with this one, but the wad of cash the lawyer had presented him for this single task changed his mind.

  "There will be a bonus for you if you can deliver before the end of the month."

  Hector Barbossa was only half listening as he flicked through the collection of notes. "It will be done."

  Christopher Thyme, of Delco, Diablo and Caine, left Hector Barbossa gleefully thumbing through his money and returned to the room where his client was waiting. Well not his client strictly speaking. Christopher was one of any number of junior level lawyers at the firm and had very few actual clients of his own. Mr Smith, Christopher was pretty sure that wasn't the clients real name, was actually a client of Mr Caine. Caine headed up the more esoteric side of the firms business, the part that dealt with unnatural phenomena. Christopher had been
invited to join the team by Mr Caine personally, well through his seceretary but that was personal enough for an eager law graduate. His particular circumstances made Christopher wary of the offer at first, but this was an expanding and lucrative area of the law, an enterprising lawyer could make his name and his fortune in these early cases of supernatural litigation. The debate on the Supernatural Registration Ammendments Act, which was still bouncing around, had already given junior partners in some other firms enough clout to make themselves fully-fledged partners or to set up firms of their own. The change in hours was another benefit that suited him well.

  "Will there be anything else Mr Smith?" He asked of the heavyset man who was still regarding the zombie Barbossa had presented to them.

  The man didn't answer immediately and Christopher studied the zombie with him. It certainly looked life-like enough until you noticed the eyes, a pair of glasses or contact lenses would help disguise the lack of life in them. But it still didn't smell right. Christopher sniffed and wrinkled his nose, it wasn't that he could smell the corpse rotting, it wasn't far gone enough for that, it was something indefinable, reminiscent of the hint of something wrong that would keep you from eating the piece of meat that had sat in the refrigerator just a little too long.

  Finally Mr Smith spoke. "Arrange for a meeting between myself and Mr Caine for the afternoon after Barbossa completes the rest of my order, there will be further details to take care of then."

  "Perhaps I can see to some of those details myself."

  Mr Smith looked at him sideways. He shook his head. "I think it would be best for me to discuss these things with Mr Caine first and let him decide whether you can be trusted to take care of the details for me."

  Chapter One

  Gregory Chimes had only been dead for a few days but he was dealing with his new circumstances rather well. I had spoken to people who had been dead for a good deal longer who hadn't come to terms with the end of their life nearly as well as he had. I went ahead and told him as much.