Blink {Featured}

Chapter Thirty

'I'll remember that, Mrs Finnie, thank you.' It was a woman. Semila, maybe? She was looking down the stairs, but as her gaze turned on John, he knew it was her. She looked different, wearing a cardigan and a doctor's coat thrown over it, but those eyes were unmistakable. A smile burst onto her face when his eyes met hers. She closed the door.

'Back to do your check-ups, Johnnie.' Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and she said check-ups like it was a naughty thing. Suddenly his balls itched.

'You're alive,' he breathed, jumping from where he stood next to the bedside cabinet. Before she could answer, he'd wrapped her in a hug, squeezing as tightly as he dared. For the first time, he noticed her breasts too. So big and soft against his chest. He withdrew and smiled awkwardly. 'Sorry. It's just...you were dead. And now you're here, alive.'

'We just spoke this morning...'

Her eyes widened. 'You did it now? You went back to save me today? Oh John.' She hugged him this time, tighter than before, and a warm feeling flooded him. 'Thank you.' She pulled back and looked into his eyes, holding his jaw with one hand. 'You crazy fucker, you're going to save us all. You know that, right?' Tears gleamed in her eyes. That was unlike her; she was a tough cookie. Still, her ecstasy rubbed off on him.

'Speaking of which, do you know Samantha Grimes in this version of our lives?'

'Sure, we got smashed together a few days ago. She's my drinking buddy.'

Oh god, John had never imagined Samantha drunk. Actually that was a lie, he had imagined her drunk when he was sixteen; he'd also imagined her stripping for him, dancing on a pole, rubbing her perfect curves against it. He blushed. 'Oh--yeah, okay. Can you call her?' He started rummaging through drawers, looking for a mobile phone. 'Get her to bring her pictures? All of them? In fact, call Marty too--' John froze.

'What?'

'Is--is he alive?' Dread crawled beneath his skin. What if it hadn't worked? What if he'd been wrong about Grimsol killing Marty? What if Paul had been the Collector and not some incarnation of Grimsol? That would mean Marty would still be dead by now.

With hands on her hips, Semila frowned at him. 'Alive?'

Oh no. God, no. It hadn't worked. His hands began to shake, and tears stung his eyes. How could it not have worked? Samantha had been right all along. He should've mourned, should've gone to the funeral at least, but he was a terrible fri--

'Why wouldn't he be?' she said and cocked her head to the side.

'So he is? Ohmygod!' John punched the air as if it had caused him this pain. 'Yes!'

Semila frowned. 'Wait, was he dead too?'

'Yeah, Grimsol got to him. Just like he did to you.'

Semila ran her tongue over her teeth. 'That dirt bag of a lowlife? I assume you got rid of him, seeing that I'm here?'

'Yeah, you were there. Don't you remember it?'

She shook her head, struggling out of the doctor's coat, cursing when her hand got stuck.

'John stuffed his hands in his pockets and started inspecting his room. Things looked just a little different. Cleaner, for one. 'Gabriel and Death helped.'

'You gotta be kidding me, Anubis and Gabriel the holy working together?' She snorted. 'Now you're just lying for the fun of it.'

'No, really. They did Sem. It was weird...' John remembered Death in a poncho and heard that Mexican music in his mind.

'You sure you didn't just dream this, John?'

'Do I still get those?' he asked. 'The dreams?'

She shrugged. 'That's what you say. An old lady, two cops, a little girl, something about a guy named Tom.' She chucked the coat on his bed and started tugging at the cardigan next.