Shining among Darkness

By
WingzemonX

Chapter 49.
Let them go

Once the police let them go, Matilda, Cody, and Cole inevitably ran into each other again at the hospital entrance, even though their last conversation had practically been a goodbye. The air between them had become particularly awkward. Furthermore, the exhaustion was more than noticeable on their faces and postures. The only thing Matilda wanted in those moments was to get to her hotel, bathe as best as possible that her wound would allow, and sleep... also as best as that horrible wound would allow.

But before all that, she would have to prepare everything for her departure to Arcadia, to rest for a few days at her mother's house until her health improved. With her arm in this state, it was not advisable to fly, so her most viable option would be a train, which would take perhaps more than a full day to arrive in Los Angeles.

And about her rental car, another complication stood in the way of the psychiatrist's immediate wishes. Due to all the medications they had given her, including the anesthetic that had put her to sleep, and additionally her immobilized right arm, it was also not recommended that she drive, although the distance between that point and her hotel was not so long. However, Cole offered to do it for her since they would be going to the same place anyway. Matilda accepted in a somewhat cold way.

"I'll be staying in Salem, too," Cody pointed out, taking his two companions by surprise.

"Are you sure?" Matilda questioned uncertainty. "What about your...?"

"There's no way I can sleep without having nightmares tonight," he said with some regret. Then he felt his jacket, specifically the pocket inside it, making it sound like a rattle. "I'll have to use my pills. Besides, I'm too exhausted to go all the way to Seattle."

Matilda and Cole said nothing to him. They hoped that he really knew what he was doing.

The drive to Salem was really quiet. Cole had his sight fixed on the road, Matilda was staring thoughtfully out the passenger window, and Cody was fighting not to fall asleep in the backseat; the last thing they wanted was for one of the professor's vivid illusions to appear in front of them right there in the middle of the road. Neither said much, no more than a few random comments, most coming from Cole and none from the Californian woman beside him.

Once they reached the hotel and Cole parked the car in the parking lot, Matilda bolted inside, only offering a terse good night without looking at them. She entered the reception area before anyone stopped or spoke to her, and they quickly lost sight of her. Cole got out soon after, slamming the door with some force as a sign of frustration.

"Remember, it's rented," Cody muttered in a muffled voice, getting down as well. "At least you didn't kick it like that chair."

"I need a drink," the policeman murmured, running his hand over his face.

"I believe you. But I have to see if I can get a room, so..."

Cole waved a hand in the air, signaling him to go confidently. Cody took him at his word and entered the hotel through the same door Matilda had gone through. And once again, Cole was left alone.

He stood to one side of the vehicle for a while, thinking of what to do. Would he go for that drink by himself? Would he take that cigarette he hadn't been able to, or perhaps wanted to, smoke all night? Or would he follow the example of his friends and go straight to sleep? The last option didn't appeal to him, but the first two might.

He took out his pack, took a cigarette between his lips, lit it without hesitation, and began to smoke it calmly, trying to calm down... if that was even possible. After all, nothing in all that situation was worthy of inspiring calm.

He raised his gaze to the starry Salem sky, letting the smoke slowly billow out of his mouth and settle over him like a dirty gray cloud, obscuring the stars for a few moments. Thus it felt as if he had a great dark cloud over his head, waiting for the best moment to drop a heavy rain on him and perhaps some lightning.

"You should consider quitting smoking," he heard a voice abruptly to his right, taking him so by surprise that he jumped to the side in alarm. "It won't do you any good in the long run," added the same voice.

The rugged, somewhat square face of the late Dr. Malcolm Crowe turned to him, offering him a curious, mocking smile. Recognizing it, Cole's initial shock lessened, though it became more of an unusual strangeness. Twice in one day; it was uncommon for Cole to see Dr. Crow so often, not since he was a child.

"Is it a real warning?" It was the first thing that occurred to him to say, although the ghost only answered him with a subtle shrug. A little more confident, Cole leaned back against the car next to his unexpected visitor, but his attitude turned slightly rougher. "Did you know this would happen? The escape, the death of that woman, Eleven...?" Crowe didn't reply. "You could then have warned me much more clearly."

"You know..."

"That it doesn't work like that, yeah, yeah," Cole finished, just before taking another deep drag on his cigarette.

He, more than anyone else, knew that some of the dead could see much further than the living, even into the past or the future. But it wasn't like turning on a television and sitting down to watch a movie. As was the case with those shine ones who had a particular affinity with seeing or feeling what would happen, the information often came to them in pieces, which had to be put together and interpreted later. And yet, there were other times when they could know or sense that something was going to happen, but they didn't have the ability, or perhaps the permission, to pass that information along, even to those like him. So recriminating to that being, who shouldn't even be in that world anymore, for what happened was totally meaningless. The actions of the living were solely the responsibility of the living themselves.

"Do you at least have any advice on what I should do now?" He asked him, somewhat hopeful that Dr. Crowe could at least give him some guidance, as he had in many other moments when Cole had felt just as lost.

He heard him sigh, and a cold sensation ran through the place from below to above. Crowe was looking toward the door through which his two new friends, if he could still call them that, had left. His expression was concerned, quite tangible, coming from the face of someone who had died years ago.

"Go home, Cole," he exclaimed suddenly. "Stay away from this, like your mother asked you to."

"Go?" Cole snapped, almost as if the innuendo insulted him. "Just so? Is that your advice?"

"That's the only one I can give you, as your psychiatrist and friend."

Cole snapped, apparently not too pleased with what he was hearing. He returned his cigarette to his lips and inhaled again with some insistence. Although, he noticed how, little by little, that ceased to relax or calm him as much as he needed.

"And if I do... will this all work out?" He questioned, intrigued, without looking at his visitor. "Will everything be alright?" He raised his eyes at that moment to the door, which seemed to him for a moment more distant than before. "She will be alright?"

In his head, the warnings that his mother had given him hovered:

"This case in which you have been involved is more dangerous than you think. You have to leave as soon as possible, get away from this whole thing. Or else... you'll die... and she too..."

Unfortunately, however, Crowe did not have a satisfactory answer to ease his doubts.

"I don't know, Cole," the late psychiatrist murmured ruefully. "I don't think there is anyone living or dead who can assure you of such a thing. Not this time... not with this enemy you've gotten involved with."

Cole quickly lifted his face and turned it squarely on him, intrigued and surprised by the sudden mention.

"Are you talking about who attacked Eleven? Do you know who he is?"

He was unable to hide his urgency to find out. That person, the threat that had lain over his head like that deadly rain cloud. Did he know who he was? Did he know who that hidden enemy was? Cole was sure beforehand that he wouldn't tell him if that was the case, but he still couldn't help but question it. The result, however, was as expected.

Crowe slowly shook his head, not seeing it.

"If I told you, you'd try to go straight for him, wouldn't you?" he responded in dismay, and Cole could not deny it. "It is your decision whether to do it or not, but I refuse to deliberately push you in that direction; your mother wouldn't forgive me. Besides, he's not the only one you have to watch out for, but you already know that."

Cole exhaled heavily through his nose and leaned back against the vehicle. The disappointment was quite palpable, even his anger. But Crowe was adamant about his answer, and he couldn't blame him for being. Cole himself wasn't really sure what he would do if he had that information at hand.

After a while in which both remained silent, the spirit took a few steps away from the vehicle and turned to the detective with a calmer and more serene face.

"I have to go," he informed her bluntly. "I've been here too long already. I don't think we'll see each other again for a long time."

"Didn't you say you'd be around if I needed anything?" Cole commented in a slightly jocular tone. "I feel I'll see you sooner than you think."

Crowe gave a light chuckle at the suggestion.

"It may be so." He smiled at him. "See you later, Detective Sear."

"See you later, Dr. Crowe."

After that last friendly goodbye, the psychiatrist turned around and began to walk as if he were going to enter the hotel as well. However, halfway there, he disappeared, fading into the background and completely taking his presence with him, including the cold.

Cole stayed there a while longer until he finished his cigarette. He didn't think carefully about the hidden meaning of those words, what had happened, or what his following action would be. He just stood there, finishing his cigarette and thinking about that drink.

— — — —

Matilda gave up her idea of ​​taking a full bath at that point due to her injury and just washed her hair and part of her body, just enough to make herself as comfortable as possible. The medicines still had her in a daze, so once she finished her improvised wash and barely managed to put on her pajamas, she lay in bed for a few moments, looking at the ceiling as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. She forced herself not to stay like this for too long, and she immediately took her cell phone with the intention of... she really didn't know what she wanted to do.

Her first instinct was to investigate what to do with her rented vehicle, but then she thought of Eleven, Mike, and her daughter. Should she call them to find out how she was doing? She didn't know if she would be too intrusive. And, on top of that, she wouldn't know what to tell them that could be comforting; she was terrible at those things, which was not a remarkable quality for a psychiatrist.

Then she thought about her mother. Shouldn't she call and tell her what happened? She would otherwise end up arriving at her door out of nowhere with a gunshot wound to her shoulder. But if she told her what happened on the phone, she might upset her even more...

She sighed in frustration and pressed the screen of her phone against her forehead as if hoping it would help her think. She inevitably remembered Cole and Cody and that she had maybe been pretty rude to both of them a few moments ago. They hadn't done anything, and they were just as affected by all this as she was. And instead of reaching out to them with a helping hand, she had chosen to run away... Yes, that was the best way to describe it.

What kind of psychiatrist was she? At that rate, she would have to go to therapy herself, and everyone knows that doctors make the worst patients. She might have to apologize to both of them before she leaves in the morning, especially to Cole. They had already started to get along, and she suddenly returned to her rough attitude out of the blue.

But anyway, by that day, it was too late. Perhaps the best thing would be to sleep, rest, and worry about the rest the next day...

Then she suddenly heard someone knocking on the door, taking her by surprise. She flinched a bit, and her movement caused a nagging pain sensation in her shoulder. She waited a bit for the pain to subside, and then she carefully stood up and approached the door, almost without thinking. In fact, she was about to just open it directly, but before touching the knob, she thought twice. Hadn't there been too many misfortunes that day to be so reckless? She then decided to look through the peephole first to see who it was. That, however, did not help her much to calm down.

Standing in the hallway outside the door was Cole, looking to the side as he waited for some response from her. Matilda backed away from the door a little as if it had frightened her. What was he doing there? Has something happened? And how did he suddenly appear just when she thought of him? And... why was she reacting so nervously exactly?

Matilda breathed slowly, trying to calm down. That reaction was immature and irrational. With more courage, she removed the chain and lock, opening the door wide enough. Cole turned to her as soon as the door opened and smiled, apparently a little timid and uncomfortable. Before saying anything, the detective raised what he was carrying in his right hand: a six-pack of beers, one of which was already missing.

"Would you like a beer before bed to make amends, doctor?" he suggested with a jocular tone.

Matilda looked at him sternly but not too severely. He didn't look drunk as such, but she felt he had more than one beer on him. Even so, she was surprised, and at the same time a little embarrassed, how despite everything he behaved so lightly with her, wanting to "make amends" as if everything was slipping away from him. Either he was a person with a good emotional balance, or it was another one of his masks.

"Sorry, I don't drink alcohol," she replied, trying not to be sharp. "And even if I did, I couldn't mix it with my medicines."

Cole just smiled and nodded a little.

"I had a feeling that you would tell me just that..." he murmured, pointing at her with a cunning gesture. "Sorry for the interruption. Goodnight..."

He made a dismissal gesture with his head, and without another word, he turned around with the clear intention of returning to his own room.

"But..." Matilda said forcefully, drawing his attention before he left. The doctor seemed to debate with herself again for a few moments, but in the end, she opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come in if you want. I guess we could both use a little talk."

"Will you charge me for the consultation?" the detective asked playfully, to which Matilda responded only with a questioning look. Choosing then not to continue tempting fate with jokes, Cole accepted the invitation.

The officer entered the room, and Matilda closed the door behind them.

— — — —

Cody lucked out and got a single room for the night, though it cost a lot more than he expected. He hadn't brought pajamas with him, so he just took off his shirt and pants to sleep in his underwear. He didn't have a toothbrush, either. And, actually, he hadn't even eaten anything, although for some reason, he wasn't hungry; in fact, his stomach felt queasy.

He didn't take a shower, just washed his face and soaked his hair a bit. Then he lay down on the bed, resting his head on a tower of three pillows to be almost sitting up, and turned on the television for a few moments. He didn't pay much attention to it; he had it more like background noise so as not to sink into silence.

The professor's blue eyes focused more than anything on the orange bottle with those magic pills that guaranteed him to be able to sleep all night without any dreams or nightmares, at the cost of practically not resting. But God knows what else unknown side effects could come on suddenly. He wondered if he really needed them; maybe nothing would happen, maybe he cared too much... But he knew that he was fooling himself.

Cody knew very well how his mind worked, and he knew there was no possible way he could get through the night without some horrible nightmare accompanying him. Whether it was the Canker Man, Lily Sullivan, or a horrendous, misshapen dark mass eating Eleven without him being able to reach her. Whatever it was, it would materialize through the corridors of that hotel, putting all guests in danger.

So, not taking that pill was not an option. Still, he had been staring at the bottle for about half an hour, waiting for something in his label to change and tell him not to do that.

He sighed wearily, placed the pills on the nightstand, and took his phone instead. He reviewed his conversation with Lisa. He had texted her twice after what had happened at the hospital and tried to call her once he was in his room. Lisa didn't respond to any of those things and didn't show up as she logged in for hours.

Cody tried not to let that bother him, especially when he had ignored her a few days after her discussion; perhaps it was her way of getting back at him. However, their last conversation had him unsettled, especially about what Lisa could do with the information he had shared with her. Not that he expected her to tell anyone, but maybe she just wouldn't take it well. He might not hear from her for days, and when he finally located her, it would be to end it all on bad terms.

He suddenly felt somewhat selfish and foolish for thinking about it at a time like this. Eleven was in a coma, people had died, Samara had disappeared, Matilda had been shot, and they had no idea who this mysterious enemy was that was haunting them or whether sooner or later it would come back to attack them again. By comparison, his concerns felt a little small... but not unimportant.

Without quite consciously proposing it, his hands opened the bottle and took out one of those small pinkish oval pills. He gazed at it for a few seconds in his hand, somewhat fearfully, only to be shoved right into his mouth, followed later by a small sip from the glass of water that rested on the nightstand.

It was done.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling while the television and light were still on. His vision and mind soon wandered, and the sounds on the TV distorted and confused. From one moment to another, he wasn't exactly asleep, but his body no longer moved; his eyes didn't really look at anything, and his ears didn't hear any sound either. He was simply there, reclining, his bald eyes unable to close, while his mind disappeared overhead. In a way, that feeling was like a nightmare, but at least it was one that only tormented him... as it should be.

— — — —

Cole sat on the floor mat to one side of the bed, quietly sipping his beers. Apparently, the fact that Matilda rejected them was not a reason for them to go to waste. For her part, the room's guest sat on the bed with her legs stretched out. While he drank beer, she settled for one of the complimentary bottled water and bag of peanuts that came with the room; these last ones she had placed on the bed cover so that they were easier to take with her free hand.

"He didn't know he was dead? Really?" The psychiatrist questioned skeptically. Before Matilda was aware, her casual conversation had quickly turned to the subject of ghosts. She supposed it was pretty common in a conversation with friends over beers and appetizers on nights to start talking about spirits and demons out of the blue. But this occasion was special because she was doing it with someone who was supposed to be more than an expert in the field.

Cole took a sip of his second (or third?) can before answering her.

"It's not that weird, actually," he explained. "I think I had already told you about it, but when death is violent and sudden, the transition from one state to another is so abrupt that the souls become confused, and they cannot process the entire experience. From that moment on, they live their day to day without realizing the passage of time or those things that contradict the reality they want to believe. It doesn't happen every time, but it is common."

Surprisingly, the officer spoke quite fluently and eloquently despite already having a few milliliters of alcohol on him, perhaps even more eloquently than he did when he was sober.

"I don't get it," Matilda pointed out, just after popping a peanut into her mouth. "Do you want me to believe that he was unaware that his wife, or anyone else, wasn't speaking to him or even aware of his presence?"

"I told you," Cole shrugged, "they interpret the passage of time and reality as best fits what they want to believe. You are a psychiatrist; you must understand it better than me. As in the aftermath of a traumatic experience, some memories are blocked, and realities are created to protect themselves."

"And does that apply to ghosts as well?" Matilda questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"So it seems."

"How interesting," muttered the brunette, somewhat sarcastically. "If I had met you before, I could have done my thesis about the psychology of the dead."

Cole laughed, amused by her jovial comment.

"I don't think many in your line are ready to take that idea seriously. Like you, for example," he pointed at her with the same hand that held the can.

"Do you think I'm not taking this seriously?"

"You do?"

No, she didn't really... or at least, not entirely. But right now, she felt much more open to considering the possibility. Quite a few uncontrollable things had happened in the last few days, in which her pride and arrogance hadn't been much help. And after learning more about Detective Sear, she didn't see why he would cheat or lie. Besides, it's not like she was going to solve the mysteries of life and death that very night; it was just a pleasant chat between friends. And perhaps, hearing more about how he saw this world of wandering spirits, she would understand a little what was hidden behind his mask of cheerfulness and carelessness.

"And you knew he was a ghost?" Matilda asked, trying to get back to the story they were talking about.

"Not at first," Cole replied, moving his head slightly to one side, then the other. "Now I have learned how to recognize them, and mainly to feel them. At least most of them... But back then, I could only trust their appearance and the cold that accompanied them. The first two times I saw him, I didn't feel the same as with others, but I could tell as I spent more time with him. Well, it also helped that my mom never mentioned she wanted me to see a psychiatrist. And once I mentioned it to her, I realized she didn't know what I was talking about. After that, I was able to see him in his actual appearance."

"And what was that?" Matilda asked with genuine interest.

"Basically, he looked so normal, but for some reason, many wandering ghosts who haven't crossed to the other side yet, are usually seen with the appearance they had the moment just before they died. In Dr. Crowe's case, he was shot in the abdomen, and his shirt was covered in blood. As far as it goes, he was the most minor terrifying thing I saw at the time."

"And he didn't realize it?"

"What? The blood stain? I suppose not. I go back to what I said before: they deceive themselves. But when I realized what he really was, I was not afraid of him like the others because I never felt threatened by him. He really wanted to help me, and he succeeded. He..." Cole paused for a moment, staring at the opposite wall, losing himself a little in that thought. "I think he was the first real friend I ever had... and he was already dead."

Although, at first, she joked a bit with the idea, in reality, Matilda began to find that point a bit interesting. The idea, hypothetical or not, of studying the states of mind that a deceased person passed through would be a totally virgin field in which there would be much to discover. Although, if that was in any way possible, she could bet that someone else, with the help of someone like Cole, had already done something similar without ever publishing it or passing without drawing much attention from the scientific community, for obvious reasons.

Matilda took a small sip from her water bottle as she thought about this. Leaving aside the professional (or pseudo-professional) nature of the matter, there were some other implications inherent in the possibility of speaking with the dead, some of a more... personal nature, but which she refused to give a definite shape in his head. As if that embarrassed her.

"And you told him?" Matilda asked suddenly after that moment of silence, taking Cole a little off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"Did you tell that man he was actually dead?"

"No..." Cole hesitated. "But I gave him a little push so he would figure it out on his own. After that, I didn't see much of him, so I assumed he had crossed over to the other side. Once every few years, though, he reappears to give me some advice, as if he were my personal Obi-Wan.

His "Obi-Wan"; that statement brought back to Matilda an old memory. She looked thoughtfully toward the door and picked up one more peanut from the pile next to her.

"When a soul crosses to the other side... can it return to this world?" she asked suddenly, with some hesitation in her tone. Cole turned to look at her, puzzled. Not because of her question but because of how she had asked it.

"Only on infrequent occasions, and I think only with people like me," he replied more seriously than before. "That is, with the proper Shining to communicate with them. But they never stay long. Being on this side is sometimes painful. Why do you ask?" Cole turned fully to her, looking at her with curious eyes. "Are you thinking about that doctor who jumped off the roof or Mrs. Morgan?" Matilda continued to stare at the door without saying anything. "Or in Carrie White?" Matilda remained silent, although her face made a little frown, similar to how her stomach hurt.

Cole then started to get to his feet, as dexterous as the beers he'd had would allow, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Matilda didn't stop him. The detective looked at her seriously, like a parent about to lecture a child; one fair but severe.

"I'm the least suited to say this, or perhaps the most depending on how you look at it," he stated calmly. Matilda looked at him just a bit. "But it isn't good to cling to the dead" He paused to drink a little of what was left in his can and clear his head in the process. "My mother died of cancer about eight years ago... or is it already nine? Anyway, when it first happened, it was so easy... to call her before me and be able to see her and talk; pretend that she had never left. But what I was doing was wrong. I was hurting her for my selfish desires, and me the same. I understood the hard way that although it is very difficult, perhaps one of the most challenging things that can be done, the best thing is to let them go. So they can rest in peace, and so can we."

Matilda was struck by how wise and convincing those words sounded, even from someone half drunk. Although she had not been through an experience even remotely similar to the one he described, she could imagine the emotional impact that could have on an individual. Perhaps that had been part of that mask he was now wearing, but she felt that while she was listening to him, she had been able to see and hear the real Cole Sear for those moments. And what she perceived... she had to accept that she didn't dislike him. Although if he smelled less of alcohol, it would be better.

The brunette smiled without meaning to, and not sure why exactly. It had simply gotten away from her.

"Eleven was right," she pointed out suddenly, sitting up straight on the bed and moving closer to him. "You really have a perspective on all of this that I could never have or even understand. I wish I could have used it better instead of feeling threatened by your presence. Maybe things would have turned out differently..." She looked ruefully to the side.

"It wouldn't have, and you know it," Cole scoffed. "If it makes you feel any better, I also felt a little jealous when I asked about you and heard everything the Foundation people said about "Eleven's Favorite."

"Oh, God," Matilda exclaimed between giggles. "Do they really call me that?"

She had come to think that everything Cody had said to her was just to annoy her, but it seemed that it was a very real nickname.

"Don't tell them I told you," Cole asked between some laughs. "But the reputation that precedes you can be intimidating and create a lot of expectations."

"So much pressure. Well, I hope I met those expectations."

"You did," the detective pointed out with conviction, leaning toward her slightly. "And too much..."

This took Matilda a little by surprise. She felt her cheeks flush, and unconsciously she leaned back a bit as if wanting to make even a little more distance between them. Cole apparently thought he had made her uncomfortable, which Matilda wasn't sure if it had been true or not. Despite his alcoholic state (which he apparently could control well), the policeman had the clarity to decide that perhaps it had been enough for one night.

"I'd better go," he said, getting up from the bed with everything and the couple of beers he had left, staggering a bit in the process but managing to stay on his feet. "You sure want to sleep. Tomorrow you will travel, after all."

"Yes, that would be for the best," Matilda replied calmly, also standing up to lead him to the door.

"Next time we meet, you'll have to tell me about that poltergeist you saw when you were a kid. "

"I don't think so," Matilda whispered wryly. She didn't think they could ever reach that level of trust.

The psychiatrist opened the door for him, and Cole walked slowly, perhaps to avoid falling. Before he got out, however, Matilda stopped him.

"Cole, wait a bit," she whispered, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. Her eyes stared at him with some intensity. "Tell me the truth... what was it you saw in Samara?" Cole looked at her blankly. "Everything you told me about a demon haunting her... was it serious?"

Cole couldn't figure out if she was asking because she was beginning to believe him or perhaps because she was hoping he would tell her something that would clear up the significant doubts that were starting to occupy her mind. The beer didn't help him much in finding out, either. For the same reason, before saying something that could ruin that little moment they had shared, he decided to say something that perhaps was not what she expected, which was quite sincere anyway.

The officer took a deep breath and leaned against the door frame to keep from falling.

"People like Eleven and I tend to walk in the shadows so much that it's all we see at one point. But you were able to see the light in that girl and realize that there was goodness in her. Maybe that was what she needed most, really. I am convinced that if you had had the time and the opportunity, you could have saved her, regardless of what I did or did not see."

Matilda smiled thinly and leaned her head against the open door.

"That doesn't comfort me."

"I know," Cole replied, shrugging. "But unlike Carrie White or Mrs. Morgan, Samara is still alive. As long as she's alive, there's still hope, right?"

Matilda nodded slightly, not in fact entirely convinced.

"Good night, Detective."

"Good night, Doctor."

Cole backed away, swinging down the hall a bit until he reached the elevator at the end of it. Matilda closed the door carefully after he left, and she stood in front of it for a while, her forehead resting against the smooth wooden surface. She wasn't sure if that short conversation had helped either of them in any way. But something was a little more certain: she was going to miss that... "detective of the dead."

She sighed and smoothed her hair a bit with her free hand. Now she really had to try to sleep. How well Cole had said, tomorrow she had to travel.

END OF CHAPTER 49