Blood Pact

A yawn split the thought in two and Catherine stumbled toward the door, suddenly exhausted. Donald had headed for his bed once the major surgery had been completed and Dr. Burke had left just before dawn. She didn't mind finishing up on her own, she liked having the lab to herself, it gave her a chance to see that all the little extras got done, but if she wasn't mistaken, she was rapidly approaching a day and a half on her feet and she needed to catch a nap. A couple of hours lying down and she should be good as new.

    Fingers on the light switch, she paused in the doorway, looked back over the lab, and called softly, "Pleasant dreams.”

    They weren't dreams, nor were they quite memories but, outside the influence of the net, images stirred. A young woman's face in close proximity, pale hair, pale eyes. Her voice was soothing in a world where too many lights were too bright and too many sounds only noise. Her smile was . . .

    Her smile was . . .

    Organic impulses moved turgidly along tattered neural pathways searching for the connection that would complete the thought.

    Her smile was . . .

    Kind.

    Number nine stirred under the restraints.

    Her smile was kind.

    "Ms. Nelson?”

    Vicki turned toward the voice, trying very hard not to scowl. Relatives and friends of her mother's were milling about the reception room, all expecting her to be showing their definition of grief. If it hadn't been for Celluci's bulk at her back, she might have bolted, if it hadn't been for his quick grip around her wrist she'd have definitely belted the cousin who, having driven in from Gananoque, remarked that earlier or later would have been a better time and he certainly hoped there'd be refreshments afterward. She didn't know the heavy set man who'd called her name.

    He held out a beefy hand. "Ms. Nelson, I'm Reverend Crosbie. The Anglican minister who usually works with Hutchinson's is a bit under the weather today, so they asked me to fill in." His voice was a rough burr that rose and fell with an east coast cadence.

    A double chin almost hid the clerical collar but, given the firmness of his handshake, Vicki doubted that all of the bulk was fat.
    "My mother wasn't a churchgoer," she said.

    "That's between her and God, Ms. Nelson." His tone managed to be both matter-of-fact and sympathetic at the same time. "She wanted an Anglican service read to set her soul at peace and I'm here to do it for her. But," bushy white brows drew slightly in, "as I didn't know your mother, I've no intention of speaking as if I did. Are you going to be doing your own eulogy?”

    Was she going to get up in front of all these people and tell them about her mother? Was she going tell them how her mother had given up the life a young woman was entitled to in order to support them both? Tell them how her mother had tried to stop her from getting her first job because she thought childhood should last a little longer? Tell them about her mother, a visible beacon of pride, watching as she graduated from high school, then university, then the police college? Tell them how after her promotion her mother had peppered the phrase, "My daughter, the detective," into every conversation? Tell them how, when she first got the diagnosis about her eyes, her mother had taken a train to Toronto and refused to hear the lies about being all right and not needing her there? Tell them about the nagging and the worrying and the way she always called during a shower? Tell them how her mother had needed to talk to her and she hadn't answered the phone?

    Tell them her mother was dead?

    "No." Vicki felt Celluci's hand close over her shoulder and realized her voice had been less than clear. She coughed and scanned the room in a near panic. "There. The short woman in the khaki trench coat.” To point would expose the trembling. "That's Dr. Burke.
    Mother worked for her for the last five years. Maybe she'll say something.”

    Bright blue eyes focused just behind her for a second. Whatever Reverend Crosbie saw on Celluci's face seemed to reassure him because he nodded and said quietly, "I'll talk to Dr. Burke, then." His warm hand engulfed hers again. "Maybe you and I'll have a chance to talk later, eh?”

    "Maybe.”

    Celluci's grip on her shoulder tightened as the minister walked away. "You all right?”

    "Sure. I'm fine." But she didn't expect him to believe her, so she supposed it wasn't exactly a lie.

    "Vicki?”

    This was a voice she recognized and she turned