21 comments/ 25999 views/ 44 favorites Lysette's Gift By: beachbum1958 This is a fantasy, set in a place and time that looks amazingly like some real places I know, but it's still just a story, and I hope you read it that way. I've been kicking this around for a while now, unsure how to go with it, until my good friend GrandTeton helped me work out a way to make it come out the way it should, so a large part of the credit for this story goes to him, with another big chunk of thanks for his sanity-checking and editing. This story is about love, loss, and rebirth, not about religion; there's no message here, except that perhaps, hopefully, love does endure beyond this world, but I don't know God, nor have I met or spoken with Buddha, Allah, The Giant Pumpkin, or the Jolly Green Giant; if you want to see their workings here, be my guest; just be aware I didn't when I wrote this fantasy. Please feel free to comment, I welcome good, bad or indifferent, but if you want to be rude or nasty, save it; I delete those, unless they're funny, in which case I treasure them. If you liked this story, please vote for it; if you didn't, please tell me why. Good reading! BB1958 ***** Michael Sheridan stretched languidly, relishing the warmth of the bed; he'd have to get up soon, and drive all the way to Tidworth, not an appetising prospect right now; winter had closed in early this year, and the early November weather was already damp, frigid, and chill enough to go right through a Barbour jacket and into the bone; he briefly toyed with the idea of calling in sick, but discarded it; too many people were counting on him being in place today for him to play truant, so he regretfully mashed his alarm before it went off, and gently pinched the delectable, snowy-white rump so enticingly near at hand. "Come on, Lissa, wakey-wakey, Princess, six o'clock and all's well this lovely frosty morning! Come on, Sleeping Beauty, shake a leg!" The pretty redhead stirred and rolled over to face him, her lips curved in a sleepy smile even as her hands toyed with him under the covers. "There's no such time as six in the bloody morning, you military-minded oaf; go back to sleep..." she yawned, and huddled closer to him, her stiff nipples against his chest a reminder (as if he needed one!) of just how hot this lovely girl was. His hand slipped down to pinch her bottom again, but lingered instead to cup and squeeze, and slowly massage. Lissa responded by moaning happily and wriggling against him, her nipples sweeping across his chest as her dampening pussy, innocent of any hair, slipped wetly against him, making his cock rise to the occasion. "You're a very naughty girl!" he chided, sliding his fingers between her sexy buttocks to rub her tight little rosebud as she giggled throatily and ground against him that much harder. "C'mon, Lissa, I've got a meeting in two hours at Salisbury Plain, and you know what the bloody A4's like in the rush hour!" "You like me when I'm good, but you adore me when I'm bad, don't you, Mikey-baby?" she baby-talked at him, grinding even harder against him at the same time. At that point he resigned himself to being late; when Lissa wanted to play, the world could go hang until she'd had her fun, or at least that was what it felt like. Not that he was complaining, of course; Lissa was just about the sexiest, horniest, most uninhibited girl he'd ever had the good fortune to bed, and the fact she'd given herself to him so freely filled him with a mixture of wonder and deep, deep gratitude she'd picked him at all, when she could have had any man she chose. Lissa kissed him softly, her lips, as always soft and pliant, a wonder against his, and causing him to stiffen even further, a fact she noticed right away. With a sudden heave she rolled him onto his back and slid on top of him, straddling him even as she lay on his chest, her kisses once more doing their work as his need for her surged higher and higher. The fact he had a breakfast meeting suddenly seemed supremely unimportant; fuck 'em, if those doddery old farts at Whitehall had a blistering hot, red-headed sex-bomb in their beds they'd skip a few meetings too! Mike's hands slid down to cup and squeeze her firm little bottom, moulding and massaging the cheeks, as she kissed him hotly. "If you're going to wake me in the middle of the bloody night, mister 'oh, so punctual Michael Sheridan', you can bloody well pay for it!" she grinned, her grey eyes dancing as she ground slowly against him, the pressure sweet torture against his already swollen cock. Mike's self-control gave way, and so he lifted her slightly, freeing his cock from its prison between them; Lissa immediately took hold of him, grinning wickedly as she slowly, slowly rubbed the swollen tip against her hot, wet pussy. "Look what you've done to me, Mikey!" she grinned. "You made me all gooshy! Just remember, whatever happens next, you brought it on yourself!" Mike grinned and pulled her down against him even as he thrust upwards with his hips. Lissa groaned as he slid into her depths, once more stretching her with his girth. "Ohhh, fuck, every time you do that...ohhh God, it feels so good!" she quavered, biting his jaw gently as she began slowly circling her hips, squeezing him as she worked him around inside her. It was Mike's turn to groan softly as she did the one thing guaranteed to drive him completely bananas. "Don't...don't...Lissa, don't do that, you know..." he protested feebly as she ground herself against him, rhythmically squeezing him as she rubbed against him. "What, this?" she grinned, one eyebrow raised, squeezing faster, harder, making him groan out loud. He couldn't help but begin to pump in and out of her, keeping time with her, both of them grinding and humping faster and harder against the other as their excitement rose. Lissa broke first, her pussy squeezing him tight as her orgasm blasted through her. The sudden constriction around him, the rush of warmth against him, that was all Mike needed, and with a hoarse groan he too climaxed, spurting endlessly inside her as orgasm also took hold of him. Mike slumped back, his bones singing from the sudden onrush of pleasure, feeling Lissa quake and shudder on him as the aftershocks of her orgasm continued to rush through her, until she too slumped down, drained and, for the moment at least, sated. Eventually, Mike stirred, glanced somewhat blearily at his watch, then smacked Lissa lightly on her tight, smackable little bum. "Lissa, come on, I really have to go to work; if we shower together we can save half an hour; I think I can still make it in on time! Come on, Princess, let's go, please!" Lissa groaned softly and raised her head. "One kiss, stud, pay me with a kiss!" Mike grinned and kissed her properly, no quick brush of the lips, and rolled onto his side. Lissa kissed him quickly on the tip of his nose in return, and slid out of bed, slipping on his shirt to scoot into the bathroom and turn the shower on, giving it a few seconds to reach a comfortable temperature, then returning to the bedroom and pulling the bedclothes off the still slightly-dazed Mike. "Come on, Mike, you woke me up, now suffer!" she grinned, herding him into the bathroom and dropping his shirt before stepping into the shower cubicle. As always, Mike took time to admire her; Lissa was a good seven inches shorter that his own 6"1', but had such good posture, a consequence of her pastime of riding and show-jumping, that people just assumed she was taller. Her Titian-red hair hung almost to her waist, but she normally wore it in a ponytail, or clubbed-up into a thick, intricately braided queue if she was riding in a competition. Her skin was pale, much paler than his, and, unlike so many redheads, she had no more than a light dusting of pale freckles on her cheek bones and the bridge of her nose. Her small, firm, upturned breasts were crowned with delicate, rose-pink nipples that protruded a full half-inch when she was aroused, and her labia were waxed bare. To complete the picture, she had a round, shapely bottom and flared hips, accentuating her slim waist and flat stomach. "Michael, hello, Earth to Michael, I thought you were in a hurry!" came her voice, snapping him out of his rapt study of her, and, grinning ruefully, he stepped into the small cubicle, made even smaller by the two of them crowding in there, although the up-side was that he got to enjoy himself soaping her back and points south, and Lissa returned the favour, threatening to bring up even more cause for delay. Mike managed to control his urges, not easy to do with a naked, sexy, slippery girl wriggling and jiggling about next to him, but he somehow managed to rinse them both off, giving Lissa a couple of friendly squeezes while he was about it. All done, they quickly dried-off, Mike helping Lissa to dry her beautiful mane of hair, then they quickly brushed their teeth, dressed and grabbed their warm jackets, and sped for the door. It was still dark; full daylight was a good 45 minutes away at this time of year, and Mike walked her to her car, a blue 2006 Toyota MR-2 that had seen better days. Lissa opened the door, pulled him close and kissed him one more time. "Are you coming over this evening, Mikey? Mum and dad would really like it if you did; they haven't seen you in months!" Mike's face tightened, causing Lissa to purse her lips in exasperation. "You have to see them sooner or later, Mike; they're your parents too, you know..." Mike looked at her levelly, and Lissa knew that look; she loved her brother to the ends of the earth and back, but when he got that stubborn look on his face... "We'll see; I'll call ahead if I can make it. I love you, Lissa." Lysette Sheridan pulled her younger brother closer and cupped his face in both hands as she kissed him deeply. "And I love you too, my darling pig-headed brother, although sometimes I really, really wonder why!" Mike watched her reverse out of her space, waved as she flicked the lights at him, then ran over to his Pajero, already mentally laying-out his route to Tidworth, and computing how long it would take him to get there from his house in Newbury, Berkshire. * Lissa set the table for dinner, and was just wondering whether to set a place for Mike when the doorbell rang. She rushed to the door and opened it, to see him standing there, grinning slightly sheepishly. "I was in the area...!" he began, but was smothered by her hug. Lissa looked around, and, seeing no sign of their parents, planted her lips on his in a deep, wet kiss, her tongue rubbing along his. Mike responded just as hotly, his hands slipping down to circle her waist, then quickly squeezing her bottom, making Lissa grind against him, almost forgetting where they were. "I thought you were going to call! I so glad you came, MIkey!" she whispered, then backed away slightly as her mother poked her head out of the kitchen. "Who is it Lissa...Oh, Michael, you came, thank you darling! Lissa said you were up at Salisbury Plain today. I did wonder if you'd come over!" Mike slipped in and shut the door behind him, tugging off his waxed jacket and hanging it on a coat-hook before hugging his mother. At nearly 50, Brigitte Sheridan was a tall, elegant woman, an older, taller version of her daughter, her rich, bright copper hair only now beginning to be threaded with grey, with the same sparkling grey eyes, and the same bright smile. "You don't come by nearly often enough, sweetheart..." she began, stopping as she felt him tense. "Yes, I know, I'm sorry, Michael, I won't bring it up again! Go on through, sweetheart; make yourself comfortable. Your father's upstairs, but he'll be down in a minute." Mike relaxed, but the hard part was yet to come; somewhere close at hand was his father, John, and Mike knew that his father, after cursory table-talk, would inevitably swing the conversation back to the one bone of contention that lay between them; he always did it; somehow, he managed to turn the conversation around and bring it up yet again, and then the argument would start, until finally Mike flared up and stormed out, usually absenting himself from his parents' home for months afterwards. Lissa tugged him into the lounge, closing the door and backing him into it so she could kiss him properly. "God, I missed you!" she breathed, when she finally broke their kiss, grinning at his slightly glazed expression. "Mikey, please, when he starts, please, please, just ignore it; just give him 'yes, sir, no sir, three bags full, sir', or he'll move onto Reason 687 for why you made a wrong choice at university! Just do it for me, please, Mikey? Don't take the bait, baby; he always pushes your buttons; don't let him do it this time!" Mike grinned, nodded, and pulled her close for a quick, heartfelt kiss, and a last squeeze of her deliciously firm bottom, before the sound of their father's tread on the stairs told them it was time to act normally. John Sheridan shook hands genially with his son, asking deliberately non-controversial questions about his job, his house, the Civil Service in general, and Mike started to uncoil inside; perhaps his father had finally tired of the same old argument and had given up baiting him. When they went in to dinner, the atmosphere had warmed, and both his mother and Lysette were relaxed, smiling and bantering; all was going well, no sharp comments or caustic little jibes, until they were eating dessert, a plum roll Brigitte was an expert at making, and Mike's favourite dessert for as long as he could remember. Then it happened. John paused, looked at Mike, and smiled across the table at him. "You know Mike, we still have an associate place at the practice; I've been hoping you'd consider taking it up. After all, footling around on military sites may be alright for some, but you...well, you could be doing so much better for yourself..." Dead silence reigned, broken only as Mike dropped his spoon and pushed himself away from the table. He cocked an eyebrow at John, a gesture he knew his father particularly disliked, and smiled sardonically as he wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin onto his plate. "Well done, dad; I was hoping to get through this evening without coming back to that, but all the time I was wondering how long it would take you to go there. How many times do I have to tell you? I don't want to be an architect, I'm not interested in being an architect, I don't like the thought of working with a bunch of architects, and I particularly don't want to work for you!" John's face hardened, while Lissa and her mother exchanged apprehensive glances, both of them wondering how it would end this time. "All I want is for you to make something of yourself...!" his father began, only for Mike to cut him short. "I am something! I have a great job, a good and clear career path, and I like what I do! If you don't like it, dad, that's really not my problem. Nothing you can say or do is going to change how I feel; after the hundreds of times I've told you, I would have thought you'd have listened at least once; apparently not. I promised Lissa I wouldn't get into this with you, so it stops here, because I'm leaving, now, before one of us says something they'll regret! Mum, if you'll excuse me, I'm sorry, I have to go now. Lissa, can I speak with you in private, please?" John bridled. "Michael Sheridan, just where the hell do you think you're going? Sit down this instant. This is my house, and I will have my say, and you're going to shut up and listen for once!" Mike cocked that eyebrow at him again, infuriating him even more. "No, dad, I've heard it all before. I wasn't interested then, I'm not interested now. You coming, Lissa?" Mike stood up and pushed his chair back, bent over to kiss his stunned mother, and flicked his gaze over his father, who refused to look at him as he left, patting Lissa on the shoulder as he left the room. Once he was outside in the hall, Lissa rounded on her father. "Why do you always do that? You always belittle him, why? He did so well at university; he landed a plum job with the civil service; he never took a penny from you all through uni; he worked three jobs, he did everything for himself, and yet you take snide little digs at him every chance you get! What's the matter with you, dad? You bitch and moan about how he never comes home, and when he does, he's not here for an hour before you drive him out the door again! Why is it always me who has to go and apologise to him for you? Why are you so bloody stiff-necked when it comes to him? No wonder he never comes here anymore!" Her eyes were glittering as she spoke, and an angry tear ran down her cheek. "Mike made himself; he's not you, so it's about bloody time you acknowledged that fact, dad! Once day soon, you're going to regret it; he'll never come back, because you keep driving him away; why can't you just give it a bloody rest?" She walked out of the dining room, not quite slamming the door after her. Brigitte looked sadly at her plate, unwilling to look up at her husband. When she spoke, it was softly, her tone sad. "She's right, John; why do you always do that? I had such high hopes for tonight; poor Michael hasn't been here since last Christmas, and you drove him out then, too. All I wanted was a nice family dinner, all of us around the table, just once, but you had to go and start on him again, just like you always do, and you drove him away, just like you always do." She paused to deliberately push her plate away and stand up. "Is that what you want, John, for your son to hate you? Because you're going the right way about it; I never see my son. He graduated three years ago, and he's been here only three times, each time for less than an hour; my son lives ten miles away and I've only seen him for three hours in those three years, and it's your fault! Lissa's right, you never leave him alone, you always know better than him. You can clear up here, I'm going to bed. I'll stay in the guest bedroom tonight; I want to be alone." In the hallway, Lissa hugged her brother as he slipped his jacket back on. "Mikey, I'm sorry, I really thought he'd leave it be, just once..." Mike hugged her back, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her floral shampoo. "You don't need to apologise for him, Lissa, it wasn't your fault; I should have known better than to come here..." He turned to leave, but Lissa pulled him around once more and kissed him, hard, her tongue brushing against his as she held him close. She broke away and grinned at him. "You go now, Mike; I'll see you in half an hour; I have something to say to dad first!" Mike grinned and smacked her playfully on her bottom, making her wriggle and pout sexily at him. "Get the KY ready, baby, maybe you'll get your birthday present tonight!" she murmured coyly, before winking and ushering him out the door with a last quick peck on the cheek. "I'll be right behind you, sweetheart!" she whispered, smiling as he waved and crunched along the gravel drive to his 4X4. Lissa sighed and closed the door, then squared her shoulders, readying herself to once again confront her father about his behaviour. As she turned to go back to the dining room, her mother stepped out. "Has he...?" she asked, her face falling when Lissa nodded. "Once again, mum; he did it again. What the hell's wrong with him? Why doesn't he just disown him? Mikey would welcome it. He's had enough!" "Lissa..." remonstrated her mother, shocked dismay at the thought of never seeing her son again flashing in her eyes. Lissa hugged her mother tightly, anger at her father overriding everything else. "Why does he do it, mum, why's he so Goddamn superior all the time? Mike's doing well; he's well thought of; he's gone so far and he'll go even further. Why can't dad accept he's different from him?" Lysette's Gift Brigitte shook her head sadly. "I don't know, Lissa. He's never respected Mikey's choices; he's never respected Mikey, full stop. Even when he was a little boy, you remember how he could never do anything right? That's why Mikey refused any help from us at university; he couldn't wait to be gone from here, his home. I used to send him money; he'd tear up the cheque and send it back. He didn't want anything from us, not even from me; he cleaned toilets, stacked shelves, washed dishes, God knows what else, anything rather than let me help him, all because of your father..." Lissa hugged her mother again, feeling her tremble as she wept silently, the sullen anger flaring into a fury inside her. "That smug, superior bastard," she thought. "I'm not standing for this any longer!" Brigitte pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes, then looked curiously at Lissa. "You're going after him, aren't you?" Lissa nodded, and smiled as her mother smiled wistfully, and a little oddly, at her. "Kiss him once for me, Lissa, just do that for me, please? Let him know I love him no matter what." Lissa nodded again. "Of course mum, I always do." Brigitte cupped her daughter's chin as she smiled sadly at her. "Just don't hurt him, baby, ever; he needs you, he's so alone..." Lissa stared open mouthed at her mother as Brigitte made her way upstairs, realising what her mother had just said, that she knew about the two of them. Then Lissa shook her head resignedly and strode purposefully into the dining room, to find her father still seated, his face impassive. Lissa sat opposite him, and stared into his eyes. "Why dad, why do you do that to Mikey? He never asked you for anything, he took fuck-all from you, because he didn't want to owe you for anything. He made himself what he is, and all you do is sneer at him from your bloody ivory tower like the big 'I Am'; what the hell is wrong with you?" John Sheridan stirred as he glared at his daughter. "How dare you..." he began but she cut him off mid-sentence. "Because Mikey's my little brother! Who do you think you are, dad? He's your son; you're supposed to support him, guide him, be there for him; when have you ever, ever tried to do any of those? Never, not once! You never even showed up at his graduation; you were too busy with your bloody friends to make time for your only son; all you want to do is make him into another you; well I for one am glad he's never going to be that!" She paused, her face red with anger, her grey eyes blazing. "Well done, dad, congratulations, you can pat yourself on the back now, once again you managed to get rid of him for another year, only I don't think he'll ever come back again; he's finally sick to the back-teeth with you and your bloody ego, and your unasked opinions and your sneering at him; good fucking luck, dad, I hope you're happy at last! I'm going to Mike's place, he needs family right now, and that doesn't include you, not anymore!" John glared at her furiously. "Lysette, don't you dare go there, I forbid it!" Lissa grinned mirthlessly. "I'm twenty-six, not six, don't you tell me what to do! I think it's about time I moved out anyway; coming back here after uni was a mistake. I'll be back tomorrow for my important stuff; I'll arrange for the rest to be collected. If mum wants me, I'll be at Mikey's place until I get a place of my own. Goodbye dad!" Lysette ran upstairs to kiss her mother one last time, then threw on her coat and jumped into her old Toyota for the ten-mile drive from Beenham to Newbury. * Mike had just finished putting the coffee on when he heard the key in the door, and then Lissa was in his arms, hugging him fiercely. "Oh Mikey, I'm sorry, I should have known he'd kick it off again, he always does, no matter how many times he promises mum he won't; it's like a scab that won't heal, because he just won't stop picking at it. Mum's had enough; she's staying in the guest bedroom tonight; I guess dad pissed her off one time too many! Mike grinned humourlessly; he was surprised his mother had stuck it out for so long; John Sheridan and his arrogance would have tempted a plaster saint to mayhem. Lissa grinned up at him, then hugged him again. "Can I stay here, Mikey?" she mumbled into his chest. "I left home; I should never have moved back in; I can't live near that man any longer. How mum puts up with him...!" Mike stroked her hair, as always enthralled by the texture, the silky softness, the almost metallic sheen. "'Course you can Lissa, choice of three bedrooms, take your pick!" he grinned. Lissa thumped him on the chest. "Yours of course, you hulking idiot! Make me a coffee and I'll be your slave forever!" Mike pulled her closer and grinned as he kissed the top of her head. "I thought I was your slave, Lissa?" His sister grinned, then stepped away from him and looked him up and down haughtily. "That's right, you are, so bring my coffee up to the bedroom and serve it to me in bed, you insignificant little earthworm slave-creature!" At that, Mike took a threatening step toward her, and Lissa squealed and ran out of the room, giggling as she clattered up the stairs and into the bedroom. When he pushed the bedroom door open, holding a tray, the sight awaiting him almost took his breath away; Lissa was lying on the bed, naked, provocatively posed, her milk-pale skin tinted golden by the light from the bedside lamps, and her copper hair shining a deep titian red, touched with points of fire in the subdued golden light. Her eyes were hooded, mysterious, and her lips were curved in an inviting, sultry smile. "Hello baby!" she husked, then, her eyes narrowed as she caught the scent of what was on the tray. "Oh Mikey, crumpets, you made hot crumpets! You darling, darling man!" Mike put the tray on the bed, smiling happily as Lissa munched blissfully, eyes closed in ecstasy at the taste of the butter melting through the steaming hot crumpets. Mike watched in awe as she worked her way through a pile of the hot breads, grinning at her expression of bliss as she polished off the last one and dusted the crumbs off herself and the bed. "That was so good, Mike, I think I'll keep you after all!" she smiled happily, running her finger around his face and neck as she spoke. Mike recognised the signs, and began stripping-off, Lissa watching avidly, her attention as always on his nakedness. For her, Mike's body would always be the perfect male specimen: toned and fit, well-shaped without being muscular and hulking, but still well-defined, years of running and gym-work sculpting him just right for her tastes. Mike smiled as he watched her watching him, and when he slipped off his CK trunks, she grinned happily. "Ooh Mikey, is that all for me?" she cooed, making him grin even wider. "Of course, you shameless hussy; no other hot naked girls here, are there?" Lissa grinned happily. "Better not be, or you'd be a dead man by now!" Mike slid onto the bed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer so he could kiss her properly. Lissa sighed and held him tightly, letting the last of the day's tension drain out of her. "Love you Mikey, never forget that!" she murmured, fondling him even as their lips met. Mike could feel her dampness against him, the heat of her pussy as she rubbed and squirmed against him, her actions telling him what she wanted. As they kissed, Mikey gently rolled her onto her back, feeling her lips curve into a grin against his, and when his hand drifted down her taut belly to gently stroke her damp and swollen pussy, she giggled and pulled away from him. "Don't tease, Mikey, I taught you better than that! Do it properly, for goodness sake!" Mike smiled, gently nipping her chin with his teeth as he slowly rubbed her stiff clitoris, making her gasp and sigh against him, and when he slipped a finger inside her and began to pump gently, she pulled him closer for another, firmer kiss. She covered his hand with hers, pushing him against her as he masturbated her, his movements becoming faster and faster, until their joined hands were almost a blur. The scent of her arousal rose heavy and compelling in the warm bedroom, the soft, heavy musk reaching down into him and triggering responses, elevating his own arousal, his own need for fulfilment. "Mike...Mikey...!" gasped Lissa, almost delirious with need, and Mike responded, slipping between her splayed thighs to lower his head and lap at her. As his tongue touched her swollen clitoris, Lissa stiffened, her hands clutching convulsively at the bedclothes as orgasm suddenly blazed and sparkled through her, blinding and deafening her in a soundless explosion of pleasure. "OOHHH Goooddd!" she screamed, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure swept across her. As she shook and trembled beneath him, Mike continued to lick and lap at her her, savouring her sweetness even as orgasms swept through her, one after another, her body quivering like a softly-struck bell with the force and power of them, until she finally slumped back, exhausted and sated, a sweet, satisfied smile on her face. "Thank you darling Mikey, you're wonderful, did you know that? Now come here and get your reward!" Mike grinned and straightened up, rearing over her, his penis stiff and straight as it pointed at her. "Fuck me, Mikey, fuck me hard!" she murmured, her eyes hooded as she smiled challengingly at him. Mike slid his hands under her waist and pulled her closer as he slid into her in one smooth, practised move, making her gasp at the intrusion. "Like that, Lissa?" he whispered, grinning again as she nodded happily. "God, you're good at this!" she murmured happily, "Remind me to keep you!" Mike smiled as his lips met hers, Lissa's tongue parting his lips to brush and tangle with his as he began pumping into her. Lissa's breath began to hitch and shudder as she moved against him meeting him thrust for thrust, until once more climax blazed through her, making her tighten around him as she gasped and whined. The constriction was too much for him, and he came in a rush, flooding her with what seemed like torrents of spunk, filling her as she trembled against him. They lay back, winded, breathless, but satisfied. They lay for long minutes, savouring the after-glow, until Lissa finally rolled on her side and traced a wandering, random pattern on his chest with her forefinger. "Mikey, there's one thing, and I don't know how to tell you, so I'm just going to tell you straight out, OK?" Mike looked at her quizzically. "You're not breaking-up with me are you?" he smiled, and grinned wider as she poked him in the side, his one ticklish spot. "Shut-up and listen, Mikey, this is important!" Mike subsided and paid attention while she gathered her thoughts. "Mike, I'm...not sure, but I think mum's on to us; no wait!" she put her hand on his chest as he tried to sit up, an alarmed expression on his face. "Mum knows, I'm sure of it, but she's OK with it; she asked me to do two things; she asked me to never hurt you, as if I would! The second..." She leaned over and kissed him softly on the forehead. "That's from mum; I think it was her way of telling you she's not mad or anything, that nothing's changed, and that she loves you; she just wants you to be happy, and so do I, and I hope I make you as happy as you make me! There, that wasn't too bad, was it?" Mike pulled her closer and nuzzled her neck, making her giggle. "You make me ecstatically happy, Lissa!" he murmured into her neck, making her smile happily. Lissa lay contentedly in the crook of his arm, beginning to doze-off, when a thought struck her. "Mikey, I have to go back to mum's in the morning; I need to collect my stuff; I only brought a change of underwear; I need to get some clothes. Can I borrow the Pajero?" Mike nodded sleepily. "Of course; I'm working from here tomorrow anyway; take it for as long as you need it." His voice was already blurry with sleep, and she too was almost ready to drop, and with his warm body nest to hers, Lissa quickly succumbed, falling into a deep, satisfied sleep, content to be with her Mikey... * When Mike awoke, she was gone. He passed the window on his way to the bathroom, and saw his 4x4 still parked outside, but her MR-2 was gone. "Must have changed her mind..." he mused as he got himself ready for a shower; he'd just stepped into the shower when his cell rang; "Fuck it, I'm here now, let it ring!" he thought, soaping up. His phone stopped, then started ringing again; again he ignored it; it rang off, and then the land-line phone started ringing. "Whoever it is, they must really want me!" he grinned to himself, reluctantly switching off the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist. He picked up his phone and saw the two missed calls, both from his parents' number. "What now?" he groaned mentally; more pleas from his mother to try and make it up with his father? More reasons from his father why he was right? He almost didn't return the call, but did, just to see what it was this time. His mother answered on the first ring. "Michael? Oh God, Mike, come home now, please! Mikey, it...it's Lissa...!" A cold knot twisted in the pit of his stomach. "Mum, MUM! What about Lissa, what happened, where is she?" he almost shouted; sudden fear, huge, wild, and unmanageable, wanted to run amok in him, and he only held it down by an effort of will. "Michael..." his mother trailed off, and Mike realised she was crying. Now the fear rose even higher, bitter and acrid in the back of his throat. "Michael..." His father, sounding strained, but still together. "Michael, it...Lissa...she was on her way here, she was on the A4 Bath Road, I told her a million times how dangerous the Bath Road was, I told her never, never come back that way, I don't know why...!" "What happened to Lissa!" screamed Mike into the handset, cutting his father short. "She was in an accident, Mike; we don't know what happened, but they had to cut her out of her car; they've airlifted her to the Royal Berkshire Hospital in Reading. We're on our way there, we'll see you in the Accident & Emergency unit. Hurry Michael!" Mike dressed hurriedly, running his fingers through his wet hair and taking the stairs two at a time, fear jumbling around inside him like a herd of elephants, huge and unstoppable as he bolted for his car, saying her name over and over, like a mantra, a prayer, hoping against hope she was alright, that she was going to be alright, telling himself she was going to be alright, begging, hoping, praying to anyone, anything that was listening to please make her alright, to make this go away, to make this have never happened. He never even noticed the twenty-mile drive to the hospital; he got in his car, and then he was pulling into the public parking area and running into the adult section of A&E; everything in between was just a blur. As he burst through the doors, he saw Brigitte, her face ashen as she leaned against John, his face suddenly lined and old. Brigitte jumped to her feet as soon as she saw him, and then she was in his arms, crying almost hysterically. Mike was trying not to cry too, to ask them just what had happened, but the words wouldn't come, just dry, croaking noises escaping past the huge lump in his throat. Eventually, he managed to calm his mother enough so he could ask her; John was lost in a world of his own, his eyes staring blankly, but at least his mother was able to talk. "Mum, just what happened, how...?" "She was hit by a lorry," said John, his voice barely above a whisper, "that's what the police said; she wasn't speeding or anything; she was stopped at a junction, and this cement truck just came out of nowhere and...and..." he paused to swallow, the sound loud and harsh in the sudden silence. "The truck driver jumped the lights, or his brakes failed, or whatever, but she was ...she was there...she couldn't...she had no chance...!" Mike watched in shock as tears raced down his cheeks; he'd never seen John show any emotion except supercilious arrogance or anger, and now this... A man in ER scrubs came through the doors from the A & E unit and looked enquiringly at the three of them. "Mr. Sheridan...?" he ventured. Mike glanced at his father, still incapable of speech, and stepped forward "I'm Michael, Lysette's brother; these are my parents. How is she please?" The doctor looked at all three of them, at their strained expressions and nodded. "Not here, if you don't mind; let's go somewhere a little more private. This way, please." They trailed after him to a small room with softer chairs than the waiting area, and the doctor waited until they were all seated, his face sympathetic, but set and unsmiling. "Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan, I'm sorry to have to tell you that Lysette has sustained a number of very serious injuries; she's in a coma, but her chances are not good; due to the nature of the impact, and the severity of the injuries caused by the impact, her brain activity is slowly but surely ramping down, and her body is beginning to progressively shut down. We've intervened where we can, as much as we can, but I don't know how effective we're going to be, so the next twenty-four hours are going to be crucial; if she survives that long, then I think she has a chance. In the meantime, we're monitoring her very carefully, but I think you should prepare yourselves in the event we can't save her. I'm so sorry, I wish I had more hopeful news, but I want to be honest with you; she sustained a very severe lateral impact, and the prognosis right now is very poor." John and Brigitte stared aghast at the doctor while Michael paled as the blood drained from his face; he felt light-headed, and the doctor's voice faded, drowned-out by the roaring in his head. This couldn't be happening; this was some weird, horrifying nightmare; he was going to wake up any second now and Lissa would be there, soft and warm, smiling sleepily as she kissed him; this place, with its cold, disinfectant smell and anonymous, bare white walls, this was just a nightmare, and he willed himself to wake up; he didn't want any more of this. But he was awake, and it was real, and it was Lissa, his Lissa, the centre of his world they were talking about; how could he sit there and talk so calmly, so clinically about her? She was more than a patient, she was Lissa, and he wanted her back, now, whole, complete, and none of this to have happened. He realised the doctor was still speaking. "...we've completed that, we'll be moving her to the Critical Care Unit; we can only allow one visitor at a time, I hope you can appreciate why. Once I have the plates and scans back from Medical Imaging, I can give you a more informed and balanced view of what, if anything, we can do next; it may be several hours yet. If you want to stay in here, please do, I'll have someone look in you as and when they can, but if you need anything, please ask at reception. I really am very sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan; let me assure you we are all doing our very best to provide all the care and attention Lysette needs right now to hopefully pull through. If there are any changes, I'll let you know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really have to get back to A & E." Brigitte turned to her husband, her mouth opening in a soundless scream, her throat working, but no sound coming out, then slumped forward against him as she passed-out. John caught her even as he locked gazes with Mike, no words between either of them; what was there to say? Mike sat huddled in his own private world, trembling with fear for his beloved Lissa; he'd thought he was scared before, now his fears were realised, and he knew with stomach-wrenching certainty what real fear was. Lissa was somewhere near, the thickness of a few walls away, and she was dying; he was here, and there was nothing he could do about it, no action that could make this not have happened. Now it was reality time, and the reality was that she was dying; all he could do was blame himself; he should have driven her, he'd never have taken the Bath Road, it was a death-trap, an accident black-spot because of all the heavy lorries and tankers thundering along it, using it as a rat-run to bypass the chaos of the M4 motorway in the morning rush-hour. Lysette's Gift How long he sat there brooding he didn't know; at some point the doctor came in and had a whispered conversation with his father, who then called him closer. "Michael, they're moving Lissa to...to the Critical Care Unit, they can only allow one visitor to stay with her, so while Mum's in there with her, I'll wait here. You go home and get anything of hers she left at your place; I know she only took important things with her last night; I think she'll want them near her when...when she wakes up. Please, Mike, do this for her. I'll call you if anything changes, I promise..." Mike nodded, not trusting himself to speak, kissed his mother, and pulled his coat around himself as he went back to his car. He drove home almost on automatic, driving mechanically, his body doing all the right things while his mind ranged up and down the morning's events, trying to find a way for this day to not have happened, for it to be yesterday, where Lissa would still be waiting for him to come to dinner and there was no possibility of this day happening, for him not have given her cause to come after him and so set this dreadful day in motion. Once home, he moved like a man in a trance, picking up clothes and folding them carefully before laying them on the bed, and putting each of Lissa's things in a bag to take back to the hospital; her green paste and turquoise earrings, the fine gold chain with the 'Lysette' pendant he'd given her on her eighteenth birthday, her 'Death's Head' biker ring that had always pissed off John, and then the last straw, the bracelet, made of cheap, garish Love-Beads and cast tin letters spelling out 'Lysette' he'd made for her in school when he was seven and she was ten, her good-luck charm that she'd worn every day for the last sixteen years... Mike slumped down in a chair, wracked with sobs as he held her luck in his hand, unwilling to hold it, yet unable to put it down; she'd always said her bracelet was the foundation of her luck, and was one of the few things she'd treasured; now she'd left the house without it, and this had happened... Mike cried until he couldn't cry any longer, and the sorrow slowly drained away, numbness creeping in as he contemplated his life without her; she'd been the mainstay of his life, more so even than his mother, and she was leaving, more and more of her slipping away with every passing minute. He leaned back in the chair, his eyes far away, as he riffled through his memories of her; Lissa always there at every school sports day, cheering him on, teaching him to swim, helping him to take his first solo on his bike; as he thought about her, he smiled as realised that she'd been there at his side almost every day of his life, holding him up, cheering him on, making it better when John put him down yet again. He smiled wistfully at the memory of that first night they'd become more than simply brother and sister; the 'Fresher's Party at university, almost three months after his eighteenth birthday, and how he'd been too shy to ask any of the girls he knew, and how intimidated he'd been to ask any of Lissa's friends; had he but known it, any of them would have jumped at the chance; Michael Sheridan was very good-looking young man, and Lissa's influence had made him respectful and well-behaved in the presence of girls. Eventually, Lissa, with an entirely fraudulent show of reluctance, had volunteered to be his date, just to avoid the embarrassment of him turning up alone at his first important university function. She'd danced exclusively with him all night, her attention riveted on him, her contact with him increasingly intimate, and his body had reacted predictably enough, much to his embarrassment; Lissa however, had just smiled, and held him even closer, and after the party had taken him back to her flat, rather than his own poky room in Halls. And there, right then, they had moved seamlessly to the next part of their lives, as Lissa took him and showed him what it was to make love when there was love involved. That night was the turning point in their lives, the point where they recognised what had been building all their lives, and the night they finally sealed their commitment to each other. For a night and a day they had made love, the final act of the lifetime of need that had built between them; lips and fingers, mouths and hands, nothing was ignored as they explored each other, awakening fully in each other that need always felt but never understood. Not an angry word had passed between them in the intervening five years since; they had no way to disagree, to differ, their souls and hearts so closely intertwined they were now one. Now, five years later, it had all come to nothing; he was losing her... "Mikey!" whispered a soft, sibilant voice, and his head snapped up in bewilderment, looking around wildly. "Mikey!" came the voice again, and this time he spun around, to see Lissa standing in the doorway, her eyes sparkling even as her lips curved in her familiar, mischievous smile. His eyes widened in shock, denial, disbelief. "Lissa? No it can't be! How...when...?" Lissa touched her fingertip to her lips. "Sshhh Mikey, listen, this won't take long, but you must listen!" Mike nodded silently, his mouth hanging open. Lissa walked soundlessly across the thick carpet and knelt beside him. Once again she smiled, her eyes lighting even as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Michael, I have loved you from the day you were born; my whole life has been for you. Now I have to go, but before I do, I have a gift and a message for you. You're the one for me, you were always the only one for me, and now I claim you for myself. My gift is my love for you; keep it safe, Mikey. Now, before I go, I have a message for you; time is only a thing, and it's a simple thing at that; remember that, Mikey; one day it will make sense to you, when the time is right. And when the time is right, touch the stars, Mikey, you must remember to touch the stars! I will watch over you, my beloved, and I will wait for you to touch the stars; when you do, all will become clear, and all that was lost will be returned, I promise you, my darling boy! I love you so much, Mikey, and for the love I give you freely, I beg you to do that do that one thing for me; you have to touch the stars!" Mike reached out to touch her, but suddenly she was out of reach, and as he extended his hand, she laid her hand in his. Mike gasped at the sensation as her hand sleeted though his, and, for a few seconds, seven tiny, impossibly bright points of light danced and whirled in the palm of his hand, a miniature constellation both present in his hand and simultaneously further away than the mind of man could ever envisage; he looked up at her in bewilderment, only to see her slowly fading in a pale nimbus of dancing, glittering motes. "Lissa...!" he choked, but she was almost gone; now only her face was still visible. "I have to go Mikey; please go to mum and dad, they need you now; and Mikey, remember; you must touch the stars!" And then she was gone. Mike leaped out of his chair, scrabbling wildly at the place she'd been. "Lissa, Lissa, no, please, Lissa...!" he pleaded, then stood stock-still as what she'd just said sank home; mum and dad needed him... He ran to his car and gunned all the way to back to the hospital, the fear leaping huge and hot inside him all over again. He skidded into a parking space and pelted into the A&E, hearing for real what he'd been hearing in his mind all the way back here: the sound of his mother screaming. He followed that sound, his heart fluttering with dread, to find his parents huddled together, Brigitte sobbing and screaming hysterically as John tried to hold her. She looked up and saw him, and tore herself away from her husband, flinging herself into his arms. "Michael, she's gone, my baby girl, she's gone, oh God, Michael my baby's gone!" she wailed, her arms around his neck stiff and rigid as she sobbed. Brigitte suddenly collapsed bonelessly against him, staggering him as he caught her weight, and eased them both onto a couch. "When...how ...what happened...?" he asked John, his father looking dazedly at him. "Michael, she just...went. She never woke up, she was just lying there, then suddenly everyone was running around and they were shocking her...she never came back, Mike, I never got to see my baby...!" his face crumpled as he too broke down, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed into his hands. The doctor from earlier looked in on them, and Mike beckoned him closer. "Can I see my...can I see my sister, please?" he whispered, and the doctor nodded, motioning him to follow him. He trailed Mike through a series of automatic doors and into the Critical Care Unit, indicating one of the pod-like bed-units. "Click that switch there when you want to leave," he whispered. "Someone will have to let you out. Take your time, Michael." Mike stared down though tear-blurred eyes, his last view of his beloved Lissa. She looked so small, so young and vulnerable, lying there in the space-age bed-pod, her features calm, composed, wax-like in their perfection. She looked like she was sleeping, like all it would take to wake her would be a light touch or the merest kiss, but he knew that was just fantasy, that she was gone, that the world that allowed vicious murderers and child pornographers to live long and contented lives had nevertheless whisked her from him in such a pointless, random way, she, who'd done nothing, ever, her entire life, except love and care for him. He reached down to brush her cheek, and as he touched her, noted without really seeing the track of the tear seeping from under her right eyelid. He took her hand, but there was no warmth there; she was gone, and he was alone in the dark, sterile room with all that remained of his dreams, the mortal remains of his Lissa, her face bathed in dull blue light. He shuddered; he was exhausted, or he was going crazy, or both; Lissa couldn't have come to him; she was gone, all that had ever been her was gone, and only the shell was left behind now, and, even if she had somehow come to him, what kind of message was that to give him? What kind of meaningless drivel was his mind insisting had come from her? Just what the hell did 'touch the stars' even mean, anyway? He knelt down next to her, and brushed her forehead with his lips, her skin already cool and distant, no vibrancy, none of the vitality and life that had thrilled through her; she was gone, and all that was left was...this. Mike bowed his head and rested his forehead on her chest, searching vainly for the patter of her heart, the thrum of her pulse, the sound of her breathing, and now he could cry; now his heart could finally feel her loss. They found him still like that an hour later, kneeling next to her, his arm cuddled around her with his head resting on her breast. * The Wake was everything he'd dreaded it would be. The funeral was bad enough, John trying to deliver the eulogy and breaking down, and having to be rescued by Uncle Joe, and Mike too sunk in his own misery to really care; this was wrong, this wasn't Lissa, this was a dog-and-pony show for the family to gawp at. Then back at the house, the traditional Wake, insisted on by his father's family, was as dire and monstrous as he thought it would be; Lissa and he hardly knew any of these people, so what gave them the right to celebrate her life, when they had no idea what her life had been about? And so he sat morosely in a corner, waiting for them to leave so he could, too, and never, ever come back to this place again; this was not his home now, not ever again, not now that his darling Lissa was gone forever. He stared vacantly, completely unfocussed, until a movement in his peripheral vision caused him to look up, startled, into the face of his Great-Aunt Ara. "And so, what now, Michael-Fionn?" the old lady smiled at him, "Are ye gonna sit and mope 'til you've forgotten why? This is all going to pass. She'll be back one day, Michael-Fionn, you do know that, don't you, now?" she twinkled at him. Mike felt the rage douse him like a bucket of ice-water as he sprang to his feet. What the Hell did this mad old biddy...? Fast as he was, the old lady had moved faster, her thin, spidery fingers holding him either side of his mouth in a grip he couldn't break. "SHUT up and listen!" she hissed. Mike stared at her, nonplussed, then nodded, amazed at the strength in her withered little parchment hand. "Good, because I have something for you; I think you know where it comes from. Time is only a thing, Michael-Fionn, and it's a simple thing, too. You must wait for time to pass, healing must happen, but soon, soon you will know when to touch the stars. Did ye get dat?" Mike stared at her; Lissa had said the same thing in his dream, or vision, or fantasy of her, and now Great-Aunt Ara, who'd only ever spoken to him in the past to ask him when he was getting married, or to get her a top-up on her glass of Bushmills, now she was saying it to him too. "How did you...?" he murmured, and the old woman smiled conspiratorially. "Much as they like to say otherwise, sometimes, Michael-Fionn Cormac Sheridan, 'The Sight' is more than just a story to cadge drinks off of American tourists on O'Connell Street! Your granny had it, your mother has it, although she denies it...and you have enough of it to make me wonder about you, oh yes! Keep your heart whole, Michael-Fionn, you will need it soon; wherever she is, Lysette-Clodagh is still part of us, mac Beag, still part of you; she was always in your stars, and she's not finished with you just yet! And one more thing..." She leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Next time you even T'INK about calling me names or showing me temper, I will lift the flat of my hand off your bare arse, Michael-Fionn, so I will!" For the first time in what felt like forever, Mike grinned, his spirits lifted by the surreal but inspiring exchange. Ara smiled back, her hand this time coming up to caress his cheek. "That's better, much better! When ye do that, I see your granny, my sweet Dearbhile, long gone, but still there in your smile. I know my sister is waiting for joy to come to you again; so am I, Michael-Fionn, so are all of us! So now ye know; ye have time, Michael-Fionn, time enough anyway to go get an old lady a drink, will ye go now!" Michael spent the rest of that mournful afternoon in a kind of daze; the exchange with his great-Aunt, an old woman he'd always dismissed as crazier than a bat in a henhouse, had spun his world on its heel; how could she have known what he'd seen, or fantasised, or hallucinated, or just plain dreamed? Whatever it was, her words had started a process in him; he'd finally begun to heal, gentle memory and sadness slowly taking the jagged edges off that great wound inside him. When his uncles, aunts, cousins and other, more distant kin had finally left, Mike sent Brigitte to bed; she'd sat the whole time, a stunned, faraway expression on her face, living the unreality of what was happening, that she was keeping the Wake for her child, something no parent should ever have to do. John took her and led her away, while Mike cleared away the debris of food, bottles and glasses, rearranging the furniture, and putting the house back the way it should be (but how could he do that; the most important part of this house was gone forever, now). He finished as best he could, picked his coat off the rack, and looked around one last time; this could never be home for him again. He'd call his mother in the morning, but he knew he'd never come back here, not where so much was missing now. * The next few months were a blur of work, work, and yet more work; if he kept himself busy, he wouldn't think about her, and true enough, his days were untroubled by thoughts of her. Night-time was something else, though; it was then, as he drifted silently through this empty house, where she should be, too, that his mind would play strange tricks on him, and he would see her, stretched-out on the sofa and burrowing her feet under the cushions, her cat-like smirk of satisfaction at banishing him to the easy-chair so she could stretch-out, or slipping into the kitchen in a brief robe to make coffee. The scent of her shampoo, lotion, and hairspray still hung heavy and redolent in the bathroom, or at least he convinced himself they did, and her trinkets and gewgaws still lived in the pin-tray on the dresser, waiting for her to pick them up and scrunch her hair back. He saw her out in the garden, dead-heading the rosebushes she'd planted, and her voice still lingered on the very cusp of hearing. He dreamed of her; every night he dreamed of her, long, puzzling dreams, where she talked to him about things he couldn't understand, then finally she would see his blank expression and laugh, her silvery tinkle still ringing in his ears as he jerked awake. Then he would despair, pleading with anyone, anything that was listening, to end this torture, to let him go, or help him let her go, to give him peace, any peace. He would fall asleep, and once again she'd be there, her body gleaming palely in the moonlight as they made love wildly, the remembered feel of his hands on her breasts, the stiffness of her nipples as he drove into her, the tight, honeyed sweetness of her as he devoured her, lapping at her as he squeezed and caressed her taut buttocks, making her mew and gasp as he pulled them apart to explore the secrets within; then memory would shift to the hot slickness of her mouth as she took him in, her tongue playing with his most sensitive flesh, until he could hold back no longer, and Lissa would suck, and lick, and take every drop of his gift to her. Other nights would be different; then she would dance through his thoughts all the long night, always out of reach, and always surrounded by that halo of seven golden stars he had seen in the palm of his hand. And yet, some mornings, for some unknown reason, he would awaken refreshed, rested, untroubled by his night, one thought uppermost in his mind. "Not long now, it won't be long now..." although he didn't know what he meant, or why it made so much sense, and felt so right. It was awakenings like that that kept his mind and soul together, that gave him hope. Slowly but surely, the healing begun at the Wake was working itself through him. * The year was turning again towards Christmas, the time Michael dreaded the most; a year had gone, the anniversary of THAT day was approaching, and he truly didn't know how to face it. Going home was meaningless; he and his mother had lost whatever connection they'd had when he lost Lissa, and he couldn't see his father in any light other than that it was his fault; if she hadn't walked out, she wouldn't have been there at those lights when that truck came out of nowhere and rendered all their hopes and plans moot. Mike decided he'd do what he always did; he'd go and see her, maybe take her some flowers, and tell her how much he loved her, how much he missed her, and ask her to wait for him; one day this would all be over, and he wanted her to be there for him when it came time to go home. He was just picking up his keys when the doorbell rang. Mike opened the door to see a pretty brunette, her long hair pulled into a ponytail under a baseball cap, with startling blue eyes and a fresh complexion. "Michael Sheridan?" she asked in a soft Border burr, and when Mike nodded, she held-up a package. "Special delivery. Sign here, please." Mike realised she was wearing a 'City Delivery' bomber jacket, and noted, without really seeing, the name tag 'Melissa'. Melissa handed him the electronic receipt machine, and showed him where to print and sign his name. As she took it back from him, he saw, on the palm of her left hand, a tattoo of stars in a fanciful constellation: seven stars. Lysette's Gift Without conscious thought, he took her hand and pressed it against his, their two hands pressed palm to palm. "Hoi, what the Hell...!" she snarled, trying to snatch her hand from his, but then she froze, her eyes wide, far away. Mike was in no better state; a series of soundless, silvery-white explosions were bursting in his head, seven in all, and as he sank to his knees with the intensity of it, the girl flopped bonelessly down against him, sprawling on him with her eyes rolled back so far all he could see were the whites, two crescent moons under her slitted lids. Mike somehow managed to get the girl's dead-weight into the nearest chair, wondering what the hell had just happened, then staggered on rubber legs into the kitchen to get her some water. While he was there, he splashed his face with icy water from the cold tap, the shock of the cold water reviving him a little. With hands still slightly shaking, he ran a glass of water and weaved back into the sitting room to find Melissa gone. As he looked around in bewilderment, he saw movement in the hall, followed it, and dropped the glass in shock, not even hearing the crash as the glass exploded on the polished floor. "Hello Mikey!" breathed Lissa, and it was Lissa, perfect in every detail, wearing Melissa's uniform, but Lissa, standing there, as real as real. Mike staggered back against the door frame, his heart pounding like a steam-engine. This was...impossible; Lissa was...today, a year ago today...this couldn't be happening. It was the strain, that's what it was, it had to be! Anything else was just...not possible... "Mikey, stop it, you'll have a seizure!" grinned Lissa (correction, this hallucination, what else could it be?), walking towards him, while he backed away until the wall stopped him. She reached out to touch him, and Mike screwed up his eyes, trying to make this terrible apparition, or hallucination, or lucid dream, wherever it was, just go away and leave him to his grief. And then the soft warmth of her hand, a finger tracing the line of his nose and down across his lips, to gently scratch his chin, just as Lissa would do to make him smile. He opened his eyes and she was still there, still smiling up at him, those beautiful dove-grey eyes, and that mass of blazing copper hair. "What...how...please...!" he stammered, and Lissa smiled once more, and leaned in close to kiss him on the chin, before stepping back slightly to look him once more in the eyes. "I told you right at the beginning, Mikey, and I kept telling you; time is the simplest thing!" she smiled, before hugging him. Mike, in his heightened state of awareness, could feel her heart beating against his, feel her breath soft against his neck, the pressure of her fingers on the small of his back, the awareness that she was real, and alive, and here, in his arms, gradually flooding through him. "But you were...the hospital...the burial...I don't understand!" he finally managed to blurt out, and Lissa grinned. "Come with me, Mikey, I want to show you something." So saying, she led him unresisting into the hallway, and turned him to face the large mirror there, making him gasp at what he saw there; in the mirror, the pretty brunette was standing next to him, smiling at her reflection, but when Mike turned away from the mirror, it was still Lissa standing there next to him. "How...?" he began, but Lissa hushed him. "That is who people will see, all they will ever see. Only you can see me as I really am; that is the gift I was allowed to give you. It's really me, Mikey, I promise, and I'm here, I'm real, I'm not some zombie or vampire or whatever; Mikey, it's me, and I came back, just as I promised I would!" Mike leaned back against the wall, and slowly slid to the floor, shaking his head in denial; these things happen in Poe novels, not real life; how could any of this not be some kind of brain-injury, an aneurism, or a stroke-induced fantasy. He slumped forward, his head in his hands, willing this bizarre situation be over, that he would wake-up in a nice soft room somewhere... "Mikey!" Lissa's voice lashed across his maunderings, jerking his head upright. She held his face between her hands (soft, warm, live hands, he noted absently), then slid across him, sitting astride him on the floor, to look straight into his eyes. "Mikey, it's me, really!" she smiled, but Mike only shook his head. "So if you're...you, who the hell was that in the mirror?" he managed to croak, and Lissa grinned even wider. "Also me; you just have to understand what's happened here, Mikey! Now, are you going to shut-up and listen?" Mike nodded mutely; might as well let this whole crazy fantasy spin even further out of control; he'd already lost his mind... Lissa cocked her head, studying him for a second or two, then nodded in satisfaction at something. "Mikey, do you remember what I said to you, the last thing I said to you before I...left? I told you that time is only a thing, and it's a very simple thing, too, once you understand it. When I...died, I moved out of time, I was no longer part of time, and I could see it all, be anywhere, go anywhere, and see anything!" Her smile faltered, and a tear trailed down her cheek. "I watched you being born, Mikey; I watched you being born and growing-up, and falling in love with me, and I loved you more each time I saw it. I've watched over you all through your life; that time when you were seven, and that car nearly hit you on the Hungerford Road? It was me that pushed you out of the way. I have been ranging up and down your life, Mikey, my own, darling Michael-boy, I have seen our first night together, and every night since then; I felt your pain spiking in my heart as you suffered alone, and I've seen our future...and our children, and so I knew what I had to do." Fascinated in spite of himself, Mike reached out to stroke her hair, his fingers thrilling again at the remembered feel of her silky copper tresses. She was here, somehow, impossibly, against all reason, she had come back, and she was no revenant, no risen, reanimated corpse, no creature of night and evil. She was real, it really was her! "So how is this...all this, possible?" he whispered, "and who is that other girl, and how did she get mixed-up in this?" Lissa leaned forward, resting her head against his chest, her favorite pose when she was thinking. At first, Mike thought she wasn't going to continue, but then she spoke, her voice so low he had to strain to hear what she was saying. "The other girl is called Melissa Sherman; she was born the same day as me, near Carlisle, in the Borders. When we were born, my soul, spirit, whatever, was allowed to occupy her body as well as my own; there were two of us, at opposite ends of the country, but only one soul. I took nothing from her; for whatever reasons there are for these things, she was destined to be still-born, and so I, me, the discarnate soul of Lysette, was allowed to warp time so I could exist both as me and as her at the same time, two bodies, but only one soul. I made the paradox that allowed two versions of me to exist at once, although, from my point of view, outside of time as I was, there was no such thing, just two aspects of the same thing; as I kept telling you, time is the simplest thing, if you understand it. I was able to ensure we both lived and grew, and became people in our own right. But the soul of MeLissa Sherman was always me; we were the same person, just two very different lives." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "When I, the part that is me, died, it collapsed the paradox. Now there was only one version of me, Melissa, still with one soul but existing in two places at once; outside time, and, unknowingly, inside Melissa, waiting for the time that I had created to be right, that would bring her here, where you could touch the stars and release me. That was the price I agreed to pay; part of the agreement was that only you could bring me back; if she had never met you, if she had never come here, if you had never touched the stars, Melissa would have remained Melissa, with a life and future all of her own." Mike stirred. "Agreement with who...Lissa, if that's who you are? How do I know I'm not in a hospital bed somewhere drugged to the eyeballs and this isn't just a psychotic fantasy?" Lissa stared levelly at him until he turned away. "Just for the sake of argument, let's assume I'm not insane, and this is really happening. Who did you bargain with? God? The Devil? The Grim Reaper? Shazam? Who, Lissa?" Lissa smiled as she nodded slightly, as if glad he'd asked the question. "I don't know, Mikey; not God, I think; somehow I don't think the King of the Universe goes and hunts around for a wrench when he gets the equivalent of a leaky toilet; one of his people takes care of it, I think; he may see the fall of every sparrow; I don't think he actually feels compelled to anything about it every time it happens. In my case, there was obviously a higher plan, so I was offered this chance, and only this once, to get it right." "So who made you this offer?" he persisted, and Lissa grinned. "Well, Mikey, I really don't know; the potential for the deal was suddenly there, and then suddenly it had always been there; somehow I knew what to do, I always had, like the deal had always been waiting for me to show up, and I knew what to do to make it all fall into place; if I'd been breaking any rules, I think something might have showed-up to put a stop to it, so yes, sanction came from somewhere higher up, of that I'm sure." She giggled, that same, throaty chuckle that had always made the short hairs on his neck stand on end. "I took care of both of you, did you know that? I had to make sure that Melissa would live, that no harm would come to her, to keep gently nudging her so that she could be here today; I had to watch over you, Michael-boy, and I had to keep an eye on her, and one on me too, as I grew up. Believe me, I've been busy this last year!" Lissa leaned back slightly and rested her hands on his shoulders. "Mikey, I have loved you every day of my life, now I know why; I was born to ensure you would be happy and safe every day of your life; I have died and seen what the future holds for us, and I know now that love does endure beyond death, and it will reverse death if it has reason to. That I did, and so I'm back with you, where I was destined to be. Will you love me again, Michael-Fionn Cormac Sheridan?" Mike tried to answer, but his mouth could only work as the swelling in his breast locked the words in his throat. His arms encircled her, dragging her against him as a storm of harsh, braying sobs burst from him, all the rage and pain, despair and need finally venting, finally releasing him. Lissa clung to him as he cried out all his loss and grief. "Mike..." she whispered as he crushed her against him, one hand buried in her hair as his other held her tightly, deep, shuddering sobs wracking him. "I lost you, I lost you, I needed you so much, and you were gone, I wanted to die too..." he sobbed, and all she could do was stroke his hair as his long-held grief poured out of him. "Ssshh Mikey, it's all over now, I'm here Mikey-boy, I'm back, and I'm never leaving you again, I promise!" she breathed as she stroked and caressed his hair, his face, the small of his back where her arms encircled him. "I'm never leaving you, not for one second, that I promise you, Mikey!" They sank to the their knees, Lissa holding him tightly as tremors shook him, growing less with every minute as catharsis set in, her caresses becoming gentle kisses on his cheeks, his neck, and on his lips. As his paroxysm of grief calmed, Mike became aware of another feeling altogether; it had been a year since Lissa's death, and he'd had no intimate contact of any sort since that day, nor any wish for it, but now, as he cuddled her on his lap, he could feel the stirrings of another sort of need. Lissa felt it too, squirming happily in that way she'd always had. "Feels like you finally believe me, Mikey-boy!" she grinned, and Mike, on a sudden impulse, pulled her close, his lips finding hers as his tongue rubbed gently against hers. As they kissed, Mike could feel that old frisson, the subtle tells from her kiss that gave her identity away. My God, he thought, it really is her; somehow, it really is her! Lissa broke their kiss to smile at him once again, watching him as all the barriers he'd erected finally crumbled. She scrambled to her feet and held her hand out to him, grinning all the while. "Come with me, Mikey, there's something I want to do," she whispered, once more tugging him to his feet. He looked quizzically at her and she grinned her old, mischievous grin. "Race you to the bedroom!" she taunted, grinning as Mike once more smiled at her challenge, one he'd heard so many times before. As he too scrambled to his feet, he glimpsed her in the mirror; the brunette was gone, and only Lissa was there next to him. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and smiled as she reached up to lightly pinch his chin. "Where is she...?" he began, and Lissa's smile broadened. "She's still there, Mikey; the rest of the world can see her; all they'll ever see is her; only you will ever see me; it has to be this way; Lissa Sheridan is dead, so it might raise a few eyebrows for her to be seen wandering around Newbury with you, don'cha think? To you, I'll always be me; the rest of the world will see Melissa, and hear her voice. This is also part of the price, and I think I can live with it. Now come with me; we have one more fence to mend." Mike still held back, staring in the mirror. "So what about her? Really? What about who she was, her family? Is she still anywhere at all, or did you just swamp her and take her over?" Lissa held his face in her two hands, looking up at him. "Mikey, no-one took anything; Melissa lived a full life; she has no living family in her home town, which is why she came to London, but she had a happy life, and she loved her parents, and I remember that, because they were my family and I loved them too; I will keep their memory alive for Melissa, it's the very least I can do for her. All she was, it's all here, in me. Don't forget; we're both the same person, and all she was, or remembers, or wanted, those were me too; she'll always be a part of me, here inside me." Lissa paused to watch him take this all in, then resumed talking. "Melissa never really existed; she was born to be part of me, but she's being rewarded for her part in this; don't worry about her; something bigger than me is watching over her, over who she could have, would have, should have been, and I know, without knowing how I know, that the soul that was denied her is being reborn, and she will have a proper life this time around, one that's completely hers. I have a feeling she will be a very special person; when you play by the rules, you reap the rewards, and I can feel her happiness; believe me, she's being rewarded. Now come with me, baby-boy!" As Mike followed her up the stairs, his eyes fixed on her bottom, twinkling enticingly at him in tight jeans, and once again he marvelled at the fact she was here, alive again, against all hope or expectation. He could feel himself responding more overtly to her body, his need for her suddenly leaping high inside him. As they reached the top of the stairs, she turned to say something, and Mike pulled her close, unable to stop himself as his lips crushed against hers. Lissa squeaked in surprise, then her lips curved against his as she smiled, and her hand curled around his neck to hold him tightly against her as she kissed him back with equal vigour. "Whew, that came out of the bank!" she gasped when Mike broke their kiss, smiling broadly, his expression unreadable, as true happiness, something he'd thought he'd lost forever, flooded through him. Lissa nodded, a faint smile on her lips. "Make love to me, Mikey," she whispered, "I've waited a whole lifetime to be with you again, Michael-Fionn, will you take me back?" Mike was almost trembling with need as he gently pulled her close, feeling her soft, remembered body moulding itself to him. His hands slipped down to cup and squeeze her taut, neat little buttocks, making her sigh even as she wriggled contentedly against him. He fumbled with the button of her jeans even as she shrugged-off the delivery company bomber jacket, and then he was pulling her t-shirt over her head even as she tugged his shirt open. Lips locked together, they tumbled out of their clothes and dropped onto the bed naked, hands holding, touching, squeezing and caressing, remembering with their fingers, lips and tongues, until finally Mike found himself on his back, Lissa straddling him. Her hand sought him out, and with their eyes locked together, she sank down on him even as he thrust up into her, joining with her, her sleek moistness enfolding him as she clasped and squeezed him with her internal muscles. They began the well-remembered rhythm, the silence of the room broken only by the slap of flesh on flesh, and the muted sighs and gasps of lovers making love. Much as they wanted this to last forever, too much lay between them for it to last; their bodies speeded-up, sighs giving way to entreaties, until the mutual explosion, her scream of fulfilment in counterpoint to his deep groan as he poured himself into her, tribute long kept, a gift he had never once considered that he would ever give to her again. They collapsed exhausted, the intense emotions of the day taking their toll of both of them, but when Mike awoke in the early evening dusk, he was alone. The bed next to him was cold, and he knew he must have been dreaming again. Tears started in his eyes at the cruelty of the dream he'd allowed himself to accept as real, but just as he began to climb out of bed to endure another evening alone with his loss, he heard the front door slam. His heart leaping into his throat, he grabbed a robe and ran downstairs, and there she was, as real as real, emptying a shopping bag into the fridge. She turned as he burst into the kitchen, dropping everything at his expression. "Mikey...what...?" she stumbled as he kissed her wildly. "I thought you were a dream...I thought I imagined you...!" he gabbled, holding and fondling her, reassuring himself that she was indeed real, that she was still here. "Mikey, I just went to the shops! I had to throw out all that stuff in the fridge; I thought I told you never to buy all that rubbish! I only went around the corner...!" she giggled as he crushed her to himself. "Let me go so I can make lunch, Mikey! Eat something, then you have to take me to mum and dad's!" That brought him back down with a bump. "Really? Can't we wait a couple of days?" Lissa shook her head. "Mikey, you've avoided them since the Wake; it's been a year; you have to stop blaming dad and make up with him; you don't need to be so angry with him anymore. I want to see them again, Mikey; I missed them so very much; please take me there, you have to, I can't just waltz in and introduce myself!" * Mike fidgeted outside the door; he'd had no contact with John and Brigitte in a year; until now, his towering anger with his father had kept him from coming back to this place that held only memories of loss and grief. His hand hovered over the door-knocker, reluctant to cross that bridge again. Lissa pursed her lips and knocked firmly, poking him in the side as she did so, making him grin as she found his ticklish spot all over again. The door opened, and Brigitte stood there, her mouth an 'O' of surprise as Mike smiled at her. "Hi mum...!" he began, trailing off as her eyes filled. "Michael...!" she whispered, her hand at her throat, and then she was in his arms, hugging him fiercely. Lysette's Gift "I never thought...it's been so long...I missed you so much...!" she sobbed into his chest, while Mike held her tight, bitterly regretting the past year he'd spent immersed in his own grief and anger, selfishly forgetting what she was going through too. "I'm sorry mum, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he kept murmuring as he nuzzled her hair, holding her against him as she cried. Mike pulled her into the entrance hall and shut the door against the cold, still stroking her hair until her sobs died down and she was able to notice her surroundings. Her face flushed as she took in the pretty girl with her son. Mike in turn grinned and gently pulled Lissa forward. "Mum, meet Melissa Sherman; this is the girl I'm going to marry. Melissa, meet my mum, Brigitte." Brigitte's eyes widened as she heard what Mike said, a happy smile lighting up her face. "Oh Mikey, is it true? Finally? Oh, I'm so happy for you, for both of you! John! John! Michael's here!" Mike helped Lissa take off her jacket, doffing his own, and as he hung them on pegs, John stepped out into the hallway. Mike was shocked to see how haggard he looked; the last year had obviously been hard on him, and he looked old beyond his years, shrunken into himself, beaten down and defeated. "Mike...so good to see you, son..." he murmured, all the stiff-necked bombast gone, and Mike's heart went out to his father, now just a shadow of his former self. Lissa nudged him, and so he took his father's outstretched hand, then pulled him into a hug. John stiffened for a second, then returned the hug, pounding his son on the back as his emotions got the better of him. John released him and held him by the shoulders, looking keenly at him. "You're looking well, son. And who's this young lady?" Mike took Lissa' hand and urged her forward. "Dad, this is Melissa, Melissa Sherman; we're getting married. Melissa, this is my dad, John Sheridan." Lissa went through the pantomime of shaking hands, John obviously not recognising her, but he smiled, his face creasing into long unused laugh-lines. "I'm so happy for both of you! You remind me of someone...never mind, it'll come back to me. Come in, sit down, and tell us about yourself." Mike and his father chatted in a way they had never managed before; no barely restrained criticism, no suppressed anger, no sniping and sarcasm; for the first time in their lives they connected as father and son; the loss to both of them had changed them both profoundly, helped along by the girl Mike had brought to meet his parents, the first ever. When they were leaving, John actually startled Mike by hugging him, a first, and an apology, another first, for never respecting him or his choices. Mike was in a thoughtful mood all the way home; in some way he couldn't define, his feelings and attitude towards his father had undergone a radical shift. Lissa smiled in understanding and patted his knee. "There you go, Mikey; all it needed was a little forgiveness. Now we can start over again!" * When he hung their jackets up in the hallway, Mike noticed on the hall table the package that 'Melissa' had delivered, that had started this whole chain of events. Attached was an envelope addressed to him, in Lissa's handwriting. Intrigued, he slit the flap and pulled out a folded sheet of notepaper. "Dear Mikey, "I tried to get this for you for your birthday but the specialist bookseller didn't have a copy, but they did promise to despatch it as soon as they got a good one in. Whenever it arrives, I hope you enjoy; I know how much you love this story. "I Love You, Lissa" Mike grinned and tore open the package, and laughed out loud; in his hand was a bound first edition of 'A Christmas Carol'... POSTSCRIPT: Mike and Lissa were married on the feast of Candlemas, February 2nd, a crisp, snowy day, in the church near Theale where his parents had married, and his grandparents before that, in a small, private ceremony, with only immediate family present. When their daughter was born a year later, everyone marvelled at her sea-grey eyes and flaming copper hair, the very image of her grandmother Brigitte, and Michael's lost sister, too; John and Brigitte gave their blessing when Mike named her 'Lysette', in honour of his sister. Curiously, no-one in the family ever once noticed, or commented, that Mike always called his wife 'Lissa', rather than her given name.