Autumn was at the far end, by the billiards room archway, standing in the flesh.
She was dressed in white, her hair twisted back from her face, her delicate hands up to her mouth. Her eyes were wide and red rimmed, her cheeks wet, her expression one of such love and compassion, it instantly made the pain fade.
She had come.
She had come for him.
She still had love. . . for him.
Tohr started to weep properly, his sobs exploding out of his chest. Reaching for Autumn, he held his hand forward, beckoning to her, because in this moment of letting go, after this seemingly endless, painful journey, along which she and she alone had joined him, he'd never felt closer to anyone. . . .
Even his Wellsie.
Reborn, resurrected. . . back from the dead.
Across from where Tohr was writhing in pain from the salt wash, Lassiter grit his teeth not because he was commiserating, but because his head was driving him nuts.
Reborn, resurrected. . . back from the dead -
Tohr began to sob, his heavy arm stretching, his hand opening. . . and reaching for Autumn.
Ah, yes. . . Lassiter thought, the final part of it. Fate had demanded the blood, and the sweat. . . and the tears, not for Wellsie, but for another. For Autumn.
This was the final part, these tears spilled by the male for the female he had finally allowed himself to love.
In a rush, Lassiter looked up to the ceiling, to the painted warriors with their fierce steeds, to the deep blue background -
The sunbeam seemed to come from out of nowhere, piercing through the stone and mortar and plaster of what was above them all, the bright light so strong even Lassiter had to wince as the illumination arrived to claim a female of worth from a hell that was not of her doing. . . .
Yes, yes, there in the center of the dome, with her young in her arms, Wellsie appeared as brilliant and vibrant as a rainbow, lit from without and within, color returned unto her, life renewed because she was saved, because she was free - and so was her son.
And just before she was subsumed, from the loft of her heavenly heights, she looked upon Tohr, and looked upon Autumn, though neither of them saw her and nor did the crowd. Her expression was nothing but love for the pair, for the hellren she had had to leave behind, for the female who would spare him his own torment, for the future the two would have together.
Then with an abiding, peaceful expression, she lifted her hand in a good-bye to Lassiter. . . and was gone, the light consuming her and her son and carrying them away to the place where the dead were at home and at rest for all of eternity.
As the light faded, Lassiter waited for his own burst of illumination, his own claiming sun, his own return for a final time to the Maker.
Except. . .
He was still. . . right where he was.
Resurrected, reborn. . . back from the dead. . .
He was missing something here, he thought. Wellsie was free, but -
At that moment he focused on Autumn, who had gripped the skirting of her white robe and taken a step forward, toward Tohr.
From out of nowhere, a second bolt of great light broke through from above -
But it came not for him. It came. . . for her.
Lassiter's mind made the connection with the speed and shock of a lightning bolt: She had died long ago. Taken her own life. . .
The In Between. Different for each person. Tailor-made.
Everything went into slow motion as the second truth was revealed: Autumn had been in her own In Between the whole time, traveling to the Sanctuary and serving the Chosen for all those years, then coming down here to earth to complete the cycle that had begun back in the Old Country with Tohrment.
And now that she had helped him save his shellan. . . now that she had let herself feel for him and let go of her sorrow at her own tragedy. . .