When someone is close to death, it is said their whole life rushes before them. That was not so for Belvedere. For as he plunged like a rock, he saw only one face; only swirls of luxurious chestnut hair; only the deep, dark eyes of his one true love. He smiled then. Belvedere wasn’t afraid of death, not if it meant being back with his darling Gwendolyn.
He felt the heated air tugging at his shirt sleeves, flapping at his bootlaces. There were worse ways to go. It would be a quick ending. But from out of his daydreaming a second face appeared, a familiar face, and with it a voice.
“Bells. We’ve almost got you, Bells, but you have to breathe!”
Something hard struck his chest, his head flung forward then back.
“Bells! Damn it, man, you’re a fighter born and bred, now fight!”
Belvedere fe
