by Mae Clair
“Back in a flash.” Heart pounding, Jillian switched to the other call. “Hello?”
“Jillian Cley?”
“Yes?”
“This is Nurse Hollinger from Rest Haven.”
She was familiar with the woman. Had spoken with her multiple times. “Has there been a change with Madison?” She held her breath, poised for the news her sister was speaking. Digging her nails into her palm, she counted the seconds until Hollinger’s somber voice sounded in her ear.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Ms. Cley, but your sister was the victim of an unfortunate accident that caused her heart to stop beating. Please come as soon as you can.”
* * * *
Jillian was shell-shocked. She had no other words to describe the heavy fog through which she moved. She’d flown out the door even as she relayed the news to Dante. He’d insisted she drive to his house rather than straight to Rest Haven. Because the stop was on the way, and because she feared her emotional stability, she’d conceded. Within seconds of arriving, Dante hustled Blizzard into the back of his 4Runner, her into the passenger seat.
She fought back tears.
“Her heart stopped beating. Please come as soon as you can.”
After all she and Madison had done through the years to keep Gabriel’s memory alive, her sister had fallen victim to the monsters of Hickory Chapel Cemetery. It was so unfair, especially when Madison had been on the verge of a breakthrough.
Dante reached over the center console to squeeze her hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
She wiped away a tear. “Her heart stopped beating.”
“But they were able to revive her.” He reminded her of Nurse Hollinger’s parting words. Madison had been enjoying a quiet dinner in the dining room when a new resident suddenly became violent and threw a chair across the room. Jillian’s sister was struck full force in the chest, the blunt trauma sparking a condition Nurse Hollinger called “commotio cordis.” The electrical system in Madison’s heart short-circuited from the shock of impact. For a full minute, fifty-six seconds, she’d been clinically dead, the victim of a freak accident. Two aides, working in tandem, were able to restart her heart through CPR. She’d eventually been taken by ambulance to Palmer Point Hospital, listed as unconscious but stable.
“It’s just not fair.” Blizzard poked his head from the back seat, nosing beneath her arm to offer comfort. Jillian hugged him close. “Everything was going so well. Madison made more progress in the last few days than she has in years.” Her tears soaked into Blizzard’s fur.
Dante rubbed her shoulder. “She survived Mill Street and she survived this. Your sister is going to be okay.”
Biting her lip, Jillian nodded. She wiped tears from her face. “I thought she’d be safe in Rest Haven.”
“I did, too.”
A sedan passed in the opposing lane, the white glare of headlights sweeping through the car. Jillian studied Dante. “Then you think the accident was because of the curse?”
“I do.” He kept his attention on the road, hands locked on the steering wheel. “The sooner we have the séance, the better. I have most everything together I need. Did you talk to Maya?”
“She’s going to be out of town.”
His mouth tightened. “Then we move ahead anyway. It doesn’t matter how many sitters we have. At this point, it’s more important to channel what energy we have into contacting Gabriel.”
“I asked Sherre to come.” Concentrating on the séance helped shift her focus from Madison. Her stomach was in knots, but there was nothing she could do for her sister until she arrived at the hospital. “She said she’d think about it.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“No, it’s not.” Resolution settled like a rock in her stomach. “Once we reach the hospital and I’ve had a chance to see Madison, I’ll call her.”
* * * *
Sherre carried a glass of white wine and a dinner plate into the living room, then collapsed on the couch. From habit, she switched on the TV then flicked through the channels. Part of her wanted something to keep her mind occupied, the other part couldn’t stand the noise. Her head pounded, making the grilled cheese sandwich she’d toasted on a griddle less than appetizing. Setting the plate on the coffee table, she rubbed her eyes and folded back against the sofa cushions.
It was nearly ten o’clock at night, and the day had been grueling. Not because of an excess of calls, but because her mind kept tripping over potholes every time she thought of Carrie, the records clerk; Coleman, the janitor; or Henry Teale. Not to mention the host of other people who’d met untimely ends. Jillian had filled her head with stories of phantom church bells and curses. Reluctant to buy into old wives’ tales, she’d dug through historical records and death certificates only to discover the people who’d died each had ancestors in Hickory Chapel Cemetery.
But was that enough to motivate her to attend a séance? The blare of a siren rose in the distance, the wail faint and far away. It was a city sound, one she’d heard countless times. Any other night she might have switched on her scanner, ready to bolt out the door if needed. But the shrill noise carried an ominous edge, one that made her want to stay sealed within the walls of her apartment.
“Shit. Get a grip.” It was just a siren, far from supernatural.
Far from the eerie toll of a church bell.
The jangle of her phone startled her. Thankful for the intrusion, she dug the cell from her pocket, noting the caller before answering.
“Jillian. Is everything all right?”
“No.” Jillian’s voice was strained, tremulous with emotion. She drew a shaky breath. “There was an accident tonight.”
Sherre’s belly clenched. “Madison?”
“Someone threw a chair. It hit her in the chest and short-circuited her heart.”
“What the hell?” In an instant, she was on her feet, gut ballooning into her throat. “She…she can’t be—”
“They were able to revive her.”
“Thank God. You mean she was—”
“Dead.” Jillian’s voice was monotone. In the next second, she hitched in a breath as if fighting tears. “I can’t lose her, Sherre. I can’t.”
“I know.” If there was anyone who grieved every bit as much as Madison, it was Jillian. After three years of watching the sisters suffer, Sherre no longer had the stomach to deny even the most ludicrous request. “What do you want me to do?”
“Say you’ll come to the séance Friday night. Nine o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.” She hung up the phone. Moving mechanically, she carried her wine and grilled cheese into the kitchen, dumped the wine down the sink and the sandwich in the trash. The pounding in her head was like a sledgehammer. She barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up.
* * * *
Jillian spent the night in the hospital, curled up in a chair by her sister’s bedside. As a therapy animal, Blizzard was greenlighted to stay, but Jillian asked Dante to take the dog home with him. He left close to eleven, promising to return the next morning. Throughout the night, various hospital staff filtered in and out of the room, checking periodically on Madison and recording her vital signs. Jillian’s sister slept soundly, and somewhere after one in the morning, Jillian eventually fell into an exhausted sleep.
She woke to a beam of sunlight slanting across her face and pronounced stiffness in her neck. Groggily, she rubbed her eyes.
“Hi.” The voice was familiar, one she’d barely heard in three years.
Jillian froze, her gaze flashing to the bed. Madison relaxed against the pillows, sheets drawn to her chest, an uncertain smile on her lips. For the first time in thirty-six months, her eyes were unclouded, intelligence visible in every line of her face. Her smile inched higher. “I’ve missed you.”
Sobbing, Jillian collapsed at the b
edside.
* * * *
The day was consumed by a battery of exams and questions. Consulting doctors, specialists, and nurses. Prodding, blood samples, machines. Madison was out of her room for most of it, wheeled to this or that department, for this or that test. Jillian ate lunch in the cafeteria with Dante then asked if he would take Blizzard for one more night.
“I need to speak to Madison. Alone. Without doctors and nurses hanging on her every word. Without—”
“I get it.” He held up his hand. “I need to put things together for the séance, anyway. You’re still going through with it, right?”
“Of course.” Madison had survived “death,” but others might not be so lucky. Thus far, no one had been. Keeping Gabriel’s memory alive might have made the difference for Madison, but Jillian still had a responsibility to the residents of Hode’s Hill with ancestors in Hickory Chapel Cemetery. “The doctors seem to think Madison will be here for two more days. As long as she continues to do okay, they’re talking about moving her to a rehab center to help rebuild her strength.”
“Sounds logical.” Dante swirled sugar into his coffee.
Jillian nodded. “Rest Haven made sure she got up and walked each day, but she’s lost a lot of weight plus strength and mobility.” She plucked a corner from the chicken salad sandwich on her plate and nibbled the bread. Soup would have been better given her stomach had been twisted into a fat knot from the moment she’d awakened.
At thirteen minutes after two on a Thursday afternoon, the cafeteria wasn’t crowded. Three nurses shared salads at a table by the entrance. Nearby, an older couple talked over bowls of fruit cocktail. A young mother pushed a stroller with a sleeping baby through the food line, sliding a red tray one-handed along the serving counter. A few people sat hunched over cell phones or laptops, and occasionally an overhead page requested someone report to lab or X-ray. A typical hospital cafeteria, it looked the part, right down to the sound-absorbing ceiling tiles, potted ferns, and ergonomic chairs.
Gaze downcast, Jillian took another bite of her chicken salad. Blizzard lay beside her chair, keenly watching the activity around him.
“I thought you’d be happier about your sister.” Dante shoved his plate aside, only crumbs remaining from his sandwich.
“I am happy.” Overjoyed. Ecstatic. But there was a downside to that giddy euphoria, too. “With all the tests Madison has been going through, I’ve had time to think about what it means—three years of her life gone. She’s going to need more than physical help to readjust.”
“I’m sure her doctors will tell you what kind of counseling she’ll need.” The corner of his mouth pulled into a frown as he studied her. “It’s all good, Jillian.”
“I know.” He probably thought she was an idiot. Or doomsayer. Likely both. For three years, she’d looked forward to the day Madison recovered, and now her gut was in turmoil. “I’m just scared. I came so close to losing her.” Fear was the true culprit of the emotion plaguing her. “I’ll feel better once Gabriel’s remains are back in his grave.”
“Forget about Gabriel until Friday night. He’s my problem.” He cracked a smile. “Leave the ghost, the grim, and the monsters to me.”
The knot in her stomach unraveled. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.”
He laid his hand over hers where it rested on the table. “It’s my pleasure.”
* * * *
Jillian drew her chair closer to her sister’s bed. The barrage of tests finally over, both she and Madison could breathe easier. The revolving door of doctors, nurses, technicians, and aides had sputtered to an infrequent appearance. Dante had left with Blizzard, promising to return and pick her up after visiting hours. For three years Jillian had used the husky as a shield, but now that Madison was talking again, she didn’t feel the need to rely on Blizzard as a buffer between herself and others.
Madison reached for her hand and held fast. “I feel like you’re always sitting by a window talking to me.”
“Then you remember my visits?” Surprise made Jillian tighten her grip.
A hint of sadness crossed Madison’s face. Her color had improved, but her cheeks were hollow, much too thin. “I remember more than you think.”
Jillian swallowed hard, unable to ignore the elephant in the room. A delicate Goliath, the thought had vulture-circled since morning. “Boyd?”
Madison released her hand. In the span of a pulsebeat the soft blue-green of her eyes darkened to winter pine. Looking away, she curled the sheet beneath her fingers. “I know he’s dead.”
Jillian barely breathed. She held herself rigidly in place, terrified the slightest movement would prevent Madison from talking.
“We fought.” Her sister gazed across the room as if the memory played out on the distant wall. “I knew he was dealing, but I thought it was penny-ante stuff. He told me it was just weed. A few downers. I didn’t know how serious it was until the night he was killed.” Her attention returned to Jillian. “He was scared. Really scared. He’d crossed someone he shouldn’t have. Shortchanged them or gave them bad junk. I don’t even know.” She pressed her fingers to her temples and rolled the fragile skin in circles. “All I remember is hearing a noise. Like someone trying to get in the house. And then—” She dropped her hands to her lap where they lay like broken things. “Nothing.”
Jillian’s mouth was dry. “Nothing?”
Madison squeezed her eyes shut. “I wish it was more. In some part of my head, I know I’ve relived that night over and over again for the last three years. But now it’s…” She turned a hollow-eyed gaze on Jillian. “Gone.”
“It’s all right.” Jillian squeezed her hand, fear chasing a tumbleweed through her belly. Now that Madison was no longer in a catatonic state, would she become a target for Boyd’s killers? Sherre would know the odds and what steps should be taken to keep Madison safe. As long as there was no press on her recovery, she could stay under the radar. Jillian had wanted her sister whole. Hadn’t wanted to badger her about the identity of the men who’d murdered Boyd, but her survival could well depend on her ability to ID them.
She leaned forward in her chair. “Whatever happened that night is in the past. The important thing is for you to concentrate on getting well.”
“They never caught them, did they?” Madison’s gaze was direct. “The men who killed Boyd?”
“No.” Jillian hated admitting the truth. A sticky wave of heat crept up the back of her neck. Had her sister realized she was a potential target?
Madison dropped her head against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. “I told him I was going to leave him.”
“I didn’t know.” If only she’d left sooner.
“The only thing that sticks in my head about that night is a lizard. A black lizard. But I don’t know what it means.”
Dante had seen a black lizard.
Frustration drew Madison’s brow into a crinkled line, balled her hands into fists. Sudden tears made her eyes gleam with green lacquer. “I hate that I can’t remember.”
It didn’t matter—the lizard—any of it.
“You spent three years remembering.” Jillian gripped her arm. “You were trapped in a nightmare. Whatever Boyd’s faults, he wouldn’t want you living that over again. Maybe that’s why you can’t remember.” Standing, she began to fuss with the sheets, adjusting them over Madison’s waist, smoothing them at the foot of the bed—all signals to end the conversation.
“Do I even have a house anymore?” Madison’s voice was thin.
Jillian ceased her restless movements. A prickly lump lodged in her throat. She hadn’t wanted to go down this path so soon. “I had to sell it. The money has been going for your care at Rest Haven.”
Madison looked away, her mouth a papery line. “I couldn’t live there anyway.”
“I moved, too.” Jillian sat close beside her on the
mattress. “I bought a brownstone on River Road. It has plenty of room. When it’s time, you’ll move in with me.”
“And be a burden all over again.”
“Stop it.” The harshness of her tone surprised her. Sighing, she folded her hands together and pressed them briefly to her lips to compose herself. “Maddy.” When she spoke, her tone was soft, but her shoulders stiffened with the sharpness of her mood. “I’ve waited three years to talk to you again. I know the road ahead is going to be challenging, but I’m not going to let you face it alone. Please don’t ever think you are a burden.”
Closing her eyes on a rush of tears, Madison folded against her. Jillian held her tightly, her cheek pressed to the short strands of her sister’s hair.
“I’m just so exhausted.” Madison’s voice was broken.
“You’ve had a long day.” Jillian stroked her back, a single harrowing thought popping to the surface.
And you died.
* * * *
Dante fiddled with the kitchen radio until he found a clear station. “Thriller” by Michael Jackson blared from the speakers. Satisfied, he adjusted the volume then grabbed a soda from Tessa’s refrigerator. At the table, Elliott scooped the innards of a fat pumpkin into a garbage bowl.
It was Thursday night, Jillian was with Madison at the hospital, and Tessa was picking up a costume for Saturday’s masquerade. As a favor, he’d agreed to undertake pumpkin-carving duty with Elliott. Not that he minded. The kid might be too serious at times, but he was family, and Dante enjoyed spending time with him.
He took a swig of his soda as Elliott dug a handful of seeds and stringy fibers from the pumpkin.
“Are you going to make triangle eyes?” Elliott asked.
“I can make them however you want.” The rot-like smell of pulp wafted from the table where Elliott knelt on a chair. “I sketched some designs for you to look through.” Dante tapped a paper tablet on the counter. “We can make it goofy, scary, or weird. You decide.”
“Not scary.” Elliott scissored his fingers above the bowl, flecking off chunks of orange flesh. “Thriller” ended, segueing into a commercial.