The person lying in the bed had bandages covering almost her entire head. At least, Brant thought it was a girl. With so much of her face covered, his only clue was her long curly hair.
“What happened to her?” he asked.
The nurse jumped and he realized she hadn’t known he was in the room. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.
“My name is Brant Reginald,” he explained. “I’m just here with some friends doing visi—”
“Oh, my God!” the nurse said, “Pastor Reginald! I watch you on TV every week.” She ran up to him and wrapped her arms around him. “You have blessed me in so many ways. I can’t thank you enough,” she said into his shoulder.
She released her hug, but held tight to his arms. She was smiling through tear-filled eyes. He felt a surge of pain slice into his heart. He felt like a charlatan.
“I don’t do that anymore,” he said.
She looked puzzled and slightly distraught.
“The TV thing,” he said quickly.
“Ohhhh.” It appeared as though something occurred to her. “You do house calls now, eh?”
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“Visitations,” she said, “you do healing visitations now. Right?”
“Oh,” Brant stammered, “oh, no. Well, I mean… I am doing a visitation. But the healing happens… um, well, it’s God’s decision whom to heal and so forth.”
“I understand completely,” she said, nodding. “I always knew those people on TV were expectin’ too much. I mean, if it’s God’s will for you to be sick, you’re gonna be sick. And if it’s God’s will for you to be healed, then you’re gonna be healed. Am I right?”
Brant blinked at the woman. Well, that was true… wasn’t it? He wondered why he hadn’t seen it this way before… and instead let God decide who would be healed and who wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t play well on TV to have God turn someone down… would it?
“You are right,” he said.
The nurse squeezed his arm. “You’re a good man, Mr. Reginald.”
Brant started to protest the label, but then the nurse’s phone chirped. She looked at the message.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I’ve got another call.”
“It’s okay,” he said, smiling.
“Will you sit with her?” she asked, and pointed toward the girl in the bed.
“Oh… um, sure,” Brant said. “What’s her story?”
The nurse shook her head as she opened the door to go. “We don’t really know. Came in with a bunch of fractures and water in her lungs. She’s been in a coma ever since, and we haven’t been able to find out yet who she is. No one’s claimed her and her D.N.A. and dental workup hasn’t returned any matches. She’s a true Jane Doe.”
Brant looked at the woman in the bandages. “I’ll sit with her awhile.”
“Bless you, Mr. Reginald,” the nurse said as the door closed behind her.
Brant woke to find that he’d slipped into sleep in a chair beside Jane Doe’s bed. The sun was streaming between the blinds, telling him that it was late afternoon and headed toward evening. He glanced at the clock on the wall and decided he’d better get going if he was going to make the revival tonight. He stood up and stretched, joints crackling and popping as he did.
“God, I’m getting’ old,” he said to no one.
He brushed a strand of Jane Doe’s hair off her forehead. She had young looking skin, what little of it he could see, and though her eyes were closed and he couldn’t see any of the lower half of her face… she looked very pretty.
Words forced themselves into his mind and he almost rebelled against them. It was his carefully crafted, meticulously worded, brilliantly constructed prayer… of healing. The fakery he’d used on television to heal the steady stream of sick, dying, and broken—or at least those actors who played the sick, dying, and broken—was coming back to him. He felt a tingling in his fingertips and rubbed his hands together to make it stop—it didn’t.
Time in the room seemed to stop. The clicking, whirring and whooshing sounds of all the machinery keeping Jane Doe alive seemed to fade away. The rattling, clanking, and buzzing of hospital business outside the door turned down to zero. The silence was deafening. His hands shook as he reached out and let them hover over Jane Doe’s body. Tears poured from his eyes as he suddenly became terrified that God would not choose to heal her. Or maybe it was the fear that God did not want to use him as his instrument anymore.
As if to erase this from his mind, the sunlight outside hit the horizon and bright orange and yellow light blazed across the room and drew lines across Jane Doe. His hands were on fire now.
Brant Reginald laid his right hand on her forehead and took her left hand in his. He spoke quietly, but as he felt the power flow through him, he grew louder and louder.
The sun went down and the room fell into a haze of twilight. He slumped down into the chair beside her and waited. Nothing happened. He tried to stand to leave, but he was too tired. His legs were completely drained of their strength and he felt glued to the chair. So, he sat, and he prayed.
Darkness fell across the room and he slipped off to sleep.
He woke to the sound of a helicopter thumping away from the building. He wondered if it was a chopper airlifting someone badly injured back to the hospital. He pulled a blind down and to his surprise, saw a black helicopter with some sort of government seal disappearing into the distance.
“Good morning,” a voice said from behind him.
It was a soft voice, muffled behind a few bandages, but he knew instantly that it was Jane Doe. He whirled around to see her staring at him.
Tears once again streamed down his face and he fell to his knees. Looking up at the ceiling, he thanked God for the miracle that had happened overnight. His heart pounded in his chest.
“Who are you?” Jane Doe asked.
Brant looked up at her through wet eyes. “My name is Brant Reginald. And who are you, my dear?”
She thought about it for a second and something seemed to suddenly occur to her. “I’m Jackie,” she said, “at least, I think that’s my name.”
Brant stood and took her hand in his. “I am very pleased to meet you, Jackie.”
The door to her room flew open. Doctors and nurses and a whole bunch of people in scrubs swarmed in and surrounded her, shoving Brant away from her bed.
He was escorted to the waiting room by the nurse he’d met yesterday. Her eyes were wide and she seemed completely awestruck.
“I just can’t believe it,” she said as she directed him to the lobby, “I mean, if you’ll just wait here for a few minutes. I just can’t…”
She never finished her thought before scurrying away. It was nearly an hour later that she came back and the gaggle of medical professionals that followed her all had smiles on their faces and were high-fiving and congratulating each other.
The nurse stood in front of Brant. She had her hands on her hips, but she was smiling broadly.
“So,” he asked, standing, “how is she?”
“She’s awake,” the nurse said, “and everything is perfect. Heart, lungs, eyes, mouth… everything.”
Brant put his hands together. “That’s great news!”
“Mr. Reginald,” —the nurse took his arm and led him down the hall toward Jackie’s room— “This girl has been in a coma for over a week, with no response whatsoever. I mean, what happened in there last night?”
“A miracle,” he said, and smiled.
“Well, there you are!” called a familiar voice from behind him. “Mama and I were so worried about you last night!”
Brant turned to see Chris standing in the hall. He was beaming and smiling, with his hands outstretched as if to hug Brant.
Brant laughed and wrapped his arms around the man.
“We looked everywhere for you,” Chris said, shrugging his shoulders. “Heck, I thought you must’ve bugged out on us and took off for Key Biscayne.”
; Thoughts of Key Biscayne and his son drifted into his mind and he knew he needed to get on with his journey soon.
Chris continued. “We saved so many last night, Brant. I wish you could’ve seen it. I was so worried about you. I thought you were lost.”
Brant put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I was lost,” he said quietly, “but thanks to you and Mama… and a… well… a miracle that happened last night… I am found.”
“Praise Jesus,” Chris said, “I’m so happy for you, brother. Join us for the revival tonight?”
Brant shook his head. “I’m gonna check in on Jackie. And then I’m heading on down the road.”
“Travelin’ on down the road, eh?” Chris said and winked.
“That I am,” Brant said, and stuck out his hand.
Chris ignored it and wrapped him in a big bear hug again.
“I can’t thank you enough for the ride,” Brant said, “and everything else. I… I’m not sure I would’ve made it without you.”
“Heck,” Chris said, chuckling, “Greyhound would’ve gotten you here and probably a little cooler than I did to boot.”
Brant shook his head. “I’ll never forget my journey with Christopher Saint Juneau, that’s for sure. A memory I will treasure forever.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Chris said, and smiled as he pulled a small box out of his pocket and handed it to Brant.
“What’s this?”
“A little somethin’ I got for you to take with you, wherever you go,” Chris said.
“Thanks, Chris,” Brant said, and turned to go.
“Safe travels,” Chris called from behind him. “Go with God.”
Brant opened the box as he walked toward Jackie’s room. It was a small sterling silver chain with an oval shaped pendant dangling from it. He flipped it over to see the inscription.
It was a simple carving of a man with the name St. Christopher written on the outside edge.
The patron saint of travelers, Brant thought.
He turned around, but Chris was gone.
24
Sister Save Me
Mindy Colpiller felt her bottom lip cracking as she sat in the steaming hot room at the top of the Cape Florida Lighthouse. The tears had long since stopped flowing, but she still felt as though she was crying. Dehydration had robbed her of that.
The chest labeled OIL laid open, its lid removed and flung across the room. Mindy had broken it free by unscrewing the hinges and then jerking it off the front—with the padlock still attached.
Inside the box, she had discovered the gruesome and heartbreaking remains of her twin sister, Caroline. Taz had not only beaten her to death, but had also broken her legs—and maybe her arms—to make her body compact enough to be shoved into the small chest. After seeing the disgusting remains, she’d screamed until her voice was hoarse and had broken into sobs that jerked her chest up and down.
And then she had screamed some more, upon realizing she was likely to suffer a similar fate… if she survived the heat long enough for Taz to return… if he returned at all.
She had exhausted herself beating on the trapdoor style hatch that led out of the top of the lighthouse. She’d tried slamming the broken lid of the box onto it over and over again, but had only succeeded in scratching the door and cutting her hands in several places. It was hopeless. The door was apparently built to withstand strong storms.
As she sat with her back against the rounded wall, looking up at the wide windows above her, it struck her as ironic that she was trapped in a building made to send a beacon out for miles and miles around, but she couldn’t get it to make a peep. She breathed as deeply as she could; she had long since become desensitized to the stench odor of her sister’s rotting body.
She ran through all the memories of Caroline she could, hoping to sear them into her mind for all time. Playing dolls together, insisting that their dolls be dressed alike. Riding bikes together that matched, exactly down to the last streamer flowing from the handlebars. Dating the same guy in high school… that hadn’t worked out so well, but he turned out to be a jerk, so they had both dumped him. Asking for the same car on their sixteenth birthday… Daddy had agreed, of course… and then getting the same vanity plate with a slight variation. COLPI1 and COLPI2.
It had been Caroline who had talked Mindy into smoking pot in college, and had gotten them both into the biggest trouble with their Dad they had ever been in. Mindy had immediately quit, but Caroline had kept smoking; she the free spirit, Mindy the straight arrow. Caroline had been the one to travel far and wide on road trip after road trip, following festivals and party bands all over the country. She was the one who’d had the pregnancy scare with some stoner out of Colorado. Dramatically, that had ended when the next month came around. Mindy had held her sister in her arms as she cried… not sure whether to be sad or relieved she wasn’t going to have a baby. The recovery from that event had pushed Caroline into another kind of trip with some pretty heavy drugs and a guy who’d promised to stay with her forever… Naturally, he didn’t, but the addictions Caroline had formed to the substances he brought her did. Mindy had dropped everything and stayed at the clinic with her sister while she got clean and well.
Lately, though, with college done for Mindy, and Caroline romping around South Beach and trading the hippy life for the Miami party, they had grown apart.
Caroline was rarely at home for more than three days in a row, and when she was there, she spent her time down at the tennis courts, off to Brickell for shopping, or on South Beach meeting her newest Latin lover. Mindy was left to sit on the couch and listen to her dad complain about how neither of them was doing anything productive with their lives, and that he’d be damned if he was going to leave them anything in his will.
Mindy knew this was a lie, but she also knew that their father, the great Jack Colpiller, was a picture of good health. He wasn’t likely to be kicking the bucket anytime soon. So, Mindy had started to make plans. With her father’s approval, she had signed up for classes at SCAD—the Savannah College of Art and Design. She had convinced Caroline to drive up with her last summer and check the school out. Caroline partied it up while they were there, and even said she’d consider going to school with Mindy… but, unfortunately, her artistic talent was limited to deciding the proper shade of eye-shadow to apply for maximum effect under the black lights of Club Opium on South Beach.
The rift between the sisters had opened up after that trip. It got wider when Caroline convinced her dad to buy her the Porsche. It was only fair, she argued, since he was footing the outlandish tuition SCAD was going to charge him for Mindy’s schooling. He relented after Caroline claimed she would run away from home and travel the country with… whatever that guy’s name was from Colorado.
Mindy had resented the car, and more than once had threatened to scratch the crap out of the hood… but she never did. They were twin sisters, after all.
And now, Caroline was dead, brutally murdered and dismembered by that asshole, Taz. It felt like the left side of her body had been torn away. Where she had once felt the bond that only siblings—only twins—could feel, she now felt nothing.
She screamed into the empty space and it echoed dully. She wondered if it could be heard at all outside, but she was pretty sure she was over ninety feet off the ground and just a few feet from the churning surf. No one would hear anything.
She sat in silence, trying desperately to figure out how to get out… it was like an old riddle she remembered her sister telling her. You’re in a room with no doors and no windows. All you have is a pencil. How do you escape? She hated Caroline for torturing her with that one back in the sixth grade. She’d googled it and asked everyone she knew, but the answer was nowhere to be found. Eventually, Caroline had agreed to tell her, if she gave her the weekly allowance their dad paid them. Fifty bucks. It wasn’t much, and at first Mindy had been against it.
“Yeah, right,” Mindy remembered saying, “that’s never gonna happen.”
But every time Caroline got the chance, she would say Mindy was stupid for not knowing and finally, it was too much. Mindy forked over the fifty bucks.
“Okay, tell me,” she demanded.
“It’s simple,” Caroline said, and smirked. “Break the pencil in half.”
“What?!” Mindy was furious. “How does that get you out?”
“Well, now the pencil is broken into two halves,” —Caroline had tucked the money into her purse, bill by bill… taunting Mindy— “and what do two halves make?”
“A whole?”
“Exactly,” Caroline jeered. “You just climb out the hole.”
To say that Mindy had been angry did not come close to the reality of that little game. She had ignored Caroline for two months without so much as speaking a single word to her. But like all arguments between them, it faded in time. She wished Caroline was alive to help her get out of this room now.
She glanced at the box that held Caroline’s brutalized body, then jumped up and ran to over it. She tipped it up, and part of her sister’s arm tumbled out. She almost vomited, but she regained her composure quickly.
“Sorry, sis,” she said as she began to empty the box of gruesome body parts.
Her sister was wearing a white Nike tank top with matching white Nike shorts. She reached into the box and tucked her hands inside Caroline’s pockets, hoping she had something—anything—that could help her escape. Her fingers closed on a small tubular object. Elated that Taz hadn’t thought to empty Caroline’s pockets, she dug through them all and came up with a small pile of her sister’s things; her driver’s license, a tube of lipstick, a disposable lighter with a picture of a Kitten on the side, and a key that looked like a locker key from the Ritz-Carlton Tennis Garden.
So, she had been at the Tennis Garden on the night she died. Taz had kidnapped her—or killed her—before she even had a chance to get her things from the locker. Bastard.
Mindy was ecstatic to have these small things of her sister’s, but she had no idea how they would help her get out of there. She clicked the lighter and found it would light, but it was a low blue flame… almost out of fuel. She didn’t click it again for fear of running out completely. She opened the lipstick and glossed a little onto her chapped and cracked lips. It hurt a little, but then it seemed to moisturize them somewhat. She was so hungry, she almost bit into the lipstick, but she still had her wits about her enough to know it wouldn’t help.
The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset Page 57