He had a strong grip. “Trent, what’s wrong?”
He let go and bent over, holding his head. “Blinding pain,” he murmured.
She moved to his side quick, rubbing his back. “What can I do?”
“I feel sick. And the hall’s spinning. I think I n-need a b-bed.” He dropped down onto his knees and fell over unconscious before Ciarra could stop the fall.
“Nurse! Doctor!” Oh God. “Someone help!”
Trent lay in the hospital bed, his breathing shallow, and face pale. An oxygen mask sat over his nose and mouth. A blood pressure cuff wrapped around his upper arm inflated and deflated every couple of minutes. An IV drip administered saline fluids to his unmoving body.
Ciarra stood next to his bed gripping the bed railing with both gloved hands in an attempt to stop the shaking. Her heart raced as she sucked in one breath after the next. Coldness took up residence within her, and she couldn’t shake it.
He’d been fine at the church. Full of life, laughing with his brother. Extending a helping hand to Pattie and her child. He hadn’t said anything about feeling sick or being in pain.
Knowing that this episode would eventually occur, she still hadn’t prepared for it . . . or for falling in love with him. She was so sure she’d get the curse lifted.
There was still time. She had to do something and do it now. Where was that crazy Voodoo lady? Ciarra had to find her and convince her to lift the curse. But, how?
She was gentle as she grabbed and rested Trent’s limp hand against her covered cheek. She was told she had to wear a mask, gloves, booties, and a gown for precaution. She tried protesting, but if she wanted to be with Trent, she had to put them on.
She wept and said, “I can’t lose you now. I’ve already lost Jack. I don’t think I can handle another death. You have to fight against this. You have to kick some butt.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I love you.”
A hand touched her shoulder causing Ciarra to jump.
Trent’s brother, Gregory, stepped back to the foot of the bed and lifted the chart. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
She stammered, “I-I was just—”
“I know. You love him. I heard you. It was written all over your face at dinner that first night I met you.” He looked up from the chart, smiling. “And his.”
Ciarra sighed. “Have your tests found anything?”
“I know you believe it’s some kind of Voodoo. I get those on occasion. I believe more than Trent ever would. But, in his case, I think there’s something going on besides that.” Gregory handed her a tissue.
Ciarra sniffled, taking it. “It is the curse. Please listen to me. Two of the four targets have already died. The third, James Baker, is here in the hospital. And now, Trent.”
Gregory glanced over at Trent and dropped his head. When he looked back up, Ciarra spotted the fear in his eyes. “Mr. Baker passed away about an hour ago.”
A sob escaped past her hand covered lips. “Oh, no.” She headed for the door. “Don’t you see?”
“Detective? Ciarra, wait.”
“I’ll be back. I need to make a call.” Ciarra stepped out into the hall and leaned against the wall. “Oh please, let me find this lady. Please. Jack, if you’re listening, point the way. Give me a sign.” Silence. “Anything.”
Her cell rang. She glanced up to the ceiling and whispered, “Please.”
She opened the phone and pressed it to her ear. “Hello?”
Sean sounded out of breath. “I’m on my way over to the hospital. The woman you’re looking for is there right now.”
Thanks, Jack. “I’m already here.” She couldn’t hold on much longer. “Oh, Sean. He’s dying.”
“You’ve got to fill me in when I get there.”
“I’ll meet you out front.”
Ciarra stripped the universal precautions off, threw them in the biohazard container, and headed for the elevator. Time was running out for Trent, and Ciarra had to find a way to beat the clock.
Ciarra pressed the button for the eighth floor as Sean tapped his pen against the small notebook cradled in his hand.
“So, the doc has been hoodooed by this Kiyana Montreuil?”
“Yes.”
“And time’s running out?”
“We already went through this. You will stay away from both hospital rooms.”
“Yeah, I know. Although why I want this story I’ll never know. I’ll look like a kook.”
Ciarra glanced at him as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. “Too late. Have you not read the stories in that newspaper of yours?”
They moved off the elevator and headed for the nurses’ station to the left. Ciarra pointed Sean to the chairs hoping he would at least keep his word for once. “I’m looking for Kiyana Montreuil’s room.” She flashed the nurse her badge.
The nurse looked from the badge to her and raised a brow. “What business do you have with her? She’s a very sick lady.”
“Police business. I promise to be quick.”
The nurse stared at her for a few seconds. “All right. But, please don’t upset her. She’s not long lasting for this world.”
Ciarra’s heart froze. “As in dying?”
The nurse nodded. “Room Eight-o-two. Down the hall and to the right. Second door.”
Ciarra turned and found Sean sitting where she had pointed. She moved over to him. “You promise to behave?”
“I’m sitting, aren’t I?” The scowl said enough. He wasn’t pleased. But then, the strangest thing happened. Sean reached out and grabbed her hand. “Sis, I’m here for you. Really.”
Maybe he was trying to change. She leaned over and hugged him. “Thank you, Sean.”
She moved past him and down the sterile cold hall. After Jack, she swore to never step foot in this hospital again. Yet, she kept coming here, each time forcing herself not to run like hell. The only reason she wouldn’t was Trent. Time to overcome Jack’s death and everything related to it for Trent’s life.
Turning the corner, a tall African American man stood against the wall next to Kiyana’s room. “Excuse me.” Ciarra stepped up to the door and reached for the knob.
“Who are you?” The man had a deep Southern accent.
She met his darkened eyes. “I’m Detective Pacelli. I need to speak to this patient.”
He blocked the door with his long muscular arm. “Well, I’m her husband, and unless you give me a good enough reason to allow you in there, you can turn right back around.”
Ciarra moved back a step. He held his head high, but his eyes were red and puffy, along with bags underneath. He couldn’t have been getting much sleep. She could relate. “Okay. You’ll probably think I’m insane, but your wife put a curse on a doctor here, and I need to speak to her.”
“Ah, Doctor Moore. Has he fallen ill?”
“Yes. You can’t condone your wife’s actions. The doctor did nothing but try like hell to save your son. Doctor Moore was devastated. He still is.”
The man’s set jaw relaxed. His arm dropped to his side. “I know. She has brought her own illness upon herself. I don’t condone her behavior either.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Karma, detective. She’s suffering from the consequences of hexing others. Voodoo is supposed to be used only for good. Healing, money, success. Not punishment, revenge, or death. She’s receiving it back threefold. She has cancer.”
This was her shot. She might be able to win the husband over a little. “I’m so sorry. But, there’s still time. Trent . . . Doctor Moore . . . He’s very sick downstairs. If she could lift the curse from him, maybe she would then have a fighting chance.” She alternated clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried talking to her about this? When I heard about the deaths, I told her that it had to end. She assured me after I threatened to call her mother and reveal where we were that she would end this. It is apparent now that she did not do that. She lied
to me.”
“Please, let me in to see her and at least try to convince her.” When he didn’t seem like he was going to budge, she threatened, “You are an accessory to the murder of Judge Reynolds, Leon Borque, and now Solicitor Baker. I can haul you in.”
“Based on what evidence, ma’am? The coincidental death of three people? How far do you think a judge or jury will believe it was Voodoo?”
“Do you really want to test me? You don’t believe I would do this?” She reached for her handcuffs.
He cocked his head to one side, studying her face. Then, he smiled and held up his hand. “Hold on, ma’am. Strange. Are you here as a detective or as a woman in love with this doctor?”
She took a step back. “Does that matter?”
“Yes, I believe it will.”
“I love him, and I can’t lose him now.” The tears finding their way upward burned her eyes. She blinked and one warm tear fell to her cheek.
The man extended his hand out to her. “My name’s Eduardo. I don’t believe lifting the curse will help her now, but maybe there’s a small bit of empathy within that hardened heart of hers to do something.” He turned and opened the door, moving aside to allow her in first.
The room was bathed in darkness except for a single dim light shining above the top of the sick woman’s head. Kiyana had wasted away to a mere shell. If it weren’t for the bronzed skin, she’d be a skeleton.
Ciarra approached the bedside and spoke in a lowered voice. “Mrs. Montreuil, can you hear me?”
The woman wheezed in a breath and opened her eyes. “I’m not . . .” A cough and another shaky intake. “. . . deaf.”
“My name’s Ciarra. I’m here to plead with you for Doctor Moore’s life.”
“Who? Oh . . . Why . . . should I?” A spasm of coughing followed.
Ciarra waited until it ceased. “He did nothing wrong. No one else did either. But it’s too late for them, and I don’t have time to dwell on that. Doctor Moore’s still alive, but barely. Don’t you know he tried everything to save your son?”
“No. I . . . don’t believe . . . that.”
“He did. It’s the kind of man he is. To stop at nothing until he’s absolutely one hundred percent sure there’s nothing left.” When the woman didn’t respond, Ciarra continued. “I read the autopsy report. Doctor Moore said your son lost blood so fast he died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. There was no way to save him. Trent tried with blood infusions, and I’d heard he demanded surgery, but Liam was already gone. It was too late back at the scene.”
The woman closed her eyes.
Ciarra waited. She prayed the woman would understand. Just when Ciarra was about to speak, she noticed a tear slide down from Kiyana’s eye. Maybe there was hope?
Kiyana reached out a shaky hand and rested onto Ciarra’s. “You . . . love this . . . man?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I know . . . saw you . . . and him . . . at the docks.” She withdrew from Ciarra and turned her face away. “I cannot . . . undo what I . . . have done. I . . . apologize.” Her eyes closed and her head lobbed over to the side.
No! Ciarra’s heart slammed against her chest.
Chapter 16
Trent became aware of his surroundings as the familiar smell of antiseptic filled his nose. His mouth tasted like sawdust, his throat raw. He tried sitting up, squinting his eyes at the dim light above where he lay.
He realized too late he’d made a wrong move as a slicing pain shot up the back of his head and spread across the front. Groaning, he covered his eyes with the back of a hand and lay back down.
Why was he in the hospital? What happened? How did he get here? If the pain would go away long enough for him to focus . . .
He and Simon were at some church . . . St. Joseph’s at the soup kitchen. Ciarra and he left.
But, not before seeing to the mother with the sick child in the hallway.
That damn curse.
Trent jumped a bit when the blood pressure cuff wrapped around his arm inflated, and then he became aware of the beeping off to his left side. Turning his head toward the annoying sounds, he peeked out one eye. A vitals monitor.
Damn the pain. He had to see what his vitals read. What he saw wasn’t encouraging whatsoever.
Self-assessment time. He was having problems breathing. It almost felt as if his lungs were filled with fluid, his heart raced, and his belly felt like it was ablaze. What the hell was wrong with him?
The door opened. Ciarra followed the nurse in. Both had the full universal precautions on—gloves, masks, and gowns. Ciarra’s eyes were downcast as she struggled with one of the gloves.
The nurse spoke before Ciarra raised her head. “You’re awake, Doctor Moore. Hallelujah.”
Ciarra’s bloodshot eyes lit up, and she rushed over to the side of the bed, touching his forehead. Her cool, gloved hand was refreshing. “Trent?”
“You’ve . . . been crying,” he managed to rasp out.
Ciarra looked up to the nurse. “Can he sip some water?”
“Let’s check things first. As long as he passes my exam and the doctor agrees, he can have something to wet his tongue.” The nurse placed two fingers on the inside of his wrist. “Doctor Moore, how are you feeling? Any pain?”
“Just . . . dandy, Georgia. Who’s the attending?”
“It was your brother, but conflict of interest there. Not to mention we have no clue what you may be carrying. So, they assigned Doctor Jones to your case.”
Doctor who? He knew the doctors here and the only Doctor Jones was an obstetrician. Trent was sure he didn’t need her.
“Didn’t they hire a new infectious diseases specialist?”
“Yes. That’s him. And what a cute sense of humor that man has.” She winked in Ciarra’s direction.
Ciarra bent close to his ear. “I’m sorry. I tried to talk some sense into the old hag.” She shook her head. She took a deep breath and sighed. “No, that’s not fair. She felt justified in carrying out the curses, but she wasn’t.”
Trent attempted to gather what she trying to say, but couldn’t. “Who?”
“Kiyana Montreuil.”
“Where . . . is she?” He grabbed the railing and attempted once again to sit up. Instant pain. “Shit! Do . . . you have . . . drugs?”
Nurse Georgia patted his hand. “As soon as the doctor comes in. My suggestion is to stop trying to sit up. You are one stubborn man. I’ll be back sweetie.”
Ciarra waited until she was gone and yanked down the mask. “This is crazy. I pleaded with her. Bared my soul, and she just turned away and passed out. I thought she died.”
“But . . . she’s alive, right?”
“Barely. She doesn’t give a hoot that you are, too. Trent, I’m so sorry.” She sobbed into his chest. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Well, I guess . . . the Voodoo . . . lady didn’t cure . . . me. Go get . . . your money . . . back.” He attempted a smile for her sake, but even the muscles in his face hurt. What the hell were they going to do?
Trent held out hope that whatever was trying to kill him could be cured.
He had found his perfect other half. He couldn’t die now. His strength might be waning, but his spirit was very much alive. He wouldn’t leave Ciarra like this. He just wouldn’t.
A tall man in a lab coat covered with a gown stepped into the room. Ciarra moved away from Trent and was quick to place the mask over her mouth.
Through his mask, the gowned doctor said, “Hello, Doctor Moore. I’m Doctor Jones, the new infectious diseases specialist. I’m assigned to your case for the time being. We want to see if maybe there’s something you’ve been exposed to causing this illness of yours.”
Yeah. It’s called Voodoo, doc. “Did . . . you find . . . anything?”
“Not yet. Still working on some tests. How’s your pain level?”
“It’s . . . fine.”
Ciarra began to speak. “He’s very—”
Trent
held up a hand. He decided he didn’t want any drugs. “I’m fine. I don’t . . . want anything. I don’t want . . . to fall asleep.” Can’t risk not being able to see Ciarra again.
Doctor Jones turned to Ciarra. “I need you to step out for a moment while I examine him.”
She rubbed her thumb across the top of his hand. He tried gripping hers, wanting to keep her close, but he couldn’t. There wasn’t much strength left.
“I’ll be right outside.”
He watched all the while wanting to run after her as she walked out the door. How bad he wanted to tell her not to leave him, beg her to stay. Admit to how afraid he actually was of not being able to hold her in his arms one last time.
If there is a God, don’t let me die.
Ciarra stepped outside into the hall and tugged off the gown, mask, and gloves shoving them into the biohazard container.
She balled up her fists, frustrated and hurt over the inability to do anything for Trent. Making her way down the hall and to the elevator, she jabbed the down arrow button.
Ciarra needed a silent place to think and pray. She headed for the chapel down on the first floor across from where the elevators opened.
There had to be some way to convince Kiyana to lift that damned curse. The sick woman wouldn’t last much longer. But how could she convince her? Pleading about Ciarra’s love for the man did nothing nor did talking about the child’s autopsy report. Ciarra could have sworn she’d had Kiyana considering it.
Climbing off the elevator, Ciarra walked over and tugged on the chapel door. The tiny room had six wooden pews on either side of the room along with an altar stand and candles lined in front.
Deadly Curses Page 19