Souls Entwined

by Anne B. Cole

  Sam stood, offering a hand to Katarina. She accepted, taking his arm as they joined the other two.

  Roxana held her head high, composure intact. “Thank you, Sam, for all you’ve done. I will work diligently to destroy the curses.”

  “You’re welcome.” Sam took her hand and kissed it, realizing Roxana was a distant aunt. This made Gretta some kind of cousin to him, ten or so times removed.

  Katarina hugged Gretta. “Be safe, my child.” Gretta then embraced Roxana as Sam kissed Katarina on the cheek.

  “Thank you, Yia Yia.” His words were inaudible to the others.

  “Be safe, my son,” Katarina whispered in return.

  Roxana took in a deep breath. “Think of yourselves and what you were doing the moment the tree fell—”

  “Wait,” Gretta interrupted, “I need to say goodbye to Sam.”

  “Make it brief. You’ll see him again in a matter of seconds, only this time you will be yourself.” Roxana took a step back.

  Gretta’s icy hand found Sam’s. “Roxana said we won’t remember any of this.” Sam nodded. “I don’t want to forget. I’m not the same person I was before I entwined with Anya.” Her eyes frantically searched his face.

  “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you.” Sam squeezed her hand then glanced at Roxana, who nodded in return. Katarina winked.

  Gretta drew closer. “I’m going to try to remember you.”

  Sam took her face into his hands and grinned, “I promise I’ll never forget you.” His eyes sparkled as he leaned down to her upturned face and kissed her lips tenderly. Wind began to swirl as Sam held Gretta tight.

  “Katarina, you agreed—” Roxana’s voice trailed within the wind.

  Sam felt hands grip his waist. He lurched back into his body, landing face down on top of an unconscious Gretta. A loud crack sounded.

  Tony’s voice called out, “Where is he?” Remembering the large branch overhead, Sam swiftly dragged Gretta’s body to the right. Crack. A heavy limb slammed into the back of his head.

  Chapter 28

  Waking Up

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Brook. What’s your name?” a man hovering over her in a white coat announced in a fuzzy voice.

  Gretta blinked several times, painfully forcing her name through her parched throat. It croaked softly, yet the single word pounded inside her head. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital.” He turned around and nodded his head once.

  Gretta followed his gaze and saw her mother clinging to a nurse.

  “Mom?” Tears streamed down her mother’s face. “What’s wrong?” Her voice became stronger, along with the horrible pain in her head.

  The nurse guided her mom to a chair at her feet as the doctor continued his assessment. Gretta answered a series of questions she regarded as preschoolish, missing only one. It was actually Sunday, around noon, not Saturday morning.

  The doctor moved on, “What’s the last memory you have?”

  “I was running.” Speaking irritated her throbbing head.

  “Where? What was going on around you, other people, vehicles, any recollections?” the doctor questioned, flashing light into her eyes.

  “I was on the park trail. There was a white construction truck, a pickup truck, and a Jeep. Workers were there, maybe five or six of them.”

  The doctor lifted the blanket off her legs and asked her to move her feet. Wiggling her toes, Gretta saw several ugly stitches on her knee. It hurt, but not as much as the pounding inside her head. Pressing a hand to her left temple, she felt a huge lump underneath tape and gauze. She reached to the pain at the back of her head, but a nurse quickly pulled her hand down.

  “I don’t remember hitting my head, just my knee.” The pulsating inside her head made it impossible to concentrate.

  “What do you remember?” the doctor asked, jotting notes.

  “I was running in the park.” Didn’t I already say that? “There were workers cutting trees. I fell down and tore up my knee but thought I could make it home. Did I pass out and bump my head?” Gretta pressed her hand to her forehead as familiar hand touched her cheek.

  “A tree fell on you.”

  “Very funny, Mom.”

  “She’s serious. Did you speak with anyone?” The doctor resumed his note-taking.

  Gretta felt her face pinken as she remembered. ‘Tall, tan, and handsome.’ “Workers were there, but I didn’t talk to them.” An inner fear sped up her heart. “Are they okay?”

  “They’re fine. The young man who saved you hurt his shoulder, but he’s okay,” her mom answered.

  “Saved me?”

  “You were very fortunate. The medics claimed a heavy branch narrowly missed you both but held the rest of the tree off the ground. It was that branch that kept you from being crushed,” the doctor explained and clicked his pen. Even that tiny sound thundered between her temples. “Your recovery, so far, has been remarkable.”

  A nurse entered and injected something into the tube that led to her arm. “That will ease the pain. Do you have any questions?” Dr. Brook stepped aside, allowing her mother closer.

  “When can I go home?” Gretta asked without hesitation.

  “After more tests we should have a better idea,” Dr. Brook replied.

  A frown spread across her mother’s face. “Mom, I’m fine, just a little thirsty.”

  “A nurse will be in with some water.” He signed papers that one of the nurses handed to him. “How’s the pain?”

  Gretta realized the horrible pounding inside her head had subsided. “My knee hurts more than my head now.”

  The doctor stifled a laugh. “Seven stitches fixed your knee. Scans show no broken bones, but you may have ligament damage. How’s the pain now?”

  “Pounding like my brother’s bass drum, not nearly as bad as before, though.”

  Dr. Brook’s brow puckered. “Tell us if it grows worse, even the slightest bit.”

  The nurse held a cup with a straw in it to her lips. Bile inched up her throat.

  “Gretta?” Her mother’s voice seemed garbled, distant. People standing around her blurred. Their faces melted, and she saw blood pouring out everywhere. The red cup came closer to her face.

  “I’m gonna be sick.” Gretta pushed the cup away. She knew it was water, but all she could think of, all she could smell, was blood. Dirty blood, someone else’s blood.

  “Describe how you feel,” Dr. Brook’s voice broke through the awful vision.

  “Thirsty, but the thought of drinking that water makes me want to vomit.”

  “How about soda?” he offered.

  “From a can?” Her own voice sounded so distant she wondered if she even asked.

  “We can do that.” Dr. Brook checked the IV bags. “Once your body gets more fluid, the nausea should disappear.”

  Gretta heard him speaking, but she was running in the park. ‘Tall, tanned, and handsome’ leaned against the white truck or a giant rock. She didn’t know which. He held a clipboard against his thigh, watching. Her feet covered the distance to his side in less than a second. Chestnut brown eyes captivated her. Touching her cheek with his fingers, he set her skin on fire.

  “I promise, I’ll never forget you.” He cupped her cheek and pulled her into a kiss when the crack of a soda can snapped her back to reality.

  A nurse started to pour soda into a plastic cup.

  “No. Give me the can.” Gretta took a sip. Cool bubbles trailed down her throat. Sprite had never tasted so good.

  Gretta took a few more gulps, wanting everyone to leave so that she could get back to her medically induced daydreams. The newcomer tied a rubber cord around her arm, chatting with the other nurse about some patient in Room 215. Flamingo pink fingernails touched Gre
tta’s skin lightly, searching for the best vein.

  “Turn away. You’ll feel a pinch.” Gretta flinched. She watched the nurse fill three vials before removing the needle.

  “Hold your arm up for a minute.” The nurse picked up a roll of purple stretch gauze to wind over the cotton ball. Taking Gretta’s arm down, she grabbed another cotton ball, placing it over the first. “Sorry, this one is a gusher.” Blood oozed down her arm toward her fingers.

  “Get it off me!” Gretta screamed, pushing the bloody cotton off her skin.

  Despite her mother’s arms holding her tight, Gretta cried hysterically.

  “I’m sorry.” The nurse finished wrapping the gauze around her arm. “I didn’t know she was afraid of blood.”

  “I didn’t either.” Her mother loosened her hold, stroking Gretta’s hair.

  A second man appeared on her other side. Pushing her mom away, she leaned closer to him. Dark, curly hair matched ebony eyes that silently told her she was going to be fine. She got the feeling that he would never leave her. He didn’t touch her, but the safety she felt in his presence tingled right down to her toes.

  “Gretta.”

  ‘Dark, curly, and handsome’ disappeared, replaced by old Dr. Brook.

  “What?” she snapped. Can’t these people just leave me alone with my incredibly hot hallucinations?

  “Is there anything I can get you before we take you downstairs for more tests?” Dr. Brook didn’t seem to mind her rudeness, but the expression on her mother’s face made her regret her tone.

  “Sorry. Another Sprite?” Gretta asked hesitantly.

  The doctor lifted the empty can and shook it. The tab Gretta had torn off earlier rattled inside.

  “How about a blanket?” He placed the IV bags on the bed and tucked a blue blanket over her bare arms. Warmth radiated into her skin. ‘Tall, tanned, and handsome’ snuggled in bed beside her, so warm, so close. Arms wrapped around her, bare skin touching, tangling, needing—

  “If you feel dizzy or nauseous tell me.”

  Stupid Dr. Brook.

  “Will you just shut up?”

  “Gretta.” Her mother’s reprimand quivered with worry.

  “Tests should be over in about an hour. I’ll speak with you afterward.” Dr. Brook responded and pushed her bed out the door.

  Gretta felt the floor sway beneath her as she fell into yet another man’s arms. Cornsilk hair, deep blue eyes, infatuating grin. This time she was on a ship, dancing at her own wedding.

  Chapter 29

  Waiting

  “Mets are on.” Pop tossed the television remote on the bed. It landed against his Sam’s leg.

  Sam glanced at the screen before turning his attention to his phone. He scrolled through information on traumatic brain injury. Same information as the last site he hit. It was almost noon. Ruby should have been here by now.

  The door opened after a slight knock. A pretty, brunette nurse carried in a tray of food. “Lunchtime,” she announced merrily.

  Sam tapped in another website.

  “Sam.”

  His father wouldn’t tolerate rudeness.

  “Sorry,” Sam replied, without looking up.

  The nurse placed the grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup down next to the bed. “How are we today?” her question, laced with sweet southern charm, hung in the air.

  “Put that thing down,” Pop demanded.

  Sam sighed before setting the phone on the table next to the food. “Sorry.” He didn’t try to hide his annoyance.

  “How’s your shoulder?” Perfect white teeth appeared behind glistening red lips.

  “Same.”

  “Let’s take a look at your stitches.” Hot pink fingernails gently lifted the hair on the right side of his head.

  “It’s here.” Sam pointed to the left side.

  Raising an eyebrow, she leaned across the bed instead of walking around, practically burying his head in her chest. Her perfume reminded him of yellow roses.

  “Healing nicely.” The nurse paused before straightening up.

  Sam stared at the baseball game.

  The nurse stepped in front of the television. “Can I get you something else?” She pointed to the food in a last ditch effort to gain his attention. Sam shook his head, leaning to see the screen. “If you need—”

  “Nice hit,” Sam remarked.

  The nurse sighed and left the room.

  “Nice nurse.” His father watched her leave. “You could be a little friendlier.” Sam grabbed his phone, picking up where he left off. “The Pirates are up and you say, ‘Nice hit?’”

  “Got a lot on my mind.” Sam surfed to another site.

  “Doc told me you may have symptoms from your concussion, but the list didn’t include a lack of interest in sports or pretty women.” Pop chuckled at his own joke.

  “I’m fine.” Sam shook his head then added quietly, “Gretta’s not.”

  “You don’t know that,” Pop countered.

  Sam continued reading the possible effects of moderate and severe brain injuries. “I hacked into her records from the computer at the nurses’ station last night. She had some kind of surgery to relieve the swelling on her brain. They put her on a ventilator.” He stared at the phone in his hand. “She may not—”

  “Stop,” Pop commanded, placing a hand on his leg. “You cannot blame yourself.”

  “It is my fault. I ground her head into the pavement,” Sam shouted.

  “If you didn’t, she would have died. I saw the tree,” Pop replied just as loud, then eased back. “She’s in God’s hands.”

  Sam studied his father, who was never outwardly religious. “Do you believe in heaven?”

  Pop raised his eyebrows then sighed. “I never really gave it a thought before your mom passed. She was so good, and God took her so young. Chaps told me he had no doubt that your mom was with God and that if I asked her to pray for me she would. Two weeks later I was offered the job in Petersburg. I didn’t deserve a second chance with the police force.”

  Sam looked at his father in awe. Chaps, the NYPD chaplain who stayed with Pop as he dried out after his last drinking binge in the city, had kept in close contact with Sam via weekly texts. He never talked about his mother with his father or about those horrible weeks after her death. It was easier to bury the pain than face it.

  “Pop, would you believe me if I told you I saw Mom after the tree came down on us?” Sam said this slowly, watching his father’s reaction.

  “Go on,” his cop voice replied.

  “She talked to me, told me that when we think of her she’s with us.”

  Pop bowed his head, silent for a very long time. “When Hank called yesterday, all I could think about was losing you on the same day I lost her,” he swallowed. “I caught myself talking to her as if she were right next to me in the truck, comforting her, telling her you were okay. Together we prayed for you and the girl. I don’t think God can say no to her. I know I couldn’t.” He picked up the remote and turned up the volume. “She should put a good word in for the Mets. Pirates are up five to two.”

  Sam pushed thoughts of Kadir Hatay out of his head, replacing them with his mother. He silently asked her to pray for Gretta. Two outs later a short, stout, gray-haired nurse burst in without knocking.

  “Still giving the pretty ones a hard time?”

  “Hey, Ruby.”

  The nurse touched Sam’s left fingers, which were sticking out of a sling. Her eyes twinkled as she turned his head to check the stitches. Ruby glanced at Pop, who appeared to be absorbed in the game. She squeezed Sam’s good hand.

  “Gretta’s off the ventilator,” she said.

  Sam searched Ruby’s face nervously. “That’s good, right?”


  “Yes, now we wait for her to wake up. I have a friend in the ICU who said she would text when they know more.” Ruby patted his leg. “Looks like you’ll be going home today.”

  “Really?” Disappointment surged through him.

  “When I’m done with my rounds, I’ll stop back with more news.” Ruby quickly turned to the door. “Get some rest, Sam.”

  “Did you hear that, Pop?”

  “Game’s tied. Mets are up.” Pop leaned his elbows on his knees.

  “I’m getting released.”

  “It’ll have to wait another inning,” his father growled as the batter flied out.

  A knock on the door sounded. A man in a white coat entered into the room. His dark hair was very short, and he walked as if he had been in the military. The laptop he carried was held open in one hand. He extended the other to Sam. “I’m Dr. Levi.”

  Sam shook his hand. “This is my father, Tim Daggett.”

  Pop stood and shook hands with the doctor.

  Dr. Levi began looking through Sam’s file then proceeded to ask the same questions yesterday’s doctor asked. Satisfied, he checked the stitched gash on his head then turned his attention to Sam’s left shoulder and collarbone. The doctor gently examined him from his elbow to his neck and around the brace that was holding everything in place.

  “You’re tolerating the pain quite well for the extent of the injury. Ice it, and keep your arm immobile. The swelling should diminish in a few days. If you feel anything slip out of place, go to a doctor right away. The surgeons at VCU Ambulatory are excellent. You’ll need to see one in the next day or two.” Dr. Levi scrawled on a prescription pad. “This is for the pain. The nurse will give you a few to get started. “How did you sleep last night?”

  “Sleep? They woke me every half hour.”