Until I Die Again [On The Way To Heaven] (Soul Change Novel)

by Tina Wainscott

  “And I know about your plans to take off with Mick. I found the plane tickets when I grabbed your suitcase after the stroke. Even you couldn’t lie your way out of two one-way tickets to France with both your names on them.” He laughed softly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hold that against you now. Hell, I’m even gracious enough to wish you all the happiness in the world.”

  This is crazy! I’ve got to tell him he’s made a mistake. How can he think I’m his wife? Just when she started drowning in a sea of confusion, she got a reprieve.

  After a whoosh sound, Chris could hear a vast array of noises from the hallway: a distant conversation, a doctor being paged. A feminine voice said, “Excuse me, Mr. DiBarto. You’re going to have to leave for a little while. You can come back in about an hour.”

  The door quietly closed, leaving the drone of machines to press down on her. After a few minutes, Chris forced her eyes open, looking everywhere around the vacated room. She moved her hand again, and smiled to feel it there. And she smiled just because she could. Then she realized there were tubes in her nose and mouth, and one started to cause a strangling sensation in her throat.

  When her hand reached up over her mouth, she jerked her head around, ready to encounter the owner of the graceful fingers with long, bright pink nails. She had never worn nail polish, nor had nails long enough to paint. She stared at the hand that hovered shakily over her face, and moved a finger. One long finger moved. Then another moved at her will.

  The hand moved lower, and pulled the tape away before pulling the tube from her throat. The slight gagging sensation was followed by the wonderful feeling of taking a breath on her own. She could breathe! Next came the tubes in her nose. But the hand still looked foreign to her.

  Chris tried to remember what had put her there. An accident. Yes, she could hear the distant memory of crunching metal, screams. Her screams. It hurt to think of anything else. She had to get up, to see herself and make sure she was whole. Her arms felt weak, but she pushed herself up a few inches at a time. The room started to spin around, and she closed her eyes and held fast. Finally it passed, and she tried to still the waves of nausea pulsing through her stomach.

  Once she felt stable again, she held her breath and looked down. The blankets had slid down to her waist, and she pushed them to the floor—and stared. Not at herself, not the straight, boyish figure and skinny legs. Something was wrong, terribly wrong! This was not her body!

  She moved legs that seemed twice as long as her own, shapely legs with small feet and painted toe nails to match those fingers. They moved in unison with her thoughts. Her arms moved at will, and… her eyes widened. Her chest was not the barely-a-B she was used to seeing, but much more than that! Beneath her hospital gown, voluptuous breasts rose each time she inhaled. Her hands moved to her head, desperately wanting to feel the kinky curls she had hated all her life. She pulled a handful of long, dark blonde hair in front of her face.

  Panic twisted her heart, and dazed confusion rushed through her blood. Or was it her blood? Nothing else was hers! No, it had to be a horrible, distorted nightmare.

  The picture filled her mind, this time vividly. Her twisted body, the blood, oh, the blood. But there was so much more than that. She remembered floating above her body, feeling detached from it. The clear, bright light telling her that it wasn’t her time yet. He’d said something about a new task. She had been given another chance as… Chris’s gaze fell to the plastic band on her wrist: H. DiBarto. She was in another woman’s body!

  “Hallie! You’re awake.”

  The man who had been talking to her earlier rushed to her side, followed by a tall woman in her fifties. Chris looked at them blankly, the reality of her situation crashing in over her.

  “Hallie, it’s Jamie, your husband. This is your mother. Are you all right?” Then he shook his head, smiling. “You’re okay. I knew you’d come back.”

  Jamie leaned over and hugged her, followed by a crushing hug from the woman who was supposed to be her mother. The woman touched Chris’s face, hair and arms, as if to assure herself she was really seeing her daughter and not an apparition.

  Chris tried to talk, but nothing came out. Finally a sound croaked from her throat. “Why am I in here?” She gestured to all the equipment around her.

  Her mother leaned forward and gripped her hand. Chris wasn’t sure whose hand was shaking, but their clutched hands quivered. “You had a brain hemorrhage, sweetheart.”

  Chris’s weight pulled her back to a prone position. All the while, she kept staring at Jamie, keeping her focus on one person to keep her mind from exploding into a thousand directions.

  His face was finely sculptured, and his eyes were the lightest shade of blue she had ever seen. He had one of those regal noses from advertisements for cologne and blue jeans. He must have been staring at her with the same disbelief that filled her face. Then he smiled, and the whole room seemed to light up. Maybe she was in Heaven after all, and he was an angel.

  The illusion of Heaven was disrupted when a nurse pushed her way in after looking through the large glass window. Everything happened quickly after that. She called the doctor in, ushered Jamie and her “mother” out of the room, and put her through a battery of embarrassing and lengthy tests. All the while, the doctor kept asking her questions.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Hallie…” She stole a glance at her bracelet. “DiBarto.”

  “How old are you? Where were you born?”

  The questions kept coming, and she didn’t know the answers to most of them. At least the answers that belonged to the body she was in. Her own life was clear and the memories vivid up until the day she died. She squeezed her eyes shut. Who am I now?

  “Are you all right?” one of the nurses asked.

  Chris shook her head. No, she wasn’t all right. She would never be all right again.

  Jamie, his mother, Theresa, and Hallie’s mother all gathered in the closet-sized room with Dr. Hughes. The bad news room. He tried to keep telling himself that Hallie was all right now, but another dark thought kept pressing into his mind, spurred on by the memory of that blank look on Hallie’s face: brain damage. What would he do if she never recovered mentally?

  Dr. Hughes looked at his paperwork, then set it down on the desk with a short sigh. “I have been a doctor for fifteen years, and all I can tell you about Hallie’s recovery is that it is a miracle. I have never seen someone in so deep a coma awaken so suddenly. Her movements are purposeful, hand and eye coordination much better than anyone could ever expect.”

  “So she’ll be okay?” Hallie’s mother asked, nervously fingering the frosted hair piled on top of her head.

  “Well, Mrs. Parker…”

  “Please,” she interrupted, placing a hand on Dr. Hughes’s sleeve. “Call me Velvet.”

  Jamie always cringed at the mention of her mother’s name, Velvet. Her real name was Hedda, but she kept the stage name she used when she had been an exotic dancer years ago.

  Dr. Hughes leaned back in the brown vinyl chair. “We’ve run tests, numbers of them. There isn’t a trace of the hemorrhage or any damage. Physically, she’s perfect.”

  Jamie pushed out the words, “And mentally?”

  Dr. Hughes tilted his head. “That’s what we’re not too sure about. Both long and short term memory are impaired. She seems to know little other than her name, and the nurse saw her peek at her name band for that. With the kind of recovery she made, it’s going to be hard to predict her progress. In normal cases it could take up to two years for her memory to return, and even then some of it may never return.”

  Velvet’s face registered shock. “You mean she might always look at me with that nothing look on her face?”

  “I’m not saying that at all. But you may have to fill in the blank spaces for her.”

  Jamie leaned forward. “Will she be the same? I mean, her personality and all?”

  “Yes, in time she will become basically the same p
erson she was. She will, of course, be different in some ways. This kind of experience changes a person. She’ll probably appreciate life a lot more.”

  “Hah!” Velvet’s deep, harsh laugh seemed to ricochet off the walls. “She already did.” When she noticed Jamie’s right eye narrow, her smile died.

  Dr. Hughes cleared his throat, perhaps in an attempt to clear the air of tension. “I would like to keep her here for a few days, just for observation. Then she’s free to go home, although she should stay near the hospital for a few weeks.”

  A sick feeling churned in Jamie’s stomach. “Do you think she’ll have another stroke?”

  “No, not at all. The last CAT scan we did came out completely clear.” He shook his head and looked away for a moment, as if still stunned. “It might be a good idea, though, to keep her nearby in case of complications. This isn’t an average case, so it’s hard to foresee any problems that might occur.”

  Jamie turned to his mother, squeezing her hand in question, trying to read those beautiful, icy blue eyes of hers for an answer. As usual, they revealed nothing, but the slightest nod of her head confirmed it.

  “She’ll recuperate at my mother’s home in Los Almeda,” Jamie announced.

  Velvet spoke up. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, considering the circumstances. She should…”

  “She’s staying with us. You don’t have the time, nor the room, to house her comfortably.” She also didn’t have the wits, but he wasn’t going to get into that. “Besides, she’ll be closer to the hospital. When she’s up to it, she can do whatever she pleases.”

  Dr. Hughes stood up, holding his clipboard against his chest. “Good. We’ve moved her to a regular room, 425. You can go in to see her now if you’d like.”

  After hours of being treated like a lab specimen, Chris was escorted to her new room. All those tests had only confirmed one thing in her mind. No one had a medical explanation for her miraculous recovery, except that it was a miracle, as one doctor had whispered reverently. Oh, how she wanted to tell someone about her experience, about the love and peace, and the light.

  As soon as the nurse tucked her into her crisp, cold sheets and left her alone, Chris shoved out of bed and studied herself again. It still wasn’t her body. Her hands moved up to her face, touching her cheeks, following the lines of her bones. What did she look like now? She had to find out.

  After a wary glance toward the door, she climbed out of bed and walked stiffly to the bathroom. She felt the hesitation of meeting someone new. Being afraid is silly. It’s still you, Chris.

  For the first time she was able to do more than snatch a vague reflection off the face of some monitor. A deep breath served to inject a few ounces of bravery into her, and she stepped up to the mirror and stared. A stranger stared back. She touched the mirror, just to make sure it wasn’t a window into her neighbor’s bathroom. A long, slender hand moved with her to touch the glass.

  Chris moved back, taking in the stranger’s reflection. Blonde hair hung limply around her face, looking flat and oily. Her nose was petite; her lips shapely, not too large, not too small. Her eyes were a deep blue, set just a little too far apart. And her body… Chris shook her head. Pulling the thin, cotton gown tight from the back, her curves showed through. What was she going to do with a body like that?

  “What are you doing out of bed?”

  A concerned male voice rocked her out of her thoughts, and she whirled around. The man was definitely not a nurse, dressed in a red shirt and black jeans. He walked right into the bathroom with her and hugged her fiercely before pulling her back to bed.

  “Leave it to you, Hallie, to come back from the brink of death and be worried about how you look. Don’t you know you’re beautiful, no matter what? Come back and lie down, dear.”

  Chris had been about to object to this stranger’s forwardness when his familiarity indicated he was someone else she was supposed to know. Oh, boy. She followed him to her bed and let him tuck her back under the sheets. His hair hung in strands around his face, and beneath thick glasses, she saw worry and strain grow into love. He knelt on one knee beside her bed and took her hand in his, planting a long, wet kiss on it.

  “I would have been here sooner, but that damn husb—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, you’re here.” He squeezed her hand, and his brown eyes grew shiny with tears. “I thought I’d lost you. My heart would have shriveled up like a pea without you.”

  “To match your brain?” Jamie’s flat voice asked from the doorway.

  The man stood, still gripping Chris’s hand. She wanted to pull free but was too mesmerized by the fire in Jamie’s eyes to move.

  Jamie stepped forward, power in his strides. “Who let you in here, Mick?”

  “You can’t restrict her visitors anymore, James. Besides, she needs me.” Mick tilted his head up, as if daring Jamie to challenge him.

  Jamie’s gaze flicked to her, then back to Mick. His slight smile was a bit crooked. “How can she need you if she doesn’t know who you are?”

  Mick’s panicked expression heightened when he looked at her. He leaned closer and stared into her eyes. “You know me, darling, don’t you?”

  Fatigue was beginning to shroud her, and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and not answer any more questions. But she couldn’t ignore the earnest face hovering in front of hers. “You… you’re Mick, Hall—” She’d started to say Hallie’s lover, as if talking about someone else’s life. It was, of course.in a sense. Jamie’s expression bit into her, though, his obvious disappointment in her remembrance of Mick. Actually she’d only deduced his identity.

  Mick grinned triumphantly. “When she’s released, I’m taking her home with me.”

  Jamie’s voice returned to the flatness it had earlier, and his eyes narrowed. “As long as I’m her husband, she’s my responsibility. At least until she gets better.”

  Mick’s face reddened. “Hallie’s a grown woman. She can do what she wants.” He turned to her and asked, “Do you want me to take care of you?”

  “She can stay with me, too,” Hallie’s mother added from her place behind Jamie. “Who do you want to stay with, darling?”

  Chris looked at the faces around her as they waited for her response. Mick appeared as though his life hung on the balance of her answer. Honestly, he gave her the creeps. Velvet didn’t inspire much confidence in her caretaking skills. Jamie looked resolute, despite offering a choice. She looked at each face, not sure where they fit into Hallie’s life. Her gaze drew back to Jamie. “I want to stay with you…”

  Mick dropped her hand and took a step back. Velvet crossed her arms over her large chest and pursed her lips. But Jamie looked the most surprised of all. She left them all and slipped into a haven of darkness.

  Sometime later, Jamie’s voice pulled her from sleep again, much like the day she had come out of her coma. This time another male voice spoke to him, in soft, hushed tones. It sounded like Dr. Hughes’ voice. “Have you given any thought to our earlier conversation?”

  “You mean what to do with her if she’s… brain damaged?”

  Chris strained to hear their whispers coming from the far side of the room. She kept perfectly still, holding her breath.

  “Right now all we know for sure is that she’s lost a good deal of her memory. Her friends and family can deal with that. But if she experiences lapses in logic and reality, or starts having seizures, it may be too much to handle. Remember, thinking about it won’t make it happen. It’s better to be prepared.”

  “I know that.” After a pause, Jamie said, “What about the Sharp Rehabilitation Center in Sacramento? You said that was the best in the area.”

  “Absolutely. They’ll work with her, take care of her as long as she needs it. She’d make friends there. And maybe some of their advanced methods would help her to eventually become independent again.”

  “But we don’t know that she has any damage, right?”

  “Th
ere seems to be no indication yet. But keep an eye out for unusual behavior in the next few weeks. If she…”

  Dr. Hughes’ voice drifted out into the hallway and was swallowed in hall noise as the door opened, then closed. Her eyes snapped open. The Sharp Rehabilitation Center? A mental hospital? What would they think if she told them that her real name was Chris Copestakes from Colorado, that she had died, and God had given her a second chance in Hallie’s body? Would that be considered a lapse in logic? They would surely think she was brain damaged. Or just plain crazy. Then off to the Sharp Rehabilitation Center they would send her, just like her Uncle Tom.

  She had vivid memories of Tom, playing tag with her and her sisters in the yard, helping in the kitchen during the holidays. He hadn’t acted crazy, but her mom had confided that he was manic depressive. He had an episode that put him in a mental hospital.

  Her mother visited him every Saturday afternoon. She told Chris that if she didn’t go, he would cry out for his sister at the top of his lungs, pounding on the walls until the orderlies restrained him. Chris went with her mother one time, for support. And curiosity.

  The sprawling one-story building had smelled like a hospital, sterile with the faint odor of decay and urine. What struck Chris the hardest was the absence of hope in everyone’s eyes. Nurses and doctors looked as much like zombies as the patients did, bringing the gown-clad man who had once been a baseball player into the visitor’s room with mechanical efficiency.

  The sight of him had horrified her: not the Tom she remembered but a shell of the man, vacant eyes, fits of irritability over nothing. She had stared at his fingers, covered with spots of red flesh where he continually picked at the cuticles. He had chewed his nails to the bloody quick.

  It was the medication, her mother said, trying in vain to get it changed to something better.

  Chris shut the memory away, as she had done so many times during her life. She would not go to a mental hospital.