Stranger in the Mirror [Shades of Heaven] (Soul Change Novel)

by Tina Wainscott

  Jennie felt a strange whirring in her heart when she said, “Well, maybe you should change your type.”

  “Ah,” he said with a flick of his wrist. “I don’t have time to woo and court a woman. This business is hard on a relationship.”

  “Long hours away, rushing out on a sudden call in the middle of dinner, canceled dates… “

  He looked at her, tilting his head. “Yeah, just like that.”

  For a second, something clicked between them, something that smacked of a deep understanding. Was she imagining something more? Probably. She snapped out of her misleading thoughts. “Oh, I’d better tell Petula…” She gestured toward the phone and whirled around to give her the brush off.

  Afterward, she mulled over what had probably been the gutsiest thing she’d ever said to him, that thing about changing his type. What made Sam’s heart tick? The blues, she decided when he turned up a particularly rhythmic piece, leaned his head back and started singing the chorus of “Drowning in a Sea of Love.”

  Ah, she knew that feeling well. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the richness of his voice. She could go on forever like this.

  Her eyes popped open. She had thought that about her life before, about being able to walk and run and dance. Then twelve years ago, in one minute, it was all gone. Her whole life changed. Never again could she look at something as forever. For now, she was happy with her life, even if she was in a wheelchair. Even if she was hopelessly in love with her boss, a man she was totally wrong for.

  Sam was a living-by-the-seat-of-his-pants guy; Jennie would only bog him down. Paralyzed from the waist down, she wasn’t bound to be much in bed either. Mostly, his friendship wasn’t worth risking by telling him how she really felt about him. He would never feel the same way about her, and her admission would put a strain on a friendship that meant everything to her.

  Jennie wheeled back to Sam’s office and peeked in the doorway. He was pacing behind the desk now, phone to his ear. “Mmhm. Mmhm. And what did you do?” he was saying.

  “Sam, I’m going down to Shep’s to make copies,” she whispered, gesturing toward the door. She turned to head out. Thiers had died and he hadn’t had a chance to buy a new one.

  “Psst.” Sam appeared in the doorway, phone scrunched between his ear and shoulder and gestured for her to wait. He slapped his palm to his forehead. “You slept with your wife? Aw, Harry, you just blew four weeks of surveillance. I don’t care if it was the greatest sex you two ever had, don’t you see? You knew she was sleeping around on you and you did the deed with her anyway. That constitutes forgiveness, and what that means, my friend, is you have no case. Her lawyer no doubt told her to hit you where your heart is, and I’m not talking about your stomach. … I should have told you this before? I didn’t think you’d sleep with her, for Pete’s sake. You’re the one who told me she was lower than a toenail.”

  He rolled his eyes at her as she tried to stifle a giggle. “Hold on a sec, Harry. Jennie, buy us some coffee from Shep, will you?” He handed her a couple dollar bills.

  “Yes, bossman.” She looked at the bills with a wry grin. That was his way of telling her that he’d forgotten coffee again. Mixed subtly into his expression was an apology.

  “Thanks, kiddo. Listen, Harry, you don’t have a leg to stand on, least of all your third leg. Forget the whole thing.”

  Jennie wheeled out into the hallway and knocked the door shut with her elbow. As she turned toward the elevator, she felt her wheels slide over something slick on the wood. Her chair slid backward toward the stairway that led down two more floors. She yelped, grabbing the railing to stop herself. Her back was to the staircase when she got the chair to stop turning. Glancing down the wood stairs, she let out a long breath and started the chair forward.

  Instead, it went backwards.

  She lunged for the railing again, but she was already tipping over. The railing was out of reach.

  The last thing she saw before she fell was Sam’s horrified expression as he shot through the door and tried to grab her. She reached for him. Their fingers touched, slid without catching. Her stomach lurched as she fell, the steps jerking her chair to and fro.

  “Sam!” she screamed out.

  “Jennie, no!”

  The world tilted, crushing her with pain and dizziness. Through some thick mist, she felt herself lurch down several more steps, landing on a flat, hard surface. Her body came to a jarring stop, but the dizziness kept swirling through her.

  She heard voices filled with panic and exclamation. She smelled the coppery odor of blood, and heard Sam yell with a hoarse voice, “Someone, call an ambulance!”

  Her heart thundered inside her, increasing the pain with each pulse of blood. She couldn’t swallow at first. There was some kind of liquid in her mouth, warm and thick. When she forced herself to swallow it, she recognized the taste of blood. I’m dying.

  Sam held her, smoothing back her hair with trembling fingers. “Jennie, don’t leave me. Come on…oh, God. Don’t close your eyes. You’re going to be fine.”

  Sam, I love you. She tried to voice her thoughts, but her mouth was filled with blood again. She wasn’t even aware that her eyes were closing, but nothing could make them stay open. Even in the darkness, she could see Sam’s face. She could still tell what was going on around her: Sam cradling her head, other voices in the stairway, Sam talking to her, the feel of blood trickling from her mouth down her chin and her neck.

  She must look a wreck, she thought vaguely. Her impulse was to wipe away the blood. But nothing moved at her will. Panic gripped her. Not even a finger complied with her mental order to move. Was she completely paralyzed now?

  “Jennie.”

  Sam’s voice seemed so very far away, talking in soft, calming tones. She smiled, or at least thought she smiled. Yeah, she could listen to him forever. Then she realized she couldn’t feel him anymore, couldn’t hear the other noises. It was as if his voice had become a physical thing, a wave on which she rode, traveling through nothingness at a fast rate.

  Then his voice faded, leaving her suspended and weightless. All of her fear, hopes, dreams, frustration—everything seemed to be sucked away from her, as if an unseen vacuum cleaner was pointed at her soul. She floated in some infinite darkness, feeling her life drawing to a peaceful end.

  It seemed like an eternity, and at the same time only minutes from that fall down the stairs when Jennie opened her eyes. Time had no place here, nor did the physical. Her body was no more than an opaque mist. For the first time in many years she was free of constraints and limits. The silence was soft and comforting, rather than isolating. Yet, somehow, she knew she wasn’t alone.

  She felt as though she were in a fog bank suspended over a vast ocean. Through the gray mist a light as bright as the setting sun penetrated. Gentle rays of light emanated from the sun and shimmered through the mist like glowing fingers playing some giant, unseen piano. They became brighter and warmer as they moved closer, enveloping her in a feeling of warmth and peace like she had never known. She reached toward the light.

  Then one word crept through the darkness, warming her even more than the light. Sam. She smiled, or at least thought she was smiling. Following that warmth was such a deep regret at not telling him how she felt about him, sorrow that she wasn’t the kind of woman who could make him happy. Take care of him she asked the light. I love him, you know.

  A soft, sweet voice emanated from the light. Not a voice in any physical sense but a wispy sound that seemed to penetrate her soul. Some never get to fulfill their dreams the first time. A very chosen few get a second chance. You, Jennie, are one of those chosen. Soon you will be able to pursue those dreams the second time around.

  Another chance! To see Sam, to continue loving him, to nag him about getting coffee. This time she would tell him how she felt. Even if she wasn’t the right woman for him—even if he could never love her that way, she wanted him to know her feelings toward him. Never again could she leave he
r life feeling this profound regret over her silence. This was one second chance she wasn’t going to waste.

  Then that blower started again. Only this time, it sucked her soul through the darkness. She was going back now. Everything happened at once. An incredible pain in her head, as if her brain had crystallized, then been dropped on a hard tile floor. Air filled her lungs so suddenly, she gasped with the force of it. Her heartbeat thudded through her, blood pulsing into every artery, every tiny vein. Her body was physical again. Gravity pulled her downward, pressing her against a hard surface below. She forced her eyes open, anxious to see what had become of her, knowing she would make the best of it.

  The first thing Jennie saw, once her eyes focused in, was Sam’s concerned face hovering over her. “Sam,” she breathed, elated over the joy of smiling again—really smiling this time. Then she realized his finger was touching her neck, pressed gently against her pulse point. He looked startled as his gaze met hers. Slowly, he pulled his finger away. She was lying on the wooden floor, her body sprawled out like a ragdoll.

  “You’re alive again,” he said in a low voice. “This is incredible. One minute you were gone—no pulse at all. Before I could even think about doing CPR, your pulse came back. All by itself,” he finished softly.

  “I did die, didn’t I?” The light, the voice—it couldn’t have been her imagination.

  “How are you feeling?”

  The throbbing pain in her head persisted, but she was more concerned about her hands and arms. She curled her fingers, breathing in relief as they obeyed her command. She wasn’t completely paralyzed.

  “I think I’m okay.” Her voice sounded strange, lower, thicker.

  “I should call an ambulance.”

  Sam’s face wavered out of focus for a second, but she willed him back. Clearing her throat, she said, “But you already asked someone to do that.” Her voice still sounded strange.

  “No, I didn’t, but I’m going to now.” Something looked different about him. Maybe it was just his concern. “Stay put.” He started to rise, but she grabbed his hand to stop him. Her whole world spun for a moment, and she squeezed his hand to steady herself.

  “Just give me a minute,” she whispered, letting the nausea settle down again. She put her palm on the pounding area of her head and felt something sticky. That coppery smell assaulted her senses again. The blood on her hand sent the nausea into full tilt.

  She took a deep breath. “Oh, geez. What happened to me?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask you. I heard a noise and opened the door to find you like this.”

  He headed back into his office and emerged a few seconds later pulling off his shirt. He cut one of his sleeves off with a pair of scissors. Gently, he pressed it to the gash on her forehead. When she put her hand there, her fingers touched his, reminding her of another moment when their hands had connected, then slipped from each other. He removed his hand, and she continued applying gentle pressure.

  The pieces started coming together, shards of memories. “I fell down the stairs.”

  Sam’s eyebrow twitched. “We’re on the top floor.”

  “I know that, but …” She turned behind her and was startled to see the staircase leading down. The one she’d fallen down. Well, she thought she remembered falling down the stairs. She looked down at her legs, sprawled out in front of her. She didn’t recognize the gray wool pants she had on, or the long, black coat. Her feet were clad in nylons, and she squinted at what looked like red toenail polish. She’d been twelve years old the one and only time she’d ever put polish on her toes. Maybe she was seeing things.

  Something else was missing. Her wheelchair. Before she could ask Sam about it, he said, “I think we’ve got some antiseptic in the office.” A shadow darkened his eyes. “Jennie insisted we have a first aid kit.” His voice had gone softer at those words, and he got up and went into the office.

  Why was he using her name in the third person? She turned around to look for her chair. Without it, she felt as though a part of her was missing. Strange how she remembered falling backward down those stairs. Unless someone carried her up them and left her in front of Sam’s door. No, that didn’t make any sense. Neither did Sam’s strange behavior. Maybe he was spooked by her coming back from the dead.

  She noticed the rubber mat in front of their door. When had he put that there? She was sure there had been no mat when her wheel had slipped in the puddle.

  She leaned toward her big toe to scratch an itch—and stopped. Her eyes widened. Her toe had an itch. Her paralyzed toe. A cold chill washed over her. She was sure it was all in her injured head. It had been a long time since she’d sent a message to her feet. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Her toe moved. Her eyes popped open. Then she saw her toe move. She couldn’t believe it.

  “I found some hydrogen—what’s wrong?” Sam’s voice intruded in her reverie.

  Her voice was squeaky with her disbelief. “Sam, look! I can move my toe.” Then another amazing thing happened. She moved her leg.

  He didn’t look quite as thunderstruck as she did, but he did have a measure of disbelief. He crouched down beside her. “I always knew you were on the edge, but I think that bump on your head pushed you over. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “I might be better than all right.”

  He just looked at her for a moment. “What were you doing here, anyway?”

  Her mouth dropped open at that one. “Sam. I was getting copies and coffee at Shep’s, remember?”

  His face paled then darkened with a shadow of agony. “Why the hell would you say something like that?”

  He turned and walked back inside their office. What had she said? What was going on here? She could hear him on the phone a moment later. “Yes, we need an ambulance… “

  Where was the man who had held her tenderly? Maybe she’d dreamed the whole thing. She lifted the piece of cloth from her head. Well, most of it. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. She reached for the bottle of peroxide Sam had left on the floor and poured some onto the cloth, then pressed it back to her forehead. She didn’t want an ambulance; she wanted Sam to tell her why he was acting so strange.

  What she needed was to find her chair. She grasped onto the railing behind her and pulled herself upward. Where could it be? It couldn’t have just disappeared. After being virtually attached to it for twelve years, it seemed strange to be without it. That black, molded chair, or variations of it, was never out of her sight.

  Her upper arms weren’t as strong as they usually were. She struggled to hold herself upright, balancing herself while catching her breath. The sound of the elevator’s doors sliding open brought her attention to Shep. Skinny, with gray hair and beard, he looked a bit like a goat, though Jennie had come to like him an awful lot over the years. He owned a small office supply store downstairs.

  Shep’s bushy eyebrows narrowed when he saw her awkward position. “Ah, see you found Sam’s all right.” He glanced at the open door, then back at her. “Hope everything’s okay. When you came running in my office looking for him, I thought you were in trouble or something. Are you all right, ma’am? You look shaky.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Shep didn’t seem to recognize her. That warm sparkle didn’t light his eyes, and he didn’t call her by her nickname, Speed Racer. One of his words stuck in her brain. “Did you say I ran into your office?”

  “Sure, don’t you remember?” He shook his head then glanced at the stairway as if it had a life of its own. “Gave me the willies when you took the stairs three at a time. Didn’t you hear me yell to be careful? What with the accident last month, none of us around here hardly uses them at all.” Shep’s face darkened with a palpable sadness, like the pallor on Sam’s face.

  Her mind couldn’t sort the facts fast enough. She had bounded up the steps, three at a time. Maybe everybody was losing their mind, asbestos in the building or something. Her mind locked on the last bit.

&n
bsp; “What accident?” Her fingers and arms trembled with the weight of holding herself up. Where was the upper body strength she had worked on all these years?

  Shep glanced in the open doorway again, then back. “Sam’s assistant, Jennie. Speed Racer, I used to call her.” His smile was filled with melancholy. “She was a real sweetie, nicest person you could ever know. Someone spilled some lubricant on the landing there, right in front of the office door. Still haven’t figured out who done it, but I think it was one of the elevator service guys. Anyway, her wheelchair caught that spill just right—or wrong, you could say.”

  Jennie noticed Sam in her peripheral vision but kept her eyes on Shep. Her throat tightened, nearly cutting off her air. “What happened to her?” she whispered. He’s talking about me.

  “She fell down backwards, hit her head. Poor thing, only twenty-six years old, and her life is over.” His shook his head, lower lip pushed out.

  Jennie wanted to hug him, to tell him she hadn’t died. Instead, she fell to the floor amid a blizzard of black dots. No, they actually looked more like wiggly worms, all squirming this way and that. She was getting dizzier watching them.

  “I’ve got her,” Sam was saying as his arms went around her waist just before she hit the floor. “Shep, get her a glass of water, quick.” He set her down on the floor gently, leaning her back against the railing she was blindly grasping for.

  She was a real sweetie…poor thing…her life is over. The words floated through Jennie’s mind, bits and pieces that refused to make sense to her. She had gotten a second chance, that’s what the voice had told her. And she was there. But Shep said Jennie was dead. Neither he nor Sam seemed to know who she really was.

  She thought of the wool pants she didn’t recognize, the long black coat. Not her pants or her coat. Shep had seen her bound up the stairs. Not her legs. She opened her eyes, wiggly worms be damned, and glanced downward at the hands flattened against the floor to keep her upright. Long painted nails, strange rings on her fingers. Then further out at the legs sprawled awkwardly.