“And then?” Charlie asked.
“And then, if what I think might be happening is…” He paused. “If it’s Faith I’m dealing with, she might take me to Mira.”
“Faith?” Charlie’s mother asked her eyes as big as saucers.
Winston nodded. “Yes, Faith.”
“I don’t understand.” Charlie’s father scratched the side of his head. “Faith passed only a few days after the girls were born.”
“From what Charlie told me, Faith and Mira could still be connected.” Winston shrugged a shoulder. “I could be wrong, but maybe for some reason they never separated spiritually.”
Trying to understand what Winston was saying was difficult enough for Charlie, let alone her parents.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit farfetched?” Charlie’s father cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes, as if apologizing for questioning Winston. “I mean”— he spread his liver spotted hands apart—“how could that possibly happen?”
“I’ve seen a lot of things happen that no one could explain,” Winston said. “And that’s why I feel I received the gift of trying to make sense of what most would call nonsense.”
An hour later, Winston put his shoes on and buttoned his coat.
At the door, Winston asked, “Does Clint know I’m here?”
“Yes. I told him you’d be out tonight,” Charlie answered. “I also told him your name is Winston Smith.”
Winston checked his watch and turned to Charlie’s parents, who still looked confused. “Very nice to meet you.”
Her father stood, walked to him, and put a friendly hand down on Winston’s shoulder. “You’re more than welcome to stay here with us. We’ve got plenty of room.”
“Tell you what,” Winston said, “I’d love to come for dinner. If you’re wife makes meatloaf as good as her sugar cookies, I’m all in. But I don’t sleep well at night and don’t want to keep you folks up.”
“Okay.” Charlie’s father told Winston. “But the offer stands if you get tired of the only hotel in town.”
After Winston assured Charlie he’d call her after he spoke with Mira, and Charlie told him where to find the motel, she watched his car go down the street. What if Winston was right? What if Faith had taken over Mira’s life? The thought of never seeing Mira again sent a cold shiver through her.
When she turned around and saw both her parents staring at her, Charlie put her hands up in front of her. “I know,” she said, knowing what they were thinking. “It’s a long shot.”
“It’s just that, well,” her mother stammered, “we just don’t want you to get hurt, honey.”
“Hurt?” Charlie smirked. “Mom, my whole life is in shambles, so what’s a little bit more pain?” She sat down on the ottoman in front of her mother's chair. “There’s nothing left to lose. And if I don’t try everything I can to try to heal our family, I’d never forgive myself.”
When the phone rang, Charlie jumped up and hurried to the kitchen. “Hello?”
“Charlie?” She could barely hear Clint over the screaming in the background.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Mira. She’s…”
“She’s what?” The hair on the back of her neck stood up when she heard Mira shout, “Stop! Let me go!”
“Paramedics just pulled in,” Clint said breathlessly. “I have to go.”
“Wait. Just tell me what’s going on?”
“She’s like…”
In the background, Charlie heard the commotion of someone trying to calm Mira down.
“She’s what?”
“Her eyes are closed, and she looks like she’s asleep, but she’s shouting at someone…” Clint broke down. “Oh God, Charlie. I can’t…”
Charlie heard something break and then a high-pitched cry. “Is that Mira?”
“I have to go. She’s fighting the paramedics. There are bruises on her face… her arms and legs. I just don’t know what to—”
“Clint?” she shouted. “Are you there?” When she realized he’d hung up, she rushed to the front closet and grabbed her coat. “I’m going to the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Her mother stood.
“It’s Mira.” Charlie flung open the front door. “I’ll call as soon as I know what’s going on.”
“Daddy and I will go with you,” her mother tried.
“No. I need Dad to go out to the house and just tell Winston I’ll call him later. He was going out to meet Clint and Mira.”
“Will do,” her dad assured.
Charlie’s heartbeat was doing triple time by the time she reached the hospital.
She slammed on the brakes and pulled into a spot in the emergency room lot. Hurrying to the entrance, Charlie’s boot skidded across a patch of ice and she caught herself before falling to the icy covered concrete.
“My daughter,” she said, out of breath, when she reached the receptionist. “Mira. Mira Abbott. Is she…”
“Charlie?”
She turned and saw Shannon Patterson coming through the double doors that separated the lobby from the private emergency rooms.
“Shannon? What are you doing here?” Charlie asked, enraged that the DHS worker was here before her. She quickly noted that Shannon looked different. Her hair was lighter, almost the color of Charlie’s, and she’d lost weight.
“I was at Clint’s when Mira got”—she paused—“when Mira had an episode.”
Charlie didn’t want to waste time asking why she’d been at her home. She started to go past her when Shannon wrapped a firm hand around Charlie’s wrist, stopping her.
Boiling with anger, Charlie’s eyes flashed to Shannon’s hand.
“You know there’s a no-contact order with Mira, Charlie.”
Shannon’s dark eyes stared a hole through Charlie. And was that a fucking smirk on her face?
Charlie put her hand over Shannon’s and tossed it off. “I’m going to see Mira.”
“I’m warning you not to buck me.”
Charlie was almost to the doors when she turned back around. Her cheeks grew hot with anger. “Buck you? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Shannon pointed an accusing finger at Charlie. “You cannot see Mira.”
“Screw you!” Charlie tried to push the locked doors open, but they wouldn’t budge. She turned to the receptionist. “Buzz me in now.”
She saw Shannon shake her head at the young woman.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist stated apologetically, her face turning red. “I have to do what the court orders.”
Fuming, Charlie marched toward Shannon. Her hand drawn back, she was only a couple of inches away from her when Shannon suddenly toppled to the tile floor.
Rolling onto her back, Shannon moaned, “She. She pushed me. Oh God, it hurts.”
Charlie stared down at her in shock.
A strong arm grabbed Charlie’s shoulder. “Ma’am.”
Charlie turned toward the security guard.
“You need to come with me,” he ordered.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Charlie started toward the secured door again. “Except to see my…”
Another hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her away from the door. “You can either go peacefully or the hard way. Up to you.”
What the hell was he talking about? “Go?”
Looking past the guard toward the revolving door, she noticed a squad car pull up in front of the emergency entrance. “Are you arresting me?”
God, where was Clint? She glanced down at Shannon, who was rolling her head back and forth, her face contorted as she moaned in pain. Two nurses were on their knees beside her.
“Ohhh!” Shannon draped a hand over her forehead. “My back.”
“Don’t move,” the nurse told Shannon, stroking her forehead. “Someone is coming soon to transport you to a room.”
Livid, Charlie shouted, “What the hell? I never touched that woman !”
As two policemen approached her,
Charlie put her hands up in front of her chest defensively. “Hey, look, I just want to see my child.”
The younger of the two men, dressed in a thick down coat with the Sheffield police logo on the left sleeve, stopped in front of her. “Let’s go have a chat at the station, Mrs. Abbott.”
“Jesus! My daughter is here, and I need…” When the cold handcuffs slapped around both wrists, it felt as if her heart stopped.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Charlie asked.
When the police escorted her toward the door, she didn’t know whether she was going to throw up or explode with anger. Outside the cop opened the back door of his squad car, pushed Charlie’s head down, and Charlie slid into the backseat.
Shannon had called the cops before she saw Charlie in the waiting room, telling them there was a restraining order against her. Otherwise, there was no way the police could have gotten to the hospital this fast. Bitch.
She saw Shannon being moved onto a bed and then saw Clint appear beside her.
“Clint!” Charlie shouted at the closed window, her wrists burning from the metal cuffs. “Clint!”
“He can’t hear you, ma’am,” the policeman told her flatly.
“Wait,” she begged when the car started to move. “My husband will explain everything.”
As the car started to move, Charlie craned her neck, praying Clint would see her.
But when Charlie saw Shannon’s arm come up off the stretcher and Clint take her hand, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Had Clint and Shannon heard her in the lobby and decided together to call the police? He’d been acting strange lately whenever Charlie asked him if he really believed she hurt Mira.
Or maybe Clint had found out who Winston was and decided their marriage was over.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WINSTON COULD FEEL CHARLIE’S ANXIETY when they were talking in her parent’s home. And he could also sense her mother and father’s reservations.
He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Charlie to be cast out of her own home and accused of child abuse. Part of the gift that he’d received as a child was to be able to see the true heart and character of people, and he’d bet his last dollar that Charlie Abbott would never hurt anyone, let alone a child.
When Charlie talked about Mira, she tried hard to keep her emotions in check. But the overwhelming sadness in her eyes told Winston she was going through hell.
Winston felt guilty he was meeting Clint under false pretenses, and yet, if a deceased twin was trying to take over her sister’s mind, Winston had to try to help. He’d heard of twins staying connected when one passed, but Faith had only lived for three days. She’d been too young to store any kind of memory of her birth or Mira.
Even though it was dark, Winston was able to make out the snow covered, barren fields that stretched on forever. There were no cars on the highway and every farm home he passed seemed to have a light shining on the front porch. It was peaceful here, and yet, a storm was raging inside a child that was turning the Abbott’s calm existence in the small town of Sheffield, Iowa upside down.
When he saw the sign that read, “Chicken Inn ten miles ahead,” that Charlie had told him to watch for, it was only seconds before he came upon the two-story home on his left. When he turned into the drive, he started to second guess himself again, wondering what the hell he was about to get into.
“You make me laugh,” Saul said.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.” He stopped the car and put it into park.
“You know you’re not going to leave until you find out what’s going on.”
Winston smirked. “You know me way too well.”
The scenery was picture-perfect, as if Winston had had just stepped into a Rockwell painting. Pines and oaks that lined the driveway glistened with newly fallen snow and, in the front yard, a perfectly crafted snowman greeted guests, complete with a carrot nose and black top hat.
When headlights appeared in his rearview mirror, he wondered if it was Clint.
A car parked behind him and someone stepped out and Winston watched the man in his rearview mirror wearing a green parka with a fur-lined hood pulled up over his head start toward his car. When his image became clearer Winston saw that it was Charlie’s father.
“Everything okay?” Winston asked and closed the door.
“Mira’s in the hospital,” the older man said, his words puffing out white vapor into the bitter cold. “Charlie just got the call. She wanted me to come out and tell you.” He nodded at the house. “There’s no one home.”
“What’s going on?” Winston asked.
“I don’t know for sure.” The older man said. “Charlie’s going to call us when she knows anything. Mother’s a wreck.”
Winston glanced at the house. “Think Charlie would mind if I go inside for a few minutes?”
“Don’t think there’s any harm in that.”
“You have a key?”
Charlie’s father sniggered as he started to traipse through the snow to the back door, the snow crunching beneath his boots. “This is Iowa. Everyone’s got what they need, and don’t go around stealing what’s not theirs.”
Following him up the slippery steps, Winston heard Saul say, “Watch your step, old man, or you’ll break your neck.”
When he stepped into the kitchen, a succulent aroma that made his mouth water, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything for hours. Charlie’s father took off his boots, walked to the oven and bent over.
He stared through the glass door. “Looks like Clint is cooking something.” He took out two hot pads from a drawer, opened the oven and took out a large, covered roasting pan and set it on top of the stove. “Didn’t know Clint could cook.”
“What’s he got in there?” Winston took off his shoes, feeling that even his socks were damp.
Charlie’s father took off the lid. “Looks like stew. You hungry?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
The kitchen was warm, homey, like Andy Griffith’s Aunt Bee lived here. A cookbook was open on the counter; a platter next to it. His eyes moved to the refrigerator door that was covered in colorful, whimsical drawings. Mira’s work, Winston assumed. Or Faith’s.
“Someone else live here?” Winston asked.
“No, just Mira and Clint. Why?”
Winston nodded at the table. “Three plates.”
“That’s strange.” The older man pushed the parka back off his head. “I can’t think of anyone Clint would invite to dinner unless maybe he thought you’d join them.”
“You mind if I take a peek at Mira’s room?”
Charlie’s father opened the refrigerator and placed the pan inside. “Go on ahead. The bedrooms are upstairs. Mira’s bedroom is the second one on the left.” He nodded at the archway. “Stairs are in the living room. Just be sure you turn on the light as those steps can be mighty treacherous.”
“Thanks.” When Winston walked into the living room, he felt a wave of warm energy. Suddenly, a faint image of a Christmas tree appeared in front of the picture window and he heard the sound of laughter. A flashback from Clint’s childhood? There were times when Winston visited client’s homes that he could feel the spirits and a few times could even see them. He believed that walls stored memories.
He switched on the light and saw a worn, brown tweed couch, a leather recliner and three or four books neatly stacked on a coffee table. Charlie had shared with Winston that after she married Clint she’d moved into his parents’ home. Winston assumed that the dated furniture, along with the “God Bless Our Home” cross stitch that hung on the wall beside the front door, had been here for decades.
He clasped a hand around the thick oak banister and made his way up the stairs, his knee throbbing with arthritis.
When he came to the first bedroom, he peeked inside and saw a patchwork quilt that covered the queen-sized bed. A pair of men’s jeans and a gray sweatshirt was neatly folded on the seat of a chair next to the night tabl
e.
He stopped in the doorway when he reached the next room and turned on the light.
His eyes moved thoughtfully over Mira’s room. A dozen or more dolls in all sizes and shapes took up one corner, their wide-eyed stares following Winston. On the wall parallel to the single bed was a two-story dollhouse with white shutters and front porch that resembled the Abbott home.
Shelves underneath the double windows that were sheathed in pink and white checked curtains and matched the bedspread held storybooks and toys. The little girl’s bedroom oozed with the love that Charlie and Clint had for Mira.
Winston walked to a collage of pictures above Mira’s bed. The photos told a story: Mira being baptized as an infant; sitting on a swing, another of her on a child-sized green tractor, and one of her standing next to Charlie, her face lit up by a wide smile. He drew closer to the photos, focusing on Mira’s innocent blue eyes. Envisioning Mira alone and afraid, he whispered, “Where are you, little one?”
A few seconds later, Winston heard a small voice, “Help me.”
When the overhead light flickered off and on a couple of times, he knew Mira was here. He had to stay calm. If she felt any anxiety or fear, it might send her spirit away.
“Mira?” He turned around slowly on the round, braided run in the middle of her room, searching for her.
“She won’t let me come home,” she said in a whisper.
“Where are you, honey?”
He closed his eyes tightly and concentrated. “Mira?”
But she was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“WHAT HAPPENED?” Clint asked Shannon who was lying flat on a bed.
Shannon had made sure Clint had heard her moans and groans when she’d been pushed past the room Mira was in, and then asked the attendant to tell Clint Abbott she was only two doors down from him.
“Head hurts.” She put her hand on top of her head. “Oh, my goodness,” she whimpered. “I’ve never been so scared.”
“Was my wife here?” Clint asked. “I thought I heard her.”
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