“It is. I don’t have anything on her yet, but the coach has a serious social media addiction. I’ll get something on her eventually.”
“I just need enough to intimidate her. To scare the bejesus out of her. We can threaten a lawsuit and all kinds of other fun stuff. Is she Deaf?”
“Nope. She’s hearing. A CODA. Her mother was Deaf.”
A child of a Deaf adult. Oftentimes, CODAs were some of the strongest advocates in the Deaf community. But there were those rare cases where CODAs resented their Deaf and hard-of-hearing parents. They were cynical and apathetic to the extreme. I’d met a couple of them in the past. They had learned to manipulate adults at an early age. That tainted a person’s soul.
“Okay, have we heard anything about Hector’s cause of death?”
“Not yet. They’re keeping it under wraps in the hopes of preventing violence between criminal factions.”
“Damn. I need that info.”
“We could always ask Robert.”
“I hate to get him involved. The lead detective, Joplin, dislikes Uncle Bob almost as much as he dislikes me. And that’s saying a lot.”
“Well, I am Robert’s wife. Surely he could share a little info. It’s called pillow talk.”
“You guys talk about dead people amid coitus as well?”
She laughed and hung up. In my face. That happened to me so often.
I hopped in Misery and settled onto Idris’s lap—such a lovely place to be—but I’d barely turned the key before getting another call.
I picked up with my best professional greeting. “Davidson Investigations. We don’t sleep so you can.”
Oh, I liked that. I searched for a pen and paper to jot that down when a woman’s voice came on the line. “Charley Davidson, please.”
“This is Charley,” I said. Giving up on the jotting things, I craned my neck to make sure I missed the Porsche behind me as I backed out. ’Cause that would be expensive.
“Hello, my name is Kathryn, and I’m a volunteer at Presbyterian Hospital. I’m calling to let you know that your friend was admitted a couple of hours ago.”
I slammed on the brakes. “What? Who? Which friend?” Was she assuming I had only one?
“She wrote your name and number on a piece of paper. I don’t usually do this, but she was insistent.”
“Who?” I asked, dread seizing my lungs. “Who’s there?”
“Oh, of course.” I heard the shuffling of paper. “Okay, according to her license, her name is Nicolette Lemay.”
I gasped. A horn honked behind me, as I’d only pulled out of my parking spot halfway, but I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. “I don’t understand. I just saw her a few hours ago.” Could something we did be the cause of her hospitalization? Did she get into an accident on her way home?
“I’m sorry. That’s all I know. She’s in intensive care, but I believe she can receive visitors.”
“Wait, was it … did she get into a car accident?”
“I’m sorry—”
“Kathryn,” I said, pleading.
After a hesitant sigh, she said, “From what I heard, no. I believe she was attacked. The police are here.”
I couldn’t tear out of that parking lot fast enough. I called Cookie on the way and told her what I knew. Then I hung up amid her protests, just barely catching her insistence upon meeting me there before the call disconnected
I slammed on the brakes under the Emergency Entrance Only sign and shoved Misery into park before bolting out the door and into the emergency room. After a series of unhelpful encounters, I made my way to the intensive care unit. Two patrolmen stood outside one of the glass rooms with a detective—it was Uncle Bob—talking to a doctor inside.
I sprinted to the room, but the patrolmen blocked my entrance.
“Uncle Bob!” I shouted, despite the glares I knew I’d receive.
He turned and came out to me. “Pumpkin, how did you get here so fast?”
“A volunteer called me. What happened? Is she okay?”
“Do you know her?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yes. That’s why I’m here. Wait, why are you here?”
He cursed under his breath, then led me to the side to talk in private. “Sweetheart, she was attacked like the others. She barely survived.”
“The others?” I stood there stunned, the truth staring me in the face yet my mind unable to grasp it. To get a firm hold. I swallowed hard, then asked, “The others? Like the one at the gas station yesterday?”
He nodded, and my hands flew to my mouth.
“Did she … will she…?”
“They think she’ll be fine, but her wounds are extensive. We can only wait.”
I swallowed again and drew in a deep breath. “Uncle Bob, was she burned like the others?”
“Charley,” he began, but I held up a hand.
“I need to know.”
“Yes, pumpkin. She was. Her wounds are identical to the ones on all three bodies. The scratches. The bruises. The strange burn marks.”
My knees weakened, and Uncle Bob helped me to a chair. He grabbed a cup of water just as Cookie ran up to us, panting and half-hysterical.
“How is she?”
“Do you know her, too, hon?” Uncle Bob asked.
She nodded, and he pulled her into his arms.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know.”
“Is she…?”
“They’re hopeful. They said all we can do is wait.”
“I need to talk to her, Uncle Bob.”
“Pumpkin, she’s unconscious.”
“Uncle Bob,” I said, injecting meaning into my tone. “I need to try.”
He nodded and walked me into the room. I almost passed out when I saw her, and he had to guide me to a chair once again.
It was at that moment I realized Reyes was in the room. Why? Did my distress summon him as it had in the past? But that had been Reyes. Why would Rey’azikeen care if I were distressed?
I stood again, refusing to let him see me so, well, distressed.
Nicolette’s dark hair had been partially shaved where a long gash on her scalp had to be stitched up. Her face was swollen, completely unrecognizable, and covered in scratches. But just like Uncle Bob had said, she had burn marks on her arms and feet.
My breath hitched in my chest as I walked up to her. Put a hand over hers. Closed my eyes.
“It’s okay,” she said from behind me.
I whirled around to see her standing in a corner, and panic set in. “No way.” I walked over to her. “You get back in there. I can save you if you’re still inside your body.”
“Charley, it’s okay. It’s—” She stopped and gave me a once-over. “My God, you’re beautiful.”
“Nicolette,” I began, but an alarm on her monitor blared, and a team of medical staff rushed inside.
After being ushered out, I searched the area for Nicolette and found her looking in from the outside of her room.
I hurried over to her. “Nicolette Lemay, get back in your body this instant.”
“Okay,” she said with a grin, “but you need to know.”
“Right.” I nodded. “Who did this, hon? What happened?”
“It’s not what you think. It’s … he…” She looked down as though confused. As though she was searching her memory. Just as she looked up, just as she opened her mouth to explain, she vanished.
She’d been thrust back into her body when they resuscitated her. Her heartbeat stabilized, but we weren’t allowed to go back in.
“Uncle Bob, I need to get in there,” I said through gritted teeth as a very nice security guard showed us to the door.
He. She’d said he. So, it was a person? But who could do such a thing?
“Okay, I’m going to have to do this old-school.”
Cookie nodded in understanding, but Uncle Bob frowned, uncertain.
“Cover for me.” Before he could ask, I shifted onto the celestial plane and sought out my friend. A friend I’d come to adore.
I found her lying down, but in this state, on this plane, she lay on a bed of yellow grass and small white flowers. She was lovely.
I touched her shoulder and healed her most life-threatening wounds. The swelling in her brain would diminish, and any internal bleeding would stop. I didn’t want to heal her completely, not just yet, but this, I could do.
However, she remained unconscious. I let her sleep. She clearly needed it.
I materialized inside the women’s bathroom and headed out to meet Uncle Bob and Cook. After a quick nod of reassurance, I glanced at the security guard.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
“To the little señoritas’ room. Is that a problem?”
He scowled, annoyed, then led us the rest of the way out.
* * *
She was on the celestial plane. At least a part of her was. Her essence, perhaps? But humans weren’t on that plane. Not entirely. Not until they passed, anyway. Maybe she’d shown up because she had been so close to death.