Beaudry's Ghost

by Carolan Ivey

  Troy swore ripely. “I should never have let his happen.”

  “You mean he didn’t return to his body? That means—”

  Troy punched at the air in frustration. “You got it. John’s soul is missing and his body is dying.”

  Jared closed his eyes, pain twisting his heart. Another senseless death on his shoulders. Troy reached out and shook him once.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Beaudry. This one isn’t your fault. I left you guys alone for a few seconds so I could—” he ducked his head and set his jaw against some strong emotion.

  “Taylor. You showed yourself to her, didn’t you? Is she all right?” For a moment, Jared’s stomach dropped. Perhaps she was injured and Troy didn’t want to tell him.

  Troy nodded and fought to get his voice back. “She’s alive. She’ll be fine, eventually I suppose. If I’d learned quicker how this space-time continuum thing worked, not to mention being a damned coward, none of this would have happened.”

  Jared gripped Troy’s shoulder, having no words to ease the pain in Troy’s eyes. But the man in black wasn’t done speaking.

  “There’s something else. The man you switched places with—his full name was John Beaudry Garrison.”

  Jared sank to his knees.

  Troy followed, crouching at eye level. “He didn’t tell me until right before you tried to make the exchange. He knew all along and didn’t say a word.”

  “Why?” he asked, more of himself than of Troy.

  “I guess he had this harebrained idea that you deserved a chance. I’m going to fix this, Beaudry. I’m going after him. If the medics don’t give up on his body too soon, maybe I can find him in time and bring him home.”

  Jared made a frustrated noise. “The hell you can. You have no idea where to even start looking, do you?”

  Troy grimaced, his body tight with impatience. “No, but… Look, it’s not your problem now.” He pointed toward the music. “Heaven’s that way. I think. Not that I’d know how to get there. God knows you’ve earned it, buddy. Good luck, and I’ll see you around. I hope.”

  Jared barely noticed when Troy did his customary disappearing act.

  To his right, several figures appeared out of the music. All holding out their arms to him. Jared, come home.

  To his left, defeated voices echoed flatly down the dark tunnel. “Pupils fixed and dilated. Call it, Pete. This guy’s done for.” Jared, come back to me.

  Tears scalding his eyes, Jared turned away from the heavenly music, and ran like hell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Mr. Garrison, can you hear me?” The dark-haired man, dead asleep in the steel-framed bed, didn’t so much as twitch. The nurse sighed and set about taking hourly vitals.

  Taylor sat perched on the edge of a chair, blinking in the sunny, if sterile, hospital room in Elizabeth City, a scuffed leather wallet crushed in her fists. She’d found it where its owner had apparently lost it, at the foot of the dune where she had first tripped over Jared. Or John. She didn’t know anymore who this man was, lying in the bed across the room.

  All she really had to do was touch him to know the truth. But to do so might finally confirm that Jared Beaudry no longer walked this earth.

  If that happened, she knew without a doubt they’d be scraping tiny shards of her off this floor.

  “Any change?”

  Taylor jumped out of her reverie and nearly out of her skin. Stephen, now showered, shaved and rested, strode into the room. He went straight for the chart hanging the nurse had left on the foot of the bed, and flipped through the pages with practiced grace.

  The nurse paused in taking her patient’s blood pressure and raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

  He put the chart down and smiled engagingly. “Dr. Stephen Powell, ma’am.”

  The nurse, who had to be over fifty, blushed and unconsciously patted a strand of greying hair back into place. Taylor hid a smile behind a sudden need to cough. The woman clearly had no idea she was about to impart confidential medical information to a veterinarian. In the initial confusion, Stephen had let the hospital personnel assume he was the patient’s primary physician. Without him, Taylor would have been forced to hold vigil in the waiting room at the other end of the building.

  “Ah. Well, Dr. Powell, this man has a concussion but no intracranial bleeding that we could detect, and multiple cuts and contusions. I was told his heart had to be jump started, but EKGs show no permanent damage, thanks to this young lady here. The paramedics said she wouldn’t allow them to give up on him.” The woman smiled at Taylor. “He’s breathing without help, but he has shown no signs of consciousness. The neurologist, Dr. Kim, believes there may be some brain damage. Would you like to consult? He’s scheduled for rounds in about 15 minutes.”

  “Very good,” said Stephen efficiently, turning slightly to wink at her. She suppressed her grin until the nurse’s rubber soles squeaked out of the room.

  “When they find out, they’re going to throw us both out of here,” she said, rising to lean against his long frame, grateful for his support. He settled her there with one arm around her shoulders.

  “Not gonna happen, babe. You aren’t the only one with an army of family members and friends. Mine happen to be scattered around the medical profession.”

  Taylor glanced up at his handsome face, and noted the telltale shadows under his eyes. “Dr. Kim?”

  “College roommate.” He scanned her face and frowned. “Will you please let me find you a bed so we can take care of that shoulder properly? Or at least take you out of here for a while. You still haven’t slept, have you?”

  She shook her head, listening to her remaining wits rattle around inside. “Not until he wakes up.” She tried a change of subject. “How are the rest of the boys? And is your horse going to be all right? He looked like he was down for good when—”

  Stephen moved in front of her and took her by the hands. “The boys are going to be fine. Leon is still combing the beaches for the rest of our equipment. And Jeff Davis will be fine, once I get him home to his own pasture.” He jerked his chin at the man lying across the room. “Honey, chances are he’s going to be just like the rest of us. No one remembers a thing after the point where you said the spirits took over our bodies.”

  She thrust out her chin. “I won’t believe that. Not until I can look him in the eye and…and know…” She sighed, extricated herself from his grasp, and sank down on the hard plastic chair.

  “I fell in love with him, Stephen.” She didn’t mean to blurt it, knowing how it might hurt him. But she couldn’t hold back.

  He went pale, then looked at the dark man who slept like the dead, and flushed red. “You did what?”

  “You might as well know. In the panic and confusion I must have had this twisted reasoning that he was a ghost that existed in a time bubble. He told me he had to live through the battle that had killed him, and find some kind of peace. I helped him do that, thinking he’d just disappear when it was all over. Well, he didn’t, and that’s when I realized Jared Beaudry had possessed a real body. And when Tr—” Taylor paused, rubbing her eyes. She had never told Stephen of her psychometric ability, never told him she had seen Troy’s spirit. Now was not the time.

  “And you’re hanging around, hoping Jared Beaudry might still be in there when he wakes up?”

  Taylor looked away, unable to meet his pitying gaze. Stephen crouched in front of her and forced her to face him. “What is his name?”

  “Jared—”

  “No, Taylor. What is this man’s name?” Stephen turned her toward where the man lay motionless, IV tubes in his arms and bandages hiding half his face.

  She stared down at the wallet in her hands. Inside were a driver’s license, Social Security card, credit cards, a photo-ID security badge bearing the name of a prominent law firm, and the health insurance card she had used to check him into the hospital. She had been relieved to find no family photos. She took a ragged breath.

  �
��John Garrison,” she whispered, hearing her heart crack. “But it’s John Beaudry Garrison. He could be a descendent of Jared’s. Maybe…”

  “And his family is on their way, right?”

  Miserable, she nodded. “His father and brothers. I overheard the nurses talking.”

  “Face reality, T-bird,” said Stephen softly.

  She laughed and covered her face with her hands. “Can anyone really tell me what that is? All I know is, Stephen, that I love, or loved, that man lying in that bed, and…” She dropped her hands and looked over Stephen’s shoulder. And froze.

  “And I love you, Private Taylor.” The voice, deep and rough from days of non-use, emerged from the hospital bed, from behind bandages, from behind one visible, sea-blue eye.

  She pushed past Stephen and approached the bed, shaking, resisting the urge to lunge into his arms. She had to be sure.

  Stephen moved faster, pulling a penlight from his shirt pocket, and leaned over the bed, flicking the light into the patient’s eye. The man scowled, and Taylor’s heart leaped. She knew that scowl. It meant Jared Beaudry inhabited this body, for good and all. She clamped her hands over her mouth and bit back a sob.

  “Shouldn’t you be in Andersonville, Lt. Harris?” Jared mumbled, squinting. “After all, you did try to kill me.”

  She gasped and moved in quickly, lest he try to wrap his hands around Stephen’s throat, IVs be damned. But Stephen smiled easily and checked Jared’s pulse.

  “You’re right, Mr. Beaudry, but there’s this little problem with the witnesses, or lack thereof. We can explain that later. My name is Stephen Powell. Allow me to extend my apologies for my, ah, behavior. I’m told I wasn’t quite myself.”

  “I know who you are,” Jared rumbled. “This lady told me all about you.” Glancing in irritation at the IV tubes attached to his hand, he struggled to sit up, batted aside Stephen’s attempts to check his reflexes, and reached for Taylor.

  She stretched out her hand toward him, but stopped an inch away, inexplicably afraid he might dissolve before her eyes, like a dream that faded immediately upon awakening. She glanced beseechingly at Stephen, her dearest friend, the man who had stood behind her for so many long, painful months.

  He frowned, put his penlight away with a few jerky movements, and cleared his throat. “I’d better go find Phil. He’ll want to have a look at you.”

  Taylor ached for him as he slipped out of the room. Then she turned to face Jared, hand clenched, heart pounding.

  Jared’s eye twinkled at her. “It’s all right, Miss Taylor. I am here.”

  She reached past the last inch and his hand, large and warm, wrapped around hers. A surprisingly firm tug, and she found herself hauled onto the narrow hospital bed and into his arms. Careful of his wounds and the tubes, she rained gentle kisses on his face and lips. He caught her head in his hands and held her still for a deeper exploration of her mouth, then released her and tucked her securely against his side. “Dear Lord, you taste so good,” he whispered.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “How is it that you’re here and not…”

  He held her hard against him, and she buried her face in his chest and felt his whole being relax with the contact. That, too, had not changed—he still drew peace from her like a desert soaked up cool spring water. She let her tears of relief fall.

  “Shhh,” he said softly, stroking her spiky hair. “It will take more time and strength than I have at this moment to explain.”

  She sniffled, wiped her nose on his hospital gown, and wrapped an arm around his waist. “The short version, then.”

  He chuckled. “All right. As you may have guessed, Troy made it possible for me to take over John Garrison’s body. But that John, he’s a fighter—”

  “Imagine that,” muttered Taylor.

  “—and Troy had to completely remove him from this body so I could carry on. We realized later that he and I had actually traded places.”

  She shuddered. “So he’s the one I saw on the horse, out on the beach?”

  “That was him.”

  “And he agreed to this?”

  Jared’s mouth quirked. “Not exactly, but that’s another story. When it came time to switch back to our proper places, something went wrong.” Jared rubbed his chest, and Taylor sensed his grief. “I lost him. Some force took him and just…” he closed his eyes briefly at the memory. “His spirit, that is. I didn’t know until too late that we shared a name, maybe an ancestry. Extraordinary.”

  “So that’s where Troy dashed off to in such a hurry,” she mused.

  “He showed himself,” he stated rather than asked, and tilted her face up with a crooked finger. She smiled away his concern.

  “His wounds were terrible, but I wasn’t frightened. Both of you were such idiots, thinking a little blood would scare me off. He also said something about not being able to find his way back, whatever that means.” She slipped her hand into her jeans pocket and pulled out a button from Troy’s uniform, fingering it lovingly. “When he finds his way back again, we’ll figure it out.” She held up the button. “I’ll keep the light on for him this time.”

  He regarded her steadily. “I lied to you about what I was, Taylor.”

  She stroked his cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll demand retribution. Someday.”

  She laughed and hugged him hard, knowing there were other questions left unanswered, not the least of which was what would happen if John Garrison someday returned to reclaim his body. She held Jared tighter and silently vowed, should that happen, to fight tooth and nail. “I’m truly sorry you lost John, but oh, God, I’m glad you found your way back to me.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Some choices are absurdly easy to make.”

  She leaned back and detected lingering shadows in his eyes. “You gave up heaven for me. You gave up Ethan.”

  A cadre of white-coated interns flocked into the room, flanking Dr. Philip Kim. Stephen brought up the rear, and winked at her as she scrambled out of the bed. Flushed with embarrassment, and relief that she still had Stephen’s friendship, she joined him in standing on the opposite side of the bed from Dr. Kim.

  “Good morning!” said Dr. Kim, almond-shaped eyes sparkling. Jared submitted to another round of poking and prodding, shifting awkwardly when asked to do so.

  Jared poked at the IV tube. “What is this contraption?” he grumbled. “It stings like a hornet.”

  “That,” said Dr. Kim patiently, “is an IV. It’s giving you fluids, and if you pull it out we’ll be more than happy to put it someplace you can’t reach.” Jared’s eyebrow shot up and Taylor just knew he was about to give a 19th-century version of telling Dr. Kim where he could stick it. He managed to restrain himself, but she could see it cost him dearly.

  Please, Jared, Taylor begged silently, Don’t ask any more questions. We can’t have them hauling you to the psych wing.

  Jared caught a glimpse of another tube that emerged from under his gown and led to a bag hanging beside the bed. Taylor resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the thunderous look on his face. He pinned her with an indignant stare, but subsided when she frantically shook her head. Don’t freak out on me now.

  “Now, just a few questions, if you don’t mind,” said Dr. Kim cheerfully. Taylor held her breath. She and Jared should have discussed this beforehand, but there hadn’t been time. Correct answers were critical if he were to walk out of here without a straight jacket. She saw Jared’s eyes narrow.

  “Do you know what year this is, sir?” Dr. Kim held his pen poised over the patient’s chart.

  “I’m 31,” Jared answered promptly. Apparently that was close enough, for Dr. Kim made a check mark on the chart.

  “And the president of the United States is…?” The doctor’s face remained neutral.

  Still, Jared’s agile mind didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t ask me to repeat that idiot’s name,” he growled. The interns laughed and Dr. Kim smiled.

  Taylor began to shake. Stephen latc
hed onto her arm to hold her still.

  “All right, all right. One last question. What is your name?”

  Taylor closed her eyes. And opened them again when Jared’s hand wrapped hers in a firm grip.

  Jared Beaudry took a deep, tired breath and gave her that dangerous smile, the one that always told her he was about to do something outrageous.

  “My name is John Beaudry Garrison.”

  Epilogue

  Troy Brannon stood behind the group of white-coated interns and nodded. Jared Beaudry had officially taken over the life of one John B. Garrison. A terrible risk, but if the look on his sister’s face was any indication, one well worth taking.

  Taylor was too focused on the man she loved to sense Troy’s presence, which made him a little sad. Later, when things settled down, he would find a way to get in touch with her and explain everything. If he ever figured it out himself.

  She had finally let him go, which, he supposed should have freed him to go on to his own reward. Ironically, he still had no interest in going anywhere near Heaven, not if he could help it. Not while he had things to do. A family to protect. One lost soul to account for. John Garrison’s spirit could be anywhere. Anywhere at all. Worse, he could be in any time at all. A hopeless situation? Not if Troy had anything to say about it.

  There were certain advantages, he’d learned, to the afterlife. One was a curious ability to slip free of all boundaries and travel anywhere, to any time, as quick as thought. At first he’d had a hell of a time figuring out why he kept blinking and turning up in the oddest places and time periods. But now that he had a handle on it, he was working on the control thing. It was coming, a bit easier each time as his concentration improved. Even before the high-powered bullet had put a hole in his chest, he’d had a certain talent for slipping in and out of places unseen. His Navy call sign hadn’t been “Chameleon” for nothing.

  He felt a tug of satisfaction as Taylor and Jared Beaudry smiled into each other’s eyes. These two, at least, were taken care of. A good thing, because—he did a quick scan, confident his sister wouldn’t notice—in about nine months, they were both going to need each other very, very much.