“Cas!”
“Cas?” I repeat again, only louder.
My mother sits erect in the chair and the color drains from her face.
“What did you say?” she whispers.
“Cas?” I repeat. “I heard someone say that name. Didn’t you hear it?”
“No. I didn’t hear anything.” She sits back down, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Her hands are clamped together so tightly her veins protrude. “What’s wrong?” I try turning my body to face her, but I’m too sore to move. I’m only able to roll my head over on the pillow.
Kate leans in close, her face inches from mine. “The name you said – Cas.”
“What about it?” I say, fighting to keep my eyes open.
“I was here when they brought her in – the girl who died. Your donor. I heard them say her name. It was Cas.”
Chapter Seven
“Everything looks good, Elle. If you keep up this progress, I don’t see any reason why the transplant team won’t decide to send you home in another week. You just have to be diligent about taking your immunosuppressants.” Scott looks at me with a knowing grin. “But that won’t be a problem. You’re a good patient, Elle. I’m really impressed with how you’re handling all this.” He sits on the edge of my bed.
“Thanks.” I’m not sure how to react. Personally, I don’t think I’m handling things too well. Lately, all I do is sit in silence, waiting and listening to hear her voice again. At night, after the nurses leave, I call out to her. “Cas, can you hear me?” I think I might just be losing my mind.
“I’ve set all kinds of reminders on my phone,” I continue, a fake smile plastered to my face. “Believe me, I won’t forget to take my meds.”
“That’s good. I know kids today don’t go anywhere without their phone, so I’m sure you won’t forget.” He gives me a wink and places his stethoscope back in his pocket.
I furrow my brow, irrationally annoyed that he just grouped me as a kid. I’m about to tell him that the majority of adults also carry their phone with them 24/7, but I’m interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Good morning. May I come in?” It’s Jocelyn. “I come bearing wildflowers picked fresh this morning.” She holds up an array of colorful, rustic looking flowers. She is wearing a pink tunic and her bracelets clap together when she moves. “I hope it’s all right that I’m popping in like this. Scott said it would be okay.” She smiles at her son as she places the bouquet in my hands.
“Thank you; they’re beautiful.” I try to hide my surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see her for another couple of weeks – not until our classes resume.
“Elle, I’m sorry that I failed to mention my mother was going to stop by for a visit,” Scott whispers quietly.
“I’ll just fill this up with water.” Jocelyn holds up a plastic pitcher that she swiped from the table beside my bed. “My flowers are already starting to droop.” Scott and I watch as she steps into the bathroom. He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “There, now, some nice water will perk you fellas back up.” Jocelyn talks to the flowers as though they are children. Scott doesn’t even flinch at his mother’s odd behavior. “I’ll place you right here on this table in front of the window, so you get plenty of sunlight.”
“Well, I think I will leave the two of you alone. I have more rounds to make.” Scott stands to leave. “Elle, I will be in a little later today to check on you.” He gives me a wink before closing the door.
“Thank you.” Secretly, I’m happy to have a moment alone with Jocelyn. I already heard the ‘logical’ explanation for why I heard a mysterious voice whispering the name of my heart donor. The hospital psychologist calmly told me that my experience was normal. She wanted me to believe that a doctor or nurse must have said Cas’s name while I was still under, and the name had subconsciously stuck in my head. She claimed many patients have memories of what happens during their time under anesthesia. She said the voice was a delusion brought on by the trauma I had endured, or was perhaps a side effect from the medication I was taking.
I could just imagine reading the label of side effects: ‘Caution: This medication may cause you to hear dead people.’
I had congratulated and thanked her for her lucid explanation. I wasn’t about to argue with the hospital psychologist about hearing strange voices – I’m not that crazy. But I am anxious to hear another explanation, the one I secretly suspect to be true – the one that only someone like Jocelyn can provide.
She removes her shawl and wraps it around the back of the oversized chair next to my bed before letting out a long, deep sigh. “So, tell me, how are you feeling?”
“I feel surprisingly well.” I push my body up straighter with the palms of my hands.
“I brought you something.” Turning and reaching into her bag, she pulls out a small, burlap pouch.
“Jocelyn, that’s very kind of you, but you didn’t have to bring me anything.” I push my body to the edge of the bed and watch as she unravels the string tied around the bag. “There!” she announces. “Hold out your hand.” I oblige, and she pours three dime-sized gems onto my palm.
“They’re healing crystals. Keep them beside your bed and they will assist with your healing.”
“Thank you.” I am not sure how to react. I inspect one more closely, holding it up to the fluorescent light.
“Chartreuse,” Jocelyn remarks. “That’s the color of the one you’re holding. It’s sort of a mix between green and yellow. Isn’t it lovely?” I nod and smile.
“I’m sure you’ll soon feel like yourself again,” Jocelyn says giving me an awkward stare. I don’t know why, but the little hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stiffen. “Elle, if you just happen to notice anything different,” she stops and licks her bottom lip, “in terms of side effects, I want you to speak with Scott about it right away. Okay?”
“Of course.” I’m surprised by the request. “He always tells me that I can call him anytime with questions.”
“Good. And remember, he’s very open-minded. I mean, he has to be with a mother like me, right?” She giggles.
Open-minded seems to be an odd way to describe Scott. I would think he’s heard it all in regards to side-effects. Those drug commercials literally list thousands of possible side effects. Who would think that you could possibly end up with liver disease just by treating toe fungus?
“Elle, I’m not talking about your typical side effects, like chest pains or hot flashes. I mean something else.”
In that moment, I knew exactly what she meant.
“Something strange did happen to me.” I clear my throat and press the remote that controls my bed, until I’m sitting upright. “I was going to tell you – I figured you wouldn’t think I was crazy.” Jocelyn’s eyes suddenly dilate to the size of quarters. She inches closer to me and places her hand on top of mine.
“What happened, Elle?”
“When I first woke from surgery, a few weeks ago, something odd happened.”
Jocelyn nods her head, urging me to continue.
“I was lying in bed and closed my eyes to say a silent prayer for the young girl who lost her life – the girl whose heart I have.” I stop, swallow hard, and try to find the right words.
“It’s okay, Elle. Go on.” Jocelyn moves her chair even closer to my bed.
“Well, I was wondering about her name – I wanted to know who to pray for. And suddenly I heard it. I mean, I heard a voice say it.”
“What did the voice say?” Jocelyn is literally sitting on the edge of her seat.
“It said the girl’s name,” I sigh. “My mother later confirmed that the name I heard was the same name as my donor. When I told the hospital psychiatrist, she said it was in my head.” I fidget with my hands and notice Jocelyn crossing her arms tightly. A scowl flits over her face.
“I loathe the way psychiatrists explain everything as a trick of the mind, rather than contemplating the possibility of an alternate explanation.”
“She
said that my subconscious must have heard the name while I was under anesthesia,” I continue.
“Did you tell your mother?” Jocelyn folds her hands in her lap and squeezes them together so tightly her knuckles turn white.
“She was there when I first heard the voice. It seemed to really shake her up.”
Jocelyn stares at me intently. I take a deep breath and look down at my hands, noticing my ragged cuticles. “I could tell she was really relieved when she heard the psychiatrist’s explanation.”
“That’s for the best, I think. Your mother just wouldn’t understand this sort of thing. But I do. Elle, tell me the name you heard.”
“Cas.” I sniff. It still rattles me to say it. “She said her name was Cas.”
Jocelyn’s smile fades and the color drains from her face as though someone has pulled the plug from her toes.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s just… fascinating.” Jocelyn places her hands on top of mine, her thin skin reminding me of tissue paper. “Elle, you need to become more in tune with your body. You may begin to notice other things, now.”
“What things?” I ask anxiously.
Jocelyn brushes her long red hair away from her face. “Well, I would suggest you keep a log to jot down any strange occurrences.”
“Like what?”
She locks eyes with me and gives an intense stare. “You’ll know when it happens.”
“I haven’t noticed anything, you know, out of the ordinary. Not since that one time.” I begin to feel uneasy. Jocelyn stands from the chair and paces the room.
“I’m proud of you, Elle. Many people would be afraid by such an experience. But you don’t seem scared of what life throws at you.” She gazes out the window and runs her fingers through the condensation, leaving long, streaky lines on the foggy glass.
“I guess after you’ve live the life I have, there aren’t many things left to scare you.”
“You know, Elle,” the moonlight reflects brightly behind her back, “I believe you were chosen to receive this girl’s heart for a very special reason.”
“Did you know when you told me I would be getting the transplant? That it would be hers?” I blurt.
“No. I just see what I see, and it’s usually not complete.” She sits down on the edge of my bed and touches the tips of my toes through the sheet. “When Scott first told me about you, I immediately had a vision that you would have your transplant and it would be successful. I’m sorry to say that’s all I know. I wish I could tell you more.”
I look down at my hands and feel the muscles tighten around my throat. Don’t cry. I swallow hard and fight back tears. I need to know more, and I don’t have the patience to wait for Jocelyn’s clairvoyance to kick in.
I wish I could just pop a quarter in her mouth and hear her tell me that my life is going to be perfect.
“I can tell you this much, Elle.”
I wonder if she read the disconcerted look on my face. Or maybe her psychic prowess has suddenly kicked back in.
“From the moment I met you, I could sense there was something very special about you. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were suppressing your own extra-sensory abilities.”
“You really think so?” I swallow hard, bunching the sheet between my fingers.
“Of course. That’s probably the reason you were so open to hearing the spirit of the girl, Cas. There are plenty of books out there on psychic ability,” Jocelyn continues. “I have an entire library of books at home. I would be happy to lend them to you.” She smiles as she stands, and then begins to pace the linoleum floors. There are spots along the floor where the linoleum has clearly been worn. I wonder how many people before Jocelyn have paced these same floors.
“Thank you,” I finally say. With all the time I’ll have on my hands recuperating, I have nothing to lose by reading a few books. I sit for a moment and think about the possibility that I might be gifted. As much as the thought frightens me, I am also fascinated. “Jocelyn?”
“Yes?” She turns away from the window.
“When did you first realize that you had,” I wonder what is the most politically correct word to use, “you know… abilities?”
“Let’s see, now…”
I think she appreciates the question – a smile tugs her top lip. She clamps her hands together and paces the floor.
“I was just eight years old the first time I realized I wasn’t like everyone else.” She turns away from me and looks out the window again, watching the rain as she talks. “I was in the car with my parents and sister. My parents were singing along with the car radio and my sister, Lena, was fast asleep, sprawled out across my legs in the backseat. We were on our way back from visiting family. As we drove through one of the towns that bordered my aunt’s house, the eeriest feeling swept over me. When I looked out the window, I saw all the houses, cars, trees – everything we passed – engulfed in flames.” The tiny hairs on my arms stood up as she spoke. “I was the only one who saw the destruction around us. My sister continued to snore, while my parents belted out the Beatles Greatest Hits, oblivious. I watched as passing cars whizzed by, and no one else seemed concerned—”
“What did you do?” I interrupt.
“I just closed my eyes and counted, praying for it to all go away.”
“Did it?”
“Yes. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes again and everything was back to normal. There was no fire, no destruction. I didn’t have the slightest idea what had happened, so I decided to put the strange experience out of my head. But the very next morning, it was all over the news. Most of that little town had been wiped out by a wild fire. It destroyed everything in its path – including hundreds of people and animals. It came through just hours after we left.”
Jocelyn’s eyes fixate on the wall behind my bed, as if a movie is playing over my head.
“Did you ever tell your parents?” I ask.
She laughs, looking down at me again. “Unfortunately, my parents weren’t the open-minded types, particularly my father. It wasn’t until years later that I found out my mother had clairvoyant abilities of her own. My father had made her swear to never speak of them – apparently, the whole idea scared him. To be honest, it scared me, too. For weeks I blamed myself for all those deaths.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You were just a child.”
“I know. But I kept seeing more visions, and I did nothing to stop them. For some reason, I rarely saw good things. My whole childhood was filled with guilt.”
My stomach sinks as I remember how she predicted my transplant and sneezed when I inquired about its success.
“Jocelyn, you predicted I’d have my transplant. So that’s a good thing, right?” I try not to sway her answer, but I am terrified by what she might say.
“I’m sorry, Elle, I didn’t mean to frighten you. The reality of it is that someone did have to die in order for you to be alive right now.” Her words cut like a knife – I hadn’t been expecting her to be so blunt. My transplant was a tragedy, because a young girl had lost her life.
Jocelyn walks over to the chair and reaches for her bag. “You know, Elle, it wasn’t until I was much older that I began to realize what an amazing gift I had. I worked on strengthening my skills and realized there was power in what I was able to do. There are some people who have abilities that they’re oppressing, just like my mother did. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’d like you to think about that, Elle.” She releases a loud sigh. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. It’s getting late and you should rest. You’ll be going home soon, I hear.”
“Yes. The transplant team said I’m making great progress, just like you said I would.” I smile and wave as she pulls open the door. “Thank you for coming, Jocelyn.”
“Of course, Elle.”
I open my mouth to say something more, but she’s gone. All that’s left is the scent of her perfume. Lavender.
Chapter Eight
“
What would you like for dinner tonight?” My mom puts on her most cheery voice. Peeking out from the kitchen, she waves her apron in the air like a magician twirling his cape. “I can whip up whud-eva you like.” Now she sounds strange.
“Why are you talking like Count Chocula?” I ask from the couch, where I lie with my head elevated on a mound of pillows.
“That’s my magician voice.” She sticks out her tongue like a two-year-old and heads back into the kitchen.
“Seriously, Mom, I don’t care what you make. I’m not that hungry,” I say.
“Not hungry?” She pokes her head out of the kitchen again. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” There’s an immediate look of concern in her eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say, smiling. I genuinely appreciate her effort, but lately I just have more important things on my mind than food. It’s been three days since I was discharged from the hospital and, so far, there have been no more strange experiences. But still, I’m afraid.
“Okay. Since you’re not going to be any help, I’ll just see what I can whip up.” My mom is a wannabe Rachael Ray. She’s always rummaging through our pantry, trying to concoct some new and delicious recipe that no one’s ever thought of before. Since I’ve been home, she’s been waiting on me hand and foot – I don’t think I can stand another second.
“Oh, Elle, I forgot to mention we are going to have a visitor tonight.” She pops her head back out, and I see she’s managed to slip the apron around her neck.
“Who?”
“Rob. I saw his aunt at the grocery store and she told me he’s been really worried about you.”
“That’s sweet.” Suddenly, I realize that I’m smiling – a real smile, not a forced, fake grin.
“Yes, I told her that’d be okay. I mean, it’s not like you will need time to fix yourself up or anything. You guys are just friends, right?” My mother is more transparent than glass.
It had taken her a while to warm up to Rob. She’d heard stories about him from my friends. He was the cute, bad boy who’d spent time in juvie. My mom’s perception of him changed, however, after she sold the upstairs apartment to his Aunt Laurie. After Laurie told my mom all about the tough life that Rob had, I could tell she felt sorry for him. He still manages to get into his fair share of trouble at school, but that’s just because he can’t keep his mouth shut. Still, his antics usually make the teachers laugh, and they seem almost reluctant to hand out a detention. Rob just has that way about him – he doesn’t have to try to be cool or suck up to people, they just seem to like him. It’s, like, in his DNA.
The Divine Heart Page 6
