Deadline

by Judy McDonough

Caroline sat beside the duck pond mulling over everything that had recently happened. Trevor caught a flight home that morning, and their memorable goodbye kiss still seared fresh in her mind.

  She stared at the garden statue she always admired from her window. She finally realized what it was. An angelic statue, a lovely, moss-covered, and ancient stone sculpture of the Virgin Mary offset in the water near the edge of the pond. Mary sat majestically in a group of fragrant blooming lily pads that surrounded her. A gathering of loyal and loving followers. Mary's mournful empty eyes creeped her out, as if the virgin stared right through her soul. Caroline sighed and her thoughts drifted through the past two months of her crazy life.

  Her engagement, meeting her long-lost father, learning about her siblings, and of course the wicked stepmother. She encountered the ghost of her G3 grandmother, the mysterious dreams, and the wonderful guy who she hoped and believed would be in her life forever. Never mind he and her fiancé couldn't stand each other.

  Why would April do something so conniving? What did she ever do to April except show up in her life? She also wondered what Trevor's obsession was with her inclusion in her dad's inheritance? Money couldn't be an issue—his family rolled in it. Caroline couldn't imagine him wanting to live down here in the Bayou. She laughed aloud just thinking about Trevor living in the country. He'd be scared out of his loafers if he came across a wild animal.

  She couldn't forget about the horrible things he'd said when they argued. The entire time they were together, before the engagement, he never so much as raised his voice. Now, all of a sudden, he was aggressive and defensive. . .violent, even. She thought about what her dad had said. Would it get worse after they're married? Why was he in such a hurry to get married, anyway?

  He'd called her a slut, a lying, cheating whore, and the strangest thing about disgracing him and his family. What did his family have to do with this? Even if she'd slept with Cade, it wasn't like she and Trevor were already married. Of all people to judge her for allegedly sleeping with someone, Trevor had no room to talk.

  It angered him a complete stranger told him something sexual had taken place between her and another man. He didn't know of any truth to the rumor, but still Trevor attacked her character with nasty accusations. It scared her how easily the hurtful and disrespectful words slipped from his tongue. His anger reminded her of the man from her first dream, the guy who raped Rachel and claimed someone had double-crossed him.

  She didn't think Trevor's problem had so much to do with her sleeping with someone else, but more that a stranger had called him with this information. He was furious with the thought of her giving in to another man after he had waited so long and tried so hard. His public embarrassment had hurt his pride.

  Her mind slipped effortlessly to Cade. Such a good man stuck in a horrible cliché. Nice guys finish last. Respectful, understanding, talented, and incredibly handsome. He could cook, he was tidy and clean, built like Hercules, and from a great family. Independent and self-sufficient, intelligent, funny, multi-lingual, he could shoot a gun with impressive accuracy, thank goodness, and possessed an adorable protectiveness toward all females. A little overconfident at times, but not annoyingly so. He was the perfect man.

  Still, he was mysterious. Caroline wished she knew more about his past—his burn scar, his staggering fighting ability, his ex-girlfriend, and what's with the flighty jobs? He's smart and talented, so why not have a more stable career? However, all these factors have affected his character and made him perfect. If she'd met him two years ago she would probably be married to him already. Caroline smiled. And working on that big family they both wanted.

  Completely relaxed with visions of happy children, she drifted off to sleep.

  Alas, the familiar pain between her eyes throbbed, piercing her brain with intense stabs. Her stomach roiled, but not with the usual nausea. Caroline forced herself to ignore the discomfort. She opened her eyes to the blinding sunlight. No wonder she felt sick. Someone, a man, carried her and she bounced with each determined step.

  The nausea stronger now, she couldn't stop it. She vomited all over him, and his loud cursing proved his repulsion. He dropped her in her own vomit. She continued heaving emphasizing the pounding in her head. With his back to her, she couldn't see him. He dressed in the same period clothing from her previous dreams, and his greasy hair hung to his earlobes. His left hand sloppily bandaged with bloody gauze.

  So this was him. She would finally see his face. She wanted to say something, make him turn around, but then again, she didn't want to call any more attention to herself than necessary. Caroline didn't know her place on his agenda. She glanced down at her hands, a wedding band. She touched her belly, a baby bump. Occupied with studying her clothes, he grabbed her hair at the back of her neck.

  "Come on, doll face. We have a little ways left to go, and, since you decided to get sick all over me, I'm gonna make you walk the rest of the way."

  "Where are you taking me?"

  "Well, now, that's for me to know, isn't it? Don't worry, you'll find out soon enough. I want to make sure everything is perfect so he doesn't miss anything." He laughed. The same evil laugh from before. Reminiscent and familiar. This dream must have started just after her last. Weak and still very queasy, she couldn't determine how her legs were able to work. She hardly felt them.

  Close behind and pushing her along in the direction he wanted her to go, she saw the plantation house in the distance. Though the trees on the property were much smaller than she remembered, the house presented a beautiful majestic picture.

  "Here we go. Home sweet home. Fortunately for us, everyone is at worship so we shouldn't be disturbed."

  "Won't they wonder why I'm not there, too?"

  He chuckled. "Don't you wish they would? The way you've been acting of late has everyone convinced you've gone mad, sha. They all believe you are too depressed to drag yourself out of bed. People have decided you're hopeless, and they've stopped trying to help. Of course, I had a lot to do with that, thanks to my precious little serum here." He patted his pocket.

  "What kind of serum would that be? If everyone thinks I'm mad anyway, don't you think you at least owe me the luxury of knowing what drug you're poisoning me with?"

  He walked quietly for a few moments still tucked behind her. "Yes, I suppose there's no harm in you knowing. You won't be around much longer to tell anybody, anyway."

  Caroline's heart leapt into her throat. I knew it. She didn't commit suicide, she was murdered! Who was this lunatic and why did he kill Rachel?

  The house and the grounds looked very much the same on the inside as it did in Caroline's present day. Same azalea bushes lining the porch, same buffet table and bench seat in the foyer, same chandelier hanging from the ceiling. But she was not Caroline, she was Rachel, and she didn't want to go upstairs.

  She hesitated, but he got more forceful and shoved her. She tried to distract him with questions. "So tell me. What exactly is in your serum?"

  "I crafted it myself after a long discussion with a drunken apothecary in New Orleans one night. A mixture of a few of my favorite ingredients. A bit of opium, a touch of ether, a tad of belladonna and a drop or two of some other little special ingredients. Just enough to make people think you're deranged."

  "Why are you doing this?"

  "You don't know? Perhaps you should ask your dear sweet husband. But, oh. You won't have a chance, sha. The end is near for you."

  That ruled out Jackson as a murder suspect.

  They crested the top of the stairs, and he prodded her step-for-step into her room. Every time she tried to turn and get a look at him, he would grip the back of her head to keep it forward.

  "Face forward, sha. I don't need those pretty eyes distracting me from my purpose. You had your chance to be with me, and you chose to throw it all away for that double-crossing traitor. Now you'll both see what it's like to lose what you wanted most."

  She knew what happened next, though she didn't wi
sh to experience it for herself.

  "Now's the time to whisper your final prayers. I'll leave you alone with your thoughts for a moment, but I'll be just outside this door so don't get any ideas." With one final shove into the room, she stumbled against the bed as the door slammed behind her.

  Caroline recognized something about this particular scene. She looked out the window trying to remember. It was the opening to one of her past dreams where Rachel cried while writing in her journal. The journal! She had hidden it somewhere by the bed. Caroline knelt down, and spotted a slightly loose floorboard. She reached for it to pry it up.

  A sharp, shooting pain stabbed the side of her neck. The room quickly blurred. He must have been mixing his death concoction while allowing Rachel to pray for help, only she wrote a note instead. . .the suicide note.

  Caroline had to find that journal! The fuzzy room went completely dark.

  Caroline's eyes fluttered open. She wondered how long she'd been asleep next to the pond. The journal! She jumped up with the intention of finding that floorboard, but she stood too quickly after just waking from such a deep sleep. Dizzy, she stumbled. Her heel caught on a large garden stone and she flew backwards into the duck pond with incredible force, landing with a big splash. A stinging, burning pain enveloped the back of her head just before everything faded to black.

  Caroline woke up in a room she didn't recognize. Her head throbbed badly, the beep of a heart monitor radiated through her brain. Only this time, the hurt bloomed from the back of her head. Her hospital gown scratched against her skin and the odors of disinfectant filled her nose. Wires and tubes protruded from her head and arms. An IV dripped into a needle sticking into a vein. This wasn't good. Not at all.

  Eddie and Cade walked into the room.

  "Dad! What's going on? Why am I in a hospital?"

  She attempted to sit up, but they rushed to her side and pushed her back to the pillow. She started to protest, but Eddie explained.

  "Sweetheart, you had quite an accident."

  "An accident? What happened?"

  Cade's melodic voice soothed her weariness. "You lost your balance and fell in the pond. While that would normally have been very funny, and I would love to tease you mercilessly about it, it wasn't. You slammed your head against the base of the Virgin Mary statue, and now you have a concussion. You scared the crap out of me—" Eddie cleared his throat and Cade added, "Us."

  A concussion. In nursing school, she proudly gloated about never having a broken a bone, but a concussion? Wow. "I guess I won't be winning any medals for grace, huh?"

  They chuckled, but her head hurt too much to join. Cade on one side and Eddie on the other, both admired her with genuine worry. "Guys, I'm okay. Stop looking at me like I just woke up from the dead or something. How long am I gonna be stuck in this room?" Neither one answered, they shared a glance and focused on her again. "Seriously? Dad, when can I come home?"

  "The doctor said he wanted to keep you in here for a little while to observe you. He wants to make sure your concussion wasn't worse than he thought, and that you're healing the way you need to be."

  "What? How long is a little while? Wait a minute, I learned about concussions in school and those are usually just an overnight stay. Why is he keeping me here? I can't be cooped up that long, I'll go nuts! I don't know anyone here, and you guys both work. Where's my phone? I'm calling Mom."

  "I already did. She couldn't come because they are doing some kind of new training at her work this week, and she's the trainer."

  "How long have I been in here?"

  "You checked in two days ago. The doctor said you cracked your skull and you lost a lot of blood. You'll have to stay in here for a while so he can monitor you. He's afraid if you are up and around too much you may faint and cause even more damage."

  "I cracked my skull? So it was worse than just a concussion."

  Cade leaned in close and spoke softly. "Sweet girl, I will be in here every day to stay with you. I promise."

  "I can't ask you to do that. You have a life. You have more than one job. I'll call Kristy, she'll come down to stay with me."

  Eddie handed Caroline her phone. After a quick call, Kristy promised to book the first flight out in the morning. Caroline didn't want to be a burden, and having her best friend come visit made her feel better about the fuss she caused.

  "Did they at least give an estimated amount of time I would be stuck in here?" she asked.

  "I'll go talk to the doctor," Eddie said, "and see if I can persuade him to let us bring you home if we promise to make you stay in bed."

  "Thank you. That would be awesome. Tell him I promise not to get up unless I have to pee."

  Cade smiled and pulled up a chair, "You don't even have to do that. You have a catheter."

  Ugh. Caroline hated catheters. "Who's gonna dump it for me? You? I don't think so."

  He smiled playfully. "Well, it's either that or I could help you to the bathroom and watch you pee. You decide."

  There was absolutely no way she would have him watch her pee. She finally nodded. He smiled victoriously. The silence began to turn awkward and she remembered the last time she'd seen Cade. The look on his face when she left him, though only slightly bruised and bloody, in the driveway to walk away with Trevor. She wasn't mad at him for telling. After learning what happened to his sister, she understood his concern.

  "I'm so sorry about what happened. I promise, Trevor has never laid a hand on me like that before. I honestly don't know what got into him. I guess Friday just wasn't my day. First, the stupid snake, then Henry, then Trevor. . .now this. I should have locked myself in my room for the weekend. Anyway, I'm really sorry."

  "You don't need to apologize for anything that happened." He gazed down at her hands encased in his. "I lost it when I saw him throw you down. I'd heard you yelling at him for hurting you, so I ran as fast as I could until I could see you. When I saw him push you like that, well, I had to be there before he had a chance to touch you again."

  "Thank you. I guess I owe you for three saves now."

  Cade's eyes sparkled. "Four. I'm the one who pulled you out of the pond and got you to the hospital."

  Dang it! "I guess it's a good thing you are around. How'd you know I fell in?"

  "I was headed in the direction of the plantation house when I saw you napping by the pond. I wasn't going to bother you at first, but you woke up, so I walked your way. I thought you saw me coming, but somehow you lost your balance and fell in. I swear it looked like someone threw you in the pond the way you flew up in the air. I dove into the pond to get you and didn't realize you'd hit your head until I got you out and saw all the blood."

  He kissed her hand, his lips lingering on her skin for a moment. "My heart stopped," he whispered. "So, I used my shirt to wrap around your head and applied pressure to the wound to slow the bleeding. Then I brought you straight to the Emergency Room." Cade pressed his forehead to her forearm and whispered. "I was so scared, Caroline." When he looked up, his eyes glistened. "I've seen plenty of head wounds, but I thought you were going to die when I saw the amount of blood gushing from your head."

  "Wait, how have you seen plenty of head wounds working as a landscaper, musician, and part-time librarian? I didn't realize first aid was essential in those fields."

  Cade briefly looked away. "I've had other jobs before those, Caroline. That's beside the point, though. Seeing you in that condition scared me to death. I thought I was going to lose you."

  She blinked away the tears and changed the focus of their topic. "This may sound paranoid, but I'm not sure all these crazy accidents are simple coincidences. I've never had this much bad luck in such a concentrated amount of time before, and I'm not clumsy. What if Rachel isn't the only ghost lingering around the Fontenot plantation?"

  Cade frowned. "You think you have a ghost trying to hurt you?"

  Caroline shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think Rachel would try to hurt me since she's been trying to tell me som
ething through my dreams, but I don't think my brushes with death are just dumb luck. I feel cursed!"

  "You're not cursed, sweet Caroline. You're too sweet."

  "That's great and all, thanks, but there's something going on. If Rachel is hanging around, what's to say some other evil spirit isn't sticking around, too?"

  Cade pondered the thought. "You're right. We shouldn't rule out the possibility. Guess I'll just have to keep a closer watch over you." He winked.

  Caroline huffed. "After my summer here, I'm gonna have more scars than a prison guard."

  Cade squeezed her hand. "Scars are sexy, right? I have my fair share of them, too. Don't worry about all that. They add character."

  "Yeah, right. What scars? I've seen you—all of you before, and I never noticed any scars. . .except the one on your chest. What is that from, anyway?"

  He avoided eye contact as well as her question. "You only saw all of me for a split second, but believe me, they're there. I have plenty of scars and each one has its own painful memory."

  "Well, I think you look perfect, so there." She tried to feel the back of her head, but the bandage wrapped around it prevented much touching of anything. "Did they. . ." she gasped, patting her head, feeling for her hair. "Did they have to. . .cut. . .my hair? Shave my head?" Terror enveloped her. Cade's eyes dropped a little, answering her question.

  He smiled sweetly and kissed her forehead. "Caroline, honey, you would be beautiful if you were bald. They only shaved the little section around the wound so they could clean it and stitch it up. They left the top half of your hair long so it would cover the short part. You just won't be wearing any ponytails for a while."

  Caroline's tears fell down her cheeks. "Oh, well. At least I'm alive, thanks to you. Now I'm just ugly." She squeezed his hand as he kissed the tears from her cheeks.

  "That's not possible. Don't cry, sweet Caroline. Believe me when I tell you, it's not your hair that makes you beautiful. It's your soul. Like I said, you'd be beautiful with no hair at all."

  Lightheaded, she closed her eyes. Cade kissed her forehead again, pushed the call button for the nurse, and tenderly whispered in her ear.

  "Get some rest, sweet girl. Let the medicine work for you. Sweet dreams."

  She heard scurrying footsteps and whispers as her consciousness swirled with impending darkness. A heavy fog clouded her senses pressuring her to give in, but she fought it. Finally, a reassuring squeeze from Cade's hand and Caroline allowed herself to drift away in a haze of dancing children, auburn hair, and snakes.

  When Caroline woke up, her foggy head struggled to focus on the faces staring at her. She blinked a few times, but closing her eyes felt too good and she nodded off again. Wake up! You can sleep when you're dead. There are people here to see you. Wake up! Against her own will, she let her subconscious win and opened her eyes again. This time a male voice said something unrecognizable, but familiar and pleasant.

  She blinked a few more times and heard the voice again. Finally she was able to make out some faces. The first one, her dad's handsome, smiling face. She shifted her gaze to a smiling Claire, then to Remy beside her playing his hand-held video game. Caroline glanced around the rest of the room looking for one more face, but didn't see it.

  "Beau's on his way. He got stuck by a draw bridge on his way here from work." Eddie must have read her mind. She managed a crooked grin and he chuckled. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we are taking you home. You've been asleep for eighteen hours."

  What the. . .

  Twenty-Nine