A Witch In Time

by Madelyn Alt

“And I don’t have a right to? God. I can’t believe I ever . . .”

  “You don’t have to worry—I gotta go out of town for a while.”

  “Yeah, I heard about the kid. Nice.”

  “Yeah. They’ll want to know where he got it. I don’t want to be around while they ask questions.”

  “He was eighteen years old. Eighteen.”

  “Hey, he was an adult. He made his own choices.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  “—not my fault—”

  “Then why are you leaving town?”

  “Hey, he came to me with a problem. I helped him.”

  “Never mind. I don’t want to know. I’m glad you’re going. Why don’t you stay away, while you’re at it. Stay away and leave us alone.”

  “But when I get back . . . we’ll talk.”

  “Don’t threaten me.”

  Curiosity got the better of me. Carefully, I slipped from beneath the blanket that was covering my legs, and being careful not to trip in its entwining folds, I tiptoed over to the door to the hall. I had left Mel’s door ajar earlier—in the event the nurse brought the twins back to the room, I wanted to be sure she wouldn’t accidentally wake Mel—so it wasn’t hard for me to shift into place so that I could look through the crack in the door and have a narrow but clear view of the corridor . . . which meant I also had a clear view of the man who skulked out of a room down the way. Yes, skulked, in every sense of the word, stopping at the intersection of the two patient corridors in order to peer around the corner. He paused as a page came over the intercom system:

  “Tony Nunzio, dial 212. Tony Nunzio, 212.”

  He took his cell phone from a clip on his belt and punched a few buttons. Then, instead of making his way down past the nurses’ station, I watched him dart toward the service elevators—the very ones that had held me captive earlier in the evening.

  It was the same man I had seen looking out of the stairwell when Marcus and I had taken Grandpa G out to burn off some energy. Dark hair that waved just so with wayward curls, sort of attractive in a rough-and-ready kind of way. In his nondescript navy blue uniform and soft-soled shoes, he had certainly dressed the part for some quiet, behind-the-scenes subterfuge. But why the James Bond routine in the first place?

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  Never you mind, Margaret Mary-Catherine O’Neill. Sometimes, keeping one’s nose parked in one’s own business is the only safe bet.

  Safe, sure. But how boring.

  Fun times on the maternity floor.

  But with the man and the peculiar situation gone, the energy on the floor returned to normal, and with it my own energy also ebbed. Yawning widely, I made my way back to my roost in the recliner and settled in. I was out—again—before I could even finish leaning back and locking the chair into position.

  Morning came all too soon when I awoke with a start to a presence in the room—the early-bird arrival of Mel’s OB/GYN.

  “Hello there,” said a tall, thin, middle-aged man with a surprisingly full head of hair and an equally full goatee. “Did I interrupt your sleep?”

  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and blinked a few times.

  “Not at all. I always look like this when I’m awake.”

  He laughed. “I’m Dr. Jonas, Mrs. Craven’s physician. Hope I didn’t surprise you, but I do my rounds right after breakfast, before I head into my office.” His warm brown eyes sparkled merrily. “Babies and happy moms. It’s the best way to start the day.”

  “And sleep-deprived older sisters,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Let us not forget those.”

  He nodded. “Sleep deprivation is nothing to be sneezed at. Look at the bright side. You get to go home without a little one—or two, as in Mrs. Craven’s case—to keep you from sleeping tonight.”

  He was right. And what was a little sleep deprivation between sisters, anyway? “So, did the twins surprise you as much as they surprised the rest of us?”

  He looked at me oddly. “Hardly. Surprises are rare these days.” A pause. “Didn’t you know?”

  I shrugged, not wanting to rat Mel out. Yet. “Our family is . . . weirdly secretive at times. That might just be one of those things someone conveniently forgot to mention to me.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I understand.”

  It was a good thing he did, because I wasn’t at all certain that I did. How the hell could Mel know but not tell us? And she had to have known. The nurse said that a C-section had originally been scheduled for next week, but Mel had gone into labor early. The doctor knew about the twins. Mel couldn’t have been unaware.

  “Her toxemia worried us all—is that going to continue to be a problem?”

  “No. I’ve explained all of this to Mrs. Craven. Issues with pregnancies often crop up when you’re carrying multiples. It was just one of those things you have to deal with.”

  “Are you two finished chatting?”

  We both turned to find Mel frowning grumpily. Someone had awakened from her drug-induced hibernation with a burr up her—I mean, in her paw. Well, if she was going to be cranky, at least I knew she was going to be all right.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Craven. How are we feeling this morning?”

  Melanie frowned even harder and crossed her arms over her, then winced as the movement brought her pain. “I’ve just been cut open left, right, upside down, and sideways. How would you be feeling?” Then she relented. “I’m okay. I’m not too proud to admit, I’ve been better. Where are the babies?”

  “How about if I go tell the nurses you’re ready for them while the doctor checks you over?” I offered.

  You see, I knew my limitations. Her doctor would be checking her incision, and there was no way in Hades my stomach—not to mention my flagging equilibrium—would stand for that. It wasn’t the blood so much. Just the possibility of someone going through pain—I was almost guaranteed to lose it. My mom and my grandmother used to accuse me of just being dramatic, but they didn’t feel what I felt. As an empath who tended to pick up the pain and stray energies of others, I simply was not cut out to be a nurse. No way, no how.

  Mel glanced my way. “Have you been here all night?”

  I nodded.

  “Greg?”

  She must have really been out of it last night. But, she had the mother of all excuses. Ba-dum-bump. As in baby bump. Double ba-dum-bump. Literally. Oh, I slay me. “He had to work today,” I told her yet again. “And he went to be with the girls. I’m sure he’ll call you before long.”

  “Hm,” was her only response. Again.

  Dr. Jonas started peeling back the bedding, so I hightailed it toward the door.

  “Maggie?”

  Cringing and hoping against hope that she wasn’t going to ask me to stay there with her for moral support through the doctor’s exam, I paused with my hand on the pull latch. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  It was so brief and so sudden, I almost didn’t recognize it for what it was: a rare show of gratitude from my baby sister. And just as it had when we were little girls, before she grew up to claim the entitlement issues of a princess in the making, it melted my heart. “Anytime,” I told her. “By the way, Mom will be in shortly. I’m going to have to head into work myself, but I’ll stop by at lunch, okay?”

  And then there would be time to ask some of those questions that had cropped up. Like why no one except the doctor and nurses appeared to be aware that she would be having twins. And a C-section. That seems like an important bit of information to have, in my eyes.

  “‘Kay,” she said with the faintest of waves. “See you later.”

  I closed the door behind me, almost—almost—wishing I had the wherewithal to stay.

  Just one peek at the wee ones before I left . . .

  As I headed back up the hall, distant memories of the night before flickered into my consciousness. I had been half out of my mind with sleep, but I knew I had not just dreamed it. I slowed as I walked past the door that the mystery man ha
d exited so furtively, but the door was closed. No chance for a discreet peek inside. “There are only two other new mommies on the whole floor,” the nurse last night had said. Maybe if I came back at lunch, I’d run into her.

  Curiosity. It was a terrible burden sometimes.

  I stopped into the nursery to find the night-shift and day-shift nurses exchanging information mixed with a little gossip and other pleasantries. They each had a baby in their arms and were talking animatedly back and forth. I paused in the doorway and waved.

  “My sister—the twins’ mother—is in with the doctor right now, but she’d like to have the babies brought in to her.”

  “We’ll get them in to her,” the frizzy-haired nurse from the night shift assured me. “The little sweethearts have been good as gold, but they’ll be wanting to be fed soon. Would you like to ... ?”

  I held up my hands, not to accept the baby being offered, but to gently fend it off. “Oh, thanks very much, but I’m on my way into work.” After my gung-ho auntie act of the night before, she probably wondered why I was so disinterested now. But I knew, if I got my hands on a baby, any baby, I’d never make it in on time, if at all. Self-preservation, you see. “I’ll be back at noon, though. I’ll hold them then.”

  Waving good-bye, I backed out of the door before I could change my mind and headed for the elevators. I punched the button and waited. Then, as an afterthought, I really did change my mind—I backed away and took the stairs instead. Down was a lot easier than going up, and I didn’t want to take any chances, seeing as how Ol’ Murphy the trickster had been having his way with me yesterday. The stairs seemed a much safer bet.

  That is, they did until I missed the last step on the second-to-the-last landing.

  Chapter 9

  I had just been thinking about the conversation I’d overheard in the service elevator, wondering if somehow the pair had been closeted away on the little-used stairs right next to it; the two shafts were close enough together, it certainly seemed possible to me—voices tend to carry in spaces like this. And then all of a sudden I felt the unmistakable sensation of air meeting my right foot rather than a firm step. I grabbed for the handrail with both hands rather than one . . . but it was too late. My weight came down unchecked as my beautiful, sexy, strappy Mary Jane twisted beneath me.

  I sat down. Hard.

  “Ow, ow, ow, ow!”

  Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and sharp, stinging at the corners as the shock of the moment became pain. Raw, throbbing, agonizing pain. Totally moan worthy.

  “Oh. Crap.”

  Sprained. It was sprained. I knew it was, darn it. Which meant either I was going to have to try to hobble-hop down the rest of the stairs—a risky venture, considering I was not always the most graceful person anyway, despite years of after-school classes at Madame Sascha’s School of Dance—or I was going to have to get some help.

  Where were all the medical professionals when you needed one? Wasn’t this a hospital, for heaven’s sake?

  Probably taking the elevators. So much for being health conscious.

  Maybe I should try the ankle. Maybe it wasn’t serious. Maybe I could suck it up, walk it off.

  Gingerly I pulled myself up to a standing position on the landing, putting all of my weight on my left foot. So far so good, except the herky-jerky movements I was making didn’t feel all that great. Okay. Now just ease the weight down, carefully . . .

  “Ow, ow, ow, ow!”

  Son. Of. A. Beehive!

  So far, so not good.

  It was most definitely sprained, and I was most definitely screwed.

  I dug around in my purse for my always-errant cell phone. There was no way I was calling 911—because I could already hear the disbelief that I knew would come when they asked my location. But who to call? Someone nearby seemed key for maximum embarrassment-elimination purposes. Not my mom and dad, they had enough on their hands. Marcus was all the way across town, and besides, wasn’t it enough that our private rendezvous had been unexpectedly vetoed by circumstances beyond our control? Liss was probably already at the store, early bird that she was.

  Steff! Of course!

  Sniffling, I dialed her cell, hoping she had her phone on her. I was so relieved when she picked up.

  “Steff?” I quavered.

  “Hey, Mags! Oh boy, am I glad you called. I ... Wait, what’s wrong? Your voice is shaking,” she said, as though my only word to her had just registered on her consciousness.

  “Steff, can you come get me?”

  “Where are you? Maggie, what’s wrong? Of course I can come. Tell me where you are.”

  I felt the tears sting my eyes again, tears of relief. “At the hospital.”

  “What are you doing at the—Never mind. Where at the hospital are you?”

  “Sitting in the stairwell, across from the main elevators. I think I’m only half a flight up. I was coming down, and I missed a step and twisted my ankle.”

  “Ouch! You okay? Did you fall-fall, or did you twist your ankle and sit-fall?”

  “The latter. Everything else is okay. It’s just my ankle. And, maybe, my pride.”

  She laughed. “Well, they do say that pride goeth before a fall.”

  I groaned. “No puns! Laughing kind of hurts.”

  “Sorry! I couldn’t resist. You said everything else was okay. And besides, laughter is the best medicine.”

  “Obviously you are on a roll. Maybe I should have called Marcus after all.”

  She gasped in mock pain. “I’m hurt!”

  “Funny . . . me, too.”

  “All right, all right. I’m on my way. Stay put.”

  Yeah, like I was going anywhere. If I could have gone anywhere, I probably wouldn’t have needed to call for rescue.

  As soon as I hung up, I noticed the low battery light blinking at me. As I watched, the phone powered down in my hand before my very eyes. I shook my head, marveling at the timing. At least I’d been able to get my message through before it had died. My angels, watching out for me.

  I sat there in the semigloom beneath the flickering security light, trying not to think about my ankle or the dirty steps beneath me. But it was only minutes later that I heard the door open down below, followed by a familiar voice.

  “Maggie? You in here?”

  It was Dr. Dan Tucker, Steff’s paramour and monopolizer of her every spare moment. Not that I should complain—Marcus had done a fair bit of monopolizing my thoughts and schedule of late, and I’d been very happy about that. I was happy for Steff, too. It was good for her to be a little off balance over a guy.

  “Up here!” I called out to him.

  He came bounding up the stairs like an excited puppy. That was Dr. Dan in a nutshell. A medical resident with a heart of gold, and regarded as one of the most eligible bachelors at Stony Mill General Hospital, he’d fallen for my charismatic and equally heart-of-gold best friend. At six foot four, he was taller, leaner, and leggier than any of Steff’s previous hunk-o’-honeys—and towered a good head over her petite voluptuousness—but he was a sweetheart and seemed completely devoted to her, and as such, he had quickly won my respect and appreciation. Early on in their one-year relationship I had almost envied his time with her, but I realized now how ridiculous that had been, a sign that I needed to find a love life of my own and stop trying to live vicariously through Steff.

  Dan rounded the landing and stopped short, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “Well, well,” he said, “what have we here? A damsel in distress?”

  “Kind of,” I said, scratching the bridge of my nose in embarrassment.

  “What happened?”

  Briefly I explained clumsily overstepping my bounds and the cosmic slap on the wrist that had me sitting there on the concrete stair riser babying my tender ankle and waiting for rescue.

  “Let me see.” He squatted down in front of me. With gentle, long fingers, he lifted the pant leg of my thankfully short cropped pants and began to explore. “Hm
,” he said. “Hm.”

  “Is that all you have to say: ‘hm’?”

  “Hm.”

  I stopped talking and braced myself as he took my heel and my foot in his hands and very slowly, very carefully turned. In a flash, a lightning bolt of pain shot up my leg. “Ow, ow, ow, ow!”

  “Hm. Sorry.”

  Involuntary tears and a running nose were officially making a mess out of whatever makeup I had managed to keep on my face through all the night’s dramas and traumas. Not only had I missed out on an evening tryst with Marcus that I had been very much looking forward to and everything that it probably-mighta-shoulda-woulda entailed, but I had spent the entire night in a none-too-comfortable recliner after being stuck in an elevator and having to fend off the searching tendrils of goodness knows what kind of earthbound energies in the dark, closed space, not to mention overhearing something that certainly sounded to me like a sinister and questionable plot against some unidentified someone and not having a single recourse of action because the conspirators in question had left no clues as to the identities or whereabouts of themselves or their potential victim . . . and then with Mel’s uncharacteristic secrecy surrounding her pregnancy, and the argument that had awakened me in the middle of what sleep I did manage to get . . . and now this . . . Well, quite frankly, it had all been a bit much.

  In short, I was done.

  Against my will, a single sob erupted from all those I was holding tightly in check. With that one out, there was no help for it. It was like Mount Kilimanjaro erupting.

  Dan set my foot down, a stricken expression on his face. “Oh, hey. Hey. Maggie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just trying to assess the damage.”

  “It’s not just you,” I burbled, sniffling, involuntary sobs herky-jerking my shoulders inward. “Well, it did hurt, but it’s just . . . everything ...”

  He patted my hands with his while I sniffled and sobbed into some semblance of composure. Then he said, “Stay here.”

  Unnecessarily, I might add.

  He ran down the steps, taking them two at a time in a way that made me cringe for his own ankles. I heard the door close pneumatically behind him and then reopen just a minute later. Faint sounds of other activity from the corridor on the other side of the door drifted up the stairs on his heels as he raced back up to me.