GHOST (Devil's Disciples MC Book 3)

by Scott Hildreth

  Racing against a clock I couldn’t see, I stumbled across the floor as I tried to get into my jeans. Panic-stricken and afraid, I responded.

  “This is Porter Reeves. She’s non-responsive. She’s hot to the touch. She won’t.” I glanced in her direction. Her hair was matted and stuck to her face. “She’s got a horrible fever. I need an ambulance.”

  “Slow down,” she said. “Who is she?”

  “Abby Northrop. Uptown Abby. My fiancé. She’s. She’s passed out.”

  “Has she taken any drugs that you know of?”

  I placed my hand on her cheek. If I didn’t do something quickly, she was going to die.

  “Listen lady, I don’t have time for this shit. I’m headed to Mercy. Tell whoever you’ve got to tell I’m in a sixty-seven Mustang. Gray. License plate reads ELEANOR. Don’t try and pull me over, because I won’t. I’m taking her in there now.”

  I rested the phone between my shoulder and my cheek, picked up her naked body, and lifted her from the bed.

  “Tell them to get ready.”

  “Sir, I’m sending an ambulance. Will you verify the address? You’re on Mission Boulevard?”

  “I’m headed out the door right now.”

  “Sir, stay where you are. I’m dispatching an ambulance.”

  It would take fifteen minutes for an ambulance to navigate traffic, and an additional fifteen minutes for it to get back to Mercy. I knew alternate routes. I was a better driver than any ambulance attendant.

  If things went to hell, I’d have her there in ten minutes, tops.

  “No!” I shouted. “There’s no time. I’m headed in your direction. Tell them I’m coming. Have people ready at the emergency room.”

  “Sir, please. Stay—”

  “I’m headed down the steps now,” I mumbled. “Forget the ambulance.”

  “Does she have a pulse?” she asked.

  With Abby in my arms, I took the steps two at a time. “It’s faint.”

  “Sir, stay on the line. I’ll have a response team in wait at the entrance. Can you answer a few questions?”

  When I landed on the bottom step, the phone slipped from between my shoulder and cheek, and landed on the driveway. After trying to bend over and get it, I gave up.

  There wasn’t time.

  I carefully placed her in the passenger seat, strapped her harness in place, and ran around the car.

  I hopped in the driver’s seat, not bothering with my harness. “Hold on, Baby.” I said. “We’re going for a little ride.”

  I shoved the shifter in reverse, did a one-eighty maneuver, and shifted into first gear before the car came to a stop. After releasing the clutch, I hammered the gas.

  We shot out of the driveway and into the street. I fishtailed for sixty feet, then hit second gear. Then third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.

  In triple-digit speeds, I flew up Mission Boulevard, then onto West Mission Bay Drive.

  “Don’t worry, Baby. I’ll get you there in time,” I assured her. “Almost there.”

  I took the entrance to the eight at one hundred and forty miles an hour, speeding onto the highway between a truck and a minivan, and then taking the middle lane, which was empty.

  In and out of cars I swerved, keeping an open lane ahead. “Five minutes, Sweetheart. Five minutes. Hold on.”

  In five minutes we were at the one sixty-three exit. “Hard right, Baby. Hold on.”

  With my heart in my throat, I took the exit sideways, but in control. Scripps Mercy was only minutes away, and every minute counted.

  I simply needed her to hold on.

  “Baby. I bought you a ring. It’s in my pocket. After they get you to a room, guess what? I’m going to propose to you. We’re going to have kids and play on the beach and I’m going to walk away from the club and we’re never going to have to worry about anything ever stopping us from living life. I love you so much, Baby.”

  “Baby?” I looked at her. “Baby? Did you hear me?”

  I took the Washington exit and flew toward fifth. As smoke poured from the back tires, I blasted up fifth toward the hospital’s entrance.

  “It’s right here, Baby,” I blubbered. “We made it.”

  No less than ten men were standing in front of the emergency room entrance. I hoped like hell they were there for Abby. As I slid to a stop right at their side, I realized she was completely naked.

  I yanked my door open.

  “Abby Northrop?” someone asked.

  I pulled the passenger door open. “Yes. She needs a blanket,” I shouted, lifting her from the seat. “She’s naked.”

  I turned around. “Where do I--”

  “Sir,” a doctor said. “We’ll take her.”

  A rolling bed was between me and the door. People came from every direction. Monitors, wires, and hoses were being attached to her faster than I could comprehend what was going on. Then, as they began to rush her into the hospital, it dawned on me that there was nothing I could do.

  Nothing.

  “Is she alive?” I shouted.

  A man glanced over his shoulder as they ran toward the double door. “Yes,” he responded. Yes, she is.”

  34

  Ghost

  I’d been pacing the waiting room floor for five hours. George sat at the end of a row of chairs with his head in his hands, in and out of sleep.

  Andy stared out the window as she held Kimberly’s hand. The remaining members, short of Baker had fallen asleep. Baker paced the floor at the opposite side of the room.

  I couldn’t sleep. Hell, I couldn’t relax. Not until I saw Abby.

  We’d received two updates, both of which gave us no useful information, only that she was alive and fighting to stay alive. They had no idea what was wrong with her. I feared that lack of knowledge wasn’t in my – or in Abby’s – favor.

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  “No, thank you.” George looked up. “I’ve had so much I’m on the verge of a heart attack.”

  I sat down beside him. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “I’ve prayed so much I don’t know what else to say,” he said. “It’s in His hands now.”

  I spit out a laugh, and then regretted it. I didn’t want to be disrespectful to George, but praying seemed a little far-fetched. Abby didn’t need a prayer, she needed a competent doctor. I second-guessed my decision to drive to Scripps and wondered if I should have taken her elsewhere.

  “Her parents are on their way,” George said. “Terrible this is how you’re going to meet them.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful about you praying. I just…”

  He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Believe me, I understand.”

  “If it works for you, keep it up.”

  He offered a crumpled smile. “I will.”

  I wondered about food poisoning, some type of parasite, or even if she might have had an allergic reaction but guessed the hospital’s staff would have already checked such things. We’d given them all the information we thought they could use about her recent health, and nothing seemed to help.

  I wondered if she might have ingested something from the ocean on the day we surfed. While I continued to grasp at straws, George lowered his head into his cupped hands.

  I didn’t need her in perfect health. I didn’t care if she had a fever. I just needed to see her. I wanted to give her the ring, lift her spirits, and have her pull out of the funk she was in. She was a fighter. She’d proven it at least once in her life, when she beat cancer.

  I felt guilty for having recovered from my brain tumor. I would trade brain cancer for her health any day, and it sickened me that I couldn’t. That there wasn’t a way that I could fix her. It was my duty to fix her. I was her protector, and I couldn’t do my job.

  With my eyes fixed on a flickering lamp in the distant parking lot, I sat with our engagement ring in my pocket and my heart in my throat. The pain of not being able to change anything enveloped me.

 
I wadded into a ball. Feeling small and incapable, I began to softly cry. After a moment, I closed my eyes. I needed to look rested when she saw me. I needed to be strong.

  “Mister Reeves?”

  “Mister Reeves?”

  “Mister Reeves!”

  I jumped from my seat. A doctor I didn’t recognize stood in front of us. I nudged George. “Someone’s here.”

  He crossed his arms and raised his brows slightly. “Mister Reeves?”

  “Porter Reeves, yes, Sir.” I shoved my hand into my left pocket and squeezed the ring in my hand. “What’s the latest, Doc?”

  “Mister Reeves, we’ve done everything we can,” His gaze dropped. “I’m sorry--”

  My face flashed hot with anger. “Everything you can?” I scoffed. “Do we need to take her somewhere else? What? You’re giving up? Where is she? I’ll take her somewhere else.”

  “Mister Reeves.” He lifted his chin. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.”

  “Gone?” I shouted. “What do you mean, gone? Gone where?”

  He cleared his throat. “She’s passed.”

  “Heaven help me,” George blubbered.

  “Dead?” The word came out as a whisper. “You’re telling me she’s dead?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “She can’t be,” I cried. “I just brought her in here. We were in bed together, sleeping.” I shook my head. He was mistaken. He had the wrong patient in mind. “I’m talking about Abby Northrop. Five-two. Pale skin. Dark hair.”

  I reached for him, but a hand stopped me. I yanked my arm free. “She came in with a fucking fever,” I bellowed. “A fever. You’ve got the wrong--”

  He reached shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  A lump rocketed into my throat. I began to shake. Someone touched me. I fell into one of the chairs. I looked up at the doctor.

  I swallowed hard. “Is she…she’s…dead?”

  “Yes, Mister Reeves,” he said. “We’ve lost her. Again, I’m sorry.”

  I was in an all too familiar place. This time, it was so very much worse. It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t. There had to be a misunderstanding.

  His mouth moved, but I heard nothing. A dull pain took one limb at a time, until my entire body went numb.

  George placed his hand on my shoulder, but I felt nothing. He wept. The light denim of my jeans became dark with tears that dripped from my chin. I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t reason. I was elsewhere.

  Somewhere quiet. Where pain didn’t exist. Voices couldn’t be heard.

  The doctor touched my shoulder again, and then turned away.

  I stood over the gurney they’d placed her on. I wanted to take her hospital gown off, and replace it with one of her dresses, and her Converse sneakers.

  Her skin was too pale. Much more so than normal.

  I took her cold hand in mine. “I’m sorry, Baby,” I said, my voice quivering as I spoke. “I tried. I got here as fast as I could. I just…”

  My legs turned to rubber.

  George pulled me to my feet. As he steadied me, I continued. “I love you. With all my heart,” I sobbed. “I just…I love you.”

  I traced my finger along her ring finger, where I’d failed to place the ring. I’d forever regret not having the courage to follow through with the proposal. Filled with regret, anger, and sorrow, I held her hand in mine.

  “Mister Reeves,” A voice said. “We need to take her now. I’m sorry.”

  I raised my right hand to silence him.

  Then, I leaned over her, kissed her on the lips, and said my final words.

  “Goodnight, Sweetheart. I love you.”

  I shuffled toward the door, holding onto George’s arm for support. We stepped into the hallway and paused. As we both shed another tear for our loss, the doctor pushed the gurney past us.

  My vision narrowed until all I could see was the doctor as he pushed Abby away. He reached the double doors at the end of the hallway, paused, and pushed a button on the wall. As he passed through the opening, going completely out of sight, what little faith I had in love vanished right along with him.

  35

  Ghost

  I lifted my phone from the kitchen island, looked at the screen, and didn’t recognize the local phone number. Nonetheless, I answered.

  “This is Porter.”

  “Porter Reeves?”

  “Yes,” I responded. “This is Porter Reeves.”

  “Mister Reeves, my name is Martin Wicks,” the man said. “I’m Abby Northrop’s attorney.”

  It had been two days since Abby’s death. We learned that her cancer returned, and she’d passed away from the bloodborne illness. While her parents were planning her funeral, I was struggling to survive without her. I couldn’t fathom living a life without her in it.

  “This is Porter,” I said.

  “Mister Reeves, I called to inform you that Abby has left a current will, and a letter, which is addressed to you. I’ll need you to come by, post haste. It was her wish that you make it here before the funeral.”

  My hand went numb. “She…she knew…she knew she was dying?”

  “On the contrary, Mister Reeves. She knew nothing of the sort. She was, however, a very thorough woman. She updated her files with the firm as life-changing events happened in her life. At any rate, there’s a letter here for you, and I’d like to go over the will with you. When can I expect you?”

  My heart raced at the thought of reading a letter that Abby had left me. Short of her YouTube videos, there were our text messages, some pictures on my phone, and a handful of surfing videos to remember her by.

  “Where are you?”

  “La Jolla. Right off Miramar Road. Wicks, Frankham, and Beane. I’ll text you the address if you’d like.”

  “Sure.”

  “See you within the hour?” he asked.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  It seemed strange to see Abby’s handwriting on a sheet of paper that she’d written while in good health. Fearing that she’d addressed her death, I folded the sheet of yellow paper and looked at the attorney.

  “Can I take this in the other room?”

  “Second door on your right is the conference room. You’ll be alone,” he said. “Take your time.”

  I walked to the room, pulled the door closed behind me, and turned on the lights. After taking a seat at the end of the table, I unfolded the sheet of paper and took a deep breath.

  Porter,

  Just so you know, this is the third letter like this I’ve written to you. The first was the day after I met you. After the rattlesnake hunt. I knew on that day that you were special. I wrote the first letter just in case something happened to me. After battling cancer, I realized we simply never know where life is going to take us. We have much less control over our destiny that we’d like to admit.

  The second was the day after we made love. Two days after the first time you kissed me.

  As you know, I like to talk, and having the last word is a pretty big deal to me. So, I’m having the last word.

  It seems creepy knowing that if you’re reading this I’m no longer with you. In writing this, I can’t imagine going a day without you. As you’re reading this, I suspect you’re having a hard time dealing with the fact that I’m gone. Well, I’m having an equally hard time writing this.

  Believe me.

  I’m truly sorry for whatever grief you’re feeling right now, and I wish I could comfort you. Maybe you’ll one day find comfort in the message this letter contains.

  An advantage of this letter is that I get to say things without you rolling your eyes or getting mad. So, here we go.

  I’m in heaven. That’s right. Heaven. I’m far from perfect, but I’ve asked for forgiveness for my sins, and I imagine God’s granted me that forgiveness.

  I know you don’t believe in God, and don’t expect this letter will change much about your beliefs. But. I’m going to do my best. I have nothing to base this on but a h
unch, and based on that hunch, I’ll make a deal with you.

  *hand shake*

  You keep on believing what you believe. I love you as I’m writing this, and I’ll love you from the heavens above. I can’t tell you to never move on with your life, but I can tell you this. Well, I guess I’m asking you.

  Ask God for forgiveness. It’s simple. Just say, “God, this is Porter. Porter Reeves. Forgive me for my sins.” That’s it. That’ll get you a pass to the pearly gates (maybe they’re gold, so don’t quote me) Then, when you get to heaven, I’ll be waiting. I’ll be easy to find. I’ll be sitting right at the gate with my legs crossed, and a piece of pecan pie in my hand.

  Here’s where the hunch comes into play. You and I are connected by the love that we share. Just to prove to you that there is, in fact, a heaven, I’ll predict this: one day you will experience something. You will not be able to explain it, but you will know it’s from me. I don’t know how it works, or any stuff like that, but keep your eyes open for any signs I may send you.

  I don’t know what we’re able to do from up here, but I’ll do my best to prove to you that God exists, and that I’m here waiting.

  Until we meet again, believe.

  I love you.

  Abby.

  The hair on my neck stood.

  I read the letter again, twice.

  I stumbled into the attorney’s office with the letter clutched in my hand. “Did you read the letter?”

  “I did.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “Do I have to?”

  “You do not.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “The will. I’ll need to go over that with you. She wanted you to have the home. She left some money in a trust for you as well. She left a considerable amount to charity, through various trusts. She also left specific instructions for her funeral. Her parents have a copy of them, and she’s asked that you review them as well.”

  “What are they?”

  “They’re lengthy,” he said. “I’ll let you read them.”

  After reading her requests for the funeral, I laughed. For the first time since the night before she died, I actually laughed.