by Jo Leigh
Dax turned the page, but there weren’t any additional entries.
The front door opened and Nanette bounded through, holding a sheet of paper. “Dax, they thought he was dead. They even reported him dead at one point, had him listed in the fatalities from the Vicksburg raid, but he wasn’t dead. He was injured. Dying. And then he returned home. He came back to her.”
“But she nearly lost him, because he grew weaker every time he visited her in spirit. His spirit was trying to determine whether to live or die, and she almost lost him, because his spirit wanted to be with her again, before he crossed over.” Dax handed the diary to Nan. “Celeste isn’t dead, Nanette. She’s dying.”
15
DAX PRESSED HIS FOOT on the accelerator and the Beemer instantly responded, shooting forward on Highway 90 in a direct path to Houma. He withdrew his cell phone and pressed the Send key to redial Chloe’s parents. He’d left three messages but hadn’t heard from them yet. They’d know what happened to Celeste. He’d have asked them before now if he’d only realized that Celeste wasn’t dead. She’d been in the same accident that took their daughter’s life; surely they could tell him what had happened to her.
Thank goodness he knew them well enough to ask, after spending that week with them at the beach this summer in order to help Chloe communicate with them before she crossed. That week was one of the best of his life, not only because he’d helped Chloe see the beach for the first time with her parents, but because Celeste had been there too.
Maybe when she’d made the decision to stay behind and help Chloe cross, she had in fact kept her body from surrendering its spirit completely. He’d never even considered that possibility, didn’t know it was an option. But now he knew, and he had to find out where she was, how she was and how he could get to her.
Celeste was hurt, but how badly hurt, Dax didn’t know. What he did know-thanks to Clara Vicknair’s diary-was that every time she visited him, she weakened her physical body and therefore lessened her chances to stay on this side. What if that last visit had caused her to cross completely?
He thanked God that there was hardly any traffic. Holding his cell phone to his ear, he didn’t hear anything. No ringing, no voice message, nothing. He glanced at the call screen, and saw he had no service. He tossed it to the passenger’s seat.
“Come on!” Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he wished Houma were closer than an hour and a half from the Vicknair plantation. Then again, thanks to driving like a madman, he’d be there soon. However, even when he got to the city where the bus had crashed, would he be able to find her? Would she be in a hospital in Houma, or would they have taken her to one of the New Orleans hospitals? Or would she have been transported somewhere else? That was entirely possible. She could have been transferred to the nearest facility that was best equipped to handle her injuries.
Her injuries. She had been hurt badly enough to keep her in the middle realm for four months.
Four months.
And he was solely responsible for making her worse.
“Say I didn’t hurt her,” he said, and tried to decide which hospital to go to first. There were two in Houma, the Leonard J. Chabert Medical Center and the Terrebonne General Medical Center. If he didn’t get in touch with Chloe’s folks before he hit the city limits, he’d simply drive to one, then the other, and see if Celeste was at either of them.
He had a few Houma doctors on his pharmaceutical route; he’d visited them just last week. What if he’d been on one floor of the hospital, and she was on another? And how many times had he visited these hospitals over the past four months? Was she there all that time? Could he have seen her? Helped her?
That bus wreck had occurred on the Fourth of July. So long ago.
His cell phone rang, and he quickly picked it up. “Hello?”
“Did you find her yet?” Nanette asked.
“No. I’m not even sure where she is. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Chloe’s family, but I’m about a mile from one of the hospitals in Houma, and I’m going to see if she’s there.”
“I checked the Internet to see if I could find any information about the accident, thinking that maybe some of the news articles might have said where they took the people who were injured.”
“And?” Dax reached the entrance to Terrebonne General Medical Center and pulled in.
“Nothing. The newspaper articles list the number of fatalities and casualties, but no names or specifics. Sorry, Dax.”
“That’s okay. I appreciate you trying. Listen, I’m at the first hospital. I’m going to see if she’s here.” He parked the car, got out and sprinted toward the entrance.
“Call me and let me know when you find her. I’m going to keep searching the Net.”
“Okay.” He disconnected and entered the hospital lobby.
An elderly woman in a pink hospital smock sat behind the information desk and smiled at him when he neared.
“Can I help you locate a patient?” she asked.
“Yes. Celeste Beauchamp.”
“Beauchamp,” she repeated softly as her arthritic fingers clicked the keys of the computer in front of her. Then she shook her head and frowned. “I’m so sorry. There’s no patient here by that name. Could she be listed under a different name, perhaps?”
“No, thanks.” Frustrated, he turned and headed out. As he got into his car, his cell phone started up again. Nanette was impatient. He punched the Send key. “She wasn’t there.”
“Excuse me?” the man said on the other end. “Is this Dax Vicknair?”
“Yes, yes, it is,” Dax said, easily recognizing Chloe’s father’s voice. “Mr. Reynolds?”
“I’m afraid I just got your message. Is-well, is anything wrong? I had to wonder if this has anything to do with Chloe. We’ve sensed her lately, both of us have, but we thought it was because of her birthday last week. She’d have been seven, you know. We think she came to see us then, or was watching us, or however it works. But everything’s okay with her, isn’t it? I mean, she crossed fine, like you said, didn’t she?”
“Yes.” He shouldn’t have left such a vague message, Dax now realized. He sure didn’t want to cause the Reynolds family to worry about their daughter, but he simply hadn’t been thinking about anything but Celeste when he called. “I haven’t heard from Chloe since she crossed over, but I know that she crossed fine,” he reassured. Celeste had told him that she’d personally seen Chloe enter the light, so he had no doubt that their daughter was safe and sound on the other side, unlike Celeste, hovering in the middle. “And I don’t doubt that you’re sensing her presence,” he added. “Spirits do tend to keep an eye on their loved ones on this side, until they see you again over there.”
Chloe’s father sighed heavily. “Well, that’s a relief.” His voice grew faint as he turned away from the phone. “She’s okay, dear.”
“Sorry to have alarmed you,” Dax said, “but I believe you can help me with another spirit, or individual, I should say. A woman who was on the bus with Chloe that day. Her name was-is-Celeste Beauchamp.”
“The counselor for the camp?”
“Yes,” Dax said quickly, thankful that Mr. Reynolds readily recognized her name. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? “The counselor. Do you know what happened to her? Or where she is now?”
“I know that she didn’t stay here long. I mean, in Louisiana. She was in one of the local hospitals for a while, but then, when there wasn’t any change, her family wanted to take her back home. We get updates on her condition, though, through the church bulletin, she’s on the prayer list. Hold on, and I’ll get it.”
“Wait!” Dax said, but Reynolds had already put the phone down. Celeste’s parents wanted to take her back home? Where was home?
Dax felt like kicking himself-he’d never even considered that she wasn’t from Houma. That was where the campers were from, but Celeste wasn’t a camper; she was a
counselor. Why hadn’t he ever asked her where she lived?
He recalled her telling him that the first time she’d tried a muffuletta was the day of the bus crash. He should have put it together then-she hadn’t had the traditional New Orleans sandwich before because she wasn’t from Louisiana. And there were her comments about poinsettias not being able to grow outside her parents’ house…
Why hadn’t he put it together?
“Okay, I’ve got it now,” Mr. Reynolds said. “Celeste Beauchamp is still listed on our prayer list. She’s been on it since the summer. Let’s see…she’s at Parkridge Medical Center in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Room 302.”
Chattanooga. Near the Smoky Mountains, definitely not a place where poinsettias would survive outside. “Can you tell me about her condition?” Dax asked, scrawling the name of the hospital and room number on a notepad and struggling to keep his voice calm in spite of the way his mind was currently reeling. How was she? And how quickly could he get to her?
“I assume she’s still in a coma,” Mr. Reynolds said bluntly. “From what we heard, the doctors couldn’t find any reason for her not to wake up, and a few times we got reports that she seemed to be getting better, but evidently, she didn’t come completely out of it, or she slipped back into it, or however it works. Last week, though, at church, they announced that her condition had worsened. I’m not sure how, they just asked for more prayers.”
Her condition had worsened. Because of Dax.
“Room 302, you said?” Dax asked, starting his car. He needed to get to Chattanooga as quickly as possible.
“Yeah. Parkridge Medical Center,” Mr. Reynolds repeated. “You going to see her? Are you supposed to help her cross?”
“No,” Dax said. “I’m not supposed to help her cross-” or he sure hoped he wasn’t “-but I am going to see her.”
“Well, I hope everything goes okay,” he said. “Let us know how she’s doing.”
“I will,” Dax promised, then said goodbye and hung up the phone. Without taking time to second-guess his decision, he pulled out of the hospital parking lot and started toward New Orleans International. If he pushed it, he could be there in forty minutes. Celeste’s life was at stake. Her condition was worsening. What did that mean? And who was with her? Surely she wasn’t alone. Her family would be there, right? Her mother, father and sister. They’d be with her, trying to coax her out of the coma.
He dialed information for the airport numbers. He’d get on the first flight out, to Chattanooga, and to Celeste.
Within fifteen minutes, he’d booked his ticket and had his car soaring in a beeline for the New Orleans airport. He had just enough time to get to the airport, park his car and run to the plane. Security would normally slow him down, but without any luggage or carry-on items, he could make it. He had to get to her before she went to the other side.
Failure wasn’t an option.
16
“PLEASE MAKE SURE your seat is in the upright position and that your seat belt is securely fastened as we prepare for our descent.” The flight attendant’s voice echoed through the cabin.
Dax placed a hand against the cool glass of the window and stared out at the city. Even in the darkness, he could see the dark shadows of mountains surrounding Chattanooga and the grayish clouds that cloaked them all. Smoky Mountains they were called; now he saw why.
A loud click through the PA was followed by the attendant’s voice again. “Local time is 6:30 p.m., and the current temperature is twenty-eight degrees.”
Twenty-eight degrees. Louisiana had been in the mid-seventies. No wonder Celeste had said she didn’t think poinsettias would grow outside. If he’d paid attention, he might have realized that she came from a state with mountains, and cold weather, and probably snow. Definitely not a place where ten-foot poinsettias blanketed the side of a house.
But she’d loved those poinsettias; she’d loved the plantation. If Dax got there in time, and she woke up in the land of the living instead of crossing over, would she want to go back there, with him? And would she want to do more than merely visit?
Would she stay forever?
He thought of those dark eyes, and the way they’d looked when he’d told her he loved her. She didn’t get a chance to respond, but Dax had known she would’ve told him that she felt the same. He could see Celeste beside him, the way Ryan was beside Monique earlier, waiting to receive her first spirit assignment as Celeste Vicknair. She’d get child spirits, like he did, Dax knew. She was good with children. He could see her teaching at one of the local schools, like Nanette, but with younger children. Kindergarten, or first grade. She’d teach the living, and help the ones who’d lost their lives to find their way to their new homes. And the kids would love her, and Dax would love her…always.
If he could keep her on this side.
He exited the plane and darted through the airport, following the signs to the taxis. Then he barreled outside and got in line with a dozen other people who were bundled from head to toe in hats, scarves, gloves, wool coats and boots. They looked at Dax, in his LSU short-sleeved T-shirt and worn jeans, as though he’d lost his mind. And as his body shuddered in the cold, he realized that they were probably right; he’d lost his mind and his heart over Celeste Beauchamp.
“Son, are you okay?” an older man in front of him asked. “Do you-well, do you not own a coat?”
Dax could literally feel the adrenaline pumping through him, the excitement of being this close to Celeste. He’d be with her soon. He was shaking all over-his body’s natural response to the sudden jolt in temperature and his lack of proper clothing-but part of that shivering was due to the sheer shock of realizing that she wasn’t dead, and from hoping that he’d have a chance to keep her from being that way.
“I didn’t pack my coat,” he said honestly, his teeth chattering slightly as he spoke. “I didn’t pack anything. The woman I love was in an accident, and I’m trying to get to her. She’s at Parkridge Medical Center.”
“Goodness, why didn’t you say so?” a woman said at the front of the line. There were no cabs at the curb yet, but one was pulling up, and she hurriedly waved him forward. The driver got out and walked toward her, but she shook her head. “Take him.” She pointed to Dax. “It’s an emergency. He needs to get to Parkridge Medical.”
All of the people in front of Dax nodded their heads approvingly and even patted his back as he moved past them toward the waiting cab. “Good luck, son,” the old man called, and the remainder of the group echoed his sentiment as Dax climbed in.
“Thanks,” he said, his heart filled with emotion, not only for the woman he loved, but for the people so willing to help him get to her.
“Parkridge Medical Center?” the driver asked.
“Yes. Can you tell me how far that is from here? How long will it take us to get there?”
“Fifteen minutes,” he said, then he turned up the heat in the car. “You’re going to freeze here.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Fifteen minutes until he was with Celeste. Dax leaned his head back against the seat, closed his eyes and thanked the powers that be for giving him this chance.
And that’s when he heard it. Faint, but distinct nonetheless. A laugh, no, a giggle. The giggle of a young child. A boy. It’d been a while since he’d had a boy spirit for an assignment; the majority of the children he’d helped lately were girls, but this was most definitely a boy, and while Dax listened, that giggle became louder, as though the child was getting closer…
“No.”
“Something wrong?” the cabbie asked from the front seat, his brown eyes surveying Dax from the mirror. “You’re not the carsick type, are you? Because we’re nearly there.”
“No. I-I just need to make a call. I forgot something, or rather, I forgot about something, at home.” He withdrew his cell phone from his pocket and quickly dialed the plantation.
Nanette answered
on the first ring. “Dax? Are you there? Have you seen her?”
He’d called her from the airport and let her know about Celeste. “Yeah, I’m in Chattanooga, but I’m not at the hospital yet, and I need you to check on something for me.”
The cabbie relayed, “Five more minutes.”
“We’re five minutes from the hospital now, but I’ve got a problem.”
“What is it?”
Dax didn’t want to blurt out that he had a ghost on the way, not in front of the cabdriver who seemed to have taken an acute interest in their conversation. Dax could see the guy’s lifted brows in the mirror. “I need you to go to the sitting room and check the tea service for me. I think I may have-left something there.”
The cabbie’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t comment. Nanette, however, did.
“No-you’ve got an assignment?”
“On the way,” Dax said. “I don’t think it’ll be there yet, but it’s coming.”
Nan’s breathing quickened on the other end, and he could hear the sound of her footsteps, as though she was running up the stairs. “Hang on. I’m checking.”
“I usually have a day, but this one seems pretty near, like I might not have so long this time.”
“I’m in here now, Dax. Nothing on the tea service yet. What are you going to do? You know you have to come home if you get an assignment. There’s no telling what the powers that be will do if you don’t. They don’t like to wait.”
“I know.” Dax had once been on the other side of the state on a pharmaceutical route when an assignment was delivered, and by the time he made it home, the voices in his head had been so loud, children squealing and screaming and yelling and laughing, that he nearly couldn’t drive. And this time he was three states away. “But I’m not leaving until I see her, Nanette, no matter what.”
