A Sad Soul Can Kill You

by Catherine Flowers

  A Sad Soul Can Kill You

  Catherine Flowers

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  A Sad Soul Can Kill You

  Also By Catherine Flowers

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Preface

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!

  What We Believe:

  Copyright Page

  A Sad Soul Can Kill You

  A tale about redemption, deliverance, and healing

  Also By Catherine Flowers

  Yesterday’s Eyes

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to those with burdens unreleased, wounds unseen and unhealed. By God you were created—not to walk in sadness but to stroll in gladness with your head held high, trusting in Him with every step you take.

  May you surrender to Jesus and receive the gift of salvation, joy, peace, and everlasting life. For these things and much more are yours to claim when you submit to Him and walk in the glorious light . . .

  All scripture is taken from the NIV and is italicized for emphasis only.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, to God be the glory. His magnificence reigns! I thank Him for the gift of writing. I would also like to give thanks to Joylynn Ross, acquisition editor at Urban Christian, for her advice, patience, and wisdom. Thank you to my editor, Maxine Thompson, of Thompson’s Literary Agency, whose expertise remains an invaluable source for me. Thanks to Alanna Boutin for her copy editing expertise. And to everyone else who played a role in bringing this novel to fruition, I say, “thank you,” once again.

  I certainly can’t leave out my mother, DeLois Brown, who has been my self-appointed promoter from the very beginning . . . Thanks, Mom! And a magnificent thank you goes to my big sisters and a host of other family members (you know who you are) who supported me when I first began this journey of telling tales with a keyboard and a thought!

  Finally, I, of course, want to thank my biggest supporters—my children: Walter, my eldest, who continues to encourage me in my writing ventures; Fatima Manson, who while making her own way in the literary world as a freelance editor, saw room for improvement in the early stages of this novel; Nick, whose encouragement resonates whenever we speak; and Kiana, my youngest, who advised me on the “proper” use of Internet dialect. Ty . . . lol!

  Preface

  “Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil

  prowls around like a roaring lion looking for

  someone to devour.”

  (1 Peter 5:8)

  “The human spirit can endure in sickness,

  but a crushed spirit who can bear?”

  (Proverbs 18:14)

  Prologue

  Tia pulled the hood of her coat on top of her head and got out of her car. She shuddered as she moved swiftly up to the door. She stopped to catch a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the large office window. The white fur that trimmed the hood of her coat made her think of the storybook character, Little Red Riding Hood . . . only Tia wasn’t going to Grandma’s house.

  Just as she put the key in the lock, the door swung open and Scamp, the nickname she’d given him, stood before her.

  “Hello,” Scamp said expectantly.

  She smiled nervously as she entered the sparsely furnished room. The only source of light was an old bronze lamp mounted on the wall. Its silhouette cast an indistinguishable shadow over the built-in desk below it. A chair accompanied the desk, along with a queen-size bed as the room’s only décor. Tia noticed a Bible prominently displayed on the center of the desk, and she quickly looked away.

  Scamp closed the door behind her as a feeling of disappointment slowly began to creep into her. She hadn’t expected to walk into a luxurious suite, but she’d expected a little bit more than these shabby surroundings.

  He removed her coat, throwing it across the chair. She smoothed the layered sections of her hair down with the palm of her hand and looked around the room again. She sighed heavily. This room was little more than a meeting place for—

  “I’ve missed you,” Scamp said as he gave her a big hug.

  He hovered a full eight inches over her five foot four-inch frame, and Tia closed her eyes and let her head rest on the center of his chest. She allowed herself to enjoy the pleasure of his embrace, and the light, airy scent of cologne that wafted from his shirt made her forget the disappointment she’d felt when she’d first walked into the room.

  She remembered how they’d first met right after the New Year—a little over a month ago.

  “Excuse me,” Scamp had said to her while she had been picking through a bushel of apples in the produce section of the grocery store, “don’t you live on Cooper Circle?”

  She’d looked up, startled by his approach. She had been prepared to brush him off when she looked into his hazel eyes, and whatever she was going to say disappeared from her thoughts.

  “The cul-de-sac,” he’d said. “I live one house down from the entrance. I’ve seen you driving by on occasion. You have a daughter, right?”

  At first she’d been hesitant to answer since she wasn’t in the habit of divulging her personal information to every stranger who approached her. “Yes,” she’d finally answered.

  She remembered how awkward she’d felt just standing there talking to him. Now she couldn’t decide which felt more awkward—standing before him in the grocery store or standing alone with him in this room with her head resting on his chest.

  She remembered inhaling the sweet scent of his cologne he’d had on in the store; it was the same scent he wore now, and she should have known then that she might be in trouble.

  “Well, I just wanted to introduce myself,” he’d said smiling. “If you ever need anything,” he’d winked at her, “I’m your man.”

  She remembered calling out to him as he walked away, jum
ping at his bait. “Need anything like what?”

  “Well,” he’d said as he’d slowly walked back toward her, “I give good massages. That’s my specialty.”

  Scamp released his embrace, and Tia opened her eyes.

  “You look good,” he said softly. He held her hands and stepped back to look at her small, petite frame. “I always did love me some chocolate,” he said smiling.

  Tia fumbled with the belt she wore around her tailored blouse, and then slowly gazed at the brown skin on his face before finally looking up into his hazel eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

  He motioned her to the bed. “Sit down and relax.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and watched as he walked over to the window and closed the beige curtains. He returned to the bed and bent down to remove her shoes.

  “Lay back,” he said as he gently placed her legs on top of the bed. “Relax and tell me about your day.”

  Tia positioned herself on the bed and leaned back on the pillow. “Well,” she sighed, “it was a pretty slow day, thank goodness. I could even say it was a boring day, but I’m not going to.”

  He began unbuttoning his shirt. “Why not?”

  “Because tomorrow is another day, and we never know what’s going to happen at the hospital.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a pretty tough nurse.” He stood up and removed his shirt, exposing his slightly protruded abdomen. “You can handle it.”

  “I guess,” she said.

  “You can,” Scamp said as he placed his shirt neatly across the chair on top of her coat. “You can handle that . . . and more.”

  She gazed at the thinning mass of brown and gray hair that adorned the sides and back of his head. The multicolored strands were also present in greater numbers on the center of his chest, creating a triangular mass of thickness. “I’m just tired of the drama,” she said.

  He sat down on the bed. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

  “Are we?” she asked.

  He removed the belt from her blouse and changed the subject. “Turn on over, girl,” he said as he eased her onto her stomach. “Let me give you a massage.”

  She turned onto her stomach and felt his hands stroking the back of her neck. She closed her eyes as his fingers slid under her blouse and pressed against her flesh, slowly gaining momentum, and then descending to her back. His hands traveled down the length of her waist, and then back up again, kneading her flesh the way a baker kneaded dough.

  She turned her head to the side and opened her eyes. The leather-bound Bible sat directly in front of her, its contents tugging at her conscience. She turned away, not only from its image but from the truth she knew it held.

  No, Tia thought, she wasn’t at Grandma’s house. But Scamp definitely was the big bad wolf, and by the time he whispered, “Turn over. It’s time to do the front,” the fire burning in Tia was in full force.

  Afterward, Tia lay next to him in bed, inhaling the industrial scent from the stiff pillowcases that had infiltrated her nostrils. She looked at the off-white curtains hanging from the window and noticed a brown stain embedded in the fibers of one of the panels. The blemish coincided with the way she now felt inside. A sudden gush of sadness engulfed her as she listened to Scamp sleeping soundly.

  She eased out of the bed and got dressed quickly. Too bad those hands hadn’t belonged to her husband, she thought as she walked out of the hotel room.

  Chapter One

  “Code blue,” the commanding voice on the overhead paging system said with clarity. “Fifth floor, room 524!” The operator repeated it. “Code blue, fifth floor, room 524.”

  Tia Sparks had just started her Wednesday morning nursing shift at Victory Memorial Hospital on the south side of the city of Chicago. She’d entered the elderly patient’s room to find him unresponsive and with no detectable pulse. After she’d called for help, she’d immediately begun CPR until the resuscitation team had arrived and taken over.

  Tia had delegated herself to crowd control while the doctor and ICU nurses continued their efforts to revive the patient. She watched as IV lines were started and heart-monitoring patches were placed on precise areas of his upper body.

  “Clear!” the doctor shouted as he gave the patient a jolt of electricity from the defibrillator.

  Tia watched as the patient’s body bounced slightly on the bed. Seconds passed with no detectable activity.

  “Clear!” the doctor shouted out again.

  There was still no response, and shortly thereafter, all resuscitation efforts were stopped and the patient was pronounced dead. Tia stood in the doorway, watching them prepare to transport the patient off the floor. She wondered if he had been discovered sooner would their efforts to save him have made a difference.

  Suddenly, the memory of her extramarital encounter came flooding back to her. It had only happened once, but she convinced herself that she did not want the fire burning in her to be extinguished. She rubbed her shoulder. Good or bad it was the only indication that she was still alive.

  She walked slowly back to the nurse’s station and entered her notes into the computer, then she headed back down the hallway to check on her other patients. She reached the end of the brightly lit corridor and stopped in front of room 523. It was situated directly across the hall from the room where she’d called the code just a little while earlier. She tapped lightly on the closed door, and thought she heard someone crying.

  “Come in,” the woman answered weakly.

  “Good morning,” Tia said closing the door behind her. “My name is Tia. I’ll be your nurse today.”

  “Good morning. I’m Francis, but you probably know that already,” she said, pointing to the chart in Tia’s hand. “At least I hope you do,” she mumbled.

  Tia stopped at the sink next to the door and washed and dried her hands. Before putting on a pair of latex gloves, she walked over to the window and opened the blinds. Although it was a frigidly cold and cloudy day, the sun revealed itself intermittently, allowing its light to infiltrate the room. “Let’s get a little light in here,” she said.

  Francis’s mottled hand shook as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue.

  Tia looked down at her weathered face. “Have you been crying, Francis?”

  “No,” she said, rubbing the side of her face. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all. And I usually go by Franny.”

  Tia looked at the almost empty IV bag of normal saline that had been calculated to run slowly through her patient’s veins.

  “I’ll be changing your IV when this bag is finished,” she said.

  “Are you a nurse?” Franny asked.

  Tia looked down at her navy and white nurse’s pin; the gold trim surrounding it glittered from its position on her right collar. Just below the pin was her name badge with the initials RN in bold, black letters large enough for even the faintest eyes to see. Never mind the fact that she’d just told her who she was. She looked at the woman’s gentle but tired-looking face. “Yes,” she said softly, “I am.”

  “What was all that commotion a bit ago outside in the hallway?” Franny asked.

  “Just a little situation,” Tia said as she placed her stethoscope in her ears, and then placed them on the left side of Franny’s chest. She listened as the faint beating of her heart decreased, and then escalated like a motor being revved up.

  Tia thought about her own heart and how the beating of it increased every time she heard the baritone of her lover’s voice. It was like a musical opus, and it had slowly made its way to the core of her body where she’d invited it to mingle with her soul.

  “Is everything all right?” Franny eyed her suspiciously.

  “I’m not done yet.”

  “No, I mean with the patient across the hall.”

  “Oh,” Tia said. “Well, I can’t talk about the condition of other patients; privacy rules, you know.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Can you sit up for me please?”

&
nbsp; Franny slowly raised herself to a sitting position. “Did you go to college?”

  Tia smiled. “Yes, I went to college. You can’t get a nursing degree unless you do.”

  “I was just wondering,” Franny said. “You look a little young.”

  “Well, I guess that could be a compliment,” Tia said. She placed the stethoscope against Franny’s back and listened to her lungs as they made a whistling sound when she inhaled. Each time her lungs reached their capacity, Tia instructed her to release the air and the sound reminded her of wood crackling in a fireplace. She pulled out her pen and began making notes on a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard.

  “How old are you?” Franny asked completely dry-eyed now.

  “I’m thirty-two.”

  “Oh, you’re just a baby,” she said with a weak smile. “But you remind me of a girl who took care of me once before when I was in the hospital. Her name was Mary. She was real nice.”

  “You were a patient here before?” Tia asked flipping through her sheets. “I didn’t see that in your records.”

  Franny looked down at her gown and began fumbling with the collar. “Uh, no,” she stuttered, “I . . . I was at another hospital.”

  “Oh.” Tia stared at her for a moment before she continued writing notes in her clipboard.

  “I really liked her though,” Franny continued.

  Tia thought she detected a sound of sadness in her voice. “How young was she?”

  “Oh, I can’t remember.” Franny waved her hand in midair. “Maybe twenty-five, thirty . . . somewhere around your age, you know.”

  Tia stopped writing and looked at her. “I thought you said she was a girl.”

  “Honey, when you’re sixty-eight years old like me, that age is a girl.” She laughed a short, weak laugh. “I wish she would have been my own girl. I never had a daughter.”

  Tia looked at her. The way Franny smiled and dabbed at the corners of her eyes reminded her of her own grandmother, Mavis, back in Milwaukee. Her relationship had started out rough with her grandmother who had taken her in after her own mother, Ida, had been sent to prison for the negligent death of her brother. Tia had been six years old at the time, and she could barely remember her brother who had been just a baby.