Final Words

by Teri Thackston

For a long moment, they just stood there. Gradually Jason felt the ache around his heart ease. His pulse steadied. “When can they have Amy’s body?”

  “Tomorrow.” She lowered her hands with what he took for reluctance. “As I said, there are still lab tests to run. But I’m certain they won’t show anything unusual or suspicious.”

  “Must be nice to be so sure.”

  Her lips curled into a strangely peaceful smile. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  More of her peace reached out to him as Jason realized that he believed her.

  * * * * *

  Emma barely had enough strength to put one foot in front of the other by the time she reached her apartment door around mid-morning. Amy Benson’s case had really taken a toll on her. Working on children was always extra emotional. This case had been particularly so because of Skitch’s past. She had hoped to spend a little more time with Jason once she finished her reports but neither of them had been emotionally or physically up to it.

  Fitting the key into the lock of her front door, she turned it and let herself inside. A familiar scent immediately enveloped her, bringing with it a shot of joy and relief.

  “Hello, Punkin.” Her father stood up from the sofa and opened his arms.

  Dropping her purse and keys, Emma flew to her father. Seconds later her mother appeared from the kitchen. The scent of Hope’s perfume, although a light formula, swelled around her, the lavender soothing Emma to the point where tears welled in her eyes.

  “You said you were fine,” her mother said, taking a turn to embrace her. “But we needed to see for ourselves.”

  The three of them settled on the sofa and Emma brushed her tears from her cheek. “I’m just so glad to see you,” she said.

  Keeping her arm around Emma’s shoulders, Hope gave her a gentle squeeze. “We actually have two reasons for being here.”

  “After talking to you the other night,” her father added, “we decided we need to see Aunt Victoria.”

  Emma straightened her spine, feeling instantly energized. “I’m coming with you.”

  Her mother smiled. “We thought you might say that. Why don’t you freshen up while I fix you something to eat? Then we’ll drive over together.”

  * * * * *

  The retirement home on the west side of Houston seemed more like a luxury hotel than a retirement center. Private rooms and lush furnishings suited a clientele that was accustomed to the finer things in life. Emma had visited her Great-Aunt Victoria there many times when she had lived in Houston with Alan. Guilt flashed through her at the realization that she hadn’t been there in months.

  “Hey there, pretty girl,” Nick said as they approached Victoria Morgan where she sat near a piano in the main social area of the center.

  “Nicholas, what a wonderful surprise!”

  They each took a turn hugging the silver-haired woman in the wheelchair. Despite severe back problems, Victoria Morgan still carried herself in a regal—but approachable—manner and other than her occasional brief asides to unseen visitors, her mind appeared sharp. Her smile, wide and bright, proved her relationship to Emma’s father.

  “Hope, it’s so good to see you. And, Emma, you look wonderful,” Aunt Victoria said when Emma dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Your father told me about your terrible accident. How are you feeling, dear?”

  “Just the odd ache now and then,” Emma admitted. “But I’m pretty much recovered.”

  “I was so sorry to hear about your friend.” Aunt Victoria gestured toward a nearby ladder-back chair. “Sit next to me.”

  Emma pulled the chair near her great-aunt. Her father brought over two other chairs for himself and Hope.

  Aunt Victoria reached out to grip Emma’s hand. “And how is Alan?”

  “We’ve been divorced for a while now.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful news!”

  Emma glanced at her parents in surprise. Her father lifted one shoulder.

  “I could never lie to Aunt Victoria,” he explained. “She knows you weren’t happy.”

  “No sense in sticking with a man who makes you miserable,” Victoria said lifting her chin to an even more queenly level. “I should know after trying out five husbands of my own.”

  Emma couldn’t help laughing. “That makes a lot of sense,” she agreed.

  “And you’ve moved out of Houston?”

  “Back to Clear Harbor.”

  “Your hometown. That’s wonderful. And you’re happy there? You’ve found a new love?”

  Emma’s mother reached over to touch the older woman’s arm. “She’s been busy trying to get back to work, Victoria. She’s not interested in men yet.”

  Emma didn’t tell her mother that there was one man she was very interested in. She would give her parents that news later.

  “I’m very happy there, Aunt Victoria.” Emma shifted closer and lowered her voice. “But I am having some unusual experiences since my accident.”

  Aunt Victoria’s pale blue eyes took on a slightly unfocused look for a moment and then she turned a pointed gaze in Emma’s direction. “Tell me, dear.”

  Emma felt her parents’ attention intensify too and so she spoke where they could hear her story as well. “Today for example. I did a procedure on a little girl who had died of leukemia.”

  “Oh, how dreadful.”

  “More dreadful for her parents than for her because I know that Amy is at peace.” Emma paused. “I know because I spoke to her spirit.”

  Her parents exchanged concerned looks but Aunt Victoria smiled patiently. “Go on, dear,” she said. “What did little Amy tell you?”

  “She told me how she died. Knowing the truth quickly, not having to take the time to wait for a lot of test results, helped set her parents’ minds at ease.”

  “It would.” Aunt Victoria inclined her head and her eyes took on that unfocused look once more, as if she was listening to someone at her shoulder. She smiled. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Emma looked at her parents. Nick nodded encouragement.

  “Aunt Victoria.” Emma tightened her grip on Aunt Victoria’s hand. “You occasionally talk to people that the rest of us can’t see.”

  She nodded. “The angels. You call them spirits but I call them angels. People that I meet occasionally have angels near them and they talk to me.”

  Curiosity warred with worry in Nick’s eyes. “When did this start happening?”

  Aunt Victoria laughed lightly. “Now, Nicholas, you should know. It was the day of my accident. You were there when I slipped on the water that splashed out of Mitch’s dog’s bowl. Those ceramic tiles in my kitchen could be so slippery.”

  Nick exchanged glances with his wife and Emma. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Well, you were only four years old. But you were clever enough to pick up the phone and call an operator for help.” Aunt Victoria turned to Emma. “I used to watch your father while his mother worked.”

  “I do remember that,” Nick said. “You made the best peanut butter sandwiches.”

  “Which is exactly what I was doing when Mitch’s dog dribbled water all over the floor. I slipped and hit my head on that hard ceramic tile.” Aunt Victoria tilted her head again and nodded slightly. Quietly she spoke over her shoulder. “I’m getting to it. Just be patient.”

  Emma looked at the area behind her great-aunt but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  The elderly woman went on. “After an instant of darkness, I came to and found myself above my body, watching Nicholas race for the phone to call for help. Then I heard my mother’s voice. She had been dead for some years but I recognized her voice right away and I looked up to see her standing in a lovely golden tunnel. Ah but I felt so wonderful at that moment. Such peace. Such happiness. But she told me I couldn’t stay with her.”

  “You died. But you came back.”

  “I did. And I discovered soon after that I could see and speak with the angels that visit some people.” She lifted one s
houlder. “Most of them don’t have much to say to me because they’re just going about their business. Usually we simply acknowledge each other but occasionally I’m asked to pass along a message.”

  Hope glanced around. “Are there angels around us now?”

  “In a place like this, with so many elderly folks, there are many. They come to guide us, warn us or just watch over us.” Aunt Victoria looked at a spot just beyond Hope’s right shoulder. “You have one of your own right now, Hope. Your great-grandmother on your father’s side. Her name is Sarah.”

  Hope’s eyes went wide and she followed the direction of Aunt Victoria’s gaze, turning to look behind her. Her face was pale when she looked back at the elderly woman.

  Victoria chuckled. “She’s just checking in on you. There’s nothing to worry about. She was killed while traveling and so she likes to check on her loved ones whenever they take a trip.”

  “What about me?” Nick asked.

  His elderly aunt looked around him and then shook her head. “Not at the moment, Nicholas. But I have seen your brother Benjamin upon occasion.”

  Emma remembered the older brother her father had lost many years before. As her great-aunt’s gaze shifted, as if following the movement of someone passing behind her, a chill brushed across Emma’s neck. She expected to feel the chill that swept through her, so she managed to react with only a mild shudder. But Aunt Victoria recognized her response and laughed.

  “Sarah thinks you have lovely hair,” she said to Emma. “Almost as thick as hers used to be.”

  Hope turned her wide eyes toward Emma. “My father always said you got all that gorgeous auburn hair from his grandmother.”

  Aunt Victoria squeezed Emma’s hand. “You, of course, are a special case, dear. The spirits you see belong to people you don’t know. They come to tell you their secrets. They come to you seeking closure for their lives.”

  Emma nodded. “They want me to know how they died.”

  “This is a gift,” Aunt Victoria said. “It may be a burden as well. But you’re strong enough to carry it, Emma, or you wouldn’t have been chosen. And remember one thing. These angels—spirits—are still people. They’ve just taken on a different form.”

  “You’ve lived with this ability for a long time,” Nick said.

  “And a lot of folks think I’m a bit daft because of it.” Aunt Victoria laughed again. “I gave up trying to explain my gift to the living a long time ago. If people think I’m a little nutty, so be it. I enjoy having so many friends—living or dead—around me.” She squeezed Emma’s hand again. “You’ll grow to accept your gift and appreciate it. It may take time but I have faith in you. Obviously I’m not the only one.”

  Aunt Victoria cast her gaze upward and Emma knew she was talking about the source of the golden light and the voice from her ER experience.

  “I hope I’m worthy of that faith, Aunt Victoria.”

  “You are, dear.” Aunt Victoria smiled. “You are or that faith would never have been placed in you.”

  * * * * *

  Two days later, Emma tugged on her gloves and faced the autopsy table again with a more accepting attitude. A teenage boy lay on the table, his pale, naked chest streaked with the blood that had trailed from a single wound to his heart.

  Sadness tugged at that rapidly beating organ inside her own chest. He was so young.

  Then she thought about Rose MacKenzie and the golden light that hadn’t been a dream. She thought about Brian and little Amy Benson and she knew that this boy was on his way to a better place. Or he would be once he told Emma what he needed to say. Great-Aunt Victoria had given her the courage to accept her ability as well as her responsibility. Her parents, although they had returned to Jackson the next day, were always available to listen when she needed to talk about her “gift”. Still, it would be nice to have someone closer, someone like Jason. But she hadn’t seen him since he’d taken the Bensons home after Amy’s autopsy. They’d talked on the phone a couple of times but both of them had been swamped with work since that night. After what had happened between them at the retirement party, Emma knew that they needed more than a few minutes here and there if their attraction was going to go anywhere. And, oh, how she wanted it to go somewhere.

  “Ready, Doc?”

  Emma looked up with a start to find Skitch watching her from across the table.

  Since Amalia Campanero’s autopsy, he’d been watching her a lot. She’d tried to be discreet when the spirits appeared, to acknowledge their final words without giving away what was going on. But on more than one occasion, Skitch had caught her asking what must seem to be absurd questions. It wouldn’t be long before he reported her strange behavior to Edgar Powell. She still couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone what was going on. She couldn’t risk being removed from the autopsy suite.

  She’d come to believe that she performed a service for the deceased, hearing their final words and easing them into the next world. She performed a service for their families too, by knowing what to look for and where to look so that she could provide quick answers on how their loved ones had died. And the more time she spent with the spirits, the more at peace she became with her own mortality. Dying held no fear for her. She only wished she could give Jason such peace about his sister.

  “Doc?” Skitch leaned toward her, interrupting her musings yet again.

  Looking up at her assistant, Emma nodded. “I’m ready. Why don’t you start reading from the file?” She gestured with one gloved hand and then shrugged an apology. “Sorry, I think I left it in the transcription room.”

  Skitch sighed. “I thought I was forgetful but lately you’ve been leaving files and tools all sorts of places.”

  As he headed for the transcription room at the far end of the autopsy suite Emma placed her hand on the dead boy’s arm. Immediately an image formed on the other side of the table. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, dressed in black jeans and a baggy black sweatshirt, the boy peered at her in confusion.

  “His name is Graham Jones,” Skitch said over his shoulder as he walked away. “I remember that much. He was seventeen.”

  “I’d a’ been eighteen in another month,” the apparition said, voice slow and uneducated. “But the doc said I had to go. I’s just wastin’ my time and everbody else’s.”

  Emma leaned forward and whispered, “Who shot you, Graham?”

  “The doc did.”

  “Who is ‘the doc’?”

  “That head doctor. I seen him whenever I’s arrested. Doc Sanders.”

  Emma gripped the edge of the table with both hands. Her heartbeat quickened as the image of Graham Jones grew hazier.

  “He was arrested twice for prostitution,” Skitch said, reading from the file as he returned from the transcription room. “Declared unfit to stand trial both times and put in mental hospitals. He always managed to escape, though and ended up back on the streets.”

  “I done wrong.” Graham’s voice grew fainter. “But I needed money. Couldn’t get a job ’cause I got somethin’ loose in my head. The doc said I’d wind up back on the street and what kinda life was that? But I couldn’t stand bein’ locked up in that hospital for crazy folks. That ain’t no kinda life, neither. I gotta go now.” The image faded on the last word.

  Emma stared at the empty space where he’d stood. He’d said “the doc” had killed him. Doc Sanders. Dr. Sanders.

  Dr. Paul Sanders?

  “Dr. St. Clair?”

  Emma jerked and stared at Skitch as he reached the table.

  “You’re doing it again.” He frowned. “Getting that fish-eyed look and talking to yourself.”

  Emma swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

  “You mumbled something about a Dr. Sanders. Who is that? Did we hire some new guy?”

  “No. He’s…never mind.” Determination gripped her and she gestured toward the body. “Let’s see if we can find out why someone would kill this kid.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jason shoved ope
n the swinging door of the bullpen Tuesday afternoon and stormed toward Chief Hosken’s office.

  “Jason, wait.” Charlie tried to intercept him but the older detective couldn’t move fast enough.

  Jason swung into Hosken’s office without knocking. “I just heard you’ve gotten a court order to exhume Tyrone Sharpe’s body. What the hell are you doing, Hosken?”

  Hosken shoved back his chair and rose in a movement too smooth for a man his size. “This isn’t your case, MacKenzie.”

  “He’s already been autopsied once.” Jason hands went to fists as he stepped closer to Hosken’s desk. Bile soured his stomach. “Cutting him open again—”

  “We’re not cutting him. We’re just looking for wounds.”

  “What?” Jason was vaguely aware of Charlie’s hand on his shoulder. “Why? What kind of wounds?”

  Hosken’s brown eyes glimmered. “Back off, MacKenzie. I’m handling the Tyrone Sharpe case. Not you.”

  “You’re handling it right into the cold case file. The way you’re working it, Ty’s murderer will never be identified!”

  Hosken shoved his hands into his pockets and started jingling his coins loud and fast. Temper colored his face. “You’re about to step over the line, MacKenzie.”

  “The chief thinks the ME’s office might have screwed up.” Charlie placed himself between Jason and the other man. “They said Ty was killed with a thirty-eight but ballistics identified a couple of twenty-two slugs that were dug out of that alley wall.”

  Jason glared at Hosken. “So?”

  The chief scowled. “So we’re thinking there may have been more than one shooter and the medical examiner who did Sharpe’s post mortem the first time missed the other wounds.”

  “They wouldn’t have missed something like that. Those slugs could’ve been in that wall for years.”

  “Even doctors make mistakes, MacKenzie and the morgue was understaffed at the time, if you’ll recall.”

  Jason recalled all right. Brian had been killed and Emma seriously hurt. The morgue had been operating with only three medical examiners and a heavy caseload.

  Jason shoved a hand through his hair. “It still isn’t right. To take him from his grave—”