The air was pulled from her lungs on impact with a vacuum-like suction. Her mouth opened wide in a silent gasp as she tried to draw in a breath, but it was to no avail. She couldn't breath, couldn't move, couldn't scream. The only thing she knew was agony beyond what any human being could withstand.
Oh, God ... Tears stung the corners of her lids before trailing down her cheeks. I'm dead.
"Barnabas.” Although her mouth moved, no sound came forth. And whether he heard her or not, Barnabas didn't answer.
CHAPTER 13
Nearly a month had passed since what Laura now referred to as her death. While her heart felt fatally wounded, there was just one problem—she wasn't dead.
She wasn't living happily in heaven with her husband and daughter, as she'd expected, nor was she wallowing in pain in the deepest, fiery depths of hell. No, Laura was very much alive in her same boring life with her same arrogant boss and her same nosy neighbor. The only thing she'd gained from her experience was a deep-rooted sense of loss.
The morning after her fictitious decent into hell, Laura awoke in her bed in a similar manner as she had done on countless other mornings. There was no excruciating pain radiating through every pore of her body, no crack in her skull oozing blood, brain manner, or any other disgusting body fluids, which are preferably left inside. In fact, aside from the slight discomfort of nausea, Laura felt perfectly fine.
She'd spent the rest of the week wandering aimlessly through her house, waiting for Barnabas to return and trying to determine if she was losing her mind. A call to the credit card company as well as the airport confirmed she had indeed gone on a trip to New Orleans, but there was nothing else to challenge the mounting notion that she'd made up the whole elaborate tale during some sort of mental break down.
What she couldn't understand was how she had somehow managed to function in some sort of sane capacity that had allowed her to arrive at her scheduled destination—in this case, Greenwood Manor—yet, at the same time, her brain had obviously been fried to the point of creating some sort of complex scenario involving herself and a man she'd never met before.
Weeks two and three had been spent simply going through the motions of returning to work and her previous routine of life. Ms. Waterby was still there to greet her upon arrival at the end of each day, prying into her personal business as usual. And her mother and friends all treated her the same, as though nothing as astronomical as what she'd construed in her thoughts had ever occurred. All of which finally led Laura to believe that perhaps it never had.
By the start of the fourth week after her death, she had fully accepted the notion that she was simply nuts. Lack of sex had driven her to Crazytown, and now it was time to come home. She'd always heard masturbating would make you go mad; maybe it was true.
One thing was certain, if all she'd needed was a good lay, she could have accomplished that by visiting the local bar. Well, maybe not a good lay—certainly nothing compared to the wonder she'd discovered within the arms of her made-up ghost lover, Barnabas—but some sort of release anyway. The emotional baggage she'd created with the fabricated loss of a child and grieving husband was almost more than she could handle.
The comprehension that there was no grandiose past life full of bubbling laughter from a beautiful little girl with bouncing curls or an enduring love of a man so fierce he was willing to travel to Hell and back to save her soul, seemed almost worse than dying whatever death she would have had to suffer in order to make it true. So, along with this disheartening realization also came an overwhelming sense of depression.
As the days slowly passed her by in what she could only describe as a bland and colorless haze, Laura also began to realize she needed help. It wasn't the help one could receive from crying on their mother's shoulder, or getting drunk with the girls on one of those “we hate men” nights on the town. No, she needed professional help.
While she wasn't too keen on going to a shrink and launching into the story about her imagined past life and the most spectacular sex she'd ever had—especially since it was with a man who'd been dead for nearly two centuries—she did feel that maybe the aid of medication might be beneficial, at least for a little while. Exactly twenty-seven days after the initiation of her mental descent into Hell, Laura made an appointment. She would see the doctor on Friday.
* * * *
Laura fidgeted while she waited in the stuffy office. Even though she'd gotten there thirty minutes before her appointment, it was apparent she hadn't been the only one with the idea of beating the crowd. Several patients were scheduled in line ahead of her, and at the leisurely rate the nurse called them back, she'd likely be there all day.
Her idea of getting in and getting out quickly evaporated the minute she stepped through the office door and saw nearly a dozen other patients already seated and waiting to be called. After signing the clipboard located on the windowsill, she spotted a vacant chair in the corner. With a disillusioned sigh, Laura carefully picked her way through the obstacle course of extended limbs and sat down.
Her regular doctor was booked, so she was scheduled to see “the new guy.” The receptionist hadn't even told her his name, only that he'd just recently joined the practice. She didn't suppose it mattered, as long as he helped solve her problem.
After an hour and a half, only half a dozen people had gotten to venture beyond the daunting closed door separating the waiting area from the patient rooms in the back. Six more had already taken their seats. Every once in a while, the receptionist behind the glass would look up from whatever she was working on, peruse the room with a sweeping gaze—perhaps to count the numbers left in attendance—then return her attention to the desk.
Laura glanced at her watch for probably the hundredth time. She crossed her legs, trying to stunt the tingling sensation in her groin. If they didn't hurry and call her back, she was going to pee her pants.
That was only one of many complaints she wanted to address with the doctor. Lately, she'd been hitting the bathroom a lot. Her stomach rebelled at any aroma, good or bad. And her breasts had become so sore, she could barely stand to wear a bra. She wasn't sure how any of this followed along with mental illness, but at the moment, she didn't care, she just wanted to feel normal again.
God, I hope he doesn't commit me.
Her gaze focused on the exit. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. After all, what exactly did she plan to say?
Excuse me, doc, the smell of food makes me nauseous, I'm pissing every half hour, my boobs hurt, and I feel like crying all the time. Oh, and by the way, I've been having sex with a dead guy.
Laura groaned inwardly. Yup, I'm through. He'll send me to the nut house for sure.
Deciding to come back another time, she gathered her purse and, as inconspicuously as possible, made her way to the door. She'd just grasped the knob when she heard her name.
"Mrs. Flannery, the doctor will see you know."
Her stomach lurched upward, somehow lodging itself in the back of her throat. Releasing her last opportunity for escape, she begrudgingly turned to face the waiting nurse, who merely smiled, oblivious to Laura's inner turmoil.
Deciding not to bother with correcting the nurse on her title, she mutely followed the woman back through a labyrinth of hallways and turns, passing multiple patient rooms along the way. After going to what had to be the very last room at the end of the longest hallway, they stopped.
"We'll need a urine specimen. There are cups in the metal sleeve hanging on the wall. When you're finished, just open the little door next to the toilet and place your cup inside. I'll meet you in room twelve when you're ready."
The nurse pointed down the hall in the direction from which they'd just come, then strode away. Laura watched as she stopped at a room a few doors down, placed her chart in the rack hanging on the wall, then disappeared around the corner.
Feeling deserted, Laura slipped inside the bathroom and closed the door. After depositing her purse on the sink, she unbuttoned her
pants and snatched a specimen cup from the holder on the wall as she squatted over the toilet. Peeing would be no problem at all, she had to go so bad, her eyeballs were practically floating.
When the duty was done, she set the cup inside the little door as instructed, washed her hands, and stepped back into the hall, switching off the light as she went. The nurse was waiting in room twelve as promised, armed with what looked like several blood collecting tubes, gloves, and various other scary-looking medical supplies. Before Laura could protest, she was instructed to have a seat on the exam table.
"The doctor has ordered a few blood tests,” the nurse explained.
"But I haven't even seen him yet!” Laura blurted. “How does he know what—"
"It's pretty much standard procedure, Mrs. Flannery. If we draw them now, the results should be ready by the time he comes in to see you."
With a consenting nod, Laura seated herself on the table and held out her right arm. The nurse tied a tourniquet around her bicep and instructed her to make a fist. When she picked up the needle and collection tube, Laura turned her head, preferring not to watch.
She winced at the sharp prick when the needle pierced her skin. Her arm began to tingle, her fingers to throb, while the nurse drew not one, not two, but three tubes of blood from her vein. After filling the last vial, she released the rubber strap, placed a cotton ball over the insertion site, removed the needle, and instructed Laura to bend her arm.
Feeling the room begin to spin, Laura mechanically did as instructed. “I think I better lie down,” she said. The paper barrier crinkled in protest as she melted onto the table.
"I'll get you some cool water.” The nurse placed a pillow behind Laura's head. “Did you eat anything this morning?"
"No. My stomach's been a little queasy lately."
"I see,” the nurse replied, gathering her supplies. “I'll be back in just a moment."
Laura really didn't care if the woman returned or not. The cool table felt wonderful against her hot skin. In fact, if Dr. whoever-she-was-scheduled-to-see would take care of all his other patients first, she'd gladly take a little nap.
Unfortunately, just as her mind began to drift into la la land, the door to her room opened, admitting the nurse, now armed with a Styrofoam cup and paper gown. “Here you go,” she said cheerily, obviously ignoring Laura's scowl. “I brought you some Sprite. You'll need to undress down to your panties, then put this on.” She held up the shapeless square. “Opening goes in the front. The doctor will be in momentarily."
Before Laura could respond, the nurse pulled a mauve curtain alongside the exam table, dividing her room in half and blocking the view from the door, then slipped outside. She frowned at the paper gown draped over her lap. She didn't understand why she needed to get undressed, the doctor didn't have a clue what was wrong with her, and depression certainly didn't warrant a full-body physical.
Laura shuddered. She hoped this guy wasn't a pervert or something. It was just her luck to get some ninety-year-old man who got his rocks off by feeling up his female patients. The idea almost made her gag.
Don't be silly, Laura, she chided. This is probably just standard procedure. After all, she hadn't seen a doctor in over a year.
She'd just slipped her arms into the paper gown and reseated herself on the edge of the table when the door to her room opened. Her gaze dropped to the two-foot space below the bottom hem of the curtain. The doctor's khaki pant legs were visible from about mid-calf down to his brown dress shoes.
Butterflies danced in Laura's stomach while he stood on the other side of the curtain, probably looking over her chart. The waiting seemed almost unbearable. She was just on the verge of blurting out all the craziness she'd concocted over the last several weeks when his voice broke the silence.
"May I come in, Mrs. Flannery?"
The sound of his voice sung through her veins like a speeding bullet, striking every nerve along the way. Heat instantly sprang to life in her cheeks. He sounded ... familiar. But that was impossible.
Taking a deep breath, “Yes. But it's Ms. Flannery,” she replied, struggling to look composed as his feet moved along the edge of the curtain. They paused at the end, merely inches away from the opening.
"Is it now?” His tone held a strange challenge, one that made her heart lurch to the back of her throat.
As his full frame came into view, Laura's chin dropped to her chest. Had she not been sitting, she'd have likely fallen to the floor as well. And when her gaze met the fiery sparkle of a familiar pair of copper eyes, it was all she could do to keep from fainting.
"Hello, Laura,” he said in that seductive purr she knew all too well. “I've missed you."
The room seemed to tilt on its axes. Her stomach heaved, threatening to unload the small amount of Sprite she'd sipped only moments before. Swaying, she grasped the edge of the table for support.
"How ... but I thought ... this isn't ... I don't understand!” she wailed.
Barnabas chuckled. “Let's just say you made the right decision."
Oh, God. It's worse than I thought! Laura clenched her eyes shut, knowing when she opened them he'd be gone and the real doctor would probably be standing there, wondering what the hell was wrong with her. Didn't they commit people for having hallucinations?
She felt his warm palm cup her jaw. Her skin tingled at the touch. Then he captured her chin between his thumb and index finger, gently forcing her head up.
"Look at me, Laura.” His tone was soft, yet commanding.
Laura slowly opened her eyes, gasping as she met his insistent stare. No longer the flawless ivory porcelain of before, his flesh looked tanned and age-roughened, with the dark shadow of new stubble coloring his square chin and jaw. Even his hair seemed a little more natural with small swatches curling down onto his forehead and around his collar rather than being perfectly swept into place as it had been before.
Unable to resist, Laura reached up and smoothed one unruly lock away from his brow. Her fingertips lingered on the creases there, then moved down to the ones at the corner of his right eye. This Barnabas wasn't ageless or perfect like the other one. No, this one was real—a living man with blood in his veins and breath in his lungs.
Her gaze dropped to the nametag on his white lab coat. B. Flannery, M.D.
"I don't understand,” she whispered. “I thought I'd made it all up. That I was crazy."
He caught her wrist, then brought her palm to his mouth where he placed a soft kiss in the center. “Do you remember what I did before ... what my job was?"
Laura closed her eyes, willing the memories to come. At first, they seemed as distant as the Pacific Ocean on the other side of the country. But then, bits and pieces began to return.
Images of Barnabas garbed in similar attire, leaning over to examine someone stretched out on a wooden table, suddenly grew clear. Then another with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to the elbow while his outstretched hands waited to catch something poised before him. A baby's cry echoed through her thoughts.
Her eyes flew open. “A doctor,” she breathed out in a heated rush. “You were a doctor."
Barnabas smiled and nodded. “Yes. That's right. I was a doctor."
His good humor slowly faded. “Yet, with all my knowledge and skills, I still couldn't save our little girl. Our Karey."
Laura felt a stab of pain. “I blamed you. Didn't I?” It really wasn't a question. She already knew the answer.
Barnabas ran a shaking hand through his hair, tousling it even more, then shrugged. “I tried. But she was so young, and the disease in her lungs ... I'm sorry, Laura. Losing her nearly killed me, but losing you was more than I could take."
He started to pull away, but Laura grabbed the lapels of his coat and held him close. “I forgive you, Barnabas. And I'm sorry, too, for running out on you."
His head dipped forward and he brushed a brief kiss across her parted lips. Clearing his throat, he straightened to his full height. “Now, about yo
ur recent symptoms, Mrs. Flannery,” he started, emphasizing her title. “Looking over your test results, I believe I've pinpointed the exact cause."
Laura listened with muffled ears and watched him through dreamy eyes, her thoughts drifting to what was to come now that he'd been returned to her. They'd have to get married again, because her mother and friends surely wouldn't understand that they'd actually been wed since the mid-eighteen hundreds. Or would that be renewing their vows? Either way, there'd definitely have to be a wed—
"You're pregnant."
The words instantly cut into her fantasy. “Wh-what?” she stammered, not sure she'd heard him correctly. “Say that again?"
A grin tugged at the corners of his firm mouth. “You're pregnant. And judging by my calculations..."
He pulled a small plastic card in the shape of a circle from his pocket and proceeded to study the information printed on the front as he paced about the room, ignoring her stunned expression. “I'd say by about four weeks. Give or take a day or two."
Laura shook her head. “But that can't be. The only man I've been with was..."
Barnabas smiled like a naughty schoolboy caught looking up the teacher's dress. “According to the Trimester Wheel...” He waved the plastic card in the air next to his cheek. “Your due date is—"
"Wait! Don't tell me!” She held her hands up in a pleading manner. “Let me guess. April fifteenth?"
His eyes sparkled. “Care to wager on the baby's sex?” he taunted with a mischievous wag of his brow.
Laura stared at him in bewilderment. “No doubt it will be a girl,” she mumbled in a half-dazed state. She wanted to pinch herself, just to make sure she wasn't really dreaming.
"Okay, so tell me how all this is possible again,” she said, messaging her temples with her fingertips. “I seem to have missed something here."
As Barnabas stepped toward her, Laura's attention dropped to his feet. She nearly sighed with relief when she saw that he walked rather than floated—as any mortal man should.
Greenwood Manor Page 8
