Healing the Bayou (3 page)

“Show me what?”

“The answers you seek.”

I had still had no idea what they were talking about, but clearly my attempt to make contact with their friend was important to them. I could tell Camille no, but Samuel’s eyes were so pleading I did not have the strength to refuse him.

“All right. Let’s get this over with.”

Camille clapped her hands and cheered with glee at my submission, and she led the way out of the crypt.

As we emerged into view of the crowd everyone began to chant. They spoke some other language, and I had no idea what they were saying, but I again was suspecting I was now involved in some kind of cult. I wanted to run but it would be useless. The cemetery was surrounded, and there was no escape.

“Lie down,” Samuel instructed me as he pointed to an empty alter next to the one that held the bloody goat. I complied and tried to ignore the sickening smell of the rotting animal.

I recognized Camille’s voice as it rose above the others. My eyes closed as I prepared myself for the worst. A sound that resembled a knife cutting through thick leather churned my stomach, and I opened my eyes in time to catch her finish decapitating a chicken as she hung it upside down and emptied the bird’s blood onto my torso.

I screamed out in horror, but my cries were drowned by a deafening shrieking sound coming from out in the darkness. My hands covered my ears to muffle the penetrating racket.

This wasn’t part of the ritual. Camille, Samuel, and all the others were mirroring my look of fright, and they each scanned their surroundings to find the source.

I shot up to sit and closed my eyes tight, trying to hide within my own mind from the anxiety until the only deafening sound remaining was that of a grave silence suggesting I was suddenly alone. With some reluctance I let myself open my eyes.

Chapter Three

The bright lighting of several florescent bulbs sliced through my eyelashes and I immediately snapped my eyes closed again as tight as I could. An ammonia smell burned my nostrils. Freezing cold, I tried to bring my arms up to cover myself, but a sharp pain nagged at my shoulder and radiated through my body. I groaned and someone gasped.

“Charles, she’s waking up!” a woman squeaked.

I knew the voice well, and the sound blanketed me in comforting familiarity. Forcing myself to face the assault of the gleaming daggers above me, I covered the top of my eyes with my hand to create a visor, hoping to lessen the impact. My heart swelled at the tearful, smiling face of my dear Aunt Patrice.

My mother’s sister couldn’t make it to my parents’ funeral. Her flight had been delayed because of the horrible snowstorms in the northeast. Hearing her speak so resentfully of the cold winters in Massachusetts always made me feel grateful I lived Florida.

I braced myself as she flew across the room and snatched me into her arms, pulling me up from the unfamiliar bed. She wore gloves of course, since she was one of the very few people who knew my secret ability.

Once Aunt Patrice had thoroughly squeezed out what little breath I had, she pushed me back and held me by the shoulders. I smiled at her beautiful yet pity-filled blue eyes. I had always envied them. They were always shining and were so full of love. Mine were brown, the boring and far too common color of the modern, just-barely-average female. Her fiery red hair framed her smooth face, which looked much younger than a woman’s of fifty-two.

“Oh dear. You look terrible, Eliza.”

“I feel terrible,” I croaked.

I looked past her at my surroundings—a hospital room. Behind Patrice, blue curtains separated my small bed from another, and in front of the sea green wall on the far side of the room, stood my Uncle Charlie. He wasn’t wearing the same welcome-back-to-reality smile that my aunt had plastered on, but it didn’t bother me. He was much more like me. We didn’t hide our feelings very well, and he had concern written all over his pale face. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

I tried to conjure what had happened. But still, just as in the dream, the last thing I could remember was leaving my parents’ funeral.

Ugh, the damn dream. I’d had that dream every single night since my parents had died, and it was beginning to annoy the shit out of me. At least this time I made it past the steamy part—every other night it ended just before Samuel kissed me, and I would wake up in a hot and bothered haze. As I remembered my company, I blushed and decided daydreaming about that kiss would have to wait until a more appropriate time.

“What happened?” I asked Uncle Charlie because I knew Aunt Patrice would sugar-coat the incident.

“Oh, sweetie.” Patrice took charge of answering anyway. “You just had a little accident, that’s all.”

“What kind of accident?” I probed.

“Well, now, Eliza you don’t need to worry about it right now. You need to get your rest.”

“It feels as if I’ve been resting for weeks. Uncle Charlie?”

Patrice’s gaze darted across the room in a way that relayed a grave warning to her husband.

“Oh for God’s sake, Patty.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s a big girl. She can handle it.”

“All right then.” She pouted. “I’ll just go ask the nurse to bring you some lunch.” She left in an angry scurry, but not before sticking her tongue out at Charlie.

He moved for the first time since I had woken up and meandered to my bedside. He placed his hand on my covered knee and sat beside me with a clenched jaw.

I had to giggle. This was a textbook old country cowboy. He never stepped outside of his front door without his Wranglers, button-up shirt, boots, and hat, and when he spoke his accent was straight out of an old western. He reminded me of Clint Eastwood every time I looked at him, and I loved him for it.

I never understood why he’d married such a city girl like my aunt Patrice. They were a comical couple to watch. They squabbled far more than they cuddled, but they did love each other. The two of them were living proof opposites attract.

“Lizzy.” He cleared his throat as if he was about to tell me I was paralyzed. I moved my legs a little just in case. “How much do you remember?”

“The last thing I remember was getting in the car after Mom and Dad’s wake. I was supposed to meet with their attorney in the morning to go over some issues about their will or something.”

He nodded. “You were in a car accident, Lizzy.”

I froze. My parents had been killed in a car wreck just two weeks ago. At least I thought it was two weeks ago.

“How long have I been in here?”

“Just two days. Nothing is broken, and the doctors say it doesn’t look as though you’ve had a concussion, but you’ve been under so much stress and when this happened, your body probably just needed a little time off to recover and it shut down.”

It sounded strange to me. By the way Uncle Charlie was sanding his blond beard clean off his face with his knuckles, I knew there was something he wasn’t telling me.

“What is it, Uncle Charlie?”

He sighed heavily. “Darlin’, we got the coroner report back on your behalf. He said the injuries your parents had did not match the damage done to their car.”

I gasped. What the hell did that mean? When the police found Mom and Dad’s little blue car crushed in an alley, they had assumed it was a hit and run. It certainly wasn’t ideal, but I could live with the fact that it was an accident and some drunk idiot panicked and took off. Was Uncle Charlie saying somebody had done this on purpose?

“So it wasn’t an accident?” A tear fell down my cheek.

“They don’t think so, no.”

“And what about the driver that hit me?”

Uncle Charlie bit his lip and shook his head.

“What does that mean, Charlie?” I shouted. “For God’s sake, don’t be so vague. Is he dead?”

He jumped and I immediately regretted snapping, but given the circumstances he would understand. He wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, anyway.

“No, Lizzy. We can’t find him.”

My chest tightened. Somebody had killed my parents. That was hard enough to take in, but what if they were trying to kill me too? I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and tried to stand. I needed to walk. I needed to pace to calm myself.

Uncle Charlie positioned himself in front of me. “You need to stay in bed until we get the OK from the doc.”

“No. I need to get out of this room.”

The walls were closing in. Tears flowed freely. His hands came down on my back and he pulled me into bear hug. I flinched when his fingertips touched the opening in the back of my hospital gown.

“Aaarggh!”

I arched in pain, and he released me, holding his hands up and to the side when he realized what had happened. I dropped my face into my hands and sobbed. It was too much. My parents, this hospital, this pain. I wanted to shrink away, and death seemed as though it would offer such a sweet relief to all this tragedy.

“Look, Charles!” Aunt Patrice yelled. “You’ve gone and upset her. It’s all right dear. Everything is going to be just fine.”

I shook my head at the notion and pulled away when she tried to hold me. An alarm sounded on the monitor I was tethered to, and a nurse rushed in. Sympathy washed over her face as she ran her gaze over me.

I hated the pity.

“I’m fine,” I assured her as I sniffled and wiped my face.

“Your blood pressure is through the roof, dear,” she informed me, pushing Aunt Patrice to the side. “You need to calm down. I think perhaps you’ve had enough visitors for the day.”

She reached to lay me back down, but I jerked my arm away before she could touch it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Aunt Patrice yelled. “I gave the doctor specific instructions not to let anybody touch her with their bare hands!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am—”

“She has hypersensitive sensory problems. You have no idea what kind of pain you could have just put her in!”

The nurse looked at her with clear skepticism. It was a poor lie, but it was as good as anything I could have come up with. The poor woman probably thought I was raised abused and neglected, making me suffer from some kind of lifelong phobia. I hadn’t ever been in a hospital before, and both of my parents were doctors who ran a joint private practice. The issue had never come up since they provided all my medical care, and I’ll admit I was a bit impressed with Aunt Patrice’s quick thinking.

“It’s all right, Aunt Patrice. It was an honest mistake. She was only trying to be comforting.”

“Honest mistake,” she said. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Eliza.”

“You’re always so dramatic.” I smiled.

“You’re not nearly dramatic enough!”

“My life provides the drama. I just sit along for the ride.”

My tease effectively cleared some of the tension from the air just in time for a knock on the door.

A short, middle-aged, bald man poked his head in, his glasses sliding down his nose and giving him the appeal of a poindexter.

“Excuse me, Ms. Morgan. You aunt called me to let me know you were awake. Are you feeling well enough to speak with me? I have some paperwork requiring you signature.”

“It’s past visiting hours. Family only, sir,” the nurse said flatly.

“It’s all right, Judy.” I read her name tag. The man at the door was my parents’ attorney, Steven Hewitt. “I would like to speak with him.”

Nurse Judy huffed and reset the blood pressure monitor before she pointed in the direction of the crowd gathering in my hospital room.

“If this goes off again every one of you is out of here,” she said sternly.

We watched her leave, and I nodded in the direction of the curtain beside my bed. “Is there anybody over there? I would rather have this conversation in private.”

Aunt Patrice shook her head. “No, I insisted you have a private room.”

Of course she had.

“Mr. Hewitt, have a seat.”

“Thank you.” He brought the only chair in the room closer to the bedside before he got down to business.

“Ms. Morgan, as you know your parents had named you executor of their estate in their will. Now, I know you were too upset to go over all this after the funeral, but I’m hoping—”

“Let’s just get it over with.” I stared numbly at the wall in front of me.

“Well.” He tugged at his suit jacket, clearly uncomfortable. “First you should know they did leave your home and a very sizable amount of savings to you directly. Various small knickknacks and jewelry have been left to Patrice and Charlie. But they also had a safe deposit box at the bank. I apologize, Miss Morgan, but the bank requested the articles be removed on the same day you had your accident, and since we were not sure when you would recover they had the box drilled, and the items were removed.”

The thought of some corporate blueblood having his paws all over whatever my parents deemed precious enough to keep locked away filled me with fury. He must have seen the blaze in my eyes, because he quickly continued.

“The only thing inside was a letter. It was addressed to you.”

He held out a small envelope, and once it was in my possession he shoved a handful of estate papers at me that took nearly an hour to go through and sign. It was all legal jargon, and for all I knew I had just signed away my freedom. I didn’t care.

The letter was all I was worried about. The one and only letter my parents had ever written me was inside, and I tried to imagine what it was that they couldn’t tell me to my face. Maybe it was something about my powers? Did they know all this time why I had them?

I never did believe what they say about lawyers until I met this man. He hurried out of the room once he had what he needed, giving no thought to the fact that he had just handed a not even thirty-year-old woman her parents’ estate paperwork. He could not have been more callous about it.

I pushed him out of my mind and instead picked the letter back up and read what was written on the outside of the envelope: To Our Lizzy.

I was almost too nervous to open it, but after several moments of mustering up the courage I flipped it over and used my finger to rip the top seam, revealing the pastel pink piece of parcel that was inside.