Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

When Janet woke with her head floating, her first vague thought was: Hospital.

She heard the beep of a monitor, saw beige walls and the IV needle on her left hand. The narrow bed had guards on either side, and the back was lifted so she half sat, half reclined.

She’d had an emergency appendectomy her junior year at college, then the accident in the lake, so thought hospital.

She’d had an accident? She couldn’t remember.

But when she tried to reach for a call button, she found herself strapped down. And panic bubbled up her throat.

She tried to shout, but the single word—“Help!”—came out in a croak. As she turned her head from side to side, she saw a woman rise from a chair. She wore scrubs with kittens playing over them, and that eased some of the panic.

Her smile struck reassuring in a round face topped by curly brown hair.

“Here you go!” The woman picked up a cup with a bendy straw. “Sip some. You’re thirsty and light-headed, but everything’s fine.”

“What happened?”

“What was meant to.” She gave Janet’s head a light pat. “Everything that happens now was meant.”

“Where am I? Drake—”

“Where you’re meant to be, Janet. Don’t worry about a thing! We’re going to take care of you.”

“Did I have an accident?”

The woman had blue eyes, so pale, so clear, so calm.

“Nothing’s really accidental, is it, Janet? The Almighty has a plan for all creatures, and all His creations are precious. I’m Nurse Clara, and I’m here for you.”

“My husband, I want to see my husband. Is Drake here? He must be worried.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Studying one of the monitors, Clara nodded, then took out her phone, sent a text.

“Why am I strapped down? I need to… I was going to the store for butter. Thanksgiving. Oh, I left everything out on the counter! I need to—”

She broke off when a man opened the door. He, too, wore scrubs, plain blue. But she saw his face, remembered his face.

Now panic spurted.

“The parking lot. The van. This isn’t the hospital.” Terrified now, she strained against the straps. “Who are you? What’s happening?”

“Now, now, I understand the urge to struggle, but it won’t help. We’ve secured you for your own protection. This is Nurse Sam,” Clara continued as Janet fought against the straps, and the man set up a tripod and camera. “We’re here for you, Janet. We’re here to help you.”

“Let me go. I want to go home! I want Drake.” Tears rained as she fought. “You can’t keep me here.”

“Letting you go is why we’re here. Try to stay calm. Now take some deep breaths. We don’t want to sedate you again, Janet.”

With that reassuring smile in place, with blue eyes calm and clear, Clara picked up a syringe.

“No, no, no, no! Don’t! Please.”

“It’s up to you, Janet. We’re given choices in this life, we have the gift of free will.”

“What do you want? We—we have some money. Drake would pay. My parents would. We have some.”

Insult, sincere and strong, flashed over Clara’s face. “Oh, what a terrible thing to say! No one dedicates their lives to others for money. The poor thing, Sam, thinks we’re holding her for ransom.”

He just shook his head. “Too many people think it’s always about money.”

But when he looked at Janet, she felt a chill run through her. His eyes, not calm and clear, held some hungry secret. A light-skinned Black man, he didn’t smile.

Where the woman edged toward plump, he was lean. He wore his hair in short, neat twists. She tried to judge his height—details to tell the police. Not really tall. Five-eight or nine. Or ten?

Oh, she wasn’t any good at that kind of thing.

But she needed to be. Needed to stay calm. She didn’t want the needle.

She tried to swallow the panic. “Please tell me what you want.”

“Your story, Janet.” Clara sat in the chair beside the camera, folded her hands in her lap. “We want you to tell us your story before we let you go.”

“I don’t understand.”

One little window, she noted—high by the ceiling, covered with a blackout shade.

A basement?

“What story?”

“The story that matters, of course.”

Clara’s voice remained pleasant, her smile encouraging.

“On June twenty-fourth, you died.”

“Well, no. I’m—I’m here. I’m alive.”

“Brought back by artificial means.”

“Not—not—not—” She had to stop, take a long breath. “Not really. I mean. I fell off a paddleboard on the lake. Um, Deep Creek Lake? And hit my head. I went under, and nobody realized for a couple minutes, so—”

“We know all of that, Janet.” Sam spoke from behind the camera.

“Now, Sam, she can tell it in her own way. But what he means, Janet, is we’re aware, of course, of what led to your death. You drowned. They weren’t able to establish exactly how long you were gone before you were brought back to life, pulled back into this world. Two minutes, maybe three. We need to hear what happened in that two or three minutes.”

“I don’t understand. I was unconscious.”

“No, Janet. You were dead. Tell us what you experienced.”

“I don’t know. I fell, hit my head on the board. I had a mild concussion. They kept me in the hospital overnight, but I was fine.”

“Janet.” Clara spoke with infinite patience. “The story we need begins and ends with those two or three minutes. It’s important for you to tell that story, for that story to be documented. Where did you go? What did you see? What did you hear or feel or learn?”

Long tube lights on the ceiling. The floor looked like concrete.

Steps! Steps leading up.

A basement. Yes, a basement room with beige walls.

“Janet, what did you see, or hear, or feel, or learn?” Clara repeated.

“There was nothing. I fell, hit my head, and I went under the water. Then I was choking and heaving up water. My head hurt, and my chest, my throat.”

Clara nodded. “You had pain when you were pulled back. Before, before they forced you back into this world, it was peaceful, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to die.”

Clara’s smile remained pleasant, her voice patient.

“Want doesn’t change what is, what was, what must be. Please try to remember, to take yourself back to that two or three minutes. It’s what’s best for you.”

“The board knocked me out, so there isn’t anything to remember. I promise I’d tell you if there was. Afterward, I remember afterward how the light hurt my eyes.”

“You saw a light?”

“When I coughed up all the water, the sun hurt my eyes. And Drake started crying, and I went to the hospital in an ambulance. Wait, first, I was on the boat. The police boat. I don’t remember that very well. I felt really sick.

“That’s what I remember. I swear.”

“You have nothing to tell us about your death? Where you went?”

“I was in the water, and they pulled me out and saved me.”

On a sigh, Clara looked over at Sam. “All right, Janet. I know you did your best.”

“You’re going to let me go. You said you’d let me go.”

“Yes, of course.” Clara rose. “A promise is a promise.”

She walked over to a sink, scrubbed her hands, then slicked on medical gloves. She went to the table beside the bed, took a tourniquet, and wrapped it on Janet’s arm.

“What are you doing? Stop!”

“It’s important to be sanitary, Janet.” Carefully, Clara used an antiseptic wipe. “We’ll use the antecubital fossa. You have good veins! Just relax now. Relax,” she repeated as she pulled the skin on Janet’s arm taut to anchor the vein.

“No! Let me go. You said—”

“We are. Here now, I’m very good at this. You’ll barely feel a thing.”

“Don’t! Don’t! You promised.”

“And a promise I keep.” She nodded, pleased, as blood appeared in the tubing. She connected it to the plasma bag.

Horrified, terrified, Janet didn’t realize Sam worked on her other arm until the procedure was nearly done.

“You’re taking my blood! You’re taking my blood.”

“Yes, of course. It’s useful. You want to be useful, don’t you, Janet? All God’s creatures serve a purpose. Just relax,” Clara told her. “This really won’t take very long, and you’ll be at peace again.”

“Why are you doing this to me? Why?”

“Shh!” Gently, Clara stroked Janet’s forehead. “Your existence in this world is unnatural. Men forced you back, and we’re here to ease your path to where you belong. Only God can perform the miracle of resurrection, Janet.”

“Don’t, don’t! Don’t hurt me. Don’t kill me.”

“We’re sending you home, Janet. You’ll just go to sleep now, and when you wake, you’ll be where you’re meant to be. It’s our hope that the Perpetual Light shines upon you, and not the everlasting fires of Hell.”

Janet screamed, and tears ran down her face. But the screams weakened, and the tears began to dry as the blood drained out of her.

Efficiently, Sam unhooked bags, replaced them with fresh. He labeled and stored them in the refrigerator at the back of the room with the others.

Janet went as pale as the crisp white sheets. When her eyes fixed, Clara gently closed them. On the monitor, her vitals sank, then flatlined.

“Rest now,” Clara murmured. “Rest in peace.”

“We should get close to four liters,” Sam told her.

“Very good. We’ll dispose of her earthly remains in a few hours. Okay with leftovers tonight?” Clara tossed her gloves in the wastebasket. “Meatloaf sandwiches? I’ve got a turkey to roast tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, babe. Too bad she didn’t see anything.”

“Oh, I know she did. Those who pulled her back stole that from her, too. Poor thing. Well, she’s getting her eternal reward now, whatever it may be.”

Clara turned off the machines.

“Go ahead and clean up, doll, while I get us some dinner. I’ll have a cold beer waiting for you.”

He stopped to give her a warm embrace, a long kiss. “You’re the best, babe.”

“Better with you.”

She went upstairs in their cozy little house to make sandwiches out of meatloaf she’d baked the night before with a little blood of the resurrected.

On Thanksgiving morning, Sloan’s Day Three, she woke early. She dressed for her walk, and when she went down for coffee, she smelled it already done. And found her mother, obviously up before the sun, stuffing the enormous turkey.

“You take your walk,” Elsie ordered. “I’ve got this under control.”

“I’ll be back to help.”

“Once this bad boy’s in the oven, we’re gold for a while. Take the dog, and take your time. We got another inch overnight.”

Sloan set out and felt good about it. Felt good she’d slept a solid eight—closer to nine—hours, and without the nagging dreams.

She walked in the crisp air with the brooding sky mirrored in the lake. Just her, she thought, and Mop, the waterfowl. Including the heron she watched glide, then dive.

He came up with a fat fish, then streamed away to enjoy his breakfast.

Stronger, Sloan realized. She honestly felt stronger this morning. When she made it to last evening’s stop, then ten steps more, she decided she could try another five.

She wanted five more yet, but reminded herself how easily she flagged on the return trip. Fifteen equaled progress.

“See?” she told Mop. “I’m not obsessive. Not pushing beyond my limits.”

She rolled a snowball, gave it a toss—just a light toss up—for Mop to leap and bite. More PT, she considered. The bending, straightening, tossing. So every few feet, she rolled another snowball.

Then stopped, not so much to rest as to exchange long looks with the big buck that stopped at the edge of the trees.

Ten pointer.

“Watch out, buddy. We’re moving from archery season to firearms.”

She hooked a hand in Mop’s collar, just in case. He aimed a series of barks at the deer, and the buck gave them both a superior look before turning and sliding back into the trees.

Satisfied, Mop shoved his muzzle into the snow.

“If I could be at work, I’d be patrolling the woods today. But we’ll get back to it.”

She only had to stop once, and did that so she wouldn’t walk back in breathless.

She went in the mudroom entrance, stripped off her gear.

Elsie sat at the kitchen counter, frowning at the TV.

“Good, now I can turn this off. I don’t know why I turn it on the news anyway. Something bad always happened I wish I didn’t know.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, the usual world bullshit, but close to home? A woman went missing down at Deep Creek.”

“How long?”

“They’re not exactly sure. Her husband got home just before six last night. She’d taken the day off because she was doing Thanksgiving dinner for their family. She wasn’t home.”

Elsie poured out two more cups of coffee.

“He didn’t think too much of it, but texted her just to see, and the text didn’t go through. He tried calling, same thing. Tried some of their friends, nobody’d seen her. Worried enough, he went out looking.”

“Any signs of violence in the home? Any problems with the marriage?”

Elsie held up a finger. “No, Corporal Investigator. At least not that they said in the report. He found her car parked at their local grocery store. But nobody’d seen her there either. That’s when he called the police.”

Sloan had a dozen questions building up, but let her mother finish.

“They started a search, but nothing so far. He did an interview. Poor guy looked terrified. She’s ah, let me think. Twenty-four.”

“Did they show her photo?”

“Yes, a pretty brunette. Happy eyes.”

Sometimes happy took a hard turn, Sloan thought. But why leave the car?

“Keys in the car?”

“They didn’t say either way.”

“Purse, wallet?”

Elsie gave Sloan’s arm a light pat as she walked by.

“They didn’t give every detail, baby. I hope they find her. It was down to about twenty-eight last night. Anyway, I shouldn’t have turned on the news. Your father’s up, grabbing a shower. He’s making omelets.”

“Sounds good. If we’re still clear in here for a while after, I should use the fitness room, do some PT.”

“You do what you need to do, then maybe change into something besides sweats.”

“I can do that.” And find a few minutes to look up more information about the missing woman.

She managed half a cheese omelet and a triangle of toast, which seemed to satisfy her parents. Then she took her phone into the fitness room and looked up what she could find on the missing woman.

As that didn’t satisfy her, she made a call.

Captain Travis Hamm not only had been one of her inspirations for joining the NRP, but had been her father’s friend since childhood.

She called his personal cell.

“Hey! How’s that girl!”

“Doing good, Cap. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Same to you. I’m coming by to see you in a few days, and I expect you to look a hell of a lot better than you did when I dropped by the hospital.”

“I can promise that one. Listen, I know I’m on leave, but I heard about the missing woman.”

“Janet Anderson.”

“Yes. Really, I’m just curious, and wonder if you can give me more details than I can get in the news.”

“No harm in that. You’re still NRP. It’s looking like she stopped working on some casserole—she was making Thanksgiving dinner—and headed to the store. Either she destroyed her phone or someone else did. Her neighbor thinks he might have seen her pull out of her driveway between four and four-thirty. He’s not a hundred percent on it. No keys, no purse in the vehicle. No family disputes. They were married just over a year, and by all accounts crazy about each other.”

“You’re leaning toward abduction.”

“It’s looking that way, but it’s possible she had a meltdown. She took a fall into the lake last summer, had to be pulled out, resuscitated.”

“What kind of fall?”

“Paddleboard. Witnesses saw her fall in—no foul play. It took a minute for her husband to realize she wasn’t coming back up. She’d hit her head on the board. Officer First Class Wilber was on patrol. They got her into the boat, did CPR, mouth-to-mouth, and got her back.”

“Lingering issues? Physical, emotional?”

“Nothing physical. Her husband said she has some bad dreams every so often, some anxiety. And she was nervous about making this family meal. We’re not discounting any of that. Search teams are out, with canines. No ransom contact.”

“I saw her photo. She’s very pretty. Young and pretty.”

“Not discounting that either. It takes balls or crazy to abduct a woman in a grocery store parking lot at somewhere around four-thirty in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, it does. Thanks for filling me in, Cap. I miss the job.”

“I bet it misses you, Corporal. I’ll be by to see you in a few days.”

“Looking forward to it. Happy Thanksgiving to your family, too.”

“And to yours. Tell your old man he owes me that beer.”

“Will do.”

She picked up three-pound weights, sat on the bench. And as she curled, thought about Janet Anderson.

When she finished, she went upstairs, set her phone alarm, and slept for fifteen minutes. Considering she’d see extended family—and they’d see her—she took time to do her makeup.

Then stared at herself in the mirror. It actually helped. Maybe it didn’t cover the healing wound on her forehead, but it helped.

Spirits boosted, she chose a dark green sweater, the dark gray jeans she considered moderately dressy. Weight loss meant she needed a belt, and they still bagged in the ass some, but better.

Since her sister had packed them, she added earrings, two small hoops for her left ear, one for the right.

Then stood back, took stock.

“There you almost are.”

Music played on low in the kitchen, and she found her mother and sister sitting at the counter drinking hot chocolate.

“I guess I didn’t miss anything.”

“Oh, you look nice, baby! Sit down, have some hot chocolate before we get to work. We’ve still got time,” Elsie added before she popped up to pour Sloan chocolate from the red pot with its white snowflakes.

“Whipped cream or marshmallows?”

Because she honestly wanted neither, Sloan grinned. “Why not both?” And saw immediately she’s said the right thing, as pleasure lit her mother’s face.

“Your dad’ll be back before three—and might even beat some of the gang. So much to do over the holiday.”

“She’s high on holiday,” Drea commented.

“I am, and not ashamed.”

“I’m getting a little high myself. It smells amazing in here.”

“The bird’s doing his job. Now, I want the table set before the first arrival.”

“Which will be Gramma and Grandpa,” Drea put in.

“No question. And we’ll put out the nice cheese and charcuterie I have planned. Drea already made a pretty cheese ball.”

Sloan angled her head at her sister. “Check you.”

“Damn right. Still, it’s nothing compared to the baked Brie Mom did. It looks like a little pumpkin.”

“I watched a video, and tried it last night. We’re going to do some candied nuts, and we already did the cranberry relish yesterday. Add some veg, some fruit, some sliced Gouda, crackers.”

“Fancy,” Sloan commented.

“I really wanted a little fancy this year.” Elsie gripped Sloan’s hand, then Drea’s. “Just a little special. I’ve got a lot to be thankful for.”

“I’ve got table duty. I’m good at the fancy.”

Now Sloan frowned. “I can be good at the fancy.”

“I’m better. You peel and chop.”

“You can start with carrots,” Elsie told her. “Roasted and glazed for the table, raw for the charcuterie. I need a mountain.”

So Sloan peeled a mountain of carrots, trimmed another mountain of green beans, sliced apples and pears to toss in lemon juice. As she started on the next mountain—potatoes—she had to admit, her sister’s table managed to hit both the fancy and family with her mother’s good china and wineglasses, rusty red napkins in copper rings, and a pair of squat pumpkin-colored candles in glass columns ready to light.

With the lower oven hard at work, the turkey roasting in the top, Drea kept busy cleaning up behind their mother.

She gathered up all the vegetable debris. “I’ll run all these out to the composter.”

“Thanks, baby.”

Sloan waited until her sister went outside. “I’m doing the charcuterie.”

“Oh, well—”

“I’ll make it fancy.”

“It’s just I have a lot of other things. Grapes—I want them put out on the vine. Dried fruit, some cute little gourds—just for decoration. And this sweet potato spread I made last night.”

“I’ll make it fancy,” Sloan repeated, determined. “Drea can quarter the potatoes for boiling. What am I using?”

“I got a new board for it.”

When Elsie brought it out, Sloan felt her confidence waver.

“It’s really big.”

“There are a lot of us, but—”

“You don’t think I can do it.” Sloan pointed a finger at her mother. “I’ll show you!”

“All right then.” Elsie plastered on a bright smile. “I’ll get you everything you need. I’m doing some little slices of baguette along with crackers.”

“Jeez, Mom, you went wild.”

When Drea came back in, she looked at the board and the variety her mother assembled.

“I’ll help with that.”

“No!” Eyes narrowed, Sloan held her arms over the board. “Mine!”

“Wow. Fine. Whatever.”

Sloan decided to approach it like a puzzle. She liked puzzles. She began to arrange, shifted and arranged again. Started over.

Then slowly began to see a pattern of shapes, colors, textures.

“It’s looking very pretty,” Elsie said, surprise thinly covered.

“Not done.” Rising, Sloan went into the pantry, found the colorful veggie chips her mother bought and her father pretended to like.

She added some in a short, careful curve, then took a whole pear from the fruit bowl and placed it.

“Don’t touch it.”

She got up, went into the living room and came back with three yellow-orange baby mums from a vase, placed them. Added a few springs of sage leaves, filled spots in with more candied nuts, then another small curve of veggie chips. She carefully sliced some figs she hadn’t yet used, placed them.

Finally, she took a handful of the pumpkin seeds they’d roasted the day before, sprinkled them on.

“Now it’s done.” Folding her arms, she stepped back to survey her masterpiece.

“It’s—beautiful. Honestly, Sloan, it looks better than the video.”

“I have to admit.” Drea walked closer. “I’m seriously impressed.”

“I have skills.” To memorialize it, Sloan pulled out her phone and took a picture.

Drea took out her phone, then put an arm around her mother. “Bring it in, Sloan. Cooper girls selfie.”

She nearly reached up to the wound on her forehead, then pushed the urge back. Flanking her mother, she smiled at the camera.

“All right, Cooper girls, I figure we’ve got about twenty before my parents arrive a half hour early. Let’s get little plates for this magnificent board, light the candles on the magnificent table. Then we’re going to be thankful for a glass of wine.”

As they opened the bottle, Dean came in with Mop.

“Everything’s under control,” he announced. “And we’ve got a nice, clear day. Cold and clear. Hey, it not only smells amazing in here, it looks amazing. Elsie, you outdid yourself on that board thing.”

“Sloan made it.”

“No, really? Wow.”

He started to reach over to sample, and Sloan threw out her hands. “No! It’s not to be touched.”

“Ever?”

“Until. Here.” She handed him the bag of veggie chips. “Eat these.”

“That’s okay. I can wait.” As he’d been trained, he folded the bag, clipped it, and returned it to the pantry.

“We’re having a glass of thankful wine,” Elsie told him.

“I’m in.” And as he looked back at them, his smile spread. “I have everything any man could be thankful for right here.”