Chapter Three

 

She was home within minutes after clicking off the radio and flooring the gas pedal. Her heart pounded fast, as the sweat poured down her face. Déjà vu swept her once again at her kitchen table; the scene was the same as earlier that morning, yet so much had transpired since then.

The shock was surreal, and her eyes stared at nothing as everything replayed in her mind. When Richardson had uttered his one final word, it sent her reeling into a world where she began to not only question her sanity, but reality itself. Then the radio had taken control of itself in the jeep, playing of all songs, that one.

She had to tell someone, anyone, before they all sent her off to an asylum for “not being herself.” Marcia’s role of guardian angel had become a constant after David’s death, and her parents had moved away from this quaint, college town in western Pennsylvania. They retired to the palms and sands of the Florida Keys; Tracy stayed behind to do what she did best, being a nurse.

She and David were going to be married, and live in this house, and have breakfast every day at this same table, but all of that was gone. She was alone now...or was she?

The silence of the house grew empty, dead, except for the maddening tick, tick, tick, of the clock that made her jump up in a frenzied fury from the chair. Much like the fly trapped by the spider’s web, she felt confused, confined. Her eyes searched the room for a way to break free from frenzy. She cringed at turning on the television or the radio. She stared at the phone and waited for it to ring. Nothing.

She retrieved the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cupboard along with a medium sized glass, which she filled with ice, and poured herself a double header. She swigged and swallowed hard, grimaced, and shook. Her blood turned hot and began to circulate the smooth, soothing, calm that bourbon did best. She breathed hard, closed her eyes, and thought.

What if I am losing my mind?

But she couldn’t be. She’d heard Richardson call her “Princess” just as sure as she’d heard the radio in the jeep go berserk and the strange voice from the static.

She swigged the glass again, then picked up the phone and dialed Marcia’s number. She answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Marcia, it’s me,” Tracy said, her voice creaking and raspy. “Do you think you could come over?” It was the cry for help that Marcia Ross had long been expecting; Tracy was ready to talk.

“I’ll be right over.”

Marcia’s answer was quick and final and the phone went dead. She was needed; no questions were asked. It was typical of her. She knew Marcia would listen. She needed Marcia to listen, to tell her she wasn’t losing it...but could she?

Soon, there was a knock at the door.

She let Marcia inside, and her quick embrace brought the tears back to her eyes.

“You’ve been drinking,” she said, clasping both sides of Tracy’s face in her hands.

Tracy led her back to the kitchen and offered her a drink. Marcia declined, taking a seat at the table and pointing to the bottle.

“First off—that is not going to help you,” she said. “So tell me, what is going on?”

Tracy wiped the corner of her wet eye with her knuckle. She was cautious, reluctant, but there was no turning back now.

“I’ve been seeing things, hearing things...”

Marcia stared back at her. This particular revelation was unexpected, and Tracy saw the look of concern on Marcia’s face, especially in light of the bottle on the table.

“It didn’t start until last night, and I haven’t slept since,” she said.

“Have anything to do with what happened today?”

“Yes,” she said, and started at the beginning.

She told her about the television the night before.

“I know I wasn’t dreaming,” she said. “I was at that point of drifting off but could still hear. I could hear the static on the television, but I just couldn’t wake myself to turn it off. Marcia, I know it was David’s voice. I heard it as plain as I can hear yours.

She mentioned the strange phone call and the caller id message: NO DATA SENT, and how it flashed multiple zeroes as a calling number.

“I answered the phone,” she said before Marcia could suggest an explanation. “There was no one, just an odd, far off sound and more static.”

“Tracy, what happened at work today?” Marcia reached over and clasped her trembling hand.

“I went in to check on Mr. Richardson, right before he--”

“Go on,” she said, prompting.

“He became excited, and I tried to calm him, and he...he...”

Her head drooped, and more tears fell from her eyes.

“He called me ‘Princess!’” It was an emotional dam that broke, gushing forth a flood of tears along with a painful sigh that escaped her burdened breath.

Marcia stood, sat closer, and embraced her. “It’s all right now,” she said, shushing her. Tracy’s crying was an overload expelled and released to its fullest capacity, then calmed as her closest friend consoled her.

“Here, let me get you a drink,” Marcia said.

“I have one,” she said, raising the glass to her lips and sipping.

“I meant water, smart ass.”

Tracy reassured her and, in a calmer effort, continued. “Then, you’re not going to believe what happened when I left work today. I was driving home, and I turned on the car radio. I didn’t pick a station—I just drove while the commercials were on. The stations began flipping around, changing from one to another on their own, and I wasn’t touching the dial! It finally stopped on that song”

Marcia looked at her, not comprehending.

“The song that was playing at the party, right before we left. That song was still in my head when the crash happened.”

“So, what you’re saying is that the radio turned to that song all by itself?”

Tracy nodded. She couldn’t decipher the look she was getting from Marcia, who sighed and shook her head back and forth in a slow, grave manner.

Something from another realm had invaded Tracy’s life within the past twenty- four hours, and now she’d stumbled along the dividing line between reality and the unknown. The preceding events far exceeded anything that her thoughts or imagination could conjure, and while she couldn’t explain, the questionable stares from Kemp and others were depleting her patience.

“Tracy, I know you. I can’t say you’re right, but I know you’re not the type to imagine things. That would be enough to drive anyone to drinking, but are you sure that maybe a string of coincidences hasn’t overwhelmed you?”

Tracy gasped and shook her head.

“So, you think I’m crazy?”

“I don’t like the word,” she said with a laugh. “I’m just saying that maybe the memories of David and the accident are still unresolved, and those memories are so strong that maybe they left an overwhelming and powerful burden upon you.”

“That doesn’t explain Mr. Richardson!” Tracy’s voice rose with the persistence of a child who wasn’t to be believed.

“You’re right, Tracy,” Marcia said. “It doesn’t explain Richardson; and how he could have known David’s nickname for you, I don’t know. But I do know you’re not a crackpot; you’re the best nurse I know.” There was a pause before Marcia continued.

“You know, there are people who deal with these things, Tracy. I would say there is no harm in exploring it. It may even be a cathartic experience.”

Tracy’s eyebrows arched. Marcia’s years of experience made her sound more like a doctor than a nurse; Tracy never expected to hear the suggestion from her.

“You mean an exorcism?” Tracy chuckled at the thought.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything quite so dramatic,” Marcia said. “What I meant is there are people who are involved in paranormal research.”

Tracy’s eyes fixed upon her friend in excited disbelief, and the faintest crack of a smile dawned upon her lips.

“You mean a ghost hunter?” A small hiss of laughter escaped her. “No shit—a ghost hunter?!”

Marcia lowered her eyes to the table top.

“I never would have guessed,” Tracy said. Her relief now came in a howl of laughter. “I can’t believe it, you, of all people?”

“Look, Tracy,” she said. “I’ve been a nurse for twenty-five years. “Doctors, nurses, scientists, we all know that when a person dies, energy leaves the body. As a nurse, I can sense it, almost feel it. So let me ask you, where does it go?”

Tracy’s face was now blank and straightened, as Marcia spoke in her “Head Nurse” voice: the tone of the wiser, inquisitive mentor testing her pupil.

“It has to go somewhere,” Marcia said. “Where does it go? Where? The truth is, we don’t know.”

Tracy, stunned, shook her head and spoke.

“Then why doesn’t the medical community talk about this?”

“Now that really wouldn’t be appropriate, now would it?” Marcia said. “Truth is often hidden in favor of discretion.”

Tracy’s jaw dropped.