Rowan’s vision shimmered. Her mind filled with hazy images. Crap. Not now—please! Her hands shook as she carefully replaced her cup on the saucer. She fixed her gaze on a smudge on the wall and tried to blank her mind. Breathe. Just breathe. In and out. In and out. That’s it….
Didn’t help.
Slowly, carefully, she pulled her focus from the smudge to glance around the café and gauge her chances of escape. Might be a better option to stagger outside than stick it out here. Either way, chances were high she’d be making another public spectacle of herself.
Her vision fogged and the café patrons blurred. And then it was too late to choose. She’d have to stay put and ride it out. Maybe this time no one would notice.
She curled her fingers around the seat of her chair and held on tight as jerky images flecked with odd-shaped spots flickered through her mind. It was like watching an old black-and-white movie through a camera lens that needed a good polish.
The “movie” slowed. Some images wavered and then scattered. The others faded. She released the breath she’d been holding, pried her numb fingers from the sides of her seat and flexed them to get the blood circulating again. And she’d even been foolish enough to dare to believe it was over when one fading image abruptly sharpened and flared into full blazing Technicolor.
She bit back a whimper. Don’t look. Don’t look. No one will die this time if you don’t look. If you don’t see it, it’ll have no power.
Inevitably, the tragedy unfolded in her mind. On the floor of a kitchen Rowan had never seen before, a woman she had never met lay dying. A phone receiver dangled above her, ceaselessly beeping a disconnected call signal. The woman couldn’t speak but her mouth worked, struggling to get the words out. And Rowan heard her thoughts.
Please Lord, please let her get here soon. I want to say goodbye to her. Please! Tears trickled down her wrinkled cheeks. And Rowan felt the hot tears spilling down her own cheeks.
As though she was actually there, inside the woman’s house, she heard a key in the front door and footsteps rushing toward the kitchen.
“Mom? Mom!”
Through the old woman’s rheumy eyes, Rowan watched a younger woman kneel to clutch her age-spotted hand.
“Mom? Can you hear me? Mom!”
Heather. Thank you, Lord.
Rowan heard the thought, felt the old woman’s relief that her daughter had arrived. Now she could let go. Now she could die. She had only one regret—that it was too late to tell Heather how much she loved her. So Rowan helped her say it, mouthing the words she heard, sending the thought and the emotion the dying woman was no longer able to convey directly into Heather’s mind.
I love you, Heather.
The woman stared into her mother’s fading eyes. “I love you, too, Mom. I called the ambulance before I left. The EMT will be here soon. Just hang on. Please!”
Both Rowan and the old woman knew it was too late. Her heart stuttered. Her chest rose one last time. And Rowan’s world went black.
~~~
The sharp prick of a needle piercing her skin jerked Rowan to consciousness. She pried open her eyes to gaze at the medic through a blurry golden haze. Everything lurched as she was lifted. She squeezed her eyelids shut against the onset of dizziness and the nightmare pounced.
She stood at her front door, hand outstretched, keys dangling from her fingers. A powerful sense of dread crawled down her spine. Something awful had happened, she knew it.
Before she could unlock the door it swung open. She crept inside and plastered her back against the wall, waiting for her eyesight to adjust to the darkness. And then she systematically checked each room of the small, tidy residence. Nothing had been disturbed. So far as she could tell not a single item was out of place. Her mind was playing tricks on her.
She switched on the bedroom light and stood blinking in the harsh light.
Her husband lay on the bed. Harrison’s eyes were closed, his handsome face serene, his hands clasped across his stomach. Blood spattered his crisp white shirt. It soaked the bed. So much blood.
A blink and she was standing by the bed with no recollection of having moved. She stared down at Harrison. A hand—her own—reached down to check the pulse at his neck.
His eyelids flew open. One hand snaked out to manacle her wrist and he smiled up at her. There was so much love in that smile. “Rowan, darling,” he said. “Don’t. It’s too late.”
She crumpled to her knees.
“I’m sorry, darling, but this was the only way. I wanted to die with dignity. I knew you wouldn’t help me when the time came. You’re strong, determined—a fighter. You would have fought the inevitable to the very end.”
His cultured English voice pierced her heart as surely as a blade. “I know it’s the coward’s way out but I’ve never been as strong as you. I couldn’t stand the thought of more treatments. And for what? A few more months of either fighting the pain or being spaced out of my mind on drugs? We both knew it was useless. And I couldn’t bear the thought of being incapable of making love to you, too weak to even hold you in my arms. Don’t blame yourself, darling. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s—”
Your fault!
She swam up from the murky depths of her nightmare. Her cheeks stung. Her skin felt raw. She’d been crying in her sleep again. She reached up to wipe her face but her arm felt cumbersome and heavy. She jerked fully awake and realized she was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to one of those automatic blood-pressure monitor things. Hospital. Wonderful. How much of a spectacle had she made of herself this time?
The stark white tiles of the hospital ceiling gave no real answers. She shifted to ease the dull ache in her back and winced. Her body felt as bruised and battered as her soul.
The curtains around her cubicle yanked back without a by-your-leave. A harried-looking doctor stalked to the chart hanging at the foot of the bed without even registering that she—his patient—was fully conscious. Auburn hair framed a pleasant face sprinkled with freckles. Must be an intern. Good. Should be able to talk him into discharging her no problems.
“When—?” It came out as a croak. “When can I go home?”
“Eh? Um—” He scanned her chart. “Ms Havers. You’re awake. Wonderful. I’m Dr Kearney.” He whisked around to the side of her bed and started doing doctor-ly things, like shining a little light into her eyes and checking her pulse.
“I—” She coughed painfully.
“Here, have some water.”
“Thanks.” Gratefully she took a sip through the straw and tried again. “I want to go home.”
“There’re more tests we’d like to do first. And I’ve a few questions I need to ask.”
He had more than just a few questions. Rowan answered as best she could. She was painfully aware her answers were unsatisfactory but she could hardly tell the truth without him thinking she was a nut-job. By the time he’d finished with the inquisition she felt limp as a dishrag.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she said, and hoped she didn’t sound like a mutinous child. “I fainted—no big deal. I’ve been working too hard lately—you know how crazy it can be at this time of the year. When can I go home?”
“Do you live alone?”
She’d nodded before it crossed her mind to lie.
The young doctor frowned at her. “Then I’d feel better if we kept you in overnight. Just to be on the safe side. I see from your records you’ve been admitted before with similar symptoms, so I’d like to investigate what’s causing these blackouts. Okay with you?”
Too tired to muster a convincing argument Rowan gave in. “Okay. But only overnight. I’m going home tomorrow.”
“Anyone you’d like us to call?”
“My neighbor. James Woodford. He’s got a spare key to my house and he’ll feed Laptop for me.”
“Feed your laptop?” His eyebrows tried to crawl into his hairline.
Before she got fast-tracked to the psych ward she hastened to explain the whimsical name her husband had come up with. “Laptop is my dog. She was always crawling onto my lap when she was a pup. The name’s stuck with her even though she’s far too big for laps now. She’s a Malamute,” she added by way of explanation.
He nodded. “I’ll have our receptionist contact Mr Woodford for you. Anyone else? Relatives? Boyfriend?”
“No.” She struggled to sit up and he showed her how to adjust the back of the bed to a slightly more comfortable position. Whoever had invented hospital beds needed a smack upside the head.
“Um, Doctor?”
“Yes?” He blinked when he noticed her flaming face.
“It’s a bit, uh, breezy. Could you please fasten the back of my gown properly? I can’t reach around to do it while I’m hooked up to this monitor.”
She bent forward to allow him to tie the laces of her gown, and held herself very still. He was a professional. He would hardly be ogling her butt.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Preserving your modesty wasn’t much of a priority when you were brought in.”
“Thanks, Doctor.” Was that a slight flush staining his cheeks? Yep. Poor guy.
“I’ll check on you later Ms Havers.” He bolted, yanking the curtain shut behind him.
Rowan searched the cubicle for something to read. Of course there was nothing. She lay back and resigned herself to spending the night in the worst place imaginable for someone with her, uh, issues. In a hospital with a whole bunch of sick people. Chances someone was going to die? Pretty damn good, unfortunately.
Please, don’t let anyone else die today. I don’t want to have to watch anyone else die today. Please.
~~~