Dead Girl Walking (11 page)

I sagged against the wall.

Two days—only two freakin’ days!

I had to get back into my body—ASAP!

But the intern seemed in no hurry to leave. He spent like twenty minutes talking with a nurse. They consulted a medical chart, speaking in the foreign language of medical jargon. Finally he left, but wouldn’t you know? The nurse didn’t. She walked into Room 311, shutting the door so I could no longer see the white curtain surrounding my real body. I threw my hands up, wanting to
scream
.

Instead, I sucked in deep breaths (like my book
Chill Out, Charge Forward
advised for staying calm in frustrating situations), and counted the ticking seconds.

I had reached 137 seconds when I heard a strange sound. A dark and furry creature streaked past me so fast the breeze swirled my hair into my eyes. When I pushed back my hair, the black blur was disappearing down the hall. A dog? What was a dog doing running loose in a hospital? And what was the weird glow around its neck?

A Comforter!

“Cola!” I shouted, jumping up. “
Cola!”

This was the best news I’d had since dying. Grammy Greta must have sent him to help me. So why was he running? Was I supposed to follow him? He must be leading me somewhere important. So I shot down the hall after my dead dog.

Racing around a corner, I dodged past a surprised-looking man. Murmuring an apology, I caught a glimpse of a shaggy tail and raced past a busy pharmacy, up a flight of stairs, and through a set of doors marked “No Admittance.” A guy in scrubs shouted for me to slow down, but otherwise no one paid much attention. Emergencies happen all the time in a hospital.

Still, it was weird that people noticed me but not Cola. How could anyone miss a medium-sized shaggy black dog? It was like he was invisible.

Invisible?

That made sense because Cola’s job as Comforter would be difficult if everyone could see him. But if this was true, why could I see him?

Was it because of our bond when he was alive? Or maybe because of my whole freaky out-of-body experience? But why didn’t he just come up to me? If he was here to rescue me, running
away
didn’t make sense
.
Still, his showing up when I was in trouble was too big a coincidence for it to be random. Cola must be leading me somewhere—hopefully to Grammy.

Running was agony; my throat burned and I ached everywhere. Still, I kept going, determined. Walls and people blurred as I ran, gasping for breath, heart pumping so fast I was afraid it would burst. Couldn’t keep … keep going … going much longer. I didn’t have the breath to shout for Cola to slow down, so I screamed it in my head.

Cola! Stop already!

And he did.

At the junction of a T-shaped hall, Cola whipped his tail around and crouched low as he faced me. With narrowed black eyes, he bared sharp angry teeth and growled.

“Cola!” I jumped back. “What’s wrong?”

In my head I heard an angry snarl:
Leave!

If he’d bit me, I couldn’t have been more surprised. “Cola, you don’t mean that!” I cried. “What’s wrong?”

He growled again.

“Why are you acting like this?”

His fur bristled like sharp blades and he moved a step forward, glaring.

I couldn’t figure out why he had turned vicious. It was like he didn’t even know me.

Well, duh! I hit my palm to my head. Of course he didn’t recognize me.

“Cola!” I cried softly. “I know I look different, but I’m still your best friend. Cola, I’m Amber.”

He snarled, curling his lips in a dangerous, threatening warning.

I know who you are
. He didn’t actually speak out loud but I could hear him in my mind.

“Then why are you acting like this?”

You do not belong here
, he mental-messaged.

“Don’t you think I know that?” I pointed at myself. “Only no one will believe that I’m Amber, not Leah. I don’t want to be in this body, but I don’t know how to get back in my own. Can’t you help me?”

It isn’t my job
.

“But my real body is going to … to die …” I wiped my eyes. “In two days.”

His dark eyes softened as he shook his shaggy black head.
I must work. Do not follow
. Then he zoomed down the left hallway.

Of course, I followed. I kept going, determined not to lose Cola and probably my last chance to fix my body problem.

By the time I caught up with Cola, he was streaking through another set of “No Admittance” doors. Damn, what was it with him and forbidden areas? This time I didn’t slip by without notice. An elderly nurse looked up from a desk in furious surprise. She appeared frail enough to be one of her own patients, but the spunky little lady bellowed,
“Stop!”
Then she gave chase.

The nurse slowed at a steep flight of stairs. I hurried up them, then made a sharp right behind Cola down a narrow hall. He passed through a closed door as if he and the door had no more substance than clouds.

You’re not losing me so easily!
I thought.

I touched the door: impenetrable, solid wood. Through a small square window at eye level I glimpsed a wisp of a white curtain around a bed. I bent over to catch my breath, and as I stood again I noticed a medical chart tucked in a plastic wall container. I lifted the paper and tried to make sense of the medical scribbles. All I could decipher was the patient’s name:
Timothy Alfred Cook.

Lacking Cola’s ability to pass through solid objects, I twisted the knob and cautiously opened the door. The scent of antiseptics and hopelessness swallowed me. It was like falling into a coffin; sensing, without actually seeing the solitary figure in the hospital bed, that his closest companion was death.

Still, there was no going back for me. “Never give up” was a repeated theme in all of my books, advice I tucked tight in my heart.

The door fell silently shut behind me and I tiptoed forward. A TV droned on, but the wrinkled, pale man in the bed wasn’t watching. He stared up at the empty white ceiling with faded eyes and sadness. There were no flowers or cards on his table, as if he’d been abandoned by life and was just waiting for his body to give up, too.

But then he noticed the dog beside his bed.

I opened my mouth to call Cola but found that I couldn’t speak. I grabbed my throat, struggling to make any sound, but it was like someone had turned my volume to “off.” Not even a whisper escaped. A message flashed in my mind:
Leave!

“I can’t,” I whispered.

Do not interfere with my job. Leave now!

Cola sounded even angrier than before. Well, I was angry, too, at being stuck in the wrong body and no one believing me except Cola, who ordered me to leave instead of offering help. So I shook my head defiantly.

“I know your job is important,” I whispered. “But so is my life … what’s left of it anyway. I’m staying.”

Then be quiet
.

Cola’s halo collar burst with golden light. The light was so bright I had to squint as I watched a change come over my dog. His dark fur shimmered, stretching into a silvery silk coat. His tail shortened, fluffed into silvery fur, and curled. The biggest change was his body, which shrunk smaller and smaller—until the animal springing onto the old man’s bed wasn’t a dog.

Cola had become a Siamese cat.

The old man’s withered face brightened with a huge toothy smile. He sat up in bed and reached out with a joyous cry: “Shadow!”

Cola-now-Shadow mewed and cuddled into the man’s bony tube-connected arms. The man’s face shone with golden happiness. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he whispered. “You’re such a pretty girl.”

And then I finally got it. This wasn’t about me at all. No one was supposed to witness Cola in this mission except the old man. No wonder Cola had been so angry at me. I was intruding on something sacred and beautiful. Cola’s being at the hospital the same time as me was only a random coincidence.

But I needed help, too. Cola was just the dog (cat?) to get a message back to Grammy. Although why didn’t Grammy already know? She’d assured me she was always nearby, watching out. But where was she now when I needed her most?

I didn’t have the answers, but this was the wrong time for questions. Despite the glow of joy on this man’s face, he was dying and Cola was here to comfort him.

Sitting quietly in a plastic chair, I watched the old man stroke Cola’s fur. Purring filled the room like an angelic choir: sweet, pure, and loving. As Cola lapped the man’s wrinkled skin with kisses, his age lines faded and he glowed with youthful energy. Joyous music was sprinkled in the air, the soft melody of a flute and a ripple of harp strings.

Goose bumps rose up my arms. The air in the room sizzled with electricity. The old man lifted his gaze to stare at the ceiling, beyond anything my ordinary eyes could see. I blinked and thought I saw tiny orbs glowing like floating stars, bobbing and swirling toward the bed. When I blinked again, there was nothing. The old man grinned so wide I could see gaps in his yellowed teeth. Despite his appearance, he seemed younger and radiant. He lifted his tube-connected hand and waved, as if welcoming old friends.

I saw only a “cat” and the old man, yet suddenly the room felt crowded.

With emotions tangling heavy in my heart, and clouds of tears blurring my eyes, I turned away from the joyous, terrible, wonderful miracle.

Cola was right—I didn’t belong here. So I stood quietly and slipped out of the room.

In the hall, everything seemed ordinary again. Exhaustion washed over me as I sagged against the wall. I closed my eyes, grateful and humbled.

Cola’s job was truly important, and I didn’t blame him for growling. He must have been as surprised to see me as I was to see him. When he finished “comforting” the old man, I hoped he’d forgive me. I’d wait here for him, no matter how long it took.

With my eyes shut, I felt so relaxed that I could almost go to sleep. My anxiety faded, breaking apart and floating away. I thought of those glowing orbs and wondered if they were spirits greeting the old man—friends, family, and even pets. When I’d been with Grammy, I’d seen figures on the far side of the lake, waving. Were they my otherside family and friends, waiting for me?

This thought made me smile—until I heard the footsteps. My eyes shot open, and I found myself nose-to-badge with the same security guard I’d seen by the elevators.

“You aren’t allowed here,” he said.

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“Waiting in an unauthorized area,” the security guard (Karl, according to his badge) replied. “Nice girl like you should know better than to break rules.”

There was nothing “nice” about the way he was staring at me. Creepy was more like it. And there was a strange, prickly energy in the air, raising the hair on my skin. But before I could call Cola, the guard was reaching for me—with hands that blurred like mist, with gray fingernails.

Oh my god … Dark Lifer hands!

Gasping, I jumped away before he could touch me and took off running. I didn’t stop until I was through the lobby and outside. Then I sagged on a cement bench, hugging myself to calm down.