Night Journey (33 page)

Harry stared at her like she was crazy. “But it ain’t nothin’ but a radio play. It ain’t real.”

“You know that, and
I
know that.” Emma smiled. “But they don’t. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess so. We gotta do something.”

Emma searched the room for Ivy’s music box, but she couldn’t find it. She grabbed Anna’s reticule. She pulled out the diamond and sapphire ring and Theodora’s Will. “Now listen to me, Harry. When you find Ivy, give her this ring. Tell her I want her to have it. When your oldest son takes a wife, it’ll go to her, and then later on to his son’s wife. Remember. This is very important.”

Harry sucked in his breath. “Are those real diamonds? It’s beautiful. Ivy’ll love it. Thank you.”

“That’s not all.” Emma nodded toward Theodora. “Mrs. Hardcastle wanted you and Ivy to inherit her farm in Texas. This is her Will, so don’t lose it.”

“She’s dead, ain’t she?” Harry put the ring and the paper in his shirt pocket and laid the reticule on the floor inside the wall. “Nobody coulda kept on sleeping when that radio came on.”

Emma nodded. “Yes, she’s passed on, but she was very ill and now she’s at peace. But don’t worry about that now. You need to get up that ladder and rescue your wife. I’ll go upstairs and raise a fuss about the Martian invasion. I’ll do my best to get Dr. Baker and Earl out of the room.”

“Earl?” Harry recoiled. “What’s he doing here?”

“He works for Dr. Baker now.” Emma rolled her eyes. “He seems to get around a lot. Now listen, I think the ladder comes out in a closet, so when you get up there, just listen and I’ll try to signal you somehow.”

Emma walked into the hall and banged on the door that led to the penthouse. After several minutes, she heard a deadbolt disengage and the door creaked open. Earl peered out with irritation on his face.

“Whadda ya want?”

Emma took a deep breath for courage before she gave a performance worthy of an Academy Award. “Have you been listening to the radio tonight?”

“What’s goin’ on?” Dr. Baker asked as he stomped down the stairs.

“We ain’t been listenin’,” sneered Earl. “What happened? Did Charlie McCarthy give ol’ Edgar Bergen a splinter?”

“You need to turn on the radio. Martians are attacking the Earth. They’ve already destroyed someplace called Grovers Mill,” replied Emma.

“Martians?” Earl slapped his knee. “Hoo boy! I told ya that broad was a nut, boss.”

“Shut up, Earl.” Dr. Baker gave him a warning look. “You say it’s on the radio right now?”

Emma nodded. “It’s very scary and you need to be aware of what’s happening, Dr. Baker. After all, you’re responsible for the lives and safety of every person in this hospital.” She turned and motioned for him to follow. “Please, come listen.”

“We got a radio here. Come on.” Baker turned and started back up the stairs.

Emma reluctantly followed, her stomach twisting in agony as she climbed. Now what would she do? She thought Baker’s radio had been broken earlier. If she couldn’t control the station, would he catch on that it was all a hoax? She needed to lure him downstairs and out of the penthouse so Harry could save Ivy.

“Humph, that’s strange.” Dr. Baker stared at the radio. “I don’t remember turnin’ it on.”

Emma heard the radio playing before Baker and Earl reached the living room. Gasping for breath from her climb up the stairs, Emma found a chair and settled down to listen. She forced herself not to smile as Orson Welles described snake-like tentacles wriggling out of the shadows.

Emma watched Dr. Baker and Earl stare at each other with worried expressions as the radio show continued. She had to place her hand over her mouth to hide her smirk.

Emma turned when she heard a hiss and a low growl behind her. Bob stood at the top of the stairs, his back arched and his hair fluffed. When Baker’s St. Bernards noticed him, they jumped to attention. Barking and howling, they charged down the stairs in pursuit of the cat. As they rushed through the room, their massive bodies bumped against the table and the radio crashed to the floor.

“Damn those dogs!” yelled Baker when silence filled the room. “Come on, there’s a radio downstairs in my office.” Both men stomped down the stairs.

Emma couldn’t believe her luck. She rushed over to the closet in the corner, noting the machine guns hanging on the wall. Jerking open the door, she tapped on the wall and heard an answering rap. A loose panel slid to the side and Harry climbed out.

“They’re gone, but I don’t know for how long,” said Emma, pointing to another set of stairs. “She must be up there.”

Harry loped up the stairs and Emma did her best to follow. She gasped when she saw Ivy bound and gagged on the bed. Tears formed in Emma’s eyes as Harry freed Ivy’s arms and legs and then gathered her in a staggering embrace.

“Oh, Harry. I can’t believe it’s you,” sobbed Ivy when their kiss finally ended.

“Come on, you two. There’s not much time,” interrupted Emma. “You can kiss each other later all you want.” Fighting for breath, she led the way down to the living room. “Go on. Get out of here.”

“Anna, we can never thank you enough.” Ivy’s eyes brimmed with tears and Harry’s grin lit up the room. Ivy embraced Emma. “We’ll never forget you.”

“I won’t forget you either. Now go on.” Emma pushed them toward the closet. “Be careful. And be happy with each other.” She watched them disappear into the dark hole, closed the closet door, and turned to leave.

“Whadda ya think you’re doin’?”

Emma was on the floor before she realized she’d been hit. When she looked up, she saw Earl step over her and head toward the closet. Dazed by the rough blow to her back, she watched in horror as Earl opened the closet door, slid back the secret panel, and drew his weapon.

Her mind reacted automatically. Somehow she found the strength to pull herself up, walk over to the guns hanging on the wall, pull one down, and carry it to the closet. She watched as Earl climbed inside and mounted the ladder. She raised the heavy weapon.

Emma had no idea how to use a machine gun, but she knew how to swing a baseball bat. She pulled the gun back and then swung it forward. She heard the crack of splintering bones as it hit him full in the face, heard the scream of pain, saw the gush of red, and felt the vibration of his fall.

“Dude,” exclaimed Ryan Pittman when he sensed the sudden disruption of psychic energy.

He stared with dismay at the Parker Brothers Ouija Board. Only moments before, his Toys-R-Us purchase had been animated beyond his wildest dreams, but now the planchette sat like a lump of molded plastic. Flicking it with his fingertip, he tried to resurrect the connection. It refused to budge.

His hands shook as he retrieved his video camera from its tripod and played back the footage. He sucked in his breath. Even though he’d just experienced it, watching the plastic triangle glide back and forth across the Ouija board and hearing his own voice narrate the proceedings thrilled him.

Finally. The proof he’d been waiting for.

Ryan smiled like a cat licking cream. He’d been coming to the Crescent Hotel for over three years trying to capture the ghost of Michael, the Irish stonemason, on camera. He always requested Room 218, and Michael usually teased him with a little headboard knocking or electric light manipulation. But never anything big. Never anything he could prove. Until now—and this hadn’t even been Michael!

He carefully packed his camera in its case, linked the strap around his shoulder, left the room, and headed for the lobby. He was on a mission.

“Jimmy,” said Ryan when he got to the front desk. “Hey, man. Glad you’re here.”

“What’s up, Ryan?” Jimmy smiled at the tall, skinny, twenty-something and leaned his elbows on the counter.

“Dude, you’re not gonna believe what just happened.” Ryan briefly explained about his Ouija board experience and then pulled out his video camera. “Just watch.”

Jimmy frowned as he watched the amazing video. “Do you think it’s the same Emma Fuller who got hurt here?”

Ryan shrugged. “I assume so. Apparently, she’s trapped in some kind of time warp or something. She wants me to get a message to her husband and find her ring. Can we go look for it?”

“I don’t know Ryan,” replied Jimmy. “Management’s closed Room 419 until we’ve had a chance to make sure it’s safe for guests.”

“Good. Then there’s nobody staying in it tonight.”

Jimmy looked uncertain, then pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Larry, this is Jimmy, come in…”

The instrument squawked. “Larry, here. Whassup? Over.”

“I need you to meet me at the north end of four ASAP. Over.”

“Ten four.”

“I’ll be on four if you need me,” said Jimmy to the desk clerk. He turned to Ryan and motioned. “Come on.”

A few minutes later Larry joined Jimmy and Ryan in front of Room 419, his tool belt jingling. “Oh, man. Don’t tell me we’re goin’ in there again.”

“Sorry, Larry. Something’s come up.”

Jimmy unlocked the door and flipped on the light switch. Ryan followed the others inside, staring at the month-old chaos. He felt a chill run down his spine when he saw the yellow police tape that stretched from the door in the wall to the bathroom.

“…so, Ryan here wants to see if he can find her ring.” Jimmy pointed to the door after explaining about the Ouija board to Larry.

Larry shook his head. “If that ain’t the dangedest thing I ever heard tell. Poor little thing. I heard on the ten o’clock news that ole judge done ordered the hospital to pull the plug on her by noon tomorrow.”

“No way,” gasped Ryan. “They’re gonna appeal, aren’t they?”

“From what I heard, the Fifth Circuit’s already turned ‘em down and they don’t expect much from the Supreme Court either. Somethin’ ‘bout a precedent in a Florida case.” Larry sighed and pulled the yellow tape away.

Jimmy tugged on the door and it creaked open. A cloud of dust blew in their faces. “Nobody’s been in here since the night they pulled her out. What a mess.” He shivered. “Man, there’s a helluva draft in here.”

Larry turned on his torchlight and poked it inside. “If I see them blue eyes again, I’m leavin’.” He waved the light back and forth and then stopped. “Wait! I see somethin’ shiny.”

“Is it the ring?” asked Ryan.

“I don’t know,” replied Larry. “It’s back in that corner, but I’m too big to get in to reach it.”

“Here, let me try.” Ryan reached for the flashlight.

“No, Larry.” Jimmy placed his hand in front of Ryan. “If the boss finds out we let a guest go in there, we’re dead.”

“Please, let me try,” begged Ryan. “I’ve just gotta help Mrs. Fuller.”

Jimmy paused, lowered his hand, and backed away. Ryan grinned, ducked his head, and climbed through the door. He scooted into the crevice left by the cave-in and shone the light in the direction Larry indicated. Sure enough, caught in the flashlight’s beam, diamonds and sapphires winked back.

“Found it!”

He reached for the sparkling ring and plucked it out from beneath a rotted board. Ryan admired the ring for a second before placing it in his jeans pocket for safekeeping. His hand touched something soft and he tugged at it. It was a rotting velvet bag.

He threw the bag out through the door and then shivered when his arm made contact with a blustery updraft. He pointed the flashlight up above the collapsed walls. The flash of two blue objects suspended in midair caught his eye.

“Whoa, dude. What is that?”

“What’s it look like?” asked Jimmy

“Two blue shiny things hanging down.”

“Oh, Jeez,” said Larry. “It’s the blue-eyed monster again. Time to go.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ryan. “I think I can just about reach ‘em.” He strained his arms and legs until the objects came into reach. He snatched them loose from the rotted cloth that barely contained them. Sapphire earrings. Might even match Mrs. Fuller’s ring, for all Ryan knew.

He shone the light higher toward the source of the earrings. And then he saw it. The partially mummified remains of a man hanging upside down in the shaft.

Ryan moved the light up and down. The skeleton’s foot seemed to be caught on something in the wall, while the rest of its body dangled in midair. Whatever had happened, he’d been in there a long time. The extreme updraft through the shaft must have carried any smell up and out through the roof. Ryan noted a nametag pinned to the man’s rotting shirt. It was upside down, but he transposed the letters.

HOSPITAL SECURITY - EARL TWITCHELL
Senator Grayson Talmedge stared at the television in his daughter’s hospital room in Memphis. His stomach churned as the TV report showed the helicopters circling like vultures over the crowd of protesters outside the Arkansas hospital. He sighed, feeling saddened and ashamed to be at the center of such a gruesome media circus.

A pretty blond in a bright red suit spoke into a microphone. “This is Lora Lapinski reporting live from Rogers, Arkansas where an emotional crowd stands vigil, awaiting news of the latest ruling by Judge Jerry Covington in Zan Fuller’s last-ditch effort to save the life of his comatose wife.”

The wind blew a lock of golden hair across the reporter’s face. “Emma Fuller has been unconscious and on life-support for more than a month, after an accident at a Eureka Springs hotel left her with a brain hemorrhage. Her injuries are allegedly similar to the recent accidents that claimed the lives of actors Natasha Richardson and Gary Coleman. Doctors at the trauma unit have advised the parties that Mrs. Fuller’s condition is not likely to improve and tests suggest she may already be brain dead.

“Just prior to the accident, Mrs. Fuller had scheduled routine medical tests and had subsequently executed a legal document known as an Advance Healthcare Directive or Living Will, which included an organ donor addendum. Although Mr. Fuller acknowledges that he himself witnessed his wife sign the document, he refutes the fact that she would wish her life support be terminated at this point and has sued to have the Living Will declared null and void.

“At the center of the controversy is U.S. Senator Grayson Talmedge whose twenty-one year old daughter, Monica, is currently on the waiting list for a heart transplant. If Mr. Fuller loses on appeal, his wife’s life support will be terminated and Miss Talmedge is scheduled to receive her heart. Senator Talmedge, who we understand has aspirations for the White House, has been under fire for the past month by critics who claim he used his political clout to bully his daughter’s way to the top of the list. We have the hospital administrator, Ms. Rachel Hughes, here now. Ms. Hughes. Would you care to comment?” The reporter thrust the microphone toward Rachel.

“Thank you, Lora,” said Rachel, smiling for the camera and holding an umbrella. Her short black hairdo maintained its perfect helmet shape despite the howling wind. “This has been a long and difficult ordeal for everyone involved. But I can assure you Monica Talmedge has not received preferential treatment over anyone else as a heart donor recipient. There are many factors to be considered when deciding which patient receives a donated organ and in this case, it was a matter of an almost perfect tissue and blood type match, in conjunction with Monica’s place in line. We seldom see such an ideal match in these situations, especially when we’re dealing with extremely rare blood types.”

“Why weren’t the identities of the donor and recipient kept confidential?” interrupted Lora.

“Normally, they are,” Rachel shrugged. “But unfortunately, Mr. Fuller decided to pursue litigation and to sensationalize this business before the media.”

“Thank you for braving the rain and cold to speak with us this morning, Ms. Hughes.”

An angry-looking man carrying a wet, curling sign that read SAVE EMMA pushed his way forward. Lora held the microphone toward him. He glared at the camera and shook his fist. “If they pull the plug on her, it’ll be murder. God will punish the sinners.”

A woman carrying a sign that read OBEY THE LAW – RESPECT EMMA’S WISHES elbowed her way toward the camera. “By signing that Living Will, Emma Fuller declared she wouldn’t want to live like a vegetable. I know I certainly wouldn’t.” She rolled her eyes and gestured toward the crowd. “If we allow these right-wing Zealots to have their way, decades of progress on human rights issues and personal choice will be lost.”

A handsome man in an Armani suit joined the reporter. His mouth curled in a smile, but his eyes showed no warmth. “Thank you, ma’am. You’ve exactly summed up what’s at stake…”

A wild-eyed woman pushed her way up front. “If everybody has a choice, then how come they lock you up if you attempt suicide?”

A roar of both agreement and dissention raced through the crowd. A police officer pushed her back behind the barricades.

Lora took back control. “We’re speaking with Paul Murphy, attorney for the defense.” She returned the microphone to the man in the expensive suit.

“Thanks, Lora.” He faced the camera. “Emotions are high right now. Everyone’s sympathetic to Mrs. Fuller’s situation and her husband’s grief, but this is a landmark case that will go down in history as a testament to the sanctity of a person’s right to choose their quality of life. I have confidence that justice will prevail, especially considering the precedent in a similar case a few years back in Florida. We believe our case is even stronger, since we have a valid, legal document and we’re not relying on a family member’s testimony.”

“What about Mr. Fuller’s argument that these Living Wills are being pushed as routine paperwork on people who haven’t thought out their implications?” asked Lora. “Mr. Fuller argues that if someone buys a vacuum cleaner and has buyer’s remorse, they’d have three days to cancel the contract. Why would that not apply in this situation?”

Attorney Murphy shrugged. “That argument is ludicrous and has been struck down repeatedly. Living Wills can be revoked at any time, as long as a person is competent. Emma Fuller’s been on life support for over a month and she hasn’t waved a white flag to say she wants out of the contract. You have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Daddy?”

Senator Talmedge turned off the television when he heard his daughter’s voice. He went to his wife and daughter and kissed them on the cheek. His heart lurched at the sight of Monica’s pale complexion, the dark circles beneath her eyes, and her slight form in the wheelchair. “Did you enjoy your outing?”

Monica nodded. “I’ve decided to have the transplant from the other donor.”

“Are you sure? Remember what the doctors said. Your chance of rejection would be much greater.” he stared at his wife, Tess. “Did you know about this?”

“Yes, Tally. We’ve been discussing it for the last hour.” Tess Talmedge helped Monica climb back into bed. “She’s old enough to make her own decisions and I’ve told her I’ll stand behind her, whatever she decides.”

“I want to do this, Daddy.” Tears glistened on Monica’s pallid cheeks. “The tissue match isn’t as good as with Emma Fuller’s, but there’s no question about the prognosis of the donor. The heart’s already arrived and they’re prepping the operating room now.”

“You’re having the operation today?”

He felt conflicted. On one hand, he wanted Monica to receive a strong, healthy organ to replace her own virus-damaged heart. But on the other, he was miserable from all the controversy and the moral dilemma. If he’d had any idea what would happen, he would never have sent out those e-mails to the hospitals. He’d taken a lot of heat about those messages, even though he’d meant them only as a reminder to those in charge of the donor lists to keep her in mind, not an attempt to circumvent the system. He’d sent them as a concerned father, but his motives had been misunderstood and the fallout had helped him reach a decision not to run for President after all.

“Daddy, would you do something for me? Please?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” The senator choked back a tear. “Anything.”

“Call a press conference.” The light behind Monica’s bed framed her head like a halo. “Tell them I don’t want Emma Fuller’s heart. Tell them they have to let her live.”
Zan looked up when the door opened and his brother Allen came into the room. His eyes were tired and he absent-mindedly fingered his beard that had grown, long and untrimmed, for more than a month. He felt like hell and he knew he probably looked it, but he couldn’t make himself leave Emma’s side long enough to shave. Like his darling Emma, the rhythmic whoosh of the ventilator and the steady beep of the heart monitor were the only things that kept him functioning.

“Senator Talmedge just gave a press conference,” said Allen. “His daughter’s in surgery right now. They found a different heart donor and he’s made a plea to Judge Covington to grant our injunction.”

“Oh, thank God,” said Zan. He dropped his head in silent prayer. Then he looked up and grinned. “So it’s all over?”

“Not yet, but it’s a good sign. We’ve still got to wait for the judge’s ruling.” Allen glanced down at his vibrating cell phone. “Maybe this is it. You want to come downstairs with me while I make my call? Phoebe and Moonbeam’ll stay with Emma while we’re gone.”

Zan felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He smiled and carefully patted Emma’s arm. “I’ll be back, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear. “And when this is all over and you’re well, we’ll fill the house with babies.” He grinned at the girls and followed Allen to the elevator.

When they got to the exterior waiting area, Allen pulled out his cell phone and called his legal assistant. The news wasn’t good.

Allen ended the call and turned to Zan. “Our injunction was denied. We’ve only got a few hours before they turn off the machines.”

“How can that be? Surely he ruled before the senator’s announcement.”

“I’m afraid not,” replied Allen, staring into the distance. “He ruled that Monica Talmedge’s decision to receive a different transplant was irrelevant.”

Zan groaned and sank to his knees. Anger boiled inside and he fought for control. A suffocating sensation tightened his throat and his vision clouded over. He barely noticed the tall, thin man who approached.