Witness (49 page)

Jeannie's battle with Reeves had ended. A higher power had indeed decided the outcome.

Jeannie crawled toward the unmoving man lying beneath the weight of the severed tree. She placed her fingers on the pulse point in his neck. She sighed. Maynard Reeves was dead.

Sam! She had to get to Sam. In her frustration, she struggled to connect her mind to Manton's. God had granted her one miracle. Would he grant her another?

Help me. Please help me get to Sam before it's too late.

She crawled away from Reeves, knowing there was only one way to reach Sam. She would have to crawl, on her knees,
back to the stables. The rain poured down, drenching her. The wind toppled her, facedown, into the saturated grass. She lifted herself and continued crawling across the vast front lawn, away from the ocean and toward the house.

She'd made her way to within twenty feet of the front veranda when she saw an enormous dark form running toward her. Manton! She stopped, the pain in her knees radiating up her thighs and into her body.

She lifted up her arms. Manton hauled her up, pressing her wet body against his.

I'm still groggy from the tranquilizer,
Manton told her.
I'm weak, and my brain is fuzzy.

I'm so thankful you're all right,
she said.
Now, please, take me to Sam. I can't lose him.

Manton carried her to the stables, depositing her beside the rubble burying Sam Dundee's big body. Manton cleared the boards off Sam. Jeannie laid both her hands on Sam's back. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Manton picked up a piece of splintered board, laid it over his knee and broke it in half, then handed it to Jeannie.

Use this as a cane. We need to get to the storm shelter. I'll carry Sam.

The wind and rain attacked them mercilessly on their trek from the stables to the house. Completely drenched, their skin bleeding from blowing-sand cuts, they went down the dark flight of stairs leading to the storm shelter in the basement, Manton carrying Sam.

The storm must have damaged the generator,
Manton said.
We have no power of any kind. Try to find the kerosene lamps and light them. A box of matches will be beside one of the lamps.

Once inside the shelter, Manton and Jeannie felt their way around in the pitch-blackness. The fronts of Manton's calves bumped into the cot. He laid Sam down gently. Jeannie found the matches, struck one to find the kerosene lamp on the table.
She removed the globe, lit the wick and turned to seek out the other lamp. Manton took the matches from her, nodding toward Sam.

Jeannie hobbled over to Sam and sat down on the floor. She lifted his hand, encompassing it in hers. Concentrating totally on making the connection, she focused her every thought on entering Sam's body, on linking herself to his injuries.

Manton lit the other lamp. The two sources of light, situated on opposite ends of the room, cast a soft glow that illuminated the entire twelve-by-twelve storm shelter. Walking over to where Jeannie sat on the floor, Manton placed his hands on her shoulders.

Sam is very weak,
she said. Rising up on her haunches, she reached out and wiped away the blood trickling down Sam's bruised and cut forehead. She wiped the blood across her skirt.
He's bleeding, and his ribs are broken.

I know you want to save him.
Manton squeezed her shoulders gently.
But you must not endanger your life and your child's. Sam would not want you to sacrifice yourself and the child to save his life.

I cannot—I will not—let him die!

Releasing her shoulders, Manton stepped away from her and sat down in a chair at the table.

Jeannie knelt over Sam, embracing him. The faint pulses of his pain seeped into her body. She moaned as the pain increased, moving gradually out of Sam and into her.

Sam's eyelids fluttered. Still embracing him, Jeannie lifted her head and looked at his pale, blood-smeared face. He opened his eyes.

“Hello,” she said.

“Jeannie…don't…” His eyes closed, and he drifted back into a semiconscious state.

She kissed his lips with the utmost tenderness. “Hush, now, my love. You're going to be all right.”

His injuries were extensive, and the bleeding was severe and
life-threatening. She had to stop the bleeding! He would die if she didn't help him.

The pain doubled her over. She cried out, the sound a harsh plea for endurance. As spasm after spasm of torturous cramps racked her body, Jeannie balled her hands into fists and slid off Sam, down the side of the cot and onto the floor. Her eyes closed. She moaned again and again, biting her lower lip to contain the sound.

Manton jumped up, rushing to her aid, lifting her into his arms. She shivered, once, twice, then opened her eyes.
I haven't finished. Carry me back to Sam. I have to help him
.

Be careful,
Manton cautioned, then complied with her request and set her back down on the floor at Sam's side.

She laid her head on Sam's arm where it rested on the edge of the cot. She lifted his limp hand, brought it to her lips and kissed each finger. Squeezing his hand, she focused again. Sam's injuries became hers, ripping her apart, then dissolving as the pain suffused her body. Tears of agony streamed down her face. Anguished moans rose from her throat.

Exhausted and close to losing consciousness, Jeannie clung to Sam's hand. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

“My God, Jeannie, what are you doing?” Lifting his head off the pillow, he glanced at their clasped hands. He jerked his hand away.

She tried to smile, to speak, to tell him that there was nothing she would not do to save his life. Didn't he know that he was her life, that without him she did not want to live?

He heard her words as clearly as if she'd spoken them aloud. “You're killing yourself. I want you to stop.” Sam looked around for Manton and found him standing a few feet away, his eyes filled with tears as he watched Jeannie's suffering. “Why the hell don't you stop this? Keep her away from me!”

Sam tried to sit up, but weakness overcame him and he fell back on the cot. Jeannie reached for him. He slapped her hand
away. “Get away, dammit! If I die, I die, but you're not going to die with me.”

“You're already stronger. Your injuries have stopped bleeding.” With great effort, she rose up on her knees, her body hovering over his. “When the pain returns and the bleeding starts again, I'll have to help you. To keep you alive. We can't get off Le Bijou Bleu until the storm passes.”

“If you take my pain into your body, it will kill you,” Sam said. “Don't you think I know that? My God, Jeannie, I don't want you to die for me.”

Covering her mouth with her hand, she cried silently, her body trembling with her hushed sobs.

“Promise me,” Sam said. “Promise me that you—” his eyelids fluttered, and his voice faltered “—you won't do it again.”

“I love you,” she said.

“Promise me…” He sank back into a semiconscious state.

Jeannie rested, closing her eyes, laying her hand next to his, careful not to touch him. With his injuries temporarily, partially healed, he would sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness. And Jeannie would sleep, restoring her depleted strength, until Sam's pain from his internal wounds returned and the bleeding began again.

Jeannie covered her stomach with the palm of her other hand. Would saving Sam's life cost them their baby? Could she save both father and child?

In the last conscious moments before sleep overcame her, Jeannie pleaded for the strength to endure, and for the blessing of life for Sam, herself and their unborn child.

S
LEEPY, EXHAUSTED AND
nearly depleted of her energy, Jeannie held Sam's hand and listened to his uneven breathing. She would have to join with him again. She had no other choice; without her help, Sam would die.

When she called to Manton, he came to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She drew strength from him. Manton's strength was the only thing maintaining her consciousness and enabling her to continue keeping Sam alive. If only Manton possessed the power to share her pain and suffering…but he did not. She, and she alone, had to bear the burden.

When I have finished,
Jeannie told Manton,
cover me with a blanket and let me rest, but don't move me away from Sam.

I'll take care of you,
Manton said.
And while you rest, I will go upstairs and try once again to contact the mainland. It's daylight now, and the storm passed hours ago. Perhaps someone can get to the island soon and take you and Sam to the hospital.

Within minutes, Jeannie had made the connection again and began her miracle of healing.

As she withdrew his pain and stopped the bleeding once again, Sam opened his eyes. Jeannie lay in a huddled mass against the cot, writhing in pain. Weak, dizzy and disoriented, Sam struggled over to her. “Jeannie…Jeannie…”

Drenched in sweat, groaning in agony, Jeannie barely heard Sam calling her name. She tried to respond verbally,
but could not, and when she tried to convey her thoughts to him telepathically, she found she lacked the strength.

Sam saw Manton standing over them, and realized the gentle giant was dying inside as he watched Jeannie suffering and knew he could do nothing to alleviate her pain.

Sam reached over and enclosed Jeannie's trembling, pain-racked body in his arms. On some level of consciousness, Jeannie felt Sam's embrace, sensed his concern. He ached with the need to help her, to share her pain, not realizing that the emotional torment he endured was transferred to Jeannie, weakening her all the more. And she could not relate to him what was happening, that his very nearness was creating more pain inside her, draining her of what little strength she had left.

Manton grabbed Sam by the shoulders, pulling him away from Jeannie. Sam hit out at the other man, dazed by the suddenness of his attack. Manton pushed Sam back down on the cot and signed to him. Sam glared up at Manton, wondering what the hell he was trying to tell him.

He watched closely while Manton jabbed his index fingers toward each other repeatedly.

“Hurt?” Sam asked.

Manton nodded, then signed again, thrusting his right index finger under his prone left palm. Sam didn't understand. Manton repeated the procedure.

“Kill,” Sam said, realization dawning on him. “Holding her hurts her? Is killing her?”

Manton nodded repeatedly.

“Then do something to help her.”

With his hands prone, Manton struck his left index finger with his right index finger. Tears filled his green eyes and streamed down his bronze cheeks.

“You can't.” Sam balled his hands into fists.

Sam huddled on the far side of the cot, forcing himself not to touch Jeannie again. While he lay there helpless, watching her endure his pain, he felt as if his life were being drained
out of him. He had begged her not to help him, but she hadn't listened. Dammit, why hadn't she listened to him? Why hadn't she done what he'd asked?

He would rather die a thousand times over than see her suffering this way and know he was powerless to help her. Was this his true damnation? Had the guilt and remorse he'd endured for six years been only a preliminary to this final atonement? Was having to watch the woman he loved die by slow degrees his punishment for Brock's and Connie's deaths? For the death of his unborn child?

It wasn't right that Jeannie had to pay for his sins, to suffer because of his crimes. She was innocent, so completely pure and good.
This isn't fair,
his heart cried. An angel of mercy given no mercy herself.

Sam's angry, savage cry pierced the very gates of heaven.

Minutes dragged by, seeming like hours. Eventually Jeannie fell into a deep sleep. Manton drew the blanket up around her and slipped a pillow under her head. Drained and weak, Sam closed his eyes.

When he awoke, he and Jeannie were alone in the storm shelter. A sudden, sharp pang hit him in the chest. His pain was returning.

Sam heard footsteps on the stairs. J. T. Blackwood swept into the room, Manton following him.

“I've got a float plane waiting to take you back to Biloxi,” J.T. said. “The storm missed Biloxi and lost a lot of steam before it hit the Louisiana coast.”

“Get Jeannie to the hospital.” Sam tried to stand, but swayed on his feet and fell backward onto the cot.

“We'll get you both to the hospital.” J.T. glanced down at Jeannie, lying on the floor. “What the hell happened to you two? Did you get caught out in the storm? I don't read sign, so I have no idea what this big fellow's been trying to tell me.”

“You carry Jeannie out to the plane,” Sam said. “Manton can help me.”

Sam watched while J.T. lifted a lifeless Jeannie into his arms. When J.T. walked past Sam, Sam reached out. J.T. stopped. Sam let his hand hover over her face, and died a little inside because he didn't dare touch her.

“A wall fell on me,” Sam said. “It should have killed me. I'd be dead now if Jeannie hadn't saved my life.”

Manton's cats and dogs, who had followed them out of the stables the evening before, now followed them up from the storm shelter into the house. J.T. stepped around the shards of glass from several blown-out windowpanes and stomped through the water puddles marring the wooden floors.

Outside, the sun shone faintly from behind a mass of clouds. The paint on the north side of the house had been sanded down to the bare wood, and several window shutters lay scattered on the ground. A small section of the roof had blown off, and debris was strewn in every direction. Uprooted trees marred the landscape. Huge sandpiles dotted the beach.

Maynard Reeves's body lay beneath the severed trunk of an old oak tree. Manton stopped abruptly when Sam tugged on his arm.

“Not a very pretty sight,” J.T. said. “Looks like lightning struck the tree, splitting it in two. Then half of it fell on the reverend.”

“He was out of his mind,” Sam said. “He thought if he killed Jeannie, he would somehow gain her empathic abilities. He thought God would give them to him as a gift for destroying a witch.”

“Well, it looks like a higher power made a judgment call.” J.T. glanced down at Jeannie, lying unconscious in his arms. “I'd say somebody up there was watching out for one of his own.”

Every muscle in Sam's body strained toward Jeannie; his need to touch her was overwhelming. “Let's get off this island and take Jeannie to a hospital.” A sharp, stabbing ache sliced through Sam's midsection. He doubled over in pain.

“Hang on,” J.T. said “The plane's right down here.”

He led them down the steps to the beach. Lifting Jeannie up high in his arms, he handed her to the float plane's pilot, then turned to help Manton with Sam. Once Sam was seated and Jeannie rested in Manton's arms, J.T. jumped on board and gave the pilot orders to get them to Biloxi as quickly as possible.

Jeannie did not awaken from her deep sleep on the flight to Biloxi. Sam watched her for any sign of recovery, but she lay in Manton's arms, unmoving, looking like a limp rag doll. If only he could hold her in
his
arms, kiss those pale lips, stroke her tearstained cheeks. As pain radiated through his own body, Sam felt himself slipping away. He tried to stay conscious, not wanting to sever that last link—visual contact—with Jeannie.

 

A
FTER SURGERY,
S
AM
awoke calling for Jeannie. J.T. assured him that everything possible was being done for her, but Sam wanted to see her, needed to know for sure that she was going to be all right. J.T. and an orderly forcibly held Sam down on the bed while a nurse injected him with a sedative.

He awoke again sometime during the night. Glancing around the hospital room, he saw J.T. sitting in a chair, his tan Stetson covering the upper part of his face as he slept.

Jeannie. Where was Jeannie? Was she all right? He had to find her.

Sam took note of the tubes stuck in his body, then dismissed them, sitting up in bed and sliding his feet over the side. Dizziness swirled around inside his head. He took several deep breaths trying to overcome his disorientation. On wobbly legs, he struggled to stand.

J. T. Blackwood clamped his big hand down on Sam's shoulder. “Where the hell do you think you're going?”

“Jeannie.” The one word said everything.

“The shape you're in, you can't do her any good,” J.T. said. “Stay in bed. The doctors are doing everything they can for her.”

“I've got to see her.” Sam jerked away from J.T., took three steps and passed out cold.

Sam floated in and out of a drug-induced sleep, realizing that each time he fought them, begging to see Jeannie, they sedated him again. His gut instincts told him something was horribly wrong, but he couldn't fight the sedatives they gave him to keep him calm and allow him to heal.

Three days after his arrival, Sam awoke at midday, his mouth as dry as cotton balls, his eyes gritty and his mind still a bit foggy. Glancing around the room, he saw J.T. first, standing at the foot of his bed. Manton and Julian Howell stood in the open doorway.

“What's going on? Why aren't you with Jeannie?” Sam sat straight up. His head throbbed. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the sudden pain.

Julian Howell approached the side of Sam's bed. “The doctors felt it was necessary to keep you sedated in order to give you a few days to heal.” Julian laid his hand on Sam's shoulder. “Every time you woke, you tried to get out of bed and find Jeannie.”

“Yeah, I get the picture,” Sam slid his legs off the bed, jerked the tubes out of his arms and stood. “I take it that y'all have finally decided to let me see her.”

“You couldn't have done anything for her,” Julian said. “She's been unconscious since—” Julian swallowed his tears.

“You mean she hasn't woken up yet?” Sam glanced at J.T. “What is it? What are y'all not telling me?”

J.T. exchanged a concerned look with Julian. Sam glanced at Manton. The gentle giant signed to him. He placed his hands on his shoulders, then moved them outward, the action mimicking the smoothing of feathers on the wings.

Angel.
One of the first words Jeannie had taught Sam in sign language. His pet name for her.

Sam didn't understand the next word, although Manton repeated it several times, placing his hands palm to palm, then turning both hands over.

“What's he saying about Jeannie?” Sam asked.

“He said, ‘Our angel is dying.'” Julian wiped tears from his eyes.

“No, she can't be dying.” Sam gripped Julian's thin arm. “I won't let her die!”

J.T. grabbed Sam's shoulder, turning Sam to face him. “The doctors don't know what the hell is wrong. Like Dr. Howell said, she's been unconscious for days. Her vital signs are growing steadily weaker. They've run every test imaginable on her. They can't treat her, because they don't know what's wrong with her.”

“I know.” Sam tried to pull away from J.T., but his friend held him fast. “Dammit, I know what's wrong with her. I killed her. In saving me, in healing me again and again just to keep me alive, she used up all her energy. She has nothing to build on. She's depleted her life force.”

He realized that J.T. might think he'd gone mad, but he knew Julian and Manton would understand. He looked at Julian. “Tell him I'm right.”

“It's possible that's what happened.” Julian turned from them, burying his face in his hands as his body shook with sobs.

“She's been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last hour,” J.T. said. “She keeps calling your name. Over and over.”

“Take me to her, J.T. Please.”

Sam Dundee never begged, never pleaded. But he was begging now.

Manton shook his head, stepping in front of Sam, signing
furiously. Sam reached out, grasping Manton's enormous hands, halting him.

“I know what you're trying to tell me.” Sam patted Manton's hands. “But if she's dying, I can't hurt her, can I? And she's calling for me. I need to be with her.”

Manton nodded, agreeing with Sam.

Julian Howell, tears coating his face, his voice shaky, turned around and said, “Take him to her, Mr. Blackwood. She wants him with her. She loves him so.”

“He needs to be told before he goes to her,” J.T. said.

“Yes, of course he does,” Julian agreed.

Fear like nothing Sam had ever known invaded his mind and body, trapping the screaming rage inside him. “What haven't you told me?”

J.T. closed his eyes momentarily, blew out his breath, then opened his eyes and looked directly at Sam. “She's pregnant. Four or five weeks pregnant.”

Sam's blood chilled. His nerves burned. His muscles knotted painfully. Jeannie was carrying his child. And they were both dying. Because of him. She had sacrificed herself and their child to save his life.

“No!” The word roared from his body like the cry of a dying animal, his pain more than he could bear.

Sam turned, balled his hands into fists and pounded the wall so hard his hands burst through the Sheetrock. Pulling out his hands, he squared his shoulders and faced J.T.

“Let's go,” Sam said.

J.T. walked Sam down the hall to Jeannie's room, Manton and Julian following. She rested on the pristine white sheets, her face devoid of color, her eyes closed. Dressed in a hospital gown, she lay perfectly still.

“I want to go in alone,” Sam said. “I can make it without any help.”