The Curse Of Dark Root: Part One Part 23

"As long as you're not in pain, we are fine." He leaned forward, his eyes slits as he peered through the rain-smattered winds.h.i.+eld.

"Your wiper isn't working." I pointed to the one on the left. The rubber track was hanging off, creating more of a mess than it helped.

"I know."

"Not safe for a baby."

He inhaled through his nose. "I'll get it fixed. Now help me find the hospital. Are you sure we turned onto the right road?"

"Hospital?" I scrunched my eyebrows. "No, that's not what we are looking for. There it is! Jilly's old place!" I beamed as we fell upon a small yellow cottage that had seen better days.

Michael grunted, but pulled into the driveway anyway. A For Lease sign hung in the window.

"Jillian used to do readings here," I said, remembering how I had come for a reading of my own. "She helped me when I first got back to Dark Root. I was pretty lost then."

Michael put the van in reverse and headed back the way we came. "I know that I was the reason you were so lost. I'm sorry for that, but I'm glad Jillian was there for you."

"Yeah." I sighed, feeling suddenly bad about the way I had stormed out on her earlier. I had the sudden urge to call and apologize, but then I recalled our conversation in the kitchen. They had used my baby as a bargaining tool. My stomach soured.

He continued his search for the elusive hospital, slowing down whenever we came upon a road sign of any kind. I might have been more help, but I was in no hurry to get there. I hated hospitals.

"Do you love Merry?" I asked, tracing a heart in the steam on my window.

Michael jerked his head in my direction, his sun gla.s.ses toppling from his face. He didn't bother to pick them up. "You're still half-delirious, you know that?"

"You like her, at least," I said, calling up the image of them practicing karate in the back yard. Michael pressed his foot to the gas, as Shane did when he didn't want to answer one of my questions. "Well, do you?"

"No, I do not love Merry. I don't even really know her yet. She's a fine woman...all heart and missing her daughter. But I don't love her." He turned to face the road. "We are just two people who have bonded over losses and parenthood."

"And G.o.d," I added. "You and I never had that in common, but you and Merry do."

"She used to go to church but that doesn't mean we bond over G.o.d."

"You should marry her. Then you could stay in Dark Root and live in my old house and take up my old life." I thought for a moment. "You could be the baby's uncle-daddy."

"Good grief." Michael slammed on the brakes as a squirrel dashed across the road. Coming to a complete stop, he used the moment to find his gla.s.ses and to regard me again. "If I didn't know better, Maggie Magic, I'd think you were jealous."

"Me? Jealous? I don't think so."

"Then I apologize for my incorrect a.s.sessment of the situation."

I pointed to the next sign. "Hospital, three miles. See? We're almost there. Although I'm feeling good now, and I don't think I need to go anymore."

He followed the sign. The trees were shorter here, newly planted after generations of harvesting. I reached for the radio b.u.t.ton. "Let's hear some music."

"Sorry, the radio hasn't worked in months." He jiggled the k.n.o.b to show me that nothing came out, not even static.

I focused, pointing my finger at the dial, drawing from the energy around methe trees, the earth, even the rain. From the corners of my eyes, I saw white light flowing from my fingertips, into the radio. The radio crackled. And there was music.

"You did that!" Michael smiled like a little boy at Christmastime, all wonder and sentiment. "You still have the gift, Maggie, and it's stronger than ever."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, blowing on the tips of my fingers as the hospital came into view. "Maybe I can get a job at the Radio Shack."

Michael and a pretty candy striper named Heidiwho was probably born when I was in Jr. Highsat me in a wheelchair and pushed me through the lobby, into the elevator, and down the long narrow corridors that made up Linsburg County Hospital.

It had been six months since I was in this building, when we all thought Mother was going to die...and now it was my turn. I wasn't a fan of hospitals. Sensing all the pain and death around me filled me with distress. But Michael was so engrossed in his candy-striping conversation, he didn't notice my increasing agitation.

The ambiance did nothing to cheer me up. The walls were a marigold orange, a disquieting hue somewhere between the color of suns.h.i.+ne and blood. Pictures of smiling patients in wheelchairs adorned the walls. Judging by their hairstyles they were probably all old or dead by now.

The staff, at least, were friendly. They smiled as I rolled past, waving sometimes, though their energy often betrayed their tiredness and resignation.

"I hate hospitals," I said, tugging on one of Michael's fingers. I never would have agreed to come, had I not been drugged up. Michael gave me an affirming nod, then returned to talking with our fresh-faced escort.

As we turned a corner and began our long trek towards my roomlucky number 13, of coursethe lighting in the hall changed, growing dimmer, grayer, and more foreboding. The lights began flickering as we pa.s.sed beneath them, crackling like firewood, turning the marigold walls into the color of flames. The hallway suddenly tilted. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. The walls were closing in on us now, inching inward with each step we took. I stifled a cry and cringed.

And then I saw them: filmy, gauzy creatures s.h.i.+fting in and out of walls, or huddled in corners, or hanging from the ceiling fixtures.

"Michael?" I tapped his wrist to get his attention. I pointed to the specters around us but he only seemed confused. I must be conjuring the images myself, I thought.

A man in scrubs rolled a covered body by on a gurney. As they pa.s.sed, the blanket draping the figure's head peeled away, revealing a heavy-set, transparent man. He moaned, lifting a finger as if to warn me.

"Michael..." My breath misted as I spoke again.

"Yes?" He leaned over to ask.

"Don't you see them?"

"They're just doctors and nurses Maggie, nothing to be afraid of. They'll take good care of you."

I swallowed hard as a shambling old ghost woman wearing strands of pearls spotted me.

"She sees us!" she announced to the others. At her words, the other spirits turned in my direction, ambling towards me with open mouths and outstretched arms, sending spine-chilling sounds out into the world as their breaths spewed out cold fog.

"Get back!" I screamed, kicking as they descended upon me. Purely ethereal, they moved right through me. "Michael!"

He looked at me, his face turning the color of the dead around me, then snapped his fingers at a woman holding a clipboard.

"My pregnant wife fell and may have a concussion. Get a doctor!"

The woman darted off down the hall. The spirit people continued to gather, a horde of them, poking at me, clawing at me, speaking directly to me.

"...tell George I'm sorry..."

"...let Laura know I miss her..."

"...it wasn't my f.u.c.kin' fault that kid wasn't wearing a seatbelt."

"Stop!" I held my arms across my face. The secrets of the dead should stay with the dead.

We arrived at a small room, hardly large enough for the bed, the chair, and the imposing metallic beeping machine inside.

Michael pushed me inside and the spirits tried to follow, stopping just short of the door. There was a barrier to this s.p.a.ce, as if someone had placed a blocking spell across the entrance. I slammed the door shut with my foot as Michael lifted me from the wheelchair and onto the bed.

"You didn't see the ghosts?" I asked.

"There are no ghosts, Maggie. When someone dies, they sleep for a long time, until the Day of Judgment comes."

I glowered at him. Just when I thought he had become more open-minded about things, he proves me wrong. "Maybe that's not what happens when we die."

Michael scratched the back of his neck. "I'm just going by what the good book says."

"There are other books. All over the world."

"But are they right?"

I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. It was just like old times. Me, trying to express myself, while Michael took the path of moral superiority.

But I wasn't a little girl anymore. I had seen things he had never seen. I'd even crossed the thresholds of death myself. I didn't need to listen to him anymore. He needed to listen to me. I lowered my hands, ready to give him a piece of my mind, when a handsome young man poked his head inside our room.

"h.e.l.lo," he said. "My name is Dr. Patrick."

"h.e.l.lo," I replied, sitting upright, my mood suddenly brightening. He was soap-opera handsome with golden hair and a smile that neutralized the gloominess of my accommodations. Maybe hospitals weren't so bad.

"You must be Magdalene. I've been told you had a little fall."

"Uh-huh," I agreed, as his hands wandered over my body, pus.h.i.+ng, poking, and ma.s.saging me.

He gently nudged Michael to the side and listened to my heart. "Do you exercise? Eat junk food?"

I said yes to the exercise and no to the junk food. Michael shot me a look but I just smiled as Dr. Patrick continued to inspect me. He put away his stethoscope, then reached under my s.h.i.+rt to examine my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Michael coughed. Loudly. "I'm the baby's father," he said, extending a hand. "How's it look, chief?"

"She's got some bruising on her hip." The good doctor shone a small beam of light into my eyes, ignoring Michael's still outstretched hand. "But I don't think she's concussed."

"You don't think? Is that your professional diagnosis?"

"Yes."

"And where did you get your training? Binge watching Doogie Howser on Netflix?"

Dr. Patrick stood upright, facing Michael. The two were nearly the same height. Dr. Patrick tapped his pen to his clipboard several times, glanced at me, and then spoke.

"Michael, I'm the doctor on call now and I'm here to help."

Michael stared back, rubbing his fingers together before relaxing. "I'm sorry. This is our first kid."

"How long since Magdalene's last ultrasound?"

"My what?" I asked.

The doctor smiled. "Right. We'll get one done today. I hope you're not in a hurry."

I snuggled into the limp pillow and smiled up at the dreamy doctor. "I've got all the time in the world."

A nurse appeared, wheeling in another large machine. She handed me a cup and instructed me to pee in it. I blushed as Dr. Patrick saw me staring at the receptacle.

He handed me a flimsy gown and directed me to a side room where I could give a sample.

"And Michael," the doctor added, before leaving. "Doogie Howser isn't on Netflix. It's on Amazon Prime."

"Why did you act like that?" I demanded as soon as we were alone. "You were rude to the man who wants to help us. Plus, now he thinks we're married."

Michael sat on the chair and inspected the machine. It was a tangle of wires and b.u.t.tons, like some modern day torture device. It frightened me so much I couldn't look at it.

"I'm just watching out for you and my baby," he said.

"Don't do any of us any favors, okay? Now excuse me while I go pee in this little cup."

Michael busied himself reading the instructions printed on the machine while I waddled into the adjoining bathroom and performed as instructed. Not wanting Dr. Patrick to see my oversized pregnancy underwear, I removed them and balled them up in my hand. When I returned to my bed, I tucked them beneath the pillow.

The doctor rejoined us twenty minutes later. "Can you turn on your side for me?" he asked. "I brought an ice pack for the swelling on your hip."

I rolled onto my side and the doctor pulled open my gown. "What... I don't understand."

"Is something wrong?" Michael asked, leaving the machine and joining us.

The doctor gently rolled me to the opposite side, then shook his head. "Her bruising's almost gone. That's amazing."

"It's my clean living," I said.

"More like witchcraft," Michael added.

The doctor laughed stiffly and coughed into his hand. "Whatever it is, it's no match for me."

He opened the front of my gown, hooking up various wires and nodes coated in cold jelly to my nearly nude body, while Michael lectured us both on the sins of seeing an unmarried woman naked. Dr. Patrick paid him no attention and directed us to a screen set up on my right.

Within seconds, a curious distorted image appeared on the monitor, accompanied by a steady thumping noise. "My baby?" I asked.

"Yes. And that sound is your baby's heartbeat. Strong and healthy, by the tone of it."

"My baby..." I repeated.

Michael dropped to his knees so that his eyes were inches from the screen. We locked hands and peered wondrously at the image together.

"Is it a boy?" Michael asked, hardly able to get out the words.

"Does it matter?" Dr. Patrick responded, sliding the jelly-scope around my belly.