The room sat silent, hanging on Martha’s next words.
“When I first saw the video, I stopped it before the impact because I was certain you couldn’t make it to the little girl in time.” She looked over to Michael.
“It’s true, she made me promise that she wasn’t about to witness a tragedy,” Michael said. “Honestly, when I first saw the video at the station, I thought the same thing. ‘How did Clay close that distance so quickly in the end?’ It looked like you accelerated just enough to make it.”
“Almost,” Clay said. “I still got hit by that truck.”
“You did, but you also came out more or less uninjured,” Martha said. “The energy you shared with Evans’s spirit likely gave you the extra surge needed to reach Elena and avoid serious injury.”
“Hmm. I suppose you’re right. So, this was a case of right place, right time,” Clay said.
Martha smiled. “Perhaps a glass-half-full reductionist view, but basically, yes.”
Clay shrugged. That would depend on one’s point of view.
“Can you tell us more about the white flash seen on the video?” Michael asked.
“When the combined energies have a mutual benevolence, their spirits glow white as they share the same space. White light has significant spiritual meaning, which is very positive.”
Clay smiled to himself as Martha continued, “Clay is facing away from the camera so we can’t see his face. But, Jackie, you ran toward him. Did you by chance get a look at Clay’s eyes?”
“I’m not sure. I do remember seeing a flash of white light though,” Jackie replied.
“The document mentions that the eyes of the living together form a sort of gateway to one’s metaphysical body and will glow white with the benevolent energy of the deceased,” Martha explained. “This was just one of the controversial translations from the ancient manuscript that Dr. Muska based his argument on.”
Clay and Jackie sat deep in thought. Michael picked up the conversation. “How did Evan know to be at the scene of the accident this morning? Didn’t you say he was here this afternoon? Can spirits move around like that?”
“Yes and no. In my experience, there must be an emotional attachment that brings the spirit in. It can be a place, an object, or a person they want to protect.” Martha turned to look at Elena. “From what I can see, Evan is attached to Elena and Jackie. He goes where they are. When they are home, he probably stays around the house, which might explain his... intervention at the scene this morning.”
“In light of this conversation, there is something that stands out to me about this morning. I thought I saw something out of the corner of my vision. Motion—something fleeting I couldn’t make out,” Jackie said.
“That may have been Evan, or... the others,” Martha responded. “There is a lot more to this but...” Martha paused mid-sentence and appeared to focus on something off to her side.
Again, everyone sat in silence, not sure where to go from there. Martha sat on the edge of the bed with her hands on her knees, drumming her fingers, looking down at the floor between Clay and Jackie.
Michael picked up on the cue. “Is there something else?” Jackie and Clay looked up to Martha.
“Yes.” She brought her gaze up to meet Clay’s. Her eyes connected with him as she said, “Prepare yourself, this is not over.”
“Why would you say that to me right now?” Clay demanded, clearly troubled by the statement.
“Just a few moments ago, Evan appeared. He was very agitated as he repeated that this isn’t over, but he couldn’t articulate why. Then he disappeared again,” Martha explained.
“Evan was here? He’s upset again? But I thought he was gone,” Jackie said.
“It appears not. Apparently, he feels there is still more to do. It’s as if he knows something is coming but, again, doesn’t know what it is,” Martha told her. “Wait... He’s back. Again, he says it’s not over. There’s more danger coming.”
“What, right now?” Michael’s hand instinctively moved to his weapon as he stepped toward the door, the hairs on his neck prickling.
Jackie turned to Elena and roused her. Clay’s gaze hardened as he stood bolt-upright. “What danger?”
Michael’s phone dinged with a text notification from Sean. He read it out loud. “Four bad dudes at front entrance... three in camo, one in black... all armed.”
Clay cursed under his breath, “Shit.”
Another notification. “Two coming in ER entrance. Other two out of sight.” Michael slid the smartphone back into his pocket, then slid his hand into another pocket and pressed the side button on the flip phone hidden there.
𓂓
Sally stood in the elevator holding a blue cake box tied up with a wide ribbon and a bow on top and pressed the key for Clay’s floor. She had no idea if he liked cake, but it seemed an appropriate thing to do when apologizing. She had little experience with the act, but hoped these things came naturally. She actually enjoyed writing out the card and placed it under the ribbon so he would see his name written on the front in big bold Sharpie.
As she rode the elevator up, her thoughts strayed to Baldwin. The last cake she had purchased was for his birthday, just before he left. In the end, he hadn’t even been able to look her in the eyes as he packed what meager belongings she allowed him to have. The man left in complete humiliation, broken in every way. They’d hardly spoken since.
But after Jackie’s harsh words, followed by unconditional acceptance back into the fold, a wash of realization came over her. She had been a major jerk. Not only that, she’d also mistreated a very good man. A man that had lasted 20 years under her tyranny. Feeling like someone about to turn over a new leaf, she called him earlier that afternoon when she got home from the hospital and had time to absorb what Jackie said. She left a brief but heartfelt voicemail.
The thought of Baldwin calling her back filled her with hope.
The elevator dinged at the second floor and the door slid open, but no one got on. Sally stepped into the doorway and paused, looking back and forth, pushing her ear out only to hear to a strange, hushed silence up and down the hallway. That morning, the intermediate care facility had been bustling with people, but now it appeared deserted.
Then she heard a low curse and a man say, “Wrong room number.” She heard heavy footsteps off to the side and stepped back as the doors started to close. But as they did, a man’s arm appeared in the shrinking gap, stopping the cycle.
The door opened and a man in a camo-fatigue uniform pulled his arm back, staring at her from behind mirrored sunglasses. Sally drew in a sharp breath and stepped back deeper into the elevator.
He moved into the space she had retreated from, followed by another man, dressed in all black. They both had pistols and knives on their sides. The men appeared amped up and frustrated as they exchanged clipped phrases in Spanish. She couldn’t help but stare at them.
The man in black turned to her. “What are you looking at?”
“N-nothing,” Sally stammered as she shuffled around them toward the door.
