After long minutes of pacing with no success, she took a seat across from Earl and Rand, one with a view of the exterior emergency room sliding glass doors and the portico beyond. Her sister Lorelei, one of the few who had escaped Siren Song before Catherine closed the gates, had worked at Ocean Park Hospital as a nurse, and Ravinia had liked her, so maybe they all weren’t entirely bad. She wished Lorelei were here now, but she’d quit the spring before, when she’d met the love of her life, a reporter, Harrison Frost, who’d been following after Justice once he escaped from Halo Valley Security Hospital. Lorelei had fallen hard for the reporter, and after Justice’s death, with nothing keeping them apart, they’d moved together to Portland when Frost was offered a job there. Again, so said Catherine, although her reports were sketchy at best.
Catherine had added that Lorelei was working at a Portland area hospital now, peacefully and happily, which had prompted Lillibeth to ask her breathlessly, “Are they getting married?” Catherine had muttered something disparaging under her breath, which none of them had caught, but it served to remind Ravinia that, for all her rigidity, her belief in protocol—her decision for all of them to live life in a simpler time—Aunt Catherine sure didn’t think much of the institution of marriage. Maybe because she’d never been married herself? Maybe something else? Whatever the case, in this one area, Ravinia actually agreed with her: True love was a myth. It didn’t exist, no matter how many books her sisters read on the subject, no matter how many old romantic movies they caught on their dinosaur of a television set.
“Miss Beeman?”
Ravinia looked up. “Yes?”
A doctor was walking toward her. Finally. She flicked a glance toward Earl, who half stood, as well. He’d wanted to bring Isadora, of course, but Lillibeth and Cassandra had both gone into conniptions at the thought of Isadora abandoning them, so Isadora was forced to stay. Ophelia had been Earl’s second choice, but she’d said it was Ravinia who should go, for reasons yet to be determined. Whatever the case, she was here, and though she wasn’t Catherine’s favorite and vice versa, she was currently the chosen decision maker.
“Your aunt is in stable condition,” the doctor told her brusquely. He was delivering the information but looking past her; his mind was elsewhere. “We’ve moved her to a room and are continuing to monitor her.”
“Is she awake?”
“She’s unconscious, but her signs are good and—”
“What’s wrong with her? Did she have some kind of seizure? What is it?”
The doctor, an older man with a close-cropped gray beard, finally turned his attention fully on her. “She has a contusion near her temple. It appears she fell, possibly slipped, and struck her head from the fall.”
“She fell?”
“The nurse can get you the number of her room. Phyllis?” he called to a harried-looking young woman, who ignored him as she hurried across the room to a set of double doors, which opened with a soft hiss. “Well, when she’s back,” he said. “Excuse me.”
Ravinia stared after him. Could it really be that simple? When she’d run past the ambulance into the lodge, she’d been certain from Lillibeth’s wailing, Cassandra’s dire predictions, and Isadora’s and Ophelia’s frozen attentiveness that Aunt Catherine was practically done for. Ophelia was the one who’d called 9-1-1. She had a disposable cell phone, apparently, a piece of information that would have helped had Ravinia but known it. It really pissed her off the way her sisters kept secrets, but then they’d learned from the best: Catherine.
Ravinia hadn’t waited around. She’d wanted to know how Catherine was for herself, so she’d taken off with Earl and Rand and ended up at the hospital shortly after the ambulance. They had already pulled Aunt Catherine’s gurney out of the ambulance and taken her past those double doors by the time Earl had parked and Ravinia had hurried inside. They’d been waiting ever since.
Now she looked through the exterior clear-glass sliding doors as a vehicle approached and pulled to a halt directly in front. A man jumped out and hurriedly opened the back door of his SUV.
Suddenly Earl was blocking her vision. “I’m going back for Isadora.”
“I can take care of things here,” Ravinia said, irked. “My sisters need her at Siren Song.”
Earl hadn’t wanted to bring Ravinia even though she was the chosen one, but Rand had muscled past his objections, and Ravinia had simply jumped in the car. But now Earl was apparently having second thoughts. He headed toward the door and shot a look at Rand, who was still slouched in his chair.
“I’ll stay,” Rand said.
“You don’t have to,” Ravinia told him quickly. She didn’t want him expecting something for the favor of helping to convince Earl to bring her here.
He simply shrugged.
Ravinia went to find the nurse who’d ignored the doctor—Phyllis—and found her scurrying toward the group outside. A woman had been helped from the backseat of the SUV to a wheelchair. She was wrapped in coats and was hugging herself closely. The man from the car was talking to the EMT who was pushing the woman inside. The woman wore socks but no shoes, and Ravinia realized with a start that she sure looked a helluva lot like that detective from the sheriff’s department. Detective . . . Dunbar. What had happened to her?
She was holding something inside that coat. A baby? Her baby? She’d had her baby in the snow?
The hissing double doors opened, and Phyllis ushered the detective and her entourage through.
“Excuse me, Phyllis?” Ravinia said.
“I’ll be with you in a minute.” She was abrupt.
Ravinia wasn’t waiting. “I need the number to Catherine Rutledge’s room.”
“I’ll get it for you in a minute.”
But she followed the group through the doors. Ravinia sent a look to Rand, then followed after them. As the doors started to close behind her, Ravinia looked around for someone to help her who wasn’t busy. There was no such person. Finally, a nurse—her name tag read BARANSKY—appeared, and Ravinia asked her for Catherine’s room number, explaining she was her niece. She, too, was hurrying to meet up with the detective, but she hailed another young woman in medical scrubs, who deigned to look up the information.
“Three thirteen,” she said. “Just go back through the double doors and turn right. The elevators will be on your right. Your aunt will be there in about twenty minutes.”
Ravinia headed back toward the double doors, hearing the wail of the new baby behind her. She looked back and saw Nurse Baransky taking the baby into her arms around the edge of the cubicle’s half-closed curtain.
Hitting the large square button on the wall, she watched the doors hiss open and then close behind her. Rand was scooched down in the brown, squarish chair he’d chosen, dozing. She walked over to him and kicked his boot. His eyes opened, but he didn’t lift his head.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“I want to know how you’re related to me.”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Who does?”
Rand straightened up. “My great-uncle, I guess. He’s the shaman.”
“Shaman?” she repeated dubiously.
“Well, not officially.” He shrugged. “You know.”
“No. I don’t know,” Ravinia snapped back.
“Your family’s got the same thing. The ones that are more spiritual and guide the tribe.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ravinia muttered.
“You asked,” he pointed out with a shrug.
“I’m going to go find my aunt,” she said and then left him there. “More spiritual,” she repeated with disdain. Maybe his family was. Hers was just messed up.
Savannah felt jazzed inside. Like she’d been hit with an electric current. Anxiety. Nerves. Underlaid with pain and exhaustion and wonder. It was like living inside someone else’s body.
A baby. Her baby.
“My sister’s in surgery here,” she told the EMT who’d wheeled her into the
curtained room. “Kristina St. Cloud.” She glanced past him to where Hale was giving an account of the birth to a resident as a nurse strode toward them determinedly.
“The baby?” she said to Savannah. Her smile must have been meant to be reassuring, but there was tension, too.
Loath to hand him over, Savannah nevertheless did so without a complaint. “You’re going to make sure he’s all right?” she said, hearing her own tension.
“I sure am.”
“He’s Baby St. Cloud,” Savannah told her. “I think they’re going to call him Declan.”
“They?”
“The parents. I’m the surrogate.”
The nurse nodded. “I’ll make sure he’s tagged,” she said.
As soon as Declan was out of her arms, he started crying, and Savvy started shaking uncontrollably. They swaddled him up quickly and whisked him into an examining room, and then another nurse—her name tag read Baransky—wrapped Savvy in new blankets and said something about taking her to a room . . . as soon as one was free. There were numerous victims of the storm at the hospital, and there was a shortage of space. Savvy looked around, but Hale was nowhere to be seen.
“Excuse me,” she said through chattering lips. “My sister had surgery. Kristina St. Cloud? Can someone get me some information?”
“I’ll check it out as soon as we get you to your room,” Baransky said.
“Where’s Declan?” Savvy asked.
“The doctor’s checking him out. He looks fine. Come on. I’ve got a place for you. . . .”
She was taken to a room with a shower that had a stool inside. Savvy didn’t wait for an invitation. She dropped the jackets and stripped off her blouse and bra with numb fingers, turned on the shower spray, then collapsed onto the stool and let the hot water pour down on her. She hadn’t even taken off her socks and was trying to do just that when a different nurse appeared and helped her finish the task. She thought about the blood, the fluids, and the placenta that had ended up in Hale’s car and felt herself shudder a little in shock and embarrassment.
But they’d made it. They’d made it.
And Declan was doing fine.
It felt like forever before she stopped shaking, but as soon as she did, she wanted out of the shower and in more than just a damn hospital gown and a diaper of sorts. Savannah had no idea what had happened to her underwear and pants. Probably also still in Hale’s TrailBlazer. The nurse insisted she get in bed.
“I’ll bring your husband,” she said once Savvy was under the covers.
She opened her mouth to deny Hale was her husband but decided that wasn’t the hot issue. A deep languor was overcoming her. Pure exhaustion. Maybe she would lie here just a moment or two before she found out about the baby, Hale, and most of all, Kristina.
Kristina.
Her eyes popped open. Had she fallen asleep? She had a sense of very little time passing. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she was about to go find somebody to help when Hale appeared in the doorway.
“I had to move my car,” he explained.
“Any news on Kristina?”
“She’s out of surgery and in recovery. Don’t know anything yet.”
“The nurse said the baby’s okay.”
“Yep, he’s great.” He almost smiled. “I just saw him.”
Savannah felt her bones melt in relief. “And how about you?” she asked, looking into his tired gray eyes.
“How about you?” he countered. “That was . . . something.”
“Yeah.” Savannah laughed faintly. “I told them his name was Declan.”
“Good.”
“I think I’ll just lie down a minute,” she said after they fell into silence.
“I’ll get you some clothes.”
She would have said, “Don’t bother,” because she was pretty sure there wasn’t anything in his car she would ever put on again, but he was already gone.
Ravinia stood beside Catherine’s bed, staring down at her. The EMTs and the nurse who’d brought her in had expected the room to be empty and had given Ravinia questioning looks, to which Ravinia had said, “I’m her niece,” half expecting them to make something of that, but they hadn’t. They’d left, dimming the lights to a soft glow. As soon as they were gone, Ravinia had swept to Catherine’s side.
“Aunt Catherine,” she said quietly. “Aunt Catherine?” Never in her life had she seen her aunt asleep. Catherine had the ears of a hunted animal and was ever on alert. This was a first, and it made her feel both powerful and slightly scared at the same time.
“I’ve got the journal,” she told her. “I stole it from your room.”
Catherine didn’t move. Her breathing was steady and deep.
“It’s Mary’s journal.” Ravinia had determined that when she’d taken it, recognizing that the handwriting wasn’t Catherine’s distinctive and precise penmanship. This journal had been hastily printed or scrawled, and everything looked haphazard and thrown down quickly.
And then she’d randomly turned to a page and read:
C.,
Janet deserves what she gets. You know she took him on purpose. It’s a game with her, but I’m the better player. He’s mine now, and I can feel the baby already.
That clearly wasn’t written by Catherine. Even if it hadn’t been addressed to C., Ravinia would have guessed that was her mother’s journal entry. Yep. Dear old Mom was crazy as a loon.
She wondered, with a sudden bad feeling, if the man that her mother took from this Janet was even her own father. . . . It was all a matter of dates, but the journal was noticeably lacking that information.
When there was no response, Ravinia pulled the book from her back waistband and held it out flat, watching the pages riffle until they broke to a favorite page. “Want me to read it to you?” Ravinia suggested.
Still no change.
Ravinia regarded her helplessly. She wanted to shock her awake. Yes, her aunt drove her out of her mind, but she needed her to come to. They needed her to come to.
She glanced down at the page in front of her.
C., I can take D. from you. Don’t think I can’t. Be smart about him, or I’ll prove my power to you.
Give him up now, before you make me do something I don’t want to. You can’t keep him. I’ll have him, too. J.’s husband and father.
Ravinia glanced up from the book. A cold, eely shiver slid down her spine as she saw Catherine’s blue eyes staring fixedly at her. “Aunt Catherine?” she asked, her voice wavering a bit.
Catherine’s lips moved. “Mary . . . the body . . . Mary . . . the body . . . Mary . . .”
Ravinia stayed still. She kept her gaze on her aunt, wondering if there was sight behind those glassy orbs, or if she was in some other world. After a long minute, she asked, “What body?”
“From the bones . . .”
One hand reached up, clawlike, and grabbed Ravinia’s arm. It was all Ravinia could do to keep from screaming. Creeped out, she gently pulled Catherine’s hand from hers and asked, “Who?”
“Mary . . . the body . . . on Echo . . .”
Ravinia glanced toward the windows, which faced west, but there was only darkness beyond. “There’s a body on Echo Island?” she asked carefully.
“Mary . . .”
“Who’s Janet? Is she the J. Mary refers to?” Ravinia broke eye contact to look at the passage she’d read from the book, her mind racing. She thought about looking into Catherine’s heart. She’d tried and failed before, but her aunt had never been in such a vulnerable position before, either. Concentrating, she tried to see what kind of person Catherine was, but even now the way was blocked.
Maybe it just meant she was neither bad nor good, Ravinia thought suddenly. That was Catherine in a nutshell.
Reading the two passages over again, Ravinia asked her, “Who’s D.? Was he your lover?”
To her shock, Catherine sat straight up, and Ravinia fell back, nearly tripping over her own feet and dropping the journal. As she
juggled the book and pulled it close, Catherine slowly lay back down.
Ravinia took a step forward. She half expected Catherine’s head to spin around or something. Spooky.
“Miss?”
Ravinia let out a short shriek of fear and whipped around. It was a nurse, silhouetted in the doorway. “What?” Ravinia demanded, collecting herself.
“I was checking to see if she’d woken.” She moved into the room, an older woman with a stern look on her face.
Ravinia glanced back at Catherine, who’d closed her eyes, as if she was faking it.
“No, she hasn’t.”
“Have you noticed any change?” the nurse examined the IV they’d put in Catherine’s arm.
“Well, she did sit up, but she wasn’t really awake.”
“She sat up?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, good. It sounds like she’s coming around. I’m sure the doctor will want to keep her overnight. You’re welcome to stay.”
After the nurse bustled away, Ravinia looked back down at Catherine. “What are you doing?” she asked her. “Is this for real?” She watched her breathe for several moments. “Was D. your lover? Was he Janet’s husband?” she asked again, pressing.
Catherine’s lips moved, but no sound issued forth.
“What?” Ravinia gingerly leaned forward, trying to hear. She waited, her heart trip-hammering.
Finally, she heard Catherine say on a soft breath, “Dead gun.”
“Dead gun?” Gooseflesh rose on her arms as she waited for Catherine to respond, but the only sound was her aunt’s heavy breathing.
Ravinia stood in silence for long moments. She could see her aunt relax into the pillows, and she felt the release of some tension in the room she hadn’t known existed. Gazing thoughtfully at the book, she riffled through the pages. Well, there were a lot more entries and a few hours left till daylight. She could get a lot of reading done.