Maybe when she’d made the decision to stay behind and help Chloe cross, she had in fact kept her body from surrendering its spirit completely. He’d never even considered that possibility, didn’t know it was an option. But now he knew, and he had to find out where she was, how she was and how he could get to her.
Celeste was hurt, but how badly hurt, Dax didn’t know. What he did know-thanks to Clara Vicknair’s diary-was that every time she visited him, she weakened her physical body and therefore lessened her chances to stay on this side. What if that last visit had caused her to cross completely?
He thanked God that there was hardly any traffic. Holding his cell phone to his ear, he didn’t hear anything. No ringing, no voice message, nothing. He glanced at the call screen, and saw he had no service. He tossed it to the passenger’s seat.
“Come on!” Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he wished Houma were closer than an hour and a half from the Vicknair plantation. Then again, thanks to driving like a madman, he’d be there soon. However, even when he got to the city where the bus had crashed, would he be able to find her? Would she be in a hospital in Houma, or would they have taken her to one of the New Orleans hospitals? Or would she have been transported somewhere else? That was entirely possible. She could have been transferred to the nearest facility that was best equipped to handle her injuries.
Her injuries. She had been hurt badly enough to keep her in the middle realm for four months.
Four months.
And he was solely responsible for making her worse.
“Say I didn’t hurt her,” he said, and tried to decide which hospital to go to first. There were two in Houma, the Leonard J. Chabert Medical Center and the Terrebonne General Medical Center. If he didn’t get in touch with Chloe’s folks before he hit the city limits, he’d simply drive to one, then the other, and see if Celeste was at either of them.
He had a few Houma doctors on his pharmaceutical route; he’d visited them just last week. What if he’d been on one floor of the hospital, and she was on another? And how many times had he visited these hospitals over the past four months? Was she there all that time? Could he have seen her? Helped her?
That bus wreck had occurred on the Fourth of July. So long ago.
His cell phone rang, and he quickly picked it up. “Hello?”
“Did you find her yet?” Nanette asked.
“No. I’m not even sure where she is. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Chloe’s family, but I’m about a mile from one of the hospitals in Houma, and I’m going to see if she’s there.”
“I checked the Internet to see if I could find any information about the accident, thinking that maybe some of the news articles might have said where they took the people who were injured.”
“And?” Dax reached the entrance to Terrebonne General Medical Center and pulled in.
“Nothing. The newspaper articles list the number of fatalities and casualties, but no names or specifics. Sorry, Dax.”
“That’s okay. I appreciate you trying. Listen, I’m at the first hospital. I’m going to see if she’s here.” He parked the car, got out and sprinted toward the entrance.
“Call me and let me know when you find her. I’m going to keep searching the Net.”
“Okay.” He disconnected and entered the hospital lobby.
An elderly woman in a pink hospital smock sat behind the information desk and smiled at him when he neared.
“Can I help you locate a patient?” she asked.
“Yes. Celeste Beauchamp.”
“Beauchamp,” she repeated softly as her arthritic fingers clicked the keys of the computer in front of her. Then she shook her head and frowned. “I’m so sorry. There’s no patient here by that name. Could she be listed under a different name, perhaps?”
“No, thanks.” Frustrated, he turned and headed out. As he got into his car, his cell phone started up again. Nanette was impatient. He punched the Send key. “She wasn’t there.”
“Excuse me?” the man said on the other end. “Is this Dax Vicknair?”
“Yes, yes, it is,” Dax said, easily recognizing Chloe’s father’s voice. “Mr. Reynolds?”
“I’m afraid I just got your message. Is-well, is anything wrong? I had to wonder if this has anything to do with Chloe. We’ve sensed her lately, both of us have, but we thought it was because of her birthday last week. She’d have been seven, you know. We think she came to see us then, or was watching us, or however it works. But everything’s okay with her, isn’t it? I mean, she crossed fine, like you said, didn’t she?”
“Yes.” He shouldn’t have left such a vague message, Dax now realized. He sure didn’t want to cause the Reynolds family to worry about their daughter, but he simply hadn’t been thinking about anything but Celeste when he called. “I haven’t heard from Chloe since she crossed over, but I know that she crossed fine,” he reassured. Celeste had told him that she’d personally seen Chloe enter the light, so he had no doubt that their daughter was safe and sound on the other side, unlike Celeste, hovering in the middle. “And I don’t doubt that you’re sensing her presence,” he added. “Spirits do tend to keep an eye on their loved ones on this side, until they see you again over there.”
Chloe’s father sighed heavily. “Well, that’s a relief.” His voice grew faint as he turned away from the phone. “She’s okay, dear.”
“Sorry to have alarmed you,” Dax said, “but I believe you can help me with another spirit, or individual, I should say. A woman who was on the bus with Chloe that day. Her name was-is-Celeste Beauchamp.”
“The counselor for the camp?”
“Yes,” Dax said quickly, thankful that Mr. Reynolds readily recognized her name. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? “The counselor. Do you know what happened to her? Or where she is now?”
“I know that she didn’t stay here long. I mean, in Louisiana. She was in one of the local hospitals for a while, but then, when there wasn’t any change, her family wanted to take her back home. We get updates on her condition, though, through the church bulletin, she’s on the prayer list. Hold on, and I’ll get it.”
“Wait!” Dax said, but Reynolds had already put the phone down. Celeste’s parents wanted to take her back home? Where was home?
Dax felt like kicking himself-he’d never even considered that she wasn’t from Houma. That was where the campers were from, but Celeste wasn’t a camper; she was a counselor. Why hadn’t he ever asked her where she lived?
He recalled her telling him that the first time she’d tried a muffuletta was the day of the bus crash. He should have put it together then-she hadn’t had the traditional New Orleans sandwich before because she wasn’t from Louisiana. And there were her comments about poinsettias not being able to grow outside her parents’ house…
Why hadn’t he put it together?
“Okay, I’ve got it now,” Mr. Reynolds said. “Celeste Beauchamp is still listed on our prayer list. She’s been on it since the summer. Let’s see…she’s at Parkridge Medical Center in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Room 302.”
Chattanooga. Near the Smoky Mountains, definitely not a place where poinsettias would survive outside. “Can you tell me about her condition?” Dax asked, scrawling the name of the hospital and room number on a notepad and struggling to keep his voice calm in spite of the way his mind was currently reeling. How was she? And how quickly could he get to her?
“I assume she’s still in a coma,” Mr. Reynolds said bluntly. “From what we heard, the doctors couldn’t find any reason for her not to wake up, and a few times we got reports that she seemed to be getting better, but evidently, she didn’t come completely out of it, or she slipped back into it, or however it works. Last week, though, at church, they announced that her condition had worsened. I’m not sure how, they just asked for more prayers.”