Dream Dancer (Ghosts Beyond the Grove Book 2) (18 page)

33.  Waves of Panic

     My plans all started crumbling down around my ankles when I got the call a mere five minutes before my alarm was set to wake me.  I found both Addy and bad news on the other end.

     “Ruby!  I’m so sorry to have to tell you this but Derek isn’t going to be able to drive you to the airport this morning.  He woke up in the middle of the night with a crippling pain in his abdomen.  We’re at the hospital right now.  They say his appendix burst.  He’s going in for emergency surgery as we speak.  Please say a prayer for him!”

     A prayer for
him
?  What about
me
?  I had to catch that flight—no ifs, ands, or buts about it.  Zach was counting on me to save him.  And I was—gulp—prepared to die doing it.  But I was pretty sure that me dying on the interstate as I rushed back to Charlotte’s Grove so Shelly could handle the city driving thing wasn’t part of the universe’s equation.  I hurriedly wished Derek the best and rudely clicked out of the conversation so I could form a backup plan.

     I brainstormed for the minute it took for my breakfast sandwich to heat in the microwave and came up with what I thought was a brilliant idea.  A bus.  I would catch a bus from Liberty to the airport or anywhere close to it.  From there, either Shelly would have to pick my sorry city driving-impaired ass up or I would take a taxi to where I needed to go.  Simple as that.

     So with a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit in one hand and my phone in the other; I pulled up the national bus routes and analyzed what they had to offer.  Which was nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Severely strapped for time yet unwilling to take the obviously easy route which was to suck it up and drive there myself, I tossed another biscuit into the nuker and looked for another flight out.  A later flight.  A flight that corresponded with the bus schedule yet would still get me to New Orleans today or tomorrow at the absolute latest.  I had some dying to do.  There was no use putting it off.  So I quickly called Shelly to inform her of what was going on.

     I bypassed her excited greetings without so much as a hello.  “Look, I have a problem.  My ride can’t make it.  I crunched the numbers and I would have to drive double the speed limit the whole way from here to Rosewood to catch you and Rachel before you leave.  I’m going to have to make this drive alone.  I’ll get as close to the airport as I can but at some point, the anxiety will hit and I will have to pull over.  When I do, you’ll have to come find me wherever I am and rescue me.  So leave Charlotte’s Grove as early as possible, okay?  Bye.”

    Giving her time to argue would only be wasting precious moments I would desperately need later.  I took the quickest shower I’d ever had, loaded the car, and hit the highway with my half of the moonstone safely resting in my cup holder for reassurance.  In my post-death instructions, I asked to be buried with that stone.  I couldn’t die a fiery highway death now for heaven’s sake.  It was the one thing that would always remind me of Zach and the special connection we shared.  If he couldn’t spend the rest of my life with me, I at least wanted that stone forever with me.  I put my phone into GPS mode, took a deep breath, and set out for the airport.

     The first leg of my journey was nothing I hadn’t experienced before but with every mile came trepidation.  With every mile closer to Pittsburgh, I questioned the mission I was on.  Was this a double suicide mission I was on?  Were Zach and I Romeo and Juliet after all despite my best intentions to avoid that kind of fate for us both?  I could easily picture myself dead alongside the highway leaving him to fend for himself against whatever hideous fate was waiting for him.

     No, I refused to think like that even as I inched closer to the city and encountered more lanes of highway than I’d ever dreamed of driving through.  I couldn’t die here; I couldn’t die now.  I at least had to save him before I bit the dust.  “Another One Bites the Dust” was actually my favorite Queen song but it made me think of “Bohemian Rhapsody”.  Total thought association kind of moment.  That’s when my sidekick came to mind. 

     “Clay!!  I NEED you!”  I shouted out over the thumping bass inside my car.  But as much as I loved Justin Timberlake, that music
had
to go.  How could I concentrate on the road when he was loudly proclaiming how much he wanted to dance with me?  Any other time, Justin, any other time but now.

     “Oh my God, Ruby—not
this
again.  Are you really trying to see if it’s possible to kill me a second time?  Because if you are, you need to find yourself a new guinea pig.”

     “I can’t turn my head to look at you right now, but imagine the biggest eye roll you’ve ever seen from me then multiply that by a thousand.  I’ll explain what’s going on once this car is safely in park—scout’s honor.  Right now, I need you to help keep me from hyperventilating.”

     Once Clay started telling me that I was doing a great job of not killing us both, I felt slightly calmer so I reached over and jabbed the button to turn the music completely off.  But notice I only said
slightly
calmer.  I was still an anxiety-ridden mess and I needed to pull over at the next possible moment.  As I was squinting at a far off sign to see how close I was to the next exit, my phone began to ring.

     Normally, I wouldn’t take any calls while I was on the road but when I realized Shelly was on the other end, I found enough nerve to take one hand off the wheel long enough to answer it and put her on speaker.

     “Rachel and I just got to the airport.  How close are you?”

     “Close to having a panic attack—that’s how close I am.  Clay’s with me trying to keep me from totally losing it.  But I need to pull over now.  I can’t drive the rest of the way by myself—it isn’t possible.  My hands are shaking and I really wish I could vomit right now.  I’m taking the next exit and then you guys can come find me.  I can’t handle any more of this.”

     “Stay calm, Ruby.  Which exit are you near?”

     “I don’t know, Shelly!  The sign isn’t close enough for me to read yet!”  I could hear the panic in my own voice and it was making me feel more terrified than I already was.

     I don’t know if death improved his vision or if Clay was blessed with beyond 20/20 from birth but suddenly he shouted out the number of the next exit while the sign was still nothing but a hazy blur to my eyes.  I repeated what he said back to her and began to slow down so I wouldn’t miss the exit. 

     “Ruby, wait!  You’re almost to the airport.  You can make it here yourself.  Slow down to a comfortable speed and stay on the parkway.  Taking that exit would be a big mistake.  You can do this.  I’m going to hang up now so you can concentrate.”

     I trusted Shelly’s opinion—really I did.  But I was convinced that she was grossly underestimating the level of panic I was experiencing.  I was about to go against her instructions when I got my sign to keep going.  You guessed it—a feather. 

     How it managed to not only find me but stick with me while going seventy miles an hour in heavy multi-lane traffic, I’ll never know.  Contrary to what I felt was the right thing for me to do, I cringed as I passed that exit and kept barreling down the parkway. 

     I was fine at first—well, fine considering where I was and what I was doing.  Fine until Clay gave a bit of a gasp and gripped onto the console as though he were bracing for an impact.

     “What’s the problem, Clay?  I did exactly what Shelly told me to do.  We’re probably almost there, right?  What’s that sign say, I can’t make it out quite yet.”

     “Umm, uh, me neither,” Clay stammered nervously.

     “Clay!  Boy Scouts aren’t supposed to lie, remember?  What are you hiding from me?  Did I pass the airport or something?”  My internal panic thermometer was rising at an alarming rate.

     “It said Fort Pitt something or other.  Nothing to worry about.  You’ll do just fine.”

     But the way he slurred over the “something or other” part told me there was something worth worrying about up ahead.  I wanted to reach over and smack him but I couldn’t take my eyes off of the road long enough to do it.  A few angry seconds later, I saw what had him terrified.  And my panic thermometer rose until it shattered at the top. 

     The word Clay hesitated to utter was “tunnel”.  Fort Pitt
Tunnel
.  Two miles ahead.  I searched for signs of another exit before I would enter that underground death shaft but there was no other way out.  I was going to have to spelunk my way through it.

     But not without a little freaking out first.  I had two miles to scream every obscenity I knew and throw out every theory about what gruesome death I could possibly suffer in that thing.  Collapse, carbon monoxide poisoning, smashing into the wall then spinning out into every car around me.  Hell, I even got super dramatic and tossed in the possibility that I would run out of gas then get kidnapped by some weird ass cult members in a black van.  What can I say?  In the face of panic, my imagination goes into overdrive.

     So I swore and stressed and went completely schizo for nearly two minutes until I hit the entrance.  I kept my eyes forward, my hands steady on the wheel, and my foot on the gas pedal as I entered yet another unexpected adventure.  And ten seconds into it, I realized Shelly was right.  I
did
have this under control.  Not that I would ever do this for recreation’s sake or anything but if I had to drive here again, I wouldn’t need to hire myself a driver. 

     When I saw the light at the end of the tunnel—literally—I breathed a sigh of relief.  I’d come so far in my quest to save Zach and I knew that I would have the strength to do whatever I had to do when the time came.  No matter how painful it may be.  At this point, I was free of all fear.  And
that
was a good feeling.

     After the tunnel, the rest of my drive to the airport was no more stressful than a quick trip to the supermarket.  I pulled into the lot, paid for my parking, then strolled into Pittsburgh International Airport like I owned the place.  Clay stuck with me until I found Shelly and Rachel then wished me good luck before disappearing. 

     That’s when I realized that I should have told him that I was going to be on his side of the veil soon.  But it was too late to tell him now.  When the moment came, I would call him out for a quick goodbye.  Then I reconsidered the whole being a ghost thing.  Maybe if I could do it for a little while, I would.  After all, I was kind of dying—pardon the pun—to meet Clay’s girlfriend Sophie for the first time.   

     On the plane, I asked if they’d heard any new news regarding Zach’s condition but neither of them had.  He was unwilling to communicate with anyone in his family now including Rachel.  He’d entirely shut himself off from the outside world.  I had faith, though, that things were about to change—if not in New Orleans then most definitely in Robicheaux. 

     I stepped off that plane in Louisiana knowing that I was one step closer to my own demise.  I was walking in my mother’s footsteps without a doubt—
becoming
her almost.  There was something important I wanted to do before I died and I was in the perfect city at the perfect time to do it.  It was worth wasting a little more money to be able to check at least one thing off of my bucket list while I still had the chance to do it.

34.  Torch Song

     The screams erupting from my throat were far less frightening than the wailing in my head.  A chorus of disembodied voices kept shouting at me to die.  Die.  Die.  Die.  Die.  And without her, I wanted to die more than ever now.  Strapped down tight to the bed I lost all hope of ending it myself.  I begged the Angel of Mercy to put me out of my misery but my prayers went unanswered.  Who was going to end my suffering?

35.  Taking the Plunge

     My first impression of New Orleans was of how
alive
it was, though in the complete opposite way that Sedona was.  Sedona was a quiet, serene mecca of natural energy.  New Orleans, on the other hand, was a raucous ode to debauchery in all of its possible forms.  Las Vegas may have garnered the reputation of being Sin City but this place
had
to be running an extremely close second. 

     Shelly booked us a suite in a swanky hotel in the French Quarter so that we could enjoy the festivities from our balcony.  But I had to keep reminding them that we weren’t there to have fun.  We were there to help Zach.  I slid my bags into the corner of my room and started Googling directions to Elva’s Armoire.  Since it was only about five blocks from our hotel, I suggested we walk instead of trying to get a taxi through all of the mayhem in the streets.

     It was only early afternoon when we set out to find the voodoo queen, but the party looked like it had never ended from the night before.  Beads.  Beads
everywhere
.  And I’d never seen so much nudity before in my life.  Wow.  Yeah, just,
wow
.  I kind of understood why someone my age might be okay with that but some of those women—and men—were
waaaay
old enough to know better.  And it goes without saying that there isn’t enough body paint in the world to cover up some people’s shame.

     By the time we got to the right street, my pulse was racing and I was dripping wet with sweat.  Excitement and dread mixed with unbearable humidity combined into one noticeably ugly cocktail.  I knew that both my hair and my makeup must both look atrocious; but for once, I didn’t care.  I was here for answers not a fashion show.  I yanked on the front door to the jewelry store with conviction, ready to see what Fate had in store for me.

     When it didn’t budge, I assumed it was because of me being the creampuff that I am.  Sometimes, even opening a can of soda required a few determined tugs on my part.  So I jerked that door handle harder than I had the first time.  Still nothing.  WTF?  I didn’t come all this way for nothing, did I?

     “Can’t you see that humongous sign in the window?” Rachel asked, pointing to a large yellow poster that I saw but didn’t pay any attention to.  “It says they’re closed and won’t reopen until tomorrow morning.”

     I read the poster then peered in through the window at the jewelry cases draped in gray cloth.  I dug into my pocket for the hasty instructions Addy left for me.  Yep, there it was right there at the top—Closed on Fat Tuesday.

     “Great.  Now what?” I asked rhetorically, pouting as I did so.  “What are we going to do for the rest of the day now?”

     Shelly shook her head in disbelief.  “Really, Ruby?  You’re in New Orleans during Mardi Gras no less.  Trust me, there is no shortage of entertainment to keep you occupied until the AM.  Let’s take a different route back to the hotel and enjoy the scenery.  I want to absorb as much of the atmosphere as I can while I’m here.”

     She was right, of course.  Even under the best circumstances, New Orleans would be a fun place to visit.  But on this, the eve of what I assumed could be my impending, unavoidable doom; New Orleans was
the
place to be.  I needed to live it up—in moderation, that is.

     My mood lightened up a bit as we dodged in and out of eclectic little stores and trendy boutiques.  I could have spent a fortune but I was waiting for something specific to come along.  A few streets past the hotel, I found what I was looking for.

     The Death Wish, Ink tattoo studio didn’t appear as ominous as the name implied.  Not that I had any working knowledge of what they were supposed to look like or anything.  But based on the pure white floor and walls and the gleaming stainless steel cabinets, the place looked sanitary enough.  And I didn’t miss the sign in
this
window—Walk-Ins Welcome.  This was exactly what I was looking for.

     Shelly and Rachel both looked at me as though I was nuts as I plunged through the front door and strode directly to the counter.  Truth be told, I felt a little bit crazy myself.  How else was I supposed to feel after the last few months of my life?  Walk a mile on my feather lined path and tell me how
you
feel when you reach the end.  There was only one person I knew of who’d walked a similar road but she wasn’t around to talk to. 

     Mom knew she was going to die before it happened and now so did I.  My mother had the ability to foresee the future and she’d bestowed that “gift” on me as well—at least somewhat.  My visions came in the form of cryptic dreams not concise ones like she apparently had.  But she faced her mortality with head held high.  She accepted her role as a sacrificial lamb with grace, dignity, and most of all unconditional love.  She went from being someone I couldn’t even remember to someone I idolized. 

     I wanted to get the same tattoo she got while in Sedona.  I almost looked at it as a beautiful battle scar.  Something to prove that I could face the hard times without flinching—to prove that no amount of pain was too much for me to endure.  Of course, once that needle began to pierce the tender skin on my foot, I would have to retract the part about not flinching.  I flinched.  A lot.

     Lucky to have gotten in before the drunken “regret this in the morning along with about ten other things” crowd got there, the tattoo artist assured me that it wouldn’t take long.  I told him exactly what I wanted and within minutes, he’d drawn up a template that was sheer perfection.  As I was about to hand over three hundred dollars in cold hard cash, Shelly decided to put in her two cents.

     “Ruby, I know you’re an adult now and you can get a tattoo anytime you want.  But don’t you think you should put a little more thought into this?  That thing is going to be permanent, you know?  You should never get a tattoo on the spur of the moment.”

     She was right about one thing.  I
was
an adult now.  And I was capable of knowing a mistake when I saw one.  I saw no mistakes in sight so I came back with a clever rebuttal.

     “This tattoo isn’t a mistake now nor will it ever be.  I’m getting the same ink my mom got over twenty years ago.  I may not have gotten to know her in life but I have learned about her after her death.  She was a brave woman who walked the same path of weirdness that I am walking now.  This tattoo is a tribute to her, to her love for Dad and her undying love for me and Miranda.  So if you want to try to stop me, you’re going to have to hit me with your best shot.”

     Rachel ducked back, ready for a total throw down.  Shelly, on the other hand, smiled back at me.  Then without missing a beat, she looked at the heavily tattooed man who was about to permanently etch my mother’s legacy into my skin and said, “Fire away.”

      And with that blessing, I went under the needle while they watched.  Well, one of them watched anyway.  Rachel had a serious issue with witnessing blood loss that I forgot all about so with the first drop, she was done and sitting in the waiting area biting her fingernails down to their nubs.  Shelly, however, stayed right by my side—soaking up every gory detail for future book reference.  That’s when I knew that Shelly was my “spirit animal”—she was able and willing to separate herself from my pain in the name of research.  She wasn’t my real mom but by the law of attraction, she should have been.  Dad made a wise choice when he picked her.  I only wanted to live long enough to let him know that.  

     With every jab of the needle, I felt closer to my final destination.  It’s funny how facing death actually makes you feel completely alive.  I wasn’t going to sulk about not finding my answers today.  I was going to soak up the moments I had left and not miss out on a thing.

     When the tattoo was finished, I stared at it in awe.  It was perfect and symbolic of me in so many ways.  This was one of the crowning moments in my life that would be hard to top.  And it became even more priceless when Shelly made an unexpected announcement.

     “I want one too!  That feather reminds me of a writer’s quill and what’s not to love about the eternity symbol.  Would you mind if I had the same tattoo as you, Ruby?”

     In my mind, I passed Mom’s torch to Shelly.  I would never have the chance to do mother/daughter things with her but with Shelly I could.  We had more in common than I ever wanted to believe we did.  Plus, it would give her something monumental to remember about me once I was gone.  I didn’t directly answer her question, I just looked at the artist who perfectly inked my skin and repeated her infamous line.

     “Fire away!”

     Another hour later, the three of us walked out of Death Wish, Ink with fresh tattoos.  Rachel’s was only a fake one that she purchased from the vending machine in the waiting area but she was every bit as happy with it as we were with ours.  We returned to our hotel room and relaxed on the balcony with a pitcher of iced tea we ordered from room service.

     I kicked back in the humid air with my newly inked foot propped up where I could admire it.  I was so proud of myself—not for what I’d already done but for what I knew I was about to do.  The concept of sacrifice was no longer a scary one.  Sacrifice for the right reason was the best feeling in the world.  I was at peace.  Despite the reverie in the street, I started drifting off to sleep until Rachel and Shelly began loudly daring each other to flash the mob below us.

     “Come on, Shelly—I dare you to do it!”

     “Me?  I’m too old for that kind of stuff.  You do it!”

     “You aren’t too old!  Look at that woman down there—she has to be at least twenty years older than you and she’s doing it.  You’re just chicken.”

     “No, I think
you’re
the chicken. You want to do it but you’re too scared so instead you want to talk
me
into doing it.”

     “I’m not scared. 
You
are.  I double dog dare you!”

     “Well, I
triple
dog dare you!”

     I was tired, ready for bed, and not about to let either of them pull out the dreaded quadruple dog dare.  I had nothing left to lose—it was time to throw caution to the wind.  So I casually walked over to the edge of the balcony and nonchalantly lifted my shirt for the screaming crowd.  For a full ten seconds.  Then I pulled myself back together and turned around to see two shocked faces staring at me. 

     “Goodnight” was all I said as I brushed past them and into the hotel room without a second thought.  Settling into my bed, I set my alarm clock early so that I would be at Elva’s Armoire before the throng of tourists could beat me to it.

     I woke up refreshed without having any weird dreams.  Strange things were always waiting in the wings for me but I wasn’t expecting what happened that morning.  It defied the very laws of physics, in my mind.  My capacity for weirdness would never cease to amaze me.

     It happened while I was in the bathroom getting ready to leave.  I’d left my special blow dryer at home in an effort to pack light.  Hotel blow dryers were terrible but I decided not to worry about my hair while I was Louisiana.  The humidity was terrible and I knew I was going to be a frizzed out mess no matter how hard I tried to fight it.  So I picked up that cheap dryer and turned it on with only one goal in mind—to have dry hair regardless of what it looked like.

     I did my best without all of the fancy attachments I had on the one back home.  My best produced seriously weird results.  My hair was dry yet
straight
.  Flawlessly straight.  Even my expensive, salon-quality flat iron never made my hair look this good.  There wasn’t a single hair that wasn’t falling in line perfectly with the rest.  They were all synchronized into one sleek attempt to make me beautiful.  And it worked.  I looked like…Mom.

     Both Shelly and Rachel complimented me on my new hairstyle but wondered what made me decide to straighten it again.  So for the umpteenth time in the last few years, I had to explain that something weird was going on with me.  Again.

     “I didn’t do this myself—Fate did it for me.  Lately, I’ve come to realize that I am turning into Mom.  For better or worse, we were meant to take the same path in life.” 

     I tried to keep the ominous tone of foreshadowing out of my voice but Shelly gave me a strange look.  She knew I was hiding something from her.  It wouldn’t take her long to figure it out.  Hopefully by then, the wheels would all be set into motion and it would be too late for anyone to try to stop them. 

     We lingered over breakfast for a bit too long discussing my stunt on the balcony the night before.  I had to admit—I was surprised by my spontaneity far more than they were.  Spontaneous was rapidly becoming my middle name. 

     Running fifteen minutes late, we weren’t able to make it to Elva’s Armoire as the doors were opening.  There were already three customers inside the store when we stepped inside.  A woman wearing a Louisiana State Police ball cap was browsing alongside her daughter in the far right corner.  The girl was only about ten years old yet begging her mother for a five hundred dollar designer watch. 

     “Kids these days.  When I was ten, I begged for Barbie dolls,” I whispered into Shelly’s ear so as not to be overheard.