Tonight, for the first time, the dream changed and shifted focus. I dreamed of a girl. She was bleeding out on my table in the Emergency Room. She called out to me in a way that no one else ever has. In my dream, I worked frantically to save her, but it was no use. The curvy brunette beauty with the thick waist and thighs died in my arms. When I woke up, I felt despair. Anguish. Denial. Emotions you shouldn’t feel for someone you don’t know, but nonetheless, I do. I can’t get her out of my head. She calls to me on a primal level. The need to find her is taking over my senses.
A few hours before my shift, Aaron calls me. He’s frantic as he speaks to me. It takes me thirty minutes to get out to his place, and when I finally get there, I find him with a woman. The tiny redhead has a visible head injury. He growls at me when I try to touch her forehead.
Oh, it’s like that is it?
After speaking with him privately and subsequently punching him, he graciously allows my examination to continue. No sign of concussion or cause for concern but to be on the safe side, I provide him with some basic monitoring instructions and head out to the hospital.
Lightning flashes, thunder rolls, and rain pours down as I make my way down Old Mason road. The storm of the century is brewing. Little did I know that my whole life is about to change again.
Chapter 1
Pollyanna Dean
Twice now. This is twice now that I’ve been stabbed in the line of duty. Okay, line of duty is a bit misleading. It makes it seem like I’m a cop instead of a babysitter, but it’s still accurate. The first time, my charge, a toddler named Suzy, accidentally stabbed me in the thigh with a fork. That one just needed a Band-Aid. This one. This one worries me. I’ve been babysitting two little girls, Etta who is seven and Demina who is ten for two weekends now. I’ve only lived in Salem for three weeks. One morning, I woke up at my parents’ house in Connecticut with the need to be where witchcraft flourished in secret and many innocents lost their lives. It was the strangest feeling. I’d never been interested in witches before, but I suddenly knew everything about it. My first Saturday here, I found an ad pinned up in the grocery store. It seemed like a good match at first, but as I got to know them, I realized just how wrong I was. Little Etta is a perfect child. Demina, on the other hand, is evil.
Pure evil.
That little bitch stabbed me in the belly with a chef’s knife. She had been yelling at me about her costume not fitting properly. I wasn’t even there for trick or treating. I had nothing to do with that. Her mother got called into work, so she called me around nine to sit with them until their father came home around eleven. Demina was already in her pajamas when I arrived. I asked how their candy haul was and she just snapped. She started speaking Latin, then ran into the kitchen, grabbed the knife, and gutted me like a fish.
I am looking down at my body right now. I’m lying on a gurney in the back of an ambulance. It’s speeding down the road to what I hope is the hospital. I can see the knife still in my gut. Why don’t they remove it? Why aren’t they saving me? I am taking shallow breaths. It rattles. I know that sound. It’s a death rattle. My white dress is stained red as is my hair. This is it. This is how I die.
For the first time, I realize that I must already be dead. I shouldn’t be able to see my body from this angle, but I can. I’m only nineteen. I’ve never kissed a man. I’ve never fallen in love. I’ll never get the chance to hold my babies. I begin to pray for my salvation. I’m still watching with rapt attention as we screech to a halt in the ambulance bay of the hospital. It’s raining, but I can’t feel it. It’s cold enough that the breaths of those around me are visible. I’m not even visible. Things move quickly now. Everything in me tells me not to lose my body so I keep up with it as I am wheeled into Trauma One. Two seconds later, the hottest man I’ve ever seen comes into the room. He’s huge like a tv wrestler. His crisp white lab coat tells me he’s the doctor. His super sexy face tattoos and Viking hairstyle tell me I might be wrong.
He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Maybe he’s the only one who can see me. I realize he can’t when he all but walks through me.