Salem's Daughters (39 page)

Chapter 62              Heaven or Hell

Debbie Steven’s world was one of isolation and sensory deprivation, where darkness and silence governed her will. She drifted aimlessly with no sense of direction, regardless of her determination to control her surroundings. A swirling sensation hindered any ability to coordinate her five senses.

She could not discern up or down. Her universe was devoid of left and right. Back and forth did not exist. Even so, she was aware, again, that she at least existed
.

My name is Debbie Elaine Stevens
.
This much I’m sure of.

She had been aware a few times, but had soon meandered back to sleep. This time, she was stronger and determined to break through.

But her thoughts were disorganized, random and scattered. Where am I? Could I be dead? If so, which place did I end up?

Take it easy, girl. Relax. No need to hurry. Proceed at a comfortable pace. Take an accounting of what you have and go from there.

Debbie sensed the presence of someone else—or some entity—with her. A friendly kindred spirit that protected her. A veil of sorts seemed to fall from her mind, opening up the world around her just a little bit.

From this, Debbie deduced she didn’t end up in that place with Emily.

Emily
.

That evil black cat with three large white spots jumped back into her memory. Debbie gasped as fear flooded in. Desperate to escape, she took a deep breath and tried to move her arms and legs as a current swept her back. She tumbled and spun, not knowing where she was or if that damned cat was in pursuit.

But the image of Emily opened the floodgates of new remembrances. Memories of people and events poured into her mind, in a scrambled cacophony of bewildering images and sounds. Ross and Erma Dempsey. Grandma turned and hissed at Emily who had tried to sneak up on them, causing that malicious cat to turn and run so fast she was no longer in Debbie’s world.

There they stood; an angelic duo if there ever was one, suspended against a blanket of white. Grandma smiled. Her skin was no longer horribly burned and scarred. She looked just like Debbie remembered, wearing a nice solid matching outfit of blue and white with a cute matching hat.

Grandpa, his head back as it should be, wore a brown suit with a slight plaid pattern. He held his belly and laughed. They brought her pleasure and reassurance.

Only the new perfect bodies heaven promised could explain this. Erma spoke, but only her mouth moved. Debbie knew she communicated Emily was no longer a threat. Surely she was in heaven. Another veil lifted, and she felt a little more alive.

Debbie tried to speak. But no words came out. No matter. She could wave to her beloved grandparents. Her heart jumped. She raised her arms to wave them back and forth.

One arm was free. But her left wrist was constrained. She could move it a few inches and that was all. A cold metal ring enclosed her wrist.

Strange. But at least she could feel again, although this was not what she expected. Her confusion lifted a bit more. The swirling slowed.

Grandma and Grandpa held out their loving arms to her. They called to her and extended their unconditional love with the purest smiles and laughter. Surely this was heaven. They didn’t have white feathery wings or halos. But they were here and Emily was not.

Debbie tried to wave both hands three more times. Again, her left wrist was restrained.

Clank.

Clank.

Clank.

What is that awful sound echoing in my ear? It’s giving me a headache.

At least she could hear now. A second sense returned, jumpstarting hope within her heart.

With two senses recovered, it was natural to go for sight. The effort to open her eyes shot a pulsating wave of pain deep into her head. After a few moments the misery subsided. Shadowy figures hovered above, blurred and blended with light.

Debbie forced her chapped lips open. The pain to move her bottom jaw was intense. Her mouth was so dry, her tongue snappy and crackly. Worst morning breath ever, she was sure. Something small, cold, and wet was placed in her mouth as she tried to speak. Crushed ice?

As her lips and tongue sprang to life, the heavenly scent of perfume infiltrated her nose. So peaceful and calming, confirming this could not be hell.

All her senses had returned, at least in part. She knew her right hand was being held and gently stroked. She rolled her head. Her hand came into view, held between to larger, darker hands.

But her left hand. She tried to lift it, but again could only raise it a few inches.

Clank.

Clank.

Clank.

More crushed ice was placed in her mouth. Not much, but enough to help increase her senses.

Debbie tried to speak. Only dry guttural sounds escaped.

“Shhhh. You just relax, you hear me, now?” The gentle stroking moved to her forehead.

Debbie squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them a little. She could perceive much more. But the lights, they were too bright. And the beeping noises, so loud and confusing. The pulsating pain in her head returned.

“You just let good ol’ Latasha take care of you. Stop squirming. I know you can hear me.”

Debbie blinked a few times, then looked up at a staring, smiling face. Dark hair. Ebony skin. Individual features still too blurry to make out. More of Debbie’s surroundings came into focus. Her senses separated. Sight and sound became distinct from each other. She took in a slow deep gulp of air that made her dizzy. She almost passed out.

“There, there now. You just rest up, child.”

No. This can’t be.
I’m in a hospital. And that’s a nurse looming over me.

Grandma and Grandpa, still smiling and laughing, disappeared like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

Debbie tried to move her left arm again.

Clank.

Clank.

Clank.

That noise is driving me crazy.

“Now don’t you go and try something foolish, Mrs. Stevens. You shouldn’t try and move, or I’ll have to give you something to put you right back to sleep. You hear me?”

Debbie closed her eyes. She needed to relax and let things come to her.

Bob.

Images of her soul mate came once, twice, then overwhelmed her. She wept. But the nurse saying she would give something to put her back to sleep caused Debbie to gather the strength to stop, if only for a few moments.

Debbie needed answers. She composed herself, and muttered a word. It came out before realizing that’s what she needed.

“Ice.”

“You just rest, honey child.”

“Ice. Please.”

More crushed ice was placed between her lips. It melted and flowed across her tongue. So refreshing. She was now able to speak more words.

“Bob. Where is my Bob?”

Debbie clenched her fists and flailed her wrists. One hand was free. Her left, still bound.

“Now you listen up and stop this foolishness right now or I’ll put you down for your own good. I’m not messing around. Understand?”

Debbie relaxed and nodded her head. She focused her eyes on a middle aged African American woman, somewhat heavy with age, and gray roots shooting off a dark Afro in every direction.

“Okay. Now I have your attention. You seem to be coming around pretty good. So allow me to give you a brief rundown. Your name is Debbie Elaine Stevens. Do you understand?”

Debbie nodded her head.

“Robert Jeremy Stevens. That’s your husband.”

Debbie again nodded, holding back tears.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news. But your husband, and I’m sure he was a mighty fine man, well honey, he died.”

Darrowby.
That maniac killed my husband. Debbie blotted out his face.

“Yes, ma’am. He died in a fire that also killed your grandparents. And a few more people. Honey child, you should thank the good Lord above you’re still alive.”

A flashback of those who were murdered by Emily and those cursed cats rolled across her mind, this time slower, organized, and in chronological order.

DeShawn Hill.

Patrick and Marian Allen.

Paul Knudson.

Reginald and Sophia Johnson.

Maria Rodriguez.

Joseph Meicigama.

Her grandparents.

Eddie and Alison Brady.

Raymond Hettinger.

Detective Kowalski.

Bob.

She could now control her senses and her thoughts, but not her emotions. Her arms and legs began to shake. She let out a long loud wail.

Latasha’s hands gently covered her mouth. Debbie grabbed her wrist with her free hand and tried to pull it off.

“Honey child, I told you to relax. Your heartbeat on the monitor just sped up to unacceptable levels. And your grip, it’s mighty tight for someone who’s been in a coma for three days.”

Debbie remembered grabbing Darrowby’s semi-automatic handgun. Rebecca, Chloe, and Esther were ripped apart by bullets as she nearly emptied the clip. Emily briefly escaped, then she stood above a broken gas pipe, only to blow herself up in an attempt to kill Debbie and Darrowby while bringing down the rest of Murcat Manor in a fiery heap. Debbie let go of Latasha’s wrist, and the image of Darrowby’s gun faded.

“As I said, my name is Latasha. I’m the head nurse of this floor. You’re at the Trauma Burn Center at the University of Michigan Hospital here in Ann Arbor.”

Debbie’s worst fear as a child was realized; being burned alive. So much for being in heaven.

Latasha placed more crushed ice in her mouth.

Debbie mumbled the words, “I’m burned? How bad?”

“Not so bad as you might think. You have second degree burns over thirty percent of your body, mainly your arms and legs. You also have a broken right leg and three cracked ribs from your bed and breakfast falling down on you. Oh, and you have a concussion. That’d help explain your three day coma.”

Latasha reached for something on a steel table next to the bed. “Now, I’m gonna hold a mirror so you can see your pretty little face.”

Debbie looked. Her head was covered in bandages. Holes allowed for her eyes, nose, and mouth to be seen.

“Like I said, it’s not as bad as you think. Your face has lots of small cuts. There was a couple gas explosions. You have twenty-seven stitches. But don’t you worry none. Your face will have some minor scarring, but nothing a little makeup won’t cover. But in general, your body’s been severely traumatized. You’ll need plenty of time to heal.”

Debbie tried to lift her left hand again.

Clank.

She looked. It was handcuffed to the rail of her hospital bed.

“What’s this?”

Latasha’s smiling face now became stern. “Compliments of Detective Darrowby.”

“Dar—Darrowby?”

“Yes, ma’am. You and him are the only ones made it out alive. He had a police officer push him here in a wheelchair so he could read you your rights. ‘Course, it don’t mean nothing since you were unconscious. But he’ll be back now that you’re awake. I guarantee you that. Again, I’m sorry about your husband. And your grandparents. God rest they souls.”

“Bob—”

“Fire department found him in the rubble of the basement. Again, I’m sorry honey child.” Latasha smiled at her like a mother would her long lost and found again baby.

Debbie looked at her wrist again and tried to raise her head.

“I’ll fill you in on what’s happening. Then I’ll have to induce you back to sleep. Long story short, Darrowby is charging you for a whole lot of murders. Everyone who died at Murcat Manor, including your late husband. And your neighbors whose house also burned same time as yours. Fifteen deaths in all, yes ma’am.”

Debbie tried to say something in her defense. The only words she could spill out were, “Cats. Those damned cats.”

Latasha shrugged off the words. “This is big news, honey. It’s all over televisions. Fifteen people dead? Makes you out a serial killer to the media. And this is the third time the houses on this property burned to the ground, killing everyone. People are stopping by in droves and taking pictures. Oh yeah, it’s big news, honey.”

Debbie collapsed on the pillow and closed her eyes.

“But don’t you worry none. Your attorney, he’s been on TV a lot. He’s taking Darrowby to town, making him look for sure like some fish-eyed fool. And you? Child, he’s got folks thinking you’re like some second coming of Mother Theresa.”

“Darrowby. Where is he?”

Latasha smiled wide. “Oh, he’s here. But don’t you worry. He’s on another floor. He’s awake and in lots better shape than you. But good lawd, that man,” she rolled her eyes and feigned fanning her neck. “He’s madder than a wet hornet. I can tell you, as soon as you’re up and about, they’re gonna formally charge you,” she tapped the bed’s side rail. “Right here in your bed.”

No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Debbie’s world started to swirl again as she tried to break her shackled arm free of the cuff.