A Strangely Amazing Mother’s Day #4
“It’s the stupid drug!” the ghost announced.
He winced. “, Forgive me, I’m Ray Cummings.
Davie is my daughter’s grandson—my great grandson.
Sorry, miss, I left this world following injuries after the second great war, but my daughter was a lass then.
She had a lad and he had a lad, and then .
. . Davie married. A beautiful, sweet young lass!
And she was about to have a baby when she simply disappeared.
As if into thin air, like this must appear.
Police looked, Davie never gave up hope, but he went so crazy on the search that he had to have mental health help.
I am afraid . . . well, he went to the wrong doctor, one willing to use his patients as guinea pigs for new drugs.
And as I have watched and desperately tried .
. . you cannot hurt Davie! That is the thing.
The poor lad went through hell and then kept going through hell.
And now . . . well, the cocktail that wretched doctor gave him has made him believe he has found his wife.
He thinks it is a year ago, and the lady in the house behind his house is Donna and . . .”
“Sir, Mr. Cummings, I’m so sorry. And we’ll be happy to work on his case, too. I’m with the federal government. But we need to get Cindy safely home. I’ll head in—”
“No, no! The poor boy is armed and dangerous, terrified someone is going to go after his beloved Donna and their child again. If you break in there, he is going to shoot you; and if he shoots you, someone will shoot him—”
“I know what I’m doing, sir. I’m with the federal government, and I’ve been an investigator well over a decade. Sir—”
“Oh, no, you are armed. You are just going to go in there and shoot him!” Ray protested.
“Sir, I promise you, I’m not going to shoot your great-grandson,” Angela promised. “I’m going to speak with him. Trust me, sir, please! And . . .”
She hesitated and then told him, “My husband is in the Lawson house right now. If you could find a way to get to him—”
“He will see me, too?” the ghost of Ray Cummings demanded, shaking his head with confusion.
“He will. But be subtle, please. Let him know to come to David’s house. Wait, oh, no—this happened before? Right on this block, except that—”
“Not on this block. David moved here after it all happened and months had gone by. It is just an irony that his new home backed up to a house where a young woman was about to have her first child,” Ray told her.
“But sadly, the first time, I don’t imagine it was a pathetically delusional man who thought Donna was his wife. ”
“Get my husband for me. He’s the tall guy, Native American features. He’s my partner as well as my husband. So—”
“They don’t allow that.”
“We’re a special unit. Please, sir—”
“I am on it, but what if he wants a slew of cops? A tactical team, a SWAT team. Oh, my God—”
“Sir! He will not. Trust me. I’m going to knock at the door and pretend to be a midwife. Jackson will just come as my husband to see if anything is needed since she is close to delivery.”
At last, the spirit trusted her. He nodded and turned away. She smiled grimly as she walked to the front of the house and the front door.
She wondered what might have happened if she had banged on the door and asked if he’d seen Cindy Lawson.
Who knows? A man in his condition could have come out firing.
And if she’d seen a gun . . . well, they were taught how to survive, though no decent agent was ever happy when there was no choice except to kill in self-defense.
Now she had to hope Cindy Lawson wasn’t in a state of panic so severe that she didn’t realize she needed to play along.
She tapped. And tapped again.
The door opened just an inch.
The young man standing there had close-cut light brown hair, a clean-shaven and handsome face, and looked suspicious.
“Hi, sir!” she said cheerfully. “I’m Angela Crow and working with your wife from the maternity department. So many of our patients have chosen home births lately. I hope you’re not disturbed by your wife’s choice, but—”
“You’re a midwife?” he asked, frowning.
“Midwife and LPRN,” she lied, smiling. “I’ve been tasked with seeing your lovely wife this afternoon and making sure all is going well and discussing her choices again. I am so sorry! We have an appointment. Didn’t she tell you?”
“She’s been crazy today!” he told her, and to Angela’s relief, he stepped back, allowing her to enter. He was wearing a denim jacket. And just as her jacket covered her Glock, she saw he was hiding a holster and a gun.
How to get it from him! That was the most crucial matter at hand!
“Come. I’ll bring you to her. I believe she’ll be anxious to see you. But . . . be warned, she’s doing a lot of ranting and raving. I think . . . well, I don’t know if you’ve had a child or not—”
“I have.”
“Well, did you go a little crazy? I mean, I don’t think she’s in labor, but—”
“Let me see her. I worked with late pregnancies a lot. I’m accustomed to a lot of ranting and raving!” she assured him.
He gave her a nod. She was surprised when he didn’t lead her upstairs but rather through the kitchen and downstairs.
And there, in the basement, he’d prepared an incredible room.
Cindy Lawson was laying on a long and handsome sofa, a big loveseat, so it appeared, one that faced a cradle and a wonderfully prepared room for a baby.
She was moaning and twisting; but hearing them arrive in the room, she turned around and said, “Who are you? Who do you think you are? You’ve got to get me home, get me out of here! I’m afraid, so afraid!”
Angela had managed to get ahead of David, and she signaled to Cindy that she knew who Cindy was.
Angela whispered Cindy’s real name, and an assurance that playing this game would get Cindy to safety.
She had so feared the woman wouldn’t believe her, that she’d get hysterical—or even give her away.
But while she was still somewhat hysterical, whether she understood or not, something else was at play.
“I think I’m going into labor!” the woman cried.
“Okay . . .” Angela murmured.
“Thank God your midwife is here!” David cried from behind her.
“It’s . . . first a pain. Just a pain. Then minutes went by and then they started coming closer and closer—”
“How far apart?” Angela asked her.
“Um, I don’t know. Maybe every five minutes—”
“I need my kit,” Angela told David. Did she know what the hell she was doing? But at this point, was it possible to disarm the man and get the woman to a hospital in time?
There was a knock at the door.
Thank God! Her new spirit friend had found Jackson.
“That’s my husband, please let him in—he can get my kit for me,” Angela told David.
“Right, right, of course!” David said. He turned away, hurried to the door. By that point, Angela had managed to assure Cindy she was there to help her. They just had to be careful since she was about to give birth.
In minutes.
Cindy realized her danger and was immediately ready to listen to anything that Angela had to say. “I must have sterilized scissors and create clamps somehow for the birth cords, but first . . .”
“Angela!” Jackson cried. “I’ve got it—we’re good!”
He had the gun! He’d walked in and gotten David’s gun so quickly.
“But he’s on the run. I’m going—”
“No! Water! Boil water. I need clamps, sterilized scissors!”
To her amazement, Jackson hurried in with a birth kit that might have done a real midwife proud. Clamps, scissors, a blanket, a basin . . .
“I’ve got to go!” Jackson told her. “He’s . . . crazy. A danger to himself and a danger to others.”
“But you’re got his gun—”
“And he’s still got a giant knife. I’ve got to get him before he gets into someone’s house—hurts someone, or—”
She hadn’t seen that the spirit of Ray Cummings was behind him.
“You promised!” he cried. “You promised that David wouldn’t be hurt!”
“And he won’t be!” Jackson vowed.
Jackson stared at Angela, a question in his eyes.
“I’m fine. You’ve dialed—”
“Nine-one-one, yes! On the way.”
“Go!”
She’d already made sure Cindy was in position.
Thankfully, thankfully!
The head was crowning.
The baby wasn’t waiting for anyone.
*
Jackson
David had run out back and then had a decent lead on Jackson.
He didn’t really understand what had happened.
He’d cheerfully identified himself as Angela’s husband, but when he he’d started to follow the man, David had suddenly spun around and started screaming that no one was taking his wife and child.
But then Jackson had training that a man in David’s position had never had access to.
It was possible to slam his arm down before the man had more than reached for gun in its holster at his waist, forcing him to gasp and release the weapon.
Then he’d stared at Jackson in mass confusion and shouted, “No . . . no . . . kill me, you can’t take her . . . wait, wait . . .” And then, “Oh, God!”
There had been a look of amazement and dismay on his face.
Had a moment of reality sunk in? Jackson couldn’t be sure, but Angela was calling out for help. And while he’d hoped to have a conversation, the man sped by him in seconds flat to escape out the back, as he’d hurried to Angela.
But now . . .
He knew Angela had made a promise to secure the ghost’s help.
And he had done the same. Somehow, he had to get to David before David could—most likely give in to his fear—attack someone else.
Or be attacked. He couldn’t guarantee Marty Lawson might not realize the man had taken his wife and go after him.
“So . . . which way?” he murmured aloud. It had gotten late! Far later than he had imagined. Now the man was gone.
In the dark.
And to his surprise, his question was answered. Not by the living. But by another spirit, that of another older man who had been buried in an army uniform that denoted his rank as colonel.