Something To Dream On (34 page)

Diving into the lake was just the beginning of my marathon. Once out, I run for my life. My dash takes me blocks away—through the lobby, past the exam rooms, and out to the back where Griffin is washing out the kennels. I go through cyclone fencing and into the cage of a German Shepherd. He flips out to tell me he’s not happy that I’ve invaded his domain.

“Sherlock!” Griffin warns. He points to the Welsh Corgi in the next cage. “You’d better shut your mouth, or I'm gonna let Smiddy at you.”

Once I get Sherlock good and riled, I pass through two cages and coax a Dachshund into chasing her tail. Griffin takes a stance with his hands on his hips. He reminds me of his mama. “Frankenweenie, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Inside the next cage, I stir up more trouble with a poodle. Naturally, it nips at me. Griffin heads over, and it snaps at him through the fence. "Oh, that's just it! I've had it with everyone around here!" He throws down the hose and struts into the building. When we get near a cat getting a flea bath, it scuttles across the room and slides in front of Griffin. "What the hell is going on around here? Are we about to have an earthquake or something?"

Griffin stays on target toward the front. The door of an exam room opens, and a woman exits with a Dalmatian. I dance around it and then around Griffin. The thing comes unglued to the point where his owner can barely contain him on his leash.

“Did I take a bath in something funny?” Griffin asks.

I stay where I'm at and let him walk forward. A lady exits the next room with a cat in a carrier. The cat looks in my direction and hisses. Griffin turns back in disbelief. “What is going on?” The head-shaking Griffin goes into the office area and takes a seat at his desk. How can he be so oblivious? “Nothing’s been the same at this place without Lizzie.”

Come on! Make the connection!

A tinkling in the lobby signals divine intervention. Hopefully my favorite, slobbering hound will give me a break. Griffin opens the door to let Socrates in for his appointment. Socrates tugs at his leash in a request to visit me. “Come, boy,” his owner says while tugging back. “She’s not here now.”

The hoodels I’m not! I do jumping jacks while meowing. Socrates tugs harder and begins barking. I pop up on my desk and he breaks free. Griffin chases him, but when Socrates jumps up to get to me, Griffin stops dead in his tracks. “Girl, what is going on?”

"Excuse me?" Socrates’ mom asks.

"It’s nothing ma'am." Griffin stares at my desk, and then guides Socrates to an exam room. A few minutes later, he returns with a cat. The closer he gets to me, the more the cat smacks its tail against Griffin’s bicep. Griffin backs off. The cat still glares in my direction, but now her tail just swishes. "Lizzie, are you here?" He gets close, and the cat tries to claw out of his arms.

Griffin’s face goes void of life. "Lizzie baby, knock once if you're here, twice if you're not. Never mind, that's crazy talk. Just knock.”

Gah! If I could make noise, I’d have done it ages ago. Griffin waits with bated breath as I scramble for a solution. I jump toward him and yell, “Boo!” The cat’s fur stands on end, and she hisses.

“Sweet Baby Jesus! I’ll be a—” The cell phone on Griffin’s desk rings, causing him to jump, which in turn causes the cat to shriek. “Five missed calls from Jensen. Lizzie, what’s going on? Are you … Oh no, you are
not
dead!” He answers the phone, and his “Hello?” crawls out. “Etta jumped into the lake like she was going after Lizetta? No, no. Not as weird as you may think.” Through the earpiece, Jensen’s voice rattles on. “Hold—Hold up, Mr. Big Bulge. Stop panicking about not feeling her anymore.” Griffin calls out, "Lizzie, you're here, aren't you?” I do the only thing I can count on to work—take a step towards the cat and it claws at Griffin. "Stop pissing off the cat!”

“Sorry.”

His words are aimed at the phone. “You catch that?” He then calls out, “Look, Casper, after work we are all going to see that psychic—you know, the crazy woman that said something bad was going to happen to you. Maybe she can figure out this madness.”

Yes!

Despite Griffin being far from anything resembling a gearhead, he actually named this trusty, old Nova. Giving this Fire Engine Red baby the name Peaches seemed absurd, until he told me that driving a beater was the pits. Though my logic said the car should be named Cherry, he replied, “Nope. Some things just ain’t worth popping.” Then my brain shut off because I couldn't handle all the weird connotations.

Peaches bounces into the driveway and scrapes her tail on the way up. Seriously, new shocks are not that expensive. It’s a wonder Paul is fine with me hanging out with this guy.

Griffin doesn't even shut off Peaches before Jensen has his head inside her window. “Is she still with you? Paul said there’s been no change.”

I touch Griffin’s arm and hum. He looks to me in the passenger seat and rubs his jaw. “Yeah, she's here. Either that or I’ve completely lost my mind.”

Jensen opens Griffin’s door. A smile the width of the Grand Canyon crosses Griffin’s face as he eyes every inch of Jensen and bats those lashes that practically reach his brow. “You know, if you ever want to cross over to the dark side …”

Jensen takes two steps back and jerks his hand off of the handle. I laugh at how his being gentlemanly is suddenly a sin.

Jensen’s arm gets a girly slap. “So sensitive! Brother, we have got to lighten up because we are both on the verge of madness. We can't let stuff get to us too much, or they are going to put us in a couple of those pink padded cells, and pink is just not your color.” He heads off with his hips swinging in a full woman’s swagger. “What are you waiting for, Sugar? Enjoying the view?” Jensen snaps into a sprint to open my door. This time Griffin’s once-over calls Jensen out as being a prime cut of meat that is buttery, rare, and ready to devour. “Always the gentleman.”

The Amazing Zolta answers the door. “Did I forget an appointment?” She snaps her wrist over to check her watch. “Sorry! Closed for dinner! Come back in a few hours. Oh!” Her finger goes up. “A moment.” She scuttles over to a Day Planner and smacks it with said finger. “I'm booked for the rest of the evening. Now, tomorrow morning—”

We follow her inside, and Jensen steps up to her. “This is urgent. Someone's life could depend on it.”

I take a shot and touch her arm. “Hi, Zolta. Remember me?”

Zolta’s torso retracts. “You did not come alone.
She
is with you.”

“Oh, we are
so
not alone,” Griffin sasses. “You remember Lizetta?”

“The one with the terrifying reading? How could I forget?” Her gaze goes to my direction. “Oh, dear. What happened?”

“The Tower,” Griffin says.

“But she didn't die,” Zolta mutters. “Death feels cold.”

“No, she's in a coma.”

“Can either of you see her?”

The boys shake their heads. Zolta circles me. “How did you learn that she walks with you?”

“Animals react to her.” Jensen says. “Don’t they only freak out over ghosts?”

“No, no, no. Animals react to energy.” She swipes her arm back and forth. Each time she does, it passes through me, and the buzz of her energy interacts with my own. However, she feels no reaction until I hum. Then her fingers flutter to the sky. “Fascinating! Are you sure she's in a coma? Usually, the living stay within their bodies.”

Jensen perks up with words that are firm. “I just checked with the hospital. Lizetta is alive.”

With a bounce of her knees, Zolta’s hands clasp together. “A traveler! Oh, this is wonderful! How did I ever miss that she was a traveler?”

Zolta keeps swiping her hand through me. The constant buzzing is uncomfortable. “Would you please stop that?”

Her hand drops. “Oops! I seem to be annoying the girl. Sorry, dear.”

Griffin’s eyes go wide in reaction to Zolta talking to me. His words crawl out. “Miss Zolta, what is a traveller?”

“An astral traveler! It takes a very long time to master—if you are going about in a normal existence.” With her hands landing squarely on her hips, she juts her head in my direction and squints. “Something must have knocked her out of her body.”

“But her body is going to die,” Griffin says, sounding panicked. Jensen shoots him a death glare before swallowing back the acceptance that Griffin is probably right.
 

“What happens if she doesn't make it?” Jensen asks.

“Not to be blunt, but if she dies … Well, then she dies.” She flicks her hand at the boys. “That's not our concern. The real question is, why is she outside of her body?”

Jensen’s words go to the floor while hiding his guilt-ridden face. “She was looking for a wedding dress. It’s my fault. I was too impulsive. If I had planned a proper proposal, she wouldn't have been—”

“Hold on!” With the stance of a proud warrior, Zolta’s hands drop onto Jensen’s shoulders. “Fate would have intervened regardless of where she was.” Her eyes grow firm. The voice that comes out is strong and deep. It also makes Jensen’s muscles freeze. “You must continue your life exactly as you have. Do not waver!” With an unheard snap, Zolta turns to Griffin and resumes being her animated self. “Now, what else happened?”

“Lizzie was walking near a crane that wasn’t properly blocked off. The latch failed and a piano came crashing down. Several pieces stabbed her chest, but two large ones upsided her to the ground.”

“Did she go directly into the coma? What state is her body in now?”

“Boy Friend and I don’t understand half of what they are saying. All we know is she’s been experiencing seizures and hemorrhages. The doctors say there’s not much more they can do before—”

“Holy cow.” Zolta releases a long exhale. “Lizetta, if you have a silver cord, like I think you do, there is a big reason why you didn’t stay locked in your body.” She taps a finger to her lips and starts pacing. “The interesting thing about astral travel is that you are boundless. If she's really traveling—” Zolta halts. “Oh! It is so obvious! Of course! You need to—”

Harold appears in the corner, stopping Zolta dead in her tracks. She sees him? How can she see him and not see me? “Seriously, God, a manual! Would it have been so hard to give me a manual?”

“Why are you stopping?” Griffin asks. “What does Lizzie need to do?”

“She just …”

Harold wags a finger.
“Tisk, tisk, tisk.”

Zolta’s look of deep thought snaps away. She tosses her hands up, making her turn cartoon-like again. “We’re done!” Her strides whip toward the door to shove the boys out.

“No way!” Jensen protests. “You're on to something. Is it money you want? Believe me, whatever it is, I'll make sure you get it. We need to know what’s—”

"I'm sorry," chimes out of her. "All I can tell you is that time is of the essence.” Harold’s torso enlarges. Wings slice through his jacket and flare up. Zolta seems to shrink. She looks to us and mutters so quietly that I have to strain to hear her. “There is a huge difference between traveling and dying. Dying sends you to the next plane. Traveling is nearly boundless, but you are confined to this plane.” Like a lightning strike, her hands shoot out, her eyes flare, her teeth grit, and her voice grows harsh. “Leave! I command you to leave!”

Jensen again starts to protest. Zolta reaches into a drawer and pulls out a gun. Griffin’s hands fly up in surrender. “Look,” Jensen says, “all we want is—” Zolta fires a warning shot into a vase, spraying water and glass across the room. The guys flee, but I’m not budging.

Zolta turn sheepish in the presence of Harold. “Ernesta,” he warns. “If they, or this girl, show up again, you ignore them. Got it?”

Rapidly, she nods. “Yes. I understand. Absolutely.”

Harold puts me in my place as well. “Take what you've been given and be on your way. If she tells you anything else, ignore her!”

The sound of Peaches starting up seeps through the windows. It is soon drowned out by Bertha’s roar. If I don’t hurry, I will miss my ride, but Harold has pushed my buttons. “You make it sound like she’s given me the keys to the kingdom.” Bertha’s tires squeal as Jensen’s lead foot send her ripping out of the driveway.

Harold grabs me by the ear. I’m being schooled, yet the lesson is lost on me. If anything, this has shown that there must be something I can do, or Harold wouldn't have gotten so bent. There is some kind of reason why all of this is happening. Harold must be hoping I don't figure it out; else his booty may be on the line.