The Witch's Grave Part 2

People appeared from nowhere, and I felt myself being crowded to the back of the group as everyone jockeyed for a view of the men fighting to save Stephen. In the distance the whirl of helicopter blades and the sound of sirens came closer and closer. The company parted suddenly.

An ambulance, followed by a patrol car, pulled down the lane, the dust rolling in thick clouds behind them. Both vehicles skidded to a halt, and three EMTs in their blue jumpsuits flew out of the doors of the ambulance. A deputy exited the patrol car and motioned the crowd back. To my numb brain, he reminded me of someone trying to herd reluctant cattle.

Craning my neck, I saw one of the EMTs rush over to Stephen, while the other two pulled equipment out of the back. Without delay, they joined their partner kneeling over Stephen. In fast, precise movements they cut the front of his shirt and pulled it to the side, revealing a small round hole to the left of his sternum. One EMT pressed down hard on the wound, while the other two inserted IVs in his arms and a tube down his throat.

A hand on my arm spun me around.

Abby.

"Ophelia, are you all right?" Her words came out fast, and heavy with the sound of the South. A sure sign of how upset she was. "What happened?"

Before I could answer, she threw her arms around me and embraced me tightly.

"I'm not hurt," I mumbled into her shoulder. "Someone shot Stephen, a man I just met."

She released her death grip on me and stepped back, her eyes scouring my face. Satisfied, she nodded once and turned her attention to the EMTs.

We watched while they carefully placed a board under Stephen's still body and, lifting slowly, moved him onto the gurney. Then, moving rapidly, they wheeled him toward the waiting ambulance. The EMT with his hand on the wound kept it in place as they moved him. Once the gurney was secured in the back, the doors were slammed shut and the ambulance peeled away, sirens blaring and lights flashing.

Three.

I sat huddled on a chair in the dining room of the winery. Darci knelt in front of me with a winegla.s.s in her hand, trying to get me to drink. From behind me, Abby stood making soft clucking sounds while she stroked my head.

With a grimace, I turned my head away. "Water," I croaked, my mouth dry and sour.

Magically, the water appeared in her hand, and she pressed the rim to my lips.

I drank eagerly in big gulps, but when the cold water hit my stomach, I felt it lurch. Shaking my head, I pushed the gla.s.s away.

People gathered in tight little groups around the room, and their hushed voices penetrated my mind at some level, but I couldn't comprehend their words. The sound was only a buzz in my brain as I stared off into nothingness.

I shivered.

"Would someone please get us a blanket?" Darci commanded.

Feet scurried across the polished wood floor, and soon I felt soft wool being draped around me. On each side of me, Abby and Darci swiftly tucked the blanket about my shoulders and legs. My eyes felt gunky and swollen, my face gritty with dried tears.

"When you meet your true love, he's not supposed to be shot, is he?" I asked Darci in a bleak voice.

Abby threw a glance Darci's way. "What's she talking about?"

"Nothing," Darci replied, running a trembling hand through her blond hair. "I'll explain later."

The sound of boot heels crossing the floor drew our attention as a big man strode into the room, his hat pulled low on his forehead. Pausing, he removed it and wiped his shiny bald head with a large hand. He spotted me and his lips thinned. With a shake of his head, he continued toward us.

Sheriff Bill Wilson-I should've known he'd be there. I struggled to stand up. "Stephen?" I asked him.

"Sit down, Ophelia," Bill's booming voice called out as he marched up to me. He grabbed a chair and moved it close to mine. "He's hanging in there," he said quietly. "He survived the chopper ride to Regional Medical Center and he's in surgery now." Bill stopped and studied me intently. "What happened?"

"I don't know...we were walking down the path...we stopped...I heard a sharp crack...Stephen staggered." I clutched my hands in my lap. "I couldn't stop the blood, Bill...I-"

He patted my shoulder, and I clamped my jaw shut. "Right before you heard the shot, did you see anything, hear anything?"

"Crows..." I hesitated. "A flock of crows from behind me...in the woods...suddenly took flight. Stephen stepped around me, toward the trees. That's when I heard the shot."

"Hmm, so La.r.s.en was standing in front of you, looking at the woods?"

"Yes."

"I see." Bill scratched his chin while he chewed on his lip. "How long have you known Mr. La.r.s.en?"

"I just met him today."

"Did he appear scared, nervous, worried?"

"No."

"What did you talk about?"

"Nothing. He told me he was an author, lived in St. Louis, there were wildflowers-no wait-no wildflowers." Lifting a hand, I rubbed my temples. Everything was jumbled in my mind and I couldn't seem to separate dreams from reality.

"She doesn't know what she's saying, Bill," Abby said from behind me. "She's in shock. We need to get her home."

"Just a couple more questions. Ophelia, do you-"

"Those questions can wait until tomorrow," Abby broke in, her voice stern. "We're leaving now."

She reached down and grasped my upper arm, gently pulling me to my feet. Bill rose at the same time.

No, I needed answers-I tugged my arm from Abby's grasp. "Do you know what happened, Bill?"

"No, it's too early in the investigation," he said, twirling his hat in his hands. "We don't even know if the shooting was intentional. There's a chance some hunter's shot went wild."

"Either way, Stephen's fighting for his life, isn't he?" I scanned his face, hoping to find some rea.s.surance that Stephen would live.

Bill bowed his head and stared at a spot on the floor without answering.

"I should've seen this coming," I said, stricken. "I should've been able to stop this."

Raising his eyes, he squirmed uncomfortably and rubbed his bald head. "I'm only concerned with the facts right now, Ophelia," he replied in a low voice. "We'll talk about your 'impressions' later."

Once home, Darci hustled me upstairs while Abby made her remedy for all crises-tea. Darci led me to the bathroom and gently shoved me down onto the vanity chair. With care, she wiped Stephen's blood from my hands with a warm washcloth. Doesn't she know the stain will never go away? I thought numbly.

' "Out, out d.a.m.n spot,'" I mumbled in a low voice.

"What?" Darci eyed me with concern.

"Lady Macbeth." I paused. "Never mind, I'm talking crazy."

"I agree with Abby. You're in shock." She tossed the washcloth in the trash and helped me to my feet. "Do you need help changing?" she asked, handing me a T-shirt and pair of sweatpants.

"No," I answered in a small voice.

She left the room, and I quickly stripped off the navy dress. I rolled it into a tight ball and it followed the washcloth into the trash. I never wanted to see it again. Shivering in spite of the heat, I threw on the clothes Darci had given me and tottered into the hallway where she stood waiting.

With a hand on my elbow, she steered me into my bedroom, toward the bed. Flipping back the covers, she settled me onto the bed and piled the blankets on top of me.

I felt like a friggin' invalid.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yeah." I heard the weary note in my voice. "Darci, why-"

"All tucked in?" Abby bustled into the room, carrying a steaming mug. "Here, drink this," she said as she handed the cup to me.

I sniffed the rising steam suspiciously. "What is it?"

With Abby, one never knew what kind of concoction she'd made. She wasn't above slipping "a little something extra" into the tea if she thought it might help me sleep. And I wasn't so sure I wanted to sleep. With sleep came dreams.

She waved away my concerns with a toss of her hand. "Don't worry about it. It's chamomile. It will help you relax."

I took a cautious sip and felt the hot, sweet tea warm the cold spot that lay deep inside my heart. My vision blurred as the tears gathered in my eyes. With trembling hands, I raised the cup to my lips again and choked down the rest of the tea, almost scalding my tongue. I didn't care. I needed the heat to break through the numbness wrapped around me like a chain.

Darci stepped away from the bed as Abby sat next to me. Seeing the tears, she took my hand in hers and rubbed it softly. "There, there," she murmured. "It's all right, Ophelia."

"No, it's not, Abby. I saw a man shot down; I saw the blood seep out of his chest." A tremor ran up my spine. "I've seen violence in my dreams, but it's different seeing it in real life. In dreams, I can't change anything-it's already happened, but this..." I pushed my head back against the pillow and shut my eyes.

Sudden weariness fogged my brain, and I couldn't seem to string my thoughts together. "I don't get it." Opening my eyes, I looked at her. "I knew something was about to happen, but I thought it was going to be something good...not bad." I clenched my jaw and exhaled slowly. "Did you sense anything?"

Abby shook her head. "No, but then I wasn't trying to pick up any vibes. We don't see everything, Ophelia."

"I did-I did did see, but I read the signs wrong," I argued, more with myself than her. "If the vision had given me more of a warning, I could have stopped this from happening. I failed again. What if Stephen dies? I-" see, but I read the signs wrong," I argued, more with myself than her. "If the vision had given me more of a warning, I could have stopped this from happening. I failed again. What if Stephen dies? I-"

"Don't go there." She squeezed my hand...hard. "Don't resurrect the past. You know you weren't responsible for Brian's death, and you're not responsible for that young man today. There are things we can't change, nor are we supposed to."

"That's what you always say," I mumbled, fighting to stay awake.

"I say it because it's true. And I'll keep saying it until you believe it." Abby's face swam in front of me as I tried to focus. Losing the battle, my eyelids slowly drifted down.

d.a.m.n, she did put something in the tea.

I woke up to a bedroom dark except for moonlight. A warm body curled next to mine. Stretching out my hand, my fingers found soft, thick fur. A low purr greeted me. The bed moved, and my cat, Queenie, shifted her body closer to mine.

Combing her fur with my fingers, my eyes traveled around the room, spotting familiar shapes and shadows: my nightstand with an antique lamp sitting on its marble top; my dresser along the east wall; my comfy reading chair, placed just right by the window located on the west wall.

The chair's shadow suddenly altered. A form came out of the depths of the chair, and, in the faint light, I caught the glimmer of blond hair.

Tink.

"Are you awake?" she whispered in the darkness.

"Yeah." Slowly scooting up, I flicked on the antique lamp, filling the room with warm, mellow light. "How long have you been sitting there?"

"Not long." Tink rose and crossed the room. With a sigh, she plopped down on the bed next to me. "Are you okay?" she said while her violet eyes roamed my face.

"Umm-hmm," I replied with a smile.

She gave me a skeptical look. "You sure? You seemed really out of it."

"Ah, well, I think there was more than just tea in that cup." I rubbed my forehead with my fingers as if trying to scrub away the residual lethargy. "Abby 'medicated' me."

"Valerian drops, I bet," Tink said with a nod. "Calms you down and helps you sleep."

My mouth twisted in a wry grin. "Whatever it was, it worked."

"Did you dream?"

"Nope."

Thank goodness. I'd have to deal with dreams eventually. As a psychic, I knew I couldn't experience something as traumatic as the shooting without some kind of mental fallout. But for now, I was safe.

"Is Abby still here?"

"Yeah, she's downstairs on the phone with Arthur. He was worried about you, too." Tink paused. "Abby told me what happened. She said someone was shot."

I hesitated. Tink, like Abby, had a habit of rushing into situations best left alone. If it had been attempted murder, I wanted her as far away from the investigation as possible. The less she knew, the better. But before I could answer, she spoke again.

"Who tried to kill him?"

So much for keeping her in the dark.

I held up my hand. "Wait a second. We don't know that it was attempted murder. Bill said it might have been an accident. A hunter whose shot went wild."

"Right, and it's just a coincidence that you were standing there."