The Soul Whisperer's Decision E-Book

Gwen M. Plano

• Herausgeber: Fresh Ink Group
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 175

Beschreibung

Sarah Jameson, a nurse at County Central Hospital, survives an accident that kills her two young children. While comatose, she travels into the heavenly realm where she visits with her precious little ones. She is given a choice – return to her husband, Jack, or remain with her children in their celestial home.

Jack was not in the fated automobile. Though he heard the crash and ran to help, there was nothing he could do. He suffers the loss of his children, fears the potential demise of his wife, and wonders about his own sanity. His struggle with PTSD from his military years has returned and at times, he cannot distinguish between the present and the past.

An accident tragically changed the lives of this young family, but out of sorrow emerges unexpected blessings. 

Leseprobe

The Soul Whisperer’s Decision

Copyright © 2024by Gwen M. PlanoAll rights reserved

Fresh Ink GroupAn Imprint of:The Fresh Ink Group, LLC1021 Blount Avenue #931Guntersville, AL 35976Email: [email protected]

Edition 1.0 2024

Cover design by Stephen Geez / FIGBook design by Amit Dey / FIGAssociate publisher Beem Weeks / FIG

Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976 and except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, no portion of this book’s content may be stored in any medium, transmitted in any form, used in whole or part, or sourced for derivative works such as videos, television, and motion pictures, without prior written permission from the publisher.

Cataloging-in-Publication Recommendations:FIC009050 FICTION / Fantasy / ParanormalFIC026000 FICTION / ReligiousFIC031070 FICTION / Thrillers / Supernatural

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023921842

ISBN-13: 978-1-958922-62-0 PapercoverISBN-13: 978-1-958922-63-7 HardcoverISBN-13: 978-1-958922-64-4 Ebooks

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

THE SOUL WHISPERER’S DECISION is a piece of fiction written out of the author’s imagination. Arizona and Spain are real locations with real people, but the events described, characters developed, and places visited are purely fictional with no intent to depict reality.

The real folks are those who worked diligently behind the scenes to bring THE SOUL WHISPERER’S DECISION to readers. My deepest thank you extends to Justina M. Aguirre for her guidance with the medical scenes. As a retired nurse and academic dean, she provided the expertise I do not have. I also thank my editor for her tireless efforts on my behalf, and I am deeply grateful to the dedicated team at Fresh Ink Group. Finally, a very special thank you goes to my husband for his loving and patient encouragement. Thank you all.

QUOTE

Love is our true destiny.

We do not find the meaning of life byourselves alone - we find it with another.

Thomas Merton

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: The Accident

Chapter 2: The Surgery

Chapter 3: The Empty Home

Chapter 4: Intensive Care

Chapter 5: Telling the Family

Chapter 6: The Funeral

Chapter 7: Worries for Jack

Chapter 8: The Decision

Chapter 9: The Awakening

Chapter 10: The Agreement

Chapter 11: The Visit

Chapter 12: The Cemetery

Chapter 13: Home At Last

Chapter 14: First Contact

Chapter 15: The Soul Whisperer

Chapter 16: Emergency Room

Chapter 17: 5000 Miles Away

Chapter 18: Between Worlds

Chapter 19: Surrounded by Love

Chapter 20: The Letter

Chapter 21: Finding Jack

Chapter 22: A Surprise Diagnosis

Chapter 23: Unexpected Settlement

Chapter 24: The Offer

Chapter 25: The Barbecue

About Gwen Plano

CHAPTER 1

THE ACCIDENT

A red playground ball bounces in front of Sarah while she wanders home after an eight-hour shift at County Central Hospital. She chuckles and turns to look for the children who sent the ball her way. Three boys scramble toward her, laughing as they run. Sarah joins in the revelry, throws the ball back to the kids, and lets go of the tensions of a busy Saturday in the Emergency Room.

After a deep breath, Sarah unties her shoulder-length auburn hair and runs her hands through the curls. Her thoughts shift to grocery shopping—her usual Saturday chore. Detergent, trash bags, baby formula . . . the list is long. She wonders about dinner and decides to surprise Jack, her husband of five years, with his favorite meal—lasagna and fresh vegetables. Absorbed in her plans, she jumps when a neighbor shouts, “Hello.”

Sarah twists around. “Hey, Jane, what are you up to?”

“Same ol’, same ol’. Just puttering around in the garden. These weeds keep me busy. How about you? Usually, you don’t work weekends. Is everything okay at the hospital?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. You’re right, normally I don’t work weekends. A fellow nurse had some family obligations to attend to, so I volunteered. But now it’s playtime with the kids and Jack. Speaking of them, I better get going. I’ll see you later. Don’t work too hard. It must be in the high eighties out here.”

Sarah continues on her way and glances across the street at her small ranch home. Weeds wave at her in mockery from the front yard. Between work and the kids, Jack and she rarely have time for maintenance and gardening. Someday, maybe. She smiles at three-year-old Bobby’s tricycle under the cypress tree, and the baby’s stroller, which rests next to the front steps. Weeds or not, there’s no place like home. It’s a sanctuary like none other.

Sarah walks up the two steps to the front door, and little Bobby rushes out.

“Mommy, Mommy!”

“Hey, partner.” She rubs his carroty mane. “Have you been a good boy for your daddy?”

“Yes, Mommy, I was verrry good.”

“Well, I guess you deserve a surprise from the grocery store.”

“Can I go? Can I go?” He jumps up and down.

“Let’s ask Daddy first, and if he’s okay with it, then you can go.”

When Sarah steps inside the house, Jack wraps one arm around her and holds eight-month-old Marci in his other. “Rough day?”

“Not at all. The usual ups and downs. How did you do with the kids?”

Teasingly, Jack rolls his eyes. “Well, let’s see. Bobby taught me his ABCs song. And I can now count to ten. And I know the difference between a circle and a triangle. I’d say I’m a fast learner. And Marci? Well, I must have changed her diapers a dozen times. That kid drinks too much.”

Sarah laughs, brushes her husband’s tousled chestnut hair away from his face, and strokes the battle scar that runs down his cheek. “It can’t be as bad as Afghanistan. Though, I admit, the two of them make quite the team. I’ll take the kids with me to the store. You deserve a break.”

Jack sets the baby on the floor and pulls Sarah close. “I’ve waited all day for this hug. By the way, you’re right about the team. Taking care of both kids makes my eight-to-five job feel like a vacation.”

Sarah reaches up for a kiss. “Give me an hour, and I’ll have a great meal on the table—with your favorite dessert. If you can get the kids fastened into their seat belts, I’ll change quickly and get on my way.”

“I’m on it!” Jack picks up Marci and calls out to Bobby to follow him.

Sarah dashes into the bedroom, where she takes off her nursing scrubs, tosses them toward the hamper where only her uniforms go, and grabs a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. After slipping on her sandals, she’s ready.

She walks outside just as Jack closes the back doors of their maroon sedan. “They’re both fastened into their car seats, and I’ve got them singing the alphabet song—again.” He raises his eyebrows and brings Sarah close for a final hug.

“I’ll be back in a couple. Maybe we can relax tonight with a glass of wine.” She teases him with a peck on the cheek.

Sarah backs out of the driveway and heads down their tree-lined street, mentally rehearsing her list of needed household items. It’s only a short jaunt to the grocery store, but the shift from hospital obligations to household tasks refreshes her spirit. Along the way, Sarah recognizes a few neighbors and waves, and they return the gesture. Bobby waves from the back seat and loudly sings his alphabet song. Amused, Sarah laughs lightheartedly and joins him. When Marci chimes in with her baby words, Sarah contemplates how blessed she is. A perfect day, she thinks. She pulls up to the red light and offers a quick prayer of thanksgiving.

Then the unthinkable happens.

The traffic light turns green, and Sarah releases her brakes and eases into the cross street. At that moment, a furniture delivery truck barrels through its red light and hits them squarely on the side. The impact throws the vehicle in the air and against a stone retaining wall.

Jack and the neighbors hear the crash of metal against metal, of glass shattering and horns sounding, and run to the intersection. The young father’s expression turns to horror when he reaches the scene. He tries to open the door to the crumpled, overturned car to free his wife and their children, all the while crying out for help.

Men dash to his aid and rock the car in an attempt to get it upright. The strobes of police lights and howls of sirens move the crowd of onlookers to the side of the street. Firefighters wrench Jack away from the vehicle and tell the bystanders to stand back so they can work. With the Jaws of Life, the firemen cut through the damaged door to reach the trapped family.

One by one, the paramedics retrieve the toddler and the infant and commence cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Another two firemen work to free Sarah. When they finally pull her from the rubble, she’s unresponsive, pulseless, and bleeding profusely from an obvious head injury. They administer CPR immediately. Unable to get a heartbeat, they stop.

Jack begs them to continue, “She’s strong, she can make it. Please, don’t stop. Please.”

For his sake, they continue, and to everyone’s surprise, a heartbeat registers. The medical team loads Sarah into the ambulance and speeds away. At the blare of the sirens, Jack presses his hands against his ears and wails in denial. Over and over again, he thinks, This can’t be real. This can’t be real.

Then he refocuses on the babies, spins around, and freezes. His precious little ones are covered with a blanket.

“No, no, no!” He falls to his knees and cries out in despair. A neighbor kneels beside him and tries to console him, but Jack pays no heed. He reaches for Bobby, rocks the lifeless child, then lays him back down and picks up Marci. Back and forth he sways, pleading for help. A female responder crouches beside him and talks with him in soothing tones. Eventually, he lets go of the baby and covers his face with his hands.

Minutes later, the coroner arrives. Solemnly, he plods over to the police officers, who point to the grieving father on his knees beside the two covered tiny bodies. The man nods his understanding and walks to Jack’s side. He places his arm around the tearful man’s shoulder and says, “I can’t imagine the pain you must feel. Your two beautiful children are no longer with us.” The coroner clenches his jaw and rubs Jack’s back. “This is every parent’s worst fear. My heart breaks for you.”

Jack’s head falls with the burden of his devastation.

“My name’s Simon Westerly. I’m the coroner. I need to take your beloved angels with me. When we have any fatality caused by a car accident, the law requires us to investigate.”

Jack kneads the sides of his face and sobs. His shoulders convulse with the weight of unprocessed sorrow.

“I will take good care of your children and prepare them for the mortuary. Please, take this card and call me if you have any questions. Could I have your cell number?”

Jack mutters a reply.

“Could you repeat that please?”

The mourning father lifts his head slightly and repeats his number.

This time, Simon understands. “One more thing—you’ll need a personal injury lawyer to help you with what lies ahead. Ask your friends for a referral or give me a call, and I’ll help you locate one.”

Jack nods without raising his eyes and acknowledges the stranger’s advice with a simple, “Thank you.”

CHAPTER 2

THE SURGERY

The ambulance screeches to a stop at the hospital emergency entrance with alarms blasting. The first responders had called ahead to alert the hospital of the gravity of the victim’s condition, and a doctor and several nurses stand ready to rush the patient to surgery. Grabbing the gurney, the medical team pushes it through the fluorescent-lit hallway and into the elevator to the fifth floor. The blood-covered body is unrecognizable.

As they ascend, a neurosurgeon prepares his unit for what lies ahead—possible damage to both the brain and spine. He explains the risks and the urgency of time.

“What do we know about the patient?”

A nurse reads from the directive, “Two-vehicle incident. Female, twenty-six-years-old, mother of two. Her name is . . .” The nurse stops and stares at the surgeon. “Dr. Roberts, this is Sarah Jameson.”

The surgeon’s mouth falls open. “I was just with her an hour ago.”

“The collision happened only a block from her home, according to the paramedic.”

The doctor gasps his words, “That’s, that’s unbelievable.”

When the elevator stops, they rush the gurney through the surgery doors. Dr. Roberts calls out, “Be ready in five. She’s between life and death. We’ve got to move quickly. This is no ordinary surgery. The patient is our beloved friend.”

A tech adjusts the surgical light and positions the mobile C-arm X-ray at an angle next to the operating table, which will assist the surgeon with the delicate procedures. The anesthesiologist checks and rechecks his monitors and makes sure the fluid bags and blood products hang ready.

The heart monitor sounds. “She’s flatlined. She’s flatlined,” the nurse anesthetist calls out. Staff move swiftly and attach a defibrillator. On the first shock, no response. Second shock, no response.

“We’ve lost her, Doctor. We’ve lost her.”

Roberts furrows his brow and sets his jaw. “Another shock.” “Again.” No response. “Again.” No response.

The attending nurses wait for Dr. Roberts to give the signal. The anesthesiologist moves next to him and says in a low voice, “She’s gone.”

Roberts winces and white-knuckles his fists. Reluctantly, he calls the time: 6:15 p.m. While he paces back and forth, he yanks off his gloves and tosses them into a bin forcefully. He starts to pull off his mask and surgical cap, but then a nurse screams.

“She’s alive. I saw the sheet move.”

Roberts darts to Sarah’s side. “The monitor. Turn it on!” Intently, he focuses on the screen. “There’s a pulse.” He swivels to his team. “Let’s do this. We must act immediately.”

After re-donning his protective gear, the surgeon waits for the signal from his teammates. When he sees they’re ready, he begins.

Four hours later, Dr. Roberts straightens. “Good work, all. The next few hours are critical, but we’ve given her a fighting chance.” He closes his eyes momentarily and wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead. Glancing over to the anesthesiologist, he nods and says, “Thank you.”

With those few words, Dr. Roberts leaves to speak with Jack. He finds him in the surgical waiting room, slumped with his head cupped in his hands. He clears his throat and says, “Jack, I have some hopeful news.”

The young man sits up and, with red swollen eyes, he says, “Yes?”

“It’s still tenuous, but I’m hopeful. With a traumatic brain injury, healing can be slow. I dislodged a small fragment of bone and believe there will be no permanent damage. Her lower spine, however, suffered severe trauma. Fortunately, the cord was not severed. This gives me hope, and I believe, in time, she’ll walk again.”

“What do you mean by in time?”

“She’s in an unconscious state, so I can’t measure the degree of damage. But all things considered, I believe she’ll move freely in a couple of months with the help of physical therapy.”

“When can I visit her?”

“Not tonight, maybe tomorrow. She needs to remain in the Neuro-Intensive Care unit, and because of her fragile state, we can’t risk introducing contagion. Go home and rest. You’ve been through a lot today, and you need to recover your strength. Tomorrow we may know more.”

CHAPTER 3

THE EMPTY HOME

A passing car backfires as Jack exits the hospital. Quickly, he ducks behind the entrance post and readies for combat. In his mind, he’s in an Afghan village, leading a platoon assigned to check Taliban hiding places in a neighborhood.

He kicks open the door to a suspect home and discovers the roof ripped apart from the shelling. With assault weapons shouldered, he and his team charge in. They find no insurgents, but two children lie lifeless next to their mother. Jack yells to the combat medic for help, but he’s too late.

Jack startles from his inner post-war experience when an ambulance drives past. Hyperventilating, he questions, What’s happening to me? He grabs his chest and tells himself to get a grip. Stooped with eyes focused on the ground, he crosses the street, oblivious of cars. A driver honks his horn and yells, “Hey, crazy man, get out of the way!” Jack staggers to the sidewalk, caught between worlds, with only misery pumping through his broken heart.

Barely visible on this moonless night, the house that once was a home looms in front of Jack. He stiffens and squares his shoulders. Ascending the steps, he rests his forehead on the weathered door. They’re all gone. I’m alone. The house has become my sepulcher. He takes a few deep inhalations and confronts the desolate abode. A message taped against the wooden door frame gives him pause. Jack yanks it off, shoves it into his pocket, and opens the door.

A chilly silence greets him. He flips on the lights and the scattered remains of a once-happy family immobilize him. Toys lay, randomly, on the floor. Baby bottles sit in the sink. A half-full cup of coffee rests on the table. All as he and his wife left them five hours earlier.

Grim images parade through his pounding heart. His lifeless babies and Sarah covered in blood. All the horror flashes repeatedly in his mind. He rehashes what went wrong. If only I’d kept the kids at home with me. If only I’d shopped for groceries earlier today. If only . . .if only I died with them. He smashes his fist against the wall. Why? Why am I the one left behind? He sucks in a breath and wishes he had none.

Jack’s hand trembles when he closes the front door behind him. Again, he’s on the battlefield. He hears the air raid and darts into the darkness, only to find the horrifying roar of emptiness. Gasping with each inhalation, he finds himself back at the accident. His little ones lie motionless before him, his wife teeters between life and oblivion. He is alone—with only fear for company.

He pulls the wrinkled message from his pocket. It’s from the police department, and it tells him to call the listed number. With his jaw clamped tight, Jack punches in the digits. After a few questions, he learns that a drunken driver hit his family. Charged with first-degree vehicular manslaughter, the man remains behind bars. Jack listens to the words but they don’t sink in. Detail after detail travels past him until, through his emotional daze, he hears, “There was nothing your wife could have done to protect herself and the kids. Her fate would have been ours if we were driving the car. The truck hit her without any warning. She never saw it.”

The grief-stricken father says, “And she’ll never hold her babies again.”

Jack collapses on the threadbare couch and grips his head as he yells into the somber abyss, This is not real. It can’t be. In his mind’s eye, the Afghani children stand before him—again—but this time, his precious little ones stand next to them. It shouldn’t have happened. Innocents killed. For what? A Taliban insurgent’s vengeance? A drunk driver’s pint of whiskey? The children are victims of evil. Jack pulls in a breath, fingers his phone, and calls his only sibling.

“Sis . . .”

“Jack, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“The babies . . .” he chokes out.

“What about them?” She waits and then says forcefully, “Jack, speak to me!”

“They’re dead, Chrissy.”

“What? Are you serious? I was with them yesterday. How? When?”

“Accident. Five hours ago. Sarah’s unconscious. In intensive care. Traumatic brain injury. A truck hit the car. Drunken driver arrested.”

“Jack, I’ll be at the house in ten minutes.”

“No. Please, don’t. I’ve . . . I’ve got to be alone.”

“Tomorrow morning then.”

“I’ll leave the back door unlocked, in case I’m at the hospital when you arrive.”

Jack ends the call and staggers to the bedroom. His eyes dart across the forsaken space. Sarah’s blue scrubs lay lifeless on the hamper’s edge, her nursing shoes tossed to the side. The top drawer of her dresser hangs ajar, just as she left it. And, on the nightstand, Sarah’s diary. It rests open, facing down. He walks over to the journal and reads the last entry. When I put Marci to bed tonight, she whispered, “I love you, Mommy,” then drifted to sleep. My tears gathered at the purity of her words. A child doesn’t know the power of love. They simply live it.

The grieving husband shouts out his pain to no one and pants fast breaths. “I can’t sleep in here tonight. It feels like it’s closing in on me.” Bent over, he finds a blanket and sprints out of the suffocating room.