Jillian Chantal

The writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt fabric this week. This is still my story where the heroine can communicate with deceased people. Unedited!

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. She took her leave and closed the door behind her, stepping right in front of a man covered in blood and with ripped clothes. He also had on shredded jeans with road rash peeking through the fabric.

This man she remembered. He’d driven his motorcycle recklessly and went over the side of interstate I-110 near the Bayfront Auditorium. He’d clung to life for a few days, but eventually passed away from his injuries.

“You work here, right?” He asked.

She couldn’t pretend not to see this one. He was right in her face. “Yes, I do. I’m the charge nurse. I can’t talk here. Come to my office.”

Not taking no for an answer, she turned and strode down the hallway to her office.

As soon as she shut the door, he asked through it and sat in the chair in front of her desk. “I need your help. I want my mother to know how much I loved her. She always worried about me on my motorcycle and I was an idiot, racing through traffic and even popping wheelies on the interstate. As soon as I flew over the side of the interstate, before I even landed on the concrete below, I knew it was going to break her heart. She sat by my bed for days here until I died. She never once said she told me so and she never once cried—at least not in front of me. She kept positive and talked to me even though everyone said I couldn’t hear her. I could.”

“What do you need me to do?” Lu didn’t mind listening to his request and would assist him if there was any way she could.

“Go and see her. I want her to know I regret my behavior and that I should have listened to her.”

“I’m not sure that will help her. After all, she lost a son. Knowing he now knows she was right to worry about him, it won’t bring you back.”

“No, it won’t, but part of what I want you to do is talk to my brother as well. He’s worse than I was. Reckless and disrespectful to other drivers. He’s going to end up like me if he doesn’t slow down. I want you to talk to him too. I don’t want to see him brought in here like I was. I don’t want him to die.”

She picked up her pen and pulled a legal pad toward her. “All right. I’ll do it, but I’m going to need some details. Things only they would know. I’ve found the only way I can get people to listen when I have messages from their deceased loved ones is to have information only they would know. That I couldn’t have access to. What’s something I can use?”