These aren’t nice, pretty, baby flurries. They’re big, fat, wet snowflakes, so heavy that the windshield wipers can barely move across the glass in front of me. The already intimidating drive from Ridgemont High to Mom’s hospital has turned downright treacherous. I inch along at a snail’s pace, which gives me plenty of time to think about the fact that the drive isn’t the only reason I’m not looking forward to picking Mom up. I mean, I’m definitely looking forward to the picking-her-up part; it’s the hospital part I’m not so crazy about.
I never used to be queasy about hospitals. Mom was—is—a neonatal nurse, and when I was a baby, I was a regular at the hospital’s day care back in Austin. Later, when Mom’s schedule was crazy and she couldn’t find a sitter for me after school, sometimes I’d hang out at the nurse’s station, quietly doing my homework. I got used to the sound of sirens and crying babies and even doctors and nurses shouting for aid.
But everything’s different now. The last time I was at this hospital I helped a spirit move on. In fact, it was my very first time helping a spirit move on. But that’s not what’s making me drive even slower than the slowest of cars on the road in front of me; it’s the fact that the last time I was at this hospital was also the day they told me Victoria was dead. Hearing those words was like a punch to the gut, like I’d never catch my breath again.
My thoughts are drowned out by the sound of sirens screaming. Ambulance after ambulance comes careening out of the hospital parking lot, and I’m barely able to pull into a spot before it starts.
It’s just one spirit at first. A young man who died seconds ago, a victim of a multiple-car pile-up on the freeway I just left behind. His name is Matt, and he’s sitting in the passenger seat beside me, his piercing blue eyes unwavering as he stares at me. He died from some sort of major trauma to his torso. I try not to let my gaze drift down to his midsection. I know seeing his wounds will be terrifying, so instead, I stare back into his eyes, which are filled with sadness. His was the car that started it. His bald tires skidded over a slick patch, drifting across the median and into oncoming traffic. I can feel the tremendous guilt saturating his spirit; he won’t know peace until he moves on.
But before I can help him, I feel something else. Another spirit. A woman this time, Kimberly, who’s only a few years older than I am. She’s standing beside the driver’s side door waiting for me. Her injuries don’t look as traumatic as Matt’s, but blood is dripping from her ear. A head injury killed her, mostly hidden by her hair.
Two spirits this close to me, this quickly, is overwhelming. Even though heat is blasting from the vents behind the steering wheel, it’s suddenly so cold in here that I can see my own breath coming out in hyper little pants because my heart is pounding, beating faster than it ever has before.
Another spirit is near. I gasp at what I see and look away as quickly as I can. His wounds are horrific. No one told me I’d see spirits in such graphic detail. But then again, I’ve been avoiding my mentor, the one person who can tell me things like that. Before I have time to process what’s happening, another spirit is here, waiting for my help. I can’t see Matt anymore, the man whose bald tires caused this tragedy. I want desperately to help him move on, but I can’t find him. I can only feel the overwhelming cold from all of them at once. I sink into the gray upholstery of my seat as though someone has placed an enormous weight around my neck, pressing me down, down, down.
I’ve never known cold like this before. I should have zipped my jacket before I got in the car, should have put on the multicolored crocheted hat and gloves that are sitting uselessly in my backpack in the backseat. I should have put on boots with thick socks instead of my sneakers when I got dressed this morning. I should have borrowed Nolan’s ridiculous hat.
I manage to focus on my fingers, still gripping the wheel, and I’m not surprised when I see they’re turning blue at the knuckles. I try to catch my breath, but it’s run away without me. I can’t keep my eyes open; I’ve been deprived of oxygen for too long, and I’m about to pass out. Mustering whatever strength I have left, I press down on the horn as hard as I can, like I think I can scare the spirits away.