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"Miracles"


Chapter 1
Miracles - Chap 1

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
"Oh God, Lydia, where are you? Answer the phone." With trembling hands, Margaret redialed her best friend's number, but the call went to voicemail again.

At the beep, she sobbed into the phone, "Lydia, he's going to kill me. I've got to hide. Tell Detective Donatelli —" She gasped as a light appeared in the fog behind her. "To find Eleanor." The line went dead. The signal was lost in the heavy fog.

She'd taken the back roads, praying they would conceal her, but the isolation amplified her fear. The morning fog was thick and hung close to the ground.

Margaret gripped the wheel, crushing the note with her white knuckles. Fear owned her — from her tear-stained eyes, the sickly taste in her mouth, her dry lips, to the wild pounding against her chest.

Running — it had been her first thought, but she knew she wouldn't escape. Even in prison, he would find her.

Her heart raced as she replayed the words on the note in her mind — "Death Awaits You." She didn't need a signature to know who had sent it. Only one person was capable of such cruelty — the man she'd loved, only to learn how deep his betrayal ran.

Tears blurred her vision. "Why, John?" she cried, her voice cracking. "Was everything a lie?"

In her mind, she felt him — his touch, his lips on hers. His overwhelming presence, which once made her feel so secure, now twisted her insides with dread. Then came the memory of Megan's disappearance, her little girl gone without a trace. The panic, the desperation, the hours spent searching, pleading for John's help. But he had vanished when she needed him most.

Nothing, not even the years that passed or the bars that separated them, had lessened the agony. John's betrayal had shattered her world once. And now, it seemed, he was determined to destroy what was left.

Margaret pressed harder on the gas pedal, her body shaking with fear and fury. There would be no turning back. She had to find Eleanor — before John found her.

As if he'd heard her, his face floated in the roadway as she stared through the windshield. She blinked, but he was still there. A scream — her scream — echoed throughout the car.

She blinked again, but there he was — laughing — taunting her. John Doyle — ex-judge, ex-lover, criminal extraordinaire. He'd vowed revenge against anyone who had helped destroy his career and put him behind bars. Today, that promise began with her.

To John Doyle, being convicted of kidnapping, human trafficking, and art theft meant nothing. He'd maintained what counted — power, wealth, and friends in high places, even from behind the concrete walls of Joliet State Prison.

She knew he was coming from the moment she'd opened the envelope. She'd wasted no time. She'd tossed clothes in an overnight bag, grabbed cash from the safe, and jumped in her car. She didn't know where she was going but knew she had to get as far away as possible. However, a thought nagged at her — she was positive nowhere would be far enough.

Her eyes shifted from the windshield to the rearview mirror. She sighed, relieved no one was behind her. She hoped her decision to stay off the main highway and take the back roads would keep her under his radar.

Yet, seconds later, a light glowed in the darkness. Her eyes moved from the mirror to the road and then returned. The ghostly light plowed through the fog, emerging as two headlights speeding toward her, closing the gap between it and Margaret's car.

"No, it can't be." Her breath caught as her heart slammed against her chest. "Calm down, Margaret. It's just someone else on the road." But she knew she was wrong.

The dark-colored SUV behind her barreled forward. Tears blurred her vision. She knew he was coming, and she couldn't escape. She peered into the gray mist, praying for an approaching car, a light in a farmhouse, or a barn.

The driver swerved and nudged the bumper, rocking Margaret's car as it lurched forward. The tires left the road, and she pulled on the wheel, struggling to return the vehicle to the road.

"Please, stop!" She choked on her words, knowing they were meaningless. The driver had a mission — to end her life.

The SUV slammed her bumper again. Shaking violently, Margaret gripped the wheel tighter, yanking it to the left as she fought to keep the car straight.

"Please —" Tears spilled down her cheeks. She desperately pleaded, "Someone — help me."

The driver maneuvered his vehicle alongside Margaret's car. Her head snapped toward it, fear gripping her, as she saw him laughing, enjoying the moment as if it were a game. His vehicle swerved sharply into her car. The sound of crunching metal against metal echoed, sending chills down her spine. Her car fish-tailed wildly.

She yanked the wheel again, but the car spun out of control this time. Gravel sprayed as the front wheels left the road, sending the vehicle careening into the ditch, through the wooden fence, and down the steep embankment.

"Eleanor!" she screamed. "Help me!" A vision of her sister flashed before her eyes as if to comfort her.

The front of the car shot upward and then slammed into the tree with a violent crunch. The sound was deafening — metal crumpling, glass shattering, and then the airbag exploded into her face, stealing her breath before darkness enveloped her.

Outside, flames flickered from the crumpled engine, and the smell of gasoline hung in the air. The other driver pulled to the side of the road, admiring his handy work — his mission accomplished.

*****

An autumn chill — a gentle breeze — drifted across the room as Eleanor prepared for John Doyle's parole hearing. In the dim morning light, her body faded, shimmered, and materialized again.

She gazed into the mirror, checking her hair, when suddenly something gripped her — a vision so real that it was as if she were in the passenger seat of Margaret's car.

An electrical current — a sharp, piercing jolt — ricocheted through her being, flooding her thoughts. The sound of screeching tires, a car being forced off the road, the cruel laughter of the unknown driver, and the brutal thud washed over her. Margaret's fear coursed through Eleanor's body.

Her sister's twisted body flashed before her eyes as she cried in agony. Eleanor screamed in vain, "Margaret."

*****

In an instant, Eleanor was no longer in her bedroom but at the scene of the violent crash. Her shimmering body appeared from the edge of the flames, flickering like a candle in the wind before fully materializing.

Panic clawed at her throat as she screamed her sister's name. "Margaret."

Disbelief — pain — and anger surged through her body. The mangled vehicle lay against the tree, flames spitting and sputtering around the hood. Black smoke billowed into the sky, curling like long gnarled tendrils. Inside the car, Margaret's lifeless body slumped against the airbag, sprinkled with shattered glass.

The acrid scent of burning rubber filled her nostrils, but all she could think of was her sister — trapped, scared, and alone.

Eleanor whispered, "Hold on, Margaret. I'm here!"
 
Yet, her ghostly instincts told her she might be too late.


Chapter 2
Miracles - Chap 2

By Begin Again

"Oh dear Lord, what was that?"
 
Seconds later, Peter raced from the barn, smelling the burning rubber and hearing the sound of the crunching metal. His boots pounded against the gravel drive as he sprinted toward the road, where flames were already licking at the sides of the car.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure standing in the road, barely a hundred feet away, just watching. Relief flooded him —someone else was here!

He waved his arms, yelling for help, but instead of coming to his aid, the figure turned, climbed into his waiting car, and sped off. Peter's shout caught in his throat as he stood there, dumbfounded, watching the glow of red taillights disappear around the bend.

"Danged fool. Why wouldn't he help?" Peter muttered under his breath. Yanking off his flannel shirt, he raced toward the burning inferno, wrapping his hand because everything was too hot to touch. He raised his arm, shielding his face from the heat.

"Lord, this woman needs help. I can't do this alone."

Miraculously, another driver pulled to the side of the road, and a stranger hurried toward Peter, shouting, "You need to get back. It's going to explode!"

Peter nodded but turned back to Margaret's car. "I can't just leave her in there to burn. We've got to try."

"Is she alive?" The stranger asked, gasping for air after running toward Peter.

"I don't know, but there's not much time." Peter wiped his forehead and stared at the flames.

The stranger hesitated before moving closer. "Okay, pull on the handle, and I'll try to pull, too." Nothing happened.

He shook his head. "It's not budging. I'm sorry, but I don't think we can save her."

Suddenly, a woman's voice spoke, "I can help."

Both men froze, startled to hear another voice. They turned to see a woman standing directly behind them. Peter looked at the stranger. "It's worth a try, right?"

Another loud pop echoed under the hood, sending flames shooting higher and forcing the men to step back. Fear flashed through the stranger's eyes, and he shook his head. "I want to help, but that car could explode, and we'll all be dead."

Eleanor's voice was soothing. "We can do this, " she said, pressing her hand against his arm. "Please, try again, Leonard. She's my sister."

Leonard's eyes widened. "Do I know you?"

Eleanor smiled. "I think I saw a picture of you with your mother."

Leonard nodded, still unsure how the woman knew who he was; after all, his mother had passed away ten years ago. Before he could question her further, Peter shouted, "If we are going to do this, it's now or never!"

Both men felt a surge of adrenaline as they strained against the car door. Eleanor placed her hands on each man's shoulder, allowing her energy to flow through them. Her body trembled and shimmered. Her face was etched with exhaustion, but she refused to stop, risking everything to rescue Margaret.

The door groaned but didn't budge. Both men exchanged glances, debating one last attempt.

Eleanor inhaled sharply, her gaze fixed on the car. Quivering, she whispered, "Margaret, I'm here." Her expression softened, a glimmer of determination sparking in her weary smile. "One more time — I know you can do it."

Peter and Leonard nodded, each grasping the door handle and pulling with everything they had. A sudden surge of warmth and strength coursed through them. They heard the eerie sound of screeching metal as the door fell away.

Eleanor's form wavered and faded as she collapsed onto the ground, drained. She watched helplessly as the two men pulled her sister's lifeless body from the car. Flames flickered around the edge of Margaret's clothing, and her body was limp. Peter cradled her in his arms and raced up the hill away from the burning wreckage. Leonard trailed close behind.

As they reached the crest of the hill, Peter laid Margaret on the ground, and the stranger raced to his car for a blanket, yelling, "I'll call 911."

An explosive BOOM rocked the ground, and flames roared upward in a plume of red and orange.

Eleanor, weak and barely visible, struggled to move away from the heat of the fire. She whispered, pleading to an unseen force, "Please, give me the strength to reach her. She needs me."

A calm enveloped her invisible body, and her aura shimmered back into view. She gasped for air, feeling her strength return. In seconds, she was kneeling at Margaret's side.

Peter backed away. He watched in disbelief and awe as the woman who wasn't there before now cradled Margaret in her arms. He couldn't make sense of it.

"Margaret, can you hear me?" Eleanor's voice cracked. "It's Eleanor."

Margaret's eyelids fluttered, and for one heart-wrenching moment, their eyes met. Though she couldn't speak, Margaret's gaze held the warmth of unspoken words.

Eleanor's voice softened as she whispered, "I love you." She felt Margaret take her last breath and slip away. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she squeezed her sister's hand. "Until we meet again, sis."

As she released Margaret's hand, she noticed a crumpled piece of paper tucked in her sister's shirt pocket. She pulled it free. The edges were singed, and a corner flaked away as she unfolded it. Her hands trembled as she read, each word a jagged cut to her heart.

"Death Awaits You!"

Eleanor gasped as horror spread across her face. She knew instantly who had written it. The soot-stained letterhead was still recognizable — the unmistakable seal of Joliet Prison. She also knew this was only the beginning. John Doyle was coming for all of them.

A wave of guilt surged through her. She should have known he wouldn't rest, even behind bars, until he exacted his vengeance. Her fingers clenched the note as her sorrow ignited into a simmering rage.

The flames of the wreck behind her mirrored the fire burning within her soul. Doyle had started this war, and she was ready to finish it.

"This isn't over, Margaret. I swear to you, I'll stop him."

She stood and walked away, slowly fading into the black smoke.

As the sirens approached, both men stared into the black clouds, shaking their heads. Leonard wiped off the lens of his glasses, stammering as he spoke, "Did — she — just disappear?"

Peter shook his head, wiping the sweat from his face. "I'm glad you're here because I would never have believed it."

"She even knew my name."

Their conversation was curtailed as the EMTs rushed to the scene, but both men knew they hadn't been there alone.

*****

Freedom!

John Doyle's triumphant roar echoed in his mind as he stood before the parole board. His body was rigid, though he appeared outwardly calm. He believed his time at Joliet State Prison was ending, confident that he would soon be released —his plan for revenge had already taken its first steps.

Power, manipulation, and wealth had served him well in life as a judge, and even in the darkness of prison, he maintained control. No one in the room knew how many strings he still pulled or how many lives he influenced.

He had built an empire from the shadows, his influence untouchable — even behind bars. When he entered the hearing room, he noticed Detective Donatelli and FBI Agent Garth Woodman standing at the back. The absence of Eleanor brought him a smile, knowing that Margaret's accident would have unfolded by now.

The parole board members sat in a semicircle, their faces devoid of expression as they rifled through the documents. Doyle could see the subtle twitches of discomfort on their faces and reveled in them. One member glanced at the clock repeatedly — they wanted him gone. They feared him, and rightfully so.

The chairman cleared his throat, looking at Doyle through thin glasses. "John Doyle, Inmate 214788, you've been incarcerated at Joliet State Prison for over a decade. Your record has been noted during your time here —" He paused again, exchanging glances with the other board members. Clearing his throat, he continued, "There have been complications."

Doyle smiled, confident that freedom was just moments away. He replied assuredly, "Rehabilitation has worked wonders."

The chairman's lips pressed together as he studied the papers before him. Other members shuffled their stacks of documents as well. Finally, the only woman on the panel said, "You were convicted of corruption, bribery, obstruction of justice, human trafficking, theft, and so much more."

Doyle remained composed, refusing to flinch at her accusations. "All allegations, I assure you. I've served my time for those —" He paused and stared at each board member. "Let's call them misunderstandings."

The woman stared at him, refusing to take the bait he offered. "We have concerns regarding your conduct during your incarceration."

John leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Is that so?"

Someone in the crowd gasped at his audacity. A few others squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, worried that names might be revealed.

Unmoved, she continued, "Reports from staff and others indicate that you have maintained relationships with known criminals, using their influence within these walls."

Doyle's smile remained unchanged. He expected their little power plays. It was their way of reminding him they held the key to his freedom. However, he believed he was in control. "I believe keeping and making friends is a part of my rehabilitation — building networks of trust. Isn't that the doctrine we've been taught daily in our sessions?"

The parole board exchanged glances, a few murmurs, and shifted nervously in their chairs.

"John Doyle, after careful consideration —" The chairman swallowed hard and continued, "By an anonymous vote, the board has decided your parole —"

Doyle grinned and turned his head to look at the crowd. His eyes stopped on Detective Matthew Donatelli. He struggled to remain calm as his hatred for the man responsible for putting him in this hellhole stared back at him and smiled. Their eyes locked, neither blinking.

The chairman tapped his gavel against the table. "Mr. Doyle, your attention, please."

Mentally, Doyle visualized his hands around Donatelli's throat, reveling as he watched his twisted face as he gasped, taking his last breath. The sound of the gavel and the chairman's raised voice brought him back to the present. He turned around to face the board, confident freedom was seconds away.

The chairman scanned the crowd, connecting with Detective Donatelli. Without looking at the inmate before him, the chairman said, "At this time, by unanimous decision, the board has denied your petition for parole."

One word hung in the air. Deny?

Doyle's once-triumphant cry of "freedom" turned sour in his mind. A roar of rage surged through him as he glared at the board. He remained still — not a muscle moved, not even a twitch in his eye. Nothing showed the violent storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

How dare they deny him parole?

The chairman's voice droned on — for the good of the community" and "further review in five years." Doyle didn't hear any of it. His mind raced, already calculating his next move.

They thought they had the upper hand and had stripped him of his freedom. They were fools. They had no idea that he was already steps ahead of them.

Doyle rose slowly, smoothing his prison uniform as if it were one of his tailored suits. His lips curled into a smile, but this one was far more sinister than before.

Turning to stare at Donatelli, he spoke quietly, "This isn't over." Not expecting a response, he turned and walked toward the door. Before leaving, he stopped with clenched fists at his side and glared at the board members, muttering, "You haven't seen the last of me.

The correctional officer led him from the hearing room into the hallway. "Your lawyer has arranged a meeting, Mr. Doyle."

John snarled, "Not that it matters. I've nothing to say to him."

"I think it will be worth your while." The guard nodded and led the way.

As they approached a door, the guard hesitated, glancing around before shifting his eyes upward and giving a slight nod to a hidden camera.

"Right here." The guard gestured to a small conference room. "You've got ten minutes, no more."

Doyle stepped inside, his anger simmering beneath the surface. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he leaned against the table, arms crossed tightly across his chest, glaring at his lawyer. "So, what's the plan?"

Before his lawyer could answer, the door opened. Doyle spun around, snarling, "It ain't been ten minutes. Get out!"

Vince Rossi, a well-known attorney for Gentlemen Jack and other high-ranking mobsters, entered the room. "A bit testy, are we?" he remarked. His Armani suit screamed money and power.

Doyle recognized him but didn't let his surprise show. "So kind of you to make a social call, Rossi."

Ignoring Doyle's attitude, Rossi continued, "I didn't expect you to be so — resourceful," There was a hint of admiration in his voice. "You've got the guard in your pocket."

Doyle smirked, his confidence returning. "Power doesn't disappear just because you're behind bars. The board thinks they can contain me, but they're mistaken. I'm more than just a number in their system."

Rossi nodded, the glint of something dark in his eyes. "The bosses want you back on your feet. They're invested in your connections, and they've sent me to ensure you don't screw this up. But there's more at stake. You know William escaped, right?"

Doyle's brow furrowed slightly, his interest piqued. "William? He bungled the pageant deal. What's he got to do with this? I thought he was in Germany."

Rossi leaned in, his voice low. "That's what everyone thought. But we have a tip-off that he's back. If he's here, he's a loose end you might want to consider."
 
The wheels spun in Doyle's brain before he spoke, "Actually, he'll fit in perfectly. I've got a few paintings to unload. They're worth plenty, and William can make the connections."

"Is he trustworthy? What if he's caught? Will he fold?"

Doyle's eyes sparked with malice as a cold smile crept across his lips. "He outsmarted the FBI and conned the German Consulate. He has qualities I can use. If he fails, he's always expendable."

Rossi checked the door to make sure they weren't overheard. "Just remember, Doyle, this game is dangerous. One wrong move, and it won't just be you who pays."

Doyle straightened, exuding confidence. "They've already made their first mistake by crossing me. I won't let them forget it."

Rossi nodded. "We just need to be careful. You don't want to tip them off."

Doyle leaned in closer, a sinister sneer forming on his lips. "Careful is not my style. I guarantee you — they're gonna suffer."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison


Chapter 3
Miracles - Chap 3

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The parole hearing hadn't gone as he'd expected, and the veiled threats from Rossi still annoyed him. He hadn't asked for anyone's help and wasn't letting them control his plans. As the guard led him through the familiar corridors, he stood tall, refusing to acknowledge defeat or the chains around his wrists. He was free to accomplish what he wanted — even behind bars.

"Welcome back, John!" shouted an inmate, setting off a chain of jeers and taunts along the walkway.

The news of the parole denial had traveled through the prison grapevine faster than a slippery pig on a slanted slope.

A few brave souls called out, "Did you miss us?" and one even muttered, "There's always next time." His cell door clanging shut echoed through the dimly lit corridor — a harsh reminder of his confinement.

He sighed, then splashed cold water onto his face — a privilege he knew was rare among the inmates, though it did little to soothe his frustration. He glanced up, water dripping from his chin, when he heard a voice.

"Hello, John. Too bad about the parole denial."

He froze. His back stiffened when he recognized her voice.

Digging deep, he composed himself and turned, water dripping from his chin and a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against the cell bars. "Eleanor," he mocked, "I didn't think they let the dead roam free around here. Or is this just another one of your tricks?"

"Tricks? That's your game, not mine." Her voice was low and dangerous, a storm brewing behind her calm facade.

"Did you come to gloat?" He grinned. "Or did you have something else on your mind?" He smirked. "Too bad about Margaret's little accident."

Eleanor's form wavered, struggling to remain materialized as she held back a torrent of grief and rage. Her voice broke, her words nearly a whisper but fierce, "Every time I close my eyes, I see Margaret's lifeless face. I don't know how you did it, but I'm certain you're responsible for her death."

"You know nothing," he sneered, stepping closer. "Please accept my condolences."

Eleanor's fists clenched at her sides, her breath quickening. "You think you're funny?" She hissed. "You're a monster, John."

He laughed, splashing water from the basin in her direction. "Cool down before you drop dead. Oh wait — you're already dead." His laughter echoed down the hall.

"You're going to pay for what you've done." Unspoken threats hung in the silence. Before she could continue, she sensed a visitor.

The guard entered the cellblock. Eleanor heard the clanging of the door and his approaching footsteps. She knew she must leave. She gave Doyle one last icy stare. "Watch your step, John. I will always have my eyes on you."

Doyle glared at her and jeered, "Margaret was just the icing on the cake. If you're watching anyone, it better be those close to you because I intend to take all of them down."

Eleanor compressed a gasp — recognizing the threat for what it was — another dagger to her heart.

The guard reached his cell and gave a questioning glance at Doyle. "Everything alright, John?" he asked, glancing around the cell.

Doyle looked around the cell, noting that Eleanor had disappeared. "Just fine, Henry. Just spilled some water."

"I'll get someone in here to clean it up. Sorry to hear about the hearing today. How about I have the cook whip up a juicy T-bone?"

"That'll be great. I'll make sure you find a little something extra in your locker."

The guard nodded. "You're a good man, John." He walked away to complete his rounds.

Invisible but still in the cell, Eleanor muttered, "Maybe you'll choke on that steak. Too bad it can't be seasoned with poison."

Doyle chuckled. "You aren't going to get that lucky, sweetheart."

"Don't underestimate me, John. I could slip into that kitchen and do it myself, and no one would ever be the wiser." She smirked. "Think about it, John."

She melted into the shadows, leaving only a chilling silence and a promise that she was ready to fight.

*****

Jenna stirred and pulled the pillow over her head to block the sunlight filtering through the blinds. She moaned, "It can't be morning."

The rich aroma of coffee wafted into her bedroom. Still groggy from the sleepless night, she pulled herself to a sitting position, running her hands across her face to brush her hair out of the way. There was only one explanation for the smell of fresh coffee — Eleanor was here.

She stumbled down the hall to the kitchen. Eleanor was standing by the coffeemaker with a cup in hand. She gave it to her daughter, minus her customary smile. "You look like you might need this more than I do. Though my day hasn't started very well."

Regardless of her own struggles, Jenna knew something was wrong. "Mom, what's happening? I didn't expect to see you this morning."

Eleanor pressed her lips into a fine line and inhaled sharply. "You need to sit down, dear."

Jenna took the coffee from her mother and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. She watched Eleanor pour another cup of coffee, keeping her back to Jenna. "Mom, you didn't answer. What's wrong?"

Eleanor wiped her eyes as she turned around. "There was a car crash this morning. Margaret —" Eleanor sighed. "She's — gone."

"Gone?" Jenna's eyes widened. "Aunt Margaret? Mom, what happened?"

"Her car went off the road."

"Where? How did the accident happen?"

Eleanor closed her eyes, trying to control her emotions. "It wasn't an accident, Jenna."

"I don't understand. You said her car crashed."

"Someone ran her off the road."

"On purpose? Who would do such a thing?"

"Only one name comes to mind, I am afraid."

Jenna stared at Eleanor. "The Judge! But how? He's behind bars." Remembering the parole hearing, she gasped, "They didn't release him, did they?"

Eleanor shook her head. "No, his parole was denied, but I have no doubt that he was behind Margaret's death."

Jenna shook her head and watched her mom. "We all have reasons to hate him, but he is in jail."

"He is. I even visited him this morning."

"You went to the hearing."

"No, I went to his cell after saying goodbye to my sister."

"To his cell!" Jenna screamed, but then Eleanor's other words hit home. "Oh, Mom, you were at the accident. But how?"

"She called my name, and a vision flashed through my mind. I saw the crash." Tears rolled down her face. "I was there, but I couldn't save her."

Jenna jumped off the chair and wrapped Eleanor in her arms. "I'm so sorry." She squeezed a little tighter before stepping back. "But how can you be sure the Judge is behind it?"

"He laughed, Jenna. I could still see my sister's lifeless body cradled in my arms, and he laughed. He said that he was going to take down everyone who put him in that hellhole. That includes you, Matthew, Garth, and who knows who else he has a grudge against. Maybe the parole board, too."

Eleanor's cold, harsh words settled over both women.

Jenna shivered, clutching her coffee mug like a lifeline. "He threatened — all of us?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her chest tightened. She forced a steadying breath, hoping Eleanor wouldn't notice her shaking hands. "Don't worry, Mom. We'll stay alert."

But Eleanor caught the shadow in Jenna's eyes and touched her shoulder gently. "Are you sure everything's alright?"

Jenna managed a tense smile. "I'm fine. Just a bit overwhelmed, I guess."

But Eleanor's eyes didn't leave her daughter's face. She had a mother's instinct, and it told her this wasn't just a bad night's sleep. She opened her mouth as if to say something but stopped, deciding to let Jenna come to her when she was ready.

"Alright," Eleanor said gently, though she couldn't hide her concern. "I'll be here if you want to talk."

Jenna murmured a quick "thanks" and retreated to her room, shutting the bathroom door behind her. She leaned against the door, her fingers curling around the doorknob as her mind drifted to the dark places she'd tried to bury.

As she stared into the mirror, vivid images of her nightmare surged back — the cold night air, her heart pounding, and the sound of footsteps echoing behind her.

A clatter from the kitchen — something falling to the floor —made her jump, and her breath quickened. Panic clawed at her throat as she recalled the sensation of strong hands gripping her arms. What if Doyle had something to do with the rape? The thought slashed through her like a knife.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to suppress the memories. The echoes of her screams rang in her ears, but no sound escaped her lips.

She turned to the sink and splashed water on her face, gripping the edge as her breathing grew shallow. Staring at her reflection, she fought the rising panic, willing herself back to the present, away from the fear. It was easier to pretend the rape wasn't part of her reality.

As Jenna's reflection battled the flood of memories from the nightmare, she knew she had to pull herself together. The morning's news about Aunt Margaret was shocking, and the revelation that Doyle might be responsible was upsetting, but she had a business to run. Today, she hoped to make an important decision and hire a new assistant. "Get your act together! You can't change anything, so move forward. Isn't that what Mom would say?"

She reached for her phone and searched her contacts until she found Rebecca's name. She had met Rebecca at a networking event a few weeks ago. The woman had recently moved to town. Jenna had been intrigued by her energy and enthusiasm, sensing a kindred spirit in the newcomer.

With a deep breath, Jenna tapped the screen to call Rebecca, hoping she could turn her chaotic emotions into something productive. As the phone rang, she glanced at the kitchen, where her mother stood at the counter, pouring herself another cup of coffee, her face clouded with concern.

"Hello?" Rebecca's voice came through bubbly and upbeat.

"Hi, Rebecca. It's Jenna. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

"Not at all. I'm just getting settled in. How are you?"

Jenna hesitated, knowing she didn't want to unload her worries on Rebecca, who was still trying to find her footing in a new place. "I'm okay, but I could use your help. I've got a few events coming up, and I'm looking to hire someone. I remembered our conversation about event planning and thought you might be interested."

"That sounds exciting! I'd love to help out. What do you need?"

Jenna felt a spark of enthusiasm return, pushing aside the heaviness of the morning's news. "I have a wedding event next month, and with the holiday season approaching, I need someone to assist with the details. It could also be a great way to get to know the community."

"Absolutely! I'd love to be involved. Let's meet up and discuss it more."

Jenna nodded, even though Rebecca couldn't see her. "Perfect! How about tomorrow at The Rustic Cafe? It'll give us a chance to review everything, and you can tell me more about settling in."

"Sounds like a plan. I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too. I'll see you then." Jenna ended the call, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

She returned to the kitchen, where Eleanor was sipping her coffee, her face still etched with worry. "Were you talking to someone?" Eleanor asked.

"Rebecca. I'm hiring her to help with the upcoming events."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "The young woman you met at the last networking meeting, right? That sounds promising. Is she settling in well?"

"I think so. She seems enthusiastic about getting to know the area," Jenna replied, forcing a smile. "Plus, I think we both need something to focus on besides what happened to Aunt Margaret."

Eleanor's expression softened, and she nodded. "You're right. It's important to keep moving forward. I'm proud of you for taking this step, Jenna."

"Thanks, Mom. I'm just trying to keep things together."
 
 Jenna's phone buzzed again. A text from Rebecca appeared on the screen, and Jenna's heart skipped a beat as she read it: Have you ever heard of an Attorney named Phillip Henderson? I just received a registered letter, and he's requesting to meet with me. I can't imagine what it might be about."

Jenna frowned. "Mom, have you ever heard the name Phillip Henderson? Supposedly, he's an attorney in town requesting to meet with Rebecca. She has no idea what he would want with her."

Eleanor thought for a minute, scowling as she tried to recall something. "I might be wrong, but I think he's Ralph Henderson's brother. Helen did some work with Ralph at one time. Back then, they only dealt with wills and trusts."

"That doesn't make any sense. Rebecca doesn't have any living family."

"Well, I might be wrong, or maybe they have expanded their practice. She'll just have to contact them to find out, I guess. A simple phone call can't hurt."

"Yeah. Maybe she'll be surprised and discover a long-lost relative."

Eleanor smiled. "One never knows what's just around the corner." She sipped her coffee and let her mind wander backward in time, remembering how Jenna had unexpectedly come back into her life.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widow (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison


Chapter 4
Miracles - Chap 4

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
Danni breezed through the cafe tables with her takeout order for herself and Matthew. She smiled when she spotted Jenna seated by the window.

"Jenna!" she called out, making her way over. Jenna glanced up from her coffee, her surprise quickly turning to a warm smile.

"So, how's it feel?" Jenna laughed.

"You mean to be legally visible to the world? It's awesome, Jenna. I am so grateful that Eleanor stepped up and told the council how I could be helpful just like her if allowed to be seen."
 
"I'm happy for you. You deserved the recognition."

Danni took a seat across from her, leaning in. "I just wanted to stop and say I'm so sorry about Margaret. That was a shock."

"Thank you, Danni," Jenna murmured, her expression softening. "Has Matthew spoken with Eleanor?"

"I don't believe so. He attended the parole hearing with Garth and didn't hear about it until he was back in town. I'm sure Eleanor is devastated about the accident."

"It wasn't an accident, Danni." Jenna shifted her gaze to the busy sidewalk, unable to believe John Doyle wielded so much power from behind bars.

Danni's eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't understand. Didn't her car crash outside of town?"

Jenna nodded, pressing her lips together, wondering what she should share.

"Jenna, don't leave me hanging. Why do you say it wasn't an accident?"

She sighed. "Because — my mother was there."

"Eleanor?" Danni's voice spiked. "I thought the initial report said Margaret was alone and lost control in the fog."

"On the surface, that statement is correct, I suppose. Margaret was alone."

"Then how did Eleanor —" Danni closed her eyes for a moment, then continued her thought, "Never mind." She paused. "She had a vision, didn't she?"

Jenna nodded. "She did and was transported to the scene in time to assist in removing Margaret's body from the car."

"It had to be devastating for her. Knowing that there's only so much she could do." Danni didn't want to push, but the detective in her wanted to know more about why Eleanor said it wasn't an accident. She trusted her and knew she wouldn't say anything unless she had facts. "What did Eleanor tell you?"

"I think I should let her give you and Matthew all the details, so I don't get anything wrong, but she did find a note —"

Danni's thoughts were spinning. "A suicide note?"

"No, no — a note on Joliet State Prison stationery."

Danni gasped, immediately understanding the importance of the note. "From Doyle?"

"Eleanor says it was. It said, "Death awaits you."

Danni gasped. "A threat, but how can she be sure that Doyle is the one behind it? All his mail is censored."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Danni. According to my mother, Doyle's living quarters might have changed, but his power and the ability to manipulate remain. He's —" Jenna inhaled sharply, her eyes glassy as she connected with Danni's eyes. "He's threatened to take anyone involved in his conviction down."

"From prison? When did he say this, and to who?"

"This morning to Eleanor." Jenna sipped her coffee, knowing Danni was analyzing every word and the next question would be how.

"Donatelli gets notified if Doyle has visitors, and except for his lawyer, no one was there yesterday or today."

Jenna managed a smile. "You're slipping, Danni. Is too much physical contact taking the edge off your brain? It's Eleanor we're talking about."

Danni gasped. "Duh! I really do have brain fog. She was at the prison, wasn't she?" The sudden realization of Eleanor's confrontation with Doyle was like a bolt of lightning, electrifying the conversation.

"Yes, in his cell." Jenna shivered. "She confronted him about Margaret, and he laughed."

"He's sick! And your mother — there's no one better than her. So Doyle was taunting her. Maybe it was just words."

"Mom doesn't think so. She says we are all in danger — me, Garth, and Matthew. She came to my house yesterday morning to warn me. I've never seen her so —"

"Worried? Concerned? Of course, she was, honey." Danni reached across the table, touching Jenna's hand. "Ghost or not, she's your mother and loves you deeply. She'd just lost her sister, confronted the man she believes is responsible, and not only delivered the shocking news to her daughter but told her that her life was in danger as well. That's a lot to swallow."

"I know, and it didn't help that I'd had a rough night."

Danni raised an eyebrow. "You sick?"

"Just some stomach thing. Nothing for you or my mother to worry about."

Danni tilted her head, scrutinizing her friend. "Speaking about worrying, Matthew is also at the top of that list." She softened her tone. "He hasn't heard from you in weeks. I thought things were going so well between you two. Mind me asking what happened?"

Jenna chuckled. "Would it stop you even if I did?"

"Probably not!"

Jenna looked down, her fingers tracing patterns on the side of her coffee mug. "I've just — I've been busy. And besides, I needed some time to — get myself together."

Danni's gaze softened. "Understandable, Jenna. Just don't shut out the people who care about you."

At that moment, the bell over the cafe door jingled, and Jenna glanced up, spotting Rebecca as she entered. Relief washed over her, naturally changing the conversation. She waved Rebecca over, motioning to the empty seat beside her.

"Rebecca, come meet a friend of mine," Jenna said as Rebecca reached the table. She gestured to Danni with a welcoming smile. "This is Danni, one of the best people you'll ever meet."

Rebecca smiled politely, extending her hand to Danni, who shook it with an effortless, natural grace. Jenna omitted the minor detail that Danni wasn't exactly among the living, a revelation best saved for later, if ever.

After a brief exchange, Danni looked at Jenna and said, "I'd better go. Enjoy your lunch, you two." She waved goodbye before heading out the door.

As soon as Danni left, Rebecca leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I've got news! I finally talked to the attorney, and he told me there's important information he needs to pass on." She shook her head, her brow furrowed. "I can't imagine what it could be, but I have an appointment on Friday."

Jenna's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Well, maybe it's good news! Who knows? Maybe a distant relative left you some money."

Rebecca chuckled, trying to shake off the anxious knot in her stomach. "If only, except I don't believe I have any other relatives. My parents never mentioned anyone."

Jenna gave her a reassuring smile. "You'll know soon enough. Sometimes, the most unexpected things are just what we need."

"Now you sound like Santa Claus, Jenna. He's not leaving me a distant relative under the tree." Rebecca laughed. "At least, I don't think he is."

"I'm starving. Do you mind if we order and then talk?"

"No, of course not. I'm thrilled you are considering me for the position, Jenna. Moving to a new town, I thought job hunting would be a chore in a small town."

"I need help, and we hit it off so well at the networking seminar that I don't see why I'd want to look any further. If you are interested, the job is yours."

"I'm interested! I can't wait!" she said, picking up the menu. "Just let me know when I start."

"Would tomorrow be too soon?" Jenna smiled.

Rebecca laughed. "Heck, I'd start this afternoon if you wanted me to. But right now, let's order. I think my stomach is about to revolt."

*****

Jenna placed her order, eyeing the menu more enthusiastically than she felt. "It all sounds so good," she told Rebecca, smiling.

Rebecca chuckled. "Good, you need to eat. You've been burning the candle at both ends."

But the moment the plate arrived, the rich smell hit her, and a wave of nausea rolled over her. She pushed her chair back, hand over her mouth, as the nausea intensified.

Rebecca's smile faded to concern. "Jenna? Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Jenna murmured, swallowing hard. "I think... maybe something just didn't sit right."

Rebecca frowned. "You haven't eaten a bite. Let me take you home."

Jenna started to protest but nodded reluctantly, grateful for the escape. She waved to Maurice, the owner, making a circle with her hand around the tabletop, and he nodded. He would put the bill on her tab.

They were halfway to the door when Garth entered the cafe. His gaze immediately fell on Jenna, his expression softening as he approached them.

"Jenna," he greeted, enfolding her in his arms. "I'm so sorry to hear about Margaret. If there's anything I can do, please let me know."

He released her, and Jenna squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Garth. That means a lot."

She glanced behind, expecting to see Tango.

Garth chuckled. "My sidekick is parking the car." Turning to Rebecca, he removed his Stetson and smiled. "And who is this charming lady, Jenna?"

"Forgive my manners." A wave of nausea rocked her momentarily, and then she said, "Garth, this is my new assistant, Rebecca." Their eyes met, and a spark of interest shot through them.

Rebecca flushed slightly, but Garth returned his gaze to Jenna. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern etching his features. "You look a little pale."

"Just ate something that didn't agree with me," Jenna replied, trying to sound casual. But Rebecca had noticed Jenna hadn't touched her food.

"It was nice meeting you, Garth, but Jenna and I have another meeting to attend. Can't have my boss being late."

They quickly said their goodbyes and exited the cafe. Garth smiled as he watched them leave, murmuring, "A nice addition to the town."

*****

"Rebecca, you're the best!" Nestled beneath her down comforter, she smiled at her new assistant. "You didn't have to do all this."

Rebecca entered the bedroom, balancing a tray with a thermos of steaming tea, a mug, crackers, and a fresh box of Kleenex. "Isn't that what friends are for? It wasn't any trouble." Not familiar with Jenna's home, Rebecca glanced around the room. "Can't I get you anything else?"

"No, you've been awesome. I'll just get some sleep and be good as new in the morning. Thanks for the help, Rebecca."

"Before I leave, do you mind me asking about Garth?"

A smile crept across Jenna's face for the first time since they left the restaurant. "So, the Cowboy caught your attention, too. Most of the ladies can't resist his smile and sexy drawl."

"I imagine he's got several of them hanging on his arm, then."

"No, he plays it cool. He was married to the love of his life. Her name was Allie."

"You said was. What woman would toss that delicious fish back into the pond?"

"She didn't let go willingly. She died of cancer."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so cold."

"You couldn't have known. It's been almost two years, but he hasn't shown any interest in anyone, and he's had plenty of opportunities."

"Including you?" Rebecca teased.

"No, we're just good friends. I lost my heart to another lawman." Jenna turned away and became very quiet.

"Well, I better let you rest. I'm glad I could help and look forward to tomorrow." Rebecca smiled. "Thanks for the job. Now, get some sleep, and I will show myself out."

The cool pillowcase felt good against Jenna's cheek, and she closed her eyes, thinking about what Danni had said earlier about Matthew. She inhaled, gently letting the air escape her lips, and murmured, "I miss you too, Matthew."

Jenna drifted in the warmth of her dreams, a gentle smile on her lips. She was with Donatelli, his arms wrapped around her as they stood beneath a canopy of fragrant cherry blossoms. She felt safe, wrapped in this new love.

She could almost feel his hands against her back as they swayed together, dancing to a song only they could hear. As the memory faded, a more sinister thought replaced it — footsteps, panic, running, hands ripping at her clothes, dragging her deeper into the shadows, and then blackness.

Jenna bolted upright, screaming until she realized it was just a dream — a horrible memory she'd tried to forget. She collapsed against the bed, weeping until she drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison


Chapter 5
Miracles - Chap 5

By Begin Again

The following morning, after several bouts of nausea, Jenna managed to make it to work, knowing that Rebecca would be there. Jenna needed a break after introducing her new assistant to the facility and generalizing how things worked.

She rubbed her temples as exhaustion settled in. "Rebecca, I hate to do this to you on your first day, but would you mind fielding calls for a bit? I just need to clear my head. I thought I'd spend some time with Eleanor."

Rebecca smiled reassuringly. "Of course, take as long as you need."

Jenna thanked her and soon found herself walking with Eleanor at the local art gallery. They wandered through the quiet, dimly lit halls, admiring the works displayed along the walls. For a moment, the worries of the past few days faded.

As Eleanor admired one of the new exhibits, Jenna asked, "Do you miss painting and living the secret life of CJ Grey?"

"Sometimes, I miss holding the brush and creating something special, but I don't miss being CJ. She was just a way of keeping my life with Charles secret from the world, especially after you came back into my life. I wouldn't jeopardize losing you again."

"As CJ, you were rich and famous, yet you chose to live a quiet, grandmotherly life — one John Doyle took away from you."

"I chose to live the life that brought me closer to you, Jenna. I was afraid to tell you the truth."

"Because you gave me up at birth? I understood."

"But I had no way of knowing for sure. I was content sharing your life, especially after your adopted parents died. The day you moved in next door was the best day I'd had since your birth." Eleanor wrapped her arm around Jenna's shoulder and squeezed her. "Even though I'd kept in touch with your family and experienced every significant moment of your life, it wasn't the same until I could physically sit and share a cup of coffee with you."

"Don't forget those pastries! I can still smell them as you pulled them from the oven."

"Discovering you loved art was amazing. Those days of sitting in the sunroom, dabbling with the paints, meant much more to me than the work of CJ Grey."

"But she made millions and donated to help so many others."

"I'm glad I could help others, but the money didn't mean anything. And when I saw your grief after my death, it was worse than dying."

Tears glistened in Jenna's eyes. "I couldn't imagine how I would live without you."

"Imagine how I felt when the council allowed me to right some wrongs. I jumped at the chance and have never looked back."

Jenna laughed. "At times, I think you enjoy life as a ghost far more than you did living."

"It has given me the chance to know you better and to make memories we missed out on. Of course, Charles would prefer I stayed in England, but those stuffy halls don't suit me. I must be where I am needed — with you, Matthew, Garth, and Danni."

"I saw Danni yesterday. She's on Cloud Nine after you convinced the council what an asset she would be to the police department if she could be visible like you."

"After those last few cases where she provided crucial information, she deserved it. I'm glad they agreed. She just needs to control some of her spontaneous thoughts." Both women laughed.

As they strolled through the gallery, Eleanor stopped abruptly and focused on a man carrying a painting into a storage area. She stood motionless, watching as the door swung shut.

"Jenna —" Eleanor's voice was barely a whisper. "I must be seeing things, but that was one of Charles's paintings. It's been so long. It couldn't be —" She trailed off as disbelief crossed her face.

"One of Charles' paintings? Maybe it was sold to someone."

"Not this one. He wouldn't have parted with it. It meant too much to him." A gleam lit up Eleanor's eyes as a memory of Charles teaching her to paint flickered across her mind.

"So, you think it's one of the stolen ones?" Jenna glanced around the studio. "Should I get the curator?"

Eleanor gave a slight laugh and shook her head. "No, it's just the loss of Margaret and missing Charles playing tricks with my imagination." She took Jenna's arm, and they continued through the gallery.

Yet, as they wandered, Jenna couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Eleanor's words than a passing whim. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if the painting was a hidden piece of Eleanor's past.

*****

The day finally ended, leaving Jenna drained in both body and mind. She rested her head against her office chair, staring at the stars twinkling in the sky.

Rebecca peeked into the office, offering a smile. "Hey, boss!"

"How was day one as my much-needed assistant?" Jenna asked, mustering a tired grin.

Rebecca chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Surprisingly uneventful, given everything. I think I might even survive this."

Jenna smiled, appreciating the lightness. "I'm glad to hear it. You did great today. I'm sorry. I dumped everything on you."

"Not a problem. That's what you hired me for, right?" Rebecca gave her a quick wave. "Goodnight, Jenna. Try to get some rest yourself."

As the office emptied, silence settled over the offices, and Jenna found peace in watching the shimmering stars.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and slowly, as if the stars were pulling her under, she slipped into a familiar dream.

She stood in Donatelli's bedroom with moonlight filtering through the blinds. His arms were wrapped around her, his lips pressed against her hair. Soft music played, and he hummed the tune in her ear. She felt so safe.

As she tipped her head, offering him her lips, the scene shifted suddenly, violently, as if the ground beneath her had fallen away. Shadows loomed — his shadow — the rapist. Malice filled his eyes. Fear pressed down on her chest. She was suffocating. Gasping for air, she tried to scream, but no sound came out, and her world went black.

Then, with a jolt, she was awake, drenched in sweat, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She clutched her chest, trying to calm the pounding. But nausea rose in her stomach, overwhelming her. She stumbled into the bathroom and sank to her knees, fighting the urge to cry. Losing the battle, she screamed.

The dream was over, but the fear lingered. She pulled her legs to her chest, feeling lost and alone. She needed to tell someone. Eleanor was dealing with Margaret's death. Would Danni understand? Who could she trust with something so personal?

She inhaled sharply, knowing the answer. Matthew was the only one she trusted, the only one who might understand. But would opening up risk everything they had? She didn't know, yet the need for someone to lean on was more potent than her fear.

*****

The following morning, Jenna purposely ran a few errands near the police precinct. She decided to stop in to see Matthew. If the opportunity felt right, she'd tell him about the assault. She knew he'd be angry that she'd waited so long to tell him, but in the end, he would be the one to understand her fear.

She didn't have a description of the man, and it was far too late for a hospital exam, but maybe he could help her deal with the nightmares.

They were growing worse, starting to bleed into her work and her everyday thoughts, leaving her on edge. Maybe he'd know of a support group — something like the meetings people went to for addictions, just a place where she didn't feel so alone in this. She couldn't keep letting this take control of her life.

As she entered the building, her steps quickened, and she headed for the bathroom. She pushed into a stall as her stomach heaved, barely managing to close the door as she vomited. Shaking, she pressed her hands against the sidewalls, trying to steady herself.

Danni recognized Jenna entering the building and hurried to catch up with her to share a few moments of girl talk.

Jenna heard footsteps entering the bathroom. She fought back another bout of vomiting, hoping the person would leave soon. She froze when Danni's voice broke through the silence. "Jenna? Are you okay?"

Jenna took a deep breath, steadying herself, and opened the stall door. Danni was standing there, a look of concern softening her features. She held out a wet paper towel. "You really should see a doctor."

Jenna managed a weak smile, trying to brush it off. "It's just...stomach problems. Probably something I ate."

Danni didn't look convinced but nodded. "If you say so. I didn't mean to intrude. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Thanks, Danni. I'd hoped to see Matthew for a moment. Do you know if he's busy?"

"Just working on reports, I think. Nothing that couldn't be put on hold. Especially when it's a visit from you." Danni waved and hurried back to her office.

Washing her face and brushing her hair, Jenna felt better. She moved down the hall to Matthew's office, intending to surprise him and maybe get a moment of support. She knocked lightly and poked her head in. He was on the phone but held up a finger as he pressed the hold button. His expression was unreadable, but his voice had a cold edge she hadn't expected.

"You need something?" he asked flatly.

"Uh — no, I just thought I'd stop by to say hello."

"It's not a good time," he said curtly, his gaze hard. "I'm really busy. You should have called." He turned his back and returned to the phone call.

She felt the sting of his words and stepped back. "Right, sorry. Danni said — never mind, I'll catch you later."

Jenna left — her heart filled with disappointment. As she made her way to the exit, she passed Danni without a word, her vision blurred by her tears. Outside, she collapsed onto a bench as everything caught up to her. She wrapped her arms around herself and let the tears come.

Curious about what Matthew might have said to Jenna to upset her, Danni poked her head into his office. "Everything alright in here?"

Donatelli looked up and laughed at her expression. "I'm great! Shouldn't I be?"

Danni turned and looked down the hall and then back at him. "Did you see Jenna?"

The smile left his face, and he stared at the pen in his fingers, twirling it around.

"Matthew, what happened? She came to see you. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yeah, but I guess I let my feelings get in the way."

"Why? What did you say to her?"

Matthew cleared his throat and took a swallow of his cold coffee, stalling from giving Danni an answer.

"Donatelli, she left here in tears. What did you say?"

"I told her I was busy."

"Busy? Doing reports that I usually finish for you anyhow?" Danni shook her head in disbelief. "Way to go, Donatelli. You get your chance, and you blow it. Big time!"

"But —"

"I don't want to hear your lousy excuse. You're going to have to fix this, and soon."

She turned and headed back to her office, muttering, "And they say blondes are dumb! Sometimes, I wonder if men even have a brain."

*****

Back at the office, Jenna noticed a small bowl of soup with crackers waiting on her desk, but she barely made it to the bathroom before her stomach revolted again. She held onto the sink as the nausea twisted her insides. Rebecca's voice sounded from the hallway, her footsteps approaching. Jenna glanced up to see Rebecca's concerned reflection in the mirror.

"Jenna, are you sure you're okay?" Rebecca's voice was soft but persistent.

Jenna nodded weakly, wiping her mouth. "I'm fine. Just an upset stomach."

Rebecca bit her lip, clearly unconvinced. "I'll be right back."

Jenna nodded and mumbled, "I'll be right here." She closed the door behind her and leaned against the sink, waiting for the next wave to hit her.

When she convinced herself that it was safe to return to work, Jenna noticed a small, discreet box on her desk — a pregnancy test. Attached was a note from Rebecca — "I'm running out for a few things. As your friend, I am concerned. Toss the test or use it. I won't mention it again. Just take care of yourself."

Jenna stared at the test while her mind battled denial and then fear. After a few minutes, she worked up the courage, entered the bathroom, and took the test. Her hands shook as she waited for the result.

What if it was positive?

A wave of fear coursed through her body as she remembered the rape. No, it couldn't have happened, could it? Who was she fooling? She didn't even believe it was the stomach flu.

After five minutes, she returned to the bathroom and stood staring at the test lying on the sink counter.

Trembling, she closed her eyes, picked up the test, and set it down again.

"This is silly. I'm not pregnant. It's just the flu. Why do people always jump to conclusions when a woman is sick?"

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. "Just look at it, Jenna!"

She swallowed, bracing herself against a truth she wasn't ready to face.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant


Chapter 6
Miracles - Chap 6

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
 
 
"Just do it!"
 
Jenna scolded herself, afraid to look at the test.

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding louder with each beat. She wasn't ready to face the answer, and conflicting emotions caught her in a whirlwind that her body already understood.

What if it's positive?

Images flashed across her mind of a night she'd tried so hard to bury. She ran her hand across her stomach and stared into the mirror.

A baby — a living, breathing human might be growing inside her.

She shivered with her next thought.

Can I carry and nurture a reminder of that moment that fills me with unspeakable dread? Will I blame the child and pass on my fears?

Her body went cold.
 
How could she even be thinking about these things?

She forced herself to think of Eleanor, the decisions she'd had to face, and her adopted mother—who had taken her in, loved her as her own, and taught her to be strong.
 
Would she even know how to find that strength now to make a choice like this? The idea felt like a boat anchor — one she wasn't sure she could carry.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she clenched her fists, steadying herself as best she could. She knew she'd have to look at the test eventually, to face whatever it held, but her mind was spinning with questions she couldn't answer.

Would she be able to keep and raise a child? Could she even bear to consider it?

None of the options seemed viable.

With a trembling hand, Jenna squeezed her eyes shut and reached for the test. "Do it, Jenna?"

A shock wave of uncertainty washed over her as she opened her eyes. It was positive. She was pregnant. Dropping the test, her hands pressed against her stomach, and she stared into the mirror. A pair of eyes filled with despair stared back at her.

The words tumbled from her mouth in a heartbreaking cry, "Oh, dear God in Heaven, why?"

She stumbled to her desk, clutching the test, unable to process what this meant, mumbling, "I'm pregnant." The words opened a floodgate of tears. Sitting alone in her office, she rocked back and forth, sobbing and muttering, "Why?"
 
*****

After seeing how pale and distraught Jenna had been earlier, Garth decided to stop in and check on her. As he neared her office, the sound of hysterical sobbing reached his ears, and he hurried toward it.

As he entered her office, his heart broke at the sight of Jenna, legs tucked to her chest, rocking back and forth with tears streaming down her face.

"Jenna!" He raced around the desk, pulling her into his arms. "Jenna, what's wrong? Talk to me."

Her hands clutched his shirt as she buried her face in his chest, unable to speak. With one arm, he held her while the other stroked her hair, and his lips whispered, "It's going to be alright, Jenna. Whatever it is, we'll get through this together."

Unable to hold back, Jenna leaned into him, letting the sobs come freely. He held her, offering silent comfort as she trembled in his embrace.



*****

Meanwhile, Donatelli's conscience gnawed at him, replaying the coldness with which he'd treated Jenna earlier. He felt torn between his pride and his feelings for her. Finally, the power of love won.

Deciding he needed to apologize, he stopped at a florist, picked up a bouquet of roses, and headed to her office, rehearsing what he'd say, hoping to make amends. His gut told him that the night they'd spent together had been far more than a one-night stand. Jenna was special.

As he neared her door, he stopped. His stomach did a major flip-flop. Through the window, he saw Jenna with Garth, his long-time rival, wrapped in his arms, her face pressed into his chest. His body stiffened as he watched the scene unfold - Garth's hands stroking Jenna's back and his lips so close to her.

Bitterness and jealousy reared their ugly heads, twisting his insides into knots. Without a word, he turned on his heels, tossing the roses into the trash bin as he stormed from the building. His anger clouded his mind, and he pulled out his phone, calling Danni.

He barked into the phone. "I won't be back."

Shocked, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing that a few stiff drinks won't fix."

"Matthew, did you —"

"Danni, enough with the questions. I saw her in Garth's arms. I won't play that game again." Choking back his emotions, he muttered, "I need to be alone."

Without even a goodbye, he disconnected the call. With one last glance back at the building, he stripped off his tie and jacket, put on his Aviator glasses, and slid behind the wheel of his car, slamming his hands against the wheel before starting it.
 
White knuckled, he drove away, never realizing someone was shadowing his every move.

He needed to distance himself from the display of affection he'd just watched, but his mind wasn't about to accommodate him. The scene replayed over and over as he sped down the highway — destination unknown.

****

Several miles out of town, he pulled off the road, stopping outside "The Hideaway" — a rough-looking biker's bar that promised the anonymity he needed. He hadn't planned where he'd go — he'd just driven until he felt he was far enough from everyone and everything.

As he pushed through the heavy bar door, the smell of stale smoke and cheap whiskey hit him. A few locals glanced his way, sizing him up, but he kept his head down, sliding onto a barstool and nodding to the bartender.

Outside, the other car stopped across the street, the engine idling as the driver watched Donatelli disappear inside. He picked up his phone and made a call. "Yeah, he's here." the driver growled. A grin spread across his unshaven face. "The Gods are shining on us. I happen to know the bouncer and the bartender."

A voice at the other end asked, "Can you get this done?"

"If you need to ask, then I'm not your man. Get someone else."

"Don't get your jets fired up, Freddy. Doyle wants you."

The driver snarled, "If you know what's good for you, William, you won't call me that again. It's Frederick the Great. Understand?"

"Sure, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just the messenger."

"Remember that when talking to me. I'm the muscle and the brains." He was tired of this mealy-mouthed errand boy on the other end of the line. He had business to take care of, but first, he wanted to be assured he'd get paid. "It'll cost, and I'm not talking about penny ante stuff. I'm expecting a big paycheck or one of those paintings he's been smuggling out of the country. Understood?"

"The Judge said to get it done, regardless of the cost. There's an extra 100Gs in it if you eliminate any witnesses."

"I know what I'm doing. There ain't going to be any witnesses." Frederick chuckled. "By the time I'm done with this guy, he'll wish he was dead, and for sure, he'll be behind bars." He chuckled. "Maybe even a cellmate buddy with the judge."
 
"Just get it done."

He clicked off, his grin on his face a dark promise of what would unfold.

*****

Frederick eased his car behind the abandoned shed, hiding it from the main road. He took a deep breath, glancing at the row of Harleys outside the Hideaway. The place was packed tonight, a roaring party for the town's wildest. Perfect for what he had in mind.

He slipped through the back door and was instantly greeted by Tony, who grinned and tossed a bar towel over his shoulder.

"Well, well, look who crawled in," Tony said with a chuckle. "What's the occasion, Frederick?"

Frederick leaned in, his tone low and casual. "Got a little job for you. See the guy at the end of the bar? He's a thorn in the Judge's backside if you know what I mean. I need you and the crew to make sure his night doesn't go quite as planned."

Tony's eyes lit up with recognition. "I thought I recognized him when he walked into this joint wearing those threads. Isn't he that hot-shot —"

Frederick's hand touched Tony's arm as he gave him a nod. "Less said, the better."

A gleam in Tony's eyes said he understood. "This could be interesting." He clapped a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "We're all ears. What's the play?"

"You better get Bruiser, too. We need this to go down like any other Friday night. Just a disagreement between two men that got out of hand."

Tony yelled across the room. "Hey, Bruiser, I need another case of the good stuff."

The bouncer nodded and headed toward Tony's office. Frederick was close behind. Inside the office, the bouncer slapped Frederick on the back. "You got some action going down?"

Frederick pulled a wad of money from his pocket and skimmed off five Ben Franklins. "You can count on a bonus if this goes down the way the Judge wants."

"The Judge? Man, this guy must have really messed up. What'd he do?"

"Does it matter?" Frederick snarled, "You in or not?"

"No problem, pal. It was a simple question, but if the Judge wants it done, let's make it happen."
 
"That's more like it! I knew I could count on you, Bruiser."

"Let me get this case of booze out to the bar, and you can fill us in."

After setting up another round of a shot and a beer for Crystal, Tony worked his way back to the end of the bar, where it was dimly lit. Frederick and Bruiser stood in the shadows.

"I want you to get him into a game of pool. We'll start slow, let him get comfortable, and then — well, let's just say we give him a little 'encouragement' to get rowdy."

Tony smirked. "Gotcha. A couple of beers in, and we'll get him thinking he's the best shot in the bar. Then we let him know otherwise."

Frederick turned to Crystal, who had sidled up to him with a smirk of her own. "And as for you, beautiful," he murmured, slipping an arm around her waist, "I've got something special."

She cocked her head, intrigued. He slipped her a small packet, keeping his voice low. "When he's distracted, drop this in his drink. Make sure he doesn't see you."

Crystal chuckled, tucking the packet into her back pocket. "Oh, I can handle that, Frederick. No problem."

"Good," Frederick said, giving her butt a friendly squeeze and slipping a Franklin between her cleavage. "Let's make it convincing. The more natural, the better."

Bruiser folded his arms, nodding with a grin. "Johnny's worn out his welcome around here, so I'll get him to challenge your guy to a game of pool. A few knocks to the head won't hurt him." They all laughed at his joke. 
 
Tony leaned across the bar and lowered his voice as he added, "By the looks of this guy, he's going to show off. If the guy's got an ego — he'll take the bait."

"Trust me. He's got a chip on his shoulder." Frederick's grin widened. "Once he's riled up, we let things get a little heated. A few words, a nudge, maybe even a shove. Just enough to get him fired up and ready to take a swing."

Tony gave a nod. "You know us, Frederick. He'll be putty in our hands."

Frederick leaned back, satisfied. "That's why I like you guys. Let's make this a night he won't forget." His smile turned cold, knowing that none of them would realize the full stakes of this setup until it was too late.
 
*****

After hammering several rounds of shots and chasing them with a bottle of beer, Donatelli began to mellow, especially after Crystal's added gift. His gaze fell on a battered pool table surrounded by rough-looking bikers. A man with a toothpick clenched between his teeth watched him with a smirk as if sizing him up for more than just a friendly game.

"You look like you could use a bit of luck tonight," Johnny said, motioning to the table. "Fancy a game?"

Donatelli hesitated, but the ache in his chest made him reckless. He sized up his challenger and answered, "Sure. Name your wager."

The man's eyes flicked to Donatelli's wrist. "That watch of yours. Looks like it's worth something."

Donatelli considered the suggestion, then slid off his Rolex and set it on the side of the table. "Pretty high stakes. Can you match it?"

Bruiser tossed six thousand on the table. A couple of other bikers tossed money on the table, too.

Donatelli sneered. "The watch is worth more."

"Guess if you're good enough, you won't have to worry about losing it, will you?"

Donatelli swallowed another shot, chased it with the beer cocktail Crystal had mixed, and shrugged. "Fine. One game. It should be child's play."

They chalked their cues and started the game, with Donatelli holding his own at first, his movements smooth and calculated. But as the game wore on, his aim wavered from the drinks, his shots growing sloppy. The biker grinned wider with each missed shot.

However, a hush fell over the crowd when Donatelli made a lucky shot, sinking two balls at once. His opponent's face darkened.

"That was a fluke," the man muttered, his tone souring. "No way you made that shot without cheating."

Donatelli rolled his eyes. "It's just a game. Can't handle losing?"

The man's face twisted in anger. "Call me a sore loser, will you?"

Without warning, he lunged at Donatelli, and the two crashed into the pool table, sending balls scattering. Other bikers joined in, fists flying as the bar erupted into chaos. Someone grabbed Donatelli's arm and twisted it, causing him to lose his balance and hit the floor. The fight surged around him. The tables were flipped. Bar stools tossed. Bones broken. During the mayhem, Crystal found the watch and pocketed it.

Disoriented, Donatelli struggled to stand as blows rained down. Before he knew it, strong arms were tossing him outside on the gravel. He stumbled to his car, barely able to hold himself upright. He collapsed into the driver's seat, his head heavy and his vision blurring.

He didn't see the figure watching from a nearby car — the one grinning as Donatelli's head slumped forward.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook


Chapter 7
Miracles - Chap 7

By Begin Again

It was early morning, and the sun was barely above the towering trees, but the river below looked like a shimmering silver ribbon. The gentle wind carried the scent of pine, and the faint sound of the rushing waterfall below added to the tranquil atmosphere.

Eleanor and Jenna stood, arm in arm, at the edge of the lookout point. Eleanor's hand shook as she held Margaret's urn.

"Jenna, I'm happy you are here, but if it's too much —"

"Never!" Jenna said firmly. "You shouldn't do this alone, Mom. Though I am surprised that no one else is here."

Eleanor sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair away. "Margaret didn't want the fuss. She requested that I do this and let the others move on with their life."

"I suppose, but they are her family."

"I know, but Margaret wanted it this way. I think Margaret regretted how her lifestyle and relationship with her children got off track — another regret thanks to the Judge."

"The accident —" Jenna paused and stared at the sky stretching before them and the glistening water in the distance, deciding not to go where her mind was headed. She sighed. "It's so peaceful here."

"Yes, it was Margaret's sanctuary. Whenever life got too heavy, she would come here and sit. She once told me that she felt closer to me here than anywhere. I never understood what she meant until now."

With trembling hands, Eleanor lifted the small urn and, in a voice barely above a whisper, said, "You're free now, Margaret. No more running, no more fear."

She tipped the urn, letting the ashes drift into the breeze. The gray dust floated over the cliff's edge, joining the earth, the water, and the sky. As the last of the ashes vanished into the air, an eagle appeared, gliding effortlessly above them, its wings spread wide, cutting through the sky with powerful grace.

Eleanor's eyes welled with tears. "She's at peace."

Jenna squeezed her arm. "Yes, she is."

The eagle circled once — twice — and then disappeared into the distance, leaving a calm stillness — a moment of closure and respect.

Pop!

A sharp gunshot crack echoed through the trees, shattering the peaceful moment. Eleanor and Jenna froze as the sound reverberated through the canyon.

Seconds later, Tango, Poppa, and Garth raced from the surrounding pine trees, guns raised, their faces tense as they scanned the area. Without a word, Garth lunged toward Jenna, pulling her toward her car while Tango and Poppa searched the area.

Eleanor's figure shimmered, faded, and reappeared at Garth's side. "What's happening? Why are you —" She stopped mid-sentence as Jenna leaned forward and retched.

"Jenna!" Eleanor wrapped her arm around her daughter's waist. "You're safe, honey. There's no need to get that upset."

Garth opened the car door, retrieved a water bottle, and handed it to Jenna. "Maybe you should sit down."

Jenna's gaze met his. "I'm fine. It was —"

Garth's expression hardened. "You need to tell her."

Jenna's eyes widened. Her gaze darted between Eleanor and Garth. Panic flashed across her face.

"Tell me what?" Eleanor's voice took on a sharp edge. She immediately turned toward her daughter. "Do you know something about why someone was shooting at us?" Worry was etched deep in her features. "Is it Doyle? Is that why you and the boys are here?"

"It's not about the gunshot." Garth's gaze shifted back from Eleanor to Jenna. "Tell her, Jenna." His instincts wanted both women tucked safely away, but the priority, for the moment, was Jenna coming clean. Eleanor would be the support she needed, but first, she had to tell her.

"What's going on, Garth? I demand someone tell me why we are being shot at during my sister's memorial and why Jenna is so affected by it."

Wiping her mouth with a napkin Garth had handed her, Jenna swallowed hard, gripping the water bottle tightly. The message from Garth's eyes was strong. "Mom," she choked as her voice cracked. "It's not the gunshot."

"Oh, Jenna, it's okay if it makes you nervous. I understand."

Jenna glanced at Garth, hoping he'd let her off the hook, but the scowl on his face wiped that thought away. "I'm pregnant. I was raped three months ago."

Eleanor's face transformed from concern to shock and then to fierce protectiveness. She rushed to Jenna's side, pulling her close. "My dear Jenna, you should have told me."
 
Jenna shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "I didn't know how. I thought I could handle it." She exhaled. "I didn't even know I was pregnant until yesterday. I took a test at the office."

Eleanor's glare was icy cold as she looked at Garth. "How could you have kept this from me? How many times have I been there for you?" Eleanor's arms dropped to her sides. "My daughter was suffering, and neither of you thought I should know."

The pain in Eleanor's words shot through Garth like a bullet. He'd loved her from the moment he set eyes on her — and learned she was a ghost. "Eleanor —"

Before he could continue, Tango and Poppa returned from searching the woods. Tango yelled, "The shooter was up on the hill further. Poppa saw the guy get into a car and hightail it down the road."

Garth shifted gears. "Did you get a description?"

Poppa shook his head. "Sorry, boss. He was too far away, but the car was a green Land Rover, not that helps much."

"You gave it your best shot. Eleanor and Jenna are safe, and that's what matters." He glanced at the women and then back to his men. "You two take the car and head back to the motel. I'll drive Jenna and Eleanor home."

The two men nodded and headed through the tall pines to where they'd hidden the car.

Eleanor stepped away, and her voice cut like a knife. "Take Jenna home. I can manage by myself."

"Eleanor, it's not what you think."

"Does Matthew know? Was keeping this from me really for Jenna's sake? Or was it your way of getting back at Matthew again?"

Jenna rounded the front of the car, moving toward her mother, her voice strained. "Let me explain —"

Eleanor's figure shimmered and disappeared, leaving Garth and Jenna staring at the empty space.


*****

Miriam's greeting was cheery despite her late night. "Good morning, Milo."

The rooster strutted across the barnyard, his chest puffed out and his bright red feathers gleaming in the morning light. He crowed as if answering Miriam and flapped his wings in a grand display of authority.

Miriam laughed and playfully threw some food towards him. Her hands, calloused and marked from a lifetime of labor, moved with a gentle, practiced touch. "Are you taking good care of the brood, Milo? Cuz I'm going to need a few extra eggs. We've got a visitor, but I suppose Willow already told you."

Milo let out another triumphant crow, turning in a tight circle before marching toward the hens as if to confirm that his duties were well in hand.

"Yes, yes, Milo, go wake up the girls." Her ethereal form shimmered in the morning light.

She straightened her back, stretching and twisting. She could feel the kinks in her bones from last night's ordeal and the lack of sleep. "Admit it, girl, you ain't young like you used to be. Those days of working the vineyards are distant memories."

Flashes of munching on a handful of delicious grapes beneath the shade umbrella, lulled by the sparkling Mediterranean Sea, and stealing forbidden kisses among the terraced vineyards danced through her head. But the dark cloud that followed, when the good of her family and their dreams replaced her hopes and desires, erased those memories.

Willow, her faithful mule and companion, nudged her from her thoughts, braying. His ears twitched at her every word. She patted him, brushing a few stray wisps of hay from his coat. "I know. It won't change a thing, will it?"

The mule's nose pushed against the pocket of her faded gingham dress in search of a carrot. Miriam rubbed his muzzle. "Looking for something, are you?" She laughed — a soft, musical tone. Adjusting the hand-knitted shawl around her shoulders, her thin, weathered hands reached into her pocket and emerged with Willow's expected treat. His mouth opened, exposing two rows of yellowing teeth as he chewed contently.

"Quite a night, wasn't it?" she murmured. "You did good, Willow. It's been a while since either of us has hauled anything in the old wagon, huh? Especially in the dark on the side of the cliff." She shook her head. "Don't know what to make of it, ole boy."

The mule stood quietly, his deep, patient eyes meeting hers as if he understood every word. She chuckled to herself. "I know — you think you're too old, but did we have a choice? I'm afraid this one needed us, whether or not he knew it. I was up till near dawn tending to him. Whether he'll make it is still in God's hands."

With the chickens pecking around her feet, her gaze drifted to the distant cliffs overlooking the lake. Still, thinking about it sent chills down her spine.

She'd seen it all. The house had been abandoned for years except for her ghostly spirit and the animals. There hadn't been a living soul here since the murder — her murder. She'd been accused, charged, and sentenced within hours of finding the body. They'd hung her from the oak tree and then cut her down — left there for the vultures.

Miriam's hand touched her throat, rubbing the scars. Some things were best left in the past. Her innocent spirit had roamed the big house for years, searching for answers but finding none. After discovering the tiny cottage on the far side of the land, she'd chosen it as her home, content with her animal friends, till last night.

A full moon and a blanket of stars lit up the sky. She'd heard the two cars turn around at the old gate and drive up the hill. Of course, as curious as the farm cats, she had to see what they were doing.

Two men, one in each car, had gotten out. Together, they'd carried something big and bulky to the ravine and dumped it. With all the tall weeds, she couldn't see what it was.

People regularly discarded unwanted items along the back roads, so she hadn't given it much thought until the men returned to the cars. The tall, bulky guy seemed to be the boss because he was giving the orders. She was too far away to hear what they said, but by the tone of his voice, he wasn't a happy man. Together, they'd pushed one of the cars across the tall grass. When they neared the cliff's edge, the bossy guy yelled to stop.

Miriam shivered as she let the scene play out in her mind. She still had trouble believing what happened, but she'd seen it with her own eyes. The tall guy had bent over, picked up something, probably a rock, and walked around the car and slammed it against his partner's head. The guy crumpled to the ground.

She almost fainted when she saw him put the guy inside the car and start pushing. The vehicle rocked back and forth at the cliff's edge before tipping and crashing below. The noise was horrendous when it hit the water below. The man stood there for a moment, almost as if admiring his handy work, and then he climbed into his car and drove away.

Once the car was gone, curiosity got the best of her. She'd hitched up Willow, and together, they'd traveled through the field and up the hill with a lantern to show the way. Not that either of them needed the light.

First, she found what they had dumped. She'd seen death before, but never like this.

She could tell he wasn't a farmer or biker because his clothes were made of fancy material, now ripped and torn. She hadn't been able to decipher if he was good-looking or not because his face was so bloody and distorted. Shuddering, she made the sign of the cross and turned to walk back to Willow when she heard a sound — like a wounded animal, low and guttural.

Moving closer, she reached down and touched him. In the cool air, she felt his breath against her fingers. "Willow! It's a miracle, for sure. He's alive."

With Willow's help, she hauled him back to the cottage, the two of them working in tandem. By the time the first light of morning touched the horizon, she'd laid the man in her bed, unconscious but alive, the mystery of the night still lingering in the air.

*****

Back inside the small cottage, Miriam stood by the window, gazing over the lake. She glanced back at the figure lying still on her bed. His face was distorted, swollen with bulges in places it shouldn't have been. His breathing was shallow, often not even audible.

She didn't know him and didn't know why they'd left him there. Or why she'd felt compelled to bring him back here. Yet, as she'd covered his wounds, laid him in her bed, and watched him drift in and out of consciousness, it had all felt strangely right, especially after she'd found the badge.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by


Chapter 8
Miracles - Chap 8

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
 
 
"Danni! Where's Matthew?" Eleanor's voice was sharp as it cut through the air. Her expression spoke volumes.

"Good morning, Eleanor." Danni took a slow sip of her coffee, then showing her annoyance with her boss, she added, "And to answer your question, your guess is as good as mine."

"What do you mean? Hasn't he come into work this morning?"

"Nope. And these phones haven't stopped ringing." Danni set her coffee down and glanced at the phone in Eleanor's hand, shaking her head. "Don't bother calling. I've tried at least ten times."

"When's the last time you heard from him?"

Danni sighed, her eyes darkening with a hint of guilt. "Yesterday. We had a fight."

"You and Donatelli? About what?"

"He's been grouchy lately, moping around because of Jenna — what with her not seeing him and all."

"Well, I guess she had her reasons, but she should have told him."

"Exactly! So, yesterday, she stopped by, and he blew her off. Tells her he's too busy."

"Maybe he was—" Eleanor said, trying not to take sides.
 
"Busy polishing his bruised pride." Danni leaned back in her chair, frustration mounting. "Anyway, she left in tears, and I climbed all over his case. I told him he better get his butt over to her office and make things right."

"And did he go?" Eleanor mused. Had he seen Garth?

"Yeah, he did. But it must not have gone well. I get this call — he's all snappy, saying he wasn't coming back to the office."

"Did he say what was wrong?"

"Something about finding her in Garth's arms. He said he wasn't doing it again. Told me he was going to drown his misery with a few stiff drinks." Danni's gaze grew distant, the memory still fresh. "I haven't heard from him since."

"Danni, something's wrong." Eleanor moved about the room, showing a side of her that rarely happened — nerves.

"You aren't telling me anything new. I'm visible to the world now and stuck in the office doing his job."

"No, Danni, I feel it. Something's wrong."

"Wrong, like real bad, wrong?" Danni swallowed hard. "Oh, Eleanor, you don't think —"

"I do, but I just don't know what yet." Eleanor sighed. "But first, I think I need to go to Jenna."

"Jenna? I thought the two of you did Margaret's memorial this morning. Everything went okay, right?" Danni chuckled. "Margaret didn't get the last laugh and blow her ashes in your face, did she?"

"Danni! What a horrid thing to say." Eleanor snapped.

"Whoa! Eleanor, I was just trying to make light of a sad situation. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, Danni. I guess even we can have regrets. I didn't realize how hard Margaret's death has been for me."

"You were with her at the end, Eleanor. She knows that, and it meant everything to her. You'll have that joyful reunion as soon as she transitions. Who knows, maybe she'll become one of us."

Eleanor smiled, but her eyes told Danni her thoughts were somewhere else.

"Go to her, Eleanor." Eleanor jumped when Danni touched her arm.

"What?" Eleanor sighed. Tears glistened in her eyes. "I've made a terrible mistake."

"I could feel it when you entered the room, but I thought it was because of Matthew. But it's Jenna, isn't it?"

"Yes, I owe her a big apology, but I don't know if she'll forgive me."

"Mothers aren't perfect, even ones as terrific as you. Go to her. She needs you."

"You know?" Eleanor's face had a look of surprise.

"Not really, but I am a detective, after all."

Eleanor laughed. "And a good one, too!"

"Thank you." Danni picked up the phone while she addressed her friend. "Go to Jenna. While you're busy making amends, I will make some calls and see if we can track down our wayward boy."
 
*****

Sitting beside the bed, Miriam watched the wounded man. She was surprised that she felt drawn to the stranger. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her apron as her thoughts darkened.

The bandages she'd applied were already dark with blood. Treating her animals' wounds had been simpler—this was different. She knew he needed more help than she could give. His breathing was shallow, with a slight wheeze each time he exhaled.

Her fingers brushed over his badge, tracing the letters as though they might offer answers. "What in heaven's name did you get yourself into, young man? Must've been mighty important to almost cost you your life." She dipped a cloth into the cool water basin and carefully wiped the dried blood from his cracked lips.

His eyelids fluttered, and his gaze met hers. Miriam leaned in, her voice soft and soothing. "Don't try to speak. You're safe here. Just rest."

His lips parted as if to respond, but no sound came. Instead, his eyes shifted, focusing somewhere beyond her shoulder, drawn to the light filtering through the small window. Beneath the bruises, she saw an unexpected glint of something — fear.

"Please," she urged. "Wake up."

She frowned, then murmured, almost to herself, "Who are you? What happened out there?"

His eyes flickered back to her, a haunted look settling over his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was weak, a mere whisper. "Who —"

Her breath caught. She picked up his badge, holding it close enough for him to see the letters etched in metal, hoping to awaken some memory. "I think this belongs to you."

Matthew's gaze remained distant and unreadable as he stared at the badge as if it were foreign and unfamiliar. Silence settled between them, neither knowing what to do, and then Matthew slipped back into a deep sleep.
 
*****

Rebecca entered Jenna's office, stopping short when she saw her sitting at her desk, clearly distressed.

"You took the test?" Rebecca murmured.

Jenna nodded, her hands trembling as she looked down at them.

"And?" Rebecca's voice was barely a whisper.

Jenna swallowed hard, lifting her gaze. "It was positive."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Garth — and my mom." Jenna's voice faltered, her eyes filling with tears.

Rebecca's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You told Garth before Matthew?"

Jenna sighed, rubbing her temples. "I didn't plan to — Garth stopped by. He found me crying, and I just broke down."

"Oh no," Rebecca said softly, her eyes drifting to the roses she'd found in the trash. "These were tossed —"

Seeing the roses, Jenna broke, covering her face as a sob escaped her.

In the doorway, Eleanor appeared, her face softened with regret. "Jenna."

"Mom, please — not now." Jenna's voice was muffled through her hands.

Eleanor stepped closer, her tone gentle. "I came to say I was wrong — and I'm sorry."

Jenna looked up, and the walls around her emotions crumbled. She burst into tears, and Eleanor was at her side to hold her in an instant.

"I have to talk to Matthew," Jenna sniffled. "I don't want him hearing this from anyone else. I need him to know —"

Eleanor's face darkened. "I'm afraid that's going to have to wait."

Jenna pulled back, eyes wide with concern. "What do you mean? Did he say he didn't want to talk to me?"

"No, he didn't," Eleanor replied softly.

"Then why can't I see him? He saw me with Garth and probably assumed —" Jenna's voice broke. "Rebecca found roses in the trash. He must have come by to apologize and saw Garth holding me. He probably drew all the wrong conclusions. I need to explain what happened."

"Yes, you do," Eleanor said, her voice tinged with sorrow, "but — I don't know how to tell you —"

"Mom, just say it. What's happened?"

Eleanor took a steadying breath, meeting Jenna's gaze. "Matthew is missing. No one's heard from him since yesterday."

Jenna reached for her phone. "He can't be missing. I've got to talk to him."

"Don't bother. Danni and I have tried too many times to count. I even went by his place in case he was ignoring us, but his car wasn't there."

"That doesn't make any sense. Matthew wouldn't just take off. He's got to be somewhere, holed up, probably sleeping it off."

"Danni has an APB out on his car, but so far nothing. And she's got people checking hotels and motels. I also believe she said she would be contacting Garth to see if his crew might give us some help."

"This is all my fault. I should have told him months ago."

"Should of — could of. It won't change anything."

Rebecca tapped on the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've got an appointment with the lawyer in fifteen minutes. I'll cancel if you need me to stay."

Jenna's tear-stained eyes looked at Rebecca. "No, Mom's here, and I'll be fine. Go — find out what he has to say."

"Okay, if you are sure."

Eleanor hugged Jenna tighter. "We're good. We need a little mother-daughter time anyhow."

Jenna smiled at her mother and nodded. "Yes, go, Rebecca. Maybe you're a millionaire or something."

"Yeah, right." Rebecca laughed. "He's probably got an old bill from my parents and wants me to pay it."

"I don't think so, Rebecca. I'm feeling some good vibes coming from you."

"That would be a first in a very long time. Well, I better go so I'm not late." She waved goodbye and hurried out of the office.
 
*****

"Good afternoon, Miss Stillwell." Phillip Henderson greeted Rebecca as she entered the offices. "My secretary is running an errand. I thought we might sit and talk in the library. It's much sunnier."

"Of course, that's fine by me." Rebecca couldn't imagine why she was here, and she had better things to do.

Phillip's office had a refined, old-world charm that was almost comforting, but today, it only amplified Rebecca's sense of unease. The library was lined with dark walnut shelves stacked with leather-bound volumes and the occasional gleam of gold lettering. Tall windows allowed sunlight to pour in, casting warm light over the polished mahogany table and the plush armchairs that seemed to invite conversation.

As she followed Phillip inside, Rebecca tried to keep her tone casual. "If this is about an outstanding bill."

Phillip held up a hand with a small smile. "No, no, nothing like that." He gestured for her to sit, settling across from her with a steady gaze.

"I don't understand," she began, smoothing a crease in her skirt. "My parents' estate was settled years ago. I don't see how —"

Phillip paused, carefully choosing his words. "Miss Stillwell, do you know of any family in Italy?"

Rebecca's brow furrowed. "No, I was an only child, and all of my relatives passed before I was born. My parents never mentioned anyone."

He glanced down at his notes, then back up at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're referring to your adoptive parents, correct?"

Rebecca froze, the word catching her off guard. "Adopted?" She forced a small laugh, though her voice was tinged with nerves. "I'm not adopted. You must have the wrong person."

"You are Rebecca Stillwell," he continued gently, "and Patrick and Lucille Stillwell raised you?"

"Yes, they are my parents." She was starting to feel defensive, her heart pounding. Why was he asking her this?

Phillip slid a crisp document across the table, along with a few yellowed sheets that looked like they'd been carefully preserved over the years. "This is your birth certificate," he said quietly. "And a research paper — about your biological family. Your birth mother was Angela Giordano. She gave birth to twin daughters and placed both up for adoption."

Rebecca's breath caught. She barely managed a whisper. "This — this can't be. You've made a mistake." She stared at the birth certificate, her eyes fixed on the mother's name — Angela Giordano. Then she picked up the other birth certificate, which supposedly belonged to her sister, Alyssa Giordano.

She tried to remember — "Had there ever been an offhand comment, a forgotten photograph, something that hinted at this hidden family? Nothing came to mind, only mass confusion.

"You're telling me I was born Rebecca Giordano, and I have a twin sister?" Rebecca paused to breathe, then asked, "Where is she? Shouldn't she be here, too?"

"Unfortunately, she died of cancer two years ago. You are Trevor Cascio's only remaining ancestor."

Overwhelmed, Rebecca stood to leave. "Thank you, Mr. Henderson. Please excuse me, but I never expected any of this, and it's a lot to digest." She started toward the door.

"Wait! Please sit down. I know you've got many questions, and I hope our research might help you. But the adoption was only part of why I asked you to come here today."

"You mean there's more? I'm not sure I can handle any more surprise ancestors."

"I promise, I don't know of any more living ancestors, but you have inherited the family home."

"A home? I inherited property — here in this community?"

"Yes, at one time, it was considered quite the estate with vineyards — vines imported from Italy. I've not seen the property, and I'm told it's been abandoned for many years, but there is plenty of land."

Phillip placed the papers back in his folder and looked her in the eyes. "If you want answers, Ms. Stillwell, I'd suggest visiting the property. Sometimes, the past has ways of surfacing in unexpected places." He stood and extended his hand. "It's a lot to take in at one time. I'll have my secretary contact you, and we can transfer the deed and finalize a few other details next week. Maybe by that time, you'll have had a chance to visit the property."

Rebecca stood, her legs trembling. "Thank you for your time. You've certainly given me a lot to think about." She shook his hand and left the office.
 
Outside, she stood staring at the sky, asking, "How did this happen? I don't even know who I am."
 

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 9
Miracles - chap 9

By Begin Again

As Rebecca left Phillip Henderson's office, she felt like she'd stepped into another life — someone else's. Her mind swirled as she tried to understand what had just happened. The words "Angela Giordano," "twin sister," and "inheritance" were bouncing through her mind like a pinball machine.

Adopted!
 
That one cut through her like a sharp blade. Her parents, Patrick and Lucille, were the only family she'd ever known, the ones who'd raised her, loved her, and shaped her entire world. She could still hear her mother's gentle laughter and feel her father's steady, reassuring presence. Yet, here was a history hidden from her, a world of vineyards and Italian ancestry she'd never known existed.

Why hadn't her parents shared any of this with her?

Phillip Henderson had delivered an unexpected message that shook her to the core. An estate? A vineyard? It felt like a story out of a book — except this was her life, her history. Nothing seemed real.

She stood on the sidewalk, clutching her purse with knuckles turning white, as her mind began to buzz with questions.

Who had Angela Giordano been? Why was she given away? And what secrets did that abandoned estate hold?

She needed time to think, and a walk in the park to clear her head seemed like a good idea.
 
*****
The mystery of the man Miriam had rescued remained unsolved. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Miriam watched over him, hoping his memory might return each time he awoke, but it never did.

Donatelli stirred, his eyelids heavy. Questions bounced through his mind.

What had happened? Where was he, and who was the woman tending to him? But most of all, who was he, and did that badge belong to him?

Light filtered into the room and across the bed as he attempted to sit up, only to fall back, pain radiating through his body.

Sensing his movements, Miriam hurried into the room. "Easy," her soft voice urged. "You're in no condition to be moving around." She checked the bandages and could see a few were bleeding again.

He squinted at her. His thoughts were a foggy, jumbled mess. "Who — who are you?" His voice was hoarse, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Miriam chuckled softly, her tone gentle yet cautious, considering the circumstances she'd seen unfold. 'You were hurt — badly. Me and Willow — that's my mule — we found you." She held up the badge. "With this."

Donatelli's gaze flicked to the badge, confusion etched into his features. "A detective?" he murmured as if the word should have meaning. He tried to sit up again, his stubbornness apparent, but collapsed back into the pillows with a grimace.

"Seems like you don't remember much," Miriam observed, a touch of sympathy in her voice. "I don't know who you are, but someone didn't want you to live to tell your story. I've been in your shoes."

"Don't need — anyone's help," he muttered, his jaw defiant even as exhaustion overtook him.

Miriam smiled. "If you say so, Mr. Tough Guy, but some might have a different opinion. But for now, resting is all you can do." She placed the badge on the table beside him. "Whoever you are, you're safe with me."

He stared at the badge as though willing it to unlock some buried memory. "I don't need — saving."

"Saving? I'm no missionary, son — just an old woman who pulled you out of a ditch and brought you here. Better than the other guy in the car, I'd say. But that's a story for another day."

As he drifted back into sleep, his hand unconsciously clenched the edge of the blanket. His mind was still struggling, though his body surrendered to the rest he needed.
*****

Having lost track of time, Rebecca was startled when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fumbled for it and saw Jenna's name on the screen. She took a deep breath and answered, "Hi, Jenna. I'm so sorry time got away from me."

"I was getting concerned. Are you okay?"

Rebecca took a shaky breath, swallowing hard as she tried to deal with her tangled emotions since she left Henderson's office. "I found out something — it's huge." Her voice wavered. "I could use a friend. Could you meet me at my apartment?"

"Of course, Rebecca. Is it alright if my mom comes too?"

"Sure — I need the company."

"Hang in there. We'll be right there."

As Rebecca ended the call, her thoughts returned to Phillip Henderson's words: 'Sometimes the past has ways of surfacing in unexpected places.'

She still felt like she was caught in a dream, but one thing was becoming evident — if she wanted answers, she'd have to go to that estate and see for herself.

*****

When Rebecca made it home to her little apartment, her nerves tingled full tilt again. She was pacing the floor, clutching the papers from the lawyer while she waited for Jenna and Eleanor.

It seemed like an eternity, but minutes later, Jenna knocked on the door. As soon as Rebecca opened the door, she found herself sobbing in Jenna's arms.

"Rebecca, what happened at the lawyer's office? I can't believe you're this distraught." Jenna hugged her friend.

Rebecca stepped back, wiping her eyes, as she realized Garth and Eleanor were standing in the hallway. "Forgive me. Please come in."

As everyone filed into the apartment, Jenna spoke, "I hope you don't mind that Garth came too. He arrived as we were leaving and offered to drive since I haven't been feeling well."

Rebecca's eyes met Garth's, and she smiled. "Mind? Of course not. I'm happy to see him —" She choked and added, "Everyone. The more heads, the better, I hope."

"So let's sit down, and you can tell us what's upset you. Was it bad news?" Eleanor asked.

Rebecca took a deep breath before answering, "Not bad, I suppose, since I am now the owner of property in this community."

"Property! Well, that sounds like great news to me. Was this something your parents owned and failed to tell you about?"

"I don't know how to begin except to say I discovered I am adopted. Patrick and Lucille were my adoptive parents."

"And you had no idea?" Jenna gasped. "Why would they keep something like that from you?" Immediately, her eyes shifted to Eleanor. "That was dumb of me. There could be lots of reasons."

Garth had remained standing, but now he moved closer to Rebecca, standing behind her chair. "Not to play the bad guy here, because inheriting land is awesome, but was this guy sure of his findings? It's not a hoax, is it?"

Rebecca held up the envelope. "He gave me my birth certificate, copies of the adoption papers, and some other research. He said I'd get the deed next week."

Jenna couldn't contain her excitement. "So, did he tell you whether you had family here?"

"Unfortunately, my family was from Italy."

"Italy? That's strange, with property in Bayside. That's a long way away."

"You're right, Jenna. And what's even more surprising is I had a twin sister. Her name was Alyssa, but unfortunately, she passed away a few years ago."

"Oh, that's heartbreaking. So, is there any family living here or in Italy?"

"I don't know about cousins or aunts and uncles, but my mother and grandparents are dead. According to Mr. Henderson, my grandmother came to the U.S. to marry Trevor Cascio, a family friend. That's all I know now unless there is more information in the papers. I haven't read all of it yet."

Eleanor was intrigued, "An estate? That's wonderful! Do you know where it is?"

"I don't yet, but the lawyer is supposed to send me the details. Can you believe it? I didn't even know I had a family!"

"That's amazing news!" Garth added, a proud smile spreading across his face. "You deserve to find out more about your past."

Rebecca felt a rush of gratitude. "Thank you! I thought I was alone in the world. This changes everything."

Still processing the news, Jenna placed a hand on Rebecca's shoulder. "I'm so happy for you. We need to celebrate! Let's go out for lunch."

But just then, a wave of nausea hit Jenna, and she quickly turned away. "Actually, I'm not feeling great. Maybe it's the stress —"
 
Concerned, Rebecca scowled, "Or you're pregnant. You need to see a doctor."

"Are you okay?" Eleanor asked, her concern deepening.

Jenna took a deep breath. "I think I'll stay here for now if Rebecca doesn't mind. I don't want to ruin the celebration."

Rebecca's excitement dimmed slightly. "Are you sure? We could celebrate another day."

"Absolutely not! You and Garth should celebrate. I'll be fine here," Jenna insisted, forcing a smile. "Mom will stay with me."

Garth glanced at Jenna, then at Rebecca. "How about I take Rebecca out for lunch? You can rest here, Jenna."

"That sounds perfect!" Rebecca agreed, her spirits lifting again. "Thank you, Garth!"

Eleanor smiled at the two of them. "That sounds like a great plan. You two enjoy yourselves. We'll talk more when you get back."

As they prepared to leave, Rebecca felt the excitement building inside. She was on the brink of a new chapter in her life, or maybe it was Garth's hand against her back.
 
*****

The restaurant buzzed with people talking and the silverware clinking against plates. Sunlight streamed through the windows as Garth and Rebecca settled into a booth.

"Can you believe it? An estate!" Rebecca exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I can't wait to see what it's like. What if it's a mansion? Or maybe a cottage in the countryside? Though that's probably silly since he did say it had been abandoned for a long time. It's probably a pile of rotten lumber."

Garth chuckled, enjoying her enthusiasm. "You'll have to invite us all over for a housewarming party," he replied. As he watched her animated expressions, a familiar tug at his heartstrings caught him off guard.

As Rebecca gestured enthusiastically, laughing at her ideas, Garth felt an unsettling guilt. He was mesmerized by her beauty and how she moved her hands, and her laughter echoed a sound he hadn't heard in years. It sent a rush of memories flooding back — images of Allie, her bright smile, and how she would twist her mouth when she teased him.

Caught in the moment, Garth stared at Rebecca, a wave of longing washing over him. She resembled Allie in more ways than one — her laughter, her hand gestures, even the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The resemblance was uncanny, yet it felt like a betrayal, igniting a battle within him. Was all this just wishful thinking?

"Garth? Are you okay?" Rebecca's voice broke through his reverie.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, just lost in thought," he replied, forcing a smile while struggling to shake off his conflicting emotions.

"You know, I've been told I'm a bit of a daydreamer," she said, a playful smile twisting her mouth just like Allie's used to. "I get caught up in my own little world sometimes."

Guilt washed over Garth at the sight of her smile. "I can see that. It's one of your many charms," he managed to say, but his voice faltered.

Rebecca chuckled, brushing off his reaction. "Well, I guess I'm just excited about everything. It feels like a whole new beginning."

"Yeah, it does," Garth replied, trying to steady his heart. He looked at her, really looked, and for a brief instant, he saw Allie in her eyes — a reflection of the past he thought he had long buried.

As they chatted, Garth's gaze wandered, drawn to the similarities between the two women. But he hesitated, not wanting to betray Allie's memory, feeling as though every smile he shared with Rebecca was a step further away from the love he once held.

"Thank you for coming with me today," Rebecca said, breaking through his thoughts. "I appreciate your support."

"Of course," Garth said, forcing a smile that felt genuine. "I'm happy to be here. You're family, after all."

Rebecca's eyes sparkled with joy at the word "family," and Garth's heart swelled again. As they continued to talk, he couldn't shake the feeling that every moment spent with Rebecca reminded him of the love he had lost.
But as he caught himself admiring her laughter, he couldn't help but wonder — was it possible to feel this way about someone new while still holding onto the love of the past?

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 10
Miracles - Chap 10

By Begin Again

It's movie night at the State Prison, and most inmates have crammed themselves into an overpopulated theater, leaving Doyle and a few other inmates hanging out in their cells. Of course, none of the others have their own television and a comfortable chair to relax in while watching their favorite show.

In the flickering glow of the TV, Doyle's eyes were fixed on the screen, where Tony Soprano sat across from one of his underlings, his icy stare demanding obedience. The low rumble of Tony's voice filled the silence of the cell.

Doyle leaned forward in his chair, clutching the remote tightly in his hand as if the mere act of controlling the TV could bestow a semblance of power upon him.

"Show 'em who's boss, Tony." He shook the controller at the TV.

That's what it's all about — Control. Respect. Power.

Doyle watched the show as if he were part of it, his mind's eye projecting him into Tony's shoes — calm, unbothered. He could almost taste the rush of authority, the thrill of making people bend to his will.

As Tony handed out an order, Doyle's lips curled into a smirk.

I'd handle it like that. Not a single soul would get away with crossing me.

Involved in the TV world of Tony and the Sopranos, Doyle didn't hear the clink of the prison bars or the echo of footsteps in the hallway. Instead, he could almost smell the leather of Tony's office chair, a cigar in his hand, and feel the power he'd hold again once he was free.

"Judge!" a voice called from the door. "You've got a visitor."

He groaned but didn't look away from the screen. "Tell 'em to wait, Charlie. I'm busy."

The guard lowered his voice and leaned into the bars. "It's Rossi."

Doyle's expression shifted from amusement to irritation. "Rossi, huh? Since when did he start making late-night visits?"

"Got me, Judge. But you can't keep your fans waiting." Charlie slid the door open. "You'll have to catch this one on a rerun."

Doyle stood and straightened his uniform, chuckling. "You gotta always look good for 'em, Charlie."

Charlie laughed as Doyle stepped out in the hall, joking,  "You going to put the chains on?"

"Nah, we're only going down the hall. Besides, unless you have an escape plan to get through these cement walls, you'll stay with us tonight."

They both laughed and headed toward the conference room where Vince Rossi was waiting.

Charlie opened the door and let Doyle enter. "Just buzz when you're finished."

"Yeah, maybe I'll catch the end of my show." Doyle turned and grinned at his visitor. "This better be good. Tony Soprano and I were just getting to the good part."

Rossi stared at Doyle. His expression remained cool. "Someday, that attitude of yours is going to backfire. Not every inmate has the privileges you enjoy. My boss can make it all go away if he hears you've decided to be less than cooperative."

The grin slipped from Doyle's face, but he still leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Rossi raised an eyebrow. "Barely. Don't think Charlie's loyalty will last if a better offer comes his way. So, let's get one thing straight. You cooperate, and you keep your perks. Otherwise —" Rossi let the silence hang.

Doyle clenched his jaw and nodded. "Fine. What's the latest?"

Rossi shrugged. "The board said five more years, Doyle. These things take time. It's not exactly a quick fix."

Doyle snarled, "You're talking to the king of fixes. If your boss wants it done, it'll get done." This wasn't the news he'd expected to hear. He paced the room under Rossi's cool stare. Finally, he stopped, his voice cold, "I don't have time for games. I want to be there when they drag Donatelli in on murder charges. Tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen."

"See, here's the crux of the problem. You think you still run things, but you don't. You have the power to pull lots of strings in this town, but my boss works on a large scale."

"Even inside this pile of rock, I still run my town. People listen and do what I say."

"Like William? First, his drug scheme goes sour, and now you've got him pushing those art pieces again. Care to explain?"

"It takes money to get things done."

"Framing Donatelli was one thing — which, by the way, isn't happening yet. But I've been told you were behind not only the murder of Margaret Ashley, but the rape of a local businesswoman."

"Margaret forgot who she was in bed with. She got what she deserved."

"And the other woman? What could she have possibly done to you?"

"Word was that she's Donatelli's woman, or should I say was — maybe she'll pay him a few conjugal visits after she has the kid." He chuckled, amused by his own thoughts.

"You're disgusting." Rossi walked to the door and buzzed. "When your old friends start doubting you, you'll be out in the cold, Judge — and that could be a problem. Think about it." The door opened, and Rossi left without saying another word.

After Rossi walked away, Charlie entered the room. "Everything okay?"

"Sometimes when you want things done, you have to do it yourself. Give me your phone."

"My phone?" Charlie didn't like that idea. He'd been careful not to leave any direct links to the Judge — letting him use his phone would violate that rule.

"Yes, your phone. Unless you want those checks to stop coming in, you'll give me your phone. Now!"

Charlie pulled it from his pocket, and Doyle snatched it. He dialed the number and paced the floor while it rang.

Crystal answered. "Hideaway."

"Put Bruiser or Tony on the line," he snapped.

"Bruiser's off tonight and Tony's outside having a smoke."

"Listen, you don't know who you're talking to, but if you want to keep breathing, listen very carefully."

Crystal cringed. "Sure. I'm listening."

Doyle snarled, the irritation seeping through his words. "Tell them both that if this Donatelli mess doesn't start moving forward, they'll find themselves sleeping with the fishes. I want that car found, and I want Donatelli arrested. Clear?"

Before she could answer, he disconnected the call and handed the phone to Charlie. "Let's go. Maybe I can catch the last half hour of Tony kicking butt."
 
*****
Eleanor paused outside Danni's office door before tapping lightly. "Any news on Matthew?" she asked, her voice lined with worry.

Danni glanced up, meeting Eleanor's eyes briefly before returning to her files. "Nothing yet," she said quietly. "We're still waiting on leads."

"How can he just disappear? You'd think the APB would have turned up something on his car by now."

"I know. It's like he just vanished. And we don't even know where he went that day. All he said was that he needed a few stiff drinks."

"I'm sure you've checked all his usual spots, but maybe the search should expand. It's a big task, though."

Danni sighed, frustration flickering in her eyes. "Do you know how many bars are in this area, Eleanor? We need a better lead than that."

Eleanor nodded, pensive. "I still can't understand why I'm not picking up any vibes from him. Usually, I'd sense something — he'd be thinking about a case or someone he knows, and I'd catch a hint. But there's been nothing."

Danni bit her lip, clearly holding back darker thoughts. "You don't think —"

"No," Eleanor interrupted. "Don't even go there. He's out there, and we're going to find him."

Danni nodded, seeming to draw strength from Eleanor's conviction. Then Eleanor softened her tone, shifting gears. "By the way, do you know Jenna's new assistant? Have you met her?"

Danni's expression lightened slightly. "Yeah, I ran into her while picking up lunch for Donatelli and me — right before he went missing." She trailed off, momentarily lost in thought, before snapping back. Eleanor noticed the shift, but let it pass.

"Anyway," Danni continued, "what were you going to say?"

Eleanor leaned in, lowering her voice. "Rebecca just found out she's adopted, and her birth mother was Angela Giordano. Turns out Rebecca's inherited some property in town."

Danni raised her eyebrows. "No idea until now? She must be reeling."

"She is. We were going to lunch to celebrate, but Jenna got sick again."

"That's a shame. Rebecca must be thrilled, though."

"Garth was there when she shared the news, so the two of them went off to celebrate."

"Garth and Rebecca — hope he talks about something other than Allie."

"Me too," Eleanor said with a smile. "Rebecca and Allie actually have some similarities."

Danni shrugged. "Donatelli found Jenna. Maybe Garth will get lucky, too. He just needs to give someone a chance."

"Curiosity's got the best of me, though," Eleanor mused. "Why did her parents keep the adoption a secret? And no one left to explain it to her — how sad."

"Did the lawyer give her any details?"

"Not many, but she'll find out more about the property soon. It's supposedly an abandoned estate."

"An abandoned estate, huh? That could be the old place, about three miles out off the highway. It's been empty for years. Heard there was a lynching, and folks say it's haunted."

Eleanor chuckled. "Let's hope it's no one we know."

"There's not much out that way," Danni replied. "Just an old biker bar and some cliffs the kids like to party by. Those backroads are dangerous, though. I'm surprised more people haven't driven off them."

"Think that might be the place?"

"I'd bet on it. And I heard it used to have a vineyard. Giordano sounds Italian, right?"

"It's a good lead," Eleanor agreed. "Rebecca mentioned vineyards, too. Her birth family came from Italy."

"If I can, I'll check the files for anything on that lynching. It's eerie, though. And hanging was always a crime, right?"

Eleanor chuckled, feigning exasperation. "Yes, Danni, even in ancient history, it was a crime. You surprise me sometimes with the things you say."

Danni rolled her eyes, but Eleanor's thoughts were already drifting. The mystery of Rebecca's family and the eerie estate swirled in her mind.

"Eleanor —are you alright?"

Eleanor snapped back. "Oh, sorry, Danni. I guess my mind wandered. I'd better get back to Jenna. Let me know if you dig up anything on Rebecca's family or that estate."

"Will do."

With a final nod, Eleanor left the precinct, her mind fixed on a new destination.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 11
Miracles - Chap 11

By Begin Again

"Woman, did you have to pick the hottest day of the year to explore?" Eleanor chastised herself.

Having spotted a building that interested her, she had paused her journey and found herself resting under the sprawling branches of a gnarled tree. Its shade was a welcoming respite.

Her initial thought was that she'd found a refreshing spot in the shade, but the loud, crude voices changed that opinion. Her gaze settled on the rough-looking group and their bikes in the parking lot across the road.
Three men, laughing and jeering, surrounded a young woman wearing an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and jeans. Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders. The focus of their attention was a fourth man with broad shoulders and muscular arms sporting scars from previous battles.

"Come on, Bruiser, give the pretty little lady a goodbye kiss," one shouted, grinning.

"You're begging for it, aren't you, sweet thing?" Another guy wagged his tongue when he spoke to her.

Crystal turned away, uncomfortable, but Bruiser's hand clamped onto her shoulder, holding her in place. Eleanor felt a surge of anger rise inside her. She tensed, watching as Bruiser yanked her toward him. His mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

"The boys think you want some of this." His eyes traveled across her heaving breasts. "Do you think you're worthy of Bruiser's attention?"

Her voice was barely audible as she pleaded, "Let me go, please. I've got to get back to work."

"Take her, man!" another man hooted. "Show her who's boss."

The men erupted in laughter as Bruiser shoved Crystal against the outside wall of the bar, ignoring her weak protests. He forced a brutal, ugly kiss against her lips, his fingers digging into her sun-kissed arms. The men cheered louder when she whimpered, slapping their knees in amusement.

Crystal's eyes welled with tears. Her face flushed with shame as she struggled, helpless, against Bruiser's grip.
As Eleanor looked on, a knot of fury and frustration tightened in her chest. She wanted to intervene and make him stop, but knew this wasn't the right time.

Bruiser laughed as he finally released her, shoving her backward. She stumbled, clutching her blouse in a desperate attempt to cover herself as Bruiser callously tore the front fabric open.

"Might as well share the view with my friends!" he sneered.

The men roared with laughter again, their taunting fading as they climbed onto their bikes, revving their engines with a wild sense of victory. One by one, they roared out of the parking lot, leaving Crystal alone, holding her torn blouse together, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Eleanor clenched her fists from her hidden spot beneath the tree, her mind racing. She knew this was only a glimpse of the cruelty in this place, and she felt a fierce resolve building within her.

She watched as Crystal disappeared around the building. A strange sensation tightened her chest as she moved closer to the bar. She felt as if some unknown power was pulling her, but why? Was she meant to intervene and speak with Crystal?

As she moved across the gravel lot, she stopped. A chill ran through her bones. Someone or something was trying to tell her something.

A jagged rock, partially buried, caught her attention. It wasn't anything special, just a chuck of limestone. Bending down, she picked it up, rolling it between her fingers. Then she saw it — bits of dark stain embedded in the grain, invisible to the mortal eye.

Another chill shot through her. It was blood — Donatelli's blood.

Her senses flared. Clutching the rock in her hand, she dug deep into her inner soul, searching for something to tell her what had happened.

A whirlwind of fragmented images flashed through her mind — Donatelli's badge, his bloody face, shouting, and a brutal blow.

She gasped as she saw him slumped over the steering wheel. "Oh, Matthew, what happened to you?"

The rough edges of the rock dug into her skin as she slid it into her pocket. She knew whoever was responsible would regret ever crossing Detective Donatelli or her.

With one last glance toward the bar, Eleanor turned her back on it and headed toward the road. The game had changed, and she wasn't about to let his blood go unavenged. Like a bloodhound, she was on the search for more clues.

Eleanor spotted what appeared to be a small general store a few hundred feet away. It was a relic from another time, with faded, peeling paint on its wooden siding and a rusty, single-pump gas station out front, the kind that creaked as it counted the gallons. A small, hand-painted sign hung crookedly by the door, declaring it OPEN, though the hours were anybody's guess. Inside, shelves sagged with dust-covered items — canned goods, some faded snacks, and a jumble of essentials long past their prime.

Behind the counter sat an old man, his face weathered like leather, with deep lines from sun, wind, and years of watching the world go by. He barely glanced up as the occasional biker pulled in for gas, familiar enough with their kind but surprised by any other visitor who wandered his way.

The bell above the door jingled as Eleanor stepped inside. The sharp-eyed man looked her over with curiosity that quickly turned to concern. She picked up a bottle of water, twisting the cap open as she approached the counter.

He glanced outside, eyes narrowing. "Don't see a car, and you don't look like the type to be hitchhiking."

Eleanor gave a quick smile. "My car broke down about half a mile back," she offered. "I called a tow service. They're on their way."

The old man frowned, rubbing his chin. "Well, you're lucky you stopped here, not the place down the road. That bar's no place for a lady like yourself."

Eleanor tilted her head, intrigued by his tone. "Oh, you mean the Hideaway? I noticed it a little ways back. Doesn't seem like a friendly spot?"

The man shook his head, lowering his voice. "Not friendly and not safe. Trouble seems to stick to that place like tar. Fights, folks going missing — bad things happen to people who get too comfortable over there."

"I think a friend of mine was there the other night."

The old man turned away, opening the cash register. "That bottle of water will be a buck."

Eleanor nodded and fished a dollar from her pocket. "I'm actually on my way up to the old estate. Do you know much about it?"

A shadow passed over the old man's face. He hesitated, his gaze turning distant. "The abandoned mansion —" he murmured. "Yeah, everyone around these parts knows something, whether it's true or not. It's been empty for years now, boarded up and left to rot." He cleared his throat, glancing out the window as if making sure no one was listening. "My granddad couldn't believe what the townsfolk did to the girl who lived there. That was a long time ago, of course. They were all excited — the biggest party this town had seen in ages. And yet —"

Just then, the low rumble of motorcycles filled the air, interrupting the moment. Two bikers pulled up, one heading straight to the pump while the other strode into the store, grabbing a few items off the shelf.

Eleanor could sense the tension in the old man as he shifted uncomfortably. As the second biker sauntered back outside, Eleanor silently slipped away, letting the man behind the counter blink in confusion at her sudden disappearance.

*****

Moments later, Eleanor stood outside the imposing rusted gate, blocking the weed-covered gravel drive leading to the estate. The grand entrance was barely discernible, and the gardens were a chaotic mix of wild weeds, forgotten rose bushes, and scattered wildflowers.

Driven by curiosity, she navigated through the overgrowth to the house. The mansion's once magnificent beauty was now a poignant sight, hidden beneath layers of chipped and faded paint, broken windowpanes, and decaying boards.

Scanning the surrounding countryside, Eleanor could see the towering cliffs that Danni had mentioned and a body of water with the sun reflecting across its surface. She could easily imagine how beautiful the setting had once been.

Desiring to explore further, Eleanor vanished and reappeared inside. Her astonishment was unmistakable as she took in the interior. Instead of the expected cobwebs and dust, she found herself in a preserved world — a pristine parlor, curtains that looked freshly drawn, a faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. Everything was immaculate, untouched by time, a stark contrast to the worn-down exterior.

How was this possible?

She moved from room to room, amazed by the priceless antique furniture, the wood shining as if recently buffed. Eleanor couldn't resist touching the delicate pieces of china and tiny figurines. The paintings — definitely works of art by an artist who loved his work — were scenes of a seaside village clinging to the sides of rugged cliffs. She wondered if it might be where Rebecca's family once lived.

She sensed she was no longer alone as she neared the sitting room. Someone was watching her.

Eleanor held her hands out, palms open in a gesture of peace. "I don't mean any harm." She looked around the room. "I can sense that you've been through something traumatic. Maybe I can help."

There was a faint rustling behind her near the fireplace. Eleanor turned to face the figure as she emerged. Her eyes were guarded and uncertain. She hovered near the doorway to ensure her escape if necessary.

"Why are you in my house?" Her voice was a mere whisper, not threatening, just questioning.

"I didn't mean to trespass. I apologize. I didn't know anyone was here. My name is Eleanor, and my friend, Rebecca, has inherited the property."

The woman gasped and turned away, her trembling hands resting against her chest.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to upset you. You said it was your house — are you afraid —"

"Afraid?" She turned back to face Eleanor. Tears glistened in her eyes. "No, I'm not afraid. This home — my home — has been waiting for a long time for her to come home."

"Are you talking about Rebecca? Do you know her?"

The woman held out her frail hand to Eleanor. "My name is Miriam Cascio — the wife of Trevor Cascio."

"The man who was murdered?"

Miriam shuddered but stood her ground. She slowly untied the scarf she wore and pulled it away, exposing the rope burns around her throat. "It was our wedding day, and those hateful men accused me and hanged me from the tree out back. I never had a chance."

Without thinking, Eleanor moved across the room, wanting to comfort her. As her fingers brushed Miriam's hand, a jolt of recognition passed through her. This hand had touched Donatelli. His presence was faint but undeniable.

Eleanor withdrew her hand slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm — sorry for what happened to you. Is that why your spirit still lives here, waiting for answers?"

Miriam nodded. "It was a very long time ago. I've learned to live with the hand I was dealt. I don't expect to right a wrong, nor do I want anyone's pity."

Sensing that Miriam was withdrawing from her, she chose her words carefully. "I'm looking for a friend. Is it possible you've seen a stranger seeking shelter somewhere nearby?"

Miriam's expression shifted, and her wariness intensified. "No. No one's been here. "

Eleanor held her gaze, sensing the guarded tension in her answer. She nodded, choosing not to press — yet. "Alright," she said softly, turning toward the door. "I'll be back another time, Miriam, if that's alright?"

Miriam gave a slight nod, her eyes never leaving Eleanor. As Eleanor slipped out the door, she couldn't shake the feeling that Donatelli was here, hidden somewhere in the shadows of this house or close by, just out of reach.
 
She gazed across the fields. "Matthew, where are you?"

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 12
Miracles - Chap 12

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
Matthew stirred, tossing the covers aside and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His body was recovering, but his mind remained a fog, leaving him with so many questions.

Where was he, and how did he get here? Who had beaten him and left him to die? But the biggest question was who he was and what the badge meant to him.

Miriam entered quietly, carrying a simple tray of carrot sticks, fruit, and a sandwich. She smiled when she saw him in an upright position. "You must feel better."

Matthew nodded and reached for the sandwich, taking several big bites.

"Your appetite seems to be back. I'll have to make you something more substantial for dinner." She sat down in the rocker and moved it closer to him. "I need to share something with you. A woman was here today."

Matthew raised his gaze toward her, his eyebrow furrowing. "A woman?"

"She said she was searching for a friend. She wanted to know if I'd seen anyone." Miriam hesitated, watching him closely.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her no." Miriam's eyes looked fearful. "But — she's like me."

"Like you?" Matthew looked confused.

"Yes. I am not of this world," Miriam said softly. "And neither is she."

A wave of alarm crossed his face. "Wait! Am I dead — and I just don't know it yet?"

Miriam laughed, a gentle sound that held a touch of sympathy. "No, you were almost dead, but you're still of this world."
 
"Phew! You got me scared for a minute."

She paused, weighing her words. "The woman was kind. I almost told her about you — but I changed my mind. She's coming back, though. And she mentioned that someone had inherited the old mansion."

Donatelli's curiosity was piqued. "A mansion? "

"Yes, it sits up on the hill, near the road. It was a grand house."

"Who lived there? And where are they now?"

Miriam stood and walked toward the window, brushing the curtain aside to stare at the field. "It was my home, or at least it was meant to be our family home. My husband was murdered on our wedding day."

Matthew's eyes filled with compassion as he watched Miriam tremble. He sensed she was fighting demons that had lived with her for a long time. He didn't know why, but somewhere deep in his thoughts, a voice was telling him that he should solve the crime. His eyes shifted to the badge on the table.
 
Did it belong to him? Is that why he felt compelled to reach out to her, or did he feel he owed her his life?

"Miriam, do you think this woman means to harm you?"

"No, she seemed genuinely kind. She said her name was Eleanor."

The name struck him, sending an inexplicable shiver down his spine. He murmured it aloud. "Eleanor —"

Miriam tilted her head, studying him. "Does she mean something to you?"

Donatelli closed his eyes, searching the empty spaces of his memory. He couldn't recall why, but something deep within told him that she did, but he shook his head. "No, nothing comes to mind."
 
*****

After leaving the mansion, Eleanor walked down the dirt path leading to the top of the cliff. As she neared the grassy area, she recognized ruts left by tires, most likely a car, leading to the cliff's edge. Her chest tightened as she moved closer.
 
Had someone been driving too fast on the curve and driven off the road, failing to stop? Was it Matthew?
 
She walked closer to the edge, gazing at the churning waves below. "Matthew," she whispered, her voice carried away by the wind. "Can you feel me? Whatever's wrong — I can help."

She closed her eyes, reaching out with every ounce of her spirit, hoping he would sense her and respond somehow. But only the waves crashed below, indifferent to her plea.

As she turned to leave, a glint in the grass caught her eye. She froze, feeling her heart lurch. Half-hidden by the wild grasses lay a pair of Aviator glasses, weathered but unmistakably his. She picked them up with trembling hands, her fingers touching the cool metal. She held them close to her heart, feeling a surge of warmth and sorrow.

"Matthew..." she breathed, her heart breaking from the surge of sorrow she felt.

A sudden, raw, and unrelenting chill sliced through her as she clutched the Aviator glasses to her chest. It wasn't the wind or the sea air, but something more profound — an electric surge that seemed to cut straight to her soul. Her eyes widened, her breath catching.

Almost like a whisper, she heard it far away — "Eleanor."

The sound of her name sent a shiver through her entire body. It was his voice — she was certain of it. She staggered, pressing a hand to her heart, feeling his presence so strongly it was as if he were standing beside her, calling out from the edges of memory and pain.

"Matthew," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but with all her strength. "I hear you. Where are you? Give me a sign."

The moment lingered, a fragile connection bridging the living and the unknown. In that heartbeat, Eleanor believed he was reaching out, too.
 
*****

Hours later, Eleanor sat in Matthew's office, struggling with the fact that he was missing and there was a strong possibility he could be dead. Time after time, she tried to envision what would have brought him to the cliffs and what might have happened, but nothing was clear. That one moment today, she'd thought she'd connected to him, but now she feared that was only wishful thinking.

Her fingers grazed the sleeve of his leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. She closed her eyes, her hand lingering there, almost as if his presence might somehow seep through the worn leather. Her gaze drifted to the coffee cup on his desk, and without thinking, she traced the rim with her fingertips, feeling the faint warmth of memories.

The opening of the door made her jump. Her gaze shifted from Matthew's desk to the doorway and connected with Garth. His expression softened when he caught the look on her face. She had always been so composed, so strong. Seeing her like this, so vulnerable, stirred something protective in him.

"Eleanor," he said gently, stepping inside. "I didn't mean to startle you."

She gave a faint, almost apologetic smile. "It's alright. I — I thought I'd try to feel close to him, somehow. This is — this is all that's left."

Garth nodded, his eyes flickering to the coffee cup and the jacket. He hadn't seen her like this before, and the quiet intensity in her eyes unsettled him. "Eleanor, we're going to find him. I promise you that."
 
"Garth, I went to the mansion today simply to check it out for Rebecca. I discovered a rock in the parking lot at a nearby bar."

"A rock? Should this stone have some significance?"

"I think so." She reached into her pocket and pulled it out, laying it on the desk blotter.

"It's a limestone rock, Eleanor. I don't get it."

"You wouldn't until you put it under a microscope, but I see things differently through my eyes. The rock has Matthew's blood on it."

"How can you know it's his?"

"I just know. I can't explain my connections with the living, but it's something much stronger than anything you've ever felt. Trust me. It's Matthew's blood."

"So, you think he was at this bar?"

"I do, and it's not a good place for anyone to be, especially someone with a chip on their shoulder and a badge in their pocket."

"Okay. It's not much, but it's more than we had. I'll send Tango and Poppa undercover and see if we can learn anything."

"There's more." She reached into her purse and pulled out the Aviator glasses. "I found these near the cliffs. They're Matthew's, I'm sure of it."

He took the glasses, turning them over slowly in his hands, but there was no skepticism in his expression this time — just a deep, troubled silence.

"Matthew always wore these," he murmured, the realization settling on him. He looked back at her, his face as serious as she'd ever seen. "Then you're right. He was there. Something must have happened, Eleanor, but what?"

Her face paled. "I found tire tracks leading right up to the cliff's edge. It looks like a vehicle went over."

Garth's face shifted from skepticism to concern. He examined the glasses more closely, his brow furrowing. "If it's his car—"

Eleanor swallowed, steadying herself. "If it's his car, he might be dead, but something tells me he's not. I believe he's seriously injured and unable to communicate with me."

Garth nodded, the realization settling in. "Alright," he said, resolve hardening in his tone. "Then we'll start at the cliffs. I'll get divers out there tomorrow."
 
*****

"Jenna, it's Danni. Have you heard from Rebecca? I've been trying to reach her."

"She was at the lawyer's office and has officially become a property owner. We were thinking of going out there in a little while and checking it out."

"Would you mind if I tagged along, too? I've found some fascinating history on Rebecca's ancestry and wanted to share it.

"Sure, I bet even my mother would like to come along. Let's pick up some takeout from Romano's. Their Italian cuisine is always a hit, and we can eat and chat. A little celebration."

"I'll bring a bottle of Prosecco and Barolo. Can't celebrate without the wine. And I can drive if you want."

"Sounds awesome to me. Rebecca should be here in a few minutes, and I'll fly it by her and get back to you. How's that sound?"

"Great! I'll finish up a few things here in the office while I wait to hear from you."

"Ciao!" Jenna laughed, already looking forward to the gathering, and hung up the phone. She rubbed her stomach and murmured, "Now, hopefully, you will cooperate."

*****

The four women piled into Danni's car and had a crazy ride, singing with the radio and chatting during the trip. When Danni pulled up to the gate, Rebecca, Jenna, and Danni fell silent as they stared at the boarded-up house and the overgrown shrubs surrounding it.

Jenna was the first to recover. "It's — it's huge. Wonder how many rooms are in there?"

Danni followed with, "Too many for me to want to clean."

Rebecca remained speechless as she opened the door and climbed out of the car.

Eleanor moved to her side, sliding her arm around Rebecca's waist. "Let's wait and see what the inside looks like. It might surprise you."

"If it's anything like this, I'm putting it on the market tomorrow." Rebecca sighed. "So much for thinking it was going to be something beautiful."

Eleanor unlocked the gate, pushing it open so Danni's car could enter the driveway. "Come on, girls. Where's your adventurous spirit?"

Jenna quivered. "Mom, that place will be filled with spiders, mice, and who knows what else. I'm not going in there."

"Oh Jenna, I promise you it won't be as bad as you think. Just step inside the door, and we'll leave if you still think it's horrible. But nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Rebecca sighed. "Eleanor's right. I should at least see the inside before I sell it. And Mr. Henderson said the electricity is on so we won't be in the dark."

The three women linked arms, and Danni pointed at Eleanor. "Okay, fearless leader, you can lead the way."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 13
Miracles - chap 13

By Begin Again

 
"Watch your step, everyone, especially you, Jenna," Danni cautioned, steadying herself on the cracked marble entrance.

"Okay, Danni, you can stop being the Mother Hen. I'm pregnant, not blind. I see the vines and debris on the steps," Jenna shot back.

"Ouch! Forgive me for putting myself out there."

"Ladies, we're here to celebrate, not squabble like children." Eleanor turned to Rebecca. "Would you like the honor of entering your home first?"

Rebecca hesitated, glaring at the loose shutters, shattered glass, and tangled foliage choking the house's exterior. She shuddered and shook her head. "That's okay, Eleanor. You go first. I'm not sure what to expect, but I want no part of it if it's like this."

Eleanor chuckled. "Where's your sense of adventure?" She reached for the doorknob and felt it turn under her hand. Miriam was here —

She felt a chilly brush against her arm.

Are you here to welcome us or warn us? Eleanor wondered.

She felt a slight tug forward, and the door swung open, revealing a pristine world within. Although aged, the floors gleamed from polishing, and the furnishings were impeccably preserved. It was as if the house had been waiting, watching over these treasures, hidden away and untouched by time.

They entered slowly and stared in awe. Jenna, being an art connoisseur, gasped as her gaze landed on a painting just inside the entryway. "That — that can't be," she murmured, stepping closer. "Mother, it's an original Antonio Mancini!"

Eleanor joined her, a smile of recognition forming as she took in the familiar brushstrokes. "A fine replica, perhaps," she offered lightly, trying not to reveal what she already knew.

Jenna shook her head emphatically. "Replica?" She pointed at the signature without touching the artwork for fear of harming the piece. "It's — it's signed. Mancini painted this himself. It's worth a fortune!"

"Indeed, it is." A brush against her arm told Eleanor that Miriam was nearby and ready to brag. "It's marvelous, isn't it?"

"Rebecca — Danni, come look at this painting. It's unbelievable." Jenna called to the others, bubbling with excitement.

Rebecca, watching from a few steps behind, shrugged. "Just an old guy," she said dismissively. "Maybe a vineyard worker caught the artist's eye. Not my style."
 
Miriam's invisible presence drifted beside Eleanor. "Thank you for bringing her here, but I don't think she feels the love that her ancestors knew when they lived here," she murmured. Eleanor sensed her sorrow.

As the trio set off to learn more about the mansion, Eleanor felt Miriam's presence tugging her to go outside. She glanced as the girls climbed the sweeping staircase leading them upstairs and then slipped out to the front steps.

"I still sense your sorrow, and something leads me to believe it's not merely Rebecca's response to your home. If you'd like, I'm more than willing to listen."

Miriam sighed, and Eleanor could tell that whatever she would share wouldn't be easy.
 
"Come." Miriam smiled. "Willow is grazing near my favorite spot. Do you mind walking near the lake? It's not far, just beyond the lilac hedge."

"Lead the way."

Eleanor was surprised that an inlet of the lake was so close to the front of the house, maybe two hundred feet, after clearing the overgrown lilacs. Milo, busy plucking worms from the soil, stopped as they approached, puffed up his chest, and greeted the women with a boastful crow. Miriam chuckled and dug deep in her pocket. She scattered a handful of corn and murmured to him, "Yes. Milo, we have company."

Continuing a few more feet, Willow raised his head, braying as if to say hello. Miriam rubbed between his ears as he nuzzled her in search of an apple or a carrot. "Sorry, Willow. I'll bring you one soon, I promise."

She waved her hand toward a bench carved from a log. "Shall we sit?"

Eleanor followed and took her place on the log bench. "What a beautiful view. I bet this is stunning when the moon reflects on the water at night."

Miriam's eyes shifted to the men on the cliff, knowing what they would find but wondering if Eleanor had made that connection, too. The two sat silently, waiting for the other to speak.

Finally, Miriam stood and walked over to Willow, scratching his back. When she spoke, her voice quivered.
"It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, Eleanor. I was finally marrying Trevor. I'd despised him when my parents agreed to send me to America to wed him, forcing me to leave my child behind."

'Your child? Would that be Angela?"

Miriam's eyes clouded, and she buried her face in Willow's side. "Yes, my only child and Rebecca's mom."

"Why would your parents do such a hurtful thing, separating their daughter from her child? I don't understand."

"Their vineyard was failing and in need of repair. Trevor offered them the money, not as a loan, but as a gift. In return, I would go to America, where he could introduce me to society, and we would wed."

"So, in return for a hefty financial agreement, he forced you to leave your child behind and marry him? What kind of man would do that? You must have been heartbroken."

"To leave Angela for even a day was more than I could do, but I had no choice. Papa said I had to go, and his word was law. Mama and I wept, but it made no difference. The last time I saw her was as the ship pulled out of the harbor. She remained there with Angela until the ship disappeared."

Miriam rejoined Eleanor on the bench, reaching out for her hand. "Trevor was a wonderful man. We got to know each other on the trip across the Atlantic, and I grew comfortable around him. One night, as we stood on deck beneath the stars, he took my hand, brushing his lips against my fingertips. It was then that he promised to bring Angela to live with us once we were married."

"Did you believe that he would?"

"Not at first, but as our journey progressed, I listened to his dreams of the vineyard and how we would celebrate life together. His dreams became mine, and I could see it all.

"Our wedding was beyond any dreams I could have imagined. My dress —" she paused, biting her lip. "Trevor surprised me and ordered it. When I saw it, I wanted to marry him that very second. No one had ever done something so special just for me. I knew we were meant to be together."

"So what happened? What made Trevor's friends turn against you?"

"Cornelius Webb. He had other plans. He wanted our land and saw Trevor as an obstacle. Trevor refused to relinquish his dream. So, the opportunity presented itself on our wedding day, and he struck."

Eleanor felt a chill run down her spine. "What did he do?"

"After the ceremony, we all gathered in the parlor to toast our future. Cornelius was there, acting as though he celebrated our union. He lifted his glass to the others, smiling as he proposed a toast to our happiness. But he'd laced Trevor's drink with poison." Miriam's voice faltered. "Within minutes, Trevor collapsed. He was gone before I even knew what was happening."

Eleanor's hand went to her mouth, horrified. "And Cornelius —?"

Miriam's voice grew colder, sharper as if seething from beyond the grave. "He turned to me as Trevor lay dying, his face twisted in feigned shock. He pointed his finger at me and cried out to the crowd that he had witnessed me poisoning my husband."

Eleanor's heart clenched as the depth of Cornelius's cruelty became clear. "And the townsfolk believed him?"

"They did," Miriam said, her voice hollow with bitterness. "The people had known Cornelius all their lives, trusted him. They rallied around his lie, convinced I was a madwoman driven by greed. I'd arrived from Italy with nothing but a suitcase.

"No one questioned his story; no one asked me why I would kill the man I'd just married." Her voice cracked, filled with the rawness of betrayal. "The mob dragged me from the house in my wedding dress and took me to the old oak tree. There, they hanged me, accusing me of murder."

Eleanor felt tears sting her eyes, a helpless anger tightening in her chest. "Miriam, they didn't allow you to defend yourself."

"No," Miriam replied, her voice softening with a weariness that centuries had not eased. "I died knowing that Cornelius would walk free, that he would claim the land and destroy the legacy Trevor and I had dreamed of building together." She paused, the hope in her voice fragile. "But I stayed, Eleanor. I stayed because I knew that one day, someone from my family would return to set things right."

Eleanor glanced back at the house, her heart aching for the young bride who had lost everything in a single, tragic day. "I don't have the words to ease your pain, Miriam. I am so sorry."

"Trevor didn't know that Cornelius would murder both of us, but he was a wise man. He'd drawn up a paper stating that the land would never be sold until a living heir rightfully inherited the land. Then it would be theirs to do as they saw fit."

"Rebecca is here now, Miriam. She may not understand yet, but given time, she will. You're a part of her, and she'll uncover the truth in time."

A sigh, almost a whisper, echoed around her. "Help her see, Eleanor. Help her reclaim what was stolen from us. Only then can I find peace."

*****

As Eleanor and Miriam returned to the house, an unsettling feeling prickled at the edge of her mind.
"Miriam —" Eleanor ventured cautiously. "There's someone else here, isn't there?"

"No one you need to worry about," Miriam replied, her voice cold and unyielding. "This is my family's land, Eleanor. Some secrets are mine to keep."

Eleanor studied the spectral figure beside her, noting Miriam's defensive posture. "Whoever it is, they feel lost, and in pain. I can sense it. You're keeping them hidden."

A chill swept through the air, and Eleanor felt a faint memory ripple — a man's shadowed figure. She closed her eyes, trying to connect with the presence she sensed mentally, but a wall of fog, an impenetrable barrier, blocked her from doing so.

Before she could ask any more questions, she realized Miriam was gone.
 
*****

Studying a small sculpture, Jenna carefully ran her fingers over the intricate piece. "Rebecca, some of these pieces are so exquisite that I find it impossible to believe they aren't real. The family that lived here was very wealthy and art-oriented. I get shivers with each one I find. Such a collection is mind-blowing."

"And so cared for." Danni looked around the room. "How long has it been since someone left this place?" She turned to Jenna and Rebecca. "It's spotless."

They walked deeper into the mansion, discovering room after room filled with antiques and art and homey pieces, simple things that a peasant family might have. The furniture was spotless, not a speck of dust. It was as if the house had been frozen in time, waiting for someone to return.

Rebecca shrugged. "It's like someone has been living here."

"You're right. It's as if someone wanted to make sure the house was kept up until its true heir returned." Eleanor didn't elaborate further, but a knowing look passed between her and Danni.

Jenna wrinkled her nose. "I'm still not convinced. It feels like —" she paused, "I don't know, like someone is watching us."

Rebecca laughed softly, but her voice held a noticeable trace of unease. "You guys are talking like you believe in ghosts. Now it's you, not the house, that's giving me the creeps."

Jenna, Danni, and Eleanor glanced at each other quickly before they entered a large sitting room with towering bookshelves and an old fireplace.

Danni ran her fingers across the mahogany mantel, admiring the craftsmanship. "Can't you imagine being snuggled up with a warm blanket on a cold night, warming your toes in front of the fire, Rebecca?"

Jenna chimed, "And at Christmas, you can hang stockings from the mantel, and the largest tree imaginable will stand near the staircase. We can wrap fresh garland around the banister."

"Don't forget the poinsettias and the aroma of Christmas cookies baking in the kitchen."

"Now you're getting the spirit, Rebecca." Danni laughed. Noticing a set of framed photographs on the mantel, she picked one up. "This is strange. These pictures aren't black and white like the others."

Jenna took the frame from Danni's hand. "You're right. This picture isn't old like the others." It was a photograph of a young woman sitting on the mansion's steps, smiling at the camera. On the back of the picture, written in elegant cursive, was a name — Alyssa.

Excited, Danni looked at the picture again. "Rebecca, this woman looks like you."

Rebecca stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied the photo. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the name. "Alyssa. Do you think it's a picture of my sister?"

Danni looked up at the others, wide-eyed. "The resemblance is uncanny."

Before Rebecca could answer, Eleanor, who had been quiet until now, walked over to the photo, her face paling as she recognized the woman in the photograph. Her eyes flicked back to Rebecca, but she said nothing.

Moving toward the window, she glanced outside toward the cliffs where the men were working. In a low voice, she said, "I — I know who she is."

The others turned to Eleanor, surprised by her response. Rebecca questioned her, "What do you mean? You know her? Are you saying you knew my sister?"

Eleanor hesitated, her eyes betraying a deep, unreadable emotion. Before she could speak, her phone buzzed. She reached for it quickly, clearly relieved to have a distraction from the tension hanging in the air.

"Yes, this is Eleanor."

Her face shifted from confusion to shock as she listened, her hand gripping the phone tightly. She disconnected the line and turned to face the girls. Her voice was barely audible. "They found Matthew's car in the lake, and there's a body inside. They haven't identified it yet."

Danni and Jenna screamed, clinging to each other. "It can't be him. It can't be."

Still holding the picture, Eleanor looked toward the cliffs again. "Garth is on his way. Maybe he'll have news."

Sobbing, Jenna collapsed to the floor. "Dear God, tell me it's not Matthew."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 14
Miracles - Chap 14

By Begin Again

 
 
After several attempts, Matthew sat upright on the bed's edge. The effort was agonizing. His cracked ribs screamed in protest. Using the nightstand and headboard, he stood on his wobbly legs, his muscles trembling from the effort.

As he shuffled toward the door, his shoulder brushed against the frame, jarring his battered body. A sharp pain radiated through him, and he noticed fresh blood seeping through his bandages.

The small cottage felt like a maze as he staggered between the furniture until he reached the front door. With trembling fingers, he turned the handle and stepped outside.

The cool, fresh air smelled invigorating but burned his lungs when he inhaled. He gripped the porch railing for support. His knuckles were white against the weathered wood. He shifted positions, moving further along the porch, attempting to see what the loud, crushing noise was all about.

The crane by the lake creaked and groaned, hoisting a waterlogged vehicle from its murky grave. His gaze locked on the car as it swung in the air. His chest tightened, and a hazy sense of familiarity stirred in him.
He leaned against the railing, his strength fading rapidly, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Why does this feel important?

The question echoed in his mind, but the answer remained out of reach.

Suddenly, Miriam was beside him. "What are you doing out here?" she asked, slipping an arm around him. "You shouldn't be out in the open. If anyone sees you—"

Matthew stared at her — confusion written on his face. "What's going on? I saw the car lifted out of the lake. Something about it seemed familiar. Does it have anything to do with me?"

Miriam stared at the cliffs, seeing people buzzing around like bees in a hive. "Let's go inside. I'll make us some tea, and then we can talk."

Matthew looked at the crane and car, hoping for something, but his mind remained blank. He relented and allowed her to usher him back into the cottage.

He exhaled loudly, suddenly aware he'd been holding his breath, trying to combat the pain. Sitting at the kitchen table, he rested his bandaged head in the palms of his hands, exhausted.

"You'll need new bandages. I'll tend to that after we have some tea." Miriam sat a kettle on the stove to boil, glancing over her shoulder at him. Soon, the aroma of tea filled the air as she brought two steaming mugs and a plate of sugar cookies to the table.

The cozy kitchen was silent as they sipped the spicy brew to which she'd added a touch of cinnamon. Matthew munched on a cookie, enjoying the sweetness.

She reached for his hand and looked at him with apprehension. "Do you remember anything about the night I found you?"

"Not really. I've tried, but nothing connects. Yesterday, I thought I saw a pool table and billiard balls clacking together, but —" He rubbed his temples as if coaxing his mind to remember. "It was a fleeting second, just a flash. Everything's a fog."

Miriam nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's all right. Your memory will come back in time." She hesitated, staring into the steamy mug, carefully choosing her following words. "There are people looking for you. People who think —" She paused, raising her eyes to look at him. "People who believe you are responsible for something terrible."

"Me? Responsible? Did I — oh God in Heaven, did I hurt someone?"

Her gaze dropped to her teacup again, and she stirred it absently. "They think you're connected to a murder."
She watched as confusion etched his face. A shudder passed through her as she wondered if she'd gone too far, too soon.

His voice was barely audible as he asked, "Murder? Do you — think? Do you know who I am?"

Miriam's heart ached at the desperation in his tone. She shook her head and breathed, "No, I don't know who you are, but —" She hesitated and glanced toward the bedroom. "I believe the badge might hold a clue."

She stood and hurried into the bedroom, returning with the badge, and sat it in front of him. His eyes locked on the metal, but his expression remained blank.

"I showed this to you before," Miriam continued. "I thought it might jog your memory, but I know it didn't. Still — I believe it's connected to you. It's an important part of you."

He picked up the badge, turning it over in his hand. "If this is mine, why can't I remember anything?" He slid it across the table.

Miriam reached out and placed a hand over his. "Sometimes the mind takes time to heal," she whispered. "But there's something else." She paused, wondering if she should mention Eleanor. "I met a woman — someone I believe is connected to you. I don't know the full story, but she might have the answers you're looking for."

His head jerked up, a flicker of hope breaking through the fog. "Who is she? Where is she?"

Miriam shook her head, her expression cautious. "I don't know who she is — she's been looking for someone, and I think it's you. I can bring her here, but we must be careful. If anyone finds out where you are —" She lets the warning hang in the air.

Matthew's grip tightened on the edge of the table. "Bring her," his voice pleaded. "Please. If she knows anything, I need to see her."

Miriam nodded. "I'll bring her. But for now, I need to tend to those bandages, and you need to rest."

As she cleared the teacups, she glanced back at him. He was staring at the badge again, turning it in his hands as though willing it to unlock the secrets buried in his mind. The sight tugged at her heart, yet she feared for his future.
Garth and his men gathered at the edge of the cliff, watching the crane hoist the car from the murky lake.

Tango could see the pain and apprehension etched on his boss's face. "It's his car, but that doesn't —"

"Tango, nice try, pal, but the divers already radioed me about the body inside."

"Sorry, boss. I know you and Donatelli have history, but he was a friend, too."

Garth nodded, choking on his emotions as he awaited confirmation that his friend was in the car.

"What brought you to this, my friend? Did you give up and drive off the edge, or —"

Garth watched the crane swing the car around. His mind jumped from one scenario to the other.

Did someone do this to you? Did you meet up with the wrong guys?

Garth knew that Doyle had tossed threats around, but was he capable of arranging the death of someone in law enforcement? One thing he was sure of was that if it wasn't an accident and Doyle or anyone else was involved, they'd be dealing with him. Matthew's death wouldn't become a cold case.

A government car pulled to the side of the road and parked. Three men stepped out — Owen Maxwell, newly appointed special prosecutor for Landon County; Joseph DeLuca, one of Bayside's detectives looking to claim Donatelli's position; and Vince Rossi. Maxwell and DeLuca strode across the grass while Rossi hung back, leaning against the car.

The two men stopped to watch the crane set the car down on the ground, neither eager to face down their current opponent, FBI number one officer Garth Woodman. Having observed and recognized Maxwell approaching, Garth remained cool and continued to watch the business at hand. As soon as the car settled, he nodded to Tango and Poppa, and without further conversation, the two agents hurried to the car.

Owen Maxwell walked toward Garth, his stomach churning but his face set in a firm expression. "Agent Woodman, fine job of discovering Donatelli's vehicle. We appreciate your efforts, but Detective DeLuca will take over from here."

Garth frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift. He tipped his Stetson back on his head so his cold gaze met Maxwell's eyes. "You're welcome to join us in the investigation, but we have this."

Maxwell's steely gaze locked on Garth as he responded, "Agent, this isn't an FBI case."

Garth looked at DeLuca, who remained a few steps back from the two men. "How'd you even know we'd located Donatelli's car?"

"We — uh, had our own feelers out, of course. After all, Donatelli was — is one of our own."

Another officer motioned for DeLuca, and the detective stepped away from Garth. After exchanging a few words, DeLuca motioned for Maxwell to join them.

In the meantime, Poppa radioed Garth, telling him it wasn't Matthew. His face remained ready for any poker game these two brought him, but his heart felt much lighter.

The second the car was safe to approach, Tango had leaned into the twisted frame and pried open the door. He had seen the new arrivals at the scene, so he was aware that his time would be limited. As he checked the body, his fingers brushed against something in the victim's shirt pocket — a leather wallet, damp but intact. He slipped it out, barely glancing at the ID before an officer tapped his shoulder.

"Sir, you need to step back. Please exit the vehicle and move behind the tape," the officer said firmly.

Tango scowled and shifted his glance to his boss, who nodded. Clutching the wallet as he joined Garth, he quietly slipped it into Poppa's jacket pocket. Poppa walked away, casually blending in with the other workers.

By this time, the pow-wow ended, and Maxwell and DeLuca rejoined Garth and Tango. Garth was prepared and waited for the first shot. It didn't take long for DeLuca to fire.

"Your men have probably made you aware that the body in Donatelli's car is not his. I will be taking over the case from here, and you and your men will need to clear the crime scene."

Garth narrowed his eyes, piecing together the implications. "You keep mentioning a case — what exactly are we talking about here?"

DeLuca, nervous under Garth's piercing stare, nodded for Maxwell to join the conversation. "Donatelli is being charged with murder."
 
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. "Murder! On what evidence? How do you know his body isn't still somewhere in the water? What makes it murder?"

"I'm not free to provide you with that information at this time, but we have reason to believe that Donatelli had a beef with this guy and chose to end it this way."

"You're crazy. Matthew Donatelli would not, under any circumstance, step outside the law to settle a beef." Garth glanced across the grass at Vince Rossi. "Since when does a special prosecutor hang out with the mob's number one lawyer."

Maxwell's eyes widened. "Oh, you recognized Mr. Rossi? I was having a discussion with him when Owen contacted me, so we finished our conversation on the ride out here."

Garth wasn't buying one word of it, but he nodded as if in agreement. "Did Doyle come up in the conversation?"

"Doyle? Do you mean Judge Doyle? He's behind bars. Why would I be discussing him?"

"Just a passing thought." Garth turned away, motioning for Tango to follow, and they left Maxwell and DeLuca staring at their backs as they ducked under the crime scene tape.

"Vince Rossi," Garth muttered under his breath. "The mob's lawyer." The realization tightened his jaw as he turned to Rossi, his eyes sharp. "Doyle is behind this, isn't he?"

Rossi met Garth's gaze with a cool, unreadable expression. A slow, mocking smirk crept across his face, but he said nothing, maintaining an air of detachment as if the accusation was beneath him.

Garth's gut twisted. The mob's involvement could mean Donatelli's murder wasn't as simple as it seemed. Rossi's silence spoke volumes, reinforcing Garth's worst suspicions — he's up against more than just a murder case. This could be a tangled web of corruption, and Vince Rossi was here to ensure nothing slips through.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 15
Miracles - Chap 15

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
 
 
As they reached the car, Garth glanced back one last time at Vince Rossi and climbed into the passenger seat.

Tango gave him a strange look but shrugged and walked around to the driver's seat. As he climbed inside, Garth tossed the keys to him. "You okay, boss? Thought you'd be celebrating that it wasn't Donatelli in the car."

Garth stared out the window, sorting his emotions. He'd been battling with how he'd left things with Donatelli, knowing that if he had been in that car, he might not have had the chance to make it right with his friend. Relief had swept through him when Tango had signaled it wasn't Matthew, but now he wondered what Vince Rossi had to do with any of this and if Doyle was behind it.

"My gut tells me that this isn't going to end well if Maxwell and Deluca have anything to say about it."

"You don't think DeLuca would turn against his fellow officer, do you? I don't know the guy, but they did work in the same department, right?"

"Yes, they did. I don't know him either, but when a guy like Donatelli is at the top, most everyone else wants to knock him down."

"But — what about Maxwell? He's a special prosecutor. How does he work into the situation?"

"Doesn't it seem odd to you that a special prosecutor has already been appointed, and technically, there isn't a case yet? Supposedly, they didn't know it wasn't Donatelli in that car until we all saw the other guy. If it had been Matthew, who's to say he didn't get drunk and miss the curve, driving off the edge of the cliff."

"Now that you mention it, it does seem strange. Did they know someone held a grudge against him?" Tango hesitated, and then his eyes widened. "You don't think the Judge is behind all this, do you?"

"I do. What prosecutor and detective are driving around with the underworld's lawyer in their back seat — unless he's in handcuffs, which he wasn't? Something is going on, and we need to figure out what it is and get to Donatelli before they do."

"Where do you think he could be?" Tango started the car, but still looked at his boss.

"At this moment, I don't know, but I would bet Eleanor does or has a good idea. I want you and Poppa to do some digging on the wallet — a nice play, by the way."

"Thanks. I figured we deserved a leg up if they were going to kick us off the case."

"They can say whatever they want, but we'll still do our own investigating — just try to stay off the radar. Drop me off at the estate. I think Eleanor and the girls are still there."

"You know you will have some hysterical women on your hands."

"I suspect so, but they need to know it's not Matthew. Especially Jenna."

"I know she had a few dates with him, but I didn't think it was anything serious. Was I wrong?"

"I'm not sure where their relationship was headed, but Jenna doesn't need any more stress in her life right now," Garth said as he looked out the window, not wanting to betray Jenna's trust about the pregnancy. "There's a car parked in the driveway, so someone is there. You get with Poppa, and I'll call you when I need a ride."

"Sure thing. Poppa texted a while ago and is running a background check on the guy as we speak."

"Thanks." Garth climbed out of the SUV and watched Tango pull out of the driveway. He could still see the crane on the cliff and Donatelli's car. Muttering under his breath, he asked, "Matthew, what did you get yourself into, and where are you?" He kicked a piece of gravel with his boot and pushed his Stetson back on his head. "I'm sure glad you weren't in that car, but I think your troubles are just starting regardless of where you are."

*****

As Jenna lay on the antique sofa, Rebecca fluffed the cold compress against her forehead. "Do you think we should call someone?" Danni whispered, glancing around the room.

"I don't know, but we can't leave her like this," Rebecca replied, trembling. She straightened some of the cushions, her eyes flickering to the tall windows, half expecting to see someone outside. "Eleanor said Garth was coming, and now she's disappeared. I don't understand any of this."

The gravel crunched under tires, and Danni turned towards the driveway. A vehicle pulled in, and her heart pounded as she recognized Garth stepping out. Relief washed over her, but anxiety twisted within her — what if Donatelli was dead?

Danni hurried to the door, swinging it open as Garth climbed the steps.

"Is it Matthew?" she asked, her body shaking with fear.

"No, it's not Matthew."

An enormous sigh escaped Danni's mouth, followed by several more questions as the detective side of her kicked in.

Garth's eyes searched for Jenna as he strode into the living room.

"Is she okay?" Garth asked, worried, as he rushed inside, his eyes fixed on Jenna's pale face.

"I — I think she fainted," Rebecca stammered, stepping aside to let Garth take charge.

Garth knelt next to the sofa, focusing on Jenna, who was beginning to stir. Danni stood at the edge of the room, wringing her hands, her eyes darting to Garth, pleading for answers.

"Jenna, hey," Garth said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Can you hear me?"

She cracked her eyes, confusion etched on her features. "Garth? What happened?"

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to maintain eye contact, knowing that clarity was crucial. "I need to tell you something important. The car that was pulled from the lake — it belonged to Donatelli."

Danni inhaled, stepping closer as she processed his words. "If it was Donatelli's car, where is he?"

Garth met Danni's gaze, his expression serious. "It wasn't Donatelli in the car."

Danni pressed, her voice rising slightly with confusion and concern. "If it wasn't him, then who was it? And where is Matthew? Why isn't he answering his phone?"

"That's what we need to figure out," Garth replied. "The driver was someone else. It's a complicated situation, and there's a chance —" he hesitated, gauging Jenna's reaction as she sat up, taking in his words, "there's a chance they were setting him up. This is bigger than just a car accident."

Now awake, Jenna's brow furrowed with worry, her gaze shifting between Garth and Danni. "They? Who's behind this, Garth? Is Matthew in danger?"

"That's what we need to find out," he answered. "The car wasn't an accident. Someone wanted Donatelli out of the picture."

Danni nodded, finally finding her footing amidst the turmoil. "We need to find Matthew. He's the key to all of this. If he can't be found, he could be walking into a trap."

Garth looked around the room. "I was expecting Eleanor."

"She was here before I fainted. Danni, did she say she was going somewhere?"

"No, not to me." Danni sensed Eleanor was still nearby but gathered she didn't want anyone to know. "You know Eleanor — she probably needed a few minutes alone to think. I'm sure she'll be right back."

Jenna looked at Garth, determination sparking in her eyes. "We need to do something. We can't just sit here and wait for answers. There has to be someone who knows where he is."

'I've got Tango and Poppa on it already. We need to stay one step ahead of whoever else is looking for him." Garth turned to Danni. "What's the scoop on DeLuca and special prosecutor Owen Maxwell?"

Danni's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "DeLuca is a second-rate detective as far as I am concerned. He got his shield thanks to who his father was. And I never heard of Owen Maxwell. Why do you ask?"

"They showed up when we lifted the car from the lake. Told me it wasn't an FBI case, and we were no longer needed."

"DeLuca did? That's strange. I thought he was on desk duty for some case he botched a few weeks ago. Why would there be a special prosecutor? We don't even know if there's a case, do we?"

"Well, chew on this — Vince Rossi was with them."

"Rossi! Garth, none of this is making any sense."

"Exactly! We've got to find Donatelli and be very careful about it. I think Doyle is behind this, and it will be a frame job."

Jenna gasped. "Doyle hates Matthew."

Danni rushed to Jenna's side. "Don't worry. We're going to find him. Nobody's going to frame him. He's too good of a cop for that."

"I hope you're right, Danni, but Doyle is as crooked as they come."

Rebecca stood near the window, staring out across the yard. Garth approached her, touching her arm. "Are you okay? It's not much of a celebration, is it?"

Rebecca shook her head. "I don't know — I can see the beauty and potential, but I'm not sure I want all the history that goes with it."

"Give it time, Rebecca. This certainly wasn't anything any of us could have expected." He sighed. "I just wish I knew where Eleanor disappeared to."

*****

"Miriam!" Eleanor approached the woman standing near the water's edge. "I sensed you wanted to talk to me."

"I did." She answered but didn't turn to greet Eleanor.

"Is it about the car they pulled from the lake?"

Miriam stood there, eerily quiet, as she stared at the cliff.

Eleanor pressed, knowing their time was running short. "It was my friend's car, but he wasn't in it. Someone else was, and they died."

"I know. I saw it happen, and when the other car left, Willow and I took the cart and went to take a look. That's when I found him, or what was left of him." Miriam turned to look at Eleanor. "He doesn't know who he is."

"But I do! His name is Matthew Donatelli. He's a detective."

"I found his badge, so I suspected as much, but when I showed him the shield, it didn't mean anything to him. He's in bad shape. Broken ribs, I believe. I bandaged the wounds the best I could, but he needs better care."

"I can do that if you let me see him." Eleanor held her breath, praying that Miriam would give in.

"He said I could bring you."

"When?" Eleanor grabbed Miriam's hand. "Can we go now?"

"Won't your friends follow you? We can't trust anyone. I saw the FBI guy arrive a little while ago."

Eleanor glanced back at the house. "I suppose they've had enough fright for the night. I'll go talk to them, and then we can go."

Miriam stood, staring at the house, without saying a word.

"Miriam, I've got to see Matthew. If you don't want me to tell my friends, I won't."

Miriam shook her head. "You trusted me, so I should trust you. Go, but hurry and come back alone."

"I will. I promise." Eleanor started toward the house when Miriam called out to her.

"Eleanor — I feel the noose tightening. Time is running out."

Eleanor nodded and disappeared as a chill ran up her spine.

How am I going to convince Garth to remain behind?

Author Notes My apologies and hopes that the chapter is acceptable. I forgot how "busy" it can be with three young girls in need of my attention. Thank you for reading.


Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective


Chapter 16
Miracles - Chap 16

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
"Poppa, I can't believe you managed to uncover so much on this Johnny guy in such a short time," Tango said, shaking his head with a hint of admiration. "You've been busy."

Poppa smirked, leaning back in his chair. "It's not that hard when the guy doesn't have much to hide. He was just an ordinary Joe, trying to keep his head above water. His only real downfall? Thinking he could be a pool hustler."

"You think that's what went down with him and Donatelli? We all know our friend loves cracking the balls."

"I can picture him shooting the table, sure, but it doesn't explain how this guy ends up dead in Donatelli's car at the bottom of the lake. And as for Donatelli himself — where the hell is he?"

"Not a clue," Tango replied, his tone darkening. "No one on the team's been able to track his whereabouts. The boss is convinced Doyle's behind this."

"Doyle?" Poppa raised an eyebrow. "I know that slimeball threatened everyone, but I don't see the connection between him, Donatelli, and our dead guy."

"With us getting booted off the case and Vince Rossi showing up with Maxwell, Garth thinks it's a frame job."

"A pretty damn good one if it is," Poppa muttered. "Finding a dead man in your car, then vanishing? It's like a neon sign pointing to him."

"Yeah, but we both know Donatelli isn't a murderer," Tango said firmly. "Something else is going on here, and we've got to figure out what it is."

Poppa nodded grimly. "If Rossi's involved, we better work fast. Otherwise, we might end up fishing Donatelli's body out of the lake next."

"Did you get anything on where this Johnny guy liked to hang out?"

"Yeah, I started checking bars near where we found the car," Poppa replied, flipping through his notes. "Turns out there's a biker bar not far from there. A place called the Hideaway. Real upstanding establishment, by the sound of it."

Tango chuckled. "Perfect. Should we flip for who gets to visit the fine establishment and who plays lookout?"

Poppa grinned. "As much as I know you'd love to mingle with the locals, I think this one's all mine. Your face was all over the crime scene earlier. Just in case someone's been paying attention."

"Walked right into that one, didn't I? Guess you win."

"Why, Tango, that's so thoughtful of you." Poppa's grin widened. "Don't worry, I'll tip an extra cold one back for you while I'm at it."

"You're all heart," Tango shot back, laughing. "And while one of those bikers decides he doesn't like your face and plants his fist in it, I'll be enjoying the show from outside."

"Like hell, you will!" Poppa said, shooting him a mock glare. "If things go south, you'd better haul ass into that bar and start busting heads."

"You know I've got your back," Tango grinned. "Now let's go see if our detective had a fondness for the Hideaway."

*****

Poppa walked into the dimly lit bar, the air thick with smoke, loud music, and raucous laughter. Neon signs buzzed on the walls, casting jagged reflections on the scratched-up tables and sticky floors. The Hideaway was precisely what he expected — a haven for the rough and restless.

Sliding onto a barstool, he scanned the room. A group of bikers crowded a corner table, a couple shot pool in the back, and a jukebox warbled a tinny country tune. Behind the bar, a young woman with bleach-blonde hair and a tight tank top eyed him curiously as she poured a drink.

"What's your poison, stranger?" she asked, leaning in just enough to catch his attention.

"A cold one," Poppa replied with a polite nod.

Her crimson lips formed a beautiful smile. "Coming right up." She turned away to grab a cold bottle of beer.

Meanwhile, Tango parked his car in the shadows outside, tilting his seat back and angling his head to listen. The bar's muffled noises and Poppa's conversations were loud and clear in the stillness.

The blonde returned with his beer, setting it down with a teasing grin. "You new around here?"

Poppa shrugged, taking a sip. "Just passing through. Heard this was the place to find someone who plays a mean game of pool."

Her smile faltered, and her eyes darted toward a hulking man in a leather vest at the corner of the room. His shaved head gleamed under the dim light, and his thick arms rested possessively on the table's edge.

"Now and then," she said hesitantly, her voice barely audible.

"Anyone here tonight worth challenging?" Poppa asked casually.

Her nervous glance returned to the hulking figure. "No. Johnny was our best —"

Before she could finish, the man — the bouncer, Poppa assumed — was suddenly at her side, grabbing her arm too tight to be friendly.

"You're paid to work, not stand around flapping your gums," he growled, his voice a low rumble.

Poppa's eyes narrowed. "Ease up, buddy. She was just making conversation."

Bruiser turned his glare on Poppa, his lips curling into a sneer. "Yeah, well, she tends to offer more than just conversation when the occasion comes along. I don't take kindly to strangers cozying up to my woman."

Poppa held up a hand, his expression calm but sharp. "Hey, man, I'm just looking for a pool game and a cold one. No harm, no foul."

Crystal wrenched free of Bruiser's grip and hurried to the other end of the bar, her hands shaking as she picked up a tray. Bruiser shot one last glare at Poppa before stomping off after her.

Poppa returned to his beer, but the quiet moment didn't last. The door swung open, and in walked Vince Rossi, flanked by two thugs who looked like they'd stepped off the set of a mobster flick.

Rossi didn't even glance at the bar. He strode purposefully toward a door in the back, the thugs trailing behind him.

Poppa's jaw tightened, and he slid his cap down low over his eyes. He took one last sip of his beer before slipping off the stool and heading for the exit.

Outside, Tango sat up as Poppa emerged, his silhouette tense against the glow of the bar's neon lights.

"Well?" Tango asked as Poppa climbed into the car.

Poppa adjusted his cap and buckled his seatbelt. "Rossi's here. Whatever game they're playing, it's bigger than just some missing detective and a dead guy."

Tango's lips thinned. "Think they spotted you?"

"No, but we're on borrowed time. Let's get out of here before someone changes that."

With a growl of the engine, Tango drove out of the shadows and across the parking lot, headed for the exit.

Poppa replayed the scene with Bruiser and Crystal in his mind. Something wasn't sitting right, and Rossi's presence only deepened the mystery.

Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt, lurching Poppa forward.

"What the heck, Tango? Are you trying to snap my neck off?" Poppa barked, grabbing the dashboard for support.

Tango threw the car into reverse, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "Shut up a second. Look!"

Poppa turned, craning his neck to see a man walking toward the bar's entrance. The man was dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, and his collar was turned up to shield his face from the chilly night air.

Tango's voice was tinged with excitement. "You remember that guy who slipped through our fingers at the airport? The one the German Embassy helped sneak out before we could nab him?"

Poppa's brow furrowed as the memory surfaced. "Of course, I remember. How could I forget? The boss had us scrambling onto the jet before it even finished fueling — chasing a ghost. And every damn lead we had went cold after that."

"Well," Tango said, pointing toward the bar, "I swear that's him. That's the guy. He just walked into that dive."

Poppa stared hard at the man as he disappeared into the bar. His pulse quickened. "What are the chances? A guy who vanishes into thin air shows up in a biker bar in the middle of nowhere?"

Tango's hand hovered over the gearshift, ready to throw the car back into drive. "We can't just sit here. If that's him, we've got to do something."

Poppa grabbed Tango's arm. "Hold on. We can't just barge in there — guns blazing. If Rossi's still inside, he'll recognize us in a heartbeat. And if this guy's working with him, we'll blow our cover."

Tango frowned, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "So, what do we do? Let him slip away again?"

"No," Poppa said, a sharp edge in his voice. "We tail him. He's got to come out eventually, and when he does, we'll find out where he's headed."

Tango hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. But I'm going in if he doesn't come out soon."

Poppa leaned back in his seat, keeping his eyes trained on the bar's entrance. "Patience, Tango. We've waited this long. What's a little more time?"

"Forget it. I can't sit here and do nothing. I'm going in."

Tango adjusted his cap and stepped out of the car, his boots crunching softly against the gravel as he approached the bar's entrance. He didn't intend to draw any attention, just close enough to see what was happening.

Poppa lowered his window, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're not going in there without backup. At least call Garth. He needs to know if this guy is the same one who slipped us before."

Tango hesitated, glancing back. "If I call Garth now and we're wrong, we blow our cover for nothing. Let me see what I can hear first."

Poppa shook his head, pulling out his phone. "You play reconnaissance. I'll keep the boss in the loop. We're not taking chances with this one."

Tango gave a slight nod, then continued toward the bar, keeping a low profile. As Poppa scrolled through his contacts, he muttered, "Better not get yourself in trouble, Tango. Garth's already pissed enough about this mess."

Once inside the bar, Tango kept his distance, lingering by a side table in a dark corner. While balancing a tray of drinks, Crystal darted over to the stock room door as Bruiser emerged, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Bruiser," she whispered, her tone anxious, "while you were in there, some German-looking guy brought in a painting. Went straight into Tony's office."

"A painting?" Bruiser growled, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah. I overheard one of the guys saying it's worth close to a million because the artist is dead."

Bruiser straightened, his expression hardening. "Where's it now?"

"In Tony's office. They didn't even bring it out front."

Bruiser snorted, glancing around the bar. "Is Tony back there?"

"Yeah, he came in a few minutes ago through the back entrance. Didn't even say a thing, just went straight into his office."

"Just keep your mouth shut and do your job. I'll check this out."

Crystal gave a quick nod and hurried off, disappearing behind the bar.

Tango's breath caught as the pieces fell into place. A dead artist. A painting worth a fortune. There was no doubt in his mind now — this wasn't just a coincidence. This had Doyle's fingerprints all over it.

He left the bar and headed to the car without ordering a drink.

Poppa was leaning against the steering wheel, phone to his ear, when Tango slid into the passenger seat. "Garth, I'm telling you, Tango's got a lead. We might have a shot at tracking this guy —"

"I don't have a lead," Tango interrupted, breathless. "I have confirmation."

Poppa's eyebrows shot up as he put the phone on speaker. "You sure?"

Tango nodded. "Crystal — one of the bartenders — was talking to that bouncer guy. Said some German dude brought in a painting worth a million bucks because the artist is dead."

There was a long pause before Garth's voice came over the speaker, low and sharp. "A painting? Dead artist? You're saying Doyle's running his counterfeit scam again?"

"I'm saying it's William," Tango replied, his tone grim. "And if Doyle's dealing, he's funding something big."

Garth cursed under his breath. "Stay on him, but don't make a move. I'll get to you. Doyle's got eyes everywhere."

"Boss, you don't have a car, remember?"

"I'll get Danni to loan me her car." He ended the call and turned in search of Danni.

At that moment, Eleanor appeared in the doorway. "Garth, I need to talk to you."

"Not now, Eleanor." He hurried across the room to Danni. "I need your car. The boys have a lead."

"Then I am coming too."

"You should stay here with the others."

"Garth, it's my car, and I'm going."

Not wanting to waste time, he nodded, "Okay, but you stay put if I say so, okay?"

"Sure, sure." Danni agreed, but knowing when and if things went down, she'd be in the midst of it.

As they raced toward the front door, Eleanor tried to stop Garth again. "Garth, this is important. I've found —" Before she could finish her sentence, Garth and Danni were racing toward her car.
 
*****

Tango leaned back in the seat, his jaw tight. "If William's here, he's not just passing through. We've got to figure out what Doyle's endgame is and fast."

Poppa started the engine, pulling the car deeper into the shadows. "Then we wait and see who walks out of that bar. And if Doyle's pulling the strings, it won't be long before we find out what he's up to."

"Do you think this mess with Donatelli is connected somehow?"

"Too much of a coincidence — same bar, same sleazy people. Yeah, there's a connection somehow."
 
"But I don't think we are any closer to Donatelli." Tango sighed. "I hate waiting!"

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective


Chapter 17
Miracles - Chap 17

By Begin Again

 
 
Eleanor clenched the railing as she stood on the mansion's dilapidated porch and watched Garth and Danni pull out of the driveway. Part of her was furious because he hadn't listened, but another part felt he'd given her free rein to do things as she saw fit.

Miriam had promised to take her to Donatelli, and she was going to do that with or without him.

"Your FBI friend, he doesn't care about Matthew?" Miriam remained invisible, fearing the girls might come outside, but she was close enough to murmur to Eleanor. "Do you need him to help?"

Eleanor turned toward the sound of the voice. "Absolutely not! My FBI friend's name is Garth, and the woman with him —"

"She's like us. I could sense her aura." Miriam watched the tail lights disappear around the curve.

"Yes, she's like us, and she works with Matthew. She'd never have left if she knew what I was about to say. But they are gone, and now it is up to you and me to protect Matthew and get him to safety. Can you take me to him now?"

Miriam touched Eleanor's arm. "Willow will lead you to the cottage. It's across the field and through the trees. Will you be okay?"

Eleanor laughed. "Miriam, I'm like you. I've been transported across the ocean; I am sure I can make it to your cottage." She reached out and scratched between Willow's ears. "You'll lead me there, right, Willow?"

The mule brayed and swished his tail. Eleanor did one of her magic twitches with her hand and produced a carrot. "Here you go, boy."

Miriam giggled. "Don't go spoiling my mule unless you plan on teaching me that trick." She raised her eyebrow. "Can all of us do that?"

"With practice." Eleanor smiled. "But first, we've got things to attend to."

"Right. Now, don't be too disappointed if he doesn't recognize you. Somedays, I wonder if he even remembers who I am, and I've been caring for him every day."

"You go on ahead, Miriam. Willow and I will be right behind when he finishes his carrot." Willow pushed his nose against Eleanor's hand as if searching for more treats. She laughed, "Don't get greedy, Willow. We've got work to do. Come on, show me where you live."

*****

Miriam was standing in the doorway when Eleanor and Willow arrived. "He doesn't walk too fast anymore."

Eleanor handed the mule another carrot, and he munched away. "Willow did just fine." She inhaled deeply and expelled the air before stepping onto the small porch. "I can't believe how well hidden this place is from the main house. I would never have known it was here."

"I've let all the bushes and vines weave their way about so nobody would come snooping. When the vineyard was being worked long ago, this was the cooling down spot when things got too hot."

Eleanor looked out across the vineyard and nodded. It must have been a lovely spot."

"It was Trevor's dream — maybe Rebecca will make it hers too."

"I know I've not asked, nor have you mentioned it, but do you want to meet Rebecca?"

"I'd like nothing better, but I don't want to alarm the girl. I imagine just learning she had another family has been a big enough shock."

"Don't sell yourself short, Miriam. Having a second chance to be with my friends and family has been a blessing. It's a bit of a jolt for the living at first, but it's also a gift. You'll know if the time is right for you and your granddaughter."

"We'll see, but now it's your time with the young man. Are you ready?"

Eleanor nodded, followed Miriam inside the cottage, and couldn't help but be impressed. Despite its small size, it was immaculate, and it was obvious that every item in the home was precious to Miriam. "It's adorable. That tea set and dinnerware remind me of something similar I saw in Italy."

"It was a wedding gift from my parents. I believe it belonged to my grandmother." Miriam glowed as she ran her fingers around the edges of the plates. "But enough, let's get to seeing your young man. He's in the bedroom. Go ahead and open the door. He's expecting you."

Her breath caught when she saw him — thinner than she'd imagined, his once-strong frame reduced to trembling fragility. She swallowed hard, determined to keep her composure.

Donatelli sat on the edge of the bed, his body trembling as he tried to hold himself upright. He looked up as Eleanor entered, filling the room with a comforting warmth.

She knelt in front of him, her voice a gentle whisper. "Matthew — it's me, Eleanor."

His brow furrowed, his eyes searching hers as if trying to pull a memory from the haze. "I'm sorry. Should I know you?"

A shadow of sadness crossed Eleanor's face, but she smiled. "That's okay. You don't need to remember me right now. Just know that I'm here for you."

Something in his chest tightened, and though he couldn't place her, a deep sense of trust settled over him. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice rough.

She touched his hand gently. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"

He shook his head, and Eleanor's heart quivered when she saw the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. "It's okay. I'll get you help, and it will return to you in time." Unable to stop herself, she leaned forward and hugged him. For one moment, she thought she felt him hug her back. "I've got to go and arrange medical care, but I promise I'll be back. Miriam has taken wonderful care of you, but now it's time to get you away from here before they come looking for you."
 
He looked confused about who she was referring to but nodded.

Eleanor glanced one more time at him as she left the room. She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked her contacts, thankful she'd kept it from the last time she needed Frank DiVito's help.

Miriam lingered by the door, her worry evident.

It was Frank's private number, so Eleanor knew he would answer. She didn't wait for him to say hello when she heard him pick up. "Frankie, it's Eleanor —"
 
"Your voice is music to my ears. It's great to hear from you. Are you still keeping my old friend in line?"

"I'm trying, but we both know he's a handful. I hate to ask, but I need your help again. It's Donatelli."
 
Frank commented, and she chuckled before answering, "Yes, that Donatelli. I promise to explain later, but time is of the essence. He needs to be moved to your hospital immediately with as little commotion as possible." She paused.

"I don't need an explanation, Eleanor. You are my friend, and we help each other."

Eleanor gave him the address, and he told her the helicopter would be in the air and on its way in fifteen minutes with an estimated arrival time of twenty minutes.

"Thank you, Frank. I owe you."
 
"You owe me nothing. That's what friends are for — I do what I can."

As they were saying their goodbyes, Miriam heard the rumble of an approaching car and peered outside. Her voice raised an octave with fear. "Eleanor — someone's here. Up at the mansion gate."

"Is it Garth?"

"No, I think it's those other law guys that were on the cliff this morning." Miriam turned toward her, frowning.

"Frank, we've got visitors. I'll do my best to hold them off, but please hurry."

Eleanor ended the call and immediately called Jenna. As her daughter said hello, she rushed into what she had to say, "Jenna, you've got company coming. I've no time to explain but be prepared to go with whatever happens. I'm on my way. If they want to come in, act like the place is haunted."
 
"Haunted? Are you—" Before Jenna could ask questions, the line went dead.
 
Rebecca stood at the window. "Jenna, there's two men outside walking around. What do you think they want?"

"If I was to guess, they are probably looking for Matthew."

"What do we do if they come to the door?"

"Mom says to act like you think the place is haunted?"

"They're not going to believe me."

"I don't have time to explain, Rebecca, but if my mother is behind this, it'll work."

"Your mother — Eleanor — what can she do?"

"Oh gosh, there isn't a good way to tell you this, but —" Someone knocked on the door, and Jenna blurted out, "My mother's a ghost."

"What? Are you kidding me?" Rebecca stood with her mouth open. "Jenna, that's not even funny."

"Trust me, Rebecca. She's an honest-to-goodness spirit. So be prepared for anything."

The knocking was louder as Rebecca opened the door to Owen Maxwell and Joe DeLuca. Detective DeLuca flashed his badge. "Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I thought this place was abandoned. Are you okay?"

Remembering what Jenna said, she decided to play along, anything to make them disappear. Stammering, she grabbed his hand, "Detective, come in. I just inherited this place, and it's — it's haunted."

"Haunted, ma'am?" DeLuca couldn't hide his snicker. "Sure, we'll gladly step inside and check around for you. Are you alone?"

"No, my friend is here with me." Rebecca stepped aside and let the two men enter.

"Wow, from the looks of the outside, I'd have never guessed it was so nice in here. You've been busy."

Owen Maxwell spoke for the first time. "You said your friend was here?"

"Yes, she was resting."

Jenna entered the room, knowing that the two men would recognize her. Owen wasted no time. "It's Jenna, right? You're the girl Donatelli was dating." His eyes roamed across Jenna's protruding stomach and then to her face. "You know he's wanted for murder, don't you? It's a criminal offense to aid a wanted person."

Jenna glared at Owen Maxwell, and if looks could kill, she knew she'd be up on murder charges as well. "Matthew didn't kill anyone. I don't know what you are trying to pull, but it won't work."

"So, you're saying he isn't here?" Maxwell questioned, obviously doubtful that Jenna was telling the truth.

"I'm saying you are wasting your time, but feel free to look around." She waved her hand as if saying he was free to pass.

Rebecca moved closer to Jenna. "Look around, but remember I forewarned you that the place is haunted."

As DeLuca opened his notebook to jot down some questions, the pen suddenly shot from his hand and hovered mid-air. His eyes widened as it slowly rotated, then scribbled something illegible in the air before clattering onto the table.

"What the hell—" Maxwell started, but he was cut off as one of the teacups on the sideboard floated toward him. It hung in front of his face momentarily as though inspecting him before tipping just enough to splash tea onto his shoes.

DeLuca jumped to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "What kind of joke is this?" he barked.

Rebecca gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Oh, it's not a joke! They do things like this all the time!"

A bookshelf creaked, and several books tumbled to the floor and then magically returned to the shelf. The curtains fluttered though the windows were firmly shut. DeLuca's hand hovered near his holster but stopped short of drawing his gun.

The grand chandelier above them began to sway ominously, its glass prisms casting fragmented rainbows on the walls. A low, guttural moan echoed through the room as the house creaked loudly — Eleanor's doing.

"Looking for someone? A ghost, perhaps?" Miriam's voice was hollow. Her words echoed as if spoken from all directions at once.

Eleanor pressed her wet fingers against DeLuca's cheek as an added touch. "Here's a goodbye kiss."

Jenna stepped forward, her expression of feigned concern. "It's been happening ever since we got here. You believe us now, don't you?"

"Believe you?" DeLuca hissed, glancing around as though expecting another object to come flying. "I believe this place needs an exorcist."

A faint chuckle — Eleanor's — echoed through the room, sending a shiver down both men's spines.

"DeLuca, let's get out of here," Maxwell muttered, edging toward the door.

"You don't have to tell me twice," DeLuca snapped halfway to the exit. "Someone else can check this place out, but I've had enough."

As they stumbled onto the front porch, DeLuca rubbed his face, trying to shake off the strange feeling crawling up his spine. "Look, I don't know what's going on in there, but I'm not sticking around to find out."

Still visibly shaken, Maxwell pointed to the distant cliff where a faint light hovered. "Look at that?"

DeLuca squinted, the sound of helicopter blades faintly audible in the distance. "Yeah, I see it. And I don't like it."

The two men exchanged a wary glance before quickly making their way to their car. As they pulled away from the house, Maxwell glanced in the rear-view mirror at its ominous silhouette.

"Next time someone tells me a place is haunted, I'm taking their word for it," he muttered.

DeLuca didn't respond, his gaze locked on the faint light of the helicopter disappearing into the night sky, wondering if it was real or — something supernatural.

*****

Rebecca sank into one of the overstuffed chairs as Eleanor materialized, "Am I dreaming? None of this can be real, can it?"

Eleanor chuckled. "Sorry for the shock, but it was the only plan I could devise on such short notice."

Jenna smiled at her friend. "Told you she was a ghost."
 
Rebecca shook her head as she tried to accept what had happened. "A ghost." Seconds later, they all broke into a round of laughter, with Miriam watching and smiling from the doorway.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective


Chapter 18
Miracles - Chap 18

By Begin Again

 
 
Eleanor and Miriam stood on the cottage porch as the hum of helicopter blades sliced through the stillness of the night. A gust of wind whipped through the clearing as Frank DiVito's rescue copter descended, its landing lights casting shadows.

Frank stepped out first, his tailored suit stark against the wild brush and vines. His usually cold and calculating expression softened as he spotted Eleanor, illuminated by the moonlight.

"Eleanor," he said gruffly, his voice carrying over the rotor's roar. "We'll take care of him. You have my word."

She nodded, her ghostly hands clasped tightly in front of her. "He doesn't have much time, Frank. Please —"

Frank turned to his men. "Move fast. Don't jostle him." To Eleanor, he added, "We've got this."

Two paramedics, dressed in black tactical gear, hurried past him with a stretcher. Inside the cottage, Miriam hovered near Donatelli, her face etched with worry. His bruises were stark against his pale skin, and his shallow breathing was barely audible. Sitting had taken its toll, and now he was exhausted.

As they carefully lifted Donatelli onto the stretcher, Eleanor followed. "He's a good man," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Now standing by the helicopter, Frank gestured for his men to hurry. "Get him to the hospital. Use the private wing." His tone was sharp and commanding, but his eyes softened as he glanced at Eleanor.

The paramedics secured Donatelli in the helicopter, the machine's rotors picking up speed. Frank approached Eleanor one last time, his voice low. "We'll take good care of him. Trust me."

"He's in danger, Frank. Someone is framing him for murder."

"Doyle?"

Eleanor 's surprise was evident as she stared at Frank.

"I've heard rumors. We're prepared. He's safe."

"I hope you're right, Frank," she said softly. "For his sake — and Jenna's."

Frank's gaze held hers momentarily before he stepped onto the helicopter. Eleanor stood rooted to the spot as it rose into the night sky, her eyes following the blinking lights until they disappeared into the darkness.

She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. "Please — let him survive," she whispered into the night, her voice a blend of hope and desperation.

Miriam joined her, her trembling hand touching Eleanor's arm. "We did the right thing, didn't we?"

"We did, Miriam. And now I've got to tell my daughter." Eleanor sighed, and her shoulders sagged. "Wish me luck."

*****

Spotting some low-hanging branches, Garth pulled the car off the road and parked beneath them. It was about fifty feet to the bar's parking lot. He took his phone from his pocket and dialed Tango's number.

"Boss, you here?"

"Parked down the road a bit. What's happening?"

"I sure wish we had eyes inside, but we'd all be recognized. So I guess we wait and see what happens."

"I can go inside, Garth." Danni could feel her adrenalin pumping. "I'll do it."

"I'm not sending a girl into that dive by herself. They'd take one look at you, and you'd be served up to someone on a platter."

"Not if they couldn't see me. I can be invisible." Danni grinned. "As Donatelli would say, I'm the best invisible bloodhound he's ever known."

Garth laughed. "You're right. It's perfect."

"I can slip through walls, windows, whatever and see or hear whatever is going on." Danni opened the car door. "See you in a few." As she walked toward the bar, her body faded away.

*****

Garth left Danni's car and headed toward the parking lot, keeping in the shadows to avoid being seen. He spotted the black SUV with Tango and Poppa inside and worked his way toward it, stopping whenever anyone came outside the bar. His stealthy maneuvers paid off as he tapped on the driver's window and was greeted by Tango's revolver.

"Whoa!" he hissed. "Nice draw there, son."

"I learned from the best." As Tango continued, Garth climbed into the rear seat, "You're lucky I didn't shoot first and ask questions later."

"You saw me, didn't you?" Garth was grinning, knowing his men were the best.

Tango laughed. "I can't take the credit. Poppa spotted you first. Nice try, though."

"I couldn't sit in that car any longer. This has got to be the strangest stakeout we have ever been on. A ghost doing our surveillance."

"Hey, Donatelli seems to think it's the way to go. It sure beats getting recognized and shot at."

"Let's just hope she hears something worthwhile."

"Boss, those guys aren't playing gin rummy. Something's going down, and it must be big. However, I don't know if she'll hear anything to help us close this case. What's a painting got to do with framing Donatelli?"

"After you told me about the painting, I got to thinking — no wisecracks out of either of you. I do think before I jump in headfirst — most of the time." He tipped his Stetson back, and both men turned in their seats to look at him. "Doyle's in prison for forging and selling priceless paintings to private investors. Maybe he had a few hidden, and now he needs money to finance his crusade. We know William was involved with the pageant fiasco. Maybe he does more dirty work for Doyle than we know about. There could be a connection between the two. Why else would he be back in the States knowing I'd be on his tail if I heard anything about it? It's got to be something big."

"So, you think Doyle's got William returning the forged painting to the gallery and selling the real one overseas? Makes sense." Tango nodded and mulled over what his boss had said.

"But I still don't see how that connects to Donatelli," Poppa asked. "And why is Rossi involved? Doyle might be a big shot in this area, but why would the underworld care about him?"

"They wouldn't unless he's got something they want? Or knows something?"

Garth shook his head. "I think it's something tangible because if they just wanted to keep him quiet, they could easily shut him up for good inside the prison. Happens every day."

Tango thought about it for a second. "What's bigger than selling a painting?"

"I don't know, but I hope Danni can get some answers. I don't know how long I can just sit and wait." Garth heaved a sigh and stared out the window.

"Get used to it, boss. She might be a ghost — but she's a woman, and you always have to wait for them." The three men laughed and then fell silent as they watched the bar's neon light flickering and the door opening and closing with people coming and going.

*****

Crystal lingered in the stockroom doorway across from Tony's office. Her heart raced as she strained to hear the conversation. Inside, Vince Rossi leaned against the desk, his tailored suit at odds with the peeling paint and scuffed furniture. Everyone in the room was tense.

William's overzealous confidence had vaporized when he entered Tony's office and saw Rossi. He'd had a few run-ins with the lawyer and hadn't come out on the winning end.

Rossi studied the two paintings leaning against the wall and then looked at William, his eyes narrow and menacing. "This arrangement you have with the gallery — are you sure it's solid?"

William gnawed on the inside of his cheek before answering. "He's a lock."

Rossi moved closer, his breath warm and minty on William's face. "Nothing's a lock, William. What makes you so sure you can trust him?"

"Jackson owns the gallery. He's the one who removed the originals from the auction house and replaced them with the forgeries. When Doyle discovered the fake ones, his people put pressure on Jackson. The fakes are now in the gallery, and these are the real deal. His wife doesn't even know about the exchange."

"If this Jackson guy opens his mouth, you're going down with him. There's no connection to the Judge, right?"

William swallowed hard. "He understands that."

"Good, because it's your life, his life, and his wife's. Is that clear?"

William nodded, but Rossi wasn't satisfied. "Did I make myself clear as to the consequences if this comes back on the Judge?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Satisfied, Rossi turned his attention to Tony and Bruiser. "Did either of you get any information from Doyle's cellmates regarding the diamonds?"

Tony shook his head. "Doyle's pretty closed mouth. The guard says the only thing he can talk about is getting revenge on Donatelli and anyone else who crossed him."

"Do I need to pay this guard a personal house call? I want a return on the money he's getting to cozy up to Doyle."

"Understood. I'll get in touch with him."

"Do that and make sure he understands that the next visit will be from me, and I don't play nice. Got it?"

Tony shifted his weight from one foot to the next, unable to look Rossi in the eye. He muttered, "Got it."

Rossi shifted his gaze to Bruiser. "You, on the other hand, are dealing with lifers, guys with nothing to look forward to except twenty-four hours inside concrete walls. Are you telling me none of them can get anything from Doyle about the diamonds?"

"That's what they say. He's never mentioned them." Bruiser leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Looking smug, he shrugged and added, "Maybe he doesn't have them?"

Rossi's hand snatched the front of Bruiser's t-shirt, and his spittle sprayed on the bouncer's face. "He's got them, and my boss wants them back. If you want to keep breathing, it's your job to find out where they are." He dropped his hand and brushed it against William's silk shirt, removing the sweat. "Get back to work."

Outside, Crystal felt a chill creep up her spine. She barely had time to step back when Bruiser yanked the door open, catching her in the hallway.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled, his massive hand gripping her arm.

"I-I was just passing by," Crystal stammered, her tray clattering to the floor.

Bruiser didn't buy it. His slap landed hard across her face, sending her stumbling against the wall. Tears stung her eyes as she gasped for breath.

"That's enough, Bruiser," Rossi said sharply, his tone more annoyed than concerned. "If you can't control your women, send them packing."

Bruiser grabbed Crystal by the chin, forcing her to look at him. "If you're smart, you'll keep your mouth shut. Otherwise, you won't make it out of here alive."

Bruiser shoved her and walked toward the bar as if his problem was solved. Crystal lay sprawled across the floor. She inched her way toward the door. Reaching it, she stood, yanked the door open, and raced outside.

Danni had been invisible, lingering in the shadows as the scene unfolded. Her ethereal form vibrated with anger as she watched Bruiser's brutality. She turned away from the office, disappearing through the walls to the back parking lot, where she found Crystal leaning against the dumpster, clutching her bruised cheek and sobbing.

Materializing just enough to be seen, Danni approached cautiously. "Crystal," she said softly.

Crystal gasped and stepped back, her wide eyes filled with terror. "Leave me alone."
 
“I saw what he did to you. You don’t deserve this.”
 
"Nobody can stop him."

"I'm a friend," Danni said, her voice gentle but urgent. "I know what they've done. You can't stay here. They'll kill you if they think you're a threat."

Crystal shook her head, her voice breaking. "I can't leave. They'll find me. They always find me."

Danni knelt beside her, her hand touching Crystal's shoulder. "You don't have to do this alone. I can help you. But you have to trust me."

Crystal hesitated, then nodded weakly. "What do I do?"

"First, give me anything you've overheard. Everything," Danni said, her tone firm. "Then, we get you somewhere safe."

Crystal hesitated, then pulled a gold Rolex from her pocket, the face scratched but unmistakable. "This — this was his. The guy they left for dead."

Danni's eyes narrowed as she recognized Donatelli's watch. "You've just given me what I need. Now, let's get you out of here."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective


Chapter 19
Miracles - Chap 19

By Begin Again

 

 
 
 
The faint rumble of a car engine broke the stillness of the countryside. The gravel crunched under the wheels of a sleek black sedan as it pulled into the lot. The driver parked near a row of Harley's, each shinier than the next.

From their stakeout spot in the shadows of an overgrown thicket, Tango adjusted his binoculars, focusing on the car. "Well, well, looks like we've got company."

Owen Maxwell climbed out of the car, smoothing his high-priced, out-of-budget suit. He adjusted the Italian fedora on his head, imagining himself thriving in the gangster world.

Garth chuckled, "He's acting like a rooster in a henhouse."

The passenger door opened, and a man's hand rested on the edge. Tango squinted. "That's Joey DeLuca — Maxwell's newest lapdog. They were together at the crime scene too.

Poppa leaned forward, peering through the windshield. "Now, what are the odds those two clowns show up at this dive the same night Rossi and William are inside?"

Tango smirked. "Slim to none. Something's going down."

Maxwell slammed the car door and strode toward the bar entrance without looking back. DeLuca remained in the driver's seat, the glow of a cigarette illuminating his face for a brief moment. He glanced at his phone and then at Maxwell's back as he disappeared inside the bar.

"DeLuca's staying put," Garth observed, his voice low. He checked his firearm. "Well, William isn't slipping through our fingers this time. I'll position myself near his car in case he checks out of the party early."

Tango nodded, keeping his eyes on the bar's entrance. "Good call. We'll stay put and keep an eye out for Danni.

Garth handed Poppa the binoculars. "Stay sharp. This crew plays dirty, and we're walking into their playground."

*****

Jason DeLuca, Joey's father and once a formidable detective, sat in his modest room in a quiet nursing home. Confined to a wheelchair, he no longer wanted to join the activity center. Instead, the faint hum of the TV filled the air as the Cubs game played on the screen. His head bobbed as he nodded off time and time again.

"Bottom of the ninth," the announcer's voice boomed. "Bases loaded."

The crowd roared. Jason stirred, opening his eyes groggily.

"You almost missed the end of the game," Eleanor teased.

Jason turned his head slowly, his heart skipping a beat. There she was — Eleanor — his former friend and confidante.

"Am I dreaming?" Jason muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"No," Eleanor replied with a smile. "But I don't want you to miss this last pitch. Watch."

Jason narrowed his eyes as he looked at the screen, skepticism lining his face. "Why bother? It's three to nothing. He'll strike out, and the Cubs will lose. Same old story."

"Not this time," Eleanor said, her voice laced with certainty. "Bases are loaded. Anything's possible."

Jason scoffed. "Yeah, right. This guy doesn't have it in him."

Eleanor leaned forward slightly. "Don't be so sure. Sometimes, we surprise ourselves. Watch."

As the pitcher wound up, Jason's disinterest faltered. The crowd's chants grew louder, and he found himself gripping the arms of his chair. "Come on!"

The ball flew through the air. CRACK!

"It's — it's a home run!" Jason shouted, pounding the chair's arms as the Cubs took the lead. "Cubs win! Cubs win!"

He turned to Eleanor, breathless. "Lady, where were you when I was losing at poker? How'd you know?"

Eleanor smirked. "Call it woman's intuition."

Jason's joy faded as he took a long look at her. "This has to be a dream. Not only did the Cubs win, but I'm talking to a dead woman," he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Eleanor's expression softened. "You're not dreaming, Jason. I came here because your son needs you."

Jason's face hardened. "Joey? He hasn't needed this old man in a long time. Besides, what could I do? In case you haven't noticed —" He gestured to his legs, now stubs beneath a blanket. "I don't get around much anymore."

"Joey's about to make the biggest mistake of his life," Eleanor offered — her tone was serious.

Jason looked away. "That's too bad, but he doesn't listen to me. Even if I could get to him, what could I say to change his mind?"

Eleanor reached out and touched his arm. "You're his father. He may not always listen, but deep down, he still hears you. You've got to try."

Jason sighed, his shoulders slumping. "And how exactly do I do that? I can't just wheel myself out of here."

Eleanor smiled. "That's why I'm here. I'll take you. But you're going to have to trust me."

Jason eyed her warily. "Trust a ghost? Am I going to fly like Peter Pan?"

Eleanor extended her hand, glowing faintly in the dim light. "Something like that."

"You're joking, right?"

"No, but trust me, Jason. It's worth it."

Jason hesitated, then placed his trembling hands in hers. A warmth spread through him, and suddenly, the room shifted. The familiar walls of the nursing home blurred and dissolved, replaced by a kaleidoscope of light and shadow.

"Where are we going?" Jason asked, gripping her hand tightly.

"To Joey," Eleanor replies. "And to a chance at redemption — for both of you." She sighed. "And we're here."

"That fast?"

"Yup! It's great, huh?"

Eleanor settled him with a soft landing beneath the trees. "I wish I could say this was permanent, Jason, but it's only for a few hours."

He stared in disbelief. The wheelchair was gone, replaced by a strong, younger version of himself, standing tall in his detective's trench coat. He looked down at his legs, fighting the tears. "I've got legs."

Eleanor smiled. "It's not about the legs, Jason. You've got a second chance. Use it wisely."

He took a deep breath, knowing his son's future was on his shoulders. He straightened his coat, determination etched on his face. "Let's do this."

*****

Joey DeLuca leaned against his car, his fingers drumming on the hood. His jaw tightened as he glanced toward the bar's entrance. Maxwell was meeting with William and Rossi, the kind of men he'd swore he'd never work with. But here he was, standing on the edge of a decision he couldn't undo.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, flipping it over in his hand. Dialing for backup would be the right thing to do — it's what the good cop in him would have done months ago. But the promise of easy money, the pressure from Maxwell, and his own father's voice echoing in his mind, "You'll never make it in this world without bending the rules," had cost him the battle to remain clean.

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice, low and familiar.

"Still got that tell, Joey. Drumming your fingers when you're nervous."

Joey spun around, his heart racing. His breath caught in his throat when he saw his father — Jason DeLuca — standing tall and looking more like the man he remembered from his childhood than the broken man he'd last visited in the nursing home.

"Dad?" Joey stammered. "How are you —?"

Jason stepped closer. "Don't worry about how. Worry about why. What are you doing here, Joey?"

Joey ran a hand through his hair, his nerves fraying. "This isn't your concern. I've got it under control."

Jason snorted. "You? Standing out here while the real crooks do the dirty work inside? That's not control, son. That's cowardice."

Joey's eyes flashed with anger. "You don't know what you're talking about! I'm doing what I have to."

Jason's voice softened. "You're better than this. I know you are. You wanted to be the cop who did the right thing, who didn't take shortcuts. What happened to that guy?"

Joey turned away, his fists clenched. "That guy learned the system's rigged. Doing the right thing doesn't pay the bills or keep the people you love safe."

Jason stepped around to face him, forcing Joey to meet his gaze. "Do you think working with Maxwell and Rossi will? Those men don't care about you. When you're not useful, they'll throw you to the wolves. Is that the legacy you want to leave behind?"

Joey hesitated, his defenses cracking. "You think I don't know that? But what choice do I have? You don't understand —"

Jason grabbed Joey by the shoulders, his grip firm but not harsh. "I do understand. I've been where you are. I made my own mistakes, Joey. I thought I was doing what I had to, and I lost everything because of it — your respect, your mother's love, my own damn self-worth. Don't make my mistakes."

Joey's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I don't know if I can fix this."

Jason smiled. "Sure you can. It's in all of us. We have to want it bad enough. The Joey DeLuca I raised — he wanted it. He wanted to be the good guy. That guy's still in there, son. You just have to let him out."

Joey looked down at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. "If I call this in, they'll know it was me. They will have my badge."

Jason straightened. "They might not, considering the circumstances. If they do, you'll start fresh. Clean. And you'll look in the mirror every morning and know you did the right thing. That's worth more than any badge."

Joey took a deep breath, his fingers trembling. After a long pause, he looked back at his father. "You're right."

Jason's face lit up with pride as Joey dialed his precinct.

The line connected. "This is Detective DeLuca. I need backup at the Hideaway Bar, out near the cliffs and the abandoned house. I'm not certain yet, but there's something big going down inside."

As Joey hung up, Jason clasped a hand on his shoulder. "That's my boy."

Joey glanced at his father. "The past —" He faltered, his emotions spiraling out of control.

Jason hugged his son. "You've got this, Joey."

When he turned to thank his father, Jason was gone. All that remained was the faint scent of his father's old cologne and the lingering warmth of his touch.

Joey looked to the sky, his resolve stronger than ever. "Thanks, Dad. I don't know how, but I'm thankful you were here."

*****

Danni's hand gripped Crystal's arm tightly as they slid along the side of the building. "Don't you worry, I'm getting you out of here."

Crystal whimpered, her face still red from Bruiser's slap. "He'll kill me if he catches me," she whispered, her voice shaking.

"Not on my watch," Danni hissed. "We just need to —"

A loud crunch of heavy boots on the gravel made them both freeze.

"Where do you think you're going, Crystal?" Bruiser's voice growled from the shadows as he stepped out, his massive form blocking their path. His hand shot out, grabbing Crystal's arm and yanking her back toward him.

Crystal screamed, and Danni didn't hesitate. She lunged, striking Bruiser's arm with enough force to make him loosen his grip. "Get off her!" she snarled, landing a kick squarely against his shin.

Bruiser staggered but recovered quickly, his face twisted in rage. "You think you can take me, little girl?"

Before he could grab Danni, a sudden spray of loose gravel pelted his body. He yelped, stumbling back.

"What the hell?" Bruiser spun around just in time to see a tree branch soaring toward him. It struck him hard on the shoulder, sending him stumbling again.

Danni blinked, stunned, as Eleanor stepped out of the shadows, another branch in hand, poised like a seasoned batter.

"You can't have all the fun, dear," Eleanor said with a sly grin, hefting the branch for another swing.

Bruiser roared, charging at Eleanor, but she was quicker than he expected. With a deft sidestep, she brought the branch down on the back of his knees, making him collapse to the ground with a grunt.

"Eleanor?" Danni asked, still holding a shaking Crystal behind her.

Eleanor gave a sharp nod, twirling the branch like a weapon. "Get her out of here. I'll deal with this one."

"But —"

"Go!" Eleanor barked, her gaze locked on the groaning Bruiser.

Danni hesitated only for a moment before pulling Crystal away. As they disappeared, Eleanor tightened her grip on the branch, her eyes glinting with determination.

"Move, and you'll wish it was just the branch," she muttered, readying for another round.

Bruiser lay on the ground, staring at a branch swinging in the air, and no one was holding it.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective


Chapter 20
Miracles - Chap 20

By Begin Again

"Leaving us, William?" Rossi smiled, but his eyes carried a different message.

William adjusted his jacket while his hand twisted nervously around the doorknob. "Um — I thought I should get the forgeries to the gallery while they're closed. Don't want anyone seeing us."

"Now that's using your brain besides something to keep your ears apart." Rossi and Maxwell chuckled.

Anger flashed in William's eyes, but he didn't say a thing. He knew Rossi was trying to show him that he was the kingpin and that anyone who wanted to survive better remember it.

William nodded. "I better get going." He opened the office door and hurried through the bar, eager to get to his car and as far away from Rossi as possible.

As he stepped outside, he scanned the dimly lit parking lot. He didn't see anyone walking around or hanging out in a car, so he walked briskly toward his car.

As he slipped into the driver's seat, the barrel of a gun rammed into his side. In his eagerness to get out of the bar, he'd forgotten his habit of checking inside the car before getting in. Now, it appeared, he'd made a fatal mistake.

"Hello, stranger. Nice of you to come back to the States." Garth snarled. "Guess you thought I'd given up finding you."

"Do I know you?" William's voice quivered as he stared out the windshield. "Maybe you're mistaking me for someone else?"

"There's no mistake and no German Consulate to help you this time. It's just you, me, my badge — oh yeah, did I mention my itchy trigger finger on this gun?"

William froze, his hand still on the door handle and his eyes darting to assess his chances of escape.

"Don't even think about it," Garth warned. "Your chances of escaping a second time are null and void. You even flinch, and this gun goes off. Understand?"

William nodded.

"Now, nice and easy, put your hands on the steering wheel. And in case you're wondering, I've got plenty of backup." He lifted a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and snapped the bracelets around William's wrist and the wheel. "Now, we sit back and relax. See what happens with your friends inside."

*****

"I see why Doyle hung on to these babies." Rossi let out a low whistle while examining the paintings. "CJ Grey — names familiar for some reason."

"That's the name of the woman Doyle knocked off," Maxwell explained.

"Grey?"

"Well, Eleanor Bennett was her real name. And Doyle just arranged for her sister to meet an untimely death in a car crash a few weeks ago."

"The Ashley woman? What's he got against that family?" Rossi asked.

"Guess he thinks they helped Donatelli put him behind bars, and he won't be satisfied until he gets his revenge."

Rossi stared at Maxwell. "You must be pretty tight with Doyle to know so much dirt on him. Is that how you got appointed Special Prosecutor? Doyle pulling strings from behind bars?"

Maxwell realized he had given Rossi too much information. His gaze darted around the room and then settled on his shoes. "I couldn't pass the bar, and being high school chums, he helped me out. I owed him a favor."

Rossi's gaze bore into Maxwell, making him squirm. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Owen. You now work for me, not Doyle. And have no doubts about which of us holds the Royal Flush."

Maxwell's eyes lifted to look at Rossi. "No, sir."

"Any other information you'd like to share since we're best buds now?"

Rossi's attempt at humoring Maxwell wasn't lost on him. His mind raced as he thought of something he had to offer that might impress him. A light bulb lit up!

"When DeLuca and I were at the abandoned house, we saw a black helicopter hovering in the distance, over the crash site where they drug Donatelli's car out of the water."

An alarm rang inside Rossi's brain. "A helicopter?"

Sensing Rossi's interest, Maxwell elaborated. "I'm not sure, but I think it had an emblem on the side."

"A medical symbol?"

"No — now, remember there was some distance between us and the copter, but I thought it looked like a cross with —" Maxwell hesitated, trying to envision the emblem. "Like vines or something."

Rossi's reaction was immediate. He inhaled sharply and slammed his fist against the file cabinet. Maxwell jumped, startled.

Rossi snarled, "Could it have been a cross and a serpent — a snake wrapped around the cross?"

"Might have been. Like I said, I couldn't see it that well."

Rossi's voice was menacing as he growled, "DiVito!"

Grabbing his phone, he placed his first call to his current headquarters. He clipped off orders when the call was picked up, ensuring the house was being watched and anyone leaving was tailed. He placed one last order before disconnecting the call: "If any of them head north to Frank DiVito's place, I want them taken care of — and I don't care how you do it, understood?"

He gathered his thoughts and then placed his subsequent call to Frank DiVito.

"DiVito residence."

"Sammy, this is Vince Rossi. He got you fielding his calls?"

"Vince —" Sammy shifted toward his boss, waiting for an okay. Frank took the phone from him.

"Vince, it's been a long time. How's things in Chicago?"

"I'm actually vacationing in your neck of the woods, Frankie. I thought I saw your helicopter. It reminded me I hadn't talked to you in a while."

"Didn't think the quiet countryside was your style. Sure you're not here because of Doyle?"

"John Doyle? Now, why would I have any interest in that wanna-be gangster? He's behind bars, last I heard."

"You're right about Doyle. But what's your interest in the copter?"

"Okay, Frank, enough of the games. I don't know how or why you're mixed up in this Donatelli thing, but I want him."

"Donatelli? He's that hotshot detective that's being accused of murder, right?"

"Yeah, that's the guy."

"What's so special about this guy, Vince?"

"Just need to clean up Doyle's loose ends and make sure nothing else goes wrong."

"Still looking to get those diamonds, aren't you?" Frankie laughed. "I'm sure Doyle's keeping a closed mouth on that one."

"Diamonds? Do you mean Doyle has a pocket of ice hidden somewhere? That's news to me." Rossi chuckled.

"You and I both know those missing diamonds are the only reason Doyle is living in comfort inside those prison walls instead of being buried six feet under."

"Careful. That sounds like a possible threat," Frankie added, knowing it was more of a promise.

"Between you and me, it's not a threat. It's going to happen." Vince cleared his throat. "Now, back to Donatelli. You've got him in your fancy medical center, and I'm coming to get him. There's not going to be a problem, is there?"

"I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully. I might be retired from active duty, but if you or anyone else threatens my home — and this is my home — I guarantee I've got the backup to stop them."

"Sorry you feel that way, Frankie. Is it worth a war to protect a two-bit detective?"

"He's a guest in my house and a friend of a very close friend —"

Do you mean your FBI flunky? He's just fluff behind a badge. He's not a threat to me."

Frankie laughed. "If you believe that, you're a fool. If Garth gets on your scent, you and all your so-called wise guys will join Doyle behind those bars."

Vince laughed. "You still got a sense of humor, I'll give you that. I'll be seeing you soon, Frankie. Hope you wise up before I get there." He clicked off the line, a scowl on his face.

Maxwell looked concerned. "Everything alright, Vince."

"Sure, sure. Just bantering with an old friend. Everything's under control."

*****

Still in her ethereal state, Eleanor checked Bruiser's comatose state, then slipped through the walls into the smokey bar. Her shimmering presence went unnoticed by the rough crowd. She smirked, enjoying being in her element and feeling sorry that Danni would miss out on all the fun.

Her inner self smiled and yelled, "It's party time!"

She moved near the pool table, picked up a cue stick, and made it levitate before taking one precise stroke and sinking the eight ball in the corner pocket.

"What the hell?" Banjo bellowed, slamming his cue down. "Who's screwing with us?" He spun around, his surprise evident, searching for the jokester, but everyone was involved elsewhere.

"You knocked that eight ball in yourself," Snake growled accusingly.

"I wasn't even near the table. Didn't you see that stick floating —"

"Banjo, you're drunker than a skunk if you think cue sticks are taking shots by themselves."

"You calling me names?" One second later, Banjo's cue stick broke over Snake's back, drawing a few rowdy cheers.

Amused, Eleanor tipped a half-empty beer mug off the table. The frothy contents splashed onto another man's lap.

"Damn it!" he roared, shoving the nearest body.

"I didn't touch you, moron!" the other snapped, shoving back.

Men threw punches within seconds, and the room descended into a full-blown bar brawl. Chairs flew, tables crashed, and bottles shattered. Eleanor floated back, her smile wide as she surveyed the commotion.

Bruiser stumbled through the front door, yelling at Tony. "We've got company coming."

Tony raced from behind the bar toward the office, sticking his head inside. "We've got company outside, Vince. And I hear sirens, so there's more on the way."

"Damn! Can we get out the back door and through the woods?" Vince moved toward the door.

"Doubtful, but —" Tony hurried across the room to a large armoire, opened it, and revealed a doorway. "These steps lead to a tunnel that will bring you to a safe house. You can get reinforcements from there."

Vince clasped Tony's hand. "I owe you one, my friend." He stepped into the armoire with Maxwell close behind, groaning about not wearing hiking shoes.

Tony started to close the door when he saw the paintings. "Vince, the paintings?"

"They're Doyle's. I'm not carrying them, so do what you want with them. Hide 'em, or let the cops find them in your dumpster. I've gotta go." Tony heard their footsteps descending the stairs as he closed the cabinet doors.

He opened another cabinet, exposing a small closet lined with guns but with room to slide the paintings into it. "They'll need a search warrant to find them, and by that time, I'll have them a new home." Satisfied, he slid the door closed, grabbed Vince and Maxwell's coats, and returned to the bar.

Accustomed to the bar brawls, he focused on carrying out his mission of decoys. He handed the coats to two of his henchmen and barked, "Out the front, quick! You're Rossi and Maxwell. Make it look real."

After hearing Rossi's name, the men didn't even question it. They slipped into their coats and adjusted their hats. "On it," one yelled as they headed through the chaos toward the exit.

As they cleared the door, one zealous officer shouted, "There they are!"

"Hold on!" Garth said, narrowing his eyes. Something felt off. But the officers rushed in, tackling the decoys to the ground.

"Get off me!" one of the henchmen yelled, struggling with the two officers on top of him.

Garth snarled, "Let'em up. Neither of them is Rossi. You got the wrong guys!"

His phone buzzed in his pocket before Garth could unleash his full frustration. Snarling, he yanked it out, ready to snap at whoever dared call in the middle of this mess.

"It's Frank," the voice on the other end said, sharp and urgent.

Garth straightened, his irritation replaced by wariness. "What's up?"

"Rossi just declared war," DiVito said. "He's coming for Donatelli. This isn't business anymore —it's personal."

Garth froze, the bar's noise fading into the background. His fingers tightened around the phone as Frankie's words settled over him. "Did you say he was coming to get Donatelli?"
 
"Yeah, somehow he knows that Eleanor had me helicopter him into the hospital. Weren't you aware of it?" Frankie rubbed his chin, realizing Eleanor hadn't mentioned anything to Garth. "Sorry, man, I thought you knew."
 
"I'm sorry that you're caught in the middle of this with Rossi. Eleanor shouldn't have —"
 
"Stop right there. I know we've known each other all our lives, but Eleanor's my friend, too. She needed help, and I was more than willing to give it to her and to Donatelli. He's in bad shape. Doesn't have any memory of who he is either."
 
Garth knew Eleanor had done what she felt was necessary so he couldn't blame her, but still —
 
Frankie could almost hear the wheels in Garth's brain spinning. "Listen to me, if you'd seen the detective you'd have made the same call. You've been busy, and she wanted to take care of one of her own."
 
"I know you're right, but —"
 
"You don't like to be kept out of the loop, but sometimes, others need to step up and do what they have to do. Cut her some slack."
 
"Maybe, but now it's on your doorstep." Garth's face was bright red.
 
"Don't worry about me. I've got it covered if Rossi comes my way. You do what you gotta do at that end. Donatelli's in good hands, and he's right where he needs to be. Sounds a little noisy there."
 
"Just the usual Saturday night biker's brawl. Thought we had Rossi cornered, but somehow he out maneuvered us."
 
"We're going to box him in, Garth. It might take a little time, but his days are numbered."
 
"I'm not sure we have time though, especially with Rossi. I thought this was all about Doyle but there's more to it, I guess."
 
Frank paused before answering, "It's about a lot of diamonds. Doyle's got New York believing he's got them, and that's where his power lies at the moment. He's calling the shots until someone comes up with those diamonds."
 
"Damn it," Garth muttered under his breath, his gaze snapping back to the bar. The chaos around him suddenly felt like a prelude to something far worse.

"Do what you need to, Garth," Frankie added before the line went dead, leaving Garth gripping the phone like it was his lifeline.

He turned back to his men, his jaw set and his voice cold. "Lock it down. Things just got a hell of a lot more complicated."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth


Chapter 21
Miracles - Chap 21

By Begin Again

 

In her search for Rossi and Maxwell, Eleanor had set the bar fight in motion and then followed Tony when he raced down the hall. She'd slipped into the office as Rossi and Maxwell disappeared inside the armoire. Her anger festered when she saw Tony with her paintings.

Memories washed over her. Those precious times long ago when Charles taught her to paint. Instantly, her thoughts switched to Jenna. Her daughter was agonizing over what had happened to Donatelli. She knew the right thing was to tell her that he was alive.

As she passed through the parking lot, she was about to tell Garth about what she'd discovered inside, but when she heard his conversation with Frank, she decided Jenna needed to be told by her and not Garth. With a firm resolve, she made her decision and left.

*****

Her thoughts raced as she approached the mansion. Finding Donatelli in that isolated cottage had been a bittersweet relief. He was alive, yes, but barely — his injuries severe, his mind clouded. She had wasted no time calling for help, summoning Frank and his helicopter to whisk him to safety. But the chaos that followed with Garth and Danni had kept her from Jenna far longer than she'd planned. And now, she feared she'd waited too long.

Her daughter deserved to know the truth, even if the truth might hurt her. She had convinced herself she was protecting Jenna, but deep down, she knew she had also been avoiding Jenna's wrath. Still, the truth could no longer wait.

She materialized in the mansion's living room. She could hear voices coming from upstairs. Rather than pop in on the girls, something Jenna abhorred, she stood at the base of the stairs and called, "Jenna, Rebecca — are you girls okay?"

Jenna appeared at the top of the steps. "Hi, Mom. Rebecca and I were exploring and discovered a box of old letters. Rebecca thinks her ancestors wrote them. Come on up?"

Eleanor knew she couldn't wait any longer. "Jenna — could I have a few minutes with you alone?"

"Sure, are you okay?" Jenna started down the stairs as she addressed her mom. "You look frazzled."

Eleanor swept her hair off her face. "I was caught in the middle of a bar fight."

"A bar fight?" Jenna took the last step and hugged Eleanor. "Mom, what's going on?"

"I started the fight, but Garth, Tango, and Danni were there. It's a long story, and I have something far more important to discuss."

"Mom, that sounds serious." Concern was etched on Jenna's face.

"It is, but let's sit down first. I'm a little winded." Eleanor knew she was stalling, but she thought Jenna should be seated when she learned about Donatelli.

"You need to stop getting into the middle of things. Ghost or not, something bad could happen."

"Honey, I'm already dead. I doubt anything worse than that can happen."

Jenna sat on the sofa beside her mother, unconsciously rubbing her stomach.

Eleanor's hand reached out and touched Jenna's hands. "You're okay, right? There's been a lot happening to upset you."

"I'm fine, but —" She waved her hand in a circle. "It just seems like I'm huge for being five months. At this rate, I'll look like a house."

"Is that what the doctor says?" Eleanor knew Jenna hadn't mentioned seeing a doctor, but she assumed it was because of the rape. "I'm not trying to be nosey but is that how long it's been since the attack?"

Jenna closed her eyes and inhaled. "Yes, and you might as well know I haven't seen a doctor."

"Jenna! You're five months pregnant, and you haven't been to an obstetrician?" Eleanor couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Don't start, please. I couldn't. Besides, I didn't know I was pregnant until Rebecca gave me the test."

"Did I hear my name?" Rebecca came into the room carrying a stack of letters. "Look what we found upstairs."

Eleanor nodded at Rebecca, but her mind was focused on Jenna. "Did you know that Jenna hasn't seen a doctor?"

Rebecca set the letters on the table. "Jenna, tell me that's not true. You know how important it is. There are tests to tell you how far along you are and how big the baby is, not to mention prenatal vitamins and other stuff."

"I don't need anyone to tell me how far along I am. I can count from the day of the attack. And just look at me, and you'll know the baby is growing just fine."

"Still —"

"Stop, Rebecca. You sound like my mother." Jenna turned toward Eleanor. "Now, back to Garth and the fight at the bar."

Rebecca gasped. "Fight? Was Garth in a fight? Was he — did he get hurt?"

Jenna grinned. "And who says they don't have any feelings for the cowboy? Garth wasn't in the fight. My mother was!"

"What? Eleanor, you were in a bar fight?"

"Not exactly, but I did start it on purpose. I needed to see what was going on inside the bar." Eleanor sighed and stood up, walking toward the window. She brushed aside the curtain and stared toward the cottage. "Jenna, I need to tell you something about Matthew."

Jenna's eyes widened. "What about him? Mom, do you know something?"

"I do." Eleanor hesitated, her fingers twisting nervously. "I found him, Jenna. He was being cared for in a cottage not far from here. When I saw him, I knew he needed immediate medical attention. I called Frank, and he flew him to the hospital by helicopter."

Jenna gasped, her hand instinctively going to her stomach. "You found him? And you didn't tell me right away? Why would you do that?"

"I thought I was doing the right thing," Eleanor said softly.

"You thought wrong!" Jenna snapped. "You're unbelievable at times."

"He was in such bad shape. I didn't want to give you hope only for it to be taken away if he didn't survive. And then — things got complicated. I had to help Garth and Danni, and time slipped away from me. I should have come to you sooner."

"And you thought letting me sit here day and night thinking he was dead was better? I — I love him." Jenna couldn't believe she'd said it aloud — it was the first time she admitted how she felt about him.

"Jenna, calm yourself. It's not good for you or the baby."

Rebecca put a hand on Jenna's arm, her face torn between empathy and uncertainty. "Jenna, your mom, was trying to do what she thought was best. Maybe we should hear her out.'

But Jenna shook her head vehemently, tears shimmering in her eyes. 'No, Rebecca. You don't understand. I need to see him. If it were someone you loved, wouldn't you do the same?'"

"Jenna, just give her a chance. She's your mother."

"Don't," Jenna cut her off. "Let's go."

Rebecca hesitated. "Go where?"

"To DiVito's hospital. If Matthew is there, I want to be with him."

"Jenna, wait," Eleanor pleaded, stepping toward her.

But Jenna had already grabbed her car keys. "Don't try to stop me, Mom. I'm done being left in the dark. He needs me."

"He has amnesia. He won't know you. He doesn't even know who he is."

The threatening tears rolled down Jenna's cheeks. "That's more reason for me to be sitting by his side, talking to him, telling him how much I care. If he thinks I was in Garth's arms because I —" She remembered the discarded roses in the trash. "This is crazy. I need to be with him."

Rebecca stood, giving Eleanor a regretful look. "We'll call you when we know more."

Eleanor stood motionless as the front door slammed shut. Her heart ached as she repeated Jenna's words — He needs me. He has to know I care.

She had wanted to protect her daughter from more pain, but instead, she had only pushed her away. And now, Jenna and Rebecca were heading toward the unknown, toward a man who might not even remember them. Could she have made a bigger mess of things?

"Be safe," she murmured, though the knot in her stomach told her safety was no longer guaranteed.

Eleanor stood motionless at the window, her eyes following Jenna's car as it disappeared into the night. A flicker of movement caught her attention — a dark SUV parked down the road, its headlights off. A chill ran through her as the engine roared to life, trailing after Jenna.

*****

Minutes after Jenna's car sped off, Garth arrived at the mansion, his expression grim. He stepped inside, taking in Eleanor's worried pacing.

"Where's Jenna?" he asked, his voice tense.

"She left," Eleanor said.

Garth stared at Eleanor, undecided whether he was angry or deeply concerned. "So, you told her about finding Donatelli?"

Eleanor nodded. "I tried to tell you, but you kept brushing me aside. I'm sorry."

"No, you're right. I got so wrapped up in my own thoughts I didn't leave much room for anyone else. I'm the one who should be saying sorry. Frankie set me straight."

"He's the best." A glimmer of a smile tugged at her lips. "He's a wonderful friend."

"I know, but so are you. Are we okay?"

"Of course we are."

"Now, where did Jenna take off to? I am assuming Rebecca is with her."

Eleanor nodded. "She and Rebecca went to Frankie's hospital to see Donatelli."

Garth's eyes widened. "Alone? In the middle of all this? Damn it, Eleanor, why didn't you stop them?"

"I tried," Eleanor said. "She wouldn't listen. She's angry, and I don't blame her."

Garth pulled out his phone and dialed. "Frank, it's Garth. Jenna and Rebecca are headed your way. Rossi's men could be watching. We need to move."

*****

Jenna gripped the wheel tightly, her knuckles white as anger and fear wrestled within her. The quiet hum of the engine was the only sound between her and Rebecca, who sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her hands clenched around her phone. The tension in the car was thick enough to choke on.

Jenna spotted headlights in the rearview mirror out of the corner of her eye. Her stomach tightened as an SUV appeared, its dark silhouette creeping closer with alarming speed.

"Jenna?" Rebecca cried. Her eyes darted to the rear window. "It's approaching so fast."

"I see it," Jenna replied, her voice taut. She tried to remain calm, but the flutter of panic in her chest betrayed her. She muttered, "It's probably nothing."

The SUV gained on them quickly.

Then it happened.

The first jolt was like a hammer striking metal, sending a sharp shock through the car. Jenna gasped, her hands trembling as she tightened her grip on the wheel. "What the hell?"

"They hit us!" Rebecca cried, her voice rising in panic.

Before Jenna could respond, the second hit came harder and more deliberate. The rear tires screeched as the car fishtailed. She fought the wheel. "Hold on!" she yelled, her voice shaking.

The SUV rammed them again, this time with brutal force. The car spun violently, the world outside a blur of headlights, trees, and asphalt. Rebecca's scream pierced the inside of the vehicle. Her hands flew as she tried to brace herself against the dashboard.

The sickening crunch of metal and glass shattered the night as the car careened off the road and slammed into a ditch. The sudden impact hurled them forward, and the seatbelts locked tight, cutting into their bodies. The windshield spiderwebbed from the force, and steam hissed from the crumpled hood.

For a heartbeat, silence fell, broken only by the sound of the other vehicle's engine revving as it sped away, leaving a trail of red taillights disappearing into the darkness.

*****

Garth's SUV raced down the same road minutes later, headlights cutting through the darkness. Eleanor sat in the passenger seat, gripping the armrest. As they neared Frankie's place, it seemed as if they were in the clear. The girls had probably made it without any incidents involving Rossi. Eleanor's scream changed everything.

"There!" Eleanor shouted, pointing to the wrecked car in the ditch. Smoke curled from the crumpled hood. "Oh my God, Garth."

Garth hit the brakes, burning rubber as the car stopped. He jumped out, rushing to the wreck. Jenna was slumped over the wheel, blood trickling from her forehead. Rebecca was unconscious, her head resting against the shattered window.

Garth's breath was ragged. "They're alive."

Flipping open his phone, he dialed again. "Frank, we found them. They're in bad shape."

Within moments, two unmarked vans pulled up, and DiVito's men began carefully extracting Jenna and Rebecca from the wreckage.

"We'll take them straight to the hospital," one of the paramedics said, his tone clipped but professional.

Eleanor stood frozen. "This is my fault," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I pushed her too hard. I should've —"

Garth turned sharply toward her, his anger barely held in check. "Eleanor! Now's not the time for guilt," he snapped, though his voice softened at the end. "We've got to focus on getting them through this."

Her hands wrung together as she stared after the departing ambulances, tears shimmering in her eyes. "She's my baby, Garth. And Rebecca — she's so fragile. I should've protected them instead of arguing." Her voice cracked, and she struggled to compose herself.

Garth exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "I know, Eleanor. But beating yourself up doesn't help right now. If you want to do something, go to that hospital. Be there for her. For both of them."

Eleanor nodded, her expression resolute despite the anguish in her eyes. "Garth —" She stepped closer."Promise me you'll find Rossi. And make sure he can't hurt her —or anyone else — ever again."

Garth's jaw tightened as he met her gaze. "You have my word." The vision of Rebecca lying lifeless in the car tugged at his mind and heart.
 
Hang in there, girl. We've just started this story.
 
The thought surprised him, but he liked the sound of it. He'd felt the attraction from the first moment he saw her. Or was it just because she reminded him of Allie?

As he climbed into his truck, his fingers fumbled with his phone as he dialed.

"Tango," he barked the moment the line connected. "We've got a situation. Rossi's men ran Jenna and Rebecca off the road."

He paused, struggling to keep his emotions in check. "They're alive, but it's bad. Frank's taking them to the hospital. I want every unit and every contact we've got on this. Rossi needs to pay for this — whatever it takes, wherever he's hiding."

On the other end of the line, Tango's voice hardened. "Understood. I'll pull in everyone. He won't get away this time."

Garth ended the call, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. His chest felt heavy, but his focus burned sharper than ever.
 
Rossi, your days are numbered.

Eleanor materialized in the passenger seat, her presence filling the air with cold stillness. "Promise me," she said quietly. "Promise me they'll be safe."

Garth met her spectral gaze, his voice like steel. "I swear it, Eleanor. This ends tonight."

The truck roared to life as he sped after the ambulances, a storm of determination and guilt driving him forward.

*****

The hospital's emergency team rushed Jenna and Rebecca through the double doors as Eleanor and Garth trailed behind, their hearts pounding. Frank DiVito barked orders to his staff, but the well-trained crew was already on it.

"Get them to trauma now!"

Eleanor's hands shook as she clung to Garth, her voice trembling with fear. "She's pregnant. They have to save the baby, too."

"Frank's team knows what they're doing," Garth said, his voice low but firm. "Let's give them space." He looked into her eyes and wrapped his arms around her. "It's our job to pray."
 
"You're right. Everything's in God's hands now." She turned away and whispered, "Dear Lord, bless everyone who touches my daughter and Rebecca. But please, give — my grandchild a chance. Amen."
 
Near the coffee urn, Garth was saying a prayer of his own — for the girls, the baby, and his men, whom he knew would risk everything in search of Rossi.
 
*****

Rebecca's team of doctors burst through the first set of double doors like soldiers marching into battle. Jenna's gurney veered off, careening two doors down to the delivery room, where another medical team awaited, their faces tense.

Jenna stirred faintly, her eyelids fluttering as pain etched deep lines across her pale face. The bright overhead lights bore down on her. Nurses swarmed around her like bees, their hands quick and practiced.

"Her vitals are dropping," one of the doctors called out sharply, scanning the monitors.

A nurse positioned an ultrasound probe over Jenna's abdomen, the screen flickering to life. The room seemed to hold its breath.

"The baby's in distress," the doctor monitoring the ultrasound said, his voice clipped.

"We don’t have time," another doctor snapped. "Prepare for an emergency C-section — now!"

Jenna's lips moved, a faint moan escaping. Her hand reached out weakly, grasping at the empty air. Tears glistened at the corners of her half-open eyes.

"My baby," she whispered, her voice hoarse and trembling. "Please — save my baby."

Her plea hung in the air.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth


Chapter 22
Miracles - Chap 22

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
"You've got this, Tango. Keep me informed." Garth disconnected the call, sighing. "I should be there, but —"

Eleanor turned from the window. "Did you say something?"

Garth ran his hand through his hair and settled the Stetson back on his head. "It's tough when you're needed in two places simultaneously. I need to be cloned."
 
Eleanor attempted a grin. "Two of you? Now, that might be more than the world can handle." She turned her focus back to the window but continued talking. "Was that Tango on the phone?"

"Yeah, the interrogators have made a little headway with William, but so far, Bruiser isn't giving anything up."

"He will. He struck me as the bully who's tough until the going gets rough. Any man who takes his vengeance out on an innocent young woman doesn't have much of a backbone."

"Have you heard from Danni? Did she get Crystal settled?"

"When I called to tell her about the accident, she said Crystal was at a safe house and she'd connected with an old friend. Made the transition a little easier."

"That's good. I'm sure she was happy that Danni and you were there to rescue her." Garth chuckled. "Well, Danni did the rescuing while you were having fun. A bar fight, Eleanor? What were you thinking?"

"We needed information. While they tore the place apart, I could check it out. I forgot to mention, I followed Tony into his office."

"Did you see Rossi or Maxwell?"

"No, but you had the building surrounded so that it would be my guess there's a secret passage somewhere."

"I'd say that's probably a good guess. It's the only way they could have slipped through our net."

"I did see Tony with two of my paintings."

"Yours? I thought we rounded all those up when we arrested Doyle the first time. Are they the forgeries?"

"They weren't forgeries. He was hiding them in a secret compartment. It was concealing quite the array of artillery, too. An entire wall of guns."

"Guess we'll need a search warrant." He rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Wonder how the paintings tie into Rossi? And Maxwell's involvement puts him on the wrong side of the law."

"Jenna and I were in the gallery last week, and I thought I saw someone, maybe William, with a similar painting as he entered the backroom. It breaks my heart because that means Jackson, the gallery owner, knows what's going on. Is he replacing the original paintings, like mine, with forgeries?"

"That was Doyle's plan. Guess being behind bars didn't stop him from carrying it out." Garth chose one of the chairs and made himself comfortable, his long legs sprawling across the floor.

"It's been five years. Why now?" Eleanor asked, returning to stare out the window.

"I'd say he needs the money. It must be costing him a chunk of change to carry out this revenge plan. A lot of people risking their freedom for him."

Eleanor closed her eyes and pressed her hand against the glass windowpane. "Garth, something's not right."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes, like just before Margaret's accident, I get these strange vibes. Never anything specific unless something is about to happen right then. It's like a warning." Eleanor stood there for a few moments longer and then turned away. She shrugged. "It's gone now."

"Maybe it was just you worrying about the girls."

"No, this was something different. But speaking of Rebecca and Jenna, I wonder when we will get an update?"

As if responding to a request, the doors to the surgical area buzzed and opened, revealing a grim-faced doctor and Frankie approaching.

Frankie immediately reached out to shake Garth's hand and then wrapped his arms around Eleanor, whispering, "I'm sorry I didn't get to them in time."

"You couldn't have known. What's important is you got them to medical care as quickly as possible."

Frankie turned to the doctor. "My apologies. This is Dr. Treadwell. He was in charge of Rebecca's care."

Dr. Treadwell, a tall, forty-something redhead with wide-rimmed glasses, reached for Garth's hand and Eleanor's. "Rebecca is in recovery," he began. "She has a deep gash on her forehead that required stitches, some heavy bruising, and a hard bump to her head. We'll monitor her closely for a concussion, but for now, she's stable."

Eleanor released a long sigh. "What about Jenna?"

The doctor hesitated, glancing at Frankie before responding. "Jenna is undergoing emergency surgery — a C-section. The baby was in distress, and we had no other choice."

Eleanor gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "A C-section? But it's far too early! There's no way the baby will survive — Jenna's only —"

"The ultrasound shows the baby is about 28 weeks along," the doctor interrupted gently. "I understand that doesn't align with what we were told. She was attacked five months ago. Is there any chance she could've been involved with someone else?"

Eleanor's heart skipped. Could it be possible? Her mind raced to Matthew. Was there something deeper between him and Jenna? Could the child be his?

Garth cut in. "I'd like to see Rebecca," he said firmly. "Then I need to check in with Tango."

The doctor nodded and gestured down the hall. "She's awake, though still groggy. Room C." He pointed down the hall. "Just two doors down from the corner, near the atrium.

Garth hurried down the hall, stopping only for a moment to admire the beautiful atrium, and then disappeared around the corner, hesitating for a moment at the door labeled with a prominent C.

He tapped lightly and then opened the door, sticking his head inside. Rebecca lay on the hospital bed, the top of her head bandaged and her face pale. Her eyes fluttered open when he softly called her, "Rebecca."

"Howdy, Cowboy," she murmured, her voice husky.

A small smile tugged at Garth's lips as he eased into the chair beside her bed. For a moment, the world outside the room faded. "You gave us quite the scare," he said softly, his eyes searching hers.

Rebecca managed a faint grin. "Didn't mean to — but I knew you'd be around to save me."

The two shared a charged moment of quiet understanding, a spark of something unspoken beginning to take shape.

"How's Jenna? Is she alright?"

Garth nodded. "She's in surgery as we speak."

"Surgery? What happened?" Rebecca asked, and then her thoughts went to the baby. "Oh no, don't tell me she lost the baby. Poor Jenna."

"It's going to be touch and go, but they are delivering the baby by C-section."

"But Jenna said she was five months." Rebecca swallowed hard, struggling to say what she was thinking. "How —" Sadness filled her eyes. "How can the baby survive?"

"According to the doctors, the ultrasound indicates she was more like 28 weeks."

"Really? But the rape was —" Rebecca stopped midsentence. "That means the baby wasn't from the attack." She stared off into space and then turned wide-eyed to Garth. "Could it be Donatelli's baby?"

Garth shrugged. "Sorry, I don't know anything about our boy's sex life." And then, in stupid man humor, he added, "Neither does he at the moment."

"Garth!" Rebecca scolded, but a grin twitched at the corner of her mouth.

He smiled at her and then stood. "The sign says only five minutes, so I'm going to let you get some rest. I've got to make some calls anyhow."

Rebecca attempted a pout. "Don't go. I'm afraid of the bogeyman?"

"Girl, you entered an abandoned house declared to be haunted, and you ran off two men while allowing our resident ghost to torment them. I don't think you're afraid of the bogeyman."

"That's not fair. Eleanor's too lovely to be a scary ghost."

"Trust me, she's given a few men some mean nightmares." Garth laughed. "Including me when I get out of line."

She reached out her hand to touch him, and he spontaneously caught it and brought it to his lips, softly brushing her fingers with a kiss. He hesitated momentarily, unsure if he'd crossed a line, but the warmth in her gaze reassured him. Something unspoken passed between them, a connection he hadn't expected but couldn't deny. Catching his breath, he whispered, "You get some rest. I'll be back."

*****

Waiting for word on Jenna, Eleanor wandered into the atrium. It was like nothing she'd ever seen before. A waterfall cascaded from one corner, surrounded by tropical foliage. Several smaller fountains were focal points of lush greenery and colorful flowers, almost creating yards of rainbows. Butterflies fluttered freely from flower to flower, and chirping birds gathered in the blossoming trees.

She chose a comfortable bench near the waterfall and let her mind drift, remembering the first time she'd held Jenna in her arms. It was the most incredible feeling she'd ever imagined, and she prayed Jenna would feel the same.

Eleanor's daydreaming ended abruptly as a dark cloud filled her mind, and an icy chill touched her. The vibes were much stronger this time. She hurried from the atrium toward Room C, calling Garth's name. "Garth! Garth!"

As Garth left Rebecca, he heard Eleanor's frantic call and rushed toward her. "Eleanor, what's wrong? Is it Jenna?"

"No, I've not heard about Jenna."

"Then what is it? What's got you so worked up?"

"We've got to tell Frankie. He needs to know that Rossi is coming, and he's not alone."

"Calm down, Eleanor. What makes you think he's coming?"

"Vibes! I can feel the evil vibes." Her eyes were wide as she stared at Garth. "If you've ever trusted me, now isn't the time to have doubts. We've got to tell Frankie."

"Okay, I believe you. Come on. He's probably in his office with Sammy."

Eleanor barely had time to breathe as the alarms blared through the hospital like a siren's wail. Red emergency lights spun wildly, casting frantic shadows across the walls. The steel shutters slammed into place over the windows, each metallic thud echoing like a judge's gavel in a courtroom.

"What's happening now?" Eleanor gasped, clutching Garth's arm. Her heart raced. For a moment, she forgot the child waiting to meet the world. "We're too late!"

Sam opened the office door as Eleanor and Garth approached, waving for them to enter. Frankie's phone buzzed urgently. He answered, his expression darkening as a familiar voice snarled on the other end.

"I'm here for Donatelli," Rossi said, his tone laced with venom.

Frankie's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Eleanor and Garth. "Not without a fight," he snapped, slamming the phone down. He barked orders into a walkie-talkie; his tone was as sharp as the alarms. "Lock it down! Rossi's not stepping past that gate unless I say so."
 
The tension in the room crackled like a live wire. War had been declared.

Unexpectedly, there was a knock at the door. Every head in the room turned as the door swung open. The doctor entered, disheveled, his scrubs speckled with sweat and blood. His face, however, brought something rare to the current turmoil — a smile.

"Congratulations!" the doctor announced, loud enough to cut through the alarms. His gaze fell on Eleanor. "You're the proud grandmother of a beautiful baby girl!"

Garth stared at the doctor, blinking. "A girl?" he whispered as if trying to confirm it wasn't a trick of the noise.

"She's tiny," the doctor continued, his tone softening, "but strong. She was born at 2.45 pounds. She's in the NICU now, and the team is doing everything to stabilize her. Eleanor, your daughter is doing fine as well. She said to tell you that she's naming our little bundle Margaret Eleanor, or Maggie for short."

Eleanor felt her knees weaken, and Garth instinctively wrapped an arm around her. Her heart swelled with emotion, pushing out the panic from moments before.

"Margaret," Eleanor said softly, her voice trembling. "Her name is Margaret Eleanor."

The doctor nodded, but his expression grew serious. "There's one thing. The baby is anemic and needs a blood transfusion urgently."

Garth held out his arm. "She can have my blood."

Sam followed suit. "Or mine."

The doctor wrinkled his face. "I wish it were that easy, guys. But our little lady needs AB negative, and we're short. Normally, I'd call it in, and the supply truck would drop it off. But with our guests out front, that won't happen."

"There's always the chopper. I can order the crew to get it up and ready. Where's the closest place?"

Sam's brain was like a filing cabinet of information. He immediately remembered seeing something familiar earlier.  Snapping his fingers, he said, "I've got it. I saw AB negative on a patient chart earlier." He darted to a pile of papers on Frankie's desk, flipping through them rapidly. Then he stopped, his finger tracing the name at the top of the chart.

"Did you find it, Sam?" Frank asked, still holding the phone in his hand.

He nodded at his boss, then looked up from the papers. "It's Donatelli, sir."

Eleanor gasped. 'Donatelli has the same blood type as the baby?' Her eyes met Garth's, a flicker of recognition in her expression. "Do you think?" She stammered. "Could Matthew be — the father?"

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Lexington - Chicago kingpin


Chapter 23
Miracles - Chap 23

By Begin Again

 
 
 
Frankie's phone buzzed, but this time Sam answered, "Frank DiVito's phone, Sam Frisella speaking."

"Listen, knucklehead. I don't have time for games. Put your boss on the phone. Now!"

Sam gritted his teeth, struggling to control his temper. "No one's playing games, Rossi, especially with you. You can talk to me."

"You tell Frank that he's got two hours, and then — we'll let's just say I'm coming in without an invite, and guns will be blazing. He better think about what automatic assault weapons can do to his hospital and guests."

"Your idle threats don't scare the boss." Sam glanced toward Frank, looking for confirmation.

"I guarantee you, they ain't idle threats — they're promises. I've even got a string of bullets with your name on it."

Sam snapped, "You can take your bullets and shove —" The line went dead. He stared at the phone for a second and then turned his gaze toward Frank. "Sorry, boss. I just want to walk out there and shoot him."

Frank chuckled. "Sammy, our days of gun-slinging are over. There are better ways to handle things."

"How? When he's threatening to bring automatic rifles and storm the hospital. You and I know that the atrium gives him an entrance if he passes the gates."

"For now, we seal off that end of the facility. Move everyone into a safer area. While you take care of that, I've got a few decisions to make."

Garth leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his jaw set in frustration. "Rossi isn't just throwing threats around anymore. He's gearing up for war."

Frankie glanced at the live feed on his tablet, the images from the compound's cameras revealing heavily armed men lurking just outside the gates. "He's bold, I'll give him that. But we've faced worse."

"Not like this," Garth countered, his voice low but sharp. "There's a baby in there now. Margaret's barely holding on. And if Rossi breaks through—" He didn't need to finish the thought.

Across the room, Eleanor stood near the window, her hands trembling as she pulled the curtains aside. The compound's gates loomed in the distance, a thin barrier between them and chaos. "He won't stop," she said, her voice brittle. "Not with Donatelli, not with any of us. Rossi's like a rabid dog — he won't let go until he's put down."

Frankie straightened, his expression hardening. "Then it's time to call someone to put him down."

Garth frowned. "Who are you calling?"

"A friend from the past," Frankie said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

"I'll take care of moving people, boss. Just call me if you need me." Sammy nodded to Garth and Eleanor and left the office.

Frankie opened his desk drawer and withdrew a small phone. He quickly punched in a number and waited.

The line clicked, and a smooth voice answered on the other end. "A voice from the past. I don't think this phone has rung in years, but it's not a surprise. I've heard Rossi's acting as if he's in charge. I guess he needs a reminder, and that's why you're calling. Am I right?"

"If it were just me and the boys, we'd clean up the mess, but unfortunately, he's put my friends, including a newborn baby girl, in danger."

"Hmmm — so this goes much further than Donatelli and Doyle? Can't your FBI friend do something?"

"Don't toy with me, Jack. You and I know how capable Garth and his team are, but this isn't their doing. It's your renegade wise guy who thinks he's running the show."

"I understand. You know my door is always open for you."

"You can save me the charm," Frankie replied, pacing the room. "I've got a situation down here that needs cleaning up, and I'm ready to deal."

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. "You're playing with my emotions, Frankie."

"I've got what you want. It can be yours — under one condition." Frankie's eyes flicked to the surveillance feed. "You deal with Rossi. Permanently. And you make it clean."

Lexington didn't respond immediately, but his voice was laced with intrigue when he did. "Interesting. Send me the coordinates. I'll be there within the hour."

"One other thing —"

"Rossi isn't enough? Let's not get greedy, my friend. I've waited a long time for this deal."

"The baby needs a transfusion. Rossi's got the gates blocked. I need several pints of AB-negative blood, and I need it fast."

"Choppers already warmed up and ready to go. I can call in a favor for the blood, especially for the little one. Maybe I could be a Godfather?"

"Fat chance, Jack." Frankie disconnected the call and spoke on the radio. "Sammy, we need the helipad ready. We're about to have company."

Garth couldn't contain himself any longer. "You were talking to Lexington, weren't you? Do you think Rossi will stand down? I think the guy has stepped over the line with both sides."

"He has, and that's why Lexington is willing to deal. I've got something he wants, and he's willing to do just about anything to get it."

Eleanor crossed her arms tightly as Frankie walked past. "Do you think this Lexington can handle Rossi?"

"He's the only one Rossi's afraid of," Frankie replied. "And if this goes how I think it will, Rossi won't be a problem for much longer."

Eleanor shook her head, the unease gnawing at her. "You're playing a dangerous game, Frankie. If this doesn't work—"

"It will," Frankie said firmly. He glanced at her, his tone softening just slightly. "Trust me."

Eleanor nodded. "So we wait! If you direct me to Donatelli's room, I think I'll visit him."

'I'll radio Sammy. He'll get someone to show you to his room. He'll meet you at the end of the hall."

"Thanks!" Eleanor turned to Garth." Would you like to join me?"

"Not this time. I've got to check in with Tango and make sure things are okay on their end."

*****

Eleanor found Donatelli seated in the corner of his room, his posture slumped. His eyes lifted as she approached, and for a fleeting moment, a warm and familiar smile tugged at his lips, as though recognizing her.

"Donatelli," she said softly, her voice trembling.

The smile faded, replaced by a blank stare. "That's what I am told." He glanced out the window and turned back. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

Eleanor settled into the chair beside him, keeping her movements slow and deliberate as though afraid to shatter the fragile thread of his awareness. "It's Eleanor," she began gently. "Do you remember me?" When he didn't answer, she pushed a little deeper. "Do you remember Doyle or Rossi, the men responsible for doing this to you?"

At the mention of Doyle, his gaze sharpened, a flicker of recognition sparking in his dark eyes. "Doyle —" he repeated the name in a low growl.

"Yes, John Doyle," Eleanor pressed, leaning closer. "You put him in jail."

Donatelli's brow furrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. He glanced at the badge lying on the table.

Encouraged, Eleanor ventured further. "The accident, Donatelli. Do you remember what happened?"

He shook his head, studying his hands.

"Jenna has been in an accident. She's safe now. Do you remember her? Do you remember Jenna?"

At the sound of her name, his gaze snapped toward Eleanor, sharper this time, as if a veil had lifted. "Jenna," he whispered, his tone soft, almost reverent. His eyes seemed to lose focus, staring beyond Eleanor as if seeing a face only he could perceive.

Eleanor's breath caught, the moment so fragile she dared not speak. But then, his expression darkened, his lips curling into a sneer.

"She betrayed me," he spat, his voice venomous. "With the cowboy." Eleanor recoiled as if struck.

"No," she said firmly, her hand reaching toward him. "You're wrong. Jenna loves you. She's always loved you."

But Donatelli pulled away, his movements jerky, defensive. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his temples. "Betrayed me," he muttered again, his voice cracking with raw pain.

"She didn't," Eleanor insisted, her voice soft but persistent. "You need to remember the truth, Donatelli. Jenna loves you. She never betrayed you."

His breathing grew ragged, his shoulders shaking under his fragmented emotions. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the storm within him subsided. He blinked, his face smoothing into confusion.

"Do I know you?" he asked, his tone detached, distant. "Are you — the doctor?"

Eleanor's heart sank. Once so sharp and unyielding, the man before her now seemed lost in a haze of broken memories and misplaced anger. She swallowed hard, forcing a smile.

"No," she said softly, her voice laced with sadness. "I'm just an old friend. Someone who cares about you dearly."

*****

Eleanor returned to Frank's office, looking sadder than before. As she entered, Garth instantly recognized things hadn't gone well, and he moved to comfort Eleanor.

Tears welled in her eyes. "Garth, I thought he was on the verge of remembering, so I asked about Jenna." She buried her face against his shirt. "For one moment, he glimpsed her. I know he did, but then he changed. He became irate, saying she betrayed him with —" Eleanor stopped and wiped her tears.

"With me?" Garth stepped away. "His mind is seeing Allie again. That old chip is back. Jenna would never betray him."

"He saw you with Jenna when she found out she was pregnant. He came to the office with roses. You were holding her."

"What? I was comforting a distraught friend."

"I know that, and you know that, but Donatelli didn't. That's why he ended up in the bar. None of us knew it fell perfectly into Doyle's plans."

Garth paced the floor, mulling over what Eleanor had told him. "So, he doesn't even know about anything — the pregnancy, the rape, Rossi or what happened to him. He really is in the dark."

Eleanor nodded. "What if he doesn't ever remember? Jenna, the baby — oh, Garth, what a mess!"

Frankie hung up the phone and joined his friends. "I couldn't help but overhear. I'm sorry that Donatelli is still struggling. I had hoped he'd come around with the meds they've given him."

"Me too! I think he's getting flashes, but he can't seem to keep the present straight from the past."

"That's too bad, but I do have good news. In approximately five minutes, a helicopter will be landing on the helipad, and little Margaret's blood will arrive."

"Oh, bless you, Frankie. Has the doctor approved visitors to Jenna or the baby yet?"

"I've not been notified yet. But as soon as I hear something, you will, too. I know you must be anxious to see your daughter and granddaughter." Frankie's phone buzzed, and he stepped away to answer.

Sammy was on the other end. "Lexington is coming in."

"Is the helipad secure?" Frankie asked, keeping his voice steady.

"All set, boss," Sam replied. "The perimeter is locked down tight. No sign of Rossi's men near the hospital wing."

"Good. Make sure it's a smooth landing. We can't afford any hiccups with Margaret's blood on board."

"You got it," Sam assured him. "And Frankie — Lexington better not pull any stunts. I don't trust him."

Frankie smirked grimly. "Neither do I, but he's useful. Let me know the second they touch down."

As he ended the call, Frankie turned back to Garth and Eleanor.

"Eleanor," Frankie said, softening his tone, "why don't you sit for a bit? You've been through a lot tonight."

Eleanor shook her head. "I can't just sit, Frankie. Not while everything is falling apart. Donatelli — he's so broken. I thought I could reach him, but he's lost in the past."

"We'll find a way," Garth interjected, his voice firm but gentle. "Donatelli isn't gone — not completely. We just need more time."

"Time is running out," Eleanor said quietly. Her gaze shifted to the window, the distant sound of the chopper's rotors now faintly audible. "What if Rossi makes his move before Lexington arrives?"

Frankie straightened. "He won't. Rossi's too much of a coward to go head-to-head with Lexington. That's why this deal is going to work."

"And what about after?" Garth asked, his brow furrowed. "Once Lexington takes Rossi out, what's to stop him from turning on us?"

Frankie's expression darkened, but he didn't hesitate. "One problem at a time, Garth. Right now, Margaret's life depends on that blood getting here safely. We'll deal with Lexington when the time comes."

The helicopter's sound grew louder, and the vibrations shook the building. Frankie glanced at his watch and then back at his friends.

"Stay here," he instructed. "I'll meet Lexington myself."

Eleanor reached out, her hand brushing his arm. "Be careful, Frankie."

He gave her a reassuring nod before heading toward the helipad.

*****

The helicopter's blades slowed but churned, kicking up dust and debris. Lexington emerged from the chopper with his usual swagger.

"Frankie," Lexington greeted, his voice smooth as silk. "Always a pleasure."

"Skip the pleasantries," Frankie said, his tone clipped. "Do you have it?"

Lexington smirked, gesturing to a medic emerging from the chopper, a cooler in hand. "AB-negative, as requested. And fresh, too. Now, about our arrangement —"

"Not here," Frankie interrupted. "Inside. Let's make sure the baby gets what she needs first."

Lexington's smirk deepened, but he nodded. "Lead the way."

As they walked toward the hospital, the tension between the two men was apparent. Frankie's hand hovered near his pocket, ready to act if Lexington showed any signs of betrayal. He'd made a deal, but people were known to renege, especially in this line of work.

Inside, the medic handed the blood to the attending doctor, who rushed it to the NICU. Lexington watched the exchange with mild interest before returning his attention to Frankie.

"Well, the kid's taken care of," Lexington said, his tone almost flippant. "Now, let's discuss the other part of our deal."

Frankie's eyes hardened. "Rossi's yours. Take him out — clean and quiet. After that, we'll finalize things."

Lexington chuckled. "You always were a shrewd negotiator, Frankie. But I'm feeling generous tonight, and it would be a shame to get blood all over your entrance."

Frankie's jaw tightened. "We had a deal. Now you're changing the terms?"

Lexington laughed. "Relax, Frankie. In celebration of the child, I will hand Rossi over to your FBI friend. No shooting, no bloodshed, just a simple exchange."

Now, it was Frankie's turn to laugh. "Right! This is Rossi we're talking about, my friend. Your hatchet man loves nothing more than spreading blood."

"Leave it to me. Rossi and I will walk into your office in a few minutes, and he'll be yours. There will be no more threat to Donatelli or anyone else. In return, you will give me what we agreed. It's all a matter of trust, my friend."

Frank studied Lexington. He knew the man was no fool. Was this a ploy to open the gates to Rossi's mob, or did he intend to hand over his own man? Had Rossi pushed his luck too far?

"I'm going to trust you, Jack. But know, I won't show my cards until Rossi is in Garth's hands. My men are prepared to fight back if necessary."

"I promise you, Frank. This is how all deals should go down — two businessmen trusting each other." He held out his hand, and Frank shook it. "A deal's a deal."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin


Chapter 24
Miracles - Chap 24

By Begin Again

Vince Rossi felt confident after giving the DiVito crew his ultimatum. Everything was falling in place, and once the mess with Donatelli was wrapped up, he could drop the bomb on Doyle and proceed with his plans to be all-powerful in Bayside. All he had to do was step into Doyle's shoes, and it would be smooth sailing.

He leaned against the hood of the car, smoking a Cuban cigar, surrounded by men he knew he could count on, guys who had climbed out of Lexington's shadow with him and would be rewarded when he was in charge. Their loyalty was solid.

The night was still, except for the hum of cicadas. Not a sound came from his crew or the one inside the gates.

He squinted, trying to determine why a lone figure was approaching the gates. The man's stride was assured and steady. As he continued moving toward the gate, he stopped briefly under one of the many streetlights lining the driveway, allowing his face to light up under the glow. Rossi's cigar slipped from his fingers, but he forced a grin to cover his feelings.

He recognized his boss. The gates opened, and Rossi moved toward Jack. "Mr. Lexington, I'm honored. I didn't think taking Donatelli down was that important. Though, I am surprised to see you exit the house."

"I wanted to see firsthand how you clean up this Donatelli mess. I trust you've got it under control."

Rossi grinned. "Just like clockwork."

Jack fought to remain calm. He did not want to show his hand to Rossi until it was too late. "I don't mean to step on any toes, but Frank and I go way back. We had a chat, and he understands what's going down. Being the businessman he is, he's agreed to meet our demands."

"You're joking, right? There's no way Frank DiVito and his FBI pal would back down that easily. What's the deal?"

"Frank's retired. He doesn't want to be involved in warfare. And Garth, he's just interested in taking Doyle down, which is an easy fix."

Rossi laughed. "I got to hand it to you, Jack, I mean, Mr. Lexington. I never thought we'd get Donatelli without going in with these automatic rifles leveling the place."

"See, Vince, that's something you never learned — you gotta use your brain, not your brawn. DiVito and I are businessmen, and we made a deal, even shook hands on it."

"A deal — for Donatelli?"

"Enough talk! You and I are going up to the house to have a nice chat with Frank. No shooting, no bloodshed, just simple business."

"What about the men? Are they coming with us?" Vince looked back at his usual crew. They were his backup, his firepower.

Jack knew his plan hinged on his next move. He stepped up on the bumper of Vince's car and yelled, "You look like intelligent men to me, and most of you probably know who I am. For those who don't, my name — Jack Lexington — should be all the information you need."

Rossi's jaw tightened. He should've been the one giving orders, but damn if Jack didn't have a way of owning the room — or the yard, in this case.

One by one, the rifles lowered. Rossi didn't need to turn around to know that Jack's name had just rearranged the hierarchy of power among his men.

A low rumble of voices could be heard throughout the area. Jack raised his hand to silence them, and then he continued. "Vince and I are going inside to settle a deal with Frank DiVito — nice and friendly like. I want you men to stand down and go home. I've given my word to Frank that you'll do this because, after all, you are on the Lexington payroll. If that's a problem for anyone, I will not be responsible for any reactions from inside."

At that point, armed men exited Frankie's house and spaced themselves across the front yard. Rossi glared at Frank's men but didn't say a word.

Jack jumped off the bumper and waved, calling, "Good night, gentlemen. Thanks for your co-operation."

Vince could feel the sweat running down his back. as Jack slapped him on the shoulder.

His hand was firm, steering him toward the house like a man guiding a lamb to slaughter. Rossi frowned. Something about Jack's confidence gnawed at him, but he dismissed it. Business was business, after all. Right?

"Relax, Vince. It's all going to be over in nothing flat."

******

Vince gasped as they entered Frank's home. The mansion was a masterpiece of wealth and refinement — polished marble floors gleaming under the soft flow of a crystal chandelier, towering ceilings, and walls lined with oil paintings and sculptures.

"This," Vince muttered under his breath, trailing a finger along the edge of a carved banister as they ascended the sweeping staircase, "is what it's all about."

Jack shot him a glance but said nothing, his expression impassive as always.

As they reached the double doors leading to Frank's office, Vince paused to take in the intricate woodwork. He opened his mouth to comment, but Jack didn't wait. With a deliberate push, his boss opened the door without knocking.

"Seriously?" Vince hissed, startled by the boldness.

Jack didn't break stride, stepping inside as if he owned the place. Vince followed, his awe deepening as he took in the office. The space was commanding — massive bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes, a mahogany desk, and floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the manicured grounds.

Frank stood by the desk, a champagne bottle in one hand, his easygoing demeanor momentarily frozen. Garth and Eleanor sat near the window, the conversation halting mid-sentence as the intruders arrived.

Vince didn't acknowledge them. His attention was fixed on the room itself, drinking in every detail. "Now this," he murmured, barely audible, "is the dream."

Frank set the champagne bottle down, his sharp eyes flicking between Jack and Vince, gauging the situation. "Glad you could make it," he said, keeping his tone calm.

Vince's lips curled into a faint smile. "Thought we'd drop by and take Donatelli off your hands. Hope that's not a problem."

Eleanor's gaze lingered on Vince — her expression cold. Garth leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, silently observing. His tapping fingers on the arm of the chair were the only clue that his emotions were strung tight.

Looking in Garth's direction, Rossi grinned. "I heard you got caught up in a little ruckus at the Hideaway. Sorry, I missed you." He chuckled at his joke and glanced toward Eleanor, getting a vibe he didn't understand nor like before stepping toward Frank. "Champagne? Are we celebrating Donatelli's demise?"

Frank stopped pouring, his hand gripping the bottle, knowing that his reaction could upset the apple cart, so to speak. Rossi continued, "Don't worry. He'll never see it coming." He glanced at Lexington and mistook his boss's silence for support.

Frank inhaled, counting to ten, ordering himself to remain calm. Holding a champagne glass in his hand, he offered everyone a glass. He raised his, and everyone but Rossi followed suit. "In honor of the birth of Margaret Eleanor Donatelli."

Rossi's eyes narrowed. He sipped his champagne without toasting. "So, there's a new Donatelli in this world. It's a shame she won't know her father. But probably for the best."

Eleanor's gasp shattered the silence like a sharp intake of breath in a storm. She rose from her seat, her eyes ablaze with an emotion Rossi couldn't quite place — was it anger or something more dangerous? But before she could unleash the storm brewing inside her, Garth's hand on her arm stopped her, and she sank back, an icy chill filling the room.

Jack watched it all, his fingers tapping idly against the rim of his glass. "I'd like to make a toast as well."

Thinking his boss had realized the importance of this moment - taking Donatelli out of circulation, Rossi shouted, "Cheers!"

Ignoring Rossi, Jack continued, "I've been thinking about loyalty — what it means."

Smirking, Rossi chimed, "You don't have to question mine. I'm solid."

Jack raised a hand, and Rossi froze mid-sentence, his confident grin slipping from his face like a mask. The sudden change in Jack's demeanor had caught him off guard.

"Loyalty isn't about convenience. It's about respect. And from what I've seen, Vince, you've lost sight of both."

"Jack — Mr. Lexington —" Rossi stammered, his bravado cracking. "Whatever you've heard, it's all lies. I've always been loyal to you."

Jack smiled then, but it wasn't kind. "There's been rumblings. You chose the wrong side, Vince."

"No — you've got it wrong. I was teaching people so they would know who was in charge." Rossi could feel the panic setting in.

Jack stepped closer, smiling and tapping his glass against Rossi's. "You're right there, Vince. It's time everyone knows who's in charge." Turning toward Garth, he smiled and tipped his head slightly. "He's yours!"

Garth moved toward Rossi, but he jerked away. "Jack, what's going on here? Haven't I always been there for you?"

"I thought so until I learned how you've been making deals and racking up points with the powers to be. I'm afraid John Doyle's shoes were too big for you."

"Jack, I've done all this for you to widen your reach."

"I doubt that, but regardless, we don't cross over into our neighbor's backyard. These people are Frank's family."

"But Doyle —"

"Another one who forgot who was in charge. He's about to learn a lesson or two. Maybe you two can study together while rotting in a jail cell."

Rossi screamed, "You can't do this to me. I've got men —" He reached the door and swung it open, finding two of his henchmen standing in the hallway, blocking his escape. "Hank! Terrence! Don't let them do this."

Neither man made a move as the gravity of the situation sank into Rossi's head.

Lexington signaled to Frankie, who nodded toward the two guards. "Sorry, Vince. It's already done."

Rossi struggled and screamed as Garth approached, clamping the handcuffs on Rossi's wrists. His curses echoed down the hallway as he was taken away, his protests growing fainter with each step.

Jack drank the last of his champagne and turned back to Frank. "Now, where were we?"

Frankie cleared his throat and walked toward the large portrait on the wall. With a subtle press of a hidden button, the portrait swung open to reveal a small safe. The soft click of the lock echoed as he turned the dial and pulled the door open.

Inside, resting on black velvet, was a pouch tied with a thin gold cord. Frankie removed the tie, his expression unreadable as he faced the group.

"I know what you're all thinking," he began, his voice steady. "Doyle. Everyone thought he had them — that the diamonds were the key to his power in prison." Frankie's gaze moved to Eleanor, lingering momentarily before landing on Jack. "But they weren't. I had them. I've always had them."

Eleanor gasped, her hand rising instinctively to her chest. Even Garth, ordinarily calm, shifted uneasily in his seat before questioning Frank. "Then why let Doyle use them to gain power?"

"His games inside prison didn't mean anything to me until he stepped over the line." Frank's eyes were filled with sadness as he glanced at Eleanor. "If I had known —"

She shook her head. "Even I didn't foresee the future and how evil he could be. None of us did. It's not your fault, Frankie."

Jack sets his glass down. "Why keep them, Frank? You could've traded them for peace, power — hell, anything you wanted."

"At first, it was amusing to watch everyone scrambling to figure out where they were and how they could convince Doyle to surrender them, something he couldn't possibly do."

"Then why part with them now? You knew I would take Rossi down in time."

Frankie smiled and untied the pouch, pouring the diamonds into his hand. "Because some things are worth more than money or power." He rolled the gems around, watching them glitter. "Like saving a friend's life."

Jack's brow furrowed as Frankie stepped closer, holding out the diamonds. "They're yours, Jack."

Jack hesitated, then accepted the pouch, his fingers brushing over the cool, sharp edges of the stones.

Frankie's tone softened as he added, "I've been holding onto these for too long, waiting for the right moment. But now — I think it's time they served a better purpose."

Jack studied the diamonds, his mind working, before plucking a flawless stone from the pouch. He turned to Eleanor, his expression uncharacteristically warm. "For Margaret."

Eleanor's eyes widened, her hand trembling as she accepted the gem. "Jack — I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Jack replied. "Just make sure she knows where it came from — and why."

Frankie refilled the glasses, raising his to propose a toast. "To new beginnings."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin


Chapter 25
Miracles - Chap 25

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
The rhythmic hum of Jack Lexington's helicopter blades filled the air as it lifted off, a black silhouette slicing against the fading twilight. Below, the estate began to settle, the threatened war giving way to a peaceful calm.

Moments after the helicopter disappeared into the horizon, an unmarked SUV pulled into the circular driveway, its tires crunching against the gravel. The sleek black vehicle bore no insignia, but its purpose was unmistakable.

Three Federal Marshals, clad in plain suits that couldn't quite conceal their sidearms, stepped out with precision. One of them, a tall man with sharp features, strode toward the front door. He flashed a badge briefly before speaking into his earpiece. "Rossi is secured. Preparing for transport." The two other men waited outside their vehicle, guns at the ready.

Now handcuffed and subdued, Rossi was led out by the first Marshal. His bravado from earlier had vanished, replaced by a pale, defeated look as he glanced nervously around. The imposing mansion, once a stage for his overconfidence, now seemed to mock him.

The tension that had gripped its halls seemed to dissipate inside the mansion as Frank watched from the grand foyer. He gave a subtle nod to one of his men, signaling that the house could return to normal operations. The lockdown was over.

As Rossi was placed into the back of the SUV, one of the Marshals leaned in. "Bayside's ready for you. No special treatment this time."

The doors slammed shut with finality. The vehicle's engine roared to life, and it sped off into the night, carrying Rossi to the place where his connections and double dealings would mean nothing.

Inside, Frank adjusted his cufflinks, glancing out the window as the SUV disappeared. He turned to his staff, who had gathered nearby. "Alright. Back to work. Let's get this place running as it should."

*****

Garth stepped into the quiet hospital corridor, still buzzing from the night's events. Frank's mansion, connected to the hospital by a short walkway, seemed like another world entirely.

Donatelli was stable, though the amnesia lingered. Garth had spent the last hour ensuring security was tight, and Rossi's betrayal wouldn't leave any loose ends. Now, leaning against the wall outside Donatelli's room, he dialed Tango.

"Tango," came the familiar voice.

"It's done," Garth said. "Rossi's in cuffs."

"Good to hear," Tango replied. "How'd he take it?"

"Like a rat caught in the trap," Garth said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "He screamed the whole way out, but Jack didn't flinch. Handed him over like the trash he is."

Tango chuckled. "Sounds about right. And DeLuca? You're not gonna believe this —€ he's done an about-face. He's got Maxwell in custody and overseeing the retrieval of Eleanor's paintings from the bar."

"DeLuca?" Garth asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Maybe a zebra can change its stripes."

"Tell me about it," Tango replied. "And it gets better — Bruiser and William are flipping. They're spilling everything to keep their necks out of the noose."

Garth exhaled, a small smile breaking through. "Good. Maybe we'll finally get some justice out of this mess."

"Maybe," Tango agreed, but his tone darkened. "There's still Crystal, though. Danni's been with her all day, trying to convince her to press charges against Bruiser. The poor woman's terrified."

"She has every right to be," Garth said, his smile fading. "A guy like Bruiser leaves scars that don't heal easily. But we need her to testify. Without her, it's his word against the system."

"Danni's not giving up," Tango said. "But Crystal's barely holding on. One wrong move could spook her."

"Stay close," Garth advised. "We can't rush her, but we need her to feel safe. Let me know if she starts to waver."

"Will do," Tango said. "We're stopping by to check on the house before heading your way. Danni's chomping at the bit to see the baby."

"She's not the only one," Garth said with a smirk. "It's been a long night. Maybe that little one will remind us what all this fighting is for."

"True enough," Tango said, his voice softening. "We'll be there soon."

As Garth hung up, he glanced through the window of Donatelli's room. His friend was resting, the stillness almost unnatural for someone who had survived so much. Garth knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy — for Donatelli, Crystal, Jenna, or any of them. But for the first time in a long while, it felt like they were on the verge of turning the tide.

*****

Returning to the old mansion without Rebecca and Jenna felt strange. Danni couldn't forget how not long ago they'd been laughing and exploring the place, eager to learn about its history. Now, the chill in the room from the night air made it feel eerie, even to a ghost.

Tango poked at the fire until it roared to life, casting flickering shadows across the grand room. Danni stood by the window, her figure illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the drapes. Even knowing her ethereal nature, he couldn't help but be drawn to her presence.

"Got a little something to set the mood," he announced, holding up a bottle of champagne he'd found in the kitchen and a mismatched plate of cheese and crackers.

Danni turned, her lips curling into a smile as she walked toward him. "You're quite the romantic, aren't you? Leftover cheese and champagne — how could a girl resist?"

"Hey, I'm working with what I've got," he shot back, popping the cork with a triumphant grin. The champagne fizzed energetically, spilling over the rim of the glasses he'd scavenged.

They settled near the fire, the warmth of the flames countering the coolness of the night. Tango poured them both a glass and raised his in a toast.

"To unlikely partnerships and ghostly encounters," he said, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes earning a laugh from Danni.

As they sipped and read through the first bundle of letters, the mood changed. The playful caregiving gave way to something more reflective. Danni traced her finger over the faded ink of one of the letters, her expression softening.

"This was a life filled with so much sacrifice," she murmured. "Choices made out of duty, not love."

Tango leaned back, watching her. "You ever think about it? The life you had before — all this?"

She looked up, her gaze meeting his. "I've thought about it every day since I became what I am. It's like a book with missing pages — frustrating and incomplete. But moments like this," she gestured to the fire, the champagne, and him. "They make it easier."

He shifted closer, a crooked smile playing on his lips. "Well, I'm just saying, nights like this don't have to be one-time things."

Danni laughed. "Tango, you do remember I'm a ghost, right? Not exactly girlfriend material."

"Yeah," he said, leaning toward her, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. "But you're here now. That counts for something."

For a moment, the space between them seemed to hum with an unspoken connection, the lines between the living and the spectral blurring in the glow of the firelight.

Danni tilted her head, studying him. "You are something else, Tango."

"And don't you forget it," he replied, his grin widening as he poured her another glass of champagne.

His phone buzzed. "It's the boss again. I better take this."

"Of course, I want to get a box for these letters in case Rebecca wants to read them." She stood and headed upstairs. She remembered seeing a few small boxes up there.

"Tango here."

"It's Garth," he said. "Just giving you an update. Rossi's locked up. Donatelli's secure, though his memory's still shot. Security here's tight, but I'll stay until you arrive."

"Good to hear," Tango replied. "We're heading your way soon.

As Garth continued updating Tango on the latest developments, Danni stood near the window at the top of the staircase, staring into the night. Something was in the air — an unfamiliar warmth mixed with a shiver running down her spine. She gasped as the sensation deepened, a faint flicker of light just visible in the corner of her eye.

"Danni?" Tango called out from the stairs. "You, okay?"

She raised a hand to quiet him, tilting her head as if listening to something only she could hear. "She's here," Danni murmured, her voice soft but firm.

Tango frowned, confused. "Who's here?" Concerned, he returned to the phone call, "Garth, if that's all, I'm going to let you go. Danni needs me for something." He hung up and started up the stairs.

Danni stepped away from the window, her heart pounding, and turned toward the flickering light. "Don't be afraid," she said aloud, her tone gentle. "I can feel you. I know you're watching."

The air seemed to swirl, and the faint light grew brighter, forming the outline of an older woman. Her presence was serene yet hesitant.

"Miriam?" Danni said softly. "You don't need to hide. I'm Eleanor's friend."

The ghost's form shimmered, more defined now, though her features flickered as if unsure of her welcome. "You — you see me?" Miriam's voice was fragile, touched with wonder.

Danni smiled faintly. "Of course I do. We're not so different, you and I."

Miriam's face softened, though a trace of sadness lingered. "I could sense something was wrong. Rebecca — is she—"

"She's okay," Danni interrupted quickly, stepping closer. "There was an accident, but she's recovering well. You don't need to worry."

Miriam's shoulders relaxed, her translucent form flickering as she sighed in relief. "Thank you. For watching over her. I've tried, but I can only do so much."

"You've done more than you realize," Danni said, her voice filled with encouragement. "Especially caring for Matthew."

Miriam glanced toward the door as if something beyond it called to her. "I should go, but — thank you again. For everything."

"Don't be a stranger," Danni said with a playful grin. "Rebecca could use you right now — even if she doesn't know it."

Miriam smiled faintly, her form fading until the room felt still again.

Tango stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "Was that who I think it was?"

Danni nodded. "Miriam. Rebecca's grandmother."

"And you just — talked to her like that?"

Danni smirked. "It's not my first ghostly conversation."

Tango shook his head, half in disbelief. "You're something else, Danni."

"And don't you forget it," she said, grabbing her coat. "Now, let's get moving. We've got a baby to meet."

*****

Danni paused on the steps outside the house, her head tilting slightly. The faint hum of a presence brushed against her senses — Miriam was still there.

She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "You're still here, aren't you?" Danni said softly.

The faint shimmer of light materialized near the edge of the porch, barely visible to anyone else. Danni smiled and stepped closer. "Do you want to come?"

Miriam hesitated, her form flickering like a candle flame in a breeze.

Danni raised her finger to her lips, a playful glint in her eyes. "It'll be our little secret."

Miriam's outline steadied, a faint nod visible.

"It'll be okay," Danni reassured her, opening the car's passenger door. Miriam hesitated again but moved closer, her ethereal presence blending seamlessly into the vehicle. Danni grinned and whispered, "Not bad for your first time in a car, huh?"

Tango emerged from the house, closing the door behind him. "All set," he said, brushing his hands together. He handed her the box with the letters. "You forgot these.

Danni was leaning against the car, smiling. She giggled and took the box from him.

"What's so funny?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Danni shrugged, slipping into the passenger seat. "Nothing. I'm just happy about everything."

Tango gave her a skeptical look before climbing into the driver's seat. "Uh-huh. Sure, you are."

As the car started and they drove off, Danni giggled again, feeling Miriam's presence like a warm glow beside her. She could almost hear Miriam's soft gasp of wonder at the sensation of movement.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Danni murmured. Miriam's presence seemed to shimmer in response.

Tango glanced at Danni from the corner of his eye, shaking his head. "You're acting weird, you know that?"

Danni stifled another laugh, looking out the window with a satisfied smile. "Weird? Nah. I'm just in a good mood."

Tango smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. "If you say so. But I'm keeping an eye on you."

Danni leaned back in her seat, feeling a quiet sense of connection with Miriam beside her. As the car sped toward the hospital, the world outside seemed a little brighter, a little warmer — a small moment of peace amidst the chaos.

Author Notes Sorry that I have to post the chapters so close together, but the deadline is fast approaching, and being out of town and Thanksgiving isn't making it easy. Thank you for understanding. Smiles, Carol


Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - a mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideaway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin


Chapter 26
Miracles - Chap 26

By Begin Again

 
 
 
As the car hummed along the quiet road, Danni sat in the passenger seat with the box of letters resting on her lap. Curiosity gnawed at her, and she carefully lifted the lid, exposing two stacks of aged envelopes.
 
The first stack consisted of random letters she and Tango had read earlier. They were more like journals, probably ancestors or close friends who had written about Italy, life in the vineyards, and ordinary living. The second stack was tied with ribbon, and the envelopes were sealed. It appeared these letters had never been read. Her fingers hovered over one addressed to Miriam. The name was scrawled in delicate, slanted handwriting.
 
She hesitated, about to place it back, when she felt something —like a faint touch on her hand, warm and fleeting. Her breath hitched, and she glanced over her shoulder, sensing Miriam's presence.

"You want me to read this, don't you?" Danni whispered. "I feel like I'm snooping."

She felt something brush her hand and knew it was Miriam urging her to open the letter.

She unfolded the letter with trembling fingers and began reading —

Dear Mama,

Danni's heart skipped a beat. She'd never given it thought, but, of course, Miriam had a family — a child. She glanced toward the backseat and then back to the letter. Her thoughts were spinning —
 
These are personal, private thoughts written by Miriam's child to her. I feel like I'm reading someone's diary, but this someone is right here.

She started to replace the letter in the envelope but stopped when she felt pressure on her arm. Miriam was telling her to read it. So, she opened the aging paper and began —

I've stared at this paper for hours, knowing what I need to say but fearing how to begin. Though I was only two years old when you left, you are always in my thoughts. I wonder as I write this if you feel it, too — "the bond between us, unbroken despite the years and the distance."

Gama, that's what I call Grandma, told me what happened, though she couldn't bring herself to say the words without tears. She spoke of the vineyard, the debts, and their impossible choice. You were sent to America, not because they didn't love you, but because they loved you too much to let you endure the ruin that hovered over our family. I hope you believe that.

I think of you often, living in a land so far from here, with a man you didn't choose. Do you ever look at the stars, Mama? When I do, I imagine they are the same ones shining over you, making me feel less alone.

I want to tell you about my life here in Italy. The vineyard still stands, but the cost of saving it haunts us all. I am carrying a child, Mama  — a child I will not keep. The father is gone, and there is no place for a child in a life as uncertain as mine. I've arranged for the baby to go to a good family, but it doesn't stop my heart from breaking. Is this what Gama felt when she sent you away? She must have, though she still had a part of you — she had me.

I want you to know that I love you. Even if we never meet, you are a part of me. I pray that your life in America brings you some measure of happiness, and I hope that one day, you'll understand the sacrifices made in the name of love and survival.

With all my heart,

Angela



Danni's throat tightened as she finished reading. She wiped a tear from her cheek and folded the letter carefully.

"She was giving up her child," Danni said aloud, her voice heavy with sorrow. "And Miriam — they didn't know what happened to you."

Tango had been listening to music as he concentrated on the road, but her voice caught his attention. "Sorry, were you talking to me?"

"It was nothing. I was reading one of the letters, and it made me sad."

She picked up another one and held it, almost afraid of what other sadness it contained. It was to Miriam from her mother. She opened the envelope and read —

My Dearest Miriam,

Years have passed, yet I feel the sorrow of the day we said goodbye as if it were yesterday. You were my heart, my bright and shining star, and still, I sent you away. How can a mother live with such a choice?

The vineyard is still ours, though it is a hollow victory. I walk its rows daily, touching the vines as if they can forgive me. Your absence is everywhere — in the house, the fields, the air itself. I thought saving the vineyard would save us all, but I see now that I traded one kind of ruin for another. I pray the vines thrive, though their fruit tastes of ash to me now. What use is their beauty when the cost was losing you?

Angela tells me she writes to you. I don't know if you've read her letters or if you even know how much she longs for you. I see her pain, and I know it echoes mine. She has sacrificed so much, as I did, as you did.

If I could go back, Miriam, I would choose differently. I would choose you. I pray that life has been kind to you, though I fear I don't deserve to ask for your forgiveness. Know that you have always been loved, even when I failed to show it.

Forever in my heart,

Mama

Danni's eyes shifted to the back seat, sensing Miriam's sadness. Had she been able to read the letters while she did? Danni's heart broke for the woman.

As she adjusted the letters back into the box, another envelope slipped free, landing on her lap. The photograph tucked inside caught her eye — a faded image of two babies wrapped in matching blankets.

Her heart thudded. She read the name on the back. "Twins!" She gasped. "Rebecca is one of the twins."

Tango glanced at her, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "What do you mean?"

"Angela's letters," Danni replied breathlessly. "She had twins — one of them has to be Rebecca."

She picked up the photograph again and showed it to Tango. "Look at this."

Tango took one glance at the picture and sucked in a sharp breath. "That's Allie."

Danni frowned. "It says Alyssa on the back of the photo."

"I know," Tango said, his voice steady. "That's Allie — Garth's wife."

"Garth's wife? You're crazy, Tango. How can you tell from the photo? It's a baby!"

"Trust me — it's Allie. She had a baby picture on her bookshelf. It was identical to this one."

"Oh my God," Danni whispered, her hand flying to her mouth. "Then — they're sisters?"

Tango nodded grimly. "It explains why Eleanor said she knew her. But now we've got to decide — do we tell Garth?"

Danni picked up the letter. "Should I read it?"

"Yes, see what it says."

Danni read it aloud —

Dear Mama,

I write to you now with trembling hands, unable to hold back the tears. My daughters — your granddaughters —were born three days ago. Two beautiful, perfect little girls. I held them in my arms for a moment before I had to say goodbye. My heart is breaking, knowing like you must have known, I'll never see my babies again.

The first went to a couple who had waited years for a child. They were kind, Mama, and they wept as they took her from me. The second — oh, how my heart ached as I handed her to another family. I had hoped to keep them together, but perhaps this was the better choice. Two families, two homes — twice the love, I tell myself.
As I watched them leave with my daughters, each step felt like a piece of my soul being torn away. Yet, I smiled through the tears, praying they would never feel the weight of the choices I had to make.

I thought of you. I thought of how you must have felt, leaving behind everything you knew, and how Gama must have suffered to make that choice. This pain is unbearable, but I cling to the hope that they will be loved as you were, as I was, in Gama's quiet, determined way.

I wish I could send this letter directly to you, but I don't even know where you are. All I can do is pray that it reaches you someday, carried by fate or miracle.

Your daughter,

Love, Angela



Danni turned slightly, sensing Miriam's presence in the back seat. "Miriam, you knew, didn't you?" she whispered.

The air seemed to shift, a gentle warmth filling the car.

"Maybe Miriam's the one who can help him understand," Danni said softly, more to herself than Tango.

"Mirian? She's not here —" Tango glanced into the rearview mirror but saw nothing; still, he sensed something. "Or is she?"

Danni nodded. "Yes, she came along. It's her first car ride."

Tango nodded, his jaw tightening. "How do we break the news to Rebecca? And the boss?"

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "I know he's got feelings for Rebecca. I see that look — like he had when he was with Allie. How's he going to react to learning Rebecca is Allie's sister?"

Danni stared out the window and then turned to Tango. "Who's going to tell him?"

Tango shook his head. "Don't look at me. I know the boss, and when something throws him a curveball, he's like a bull in a china shop. And this — it's a big one."

A silence fell over the car. Each lost in their thoughts.

Finally, Tango muttered, "We'll figure it out. But first, let's get to the hospital."

As the car sped toward the hospital, Danni felt a calm settle over her. She smiled faintly, sensing Miriam's silent support as her hand lay against Danni's arm.

*****

The hospital's floodlights spilled across the parking lot as Tango eased the car into a space near the entrance. Danni climbed out, the box of letters balanced in her arms, while Tango rounded the front of the car to join her. Miriam lingered nearby, unseen but very much present, her gaze flitting between Danni and the imposing hospital doors.

Garth was waiting just outside, pacing restlessly. His face lit up at seeing them, though his usual stoic demeanor quickly returned. "Took you long enough," he said, his sharp eyes landing on the box Danni held. "What's that?"

Danni hesitated, her fingers tightening on the box. She glanced at Tango, unsure of what to say.

Tango stepped in smoothly, his voice casual. "Just some old letters, Boss. They were at the abandoned house. We thought Rebecca might be interested in them."

Garth's brow furrowed. "Old letters?"

Before Danni could respond, the box shifted in her arms. She let out a startled gasp as the lid popped off, scattering its contents across the pavement. Tango jumped to help her gather the papers, but Garth was faster, his gaze snagging on something in the mess.

He bent down, trembling, and picked up a photograph. His face paled as he stared at the image. "This —"  He gulped and stammered, "This is Allie."

Danni froze, her heart pounding, but she felt a steadying presence from Miriam.

"How the hell is there a picture of Allie in these letters?" Garth's voice was a mixture of confusion and something deeper — grief and maybe anger. He looked up, his piercing gaze locked on Danni. "What's going on?"

Danni opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She glanced helplessly at Tango, who sighed and straightened, brushing his hands on his jeans.

"Boss," Tango said carefully, his voice unsure, "Allie is Rebecca's twin sister."

For a moment, Garth just stared, the photograph trembling in his grip. Tango's words seemed to crush the air around them. Finally, he whispered, "Twin?"

Danni nodded. "They were separated at birth, Garth. They never knew."

Garth's shoulders sagged, and he looked back down at the photograph. His thumb brushed across Allie's face as he swallowed hard. "Why am I just hearing about this now?"

Tango glanced at Danni before he answered, "Because no one knew, not even Rebecca." He braced himself, sensing the storm brewing in Garth's silence. He knew the boss's temper could flare like wildfire, but this — this was something even he hadn't anticipated.

Miriam's presence lingered, unseen, as if urging them toward the truth hidden for so long.

Garth exhaled loudly. His eyes were still fixed on the photograph. "Rebecca," he muttered, turning toward the hospital doors. "Allie. This changes everything."

Danni called out, "Garth, it doesn't have to." But he wasn't listening.

As they followed him inside, Danni couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of the storm.

*****

Danni found Garth pacing the hallway outside Rebecca's hospital room, his hands raking through his hair as he muttered under his breath. She approached cautiously, her voice gentle but firm.

"Garth."

He froze, his back to her, before turning slightly. The anguish in his eyes was undeniable. "I betrayed her," he said, his voice thick with guilt. "I fell for Rebecca — Allie's sister. I don't even know how to face her."

Danni stepped closer, her expression unwavering. "Garth, listen to me. You didn't betray anyone. You loved Allie with everything you had, and she knew that. But she's gone. And Rebecca — She isn't just Allie's sister. She's someone who's brought you back to life. That doesn't make you a traitor — it makes you human."

He shook his head, retreating a step. "It feels wrong, Danni. Like I'm replacing her."

"You're not replacing her," Danni countered, her voice soft but insistent. "You're honoring her. Do you think Allie would want you to stay locked away in grief forever? She loved you, Garth. She'd want you to find happiness again. Rebecca isn't just her sister; she's someone who's touched your heart, and that's okay."

He hesitated, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I — I just need to think," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode toward the atrium, his footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor.

Danni watched him go, his struggle heavy in the air. She murmured, almost to herself, "Eleanor, where are you when I need you."

"Right here!"

Startled, Danni turned and snapped, "How do you do that? No wonder Matthew and Jenna get so upset when you pop in like that."

Eleanor smiled. "A bit testy, are we? You called me, didn't you?"

Danni scowled. "You've got me there. Are you aware —"

"About Rebecca? Yes, when I saw the photo at the house."

"Of course. What are we going to do? Garth knows, and he thinks he's betrayed Allie."

"Give him time. He needs to sort through this by himself." Eleanor closed her eyes briefly and then replied, "Maybe he'll get a little help."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - a mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideaway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin


Chapter 27
Miracles - Chap 27

By Begin Again

 
 
 
Finding solitude in the atrium, Garth sat motionless, though his thoughts swirled wildly — a tangled storm of grief, guilt, and confusion. He buried his face in his hands as Eleanor's words echoed relentlessly in his mind —
 
"You need to live again, Garth. Allie would want that."

Fighting back his tears, he muttered, "You're wrong, Eleanor. I promised to love her forever. Those weren't just words."

His chest ached as though his heart was breaking all over again — not only for Allie but now for Rebecca, a love he didn't feel he had the right to claim.

From a distance, Miriam watched him, her ghostly form bathed in the faint light of the atrium. She understood his pain, the rawness of his guilt, and the struggle between what was and what could be. She longed to comfort him but hesitated, unsure how to bridge the divide between her world and his.

A sudden warmth enveloped her, like loving arms wrapping gently around her. Her translucent form shimmered at the touch, and she heard a soft, familiar whisper — filled with love and reassurance. "I'm here, Nana."

Miriam's lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "I thought you might come. He needs you."

"He does, but will he listen?" Allie gazed at the man she loved so much. "For Rebecca and you, I'll try."

Miriam felt the warmth shift, the air around her shimmering with Allie's presence. She stepped back, her spectral form dimming slightly, allowing her granddaughter to take the moment that only she could give.

Garth raked a trembling hand through his hair, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He tried to force the ache aside, to bury it where it couldn't hurt him anymore. It seemed like an impossible task.

That's when he heard a soft, familiar voice like a whisper carried on the wind. "Eleanor's right, you know."

He froze, his breath catching. Slowly, he lifted his head, his pulse pounding as he looked around the empty space. "Allie?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. "This can't be real."

He rubbed his temples, willing the voice away — or perhaps willing it to stay. The ache in his chest only deepened when she spoke again.

The voice was tender and warm, yet unmistakably hers. "I'm sorry we didn't finish our story like we thought we would, Garth. But it's time for you to have a new dream."

He stumbled to his feet, his pulse quickening. "No! I love you. I will always love you, Allie," he said aloud.

"I know, and that's okay. But you can love Rebecca too. All loves are different." There was a pause, a softness that lingered in the words. "She's not me. Well, maybe part of her is —perhaps the part you'll regret." A familiar chuckle reached his ears, covering his arms with goosebumps. Her voice continued, "If you give love a chance, Garth, you'll be happy again. And I will be, too, because it hurts to see you sad."

His eyes blurred with tears, and for a moment, he felt the loss and a strange sense of peace. He wasn't being asked to forget her. She was permitting him to live again, to love again.

Her voice softened. "Love her, Garth."

"But —"

"It's going to be okay," she murmured, her voice a warm blanket of comfort." You don't have to know everything. Just take it one step at a time. I'll always be with you — in here." He felt a warmth against his chest. His fingers clutched his shirt as if to catch her hand, but it was gone.

The voice was now more distant, but it was comforting nonetheless. 'Be happy, my love."

Garth closed his eyes briefly, his heart heavy but lighter than it had been in weeks. When he opened them again, he looked over at the space where Allie's voice had come from as though he could still sense her lingering presence.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened himself, his mind made up. He wasn't ready to forget, but maybe — just maybe — he was ready to move forward. He smiled and whispered, "I hope you know what you're getting me into."

Suddenly, his Stetson floated up, swirled around with the butterflies, and landed gracefully on his head. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You always did know how to make an exit, darlin'."

"Of course!"

Miriam felt a soft brush against her lips and Allie's murmur, "Goodbye, Nana." She closed her eyes, a peaceful smile spreading across her face. She felt something she thought she'd lost — hope.

*****

The faint hum of the medical equipment was the only sound breaking the silence. Donatelli sat slumped in his wheelchair, staring blankly out the window. His gaunt face and hollow eyes showed his physical pain and inner torment.

Fragments of memory flashed through his mind, disjointed and cruel. He could see Jenna — the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, the way she whispered his name that night, her voice trembling with love. His heart clenched at the memory — but then came the image of Garth, his friend, holding her in his arms. A flare of rage surged through him.

And then — blackness. The moment was gone.

The door opened, and the sound jolted him from his thoughts. He turned, startled, as a nurse wheeled Jenna into the room. She looked fragile, her cheeks pale, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. But her eyes, though rimmed with exhaustion, held an unyielding determination.

"Leave us, please," Jenna said softly to the nurse.

The nurse hesitated but nodded, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her. Jenna turned back to Donatelli, her heart breaking at seeing the man she loved reduced to a shadow of himself.

"Matthew," she said, her voice soft and full of emotion.

For a fleeting moment, his face softened. Recognition flickered in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched into the faintest smile.

"Jenna," he murmured, almost as if he couldn't believe she was real.

She smiled weakly, her hands clutching the wheelchair's armrests for support. "I needed to see you," she said, her voice trembling. "There's something I have to tell you."

His brows furrowed. The fleeting warmth vanished, replaced by a defensive edge. "Why?" he asked, his voice low and sharp. "Have you come to twist the knife, Jenna? "

Her breath hitched, but she pressed on. "Matthew, listen to me. You don't understand. I — I came to tell you about Margaret."

He blinked, confusion clouding his features. "Margaret? Who the hell is Margaret? Eleanor's sister?"

Jenna's lip quivered, but she met his gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "Our daughter. She's beautiful and she has your eyes."

For a moment, the room seemed to freeze. Donatelli stared at her as if she had spoken in a foreign language. His mind raced, struggling to piece together her words — to make sense of his thoughts.

"Our daughter?" he repeated, his voice hollow. "What kind of sick joke is this?"

"It's not a joke," Jenna said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I found out I was pregnant right before — everything fell apart. You didn't know. I couldn't tell you. But she's here now, Matthew. She's —"

His face twisted with rage, cutting her off. "And what? You're trying to pin this on me now?" he spat. "After you betrayed me with Garth?"

"Stop it!" Jenna cried, her voice cracking. "It wasn't like that! I never loved Garth. I've only ever loved you! I could never betray you."

"You expect me to believe that?" he snarled. "After what I saw? After you let him —"

The door swung open, and a cold gust seemed to follow. Eleanor stepped inside, her presence commanding. She crossed the room silently, her expression one of both sorrow and resolve. She stood in front of him.

"That's enough, Matthew," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

He turned to her, his glare venomous. "You don't belong here," he snapped.

Eleanor didn't flinch. She stepped closer, meeting his anger with a calm, steady gaze. "Be careful what you say, Matthew," she said quietly. "Jenna has never betrayed you. She loves you. And that child, your daughter, is proof of that love."

Donatelli stared, her words crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He looked back at Jenna, who was sobbing quietly, her face buried in her hands.

Eleanor moved to Jenna's side, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Come, my dear," she said gently, wheeling Jenna's chair toward the door.

Jenna glanced back at Donatelli, her tear-streaked face filled with heartbreak. "She's your daughter, Matthew," she whispered.

The door shut behind them, leaving Donatelli alone in the empty room. He turned back to the window, his hands trembling in his lap. The sunlight outside seemed dimmer now, the shadows deeper.

For the first time, he felt something other than anger — regret had taken its place.

*****

Eleanor guided Jenna's wheelchair down the quiet hospital corridor, her hand firm on the handle yet gentle with each movement. Jenna's sobs had quieted to soft hiccups, but the tears still streamed down her face. She clutched a tissue in one hand and a locket in the other, her knuckles pale.

"He's not himself, love," Eleanor said softly, leaning slightly forward to meet Jenna's eyes. "You've got to remember that. Donatelli's been through so much, and his mind is like a puzzle with missing pieces right now. Give him time. Let the pieces come back together."

Jenna turned her tear-streaked face toward Eleanor. "What if they don't? What if he's lost forever, Mom? What if Margaret never gets to know him? What if —"

Eleanor gently squeezed Jenna's shoulder. "What if he comes back stronger than ever? What if this is just the storm before the calm? You've got to hold onto hope, dear. He's a stubborn one, that man. But stubbornness can be a blessing when pointed the right way."

Jenna gave a weak smile through her tears, but her gaze shifted as they neared the NICU. The faint hum of monitors and machines greeted them as they paused by the window. Jenna's eyes locked on Margaret's tiny form, cradled in a nest of wires and tubes. Her chest rose and fell so faintly it was almost invisible.

"She's so small," Jenna whispered, her voice cracking. "So fragile. How can someone so tiny fight so hard? What if it's too much for her?"

Eleanor walked around to face Jenna, her expression resolute as she knelt slightly, her voice firm but warm. "You listen to me now, Jenna. This hospital — Frankie's hospital — it's the best there is. That little girl of yours has the strongest fighters in the world on her side. And if you ask me," she added, glancing through the glass at Margaret, "she's already proving she's one of them."

Jenna swallowed hard, her tears softening into a bittersweet smile. "You really think she'll make it?"

"I know she will," Eleanor said, raising her fist triumphantly. "Look at her in there, snug as a bug and already proving the world wrong. She's a Donatelli, isn't she? She's got plenty of fight in her."

The unexpected sight of Eleanor's defiant fist made Jenna laugh. Eleanor straightened up, a playful twinkle in her eye. "See? Even Margaret agrees with me. Look at her — already nodding her tiny head in approval!"

Jenna's laughter softened into a grateful smile as she wiped her tears. She felt a glimmer of hope flicker in her heart. "Thank you, Mom."

"Anytime, love," Eleanor said, patting Jenna's shoulder. "Now, let's keep that chin up and show that little one how it's done."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - a mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideaway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin


Chapter 28
Miracles - Chap 28

By Begin Again

 
Rebecca sat in the hospital bed, her trembling hands clutching a bundle of yellowed letters. Tears streaked down her face as she looked up, startled to see a figure standing at the foot of her bed. She rubbed her eyes at the shimmering vision and looked closer.

"You're the girl in the photo," Rebecca whispered, her voice breaking. "It can't be." A chill ran down her spine as she stared in disbelief.

Allie smiled gently, her presence radiating calm. "It's me, Rebecca. I'm Allie, your sister."

"But you're —"

Allie chuckled. "I am, but I think you've already discovered there are spirits all around you who are here to help."

Rebecca's hands tightened around the letters. "I —I don't know if I can handle this," she cried. "It's too much." She stammered, "These letters, the truth — everything. It feels like my entire world has turned upside down. And now —" Her eyes widened, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Am I — talking to a ghost?"

Allie stepped closer, her gaze soft and understanding. "I know, Rebecca. It wasn't easy for me, especially when I learned about us. But by the time I learned the truth, I was already on this side. I didn't have the weight of the living world pressing on me anymore."

Rebecca shook her head, anger flaring through her grief. "How could our mother give us away, Allie? How could she tear us apart? We should have had the chance to know each other! To grow up together! It's not fair!"

Allie nodded slowly, her expression pained but calm. "You're right. It wasn't fair. But we weren't in their shoes, Rebecca. We didn't live in their times or face their struggles. I've had a long time to think about it, and I believe they did what they thought was best for us. It doesn't make it right, but it gave us each a life."

Rebecca's shoulders sagged, her anger giving way to a bittersweet sorrow. "I did have a good life," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Until the inheritance, I thought my life was great."

"Then hold onto that," Allie urged, stepping closer. "Be grateful for what you've had, but more than that, be grateful for what we have now. We've found each other again. It's not how we might have wanted, but it's something precious, right?"

Rebecca wiped at her tears, nodding slightly. Allie paused, her expression growing tender. "And one more thing, Rebecca. Accept Garth's love."

Rebecca looked up sharply, shaking her head. "Allie, I can't! He loves you."

Allie raised her hand, silencing her. "Listen to me. Garth is a wonderful man. He was the love of my life, and I can't imagine anyone I'd rather see him find happiness with than you. I don't want him to mourn me forever, Rebecca. I want him to be happy. And you — you can make him happy. You can give him the love he deserves."

Rebecca's tears fell as she met Allie's gaze. "But how do I — how can I?"

Allie smiled, a bittersweet warmth in her eyes. "You'll figure it out. Just trust your heart. Trust him. You both deserve a second chance at love."

As Allie's form faded, her voice lingered in the air.

"Be happy, Rebecca, for both of us. I must go now, but remember, I'll always be in your heart. And if you need me, look up and talk to me." Her voice grew strong once more. Rebecca, there's one more person, our grandmother, who needs to talk to you. Please listen with an open heart. She's waited a long time, and now her time has come. She needs you."

"Our grandmother? The one they — "

"Don't think of the past. Look forward, dear sister. Until we meet again."

Rebecca clutched the letters tightly to her chest, their fragile edges brushing against her skin as if they carried words and whispers from another life. Exhaustion and emotion overcame her, and soon, she drifted into a deep slumber.

Her dreams were vivid and bittersweet. She saw rolling vineyards stretching endlessly under a golden sun and two identical girls — herself and Allie — running barefoot through fields of wildflowers, their laughter echoing across the horizon. Unfamiliar faces, warm and kind, bent down to embrace her, their eyes brimming with love as they softly told her she was cherished. She felt the faintest memory of belonging, a life unbroken, where she and Allie had never been apart.

She stirred, her lips curling into the faintest smile as a strange peace settled over her, like a balm soothing a long-festering wound.

"Rebecca," a familiar voice called gently, pulling her from her dream.

Her eyes fluttered open, the vision of vineyards fading into the soft light of the hospital room.

"Eleanor?" Rebecca murmured.

"You have a visitor. She's waited a long time to meet you."

Rebecca's hand flew to her mouth, the letters slipping from her grasp as recognition and a lifetime of questions washed over her.

"My grandmother?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Allie told me she would come."

Miriam stepped forward, her smile quivering but radiant. "My darling girl." Her eyes shimmered with emotion. "Rebecca," she said gently, "I have waited lifetimes to see you, to say what should have been said long ago."

Rebecca clutched the letter she had been reading, her voice thick with emotion. "You left my mother behind. I don't understand how —"

Miriam nodded, sorrow etched into her ethereal features. "I did. Not because I wanted to but because I thought it was the only way to save my family. I was young and afraid, and choices were made that left wounds I never thought could heal. But those choices were made with love — though it was a flawed love."

Rebecca's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know if I can forgive you. Those choices steered so many lives down different paths." She gulped and turned away, murmuring, "I never knew my sister, my twin."

Miriam's gaze softened. "I don't ask for your forgiveness, my dear. Only for your understanding. And for you to know that you were always loved no matter the choices made. By your mother and by me."

Rebecca looked down at the letter in her trembling hands, her heart pounding against her chest. She took a deep breath and looked up. "I don't know if I'm ready, but I'm willing to try."

A serene smile graced Miriam's face. "That is all I could ever hope for."

The golden light surrounding Miriam began to intensify, growing warmer and brighter. Rebecca gasped, her tears turning to wonder as Miriam's form shimmered.

"What's happening?" Rebecca asks, looking at Eleanor.

Eleanor smiled through her tears. "She's been waiting for this moment — for peace. She remained, by choice, in this limbo, waiting. By coming to terms with you, Rebecca, she's finally free to move on."

Miriam turned to Eleanor, her voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you for reaching out to me. You were the guiding light when I was trapped in darkness."

Eleanor nodded, her tears falling. "It was an honor, Miriam. And thank you for saving Matthew. We will be forever grateful."

Miriam squeezed Eleanor's hand. "He's got a rough road to travel, but because of him —" She glanced at Rebecca before meeting Eleanor's eyes. "His troubles brought us together. I pray God blesses the boy with happiness."

Miriam turned back to Rebecca, her voice a whisper. "Live your life with love, my beautiful granddaughter. Break the chains of pain that bound me. You deserve happiness."

As Miriam's form faded, her expression was one of peace. Rebecca reached out instinctively as if to hold onto her. "Will I see you again?"

Miriam's voice was barely audible. "I will always be with you, in your heart and in the love you share with others." She paused and continued, "I saw your young man. He struggles, but his heart is filled with love. It's yours."

And then she was gone, leaving behind a sense of serenity that filled the room.

Rebecca wiped her tears, looking at Eleanor. "She's at peace now?"

Eleanor nodded. "She's finally free."

Rebecca leaned back against her pillows, holding the letters close to her chest. "Maybe — maybe I can find peace, too."

Eleanor reached for Rebecca's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You will."

The door opened, and Eleanor smiled as she stepped aside to let Garth into the room. "I'll go check on Jenna," she said, her voice gentle. "You two have some time to talk." With a reassuring glance at Rebecca, she quietly left, closing the door behind her.

Rebecca's gaze locked on Garth as he drew near, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Her voice quivered as she confessed, "I didn't know. Your heart must be in such a storm."

He moved to the side of her bed without hesitation, leaning down to wrap his strong arms around her. Pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head, he whispered, "For now, but we're going to be okay. It will take time for us to understand, but —" He pressed her hand against his heart. "Inside here — there's nothing but love, and I want to share it with you."

Rebecca pulled back just enough to look at him, her face searching his for answers. "Garth," she said, her voice cracking, "she was here."

His expression softened further, his hand cupping her cheek. "I know," he said quietly. "She was with me in the atrium too. It was her gift to us."

A tear slid down Rebecca's cheek as she rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. At that moment, their shared grief bound them together as she whispered, "Together — you and me."

Author Notes Happy Thanksgiving to one and all. Regardless whether you share the holiday, I hope you find time to be thankful for our blessings and to share the special love that comes with holidays with everyone — all year long. I thank each of you for supporting me and enjoying the things I write. We're almost to the end of this one. It's been a struggle, but one I'm proud to have written. Wish me luck as I wish you the same in all that you write. Smiles and hugs, Carol


Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - a mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideaway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin


Chapter 29
Miracles - Chap 29

By Begin Again

Indecision weighed heavily on Garth as he stood outside Matthew's hospital room, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Allie's visit had given him a glimpse into Matthew's burden, a heavy load of pain and missed chances. He knew the man had endured more than most — amnesia, regret, anger.

But Garth wasn't without his struggles. His thoughts were a tangle of emotions, most centered around Rebecca. Allie's visit had brought clarity — her blessing to move on, to find happiness with Rebecca, had untangled a knot he didn't even realize he'd been holding onto. It wasn't just about letting go; it was about understanding the connections that bound him to both women and the future he now dared to hope for.

Still, his mind drifted back to Matthew. Could Donatelli find that same peace? Or was he still trapped in the past, shackled by wounds too deep to heal?

For Jenna's sake and baby Margaret, Garth knew he had to try. Regardless of their differences or their difficulties, he wanted Matthew to rediscover the kind of love he'd shared with Allie. Perhaps even the kind he was beginning to believe in with Rebecca.

Drawing a steadying breath, Garth exhaled slowly, opened the door, and stepped inside.

"Matthew," he said softly, easing into the chair beside the bed. "I hear bits and pieces are coming back. That's good. Should have guessed you'd wait till the dust settled and the bad guys were cuffed, huh?"

Matthew squinted, his brow furrowing as he stared at Garth. The voice was familiar, but pinning it down felt like chasing smoke. Slowly, a grin broke through the haze. "Cowboy? I think I remember — a bar? Or maybe — a fight. Someone got clobbered."

Garth chuckled, leaning forward. "Close enough. You were set up. Doyle pulled the strings. Arranged the fight, planted the guy in your car — and the lake."

Matthew blinked, fragments of scenes flickering through his mind like an old film reel. "Doyle. He's in prison, isn't he? He — he was selling something. Paintings? Or — no, that doesn't sound right." He pressed his temples, frustration clouding his face. "It's all — scrambled."

"You're on the right track," Garth said gently. "Stolen paintings, yeah. That's how he funded the frame job. But don't push too hard. It'll come when it's ready."

Matthew exhaled heavily, staring at the ceiling as the fog in his mind swirled. "I keep — seeing pieces, but they don't fit yet. A pool table — a fight, maybe someone yelling. Feels like — it happened to someone else."

"Give it time, partner," Garth said, his voice reassuring. "The pieces will fall into place. Just glad you're starting to see them."

"Everything's so jumbled."

"You can worry about that later. Right now, we need to talk about Jenna."

Donatelli's eyes were closed, his face drawn with exhaustion, but he turned his head slightly. "So, news travels fast."

"News — you mean the baby?"

"Baby? I was referencing Jenna's false attacks."

Garth exhaled slowly, unsure how to approach what he knew he had to say. The last few months had been full of tension and confusion for both of them, but now, as he sat there watching Donatelli stew in the aftermath of his outburst, he knew they both had to settle their disagreements.

"I've made mistakes too," Garth said, his voice firm. "And nothing's gonna get better if we keep letting this anger tear us apart. I'm not here to tell you what to do or to judge you. I know what it's like to lose someone you love, to get caught up in regrets." He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "I've been carrying my guilt, especially about Rebecca."

Donatelli turned his head slightly, his brow furrowing, but he didn't speak, so Garth pressed on.

"Allie's gone. I know you know that. But I've struggled with moving on. And then Rebecca came into my life. At first, I felt like I was betraying Allie — like I wasn't supposed to feel anything for Rebecca because she was her twin. But Allie — she came to me — to tell me to be happy, that I deserved to move on."

Donatelli's eyes softened, but he didn't say anything yet, so Garth continued.

"I can't pretend it's been easy. But I know now that we can't keep holding on to the past and let it keep us from living the life we're meant to live."

Donatelli let out a heavy sigh, and for the first time, he looked directly at Garth, his eyes filled with regret and sorrow. "I don't remember much about what happened, but I do regret the look I saw in Jenna's eyes this afternoon. I let my anger blind me. I thought if I pushed her away, I wouldn't feel the pain of losing." His voice cracked slightly, but he quickly regained control. "I thought if I held onto my anger at you, it would help me forget how much I screwed up."

Garth's heart tightened. "I'm not blaming you. I'm not. I — I know you love Jenna. And I know you regret what you said to her. But it's not too late to fix it. You can still make it right. Don't throw away your chance with her over pride or fear."

Donatelli was silent for a long moment, lost in thought. Garth could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between the man who wanted to change and the man who had been consumed by past mistakes. But Garth didn't give up. He could see the man Donatelli could still be, and he wanted to give him the push he needed to get there.

"Jenna needs you, Donatelli. She's hurt. She needs to know you're still there for her. And I think deep down, she wants to forgive you. But you've got to show her that you've changed. That you're willing to put the past behind you, to make amends."

Donatelli looked at Garth, his jaw tight with emotion. "I don't deserve her forgiveness."

"You do," Garth said softly. "We all do. But you won't get it unless you let go of the anger. Let it go and take a step forward."

Donatelli's hands trembled on the arms of his chair. He looked like he was battling with himself, fighting the urge to give in to the anger that had kept him from reaching out to Jenna.

Garth stood up, preparing to leave the room, but turned back. "There's one more thing I want you to see, something that might help you understand how important it is to make things right. Something that's been missing from your life."

Donatelli frowned, but Garth didn't wait for him to ask questions. He smiled and wheeled him toward the door.

*****

The NICU's fluorescent lights were soft and dim, casting a calming glow over the rows of incubators. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, and the soft hum of machines provided a comforting backdrop to the otherwise quiet room. Garth wheeled Donatelli into the space, the tension thick between them. But this time, it was different. Their words had softened, and now it was time for something that might finally heal them both.

As they approached one of the incubators, Donatelli's gaze shifted. His eyes widened when he saw the tiny figure inside, the fragile form of a baby who seemed impossibly small. Her chest rose and fell with each delicate breath, and monitors beeped softly in the background.

Garth wheeled Donatelli closer to the glass. "Her name is Margaret."

Donatelli froze, his gaze locked on the tiny figure, then slowly shifted to the plaque beside the incubator. His eyes widened in disbelief.

Margaret Donatelli.

His heart stopped. He didn't speak at first; he just stared, his breath caught in his throat. For a long moment, he could hardly believe it. But the more he stared at the tiny baby, the more he realized — this was real.

"She's your daughter," Garth said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words hit Donatelli like a punch to the gut. His breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening as he looked at the small, fragile girl who was his flesh and blood. For the first time in ages, the walls around his heart cracked. A raw, aching emotion surged through him as he reached toward the glass, his hand trembling. "Jenna—" he swallowed hard. "She gave her my last name."

Garth nodded. "She loves you. She gave you the gift of fatherhood. Don't squander it."

"She's so small," he whispered, his voice breaking. "So tiny. I — I didn't know. I didn't know —"

Garth's hand rested gently on Donatelli's shoulder, the gesture of support, not pity. "She needs you. Right now. Don't let your anger or guilt rob her of the father she deserves. If you love Jenna, which I think you do, make things right before it's too late."

For a moment, Donatelli didn't speak. He just looked at Margaret, tears welling in his eyes. Finally, he nodded, his voice shaky. "Jenna tried — I — oh, God, Garth, what have I done?"

"You can fix it."

"No, I — it's too late."

Garth's eyes softened. "It's never too late. But you have to act now."

Tears welled in Donatelli's eyes, and his voice broke as he spoke, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve her."

"You do," Garth said firmly. "But only if you're willing to fight for it. Jenna and Margaret — they're your second chance. Don't waste it."

Matthew's hand remained against the glass, trembling as he stared at his daughter. His daughter. The words echoed in his mind, stirring something raw and powerful. Regret, guilt, and a fierce, unfamiliar protectiveness swirled in his chest.

"I've missed so much already," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "How do I make up for that? How do I —fix it?"

Garth crouched beside him. "You start by being here now. By showing up. Not just for Margaret, but for Jenna. Let them see you're willing to fight for them —not out of guilt, but because you love them."

Donatelli closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Fragmented and incomplete memories began to resurface — the warmth of Jenna's laughter, how she'd looked at him once, full of trust and hope. He'd shattered that. Yet this tiny, fragile life offered him a chance he didn't think he deserved.

"I thought pushing her away would protect her," he said hoarsely. "But all I did was hurt her. And now..." His voice broke as he looked at Margaret again. "Now there's this little life depending on me, and I don't even know where to start."

Garth leaned in closer, his voice low but firm. "You start by forgiving yourself, Donatelli. No one's asking you to be perfect. Just be here. Be her dad. Be the man Jenna fell in love with."

Donatelli's eyes filled with tears as he nodded, his fingers pressing lightly against the glass. "I don't deserve her," he whispered.

"Maybe not," Garth said quietly. "But she doesn't care about that. She needs you to show up. Jenna, too. And for what it's worth, I think you have it in you to do right by both of them."

For a long moment, Donatelli didn't respond, the silence filled only by the steady beeping of monitors and the soft hum of the room. But then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he straightened, a flicker of determination in his eyes.

"I need to see Jenna," he said finally, his voice steadier than before. "She deserves to hear me say I was wrong. And — I need to tell her I'll do better — for both of them."

Garth stood, his hand squeezing Donatelli's shoulder. "Good. But don't just tell her. Show her. Actions speak louder than words."

Donatelli gave a slight, hesitant nod, his gaze drifting back to Margaret. The sight of her filled him with fear and hope — fear of failing but hope that it wasn't too late to start again.

"She looks so much like Jenna," he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'll fight for her, Garth. For both of them. No more running."

Garth nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. "That's what I wanted to hear."

Donatelli stayed silent momentarily, his hand still pressed against the glass. The rise and fall of Margaret's tiny chest seemed to steady his breath. Slowly, he nodded as Garth's words sunk in.

"I'll try," he said softly, his voice raw but resolute. "I don't know how to be that man yet, but I'll try — for her. For Jenna."

Garth's gaze softened. "That's all anyone can ask. But you've got to mean it, Matt. They're giving you a gift. Don't waste it."

Donatelli glanced over his shoulder at Garth, then back to Margaret. A tear slipped down his cheek as he whispered, "Hello, sweetie. I'm your daddy."

With that, Garth left Donatelli alone with his thoughts and his daughter. He had done what he could, and now it was time for Matthew to take the reins.

As Garth walked down the hallway, he felt an unfamiliar lightness in his chest. The knots in his own heart, too, had loosened, and his guilt and confusion about Rebecca were no longer so overwhelming. Maybe he, too, was starting to move forward.

When he reached the elevator, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Rebecca's name flashing across the screen.

He stared at it momentarily, then answered with a steady breath. "Hey, it's me."

"Garth," Rebecca's voice was warm and familiar, but there was something different, something deeper in it now. "I'm missing you."

His heart skipped a beat. There it was — the moment he had feared and hoped for all at once. "I'm missing you, too," he replied, his voice softer than he expected. "Can't imagine a better place to be except with you."

The elevator doors slid closed. The future was still a question, but it wasn't as scary as it once seemed. He had faced his own ghosts and had helped Matthew face his. Now, it was time to see what came next.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - a mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideaway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin


Chapter 30
Miracles - Chap 30

By Begin Again

 

 
 
 
 
Eleanor tapped on the massive wooden door to Frank DiVito's office. Before the second tap, Sammy swung it open and invited her inside.

"Come in, Eleanor. Have you recovered from all the excitement? And how's our little girl and her Mommy doing?"

"Very well, because of your efficient team of doctors. We can't thank you enough." She glanced around the room. "I was hoping Frankie was here."

"He's on his way. I saw you on the camera, and I notified him."

Eleanor laughed. "I'll have to remember sneak attacks require me to be invisible." Her body shimmered, faded, and materialized again, startling Sammy, who had never seen her figure as a ghost.

He took it in stride, though. "Wow! That could come in handy."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "I suggest you wait until you are no longer of this world."

Chuckling, Sammy commented, "Yeah, the boss might not take to me popping in and out like that."

Frankie entered the office through a side door, smiling. "Eleanor, how wonderful to see you. I hope this is a social call and not something gone wrong."

Sammy handed his boss a brandy snifter. "Eleanor, can I offer you something?"

"Not tonight, Sammy. I'm on a mission and need all my wits about me."

Frankie raised an eyebrow. "A mission? You haven't discovered another crime, have you? I think Garth and Donatelli need a rest."

Eleanor smiled and shook her head. "This mission involves me and something called payback."

"I'm intrigued. Tell me more." Frank gestured toward the plush chair by the window. "Please, have a seat." After she was comfortable, he chose the chair next to her. "This mission of yours, it wouldn't involve Doyle, would it?"

Eleanor chuckled softly. "Now, why would you ask that, Frankie?"

"Because you don't like loose ends, and that's exactly what the judge is. When he was sentenced to prison, you and everyone else thought his days of crime and power had ended. But he found a way to keep it going."

Eleanor's fingers trailed over the armrest. She studied Frankie, his sharp eyes as unreadable as ever. "Do you think Doyle will ever feel remorse for his actions?"

Frankie leaned back, folding his hands. "Honestly? No. Men like Doyle don't feel sorry. Not if they have money and power to cushion their fall. It's all the same to him, whether outside or behind bars."

Eleanor's jaw tightened. "So, it doesn't matter?"

"Not as things stand," Frankie replied. "He's got his little empire, even in prison — comfort, connections, loyalty bought and paid for. Take that away, though —" He shrugged, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

Her gaze narrowed, a fire igniting in her chest. "Could you call in another favor with Jack Lexington? Maybe make sure Doyle loses all his luxuries?"

Frankie smirked, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. "Jack's already one step ahead of you. That was his plan all along for Doyle and Rossi. Just waiting on the word."

The corner of Eleanor's mouth lifted, though it was a bitter smile. She glanced around the room. "Could we give him the word now?"

Frankie chuckled. "Done. But something tells me you've got more in mind than just making him uncomfortable."

Eleanor rose, her voice firm as steel. "You're right. It's time he understands what real consequences feel like."

Frankie tipped his glass in her direction. "Good luck with that, Eleanor. Though something tells me you won't need it."

Her gaze was steady, a flicker of something cold and determined burning in her eyes. "Just a little visit to the prison," she said.

Frankie raised his glass in a mock toast. "God help him if you're playing judge and jury."

Eleanor didn't respond. She didn't need to. The fire in her eyes said it all. "Thanks for the chat, Frankie. Have a nice evening because I know I will."

*****

Outside the prison, Eleanor adjusted her coat against the cold night air. Frankie's words echoed in her mind: "Doyle won't ever feel sorry. Not as long as he's got the power to live like a king."

She thought of Doyle, lounging in his cell, feasting on steak and wine while his victims rotted in graves. Tonight, that would change. Eleanor entered the prison, quickly slipping through the locked gates and concrete walls, unnoticed by the guards.

*****

Doyle was staring at the ceiling on a plush mattress inside his cell. The prison was unnervingly quiet, the occasional rattle of a distant gate or muffled voices of nightshift guards the only sounds. Yet, something felt wrong. An eerie sensation lingered, a feeling that he was not alone.

The temperature dropped suddenly, sending a chill through him. Doyle tried to ignore it, dismissing it as his imagination. But the cold seeped into his bones, and his unease deepened.

He had just finished his meal—a thick, medium-rare steak, twice-baked potato covered in the works, and a glass of Chardonnay —the perks of his privileged position behind bars. The guards delivered it without question, a luxury he'd arranged long before. He leaned back on the mattress, the warmth from the wine slowly lulling him into drowsiness.

His vision blurred, and his mind drifted. Then, the shadows on the walls began to shift, their forms flickering at the edges of his vision. They didn't follow the rules of the light, twisting and turning as though they had a life of their own. Doyle tried to ignore it, but his heart raced, and unease prickled at the back of his neck.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, but it would not come.

When he opened his eyes again, his cell was gone.

A blinding light filled his vision, the air thick with the scent of smoke and gasoline. He gasped, his hands tightening around the steering wheel of a car speeding down a country road. But it wasn't him steering. The vehicle seemed alive, skidding dangerously close to the edge of the road. His eyes widened as another car slammed against the one he was in.

His heart hammered in his chest, the engine's roar filling his ears. "Stop!" a voice screamed beside him.

Wide-eyed, Doyle turned to see Margaret — her face pale and streaked with tears, yet somehow lifeless. Her empty eyes locked on his.

"You killed me," she sneered. "I thought you loved me, but you used me and sent me to a horrendous death. You shouldn't have done that, John."

The wheel jerked violently as the car swerved off the road. Time slowed as they tumbled into the ravine. Flames erupted, consuming the vehicle as it hurtled downward, slamming into a tree. Doyle screamed as fire engulfed him, the heat searing through his skin.

Margaret sat beside him, untouched by the flames, her hollow eyes fixed on him.

"How does it feel?" she said, her voice icy. "Burn, John, burn!" The flames danced around her before she faded away.

Doyle jolted upright, gasping for air, drenched in sweat. His heart thundered, the nightmare still vivid in his mind. He could almost smell the smoke and feel the heat. The prison's silence returned, but the shadows seemed darker now. He scanned the cell, seeking comfort, but it only deepened his unease.

He rubbed his face, trying to shake off the fear that gripped him.

And then he heard laughter — soft, musical, and feminine.

The sound echoed from every direction, impossibly close yet distant as if it came from nowhere.

"Who's there?" he barked.

The laughter continued, low and seductive. He rolled over and turned toward the bars, and there she was — a tall, voluptuous woman in a flowing red dress. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, and her lips curled into a sultry smile.

"You've been busy tonight, haven't you, John?" she purred.

Doyle's mouth went dry. "Who — who are you?"

She stepped through the bars as if they didn't exist, her movements fluid and almost hypnotic. Her black eyes locked onto his, and Doyle could not look away.

"You like to prey on the weak, don't you?" she murmured, her voice dripping with venom. She grazed his cheek with her icy fingers, sharp enough to draw blood.

"Get away from me," Doyle whispered, his voice a hoarse plea.

"Oh, but you like this, don't you?" She teased, her lips curling into a cruel grin. "You like the power, the control. Watching others suffer while you take what you want." Her smile widened, revealing teeth too sharp, too perfect.

Doyle's instincts screamed at him to run, but his body wouldn't obey. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear, her teeth nipping at the lobe.

"You'll feel what they felt," she whispered. "Think about the pain you've caused."

Suddenly, her face changed. Her smooth skin cracked, deep fissures spreading across her features. Her eyes darkened, and her mouth stretched unnaturally wide. Her fingers lengthened into claws, and her red dress tore into tattered, blood-soaked rags.

The air turned suffocating as chains slithered from the shadows, their metallic clinks mocking him. They wrapped around his wrists and ankles, yanking him to the ground.

"No! Let me go!" Doyle screamed, thrashing against the chains.

The woman — or what remained of her — hovered above him, her claws gleaming in the dim light. A long, barbed whip appeared in her hands, hissing like a living creature.

"Your judgment day has come," she sneered, her voice guttural and alien, reverberating in his skull.

The whip cracked, slicing through the air. Doyle howled in agony, the searing pain burning his back. He clawed at the ground, desperate to escape, but the chains held him tight.

Her laughter echoed through the walls as she brought the whip down again and again until he drifted into unconsciousness.

The darkness didn't offer comfort. It shifted and crept closer like an unseen tide. The air in the cell grew heavy and damp, and the faint scent of stagnant water filled his nostrils.

"No more," Doyle moaned, his voice cracking. But it was not to be. As he closed his eyes, the world around him tilted.

When he opened them, he wasn't in his cell.

He was in a car, strapped into the driver's seat. The wheel was slick beneath his hands, and his wrists were bound tightly with rough cords. Panic surged as he struggled against the restraints, but they wouldn't give.

"Where am I?" Doyle shouted, his voice echoing in the confined space.

The answer came not in words but in the sudden, violent lurch of the car. It tilted forward, dropping, spinning, and splashing into the lake below. He could hear the unmistakable sound of water rushing in. Cold liquid pooled around his feet, climbing rapidly to his knees.

"No! No, no, no!" he screamed, thrashing against the seatbelt.

A dark shape moved outside the window. Doyle turned his head, the water now up to his waist. A face pressed against the glass — a face he recognized.

"Johnny?" Doyle stammered, his breath catching in his throat. The man outside the window was pale and lifeless, but his eyes were sharp, burning with accusation.

"You did this to me!" Johnny said. His voice wasn't angry — it was calm, cold, and final.

The car shuddered as it plunged deeper into the water, and Doyle felt the icy rush against his chest. He kicked at the door and clawed at the handle, but it wouldn't move. The cords binding his wrists bit into his skin, holding him captive.

"You framed Donatelli," Johnny continued, his face still pressed to the glass. "But it was my life you took. My breath. My future. All for your revenge."

"I didn't — I had no choice!" Doyle gasped.

The car tipped again, and now the water was at his neck. He craned his head, desperate for air, but it was useless. The cold engulfed him, pressing down on his chest like a stone.

"Please! Help me!" Doyle begged as he gulped for air.

Johnny didn't move. He stood there, unmoving, unblinking, as Doyle's desperate screams turned into gurgles.

The water closed over Doyle's head, and the world went silent. He thrashed wildly, clawing at the glass, his lungs screaming for air. The figure outside the car blurred as the car, and Doyle sank deeper, the dim light fading into the dark abyss.

As his vision dimmed, the final words he heard were, "You'll drown in your guilt."

When his eyes opened again, he was back in his cell.

A figure cloaked in black loomed in the corner before he spoke, "Perhaps now you understand what it's like to be powerless."

"Who are you?" Doyle whined. "Why are you doing this to me?"

The man in black slipped through the bars, his glowing eyes the only light in the darkness. "You did this to yourself. And these dreams — they're yours to keep."

"What do you mean?" Doyle whimpered, his voice now weak and fearful.

The man in black's grin was ghoulish as he said, " Every night, you'll face the lives you destroyed. Every —single —night."

His hand rested lightly on the bars as he glared at Doyle's shivering form. "There's one more thing." He waved his staff in the air. His eerie laughter sent a chill down Doyle's spine as he faded away.

The cell walls began to ripple, warping and stretching until they melted entirely. Doyle blinked, his surroundings shifting into the grand confines of a courtroom. The air buzzed with tension, and the harsh glare of overhead lights illuminated the space.

He was seated in the defendant's chair, shackles binding his hands and feet. The courtroom was overflowing with people, but the jury and audience were faceless except for their eyes — blank canvases that stared at him with condemnation.

The judge's gavel slammed down, echoing like thunder in the vast chamber. "We are here to pass judgment," a low and foreboding voice boomed.

"Guilty. Guilty. Guilty." The jury chanted, their faceless heads nodding in unison. The sound grew louder, drowning out Doyle's frantic cries.

"No!" he screamed, struggling against his chains. "Please, I'll do anything! Just stop this!"

The judge leaned forward, his face becoming visible in the dim light. Doyle's breath caught in his throat — his own face was staring back at him, twisted with malice.

"Too late," the judge hissed, slamming the gavel one final time. The sound reverberated through the courtroom, and the floor beneath Doyle gave way.

He plunged into darkness, the chant of "Guilty" following him into the void.

Then he saw her — a ghost he recognized.

Eleanor stood in the corner of the cell, her figure framed by the dim light filtering through the narrow window. Her eyes bore into him, cold and unrelenting, making the room feel smaller — the air heavier.

"Enjoying your nightmares, Doyle?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with steel.

He stumbled off the cot, collapsing to his knees. His mind raced with regret and fear. "Eleanor — please," he croaked. "I didn't mean —"

"Don't!" Her voice cut through his desperate plea like a knife. "Save your breath. You've been judged, and your excuses are empty pleas."

"I'll make it right!" he begged, his hands reaching toward her. "I'll fix everything! Please, give me a chance!"

Eleanor tilted her head slightly, a faint, bitter smile curving her lips. "Fix it? Tell me, Doyle, how do you fix a life taken, a soul shattered, or a legacy destroyed?" She stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the cold floor. "You can't."

His head fell, and his shoulders shook. "I'll die here," he whispered.

"Oh, no," she replied, her tone icy. "Death would be a mercy, and mercy is not something you've earned." She turned slightly, glancing around the cell as if inspecting it. "Your cozy little arrangement? The fine meals, the luxury of solitude? It's over."

Doyle's head snapped up, his face pale. "What? No! You can't do that!"

Eleanor's gaze locked with his, unflinching. "You're moving to the general population. Let's see how you fare among the criminals you unmercifully put away."

"No!" His voice cracked with raw panic. "You don't understand! They'll kill me!" His words echoed in the empty corridor, a desperate plea for mercy.

Two guards appeared outside his cell. "Pack up, Doyle. You're moving," one of them barked.

Doyle stumbled to his feet, his hands trembling. "Where am I going?"

"Where you belong," the other guard said with a satisfied smirk.

They led him away, his screams fading into the distance. Eleanor watched from the shadows, a faint smile on her lips. In her eyes, justice had been served, and she felt a profound sense of closure.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - a mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideaway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin
Baby Margaret Eleanor Donatelli - newborn daughter of Jenna and Matthew


Chapter 31
Miracles - The End

By Begin Again

 
Sam opened the office door and greeted their guests, "Please come in."

Danni, arm in arm with Tango, and Garth pushing Rebecca's wheelchair, entered with gratitude and bliss glowing on their faces. Frankie looked up from his desk, the ever-present furrow in his brow softening as a wide smile spread across his face.

As he rounded his massive desk, Garth stepped closer with his hand extended, firmly shaking Frankie's hand. "We just wanted to say thank you." Glancing toward Rebecca, his voice choked as he tried to express his true feelings. "For—for everything. You've been an important part of making this miracle happen."

Rebecca, sitting in her wheelchair, added, "You've given us more than just care. You gave us hope when we thought all was lost."

Frankie, ever the stoic, waved a hand dismissively. "Just doing our job," he said, though his voice betrayed his emotions.

Danni's eyes filled with tears. "You gave us so much — Donatelli, Jenna, Rebecca, and little Margaret. There aren't words to describe our blessings."

Tango chimed in, "Let's not forget rounding up Rossi and his crew. That's a big thank you." Garth nodded in agreement.

"We can all give Jack Lexington a pat on the back for that one," Frank added.

"We'd like you to join us in the NICU in about an hour. Everyone's gathering and it wouldn't be the same without you two," Garth offered.

Frank smiled at their generosity but answered, "Thank you, truly, but I think this moment belongs to your family."

Danni hesitated for a moment, then nodded with understanding. "Well, the invitation's always open. And again, thank you."

The trio left, leaving Frankie and Sam alone in the quiet office. Frankie reached for the remote and switched the monitor to the NICU feed. A soft glow bathed the tiny bundle with wires and tubes connected to her little body. He felt honored to be a part of her life. "She's a real trooper, Sam. I'm glad she's part of our family."

"Me too! When she grows up, she can be at my side any day. That little girl is a fighter." Sam chuckled. "There's no mistaking who her daddy is."

*****

The hospital corridors were alive with sound. Carolers dressed in rich velvets and flowing cloaks of a bygone era strolled through the halls, their voices lifting in harmony. The haunting melody of When a Child Is Born floated toward the atrium, its poignant lyrics a balm for weary hearts.

In the atrium, Eleanor and Miriam stood side by side, their expressions soft, touched by the moment. The gentle light of the Christmas decorations reflected in their eyes as they listened.

Eleanor murmured, "With everything happening, I forgot we were in the Christmas season. I'm glad that you chose to stay a little longer. It will make Rebecca happy too."

Miriam smiled, "I've been alone for so long even my memories of Christmas had faded. It's nice to feel that special joy that comes with the holidays and to share it with family and special friends like you."

The carolers sang —
 
A ray of hope flitters in the sky
 
A tiny star lights up way up high

Miriam's gaze drifted to the windows, where the first snow fell softly. Her thoughts lingered on the daughter she had lost so many years ago and the miraculous discovery of Rebecca, her grandchild, alive and grown. There was sadness for the years lost but gratitude for the connection they had found.

She smiled as she listened —
 
All across the land dawns a brand-new morn
 
This comes to pass when a child is born

Memories weighed on Eleanor, too. Jenna's birth, her decision to give her up for adoption, and the miraculous way they had been reunited and now the blessing of Margaret — it was all too much to hold in one heart. She pressed a hand to her chest, her love and awe for the workings of life's mysteries reflected in her tear-brimmed eyes.

The soft tones of the Carolers added joy to the moment.

A silent wish sails the seven seas

The winds have changed whispering in the trees

And the walls of doubt crumble, tossed and torn

This comes to pass when a child is born


Eleanor took Miriam's hand in hers and smiled. "Let there be peace on earth and goodwill to all men."

"The women, too, Eleanor," Miriam exclaimed.

Eleanor laughed at her newfound friend. "Yes, especially the women."

*****

As Danni wheeled Jenna into the NICU, the sight of Donatelli sitting there, tears streaking down his face as he gazed at Margaret, made their hearts ache. Jenna nodded to Danni, who guided the chair beside Donatelli and then moved away to give them space.

The two of them sat side by side, gazing at their tiny baby girl in the incubator, the soft whirring of the machines in the background.

Jenna reached over and placed her hand on Donatelli's arm. He stiffened at first, then slowly turned toward her. His eyes softened when they met hers, and he took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. There was a deep silence between them, broken only by their daughter's soft breaths.

"She's beautiful," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "She looks just like her momma."

Jenna murmured, "I think she has your eyes and will be strong — like you. A fighter."

Matthew grinned. "Does that mean she will come home from school with a black eye?"

Jenna's smile was filled with love. "It means she will stand up for what's right and never give up, even when she's fallen."

Donatelli's lips quirked into a soft smile, his guilt and fears giving way to the hope in her words. He turned back to their daughter, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in days.

The others entered one by one. Eleanor was the first, her presence calming and warm, followed by Miriam. Garth entered, his hand resting lightly on Rebecca's shoulder as he rolled her chair into the room. They gathered near the glass, their eyes drawn to the tiny, perfect miracle in the incubator. Tango soon joined them and stood near Danni.

The carolers' voices swelled, the melody of Silent Night carrying into the room like a prayer. The familiar hymn wrapped around them, comforting and filled with promise.

Donatelli reached for Jenna's hand, holding it tightly as the others joined them. Eleanor placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch light yet grounding. The baby stirred slightly, her tiny hand curling into a fist. Everyone held their breath, their gazes fixed on her, as though the slightest movement was a miracle.

Donatelli bent closer to the incubator, his tears falling freely. "Margaret," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Welcome to our world, little girl. This is your family, and we love you."

He turned toward Jenna, his face still streaked with tears. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you." He choked and looked away before turning back and whispering, "I love you. " His voice broke as the words left his mouth.

Jenna's lips trembled as she gazed at him, her heart beating faster. "I love you, too," she said, her words barely audible as she wiped a tear away. She added, "We'll get through this — together."

*****

Meanwhile, in Frankie's office, Sam leaned against the desk as he watched the NICU scene unfold on the monitor. His smile grew as Eleanor entered the room, followed by everyone else.

"Looks like they've got everyone they need," Sam murmured.

Frankie nodded, leaning back in his chair and picking up his glass of bourbon. "We did our part," he said, his voice thick with quiet pride.

Sam glanced at him, his smile turning playful. "That almost sounded like sentiment, Frankie."

Frankie smirked, raising his glass. "To a job well done," he replied.

Sam laughed, picking up his glass. "To miracles and family."
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Johnny Mathis - When a Child Is Born (from Home for Christmas)
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JohnnyMathisVEVO
10.2M views
Nov 4, 2016
 
 
 
 
 
 

Author Notes


As I wrap up another book in the series of "Eleanor", I feel blessed that so many of you have enjoyed the story as it unfolded. I hope with this final chapter, you will share the joy of the season and feel the blessings that we all share. Thank you for all your support and encouragement. I send you each a smile, a hug, and love for you and peace on earth. Always, Carol


Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - a mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideaway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Sam - Frank's right hand man
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin
Baby Margaret Eleanor Donatelli - newborn daughter of Jenna and Matthew

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