FanStory.com - Miracles 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?" His face was smug. "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, relishing her anger. "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, unaware of Eleanor's presence. "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 solution to 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. A small wave of 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 sharp eyes 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, standing beside her, couldn't help but notice 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.

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.

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