Beverly Barton - Guarding Jeannie

Within minutes, Jeannie had made the connection again and began her miracle of healing.

As she withdrew his pain and stopped the bleeding once again, Sam opened his eyes. Jeannie lay in a huddled mass against the cot, writhing in pain. Weak, dizzy and disoriented, Sam struggled over to her.

"Jeannie… Jeannie…"

Drenched in sweat, groaning in agony, Jeannie barely heard Sam calling her name. She tried to respond verbally, but could not, and when she tried to convey her thoughts to him telepathically, she found she lacked the strength.

Sam saw Manton standing over them, and realized the gentle giant was dying inside as he watched Jeannie suffering and knew he could do nothing to alleviate her pain.

Sam reached over and enclosed Jeannie's trembling, pain-racked body in his arms. On some level of consciousness, Jeannie felt Sam's embrace, sensed his concern. He ached with the need to help her, to share her pain, not realizing that the emotional torment he endured was transferred to Jeannie, weakening her all the more. And she could not relate to him what was happening, that his very nearness was creating more pain inside her, draining her of what little strength she had left.

Manton grabbed Sam by the shoulders, pulling him away from Jeannie. Sam hit out at the other man, dazed by the suddenness of his attack. Manton pushed Sam back down on the cot and signed to him. Sam glared up at Manton, wondering what the hell he was trying to tell him.

He watched closely while Manton jabbed his index fingers toward each other repeatedly.

"Hurt?" Sam asked.

Manton nodded, then signed again, thrusting his right index finger under his prone left palm. Sam didn't understand. Manton repeated the procedure.

"Kill," Sam said, realization dawning on him. "Holding her hurts her? Is killing her?"

Manton nodded repeatedly.

"Then do something to help her."

With his hands prone, Manton struck his left index finger with his right index finger. Tears filled his green eyes and streamed down his bronze cheeks.

"You can't." Sam balled his hands into fists.

Sam huddled on the far side of the cot, forcing himself not to touch Jeannie again. While he lay there helpless, watching her endure his pain, he felt as if his life were being drained out of him. He had begged her not to help him, but she hadn't listened. Dammit, why hadn't she listened to him? Why hadn't she done what he'd asked?

He would rather die a thousand times over than see her suffering this way and know he was powerless to help her. Was this his true damnation? Had the guilt and remorse he'd endured for six years been only a preliminary to this final atonement? Was having to watch the woman he loved die by slow degrees his punishment for Brock's and Connie's deaths? For the death of his unborn child?

It wasn't right that Jeannie had to pay for his sins, to suffer because of his crimes. She was innocent, so completely pure and good. This isn't fair, his heart cried. An angel of mercy given no mercy herself.

Sam's angry, savage cry pierced the very gates of heaven.

Minutes dragged by, seeming like hours. Eventually Jeannie fell into a deep sleep. Manton drew the blanket up around her and slipped a pillow under her head. Drained and weak, Sam closed his eyes.

When he awoke, he and Jeannie were alone in the storm shelter. A sudden, sharp pang hit him in the chest. His pain was returning.

Sam heard footsteps on the stairs. J.T. Blackwood swept into the room, Manton following him.

"I've got a float plane waiting to take you back to Biloxi," J.T. said. "The storm missed Biloxi and lost a lot of steam before it hit the Louisiana coast."

"Get Jeannie to the hospital." Sam tried to stand, but swayed on his feet and fell backward onto the cot.

"We'll get you both to the hospital." J.T. glanced down at Jeannie, lying on the floor. "What the hell happened to you two? Did you get caught out in the storm? I don't read sign, so I have no idea what this big fellow's been trying to tell me."

"You carry Jeannie out to the plane," Sam said. "Manton can help me."

Sam watched while J.T. lifted a lifeless Jeannie into his arms. When J.T. walked past Sam, Sam reached out. J.T. stopped. Sam let his hand hover over her face, and died a little inside because he didn't dare touch her.

"A wall fell on me," Sam said. "It should have killed me. I'd be dead now if Jeannie hadn't saved my life."

Manton's cats and dogs, who had followed them out of the stables the evening before, now followed them up from the storm shelter into the house. J.T. stepped around the shards of glass from several blown-out windowpanes and stomped through the water puddles marring the wooden floors.

Outside, the sun shone faintly from behind a mass of clouds. The paint on the north side of the house had been sanded down to the bare wood, and several window shutters lay scattered on the ground. A small section of the roof had blown off, and debris was strewn in every direction. Uprooted trees marred the landscape. Huge sandpiles dotted the beach.

Maynard Reeves's body lay beneath the severed trunk of an old oak tree. Manton stopped abruptly when Sam tugged on his arm.

"Not a very pretty sight," J.T. said. "Looks like lightning struck the tree, splitting it in two. Then half of it fell on the reverend."

"He was out of his mind," Sam said. "He thought if he killed Jeannie, he would somehow gain her empathic abilities. He thought God would give them to him as a gift for destroying a witch."

"Well, it looks like a higher power made a judgment call." J.T. glanced down at Jeannie, lying unconscious in his arms. "I'd say somebody up there was watching out for one of his own."

Every muscle in Sam's body strained toward Jeannie; his need to touch her was overwhelming. "Let's get off this island and take Jeannie to a hospital." A sharp, stabbing ache sliced through Sam's midsection. He doubled over in pain.

"Hang on," J.T. said "The plane's right down here."

He led them down the steps to the beach. Lifting Jeannie up high in his arms, he handed her to the float plane's pilot, then turned to help Manton with Sam. Once Sam was seated and Jeannie rested in Manton's arms, J.T. jumped on board and gave the pilot orders to get them to Biloxi as quickly as possible.

Jeannie did not awaken from her deep sleep on the flight to Biloxi. Sam watched her for any sign of recovery, but she lay in Manton's arms, unmoving, looking like a limp rag doll. If only he could hold her in his arms, kiss those pale lips, stroke her tearstained cheeks. As pain radiated through his own body, Sam felt himself slipping away. He tried to stay conscious, not wanting to sever that last link—visual contact—with Jeannie.

* * *

After surgery, Sam awoke calling for Jeannie. J.T. assured him that everything possible was being done for her, but Sam wanted to see her, needed to know for sure that she was going to be all right. J.T. and an orderly forcibly held Sam down on the bed while a nurse injected him with a sedative.

He awoke again sometime during the night. Glancing around the hospital room, he saw J.T. sitting in a chair, his tan Stetson covering the upper part of his face as he slept.

Jeannie. Where was Jeannie? Was she all right? He had to find her.

Sam took note of the tubes stuck in his body, then dismissed them, sitting up in bed and sliding his feet over the side. Dizziness swirled around inside his head. He took several deep breaths trying to overcome his disorientation. On wobbly legs, he struggled to stand.

J.T. Blackwood clamped his big hand down on Sam's shoulder. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Jeannie." The one word said everything.

"The shape you're in, you can't do her any good," J.T. said. "Stay in bed. The doctors are doing everything they can for her."