There’s a niggling pull at my gut, that familiar sensation calling me to distress. I swallow my bite of sandwich and abandon the rest. I’ll eat after I settle the ghost.
Rain drizzles, and my coat and hat are soaked and soggy by the time I finish the forty-five-minute walk of following my gut. Destination: hospital, as usual. I don’t get many calls from anywhere else these days.
The nurses glare at me as I check in and follow the pull to the fourth floor.
Doctors surround a tiny baby, but I don’t push through. I hang in the back, next to the falling apart father sobbing in his hands. But he’s not who I’m here for, nor the baby.
Hissing and wails grow louder as a distraught ghost mother haunts her newborn. I’d seen it before. Mother dies in childbirth, can’t move on while baby straddles the line of life or death.
I stare at the ghost, waiting for her to notice me. Sheer tears fill her eyes, but she finally locks her gaze with mine.
“You’re calling to your baby,” I say. “He may live if you give him the chance.”
The ghost wails again, and I thread my fingers through hers, ignoring the cool itch.
“Come, and your baby may live.”
She nods, and we step away.
Outside the hospital, the rain falls through her form, and she shivers as she watches the fourth floor.
I squeeze her hand. “Now your baby has a fighting chance.”
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