Chapter Eleven

The sound of men yelling roused Francine from her sleep a few hours later. She glanced at her clock and saw that it was nearly three in the morning. The yells grew louder. It sounded as if hundreds of men were crying out in the night. Suddenly loud, popping sounds filled the air as well. She could hear pain filled screams, frightened yells and desperate pleas resounding through the air.

What in the hell was going on? Francine jumped from her bed, convinced that something very serious was going on somewhere in the building. She ran into the living room to find that Janice was still sound asleep. Francine frowned, as her heart beat out of her chest and fear clogged her veins. Janice had always been sound sleeper but this was ridiculous.

A boom so loud she was sure the walls shook from its force, resounded through the air and Francine thought for one crazy moment that it sounded an awful lot like a cannon. But that was impossible wasn't it? The cries got louder but still Janice slept. Francine walked to the apartment door and peeked out into the hallway.

To her the sounds were deafening, heart wrenching and scary but no one else seemed to be able to hear them. The hallway was empty and everyone's doors were shut. Francine heard a familiar voice cry out in pain and she immediately ran to Wyatt's door. He was hurt and she had to get to him.

"Wyatt?!" she shouted as she pounded on his door. He didn't answer and the popping sounds and bangs grew louder and louder. Francine tried the door handle but it was locked. She was not big or strong in any sense of the word but right now she was filled with enough fear and adrenaline she could have lifted a mini van so kicking open the door wasn't very hard.

The moment she stepped inside his apartment the noises stopped. The night became eerily silent as if nothing had ever disturbed it. Francine looked through the glowing light of the streetlamps from outside and saw a person lying on the floor in the middle of the room beside the couch. Her feet seemed to move on their own accord as she crossed the room. She didn't need to be told who was laying here.

Wyatt was lying on his stomach on the wooden floor and there was something warm, wet and sticky beneath her bare feet. Her stomach turned when she realized it was blood. She didn't even think about what she was doing as she knelt beside him and grabbed his wool jacket to turn him over. He looked just as he had in her dream. His face was pale and colorless, his eyes were closed, and his lips drawn.

There was one major difference. This time she wasn't going to leave him. She looked down at his chest and realized that he had a hole through his ribs and blood was pumping from the wound, though not very strongly anymore since a giant puddle of the stuff covered the floor. She looked back at his face and with a shaking hand she reached out and laid her hand on his cheek, which felt cool to her touch.

It didn't truly dawn on her that she was touching him, after he'd sworn she wouldn't be able to. The only thought she had was that she had to somehow save him. She wasn't sure what was going on. She wasn't sure why she had heard the sounds of battle but she was sure now that's what the noise had been. She had no idea why a ghost was lying here bleeding on a dirty wooden floor. All she knew was that this was the man that she was fairly certain that she loved and he needed her.

"Wyatt... Wyatt, please wake up. Please don't leave me," she whispered as she stroked her fingers over his brow. She nearly cried out with both fear and relief when his green eyes flew open and locked onto hers.

"Franny... I can feel you."

Francine smiled and looked down at his chest to check his wound only to find that the wound was gone, as was the blood. His jacket was intact with no sign of the gaping hole that had been there before. She looked back up at his face. His color had returned and he looked healthy and well and he also looked shocked as he covered her hand, which was resting on his cheek, with his own.

Francine marveled at the warmth of his skin. She had always assumed that he would feel cold but that was not true. His skin was warm and firm beneath her hand.

Wyatt stared up at her, feeling one hundred different emotions at once. The feel of her small slender hand pressed against his cheek was the first physical sensation he had had in almost one hundred and fifty years. How was this possible?

"Are you okay, Wyatt?" she asked gently, though her voice was still shaky.

Wyatt nodded as he reached out with his free hand and cupped her cheek. Francine's dark eyes slid closed as she leaned her cheek against his hand. This felt right. His rough, calloused hand felt right pressed against her, almost as if it was made to be there.

"Why are you here?" Wyatt asked.

Francine bit her lip and then stood up. Wyatt quickly got to his own feet and reached his hand out once more to run it down her bare forearm, "I heard noises, terrible noises, and I came in here to check on you."

Wyatt frowned, "What did you hear?" he asked. He couldn't seem to keep himself from touching her. He had known he'd wanted to touch her since he'd laid eyes on her in the barracks that day but he'd never imagined that he would actually be able to do it. She was so soft and warm and.... Perfect. She was perfect. He had forgotten what it felt like to feel another person's skin against your own.

"Cannons and gunfire..... Men screaming," she replied quietly.

Wyatt frowned. How had she heard that? "Are you okay?" he asked her.

She nodded. A woman who didn't have her unusual gift may have been more frightened by everything she had heard and seen but Francine had seen unusual things before.. She'd never heard or seen something quite so realistic or horrible but now that Wyatt was touching her it didn't seem so bad.

"There was so much blood around you," she gasped and he saw her face pale slightly.

"I guess I should explain what that was," he offered and he led her over to the small torn up couch that still sat in this abandoned apartment. Francine sat down and curled her legs beneath her. Wyatt sat beside her and rested his forearms on his knees as he looked down at the floor.

"I'm not sure how you heard what you did but what happened tonight happens every month on the anniversary of my death. I relive that night." Francine took a moment to digest this information, "So every month since you died you've gone through that?"

Wyatt nodded, "But this time it was different. Somehow you stopped it before it normally ends when you touched me...." Wyatt looked over at her, his brow furrowing, "How can you touch me?"

"I don't know," Francine admitted and then Wyatt reached out and covered her hand with his as if to ensure himself that he could touch her and it hadn't just been a dream or a cruel trick that he'd soon discover was a lie.

"Wyatt, I need to tell you something," Francine said nervously as she chewed on her lip.

Wyatt frowned and smoothed a loose curl from her face, the way he had so often longed to do. Her hair was soft and springy beneath his touch, "What, Franny?" he asked gently.

"I had a dream about you... When you came into my room yesterday morning and told me I looked like I'd seen a ghost."

"What kind of dream?" Wyatt asked, he could tell that she was nervous to tell him whatever it was and he wondered how a dream could bother her so badly.

"I was in 1863. I was at the battlefield, Wyatt. It was after the battle and I was there with my fathers medicine bag searching for survivors I could help while the other women searched for their dead loved ones," she stopped again and stared at his jacket where the wound had been.

"What else Franny? There must have been something else to have you this upset," Francine was afraid to tell him about her dream, because now she wasn't so sure that it was just a dream. Was it possible that she had lived a life before this one? Was it possible that she had been there in 1863?

"I saw you. I found you in the bodies. I turned you over and you looked just like you did when I turned you over tonight. You were bleeding and the would in your chest.. I thought you were dead. I walked away from you." She had a tear gathering in her eye now. "After I walked away from you, you took a breath..."

Wyatt stared hard at her for several long moments, "I guess Madam Zinga wasn't crazy after all."

"Madam Zinga?" Francine asked.

"An old woman I met the other night. She said I died before I met the one I was supposed to meet. She said I had unfinished business and so she turned me into a spirit," Wyatt gave her hand a squeeze, "Because that's what I am. I'm not a ghost. She said the person I was supposed to meet had lived many lives and had been alive back when I died. She also said the person had a gift."

Francine would have laughed out loud but given the current situation what he said didn't seem all that crazy, "You think she was talking about me?"

"You said you have weird dreams sometimes," Wyatt replied, trying to focus on the conversation instead of on how the soft skin of her hand felt against his. "What are they?"

Francine told him about some of her dreams and he was smiling when she was finished, "It's you then, Franny. You are who I was supposed to meet and didn't."

Francine let loose her tears then and pulled away from him. She stood up and walked over to the door, stopping in the doorway and keeping her back to him. Wyatt stood and walked to her. He wrapped his arms tight around her from behind and buried his face in her hair. It had been so long since he'd felt anyone against him and the fact that this was Francine simply made the experience even more special.

"Why are you crying?" he asked.

Francine leaned against him and swiped at her face with the back of her hand, "It's my fault you died," she sniffed.

Wyatt smiled and shook his head, "No I think the rebel soldier who fired the gun that sent the bullet into my heart gets the blame for that."

"Yes, but I could have saved you.. That's what my dream was telling me."

Wyatt turned her around and put his hands on her cheeks, "You couldn't have saved me, Franny. The wound was too serious and I'd lost too much blood."

"This Madam Zinga, did she seem to know a lot about all of this?" Francine asked as she gazed up at him.

Wyatt nodded, "She seemed to know but she didn't want to tell me anything. She kept saying it was for me to figure out."

"I want to talk to her."

Wyatt nodded, "I'll take you to her shop later. Right now you need rest. You are exhausted."

Francine nodded as she took a step away from him, "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"It only happens once a month." he replied gently. He wanted to take her back in his arms and hold her. Smooth her hair. Kiss her lips.... But that would not be proper. There was no reason for him to expect her to want to be with him just because they could touch. Saying goodnight to her in that moment was the hardest thing he'd ever done when all he wanted was to touch her forever, but he managed to get the words out and after one last long glance between them, Francine walked away.

***

"Should you really be listening to a woman who lives in this part of town?" Janice asked as they walked down the run down streets and tried to avoid making eye contact with the many shady characters standing on the street corners making catcalls and dirty remarks as they walked by.

There was one man in particular that had called Francine a bitch as she walked by. Wyatt had proceeded to pick up a glass bottle and hit the man over the head. Janice had laughed and, once Francine realized the man was not dead, she had scolded Wyatt. Wyatt had simply shrugged and continued walking. Back when he'd been alive a man could get shot for calling a lady a name like that, so Wyatt figured the man had gotten off easy.

"Wyatt said she seemed sure about what she was talking about," Francine replied. "And it makes a weird kind of sense when I think about all the dreams I've had."

"Reincarnation," Janice said with a grin. "That's cool. I wonder if I've been a panther in a past life," she added as she looked down at her bright orange fingernails.

"I don't think it works that way," Francine replied with a roll of her eyes.

They approached a group of men, wearing chains and leering at the women. Wyatt wrapped his arm around Francine as they walked by and though no one but Francine knew he did it, it still warmed her heart and made her feel protected.

"Why did Janice come again?" Wyatt asked as the group of men ogled Janice's backside in her short red skirt.

Francine glared at him, "Because she is my best friend and she wants to support me."

"I just want to meet a fat Russian chick that plays with bones," Janice added with a smile.

Francine and Wyatt shared a look and then they both laughed. Wyatt pointed at a shop down the road and Francine felt nerves begin to dance in her stomach. Was she reincarnated? Was she supposed to have saved Wyatt all those years ago? Had she let him die when she could have helped him to live? Was she the reason that Wyatt's spirit had been forced to live on alone for so long? Francine hoped that Madam Zinga would be able to answer at least some of these questions.

Wyatt's arm tightened around her and she knew that he must be feeling nervous too. All morning he had been finding every excuse he could to touch her and she had not complained because his touch was the most right thing she had ever felt.

They walked into the shop and all the sights and smells assaulted their senses. Janice let out a low whistle, "Wow, this place is something else." she said as she tilted her head and went cross-eyed while staring at a shrunken head dangling from the ceiling.

A bell chimed upon their entrance and a definitely Russian voice called out, "I be out in a moment."

Francine moved away from Wyatt and stared at a glass case that seemed to hold different colored paws. She wasn't sure what the paws had come from but judging by the structure she would guess they were from some kind of monkey.

"Look at this." Wyatt whispered and Francine turned to see the black and white pictures in an album on a shelf. She stepped closer and realized they were from the war. The Civil War. These intrigued her but before she could go through them a door opened in the back and her attention went immediately to the woman who entered.

Madam Zinga looked exactly as Wyatt had described her. She was shorter than Francine had imagined she'd be and bigger as well. Her velvet dress was dark green, her red and gray hair was in a bun and her lip liner was at least five shades darker than her lipstick.

"Wyatt, how nice of you to return and I see you brought your friends with you," she said with a smile that revealed the rotten quality of her teeth.

"Dental hygiene, obviously not a biggie," Janice whispered to Francine and Francine shushed her.

"Francine!" Madam Zinga exclaimed as she made her way across the floor, somehow managing to keep her wide hips from knocking over the displays. She stopped directly in front of Francine and then laid a cool, long nailed hand on her cheek, "I never thought I see you again. How nice of you to come, my dear."

Francine looked up at Wyatt who just shrugged. He'd warned her that Madam Zinga was a weird one, "Have we met?" Francine asked, turning her attention back to Madam Zinga and her bright yellow eyes.

"Of course we have darling, many times. Though I forget that you do not remember. Madam Zinga forgets at times that not all of us can remember our past lives."

"Speaking of past lives, have I ever been a panther?" Janice asked.

Madam Zinga raised a painted on brow and frowned at her, "No, Janice. However, you did work for a brothel once. Quite a profitable brothel it was too."

"I told you so," Wyatt said with a chuckle and Francine smacked his arm.

"Ah, I see you figured it out," Madam Zinga said with delight.

"Why didn't you tell me that she was who I was supposed to meet, Madam Zinga?" Wyatt asked accusingly.

Madam Zinga shrugged, "That was for you to figure out not for Madam Zinga to tell you. And see it did not take long. You are both very smart."

"Madam Zinga can I please talk to you about the day Wyatt died?" Francine asked.

Madam Zinga nodded, "Of course." She led them all back to the corner with the tiny couch and chairs. Madam Zinga sat on the couch and Francine sat on the tiny space left beside her while Janice took one of the small chairs. Instead of sitting, Wyatt stood behind Francine and kept a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"What do you want to know, my dear?"

"I had a dream that I was at the battlefield right after he was shot... I had a medical bag."

"That was not a dream, it was a memory. Your father in that life was a doctor. You followed in his footsteps, although it was highly unheard of for a woman to be a doctor in that time. You were very independent and uncaring of society rules even back then," Madam Zinga said with a smile. "You've also been a queen, a slave, a duchess and a Scottish rebel. To name a few."

Francine's head spun at all those different titles and she knew she just needed to focus on the one that mattered right now, "In my dream I found Wyatt lying in the field and I walked away from him because I thought he was dead, but he wasn't dead."

"Most unfortunate that that happened," Madam Zinga replied. Francine bit her lip and looked down at her hands folded in her lap, "Did he die because of me? Would I have been able to save him?"

Madam Zinga shrugged, "Perhaps or perhaps not. That is not something that Madam Zinga knows. I found him and knew he was too far gone to be saved then. I made him a spirit so you could meet during your next life, my dear."

"Oh come off it, you have to know the truth," Janice said as she grabbed the cup Madam Zinga had been shaking the other night and looked at the bones inside.

Madam Zinga glared at the girl and took the cup from her in a lightning fast motion, unexpected from a woman so old and large, "Wyatt perhaps could have lived if she had stayed with him. She was a very skilled doctor." Then Madam Zinga shrugged, "But perhaps not because he had lost a lot of blood before she ever got there."

"I could have saved him," Francine said as she stared down her hands and fought back a wave of guilt.

Wyatt's hand squeezed her shoulder and she was fairly certain he pressed a kiss to her hair. Madam Zinga smiled, "I see you figured things out well, Wyatt. You see Wyatt's life as a soldier was his last life. He was to pass on once he died and, Francine, this life you are leading now is your last. I knew that if you did not meet then you would never find the other half of your soul for eternity. You see you must be with your soul mate in your last life in order to spend eternity in the hereafter together."

"You mean they've been together before?" Janice asked.

Madam Zinga nodded, "In nearly every life they've lived."

Francine shook her head, "I don't believe in soul mates," she argued and she didn't most of the time. She didn't believe that two people could be destined from birth to be together. That seemed like a fairy tale to her and she had never had much use for fairy tales.

"Whether you believe in them or not does not change the way things are," Madam Zinga replied dryly, her Russian accent becoming more profound with her irritation.

"Well I found a flaw in your story," Francine countered. "If Wyatt and I are soul mates and if we have to be together in our last life in order for us to be together in the hereafter then we would not have been together anyway since his last life was his last life and this is mine."

"You think you are so smart. Do not try to outsmart Madam Zinga," Madam Zinga warned as she pointed one short, stubby finger in Francine's face. "You would have been together in his last life and that is all that mattered. Now this is your chance. I gave this back to you. You should thank me."

"Thank you for making Wyatt spend over one hundred and forty years alone? Thank you for making him a ghost that no one else can see or hear? How did you do us any favors? I can believe in reincarnation and I can believe that I did see him on the battlefield but I refuse to acknowledge something as ridiculous as soul mates."

Wyatt saw Janice frown but she didn't say a word which he found strange since she normally said whatever she felt like saying.

"Believe what you will, Francine, but Madam Zinga did a big favor for your and Wyatt's happiness. You should be thanking me, I could have gotten in trouble for what I did and I still could. The fates do not like it when I intervene."

"Thanks for all of your help Madam Zinga," Sarcasm dripped from Francine's words and then she stood up and walked out of the shop leaving the three of them sitting there in shock.

"I'll figure out what's wrong," Janice said and she quickly followed Francine out the door, pausing just long enough to wave at one of the shrunken heads on her way out the door.

Wyatt shook his head and then looked at Madam Zinga, "Are you sure about all of this?" he asked her.

"Of course I am sure. You would dare to doubt me?" she asked, clearly annoyed by his question. "Did you not feel the pull toward her? Why do you think she can hear you? See you? Touch you?"

Wyatt nodded and then made his way out of the store. He didn't know if he believed in soul mates either but he definitely had noticed the pull toward Francine. As if to prove the pull was there his eyes wasted no time glancing around the streets, but settled instantly on Francine standing about two blocks away on the other side of the street as she spoke to Janice.

Wyatt had a feeling that no matter where Francine went, no matter how many others were around, he would find her. He was drawn to her the way a moth was drawn to a flame. Maybe Madam Zinga knew what she was talking about after all.

***

"What was that dramatic exit all about?" Janice demanded of Francine once she caught up to her outside.

Francine turned and Janice saw the tears in her eyes, "I don't believe in soul mates and all that nonsense," she replied.

Janice snorted, "Yes you do. I've been your friend for what, ten years now? You have always talked about finding the person made for you. Guess what? You found him! It's a bit strange and unorthodox but you found him just the same."

"I can't," Francine squeaked as she fought back her tears with all she had.

"Why not?" Janice asked gently.

Francine looked at her best friend. The bruise on her cheek was hidden with some well placed make up but she had several on her arms that were visible where her t-shirt did not cover her. She shouldn't be putting her problems on Janice right now.

"Don't even think about not telling me what's wrong because you're worried about me. Now I have a feeling Casper will be following after you within seconds so you might as well tell me."

Francine looked across the street and her eyes locked with Wyatt's. She looked back at Janice, "I killed him, Janice. How can I be with the man when the reason he is a ghost is because I turned my back on him when he needed me?"

"You thought he was dead... And that was like almost one hundred and fifty years ago."

"That doesn't matter. He's still a ghost and it's still my fault."