Lifespark

By Angela Minor

Anna Simons never wanted to be a healer like her mother and tried to hide her gift. Then her mother is dying and she reaches out to touch her, only to find she is too late and her mother’s lifespark flickers and dies. The shame of her failure plagues her for years as she moves forward in her life.
Now, twenty years later, she is married to her soulmate, Ethan. They have a good life but he knows nothing of her past or her gift. Then a desperate father, who grew up in Anna’s hometown, asks her to save the life of his dying child. Anna wants to say no but the power in her hands won’t allow her to do so. With this decision, she opens the door on a part of herself that she never wanted to acknowledge.
She begins the process of merging her current life with her reclaimed ability into one cohesive unit and all seems to be going well. Then one night she hears the words that will change her life forever, “Heal this bitch.” Shots are fired, and the man she loves is dying in her arms. She reaches out with the power in her hands, only to once again fail.
Furthermore, she is gravely wounded and there is no one there who can reach out and touch her to make the pain go away. She begins the process of rebuilding her life and reconciling that her power has failed to save the two most important people in her life. She must again find her physical and mental strength as well as regaining her confidence in her supernatural abilities.
But as she is rebounding, her shooter is still at large and plays a malicious game of cat and mouse that continues to put Anna’s life in danger. Lifespark is a story of survival in the most dire of circumstances. Anna’s survival becomes dependent on her finding a strength and dependence on the power within herself and learning to value not just one gift, but all of the gifts that her life has presented to her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angela Minor
• Release date: Nov 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301337231

Angela Minor

Angela began with a dream of being a journalist but moved more toward a business career, working in management and sales. But the dream of being a writer has never been far in the background of her life. A classic over-achiever, she spent eight years in college to complete two degrees in mass communication and sign language interpreting. While working various jobs to pay the bills, she shared her writing as a hobby through a weekly blog she did for a year, sharing her life experiences and which was published on multiple websites. When she ended the blog, she began more than a year of work to complete her first two manuscripts. Now she lives in the North Carolina mountains and spends most of her time taking care of "her kids".

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Lifespark

By Angela Minor

Lifespark

Angela Minor

Copyright Angela Minor 2012

Published by Angela Minor at Smashwords

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Sheriff Van for his help with the legal and firearms information.

About the Author

Angela began with a dream of being a journalist but moved more toward a business career, working in management and sales. But the dream of being a writer has never been far in the background of her life. A classic over-achiever, she spent eight years in college to complete two degrees in mass communication and sign language interpreting. While working various jobs to pay the bills, she shared her writing as a hobby through a weekly blog she did for a year, sharing her life experiences and which was published on multiple websites. When she ended the blog, she began more than a year of work to complete her first two manuscripts. Now she lives in the North Carolina mountains and spends most of her time taking care of her foster children. Lifespark is her first novel.

PROLOGUE

The lights overhead were blinding as my eyes tried to make some sense of what was happening around me. I tried to turn away, shield myself to the glare, but my head wouldn’t move. I felt the hardness of the board underneath me as the movement of wheels streaked me through a mass of controlled chaos. The pain was intense and it was difficult to breathe, but all I wanted at that moment was to be clean of the blood that covered my face in its gory redness. A mask was over my face, bursts of air blowing across my nose and mouth. From the corner of my eye, I could see the arms of the paramedic who was running alongside the gurney, squeezing a huge balloon in regular succession.

Female, 38 years old, GSW upper right quadrant chest. Depressed lung sounds. BP 90/60, pulse 120, respirations 7. Code at the scene.

Flashes. Standing by our car as he was kissing me. A crack of sound like the backfire of a car. Blood everywhere as he slumped in my arms. My hand over the wound, willing the power that flowed through me to knit him back together and restore the strength to the powerful arms that now slumped at my sides. But the lifespark was already gone. In an instant he was gone and I knew beyond any doubt that my power would not, could not restore him.

Anna, it’s Dr Trent. You’re at Mission. We’re going to take care of you.

Choking. No air.

She’s aspirating. Roll her to the left. Now.

Swirls of light crossed my vision as my body was shifted. Can’t breath. Choking, blood flowing from my mouth.

Roll her back. We’ve got to get this blood out of her lungs. Need a chest tube.

Another flash. A gun pointed at me. A voice of anger and hatred, Heal this, bitch. That cracking sound again. Pain shooting through me. Blackness.

Anna, can you hear me? Familiar blue eyes stared seriously over the top of the mask that concealed the rest of his face.

Shot. Ethan gone. No life left. Nothing I could do. I tried. I tried to reach his lifespark. It was gone. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring him back.

Anna, we’re going to take care of you. Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake up.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt a tingling begin to creep from my fingertips and my toes, moving through my body as it dulled the pain to a point of numbness. The brightness of the lights faded as I let the sensation spread and the darkness pull me under.

CHAPTER ONE

It was still dark outside so I knew it wasn’t time for the alarm but the ringing continued. Through the haze of sleep I reached for the phone that was on my side of the bed. Hello, the thickness of the early hour in my voice.

Is this Anna Simons?

I wanted to ask what would possess someone to call at such an ungodly hour but my mother had always taught me to be polite, so I answered, This is Anna.

The voice was that of a man. He didn’t sound old or young, just normal, I guess. I knew your mother and what she could do. I know what you can do. I know about the kid you touched in high school, the one who had fallen down the stairs. I was there when it happened. I saw you touch her. I saw her get up and walk away. I know what you can do. My daughter is very sick. I need your help.

Sir, I’m sorry about your daughter, but I think you have me mixed up with someone else.

Your mother was Allison Connelly, the healer. Your name was Anna Connelly when you were in high school. I know you’re a healer too.

I tried not to think of my mother or what she had been. She had died when I was only 16. Cancer. And yes, she had healed hundreds, maybe even thousands of people in my life. She had the same power in her touch as her mother and her mother’s mother before that. I had the same ability. I had used it once in a crisis situation. And it had scared me so badly that I was the same as my mother that when she had needed me to lay a hand of healing on her, I had refused to help her. I had lied about my ability to her so she wouldn’t ask me to do it. So now she was gone and I was left with nothing more than a memory too painful to recall.

I’m sorry, you have the wrong person. Good-bye, and I hung up the phone.

Who was that? the sleepy voice from the other side of the bed asked.

Wrong number, and I rolled over and prayed for sleep to return.

I was looking up from the valley at the top of the ridge before me. At the top, a figure stood, dress blowing in the light wind off the crest, long dark hair flowing behind. I knew her instantly. My mother had been a beautiful woman. Light complexion tinged with a hint of rose that gave just enough color to her cheeks. Her bright chocolate brown eyes danced with excitement. A smile spread across her face as her arm came up to beckon me to her.

I began to climb the winding trail from the base to where my mother stood summoning me to her.

The trail grew steeper the further up I went. My breathing labored under the exertion. I kept moving upward, the way seeming to lengthen as I went. The sun rose higher in the sky, glaring into my eyes as I continued to press closer to my mom. Beads of perspiration broke free along my forehead.

In a brief respite from the sun’s glare I saw her lips move, but the wind carried her words away from me so that I did not hear what she was saying. The brightness of the sun again obscured her form as I continued to traverse the trail up the side of the ridge.

As I approached the mid-point, the excitement of seeing her, of touching her again, spurred something inside of me and I began to move faster, nearly running as much as was possible. My breathing became more labored, my heart raced, as I struggled to increase my speed up

the ridge.

I was nearly to the top. I could see her now through the light and shadows. Her hand still reached out to me, her lips still moved though I continued to be unable to hear the words emanating from them. The incline grew steeper still and I found myself using my hands as well as my feet to propel me forward.

Panic set in as I became more fearful that I would never reach her. Tears streamed down my face, partly from the physical exertion and partly from the overwhelming need to touch her, feel her, be near her again. At that moment, I knew I was going to fail. But I refused to acknowledge defeat as I continued to climb. I had to try, had to keep moving, had to see her one more time.

I came up over a last incline, my breath coming in starts and stops. She was right there, just feet from me now. I crested the top of the ridge and stood straight, moving toward her outstretched arm.

I reached out with my own hand, trying to close the last bit of distance between us. The wind no longer obscured her voice and I heard the words she had been speaking now, "I love you, Anna.As tears streamed down my cheeks, I took one last step, the one step that would allow me to finally touch her. I stretched out with my arm just a little further. In that moment, there was an intense flash of light. My arm reflexively came up to cover my eyes, protect myself from the intense glare. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone and all was dark with only a stream of light from the moon shining down on the spot where my mother had stood. She was gone and I was left all alone, feeling the emptiness and pain that came with my failure.

I sank to my knees and buried my face in my hands as the darkness swallowed me up.

I woke with a start, my mind racing with the images this morning’s phone call and my dream had brought to the forefront of my thoughts. Why now? I had lived for 20 years distanced from the woman my mother had been. My grandmother had called her ability a gift and taught her to use it. When you have the touch of healing, it’s not just about how to use it but when. The how comes in targeting the touch to the source of the issue that requires the healing. The when comes in recognizing when God has appointed the time for a particular person that will prevent you from being able to heal him or her. The how is easy, the when not so much. How do you tell a mother that you have the ability to heal her child of leukemia but that God will not allow you to do so because that child’s time on earth is nearly finished? How do you comfort a husband whose wife has been in a tragic car accident who begs you to help her but you know the lifespark is gone and there is no coming back? Modern medicine can shock someone back to life, healing touch cannot.

So in the years that my mother had practiced her gift she had many who loved her, many who hated her, many who misunderstood her, and many who marked her as something other. She was called everything from a charlatan to a witch to a miracle. My father had left when I was only five because he could no longer deal with the constant controversy that surrounded her life. And though she did effectively heal so many people over the years, when it came down to the time when her lifespark was fading, it was only me at her side. I never told her that I had the gift also. I never reached out to her with that power and energy to try to keep her with me until it was too late. I just sat there, holding her hand, wishing her pain- and mine- away.

Seeing all she had endured, I had turned my back on my own gift. Anyone who knew me now knew nothing about my previous life. I had taken my foster mom’s last name so that no one would connect me to the past my mother had created for me. I had used my healing touch only once and had vowed to never use it again. I had locked that part of myself away so tight that I wasn’t even sure it was there anymore.

I was standing in the shower, savoring the heat and strength of the water as it worked away the tenseness all this remembering had made in my muscles. Strong hands joined the water, kneading across my shoulders and down my back. Lips began kissing down the side of my neck.

If you get this started, I’m going to be late for work.

You’re the boss. That entitles you to be late.

The lips moved down my neck, worked across my shoulder, then began to make their way down my back. Ethan had always known all the right spots. We had been together for thirteen years and married for eight, and he had always known just what to do to make me happy in every way. He turned me to face him in all his glory. He had gone to UNC-Chapel Hill on a football scholarship, playing the position of linebacker- tough, confident, allowing nothing to stand in his way. Olive complexion, blue eyes as deep as the ocean, dark wavy hair that hung just over the top of his collar. Ethan only stood at 5’11" but what he lacked in height he made up for in build. He still had the body of that football player, muscle rippled through his arms, his shoulders, his legs, his abdomen. I often wondered how I had gotten lucky enough for him to fall in love with me. I was nothing more than an ordinary girl with brown hair, green eyes, slightly more than average height and a curvy body- sometimes a little too curvy. But he had always looked at me as if I was the most beautiful creature on earth. It was that look that he was giving me now.

What are you thinking that has you concentrating so hard? I thought I was a pretty good distraction.

I was thinking how lucky I am to have you.

I took his face in my hands and I traced my tongue over the softness of his lips. They parted slightly and my tongue melded with his as if they had been created to perfectly match. His hands traced from my breasts to my waist and back again, his fingers finding purchase on that most sensitive part of my body. He fed his strength through his arms and moved his hands to the back of my thighs. He picked me up as I wrapped my legs around his waist and pressed myself to the firmness of his body. My hands continued to hold his face as I began to work my lips down the curve of his throat. He loosened the grip on my thighs so that I slid sinuously down his body, working a path of kisses down the center of his well-muscled chest. When I reached just above his waist, a flash of his hand turned off the water and lifted me out of the tub in one quick movement. We had barely reached the bed before our bodies fit together like two perfect puzzle pieces.

Sometime later, I opened my eyes to the glow of a perfect morning. Ethan was propped on his elbow looking down at me, his free hand tracing the curves of my body. His perfect blue eyes were watching me with a vastness that held longing, desire, satisfaction, and love all in one. It always took my breath away when he looked at me like that.

What are you thinking? Of all things, I had a jock that was cerebral also.

I’m thinking that in all these years together it still amazes me when you look at me that way. It makes me feel like I am the icing on top of the cake- the part that you can’t wait to get to.

Babe, you are the entire cake that satisfies every craving I have ever had.

I still find it hard to believe that you love me as much as you do. Why?

Why is it so hard for you to believe or why do I love you like I do?

Why do you love me?

I love you because you are beautiful and strong and sexy and intelligent and funny and sensitive and generous and classy and gracious. I look in your eyes and see everything that you are and everything that you make me want to be. I feel a power in you that is more than anyone else I have ever known. And I love you because you don’t see yourself so clearly so I am able to tell you everyday how incredibly precious you are to me. I know you will never take one word of it for granted. Now, why do you love me?

I love you because you are strong and sexy and intelligent and funny. You don’t see my insecurities as foibles. You allow me to have my moments of doubt and in those moments you bring a security and a peace to me that I never knew was possible. Plus you are damn sexy. And you understand when I say things like you interrupted my shower so I need to get up from here and get ready for work or I am going to be more than late. And you’ve got court. Judge Bailey doesn’t like tardiness.

Yes, boss.

I reached up and placed a chaste good morning kiss on his lips and headed for the bathroom to begin again the shower that had been interrupted in such a welcome way.

CHAPTER TWO

Asheville is the only actual metropolitan center in the southern part of western North Carolina. Situated in the Blue Ridge Mountains, it is about an hour from the Tennesee state line depending on which route you took- from the northern part of the city you can be in Johnson City in about 30 minutes- and it is about 40 minutes from the South Carolina line. And with the slant of the state line along its western edge, you can even be in Bristol, Virginia in a little more than an hour. The Blue Ridge Mountains constitute a small portion of the larger range of the Appalachian Mountains which run from Canada down through the eastern seaboard to Alabama. Though not as large as others in the United States, the Blue Ridge Mountains are nonetheless one of the most beautiful mountain ranges anywhere, with their constant haze that casts the light into the most incredible blue tones across the tops of mountain peaks. Driving down interstate 40, they become visible on the horizon an hour before you actually reach their base. In summer, they are covered in lush green. In winter they are often snow-capped. And in the fall, the colors they sport are magnificent, covering the trees in the most beautiful and rich golds and reds and oranges.

Asheville is in the valley, connecting multiple valleys surrounding the mountains. It is an eclectic mix of old and new, holding onto its history while still moving into the future. As you drive through the city, at any point you can look up and see the many houses dotting the ridgelines stretching above the sprawl of the city.

It is small compared to most metropolitan centers but continues to grow as many from other parts of the country have discovered the hidden beauty here. I have lived here for many years, and it still never ceases to take my breath away.

Gerrod and Simons is a small law firm, comparatively speaking, in Asheville. With that said, we have one of the highest criminal defense success rates in the state. Our offices are located just off Battery Park in the center of downtown in one of the older buildings in the city. The office is small but sports some of the most beautiful architecture you can find in western North Carolina. Its huge picture windows face toward the south where we have an unobstructed view of the mountains surrounding the city. Of course, the beauty of Asheville is that buildings are limited in how high they can be built so as not to impede the views.

Growing up in the eastern part of the state with its immense stretches of flat land where you could see ahead of you for miles, I had chosen to come west for my undergraduate work, graduating from Western Carolina University set deeper in the mountains about an hour to the west of Asheville. It was then that I knew I wanted to make a life here. I left for the three years of law school to attend Wake Forest. It was there that I met Ethan and my life had changed forever.

When we both passed the bar exam, I came to Asheville and began work in the District Attorney’s office. Ethan was offered a job with a corporate law firm in Winston-Salem. We were a little over two hours from each other and were able to make the long distance relationship work for a time, but after about a year Ethan moved to Asheville and asked me to marry him. It was just before we got married that Daniel Gerrod and I started the firm. Tiring of corporate law about the time he moved to Asheville, Ethan proved his manhood by coming to work for his wife. We had now been in this current arrangement for eight years. I was managing partner so I didn’t see much courtroom time. That was left to Daniel, Ethan, and our two other associates.

As managing partner, I was usually the first consultation for new clients so I always had appointments scheduled with people I had never met before. Now I was sitting across from a man who looked to be in his 30’s. He had hands that were calloused from manual labor. He was wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt and Timberland work boots. With all the hardness of his appearance, there was a pain in his eyes that drew me in.

What can I do for you, Mr Wagner?

Ms Simons, I apologize for calling your home so early this morning.

You were the one who called me? I felt anger and something else rising up in me. Desperation? I didn’t want to have this conversation. I