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Listen with Your Heart

Articles Inspirational articles from Hay House authors

Listen with Your Heart

Seventeen and hearing voices.
Lorna Schultz Nicholson
Lorna Schultz Nicholson More by this author
Aug 08, 2012 at 10:00 AM

Seventeen-year-old Indigo Russell sees visions and hears voices in her head. Will she ever have the “normal” life she longs for with such a secret to keep?

We left on Christmas Day to go to my grandparents’ for dinner. John, Brian, and I piled into my dad’s Cutlass Supreme Oldsmobile, a big car with a cushy, roomy backseat. Of course, being the smallest, and the only girl, I was squished into the middle. My grandparents lived in Maynard, a little town about an hour from Ottawa, in an old house that I loved. I wanted to show John the house, wanted him to meet my grandparents and enjoy our wonderful traditional turkey dinner.

As usual, my dad took the back road, Highway 31, until we hit what I called River Road, which traveled along the St. Lawrence Seaway. The roads were snowy and slick with ice, and my dad drove slowly, but I didn’t mind; to me the world outside was beautiful, especially the sight of the seaway, frozen in parts but also majorly flowing in other parts. Chunks of ice floated with the moving water.

No one spoke in the car, as we were all enjoying the tranquility of a Christmas drive. I held John’s hand under my coat so no one could see. I loved the feel of his warm skin, and he made me feel cocooned and protected from the cold outside.

We were all so quiet and serene that it was almost a shock when Brian shouted, “Look at that car!” He pointed out the window.

My dad slowed until we were almost crawling, and we all craned our necks to see a car that had obviously driven off the road and was sitting precariously on the riverbank. A massive pile of snow had, luckily, stopped it from toppling into the river.

The car looked abandoned, as if someone had just got out and left it there. So weird. Did the people run out of gas? Or did they hit ice and skid off the road? Once we were by the car, my father picked up his speed. I had just leaned back, snuggling close to John, when I heard the male voice in my head.

There’s a woman in that car! He spoke loudly, instead of in his usual soft tone. He was so loud he made me sit up and stare out the window. Without thinking, I said, “Dad, stop! There’s a woman in that car.”

Dad looked at me through his rearview mirror. “Did you really see someone?”

I hadn’t seen anyone, but I had heard the voice, loud and clear. “Yes,” I lied. “I for sure saw her.”

“You’re positive?” he asked.

“I didn’t see anyone,” said Brian. “And I saw the car first.”

I sat forward and tapped my dad’s shoulder. “I’m sure,” I said. “Dad, you have to go back.”

“Okay,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Dad found a safe place to turn around as voices inside my head chattered.

What if you are wrong, Indie? You are crazy. There is no way you could see in the car. You are going to look soooo stupid if there is no one in the car. It’s Christmas, and everyone just wants to get to Grandma and Grandpa’s.

I held my breath the entire way back. If there was no one in the car, I was going to look like a complete fool in front of John. When we were by the car, my dad cut his engine, and then instinctively, like a whirlwind, we all whipped open our car doors and jumped out. My mom started running. I followed right on her heels, and John, Brian, and my dad were right behind us.

When we hit the car, I saw the woman, wearing a blue winter coat and a blue and gray scarf, slumped on the seat, knocked out completely. My mom flung open the car door and immediately put her fingers on the woman’s neck and I knew she was in emergency room nurse mode.
“She’s alive! Call the ambulance,” she yelled.

My dad made the call on his car phone, while John and I huddled around the woman’s car, arms wrapped around each other, watching as Mom kept checking for a pulse and tried desperately to wake her up by talking to her and rubbing her skin. Brian found a blanket in the back of Dad’s car and brought it over. Even with the blanket around the woman and my mom talking a steady stream to her, she didn’t wake up. The voice? Who was he? I had no clue, but I was incredibly grateful that he’d told me about the woman. She could have died. He often said to trust him, and today I had.

Thank you. Thank you, I said to him through my thoughts.

You’re learning to trust. This is a good thing, Indie.

About Author
Lorna Schultz Nicholson
Lorna Schultz Nicholson is a full-time writer who has published over 20 award-winning books, including Roughing! and Northern Star. Her nonfiction book, Home Ice, was on the Globe and Mail bestseller list for ma Continue reading
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