Chapter Ten: Out On the Sea
For the second time that day, I was car-jumping back road hills, both windows rolled down
With The Bangles blaring through the speakers, I sped through a tree-covered stretch of road and, for the first time, noticed the headlights of the other car in the rear-view mirror. It wasn't late, only 8:30, but a tinkle of fear rang in my ears. Without thinking, I pushed harder on the pedal.
No other cars were on the two-lane road and I knew I was still 15 minutes from a more occupied stretch in town. I began to reason with my anxiety.
"It's just another car," I said aloud. "Not every car on this road is following me. I'm not that special."
But as the high-beam headlights inched closer, I could no longer convince myself. My speedometer rose to 68 MPH, my heart accelerated, and I could feel sweat on my palms and on the steering wheel.
Please, I begged. Please, pass me.
My follower reached two car-lengths behind me and I gripped the wheel harder, waiting for relief to come when it passed. But it didn't. It stayed close enough behind me to blind my mirrors. Then the honking began.
First it was just a short BEEP. Then two, four, eight, and one long cry of the horn. An audible sound passed my lips, one of both fear and surrender. Suddenly the high beams fell and the car inched close enough for me to see the outline of a face in the driver's seat from my rearview mirror.
I have to say, I was almost relieved to see him. He was the devil I knew.
Jerking his car to the left, Jacob pulled into the oncoming lane, paralleling me. I wanted to reach over and roll up my window, but stubborn pride kept me from doing so, despite the fact that he was now pacing me.
He didn't say anything through his lowered passenger window. He only looked my way, waiting for me to meet his gaze. After a few seconds, which felt like an eternity, I glanced in his direction.
I was expecting a smile, that snake-like smile that I had seen before, but it wasn’t there. He simply stared, his lips in a straight line. Heat radiated out of his eyes. A new level of fear fell over me.
I looked ahead again, trying to ignore him, seeing our pairs of headlights on approaching blacktop. When I glanced in his direction once more, he jerked his wheel, yanking his car closer to mine.
I yelped and reacted, the right wheels of my car skimming the grass shoulder. I slowly pulled back onto the road, thankful of the defensive driving class I had taken in high school. I heard a laugh but when I glanced in his direction a third time, his mouth was still set in stone.
Finally I found my words.
"What do you want?" I screamed. "What do you want from me?"
Immediately McGammon yanked his wheel, causing me to react again. This time, my right wheel hit a small ditch. My car vibrated as I tried to pull back onto the road. That’s when I saw the fence post.
Not comprehending what was happening, I felt myself flipping upside down.
They say that in moments like that, time always seem to move in slow motion. I could feel my hair standing on end, blood rushing to my head, the heaviness of my vehicle as it went airborne. I could hear the sound of glass shattering and another sound—what was it? The scream sounded so primal, so low, so full of terror that I almost didn't recognize it as my own.
Finally, the car slid across the ground and came to a stop. For a few moments, I hung there, my seatbelt keeping me tightly strapped in. There was nothing but silence.
"I'm upside down," I croaked to no one. "I'm upside down!"
I reached down and hit the red restraint button and fell upward—or was it downward—to the roof of the car, landing in a pile. Feeling my claustrophobia kick in, I groped for the door handle but had trouble finding it. Everything seemed to be in the wrong place. When I was able to locate it, I pulled the handle and pushed outward on the door but nothing happened.
Through the darkness, my eyes quickly darted around inside my car, which now looked foreign. Then, in a blink of comprehension, I remembered that both windows were lowered and I crawled out onto the cool grass, head still spinning.
When I felt I was a safe distance away, I laid back, breathing heavily. Stars salted the sky above me.
"Oh God,” I said, “I’m alive. Thank you, God. I’m alive.”
At first I didn't remember the other car, the honking, the hard stare, but it came flooding back in small drops. I sat up, causing my vision to swirl, and looked around for him, blinking to steady my gaze. Was he there watching me? I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I was alone. But not for long.
Approaching headlights flickered on the branches of the trees around me.
"No," I whispered. "Stay away." Then stronger, my throat raw, "Stay away, you freak!"
The car slowed as it approached my overturned vehicle. I heard car doors open and two shadowy figures moved through the headlights toward me.
They did not speak at first. A woman, around 30, kneeled down on the ground in front of me. She started to speak but her words were confusing. Perhaps I had hit my head. I stared at her, confused, trying to make sense of what I was hearing when suddenly she lifted her hands and I realized what I was happening.
"I'm deaf," she mumbled and moved both hands in a quick display of sign language.
She must have seen the realization on my face because she nodded and turned to the man standing a few feet away. Furiously she signed to him and he finally moved, reaching into the car. He threw an over-sized hooded jacket to the woman and she wrapped it around my shoulders. The man seemed afraid to get any closer.
I looked at the woman in the face and said, "I think I'm hurt."
Her eyes darted to my lips and, nodding again, turned to the man and signed again. He waved, almost relieved, and got back in the car. As he pulled away I heard the woman speaking to me again.
"What?" I asked.
"He is going to call an ambulance," she said slowly, then put her arms around my shoulders.
It's funny what a terrifying event can do to people. It brings down the walls of formality. I leaned against my new friend and waited. 30 minutes later, red and white lights flashed down the road and the scream of sirens crescendoed toward us.
"Maybe they are coming for someone else," I said.
The woman laughed and shook her head. No, she signed, and pointed to my chest.
It wasn't until I saw the ambulance, fire truck, and two police cars that I began to cry.
____________
"We have to call someone, Miss Farraday."
I had seen enough of hospitals in the past six months to last a lifetime.
"Miss Farraday?"
I looked to the nurse. She was a young blonde with a thick Eastern Kentucky accent. She leaned over me to speak since the neck brace kept me partially immobile.
"Did you try to call his home?" I asked.
"We did but there was no answer, honey. We got the answering machine. Is there anyone else besides Dr. Lane? Family? What about your parents?"
"No," I said. I had kept my family at a safe distance from all this nonsense. I didn't want to bring them into it now. "You can call my roommate, I guess."
"What is your roommate's name?"
I sighed, not really wanting to bring her into this, either, but I had no other choice. The nurse, who most likely used to be in a sorority, was pushy.
"Reagan. Reagan Dawson."
"Same number as yours, I am assuming."
"Yes," I said, then added, "I have to use the bathroom."
"Okay. But I'll have to catheter you," the nurse said as she walked out of the room, "You can't move until the doctors check your x-rays."
This keeps getting better, I thought, closing my eyes. I knew that as soon as Reagan got the news, she would be pushing through whoever was in her way to get to me. I began to doze and barely even woke when the nurse hiked up my gown and prepared the catheter.
____________
Reagan didn't come to the hospital.
Not at first. It wasn't until early the next morning, after I had been moved to a real room, that I had my first visitor.
"Come in," I said after I heard the knock, licking my dry lips.
As the door creaked open, I realized that it wasn’t Reagan. She wouldn’t have knocked.
“Vicki,” I said, my voice not hiding surprise as she entered the room. “What are you doing here?”
I had been put through the proverbial wringer since the night before: X-rays, a CAT scan, blood work. Finally the nurses were able to remove the neck brace. But I was still tangled in an irritating array of heart monitor wires and IV tubes. My impatience was obvious.
Vicki, a small bag draped over her shoulder, closed the door behind her. The chair she pulled to my bedside screeched on the floor as she approached.
As she sat down, a scene from The Godfather floated through my mind and I imagined Vicki grabbing a pillow and calmly placing it over my face. Or perhaps she’d just use her massive breasts.
“Hi, Foster,” she said. “Are you feeling okay?”
I gave her a look. “Well no, Vicki. I’m not okay. I’m pretty sure I was in a major car accident last night.”
“I know,” she said, awkwardly reaching over to pat my hand.
For a few moments we just sat staring at each other. I tried to read her face, she tried to read mine. Finally I spoke.
“Vicki, I appreciate you showing up. I really do. But I’m a little confused as to how you knew I was here. Reagan hasn’t even shown up yet.”
“I heard it on the police scanner.”
“So …” I began, feeling the need to speak slowly. “You heard about my wreck on the police scanner.”
“Yes. I recognized the make of your car.”
“Do you just sit around listening to police scanners all night?”
“No. Not the entire night.”
Sighing, I ran my hands over my face. “Vicki, why don’t you just tell me why you are here.”
“Jacob McGammon.”
I froze mid-face-rub and looked at her through my fingers. “What?” I asked, my voice quivering. “What did you say?”
“Jacob McGammon. The trumpet teacher.”
“How do you …” I started, “Do you know him?”
“Only by name. We have a friend in common.
“A friend,” I repeated. “Who?”
Vicki pushed her lips together and unzipped her bag. In one swift movement she pulled something out and sat it on my blanketed legs.
I stared at the object in front of me, trying to grasp if what I was seeing was a hallucination. The breath I had quickly sucked in sat in my chest, waiting for my response.
“What am I looking at?” I finally whispered, my eyes fixed ahead.
“It’s a boot.” Vicki’s calmness was unnerving.
“I know what it is, Vicki. Get it off.” My voice was low. “Get it off me right now.”
“I needed to bring it here so you would understand …”
“Get it off,” I repeated, my hand moving toward the nurse call button.
“Foster …” Vicki said. “Just listen to me.”
“Get that fucking pink boot off of me right now!” My sudden dynamic change made Vicki jump.
She reached over, plucked up the boot, and sat it on the floor where I could no longer see it.
The door opened and a nurse peeked her head in. “Are you all right, Miss Farraday?” she asked, eyeing Vicki suspiciously.
“I’m fine,” I said, hiding my tremors. “My friend here just said something hilarious. I didn’t realize I was being so loud. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. Well, if you need anything let me know.”
As the nurse shut the door, I wasted no more time.
“Where did you get that boot, Vicki?”
“It belongs to my friend. When I put the other one in your practice room I really didn’t know …”
“Whoa, wait,” I interrupted, holding my hand up. “You put the boot in my practice room? It was you? You did this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” My anger was quick.
“She told me to. I was … I was helping her.”
“Her? Who is ‘her’? I swear, Vicki, if you don’t start giving me answers I’m going to get you thrown out of this room.”
“Her name is Tatum. She is my friend … “
“So you’ve said …”
“… and she’s been through some of the same stuff you’re going through and she wants to talk to you.”
“Oh, does she?” I said, venom welling up behind my lips. “So she’s been harassed and stalked and run off the road by a sick man who …”
“Yes,” Vicki said. Her voice was so serious that it made me stop. “Well, not run off the road. Is that why you’re in here? I thought that was just an accident.”
“Are you saying that Jacob McGammon has been harassing her, too?”
“Yes. Well, sort of.” Vicki wrung her hands together. “I just think you two should talk.”
I sat for a moment, reminding myself to breathe.
“Do you know what this has put me through, Vicki?” I asked softly. “That boot, the counseling sessions …”
“I’m sorry,” she said and her head lowered. “I didn’t really know you all that well at the time and I was only trying to help my friend and I really didn’t know the details …”
“Where is the other boot?” I asked.
“You didn’t keep it?” Vicki seemed surprised.
“Why the hell would I keep it? I gave it to my piano professor and told him to get rid of it.”
Vicki shrugged. “I guess he got rid of it. I only have this one, the one Tatum gave me.”
“Okay. Listen, it’s okay,” I said, suddenly turning the tables and reaching over to pat her hand. “Tell your friend—Tatum, right?—tell her that I want to talk to her. As soon as possible.”
Vicki looked up and nodded. “Okay. I’m supposed to give you her number.”
She pulled a pen out of her bag and scribbled something on the palm of my hand. As she stood she picked up the pink boot and scooted the chair back across the floor. Once again, it screeched.
“Wait,” I said as she started for the door. “Does Grant know about any of this? I mean, about you and the boot and Tatum?”
“No,” she said then, out of character, smiled broadly before walking out the door. “If he did, Jacob McGammon would have already gotten bitch-slapped.”
After she closed the door behind her, the phone on the wall began to ring. I was still a bit perplexed by Vicki’s visit when I answered it after the third ring.
“Foster? Is that you? It’s Dr. Lane. I just got home and got the messages from the hospital. Are you okay?”
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