Tara shrugged, then smiled. “I just know stuff, okay? So, did you tell the police? You should have.”
“I told them, all right,” he said. “But they didn’t believe me. They couldn’t believe that a guy like me would turn down a babe like Bethany. I’m supposed to be too young to be selective.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your problem,” he said.
“It might be. I mean . . . I’m still the dangerous witch of Stillwater High. Who knows what lies that psycho Prissy is going to be spreading next?”
“Yeah. So . . . we’re all right now? I mean, you’re not mad at me anymore for—”
“We’re totally all right,” Tara said, and then lifted her hand for him to give her a high-five. Instead, he took her hand and pulled her forward just far enough to give her a quick kiss.
“See you tomorrow,” he said. “Stay dry.” He headed back out in the rain, running in a long, steady lope.
Tara’s heart was pounding and her lips were still tingling as she watched him leave. She stood until he turned a corner and ran out of sight. She was just about to go back into the house when she saw Uncle Pat’s car coming down the street, so she waited, watching as he pulled up into the driveway, then jumped out on the run, and vaulted up on the porch.
“Wow. It’s really coming down, isn’t it, honey?” he said, as he gave her a quick kiss.
“Yes, really coming down,” she echoed, and followed him inside.
Chapter Seven
Fear was so thick in her throat she couldn’t swallow. . . I want to go home. Please just let me go home. I won’t tell. I promise. Just let me go.
Shut up. Just shut up. I can’t think when you keep talking like that.
She hiccupped in fear but did as he said. He hadn’t hurt her yet, but he looked like he might. Everyone knew there was something wrong with him. Sometimes he cried when she cried, and he kept saying he was sorry, but he wouldn’t let her go. She could hear him pacing from the end of the bed to the window and back again. Her heart skipped a beat. Were the police out there? Had they finally found me? Please let them find me. I won’t ever be selfish or mean again, I swear. I swear.
“Please, let me out. I want to go home,” she yelled.
Suddenly, the door flew back and he was looming in the doorway.
“It’s all your fault. If you’d just listened instead of laughing at me. Everyone laughs at me.”
He slammed the door shut again, and locked it.
Tara sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding so hard she couldn’t hear herself breathe.
Did I just dream about Bethany being bullied by a psycho kidnapper or what?
She looked at the clock. It was just past four in the morning. Rain was still dripping from the eaves of the house, although most of the thunderstorm had passed. She swung her legs over to the side of the bed then got up. No way was she going back to sleep now. Besides, she needed to think about what she’d been dreaming.
It was weird, but in the dream, she had been in Bethany’s body, feeling her fear, her hunger, even her pain. And the guy who was holding Bethany hostage. Tara shuddered. She scrubbed her hands across her face in frustration, wanting answers that wouldn’t come. What had he looked like? In the dream she’d only seen him from the back. Even more to the point, was that just a dream, or did she just have another vision?
Tara tiptoed out of her bedroom and then down the hall to the bathroom. When she came out, she headed for the kitchen. Just a dream, she told herself. Drown it in chocolate. Might as well see if Uncle Pat had left any of that cake from the supermarket bakery.
And he had.
She cut a piece of chocolate cake, then poured herself a glass of milk and settled down at the table. There was an odd sort of comfort in being awake at this time of morning. Like the calm after a storm. The cake was sweet. The milk was cold. Everyone laughs at me.
Tara gasped, almost choking on the cake. “Millicent. You scared me half to death.”
I’m just reminding you of what he said in the dream.
Tara frowned. “I heard him. So what does that tell me? Everyone laughs at me, too, but I don’t go around kidnaping people.”
Think about it and you’ll know.
“What kind of answer is that?”
Unfortunately, Millicent had said all she had to say on the subject. She disappeared.
Tara frowned as she took another bite of cake. What kinds of kids get laughed at? Fat kids. Skinny kids. Kids with big ears. Kids with bad skin. Kids who are into Goth. Kids who aren’t into Goth. Anybody who doesn’t fit in gets laughed at. This was no help at all.
Still, as she finished her cake and milk then took the dirty dishes to the sink, she made a conscious decision to pay attention at school. See if anyone there seemed seriously certifiable.
She gathered up her homework from last night and slipped it all into her backpack, folded a load of towels from the dryer, then decided to make Uncle Pat his favorite breakfast. She glanced at the clock. It was almost five. He had to be at work by seven, so he would be up within the hour.
She started the coffee, dug through the fridge for a can of refrigerated biscuits, pulled out the sausage links and a jug of milk and got busy. When five-thirty rolled around, she had biscuits coming out of the oven and sausage and gravy cooked and warming on the stove. Obviously the aroma of her early morning endeavors had done the job. She could hear Uncle Pat’s footsteps coming down the hall.
“My goodness!” he said, as he entered the kitchen. “Am I dreaming?”
“Grab a plate and see if it tastes as good as it smells.”
“Yum,” he said, and gave her a good morning hug. “You’re the best, honey. The absolute best.”
The praise lifted her spirits, which were in sad need of lifting. She hadn’t told him about being questioned by the police, because then she would have had to explain about the hassles she’d been enduring. She had given the detectives Uncle Pat’s name and phone number, but didn’t think they’d done any more than verify her information, because he hadn’t asked her about it. It was crazy, Bethany being missing and all, but it wasn’t her fault. No need bothering Uncle Pat with something he couldn’t fix.
Just watching his face and seeing the delight a simple breakfast had brought was enough to get Tara through the day. He soon left for work, leaving Tara to clean up the kitchen, then get ready for school. A short while later, she was in her room, trying to pick out something to wear. According to the weatherman, it might rain again today, which meant needing to take some kind of jacket.
She pulled on a pair of her newer jeans, then stood in front of the mirror, eyeing the wide legs and low ride on her hips, then decided to tuck in her red tee and add a funky belt.
“Not bad for a skinny girl,” Tara muttered, as she turned first one way, then another, making sure she was tucked and zipped in all the right places.
She’d already done her hair, pulling the sides away from her face, then fastening it at the back of her head with a wide, tortoise shell clip, letting the rest of it fall free. She slathered on a pale lip gloss, then squinted her eyes until she could almost see a resemblance to Angelina Jolie. That’s when she knew she was ready.
Looking like a hottie, chica.
“Dang, Millicent . . . where have you been . . . in Mexico? What’s with the chica business?”
Henry popped up in the mirror behind her long enough to give her what amounted to a virtual hug, then vaporized.
Tara sighed. No one would believe her life, even if she tried to tell it. Talk about crazy.
She grabbed her jacket and her backpack and headed for the door. She got to school only to find Flynn waiting for her at the front door. She was so surprised that she actually stumbled, which made her feel like a goof. But having him to walk down the hall
with her was worth it.
The rest of the week passed quickly. Bethany was still missing. Tara tried with all her might to lock into Bethany’s head again, but it didn’t work.
Prissy gave her ‘go to hell’ looks every time she saw her, but didn’t seem willing to confront her anymore. Obviously, Millicent’s stunt with the dust devil had done some good after all.
Nikki Scott, Mac and Penny were still being friendly—a gesture Tara definitely appreciated—while Flynn spent every school day upping the heater meter on staking a claim. Besides walking her to classes, sometimes he joined her and her new BFFs in the lunchroom. And every day that he didn’t have to work at Eskimo Joe’s after school, he walked her home. Tara was beginning to feel like a normal girl.
It was a mistake she’d made before and would most likely make again, but for now, it felt amazing. If she could just figure out where DeeDee was buried and find Bethany, her life would be just about perfect.
Then Saturday rolled around. The day for the car wash.
Tara was out of bed and on her way downtown to the bank by 8:30, determined not to be late. Everywhere she drove, she saw hundreds of yellow ribbons tied all over the trees in town. And there were flyers about Bethany stapled to trees and fences and power poles, anywhere a staple could be driven, a flyer went up.
I want to help. Why can’t I tune in to Bethany’s thoughts?
She was sick at heart that the bits and pieces she’d ‘seen’ about Bethany’s situation weren’t enough to take to the police.
When Tara drove up to the bank, the first people she saw were Bethany’s parents. They were standing hand in hand, thanking the students for doing this. They’d brought several boxes of doughnuts and cartons of fruit juice, and Bethany’s mother couldn’t pass more than five or ten minutes without crying. It was the first time Tara had been face to face with the depth of their despair, and felt even more guilt that she hadn’t been able to reconnect.
She wondered what would happen if she could get closer to them—maybe pick up on something that would link her to Bethany—but they hustled into their car and left. She threw herself into the car wash with all the enthusiasm she could muster, washing, drying, polishing a continuous line of vehicles.
It was a little bit after ten when she looked up and realized Flynn was there. He was squatting down beside a big yellow Hummer, polishing the chrome rims. Tara couldn’t help but wonder how much it cost to fill that monster ride with gas, then glanced back at Flynn. He’d shed his t-shirt and tucked it through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. His skin was an all-over brown, making that skull and barbed wire tattoo he’d gotten over the summer shine like a new penny.
Nice tush.
Tara jumped. She’d been thinking what Millicent just said.
So, are you going to go talk to him, or just stand and wait for him to bend a little farther over in hopes that his tidy whities show?
Millicent! You are so bad.
Tara heard what sounded like a ghostly snort, then felt Millicent zap out.
At that point, Flynn stood up and turned around. When he saw Tara a wide smile broke across his face as he waved.
Her heart skipped a beat. Dang. He looked as good from the front as he did from behind. Talk about a six-pack belly. He was ripped. She tossed her sponge into a bucket of water and started to go over when Davis Breedlove suddenly walked out of a crowd of guys and headed toward Flynn.
Tara felt Davis’s frustration and fear and knew this wasn’t going to be good.
Davis walked straight up to Flynn and began poking him in the chest with his finger, well aware he would be asking for a fight.
“What the hell are you doing here? Gloating?” Davis said.
Shock spread across Flynn’s face, followed by a rush of anger. “Back off,” he said. “I’m just washing cars here, okay?”
“No. It’s not okay,” Davis shouted. “You had something to do with Bethany going missing. The cops can’t prove it, but they know it.”
“You’re crazy!” Flynn muttered. “They know where I was . . . at work with my Mom.”
“Oh. Your Mother the barfly?”
OMG. He did not just say that, Tara thought.
Flynn’s first punch hit Davis on the chin. It sent him staggering, but he came back with a roar of rage and hit Flynn in the belly.
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then everyone began shouting. Tara was in a panic. When she heard someone talking about calling the cops, she knew she had to act. She grabbed a hose and turned it on full blast, dousing both Davis and Flynn in the face until they were both forced to back off just to breathe.
Then she dropped the hose, grabbed Flynn by the arm, and began dragging him toward her car. He had a cut over his eye, a cut on his cheek and a busted lip. Davis didn’t look any better, but because he was Bethany’s boyfriend, the crowd’s sympathy was with him.
“Let me go,” Flynn muttered, as Tara kept pulling him along.
“Just shut up and get in,” she said as she opened the car door and shoved him into the passenger side.
Then she circled the car on the run and slid behind the wheel. For once, the engine turned over on the first try. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of sirens. Crap. Someone had called the cops. She left rubber on the concrete as she peeled out of the parking lot and didn’t look back.
Take a left at the next street.
Tara didn’t question Millicent’s directions. She just did as she was told. A few moments later she heard the sirens getting closer. She glanced up into the rearview mirror, then saw them go sailing past in the street behind her.
Thank you, Millicent.
I take care of my clucks.
Peeps, it’s peeps—but thank you anyway. She glanced back up at the rearview mirror again, then jumped in reflex. Henry was looking back with a worried expression on his face.
“It’s all good,” Tara said. Henry nodded, then vaporized.
Flynn thought she was talking to him and frowned. “Nothing is good,” he said.
Tara glanced over briefly. Blood was running from his nose down onto his chest.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, and handed him his t-shirt, which he’d tossed onto the seat between them.
He stuffed it up against his nose and then leaned back, trying to stop the blood flow.
“Just take me home,” he muttered.
“I think you need stitches in your cheek.”
“No stitches. No doctors. Just take me home.”
“And that would be where?”
“Oh. Right.” He raised up long enough to see where they were. “Um . . . turn left at the apartment buildings on the next block.”
Tara knew he was angry and embarrassed. His feelings were hurt by what Davis Breedlove had accused him of, but even angrier at what he’d called Flynn’s mother.
“Your mother is great,” Tara said. “Anyone who’s ever been in Joe’s knows what a nice lady she is . . . always smiling . . . always friendly.”
“On the nights she doesn’t work late at Joe’s, she works at a bar.”
Tara felt his anguish as clearly as if he was crying.
“Yeah, I know. She works hard to keep you guys afloat, doesn’t she? That’s sort of the way with Uncle Pat. He has all kinds of degrees, but he also has a gypsy soul. Just when I think we might settle in a place, he’s off to bigger and better things. We’re always scrambling to play catch up for the first couple of months after we move.”
She felt Flynn’s tension easing and glanced over at him again. “So, I just turned left. Where to now?”
Flynn sighed. “Go five blocks down, then turn right on North Lewis. It’s the second house on the right.”
“Will do,” Tara said, and kept on driving.
Flynn didn
’t look at her. He’d already been humiliated enough for one day. Seeing disgust on her face would be the last straw. A couple of minutes later, he felt the car turning. He took the t-shirt off his nose long enough to look. They were in his driveway.
As soon as she put the car in park, he opened the door and got out. “Thanks for the ride,” he said.
Only Tara didn’t answer. When he looked back, she was getting out of the car.
“You don’t have to—”
”You helped me, remember? Allow me the privilege of giving back.”
Flynn sighed. “Fine. Whatever,” he said, and led the way to the house.
“Is your Mom home?” Tara asked.
“No, she’s at work.”
“Where do you keep alcohol and Band-Aids?”
“Bathroom . . . down the hall.”
“I’ll be right back,” Tara said.
Flynn dropped onto the sofa, then leaned back and closed his eyes. His face felt like he’d walked into a swinging ball bat and his feelings were hurt. He wished he’d never gone to that stupid car wash.
Tara quickly found what she was looking for, grabbed a wet washcloth, then headed back to the living room. Flynn was on the sofa. She felt his anguish clear across the room, but she couldn’t let on. It would only make things worse.
“Lean back,” she said, took the wet cloth and began cleaning up the blood.
“I can do that,” Flynn said, and reached up.
“Put your hand down please, I can’t see what I’m doing,” Tara said, and proceeded to clean up the cuts. When she opened the alcohol, she warned him. “This is probably going to hurt.”
“Just do it,” Flynn said, then stifled a moan when the alcohol swabs hit the gashes on his cheek and over his eye.
“I’m so sorry,” Tara said softly. “As soon as that dries, I’ll put some Band-Aids on them. It’s the best we can do, although I still say you need stitches, especially on your cheek.”
A few minutes later, she was done. She carried the bloody washcloth to the bathroom and rinsed out as much blood as she could, then hung it back up to dry. His mother was going to freak when she saw it, though. She sighed. What a mixed up mess for everyone.
Sharon Sala - [Lunatic Life 01] Page 10
