Sharon Sala - [Lunatic Life 01]

by My Lunatic Life (epub)

  She hurried back into the living room, but Flynn wasn’t there.

  “Hey . . . where are you?”

  “In here,” he called.

  She followed the sound of his voice into the kitchen and found him washing down some pain killers with a big drink of Pepsi.

  “Your elbow is all skinned too,” she said. “I missed that while ago.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve had worse for less reason.”

  “Will you be all right?”

  It finally dawned on Flynn that Tara wasn’t just being kind—that she was actually concerned.

  “Yeah. Sure. And just for the record, thanks for getting me out of there before the cops came.”

  Tara nodded. “Sure . . . so . . . I guess I’d better go.”

  Flynn shoved his hands in his pockets as he looked at her from across the room. There was blood on the front of her t-shirt and her hair was down in her eyes. But she wasn’t judging him, and she’d stepped up when everyone else wanted to put him down. She was about the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

  “Tara.”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  She sighed. “Yeah. Sure.” Then she pointed toward the door. “I’d better be going now.”

  He nodded.

  “Okay . . . bye,” she said.

  Flynn took his hands out of his pockets and walked toward her.

  Tara knew before he touched her what he wanted. When he walked into her arms, she held him close, careful not to squeeze too tight.

  For Flynn, it was like coming home. Safe and loving. He rested his cheek against the side of her head, feeling the softness of her hair against his face.

  “You are something special,” Flynn said. But when he tried to kiss her, it hurt the cut on his lip.

  “Ow,” he mumbled, and quickly pulled back.

  “Poor baby,” Tara said. “Here . . . we’ll do it this way.” She kissed the end of her own finger, then gently touched her finger to the corner of his mouth. “A totally painless make-out session.”

  Flynn groaned. Making out with Tara Luna would include way more than a kiss, but the relationship wasn’t there yet, and if his luck continued to run as usual, it probably never would be.

  Tara leaned back in his arms, letting her gaze roam over her poor battered face. She couldn’t resist, and touched the side of his cheek where the Band-Aid was.

  “Don’t say it again,” he teased.

  Tara grinned. “Stitches.”

  He laughed, then winced. “Go home, Moon girl. Drive safe and, once more, thanks for having my back.”

  “No prob,” she said, and waved as she left.

  She was backing out of the driveway when Henry popped up in the seat beside her, as if reminding her she wasn’t alone.

  I’m here, too.

  “Of course you are,” Tara said. “FYI, we’re all going home now.”

  She accelerated down the street, heading for home, hoping Uncle Pat was in the back yard when she got there, because then she wouldn’t have to lie to him about how she got the blood on her shirt.

  As she drove, she kept thinking about the morning. Seeing Bethany’s parents. Watching the faces of the seniors who’d slept soundly in their beds last night, secure in the knowledge that the world still revolved around them, then showing up on Bethany’s behalf to have a car wash. Kind of pathetic in the grand scheme of things. But she understood the premise. They needed to help and that was the only thing they knew to do.

  And then there’s me, Tara thought. I know stuff. Important stuff. But it’s worthless unless I can find a way to prove it. Flynn just got caught in the crossfire of everyone’s fear and I have to find a way to fix this.

  Tara was so focused on the missing cheerleader, she didn’t notice the gray Lincoln behind her, unaware that it had been following her ever since she and Flynn had left the car wash, or that Emmit Broyles was behind the wheel.

  But Millicent noticed.

  Enemy at six o’clock.

  Tara frowned as she looked up in the rearview mirror. Six o’clock would be right behind her. “What do you mean, enemy at . . . Crap! Is that Emmit Broyles?”

  The tone of her voice shifted to a shriek, which sent Henry into a tailspin. He vaporized right in front of her, causing her to slam on her brakes just before rear-ending the car in front of her.

  I got this. Keep driving.

  Tara gasped. She didn’t take the time to argue. As soon as the light changed and the cars began to move, she hit the accelerator.

  The gray Lincoln accelerated too. It was halfway through the intersection when Tara saw something she wouldn’t have believed if she wasn’t witnessing it with her own eyes.

  The Lincoln was no longer moving, but Emmit was. He was crawling all over the inside of the car, trying to get out, but it appeared that the doors wouldn’t open. Tara could see the panic on his face, but wasn’t sure why. Then all of a sudden, a semi-truck came barreling through the intersection, sliding sideways and trying to miss the car that was stopped in the worst possible place. It clipped the bumper of Emmit Broyles car just enough to send it spinning.

  Broyles mouth was wide open in fear. Somehow, what was happening seemed justified. Besides, who was she to interfere with the business of a pink-tinged wraith?

  Tara had been home for a couple of hours before she found out where Uncle Pat had gone. He’d called her to tell her he was at Eskimo Joe’s having lunch, and to see if she wanted him to bring her anything. Tara grinned when she heard his story and passed on the food. She’d already eaten lunch. But she knew her uncle hadn’t just gone to Joe’s to eat. He’d gone to see Mona, too.

  How weird was this? She and Flynn. Uncle Pat and Flynn’s Mom. Yikes.

  She didn’t know what to think about the fact that Emmit Broyles had been following her. There was no way that had been a coincidence. Not when Millicent had gone after him as she had. She wondered if Emmit was okay, then decided she didn’t much care. Even though she couldn’t prove it, the only reason Emmit would be trying to silence her was if he wanted his past deeds—and his younger sister—to stay buried.

  Tara was in the driveway washing their aging Chevrolet Malibu when she saw Uncle Pat coming down the street. He waved. She waved back, then finished rinsing off the hood.

  “Hey, thanks for washing the Chevy,” Uncle Pat said, as he eyed his reflection in the blue metallic surface.

  Tara smiled. “Started the day off washing cars. Decided I’d end it the same way.”

  “The day’s not over and it’s Saturday night. Surely you’re not going to spend it sitting here with me?”

  Tara thought of Flynn. He was probably too beat up to want to go out in public. That left her on her own, and after the latest run-in with Emmit, staying home was way safer than going out.

  “I don’t know. That sounds like a pretty good idea,” Tara said, then narrowed her eyes and gave him a thoughtful look. “You’re not trying to get rid of me or anything are you? Like . . . maybe you’re planning on bringing your own company over tonight?”

  The flush on her uncle’s face was priceless. “Lord, no! What made you think of a thing like that?”

  “Maybe because of where you had lunch.”

  “Lots of people eat there,” he said.

  Tara grinned. “I know . . . but I know you went because of Mona, not the food, and that’s what made me think you might want the house to yourself.”

  He sputtered a bit, then frowned. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. And, on another note, how was the car wash?”

  Fine, until the fight. “Good. Good. I’m thinking we raised a lot of money to add to the reward for Bethany.”

  Uncle Pat sat down on the side of the porch, watching as Tara turned off the water and beg
an drying off their car. She was the picture of her mother—brown eyes—slim and leggy with a heart-shaped face and a lot of thick, dark hair. And she was almost grown. Where had the years gone? He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to know that she was missing.

  “Do you know that missing girl? Do you know Bethany Fanning?” he asked.

  “Oh. Sure I know who she is. I even have a class with her. But we don’t hang. She’s a cheerleader . . . one of the popular crowd.”

  He frowned. “Do you have to be a cheerleader to be popular?”

  Tara sighed. Poor Uncle Pat. He was so oblivious to what life was like for kids these days.

  “No, of course not. But it helps if people know you. And you have to stick around longer than six months to make friends.”

  He sighed. “Man, I am so sorry,” he said.

  Tara stopped. “For what, Uncle Pat?”

  “For making your life so difficult.”

  Tara dropped the chamois and hugged his neck. “You didn’t make my life difficult. You saved it,” she whispered, and then kissed the side of his cheek.

  “Well, well,” he mumbled, but he was smiling wide as he hugged her back. “I think I’ll go out back and get out that iron bench I was talking about. It’s a little rusty. I might need to repaint it before it will be decent to sit on.”

  “It’ll look great,” Tara said. “I just need to vacuum out the inside of the car and then I’m done.”

  Her uncle went one way while she went another. A few minutes later she was head down in the front seat of the car with the roar of the vacuum loud in her ears. She shoved the hose underneath the passenger side of the seat and as she did, heard a clink. Something metal had gone into the vacuum. Yikes. She’d better make sure it wasn’t something important.

  She backed out of the car and then took the bag off the vacuum and carried it to the garbage bin, pulled out an old newspaper, then dumped the contents of the vacuum bag onto it.

  At first, she didn’t see anything that would have made a metallic sound, but she kept sifting through the dust bunnies until her fingers connected with something solid. She pulled it out, wiped it off, then frowned.

  “Where on earth did this—”

  All of a sudden, the world began to spin—spinning her right into Bethany Fanning’s head.

  Chapter Eight

  Bethany hated the closet. He only let her out to go to the bathroom. Now she sat among the litter of fast-food wrappers and empty soda cans. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She looked at her hands. They were filthy and she had a splinter under her nail from trying to catch the door as he slammed it shut. All of a sudden she heard footsteps and scooted as far back into the corner as she could get.

  The door opened. “Please, let me go. I’m sorry I was mean to you.”

  Tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. “You laughed at me. You called me a creep and told me to get lost.”

  “I know, I know. And I’m sorry. But what I said to you doesn’t make it okay to do this to me. I want to go home. I want my Mother.”

  “My mother says not to let people hurt me. You hurt me. It’s too late now.”

  The door shut.

  Once again, Bethany was alone. But this time something was different. It was the first time he’d said that—about it being too late. What did this mean? What was going to happen to her?

  Tara gasped, then looked down at the ring she’d taken out of the dust. It was pewter colored metal in the shape of a skull. Just like the skull and barbed wire tattoo on Flynn’s arm. Could this be his? It was under the seat where he’d been sitting. But why had it had been a conduit to Bethany? She needed to talk to Flynn to find out. She wiped it off and slipped it into her pocket as she stood up. If this last vision was real, it just confirmed Bethany’s time was running out. She wasn’t hurt yet, but she might be, soon. She clasped the ring in her fist again and closed her eyes, but nothing happened. Whatever this was, it wasn’t strong enough to keep her connected. She had to do something, but she wasn’t sure what. She headed for the back yard.

  “Hey, Uncle Pat.”

  He was scrubbing the rust off the iron bench.

  “I’m here,” he said, as he stopped and waved.

  “I need to use the car again, okay?”

  He glanced at his watch. It was almost three-thirty. “Are you planning to be home before night?”

  “I think so. Why? Did you need the car?”

  “No, no. Just making sure I knew your plans.”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay, but be please be careful. I don’t want to lose you like Bethany’s family lost her.”

  It was the first that Tara knew he’d been worrying. But she knew it wasn’t some random pervert on the make all over Stillwater. Whoever had Bethany had a personal grudge against her.

  “You won’t, I promise,” she said, and hurried back toward the car.

  It did occur to her as she was driving away that Emmit Broyles was still a threat, but she felt confident that Millicent and Henry would forewarn her enough to stay out of danger. Besides, she couldn’t exactly go into hiding until all of this got sorted out. DeeDee was already dead. It was Bethany whose days might be numbered.

  She drove back to Flynn’s house with the ring in her pocket and one eye on the rearview mirror as she went. She didn’t really believe she had anything more to fear from Emmit today, but it wasn’t smart to be careless.

  A short while later she pulled into the driveway and jumped out on the run. She knocked and waited, but no one answered. Then she knocked again, shouting Flynn’s name. Still no answer.

  He couldn’t go missing now. She needed to find him.

  Then she thought of his mother. Mona might know.

  She jumped back in the car and headed for Eskimo Joe’s. Even though it was late afternoon and long past the lunch crowd, the parking lot of Joe’s was full—a testament to the fame and popularity of the place. She finally found a place to park and ran the block and a half back to Joe’s, then inside through the souvenir shop where the famous Eskimo Joe’s logo was on everything they sold, and finally up to the hostess.

  “Hi, is Mona O’Mara still here?”

  A young woman with short pink hair glanced over her shoulder, as if looking for her, then frowned as she turned back to Tara. “Yeah, I think.”

  “Could I speak to her, please? It’s sort of an emergency.”

  “Wait here,” the girl said, and headed toward the kitchen.

  Within a few moments, Mona appeared. She was smiling before she got close enough to speak.

  “Hey, I remember you. You’re Pat’s niece, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tara said.

  “What’s up? Is Pat all right?” Mona asked.

  “Yes, Uncle Pat is fine. I need to talk to Flynn, but he’s not home. It’s really important or I wouldn’t bother you like this.”

  Mona’s smile slipped. “I already know about the fight. He called me. And I want to thank you for taking him home.”

  Tara nodded. “Sure thing. But he’s not home now. Do you know where he might be?”

  “Not really. He didn’t say . . . Oh. Wait. When he was younger, he used to ride his bike out to Boomer Lake. It’s quite a ride out, but it’s where he and his Dad used to go fish. When something is bothering him and he won’t talk about it, he goes out there.”

  “How do I get there?” Tara asked.

  Mona wrote down the directions, then went back to work after a promise from Tara to let her know if something was wrong.

  Tara ran back to her car. It was just after four. She didn’t understand the impending doom she kept feeling, but knew better than to ignore it.

  Within fifteen minutes she was pulling up to one of the boat docks at Boomer La
ke. A huge surge of relief went through her when she saw Flynn sitting on the edge with his feet dangling over the water. She felt his anxiety and confusion. She sensed he wasn’t going to welcome her arrival, but this was no longer about them. Tara had been hoping for a connection to Bethany ever since her disappearance and this was the first real break she’d had.

  She dashed across the ground toward the dock.

  When Flynn heard the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned around. Almost instantly, his expression darkened.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Tara pulled the ring out of her pocket.

  “Is this yours?”

  The tone of his voice shifted. “Yeah. It is. Where did you find it?”

  “Beneath the seat of the car.”

  “You could have given it to me at school on Monday. You didn’t have to—”

  “That’s not why I’m here,” Tara said, then sat down on the dock beside him. “I need you to answer some questions for me.”

  The frown came back. Coupled with his bruises and the Band Aids on his face, he looked miserable.

  “Look, Moon girl, this isn’t a good time for me.”

  “Fine, because this isn’t about you. It’s about Bethany.”

  “Bethany? I already told you she and—”

  “Will you please wait for me to ask stuff before you start talking?”

  He shrugged, then looked away.

  Tara grabbed his arm. “Look at me, Flynn.”

  He sighed, then looked back. “What?”

  “The ring . . . what is the connection between it and Bethany?”

  “She gave it to me.”

  The expression on Tara’s face was one of instant understanding. “Then I was right,” she muttered. “I’m connecting through . . . oh, never mind. But why isn’t the connection lasting? Why do I keep losing her?”

  “What are you talking about?” Flynn asked.

  Tara knew the next few minutes were going to be key to whether or not they could make their relationship work, because to get what she needed to help Bethany, she was going to have to tell him the truth about herself.