“I need to tell you something,” Tara said. “It’s going to sound weird, and you’re probably not going to believe me.”
“Just spit it out, Tara. My head is hurting too much to try and figure out what you’re talking about.”
“Sorry.” She took his hand, then looked him straight in the eyes. “Here’s the deal,” she said. “I’m psychic, and I’ve been getting these flashes about Bethany but couldn’t—”
”Whoa, whoa, whoa! Back up a minute, Moon girl. What did you just say?”
Tara sighed. “Psychic . . . as in able to know and see stuff other people can’t. I’ve been like this my whole life. It’s no big deal to me.”
“But it’s a big deal that you want me to believe this.”
“I don’t care whether or not you believe me. I just care that you’re willing to help me so I can figure out where Bethany is.”
“Why do you think you can do something the Stillwater police and the state bureau of investigation agents can’t do?”
“I don’t think it. I know it. I just need something stronger to connect to. Do you have anything of Bethany’s at your house . . . like a photo she gave you, or a scarf, or—”
“”No. What I didn’t give back, I threw away.”
“You still had the ring.”
His face flushed angrily. “Yes, but only because my dad has one just like it. I made the mistake of telling her that when we were dating. She gave it to me for my birthday. I kept it only because it’s like my Dad’s, not because she gave it to me.”
“Okay, okay. I wasn’t trying to dig into your business here. I just need something to get me tuned back in to Bethany.”
Flynn shook his head. “I’m sorry, Moon girl, but you’re too far out for me to—”
Tara was ticked. She hated it when people belittled what she did, and hated that this was the only way they would believe.
“Fine. You want proof? You got a Batman bike for Christmas when you were nine.”
He looked startled, then shook his head. “Mom could have told you that.”
“But she didn’t. Your dad told you in his last letter that he’s been diagnosed with cancer.”
He nearly fell off the dock. “How do you know that?” he whispered. “I haven’t even told Mom.”
“How do you think?”
He kept shaking his head no, as if the thought of admitting what she was proving to him was too big to take in. Then he fixed her with a curious stare.
“Okay. If you’re for real, then figure this one out. Two years ago, my mom lost a ring that used to belong to her mother. She’s been sad about it ever since.”
A scene flashed into Tara’s head—a place she’d seen before. In Flynn’s house. Earlier today. When she’d watched him taking painkillers in the kitchen.
“There’s a place on your kitchen counters behind the faucet, where the grouting has broken away. The ring is down in there between the walls. If I prove that to you, will you help me?”
“Yes.”
“Get in the car.”
“I rode my bike.”
“So, put it in the trunk. And hurry.”
Within fifteen minutes, they were pulling back into Flynn’s driveway. He dumped his bike on the front porch, then led the way inside to the kitchen.
“Let me look,” he said, and peered down into the crack. He frowned at her, as if accusing her of a lie. “There’s nothing there.”
“Get me a flashlight,” Tara said.
He pulled one out of a nearby drawer, handed it to her, then watched as she climbed up onto the counter on her hands and knees and leaned forward, aiming the light at an angle into the crack. Almost instantly, she caught a glimmer of metal.
“Fishing pole. Do you have a fishing pole . . . with a hook?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Just get the pole. I keep telling you we’re wasting time.”
He left the room, but came back shortly with a rod and reel.
Tara let out some line, then frowned. “Hold the flashlight for me. I need to use both hands.”
Flynn did as she asked, watching the intent expression on her face as she ran the line down into the crack. It took her a few tries before it caught, but when she began to pull it up, there was a look of satisfaction on her face. Seconds later, she pulled the ring up and out and put it in Flynn’s hand with a disgusted sigh.
“Here. Now. This is going to have to do for proof because we can’t waste any more of Bethany’s time.”
Flynn was stunned. He kept looking at the ring, then looking at Tara.
“For real?”
She nodded.
He shook his head as he put the ring in a cup in the cabinet to show his mom later. “What do you need?”
“Something that belongs to Bethany . . . only I can’t go to her parents. They wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“What about Davis?” Flynn asked.
Tara’s eyes widened. Yeah. The current squeeze. Then she frowned. “But you guys just had the fight from hell.”
He shrugged. “If you think you can help find her, I don’t mind getting pounded again.”
“I mind. You’re not going to get pounded. But I do need you to come with me. I don’t know where he lives, and I need all the backup I can get.”
“Dang. I couldn’t go and get myself an ordinary girlfriend,” Flynn muttered, as he put his arm around Tara and followed her out the door.
Tara stopped. “So, I’m your girlfriend?”
“Far as I’m concerned,” he said.
She grinned, then handed him the car keys. “You drive, okay? It’ll be quicker since you know the way.”
“Whatever,” Flynn said, and started the car. A short while later they were on the other side of town and pulling up the drive that led to an imposing two story structure. “Here it is,” he said.
“Wow! What does his Dad do for a living?” Tara asked.
“He’s in oil. That’s all I know.”
They parked the car and headed for the front door together. But it was Tara who rang the doorbell. And it was Tara who stepped in front of Flynn when Davis Breedlove answered the door. He didn’t look any better than Flynn did, but the expression on his face went from shock to fury as he spotted Flynn.
“What? Did you come back so I could finish kicking your ass?”
Tara grabbed Davis’s arm before he could move.
Step back. I’ve got this.
“Not now, Millicent. I need him in one piece.”
“Who the hell is Millicent and what are you muttering about?” Davis asked, as he yanked out of Tara’s grasp.
“OMG . . . Davis, do not use the word hell and Millicent in the same sentence and expect me to be responsible for the next five minutes of your life,” Tara said.
Davis looked as confused as Flynn felt. “Get off my property,” he said, and started to shut the door in their faces. Then all of a sudden, he went flying backwards, sliding across the slick marble floor on the seat of his sweat pants, although no one had even come close to touching him.
Flynn’s mouth dropped. “What just happened?”
“Millicent. She doesn’t like it when people dis me.”
“Millicent?”
“She’s one of my peeps,” Tara said, with a grin.
Now you’re talking.
Tara stepped into the doorway. “Look, Davis. I’m really sorry about that. I told you Millicent wouldn’t be happy.”
Davis was crawling to his feet, but keeping his distance. He didn’t know what had happened, but he didn’t want close to her again.
“The reason we’re here is I think I have a way to find Bethany. Will you help me?”
All of a sudden, she had his attention.
“Like how?” he asked.
“Has Bethany given you anything of hers . . . a photo she signed to you . . . anything that came from her?”
“What is this . . . twenty questions? I thought you said you could find her,” he mumbled.
“I told you . . . I think I can find her.”
“You’re nuts. No wonder Beth and her friends call you lunatic.”
Oh no he didn’t.
“Ohmygod,” Tara said, and watched Davis go flying across the floor on his butt once more. “Look, Davis . . . if you want to stay upright, stop dissin’ me, savvy?”
He nodded, but looked like he might start to cry.
“Then get up,” Tara said. “I don’t have all day.”
For the first time since their arrival, his bluff and bluster was gone and he was on the verge of panic. “What’s happening? How are you doing that to me?”
Tara sighed. “I’m not doing it. Millicent is doing it.”
Flynn held up his hand. “Don’t ask,” he said. “Just help her.”
“What good is it going to do you to look at a picture of Bethany?”
“I don’t want to look at it. I need to hold something that was hers so I can connect to her.”
He frowned. “So you can what?”
“Connect! Connect! I’m psychic, damn it.”
Davis stared, and then all of a sudden, he burst into laughter. “You are a lunatic. Certifiable.”
That does it!
“Don’t, Millicent!” Tara shouted. “I need him in one piece, thank you.”
Fine. I won’t even touch him.
All of a sudden, a huge commotion sounded in the room behind where Davis was standing.
“What the hell?” he said, and dashed into his father’s library.
Books were flying from the shelves. Magazines were levitating while the ink pen on the desk in front of the window went flying past Davis’s head, and came to rest in the back of an overstuffed leather chair like an arrow into a target.
He gave Tara a look of panic, and then ducked as a pair of books hit the floor behind him.
“Make it stop,” he begged.
“Millicent. Please,” Tara begged.
I’ll be in the car.
“Thank you,” she muttered, then turned to Davis. “Get up. Go get me something that Bethany gave you and hurry.”
He didn’t hesitate, but ran from the library, leaving them in the middle of the chaos.
Flynn was in a state of shock, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself.
“Uh . . . Moon girl . . . ”
She held up her hand. “Just hang with me here.”
He nodded, then sat as Davis came running back into the room.
“Will this do? Bethany gave it to me after we started going steady.” He gave Flynn a nervous glance.
It was a photo of her in a silver frame, and she’d even signed it, Love, Bethany.
“This should do it,” Tara said, and held out her hand.
Within seconds, she shot straight into Bethany’s head—seeing everything Bethany was seeing—feeling everything Bethany was feeling, including the fear and a growing sense of hopelessness.
She didn’t know that Flynn caught her as she staggered. Or that she was looking straight at Davis without seeing him. From the moment she’d touched the frame, she gone.
Bethany was staring at the closet door with her heart in her throat. He’d been pacing on the little porch outside for what seemed like an hour. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but sensed it wasn’t going to be good. Ever since he’d arrived this morning, he’d been different, as if he’d come to some kind of decision.
Then the pacing stopped. She held her breath, her gaze fixed to the door. The knob started turning and Bethany shuddered. Is this it? Is this the day I die?
He walked in. He’d been crying again. Did this mean he’d had a change of heart? Was he finally going to let her go?
“Charlie . . . I want you to know I’ll never tell.”
Then she saw him shudder.
“Dead women tell no tales,” he said.
Her heart stopped. Had she read him wrong?
“What do you mean?” He came towards her with his hands out and pulled her out of the closet.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s all your fault this has to happen.”
“Noooo!” Bethany screamed, and then his hands were at her throat.
“Noooo!!! He killed her!”
Tara threw the frame on the sofa
Flynn grabbed her and held her. He’d seen enough already to believe her—enough to be afraid she was right.
Davis was in shock.
“What happened? What just happened?” he cried.
Tara shoved out of Flynn’s arms and swiped angrily at her face. “Why?” she cried to the forces that gave her the visions. “Why wait until now when it’s too late?”
Flynn grabbed her arm. “Talk to us, Tara. We’re in the dark, here.”
“I saw someone named Charlie grab her by the throat. Just now. Just now.”
Davis sank into a nearby chair. Flynn’s eyes went wide with shock, but Tara was in fighting mode.
“Who’s Charlie? Who do you know named Charlie?”
Davis and Flynn looked at each other, then Davis answered first. “I know a couple of guys. Charlie Samson and Charles Friend.”
“And there’s Charlie Pratt and John Charles Washington,” Flynn added.
Tara shoved her hands through her hair and then turned in a little circle, so upset and so frustrated she couldn’t think. All of a sudden, Henry was standing by the French doors leading out to a verandah.
“What?” Tara asked, and then noticed Henry was pointing down at the floor.
She raced over. The floor was littered with books that Millicent had tossed from the shelves. She kept looking, but didn’t understand, and then she saw it. A yearbook from Stillwater High.
“Henry! You’re are so smart!” She grabbed the yearbook and headed back to Davis and Flynn. “Here,” she said, and thrust the book at Flynn. “Show me! Show me the guys named Charlie in here.”
“This is last year’s yearbook,” Davis said. “Look in sophomores and juniors.”
“Right,” Flynn said, and began leafing through it quickly. He found the first two quickly.
“Here’s John Charles . . . and this is Charles Samson. They’re juniors this year.”
Tara looked. Neither of them were the guy she’d seen choking Bethany.
“No. Neither one of them,” she said. “Find the others.”
Flynn flipped to the juniors. “This is Charles Friend. He’s a senior this year with us. Charlie Pratt was a senior in this book, so he graduated, but he was in Special Ed. I don’t even know if he’s still in Stillwater.”
“It’s not Charles Friend,” Tara said. “What if it’s someone who didn’t even go to school here?”
Flynn shuffled through a couple more pages until he got to the senior class, then quickly found the last Charles. “Here he is. This is Charlie Pratt. Like I said, there was something wrong with his mind. He couldn’t learn stuff like the rest of us, but I don’t think he would—”
Tara gasped. “That’s him,” she said. “This is the guy who kidnapped her. Do you know where he lives?”
“I don’t,” Flynn said, and looked at Davis.
“I don’t either,” Davis said.
Tara looked back at the photo of Bethany. The sadness was overwhelming. Without thinking, she picked the frame back up and to her shock, was once again, back with Bethany.
She was flattened against the closet wall, holding up her hands like claws and. Charlie was sitting in the doorway with long scratch marks on his cheeks, s
obbing uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept saying. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Charlie pushed himself up from the floor and with one last look back at Bethany, locked the closet door, once again shutting her inside, then staggered from the room.
Tara squealed. “He couldn’t do it!” she cried. “Bethany isn’t dead. I lost connection for a minute, that’s all. We’ve got to find out where he’s holding her. He might change his mind.”
“I’m so confused,” Davis said. “How do you do this?”
“I don’t know, I just do. Who do you know who can find Charlie Pratt’s home? Even if that’s not where he took her, it’s a good place to start looking.”
Flynn grabbed the yearbook and began leafing through the senior pictures all over again.
“Who was that guy he used to hang out with? He drove that old VW bus, remember?”
Davis leaned over Flynn’s shoulder as they both scanned the photos. Suddenly, Davis’s finger stabbed at a photo.
“There! That’s the guy. Taylor French.”
“Yeah,” Flynn said. “Way to go, man.”
Davis beamed, and then looked a little embarrassed that he was connecting so personally with someone who was supposed to be the enemy.
“We don’t have time for this,” Tara said. “How can we find Taylor French?”
Flynn grinned. “He busses tables at Joe’s.”
“No way,” Tara said.
Flynn nodded.
“Call your mom and ask her if he’s at work,” she cried.
Flynn grabbed his cell and walked a short distance away to make the call as Tara and Davis stared at each other.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” Tara said, pointing to the books and the ruined back of the leather chair. No telling what that had cost.
“Yeah . . . well . . . I don’t really get how it happened. I don’t even know what I saw.”
“Welcome to my world,” Tara muttered, then Flynn was back.
“He was there. Get in the car. I know where Charlie lives.”
Tara headed for the door with Flynn right behind her. She was on the threshold when she realized Davis wasn’t with them.
Sharon Sala - [Lunatic Life 01] Page 12
