Sharon Sala - [Lunatic Life 01]

by My Lunatic Life (epub)

  “Hey!” she yelled. “Are you coming or what?”

  He didn’t have to be asked twice. He was out the door and in the back seat of Tara’s car before she got her seat belt buckled. Seconds later, they were off.

  Chapter Nine

  Charlie Pratt’s home was in a trailer park on the east side of Stillwater. As Tara, Flynn and Davis pulled into the trailer park and then turned down the first street, Tara began to scan the lot numbers.

  “Look for number fifteen,” Flynn said.

  Tara began counting down the numbers as they drove.

  “There!” Davis shouted. “Next to the last on the left.”

  Flynn wheeled up to the trailer and put the car in park. It was an old blue and white trailer with part of the skirting missing and a broken birdbath next to the steps. Someone had thrown a couple of old tires onto the roof in an obvious attempt to hold down loose roofing strips. All in all, it was a pretty sad sight.

  “Now what?” Flynn asked.

  “Both of you come with me,” Tara said. “I may get kicked out and I don’t want to dodge fists in the process.”

  Flynn frowned. “Look, if this is dangerous—”

  Tara grabbed him by the arm. “Flynn! Bethany is the one who’s in danger. So come on.”

  She got out of the car and started up the steps with Flynn and Davis flanking her. She took a deep breath, and then knocked forcefully several times.

  Seconds later, she began hearing the frantic yapping of a small dog, and then a man cursing. The door swung inward. The woman standing there looked tired and beaten down by more than her husband’s fists. The years had not been kind to her.

  “Yeah? What do you want?” she asked.

  “Shirley . . . tell ’em we ain’t buyin’ nothin’!” the man yelled.

  “We aren’t selling anything,” Tara said quickly. “We’re trying to find Charlie.”

  Shock spread across her face. “Charlie? What do y’all want with my boy?”

  “He isn’t here?” Tara asked.

  “No,” she said, and started to close the door. “Y’all go on now. Wayne don’t like visitors much.”

  Tara put her foot in the crack of the door. “Charlie is in trouble,” Tara said. “And we need to find him before he does something he can’t take back.”

  “Whaaat?” Shirley cried.

  Wayne yelled from inside. “Y’all get on out of here now a’fore I call the cops.”

  “Go ahead and call them,” Tara yelled back. “Because when they find your son, he’s going to be under arrest.”

  Shirley Pratt gasped. “What are you talking about?” she cried. “What kind of trouble is Charlie in?”

  By now, Wayne Pratt was out of his chair and lumbering toward the door. Tara felt his fury and it was all she could do to stand her ground. The door swung inward as Wayne roughly shoved his wife out of the way.

  He was massive—at least five inches over six feet tall and weighing a good three hundred and fifty pounds or more. His clothes were stained and dirty and there was a good six inches of his belly showing from beneath the shirt. He was reaching toward Tara when Flynn suddenly stepped between them.

  “I wouldn’t,” Flynn said softly.

  “Tell me where Charlie is before it’s too late,” Tara repeated.

  “Too late for what?” Wayne growled.

  “He’s already going to be charged with kidnaping and assault, but he hasn’t killed her yet.”

  For the first time Tara had their full attention. “What in hell are you talking about?” he asked.

  “Bethany Fanning. Charlie is the one who took Bethany Fanning.”

  Tara heard his mother cry out, and then saw her run toward the door. Shirley shoved her husband aside, and then clutched at Tara.

  “How do you know this? How do you know?”

  “I just do,” Tara said. “Now think! If you want your son to stay alive, you need to help me find him. If he kills Bethany, he’ll get the death sentence and you know it.”

  “Oh dear God,” his mother cried. “I don’t know where he is. I have no idea. He’s been gone a lot lately.”

  Tara’s heart dropped. “Look. If you could just bring me something of his, I might figure it out on my own.”

  “Bring you somethin? What do you mean, bring you somethin’? Is this just some con to get our stuff?” Wayne grumbled.

  “No!” Tara screamed, and then focused her attention on the mother. “Go into Charlie’s room. Bring me something that’s his. I don’t want to keep it. I just need to hold it.”

  “It’s a con! You get back in here and leave them be!” Wayne said.

  But Charlie’s mother knew better. “No, Wayne, I told you two days ago something was wrong with Charlie. I heard him crying at night when he thought we were all asleep. Charlie is almost twenty. He don’t cry like he used to anymore. Something’s wrong.”

  She pushed past her husband and ran. Seconds later she was back with a handful of CDs.

  “Will these do? He plays them all the time.”

  Tara took them out of her hands, and the moment she did, felt faint. She didn’t know Flynn grabbed her to keep from falling again, or that he and Davis traded panicked looks. She was locked into Charlie Watt’s despair. She could see water . . . and a cabin . . . and a whole lot of trees—and an old yellow truck.

  “Does your family have a lake house?” Tara asked.

  Wayne Pratt laughed. “Do we look like we got us a fancy lake house? Hell no, we ain’t got no lake house.”

  But Shirley knew better. “My father . . . Charlie’s grandpa . . . had an old fishing cabin out at the lake. He used to take Charlie out there all the time when he was little. It belongs to my step-mom, but she’s in Denver. Been there for a couple of months now.”

  Tara kept seeing an old yellow truck with the tag missing parked in front of it.

  “Does he drive a yellow truck, and are there a pair of pine trees in front of the house and a big oak at the back?”

  “Yes . . . yes. How do you know that?”

  “And the number on the lot . . . is it 104?”

  “Oh lord, oh lord . . . yes it is,” she wailed.

  Tara felt a sense of relief at knowing she was tuned in to the right place. “How do we get there?”

  Davis and Flynn looked at each other, stunned by what they were witnessing. How could it be this easy? The police had been looking for Bethany for over a week and Tara just touches stuff and knows? This was way past wacked.

  When the woman began giving directions, Tara knew she was going to get confused.

  “Flynn! Are you paying attention to this? I will get lost if I’m driving.”

  “I’m listening, Moon girl. You stay connected to Charlie. I’ve got your back on the rest.”

  Charlie’s mother was weeping as she finished. “Are you sure about this?” she asked.

  Tara clutched the CDs against her belly and closed her eyes and saw him walking back into the cabin carrying a rifle.

  “Oh no,” Tara gasped, then opened her eyes and grabbed Shirley Pratt’s arm. “Mrs. Pratt, does your family own a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you please look and see if it’s still here?”

  “Ain’t no one looking for my gun!” Wayne yelled.

  “Please!” Tara begged.

  Charlie’s mother hesitated only briefly, then once more pushed past her husband and left.

  There was a long uncomfortable silence as Wayne glared at the trio on his stoop. Then suddenly, there was a long, mournful wail.

  “Uh oh,” Tara said, and looked at Davis and Flynn. “I’m betting the gun is AWOL.”

  Shirley Pratt came running back, her hands clutched at her heart as if holding it would ke
ep her in one piece.

  “It’s gone. Sure as God, it’s gone!” she cried.

  Tara turned to Davis and Flynn. “We’ve got to get out there, and fast.” Then she gave Shirley Pratt one last task. “Mrs. Pratt, I need you to call the police. Tell them what you just told us about how to get to that cabin. Tell them to hurry and pray that we get there before Charlie uses that gun.”

  “Me? Call the cops on my own son?”

  “How do you think Stillwater is going to view you two when they find out it was your son who kidnaped Bethany . . . that you knew it and did nothing?” Flynn asked.

  “Oh lord, oh lord,” she moaned, and covered her face.

  “We ain’t callin’ no cops,” Wayne growled.

  Shirley turned on him angrily. “Yes, I am,” she shrieked. “And you’re not gonna stop me! If Charlie has turned into this kind of person, he has you to thank for it.”

  “We’ll be calling them, too,” Tara said. “But like Flynn said, it will help coming from you, too.”

  Shirley nodded. “Go on and do what you gotta do,” she said. “I’ll call the cops.”

  Tara headed for the car. Flynn and Davis were, once again, right behind her. Flynn slid into the driver’s seat, then winced at the pain rippling around his belly as he buckled the seat belt around him.

  Davis wasn’t any better. He groaned aloud as he folded himself into the confines of the back seat. The longer time passed since their fight this morning, the stiffer they were getting.

  “If you guys think you’re sore, think of how Bethany feels. She’s been locked in a closet for more than a week and scared out of her mind.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Davis muttered.

  A muscle jerked in Flynn’s jaw, but he put his anger into focus and headed for Lake Carl Blackwell as fast as the law would allow.

  “Davis. Call the police,” Tara said.

  Davis began making the call.

  “Flynn, do you have your ring with you?”

  He nodded.

  “I need it.”

  “Oh. Sure. It’s in the pocket of my jeans . . . right side,” he added.

  Tara’s eyes widened. Without giving herself time to think about what she was doing, she thrust her fingers into the gap of his pocket and dug downward.

  “Hey, Moon girl, you’re tickling,” Flynn said.

  “Do not look at me,” she muttered, as she finally got to the bottom of the pocket and felt the ring. “Thank God,” she muttered, and pulled it out.

  Way to go, Missy.

  “Can it, Millicent. I have enough trouble as it is. If you want to be helpful, go find out what’s happening with Charlie Pratt.”

  Send Henry. I’m riding in the back seat with the chunk.

  Tara snorted. “It’s not chunk, it’s hunk. You are so wacked. Now beat it. I’ve got a long-distance call to make here, and the reception isn’t all it could be.”

  Flynn pretended he didn’t notice that Tara was talking to herself.

  “You’re going to call Bethany?” Davis asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Tara said, and then cupped the ring in both hands and took a deep breath.

  Within seconds, she was sick to her stomach with fear.

  “Hurry, Flynn,” she said softly, her blind gaze fixed on a scene that only she could see.

  Flynn muttered beneath his breath as he pressed even harder on the accelerator while Davis, in the back seat, was talking to the cops.

  All of a sudden the closet door was open. Bethany looked up and then screamed. “Charlie, what are you going to do with that gun?”

  Charlie was shaking, but he kept the gun pointed straight at her.

  “Daddy says when I do something bad he will whip me. I don’t want Daddy to whip me anymore. It hurts. I hurts real bad.”

  Bethany’s mind was racing, trying to think of what to say that would stop this madness.

  “You didn’t do anything bad, Charlie. That was me. I’m the one who laughed, remember? You were just trying to help. Right?

  Charlie blinked. “I was gonna help you start your car.”

  “Right! But I was rude, wasn’t I?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “So if I say I’m sorry, and I explain to everyone that it was my fault, then we can all go home and this will be over. Can we do that, Charlie? I will tell them it was my fault.”

  Charlie hesitated, then raised the rifle. “No one ever listens to me. They say I’m stupid, but I’m not. I’m just slow. You shouldn’t have laughed.”

  Tara’s head flew back against the seat as her eyes popped open. She looked around wildly, then grabbed hold of the dash.

  “Flynn! How far are we from the cabin?”

  “A couple of minutes, I think.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Hurry! Charlie is going to shoot her.”

  “Are you serious?” Davis cried. “How do you know this stuff?”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “You are one dense puppy. We’ve already been down this road,” she muttered. Then she changed the subject. “Did you call the police?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sure they—”

  ”Hit re-dial and give me the phone!” Tara cried.

  Davis frowned, but did what she asked. Tara grabbed it, then waited for the call to be answered.

  “911, what is your emergency?” the dispatcher said.

  “I need to talk to either Detective Rutherford or Detective Allen. It has to do with Bethany Fanning, the girl who disappeared.”

  “One moment while I patch you through,” the dispatcher said.

  “Hurry!” Tara begged.

  It seemed like forever before someone answered. When they did, Tara could hear sirens in the background.

  “Detective Rutherford.”

  “Detective Rutherford, this is Tara Luna . . . from high school. You talked to me, remember? I don’t have time to explain, but Davis Breedlove, Flynn O’Mara and I know where Bethany Fanning is.”

  “We’re already responding to a phone call from Breedlove and I’m warning you, young lady, it’s a crime to make false statements to the police.”

  “The statements aren’t false and the reason I’m calling is to tell you is to hurry. Charlie Pratt has his father’s rifle. He’s planning to kill Bethany and dump her body in Boomer Lake.”

  “Listen, you!” the detective cried. “How do you know all—”

  “Just hurry! I think we’re here. Gotta go!”

  “Wait! Wait! Don’t go—”

  Tara tossed the cell into the back seat as Flynn hit the brakes beside an old yellow truck with a missing license tag.

  “Oh man . . . there’s Charlie’s old car. Tara . . . Moon girl . . . you were right.”

  “Duh,” Tara said, and then grabbed the door handle. “Hurry. He’s gonna shoot her.”

  “What if he shoots us?” Davis cried.

  Run, Tara, run.

  “Run!” Tara screamed.

  After all they’d witnessed today, Flynn and Davis didn’t have to be told twice. They flew past her, leaped the steps and kicked in the door. Tara was far enough behind them that she didn’t see who shot who, but she heard a scream, then a single gun shot. Her heart was in her throat as she leaped the steps. She caught a flash of yellow from the corner of her eye as she dashed into the one-room cabin, and then all her focus centered on Flynn and Davis, who had Charlie Pratt pinned beneath them in the middle of the floor. Charlie was fighting and crying, but they had him outnumbered.

  “Tara. Get Bethany!” Flynn yelled.

  Tara spun. The flash of yellow she’d seen had been Bethany, huddled in the closet.

  Tara dashed toward the closet.

  Bethany crawled to her knees then grabbed onto Tara�
�s outstretched hands. “You found me. Thank God that you found me. I want to go home. Please take me home.”

  Tara touched Bethany’s face gently. “Hang in there honey. You’ll be home soon. In no time.”

  Then she ran back into the kitchen, saw a length of rope on the floor beside the door and took it to boys who still had Charlie pinned. They tied him up and then Flynn sat on top of him as Davis ran to the closet and helped Bethany to her feet.

  She stumbled.

  Tara was on one side of Bethany and Davis was on the other as they exited the front door.

  “Sit here,” she said, helping Bethany down onto the steps. Davis ran back inside with Flynn. Moments later Tara began hearing sirens. “Flynn! Davis! The police are here!”

  “We’re coming out!” Flynn said.

  Charlie Pratt emerged from the cabin with his hands tied behind his back. His nose was bleeding and there was a cut just above one eyebrow. Tara eyed him cautiously. He didn’t look so scary now. In fact, Charlie was the one who looked scared.

  “Move,” Davis said, and pushed Charlie forward just as a parade of police cruisers suddenly appeared over the small hill, followed by an ambulance.

  The heat is here.

  Tara grinned. Millicent must be stoked. She’s sending me messages in cop speak.

  Davis had tears on his face as he picked Bethany up in his arms.

  “You’re alive, Bets, and that’s all that matters. You’re gonna be all right,” he said.

  “Oh, Davis. I thought I was going to die,” Bethany cried.

  “I’m going with her to the hospital,” Davis said.

  Bethany hid her face on Davis’s shoulder as he carried her toward the arriving ambulance.

  Suddenly, police were everywhere, spilling out of cruisers and coming at them from every direction.

  Tara saw the detectives, Rutherford and Allen, rushing forward as Flynn gladly handed Charlie over to a half-dozen uniformed officers.

  Rutherford’s face was flushed as he reached Tara and Flynn.

  “That’s the guy who had Bethany,” Tara said. “His name is Charlie Pratt. Flynn and Davis stopped him only seconds before he shot her.”