Lunatic Times Two: 4 (The Lunatic Life Series)

by Sharon Sala

  “They’re alive. Here, help me move Vince first.”

  They dragged Vince’s body over onto his back, then propped him up against some trash bags before they went back for the girl. Marsh felt for the pulse in her neck. It was steady, but she was far too still. This was the second time in less than an hour she’d been knocked unconscious. If she didn’t have a concussion before, she was bound to now. He groaned. None of this was going as planned. They should have waited until tomorrow and been more prepared, but it was too late to take back.

  Except for the blood streaked across her cheek from where he’d slapped her in the nose, she was white as a sheet. He patted her cheek lightly, trying to wake her up.

  “Tara! Tara Luna! Wake up!”

  But she didn’t so much as blink.

  He cursed. They had her, but there was no telling how long it would be before they could use her. If she didn’t wake up, their whole plan was a bust.

  “Dig, help me carry her to my bed,” he said.

  Dig got her feet as Marsh slid his hands beneath her armpits. Together, they lifted her up and made their way through the path of debris to the only room left in the house that wasn’t completely full of junk.

  “Put her on the bed,” Marsh said, “then bring me a clean rag and a pan of snow.”

  “What about Vince?” Dig asked.

  Marsh sighed. “Put a cold compress on his head. He’ll either wake up or he won’t.”

  “Oh, man,” Dig muttered, and ran to do the boss’s bidding.

  TARA WAS STANDING on a precipice. Infinity was before her, but everyone she loved was behind her. She wouldn’t move for fear she’d fall.

  Go back, girl. You don’t belong here.

  Tara turned. Michael O’Mara was behind her.

  You’re the one who put me here. Show me the way to go home.

  He pointed, and her focus shifted to two spirits standing in a veil of swirling mist.

  They’ll take you. Go. Hurry.

  What about the money? I need to know where it is so I can go home.

  When you know where it is, they will kill you.

  Tara moaned. They’re going to kill me anyway. I saw it happen in my sleep.

  Fate can change. First go back.

  All of a sudden the two other spirits had enveloped her. She had the sensation of being cradled and someone whispering in her ear.

  TARA GASPED. HER eyes flew open. The man with the pockmarked face was sitting on the bed beside her, and for some reason, her face was wet and freezing.

  “What? Stop . . . don’t touch me,” she mumbled, and began pushing at his hands.

  Marsh stood up and dropped the rag full of snow-melt into the basin. “So, you woke up.”

  “My head . . . what happened?”

  “Shit fell on you. Sorry. It appears Mother dear was a hoarder.”

  Her head was swimming, and she was still trying to make sense of what happened when what he said finally sank in.

  “Mother who?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Shut up and let me think.”

  Tara sighed and closed her eyes.

  To Marsh’s dismay, she was unconscious again. Definitely a concussion. They were going to have to keep waking her up at intervals or take a chance on her not waking up at all.

  “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered, and got up to go check on Vince.

  FLYNN AND MONA reached Pat’s house in record time, but there were so many police cars there, they had to park at the curb. He got out on the run, leaving his mother to follow. The policeman standing on the porch started to stop him until someone inside the house yelled,”Let him pass.”

  Flynn burst into the room, his heart pounding, frantically searching for a positive sign on someone’s face. It didn’t happen. Rutherford looked like Flynn felt, and Pat was unashamedly crying.

  Mona came in and went straight to Pat’s side.

  “Talk to me,” Rutherford said. “Tell me again, from the start, what you heard.”

  It’s all Flynn had been thinking about. He began counting off the clues in order. “We were talking. I heard brakes screeching. Tara screamed my name and said, ‘It’s happening.’ After that, I heard nothing. I was about to hang up and call the police when I realized she must have dropped her phone in the snow, and the line was still open. I could hear two men talking. The names I heard were Vince and Marsh. I don’t know how they silenced her, but it was sudden and I can’t pick up—”

  He caught himself. No one but Tara knew he could hear people’s thoughts, and now was not the time to reveal it. “I couldn’t make out anything else they said. When I heard them rev the engine and take off, I knew she was gone.”

  Rutherford pointed at Flynn. “What did she mean by ‘it’s happening’?”

  Flynn glanced at Pat, sorry that Tara had shared this with him and not her uncle. “She’s been having nightmares of a man with a pockmarked face strangling her. She kept saying that she died.”

  Mona squeezed Pat’s hand.

  “Sometimes fate can be changed with forewarning,” Pat muttered. “That’s what my mother and sister always said. I will not believe she’s dead.”

  “Do you know why they took her?” Rutherford asked.

  He nodded. “She said it had to do with that missing drug money my father was supposed to have buried.”

  Rutherford slapped the side of his leg in frustration. “Everyone connected to that is either dead or in prison! What are we missing?”

  Flynn shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that’s what she said.”

  Mona was about to bring up the subject of the missing money when all of a sudden the air in the room was so cold their breath was coming out in tiny clouds.

  Allen was still freaked about what Millicent had done to him when he was alone in the car, and now being in this house again made it worse. He bolted up from his chair.

  “What’s happening?” he cried.

  Flynn could feel the energy. He would bet his life it was one or both of Tara’s ghosts, and when a stack of magazines fell off a table by the front window and landed on the floor with a loud splat, he knew it.

  Everyone turned toward the sound and then stared in growing horror as the curtains at the windows moved aside on their own, revealing the windowpanes.

  At first Flynn saw nothing, and then he realized a word was beginning to appear on one of the windows that had fogged over.

  “Look!” he cried. “The ghosts are trying to tell us something!”

  Pat pushed his way to the window, watching intently as one letter after another appeared.

  First the M, then an A, then a Y.

  Flynn’s heart skipped a beat. May was the last word his dad said the other day before he disappeared. What did it mean?

  “May! What does may mean?” Rutherford asked.

  “Wait! There’s more!” Flynn said, pointing to the next letter appearing below the first word.

  First an S, then a C, then an H.

  When the U appeared, Rutherford grunted. “If an L comes next, I got it.”

  Sure enough, the next letter was an L. The T, E, and R were after the fact.

  “May Schulter!” Rutherford muttered. “What does she have to do with this? I thought we had everyone connected to that gang behind bars! What the hell are we missing?”

  And just like that, the cold air was gone.

  “Message delivered,” Flynn said softly. Talk to me, Moon Girl. For God’s sake, wake up and talk to me.

  The silence was killing him.

  “We’re going to the station,” Rutherford said. “We need to go back through our records and see what or who we can find with a connection to Schulter.”

  Flynn knew his mother had yet to reveal what she knew about the missing money, but now was probably not the time.

  “I want to go with you,” Flynn said.

  Rutherford frowned. “There’s nothing you can—”

  Flynn shook his head. “Please. I’ll explain on the way.”


  Rutherford shrugged. “Go get in the car, kid.”

  Flynn glanced at his mother. She hesitated then nodded. Moments later he was out the door and in the back seat of their car.

  Rutherford got in behind the wheel. Allen slid into the passenger seat beside him, and then both of them turned and gave Flynn a look.

  “What do you know that we don’t?” Rutherford asked.

  “Remember when I was in that coma?”

  Allen frowned. “Yeah, but what does that have to do with—”

  “I came back with a skill I didn’t have before.”

  Rutherford’s eyes widened. “Can you see ghosts, too?”

  “No. I have no connection to the dead, but I can hear the thoughts of people who are alive.”

  Allen snorted softly. “You are so—”

  “The first thought you had was bullshit, and now you’re thinking to yourself not to think about the fact that you haven’t qualified on the gun range lately.”

  Allen gasped.

  Rutherford’s mouth opened, but before he could talk, Flynn turned it on him.

  “You’re thinking to yourself that I would make a hell of a cop with a skill like that, and how can you talk me into law enforcement after I graduate.”

  Rutherford grinned. “Word for, hot damn, excuse my French, word. Now let’s get to the station. We’ve got to find our girl.”

  Chapter Six

  TARA WOKE UP off and on throughout the evening, each time to the horrified realization this wasn’t the nightmare—it was real. Once she saw a rat looking down at her from a stack of boxes, but her head throbbed so badly she wasn’t sure if that was a hallucination or if it was actually happening.

  Another time she felt tiny wings fluttering against her cheeks and woke up to a cockroach running across her cheek. She slapped it off with a groan of disgust and tried to get up, but the room was spinning, so she shifted focus to trying to contact Flynn, but her thoughts were in free fall. She knew she had a concussion. What she didn’t know was what would happen to her if she didn’t get medical help. It was all so frightening—not knowing when or why they would kill her—only that it was so.

  She felt Millicent’s presence, but couldn’t hear her. That scared her worse than not being able to hear Flynn. She couldn’t even see Henry. Every aspect of her paranormal skills was gone. All she could do was pray that the blows to her head were responsible, and when she was no longer concussed, they would come back.

  The third time she woke up it was dark, and they’d taped her wrists and ankles back together. She moaned, crying out in a weak, shaky voice.

  “Someone? Anyone? I need to use the bathroom.”

  She heard feet shuffling, and then Marsh walked into the room and turned on the light.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “What’s your name?” he repeated.

  “Tara.”

  He nodded. “That’s better than Millicent, which was your answer the other two times I asked. Here’s the deal. I’m gonna cut this duct tape and let you use the john, but if you try to run, next time you can just pee your pants and lay in it.”

  “I won’t run. I can’t,” Tara whispered. “Please. I need to go.”

  He eyed her closely as pulled out the switchblade. In two swipes, her hands and feet were free, but when she rolled over to the side of the bed and tried to stand up, she staggered.

  He caught her before she hit the floor, then yanked her upright.

  “Stand up, damn it.”

  The derision in his voice was the last straw to what was left of her composure. She grabbed hold of his arm to steady her stance and then looked straight into his eyes with an angry gaze.

  “Don’t yell at me because I’m unsteady. You’re the one who Tased me. You’re the one who was driving the truck when I was knocked unconscious, and it was you who knocked down the filth in this house that nearly smothered me. You want me steady on my feet? Stay away from me!”

  Marshall wanted to be pissed. He didn’t like people arguing with him or telling him what to do, but he had to admire her courage.

  “You’re a tough one, aren’t you? Not even cryin’ for your mama.”

  The room was starting to tilt. “My mama is dead. My father is dead. Where’s the bathroom?”

  He felt guilty for asking and pointed.

  “It’s behind that door, and don’t get any funny ideas about running because I’ll be listening. If I don’t hear you pee, I’m coming in. Understand?”

  Still swaying on her feet, she doubled up her fists.

  “If you come in, and my jeans are still down around my ankles, I will fight you until one of us is dead. If it’s me, then you won’t find your damn money, and I’ll be dead and you won’t matter. Understand?”

  His jaw dropped, and while he was trying to figure out a comeback for that threat, she staggered into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He heard the lock turn, but it didn’t matter. The window was painted shut, and he’d hear it if she began breaking glass.

  He didn’t walk close enough to actually hear her pee, but he did hear the toilet flush and then water running in the sink. When she opened the door, she staggered out, carrying a paper cup filled with water.

  “My head hurts really bad. Do you have anything for pain?”

  “I got some speed.”

  She groaned. “I have a concussion, not a death wish. Never mind. I’d rather hurt.”

  He frowned. “I’ll see if I can find something in Mom’s stuff,” he said, and began going through the drawers in the room still full of May Schulter’s belongings.

  She realized this was the second time he’d referred to his mother. She needed to focus in case she became able to send messages to Flynn.

  “Your mother is here?”

  “She’s in prison. This is her house. Shut up.”

  Tara sat down on the side of the bed with the cup of water, her fingers trembling as she propped it on her knees for stability.

  When Marsh suddenly yelled, she winced, slopping part of the water from the cup onto her pants.

  “Hey! Vince! Dig! Get in here!”

  Both men came running.

  “What’s up?” Vince asked.

  “Either one of you got anything for pain? I’m not talking about illegal crap. I’m talking aspirin or something like it.”

  “There’s some of that generic kind in the kitchen cabinet,” Dig said.

  “Go get it,” Marsh said, and then glanced over his shoulder at Tara. Except for the tremble in her hands, she was motionless, but he could tell by the way she squinted against the light that she was in pain.

  “Here you go,” Dig said, as he handed over a nearly full bottle of generic pain meds.

  Marsh opened the lid and then handed it to Tara.

  “Here, take what you think is safe and then you only got yourself to blame for what happens after.”

  Tara shook a couple out into her hand, popped them in her mouth, and drank the water.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and then lay back down on the bed with her arms covering her head and rolled over onto her side.

  “Want something to eat?” Vince asked.

  “No. Turn out the light. It makes my head hurt worse.”

  They looked at each other, then he flipped the switch and walked out of the room.

  As soon as they were in the other room, both men started in on Marsh.

  “She needs a doctor. She’s got a concussion for sure.”

  Marsh started to slap Vince on the side of the head, then remembered when he’d done it before, Vince said he would leave. Instead, he doubled up his fists and thumped them angrily against his own thighs.

  “Well, since we kidnapped her, we can hardly turn around and drive into Stillwater and take her to the doctor now, can we?”

  Dig frowned. “Then let’s just get her to talk to the ghosts, find out where the money is, and get the hell out of the States while we
still can.”

  Vince glared at Dig. “How do you expect her to commune with the dead when she can’t even stay awake?”

  “Shut up, the both of you,” Marsh said. “All she needs is a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow is another day. Now let’s all get some rest, okay? And stop freaking out. It’s getting on my nerves.”

  Tara could hear them talking in the other room. Even if she had the luck to find her way out of all the debris, she was too weak to run. Her only hope was that someone found her before it was too late.

  She took a deep breath and tried to let go of the pain, but it hurt all the way to her back teeth. Tears rolled from beneath her eyelids and down onto the pillow. As they did, she felt the bed give and then a slight weight against her back, just like when she was little.

  “Millicent, is that you?”

  She felt a brush of air against her cheek and choked on a sob as she whispered into the darkness. “I can’t hear you, and I can’t see Henry.”

  She felt a pat on her arm.

  “Will I get better?”

  She felt another pat and a hug.

  “I’m taking that as a yes.”

  One more pat and hug.

  “Thank God,” she muttered, and once again, fell asleep.

  IT WAS TWO fifteen in the morning when Detective Allen jumped up from his desk.

  “I think I found something!”

  Flynn had fallen asleep on an old sofa and got up to see what was happening.

  “What is it?” Rutherford asked.

  “I pulled May Schulter’s phone records for the last six months before she was arrested. There’s one number she called every Saturday night as regular as clockwork.”

  “Who does it belong to?” Rutherford asked.

  “It’s a number out of Canada.”

  Rutherford frowned. “So call it.”

  Flynn grabbed Allen’s arm before he could make the call.

  “Let me listen to the conversation. I’ll hear everything the other person is thinking, even if they don’t say it.”

  Rutherford slapped his hands together.