by Sharon Sala
“Wait, wait, kid. We’re not going in cold. We need backup to make sure we don’t make matters worse for her, if they’re even still there. If Marsh Story’s mother called him after we talked to her, they have almost a two hour warning. We have to call county. That’s the sheriff’s domain.”
A sudden blur of tears clouded Flynn’s vision. “They have to still be there,” he said, and then shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away.
IT WAS NEARING 5:00 a.m. when three cars from the county sheriff’s department pulled into the driveway of the house. Detectives Rutherford and Allen, with Flynn in the back seat pulled up behind them.
Lights were shining from the front windows, but there were no vehicles in sight. A large pile of firewood had been dumped at the corner of the yard near an old tractor, and there was a set of tire tracks leading out. They were still uncertain if this had been the place where Marshall Story and his sidekicks had been hanging out, but they would soon find out.
Deputies quietly fanned out around the house as two of them approached the front door, then knocked sharply.
“Payne County Sheriff’s Department! Open the door!”
Flynn was holding his breath, praying she would still be there under guard. But no one answered.
The deputies repeated the demand, and as they knocked, the door swung inward.
“It’s not locked!” they yelled, and moved inward with guns drawn, shouting their presence as they went. Moments later they came back out. “It’s empty!” they yelled.
“Damn it,” Rutherford said.
“I’m going inside,” Flynn said.
“Look, kid, this is police business and—”
“You wouldn’t even be here without me,” Flynn said, and shoved passed them and strode toward the house.
The detectives took off after him, and when one of the deputies started to block him from entering, Rutherford held up his badge.
“Let him pass.”
The trio stopped only a few feet inside the doorway, stunned by the hoarder aspect of the interior.
“Have mercy!” Allen said.
Rutherford frowned as a rat slipped out from behind a pile of garbage bags and made a run toward a stack of boxes.
“Rats! Oh damn, I hate rats!” he muttered.
Flynn kept thinking of Tara being held captive in a place like this and started winding his way through the narrow passageways. When he got to the kitchen and saw blood all over the floor, the cabinet, and the sink, his legs nearly went out from under him.
A deputy pointed to a large shard of glass on the counter.
“This is bloody, and there’s a broken window in the other room. Someone got cut, maybe trying to escape.”
Flynn swallowed past the knot in his throat and kept thinking Tara’s name, praying she would answer, but she didn’t. When he walked into the bedroom, Rutherford made a beeline for the broken window. It didn’t take him long to assess the scene.
“This didn’t break from someone trying to get out. All the glass is inside on the floor, which means it shattered inward, not out.”
Flynn saw blood on the bed and then gritted his teeth and looked away. He flashed on the day they’d found Bethany Fanning out in that cabin by the lake where she’d been kidnapped. She had endured hell on earth, lived through it, and was thriving today. Whatever they did to Tara couldn’t matter, as long as she was alive.
He turned away, and as he did, saw something glitter on the wall. He moved closer and started to rub a finger across the wall and then pulled it back in sudden shock, startled by the pain and the sudden spurt of blood. “What the heck?” he yelled.
“What’s wrong, kid?” Allen asked.
Flynn pointed at the walls. “Look at the walls on this side of the room. They are embedded with bits of glass.”
Rutherford tentatively touched the wall with the same reaction as Flynn.
“What in the hell, excuse my French, could do this?”
Flynn thought about the huge shard of glass in the kitchen and the glass in the walls, and then it hit him.
Tara’s ghosts! He glanced around to make sure he wasn’t overheard then lowered his voice.
“I know how this happened. It was her ghosts. You know what they do when someone is dissing her, or trying to harm her. There’s a little blood on the bed, but not much. But there’s a whole lot of blood that starts here at the door and goes all the way into the kitchen.”
Rutherford took in the situation, still uneasy about believing in the ghosts and wanting to find another reason. But the kid was right. The blood on the bed wasn’t much. Like what you’d get from a busted lip or a nose bleed. The big blood trail began just inside the door and then went all the way into the kitchen to the sink.
“Do you really think ghosts could make this happen?” Rutherford asked.
Allen punched him on the arm.
“Seriously? You’re still asking? We’ve been victims ourselves of flying paper. Remember those times in the principal’s office at her school and inside her house? If they can make paper fly and open and slam doors, they can do the same to windows.”
Rutherford still didn’t comment.
The bathroom door was ajar, obviously when they’d searched the house for occupants, but it was dark inside. All of a sudden, a light popped on inside it.
“Who’s in there?” Flynn asked.
A deputy was going through papers on a dresser and turned as Flynn pointed.
“No one’s in there,” he said.
“Someone is. A light just came on,” Flynn said.
Both detectives and the deputy pulled their guns and started toward the bathroom. When the deputy shoved the door aside and stepped in, he paused and yelled back.
“It’s empty.”
Flynn shook his head. He hadn’t been tuned into the spirit world long, but he knew they could manipulate energy, and electricity was energy personified. It had to be Tara’s ghosts. Maybe there was something in there they wanted him to see.
The deputy exited as Flynn walked in. The tub was missing a shower curtain, and the tiny shelf where towels might have been stored was missing doors. There was no place to hide.
He looked back toward the sink, then all around the floor. Other than dirt and trash, he saw nothing obvious. The door to the medicine cabinet was shut, and when he reached to open it, he grimaced at the grease all over the edge. He pulled back his hands to wipe it off and as he did, caught the scent of strawberry.
“What the heck?” he said, as he smelled of his fingers. The greasy stuff was scented. So, what was greasy and scented? Then it hit him. Lip gloss! He’d kissed it off Tara’s lips often enough to know.
He glanced up at the mirror. It was just as greasy. He opened the door with two fingers, and as the mirrored door moved into a different perspective, he thought he saw a word written on the glass.
“Hey! Hey, guys!”
The cops came running.
He pointed.
“I think there’s something written on the mirror in lip gloss. Maybe Tara left us message.”
Rutherford looked. “Son of a gun! I see words, but I can’t make them out.”
“Hang on,” Allen said and ran out of the room.
They heard doors banging in the kitchen, and then a few moments later he was back with a jar of instant coffee granules.
“Stand back,” he said.
Flynn stepped into the tub as the deputy and Rutherford moved back to the doorway.
Allen flung the contents of the jar toward the mirror in a sweeping motion, covering the sink and floor in ground-roasted coffee powder, but it had also stuck to every greasy streak on the mirror.
“Freakin’ brilliant!” Rutherford said, and took a picture with his cell phone.
Flynn read it out loud. “Hiway 51 East. Keystone.”
“That’s got to be Keystone Lake,” Rutherford said. “I guess she’s telling us that’s where they’re headed.”
“I’ll tell the she
riff. He can alert OHP,” the deputy said.
And just like that, the Oklahoma Highway Patrol was now involved in the investigation.
Flynn glanced up at the mirror as they filed out of the tiny bathroom, imagining the fear Tara must have been feeling as she wrote that on the mirror, not knowing if they would find it, or if it would even matter in case they didn’t find her in time. But it had given him new insight into the girl with whom he’d fallen in love. No matter what was thrown at her, she kept fighting. He could do no less.
Way to go, Moon Girl.
Flynn? Flynn, is that you?
THE EXTENDED CAB of the pickup truck was handy, but obviously not built for long-legged people. Tara’s knees were pressed hard against the back of the driver’s seat, and her head was still throbbing. Even worse, there was less than a foot of space between her and Dig, and he needed a bath.
The whole time they were driving toward the highway, she had been praying they’d meet a parade of cop cars coming to her rescue, but to her dismay they did not meet another vehicle until they reached Highway 51. They were going to have to go through Stillwater to get to Keystone. If God was paying attention to her plight, maybe they’d be stopped on their way through town, but that didn’t happen either. When they passed the city limits sign on the east side of town and disappeared into the night, Tara turned her face to the window, unwilling for them to see her cry.
The miles sped by with only flashes of light to mark their passing, sometimes from security lights on front porches, and other times by the lights of an oncoming car. The snowy highway had been slushy during the day, but refrozen, they were now driving on ice.
Tara was so tired that both her body and mind were on standby. If she didn’t hurt so bad, she would have been hungry. She hadn’t eaten since the pancakes the morning before and turned slightly sideways in the seat, no longer opposed to touching Dig’s legs in an effort to ease the misery of her situation. Her back was to the window and her eyes were closed. She was using the top of the seat for a pillow and could hear the men talking among themselves about what they would do with that missing money when it was found, when all of a sudden, she heard Flynn’s voice as clear as day.
Way to go, Moon Girl.
Her eyes popped open.
OMG! Flynn? Flynn, is that you?
Yes, baby, yes, it’s me. Where are you?
Driving East toward Keystone Lake.
We just found your message.
She stifled a sob. If only they’d come sooner.
We saw the blood. Are you okay?
It belongs to Marsh. He hit me, made my nose and lip bleed, and Millicent flipped out on him.
Why couldn’t I hear you before? What’s wrong?
Tara was so elated to be hearing him that it was all she could do to stay still.
I think I have a concussion. I can’t hear Millicent or see Henry. I’ve never been this alone in my entire life. I couldn’t hear you until just now.
I hear you, too, thank God. Every time you see a new landmark, let me know. I don’t know how far ahead of us you are, but we will find you.
Maybe not in time. In my dream, I died.
Don’t give up on me, Tara, and I won’t give up on you.
I love you, Flynn. Tell Uncle Pat I love him, too.
I love you, too, and you can tell him yourself. Every time you see a landmark, just say what you see. I’ll tell the others.
Yes. Okay.
Silence.
It felt as if the weight of the world had just shifted off her shoulders. She was no longer in this alone. “Thank God,” she said softly.
“What did you say?” Dig asked.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Tara said.
Marsh smirked. “I heard her. She was praying to God, but she needs to be praying that it’s O’Mara’s ghost who answers her call.”
The men laughed among themselves.
Tara clenched her jaw and then kicked at Dig’s leg to make a little more room for her own.
“Hey,” he yelped.
She just pulled her coat up around her ears and kept her eyes on the road in front of them. Reconnecting with Flynn gave her hope that there might be a better end to this mess after all.
Chapter Eight
THE MOMENT FLYNN lost the connection with Tara, he headed for the cops. There was no way he could keep what he did a secret anymore and still help her, but what he wanted was no longer an issue.
“I just heard from Tara! She said—”
The sheriff grabbed him by the arm. “She called you? Why didn’t you let us talk to her?”
“It’s not like that,” Flynn said. “I didn’t—”
Rutherford waved the sheriff off. “Just tell us what she said, kid. We’ll explain the rest to the sheriff.”
The sheriff glared at the two detectives. He didn’t like being overruled, especially by city cops.
Flynn began repeating what she’d said.
“They’re on Highway 51 going east toward Keystone Lake. Most of the blood belongs to Marshall Story. Tara said when he hit her, Millicent went ballistic on him. Tara has a concussion, which is why I haven’t been able to communicate. And, she says she can’t hear Millicent or see Henry, and she’s pretty freaked out about that.”
Rutherford sighed. “This is good news. Thank God that girl is okay.”
The sheriff had had enough.
“Okay, start explaining about a call that isn’t a call, and who the hell are Millicent and Henry?”
Rutherford sighed. “They’re her ghosts.”
The sheriff laughed, and then when he realized he was the only one laughing, he choked. “Are you freakin’ serious? You want me to believe she has ghosts? And what does her concussion have to do with not being able to talk, and didn’t you guys find her phone at the site of the abduction, so whose phone is she using?”
Rutherford shrugged. “Don’t much care what you believe. I’m just answering your question. She couldn’t talk to the kid here because they communicate by thought, and she doesn’t need a phone to think. Don’t ask for further explanations because believe me, they only get more complicated. I don’t know what you county guys are going to do, but I have my captain’s permission to chase this down. Detective Allen and I are taking the kid here, and we’re going to follow that girl until we find her. She never quit on us when we needed her help, and we’re damn sure not going to quit on her.”
Flynn heard all he needed to hear and made a run for their vehicle. He was already in the back seat and buckled up when the detectives reached the car. Allen got something out of the trunk as Rutherford got in behind the wheel.
“Are you up for this, kid?” Rutherford asked.
“Yes.”
“Is your Mama gonna whip our butts for taking you with us?”
“No, but I will let her know.”
Allen got in with a small ice chest. He handed a can of pop to Flynn, one to Rutherford, and kept one for himself.
“It’s caffeine, kid. Drink up. It’s after 5:00 in the morning, and we haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. You’re gonna need it.”
Flynn did as he was told, sipping the cold pop as they took off out of the yard, slinging snow and slush as they sped away.
“There are candy bars in the console,” Rutherford said.
Allen passed one around to each of them.
Flynn called his mom as they drove, giving her an update on everything that had happened, where they were going, and that he loved her.
Mona was trying not to be hysterical, but he’d been in ICU less than three months ago on the verge of death. This seemed too drastic, too soon.
“You’re not doing anything that will get you hurt again, are you?”
“Mom, I’m in the back of a cop car helping them find Tara. You know I have to be a part of this.”
“I don’t understand how they expect you to find her any better than they can. I think—”
“It’s complicated, Mom, and I’ll
explain it to you after this is over. Just trust me when I say I may be the only way we’ll get her back. I love you. Talk to you later.”
“I love you, too,” Mona said, and when the line went dead, she disconnected with a frown.
Pat was sitting at the kitchen table beside her, nursing a cup of coffee. He’d been watching her expressions all the way through the conversation, trying to read the mood and hoping it was good news about Tara.
“Was that Flynn? What did he say? Did they find her?”
“They found the place where they’d been holding her, but they’re gone. Tara left them a message on a bathroom mirror. They’re in pursuit.”
Pat lowered his head, his voice shaking. “I have never wanted a drink as bad in my life as I do right now.”
Mona leaned over and put her arms around his neck and just held him. “You are the strongest, kindest man I’ve ever known, and you will continue to be strong because Tara needs you. I need you.”
Pat shuddered, then turned around and wrapped his arms around her. “I need you, too,” he said.
A few moments later, there was a knock at the door.
Pat jumped up to answer, hoping it would be the police with better news. Instead, it was Nate Pierce.
“Is it true?” Nate asked.
Pat nodded. “How did you find out?”
“I guess it’s all over town. Her friend Nikki called me. I don’t know how she found out.” Nate groaned and shoved a hand through his hair in disbelief. “I just saw her at the university yesterday afternoon. I offered to give her a ride home, and she said she wanted to walk. It was cold. I should have insisted.”
“It’s no more your fault than it is mine for the fact that I watched her go out the front door, expecting she would come back. Come inside. I have coffee.”
Nate shook his head. “No. I have to go tell the others. They are waiting for word to begin the drumming. We will be praying for her safe return.”
Breath caught in the back of Pat’s throat. “Thank you.”
Nate shook his head. “No, my family and people thank her. She is one of the chosen ones. The Old Ones will hear our drums. They’ll hear our prayers and guide Tara to safety.”
