by Sharon Sala
“Are we going to eat now?” Tara asked.
“Yeah. Are you getting hungry?”
She nodded. “I’m not real big on hot stuff, but if you order those rattlesnake thingies, I want to try one.”
Flynn laughed. “I’ll order those rattlesnake thingies every time just to hear you say thingies.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Yeah.”
Tara laughed. Right now, life felt just about perfect.
When Flynn braked at a Stop sign, a large truck loaded with storm debris pulled out in front of them and proceeded East on the four-lane that was Lakeview Road. A guy in a sports car flew past and began tailgating, trying to pass as Flynn and Tara followed behind.
“That jerk is going to cause a wreck,” Flynn muttered.
Tara’s heart skipped. Was this the vibe that Millicent had warned her about last night? She tugged on her seat belt just to make sure it was fastened, and gripped the edge of the seat with both hands.
As they drove onto the bridge spanning the south end of Boomer Lake, the driver in the sports car sped up and began to pass the truck in front.
“Holy cow!” Flynn said. “Would you look at—”
All of a sudden, the sports car whipped back into the eastbound lane to keep from being hit head-on by oncoming traffic, and in the process, clipped the back end of the truck. It jarred the truck enough that a large piece of the debris suddenly flipped out of the bed and onto the sports car which was already spinning out of control.
“Look out!” Tara screamed, as the sports car spun toward them.
With traffic on their left and the low bridge railing on their right, they had nowhere to go. The car hit them twice—first on the driver’s side fender, then as Flynn’s car started to spin, again on the back bumper.
“Hold on!” Flynn yelled, as their car flipped once, then went airborne, over the guard rail, and into Boomer Lake.
Tara came to as the car was sinking nose first into the water and quickly unbuckled her seat belt. If they were going to survive, they would have to get themselves out.
“Flynn! Unbuckle your seatbelt. I’m going to roll down the windows so we can swim out.”
Then she saw Flynn, unconscious and slumped over the steering wheel.
“No, oh my God, no!” she screamed.
Frantically, she unbuckled his belt and tried to pull him toward her, but the steering wheel was too tight against his chest.
“Oh God . . . help me, please,” Tara said, as she got down on her knees and tried to reach over Flynn’s legs to reach the lever that moved the seat back.
Water was coming up into the car now and it was cold—so cold. The adrenaline in her body made her hands shake as she finally pulled him free, and when she did, he moaned and began coming to.
“Flynn! You have to help me. We have to get out now. Are you ready? I’m going to roll down the windows before it’s too late.”
“I can’t breathe,” he groaned. “Help me, Tara, help me.”
Tara was crying and praying now as she rolled down the windows. The water came rushing in so fast that she couldn’t get Flynn out and she couldn’t leave him behind and let him drown. Unless a miracle occurred, they were both going to die. The water was making a strange sucking sound as it gobbled up the car, swallowing it and its contents whole.
Tara began screaming at Flynn, begging him to move as the water rushed up to their chests—then their necks. She was holding Flynn’s face out of the water, pushing him as far up as she could until their heads were touching the roof of the car. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It was just like her dream. They were going to die. Where was her backup when she needed them?
“Millicent! Henry! Uncle Pat! Someone! Anyone! Help! Help!”
Seconds later, the water was over their heads.
French Langdon was on his Harley and less than a block behind them when he saw the sports car spin out of control. When it hit the car Flynn and Tara were in, he knew what was going to happen. He grabbed his phone and dialed 911 as he watched the wreck unfold.
“911. What is your emergency?” the dispatcher said.
“There is a three-vehicle accident on Lakeview Road on the bridge over Boomer Lake. Road is blocked. One car with two occupants just went in the lake.”
He tossed his phone into the pack on his bike and then revved the engine so fast it ate up the distance between them in seconds. He brought the bike to a sliding stop at the edge of the guard rail on the bridge. He pulled off his boots and jacket, grabbed a tire iron from the backpack on his bike and went off the bridge into the water, even as bystanders were stopping and rushing toward the rapidly sinking car.
He swam to where he’d seen the car sink and then dived down. Within seconds he felt the back bumper of the car and grabbed hold, pulling his way down the side of the car as it continued to sink. When he realized a window was already down, he dropped the tire iron and reached in, felt a shoulder, then hair—grabbed a handful and pulled.
It was Tara.
She came out limp and lifeless, but he wouldn’t let himself think she might be dead. He just pushed her up, swimming as fast as he could swim. Within seconds of reaching the surface someone grabbed her out of his grasp. He took a deep breath and went back for the boy.
The car was sinking fast and French was afraid he wouldn’t be able to find it again in the murky depths. When he finally felt the fender, he pulled himself down to the open window again and leaned in. As he did, he felt the driver’s body float toward him. He grabbed hold of the body, bracing himself against the side of the car and pulled hard. The body came out of the window, floating lifelessly in French’s arms. He couldn’t see anything, but he knew which way was up, and kicked hard, swimming toward the surface and taking Flynn with him. When they came up out of the water, French gasped greedily, drawing in deep, life-saving breaths of air. But Flynn O’Mara was not moving or breathing.
“I’ve got him,” someone shouted, and took Flynn out of his arms.
French swam toward shore, and then crawled out on his hands and knees before collapsing onto the grassy verge. He could hear the loud, piercing squall of the ambulance pulling up at the end of the bridge, and he’d never been so grateful for the sound in his life.
He rolled over onto his knees then rocked back on his heels to assess the situation. Someone was already giving the girl CPR. As he watched, she choked, coughed, then coughed again and began spitting up water. At least one of them was alive.
He looked toward the boy. Another bystander had begun chest compressions but the arriving EMTS pushed the man aside and began working on Flynn.
French was angry that a speeding driver had caused this, and sad that the kid might not pull through. What a waste—what a colossal waste of a good life. The father had just died, and now it looked the son might join him.
Suddenly, one of the EMTs yelled. “Stop compressions. Check out the bulging neck vein. The kid’s got a collapsed lung.”
French caught a glimpse of a large needle in the EMT’s hand. As he raised his arm and plunged it into Flynn’s chest, French looked away, then moved to his bike and grabbed his phone.
“It’s me. The O’Mara kid and his girlfriend just went into Boomer Lake. No. It was an accident. I saw it happen and pulled both of them out. Yeah, she’s gonna make it. I’m not so sure about the boy. I know. I’m about to make myself scarce.”
He put on his boots and coat, then started the Harley and quickly disappeared.
Chapter Seven
Pat Carmichael was working his way down Western Avenue on the last leg of his meter reading route when a sudden burst of wind sent leaves and dust whirling around him. He squinted, ducked his head against the wind and moved a little faster, expecting to walk out of it, but the whirlwind followed him.
“What the heck?”
He stopped, and when he did, the wind stopped blowing.
Frowning, he took another step, and the meter reader he was car
rying flew up and hit him in the chin, then dropped to the ground as the whirlwind again enveloped him.
He was on the verge of freaking out, when it hit him. What if this was one of Tara’s ghosts? What if something was wrong with her and they were trying to tell him to check in?
He picked up the meter reader then looked behind him, making sure no one was around to witness the fact that he was about talk to himself.
“Look guys . . . I’m gonna take another step. If this is you and something is wrong with Tara, make it blow.”
He stepped, and immediately the wind and dust were in his eyes and up his nose. His pulse shot up a notch.
“I’m going to take that as a yes. If I’m right, stop the whirlwind crap.”
The wind instantly ceased.
Fear shot through him so fast he couldn’t think. His hands were shaking as he dialed Tara’s number, and when she didn’t answer, panic enveloped him. At that point, he called Mona. She answered on the second ring.
“Hello.”
“Uh, hi, Mona, it’s me, Pat. Just thought I’d check in. How’s Flynn?”
“He’s doing okay. He just went over to pick Tara up a short while ago. I think he’s taking her out for lunch.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good. She’d been pretty down since the tornado ordeal. Look, I’m on the job, so I won’t talk longer. I’ll check in with you later, okay?”
“Okay. My sister is here today and we’re having lunch. Thanks for calling.”
“Sure thing. Later.”
He hung up. She didn’t know any more than he did, and with no other way to confirm his worst fears, he dialed the police.
“Stillwater Police Department, how may I direct your call?”
“Uh . . . this is Pat Carmichael. I know this may seem a little weird, but I have reason to believe my niece, Tara Luna, might be in trouble. Can you tell me if there have been any accidents involving a teenage girl and boy, or if there have been any calls in to the police, either from her or about her? She would have probably been with a boy named Flynn O’Mara.”
“One moment please,” the woman said.
Pat was already walking back toward the city truck. The wind was blowing again, but it was at his back, as if trying to hurry him along. He got the message and started to run. A few seconds later, the woman was back on the phone.
“Hello? Sir? Are you still there?”
Pat knew he was out of shape when he realized he could not run and talk at the same time. He stopped again, gasping for breath.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Your niece was in an accident. She’s on her way to Stillwater Memorial.”
Pat froze. “Oh God, oh God, please tell me that she’s still alive.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I have no information on her condition, only that she was involved in an accident.”
“Was there a young man with her?”
“Yes. They are both enroute to the hospital.”
He dropped the phone in his pocket and began to run. The truck was at the end of the next block, but it might as well have been in the next state. It only took a couple more minutes to get to it, but to Pat, it was an eternity. He kept thinking this was how he’d lost his sister and her husband, and why he’d ended up raising Tara as his own. He wouldn’t let himself believe that God was going to do this to him again.
When he got to the truck, his heartbeat was roaring in his ears. He made a call to Mona. When she answered, he didn’t waste words.
“Mona, it’s me, Pat.”
“Hi. What—”
“Just listen. Flynn and Tara were in an accident. They’re on their way to the hospital and I’m headed that on my way now.”
He heard her gasp, and then the disbelief in her voice
“No! Oh dear God, do you know what happened? Are they seriously injured?”
“I don’t know anything more than what I told you. I’m assuming Flynn was driving your car.”
“We’re on our way. I’ll see you there.”
He hung up and took off toward the hospital, taking alleys and back roads to keep from getting caught at stop lights. By the time he got to the hospital he was crying, and that’s how he entered ER, with tears on his face and Tara’s name on his lips.
“My niece was in an accident. Her name is Tara Luna. Where is she?”
The clerk glanced up then checked a chart. “The doctor is attending to her now. Just have a seat and they’ll be out when—”
“I need to talk to the doctor now! She has medical allergies they need to know about. Please! Where is she?”
The clerk stood. “Follow me,” she said, and led him to a curtained area down the hall.
Pat was in a panic as they hurried past one curtained area after another. Some beds were empty, others were not. He saw Mona and another woman standing just outside a curtained cubicle, caught a glimpse of her panicked expression and his heart skipped a beat. A step later, he saw Flynn lying unconscious and motionless on a bed with half the clothing cut away from his body and a flurry of doctors and nurses working on him. Seeing Flynn like that was like a fist to the gut, imagining Tara in the same condition.
The receptionist suddenly stopped and pointed into Bay 7. When he saw Tara awake and talking, he choked back a sob of relief.
“Tara. Baby girl. Thank God.”
Tara was still confused and in pain. All she could remember was Flynn saying he couldn’t breathe and then the water coming over their heads. She had regained consciousness in the ambulance with no memory of getting out of the car.
“Where’s Flynn? Somebody has to help Flynn,” she moaned, and kept pushing at the doctor’s hands.
He flipped a light in her eye, watching to see if the pupil contracted normally.
“What’s your name, honey?”
“Tara . . . my name is Tara. You have to help Flynn.”
He flipped the light in her other eye, talking calmly as he quickly assessed her injuries. “You’re in a hospital. Do you remember what happened?”
“We were in the water. How did we get out of the water? Where’s Flynn? You have to help Flynn.” Then she heard someone else call her name and recognized the voice. “Uncle Pat?”
“I’m here, baby,” Pat said. “I’m here.” He moved to the foot of the bed so she could see him. Afraid the doctor would run him out, he quickly started to explain. “I’m her family. You need to know she’s allergic to codeine. Did she tell you?”
The doctor’s eyes widened. “No. Somebody note that on her chart, stat!”
Tara started to cry. “The car hit us, Uncle Pat. It hit us twice. We went into the lake. Flynn couldn’t breathe. I held his head above water, but he still couldn’t breathe. It’s his chest. Something is wrong with his chest.”
The doctor glanced at one of the nurses. “They probably already know that, but make sure,” he said.
The nurse hurried away to deliver the message while the doctor continued to assess Tara’s condition and treat her injuries. She had contusions on her head and cheek and some shallow cuts on her hands and legs.
“Does she have any broken bones?” Pat asked.
“I don’t think so, but we’ve already taken x-rays and are awaiting results. She was unconscious when they pulled her out of the water, but responded to CPR.”
Pat kept patting Tara’s foot, unable to believe how close he’d come to losing her.
“I’ll be admitting her to the hospital for observation, if no problems pop up, we’ll let her go home in a day or two.”
Pat kept nodding, trying to absorb everything the doctor was telling him. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her, but she was only focused on Flynn.
“Uncle Pat . . . did you see Flynn? Is he alright?”
“I saw him in another cubicle. They’re taking care of him, honey.”
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t know, Tara. His mother and aunt are with him.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” sh
e said, and started to cry.
The doctor finished his examination and patted her shoulder. “You’re a very fortunate young lady. They’re going to take you upstairs to your room. Your uncle can go with you, okay?”
Tara wiped her tears as she nodded. “Can I please see Flynn?”
The doctor shook his head. “No, sorry, honey. Not just yet.”
I’ll do it for you. Don’t worry.
Millicent! Where were you?
We brought your uncle.
Really?
Just ask him. He’ll explain. You rest. I’ll be back.
Tara exhaled slowly, closing her eyes as the tears ran unheeded down her face.
“I’m here, baby girl.”
Pat squeezed her arm and then stepped out into the hall as they transferred Tara from the ER bed to another one and began rolling her toward the elevator to take her up to the room.
Mona and her sister were gone, and the bed where Flynn had been was empty. After what Tara had said about him not being able to breathe, Pat guessed they must have taken him to surgery.
Tara didn’t know Flynn had been that close by. She couldn’t believe this was happening. How could something that had been so perfect turn wrong so fast? She moaned. Her head and face hurt, her chest hurt, she was sick to her stomach, and the knot in her belly was pure fear—fear that Flynn wasn’t going to make it.
“Are you okay, Miss Luna?” the orderly said.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m afraid nothing will ever be okay again,” and clutched her uncle’s hand even tighter.
The bed stopped moving as the orderly paused to press the button for the elevator. She could hear the car rumbling as it traveled down the shaft toward them. Then the door opened and a tall man wearing a long-sleeved white cotton shirt and blue jeans got off. He was standing against the wall as they wheeled Tara’s bed into the car, and for a fraction of a second, his gaze locked onto Tara’s with such intensity that she lost her breath.
Ghost!
She’d never seen him before, but she knew who it was, and she knew where he was going.
