by Sharon Sala
Millicent! He’s here! Flynn’s father—he’s going to Flynn. Does that mean Flynn is dying? Did Michael come for him? Help me! Help me! I can’t bear this alone.
I see him. I will observe.
Tara’s heart was pounding so fast she felt faint. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse. OMG.
Two hours had passed since Tara’s admission to the hospital, and the longer time passed, the heavier her chest felt. A nurse explained that it was sore muscles from the CPR, and that if she didn’t develop a fever or pneumonia from the water that had been in her lungs, she was going to come off as a very fortunate young girl. Exhausted in both body and spirit, she continued to doze off, and every time she woke up, she asked about Flynn’s condition. When she woke up again, Pat was sitting in a chair by her bed. “Uncle Pat?”
He sat up straighter. “I’m right here. How do you feel?”
“Weird. Sore. Is there any news about Flynn?”
He shook his head.
“Please, will you go see if you can find anything out? Find the surgery waiting room and see if Mona is there . . . do something. I can’t stand this not knowing anymore.”
“You can’t tell anything with your powers?” Pat asked.
“No, and that’s what bothers me. I sent Millicent to find out hours ago and she never came back. She said she helped get you here. What did she mean?”
“Let’s just say they got my attention, and once I figured out it was them, I knew something must have happened to you. I tried to call you but you didn’t answer. I called Mona, but all she knew was that Flynn had gone to pick you up. After that, I called the police department. They’re the ones who told me there was an accident and that you and Flynn were being transported to the hospital.”
“I’m glad they did. I was never so happy to see anyone in my life, but I need to know about Flynn. Please go see if you can find anything out.”
He frowned. “I don’t like to leave you.”
“Look at me. I’m fine. Please, it’s driving me crazy.”
“Okay, but I won’t be gone long.”
Tara watched him leave, and then pulled the covers up under her chin and tried not to cry. Her head already hurt. Crying would just make it worse.
She leaned over to get a tissue, and when she turned back, Michael O’Mara’s ghost was standing by her bed.
She flinched and then frowned, uncertain how this was going to go. She couldn’t tell if he was sad or mad, but either way, she wasn’t taking the blame for his troubles. She wanted to know about his son.
“Is Flynn okay?”
In surgery.
“Still? Is it bad? Is he going to be okay?”
You see me.
“Obviously.”
Will you help Flynn?
“Yes.”
Tried to talk to him. He couldn’t hear me.
“So talk to me. I see and hear you. Tell me where you hid that stupid money before someone else winds up dead. They kidnapped him you know. They could have killed him.”
Don’t know you. Don’t trust you.
Tara rolled her eyes. “Then what do you want from me?”
He didn’t answer, but she could see his frustration. And even worse, he was fading. As she watched, he completely disappeared.
“Millicent! Where are you?”
I’m here, darling. We’re both here.
Henry popped up at the foot of Tara’s bed. He looked upset.
“What’s up with Flynn? His father was just here, but I don’t know what he wanted.”
He’s alive. A rib punctured one of his lungs. They will fix him.
“OMG! He’s going to be all right? He’s going to live?”
He’s alive. I don’t know about all right.
“What do you mean?” Tara cried.
He’s going to be asleep for a time. How he wakes up, is how he will be.
Tara moaned. “You mean he’s going to be in a coma? That they won’t know if he has brain damage until he comes out?”
Yes. That is what I am shown.
Tara rolled over onto her side and began to sob. “Why is this happening? We weren’t driving too fast. We were being so careful. This isn’t fair. This just isn’t fair.”
Life isn’t fair. No one ever said it would be. It is just life.
A nurse entered the room and moved to Tara’s bedside. “My name is Bobbi. I’ll be your nurse for the evening. Is there anything I can get you?”
“No,” Tara said, and resisted the urge to pull the sheet over her head.
The nurse slipped a blood pressure cuff around her arm. “I am going to take your blood pressure and temp. It won’t take long.”
Tara closed her eyes. She didn’t care what they did to her.
Pat returned as the nurse was taking Tara’s blood pressure. He waited until she was gone, then sat down on the side of her bed and reached for Tara’s hand.
“So, Flynn is out of surgery and in ICU. I spoke briefly to Mona. She’s hysterical, but at least he came through surgery okay. He had some broken ribs, they think from hitting the steering wheel, and one of them punctured his lung, which was why he couldn’t breathe like you said. But everything has been reset or repaired. Now he just has to wake up and get well.”
Tara needed Uncle Pat’s strength to get this said and gripped his hand a little tighter. “He’s not going to wake up yet. He’s in a coma, and there is no way to know whether he has brain damage or not until he regains consciousness.”
Pat was shocked. The news made him sick.
Tara shuddered, too broken to talk anymore. “I love you. I just want to sleep now, okay?”
He kissed her forehead and then patted her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Her chin quivered. “Don’t tell Mona. She’ll find out soon enough. “
Pat’s eyes were full of tears. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he pulled up a chair by her bed and sat down.
He’d already called his boss. They were bringing his car from work and trading it for the city truck he’d been driving. Someone else would have to finish his meter reading route today. He wasn’t budging until his girl went home.
What none of them knew was that, once again, the media had gotten wind of the accident and that it involved the psychic girl who’d helped save lives after the tornado. Before long, flowers began arriving in Tara’s room from people they didn’t know, praising her efforts on behalf of the city and offering prayers for her and Flynn’s recovery. It made her cry all over again. All of this was happening and Flynn didn’t know—might never know. It made her heartsick to think that her sweet, funny Flynn might never wake up.
When the nurses began bringing supper trays, Tara couldn’t eat. Every time someone tried to cheer her up, she broke into tears all over again. There was no way for her to be happy when Flynn’s life was on hold.
At Tara’s bidding, Pat had gone back to ICU again, leaving Tara momentarily alone, but not for long. There was a brief knock on her door and then Nikki peeked in.
“Is it okay to come in?”
“Yes,” Tara said, and then burst into tears.
Nikki crawled up in bed with Tara, wrapped her arms around her, and cried, too.
“Flynn is in trouble, isn’t he?” she asked.
Tara nodded.
“Talk to me,” Nikki said.
“He broke ribs in the accident and one punctured a lung. He’s out of surgery in ICU, but he’s in a coma. There’s no way to know if there are going to be other . . . uh, issues . . . until he wakes up.”
“I’m so sorry,” Nikki said. “I know a little bit about how you’re feeling. I went through the same thing when Corey had that seizure and died, remember? The fact that he was revived and is alive today is because of you. We’ll never forget it.”
Tara’s eyes welled. “I hope Flynn wakes up as healthy as Corey did.”
“We’re just going to assume he will, okay?”
“I wish I could be sure,” Tara said.
Nikki eyed the food on Tara’s tray. “You should eat some of that.”
“I can’t. It just sticks in my throat.”
“You can eat the pudding and drink the iced tea,” Nikki urged, and handed her the pudding and a spoon. “I have stuff to tell you.”
Tara sighed, poked the spoon into the pudding and then licked it off as Nikki began filling her in.
“The guy who caused the wreck is in jail. Daddy said to tell your uncle and Mona to get a lawyer and make sure his insurance company knows they’re gonna have to pay up.”
Tara nodded. “I’ll tell him,” she said, and poked the spoon back in the pudding.
“They’re saying that some dude on a Harley saved your lives. He was the one who went in the water and pulled you both out of the sinking car, but they don’t know who he was, because as soon as the ambulances arrived, he rode off.”
Tara frowned. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. Do you remember seeing a guy on a Harley before the wreck?”
Tara shook her head.
“At any rate, it’s lucky for you guys he was there. School is going to be closed until next Monday and the slumber party is on hold.”
Tara felt sad, thinking how she had been looking forward to it, and now it was such a minor event compared to everything else that had happened.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Nikki frowned. “Please. You have nothing to apologize for, and none of us feel like partying right now. Between the tornado and what happened to you guys, we’re all pretty down.”
Tara set the pudding back on the tray and picked up her tea. Condensation dripped onto her gown as she lifted it to her mouth, but she didn’t care, and the cold icy drink felt good going down her throat.
At that point, an aide came into the room with another vase of flowers.
“My goodness, young lady, you’re about to run out of room to put flowers. Aren’t these pretty?” she said, and then set them down and left.
“Want to see who sent them?” Nikki asked.
“Yes, please,” Tara said.
Nikki pulled it out of the envelope and handed it over.
It was from the Littlehorse family.
We are praying for you and your friend. Stay strong. Delia, John, Mico, and Gracie Littlehorse.
She set the card aside. The tornado and its aftermath seemed like a lifetime ago.
Nikki put the card back in the envelope then hugged her. “I’m going home. We all wanted you to know that we love you, and if you need anything . . . anything at all, you just have to do is ask.”
“I’m glad you came,” Tara said.
“So am I,” Nikki said, and blew her a kiss as she left.
Tara looked at the food tray. The scent of the food mixed with the scents from the flowers was almost sickening. She buzzed the nurse and asked her to remove her tray, then rolled over and curled up into a fetal position and closed her eyes. Maybe when she woke up, this would all be nothing but a bad nightmare.
Then she felt a touch on her shoulder.
We’re here. You can sleep. You’re not alone.
“I love you guys,” Tara whispered.
We love you, too.
Tara was awake again, staring at the program on television without actual listening. Visiting hours had just begun because she could hear voices out in the hall; whispering, laughing, crying. Even though it was good that doctors were here to make you better, hospitals sucked eggs.
Her uncle Pat had gone down to the cafeteria to get something to eat, leaving her in a room full of flowers and a rerun of The Big Bang Theory. She didn’t feel like laughing and changed channels repeatedly until giving up and turning down the volume.
Every time she closed her eyes, she kept reliving that moment when the water had gone over their heads. It was the most heart-stopping fear she’d ever known. She knew now how they’d gotten out of the car, but it was shocking to know that for a time, she’d been dead, and that if it hadn’t been for some people performing CPR, Uncle Pat would be planning her funeral.
It wasn’t your time.
Tara heard Millicent’s voice, but she didn’t answer. Until she got some good news, she didn’t want to hear another platitude.
Henry popped up below the wall-mounted television and blew her a kiss, but even that didn’t help. All she wanted to do was cry.
Then there was a knock at her door. She tensed as the door swung inward. When she saw who it was, she relaxed.
“May I come in?” Nate asked.
Tara nodded.
Nate walked to her bedside, then stopped and laid a hand on her forehead. “I’m very glad you’re okay.”
New tears welled. “Thank you.”
“I brought you something,” he said, and handed her a gift.
Tara’s hands were shaking as she undid the wrapping. When she saw what it was, her eyes widened.
“It’s called a dream-catcher,” Nate said, as he held it up. “It’s supposed to hang over your bed, the webbing within the circle catches all the bad dreams, letting only the good ones come through the small hole in the middle.”
“It’s beautiful,” Tara said, fingering the dangling feathers and the tiny colorful beads fastened in the webbing.
“The items on a dream-catcher are meant to be special only to the person to whom the totem is given. This small rock is called a moon rock, and this is not a butterfly, it is a Luna moth. Both the rock and the moth are for your name. The bear claw represents strength. You are a strong woman, Tara Luna. These will be good medicine for you.”
Tara looked at Nate. His voice was shaking and there were tears in his eyes. The gift was special, but it was his empathy that meant the most.
“I’ve been afraid to close my eyes,” Tara said. “Maybe this will make the difference.”
Nate glanced at the wall above her bed. There were several plug-ins and plugs where machines could be attached. He hung the dream-catcher over a plastic clip and then stepped back.
Tara turned so she could see. From where she was lying she could see the tips of the feathers still fluttering from the movement. Just knowing it was there made her feel safe—like she’d be protected from the bad dreams she knew would be coming.
“Thank you, Nate. Considering how I first bugged you for help, you continue to be a good friend.”
He shrugged slightly, as if embarrassed he would say too much. “Good friends are hard to come by. Just so you know, our church is praying for your friend’s recovery.”
“Thank you. When I get to talk to him, I will tell him.”
“I’m going to leave now. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”
Tara pointed to the dream-catcher. “Thank you for this.”
Nate started to touch her again, and then stopped and waved a hand instead. “Rest well, little warrior.”
Tara’s heart skipped a beat. Warrior? She liked how that word made her feel.
A couple of moments later the door swung open again. Tara thought Nate must have forgotten something until she saw a woman standing in the doorway. She was a heavy-set, middle-aged woman with hair as red as a Santa Claus suit. The way she was staring made Tara feel like a bug under a microscope.
“Are you Tara Luna?”
“Who are you?” Tara asked.
“Are you really psychic?”
Tara frowned. “Please, go away.”
“All I need is—”
The woman stopped, glanced over her shoulder, gave Tara a frantic look and then took off, letting the door swing shut.
“That was weird,” Tara said, but then what wasn’t crazy these days?
As soon as the door closed behind her, she looked up at the dream-catcher, rolled over and closed her eyes, and finally fell asleep.
She never knew when her uncle slipped back in the room and resumed his watch at her bed.
The mist in which Tara was standing kept moving, like clo
uds being shifted by a breeze, but every now and then the mist would part and she would get brief glimpses of a place she’d never seen before. It was gray and barren. The ground on which she stood felt as unsteady as the constantly moving mist. The obvious absence of life was as frightening as if she’d been facing the most ferocious of animals.
Then all of a sudden the mist in front of her began to dissipate, and in the distance, she saw Flynn standing on a rise. He kept turning in a circle, as if trying to get his bearings, and the look on his face was one of panic.
“Flynn! Flynn! Here! I’m here.”
She saw him stop, and then turn toward the sound of her voice.
“I can’t see you,” he yelled.
“I’m here! Follow the sound of my voice.”
He took a step forward and then stopped again as another voice came out of the mist.
“No, Flynn! This way. Come this way!”
Tara frowned. Who was that?
“Here, Flynn. I’m here,” she yelled.
“No, Flynn. Come this way. Come to me.”
Flynn put his hands over his ears. “Stop, stop. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know which way to go.”
The mist shifted again and Flynn disappeared, but this time revealing his father a distance away.
Tara’s heart skipped a beat. She should have known.
All of a sudden Michael was standing before her—glaring at her and angry by her presence.
“You don’t belong here,” he said. “Back off. Go away.”
“Flynn doesn’t belong here either, and yet you’ve called him to you and now he’s lost. He needs to go back. He can’t wake up until he does.”
“No! I need him to come to me. There are things I need to tell him.”
“You should have thought of that before you began using and selling drugs. You should have thought of that while you were still alive. He would have visited you in prison any time and you know it.”
“I didn’t want him to see me in jail.”
Tara was angry. “But you want him here? You’d will him to die to get what you want? What kind of a father are you?”
Suddenly O’Mara’s anger was gone. He seemed unsure. “I don’t want him to die.”
