Lunatic Revenge (14 page)

If it had not been for a dead man and Tara Luna’s warning, they would have assumed they had all the guilty parties in custody connected with the kidnapping of Flynn O’Mara. But with the psychic teenager’s track record for being right, her insistence that Floy Nettle’s killer was still on the loose and the O’Mara family was still in danger was something they couldn’t ignore. However, until they got a break in the case, there were left scrambling for clues.

Supper was over.

Uncle Pat was taking a shower and Tara was glued to the television waiting for the ten o’clock news to come on. She already knew they were going to air the clip about her helping with the rescue effort again, because they’d gotten a phone call from a television station wanting to do a follow-up piece. Her uncle had quickly refused, but the story was still news. It wasn’t as if she wished anything else bad to happen in Stillwater, but she sure hoped something happened soon that would take everyone’s mind off of her.

This is exciting, almost like going to the movies. You should make popcorn. We like to hear it pop.

Tara groaned. “It’s not exciting that I’m going to be on TV. Not like this. You know what happens when people find out I’m crazy weird.”

Henry materialized upside down, which made Tara snicker.

Don’t laugh. Henry’s sensitive. He’s still discombobulated from that storm vortex. We both are.

“OMG
 . . .
Henry’s sensitive? What about me? I’m the only one who can see Henry mess up. Everyone in the country has seen my deepest secret revealed.”

At that point, Tara heard her uncle coming back down the hall.

“Can it, you two. Uncle Pat is coming back.”

He knows about us. What’s the big deal?

“Knowing and accepting it are two different things. Please guys, just don’t freak him out, okay?”

Ice, Tara.

Tara sighed. “You don’t say ice
 . . .
you say, chill. That means calm down.”

Whatever. I still say you should make popcorn.

“No, and that’s final.”

“Who are you talking to?” Uncle Pat said, as he sat down beside her.

“Myself,” Tara muttered. “You’re just in time. The news is coming on.”

He swung his arm over her head and gave her a quick hug. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

Tara’s shoulders slumped. “You weren’t with me in Walmart, or at the Hideaway when the Scotts took me out to lunch. OMG, Uncle Pat, people were following me in the aisles. They wanted everything from winning Lotto numbers to a place to hook them up with jobs.”

He frowned. “You didn’t tell me that.”

She shrugged. “Well, I am now.”

There wasn’t much left to say, so they watched, waiting and hoping it wouldn’t be aired again, but their hopes were quickly dashed. The news anchors began the broadcast with an update of storm coverage, then updates on the survivors. They led into the film clip of Tara helping the rescue teams with an interview that made Tara cringe. It was an interview with John and Delia Littlehorse in the ER with Gracie.

Tara groaned. Within seconds, their phone began to ring. Pat answered, frowned, and then handed it to Tara.

“It’s Nate Pierce
 . . .
for you.”

Tara took the phone. “Hello.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know about this interview until a few minutes ago when Delia called to tell me.”

Tara sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

“It’s not though, is it?” Nate asked.

“I haven’t seen any of this yet, but I think everyone else in the state did.”

“I’m really sorry. Are you being hassled?”

“You could say that.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then he added. “I’m so sorry for how it’s affecting you now, but I wouldn’t change a thing of what you did. You saved my niece’s life, and from what I saw of the show that aired this morning, you saved others as well. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed. It’s just that, for now, I am officially a freak.”

She heard him curse softly, and then heard a big sigh.

“You are not a freak, Tara Luna. You are so special. You have gifts that most of us will never understand, and even fewer will believe. But for our family, you were a blessing. Next time we meet, I hope it’s under happier circumstances.”

“Yes, me too,” Tara said. “Bye.”

“Be strong,” he said softly, and then the line went dead.

She handed the phone back to her uncle as he pointed at the screen. Within moments she was reliving the race to find a baby through the lens of a camera she hadn’t known was there. She saw herself up in that tree with the baby in her arms—watching Nate and his family climbing toward her, and then relaying the baby down. The story moved from scene to scene, showing a tall, long-legged girl with dark hair blowing in the wind, running up a street and onto a debris-filled yard and the searchers following and rescuing people who had been trapped. They caught the ambulances racing away with living victims as well as transporting others who were not as lucky.

“Oh no,” Tara muttered, when the camera suddenly zoomed in on her. Her hair was blowing across her face, there was mud on her forehead and mud and blood on her clothes, and she was crying.

“I don’t remember much of any of this,” Tara whispered.

“That’s just as well,” Pat said, and hugged her again, but this time he didn’t turn loose. He kept his hand firmly on her shoulder, reminding her that she wasn’t bearing any of this alone.

And then they ended the clip with words that sealed her immediate fate.

“There are people alive in Stillwater, Oklahoma tonight because one local teenager, who happens to be psychic, was in the right place at the right time.”

“Well, honey
 . . .
I know this is causing you grief, but I want you to know, from my point of view, I am a very proud uncle tonight.”

Tara leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. “Thank you, Uncle Pat.”

All of a sudden, Tara sat up straight. “Do you smell that?”

Pat sniffed the air. “I hear something in the kitchen. I hear
 . . .
what the hell? Who’s popping corn?”

Tara jumped to her feet. “OMG. Millicent! I told you, no popcorn!”

Pat looked stunned. “Your ghost is popping corn? She can do that?”

Tara rolled her eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hey, Tara
 . . .
”

“What, Uncle Pat?”

“Well, since it’s already popping
 . . .
add some extra butter and bring me a cold can of Pepsi, will you?”

“Sure, no problem,” Tara muttered, and headed for the kitchen, following the aroma of freshly popped corn.

She opened the microwave and yanked out the expanded bag and dropped it on the counter.

“Seriously, Millicent? I thought we’d already covered this.”

Millicent was suspiciously silent, but Henry was hovering anxiously, which he did when Millicent left him behind to smooth over her messes.

Tara frowned. “Can’t you do anything with her?”

Henry shook his head, shrugged his shoulders then blew her a kiss before shooting through the ceiling, still upside down. The last thing Tara saw as he shot out of sight was the grin on his face.

“My life is certifiable.”

“Don’t forget extra butter!” Pat yelled.

Tara rolled her eyes again. “Seriously certifiable.”

The night was dark.
The cloudy sky curtained a three-quarter moon to the point that if it hadn’t been for the street lights, it would have been hard to cast a shadow. The nightlight in the hall at Tara’s house had burned out the right after the storm and they had yet to replace it, leaving the house in total darkness.

Pat was lightly snoring in his bedroom down the hall. The intermittent drip in the old claw-foot bathtub marked off time as steadily as the clock by Tara’s bed. The wind was up just enough that the tree limbs on the west side of the house were rubbing against the wall and roof in an annoying, repetitive scratch. Combine all of that with recurring memories of the storm, and it gave Tara the perfect recipe for a night of restless sleep.

She had been tossing and turning from the moment her head hit the pillow, and three hours later, had yet to relax enough to get any actual rest. When a police car went speeding past with sirens screaming, she sat straight up in bed with her heart pounding; her eyes wide with shock.

The fact that Henry was sitting at the foot of her bed was not as freaky as the fact that he was glowing.

“OMG! Henry! What happened to you?” Tara gasped.

Henry shrugged, as Millicent explained.

It’s astral dust. I think it gives him a little dash of flash. What do you think?

“Is that on purpose?” Tara asked.

I’m trying to put a good spin on his situation. He got caught up in a comet trail. The least you could do is not stare.

Tara rubbed her eyes sleepily. “Sorry, but it’s a little startling to wake up with what amounts to a flashing disco ball at the foot of my bed.”

Henry spun off the bed and into the corner, leaving a sparkle trail behind him, then did a little dance step that made her laugh.

“Is he alright?” Tara asked. “I mean
 . . .
is it bad for him to get caught up in a comet trail?”

It’s just a matter of realigning energy.

“Why are you two here?” Tara asked. “Is something wrong?”

We don’t like the vibe around you. You need to pay attention.

Tara’s heart skipped a beat. “Am I in danger?”

We can’t tell. Just be careful, okay?

Tara slid back under the covers. “How am I supposed to relax and sleep after a warning like that?”

You’re not alone. Just close your eyes.

Tara did as she was told, and moments later felt the mattress give beside her, then a featherweight brush of something across her cheek.

Tara sighed. It wasn’t everyone who could claim to have shared a bed with a ghost, and that touch on her cheek was Millicent’s version of a goodnight kiss. But it was familiar enough that it lulled her into relaxing, and a short while later, she finally fell asleep.

She woke up hours later
to the smell of frying bacon and got up, anxious to get her share before Uncle Pat ate all of it and left her with a bowl of cold cereal, instead.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Pat said, as Tara entered the room.

“Hi, Uncle Pat. Did you make enough bacon for me, too?”

“Sure did. Want some eggs to go with it?”

“No, I’ll just do toast. Flynn is taking me to lunch today. I want to save room for that.”

“So, you and Flynn are becoming quite the thing, aren’t you?”

Tara shrugged as she picked up a crunchy strip of bacon and took a bite.

Pat frowned. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

Tara looked up. “Hmm? Oh, no, it’s not that. I didn’t know you were serious.”

“Well, I was.”

Tara popped a slice of bread into the toaster and pushed it down. “You know I like him, Uncle Pat. I like him a lot, and he likes me. We’re cool and we’re not doing anything stupid, so save yourself the worry and me the misery of another one of your ‘be careful’ sex talks, PLEASE. Both of us have plans for college. We’re just enjoying life and each other’s company, okay?”