Lunatic Revenge (18 page)

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 clouds 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.”

“Then let him go. Let him get well, then I’ll be the go-between for the both of you. I’ll tell him everything you want him to hear. I’ll be your voice.”

Instead of an answer, O’Mara took a step back and was swallowed up by the mist.

Tara was scared. She didn’t know what O’Mara was going to do next, but she couldn’t leave without telling Flynn how to come back.

“Come back, Flynn! Please, come back. Listen for your mother’s voice. Listen for mine. Follow the love, Flynn. Follow the love.”

“I think so, although you know he’ll make bail.”

“But he almost killed us.”

“That’s how the law works. However, you just tell the police what you saw. They’ll do the rest.”

Tara nodded, but the anger she was feeling overshadowed her fear of traffic and before she knew it, they were home. Pat pulled up into the drive and then parked.

“Welcome home, baby girl.”

Tara blinked. “We’re here.”

“Hold on a sec and I’ll help you out.”

She was grateful to be getting out of the car, and then noticed the back of the car was full of flowers.

“What about all those?”

“I’ll bring them in after I get you inside.”

Tara waited as he circled the car. When he opened the door, she stepped out. There were so many bruises appearing on her body that she looked like she’d been in a fight. Her legs still felt a little shaky and her chest hurt if she took too deep a breath. She was thankful for his support as they went inside.

“I never appreciated how good it is to be home,” Tara said, and then immediately felt guilty that she was home and Flynn wasn’t.

“Do you want to go to your room, or settle in here on the sofa?” Pat asked.

“The sofa, please. I’ve just spent the past two days in a bed. You can put my stuff in my bedroom, and be careful of my dream-catcher, Uncle Pat. Would you put a nail in the wall just over the headboard of my bed? I want to hang it there so I can see it when I lay down.”

“I sure will. You settle in while I carry in the rest of the stuff, then I’ll see about making us some lunch.”

Tara sat down, but she couldn’t stay there. As soon as Pat began bringing in the flowers, she started moving them all over the house, leaving some in the living room, a couple of the potted plants in the kitchen, and a small pot of violets in her bedroom. She took the asparagus fern into the bathroom, knowing that the moisture from their baths and showers would be good for it.

She’d never had flowers before, and now the house was full of them. It was a shame she’d had to drown for it happen. The good part was that she got to come back to this crazy world in which she lived. If only Flynn came back whole and healthy, she’d never ask God for another thing as long as she lived.

“Did you call the police?” Tara asked, as Pat came in with the last of her things.

“Yes. I told them we’d come down after lunch.”

“Good. I’m going to get a cold pop.”

“I’ll get it, honey. Sit down and take it easy.”

Tara sat, but she couldn’t quit fidgeting. She couldn’t get that dream about Flynn out of her head. She hadn’t had it again, but it still gave her the creeps.

It wasn’t a dream.

Tara moaned. “No. You mean that’s really happening?”

He’s lost.

Tara panicked. “Can you make O’Mara come see me again?”

He’s like Flynn, caught in between. Neither here or there. I cannot communicate.

Tara felt sick.

“Here’s your pop, honey. I poured it over ice.”

Tara took the can and made herself shift focus. There were things that she needed to think about.

“Thanks, Uncle Pat.” She took a sip of the cold Pepsi and then set it on the coffee table.

“I’m going to see what’s in the fridge,” Pat said.

“I won’t want much. The thought of food makes me queasy.”

“Okay. Hang tight. I won’t be long,” Pat said, and patted the top of her head just like he’d done when she was little.

The gesture was touching but she quickly blinked back the tears. She was done crying. It was time to declare war – war on the fool who’d nearly killed them, and war on a dead man who wouldn’t let go of the son he’d left behind.

The police station was busy
as Tara and her uncle walked in and approached the information desk.

“My niece is here to give a statement on the wreck she was in. The officer who’s expecting us is named Blakely.”

The man picked up the phone. “Have a seat. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

They moved to a row of chairs against the wall and sat down.

A woman sitting nearby gave Pat a long, studied look. Tara saw her staring and frowned. When the woman realized Tara was watching her, she quickly looked away.