Sara's Song (16 page)
Authors: Fern Michaels
The spaniel bounded onto the bed. Adam watched as she searched out a space that was comfortable to her. When she finally found it, she dragged the king-size pillow to the spot at the foot of the bed. She waited until she was satisfied that Adam was almost asleep before she woofed softly.
“Good night to you, too, Izzie.”
Chapter 9
Dallas stood on the tarmac, his eyes straining to see through the torrential rain. He knew the private sleek, silvery Gulfstream that would take him to Las Vegas was out there somewhere. He made a mental note to think about getting his eyes checked when he returned to LA. As he waited for the pilot he struggled to remember the last time LA had such a horrendous rainy season. He couldn't come up with a time or date. It was cold, too. He hated the cold. Sunshine and bright lights always made him feel good. He didn't like the dark either. Not many people knew he slept with the bathroom light on and two night-lights. He looked around. Where the hell was the damn pilot? With the money he was paying, the guy should have been waiting for him with a thermos of hot coffee since he'd waved off any idea of anything other than a one-man crew. He wanted to sleep through the flight and didn't want anyone fussing over him, asking for autographs, or making idle conversation. Most of all he didn't want to answer questions about the future of the Canyon River Band.
“Mr. Lord. I'm sorry I'm late. Some of the roads are flooding, and traffic was backed up for miles. Nasty day for flying, but I hear the sun is shining in Vegas. I have a favor to ask, Mr. Lord.”
Dallas stared at the man. He hated the word favor. It always meant he had to do something he didn't want to do. Usually a favor meant something besides an autograph.
“Let's hear it.”
The pilot spoke in a rush, trying to get the words out in one long stream without taking a breath for fear the favor wouldn't be granted. “I'd like to bring my brother Bruce along. He's got a ... problem. I want to get him into a rehab clinic I heard about outside Las Vegas. He's in no shape to fly commercial, and driving him there would be risky. Right now he's so strung-out he doesn't even know what his name is. I've tried to do charters the past couple of years so I'd be home for him. It isn't working. This is my last shot. If it's a question of money, I'll pay you whatever you think is fair. You're the only passenger, so there are empty seats. I know it's a lot to ask.”
“Have you always taken care of him?” Dallas asked.
“Yeah, and my ex-wife didn't like it. She booted him out six or seven times, and then I had to go out and find him. Our marriage was rocky at that point anyway. She divorced me and married a dentist. The pressure just started to build and build. There are days when I wish I could walk off into the sunset and not look back. I often wonder what it would be like to be, you know, totally free, with no worries and no fears. Think about it, a new name, a new identity, starting over somewhere with no one knowing who you are and not. caring. No one to answer to. It's a dream is all it is. You can't hide from your responsibilities. He's my brother for God's sake. I can't just let him swing in the wind. Like I said, this is my last shot. He's only twenty-two. Nobody needs to know he's on this flight, if you know what I mean.”
Dallas wasn't sure what that meant exactly, so he pretended he did. “Sure. That's what big brothers are forâhelping little brothers.”
The pilot sighed. “Sounds like you have a big brother.”
“I do.”
“Brought you a thermos of coffee and some Danish, Mr. Lord.”
“Thanks, Don. Do you have any other family?”
“No, just me and my brother. Maybe some distant cousins, but I have no idea where they are or how many there are.”
“It's just me and my brother, too. Where is your brother?”
“That's him over there, dancing in the rain. Today he thinks he's Fred Astaire. Last night he was climbing Mount Rushmore. You go ahead and get on board, Mr. Lord. I'll get him settled up front.”
“I'll sit in the back. I appreciate the coffee and Danish. Is this storm going to be a problem on takeoff?”
“I've been in worse. I'm a good pilot, Mr. Lord. This plane is a beaut. I'll set you down smooth as silk. Thanks for understanding about my brother.”
- “It's okay, man. We all gotta do what we gotta do.”
“Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride most of the way.” Dallas watched as the pilot hustled and shoved his brother up the steps to the plane. He was a straggly-looking kid, unshaven, with limp, stringy hair. With Dallas's help Don managed to get him into his seat and buckled up. “I don't think anyone saw us, do you?” the pilot asked nervously.
Dallas wished his eyesight was better. “I don't think so. Are you sure he's going to be okay?”
“Hell, no. Take a good look at him. He's in La La Land.”
“Maybe you should tie him in the seat or something.”
“Jesus,” was all the pilot could think of to say.
“We could knot some of the blankets together and tie them around the seat. I'll check on him from time to time. The flight isn't that long.”
Dallas felt like crying and didn't know why. “I'll sit across from him until he falls asleep,” he said when they finished tying the blankets around the back of the seat.
Twenty minutes later, the Gulfstream was airborne. Dallas tightened his seat belt, his eyes on the passenger across from him. Twenty more minutes went by before the pilot's brother settled into a sound sleep. Dallas untied the blankets before he went to his seat at the rear of the plane. He was asleep within five minutes. He slept so soundly he didn't feel the gut-wrenching turbulence, the sheer drop in altitude, or the pilot's panic-filled voice on the intercom. He was also oblivious to the swinging oxygen masks floating in the air. When one of them slapped him in the face he had the presence of mind to clamp it over his mouth. He was aware then of the dizzying descent of the aircraft. He barely had time to tuck his head between his knees before he felt the solid impact of hitting something. The next thing he knew he was staring at the sky and stars above. He was still strapped into his seat, but he could see the forward section of the plane off in the distance. He tried to grapple with the horror he was experiencing. Was he having a nightmare or was this the real thing? He looked around, aware that the tail section of the plane had ripped off from the main body. He panicked when he couldn't undo the seat belt.
“Think, Dallas,” he mumbled. “There has to be a way out of this. Where's that Swiss Army knife, the little one that Adam gave you a long time ago? You always carry it. Is it in your pocket? Get it, cut the belt. Get out of here. What's in the tail section? I don't know. Get out. Get out now. There's always a fire when a plane goes down.
He struggled to get his hands in his pants pocket, but the belt was too tight. He squirmed and jiggled until his index finger made contact with the small knife. He used up more panic-filled minutes trying to inch the knife from his pocket. Finally he was free of the seat restraint. He thanked God that he had untied the pilot's brother.
The moment Dallas's legs lost their rubbery feeling he started to run, shouting for the pilot whose name he couldn't remember. Thick, black, oily smoke raced toward him. He turned and ran to the east, aware for the first time of the deep sand under his feet. They were in the desert somewhere. Instinct forced him to drop to the ground just as a loud explosion and a huge ball of fire shot upward. The ground rumbled beneath his trembling body. He started to sob then, his fists pounding into the sand. He lay still for a long time, aware that he was safe and there was nothing he could do for Don and his brother. He felt dizzy and disoriented when he finally struggled to his feet. He walked as close to the burning plane as he dared. No one could have survived the explosion. If he didn't know anything else, he knew that. He turned to walk away, heading back to the tail section of the plane. He burrowed in the deep sand and found his small travel bag, still lodged under the seat. His eyes filled with wonderment that his belongings were still intact. He slung the bag over his shoulder and set out on foot. He had no idea where he was or where he was going or why he wasn't waiting for rescue workers to find him. He concentrated on putting one foot down into the sand and then pulling it out.
Within an hour he was exhausted. The sun beat down on his bare head. He started to stagger then, a feeling of lightheadedness coming over him. He crumpled and started to crawl. He wondered how long it would take before he blacked out totally. Was he going to die out here in the desert? At that precise moment he didn't know and he didn't care.
The sun was directly overhead when he heard a voice that sounded far away. He stopped his crab-crawling and tried to look upward, but the sun blinded him. “Whatcha doing way out here, mister?” a cranky voice demanded. Dallas tried to answer, but his thick tongue and cracked lips wouldn't allow it. He pointed to his mouth.
The man smelled of many things, but Dallas didn't care. For one brief second he wondered if he was staring at God. “Lean on me, son, and I'll git you over to my truck. It got air-conditioning. Is this here your bag?” Dallas managed to nod. “You git yerself lost out here?” Dallas nodded again. It was easier than trying to explain.
“There be a motel down the road, âbout eight miles or so. You want I should take you there?” Dallas's head bobbed a third time. “It ain't much, but it's clean. Cheap too. Eats is extra.”
The blast of cold air rocked Dallas back in his seat. Nothing in the world had ever felt this good. Not his first concert, his first whopping paycheck, his first time at sex, nothing.
As the truck barreled over the hot, dry sand, Dallas wondered why he was still alive and the others were dead. He also wondered if this grizzled old man knew about the plane crash. He almost asked, then changed his mind.
“I seed a fire out there in the desert. I got to thinkin' maybe the government was settin' off one of them bombs. I was goin' to take a look-see. Then I seen you. Didja notice it, son?”
Dallas shook his head.
“You headed for Vegas? Or wuz you there and someone rolled you and that's how you ended up way out here?” It sounded as good an excuse as any to Dallas. He nodded again.
Dallas lost track of time as the old man rattled on about living in the desert and his trailer that was set back a piece from the motel. He was starting to doze off when his driver announced they had reached their destination. He was grateful for the older man's help in getting out of the car and into the small cabin next to the office. “You got enough money left to be paying for this cabin, son?”
Dallas fished in his pocket and withdrew two fifty-dollar bills. He handed both of them to the old man. “Keep one for yourself,” he managed to croak.
The old man turned anxious when Dallas stumbled against the wall. “I'll turn on the shower for you, son, and pull down the bed. Maggie will bring you some drinkin' water and a bowl of ice. Doncha overdo it now. I'll sign you in. What's your name?”
“Name?”
“Gotta write it on the register.”
“Jack.”
“Jack what, son?”
“Piper.” He wondered why he was lying. Later he would worry about it. “Is there a television?”
“Yes sirree. Maggie got herself one of them satellite dishes out to the back. I git it on my set, too. You need sleep more'n you need television. Water's just right. You scrub up good but be careful with your face and shoulders, they're right sunburned. Maggie will fetch you some stuff to put on it. I'll be leavin' you now, son. Thanks for the fifty bucks.”
Dallas undressed and stepped into the shower. The water felt almost as good as the air-conditioner had felt earlier. As he was lathering up for the second time he heard movement outside the bathroom. “It's Maggie Deering, Mr. Piper. I'm leaving the water and ice on the dresser. Don't mind the smell of the ointment, it fades after a bit. It will take the heat out of the burn. I serve supper at six if you're hungry. Tonight we're having meat loaf. There's always plenty left, so you can eat anytime. Dinner's two dollars. I'm locking the door behind me, Mr. Piper.”
Dallas waited until he heard the door close before he stepped from the shower. He didn't bother to dry himself off. Instead he applied the evil-smelling ointment to his face and shoulders before he padded to the bed and climbed in. In a half stupor he leaned over for the remote control and turned on the television set. A satellite dish meant he would be able to turn on CNN. He played with the buttons until he saw the bright CNN at the bottom of the screen. His jaw dropped and his eyebrows inched upward when he heard the field reporter announce his death. His eyes closed and then he was asleep, the television droning on.
Dallas woke eight hours later to total darkness. He blinked as he tried to focus on the television screen. He was freezing cold,. and he had to go to the bathroom. He was also wide-awake. He turned on the shower again and-stood under the hot water until he felt warm enough to crawl back into bed. His watch on the night table said it was one o'clock in the morning. The white Styrofoam box sitting next to the television drew his eye. He hopped off the bed to see what was in it. Meat loaf, roasted potatoes, emerald green peas, and bright orange carrots along with a generous chunk of corn bread with melted butter. A wedge of cherry pie sat on top of everything. The meal was cold, but Dallas wolfed it down in minutes. He was finishing the pie when the top-of-the-hour news came on. He watched, fascinated at the people milling around the crash site giving off sound bites. According to CNN he was dead, charred to a crisp along with the pilot. He looked around for a phone, but there was none. Maybe there was one in the office of the motel. At this hour of the night it was closed. What were Adam and Sara thinking? Were they mourning him, realizing how much they loved him now that he was gone? He wished he knew. Someone told him once that famous people became more famous after they died.
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