Ink and Ashes (19 page)

I slowed down to exactly the speed limit and waited, semihoping for the car’s lights to flash. When nothing happened, my pulse rate took flight. I changed lanes a couple more times, and the car continued to trace my movements.

New, disheartening thoughts slithered to the forefront of my mind, thoughts I wasn’t allowing myself to entertain up until now. I muttered a string of curse words. There were worse things than a police car that might be following me.

At the next light, I made a right turn onto Franklin Avenue, swerving to make the turn at the last possible moment. The car followed. I accelerated, but our minivan wasn’t known for its speed. I tried to catch a glimpse of the driver, but the windows were tinted to a dark shade that was most certainly illegal.

I sped up the street and ran a red light at Alta View Parkway, but the car followed, causing other vehicles to swerve. So I sped up the hill, passing Franklin High School. As soon as there was a break in oncoming traffic, I did a U-turn as fast as the minivan would allow me. My wheels squealed as I spun the car around to head in the opposite direction along Franklin Avenue.

The car kept driving the direction I’d come from, letting me drive back to the intersection before it followed suit and turned around. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel to keep my hands from shaking. When I got to the next light, I whipped into a right turn at Alta View.

All sounds around me faded. With fingers trembling, I picked up my phone to dial 911, but it slipped and flew to the floor of the passenger side.

My hands tensed at the steering wheel and my breaths quickened. I needed to focus. As long as Bluetooth was still connected, I could make a call. The keypad wouldn’t be enabled on the touch screen unless I brought the car to a full stop, so I all I could do was dial one of the preset numbers. Why hadn’t I added 911 to the car’s speed dial list? I pressed the phone button on the steering wheel. The GPS map disappeared from the screen and my speed dial numbers appeared. I selected Dad’s number.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

My heart beat faster.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

An automated voice came through the speakers. “You have reached 801—”

I ended the call with the button on my steering wheel. Mom was at her aerobics class and wouldn’t answer.

I pushed the button on my steering wheel to make another call.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Come on, Forrest, pick up the phone!

Ring. Ring.

“What’s up, Claire?” He sounded as if I had just woken him.

“Forrest—” My voice broke. “There’s a car following me.”

“Are you sure? The black car?”

“I’m positive.” I pushed the words through chattering teeth. “But it’s not the black car. Call 911.”

“Okay, um . . . um . . . just . . . um—Can’t you call them?” Only panicked breathing came from his end.

“No. Just call for me!” I swerved into the next lane. “I’m heading north on Alta View, and I’m about to pass the gas station on the corner of 8800 South.”

“I’m calling the police on our other phone right now,” he said. His voice trembled as much as mine. “Stay on the line with me.”

I accelerated, until cars blocked me in on all sides. Alta View had too many lights. I had to get off this street. I checked my rearview mirror and saw three cars separating me and the white car. At the intersection I tried to change lanes to gain ground, even if it meant a gain of only one more car length.

Forrest yelled through the phone, but I could barely hear him. “What does the car look like? What else should I tell them? Keep talking to me,” he said. “Are you there, Claire?”

“I’m here.” My insides burned, heat blooming in my chest and radiating outward: neck, cheeks, stomach. I glanced in the side mirror and swerved into the right lane. The driver of the white car wove between cars and lanes, multiple horns sounding in complaint, and returned to my lane only two cars behind mine.

“Keep talking to me, Claire. Are you okay? Keep talking to me. Please say something!” Forrest yelled. “Claire, tell me what the car looks like.” His voice was shrill—frantic.

I tried to steady my thoughts. “White . . . four-door . . . sedan—maybe . . . Ford . . . Taurus.” I could barely keep it together enough to drive and speak at the same time. “Dark . . . tinted . . . windows.”

The white car veered away from me into the left lane, then skidded into the middle of the road, driving down the turning lane separating the opposite directions of traffic. Without any cars in its path, it cut the distance between us by one car, and then another, until the nose of its car was even with mine.

“For—rest.” His name barely escaped my lips and sounded more like grunts caught in gasps for air.

“I’m going to silent for a second to talk to the police, but I’m here,” Forrest said.

For now, the left lane separated us, but it couldn’t travel in the turning lane forever. Eventually, another car from the opposite direction would need to turn, obstructing the car’s path. At least I hoped one would. All it would have to do is merge back into the regular lane in front of the car next to me, and we would be traveling side by side. Cars surrounded mine in every direction except to the right, the shoulder of the road. I yanked the steering wheel to swing the car into the shoulder. With no one ahead of me, I pushed the gas pedal to the ground. Each breath came faster.

The white car cut across all lanes amid blaring horns and screeching brakes, barely missing cars, until it was right behind me.

The steering wheel shook. I couldn’t steady my hands. The car jerked and zigzagged. The pulse in my neck quivered.

I barely remembered how to drive now. The wheel slipped from my quaking hands. Every move came from some unknown instinct—impulse—inside of me.

The hum of the engine in the car behind grew louder. The whirring sound clawed into my ears.

Five minutes. About five minutes and I would be home. I cursed. If I hadn’t taken so many detours trying to lose the car chasing me, I would have already been home. Ahead of me was an intersection, and several cars in the right turning lane. If they were turning right, I wouldn’t be able to keep driving straight on the shoulder.

I whipped a sudden right turn onto Creek Road, barely missing other cars turning the same direction—legally. The car followed me down the hill, its hood edging closer in the rearview mirror. I could
feel
it creeping in. Breathing down my neck. I gulped for air.

As the road began to level, the car crashed into my rear bumper. My forehead slammed into the steering wheel. The steering wheel cycloned out of my control. I screamed as the wheels left the road and the world outside spun like a carnival ride. Forrest yelled.

Boom!
The van hit a curb and flew into a landscaped area running parallel to the street. The decorative rocks filling the long distance between trees pinged like popcorn as the car skidded across the gravel. My head smashed into the side window and glass clinked against my face.

There was a tree.

The front end of the minivan jilted upward, clambering up the tree’s trunk like a ramp with the bumper pointing straight at the sky. Creaking metal rang in chorus until the car flipped onto its backside.

The seat belt yanked against my chest. I tried to suck in air, but the wind had been knocked out of me.

The left side of my head felt like it had been thrown against a bed of nails. Warm liquid streamed down my face.
Up my face,
I thought blurrily.

The blaring horn. The groans of the engine. Glass shattering everywhere.

Complete silence crept in and I drifted into darkness. Forrest’s screams slipped away.

PAIN LIT ACROSS
my body like the wildfires that demolish the Wasatch Mountains on hot desert days. Throbbing pierced my skull and sank into my teeth. The torture burrowed down into places I never knew existed. Death could not possibly cause so much physical agony.

The smell of antiseptics overwhelmed me. I must have been in a hospital.

“Claire.” Forrest’s voice was much softer now.

I stretched my fingers to him.

“Claire, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” His familiar voice soothed my ears.

The room was shadows and darkness. I gathered my strength, moaning as I craned my head to catch a glimpse of his face, but realized my left eye was swollen shut. He leaped from a chair next to my bed, grasping my hand in both of his and pressing his forehead to my wrist. His breath felt feverish against my icy skin. “Claire, I’m so sorry this happened to you.” His voice crumbled.

“Me too,” I said in a hoarse whisper. I squinted, my right eye adjusting to the dim light, and could see his eyes, big puddles of blue, taking me in. I tried to crack a smile, but the swelling prevented me from moving too much. “Why am I here?”

His eyes opened wider. “You don’t remember?”

I combed through my memories. “The last thing I remember is leaving the parking lot after I dropped off Fed at work.”

He explained what had happened. From his end, I could see how scary that must have been to hear what was going on but not be able to do anything about it.

Why couldn’t I remember? “Did I at least give you a license plate number?”

“No, but you said the car was white, and you couldn’t see the driver.”

I stared at the ceiling. Someone had tried to kill me. If they had wanted to kill me, they had failed. What was going to happen to me now? I looked around the empty room. “Where is everyone?”

He stroked the side of my head. “Getting lunch. I’m going to let the nurse know you’re awake.” He pressed a call button on a remote near the top of my bed.

I ventured to move a little more, figuring out what exactly had happened to me. The stitches along my left temple felt bristly under the pads of my fingers. Another row of stitches ran down my left arm. Everything on the left side hurt. I peeked under my hospital gown, and though the light was limited, I could make out purplish bruises the size of a small country. Another bruise ran along my neck and chest where my seat belt had been. I couldn’t see my neck, but the mark on my chest led me to believe the rest of the bruise would be just as ugly. I didn’t see a cast anywhere, so I assumed no bones had been broken, yet it felt like every single bone in my body was shattered. If I even thought about moving, stinging flashes of pain ignited through my body.

Who would want to do this to me? Why was it so important for them to see me suffer?

The light flipped on and overwhelmed all of my senses. I squinted until my one open eye could adjust, wishing my arm worked well enough to throw it over my face.

“You had to wake up on
his
shift, didn’t ya?” Nicholas burst through the door, hands flung in the air. “We’ve all been taking turns by your bedside waiting for you to wake up.” He came over, kissed the top of my head and moved closer to the TV on the wall farthest from me.

“The waiting area totally looks like Camp Maboroshi,” Fed said. He wiped his greasy hands on his wrinkled shorts as he came closer, the fresh-off-the-farm scent suggesting he had yet to take a shower.

I had no idea what Fed was referring to with his Camp whatever, but I got the idea. I wondered what people must have thought when the elevator doors opened to that circus. The idea of everybody holding vigil for me made me all warm inside.

Mom and my brothers piled into the room. Mom held my hand and told me how happy she was to see me awake before she assaulted me with questions.
Did I feel nauseous? Was I sensitive to light or noise? Did I feel numbness in my extremities? Was my mind foggy? Did I feel irritable?

Yes, I felt very irritable. “Mom, I’m sure the doctors will know what to do.”

She squeezed my hand, then sat in a small powder-blue vinyl loveseat against the wall. Parker hugged me, then headed straight for the TV. Avery only waved his hand and said, “Hey,” before walking to the TV and stealing the remote from Nicholas.

Dad was the last to enter. “You’ve been unconscious for over a day, princess.” His voice sounded relieved, but ache and fear found their way into his forehead and frown lines. He wore a T-shirt and black sweatpants, looking ready for training. Dad never dressed down like that, even at home, unless we were working out. Fed slid to the end of the bed to make room for him.

Forrest leaned across me from the other side of the bed. “She doesn’t remember anything about the accident,” he whispered to my dad.

Dad nodded, and Forrest sat back down.

I don’t know why Forrest felt the need to whisper. Everyone else in the room would end up knowing anyway.

“Based on the CT, the doctor said you have a concussion,” my dad explained. “You’ll need a lot of rest.” He went to the loveseat, putting an arm around Mom as he sat next to her. He placed his other hand on top of hers.

A white car was the reason I didn’t remember anything. Had I seen the driver? If I had, I’m sure I would have told Forrest, but maybe I didn’t have the chance to. Mom remained silent, but her tortured face said all I needed to know. Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped at her. Without any makeup, her face looked wrinkled and pale.

A doctor entered the room with a nurse behind him. The doctor pulled over a rolling stool and sat at my bedside. He began to ask me a lot of questions similar to the ones Mom had asked while the nurse poked and prodded me. They finished and said they would let everyone talk to me for a few more minutes, but after that I had to rest. The nurse injected something into my IV, and I assumed I would have no choice but to rest.

The doctor and nurse left after giving Mom some advice on how much rest I needed, and I couldn’t help but think about how long I’d been unconscious. The blinds were drawn shut, but light peeked through the only window—it was day outside, though I couldn’t tell if it was morning or afternoon.

Nicholas came to the side of my bed, sweeping his hand to point from one side of the room to the other. “So? How do you like it?”

“Who brought all the plants?” I asked.

Nicholas directed my attention to a plant by the window with flat lobes at the end of the stems. “That ugly one is from Forrest.” His finger shifted to the flowering plant next to my bed. “And that awesome one is from me and Fed. You always say bouquets of flowers are a waste of money.” Plastered on the opposite wall was a banner of yellow butcher paper with “Get Well Soon!” written in blue poster paint.

Someone had tried to kill me. As much as I tried to be attentive to what he was saying, my mind drifted back to why I was there in the first place. Parts of my memory were black holes, and the accident itself was completely gone. I remembered Fed asking something about who would have something to gain if I were dead. Why me? What did I have that my brothers and parents didn’t?

Forrest punched Nicholas in the arm. “Actually, my plant is way cooler because it’s a Venus flytrap.”

The mention of a Venus flytrap snapped me back to attention because I’d always wanted one. “Thanks, guys. I love them both.” But I especially liked Forrest’s and couldn’t wait to see the carnivorous plant in action.

Parker pointed to the wall. “What do you think about that work of art? Avery and I made it.”

“Wow. I feel so loved.” I pulled the blanket to my shoulders, shivering. I wasn’t sure if it was the coolness of the room, or the reminder that there was a strong chance the driver of that car intended me not to have this moment—that the driver intended for me to never wake up.

“We didn’t say we
loved
you.” Avery exposed a half smile. “It’s just kind of cool, I guess, that you didn’t die or anything.” He fiddled with a wallet, connected to his belt loop by a long silver chain.

“Close enough.” I motioned for them to gather in so I could give them all a hug, but I couldn’t move far without an explosion of pain. In the end, they were the ones to reach over and give me individual hugs, even Avery.

The room contained all the people I loved most, but it was too small to hold this many. My chest grew tight, and my breathing became more rapid. As grateful as I was to have them by my side, the room felt too crowded. I glanced at Forrest.

Forrest stood and came closer to my side. “Maybe we should give Claire some space. She’s just woken up, and I’m sure she could use some rest.”

Mom gathered my brothers and the Russo boys. They said good-bye from the other side of the room, as Mom herded them through the door.

Before he left, Dad came back to my side. “You’re very lucky.” He laid a warm hand on my shoulder. “We’ll have to see how the head injury plays out, but no broken bones or anything. We’ll get through this.” His dark eyes had a tired glaze. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this.”

“I never expected you to,” I said. “What could you have done?”

But lucky? Had I survived only to be subjected to the next thing?

“I don’t know, but something more,” Dad said. Something about his black T-shirt reminded me of a training session together. I didn’t remember everything, but I knew I had wondered whether he was somehow involved with these events. That seemed ridiculous now. Dad patted my arm and left the room.

Now that I was less overwhelmed with people, I realized how much I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. With everything that had happened, and everything that could potentially happen, my mind would go into overdrive. I’d never wanted to be one of those people who overly depended on someone like a best friend or boyfriend, and I hoped I wasn’t turning into one of them. But when I checked my gut, I knew I didn’t
need
to have Forrest stay. I
wanted
him there.

Forrest got to his feet slowly. He gave me a hug and was about to leave, but I grabbed his hand. “Will you stay with me for a little longer?” I asked.

“Of course.” His face lit up, reminding me of the first time he brought his dog Flirt home. “You’re not going to push me away like you usually do when you need space?” He gave me a playful smile.

“I don’t push. I nudge,” I said. “And I do need space, but right now it would be nice if you filled it.”

He motioned for me to scoot over, and he climbed on the bed and sat next me.

I don’t know what I had ever done to deserve a best friend like Forrest, but Dad was right. I was lucky.