The Little Black Box

by K. J. Gillenwater

  “Paula,” her mother said in a weak voice. “Get out. Get out.”

  Frustration, fear, and horror propelled Paula to scramble toward the rear window glass. There had to be another way out. She had to get out so she could help her mom and dad. They needed her. Deep coughing wracked her body.

  Her knees scraped across broken glass and shards of twisted metal. She felt as if she were trapped in the witch’s oven in Hansel and Gretel. She didn’t want to burn up. She didn’t want to burn. Tears and smoke blurred her vision.

  The odd feeling in her head returned. The chills up and down her arms, the sweat, and the trembling. She made the metal bend with her mind. It exploded outward so she could crawl away. Get away from the awful heat and the scary black smoke.

  She scrambled in the mud and dirt to escape the flames. Cold, wet mud coated her from head to toe, but she didn’t care. Her costume had been ruined, but all she cared about was mommy and daddy. She had to help them.

  She raced to the front of the car. A bloody hand pressed up against the glass of the passenger’s side window. Her mother’s seat.

  Paula lurched forward. She could mommy get out. Paula could use her secret to get her out.

  The heat drove her back. It was as if she were standing next to the sun. She forced her mind to work, to bend the metal again. Her hands tingled. It was working. Only a few seconds more.

  Her mother’s face appeared—a smoke-blackened face that barely resembled the mother she knew. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. The flames licked at her. Her beautiful hair lit up like a Christmas tree.

  Paula couldn’t turn away. Her mother’s bloody hand drifted down the window, leaving a red smear on the glass. It, too, was consumed by the flames, until nothing but smoke and orange fire filled the window.

  The image had seared into her memory—the blood, the smoke, her mother’s hand on the glass. She had tried hard to forget, to lock it away in her head and forget that she had caused the crash.

  Paula wouldn’t let it happen to Lark. Her best friend would be fine. This time, she’d get there in time. She’d save her.

  Paula gunned the motor and raced through the stoplight as it shifted from yellow to red. She took the turn at a blistering pace, almost sliding across the road and into the curb. Several horns honked at her.

  Up ahead on the left, she saw the sign for Lark’s apartment complex. She pulled hard on the steering wheel and careened into the parking lot. The tires thumped savagely over the speed bumps, jolting her and knocking her cell phone to the floor. It disappeared under the passenger seat.

  “Dammit!”

  Paula whipped into an empty space and dashed toward the security phone outside the main building. If Lark wasn’t going to answer her cell phone, she’d get her on this thing. She scooped up the receiver and pressed Lark’s number.

  The phone buzzed several times. No answer. Paula dropped it. If Lark were hurt, she wouldn’t be able to answer. But what if she wasn’t even here?

  She ran around the side of the building and searched for Lark’s motorcycle. Several motor scooters and a beat-up Yamaha stood in designated spots, but no red Katana.

  Immediately, she changed gears. Bolting for her car, she calculated the fastest way to get to Mountain Art Tattoos. Smithfield Boulevard, cut across on High Street, and then west on Main.

  When got back in her car, the keys were still in the ignition and her cell phone was ringing.

  In one smooth motion, she leaned over and scooped up the phone. The screen had a crack in it.

  With a trembling index finger, she tapped on the phone. “Lark where are you?”

  “Hello?” Will was on the other end.

  She put the phone on speaker and slammed the gearshift into reverse. “I can’t talk right now. I have to find Lark.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Bianca killed herself, too. I heard it on the radio. That box is evil. I don’t care if it was a mistake or if it was planned. I have to find Lark. I don’t care about the professor or the project anymore. I have to find her. Don’t you see?”

  Before Will could answer, Paula ended the call. She turned the phone off and tossed it on the seat next to her.

  “Sorry, Will,” she said, the tears starting to blur her vision. “I can’t let her die because of me.”

  She pushed down on the accelerator and raced through the dark streets of Blackridge.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Paula sped down Main Street. Mountain Art Tattoos sat in a row of renovated historical buildings a few blocks up.

  The traffic thinned. The rain slowed to a fuzz. Streetlights popped on.

  She spotted Lark’s motorcycle in the street. As she pulled to the curb, she noticed something odd about the tattoo shop. The lights were off and the blinds had been closed. So why was Lark’s motorcycle still parked out front? Fear tickled the back of her neck.

  On the door, right above the business hours, a handwritten sign had been posted:

  CLOSED DUE TO FAMILY EVENT

  She rapped on the glass. Lark must still inside. She had to be. Why else would her motorcycle be out here?

  “Lark, it’s me, Paula. Let me in. I need to talk to you.”

  No answer.

  Maybe Lark lurked in the back somewhere and couldn’t hear the pounding on the door.

  Paula switched her phone back on. The screen revealed she had voice mail. Probably Will. She’d listen to it later.

  Although the screen had been damaged, she could make out her phone book entries. She selected the pre-programmed number to Mountain Art Tattoos.

  Her fingers trembled as she touched the phone screen. The extended rush of adrenaline affected her as if she had drunk too much coffee.

  One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

  No answer.

  Four. Five.

  Click.

  Let it be Lark. Let it be Lark.

  “Lark, it’s Paula. I’m right outside—”

  The tinny message of the shop’s answering machine reverberated in her ear. “Mountain Art Tattoos is open Sunday through Thursday from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. and on weekends from—”

  Her heart sank. “Lark, are you in there?” She banged on the door until her fists hurt. “Are you okay?”

  A pulse beat in her throat.

  Where was Lark? Was she okay?

  Her limbs were dead weights. Paula leaned against the cool glass and slid down to the sidewalk. Something had gone horribly wrong. She knew it. She’d arrived too late.

  The screen on her cell phone glowed. Two messages.

  Her stomach fluttered.

  She entered the code for her voicemail. Hopeful, yet scared.

  “Paula?” Will’s voice came through strong and solid. “Where are you?”

  Her throat felt thick with emotion.

  “Why aren’t you answering? I’m going over to your place to wait for you. Call me back when you get this. Please.”

  She deleted the message and pressed for the next one.

  “Paula Crenshaw, please call Northeast Hospital Emergency Room. This is concerning Lark Michaels. Thank you.”

  The phone clattered to the sidewalk.

  ***

  Paula burst through the doors of Northeast Hospital’s ER and grabbed at the pink scrubs of a heavyset woman—the first hospital employee she encountered. Her heart raced. “I need to know what happened to Lark Michaels. Where is she?”

  The older woman gently removed Paula’s hand from her sleeve and pointed at a sign. “Patient information. They’ll help you, dear.” The nurse picked up a stack of charts on the counter and disappeared behind a door labeled “Medical Personnel Only.”

  Paula followed the sign. Two women, one dark and petite wearing scrubs decorated with cartoon characters, the other taller and Asian wearing a white coat, were deep in conversation behind a counter.

  “When they brought her in, she looked as white as a ghost.” The woman in the white coat rocked on her heels. “Lost almost two-thir
ds of her blood volume. I thought she was DOA”

  The one in the scrubs noticed Paula. She touched the shoulder of the taller woman and then stuffed her hands in her pockets. After noticing Paula, the taller woman ended her story and picked up a paper cup of coffee.

  “May I help you?”

  Paula felt light-headed. “I had a message. The emergency room? My friend. She was brought here. I’m her emergency contact. I have to know how she is.”

  The woman in the scrubs sat behind a computer. “Name?”

  “Lark Michaels.”

  The woman shot a quick glance over at the Asian woman and cleared her throat. “Umm, yes, she’s being prepped for surgery. I’ll page the attending physician, and he can explain—”

  “She’s still alive?” Paula’s knees buckled. Relief washed over her at the news Lark was headed for surgery. “Is she going to be all right?”

  The woman in the white coat appeared beside her and caught her at the elbow before she sank to the floor. “Here, sit down. Would you like some water? Coffee?”

  “I just want someone to tell me what happened.” Paula took the seat but waved off the offer of something to drink. “Will she be all right? Are you a doctor?” She glanced at the black-and-white nametag pinned to the woman’s coat, Dr. Zhang.

  “I should go get Dr. Taylor, he can give you the details of her injuries.”

  Paula looked from Dr. Zhang to the woman behind the counter. They both seemed nervous...or worried. “You know something. What aren’t you telling me?” The case they were talking about when she got there—the person mistaken for a DOA. “Why did she lose all that blood? What kind of surgery is she being prepped for?”

  Dr. Zhang must have seen something in Paula’s expression that changed her mind. “Ms. Michaels’s pelvis and leg were crushed in an accident this evening. She lost a lot of blood. They’re prepping her for surgery to see if they can repair the damage. The injury was very traumatic. They might have to amputate.”

  “Amputate?” A coldness crept into her extremities. “My God, her leg? She’s going to lose her leg?” This was all her fault. She should’ve warned Lark when she had the chance. Why did she ever let her near the black box in the first place?

  “Here’s Dr. Taylor.” The nurse pointed down the hall.

  Paula could hear the relief in Dr. Zhang’s voice, “He’ll be able to give you more details.” She squeezed Paula’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry about your friend.”

  Paula wiped tears from her eyes. With a well-groomed, white beard and a pot belly, Dr. Taylor looked more like Santa Claus than an E.R. doctor.

  Dr. Zhang disappeared down the hall, and the nurse busied herself with filing work.

  “You must be Paula Crenshaw, Ms. Michaels’s emergency contact.” He thrust out a hand and gave hers a vigorous shake. “Does she not have family in the area?”

  “Her mother,” she choked out. “Her mother lives nearby, but they haven’t been on very good terms.”

  “I see.” Dr. Taylor pulled up a chair. “Would it be all right if I talked with you for a moment?”

  She nodded and braced for the worst.

  “Lark’s injuries were quite traumatic.”

  “She’s going to have surgery?” She clutched her chilled hands in her lap.

  “Well, we’re still working on getting her stable. She lost quite a bit of blood. Right now, we’re taking a ‘wait and see’ attitude.”

  “Wait and see?”

  “We need to get some blood into her...a few times she was touch and go. If we take her into surgery too soon, we could lose her.”

  “Lark might die?” It was all Paula’s fault. Her best friend, dying in some ER bed somewhere.

  “You have to understand, this was a severe crushing injury with a large amount of blood loss. We’re hoping we can stabilize her enough to give her a chance.”

  Paula blinked back the tears. “I have to see her.”

  “I’m sorry. You can’t right now, Ms. Crenshaw. Her vitals are very unstable.”

  “You don’t understand.” How could this be happening? How could her friend be dying in the hospital? It was all too unreal. “This is my fault. I have to see her.”

  The nurse looked up from her filing.

  “Let me get someone to escort you to the waiting area. We’ll call you as soon as we know something more.” He put his hand on her, keeping her in the chair.

  “I have to see her. Let go of me!” She pulled from his grasp and leapt from the chair.

  “Trish?” Dr. Taylor glanced at the nurse.

  “Let me take you out to the waiting room.” The nurse stepped from behind the counter and reached out a hand. “Why don’t you give me her mother’s number, and then...”

  “She can’t die. She can’t!” As much as Paula wanted to see Lark, she couldn’t stand to be in the hospital one second more. To wait for hours and wonder would be torture. She backed away from the nurse with the sympathetic smile and the happy cartoon faces plastered all over her scrubs. Sitting in a chair all night with Lark’s cynical and more than likely drunk mother would get her nowhere. Lark was going to die, and she had to find a way to fix it.

  In her rush to get away, she stumbled over her own feet. She pushed through the glass double doors to escape into the fresh night air and caught sight of the moon rising over the distant mountains.

  What would she do without Lark?

  Chapter Twenty

  Paula’s tears had run dry. Around her, the night grew colder. Her breath created small white puffs. She’d settled on the curb across from the ER entrance and couldn’t make herself get up. She mindlessly clicked her cell phone screen on and off, on and off. The motion soothed her.

  It rang, and Will’s name popped up on the cracked screen.

  She let it ring a few times, almost letting it roll over to voice mail. On the sixth ring, she lifted it to her ear. “Hello?” Her voice sounded hollow and far away.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Can you come get me? Please?” Her tears threatened to return, even though she felt as dry as the fallen leaves that blew around her.

  “Of course.” Will’s voice softened. “Where are you?”

  “Northeast Hospital. Please don’t ask why. Not now.”

  “All right. I can be there in ten minutes. Will you wait for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Paula?”

  “Yes?” Her breath came out like smoke. She watched it disappear into the black night air.

  One minute you’re here, the next you’re gone. Just like a puff of smoke.

  “Everything’s going to be okay.” Will’s voice trembled. “I promise.”

  She said nothing for a moment. She breathed in and out, the cold air filling her lungs, feeling very alive when she wished she weren’t at all. “I’ll be here.” She shoved her cell back in her purse and watched the pale moon rise higher in the sky.

  ***

  “So,” Will pulled out of the hospital parking lot, “do you think you’re ready to tell me what happened back there?”

  Paula leaned her head against the window. The streetlights were a blur. She cleared her mind and kept her thoughts off of Lark. If she opened her mouth to speak, she might lose it. To voice what had happened would make it too real.

  After a few moments of silence Will gave a heavy sigh. “All right, let’s try this. I’m going to take you home, and I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re okay. We can come back for your car in the morning. Do you want me to call your brother?”

  When he mentioned her brother, she buried her face in her hands, silent tears wetting her cheeks. Peter was all she had left now.

  Will’s warm hand touched her head lightly. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” His fingers stroked over her hair and rested at the nape of her neck.

  “I need to go home.” She sniffed and shrugged off his hand.

  “All right.”

  He only wanted to help, to comfort h
er. Why couldn’t she take his sympathy? What was wrong with her that she had to push people away right when she needed them most?

  Like Peter.

  After their parents had died Peter had tried his best to be the father Paula had lost, but she only had resented him for it. He’d been a sixteen-year-old boy with pimples and a new driver’s license. Peter wasn’t the tall, warm father who used to scoop her up in his arms and toss her on his shoulders when they went to the park. Peter was just Peter, quiet, spiritual, and a deep thinker with this unshakable faith in God.

  When she’d told Peter how she’d been the one to cause the accident, he’d looked at her with something close to pity.

  “I know you think you caused it, but it was an accident. A terrible accident. That’s all.” He’d perched on the arm of the couch.

  “I’m not a liar. You don’t know.” Paula had curled her body away from him. “You don’t know anything. I got angry, and it made the car swerve. I was angry that you lied — you weren’t sick. Then I made the metal bend and let me out.”

  “There’s no way you could have made a car flip over, Paula.” Peter had swung his free leg back and forth. “No way. You’re imagining things. As for getting out of the car, God was watching over you that night. He’s the one that saved you.”

  “God? Why would he save me and then leave Mom and Dad to burn up?” The nausea had taken over, and she’d run from the room to be sick. A phantom smell had filled her nose and had made her remember everything. Every horrible detail.

  “God took Mom and Dad to heaven. He needed them. It was their time to go.” Peter had yelled down the hall while she’d retched. “It was a miracle you survived.”

  A miracle. What kind of God would make a little girl kill her parents? Give her some awful power that could destroy?

  After those first few weeks, when she’d realized no one, not even her own brother would believe her, she’d started to keep her thoughts to herself. If God had given her such a deadly ability, then she didn’t want to have anything to do with God.