Chasing Happy

by Jenni M. Rose

  “Hunter,” The EMT trotted toward him.

  “What’s up?” He met him a few steps away.

  “She’s insisting on not going to the hospital. Wants to sign whatever waiver she has to.”

  “Shit,” he muttered. Why were some people so goddamn stubborn? The chick was just held dead on the side of the road.

  “The pretty ones are always nuts,” the medic commented.

  “True,” he agreed, though he felt no interest in Rosie like that. She was beautiful sure. Nice face, amazing eyes, sexy hair, curvy body – they all made a nice package but, one look at her screamed complicated and he wasn’t interested. Plus, she was Wendy’s friend and he drew a line at one night stands he’d end up having to see all the time. Been there, done that, not worth it.

  When he got to the back of the ambulance, she was sitting up and signing something attached to a clipboard.

  “Let them take you to the hospital, Rosie. You might have a concussion.”

  “I’m sure I do,” she told him. “Thank you. All of you. I’m so sorry and I’m so embarrassed but it's not anything I can’t fix up myself.”

  “She already signed the forms. She’s free to go.”

  The EMT helped her down from the ambulance and walked her to her bike. He talked to her for a minute before walking away and packing up his rig. Dallas hurried to where she was inspecting her now scratched bike.

  “Let’s put it in the back of the cruiser and I’ll drive you home.”

  “I’m okay,” she tried to send him a smile but couldn’t quite pull it off, the stark white bandages on her face already turning red. The ambulance doors closed and they pulled away.

  “Don’t be an idiot. You’re hurt and bleeding and if you say no again, it’s just gonna piss me off. I’m putting your bike in the car and I’m bringing you home. Tell me no again and I’ll come back when my shift is done and wake you up every hour to check for a concussion.”

  She watched him for a few seconds. Without asking, he picked up her bag, grabbed the bike out of her hands, and wheeled it to his cruiser. It wasn’t overly difficult to pop it in the trunk and tie it shut. He went around and opened the passenger door for her and she eased herself down slowly into the seat without a word.

  She was hurting, for sure.

  “Which way?” He asked when he settled in his seat.

  She pointed in the direction the cruiser was already facing. He drove not more than a half mile before she directed him down a hidden, narrow dirt road.

  “Down here,” she pointed.

  He took another turn at her direction and then another. All of them dirt roads and all of them dark and spooky as hell.

  “This one,” she pointed to a small mailbox with a shiny, reflective star attached to.

  He turned in the driveway and was surprised to find it was near a quarter mile long. When he pulled into the small clearing he saw an old camper, with some string lights and a few chairs outside.

  “This is the middle of nowhere,” he complained as they got out. “What the hell are you doing living way out here by yourself?”

  She shrugged as she took the bike from him after he lifted it out of the trunk.

  “I don’t mind it. It’s quiet,” she told him as if it were to most simple thing in the world. She limped her bike to the side of the camper and propped it up.

  "Let's get you inside and cleaned up."

  She waved him off. "I'll take care of it. Ice and ibuprofen."

  He let out a humorless laugh. "Let me at least see you in, Rosie. Give me some peace of mind after thinking you were dead in the middle of the goddamn road."

  It's wasn't a bad idea, she thought as she struggled to stay standing. In case she died or something, which seemed highly possible. She didn't feel like she was bleeding internally or like her neck was broken but she definitely felt like she'd been hit by a bus or possibly wrecked her bike and oh yeah, experienced a horrifically violent death.

  She pushed the incident from her mind and swore to deal with it later. For now, she just had to survive the night.

  "Whatever," she told him.

  She remembered his aura, even if it was barely a wisp now. He had no bad energies running through him, nothing that screamed serial killer. She felt safe enough with him in the camper for a few minutes so she took her keys out and unlocked the trailer.

  The first step hurt like a bitch and she made some kind of wounded animal noise.

  "You okay?" Dallas asked.

  "Just hurts," she forced out. "I'm good."

  The camper felt even smaller with another person in it. It was meant for the kitchen table to turn into a bed but at some point her landlord had just built the table in permanently. The bathroom was in the middle of the trailer and that was where she needed to get too. She needed a washcloth and some meds.

  "You got any ice in here?" He asked pointing to her tiny fridge/freezer combo.

  "A couple frozen water bottles." She shut herself in the bathroom, peeled off the seeping bandages and saw her face in the mirror. Her right cheek was covered in road rash and there was a huge gash on her forehead. The bloody nose had stained her face with streaks of blood.

  "Holy mother-of-pearl," she muttered.

  She set to cleaning herself up and washed the blood out of her hair and off her face. The scratches on her neck stood out and she studiously avoided thinking about them while cleaning and re-bandaging everything else. After she stripped her shirt off, she found her forearm oozing with blood. After that was her pants which was a struggle, the small room combined with the pounding in her head didn't make a great combination.

  After a particularly loud bang, Dallas knocked on the door. "You okay."

  "Yeah," she said through gritted teeth. "There's a pair of sweatpants on the shelf right behind you. They're gray. Can you toss them on the floor by the door? I'll grab them when I'm done cleaning up."

  "Sure you don't need a hand. I swear, I won't look. Totally professional."

  She cracked a smile, even if he couldn't see it. "Thanks friend. I'm all set."

  She pulled her ruined jeans off and winced. Her calf was raw, like pulp and full of sand. She washed it out as best she could and wrapped a hand towel around it. She'd have to go to a drugstore and get bandages tomorrow. She thought about it for a second and decided maybe the day after would be better.

  She pulled the sweatpants through the crack of the door, put them on, and stepped out to find Dallas sitting on the edge of the tiny built in couch.

  "It doesn't look much better," he told her.

  "Thanks." She shook out a few ibuprofen and swallowed them, then pressed a frozen water bottle on her cheek. She pressed another to her neck.

  "Want to tell me who the hell strangled you?" He asked, his face neutral.

  He was a cop, she shouldn’t have been surprised he wouldn't hesitate to ask.

  "It's not what you think," she answered.

  "That's it?" His laugh had no trace of humor as he stood from the couch. "That's the best you've got?"

  She limped away, toward the back of the camper where the bed fit from wall to wall. She gingerly sat and wiggled to the head of the bed, wedged between the corner of two walls, Dallas right behind her.

  “Yeah,” she sighed. “It’s all I’ve got right now. Thanks for seeing me home. It was a nice thing to do for someone you’ve only met once.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re a friend of Wendy’s, so that’s good enough for me.”

  She didn't tell him Wendy hated her guts.

  The room fell silent for a few seconds. "Thanks," she said again, hoping he'd get the hint.

  "Oh, you think I'm leaving," he said. "Yeah, no. I'll be here waking you up every hour on the hour."

  She wanted to argue but she didn't have the energy. "Suit yourself," she said, closing her eyes.

  6

  The day after the accident had been tough. Dallas, as promised, had woken Rosie up numerous times, never pressing for more details about
the scratches on her throat. When she woke in the morning, he made coffee and sat with her outside, even bringing her a blanket.

  “I’ll call Wendy and make sure she comes out to check on you later.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” she told him, searching for his aura. It struck her that it was nearly gone, nothing more than a wisp of smoky color around him. “I’m not exactly her favorite person right now and she’s got a lot on her plate.”

  “You guys have a fight or something?”

  Turns out, Dallas wasn’t the clod she or his grandfather thought he was. Dallas was insightful and easy to talk to. He listened intently and had a way of asking questions that didn’t seem invasive.

  “Or something,” she agreed with a nod.

  “Well, I’m sure she isn’t so pissed she wouldn’t come if she knew what happened.”

  Rosie knew that, it just wasn’t what she wanted. “Just do me a favor and keep this to yourself. I don’t want her running out here because she feels sorry for me. I can take care of myself.”

  Eventually he’d agreed and had gone on his way, though he’d also stopped by twice during the week to check on her, even bringing her a bunch of bandages from the drugstore. He never stayed long enough to get out of his car, just long enough to remind her he was around.

  Rosie noticed in the days after the accident, things around her felt strange. There were times the back of her neck itched, like someone was watching her or there was another presence with her. When she was outside, it was almost as if the sounds in the woods were turned off, nature muted entirely. No leaves rustled in the trees, no critters moved on the ground.

  She went back to work after one day off and even trying to hide the evidence of her accident was no use.

  “Ouch, Miss Rosa. That hurt,” Marta commented at the end of their shift.

  “It’s okay. Thanks.” She smiled at the other woman.

  “You try putting honey on it,” the older woman told her, her accent melodic. “Heal fast.”

  Gross. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

  Thankfully, her bike had only sustained minor damage during her fall and she could still ride to and from the bus stop. On her way home that night, she was following her usual route home being more careful than the last time. She didn’t need to worry because the brown-haired woman appeared in the woods and not in the road.

  Rosie pulled over and laid her bike on its side. The woman was standing in a copse of trees about fifty feet off the road and although it was dark outside, her spirit glowed. She raised her hand and held it out to Rosie.

  Yeah, not happening.

  “Can I help you with something?” She called to the woman, keeping her distance.

  Rosie saw her lips moving, but all that reached her was a warm wind that rustled through the trees, the words lost.

  “I can’t understand you,” she told the woman. “I’m sorry.”

  Rosie made no mention of the woman’s horrific death. She couldn’t see that again. She couldn’t feel that again.

  The woman opened her mouth and let out an angry scream. The wind howled through the surrounding trees and she held a hand up to block the swirling wind. When it passed, the woman was gone.

  Uneasy, Rosie made her way home and fixed herself a snack, not quite ready to sleep. All her life people had been telling her she had a gift. She’d asked once if they knew where she could return it. There were times she didn’t want spirits wandering into her home or her head uninvited, times when she didn’t want their thoughts muddling her own so much she couldn’t even think. Her gift had brought nothing but destruction to her life.

  She tossed and turned that morning before falling into a dream about the woman in the woods, except this time, she followed when the woman beckoned. She followed through the thick wood and through a small clear stream. Past an outcropping of rocks, covered with bright green moss, and down a steep embankment littered with roots and debris. She skirted what looked like a big clearing, possibly a farm, keeping to the wood line before following the woman down a small dirt path that led to a lake peppered with small tree filled islands. The spirit waded into the water and, without thought, Rosie followed. First rocks under her feet, then sand, soft between her toes. It was a compulsion to follow the spirit, she had to know where the woman was going.

  It wasn’t until the water hit her chest that Rosie woke. A shocked squeak escaped her lips when she realized where she was. She turned around, searching for the woman but she wasn't there.

  Rosie’s heart raced. How far into the water would she have gone? How far from home was she?

  Intense dreams were a regular occurrence. Scary dreams, prophetic dreams, confusing dreams were always on the menu but never something that effected her reality so acutely.

  At the very least, it made her leery of sleeping for the rest of the week.

  “I know,” Max told his sister again. “Wendy! I’ve got it."

  He was proud of her. She’d shown how much backbone she had since Rosie dropped the bomb at dinner. Wendy had been working nonstop making sure her business would succeed. She’d hired forensic accountants, fired Lisa, and adopted a new filing system that had enough checks and balances she’d know the minute something wasn’t right. She’d called the police and was pressing charges against Lisa and suing to get her money back, which the accountants had totaled to over thirty thousand dollars.

  He’d mentioned to her more than once that if Rosie had said nothing, she’d have never known, but Wendy wasn’t hearing it. She was hurt and angry that someone she trusted had been hiding something from her. He suspected that she’d get over it soon enough and in the meantime he knew Rosie was still showing up for work, if not avoiding Wendy while she was there. Wendy had at least mentioned that much.

  “Are you listening?” Wendy’s voice sounded in his ear.

  “I hear you,” he said as he rounded a corner. The roads were wet with rain and the heat was blasting to ward off fog on his windshield. “I’m on my way back to the house, like I told you. Later on, I’m coming to your office so I can help you move equipment around. I’ve got it. I promise.”

  “Okay. I just need to make sure you’re coming. I can’t move the stuff from storage by myself and you’re cheap labor.”

  He rounded a corner and his brow crinkled. There was no mistaking Rosie, her white hair was difficult to miss, but what the hell was she doing? It was freezing, not a day for a walk and certainly not dressed the way she was.

  “I gotta go, Wend. I’ll see you later.” He hung up without hearing her response and pulled up behind Rosie. Jumping out of the pickup he jogged to her, calling her name.

  “Rosie.”

  Her feet were bare and filthy and there was a big brown spot marring her leg. She was walking away from him, almost staggering and she had what looked like a scarf tied around her wrist.

  “Rosie,” he called again, catching up with her. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  She stopped then but didn’t turn around, just looked around, searching.

  A chill ran up his spine. She hadn’t heard him. She was acting like he wasn’t even there.

  “Rosie!” He said louder this time, grabbing her arm. When he turned her to face him, her cheek was the first thing he noticed, angry scabs ran from her eye to her jaw.

  “Rosie.” He touched the uninjured side of her face to get her full attention.

  Her head swung around, still searching, those mysterious eyes blind. Her pupils were so big he could barely see any of the blue he’d tried so hard to match.

  “There,” she whispered and slipped away from his grasp. She hurried off, into the woods, heedless of her bare feet or the branches slapping against her.

  There was no way he was letting this happen, he thought to himself. Not a goddamn chance. He reached her in a few long strides and without hesitation grabbed her around the waist, stopping her forward motion. She struggled, reaching for something that wasn’t there, her feet moving as though sh
e could walk on air. The crazy part was, he knew she wasn’t awake. In her mind, she was somewhere different. Knowing it and experiencing it were two different things.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmured as he turned them back toward his truck. “Come on, Rosie. Come back to me.”

  Her feet were still moving, but she wasn’t struggling against him as much.

  “What the hell were you doing out here?” He asked, knowing she couldn’t hear him.

  When he finally slogged them out of the wet undergrowth, he put Rosie down enough that her feet touched the ground. Max shifted her so she was facing him and her body shook, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the experience or the cold.

  “Rosie?” He asked. “You with me?”

  He heard her swallow, her hands fisting against his chest. “Yeah. I think so.” Her voice was shaky.

  “Good. That’s good.” He reached down and without asking, scooped her up into his arms. He thought she might have protested, but he ignored it. “I’m putting you in my truck.”

  He slid her in, and she huddled against the seat, holding her knees to her chest. He jogged around to the driver’s side and got in, then jammed the truck in gear and took off for his house.

  “How’re you doing, Rosie?” He asked, looking in her direction.

  “I-I-I-I’m oh-oh-okay,” she stuttered through her clacking teeth.

  Was there ever a time she didn’t say she was okay or fine?

  “Just hang on, okay. We’re almost there. Before you know it, you’ll be under ten blankets and sweating.”

  He’d never taken the corner to his driveway so fast and he pulled right up to the front porch. He carried her up the walk and through the front door. The living room was to his left, and he laid her on the couch, pulling the blanket off the armrest and covering her with it.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told her.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he pulled the down comforter and pillow off his bed then charged back to the living room. He laid the comforter on top of the blanket already covering her and squeezed the pillow behind her head.