Flyer

by J. L. Wilson

  “Where to?” I buckled my seat belt and leaned back.

  “I thought we could drive out to the lake. I’ll show you the spot where your mom and I went to feed the pelicans.”

  I was speechless for an instant then I said, “Thank you. I’d like that a lot.”

  He squeezed my hand. “I loved her, too.”

  I looked out my window, tears slipping down my face. Tomorrow was the funeral. Loss seized me and I wasn’t sure I could breathe, much less talk. “I miss her,” I finally said.

  “I know.” It wasn’t just a simple acknowledgement of how I felt. It was a statement about his grief. His sense of loss was as great as mine.

  I blinked hard to stop the tears and glimpsed a road sign. “Three miles to the corner turnoff,” I said.

  “What?”

  “The sign back there. It said it was eight miles to Kensington. The turnoff is five miles from town. That means we’re three miles from the turnoff.”

  Bell shook his head. “It never fails to amaze me that you have no idea if we’re going north or south but you always know where we are when we’re outside of town.”

  “I’m just a farm girl,” I said. “We always know our way around the country.”

  He laughed and was still chuckling when we got to the intersection for the lake. He turned right and in a few minutes, we were there. “Lake” was probably too grand a term for the large but somewhat shallow body of water that occupied several acres of land north of town. Several lakes like this dotted the landscape in the southern part of the state in declivities dug out by the glaciers that came through the area umpteen years ago.

  Bell pulled into the park adjacent to the lake and took the curving, narrow drive around the perimeter. “We came here in the fall last year. That’s when the birds migrate. They come through in early spring, too, but your mom was—she couldn’t come and see them this spring. We saw them in other years, though.”

  She couldn’t come and see them because she was lying partially paralyzed in a hospital bed, trapped in her body, fed in small bites and cared for by nurses around the clock. Once again tears rolled down my cheeks and this time I didn’t care if he saw them or not. My mother had been a vibrant, active woman. Her manner of death was a travesty. It was even more of a travesty if someone caused it, as Bell suspected.

  The thought chilled me. It was one thing to suppose Peter duped the authorities. It was another to accuse him of murder or attempted murder. Could he really have killed some poor homeless veteran and then returned to town to hurt my mother?

  Even as I questioned it, I knew the answer. Of course he could. Peter had been chillingly amoral, like a child who doesn’t know right or wrong, a child who cares only about me. Peter always saw the world in terms of what it could do for him or how it might affect him. Other people were obstacles or tools to be used. He used his charm and his boundless energy to manipulate people to do what he wanted.

  Bell pulled into a parking area on the eastern side of the lake, one of many small lots that could hold a dozen or so cars. There was no one else there today, but it was the middle of the week, so that wasn’t surprising. “This was one of her favorite spots. It has a clear view all the way across the lake.” He turned off the engine. “Do you want to go see?”

  I was already opening my door. “Over there, by the picnic tables?” I thought I recognized it from the photographs on Mom’s camera.

  He joined me and we walked the few yards to the tables set on a grassy area not far from the lake’s edge. The ground was spongy, not surprising given all the rain in the last few days, and it was a dark, glossy green. Beyond the grass was a rock-strewn bit of sandy beach, more for lounging than swimming. It all smelled clean and fresh, not pungent the way it would in middle summer when vegetation started to decay.

  “We would sit on the picnic table and your mom would toss bread in the water. Pretty soon a bird would show up and then another.” Bell sat on the bench of the table, turned so the surface was at his back. I sat next to him, staring at the lake and visualizing what he was saying. “It was funny. There was never a big flock of them, like there is when somebody feeds pigeons or geese. It was like the birds were being polite and not mobbing her.”

  I leaned back into the circle of his arm on the table behind me. Sunlight was warm on my face. I closed my eyes and could easily visualize my mother, her face flushed with cold and her dark blue eyes dancing with laughter when the birds came to her for their treats. “Never birds,” I murmured. “A Never bird rescued Peter in the book.”

  Bell’s arm tightened on my shoulders. “If we’re right about Peter…” His voice trailed away.

  “If we’re right about Peter, I hope no one rescues him,” I said flatly. I opened my eyes, returning to reality. “I need to go through the notebooks. There must be something in there from Dad. Something that will help us figure out what happened. Why did Mom copy pages that weren’t pertinent?”

  Bell was silent next to me. When he didn’t answer, I looked at him. He had that faraway look I recognized, that I’m in debugging mode and don’t bother me look. “What did your mother’s note say?” he asked in an equally faraway voice.

  “She said the papers rightfully belonged to me and she kept them secret because she wanted to spare me.”

  “She said does a week or a month matter, didn’t she?”

  I frowned, dredging up the memory of the note. “Yes, something like that, I think.”

  “That’s it. That’s the key. It’s not the physical key, but it’s the key to the notebooks.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t get it.”

  “She copied certain pages. The really important pages will be a week or a month different than the dates on the pages she copied.” He jumped up, pulling me to my feet. “Come on. There is something in those notebooks. We just have to find it.”

  I hurried after him while he raced back to the truck. We got inside and he drove as fast as the narrow park drive would allow to the main road, talking excitedly the entire time. “If I’m right, there must be something in the notebooks that can prove Peter was still alive even after Sylvia identified that body.”

  I caught a glimpse of movement in the rear-view mirror on my right. A blue pickup, old and rusty, puttered along behind us. It was the first car I’d seen since we entered the park except for a dark mini-van that followed us in. As we neared the exit, which was also the entrance, I saw the van still parked there.

  Bell made a right turn at the main county road and headed back toward town, picking up speed on the two-lane blacktop road. “I bet the reporters are camped out at your house. I left the notebooks at the hotel. We should go there.”

  “Why don’t you drop me at my house?” I suggested. “I’ll talk to the reporters for a few minutes and that might give you enough time to slip away.”

  “Good plan. It might even work. If you can stall them—”

  Crunching, grinding noise interrupted him. I was pushed forward, my seat belt keeping me from hitting the dash, but just barely. “What’s going—?”

  More crunching, crashing, and screeching as Bell slammed on the brakes. The truck continued forward, skewing on the road. It smelled terrible, the scent of burning rubber filling the cabin. “Damn it, the idiot behind us is hitting me. He’s pushing us.”

  I tried to swivel on the seat to peer behind us, but another violent crash jerked my head so sharply I swore I heard a muscle pop. “What’s he doing?”

  Bell jerked the steering wheel sharply to the right and the rear of the SUV skidded toward the opposite side of the road. “Hold on,” he shouted.

  I grabbed the door strap with my right hand but didn’t have time to grab anything else. The truck behind us slammed into the passenger side—my side—of the truck. I saw it coming and leaned as far away as I could. Bell let go of the wheel and threw himself over me.

  The world turned upside down.

  Chapter 12

  It was a repeat of that accident long
ago only this time it seemed to run in slow motion, as though it was a choreographed dance. Our truck slipped off the road and tumbled into a ditch. I think I screamed or maybe it was all in my head. I don’t know if I would have even heard myself it I did.

  The world was full of noise. Crunching, screeching, screaming metal, objects flying around the passenger cabin, Bell’s steady cursing. I stiffened, waiting for the air bags to deploy but they didn’t do a thing, a fact that barely registered amid the chaos. The car made noises, alarm sounds that dinged and buzzed and dinged again. Over all of it, the CD still played, Death Cab for Cutie singing I Will Follow You into The Dark. I fervently prayed that it wasn’t a prediction of what would come.

  I jerked and slammed into my seat belt, dangling there for seconds before the truck moved again, pushing me in another direction. I was vaguely aware of pain but mostly I was scared. I clung to Bell and it wasn’t until I realized he was lying completely over me that I also realized he must have unhooked his seat belt. “Get back,” I said, pushing at him. “You need to be strapped in—”

  The truck lurched again, crashing into something immovable. We settled to a stop on our side, the driver’s part of the SUV now underneath us and my door on top. An eerie silence drifted over us then the grinding sound of tortured metal was a prelude to another lurch, and another settling of the SUV. With a wheezing cough and shudder, the engine shut off and the dings and clicks shut off with it.

  “Get out.” Bell reached for my seat belt strap. “Get out, there’s water.”

  “What?” I barely heard him. My ears buzzed and everything was blurry.

  “Get out, Wendy. Come on, move.” He fumbled underneath me for the seat belt closure and it sprang free. I almost fell on top of him, stopping myself by grabbing for the door. “Open your door. I can’t do it from here. You need to open it. There’s water coming in.”

  Water. I smelled it now. Ditch water, not stagnant but also not clean. Pungent and warm-smelling with dirt and grass mixed in. I twisted in the seat and touched my door handle, now above me. I pulled up on the handle and pushed as hard as I could. The door didn’t budge. “That truck hit us on this side,” I gasped in between pushes. “I think it’s jammed. It won’t move.”

  “Okay. You’re right. It’s probably too crushed.” Bell sounded amazingly calm. I gave up on the car door and turned in the seat, putting a hand on the side of Bell’s seat to keep me from falling on him. He lay against the driver’s side window and was waist-deep in water, his legs completely covered. Blood dribbled down his face from a cut on his forehead and he clung to the steering wheel, using it to keep him away from the water filling that side of the car. “Go out the back. Climb over the seats and get the back hatch open.”

  “How deep is the water?” I managed to turn completely in my seat and wedge myself against the console, keeping me relatively stable. It was big enough to keep us separate if I didn’t move too much. I peered into the back of the SUV which was lit by sunlight filtering into the interior through the sun roof. “There’s water back there, too.”

  “There’s water all along the driver’s side. It’s not coming in the sun roof but if the truck settles any more it might. See if you can climb over the seat. The headrest might be in the way, but you should be able to adjust it. If you can get over it, you can climb out the back.”

  “What about you? Can you break out the windshield or something?”

  “I’m stuck. My foot got jammed when the truck went over. You’ll have to get out and get help somehow.”

  I gaped at him. “I can’t leave you here. Are you crazy?” I looked at the water, still around his waist but now slightly higher. “How deep is it?”

  “This is a steep ditch. We’ve had a lot of rain.” He smiled briefly but it was strained and I wondered what ‘jammed’ meant. Was his foot or ankle broken? “I doubt I’m going to drown but it’s damn uncomfortable. See if you can get out.”

  I nodded. “Okay. I’ll figure out something.” No way was I leaving him, but maybe I could find a way to free him. I twisted and put my right foot against the dash to get some leverage, but stunning pain made me scream out and drop back onto the console, which now served as my seat. “Shit. I think my ankle is broken.”

  Bell used the steering wheel to twist himself. “Let me see it.”

  I lay squished against the console, my ribs aching. It hurt to breathe deeply. “It’s okay,” I said, panting for breath. “I just need to be careful, that’s all.” Bell was counting on me. He was trapped and I wasn’t. It didn’t matter if my damn leg was broken. I had to get him out.

  “Let me see it,” he insisted.

  “It’s okay. Just let me try again.” I used my arms to push against the console and I managed to wiggle until I was poised to attempt to scale the passenger seat. I tried to look around, but my neck was so stiff. If I turned it, crazy pain shot down my right arm.

  “Hey!” A tapping sound came from somewhere.

  I twisted, landing on my side and resting partially on Bell, caught between the two front seats. I looked to my right, to what used to be the SUV roof. Murphy Black, the reporter I met the previous day, was perched on the side of the SUV, peering over the edge of the roof and into the glass sunroof.

  “Tom? Are you okay? We saw what happened.” He shifted position and the truck shifted with him. “Oh, shit. Damn. Hold on.”

  “Where did they come from?” I asked Bell, who was just a few inches away, reclining against the driver’s side of the car. The water was over his waist and inching up toward his chest. I tried not to panic when I saw that.

  “They must have been following us.” Bell sounded exhausted and he looked it, too.

  “Are you okay? How’s your foot? How bad are you hurt?” I touched his face, as much to comfort myself as him.

  “I banged up my ribs and probably sprained my ankle. How about you? How’s your foot?” He tried to sit straighter, but grimaced and rested back again, the water creeping ever higher.

  “I’m fine. Where are they? What are they doing?” I couldn’t shift position because if I did, my ribs hurt like crazy. I cautiously raised my head and saw Billy Juko peering into the car.

  “Hey, we called the police. They’re on the way.” He tried to smile but it looked forced.

  “We need to get out now.” I pointed downward. “There’s water.”

  “What?”

  “Water,” I shouted. “We’ve got water.”

  Juko crept over the edge of the SUV, raised himself up on his hands, and looked downward. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered. “Okay, hang on.” He carefully inched off the SUV. “Murphy! We got trouble here!”

  “No shit, we’ve got trouble.” I eased away from Bell until I was resting half in the passenger side foot well and mostly on the console. “Let me see if I can get your foot out.”

  “I think it’s under the brake.” Bell straightened and his right leg moved. “I think the gas pedal came loose or something, and my foot is stuck behind it.”

  Like a contortionist, I folded up my body as much as I could until I was almost completely in the foot well. I peered around the gear shift, resting my chin on its knob. From that vantage, I could see into the driver’s foot well, which was filled with muddy water.

  Through a series of careful maneuvers, I managed to wiggle my right arm downward. The truck shifted again, just as I touched Bell’s leg. “Careful,” he said through clenched teeth.

  I didn’t have any spare breath to reply. I ran my hand down his blue jeans in the mucky water, finally reaching his ankle. I traced the outline of his foot, closing my eyes to try to visualize what was there. “You’re right. Your foot is under the brake and it feels like something’s on top. Can you twist it a bit?”

  “I’m not sure. It might be broken.”

  I put my hand against the side of his foot and nudged it. “Okay?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not moving.”

  “We’re going to break out the window.” Juko tapped
on the passenger side window above me. “The windshield is probably too tough to break. Cover your face, okay?”

  I couldn’t twist enough to see him. “Okay,” I called back. I lowered my face, inches from the muddy water swirling around Bell’s legs. I felt him shift and cover his face with his arm. As he did, I nudged his foot again, trying to explore in the cloudy water without disturbing him. There was enough room for him to move if—

  “I’m going to take off your shoe,” I said. “If we can get it off, your foot will slip past the brake pedal. Hang on.” I scrabbled below me, unable to see anything, working by feel. I struggled with the laces, patiently picking at the loop.

  “Hang on in there!”

  I didn’t dare try to turn. I was so tangled up with Bell that if I did, I was liable to tip him further into the water or tip myself.

  “Get ready, Wendy. Keep your face down.” Bell put his hand on the back of my neck, keeping me turned from the window above me.

  A crunching, smattering sound echoed in the car. “What’s happening?” I slipped my hand around the heel of his shoe, trying to slide it off his foot.

  “They’ve got a tire iron. Hold on.”

  Another crunching, then another, then another. The SUV shuddered with each blow, each time tipping a little bit more and a little bit more. “Tell them to stop. We’ll tip over then we’ll be totally in the water.” I tried to ease back, but Bell kept his hand on my neck.

  “One more,” he shouted. “It’s almost out.”

  “Bell, they’ll push us over completely if they—”

  Smash! Glass fell around us, small rectangular chunks. At the same moment, Bell jerked, his shoe catching on the brake pedal. I felt it drift to the floor of the car when his leg came free. His momentum turned me and I almost went face-first into the muck. Then he caught me in his arms, pulling me against him.

  “Get up there,” he said. “Take your sweater and cover your hands. There might be glass in the opening.” He kissed me quickly then pushed me away. I was wet along the right side of my body from lying in the water with him.