Holiday Fantasy

by Adrianne Byrd

  He rolled his luggage to United’s business class line and went straight up to the counter. The woman there greeted him with a big smile.

  “Good evening,” Mark said. “I’m supposed to fly out tonight, but I’d like to change my plans.”

  “I can certainly help you with that. What’s the name on the reservation?”

  “Potter. Mark Potter.”

  The woman typed on her keyboard. “Ah, I see it. We have a flight at eight tomorrow morning to O’Hare, and one at nine-fifty-five. I can check later in the day as well.”

  “Actually,” Mark began, “I’m not sure when I’ll be leaving. Let’s keep it open.”

  “Mark…”

  It was the faintest of sounds, a whisper in the room.

  “Mark…”

  He opened his eyes. There was Andrea, at the foot of his bed, her arms outstretched to him.

  Mark scrambled to a sitting position. “Andrea. H-how, w-what?”

  “I need you, Mark.”

  Mark felt a moment of confusion. “I’m right here. What is it?”

  “I’m in trouble, Mark. Help me.”

  He leaned forward and reached for her, but couldn’t quite touch her fingers no matter how hard he tried.

  And then Andrea disappeared, literally evaporated into thin air.

  “Andrea!” Mark yelled. “Andrea!”

  His eyes popped open. Mark was stunned to find himself lying on the hotel bed, his heart racing.

  He’d been dreaming.

  He sat up as a breath oozed out of him. A dream? That was almost hard to accept, it had seemed so real.

  Guided by the moonlight coming into the room, Mark climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom. There, once he turned on the light, he splashed cold water on his face, then looked at his reflection in the mirror.

  His heart lurched when he saw Andrea in the mirror.

  He whirled around. Found himself alone.

  Damn it, something was wrong. Either that or he was losing his mind. But he had a strange feeling, a feeling that told him the dream hadn’t been just a dream. That somehow, some way, Andrea had been reaching out to him to let him know that she was in trouble.

  “How crazy is that?” Mark asked his reflection.

  Entirely.

  Mark went back to bed, determined to get some sleep.

  By the next morning, instead of feeling like he was paranoid, Mark was more certain than ever that Andrea was in trouble.

  Once he’d fallen asleep, he dreamed the same dream again—only this time, much more vividly. He pictured a blue car spinning out of control and flying off a bridge in an industrial area. The scenery was so real to him, like he had seen it in the light of day rather than just dreamed it. He knew the bridge was over a ravine with lots of trees. He also knew this bridge was near a railroad track, one he had the feeling wasn’t in use anymore.

  With every fiber of his being, Mark believed that the place he had dreamed of was indeed real.

  He wasn’t exactly sure what to do, so after calling his office and having a light breakfast, he called Mama’s Place.

  “Good morning. Thank you for calling Mama’s Place,” a woman said in a pleasant voice.

  “Hello,” Mark began. “I’m looking for Andrea Dawson. Is she in?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. No.” The woman paused briefly. “Are you a friend of Andrea’s?”

  Mark leaned forward in the room’s leather chair. “Yes, I am. Has something happened to her?”

  The woman sighed. “That’s what the police think.”

  “The police?” Mark asked, unable to mask the alarm in his voice.

  “Uh-huh. We thought she just didn’t show up yesterday, but she’s missing. Anyone who knows Andrea knows she’d never abandon her son.”

  “Her son?” Mark swallowed hard. If she had a son, then she must have a husband. A husband who would no doubt be looking for her.

  “It’s so awful. She’s just vanished.”

  Mark wanted to ask more about her son and husband, but knew that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was finding Andrea. Because now more than ever, he knew that his instincts had been dead-on. No one would believe him, but somehow, some way, Andrea had reached out to him for his help.

  Why not her husband’s?

  Pushing that thought out of his mind, Mark scrambled out of the chair and hurriedly dressed. Andrea was trapped somewhere in her car. It didn’t matter who found her.

  He was debating whether or not he should stop to call the police, but decided that he could do that on the road.

  Right now, he needed to get to Andrea. And the sooner the better.

  The trouble was, Mark had no clue where to start.

  He drove to Mama’s Place, and circled that area extensively, hoping for some sign of something he recognized from his dream. More than an hour later, he felt somewhat defeated when he saw nothing suspicious.

  He pulled the car into a building parking lot and reached for his cell phone. He dialed information to get the local number for the Buffalo police.

  Minutes later, he was calling them.

  “Hi,” he said when a man answered the phone. “I’m wondering who I should speak to about a missing person.”

  “Hold a moment, please.”

  Mark held, listening to elevator music through his phone, until finally someone else came on the line. “This is Detective Shaw.”

  “Hello, Detective Shaw. My name is Mark Potter, and I’m calling about an Andrea Dawson. I understand she’s missing.”

  “Yes, that’s right. She was reported missing last night.”

  Mark hesitated, not sure how to phrase what he had to say. “I think I have…I may have information.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “This is going to sound weird, but I had a dream. I got this vision of where she might be.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. And I’m pretty sure she’s over an overpass somewhere. Trapped in her car.”

  “Ahh, I see,” the cop said, in a cynical voice. “So you’re some kind of psychic?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that. I just had this dream, like Andrea was calling to me for help. It was very real.”

  “Thanks for your call,” the detective said dismissively. “The department will take your information into consideration.”

  “Wait,” Mark said. “You-you’re not going to do anything?”

  “First—I can’t begin to tell you how many overpasses there are in the city and surrounding area. And second, we get all kinds of calls from psychics and nothing ever pans out.”

  “But I’m not—”

  Mark stopped talking when he heard the dial tone in his ear.

  Great. The cop thought he was a raving lunatic. His story did sound crazy. He understood that. But as offbeat as it seemed, he knew his dream had revealed the truth to him.

  Mark groaned in frustration as he started the car. If the cops weren’t going to help him, he’d just have to keep searching for her. Buffalo wasn’t that big of a city. How long could it take him to find her?

  Four and a half hours later, Mark was tired and frustrated. He’d surely covered every inch of Buffalo by now, and he still hadn’t found Andrea.

  “I’m doing something wrong,” he said as he drove back toward Mama’s Place. “What am I missing?”

  He had taken the interstate and driven for a while without getting any strong sense that he was going in the right direction. When he’d circled the Walden-Galleria Mall, he had seen a couple of areas of interest where a car could be hidden, but ultimately hadn’t seen a blue car stuck anywhere.

  “I know you want me to find her, God,” Mark said. “Show me which way to go.”

  Mark was in the left hand lane and slowed down to turn right into the airport. He was going to stop and think of another plan of action, but something told him he should keep going. He drove until he reached the main road again and headed in the direction of the 33 Expressway. He had gone t
hat way already, but he hadn’t veered off onto the interstate that would take him north, out of Buffalo.

  “Let this be the way,” he whispered silently. “God, let this be it.”

  Mark felt butterflies in his stomach when he saw the sign leading to Grand Island. “Grand Island,” he said aloud. “Grand Island. This could be it.”

  Was he really feeling strongly about this area, or was he simply desperate to find Andrea? He couldn’t be sure. He only knew that he was running out of time. The sky was starting to darken, and he would lose the light very soon.

  He continued to drive, hoping against hope, and decided to get off at the second exit on Grand Island. At the light, he looked both left and right—and instantly realized that there was an industrial area to his far right.

  Okay, he thought. I know I’m onto something.

  He turned right. Mark’s skin began prickling with each inch the car moved.

  He recognized the scenery, he realized, as if he had seen it before.

  He had—in his dream.

  A sense of nervous excitement started to fill him, making his hands sweat as they held the steering wheel. This is it, he told himself. I know it is.

  There was the large, gray building. And the gas station that looked abandoned.

  Mark jerked his car to the right. He was the only person driving on this road, so he slowed to a crawl. His eyes searched right and left for some sort of spot that a car could disappear from without anyone noticing.

  And then he saw it. An overpass.

  Not any overpass—the one he’d seen in his dream. Shrouded by many trees, a car could easily get lost in the brush if it fell over.

  Now he sped up, hurrying toward it. Lord have mercy, there were the train tracks, just beyond the bridge. Mark pulled his car to the side of the bridge and quickly shut it off.

  He scrambled out of his car and looked over the bridge. Beneath the trees, he could see train tracks—just like in his dream.

  “Andrea!” he yelled. He craned his body as far as he could over the railing and didn’t see anything.

  Standing upright, he quickly whipped his head around and looked at the other side of the bridge. Instantly, he saw the telltale sign of an accident. Even though the guardrail was covered with snow, it was obvious something had collided with it.

  “Oh my God.” Mark ran to that side of the overpass and stretched his body over the guardrail. The trees were thicker on this side, making it hard for him to see through the snow-covered branches.

  But this was it. He knew it.

  He ran back to his car to get his phone, and realized he had no clue where he was. So despite the fact that he wanted to stay here and search for Andrea in the ravine below the overpass, he knew he had to drive back to the main road so he could find out exactly where he was.

  He was already dialing 9–1–1 as he started his car.

  “9–1–1,” an operator said. “What’s your emergency?”

  “That missing woman, Andrea Dawson. You have to send help right away. I just found her car!”

  Chapter 5

  The fire truck was the first emergency vehicle to arrive. Mark drew in a relieved breath. He hadn’t wanted to venture down into the ravine before anyone arrived, for fear they wouldn’t find the right spot. But now that they were here…

  “Sir,” a firefighter said as he approached Mark. “There’s a car down there?”

  “Yes,” Mark replied, even though he hadn’t seen it. “You can see the impact with the guardrail right here.”

  The firefighter looked down into the ravine. “I don’t see anything.”

  “I know she’s down there,” Mark said. “I’m heading down.”

  “Sir…”

  But Mark was already hopping over the guardrail. “We don’t have time to waste. Within minutes, it will be too dark to see anything.”

  “Let us outfit you with a harness—”

  Mark started down the steep hill, ignoring the firefighters above. His heart deflated when he didn’t see the car. Could he be wrong?

  He pushed through the trees, straining his eyes to see shapes beneath the snow. And then his stomach dropped when he saw the unmistakable tail end of a car.

  “Down here!” he yelled. “It’s down here!”

  Mark began scrambling, sliding down the snowy slope because he couldn’t get his footing. “Andrea! Can you hear me?”

  If she was in that car…

  God, let her be alive, he prayed. Don’t let me be too late.

  “Andrea…”

  The sound creeped into Andrea’s subconscious. Was someone calling her name?

  She tried to move. Tried to open her eyes.

  Were there people around her? She thought she heard voices. But why couldn’t she open her eyes?

  She tried to speak. The truth was, her brain was so clouded, she didn’t even know what she wanted to say.

  Lord, she was tired. So very tired.

  Her brain tried to make sense of what was going on. Was something happening? Or was she hallucinating?

  She still couldn’t open her eyes, and suddenly she felt drained of energy. There was no point fighting sleep any longer. It was easier to drift away.

  Feeling entirely helpless, Mark stood back and watched as the rescue team secured Andrea in a stretcher. There had been a flurry of activity and excitement, complete with police, ambulance, and media crews. Mark stood to the side, keeping his eyes on the stretcher. He knew she was alive, but he didn’t know how she was doing. He had no clue if she’d even make it. He had asked one paramedic, and he’d been instructed to simply wait.

  Mark inhaled a frazzled breath. He wished there was something he could do.

  There was something, he realized. He could continue to have faith. He’d been led to Andrea by divine intervention. She was alive, and by God’s grace she would stay that way.

  Mark hadn’t expected the media attention.

  A couple hours after Andrea had been rushed to the hospital, he was giving a press conference at the hospital’s front entrance. There was a slew of media standing in front of him. Some had cameras and microphones, while some held notepads and pens. It had already been a very long day, with no signs of ending any time soon.

  “Mr. Potter—how did you know where Ms. Dawson was?”

  It was the same question the police and paramedics had asked him. There was only one answer he could give.

  “It’s a miracle,” he answered simply.

  “Mr. Potter,” someone practically shouted. “Can you elaborate?”

  Mark surveyed the crowd of curious reporters. He was tempted to tell them that he really didn’t want to be down here—he wanted to be upstairs with Andrea.

  But this was the holiday season, a season for miracles, and this was indeed a miracle. Any way you slice it, this would be a positive, uplifting news story, and perhaps a reason for those who had lost faith to believe again.

  “I had a dream,” he answered. “I had a dream that Andrea was trapped in a car somewhere and needed my help.”

  “Amazing,” he heard someone mutter.

  “Exactly how did you know where she was?” a male reporter asked.

  “I wasn’t sure. But I had a very vivid picture of a certain landscape, which turned out to be exactly where her car was.”

  “But how did you—”

  “How did I find this place I dreamed of?” Mark interjected. He shrugged. “It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. It took nearly all day of searching the neighborhoods in Buffalo. Finally, when I started toward Grand Island, I had a very strong sense that I was heading in the right direction, and when I did, I got the most overpowering feeling when I came to this overpass. It looked exactly like what I had dreamed about.”

  Reporters scribbled. Cameramen fought for the best angle.

  “So you believe this was a miracle?” a woman asked. “It was a miracle,” Mark replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Mr. Potter,” people called.r />
  “That’s the whole story,” he replied.

  “Who is Ms. Dawson to you?” someone yelled as he turned on his heel.

  The question stopped him cold. A bittersweet feeling washed over him. He remembered ten years ago, how much Andrea had meant to him then. And he remembered how she had broken his heart.

  There was a part of him that believed their meeting again was fate. But then, she had a son. So he was sure there had to be a man in the picture somewhere, whether or not she was married to him.

  “She’s a friend,” he replied softly, then turned to head into the hospital.

  Andrea had the distinct feeling that something was different. She abruptly opened her eyes.

  Where am I? she wondered as her eyes focused on the pale blue room. She turned her head to the right, feeling pain shoot through her neck as she did. There was a large window, letting in sunlight. Her gaze darted to the left, and she saw a door.

  This was a hospital, she suddenly realized.

  And then snippets of memory started to come back to her. The car. Driving. Careening off the overpass.

  Her heart started to race.

  Her car. Terrence! Good, Lord. Who was looking after Terrence?

  She reached for the nurse call button on her bed and began to press it in rapid succession.

  The door turned. As she whipped her gaze in its direction, all her anxiety ebbed away. Her heart melted at the sight of her son—in her mother’s arms.

  “Terrence.” She was surprised to hear that her voice was hoarse.

  Andrea’s mother, Gretta Dawson, broke out in a smile. “Oh, Andrea.”

  “Mummy, Mummy!” Terrence yelled. He wriggled his way out of his grandmother’s arms and bounded toward Andrea.

  “Terrence, be careful,” Gretta cautioned. “Your mother’s hurt.”

  “Mom, it’s okay,” Andrea said when Terrence stopped and looked at her with caution. She reached her right arm out in invitation. Her left arm was tightly bandaged and she could hardly move it. “Come here, baby.” She wanted to take Terrence in her arms and squeeze the heck out of him.