Surrogate (15 page)

What if someone they loved were dying?
he wondered. 
Would they move then?

Guy Matthews pointed up ahead.  “There’s the wreck.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dallas responded.  Although he knew Guy was just trying to be helpful, stating the obvious was definitely one of his annoying traits.

As if the wreck wasn’t obvious by all the people standing around and the way cars tooled past like there was a show going on.
 Yeah, somebody was dying.  Is that what they wanted to see?

Cops were already there and trying to herd people out of the way so the fire truck could park as close as possible.  Dallas cut the engine and jumped out of the engine to ascertain as much as he could before they started.

He was halfway to the wreck when he saw the yellow car, or what was left of it.  He was approaching from the rear, and for some reason, his gaze drifted to the license plate, taking in the letters.  That was his first mistake.

He knew that car.

“Deb!” he yelled, suddenly sprinting toward the car.  He felt everyone watching him, but all he could do was look ahead at his wife’s car.

People were yelling at him, but he couldn’t hear them over his heartbeat.  One guy, he didn’t have a clue who, tried to grab him, but he wrestled free and kept running until he reached the driver’s door.  Then he understood.

Deb was covered in blood and lying against the seat.  The scarlet made her hair unnaturally auburn.  Her eyes were opened, but she didn’t look at him.

“Deb!” he yelled, thinking she was just in shock.  They needed to get her out of the car now!

“Get the Jaws!” he screamed, trying to open her door.  It wouldn’t give.  The frame of the car was too badly bent.

“Let us do it,” a voice said, lightly grabbing his shoulder.

“No!  That’s my wife!”  He turned to see Greg Vinley there, his best friend and a cop on the Rochester Police Department.

“I know.  We’ll get her.” Greg said calmly.

“She’s bleeding out!  We have to move now!  She’s pregnant!”  He tried to jerk free.

“Dallas, she’s already gone.”

“No!” Dallas jerked the door harder, desperate to get it open.  That’s when he looked inside the car.  The front half of the car was compacted into the front seat, and the lower half of Deb’s body was crumpled in with the wreckage.  The baby was dead and so was Deb.

Dallas jerked upright in his bed, and even as he opened his eyes, he knew he was crying.  For a moment, it was all he could do just to rock back and forth, waiting for the world to stop spinning.  He felt so cold and he wished to hell he’d been in that car when it wrecked.  At least that way he would have been with Deb and the baby, not stuck here, wondering what the point was without them.

He didn’t know how long he sat there until the tears stopped falling enough so that he could wipe them away and clear the haze.  The red of the digital clock near his bed caught his eye, 2 a.m.

He shook his head and turned on the light.  That’s when he saw the newspaper on his bed where he’d left it.  There were two images underneath the headline “Local Woman Survives Killer Wreck.”  One was of Carrie Williams and one was of the destroyed car where she should have died.  Just like his wife.  What was so special about Carrie to have thwarted the odds?  What was her secret?

He grabbed the paper and threw it against the wall.  Then he grabbed few books and chunked them as well, the sound of the hardbacks clattering against the wall the only comfort he had against the chilly air and the pain in his heart he couldn’t seem to leave behind no matter how hard he tried.  And he did.  But the nightmares always found him.  Always.  And he was tired…so tired.

He had a third book in hand when his bedroom door swung open.  His sister, Mary, stood there, one hand resting on her swelled belly and the other on the doorknob.

“Dallas!  What’s wrong?”

He lowered the book, immediately ashamed.  It was a nightmare, and he should never have woken his sister.  She was pregnant and needed her sleep.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, refusing to look her in the eye, afraid of what she’d see.

“Are you all right?” she asked, stepping into the room.  Her long hair framed her face, making her appear younger than she was, but the fatigue was evident in her expression. 

“I’m fine.” He said.  “Go back to sleep.”

“I thought I heard you call out.  Did you have a nightmare?”  She walked over to the bed and sat down.

“I’m fine.”  He stiffened as she leaned close to him, and although she meant to comfort him, he wanted to wallow in his anger over Carrie Williams’s survival.  It seemed that bright shard of emotion was the only thing which brought him comfort these days.

Mary looked at the wall and then at the books that lay there.  Finally, she saw the newspaper with Carrie’s picture.  She took a deep breath, walked to the newspaper, and gently picked up the newspaper to study it.

“Perhaps you should maybe look for a different job,” she suggested softly.

     “And what good would that do?”  Despite his best effort to reign in his emotions, his voice took on an edge.

     “You need to get past…this.”  She set the newspaper on the dresser near the door.

     “Get past what, Mary?  The fact that the Williams woman survived when Deb didn’t?”  He raked his fingers through his hair.

     “This isn’t about Carrie.  It’s not her fault that she lived.”

     “Nor is it Deb’s fault she died.  Apparently nothing is anyone’s fault, but I have to live with it.”  He stood and paced around the room, suddenly feeling way too confined.

Mary looked at him, her hand still resting on her belly, and he suddenly thought again of the child he would never have.  How could he expect his sister to understand what it was like to have her child ripped away from her before he or she ever opened his or her eyes.  It left him cold and broken.  Every death since his wife’s had stayed with him.  There were just too many to keep inside.

     “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.  “I thought that moving here would help, but I guess it hasn’t.”

     He walked to the window sill.  “You want me to forget.  I know that.  But I can’t.  And if you had lost as much as I had, you wouldn’t be able to either.”

     As he brushed his finger tips on the window panes, he felt his sister watching him, wanting him to turn and face her, but he wasn’t going to.  He didn’t want to see the pity in her eyes.

Chapter Eleven

That night, Robbie found himself struggling with the same nightmare, and he woke bathed in sweat.  A cold streak ran through him, stealing his breath, and he felt himself gulping air like he just couldn't take in enough.  At first, he thought it was just the dream that had disturbed his sleep, but then he heard the rumble of thunder.  Rain suddenly pecked the windows, sounding like hail.

     Even from where he'd sat up in bed, he saw the furious bolts of lightning dancing violently across the sky, and he wondered how long the storm had been brewing before he'd woken.  He didn't usually sleep through severe weather, but then again, he was beginning to accept his life had become anything but normal.

     Storms really didn't much bother him; Carrie, on the other hand, hated them.  She'd always had a fear of tornados, and furious storms usually kicked that fear into overdrive, which is what caused Robbie to look to the other side of the bed, where he expected to find to wife cowering beneath the covers, trying to hide from all facets of the storm.

     What he discovered instead was that the blanket had been thrown back, leaving the sheets exposed and almost white with each lightning strike.  In short, the bed was empty, and he was alone.

     "Carrie?" he called, raking his fingers through his hair.  His heart was still beating frantically, and while he'd thought he could calm his frayed nerves, that was before he saw the other side of the bed was empty.

     Had Carrie taken off again?  In this?

     "Carrie!"  He yelled even louder, hoping she'd answer him.  Only the sound of her voice was going to stop the chaos building inside of him.

     A huge cut of lightning split open the sky, and it lit up the room, spotlighting the empty bed.  It was quickly followed by a menacing clap of thunder.  Robbie paused for a moment, waiting for Carrie to answer, but none came.  There was only the storm.

     "Damn it."  He propelled himself out of bed.  With any luck, Carrie was just in the kitchen, wide awake from the storms and getting a snack to soothe her frayed nerves.  Then again, Robbie wasn't counting on luck.  He hadn't had much of that lately.

     Another crash of lightning illuminated the bedroom, and he glanced over at the chair by the dresser, where he'd set a pair of jeans for tomorrow.  Without thought, he marched over, grabbed the pants, and tugged them on, all the while still calling for Carrie.

     The storm seemed to worsen, and Carrie didn't answer.  By the time he'd reached the mudroom, he knew why.  She wasn't even in the house.  He gritted his teeth, slipped on his work boots,  and headed outside, not caring that he hadn't grabbed a shirt.  The driving rain was just going to plaster it against his body, anyhow, so what difference would it make?

     He debated whether to go look for her at the edge of the drop, where she might have gone for a moonlit swim or back to the site of the accident.  He figured she was in one of the two places because he just couldn't puzzle out any new hiding spots.   What he really wanted to know was why.  Why the hell would she leave their warm, dry bed and slip out into the night with a violent storm that could turn dangerous at any moment?  What was she thinking?  Granted, Carrie didn't always pay attention to her own safety, but usually she kept her focus on the life growing inside her, knowing that if she got hurt, the baby would, too, and Carrie wouldn't hurt it.  She couldn't.

     Except by accident.

     Beyond frustrated, Robbie threw open the back door and shoved the screen wide as his hands felt for keys.  Yes, he'd shoved them in the pocket earlier, but he was still hoping he wouldn't need them.  Still, he'd learned long ago to always be prepared, whether he wanted to be or not.

     "Carrie!" he yelled, but even as he stepped outside, he wasn't ready for the wind.  It was one thing to hear the storm while safe behind solid walls but another to feel it trying to shove you back into the house.  Every step took work and determination and also added to the fears he had about his wife's safety.  She never should have left the house.  Now he had to find her before something else bad happened--if it hadn't happened already.

     Lightning flashed all around him, and even though he tried to take in his surroundings, the momentarily brilliance seared itself into his vision, making everything blur.  He waiting for his sight to return, yet by the time it did, the rain beat down that much harder, almost like hail.

     Another fork, of lightning--this time much closer as it struck a tree.  The air seemed to pop and snap as the lightning sizzled into the bark and snapped the branch from the trunk of the old oak.  Robbie, standing beneath it, knew the branch was falling toward him and darted ahead, just in time.  The branch tumbled to the ground where he'd just stood.  He was out of breath and slightly panicked but alive. 

     Where was Carrie?

     He looked around, but between the darkness and the violent rain, he couldn't see anything besides vague shapes rising in the night.  No matter how loudly he called, his voice seemed lost in the violence swirling around him.  He doubted she could hear a word though he yelled at the top of his lungs.  Hell, the storm was so loud he could barely hear himself.  The world had given in to chaos and that chaos seemed to have consumed them both.

     Worried, he tried to run toward the cliff's edge, but he considered himself lucky to even still be moving forward at all against the raging wind.  The rain pelted his body, cold and hard, but he knew it wouldn't have mattered if he'd worn a shirt.  It would have been just as wet and cold as his skin by now.

     Once Robbie had finally reached the cliff, he blinked a few times, trying to clear the rain from his eyes, yet no matter how hard he worked at it, there was always more.

     More thunder and lightning.  The rain was pouring down harder.  Hell, had the weathermen predicted this storm?  He tried to remember but couldn't, and it didn't matter.  Carrie was all that mattered.

     He scanned the water.  It was roiling, strewn with whitecaps as wave after wave pummeled the shore.  The world spun in the crash of water on rocks--the wind, the thunder.  It all blurred.

     "Carrie!" he yelled again, but his voice was lost in the violence around him.  Frustrated, he set his hand just above his eyes, trying to block the rain so he could see the water below.  The moment he peered downward, he realized that even with the violent lightning flashing off the water, he couldn't see anything in the water.  If Carrie were down there, she probably wouldn't still be floating.  The storm was far too wild and dangerous.  If she had gone swimming, she would be far below the surface now, far beyond any help he could give her.