Todd’s voice grew playful, “Look over there, dollie. There’s Richland Lake. Or wait, is it Barton Hills?”
He has absolutely lost it. These are my final moments, and I’m wasting them with this nutjob.
Her face became more flushed with the passing seconds. “I’ve had enough. Take me down now.”
“Are you ready to admit I can fly yet? That I’ve got what it takes? Or is your pride gonna get in the way? You just can’t stand to see your sweetie succeed at something, can you? Hey… what are those little things dancing on the windshield?”
Todd’s eyes glossed over as he peered toward Lorrie.
“Todd, you mixed the Percocet and the lithium, didn’t you? You’re going to pass out any minute.”
“That’s the idea. I’m ready for this to be over.”
“These medications are messing you up. Let’s get you back on the ground, and we’ll get you some help.”
“I’d rather be in the ground.” He laughed in an uncontrollable loop.
“Todd, you are scaring me. Dear God, you’re really scaring me.”
“I’m sorry, Lorrie. It’s um… it’s um… oh gosh… not another one. I’m clammy.”
“Do not faint. Do not faint on this plane, you hear me? Take deep breaths. Breathe in… breathe out… If you kill me in the air, I swear I’ll haunt you.”
Todd’s face grew pale, the plane plummeted, and he fainted. Lorrie lurched over the console to take control of the aircraft with only a couple of pieces of tape stuck to the top of her blue jeans.
“Oh, please God… Give us another chance… Give us another chance,” she cried out.
. . . . .
KATRINA and Chris Wilkerson traversed across Richland Lake in their speedboat. Katrina searched for aquatic inspiration for an art project as their stereo played Billy Squier.
It’s time to call it quits, she thought. I can’t take the impulsive decisions and disregard for others any longer. Scaring everyone significant in our life away… day by day. Life apart will be better. He can keep the townhome. I’ll take the estate. We’ll take some time to ourselves and regroup later.
An escalating noise came from the sky as a small plane took an unnatural nose dive toward the shoreline. It crashed into the trees about a mile away.
“What was that?” Katrina asked. “There’s no landing strip out this way, right?”
“I don’t know. Let’s go back to shore and check it out.”
They headed toward the site of the crash at above-average speeds. Katrina attempted to stabilize her art collage in momentary frustration with Chris’s reckless boat navigation.
Son of a gun. This guy can’t do anything safe, can he?
They sped across the top of the water, breezing toward the shore. Katrina lost her footing twice.
“Come on. Be careful!” she yelled.
She scurried across the deck as she carried the project. They continued to speed up, and she slipped, hitting her head as a cascading world of fog surrounded her.
Just like mom. Trauma to the head.
Chris jogged across the boat, raising his voice to get her attention, “Katrina! Katrina! Stay with me, honey.”
He tried to wake her, but there was no response. She lay on the boat deck facing the sky, eyes open, her body motionless.
Chris hovered above. While trying to give her CPR, beads of his salty sweat poured from the top of his head onto her face, and the plane crash became insignificant. Loading Katrina into the black Town Car, Chris laid her out across the rear seat. Without a single pay phone in reaching distance, he would have to rush her to Riverton General Hospital (RGH) on his own. By the time they arrived, Katrina was unconscious.
FALL 1982
CHAPTER FOUR
BOB “LIVEWIRE” JAMES remained busy wiring intercoms for RGH’s new emergency announcement system. He maintained a look he considered well-defined — black jeans, a matching t-shirt, and a tight ponytail. His eyeglasses were reminiscent of John Lennon. He tested the speakers as a nurse exited a room with her head hanging low and dejected.
What’s her deal?
He peered around the corner as he pulled the wire through the exposed ceiling tiles. Within the room, a man trembled, staring at what Livewire assumed was a significant other lying in bed, unconscious, hopeless, and helpless.
The man talked to himself or prayed. “I will do anything… anything to have my Katrina back.”
I guess I’ll go see what I can do. The guy don’t have no one else to talk to.
Livewire walked into the room, never acknowledged by the distraught man. Peering around the room, he struggled to see the patient behind the slew of medical equipment and devices as their hum and beeps sustained her.
Looks like this chick’s got no chance.
As the burly red-headed man wiped tears from his eyes, he interrupted, “Has she been out a while?”
“It’s been a little while now. Boating accident.”
“Well, at least she ain’t dead… yet. There’s always hope.”
“I’m sorry. Who are you?”
I hope he can’t smell the Old Tymer’s. Bein’ snakebit by whiskey at 2 in the afternoon will be the end of me.
Livewire extended his hand toward the man to introduce himself.
“Bob James, Riverton A/V. Just call me Livewire. And you?”
“Chris Wilkerson… Livewire, huh?”
“Yeah. Just a nickname the guys at the shop call me. It’s nice to meet you.”
“What are you doing in here?”
“Sorry.” Livewire walked toward the doorway and turned around. “Say, I don’t know if you’re much of a believing man. You know… about the things and powers that are beyond this world, but I’ve heard of a place. Somewhere you should see, you know. Where she might be… healed — where some kind of higher power can help.”
Chris’s eyes squinted as he aspirated. “God? A church? Is that what you mean? This is a hospital. Isn’t this where a coma patient should be? Isn’t this the place?
“Oh, no. No. There’s an urban legend about a place over there in the Oak Hollow District. You much into superstition?”
Chris looked up at him, his eyes rolling. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’ll believe just about anything
