She reached for the door handle, paused, and turned back to me.
“Um, are you sure you’ll be all right getting home tonight?”
She didn’t want me to come inside, which was why she hadn’t offered me a cup of coffee.
Under different circumstances, I might have taken her up on her non-offer just to wind her up but felt I would be the one who came off worse if I accepted.
“I’ll be fine. Be careful on the way out. The door handle sticks sometimes.”
She yanked on it and, as promised, the door wouldn’t open.
She yanked harder but it still wouldn’t open.
“You have to pull on the handle and shoulder the door at the same time,” I said.
Trudy gave me a look that promised her presence wouldn’t be much of a problem in the future.
She did as I suggested and the door flew open.
She barely managed to catch herself before falling out.
She slammed the door behind her and trudged up the path to her front door.
I waited until she was inside before pulling out.
My parents’ farm was another ten miles down the freeway.
Ten miles of freedom.
It was the best part of the whole day.
I made the slow circle back to the freeway and waited for two cars that passed before pulling out.
The cars’ tail lights were lost within minutes.
Thick American Elms reared up on either side of the freeway, pointing like spears at the overcast skies.
I needed to think about what I was going to do next with my life.
For three months I’d been contemplating the same question and I still had no answer.
It felt like I was waiting for something.
But what?
I had no idea, but it was a prickling sensation at the back of my mind, daring me to do otherwise.
Eventually, I would have to confront what happened to my abducted friend and the role I played in it.
She never would have approached the stranger if it wasn’t for me.
Whatever happened to her was my fault.
I felt the familiar hot wad form in the back of my throat, ticklish and stinging.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and kept my grip firmly on the steering wheel.
The darkness closed in around me, fitting tightly like a shroud.
I’d grieved for my missing friend many times over the past year but never found much relief.
I got the feeling she was still out there somewhere, still alive.
I couldn’t explain how I knew that, I just did.
It was the kind of feeling that would never go away, not until someone presented me with her body on a cold slab.
I shook my head of the idea and focused on the road.
I arched around the broad swell of Phoenix Lake.
From here, the random neon green and blue flashes of lightning reflected off the lake’s dimpled surface.
That’s when I heard it:
A thunderous neon blue explosion and a screeching cry at complete odds with the booming thunder from earlier.
A glint of moonlight winked off the metal frame of the plummeting object.
“Oh my God!”
The metal craft zipped through the air, its tail green with fire as it careened toward the road—my road!
Right where I was driving.
I grabbed the wheel with both hands and swung it around.
The metal screamed as if in pain as it grew louder—and bigger!—in my windscreen.
My previous swerve brought me directly into its line.
I swerved again.
The entire pick-up shuddered as the object slammed into the lake’s surface, sending up a high wall of water that splashed over my pick-up.
It obliterated any view I might have had and I slammed on my brakes.
The wheels lost their grip and spun around in a wide arc.
I slammed my feet on the brakes again, screamed, and shut my eyes.
The pick-up jerked violently as it came to a stop.
For the longest time, I just sat there, staring out the windscreen, my hands clenching the wheel so firmly my knuckles turned white.
My breaths came in short shallow panicked bursts and I must have struck the indicator at some point as it flashed, casting sporadic pools of orange light across the muddy surface of the lake’s edge.
And there, poking out from the water’s surface, a tall shard of metal that appeared to be the tail of an airplane.
It slowly sank beneath the surface.
I should get out and jump in the water, I told myself. I should get out, swim down there, and rescue the pilot.
But I wasn’t a good swimmer and knew without a shadow of a doubt that if I tried to rescue anybody from the depths, I would only add an extra tally to Death’s quota for the evening.
The shard inched further into the lake, displaced by bubbles of gas.
And within moments, the shard disappeared beneath the surface.
Rain patted my pick-up’s roof and the window wipers continued to slash at the windscreen.
I reached down and turned them off in an attempt to wipe the memory from my mind as easily.
Stupid!
I turned the wipers back on.
I reached into my pocket and came out with my cellphone.
A single bar of signal, but it was enough.
I thought carefully about what I was going to say.
An airplane crashed into Phoenix Lake and the pilot is still inside.
Even saying it now, it was hard to believe.
I dialed the number.
Suddenly, a new disturbance erupted on the water’s surface.
Not bubbles of oxygen, but a solid lump.
A figure.
He tossed back his head and spurted a mouthful of oxygen.
Then he reached toward the shore, wading weakly toward it.
My call was answered:
“911. What’s your emergency?”
I dropped the phone and leaped out of the pick-up.
I ran to the edge of the lake.
The figure was male, I thought, and flailed, struggling to reach the shore.
I kicked off my shoes and waded into it.
I reached out and snatched his arm.
He was heavy and almost took me under with him.
Luckily, my feet were still on solid ground.
It slipped beneath my feet but together we inched up the shallow incline.
Later, I would wonder how I managed to pull him up there, him being so much bigger than me, but I did it.
My
