Desperate Whispers by Jessa Ely |
Chapter One “Hey, Rachel, leaving for the night?” Deputy Wade Jackson rolled by in his squad car. He
was a good friend of Rachel’s as well as her best friend’s live-in
boyfriend. Turning the key in the door to The Bookrack Café,
Rachel waved and said, “Yes. Long day.” Raindrops hit her in the face.
The irritating wetness trailed down her glasses, making it impossible to
see through the streaks. She held her hand over the frames, peering at
him. The icy rain pelted her skin. “How are you?” “Could be better. There are flash flood warnings
all over the county, and it’s colder than a whore’s titty out here,
respectfully of course,” he said with a grin. She snorted a laugh. “Really, Deputy? Is that the
official word from the national weather service, or have you been
dipping into Greta’s Alabama vocabulary again?” Rachel’s bestie, Greta Marshal, was originally from
Rainbow City, Alabama. They had bonded after a snow storm burst the
water pipes in Greta’s clothing store next to Rachel’s café. Their
friendship was sealed over water cleanup and coffee. Greta had a unique
grasp of the English language that others blushed over. She was a dear
friend, sharing all her secrets and a love of chocolate so deep they’d
love to see made into its own food group. Wade smirked. “I actually tamed her version.” Translation: Greta’s was probably more vulgar. Laughing, Rachel shook her head. “I hear ya.” The
rain seeped into her wool dress, sticky and uncomfortable, and the cold
wind sliced a wicked bitch-slap to her face. “Look, I better head home.
Tell her hello for me.” Wade nodded. “Want me to follow you? I’m serious
about the flash flood advisory.” His tone reverted to business with
heavy concern. Rachel shook her head. “No, I’ll be careful.” As
she took her first step off the sidewalk, her foot slipped into an
unforeseen puddle, and she stumbled into the side of her car.
Great, she thought. Her simple dress flats
were soaked, and the front of her dress had absorbed a lake-sized pool
of water from the hood. She held up a hand. “I’m good.” With another
wave, she made it into her car. Wade honked and drove away. She started her car, shivering as her teeth
rattled, and flipped on the heat. She’d only had this car about two
months, but she was thankful she’d traded up because it came complete
with heated seats and a GPS. While her ass warmed, she’d never get lost.
It was the perfect combination. The radio was full of weather warnings,
so she pushed in a CD, ignoring the droll advisories. Rachel had lived
here all her life, so she wasn’t worried. Suddenly, against her will, her thoughts took her
captive. It happened a lot when she was alone, this mental
battering. She hated it. Her self-loathing returned and with it, the
very reason she hated being alone, why she clamored after human contact
so fiercely. If she allowed herself to think, then
he came to haunt her. The Kujo of her past had claws, but she fought it,
shutting the memory as quickly as possible. The last thing she needed
was to be driving down a rainy, dark road with that
nightmare floating through her head. Yet, it was no use. The memory bank
opened, flooding her mind in rapid succession. By her estimation, there were two kinds of victims:
one who felt accountable for the mistakes of others or someone like her,
someone with a victim badge. In her case, a rape badge. Eleven years had passed, but she was every bit the
victim now that she was then. She had sunk more deeply than she allowed
anyone to know. Shrugging away the memory, she forced herself to
feel numb. She tightened her hands on the steering wheel, dragging in a
calming breath. The rain continued to hammer her car. Her phone rang, tying through to the console of her
car and cutting off the music. “Hello?” “Tea Rose? Oh, thank God. Are you okay?” Greta’s
frantic voice filled the interior, so clear and filled with concern. Rachel loved Greta dearly. She was the ideal best
friend, calling at odd hours of the day or night. Even her nickname was
unusual, relating to how Rachel reminded Greta of her grandmother’s
favorite china, delicate and soft. “Yeah, just heading home,” Rachel said, squinting
through the rainy windshield. Greta huffed. “Why didn’t you come to my house
after work? The weather is shit-assed-fucked. We’re under a tornado
warning.” Her offer wasn’t a bad idea, only a little late.
“I’ll be fine,” Rachel said. “It’s a normal storm for this time of
year.” “Well, I grew up under threats of tornados too,
missy, but I still take precautions.” “I’m almost to the bridge. Another five minutes,
I’ll be home.” Even as she said it, hail the size of quarters pelted her
new car with pinging clarity. She reduced her speed, but the force of
the ice particles continued to pound as lightning flashed. “What’s that? God, are you okay?” Greta’s tone was
worried. Rachel laughed nervously. “Keep your hair on,
Alabama. It’s only a little hail.” “Hail? Jesus!” Greta snorted. “You’re probably
driving beside the twister as we speak. Didn’t you see the movie?” “Breathe, Greta. You’re making this worse.” As Rachel came up over the hill, her eyes widened.
The lake had risen since the morning, and three inches of water covered
the bridge. She slowed her speed, pressing onward, but she didn’t
mention it to Nervous Nelly. She would freak. “Sorry, Tea Rose. Just stay with me until you get
home, okay?” “Will do…” The line went dead as the front end of the car
touched the metal bridge. The music returned, but Rachel quickly shut it
off, focusing on her driving. She tried not to panic, easing her car
through the water. Not the best idea, obviously, but she kept going,
pushing the limits until she reached the other side. She breathed sigh
of relief but cringed as lightning flashed again, followed by a sonic
boom of thunder. After the bridge, the road would incline but then
descend into a low dip. If she could make it through that, she’d be
nearly home. The phone buzzed but only briefly. She was sure it
had been Greta, but the storm had knocked it out again. A measure of
panic swarmed her belly in tight knots. She’d made it this far, only
minutes remained. She could try calling Greta as soon as she was safely
home. As she rounded the top of the hill and descended
downward, she gasped. The road was flooded, and she was smack in the
middle. Before she could decide what to do, her brand new car stalled.
The rain battered in hard slices with a symphony of wind while the
thunder competed for elevating octaves. She was screwed, scared, and
alone. Her decision was instant: seek higher ground. She
tossed her glasses on the car seat, knowing they wouldn’t help in the
downpour. She was far from a hand wringer—she could do this. She crawled
out of her warm car, deciding to hoof it home in this crazy storm. She walked through the flooded abyss, gasping as
icy rain hit her face. “God, this is miserable,” she muttered, treading
through the murky puddles. She stumbled over a rock and fell to the ground.
The squishy earth oozed over her hands and knees. She managed to right
herself, yet she struggled over the muddy surface. Dress flats were not
ideal hiking gear. She grappled with the goopy soil, and she jumped as
the sky boomed overhead. The roar of the wind ripped through her skull.
Her teeth chattered, and her body ached from the blistering cold. The
rain assaulted her, and it was all she could do to stay on two legs with
the damp weight of her wool dress plastered to her shivering skin. She wanted to cry, but she choked down her pity
party. She was incensed to keep moving. Another blast of wind collided with her unstable
equilibrium. She slipped, sinking into the muck. Pain exploded in her
left temple as it made contact with a rock, neutralizing her ability to
think or move. She wanted to get up, but darkness laid out its welcome
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