Disappearance (23 page)

One thing I can do now that I couldn't before is go back and see Tabby. If she's alive I want to know I did everything I could to help her. Although, at ninety miles per hour I can't just turn around at the nearest exit or make a U-turn on the highway. I would die trying. My only chance is to find an outer belt that allows me to circle around and head back south. I try to imagine the map in my head and know I can take the Louisville outer belt around until I merge back onto I-65 south. There may be a faster route but with no map I'd just get lost. This is going to work, and for a brief moment I think I'm Einstein until I realize that even if I do make it back to where Tabby fell out, what good would that do? I'd drive by where she may or may not still be, but I wouldn't be able to help her. I'll only confirm whether she's alive or not.

The alternative to that brilliant idea is to leave Tabby behind and hope she appears later. What will happen when it's four o'clock? Will she magically appear in the car, or on the side of the road? I think I've learned enough by now to know there's no way to predict what will happen next.

I've blocked out of my mind the thought of Tabby being dead. Falling out of a car going ninety miles per hour is tough even for a cat, but I'm optimistic she's alive. Seeing I don't have any other good options, I decide I'm going back for Tabby. Even if it's only to drive by, I have to know if she's still with me.

By the time I get to Louisville, I've never been hungrier in my life. I've never fasted for religious purposes, nor have I ever had a surgery where I couldn't eat. To my knowledge, I've never missed a meal in my entire life, which is a testament to how fortunate and lucky I've been. Now though, all I can think about is how much I want to be sitting down eating a burger and fries.

Even though I'm clueless with directions, I'm smart enough to figure out how to make my way around the outer belt and back onto I-65 south. After having driven for a couple hours at ninety miles per hour, it's beginning to feel almost natural. There are no sharp loops I have to deal with. Instead, the merge back onto I-65 south is nothing more than a fork in the road. I was starting to build up fear of what the merge back onto I-65 would be like. I'll admit, if the turn was too difficult, I had already decided I would leave Tabby behind. Now that I'm back on I-65 and less than two hours away from Tabby, excitement starts to build up inside of me.

On the outside this seems like a stupid idea. Drive toward a cat in a car that doesn't stop, just to see if it's alive or dead. A little voice inside of me keeps reminding me of this. The other voice tells me this is the right thing to do and that something important is going to happen when I get there.

I decide no matter what, I'm going to go back to the cabin after I get there. I'll ease myself into the grass somewhere, which will hopefully slow the car down, then jump out. The grass should cushion some of the blow. This may sound like a stupid idea, but I have no other choice. I'm under the assumption the car will be able to propel itself for a very long time without stopping. Also, once nightfall hits I know I'll get too sleepy to drive. Now that the car doesn't automatically steer itself, I have to make this decision. I'll crash and die falling asleep at the wheel at night, so I might as well take things into my own hands and jump out the window when the time is right.

For the past hour, my heart has been beating out of my chest. I've never gone this long being so scared and nervous. I feel like I'm moments away from something very dramatic about to happen, and anticipation is at an all-time high. Some of the scenery starts to look familiar. It was only a couple days ago that I was driving on this very same road, which seems like forever ago. How different things were then; I was in Abby's BMW expecting to be in Mobile, Alabama by the end of the day. That was before all the bruises, cracked ribs, and teeth marks from a battle to the death with Cujo. It's like looking back on your younger school years and the problems you used to have. Suzy kissing Jimmy seemed like the most important thing on Earth, when in hindsight it was no big deal. It's the same way when I think of the problems I was facing going to Mobile. Such petty problems when now I'm dealing with a black car I can't stop, no food or water, and only a handful of daylight hours left.

I wish I had stayed home -- or even stayed at the cabin. There, I could have healed up and been in good shape in a few days. Why did I obsess over this black car so much? Why didn't I just ignore it as it drove by every morning at nine o'clock? After all, it never tried to get in my way. Once I was healed, I could I have gone to Mobile, or Florida, or wherever the wind took me. Even better, I could have sat back and waited for someone to find me. The bottom line is, almost every decision I've made up to this point has been a poor one and is the sole reason why I'm stuck risking my life inside this black car I have little control over.

As I keep heading south, a stupid realization comes over me. If Tabby isn't on the road, how will I know where she fell out? Why didn't I think about this before, when I decided to come back for her? It's unfortunate, but I guess I'd rather be heading south than north anyway. I don't like being cold and I'm not sure what the heating system is like in this car now that I've taken a shotgun to the dashboard.

I only have a vague clue where I was when Tabby fell out. I was too preoccupied with what happened to bother looking to see where I was. Even though I can picture vividly Tabby falling out, I have no recollection of any signs or anything else that soon followed.

With that understanding, I think it's best I keep an eye out like I used to looking for deer at night. If you've driven in Ohio long enough, you've likely had at least one close call with these car-demolishing creatures. If Tabby is dead, I'll surely see her on the road, but if she's alive my guess is she didn't stray too far from the road.

Minute after minute goes by. I haven't been this focused on driving since I took my license exam. With each minute, doubt starts to creep in that I've passed where she fell. I suppose the Nashville outer belt is the best indicator that I've gone too far.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. More minutes go by, and I get more unsettling feelings in the pit of my stomach. Where did she go? Where did my sweet Tabby, who saved my life, go? I barely know her, but I picture her as one tough kitty. If there were any chance of surviving, she would do it.

Then, a lot of things happen in the blink of an eye.

First, as I look forward there's nothing but a stretch of highway for miles. But then, out of nowhere and no more than one second ahead of me, Tabby appears in the middle of the road. I don't have time to think - just react. I jerk the car left, doing my best to avoid her. I'll never know whether or not I missed her. If I did, it would have been by mere inches.

My quick turn combined with the fast speed is too much even for this car to handle. Knowing I have no seat belt to protect me, I do everything I can to prevent the car from flipping over. When I jerk the car back to the right, my body's momentum continues going left. I hear the thud of my head hitting the unbreakable glass window, and then everything goes dark and silent.

Chapter 21

I open my eyes but things are blurry, which is odd because I've never worn contacts or glasses a day in my life. All I see when I look up is a white light. Is this heaven? Somehow I don't think so.

The light is too much for my eyes so I shut them. My head throbs in pain. How long have I been unconscious, and what was that light? Images flash in my mind of me standing on clouds with the Pearly Gates off in the distance. I don't get my hopes up, though; I doubt they let folks in who've brutally ax-murdered a dog.

Keeping my eyes closed, I try to feel the rest of my body. I wiggle both of my toes, which gives me a huge relief. If my toes work I can assume the rest of the wiring in my legs are fine too. I do the same with my fingers. Thank God everything works.

What is today? Have I been unconscious for a couple hours or a couple days? Also, why am I no longer hungry or thirsty? Did the wreck cause my body to kick into some survival mode where I conserve food and water?

Final question, where am I? I was just in a car wreck, but I swear I saw a ceiling in the corner of my eye. I crack my eyes open again but the light is too bright. Not seeing where I am feels like finding presents before Christmas day when they're already wrapped. They're right there in front of you but you know you can't have them yet.

Without having to open my eyes, something happens that gives me answers - or perhaps more questions - as to where I am and why. It's the sound of footsteps. Sneakers hitting a hard, tile floor. A hospital floor?

The footsteps get closer and I only hope whoever is coming is here to help and not hurt me. A five-year-old girl could win a fight with me now.

The steps stop when they are right next to me. It's only then that I notice I must be in a bed. The feeling beneath me is soft and comfortable. There's a plush pillow underneath my head. Yes, I must be in a hospital.

I try to open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I can feel whoever is beside me, not by any of the main five senses but by the feeling that someone is watching me. I nudge my finger the best I can, hoping they see it and know I'm awake. They evidently don't because I hear their footsteps walking away and out the door.

Now that it's just me again, I go back to thinking about what I know. Starting with the most recent thing I can remember, I know I was in a car crash. I know I was in a mysterious black car that I wrecked to avoid hitting a cat named Tabby who had previously saved my life. I know my body was badly damaged already from a run-in with a crazed dog I called Cujo who seemed to show up every day around six in the evening. I even remember waking up on a Tuesday, anxious to give a presentation to my bosses, only to discover that nobody was there. Yes, I can recall a lot of what happened to me recently.

What I can't remember, though, is much about the week or two before everyone disappeared. The last thing I can remember before then is celebrating my anniversary with Abby. How long was that before the disappearances? I'm not even sure. I remember going out to a really nice dinner, a fondue restaurant that was dark and intimate, and serving each other strawberries dipped in hot chocolate. I remember thinking it was one of the best times I've ever had with Abby. Conversations when you're married can be stagnant at times...
How was your day? Good, how was yours? Good.
This night was different. I remember we talked about life and what we wanted to do together in the future -- places we wanted to go and things we wanted to see. Even though we've been together for several years, on that night it was as if we were on our first date.

If Abby and I ever get to be together again, I hope we have more dinners like that. There may still be hope that will happen. The nurse is the first human contact I've had in over a week -- a huge step in the right direction. Granted, I never really saw her, and I'm not even sure it was a her. It could have been some alien life form getting me set up for an anal probe. I hope they know I don't do well with things being inserted into me.

I'm going to assume it was human. I try opening my eyes again, and when I do I hold them open long enough to see a bright fluorescent light. There are also ceiling tiles similar to the ones I remember seeing in schools growing up.

After a few minutes with my eyes closed, I open them again and look to my right. I'm hooked up to an IV.

Of all the things I should be worried about, I'm most bothered knowing I have some sort of needle stuck in me. The thought makes me nauseated and the last thing I want to do is throw up.

Trying to take my mind off the IV, my thoughts turn to where I am and how I got here. I'm almost certainly in a hospital, but I have no idea which one. I know I didn't check myself in so someone must have brought me here. I've had a suspicion that someone has been around me. How else did my picture of Abby end up in the black car? Did that same person take me here?

When I open my eyes again, I'm able to keep them open longer so I look around the room. It looks like your typical hospital room, although this room has a lot of gadgets around me; I must be really messed up. There are no visitors, no parents or friends to greet me. I look all around me for a button to press to call in a nurse but can't find anything. I try to call out - scream if I can - but the sounds I make are barely audible.

I continue to look around the room for signs or clues. As luck would have it, I see one. On the TV stand is a little gray football helmet. Having grown up in Ohio, I know that can only mean the Ohio State Buckeyes. How can that be, though? I crashed somewhere around Tennessee, two to three hundred miles away from Ohio. Even in the black car, that's more than a two-hour drive. Besides, I searched through a good part of Ohio and there was no one in sight. Of course, the Buckeyes helmet doesn't have to mean I'm in Ohio, but I think it's a pretty good indication. Why would another state have an Ohio football helmet sitting in one of their hospital rooms?

I'm still at the point where I can only wiggle my feet and hands. I don't think I have any chance of getting up and walking yet. I don't feel any pain, although that could be because I'm pumped with medication. I can keep my eyes open now as my pupils seem to be adjusted to seeing light again. I consider for a moment looking at my arm to see what kind of IV they have me hooked up to, but I know for sure that will make me throw up whatever I do have in my stomach.

Being in a hospital and having no recollection of getting here is scary. I'm anxious for answers and my wish is granted when I turn to my right and see a nurse walk in.

She's dressed in all white from top to bottom -- how cliché. When my eyes make their way up to her face, my first thought is how pretty she might be if it weren't for the facial expression she's giving. It's a look of total shock and horror, as if a dead body at a funeral got out of the casket and started walking around.