Linked Through Time (16 page)

The rapids continued to pound, swallowing me up in its vicious path, like a swollen, black monster of the night.

I sank beneath the surface, my eyes rolled back in my head, and everything turned black.

Chapter Twelve

Clear as Crystal

I awoke to shouts. Disoriented, I felt around me, expecting jagged rocks or at least, the caress of lapping water against my skin. My throat felt clogged and tight and I tried coughing to loosen the muscles. A black, watery substance sprayed from my mouth and I tasted the rusty mud of the river. I curled into a ball, my body racking and convulsing as I heaved up more of the nasty
substance
.

My stomach quivered as pain shot from my skull into every direction of my brain. I could barely move; the pain that coursed through my body was so intense I was sure every bone was broken.

I tried to sit up, to see where the voices were coming from. Where am I? I felt around, as if blind, searching for pine needles, gravel… something reminiscent of the rapids. I must have washed ashore… Dave never expected me to actually make it through the rapids.
Dave. The understanding that Dave had tried to kill me stole my breath in a great gasp. His chilling words haunted me, echoing in my mind. “If I can’t have you, then no one will have you.” 

Sarah had tried to get away. She didn’t commit suicide! Dave had killed her.

The realization rocked me to the core, and sent me onto all fours, heaving and retching with brutal force.
Was that why I had come back in time? To learn the truth?

Sagging onto the ground, my cheeks felt the familiar prickle of hay jabbing into my skin like an annoying finger, poking me relentlessly. The voices came again and I raised my arm to cover my face. Maybe I was about to be rescued. Or maybe it was Dave – coming to finish what he had started.

Whimpering, I tried scooting further into the shadows, not satisfied until my back rested against what felt like a wall.

I have to get home! I have to tell Gran what happened.
More thoughts ricocheted around my brain like a pinball.
Where am I?
If I didn’t die, did that mean I saved Sarah? Did I change the future? Would I be able to go home now? How would I be able to explain what had happened?
Would anyone believe me?

A light pierced the darkness and a feeling of déjà vu washed over me, sending a myriad chills through my body.
This had happened to me before…
I barely had time to connect the two images in my brain before a dark shadow stopped before me, its giant presence looming behind what looked like the beam of a flashlight.

“Kate! Kate!”

The blinding flashlight drilled into my brain, intensifying the pain in my head. I opened my mouth to correct the voice, and stopped. I knew that voice. It said
Kate. Kate. Not Sarah.
Hope burst through me, temporarily easing the pain. I sat up, reaching for the shadow.

“Daddy?” I whimpered.

Immediately, Dad was there and crouched by my side, reaching his long arms around me and pulling me close.

“Oh, Katydid. What happened to you?” he said, using an old nickname from childhood. “Corey said you were supposed to race him to the house. When you didn’t come, I got worried. What the heck happened? You’ve got blood behind your ear and… ” He broke off, seeing the pool of dark fluid I’d recently vomited. “Let’s get you inside where I can look at you.”

He lifted me in his arms; I let my head collapse onto his shoulder. For a moment, I felt like a child again, confused and broken, relieved to be rescued and swept into a safe haven of security. A glimpse of Dad’s eight-year-old face flashed through my mind, his twinkling eyes and scrawny arms just a memory I wasn’t sure was real.

Leaving the barn, we crossed the field in silence, Dad’s steps light and quick even with the burden of carrying my dead weight.

Corey waited at the fence, his wide luminous eyes full of worry. Just the sight of him, his boyish innocence and familiar tousle of brown hair sent tears of joy springing to my eyes. Was it true? Was I back?
Everything had seemed so real. Could I have dreamed the whole thing?

Gran and Grandpa looked up from their cribbage game the moment we entered the kitchen. “Oh, my Lord,” Gran whispered, jumping from her chair in one fluid motion. “You’re covered in bruises, Kate! Dean, set her down over there.” Gran motioned to the couch in the living room. “And you’re shaking like a leaf, poor girl. What on earth…?” Gran said, voicing the question everyone in the room had to be thinking.

My head began to buzz and a light, floaty feeling passed over me, leaving me weak. “Gran, your hair is white,” I murmured, recalling the Gran I’d spent months with, or at least, thought I had spent months with.

Corey bounced around the couch, nervous and jittery, trying to get a good look at me through the adults huddled around my limp form.

“Call the Doc, Dean. We’ll take her in right away,” Gran ordered. “Kate! Wake up! Don’t fall asleep. Kate!”

I heard the shouts, but couldn’t answer. My eyes felt so heavy, and my head seemed like it had been replaced with a bag of bricks. I went in and out of consciousness, sporadic words and noises entering my brain but meaning nothing. I wanted to tell them I was fine, that everything would be OK, but the words never came. As quickly as they had come back into my life, Dad, Gran, Corey, and Grandpa were gone.

* * * *

The crinkly, rubbery mattress on the hospital bed made annoying squelch sounds at my every movement. The steady beep coming from the monitor nearby was irritating beyond measure; I reached out a shaky arm to try and pull the plug, but let it drop again, two inches short. Jeez, who ever heard of someone trying to pull their own plug?

For two days, I’d been in and out of consciousness, the splitting pain in my head too much to bear. Apparently, Dad never left my room; he sat hunched over in the only available chair, asleep, his shirt and pants permanently rumpled from lack of changing. The lines on his face seemed more pronounced in the harsh fluorescent lights. Even in sleep, his brow furrowed with – what? Anger? Frustration? Worry?

How could ruining his summer leave me feeling miserable? Nothing had gone how I had planned
.
My life as Sarah remained fresh in my memory, as though it had happened yesterday. But I’d never left the barn. I wasn’t even missing for more than an hour. It
had
to be a dream
.
Except it had been too real to be a dream. Was Sarah trying to tell me something? Did we have some mysterious link that united our psyches?

My body ached to get out of bed, but I was hooked to numerous wires and drip bags, making me look like some freaky wannabe Frankenstein monster.

I need to get out of here. I need to find out if this whole thing was a product of my imagination or a vital message.

Dad stirred in his chair and barked out something that sounded halfway between a cough and a snort.

“Dad?” I whispered, almost afraid to wake him up.

“Katydid?” His eyes sprung open and he ran a hand over the stubble on his face as he rose to approach my bed. “How are you feeling, honey?” He stroked the sides of my hair and adjusted the stiff hospital blanket to cover my legs. He cracked a weak smile. “You know, you didn’t have to go getting yourself into trouble so early in the vacation. I thought for sure you’d give it a week before trying to find a reason to go home.”

A guilty blush covered my cheeks. Before the accident, that was exactly what I had been planning to do. “I – I don’t know what happened, Dad. I jumped through the hatch and that’s the last thing I remember.” I paused, uncertain if I should tell him the rest.
He’ll turn you into the psyche ward if he believes you think you went back in time as his dead sister!
I clamped my lips together, aching with the secrets I would have to keep.

For now.

Instead, I reached out for his hand, grateful for the warmth and security. “I’m sorry, Dad. For everything.” I didn’t elaborate. No need bringing up the problems of the past, especially when I could foresee a few problems for the future. Like getting my family to believe me about Sarah and getting revenge on Dave Slater. I leaned into Dad’s arm, smiling as the arm hairs tickled my nose. Tears pooled in my eyes as I remembered an eight-year-old version of Dad, forever my protector. Could we ever be that close again? Or was it too late?

“Let’s get you out of here, Kate. I know a great place where you can recuperate on fresh country air and homemade apple pie.” He stopped and peered into my eyes. “That is, if you want to go back. I talked to Mom, and she said you could go home if you weren’t feeling up to staying.”

For a brief moment, like the glimpse of a rainbow, I was tempted to run. The mere suggestion of home meant zero complications – zero mysteries. But I couldn’t turn away from what I’d been through, what I had ultimately learned. Sarah’s death, no – murder, needed justice, and I was the only one who could deliver it.

“I think I’m willing to give it another shot,” I agreed, already plotting my next move. I knew one way for sure to determine if everything had been real. One piece of evidence remained in my possession that could condemn Dave Slater without words.

The ring.

I had kept his mother’s ring.

Chapter Thirteen

Catching Up with the Past

It seemed like hours before someone left me alone long enough to test my theory. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without Gran or Dad waiting just outside the door, knocking every few seconds to make sure I didn’t fall and hit my head; which really made it hard to pee knowing I had an audience listening the whole time. But really, I had no complaints. The toilet flushed, there was real toilet paper, and water ran from the sink with a twist of a knob. The future was blissfully easy.

Finally, Gran took Corey to feed the chickens and Dad left to help Grandpa tow a tractor stalled out in the field. I counted to fifty and crawled out from the mountain of rainbow-colored quilts Gran had piled over me on the couch. Apparently, they didn’t trust me to go to the bathroom or climb stairs, so my room was off limits, too. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

I climbed the stairs slowly, testing my wobbly legs. Halfway up, just as I reached the portrait of Sarah on the wall, my head began to pound. This time, I looked her in the eyes with understanding instead of contempt.
I’m going to fix everything
, I tried to tell her, feeling silly and a little creeped-out al in one
.
For the first time, I tried to look beyond the mirror image features we possessed.

Shocked, I could see in her eyes the truth that everyone else had missed. In the picture, Sarah’s mouth twisted into a soft smile, but the happiness and light didn’t touch her eyes. Sadness, so deep and unsettling, lived beneath the surface; a sadness only I could recognize and explain.

At the top of the stairs, a dizzying wave of apprehension swept over me, my pulse jumping in response. Strangely, I began sweating and my mouth felt dry and full of cotton.
Would it be there after all this time? And what if it wasn’t? What then?
I shook my head, refusing to consider that option, my stomach twisted enough thinking of what finding the ring would mean.

My suitcase sat on the bed, still packed and bulging with the absurd amount of clothing I brought. Thinking back to the meager choices of my time on the farm, the suitcase brought feelings of shame, enlightening my selfishness and greed. Now, if given the chance, I would give it all to the nameless girls from the woods Bobby had taken me to visit.
But that was long ago
, I reminded myself. Those girls, if they survived, would be old now, as old as Dad.

Rounding the bed, I stared hard at the wooden dresser, the same one I had used past and present. It sat in the same corner as before; I could only pray no one had moved it much in the years since Sarah’s death. Rubbing along the side, my fingertips felt the jagged scrawled letters I had found the day we arrived.
I am so alone.

Wrenching open the bottom drawer of the dresser, I jumped as the wood squeaked in protest, the noise seeming to echo throughout the quiet house. Save for a bag of cedar chips to keep the scent of mothballs in check, the drawer was bare. With trembling fingers, I pried up the bottom board, splintering the wood in the process and driving a sliver beneath my nail.

“Yow! Dang it!” I whispered, sucking on the fingernail to dull the pain. Running my free hand beneath the board, my fingers brushed against something small and thin and round. The ring.

Feeling sick and exultant all at once, I held the tiny band up in the slanted rays of sunlight that streamed through the window.
It was real. It wasn’t a dream. Somehow, I had become Sarah.
Shivering despite the warm sun, I stood and assessed my reflection in the mirror. How did it happen? Why didn’t I lose time? I was gone for weeks! My face looked pale and a little thin; I could scarcely tell I had been laboring on a farm at all. My muscles had already weakened from the past few days, the new clothes – Juicy shorts and matching sweatshirt – hair thrown up carelessly in a scrunchie; I hardly recognized my old self.
Weird
.

Slipping the ring into my pocket, I snuck back down the stairs and onto the couch before anyone was the wiser.
General Hospital
played over the scratchy television set but I didn’t want to chance getting up to change the channel. Someone would be back to check on me soon.

Sure enough, the screen door slammed and Dad peered around the corner of the door to the living room, his brow creased with worry. “Kate?” he called out.

“I’m fine,” I said, snuggling deeper under the afghan pile despite the stuffiness of the room.

“I’ll be out at the barn and Gran is weeding the garden, if you need anything. Corey’s with me. Get some rest,” he ordered, pointing his finger right at me, as if I didn’t know who he was talking to.

I can’t rest if you keep checking on me
. It was worse than the hospital sometimes, the way they kept popping in, feeling my forehead and shoving chicken soup down my throat like I was a helpless infant.

Removing the ring from my pocket, I turned it over in the palm of my hand. In the background, the television sounded the classic “villainous” music and zoomed in on one of the women in the scene. I caught myself grinning. The lady had a cheesy malicious grin, her eyebrow raised in an attempt to look as though she were plotting her next evil scheme. I tried raising an eyebrow in the same manner, but couldn’t. Must be a trick they teach you in acting school.

Closing my hand around the ring, my mind tripped and stumbled over the possibilities of my next move. I felt like the woman from the television; just like her, I was planning to ruin someone’s life. But this wasn’t TV, and someone didn’t write the lines for me. I was taking on Dave Slater myself, and I had no idea how the story would come to an end.

I knew I had to get Dave alone. I knew he had to believe someone found out about the murder. And I knew I needed him to confess, otherwise, no one would believe me.

The clock above the couch ticked a monotonous, repetitive sound that matched my thoughts. Slowly, the pieces came together like a jigsaw puzzle. What I would do, how I would do it… It would be dangerous. Maybe deadly. Would Dave risk killing again to protect himself? I had to believe he would. And that’s why meeting at the rapids was the worst part of my plan.

Just thinking about the rapids sent me into a shivering mess. I could feel the rushing water surround my head and pound my body. I could still taste the earthy, rusty brown water as it filled my nose and throat.

I threw the blankets over my head and took great gulps of stuffy, mothball-smelling air to relax. Under the heavy, warm weight of the blankets, I took hold of my fears. There’s a reason you have to do this, Kate. Sarah picked you! You know the secret. You have to help her,
my mind lectured, arguing against my body’s natural choice to resist.

Almost like a cartoon, an idea popped into my head so quick and so bright, a light bulb might as well have been shining over my lumpy form.
Travis. Travis Kochevar. What if he still lived in town? Would he believe my crazy story? Would he help me avenge Sarah’s death? If he loved Sarah as much as I thought he had, I had to believe he would help me over anyone else.

Jumping from the couch, I raced to the kitchen, grabbed the phone book from the top of the fridge and the phone from the wall in one swift motion. Flipping the pages, I got to the “K” section easily, my finger running the short length of names in record time. Travis Kochevar –2543 NW 2
nd
St-2817668. He still lived in town! Shaking, my fingers dialed the number. Without a plan for what I would say, I let the phone ring twice before hanging up.

“
Chicken,” I muttered. Seriously, what was I doing? The more I thought about it, what could I really expect from Travis? I wasn’t sure if he and Sarah had actually dated and a few decades had passed since Sarah died. He was old now, probably married with kids. If some strange girl called him up and wanted him to help prove the death was a murder – by the town’s mayor, no less – he would hang up laughing before I could finish saying my name.

That’s why you have to see him in person.
I hated my brain and its endless fight to be in charge.
If Travis sees you and how much you look like Sarah, he would be moved to help.
Well, it’s worth a shot.

Facing Dave Slater on my own was growing less and less appealing. Recalling his cruel, icy blue eyes and his crushing blows to my body, I wasn’t sure I would have the guts to go through with my plan if I couldn’t have back up. I needed Travis.

* * * *

I waited three days until risking escape to meet Travis. Most of the bruising had faded to a light yellow and the color had returned to my cheeks, making me look somewhat normal and healthy again. The headaches that had plagued me the first few days home had faded to a dull throb. I barely noticed any more.

It was Sunday. The rest of the family had gone to church while I pleaded another headache to stay back. As soon as Gran’s truck disappeared at the end of the gravel drive, I tore out to the old gray shed where Dad had parked our tiny Honda civic for the summer. I had to hurry, but my hands shook as I stuck the keys into the ignition. Fear of two things had my stomach wound so tight I could barely think straight. One, I was nervous about meeting Travis and explaining my strange story, and two, if I got caught driving the car by Dad or the police, I was in deep… deep… well, let’s just say I’d be in “it” up to my ears. I was barely two months into my driving permit – I didn’t want to lose it already.

It was easy to find the street where Travis lived; there were only four possible roads on the west side of town. I parked in the driveway behind a beat up, rusty white truck and another red, sporty car with a convertible top. I took in two huge breaths.
You’re about to meet the old guy you almost lost your virginity to.
“He wasn’t old then,” I mumbled to myself, my cheeks flushing at the idea of meeting Travis again.
He’ll be like Dad
, my brain cruelly reminded me.

The door opened after two hesitant knocks. A tall, lanky teenage boy stood leaning against the doorframe, a Mountain Dew in one hand and a bag of Funyuns in the other. His long brown hair hung just below his eyes, cascading over his face and off to the side in a sort of Zac Efron wannabe look. He tossed the hair back from his face and gave me an obvious run down with his eyes.

Mesmerized, I stood with my feet planted on a fuzzy “welcome” mat, my mouth frozen in disbelief. Either Travis had taken a magic anti-aging pill or I was looking at an incredibly gorgeous clone of him. I cleared my throat and clasped my hands behind my back to keep them from flailing about nervously.

“Is... is Travis here?” I asked, hoping the boy wouldn’t ask me any questions about why a young girl like me would be looking for someone as old as Travis.

Popping a Funyun into his mouth, the boy took his time to answer, crunching the onion crisp to bits in a thoughtful, slow manner. “I think he’s out back. In the garage.” He stepped outside, into the sunlight. “You selling something?”

A laugh burst from my mouth in an unflattering pitch that resembled something close to the bray of a donkey. “No, no… just had a question for him.” I backed away, angling myself to walk around the side of the house, hoping he wouldn’t follow. As much as I wanted to pursue the idea of him, I had bigger things on my plate, and not enough time.

“You’re not from around here, right? You’re not going to tell him you’re his long lost daughter are you?”

Shaking my head, I withheld my laugh, covering my mouth instead.

“That’s good. You’re pretty cute. I was worried I might be developing a crush on my sister or something.” He shot a rakish grin in my direction and two perfect dimples framed his smile.

Give me strength, I thought, my knees weak as jelly. Stay focused. What is it with Kochevar men and their insistence on so boldly telling girls how they feel? Thinking of my time with Travis, my cheeks flushed hot, and an impish smile worked its way onto my face.
I bet he wouldn’t be so flirty if I told him how good a kisser his Dad is… was
…

“I’m T.J.,” the boy offered, hinting at a name exchange.

“T.J., huh? What’s that short for?” I asked, not wanting to give him my name – yet.

“Travis James. I’m a ‘junior’, you know, named after my dad. There’s the garage.” He pointed to a white double-door monstrosity behind the house.

“Thanks, I can get it from here,” I said, dismissing T.J. with a wave of my hand.

Disappointed, he turned back to the house, crushing the Mountain Dew can in his hand and throwing it over his shoulder in a perfect arc to an open garbage can. “You can’t leave until I at least get your name,” he called back.

“We’ll see,” I teased, knowing full well I wanted to give him more than just my name. What had happened to me? In a matter of weeks, I’d gone from innocent schoolgirl to boy-crazy and hormonal! Not one kiss until this summer, and now I had guys beating down my door. It’s also slightly disturbing how easily I could fall for both father – and son. Shaking my head, I paused before entering the garage, steeling myself for Travis’s reaction.
He has to help me.

A loud metallic hammering rang through the air inside the garage. The pounding struck an off-beat and was followed by a low muttering of profanity.