The Rebel (5 page)

The doctor put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Delaney. The wound was deep.

The bullet entered his chest and punctured a lung. It lodged in the wall of his aorta. We tried to stop the bleeding and put a graft in place, but it bled too heavily, and we couldn’t stop it. We did all we could do. I massaged his heart to pump it manually, but...I’m very sorry.”

Jessica’s mother leaned into her husband and buried her sobs in his chest. All Jessica could do was stare at the doctor while she listened to her mother’s weeping and the sound of her own blood rushing through her veins. She still couldn’t believe what the doctor was saying.

“Will you be all right?” he asked. His voice was caring. Almost shaky. His green eyes were compassionate and sincere. He reached out and touched her shoulder.

Jessica managed to nod.

“If you need anything or have any questions,” he continued, “you can contact me at any time.” He handed her his card.

“Thank you,” she replied.

He made a move to leave but turned back. He shook his head in frustration. “I’m sorry, Jessica. I did everything in my power to save him. I wish I could have done something to prevent it from happening.”

His expression was tight with strain, as he bowed his head and walked away.

Her grief swelled as she stared after the doctor, until the doors to surgery swung closed behind him. She choked back a sob and turned to embrace her parents.

It wasn’t until many hours later, after they left the hospital and went home to call their friends and relatives, that Jessica wondered how the doctor had known her name.

Jessica shifted nervously in the driver's seat, her fingers like vice grips around the steering wheel. She'd driven for two hours, slicing through a rain-battered dusk, wishing that she lived closer to Dodge and her parents. If she did, she wouldn’t have to spend so many hours traveling from one city to the other.

Maybe it was time to move home, she thought, for the tenth time that month. There wasn’t much keeping her in Topeka anymore—not since she broke off her engagement to Liam.

She was self-employed and could write her fitness column from wherever she pleased. All she needed was a good pair of sneakers for running, her laptop, and wireless Internet at a nearby Starbucks. Her apartment was a sublet. She could give a month’s notice and be out of there in a heartbeat. The change would do her good.

Not that she wasn’t happy in her work. She loved what she did. There were no problems in that department, but everything else seemed so uncertain and unpredictable.

Her brother had gone out to buy ice cream after supper one night, and he never saw another sunrise again.

Jessica had imagined she’d be married by now with a kid on the way, but the man she chose for a husband turned out to be a self-absorbed child, and she was suddenly single again, paying off debt from a honeymoon she had no choice but take alone.

Yet, she was ever hopeful, waiting for a sign from above, a clue to suggest what she was meant to do with her life. There had to be some greater purpose.

Should she stay in Topeka, or move home to Dodge to be closer to her parents?

They weren’t getting any younger and wouldn’t be around forever. If she’d learned anything over the past year, it was to make the most of each and every day, because you never knew when it could all end — just like that — with no warning whatsoever.

Come on, destiny. Which is it? Topeka or Dodge?

A flash of lightning and an instantaneous thunderclap caused her to jump in her seat. Rolling her neck to ease the tension in her shoulders, she flexed her fingers on the steering wheel and repositioned her slick palms. The windshield wipers snapped noisily back and forth.

Another crash of thunder overlapped the last. Counting the seconds to keep her mind occupied, Jessica raked stiff fingers through her hair. She'd just finished a cup of bitter service-station coffee, and now her brain, whirling with caffeine, couldn't match the lightning with the correct thunderclap.

Maybe the radio would take her mind off things. She tuned into a fiddling festival, then tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel to "Oh! Susanna." Other vehicles passed her at dangerous speeds, their tires hissing through puddles on the slick pavement. She glanced impatiently at her watch, wondering how much longer she'd have to fight this storm.

Ahead of her, a white freight truck lumbered slowly up the incline. Knowing she’d have to pass, she glanced over her shoulder and signaled to cross into the passing lane.

She barely managed to gain any distance when her car suddenly hydroplaned and began to fishtail. Instinctively, she slammed her red stiletto pump onto the brake, realizing too late what she had done. Her heart pummeled her ribcage as she tried to regain control, but it was no use.

The steering wheel was useless as the vehicle spun around in a dizzying circle.

Oh! Susanna, don't you cry for me....

The car whipped around and flipped over, bouncing across the pavement like a child’s toy.

The world spun in chaotic circles. Jessica’s head hit the side window. Glass smashed, and steel collapsed like tin all around her.

Frozen with fear, she felt all her muscles constrict. Please, stop! Get me out of here!

Lightning split the ashen sky. The car lit up and sizzled with one electrifying pulse after another.

The light...it was too bright. She couldn’t see. She squeezed her eyes shut.

All at once, the world became silent except for the echoed thumping of her heart in her ears.

There was no pain, only blackness. She felt as if she were floating, detached from everything but the extraordinary quiet, the complete absence of all cares and misgivings. She felt no fear now.

Was this death? Maybe she would see her brother....

Something wet trickled down her forehead and onto her eyelashes.

The distinct visceral sensation sucked her out of the tranquil beyond, and when her eyes fluttered open, she found herself lying on her back, gazing up at the dusky sky, watching silvery clouds roll and twist and turn in the most fantastic way.

Then real, conscious thoughts began to form in her brain.

She’d been in a car accident. She was lying in the grass. Her hair was wet. Was it blood?

Blinking in panic, she touched her throbbing temples but discovered the wetness was only rain. Relieved, she sat up and realized she was sitting in a puddle of mud. A damp chill rippled up her spine.

Had she been thrown from the car? She couldn't remember anything that violent. Of course, she had shut her eyes and blacked out. Or at least she thought that’s what happened.

With trembling hands, she rose up on her knees and rubbed the side of her neck where the seatbelt had chafed her. Next, she touched her scalp, feeling a gritty, sandy residue. Shattered glass, she realized, as she studied the pads of her fingers. And her head—Good Lord. A bump was already sprouting at her temple.

Wondering if she had a concussion, she carefully tried to stand. She pressed her hand into the gooey muck to keep her balance and rose to her feet. Her stiletto pumps sank deeper into the puddle, right up to the ankles of her skinny jeans. She noticed that her favorite black belted jacket was ruined. A button was torn off, and the pocket was ripped.

She glanced around, searching for her car.

Where was it? And why couldn’t she hear traffic from the road?

Bewildered, she scanned the rolling prairie for the vehicle. Surely it was somewhere.

She rested her hand on her stomach that churned with nausea. It was a normal reaction, she knew, after what she’d just been through. In fact, it was a miracle she was even able to stand.

But where was her car?

The only explanation she could come up with was that she must have been wandering around in shock for the last little while and had left it behind — along with her purse and cell phone.

And the strange floating sensation.... That must have been some kind of dream state.

So where was she, exactly? To her left were miles of flat, green prairie. To her right, a small hill. She decided to climb it to see what was on the other side.

When she reached the top, she stepped onto a country road pocked with puddles and wet stones. She pushed her damp hair away from her face to look around, and her heart sunk.

More miles of prairie. In every direction.

How had she gotten this far? And which way should she go?

She stared transfixed at a distant flicker of lightning far off, just above the misty horizon. A quiet breeze fanned the odor of cow manure into her face, and nervous dread swelled inside her.

Something didn’t feel right. She couldn’t possibly have walked much of a distance. Could she?

Well, she thought, taking a deep, steadying breath and resolving to stay rational. There was no point standing around doing nothing. That road had to lead somewhere.

Off she went.

* * *

A short while later, she sighed with relief when the setting sun finally peeked through the thick blanket of clouds. Raindrops glistened like tiny diamonds as they fell, weightless and softer now. Lifting her wrist to check the time, she realized she'd lost her watch. Damn. It was brand new.

Reaching a fork in the road, she stopped to look at a dilapidated wooden sign that read: DODGE CITY. The sign pointed left, so with little choice, she limped in that direction.

By the time she spotted a town up ahead—unfortunately it didn’t look like Dodge City-—the rain had stopped and darkness had folded over the terrain. Though she felt like a drowned rat, she was relieved to have found some signs of civilization.

She couldn’t wait to find a phone and call her parents. They were probably worried sick.

As she limped across an old plank bridge that led into the town, she heard the faint music of a brass band, and each time its cymbals crashed together, it was once too often for the pounding sensation in her head.

Then a horse-drawn wagon rumbled by.

She stopped abruptly and stared at it—what the heck?—then stepped off the bridge and walked up the wide main street. She glanced around for a phone booth, but found herself distracted by the buggies, the cowboy costumes on the men, and the music from inside a place that looked like an old saloon. A piano man played "Oh! Susanna," and a banjo plucked along with it.

That song again.

She stood shivering at the corner of two unpaved streets, looking left and right. Wide boarded sidewalks and hitching rails fronted the buildings; saddled horses and mules were lined up side by side.

Good God, there had to be at least six inches of slop underfoot and it smelled like horse poo.

What kind of place was this? Had she stumbled onto the set of one of those reality shows where they throw people into a historical time-period and watch how crazy they go?

When a couple of ragged looking cowboys staggered by, waving whisky bottles and revolvers in the air, Jessica decided to walk a little faster. She hadn't seen any women yet, only men, and she suspected this wasn’t the safest place to be standing around, taking in the sights, because it all looked pretty sketchy.

Stepping up onto the boardwalk, she paused outside a bar called the Long Branch Saloon, which made no sense because the Long Branch was part of the Dodge City Museum—a re-creation of historic Front Street, mostly visited by tourists. But this didn’t look anything like that.

It seemed far more real. Almost too authentic.

She backed into a post to let a group of men in tattered cowboy costumes pass by, then glanced at the swinging doors. From where she stood, she could hear glasses clinking and dice rolling. There was a click and clatter of poker chips and billiard balls while a man hollered above the music, "Twenty-five-to-one!"

Her stomach churned again. She really needed to find a phone.

She decided to try the saloon, but shrank back when she glanced at the window. June bugs.

She hated June bugs. When she was seven years old, her best friend's little brother had planted some in her bed during a camping trip and they’d given her the heebie-jeebies ever since.

Trying not to think about that anymore, Jessica shivered with disgust, pushed through the doors, and collided with a thick wall of cigar smoke. Her nose crinkled. Stifling a cough, she gazed uneasily over the crowd.

Most of the men wore hats and looked as if they'd just walked out of an old movie.

Focusing on what she had come in for, she approached the bar. "Excuse me. I've been in a car accident and I need to get to a phone. Do you have one that I could use?"

The bartender, who wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, topped by a brown vest, stared at her while he polished a shot glass.

"Sir?" she asked again. "Can you at least tell me how I can get to Dodge City? The real Dodge City?"

"This is it, darlin’. You're exactly where you want to be."

Now this was getting ridiculous. "No, you don’t understand. I've been in an accident and I need a phone."

"Don't have no phone, but I’ve heard about ’em."

Jessica stared at the man for an agonizing second, then turned on her heels and walked to the window. A snake handler wandered by carrying a lantern. Following closely behind him was a squealing pig.

She rubbed her throbbing temples and squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she did have a head injury and this was all a hallucination, or maybe she was unconscious and dreaming.

She returned to the bar. "Is there a telephone anywhere in this town?"

"Not that I know of." He turned around and placed the polished shot glass on a shelf.

Enough was enough. Jessica pushed a damp lock of her hair behind her ear and took a deep breath to calm herself.