Читать книгу The Truth About Elyssa - Lorna Michaels, Lorna Michaels - Страница 8

Elyssa Jarmon glanced over her shoulder as her friend Randy Barber’s Toyota Camry maneuvered through the rain-slick streets of Indianapolis. He turned left, and the car behind them followed. The gleam of its headlights cut through the darkness.

Elyssa chuckled. “I’ve been watching too many cop shows.”

“One of the hazards of working in television,” Randy said. “If you’re not on-screen, you’re in front of it.”

“I’m not kidding,” Elyssa continued. “I could swear someone’s tailing us.”

Randy glanced at her sharply. “What makes you think so?”

“The same car’s been behind us since we left the TV station. His right headlight’s flickering. I’m a good reporter. I notice things like that.”

“Look back. Is it a black Chevy?”

Alarmed, Elyssa stared at her friend. Was she imagining things, or had Randy turned pale? “What’s going on?”

“Just check,” he snapped.

Elyssa squinted through the back window. Rain fell harder now, impeding her view. “I…think so.” She turned back, then gasped as Randy suddenly swung into Eagle Creek Park.

“Did he follow?”

“No…yes. Here he comes.” She tightened her seat belt. “What’s going on, Randy?”

“Damn,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have offered to drive you home. I don’t want you involved in this.”

“Involved in what?” She looked behind them. The Chevy was close now, its lights filling the back window.

“Investiga—”

Metal clanged against metal as the Chevy slammed into their rear end. Their car skidded, spun in a circle.

The Chevy hit them again. A scream tore from Elyssa’s throat as they hurtled down an embankment. They seemed to tumble endlessly—rolling, pitching from side to side—then suddenly, with a grinding thud, they stopped.

Elyssa opened her eyes. She was still buckled into her seat, but her right arm hung at an angle, and her head felt as if she’d been kicked by a mule. “Randy,” she whispered. A thin stream dribbled out of her mouth. She licked her lip and tasted blood.

“Here.” His voice was so faint, she could barely hear it over the sound of the storm. Fighting against pain, she turned her head. Randy lay against the door, crushed by the caved-in side of the car.

Though her hands shook, Elyssa managed to unbuckle her seat belt. Forgetting her own pain, she crawled to Randy and touched his face. Her hand came away covered with blood. “You’re hurt,” she choked. “I’ll…I’ll get help.”

“Too late,” he muttered. “Get…the book. It’s…”

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “I’m calling 911.” She spotted the cell phone on the floor and leaned down. It was broken. She’d have to get out of the car. “I’ll find someone,” she said. “Just hold on.”

“No use,” Randy whispered. “Tell Jenny…tell her…I… love her.” He said nothing more.

“Randy,” Elyssa begged, “don’t die. Please.” Frantically she scrambled across the seat, shoved at the passenger door. It didn’t budge. Her right arm was useless but she turned, leaned her left shoulder against the door and pushed with all her strength. Suddenly it gave and she toppled out.

She cried out with pain, then lay for a moment in a sodden heap, trying to see where she was. Halfway down the brush-covered slope. A small tree had stopped the car from plunging all the way to the bottom. She could crawl up, find help.

She pulled herself to her knees, stared down at the ground. Mud. Glass. And a black boot.

“Thank God,” she breathed and looked up.

A man stood over her. He was tall and broad-shouldered. In the rainy darkness she could just make out his features—fleshy lips, a slightly crooked nose and beetle brows. But no matter what he looked like, he was the most welcome sight she’d ever beheld. “Help,” she whispered.

“No dice, lady.”

Shocked, Elyssa stared at him. Behind him, up the embankment, she saw a black Chevy.

“You…you’re the one who followed us—”

“Right. And now—” He smiled slowly, chillingly. “Lights out, love.”

His booted foot shot out, connected with her cheek. She fell, tumbling over and over, down and down.

The last thing she heard was an earsplitting boom. The last thing she saw was a bright ball of fire as Randy’s car exploded.

“Elyssa, open your eyes.”

She wanted to, but her lids were so heavy. And they hurt. Her whole face hurt.

“Try, please.” Her cousin Cassie’s voice, thick with tears.

I’m trying, she thought and lifted her lids. “Cassie,” she murmured. Her voice sounded shaky, weak.

“You’re awake. Thank God.”

Elyssa blinked, focused. She was in a bed. A hospital bed. Cassie stood beside it, crying. “Your parents just left. I’ll call them.” She sniffled, then tried to smile. “It’s been so long. I was afraid—”

“H-how…long?” Elyssa whispered.

Cassie wiped her eyes. “You’ve been in a coma for fourteen days.”

Two weeks. Coma. Hospital. “Did I have an accident?”

Cassie nodded. “With Randy.”

“Randy.” Saying his name brought unbearable pain. “He gave me a ride.” That was all she could remember. She saw herself getting into Randy’s car, then…nothing. “Wh-what happened?”

“It was raining. Your car must have skidded. It went off the road in Eagle Creek Park.”

“I…we both got hurt?”

Cassie took Elyssa’s hand. “Your collarbone was broken. You had a concussion and…and some cuts and bruises.”

Three days passed before her family gently broke the news of Randy’s death.

They waited another week before they told her about her face.