Her phone rang, dragging her from her reverie. A face filled the screen and she giggled. It was her best friend, Lori, calling. The picture was taken at Lori's birthday party a month ago. She'd been drunk and playful, taking a picture of her open mouth with a bright blue tongue stud.
"Hiya, Lor-Lor."
"Hey, Be-Be. I hear you've been crunched and crumpled. Why didn't you call me?" Her voice held reprimand.
"I didn't think about it, Lori. I can hardly function. I'm sitting in Dad's recliner the den, dressed in my jammies."
"In Charlotte's house? I thought pajamas were only acceptable on Christmas morning."
"Apparently, the rule is bent when you're bruised and battered. Who told you?"
"Motor-mouth." By that, she meant Jason.
"Sorry I didn't call."
"I get it, kiddo. So, tell Lor-Lor all about it."
Blythe described the accident in detail, telling Lori how time had seemed to slow. She even told her about the young man who had helped her.
"And Jessamine said there wasn't anyone else?"
"Yeah. It was weird. But he touched me, talked to me. He felt so real. I didn't get a head injury, or I'd be thinking I was hallucinating."
"Maybe fumes from the engine. You said the car was full of smoke."
"Yeah, maybe. I dunno." She sighed.
"I'm gonna hang up now. You're tired. I'll be by soon. Mom invited me for dinner."
They had called one another's mothers Mom since they were seven. Lori was as much a sister to her, as Alec had been a brother to Jason. She grew up in the house next door to them. Alec's family lived across the street.
"It will be good to see you. It's been too long."
"It sure has. Love you, frister."
"Love you too, frister."
Frister—their word for one another, a combination of friend and sister.
Lori hung up after promising to bring Blythe some other necessary items from her apartment. Blythe pressed the lever on the side of the chair, reclining it to the fullest. She put the TV on her favorite music station. Soon, she was asleep.
Smoke—lots of it. She could smell the acrid odor as it filled the car. The right seat was empty, the window broken. Blythe looked around. This wasn't her car. It was a Ford sedan. The was blood on the seat next to her, but no person to go with it. She reached over, touching the blood. It was warm, sticky.
Someone banged on her window. "You okay?"
She couldn't reply.
"Miss? Are you all right?"
Blythe opened her mouth to speak, but choked on something that gurgled up from inside her. Blood gushed from her mouth, blocking her airway. The door screeched open and steady hands touched her. Calm, gentle, strong, capable hands.
"It's okay, miss. I'm here. You're going to be alright."
She gagged again, more blood than could possibly be inside her, belched forth, turning the reassuring hands crimson.
With a strangled scream, Blythe woke up. It took a moment to realize that she was safely at home. She checked her hands, clean. Her heart pounded in her chest, but no blood gurgled forth. Blinking hard to clear her vision, she saw that it had turned dark. A glance at the clock showed that it was only around 11:30 in the morning. Thunder rumbled outside as the rain started. Slamming onto the tin roof of the family room, it hammered against the windows, sounding like rapid gunfire.
Her phone rang and she stifled a screech. It wasn't a number she recognized. "H-hello?"
"Ms. Donovan, this is the hospital calling. We're doing a follow up to see how you're feeling today."
"I'm okay. Sore—a little blurry from the pain meds."
"I'm sorry to hear you're uncomfortable. If you have increased pain, or any of the other symptoms listed on the release papers, don't hesitate to call us or come in. If you continue to have problems, follow up with your regular doctor."
"I will. Thanks for calling."
"You take care, Ms. Donovan."
"Sure thing." She hung up, still distracted by her dream.
One thing was certain, it wasn't anything from her life, but it felt so incredibly real. She hadn't been in pain, but she had felt the blood gurgle forth and experienced the panic, knowing she was going to die.
The door to the den opened slowly and her mother peered around it. "Good, you're awake. I didn't want to bother you earlier. Lunch is almost ready. Do you need to tinkle?"
Blythe smiled. "Yeah, I do. Thanks."
Her mother was the only person she knew who used tinkle in other than a joking manner. With her mother's help, she got to the downstairs bathroom. When they reached the kitchen, the usually sunny breakfast nook was dark, except for a circle of light over the table. Black clouds lumbered across the sky, rumbling threateningly. Lightning flashed and Blythe flinched away from it.
©2022 Dellani Oakes
No comments:
Post a Comment