On Location by Elizabeth Sims

Author:Elizabeth Sims [Sims, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780983663966
Publisher: Spruce Park Press
Published: 2013-09-04T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18 – A Signal on the Log Bridge

Daniel and I stood on the log bridge high above that magnificent, terrifying river, the gorge a fissure in the earth's great composure, and he held me while I cried.

I cried for Lance and I cried for Gina—no, that's not accurate; I cried to her, because my ESP, though thrown for a violent jolt here, was not registering the absence of Gina on this planet.

She was here, somewhere. Somehow. Her resonance was still here.

I keened for her return.

From the vibe of Daniel's arms, the protective curve of his shoulders, I knew he believed Gina was gone: washed downstream, her body maybe to turn up in Harkett at the bend in the river, bobbing like a bedraggled Hiker Barbie against a stony beach where Harkettonians bring their picnic baskets in the dead of summer when the rain eases to high overcast and the temperature soars to a blistering sixty degrees Fahrenheit.

What a godfuckingforsaken place.

A couple of years ago I'd have been a total mess for days after what I'd just done and seen.

Two factors were working for me, the main one being that I had to keep looking for my sister.

The second factor was the rush I was feeling doing these things. It was akin to the feeling I'd had on a couple of other occasions when I'd broken through the surface of life and taken drastic risks, even perpetrated violence. I'd experienced maximum adrenaline and decided I liked it. I liked how alive it made me feel.

All that coursed through my mind and heart as I stood on that bridge with Daniel.

I'd begun the process of pulling myself together and thinking we'd need to use Daniel's flashlight to find our way back to Badger Cabin, it was getting that dark, and Petey was alone there with Joey, and I knew Daniel's mind was skipping ahead too when a curious warbling sound occurred.

We both heard it. I stiffened.

What the hell was it? Not a bird. A totally unearthly tone, yes, it was becoming clearer as our ears focused in on it and the thrumming of the river receded.

"It's coming from your left hip," Daniel remarked. "Burt Bacharach."

"Oh, my God!" I cried.

After George's and my final fight I had morosely listened to a retrospective of '60s music on the radio and been captivated by the ode to lost love "Walk On By," sung by Dionne Warwick.

Bitterly, I'd programmed the theme into my phone as my incoming ringtone.

I frantically dug my phone from my front jeans pocket, opened the zip plastic bag I'd been using to keep it dry, and as "Walk On By" swelled into greater coherence, flipped it open. "Hello?" I shouted before I even got it to my ear.

The signal was weak, but George's deep voice poured into my soul. "Rita, where are you?"

Normally, it's easy to answer a question like that.

My heart responded in a bifurcated way, remembering our fight, which was sparked by, as I remembered, his appreciation of somebody else's tits in my goddamn sweater.

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