Wednesday Muse #3

Wednesday Muse #3

If you’d like to be included in the Wednesday Muse series, please let me know! I’d be happy to add you to the list at the end. 

Unfortunately, my other entries are lost, because I was stupid and hit the delete button on Weebly when updating INTO THE ETHER. Ah, well. Here we go anyway!


Image courtesy of Vanessa Barger

Lisa had always been the fun-loving, rebellious kid. Always at a party, always pushing the limits, always out being “independent.” She’d taken her fair share of midnight rides in cars filled with teens who shouldn’t be behind the wheel. But it was my sister, and things are different when it’s your family.

The found the car plowed into a tree. Like a dart thrown at a corkboard that just crumples from the nose back. Everyone assumed she’d been drinking. It was a fair assumption, given her history. But I knew she hadn’t.

She’d called, just before the accident, terrified. I assumed she’d been at a part and gotten drunk. She insisted she hadn’t. She’d been hanging out with her boyfriend, John, and they had a fight. So she went for a drive to cool off.

That’s what Lisa did when she was angry, or sad. She went for a drive, or a walk. Anything to be outside. So did I, until her accident.

But whatever the reason, her car had stalled and stopped down a long country back road, near the abandoned school. She called me and wanted help. Was afraid. Regret always floods me when I remember. I thought her drunk. I told her so. She was so scared she didn’t even get angry. She just pleaded for me to get mom or dad to come and get her. I told her I’d come, waking mom and dad never ended well for her.

She freaked. Told me not to come anywhere near here. Never. Ever. Kept talking about lights in the woods. To run. Then our connection broke.

That’s when I panicked. I realized something was horribly wrong.  And then I woke our parents.

They didn’t find anything in the car. Her purse was in the woods, fifty feet away, things strewn around it. As if she’d stopped to shake out her purse and search for something. But nothing we could think of was missing.

My cell phone number was the last call made on her phone. The only other clue they found was a series of numbers typed into the cracked, fogged screen.

They meant nothing to everyone.

Except me.

They were numbers we never spoke about, Lisa and I. And now, my heart raced to think what it might mean.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

%d bloggers like this: