Chapter 6

A horse whinnied. Samantha peeked through her lashes. A white mane glowed like fireflies and floated in the wind. Déjà vu washed over Sam. She desperately gasped for air. The blue sheen of the horse’s black coat shined in her headlights. Snow fell around him and his rider. Sam pressed herself as far back in her car seat as she could. The windshield wipers beat a rhythm, back and forth, back and forth. The snow danced in their wake.

The black stallion reared up, hooves slicing through the huge flakes, his mane floating, glowing, in the wind. She cried, “Not again! Not again!”

She blinked hard. A tall man sat in her passenger seat. Her arms shot up in front of her face trying to protect herself from him. She screamed!

Dark hair with streaks of grey at his temple. His eyes were black as coal. A scruffy beard that needed to be trimmed, was more salt than pepper. The tan Stetson on his head touched the roof of her little car. He looked uncomfortable like he didn’t fit. His shirt was odd. White denim, but cut differently than she had ever seen. There was no collar. A black leather vest with a wool fleece lining covered his chest.

She panted, slowing down her breathing. He did nothing to harm her. Was that all he had on in this storm?

He smelled of river water, fishy and stagnant. His voice had a rasp to it, like someone who had injured their throat or smoked too much. “You’ll be alright, little lady.”

“Wha—”

“It’s a tough choice, but you’ll make the right one.”

She squinted at the man. “Gra-Grampa Harold?”

“Here, this’ll help.” He reached out to touch her forehead. She gasped and pressed against the window, but she couldn’t escape his hand connecting with her head. His fingers were ice cold, causing a shiver to run down her spine. Then a bright light blanched everything into whiteness. A small freckle-covered hand slipped from hers. Curly red hair bounced on the little girl as she waddled ahead of Sam. Her bright green and white sundress matched the one Sam wore, and swayed with the breeze. She was barefoot and so was Sam. A man took Sam’s free hand. He was strong and tall. He, too, a redhead with sun-kissed specks on his hand. They walked across Phantom Horse Bridge, as the child toddled ahead of them. Tears of joy stung her eyes. He stopped halfway through the bridge structure and leaned down to kiss her. She closed her eyes and let his kiss consume her.

Silent blackness engulfed her.

“He’s on his way,” the man spoke again.

Her eyes popped open. “Who?” Heavy lids closed, even though she tried to keep them open.

“He’s almost here.”

“Who are you?” she mumbled. Her head lolled against the headrest. She didn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore. Her eyes closed. Exhaustion overtook her.

Headlights shined in her face. She squinted and raised one hand to shield her eyes. A familiar voice called out to her. “Samantha!”

“Grandpa Harold...”

“Sam! Are you alright?” He tapped on her window. “Sam!” He tried to open her door. It was locked. He patted her window harder this time. “Sam! I’ve called nine-one-one.” She turned to Grandpa Harold. The passenger seat was empty. She peeked ahead, the headlights obscured her view, or else the horse was gone, also.

Something warm covered her eyelid. She squeezed them shut, it stung. A tear rolled down her cheek. She lowered her hand and brushed against the unlock button on her door. It clicked. Her hand fell back into her lap. It was all she could do. The headlights faded into blackness.

Red and blue lights swirled in and out of Sam’s blackness. Sirens faded and swelled in her hearing.

Blackness.

Voices.

Lights.

Something stiff on her neck. More voices.

Oh, the pain in her head!

Cold! So cold!

Blackness.

“Hey.” Mysti cooed. “There she is.”

Sam blinked and tried to keep her eyes open. Beeping irritated her aching head. Something smelled horrible.

“What’s that smell?” she said through an arid throat that didn’t want to function. She coughed. Mysti held a straw to Sam’s mouth and she sipped. The water passed over her tongue and down her throat, but it felt like fire. She grimaced.

“What happened?” she croaked.

Mysti cleared her throat. “You were—” She cleared her throat again. “You were in an accident, sister.”

The snow. Spinning. Grandpa Harold. Wait!

“Was I alone?” Sam grabbed her sister’s wrist.

“Yes, Sammy. Nobody was with you. It was just you.” Mysti tucked Sam’s covers in around her body, fussing with the fold of the sheet over the thermal blanket.

“Seriously,” Samantha sniffed. “What is that smell?”

“Oh, all right.” Mysti sounded annoyed. “I made a smudge pot of Liliaceae, Racemosum, and Capparaceae. The first is to help you wake up, the second two are for your concussion. You’ve been unconscious for a day and a half.”

“Concussion? What day is it?” Sam tried to sit up, but the pain in her head forced her to lie back.

“It’s Friday.” Mysti frowned. “Stop moving so much. The doc said you need to be still.”

“Well, I’m awake now, so put it out. God, that stinks. It’s a wonder you didn’t wake Grandpa Harold with that horrible stuff.”

Mysti stared at her with knitted brow as she poured water into the smudge pot. A steamy cloud rose into the air. She waved her hand through it to help it dissipate into the air vents. “Why would you say that?”

Sam glared at her sister. Did she dare tell her what she had seen and who had talked to her? The vision flashed in her mind. Was that her destiny? Her future? This time, she did sit up. “Oh, my God!”

“What!” Mysti started and spilled the water on her mobile table. “I-I saw—Never mind.”

“What?” Mysti hurried to put the cup on her bedside table. “What did you see?”

“Nothing.” Sam’s eyes darted around the room. Had it been real? How could it be real? All her life she had been terrified of Grandpa Harold. But that night, he was ... kind ... helpful even. Who banged on her window? Who found her? “Who was that man? Who called nine-one-one?”

“You don’t know?” Mysti giggled.

Sam glared at her sister. “His voice sounded familiar, but I don’t—”

“Little sister, that was Paul Hourton.” Her eyes lifted to the door. “In fact, he’s just gone to get me something to eat. He’s been here most of the time you’ve been unconscious.”

“Paul?”

“Yeah. He had been standing at the big bay window upstairs in the B&B, looking at the city lights and the snow. He saw you spin off the road and ran down to his SUV to rescue you.” Mysti fussed with Sam’s covers again. “He’s been working from your room, reviewing footage, I think. Anyway, he’s been watching something on an iPad and you, of course. His crew have been coming to the hospital and he’d step out in the hall to give them directions, but for the most part, he’s been right here.”

She pointed at another chair toward the foot of Sam’s bed. That’s when Sam saw all the flowers, the cookie bouquet, the balloons, and a banner saying, “Get Well Soon, Miss Gladstone.” It was covered with students’ names, and several teachers’ names, too. Her eyebrows rose high on her forehead, and then she grimaced. “Ow!”

She touched her hairline above her temple and felt stitches and stubble. Tears pooled in her eyes, not from the pain. “Who sent all these?”