Missing Thread E-Book

June V. Bourgo

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

After a strange accident, Georgia awakens from a coma to a sea of faces she has no memory of, in a place she doesn’t remember.

Returning to a home she doesn’t recognize, Georgia struggles to mend the strained relationship between herself and her family, and rediscover a life she can't recall ever having.

Through life-changing events and a mental struggle that challenges the very core of their family, Georgia realizes that her accident is linked to something in her past. But can she put the pieces together and learn the truth?

Leseprobe

Missing Thread

The George Series, Book 3

June V. Bourgo

Copyright (C) 2017 June V. Bourgo

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Acknowledgements

The writing of this story was a different and more difficult process than the two previous books in The Georgia Series. Winter’s Captive and Chasing Georgia leaned more to the physical and emotional endurance necessary to ensure Georgia’s survival; while Missing Thread encompasses her strength of character and tests her ability to overcome adversity in a mental capacity.

I would like to thank Anne Marsh, whose creative insights and opinions are always helpful and so appreciated.

Research for this story took me in many directions and introduced me to worlds and people I would normally never encounter. A big thank you to Susan Goddard of the Acquired Brain Injury Supports at VCH Home Care Services and the University of British Columbia’s Centre for Brain Health for their time and patience in answering all of my questions.

A huge shout out to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Public Affairs and Community Outreach, New Orleans Division, as well as FBI Headquarters for providing me with procedural information and how the various security agencies in the United States are linked together. I enjoyed their southern Louisiana hospitality and being referred to as Miss June. Any errors in the book in reference to any of the security agencies are solely mine.

A special thanks to two of my grandchildren, Braelynne and Brody, who provided a realistic child’s perspective of how Georgia’s children, Shelby and Kaela would deal with the challenges of Georgia’s plight. Interviewing them was such a pleasure for me but their mature and serious answers to my questions showed an intuitiveness and understanding that truly amazed me.

I must acknowledge my husband, Dennis Bourgo, for his love and constant support on a creative and personal level. He always keeps me grounded and well fed.

And to my Next Chapter team, thank you all for helping to make my book the best that it can be.

DEDICATED TO ALL THE PEOPLE IN MY FAMILY CIRCLE

ArcherKeeleyNelsonBake-PowellKinzerNewmanBanksLavoiePalahickyBoothLegrosPallickBourgoLetourneauRogersBowlbyMacWilliamSaundersDaviesMcconnachieShukerFedeMacDonaldSmithGregorchukMcLainThompsonHarrisonMarkwartWoodJarvisMarshWright

PART ONE

“Even in its darkest passages, the heart is unconquerable.

It is important that the body survives,

But it is more meaningful that the human spirit prevails.”

Dave Pelzer, A Child Called 'It'

Prologue

Friday, Lake Charles, Louisiana

FBI Probationary Agent Benjamin Samuels, of the Federal Bureau of Investigation sat in his van staring at nothing. He glanced at his watch for the third time in the past ten minutes. A sigh escaped his lips. Time was moving slowly. Boring.

The house he was watching had been still for hours. He reached over to the passenger seat and opened the cooler bag. Hmm…tuna sandwich, apple, a bag of peanuts, a couple of ding dongs, and some bottled water. He grabbed a ding dong, downed it in three bites and washed it down with coffee from a thermos.

He changed the CD that was playing to a more upbeat sound and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. He sang along with the song and threw in some ad libs of his own. Anything to help pass the time.

It was a dead end street with lots of bushes. He was parked down the block from the home that was his assignment, well-hidden in an old overgrown driveway. There were no houses directly in front of him and he had a clear view of the old cottage and the driveway that ran up the side of the property. The black pick-up parked there, hadn't moved since yesterday, according to the nightshift agent. Ben's dayshift started four hours ago.

Ben heard the gurgling of his stomach and felt a sudden burning in his chest. Indigestion. Shouldn't of had that left over chili for breakfast. He'd been late rising this morning and the chili was the only quick food he could find in his near empty fridge. Ben reopened the cooler bag and grabbed a bottle of water. He drank half the bottle, while rubbing his abdomen.

It wasn't the FBI's case originally. It came from out-of-state. He didn't have all the details, except that it was a joint venture between the FBI and US Border and Customs Protection, reporting directly to a committee of Homeland Security. The subject under investigation had returned to Lake Charles, Louisiana to attend to his mother's affairs. She'd died a week ago. The field office in New Orleans had been contacted. They covered sixty-four parishes in Louisiana, divided up under six satellite offices. Lake Charles was one of the six resident satellite offices in the state. New Orleans had passed the case on to his boss, Cam Hutchins, Resident Agent in Charge.

Ben's job was to watch and record the subject's activities. So far, nothing of interest had occurred—a small funeral attended by the deceased woman's son, who was their subject, with a few Bingo lady friends, and a couple of neighbors; a quiet reception at the house; and a visit to a lawyer. Garbage bags had been put out on pick-up day and some cardboard boxes were delivered to a thrift shop. All had been confiscated by his agency, unbeknownst to the subject. All very mundane. The man had a return plane ticket to New York state and would be leaving in a few days. The field office would forward a report of their surveillance to the powers that be back east and the role his office played in the case would wrap up.

His radio crackled. “Agent Samuels? Motz here. Do you copy?”

The agent picked up his radio and addressed the SOG Specialist. The Surveillance Operations Group was contracted by the FBI to provide trained personnel to assist their Agents in surveillance ops. This arrangement freed up time and manpower for other FBI projects. “I'm here. What's up? Over.”

“I'll be out of the car for five minutes. Pee break. Over.”

“Ten-four. Out.”

Aaron Motz was parked out of sight one block over; ready to pick up the tail should their subject be on the move.

Ben felt a discomfort pass from his stomach into his intestines. He squirmed in his seat and drank more water. Damn chili.

As a probationary agent, he'd been with the bureau for ten months. He knew he had to cut his teeth on jobs like this. He'd spent his whole life wanting to be a part of the FBI and here he was. All he had to do was pay his dues and find ways to deal with the humdrum side of the job. These days would pass and he had big dreams for his future with the Bureau.

A few gas bubbles welled up inside his chest and he burped them out, bringing some relief to his indigestion. But he sensed he was in trouble as the discomfort grew in his lower abdomen. A glance around the van confirmed that in his rush to get to work this morning, he'd left an all important item at home—a roll of bathroom tissue. Shit. Ben groaned. Great choice of words, Einstein. It wouldn't be the first time he'd retreated behind bushes or down laneways while on surveillance. It was a hazard of the job. Nature had her own schedule. Ben had no problem relieving himself in this manner, but no way would he succumb to this particular urge without that precious square of paper. And it had started to rain.

He glanced at his watch and noted ten minutes had passed since his conversation with Motz. “Motz, you there? Over.” Static and more static. “Motz? Over.” Damn.

Flatulence gurgled through his intestines until the gas escaped, forcing him to roll down his window for some fresh air.

He stared at the house down the street and came to a decision. One turn of the key in the ignition and the van started. He turned right onto the street and drove in the opposite direction of his charge towards the gas station two blocks down.

A few minutes later, he was back with a fresh thermos of coffee and feeling all the better for it. Ben turned around in the abandoned property and reclaimed his position in the bushes. Motz confirmed he was back in place. He released his seat belt and adjusted his seat for better comfort. Might as well be comfortable. Ben opened the thermos and poured some coffee into the lid.

He searched out the house down the street. “Oh fuck…” His hand holding the coffee to his lips froze. His eyes searched up and down the street.

“Ooh no… no…” He pounded the steering wheel with his other fist. “You're in deep shit now.” The black pick-up was gone, leaving the gravel driveway empty, except for tufts of overgrown grass blowing in the breeze.

Fifteen minutes…fifteen fuckin' minutes. That's all I was gone. Ben stared at his cell phone charging in the cigarette lighter. He had no choice but to call it in. All he could think of was how he'd blown such an easy assignment. All because of some spicy chili.

The call was picked up by a receptionist. “Resident Agent Hutchins, please,” he said in a defeated voice. He punched the steering wheel one more time. Hutchins' gonna be pissed.

Chapter 1

Two days earlier, Wednesday afternoon

The plane dropped, tilted sideways and rose up hard. Coffee flew out of the cup in Georgia Charles-Dixon's hand, landing on the front of her white shirt.

“Damn.” She set the cup back onto the tray and dabbed at the stain with a napkin. The plane took another dive and she put the lid on the cup and secured it in the slotted tray.

The seat belt light bonged and flashed as the P.A. system came to life. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing some air turbulence. Please remain in your seats and fasten your seat belts. Thank you.”

Georgia glanced nervously at her husband in the seat beside her as she engaged the seat belt. She knew turbulence was a natural phenomenon and with all the air miles she'd clocked, she should be used to it. Fat chance.

Sean took a hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Relax. It's nothing to worry about.” His soft soothing voice made her feel better.

She looked through the window and saw nothing but forests below. They were somewhere over northern California. Soon they'd be landing in Los Angeles. Her thoughts focused on their trip. Sean would remain in L.A. for three days on movie business. She was catching a connecting flight to Houston, Texas to appear as a guest speaker at a Writer's Convention. She had come to enjoy speaking at events. They brought her to places she would never have visited and introduced her to many interesting people. But, lately, they'd become a chore.

The plane shuddered and shook as they hit another air pocket. “Uhh …” Georgia sucked in her breathe, her body tensing against the back of the seat.

Sean leaned closer to her and tightened his grip on her hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course. I'm being silly. I've never been fond of flying, but since I've become a parent, I'm more aware of my mortality.”

“I think parenthood does that to a lot of people, especially mothers.”

“It doesn't help knowing the girls were upset we left them with Grams.” Georgia thought about her daughters, Kaela and Shelby. They'd just celebrated their ninth birthday.

Sean loosened his grip on her hand. “It's the first time that we left them without one of us being there.”

Kaela was her birth daughter from a previous marriage. Shelby was Kaela's half-sister. The girls were born a couple of weeks part, the result of her ex-husband's affair during his marriage to Georgia. Both women became pregnant around the same time. Georgia adopted Shelby when her ex-husband and his second wife had both died only months apart. Two and a half years ago, Georgia married Sean and he adopted the girls as his own.

They were a family.

Georgia sighed. “I knew Shelby might be upset with both of us away. But it's been four years since she lost her birth parents.”

“We can't keep her in a cocoon forever, hon. Sooner or later, she needs to accept that we're not going anywhere.”

“You're right. I've been thinking that with the girls in school full-time, I'd like to get involved with something else part-time.”

“Like what?” Sean asked.

Georgia laughed, which turned into a snort. “I haven't a clue. But I'm thinking this will be my last speaking engagement to do with my past and my books.”

“I thought you loved all of this. You've kept it pretty low key since the girls started school.”

“I do love it. But I want to do something more meaningful. I'm tired of talking about me.”

“That I understand but what you've been doing has inspired other people.”

Georgia nodded her head. “I suppose. I guess I'm bored and I need a new challenge. My life needs to move forward as well.”

“Then you must find one.”

“Hmm … I'm not sure how.”

Sean brushed her hair out of her eyes and kissed the tip of her nose. “Then let it find you. When it does, you'll know.”

The turbulence stopped and the rest of the flight was without incident. Georgia watched as they flew out to sea and changed their approach back to the coast. Ten minutes later they departed from the plane at LAX and headed to the ticket counter to check Georgia in for her connecting flight to Houston.

Sean walked her to the security check point. “Call me when you're settled into the hotel.” “I will.” Georgia slipped her arms around his waist and placed her head on his chest.

He held her tight and whispered, “I love you.”

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “I love you too.”

Sean tilted his face and kissed her good-bye. “Have fun, hon.”

Georgia watched him walk towards the exit door to a waiting taxi. As if sensing her gaze, he stopped and turned. Sean gave her a wave and disappeared outside. She sought out the end of the security check line and took her place. It took her twenty minutes to get through the line and walk the distance to the waiting lounge. No sooner had she settled into a seat, when her cell phone rang. It was her grandmother's number in Gibsons. She smiled, knowing it would be her daughters.

“Hi Mommy.” It sounded liked Kaela but her voice sounded muffled.

“Hi sweetheart. How was your day at school?”

“Okay I guess. Darcy Brooks got caught throwing a spit ball at me. He's such a dork and …oops…Shelby, stop it.”

Georgia could hear both her daughters in a fit of giggles. “You there?”

“Yes, Mommy.” A crunching sound came through the line.”

“You're eating in my ear, Kaela. Do you know what that sounds like at this end?”

“Sorry. Grams made us chocolate chip cookies. Shelby made me laugh and a piece fell out of my mouth.” More giggles. “Where are you, Mommy?”

“I'm in L.A. airport waiting for my connecting flight to Houston. Won't be long now.”

“Is Poppy with you?” Kaela asked.

“No, he's on his way to his hotel.” Georgia smiled. The girls had decided when Sean became their adoptive father, they would call him Poppy. The name had stuck and Sean couldn't have been prouder.

“Okay. We just wanted to check in with you. Shelby wants to say hi. Love you, Mommy. Bye.”

“Love you too, sweets. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.”

Georgia waited for her other daughter to say hello. Shelby took the phone, dropped it with a clatter. Another fit of the giggles came through the phone.

Shelby finally spoke. “Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi sweetheart. Good to hear you two are in happy moods. How was your day?”

“I got an A in my short story about my favourite animal.”

“Good for you, Shelby. You worked hard on that piece. I'm proud of you. So what are you guys up to tonight?”

“Grams is taking us out for pizza. Grampa Frank is coming too.”

Georgia's eyebrows shot up.“Grampa Frank? Sounds like fun.”

“Mommy?” Silence. “Are you and Poppy still coming home on Sunday?”

“Yes, hon. We'll be there Sunday.”

“I miss you already. Oh…Grams is calling us. Grampa is here.”

“You'd better go then. I miss you too. We'll talk tomorrow okay? Enjoy your pizza.”

“Love you.” Shelby blew a kiss in the phone.

“You too, hon. Bye now.”

Georgia put her book down and looked out the window of the plane that was taking her to Houston. A smile formed on her lips as she thought about her conversation with her daughters. Kaela hated talking on the phone and always kept it short. Shelby on the other hand would have talked longer if they didn't already have dinner plans. Further dialogue with her daughter would have brought the child's neurosis to the surface and Georgia knew she'd have felt guilty for leaving her. She was grateful that Grams and Frank were keeping the girls busy.

Shelby had come a long way since losing her parents at age five. Georgia was now Mommy to her and she adored Poppy. The sisters, two weeks apart in age, looked like their father and many people who didn't know the family thought they were twins. Georgia believed this had helped the girls bond and become close very quickly. Having to explain that her ex-husband had an affair and impregnated his legal assistant around the same time as his wife became pregnant always raised eyebrows and brought more questions. But then the pair had become ill and died and Georgia took custody of Kaela. New people in their lives assumed that the girls were twins and Sean's children. They didn't bother to explain unless something came up in conversation.

The thought of Grams and Frank made her smile grow wider. Grams was her maternal grandmother. Frank was Georgia's ex-father-in-law. It seemed to her they had been spending some time together lately. Hmm…no, what a ridiculous thought. Grams is at least eight or nine years older than Frank.

The seat belt light flashed and Georgia prepped for the landing. As they began their descent into Houston Airport, a nagging feeling deep in her chest that started small grew to a level of anxiety. A pounding at her temples caused her head to ache. The inside of the plane disappeared before her eyes. She envisioned darkness and the pounding water in a heavy rainstorm that bounced off the near invisible asphalt. As quickly as the vision appeared, it was gone. Georgia swallowed hard and took deep breaths to keep herself calm. They landed and taxied the runway but a feeling of dread stayed with her. She stood and followed the line of passengers off the plane.

Something's going to happen. A premonition?

Chapter 2

Two nights later, Friday evening, suburbs of Port Arthur, Texas

Dylan Ortega's wife was angry. He noted her wild brown eyes flashing darker and braced himself for the backlash he knew his wife was about to bestow on him. Too late, he realized he'd pushed Camila to the point of no return.

“You're the man of the house? You make the decisions? You've been out of work for six months, Dylan. Our savings are gone, our mortgage is starting to fall behind, and the bills are next.”

Dylan bristled. “It's not my fault that I was laid off. I've tried to find other work…any work.”

“I know that. But it hasn't happened and now you're mad because I found work? Now is not the time for your estupido male ego,” Camila yelled.

His face reddened at her insult. “I'm angry because you didn't discuss it with me before you took the job.”

Camila marched right up into his face and put her hands on her hips. “Why would I? I've tried to have this discussion with you many times. You always say my place is at home raising the kids. It's your job to work to take care of us. Well, I'm not going to lose everything we worked so hard for without at least a good fight.”

“And what about the kids? Who's going to be here for them?” Dylan flashed back.

“You, that's who. When they're in school, you can look for work. You only need to be here after school until I get home.” Camila crossed her arms and jutted her chin out. “I guess you'll have to stay out of the bar for awhile.”

It was Dylan's turn to lose control. “You act like I'm in the bar all the time. That's not true.”

“Don't deny it. I know you meet the guys every day for beers. You're spending less time at home, and throwing money away in the bar that we can't afford.”

“I'm here tonight aren't I?”

Camila laughed sarcastically. “Oh get real. The only reason you're home tonight is because of this horrid storm. Half the area is without power which probably includes the bar.”

Furious with her accusations and the truth of her words, Dylan looked for an outlet for his anger. He wanted to smash his fist into her smug face, but he'd never ever laid a finger on Camila and he never could. He picked up a brass ornament on the coffee table and threw it past her head and into the wall, leaving a ragged hole in the plaster.

Camila screamed. “Bastardo! The kids gave me that for Mother's Day.”

Dylan turned on his heels and left the room. His need to get out of the house overwhelmed him. As he grabbed his truck keys and jacket in the hallway, he heard Camila's softened voice.

“Please…don't go out in that,” she pleaded.

He left anyway, slamming the door behind him.

The rain pelted against the windshield. He headed along the roadway towards the Neches River. Once out of the residential area, the road was dark. The torrential storm made it difficult to see beyond a few feet. Camila was right. No one in their right mind should be out in this. Knowing, once again, that his wife's wisdom outweighed his stilted thinking in more ways than one, his anger was fuelled even more. He took the curve ahead at a speed that matched his level of anger and found himself behind a car travelling at a slower speed. To avoid hitting the car from behind, he pulled into the oncoming lane. His wheels hit a puddle and skidded towards the car on his left causing it to move over onto the gravel shoulder. An adjustment brought his truck under control and he pumped the brakes to slow down. Through the rear view mirror he saw the car had stopped. Probably scared the hell out the driver. A shudder passed through him at the thought of what could have been. The smart thing to do, would be to turn around and go home. Dylan shook his head. He wasn't ready to face Camila. He needed some time and space to think things through and calm down. Dylan drove on into the storm.

Chapter 3

Friday evening, Bridge City, Texas

The frantic whap whap of the wipers against the windshield matched the pounding beat of Georgia's heart. The water ran down the glass in torrents, making visibility near impossible. She'd left the lights of Bridge City, Texas behind her moments before. Lightning strikes lit up the dark night sky, while deafening claps of thunder added to her already frayed nerves. Why did I insist on driving tonight?

The weather report predicted rain, not this sudden torrential storm. She adjusted her seat to support her back muscles; aching from leaning forward to peer through the distorted glass. The lights from an approaching semi truck blinded her momentarily. The tires of the truck hit a dip in the road full of water and splashed it onto her windshield. “Uhh … damn,” she gasped. Visibility was lost and Georgia felt the car hydroplane. She steered out of a skid and tapped the brakes lightly to slow her vehicle down.

A green light up ahead flashed Cafe. She drove the car off of the highway and into the parking lot. “Phew.” A deep breathe escaped through clenched teeth and she leaned her head back against the headrest, releasing the pent up tension in her shoulders. One glance through the car window told her there was no sense waiting for the rain to let up. Georgia grabbed her purse, opened the door, and stepped out into the pelting rain. By the time she reached the door to the coffee shop, her clothes were soaked. Her wet hair dripped water down her face and off the tip of her nose.

“Oh my, what're doin' drivin' on a night like this?” The waitress led her to a table and brought her a hand towel from the kitchen. A teenage couple sat at a corner table whispering to each other, oblivious to anyone else. The door opened and a man entered in much the same state as Georgia, rounding it out to four patrons.

“What can I get ya, hon?” the woman asked her.

“Coffee, black, please.”

The waitress scurried to the kitchen for another towel for the stranger.

Georgia pulled out her cell phone. No signal. Great, the weather probably took out the tower. She placed her cold hands around the cup for warmth. The man ordered a coffee and a donut. With little to do, the waitress wandered over to Georgia's table, her face shrouded with a look of concern.

“Where ya headed?”

“Houston,” she said.

“Bad night for it. Maybe y'all should wait 'til mornin'.”

“I have a flight to catch to L.A. I would have changed flights if I'd known this storm would turn for the worst. I'm about half-way. I might as well travel on.”

“Y'all not from around here, are ya?”

Georgia smiled. Her lack of a southern drawl was a dead give-away. “No. I'm from Vancouver, Canada. I had business in Houston and today I went to Lake Charles, Louisiana for the day.

“Beautiful city that Vancouver. I visited there for the Olympics. Refill?”

“Yes, please.” She glanced around the cafe, enjoying the warmth exuding from a woodstove in the corner. The lone male caught her attention and he nodded at her; a slight smile creased his mouth. Georgia nodded back. She took a few sips of her coffee. As comfortable as it felt here, it was time to get back on the road. She left money on the table and stood.

The stranger spoke to her as she passed. “Killer night.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Let's hope not.”

A slight smile curled his lips for a second time. “Sorry, bad choice of words. Have a safe trip.”

“You too.”

The waitress met her at the door. “Now, hon, y'all take care out there, hear?”

“I will. Thank you.”

There was no traffic on the road and it seemed darker than ever. “Everyone's too smart to be out here. Not like me,” she muttered. She drove her way through the bridge systems over waters running to the Neches River which connected with Sabine Lake, eventually emptying into the Gulf of Mexico. A direction sign told her Port Arthur lay fifteen minutes ahead. Houston was a little over an hour away. The final bridge over the Neches River came into sight. Georgia noticed a vehicle behind her, closing the gap at a high rate of speed.

“What the…”

Considering the road conditions and limited visibility, whoever sat behind the wheel was definitely driving recklessly. It caught up to her back end in no time. Judging by the height of the headlights, it appeared to be a pick-up truck. High beams shone in the rear view mirror, adding to her already compromised vision.

“Jerk.” She reached up to the mirror and flipped the knob but the lights still blinded her. “Asshole,” she cried out. One quick slap of her hand pushed the mirror upwards, forcing her to rely on the side mirrors.

She concentrated on the road and the bridge looming ahead. The pick-up pulled out into the opposing lane. The vehicle didn't pass, but stayed right beside her. “What the hell?” Suddenly, the truck swerved towards her car, forcing Georgia to veer to the right. The tires on the right side of the car hit dirt and she started to skid. As she attempted to steer the car back onto the paved road, the pick-up moved into her lane and swerved towards her again. “What are you doing?” she yelled, frightened.

They'd reached the bridge span. With no place to go but into the concrete abutment where the bridge joined the bank, Georgia tapped her brakes and held on to the wheel, hoping to stop in time on the dirt shoulder. The pick-up stopped on the roadway at the entrance to the bridge blocking her way back to the pavement. She spiked her breaks to stop in time, but the wheel on the right passenger side caught a patch of mud and the car slid sideways. “Oh my God…” she screamed. Georgia cleared the bridge column, but the car kept sliding right over the embankment. Her body froze. The whole thing played out in slow motion. She heard the motor rev of the pick-up and the squeal of its tires as it sped onto the bridge deck and disappeared into the night. The front passenger side of her car hit a large rock, while the momentum of the still moving car forced her side to spin forward and up into the air. The vehicle flipped a couple of times as it careened down the bank and into the Neches River.

Because the car flipped side over side, Georgia's head flew to the passenger side with the first roll and back towards the driver's door, hitting hard against the window post before the air bags deployed. Her lungs gasped for air amidst the sharp chest pain she felt from their impact.

Blood ran down her face, filling her eyes, and mouth. She spat it out and shook her head to overcome the sense of disorientation.

The car landed in shallow water initially, but was tilted to the right and slid into deeper water. Georgia panicked. “Oh no, I've got to get out.” She remembered reading in the car manual that one had so many seconds to open windows and doors before the power pack shorted.

She reached up and turned on the interior light, pushed the side air bag out of the way and hit the electronic window buttons. Cold air and freezing water poured into the windows. She pushed the seat belt release, but it wouldn't budge. “Uhh … no … no … come on,” she cried, pounding the button. Georgia shifted in her seat to see what the problem was. The water was up to her waist, distorting everything under its wake. She felt around with her fingers and realized the seat belt casing was buckled. Her heart pounded, but she wouldn't give up. The water rushed in faster now as the car sunk lower.

With numbing fingers, she held her breath and slid under the water to grab her purse on the floor of the passenger side. Her head popped back up. “Uuuh…that's cold,” she gasped. The water was up to her neck at this point and she tilted her head back as her fingers searched for scissors in her make-up bag. Her body was numb from the cold water. Thank God for sharp scissors. It took a bit of effort, but she managed to cut through the belt and release herself. A small pocket of air remained at the roof of the car. Georgia took a few seconds to calm herself, sucked in a deep breath and pushed herself through the open window into the murky water as the car sunk into the dark depths.

Disoriented by the cold water and her head injury, Georgia didn't know which way was up. She looked up and down in the dark water. Surprisingly, the headlights and interior lights were still on and she could see them slowly moving away from her, confirming which way she must swim. Her lungs were bursting as she forced herself up, slowly releasing the diminishing air in her lungs. She hit the surface and sucked in air and water, causing her to cough and sputter.

Georgia tread water for a time, spinning in circles, not sure in the darkness where the shoreline lay. Her teeth chattered from the bitter cold water and rain pelted on her face, blinding her further. She finally made out the lights on the bridge and knew which way to swim to shore. She floated on her back to catch her breath and rebuild her energy. A moment later, the gravity of this decision hit home. Too late, the current of the river caught hold and pulled her out into the channel. “Help,” she screamed. The water became choppy and as hard as she tried to swim back to calmer water, the river pulled her back. “Help…somebody help me.” The current pulled her under at times, and when she resurfaced, the waves slapped her in the face, making it difficult to gasp for air without taking water in too.

Georgia gave a courageous fight, but it wasn't enough. The river, with all the force of nature, sought the path of its destiny as it had always done, taking her along with it.

The battle was lost.

Chapter 4

Dylan proceeded at a sensible speed down the road and turned off the highway onto a secondary road. He followed it until he reached an open area with a dirt road leading to the banks of Sabine Lake. A favourite make-out spot for local teens, Dylan smiled. He and Camila had shared their first kiss right here ten years previous. The area was dark and empty tonight, matching the feeling in his heart. He parked facing the lake and turned up the radio. With his head resting back against the head rest, he stared out at the lake. The headlights picked up the turbulence of the dark water crashing against the banks, fuelled by the force of a strong wind.

He thought about the innocence of their courting days, their marriage, and the birth of their two boys, now seven and nine. How young and naive we'd been. A sardonic laugh, starting deep within, escaped through his lips, building its momentum until he shook with laughter, taking him to the point of tearing up. Dylan gave his head a shake, took a couple of deep breaths, and was back in control.

He stared out at the water in a stupor, afraid to move and break the feeling of numbness he felt and welcomed. Even the beat of the rhythmic salsa playing on the radio, usually a sound that stirred his Latino blood, went unnoticed. His eyes focused on a spot where the Neches River entered Sabine Lake. The churning water of the whirlpool mesmerized his vision and comforted him. Strange, but I don't have the need or desire to examine the feeling. Round and round the swirls went, pulling his focus into their deep recesses.

Something's not right. Then he saw it. He frowned and leaned forward, staring out the windshield at an object caught in the center of the whirlpool. The wipers afforded him a quick glance at whatever it was, each time the blades cleared the pools of water running down the glass. Dylan opened the truck door and stepped out. He stood in front of the truck and shielded his eyes with the palms of his hands to keep the rain from blocking his vision.

“Holy shit…” In an instant, he knew it was a body. Dylan kicked his shoes off and ran towards the bank's edge, pulling his jean jacket off as he went. Without so much as a thought, he dove off the grassy knoll and into the lake. The cold water hit him like a hard wooden board and stung his skin. He pushed it from his mind and swam as fast and hard as he could towards the whirlpool. He'd been a champion swimmer in college and knew no fear of the water. With one reach of his arm, he grabbed hold of some clothing and pulled the body towards him. There was no time to check the status of the person. It was imperative to get himself and the body, dead or alive, out of the icy water. Assuming there was life still in the person he had in his grasp, Dylan turned the body over and held the face out of the water with one arm and swam with the other.

The current was strong and he struggled to hold onto the body and keep the face above the water.

By the time he pushed the body up and onto the bank, he was forced to take a moment to catch his breath and rebuild some strength. Finally, he pulled himself out of the water and collapsed. Time was of the essence. Dylan pushed himself up and rolled the body over onto it's back. It was a woman. She wasn't breathing and he couldn't find a pulse. A quick listen to her chest, told him her heart was still beating, albeit, a slow, faint beat. He applied the breathing technique over and over until she sucked in a huge breath and coughed water out of her lungs. Dylan rolled her onto her side so she wouldn't choke on the water. She didn't regain consciousness but she was breathing. He felt a pulse in her neck. A deep gash on the left side of her head began to bleed profusely. Without cell service, he'd have to take her to the hospital himself. He carried her to the truck and placed her in the passenger seat, propping her up against the door. A sweater belonging to Camila was shoved behind the seat. Dylan used it to tie around her head to try to slow down the flow of blood. His teeth chattered as he started the fifteen minute drive and he turned the heat in the cab on high.

Dylan drove as fast as he dared. He headed towards the Medical Center of Southeast Texas in Port Arthur, a physician-owned hospital with state-of-the-art technology. It was in the process of being built when their first child was born but Camila had their second son at this hospital. He pulled into the emergency entrance honking the horn. He jumped out and ran around to the passenger side. Dylan gathered the woman into his arms and rushed through the hospital doors, almost running into a police officer. The officer yelled for the nurse, who grabbed an empty bed set against the wall in the hallway. The policeman helped him place the woman on the bed. The nurse told Dylan to follow her and they hurried past half a dozen people sitting in the waiting room and through the door to triage. The triage nurse called for help to move the woman from the bed onto one behind a curtain. Dylan sat down in a chair beside the bed, shaking from the icy water, his wet clothes stuck to his chilled skin.

The officer stood beside him. “Car accident?”

“No,” Dylan answered in a shaky voice.

The nurse took over the questioning as she felt the woman's pulse. “Tell me what's happened here.”