Page 65 of Desperate Creed

She was younger than Maggie had noticed before. Probably in her twenties. The other waitress was older. The waitress who called her and Frankie, “Hon.” The one Maggie didn’t save.

Maggie kneeled down next to Frankie. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her eyes were closed but she was biting her lip. It was bleeding. Maggie looked across the beam at Gus. He seemed content to let her call the shots. He also seemed content to wait for the paramedics. He leaned against the wall, watching and waiting.

Suddenly, Maggie realized her feet were wet. Frankie’s hair was wet, too. Somewhere water was seeping in. The rest of them could stand. Frankie couldn’t.

Now Maggie’s eyes darted around the crumbling basement. She stood and turned, shooting her cell phone’s flashlight over the walls, the shelves, the collapsed ruins. She double-backed and started searching the area. A five-foot length of steel pipe had come down with the ceiling. She grabbed it, pleased with how heavy and sturdy it felt.

“Come on, Gus,” she said, gesturing for him to come over to her side of Frankie. Val had finished her makeshift tourniquet and Maggie called to her. “Can you give us a hand?”

Maggie shoved the steel pipe under the beam, keeping it away from Frankie’s legs.

“Val, when Gus and I lift this beam, I need you to pull Frankie out from under it.”

Frankie’s eyes were open now, wide and hopeful. She couldn’t disappoint her.

Val came around behind Frankie and helped her bend forward enough for Val to get her hands under Frankie’s shoulders. Then Maggie motioned for Gus to join her. They would push all their weight down on the pipe and hope it would lever the beam up enough for Val to pull Frankie’s legs free.

“Okay, here we go,” Maggie told them.

She and Gus pushed and strained and the beam lifted only inches. It wasn’t going to work. How could this not work? Frankie’s eyes watched, waiting and waiting. But it wasn’t enough. Then suddenly, another hand reached over and gripped the pipe.

Ronald added his weight. The beam began to lift. The other debris slid off and the beam lifted more. Val pulled and dragged until she had Frankie completely free.

“We need to get her up out of the water,” Maggie told them before they could celebrate.

They lifted her up onto one of the wooden benches. With her back against the wall, the bench was long enough for her legs.

“How you doing?” Maggie asked her.

“Better.” She offered a weak smile. Then she jerked and grabbed Maggie’s hand, squeezing it tight. She grimaced and panic filled her eyes, again, as she said, “I still can’t move my legs.”

48

Florida Panhandle

Hannah had suggested Brodie go “take a lie down.” She was too old for Hannah to tell her to go take a nap like she did with Isaac and Thomas. Brodie didn’t argue. She welcomed the retreat. She needed the relief. Another minute longer and she was sure her heart would explode right out of her chest.

She found Kitten and curled up on her bed. But she didn’t reach for the book on her nightstand. The stories, the wonderful adventures had been her escape. There was no escape from this. How could she get rid of the images and the memories when they had wrapped themselves so tightly and so firmly around her mind that they had managed to become a part of her?

Then she saw the notebook and pen also next to the bed. Brodie sat up and grabbed the journal. She found the first empty page and began filling it:

My name is Brodie Creed.

My name is Brodie Creed.

My name is Brodie Creed.

Brodie was the problem. She was weak, a scaredy-cat, a crybaby. Although Brodie hadn’t shed a tear in many years.

No, not Brodie. Charlotte hadn’t shed a tear.

She readjusted the pen in her hand and wrote:

My name is Charlotte.

My name is Charlotte.

A soft tap on her door stopped her. She jerked and threw her legs over the edge of the bed, prepared to run. The reaction was so instinctive she didn’t realize how silly it was until Hannah peeked around the door.