Chapter 109
LUCY
Iheard my car hit the Pacific Ocean with a tremendous thud, though the word “thud” doesn’t do it justice. A thump? A thunder? A wallop?
The ground briefly shook as the car collided with the Pacific Ocean. No one could survive that.
My nemesis, April Devers—who had put me through unimaginable pain and suffering—was now dead.
Good! I hoped she rotted in that afterlife to the south.
I couldn’t believe I was actually alive.
How the hell had I survived? I had basically zero chance of survival.
I was still handcuffed, I was still duct-taped, and I’d been punched in the face several times.
But I’d never felt more alive.
I managed to find a small stub to push up against and got to my feet.
The moon offered a little light, and I could see I had been less than five feet from going over the ledge. I looked to the south, and I’d been right; we were north of Malibu.
I tried to think what time it was. April had said it was after midnight when we left my house. Maybe it was one now. Maybe two. Would there be any drivers on the world-famous Pacific Coast Highway at this hour? Maybe few and far between, but there would be some.
I walked to the edge of the PCH, and just had to hope someone would be willing to pick up a dirt-covered woman in handcuffs whose mouth happened to be duct-taped, and likely had welts or bruises all over her face.
I can’t say I’d blame them if they just drove right by me.
Ten minutes later, a Good Samaritan pulled over as I stood on the side of the road, trying to flag people down by kicking a foot in the air.
I must have been quite the sight.
A man in his late thirties jumped out of his car. He saw that my hands were cuffed behind my back.
“What the hell happened to you?”
He removed the duct tape so I could talk. I’d been breathing out of my nose for hours and hours, and it felt great to open my mouth and inhale a monstrous breath.
“Thank you so much,” I finally said.
“What happened?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Can you take me to the LAPD?”
“Of course. Are you okay?”
“Not right now, but I will be.”
We got into his car.
“Before you drive off, can I ask for a few small favors? I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. What do you need?”
“Can you call 9-1-1 and tell them that you are dropping me off at the LAPD precinct on Olympic, and for them to have a police officer waiting for me?”
“Sure thing.”
He called 9-1-1 and requested the police meet us there. He also asked for an ambulance to be there waiting as well. I can’t say I blamed him. I must have looked half-dead.
“What else?”
“Can you call this number, and let me leave a message?”
The man did as I asked.
“Dad, it’s me. I’m alive. Ignore that horrible text. It wasn’t from me. I’m going to the LAPD right now, so when you wake up, you know where to find me.”
For my last favor, I asked him to call my mother. “Mom, it’s me. I’m alive and well. I’m headed to the police station.” I needed them both to know, just in case one woke up and only had April’s text message as a reference.
I handed him his phone back.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“That’s it. Thank you so very much. You’re a godsend.”
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the police station, and two police cars and an ambulance were waiting.
I saw one of the cops approaching our car, and I leaned my head out the window.
“Give me a few seconds,” I said.
The approaching officer could see that I was a total mess and backed off.
“Take your time,” he said.
I turned toward the man whom I owed a huge debt of gratitude.
“I owe you big time,” I said. “When I’m done with the police, I’d like to get you something.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“What’s your name?”
“Tim.”
“I’m Lucy. What’s your last name?”
“LaSalle.”
“That’s a cool last name.”
“Thanks. What’s yours?”
I caught myself before saying Sykes.
“Tanner. My name is Lucy Tanner.”
And then the emotions of the night got the best of me.
I burst out in tears.