Page 50 of What She Saw
As silence settled around me and the darkness calmed my heightened nerves, I grew bored. Down the stairs, I walked through the kitchen and left through the back door, taking the time to lock it. Inside my Jeep, I started the engine. I didn’t turn on the headlights until I reached the main road.
Chapter Sixteen
CJ Taggart
Saturday, May 21, 1994, 1:00 a.m.
7 Hours Into
The rain had stopped, and the air had warmed. The mud was thick, and most of the concertgoers were soaked to the bone. Drier air sent a sudden rush of warmth through the crowd. One of the last bands took the stage, and people who had been weary and worn down perked up. The first electric guitar chord telegraphed heavy metal. The lead singer’s deep, gravelly voice blended with pulsing guitar riffs that breathed life into the crowd.
Taggart spotted a man pulling a woman through the crowd. She tugged against his grip, digging her heels in as she tripped forward. Fatigue pulsed through Taggart’s body as he caught up to the couple. “What’s going on?”
The man pretended not to hear. The woman yanked against his grip.
“Let her go,” Taggart shouted.
The man’s jaw was set, but the tendons in his arm slackened. The woman slipped free, turned, and pushed through the crowd. The mass of humans swallowed her whole. Taggart motioned for the man to moveto the edge of the crowd as the crush of bodies pressed against him. The man pivoted and melted into the crowd.
Taggart didn’t go after him. There’d been a thousand moments like this over the course of the night, and no doubt there were dozens of women he hadn’t saved. This entire event was a cluster, and the best he could do was save who he could as he counted the minutes to sunrise.
A long line stretched from the burger stand, and a few folks in line were shouting for service. He strode toward the tent and found no one behind the counter. Piles of burgers wrapped and ready to sell, and the griddle was still hot.
Buddy stood at the till, dishing out cash as another man shouted an order at him. He grabbed two burgers and tossed them on the table. There was no sign of Patty.
Taggart moved around the table past Buddy, searching for Patty. He half expected to see her lying on the ground from exhaustion. But she wasn’t in the tent.
He turned to Buddy, who was serving a young woman with damp dark hair and a soaked Grateful Dead T-shirt. “What happened? Where’s Patty?”
Buddy didn’t glance back. “She took a break an hour ago. I want to go look for her, but I can’t get away. The line is endless.”
“Which direction did she go?”
“Toward the toilets by the woods.”
“Can I get a burger?” another girl shouted.
He’d known Patty two weeks, but each time he’d seen her in the diner, she was hustling. Always had a smile on her face and seemed to take her responsibilities seriously.
“She sure isn’t going to get paid for the burgers I sold,” Buddy grumbled.
The revenue from this stand was money in her pocket. “I’ll go look for her.”
When the next person stepped up to the stand, Buddy held out a burger. “That would be great. I need her back here.”
Taggart glanced at the supply of burgers. They were dwindling. Buddy and Patty had planned for five hundred people at the festival. But there’d been at least two to three thousand. When the burgers were gone, the grumbling, cold, wet, tired people would grow more restless.
Deputy Paxton pushed through the crowd. Dark circles hung under his eyes. He was breathless when he said, “This can’t end fast enough.”
“No, it cannot,” Taggart said.
“Where’s Patty?” Paxton asked.
“Last seen headed to the latrines about an hour ago.”
“That’s not like her,” Paxton said.
“No, it’s not.” He could cut the power to the stage and order the band to wrap. But the pent-up energy of the masses could ignite into a riot if they didn’t keep the music going. Wet, cold, hungry. This crowd was ready to erupt. But the band did need to slow its pace and bring the energy down. “Hang out here for a few minutes and contact me if Patty shows up.”
