Free Hungry Independents (Book 2) by Ted Hill

something to take her to
     Luis’s.”
    Luckily, Mark had been through all of this
     before. He didn’t even hesitate. “Give me three minutes.” And he
     was gone, sprinting across the yard and down the street, pumping
     his arms as his legs churned like a galloping horse.
    Ginger gripped Molly’s hands in a tight
     squeeze, wincing from pain Molly could only imagine. Ginger’s face
     reddened and finally she relaxed her grip. Molly waited for the
     feeling in her hands to return.
    Catherine scooted off the swing and held it
     steady. She stepped close and placed her small hand on Molly’s
     shoulder. “We’re going to need you sooner than I thought,
     Margaret.”
    Molly straightened up. The name jingled
     inside her mind, like the tinkling of familiar sleigh bells from
     Christmases long ago. Her back became uncomfortably cold and she
     wiggled in an attempt to shake off a frosty shiver. Memories
     flooded her mind, but she couldn’t make sense of the sequence.
    Catherine settled her palm over Molly’s
     forehead. A warm sensation seeped into her, flowing with the pulse
     of her heartbeat, carrying itself into the core of Molly’s soul.
     She closed her eyes.
    A shining light stood at the end of a long
     tunnel. Molly’s hands lifted and stretched toward the light. Her
     feet walked with a purpose and conviction that she never knew she
     possessed. The closer she came to the light the more brilliant it
     burned, and that warmth she felt from the small hand on her
     forehead was nothing compared to the searing fire that blazed from
     this illumination. She found it odd that her eyes weren’t
     smoldering in their sockets and that her flesh did not fry off her
     bones.
    Molly found herself, at last, standing in
     front of a golden cross, the source of the light. She fell to her
     knees and clasped her hands together, zapped by an electric
     realization, rewiring and then recharging her mind and spirit.
    “I am Margaret.”
     
    * * *
     
    Someone shook her awake, but she held her
     eyes shut, wanting to remain in the dream.
    “Do you think you should be doing that?” A
     familiar male voice asked. “I thought you said she hit her
     head.”
    Little hands grabbed her shoulders and shook
     again. “It was just a bump, silly. Nothing to worry about at
     all.”
    “Yeah, but…”
    “I don’t have time for this. We need her in
     the other room.”
    “What can Molly do in the other room that
     Luis and you can’t?”
    “She has a special talent for these sorts of
     things.”
    “What, childbirth? What in the world does my
     sister know about delivering babies?”
    She waited for the answer, but one didn’t
     follow. She remembered being inside the stifling foul belly of a
     dragon once. She remembered that her devotion and prayers to the
     Lord were rewarded with freedom. Not to mention the golden cross
     she wore had irritated the beast’s belly. She smiled in her feigned
     sleep.
    “Now you’re just faking. Get up, Margaret.
     You got work to do.”
    “Why did you call her that?” the male voice
     asked, rising concern evident in the way his timbre trembled.
     “What’s going on with my sister?”
    Margaret opened her eyes and recognized the
     handsome young man with the troubled brown eyes. He stood over a
     girl with shiny strands of golden hair. She knew them both right
     away, and then she knew herself completely, like the closing of a
     circle, tying itself off at the ends and containing everything
     within.
    The girl pressed him back with her tiny hand.
     “It’s just a little head trauma. Nothing to worry about.” The girl,
     Catherine, spun around and grabbed Margaret’s shoulder and shook
     her roughly. Catherine stopped, catching Margaret staring up at
     her, and placed her hands on her hips. “I knew you were
     faking.”
    Margaret covered her yawn and stretched.
     “Hello, Catherine. You’re smaller than I remember.”
    “How’s the head?”
    Margaret sat up from where