Free Beyond the Grave by Mara Purnhagen Page A

common aspect of panic attacks.
    The sharper the sound, the more quickly I felt dragged backto that shattering moment when I’d witnessed my mother’s attack.
    â€œSo that’s how it is,” I said. “For the rest of my life, I’ll be reduced to a shaking mess anytime someone drops something.”
    â€œThat’s not true. You can fix this, Charlotte.”
    â€œI don’t know how.”
    â€œWell, I do.” She placed the paper towel on the grass. “I helped my mom through it. And now I’m going to help you.”
    â€œWhat happened to your mom?” I asked. “I mean, what caused her to start having them?”
    Bliss picked at the paper towel. “She had just loaded groceries into her car and was about to back out of the parking lot when a man tried to carjack her. The doors were locked so he couldn’t get in, but she was terrified. She couldn’t drive for months, and anytime she tried, she’d melt down.” Bliss gave me a wry smile. “That’s why I learned to drive when I was thirteen.”
    I almost laughed. “I can’t picture you breaking the rules and driving around town at thirteen.”
    â€œYeah, well, I did. Someone had to take her to work every day.”
    â€œHow did she overcome it?”
    â€œIt took time. Time and help.”
    I shook my head. “I’m not going to see a psychiatrist.”
    â€œAnd I’m not going to make you. But you need to confront the root of the problem, Charlotte. Look it in the eyes.”
    â€œHer eyes are closed,” I whispered. I said the words without thinking. It was a shock to me—the trigger may have been an abrupt sound, but the real problem was my mom.
    And my fear about losing her.
    Bliss took my hand. “First, let me tell you that these episodes are harmless. They won’t kill you. So the next time it happens, tell yourself that it’s only panic, and it’s not fatal.”
    â€œSure.” I appreciated Bliss’s desire to help me, but even if she had experience with the same kind of problem, it wasn’t the same. She hadn’t seen what I had seen.
    â€œCharlotte.” Bliss touched my arm. “Charlotte, you can make this better. But in order to do that, I think you have to go see your mom.”
    Everyone was telling me the same thing: go see Mom. Did they really think one visit would help me? I looked past Bliss, at the people rushing to class. If they glanced over, they would simply see two girls sitting on the grass, talking. It was so nice not to be noticed, I thought.
    Then I saw someone across the green expanse of lawn. He was looking directly at me. It was the guy from my English class, the one I had chatted with briefly. I frowned, and he turned and walked away, his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Still here?”
    I blinked. “Yes. I’m still here.” I tried to smile. “Thanks for getting me out of the cafeteria, Bliss. I appreciate it.”
    â€œDid you hear me before? About visiting your mom?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œSo?”
    I had to make a decision. No more stalling, no more excuses. I squeezed Bliss’s hand.
    â€œOkay,” I said. “I’ll go. I promise.”
    Â 
    I HAD ANOTHER promise to keep first. With Dad away at the care facility for the night, Shane and I would have hours of uninterrupted time to work on the DVD. After changing into a pair of comfy plaid pajama pants, I settled into one of our workstations, prepared to tackle our project.
    My family never used a living room as space for a nice sofa and coffee table. Instead, the room was reserved for our many computers, filing cabinets and boxes of data. It was essentially a massive home office.
    Three computers were already on when I sat down next to Shane, ready to work. “The good news is that the A-roll is done,” Shane said. “But we need to throw down the B-roll.”
    Slipping into the