by Alex Gordon
“You know, whoever you are, if you meant to warn me off, this was the last thing you should have done.” She returned to the sitting area and stretched out on the couch, and tried once again to get a sense of the little toy. Inhaled the clean mountain air. Listened to the night sounds. Let her mind drift.
The car didn’t give up its secrets readily. But scenes appeared eventually, like images through fogged glass. Pleasant, at first, green grass and the jewel faceting of sunlight on water. Sounds of laughter. A woman’s. A child’s. The sensation of rolling back and forth. The pressure of a small hand.
Then came quiet, followed by what might have been a scream. But it held a single note for far too long. A whistle, maybe, or a siren.
Then the daylight altered, turned harsher, colder. Room light. Fluorescent bulb light. Clicks of locks. Doors opening and closing.
No more laughter. Different voices. Men’s mostly, but, every so often, a woman’s. Words ran together, layer upon layer, like conversations at a party, so loud that even the language spoken remained a mystery.
Time passed. Same voices, but now an added undercurrent. Restlessness. Anxiety. Fear. Flashes of jerky movement, arms and legs kicking. Eyeless faces, mouths gaped wide. Tumbles of black clouded the scenes. Whatever it was, it moved as though sentient, surrounding figures, hiding them, revealing them, forming them.
Lauren heard buzzing, barely detectible through the gabble.
Then smells rushed in, the sort that triggered fear like a cold finger touching a heart. Sweat. Shit. Urine. Vomit.
Blood.
Finally, a new sound. It began low, ramped high, then higher still. Another whistle?
No. Not this time.
A scream. It knifed the air, sliced the soul. Held every pain there had ever been. Then it cut off, as though the volume had been turned down or a door slammed or a throat cut.
Lauren’s eyes snapped open. Her heart pounded and she listened for voices in the hallway or a knock on her door, because the scream had rattled so loudly that others must have heard it, too. But seconds ticked by, and no one came, and she realized that it had all been in her head.
She felt wetness on her face. Dabbed it with her finger, then tasted it. Too familiar, the salt of tears.
She set the car on the floor next to the couch, then went to the bathroom to wash her face. After she finished, she stood over the sink, hands gripping the sides, and stared down at the white porcelain. Eventually she lifted her gaze and looked in the mirror. Minutes passed before she recognized herself. The eyes that stared back belonged to someone else. Someone who never awoke from the nightmare. Who dreamed it still.
Where are you? Lauren thought the words, then said them aloud, her throat raw from cries of others that were never voiced. “Where?” She coughed, drank some water, mulled over the images.
She paced, her bare feet as cold as the floor tile. First came Nyssa and Fernanda. The light, the happiness. Then the whistle, the siren, the what the hell ever. It was like some sort of signal. Everything went downhill after that.
“We’re out in the middle of nowhere—there’s nothing like that out here.” Lauren thought of the truck stop, the air horns of semis, but that didn’t make sense. Have I heard anything like that on the mountain? Something settled in the back of her mind, bugged her like a stone in her shoe. Her step slowed. Then she stopped.
“The train from the helipad.” Similar, maybe, but a mouse squeal in comparison.
But there had been another train. According to their driver, it had been abandoned long ago.
Lauren walked about the suite, adjusting the doors and windows, grabbing a pillow and blanket from the closet. She needed to get some sleep, because tomorrow would be a busy day.
Tomorrow, she would go to Jericho.
CHAPTER 12
Lauren awoke to a blazing sunrise. The first thing she did was stretch her back, which had stiffened up after the night spent on the soft couch. Then she checked the fly bites and found they had gone from hot welts to itchy, hard bumps. No weird colors. No red lines of infection tracing up her arm. Maybe they were just plain old flies. If she didn’t think about it too long, she could just about convince herself that this was the case.
She dressed in shorts, a long-sleeve shirt, and battered hiking shoes. Tucked the toy car in her pocket. Then she gathered up her discarded bed linens, sought out the housekeeper, and handed off the bundles along with the tale of an invading forest critter and a chase around the room that led to torn and soiled sheets. She received assurances that such things happened all the time, and almost asked for details. But Carmody’s staff had no doubt signed formidable nondisclosure agreements as a condition of employment, so she knew that no further information would be forthcoming. Too bad. She would have liked to have heard more about strange happenings from an inside source.
She encountered no one on the way downstairs. The breakfast buffet had been set up in the bar, which allowed access to an adjacent deck and the incredible views. She filled a plate with fruit and eggs, snagged a carafe of coffee, headed outside, and was relieved to find the deck deserted. She found a table in the shade, and ate to the accompaniment of birdsong and the chatter of squirrels in the trees.
Then she heard footsteps coming from behind, and her appetite fizzled.
“Mind if I join you?” Peter sat down before Lauren could respond. “I didn’t think I’d run into another early riser.” He spread his napkin across his lap and dug into a daunting pile of scrambled eggs. “I’m particularly glad it turned out to be you. We all got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I think it’s past time for a reboot, don’t you?”
Lauren wondered how much of that comment was directed at her. “I didn’t mean to upset Mistress Warburg last night. I hope she’s feeling better.”
“She is.” Peter grabbed the carafe and filled his cup. “She and I—we’ve known the Carmodys a long time. Stef was like a mother to Andrew after Celia left, and she adores Nyssa. She takes all that happens here very personally.”
I got that impression, thanks. Lauren pushed a chunk of melon back and forth across her plate. “I did see Fernanda last night.”
“I have no doubt that you saw something.” Peter offered a quick smile. “We will be discussing it later this morning, after Gene gets here.”
We being everyone but me. Sure, Carmody had told Lauren that he believed her, but that was before she drop-kicked his spell back in his face. How long would his professed belief withstand an emotional assault by his substitute mother? “I know it’s none of my business, but why did Fernanda leave?”
Peter shrugged. “Why does any marriage fall apart?” He paused in the middle of buttering toast. “Steven and Andrew—in some ways they couldn’t have been more different. But like his father, Andrew is a workaholic who was attracted to a glittering woman whose life to that point had not included living for extended periods in the middle of nowhere. At least Celia had her sculpting, an artist’s need for occasional solitude. Fernanda needed an audience. She settled down for a time after Nyssa was born, but the calm didn’t last. Obviously.” He broke off a piece of waffle and flicked it toward a squirrel that watched them from the railing. “Stef’s worried that Nyssa inherited her mother’s tendency toward self-destruction.”
Lauren watched the man fuss over the squirrel, and wondered if he had volunteered to be the one to blow the smoke screen in her direction, or if Stef had put him up to it. Poor Nyssa. She wondered if the girl’s ears were burning right now. “Was Nyssa always a problem?”
“No. She was the perfect child until just after her fifteenth birthday.” Peter sat back. “Andrew threw a party for her at the house in Portland. I blame some of the kids he invited, children of business associates who had grown up much too wild. They say that all some people need is a tiny taste to get them hooked. Unfortunately, Nyssa seems to be one of those unlucky ones. The drinking started at the party. Soon after, the drugs. The . . . men.” He pushed back his chair and looked out o
ver the woods. “Would you mind if we changed the subject? I talk about this all the time with Stef, and it just gets—difficult to deal with.”
“No worries.” Lauren refilled her coffee cup, just to have something to do with her hands. After a while, she realized the silence had lasted a bit too long, and looked to find Peter studying her.
“I have a confession to make.” He rocked his head back and forth. Wrinkled his nose. A man of many tics. “I knew your father.”
Lauren’s heart skipped, and she wondered if she would ever learn all of the late Matthew Mullin’s secrets. “Did he repair furniture for you?” She knew the answer even before Peter shook his head.
“He took a couple of my classes. World Religions One and Two. At Abernathy. I taught there until last year, when I moved down here to Corbin. I saw you a few times, when you came to pick him up.”
Lauren met the man’s level gaze, caught the sharpness buried like a sliver of ice amid the warmth. “That was over three years ago. Do you remember all your students?”
“I remember the interesting ones.” Peter smiled. “He was an interesting man.” He nodded toward her. “More so than I realized, as it turns out.” His expression softened in memory. “He had this effect on people. He kept pretty much to himself, but everyone noticed him. Some folks went out of their way to sit close to him, while others didn’t seem to care. But then there were some who couldn’t sit far enough away. After a couple of weeks, I learned that they were the ones I needed to keep tabs on. A few I caught cheating. The rest flunked. He was like a, I don’t know, ‘human lie detector’ is too strong a term. He just made certain types of people uncomfortably aware of what they were.” He hung his head. “I was sorry to hear of his death. I would have attended the funeral, but I didn’t find out until sometime later.” His smile returned, this time friendlier, warmer. “I see him in you. I daresay that if you ever sat in my class, you would have the same effect.”
Lauren cradled her coffee, inhaled the steam. “It seems so strange. A city the size of Seattle, and you and he just happened to cross paths.”
“It’s a small world we inhabit. And those of us with the talent, well, I believe we’re drawn to one another. Like attracting like.” Peter glanced toward the door and lowered his voice. “Although sometimes, it’s more like opposites attract.”
Lauren turned just as Heath and Sam entered with their plates. She felt a touch of relief when they merely waved and headed for a table at the other end of the deck.
Then the door opened again. Peter swore under his breath and sat up straighter.
“Good morning, everyone.” Gene Kaster surveyed the assembled, waved to Heath and Sam, then headed toward Lauren’s table. He had opted for the more formal end of the business casual spectrum. Gray summer-weight wool slacks, perfectly pressed. Pale blue oxford shirt, cuffs neatly rolled to mid-forearm. Black leather belt and loafers.
“Gene?” Peter stood. “I didn’t hear the chopper. What did you do, fly here under your own power?”
“I spent the night down the coast, so I just drove in.” Kaster thumped Peter lightly on the shoulder. “Good to see you. How is Stefania?”
“She’s fine.” Peter looked from Kaster to Lauren, then back again. “I’ll tell her that you asked.”
“Please do.” Kaster turned his personal spotlight on Lauren. “Mistress Mullin. Your face is as bright as the morning.” He looked her up and down, brow arching as he settled on her hiking shoes. “And what do you have planned for the day?”
“A walk.” Lauren tried to figure out a way to indicate to Kaster that she needed to talk to him, but before she could, Peter picked up his half-filled plate.
“I just need to—” He jerked his chin in the direction of the buffet. “Time for a refill.” He hurried away, glancing back at them just before entering the house.
“I believe we’ve scared him away.” Kaster frowned. “And Peter doesn’t scare easily.”
“He thinks I’m your mole. They all do.” Lauren took a deep breath and let loose. “I saw Fernanda in Seattle. I saw her here last night. I informed Stef and your boss. Stef doesn’t believe me. Carmody does, I think. Then he tried the Vulcan mind meld, and we both got a shock.”
Kaster lowered to Peter’s chair, then covered his mouth with one hand. “You did have an eventful day,” he said through his fingers.
“Yeah.” Lauren stuffed her hands in her pockets, her fingers closing over the toy car. “What about the flies around here?”
“What about them?”
“Are they particularly vicious?” Lauren waited for an answer, but the man just shook his head in puzzlement. “Carmody told me that you both would like me to help Nyssa. That it was your idea. I really wish you’d told me that in the first place.”
Kaster lowered his hand. Absent the force of his persona, his age showed, the lines around his mouth, the dull skin. “I thought you’d say no.”
“This background info is proving kind of important.”
“I’m sorry. But you will talk to her?”
“She doesn’t know me from a doorknob. If she wants to talk, fine, but I am not going to force myself on her.”
“I will smooth the way. Today. This morning.” Kaster leaned toward Lauren as he spoke, eyes a little too wide.
He’s genuinely worried. Lauren’s stomach grumbled in nervous sympathy. This can’t be good. “Has something happened recently?”
Kaster hesitated. “Just that she’s been through so much. The sooner you can help her, the better.” He frowned. “As for what Andrew did—tried to do—I’m afraid that’s my fault. I told him you were very good. I knew he would take that as a challenge and try to test you, but I didn’t expect him to be quite so direct.”
Lauren stared at the man until the light in his eyes flickered. “What’s your game?”
Kaster shook his head, eventually. “No games. Not about this.”
“But there are things you aren’t telling me.”
“As I am sure there are things you haven’t told me.” Before Kaster could say more, the sound of the door opening snagged his attention, and he stood. “Ah, ladies.” His persona reasserted itself, and all signs of care fell away, along with about twenty years. “Until later.”
“Yeah.” Lauren watched him usher two blondes to a secluded table, sylphlike twenty-somethings in pastel shifts and nothing sandals, with smiles that did more to describe the previous night than any film or book of erotica ever could. And twins to boot. She didn’t know whether to condemn Kaster’s lack of imagination or admire his stamina.
Peter returned sans plate. Instead, he carried a coffee travel mug, which he filled from the carafe. “Well, looks like Gene has his weekend planned.” He shook his head.
“Part of me thinks he doesn’t look the type, but then again . . . ?” Lauren shrugged, then waited for Peter to look at her. “I know you won’t believe me, but I’ll say it again for the record. He invited me here under false pretenses. He said this was a retreat. What he really wanted was for me to meet Nyssa. He thought if I knew he wanted me to counsel a troubled teenager, I would decline.” She sagged against her chair back and wondered if Katie was still at home, and if she could risk a call just to hear a friendly voice. “He wasn’t wrong.” She decided against it. She had no clue whether a phone call from this place could disturb Virginia’s protective wards, but now wasn’t the time to experiment. “Take that any way you want, but it’s the truth.”
Peter concentrated on his coffee, sugaring and stirring with an overabundance of care. “It took me some years to figure out exactly what Andrew wanted out of life.” He set aside the spoon, snapped on the lid. “Then one day, it hit me. It was so simple, really. Almost cliché. But it explained everything from his business dealings to his personal issues. Andrew has to win.”
What does that have to do with what I just told you? Lauren glanced back at Kaster, now happily holding court, and decided to play along because what else could she do? “So what
’s Gene’s stake in all this?”
“Gene wants Andrew to win. They’re very well suited.”
“Stef doesn’t like him. You don’t, either.”
“I find him unsettling. Too intense. Smile’s always a little too bright. But deep down, I think he’s just a happy hedonist. Stef thinks his behavior puts Andrew at risk, but he’s more disciplined than she gives him credit for.” Peter tested his coffee, then nodded.
Lauren twitched her head in the direction of Kaster and his twins. “Are those Carmody employees?”
“I said, disciplined.” Peter sniffed. “If past performance is any indication of present results, he met them in a coffee shop. The grocery store produce aisle. While crossing the street. He’s like a magnet. It should piss me off, but all one can do it marvel.” He raised the mug in a toast. “Well, this has been—let’s call it educational.” Another sip. “I need to get back upstairs.”
“And prepare for your meeting.” Lauren waited for Peter to say something, and knew she could have waited all day. He had ignored her explanation. He and Stef had made up their minds about her, and nothing she said would change them. “I better get going before the sun gets too high in the sky.”
“Have a nice walk.” Peter waved without turning around and disappeared into the house.
“You’re going for a walk?”
Damn. Lauren turned to find Sam waving to her from her table. Broad sweeps, as though she hailed a ship far out at sea.
“I’d like to come along.” Sam stood, grabbed coffee with one hand and a sweet roll with the other. “I’m not included in the morning confab, and I can’t just sit around while this guy bathes in Carmody’s shadow.”
“Love you too, honey.” Heath poked her lightly in the rear with his fork.
“Sure.” Lauren headed for the house, then paused and waited for Sam to join her. “Why not?”
“Oh, you’re all serious.” Sam pointed to Lauren’s hiking shoes, then frowned down at her flip-flops. “I need to change—it’ll only be a minute.” She shuffle-ran through the bar in the direction of the stairs, trailing crumbs.
