Crazy in Chicago

by Norah-Jean Perkin

  Maybe later, after she’d proved that he had been abducted by aliens—if that was indeed the case—maybe then a relationship would be possible. Until then, she had to remain uninvolved. No one, not even Garnet, would believe her evidence if she got tangled up with Cody before everything was in place.

  Cody’s brow creased. “I don’t think you’re a kook.”

  His dark eyes, full of questions, surveyed her, then finally met and held hers. The sincerity she saw there dumbfounded her, shaking the foundation of her argument, or at least the one she had presented to him. She swallowed and looked away.

  “Never mind,” she finally spit out. She looked away from the genuine caring she saw in his eyes. “There’s no point discussing this. We are not going to go out. We are not going to have a romantic relationship. We are most definitely not going to go to bed together. Okay? I don’t want to hear about this again.”

  Cody regarded her for a moment, then shrugged. “Anything you say, Ma’am.”

  Roberta swallowed in an attempt to regain her self-control. “Now, where were we? That’s right. We were discussing why you don’t want to go to see the psychic. Don’t you see that’s the only option you’ve got left? Especially if you don’t plan on going to see the doctor.”

  The weariness returned to Cody’s face. “I agree there seems to be nothing else. I just don’t think visiting the psychic will provide me with any useful answers.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure. I know it seems silly, but isn’t it worth a chance? Besides, how much longer do you think you can go on like this?”

  Cody frowned. He looked grayer and older than he had only moments ago. “You’re right. This can’t last much longer. I can’t take it. But a psychic . . .” His frown deepened. He paused. “Oh, all right. I’ll go see Madame Carabini.”

  His next words halted Roberta’s smile. “But on two conditions only.”

  Roberta eyed him suspiciously. She didn’t like the gleam in his dark eyes. “What conditions?”

  His lips curved upwards in a slow smile. “One, you come with me.”

  She nodded. “Okay. What else?”

  “And two, you ask the psychic if she sees a romantic relationship with me in your future.”

  * * *

  Cody slid out of the Corvette and stretched. He glanced at the car as Roberta got out, then looked away. Driving had been an act of will, his mind fighting this weird aversion to the car as well as the queasiness assaulting his stomach. At least there hadn’t been any flashes of blue light.

  “Are you okay?” Roberta stood at his side.

  “I’m fine.”

  Cody ignored the concern on her face. Roberta had made it clear yesterday she was capable of resisting his charm. For him, this was a new experience, one he didn’t like. In the past, his interest in a woman had always been reciprocated. But he hadn’t pursued any woman for a long time. Had he lost his touch? He hoped not. Because, unfortunately, he found it impossible to resist Roberta.

  He turned his attention to Madame Joanne Carabini’s house. Except for the turquoise door and trim, the ranch-style home resembled its neighbors in this middle-income suburban area.

  But it didn’t matter how normal it looked. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t believe Madame Carabini could tell him anything he didn’t already know. But did he have a choice? Between the sleeplessness, the nausea, and now that blue light, he was beginning to think he was losing his mind.

  He swore under his breath. No way would he see another psychiatrist. He’d had more than enough of them and doctors and therapists of every other stripe since his return. That left only one place left to turn. The psychic.

  He started up the walk, then glanced at Roberta. “So who’s first?”

  “You, of course.” She shot him a dirty look; he choked back a chuckle. He had no intention of pushing her to ask the psychic about their relationship. But it was fun to tease her.

  He knocked on the turquoise door. A plump woman with brown, wavy hair opened the door. She smiled pleasantly when he identified himself and Roberta, and asked them in.

  As he followed her into the tiled entranceway, then down into a subdued sunken living room and dining area, he noted nothing flamboyant about her or her home’s decor. She wore tan slacks and a matching silk blouse, both of good quality, and her soft leather sandals made no sound on the tile or carpet. Just as well, he thought. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she’d answered the door wearing a turban and clutching an armful of crystals.

  In her soft voice, she asked them to sit at the dining table. She settled herself in a chair kitty-corner to Cody, and then studied him. She took her time, her unusual aquamarine eyes seeming to probe deep within him. Cody found the sensation . . . disturbing.

  “Did you bring anything that you wore or had with you during your disappearance?” she asked.

  Cody nodded. He unbuckled his wrist watch and placed it on the table, then pulled off a tiger’s eye ring. “I don’t have the clothes I was wearing. The police took them. I never did get them back.”

  Madame Carabini picked up the watch. She ran her fingers along the metal back and the leather strap, and turned it over in her hands several times before putting it down. She placed the ring in the palm of her left hand, then closed her fist around it. After a moment she placed it on the table beside the watch.

  She studied Cody again. “You look . . . tired. Is there some reason for this?”

  “He hasn’t slept for more than two or three hours a night for the last two weeks,” Roberta piped up. She looked at Cody. “And there have been other things, right?”

  He nodded, glad they’d agreed beforehand on what to tell the psychic. He’d read that some so-called psychics used clues they garnered from their clients’ own words to guess at their pasts and futures. “I’ve also suffered attacks of nausea, anywhere from once to several times a day. They come on quickly, for no reason I can discern, and pass within a minute.”

  “Hmm.” Madame Carabini’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been to see your doctor since all this started?”

  “No.”

  She pursed her lips but made no comment. “Give me your hands.”

  Cody obeyed. Her cool, light touch surrounded him, like a morning mist in the valley. His eyes widened.

  She smiled at him, her clear eyes serene. “I’ll be shutting my eyes now, and holding your hands for several minutes. Just relax.”

  Cody nodded. He glanced at Roberta and winked, then returned his attention to Madame Carabini. The woman had shut her eyes.

  Cody took a deep breath and concentrated on relaxing. The hands holding his grew warm, hot, then burning.

  Suddenly Madame Carabini’s eyes flickered open. “You have lived a frantic life, Mr. Walker. Speeding, running, racing through your days. You like excitement, adventure. Rock climbing. Driving your car. Skiing. Speed boats. At least until lately. Is that not right?”

  Cody nodded, unimpressed. Anyone who’d read about him would know that.

  Madame Carabine regarded him steadily. “So frantic, indeed, that one would think you’ve been running from something. Perhaps running from facing something, some thought or emotion, deep within you.”

  Cody scowled but the psychic’s gaze didn’t falter. She shut her eyes again. “Now, Mr. Walker, please concentrate on your disappearance. Relax and concentrate.”

  Cody obeyed. He, too, shut his eyes. Time passed slowly. The psychic’s hands, which had cooled when she had opened her eyes, heated up again.

  Suddenly she jerked. Through their linked hands, he felt the deep shudder race through her. Cody opened his eyes at the same moment Madame Carabini’s eyes fluttered open. In seconds her gaze focused and strengthened. She seemed to be looking into and beyond him at the same time.

  “I see you . . . I see you.You appear to be asleep. You’re wearing ordinary clothes, a short-sleeved white shirt and dress pants. You’re still wearing your shoes. You’re lying on your back, on . . .
it looks like some kind of metal bed attached to the wall. No sheets or pillows.”

  She frowned. “I . . . you’re in a small room. It’s windowless, cold. The walls are gray. So are the ceiling and floor. They look cold and hard, as if they’re made out of stainless steel. I don’t see a door of any kind. Or anyone.”

  Her frown deepened. “You’re not moving. I can’t tell if you’re breathing or not. Everything is very still.

  “Oh, wait!” Madame Carabini strained forward, as if to see or hear better. “I think I can hear something. It’s a noise, perhaps a voice.”

  Unmoving, she listened. Tense and caught up in the picture the psychic painted, Cody didn’t move. Neither did Roberta.

  “I can’t make out the words—if it is words I’m hearing. It’s almost like a drone, a rhythmic drone. If it’s a language, I don’t recognize anything about it.”

  The psychic’s grip on Cody tightened to the point of pain. Cody grimaced but didn’t remove his hands.

  “Maybe . . . whatever it is, it seems to be the same thing, a phrase repeated over and over. Without emotion, without emphasis, just a murmur, over and over.”

  Madame Carabini shook her head. “You . . . you don’t respond. I don’t feel anything—any vibration or emotion or thought coming from you. You’re . . .”

  Without warning, she released Cody’s hands. They dropped to the table with a thud. She stared at him. Her eyes, clear and discerning only seconds earlier, blinked in confusion. For a second, Cody thought he saw a flicker of panic.

  “They stopped. The impressions stopped. Just like that.”

  Despite himself, Cody leaned towards her. “Did you see anything else? An impression of what was outside that room, or where it might have been?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Just the room. And a strong sense of its cold stillness. Very odd.”

  “What about another person? Was anyone outside?”

  “No.” Sympathy clouded Madame Carabini’s bright eyes. “What I saw and felt was similar to what I told that reporter who came here last year. Allie Stanislawski, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right.” Cody felt the hope he hadn’t realized he’d harbored draining away. “You told her I was alive, somewhere in a cold, foreign place. But not quite alive, either.”

  “I know.” She twisted her hands, her earlier serenity gone. “Everything I saw today is compatible with what I saw last year after you disappeared. It’s clearer, but there are still huge gaps.”

  Cody rubbed his forehead. Why had he let Roberta convince him to come here? Though he hadn’t realized it, the proposal had raised his hopes. But the visit had changed nothing, except perhaps increasing the sense of uneasiness that haunted him. He glanced at Roberta. He was startled to see intense concentration on her face. He turned away, ready to get up and leave.

  “Madame Carabini, why don’t you try sitting in the car?” Roberta asked. She turned to Cody. “It was the Corvette you were driving the night you disappeared, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Madame Carabini nodded and stood up. They followed her outside.

  Ten feet away from the Corvette, Madame Carabini halted. She frowned. Cody wondered if she felt the same sense of aversion he did every time he approached his car.

  With slow, measured steps, she proceeded to the curb and around to the driver’s door. Cody unlocked and opened it for her. She slid behind the wheel, and he showed her how to adjust the seat forward.

  Cody stepped away. Madame Carabini placed one hand on the wheel, one on the gear shift, a foot on the gas pedal and the other on the clutch. Then she shut her eyes.

  Cody glanced at Roberta. She stood a few feet away, her fists clenched and her lips pressed shut, as if she couldn’t contain her excitement. Cody wondered what she expected Madame Carabini to see.

  Cody returned to watching the psychic. She sat motionless, her position unchanged since entering the car.

  Suddenly she started to twitch. She jerked and swayed, as if she were trying to escape the sting of an angry bee. Her eyes shot open. Surprise, shock, then fear registered on her face and in her bearing. With a squeal she scrambled out of the car, slammed the door and backed away.

  “What happened?” Roberta asked.

  Madame Carabini raised her hand to her mouth. “A blue light,” she whispered. “I saw this blinding blue light.”

  The breath caught in Cody’s throat. He hadn’t told her about that. “Anything else?” he asked.

  “No.” She paused. “Have you seen it too? The blue light?”

  Cody nodded. “Not before. Just in the last couple of days.”

  “And does it frighten you? Make you feel a sense of—of dread, I guess. Or the recognition of something fearful to come?”

  “Yes. Dread is the right word. And aversion, too. I don’t want to go near that car. I don’t know why.”

  Madame Carabini nodded. Some of her outward serenity began to return. “I felt it too. I’ve never felt anything quite like that before.”

  They stood on the lawn, three adults staring at a white Corvette and puzzling over what the psychic had seen. Cody looked at the small plump woman with new respect. If someone else could see and feel what he saw and felt, maybe he wasn’t going crazy after all. Maybe what the psychic said about his disappearance really was true.

  His highly honed sense of skepticism kicked in. A blue light. A cold, grey room. What did it all mean? Madame Carabini had given him more information, but it wasn’t enough to change anything. In a practical sense, he was no closer to knowing what had happened to him during the lost six weeks than he’d been an hour ago. So what if she could see a blue light, too?

  He kicked at a tuft of crab grass. “Anything else?”

  “I’m sorry. That’s all.”

  For a moment the woman’s gaze held his. Cody could feel her sorrow, and her concern. He closed himself to it.

  “Well, I guess that’s it, then.” He shrugged. “Thank you for taking a shot at it.”

  “You’re welcome. Oh.” Madame Carabini stopped. “You left your ring and watch on the table. Let me get them for you.”

  When Madame Carabini disappeared into the house, Roberta confronted Cody. “I hope you’re not disappointed. She did provide some new information. And the fact she saw the blue light, too—well, there must be something to that.”

  “Sure.” Too weary to argue, Cody agreed.

  “Here they are.” Madame Carabini handed him the watch and ring. “Can I ask you a question about Ms. Stanislawski?”

  Cody looked up from re-fastening his watch. “Sure.”

  “I haven’t seen her column in the paper for a few weeks. Is she still working at The Streeter?”

  “Oh, yes. But she’s on maternity leave. She had a baby two weeks ago.”

  “Oh?” The psychic’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know she’d married.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Cody finished with his watch and slipped his ring on his finger. “Just a few weeks after I was found she married a photographer at the paper. You might have seen his byline—Erik Berenger.”

  “Erik Berenger!” Madame Carabini’s voice rose. “And they’re both fine?”

  Cody regarded her with mild curiosity. “Oh, yes. Very happy. The baby’s a girl, healthy and beautiful. Why do you ask?”

  The woman paused. “I met them both, you know. When Ms. Stanislawski came to see me about your disappearance, Mr. Berenger came to take pictures.”

  “And?”

  “I offered to look into Ms. Stanislawski’s future. I did—and I saw that Erik Berenger would be part of her future.”

  “You were right.” Roberta stepped closer to Cody. “Their marriage confirmed your prediction.”

  Madame Carabini bit her lip. She looked from Cody to Roberta and back again. “But . . . but there was something else.”

  “Yes?”

  “It wasn’t good. I sensed in Erik something strange. That he was from a faraway place, cold and unfriend
ly. That he would mean changes for Ms. Stanislawski—and not necessarily good ones.”

  Cody nodded. “Erik can be a forbidding character. But everything seems to have worked out fine.”

  “No. That’s not it. It’s not just him. It’s the place. Don’t you see? That cold, inhospitable place he comes from. I—well—the impressions are the same.”

  She took a deep breath. “I think it might be the same place where I saw you.”

  Chapter 5

  Cody stared at Madame Carabini. “What?”

  “I said the place where you were held, and the place Erik is from or connected to in some way, seem to be one and the same.”

  Disbelief stood out all over Cody’s face. Roberta couldn’t help asking, “What place is that?”

  Cody harrumphed. “Seattle. That’s where Erik’s from. He was working in Australia before he came here.”

  Madame Carabini’s unusual aquamarine eyes looked from Cody to Roberta. “I don’t mean Seattle. Not Australia, either. I don’t know where this place is. I just know it’s cold and . . . and unusual or strange. I could be wrong, but in the absence of anything else, I think you should investigate.”

  “Investigate what? Erik’s background?” Sarcasm laced Cody’s words.

  “Yes.” Madame Carabini’s composure returned. “That’s what I told Miss Stanislawski last year, and now I’m telling you.”

  “And did she investigate?” Roberta ignored Cody’s scowl.

  “She said she would. I don’t know what she found out. She never told me.”

  “It can’t have been anything important,” Cody insisted. “She would have said so. And she wouldn’t have married Erik.”

  Unruffled, Madame Carabini continued to regard them. “Perhaps not. But for your state of mind, and health, I urge you to investigate further. You have nothing to lose.”

  Cody grunted, tired of hearing those words. “Thank you for your time this evening.”

  As he turned away, Roberta heard him muttering under his breath about wasting time.

  She smiled apologetically to Madame Carabini. “Thank you for your efforts. We appreciate them.”