So I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the tension. “Nothing to do with me,” I returned, flushing all the same. “They just didn’t hit it off.”
What other reason could there be? Jake had confirmed earlier that we were simply good friends, and I didn’t know Ethan well enough for anything else. More likely I was a puzzle for his mathematical mind to solve or possibly a way to find his sister.
“Right.” Bret’s grin was annoying. “If you believe that, I have a bridge in San Francisco you should buy. The Golden Gate Bridge. It’s made of pure gold.”
“That joke is terrible, especially coming from a guy who builds bridges for a living.” I punched him hard in the shoulder, causing him to drop the pan of pudding. Fortunately, only half spilled on the counter, leaving enough for us to slather over the individual slices of homemade wheat pound cake.
“Eat up,” I said, carrying two plates to the table for Ethan and Jake. “It’s best when it’s warm from the oven.”
“And we can’t warm it up,” Tawnia added, “because our microwave mysteriously broke last month.” She glared at me as though it were my fault, which it might have been if I’d thought of it. My niece deserved better than food with the vitamins nuked out of it.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” I said. “It died from overuse, is all.”
Jake and Bret guffawed, while Ethan smiled politely with the look of someone who’d been kept out of the family joke. Tawnia tried to keep glaring but was soon laughing with the others.
I felt better than I had in a long time. Laughing just to laugh, not thinking about Winter’s death or my strange ability. Even Jake and Ethan seemed to put away their barbs for the moment.
All too soon, we’d cleared away the dishes and Ethan retrieved his duffel bag from the living room couch. I didn’t know what to expect, but I was hoping for clothes. Not jewelry, I thought. Please, not more jewelry.
When he returned to the kitchen, everyone was abruptly still, from Tawnia at the kitchen table with her feet up on a footstool to Bret and Jake at the sink and dishwasher. I almost wished I’d suggested going back to my place so I could do this alone. Apart from Ethan, these were the people I loved most, but now I felt on display. Vulnerable.
Forcing a smile, I indicated that Ethan should sit by me. Jake retrieved the poetry book from my purse on the floor and set it on the table. He didn’t sit but stood by my chair in a protective stance. I felt both silly and comforted.
“Bret, would you pass me my sketchbook?” Tawnia said. Bret obliged, and she turned to a drawing of the baby’s nursery in the new house. They wouldn’t be moving in for at least six months, and already Tawnia had changed the design six times. I felt grateful for her nonchalance and for the way she occasionally asked questions of Bret. It made things easier for me not to have them staring.
Ethan took out a small picture in an elaborate silver frame. “She has larger ones, but this she kept at the bank where she worked before she came home to care for Rubin and have the baby.”
I slid off my three antique rings, setting them on the table, and took the picture. As I expected, there was nothing but a pleasant buzz of pride and love, with only the slightest bit of quiet regret. I shook my head. “She didn’t handle this or think about it much after her husband got sick.”
He nodded and drew out a pair of gardening gloves. “She did a lot of yard work after the baby died.”
“They’ve been washed.” I set my fingertips on them. Nothing but the smell of dirt came to me. I guessed they’d been rinsed under the hose instead of laundered in a washing machine. “Clothes rarely keep a good imprint.”
We had similar luck with a decorative plate she’d treasured, a new-looking baby bootie, a picture of her parents, a decorative figurine, a basket, a baby pillow. I shook my head with each item, saddened at this minuscule sum of the person she had been.
I glanced at Tawnia and saw that she’d turned the page in her sketchbook. She was working on a new picture with a method I remembered from high school—blackening everything except a figure in the middle of the paper. I couldn’t tell what the figure was yet, though it had a vaguely human form.
Ethan looked inside his bag, anticipation mingled with anxiousness. I realized that he was holding something until the end, which in my view made no sense at all.
“Give the bag to me,” I demanded impatiently. “Let me find it—if there is anything to find.” I reached for the duffel, pulling it from his reluctant grasp, and put my hands inside, running them over the objects. Knickknacks, more pictures, a wedding ring. Though it was significant that she had left this particular piece of jewelry behind, I was relieved that the vibes emitted were simple, like the wedding photograph.
So, I’d been right that I couldn’t help Ethan any further. I was beginning to relax—until my hand closed over the book. I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping aloud. I felt Jake’s hand go to my shoulder, one of his fingers touching the bare skin on my neck, sending an odd tingling throughout my body. The touch was enough to help me blot out a bit of the intensity imprinted on the book. Thank you, Jake, I thought.
I drew it out slowly and read the title: Life After Losing Someone You Love: A Guidebook through the Complex Grieving Process. Images came to me. Marcie had tried repeatedly to read this book, to comprehend her own despair, but every effort had led to blurred words and a physical sickness. In one vivid imprint, she was struggling with the book when Ethan approached her, holding her medicine in the palm of his hand. Taking it was supposed to keep her afloat, but it made concentration more difficult.
In another imprint, her eyes left the pages of the book and focused on eager young faces. A man in a white shirt with the same bearded face and black hair as in Victoria’s imprint: Founder Gabe. Yet despite her heavy cloak of grief, Marcie’s view of the man was more complete than Victoria’s, from his age that she pinpointed around fifty to his charismatic personality that she understood might harbor an ulterior motive. None of that mattered, though, because she thought he resembled her dead husband, Rubin. In the end Marcie began to believe the only way to survive was to disappear, to become another person, someone who hadn’t experienced loss.
The last imprint was of Marcie placing the book deep under her bed, heartache in every movement. She did so furtively, as if afraid someone would find out. Next to it was a pile of dusty pills.
Deliberately removing my hand from the book, I met Ethan’s gaze. “She met a man named Founder Gabe and planned to go with him. I’m guessing he’s the founder of Harmony Farm. He’s the same man Victoria planned to leave with—I’m sure of it. Marcie thought he looked liked like Rubin, but he doesn’t. Not to me.”
Ethan’s expression crumpled, and he stared down at the table for a moment to regain his composure. I touched his arm. “She couldn’t read the book, but she tried very hard. There’s a lot of emotion in it.”
“Not hard enough.”
My jaw clenched so hard it ached. “You don’t understand how grief can take control.” His parents were dead, I’d learned during dinner, but he hadn’t been close to them. Neither had he been close to Marcie’s husband, and he hadn’t held the baby more than a few brief times. Only the loss of his sister appeared to have affected him deeply, but as far as we knew, she still lived, and that meant there was hope. He had no true understanding of what grief his sister had endured.
“I should have been there for her more,” he said. “After Rubin and again after Kayla died.”
Kayla. This was the first I’d heard the baby’s name. Marcie’s feelings for her infant daughter were so much more than a simple name could convey. It was a soul-felt communication between mother and child. I shivered. Soon my sister would understand exactly what that meant. I wondered if I would experience a little of that emotion as well or if I would be left out. Alone.
“So where do you go from here?” Bret voiced my own thought.
Ethan dragged a hand over his face, his jaw hardening. I hated seeing his mask
come down again, but I knew it was for self-protection. “I’ll stake them out. I’ve got a friend down at the police department. Maybe if I can somehow convince them that Marcie’s disappearance is connected with Victoria Fullmer’s, they’ll do something on their end.”
He turned to me. “Thank you for verifying my suspicions. Now I’ll do what it takes to find my sister.” His voice was dry and his face expressionless as he spoke. My heart hurt for him.
I looked to Tawnia for support, but she was staring at her picture that now showed a woman sitting against a large barrel in a dark room. She was holding a bundled blanket as though it were a baby, but there was nothing inside. Her mouth opened in a silent cry.
The darkness. The thin man, Inclar, had mentioned darkness and screaming. Who was the woman in Tawnia’s picture?
But I knew, and so did Tawnia. She finally lifted her head, her eyes searching for mine. I opened my mouth to speak but stopped at the slight shake of her head.
“There’s really nothing else I can do,” Ethan was saying. “I’ll have to disguise myself and keep watch on them. Maybe they’ll lead me to her.” His pause was long. “Unless you’d be willing to help.”
“Me?” I dragged my eyes from my sister’s. “How?”
“You said that man invited you to join them. What if you—”
“No way,” Jake interrupted. “Anything might happen.”
Ethan scowled. “I wouldn’t put her in danger. She could pretend to join, and I’d track her to wherever they’re staying. Then I’d help her leave before I went in to talk to Marcie.”
“What if she couldn’t leave?” Jake challenged. “Isn’t that what you think happened to your sister?”
“No, I think my sister’s sick. I think she needs help, mental help, and somehow this commune is exerting some kind of control over her. If I can just find out where she is, I could sneak in and get her. I’ve already talked to a doctor about her, and he’s experienced in this sort of thing.”
“What if she’s well and happy?” My eyes skittered doubtfully toward Tawnia’s drawing. That woman certainly wasn’t happy. “What if she doesn’t want to leave?”
Ethan took a long breath. “Then I’ll leave with the understanding that it’s her choice. At least I’ll know where she is.”
“I’d probably have to be there for a few days,” I said. “To find Victoria, too.”
“You can’t be serious!” Tawnia’s face had lost all color. “Autumn, I won’t let you do this!”
“Neither will I.” Jake had both his hands on my shoulders now. At any other time I would have welcomed his touch, but who was he to tell me what to do, especially with such authority? It wasn’t as if he were my brother or my boyfriend.
Only Bret kept quiet. Wise man, my brother-in-law. No wonder I liked him so well.
“Don’t you think this is a job for the real authorities?” Jake pressed.
Ethan stood, shaking his head. “I’ve been working with real authorities for a year. The bottom line is that without proof Marcie is being held against her will, they’ve helped me all they can. Even my friend is taking days now to return my calls. Look, I won’t let Autumn do anything dangerous. I have the equipment to make sure we’re in touch all the time, and if she doesn’t contact me regularly, I’ll go to the police. It’s not as if they could claim she ran away. We’re all witnesses here of what she intends.”
“Find someone else,” Tawnia growled.
“I promise, I won’t let anything happen to Autumn,” Ethan said. “I have a concealed weapon’s permit, I’ve trained in martial arts, and I studied texts about military operations and criminals until my eyes saw double. Please, this may be the only chance to find out what happened to my sister.”
“Can I talk to Autumn alone for a minute?” Tawnia asked icily. When no one moved, she jumped to her feet almost nimbly, despite the mass of baby at her waist, and headed down the short hall to the single bedroom in the bungalow. I arose more slowly and followed, stopping to pick up Tawnia’s sketch book.
The tiny bedroom was dominated by the queen bed. Pictures hung on the wall at regular intervals, and everything was organized and neat. Quite the opposite of my apartment, where my collection of antiques and other belongings crammed every corner. I rarely threw anything away.
Tawnia folded her arms above her jutting stomach. “You told me you were out of this.”
I sat on the bed and slowly pulled my legs up under me. “I thought I was. But I want to do it.” Perhaps the idea had been in the back of my mind since the moment I met Director Dar.
“Why?”
My eyes slid past hers to the small window. “Because of Alice—that little girl with the bicycle. I couldn’t help her, but maybe with Marcie and Victoria it will be different.”
Tawnia didn’t reply. I could tell she was close to tears, so I stood and put my arms around her. “You drew Marcie,” I said softly. “She needs our help.”
“It might not be her. Just my imagination.”
I shook my head. “You’ve told me what I have is a talent that I need to do something good with, and I try to believe you, even when it sometimes seems more like a curse. But we’re identical twins, and if this is something programmed into my DNA, like our brown hair and our weird eyes, then it follows that you, too, would also have some kind of ability. One that perhaps took a slightly different path, like with my love of antiques and your talent for art. If that’s true, you have the responsibility every bit as much as I do to do something with it.”
“I didn’t know how it was, not really,” she murmured. A tear crept down her right cheek.
I put my own cheek on hers, blotting the tear. “How could you?”
“Do you think I’ve always been drawing people who exist somewhere?”
“Does it matter? Everything artists draw comes from what they see or experience or imagine. This is just one more type of seeing.”
“But this image—it’s bad. She’s holding that bundle as if it were a real baby. I think there’s supposed to be food in the basket, but she’s so thin she’s not eating much. I think if she doesn’t get help, she’s going to die.”
“Then we have to help her.” Releasing my sister, I returned to the bed for her sketchbook. I hadn’t noticed the basket next to the figure before, but sure enough, there it was, slightly less dark than the other shadows surrounding the woman. I turned to a blank page. “It’s possible that we’re misreading what we see here. She could simply be working after dark on a craft or something. What if you try to draw Victoria?”
Tawnia hesitated a moment before walking over to the dresser and finding a pencil next to another sketchbook. Her brow creased in concentration, but after a few strokes, it was clear she was sketching not Victoria but a large, smiling black woman standing on some sort of stage or porch. She chuckled ruefully. “Guess that didn’t work too well. Does she look like anyone you saw in the imprints?”
“No.”
“Then maybe the other drawing means nothing.”
I heard the relief in her voice. “You drew the man I saw at the river and the engineer Bret hired,” I reminded her.
She shrugged. “Coincidence?”
“Nothing more’s coming to you?”
“Sorry.” She didn’t look sorry.
“Tawnia, if I can help Ethan’s sister and Victoria, I think I should do it.”
“What if it’s dangerous?”
“I don’t think it will be. I met them at the river today, remember? They seemed exactly what they are.”
“Yeah, like everyone’s always exactly like they seem.”
“I promise I’ll leave if I see even a hint of danger.”
“You’re just attracted to Ethan,” she said with a sniff. “What’s wrong with you? Have you forgotten he’s a math teacher? Totally not your type.”
I laughed. “Hey, looking isn’t the same thing as getting involved. He’s just a man.” I wasn’t being totally honest on this, though, because during
at least half our dinner I’d been thinking how it might be to go out with him.
Shaking my head at these thoughts, I regarded my sister solemnly. “Are you okay with this? Or at least enough to support me? I think it might help to get rid of the negative images I’ve seen.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. But be careful.”
I let out a sigh. What I would have done if she’d remained stubbornly opposed, I really didn’t know. I wasn’t accustomed to being so closely concerned with another person’s emotions like this. Though I’d lived with Winter until his death, he had never been one to interfere in my life or respond with alarm to anything I chose to do. Even as a child, I’d been allowed the freedom of an adult. Tawnia said I was lucky to have survived adolescence alive and unhindered by addiction. She was probably right, though I wondered if Summer’s dying when I was so young had perhaps made me more responsible.
“Well, we’d better get back to the others.” Tawnia ran the tips of her fingers under her right eye, which was still tearing a bit. “Bret’s probably fighting to keep those two from killing each other.”
We found quite the opposite. In the kitchen, both Bret and Jake were sitting on either side of Ethan, looking for all the world like small, fascinated boys at the wide assortment of gadgets and electronic gizmos that littered the table. The object most prominently on display was the large handgun in Ethan’s hand. My stomach churned when I saw the weapon. Even from a distance my nerves tingled with the imprints emanating from the metal.
No way I was going to touch that.
It was my first indication that maybe I was in over my head.
Chapter 6
I tore my eyes away from the gun. “So when do I leave?” I asked Ethan. Now that I’d made my decision, I was anxious to get started. Maybe so I couldn’t change my mind. This was something either of my adoptive parents would have done in a heartbeat. They’d spent all their lives looking after others, and a chance to help two women or to prove Harmony Farm harmless would have been irresistible. I was glad to follow in their footsteps.
Imprints Page 6
