Yes, the voices sighed.
The water darkened, the room darkened. Before blackness descended she saw the blade drift, gently and silently, to rest on the bottom of the tub.
Chapter Two
Officer Mike Gallagher drove slowly through the residential streets, surprised how normal the neighborhood seemed. Children were everywhere. One group of young girls stopped jumping rope to smile and wave as he drove by. He smiled back, turned the sirens on for one second and laughed as they scattered, giggling. Five years ago you would not have seen one child unattended; if the adults were not outside supervising the play, you would see them looking out windows and doors, observant and alert. Still, despite the vigilance, the final count had been six – six children gone, with no clues and no trace. Four boys and two girls, they might have been the brothers or sisters of some of these who played.
There were more houses now and fewer trees; the name “Woodland Heights” no longer quite as appropriate as it had been. Most of the houses had been built since the disappearances.
The Woodland Heights cases had been his first assignment after transferring to the suburban department from Detroit where he’d started his career. It remained their only unsolved case. Of course, most of the occurrences in this township were domestic problems, traffic violations and drunk driving – a complicated kidnapping case was somewhat out of their scope – but to this day he would see pictures of those children on milk cartons and remember his failure.
His supervisor thought he took the whole situation much too personally. “Jesus H. Christ, Mike,” he finally blew up one day, “this isn’t your fault. You didn’t even work here when those kids disappeared. If this thing stumped even the Feds, you know we don’t have a chance in hell of solving it.”
Mike had said nothing, and thereafter had kept his investigations of the matter to himself.
He slowed and made a right hand turn. It’s odd, he thought and not for the first time, that Laura Wagner should live here, on the very street where the children had last been seen. Even knowing it was only a coincidence, he had still been shocked when he saw the address on her license. His first thought had not been the DUI arrest he was making, or the procedures involved. Mike only knew that here was someone who might know something they had missed. In the car on the way to the station, he had found she’d been in the neighborhood for only a short time; she had lived out of state at the time and never even heard about the kidnappings.
Still he saw her as a link, and tried to cultivate her as such. He acted gentler and more considerate to her than was normal given the circumstances. She seemed to warm to him because of this and when he had offered her a ride home the next morning, she accepted graciously. Mike discovered that her eyes, when they were not reddened with the booze, were a soft shade of green and her hair curled onto her cheeks like black wings. Even a night spent in a jail cell seemed to have no effect on her looks. She’s so fragile, he thought, and remembered watching her profile as they drove. She was pale and ethereal, as if she were a statue of an elven queen cast in porcelain. Her soft, petite face had intrigued him and Mike wondered if he would ever discover how she had fallen into her present state. He’d wanted to contact her during the time between her arrest and her trial, but knew that would be crossing the line. So he’d waited until today, the day of her trial, to see her again.
His fascination with her hadn’t faded, he discovered. Even though Laura hadn’t met his eyes in court, Mike sensed a connection between them still. After the trial ended with her sentence being suspended in lieu of rehabilitation, he walked up to her and shook her hand. “Good luck, Ms. Wagner,” he said. The touch of her hand felt electric. There’s something there, he thought. Something I should pursue.
Mike knew firsthand what Laura was going through, knew she’d be feeling lost and confused and completely unable to cope with it all. He smiled to himself and pulled into her driveway. Here he was, Officer Gallagher to the rescue, to provide a shoulder for her to cry on, to give her the benefit of his experience. With an expectant grin on his face, he rang the doorbell on Laura Wagner’s house.
Laura’s next awareness was of a sharp stabbing pain in her cheek. She opened her eyes to a blur of black as a small body sped back through the bathroom door. She sat up in the water and put a hand to her face. From far away she could hear a faint ringing, and she tried to pull herself out of the stupor into which she had fallen. Confused and disoriented, she glanced around her, trying to remember what had happened. It was something important, something monumental, but her mind felt hazy and drugged.
The doorbell rang again; this time Laura recognized the sound. She stepped out of the tub and grabbed an oversized pink terry robe from the hook on the door. As she put it on, the fabric brushed against her wrists and she flinched. A panic-filled memory of the gaping wounds she had inflicted suddenly surfaced.
Don’t look at them, she advised herself, just get to the door. Desperately clutching the robe around her, Laura slowly worked her way down the hall. The doorbell rang again. “I’m coming,” she called and was surprised to hear her voice sounded clear and loud.
Just get to the door, Laura, she told herself again, it’s not too far now. Whoever it is, they can help. The thought sustained her as her vision darkened and she frantically groped at the walls in an attempt to stay upright.
Though seemingly endless, the hallway dwindled at last and Laura reached the living room. Just a few more feet now, she urged herself to keep moving forward. It’s not that big of a house, just keep moving. She winced at the vision of the bloody streaks she was leaving on the carpet and walls, knowing that answering the door was the only thing of importance now.
Finally she arrived with a sigh of relief. Ignoring the cold stab of pain in her arm, she reached down with difficulty and turned the knob. Only when the door opened did she succumb to the pain and the weariness. The last thing she saw was the smile on the policeman’s face fade away.
Mike reached out and caught her before she hit the floor. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to a couch. She seemed to weigh no more than a child, but as he laid her down, her robe fell open exposing her breasts. He tried not to react; instead he averted his eyes and tucked the robe back around her body. When she was completely covered he regained his professional demeanor. Now she seemed nothing more than a person in trouble. When I hoped to comfort her in her hour of need, he thought, I had no idea she would really need it.
Mike checked her pulse; it was racing. Her face was ashen, her skin cold and damp. She had been in a state of shock when she answered the door, he knew; her pupils had been dilated and her expression, one of severe panic. But there were no marks on her, seemed to be no reason for her response. He checked her breath and found no trace of alcohol.
Drugs, maybe an overdose? He picked up her cordless phone on the way to the bathroom. Dialing for an ambulance, he turned on the bathroom light and began to check her medicine cabinet. The paramedics would want to know what she took. All he found was a bottle of Valium, properly prescribed for Laura Wagner. It was completely full and he could see no evidence of any other drugs.
He tested the temperature of the bath water as he completed his call and realized the cold water might account for the clamminess of her skin. Mike returned to the living room and found Laura as he had left her, but with some color returning to her face. Her pulse slowed and was now steady and strong. He knelt down next to her and called her name.
Laura fought her way back into the light. The voices had softened, relinquishing their hold on her when the doorbell rang. She felt them still, their anger and disappointment – she should have been dead by now. As she struggled to open her eyes, she thought she heard a soft wailing and a promise of later.
“Later,” she whispered even as her eyes focused on the concerned face hovering by her.
“Laura?” The strong, deep voice seemed to pull her up to the surface of reality. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Sh
e recognized the face, searched her mind for the name. Flannagan? No, Gallagher. Mike Gallagher. She managed a confused smile. “Hi,” she said, “what are you doing here? What’s happening?”
“You don’t know?” he questioned. “You opened the door and then fainted.”
“Fainted?” She realized she sounded stupid, but couldn’t help herself. “The last thing I remember was taking a bath. And then I wake up here and find you. What’s going on?” She knew she should be upset over the black out and embarrassed by her half-dressed state, but for some reason her only feeling was one of relief. He had saved her. But from what, she wondered, shook her head and sat up.
“I called an ambulance,” he snapped, “they should be here soon. Maybe you should tell me what you’ve been taking.”
She cocked her head at him, wondering why he sounded angry. Did he think she didn’t want to answer? “Nothing out of the ordinary,” she replied, “I took two Valiums, got into the tub and fell asleep. I think I—” She rubbed at one of her wrists in confusion. What had happened? “—I think I had a bad dream.”
“Bad dream, huh? I guess so.” He smiled at her briefly, then scowled, intently watching the compulsive movements of her hands. “Why are you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Give me your hands.”
She placed her hands in his. He gently turned them over and looked at her wrists. They were slender and delicate, marked only by blue veins. She watched his face, knowing there was something there other than question and concern, some unremembered pain and despair. Pulling her hands from his, she clasped her robe closed, rose from the couch and slowly walked back to the bathroom.
It didn’t feel the same as before. She went to the tub and looked at the water. She picked up the razor, the blade was still inside, clean and unused. Suddenly the dream – surely it was a dream, her fevered mind supplied – came back to her. With a gasp she dropped the razor into the tub and turned to run from the room.
Mike blocked her way and she tried to push him aside. He stood in the doorway, unmoved.
“Let me out,” she pleaded. “I’ve got to get out.”
“Why, Laura?” His voice was soft and compassionate now, “What’s wrong, what happened here?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, not fighting her tears any longer. She felt a sadness flow from her in a great, dark stream, like the blood in her dream.
“Oh, God,” she said softly as his arms came up to enfold her, “let it only be a dream.”
Chapter Three
Laura watched as Mike walked back from the men’s room. He stopped before he reached their table and, leaning on the service counter, exchanged greetings with one of the waitresses. She watched him, realizing she’d had never had a chance to look him over. The first time she met him, she’d been drunk. The second time, when he drove her home from her night in jail, she was so embarrassed she could barely meet his eyes. After the trial, she’d felt the same way. And this afternoon, well, everything had been so disjointed, so confused that she’d really paid little attention to him. Even when the ambulance left and he remained, he still seemed only a vague, protective presence. She was surprised at his invitation to go out for something to eat, but accepted. Only after she got into his car and they began driving, did Laura become aware of him as a person, a man.
She smiled as he continued his banter with the waitress; Laura liked what she saw. Mike was tall, well over six feet, she guessed. His light brown hair was cut short and speckled throughout with grey, but his body looked strong and youthful. She remembered the feel of his muscular arms around her and she felt her stomach tighten in nervous excitement.
Sometime during that afternoon, he had asked her permission and changed from his uniform to the street clothes he said he always carried in his car. He was now dressed in a faded work shirt and jeans that were well worn, but, she thought with an appraising glance, tight in all the right places. She supposed him to be in his early forties, but he had kept himself in shape – great shape, she amended, taking another long look.
As if on cue, Mike turned around and gave Laura a wide smile and a nod. He collected the two mugs of coffee from the waitress and walked to their table. With his smile, her stomach twisted again; she dropped her eyes and felt a blush creep up her neck.
“You’re starting to look better,” he settled himself into the booth across from her, brushing her knees with his. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay, now, I guess,” she said, taking a sip of the hot coffee. “Mostly I just feel stupid.”
“Why should you feel stupid? After all, I was the one who called an ambulance for nothing more than a bad dream.” He looked at her intently, his brown eyes narrowing. “But when you opened the door, you were in shock. I’ve seen enough people in that state to know. And, although I know better now, I could have sworn you were injured somehow.”
Laura shivered and rubbed her wrists together, wincing.
“And why the hell do you keep doing that?”
She looked at him, startled at his sudden anger and tears began to brim in her eyes. “I really wish I knew.”
“Look, Laura, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just want to know what happened. None of this makes any sense. You hadn’t been drinking, you couldn’t have accidentally taken too many Valium since the bottle was full. Nothing that I could see could have happened to cause such a reaction.” He reached over and grasped her hand. “Why can’t you tell me?”
Laura pulled away from him, reaching in her purse for a tissue. She wiped her eyes, discreetly blew her nose and managed a weak smile. “I’d tell you what I remember, but I’m afraid…”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid you’ll have me committed. I mean you’ve already arrested me and thrown me in jail. My guess is the funny farm is your next step.” She gave a small strangled laugh, to help disguise the truth in her words. Maybe, she thought, I really am crazy. That would explain it all.
“You’re not insane, I’d put money on it.” Mike’s voice was calm and steady and his statement reassuring. “Just tell me what happened.”
The words began to fill his mind as she related the dream. Every detail became vivid as she spoke: the reaction of the cat, the soothing heat of the water, the hypnotic nature of the voices that somehow did not come from inside. As Mike watched, the color she had regained in her cheeks drained away. Laura’s voice became emotionless and empty, a soft drone that, nevertheless, drowned out the noise of the diner. As she talked, he realized with a sharp sense of panic, that he felt he had entered into the dream himself. He winced as she described the razor and the sharpness of the blade. He felt the insistence, the urgings, the irrevocable wisdom of the voices that Laura had heard.
And then it was over. The restaurant noises intruded once again and Mike shook his head and shoulders, as if to repel an invisible presence. “Jesus,” he said softly, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “That’s one hell of a dream.”
“If it is a dream.”
Mike glanced at Laura sharply. She seemed composed and sure of herself, the telling had strengthened her somehow. “What do you mean, if it is a dream?” Her statement angered him; he wasn’t sure why. Because it was like the stories he once exchanged with adolescent friends, stories that would pull them all in and frighten both the listeners and the teller? Because she spoke of it in the present tense, as if it were still happening? He had felt its immediacy, the fear and the gut-wrenching pain, and when he looked at her earnest face, she gave no indication her story had been a deliberate attempt to scare him. She didn’t deserve his anger, he finally realized, she had been through too much.
Laura shook her head slightly. “I don’t know, Mike. It seemed more than a dream – even now it seems as real to me as sitting here with you.” Looking across the table, she met his eyes. “I have a strange feeling about it, that’s all. It’s as if by ringing the doorbell you saved me.”
“Yeah, I woke you up.” M
ike drained his cup and signaled the waitress for more.
Laura reached over and gently touched his hand. “It’s more than that,” she said, her voice trembling. “This is going to sound crazier than everything else, but I truly believe that if you hadn’t shown up when you did, I’d be dead.”
Mike didn’t comment on Laura’s statement and as the evening wore on, he felt reluctant to pursue the subject further. Their talk drifted to other matters while they ate and as her initial shyness abated, she began to open up to him. He realized as she laughed at one of his more inane jokes, that he was genuinely attracted to her. He knew the reason he had given himself for driving to her house that afternoon was just an excuse. She obviously wasn’t connected to the Woodland Heights kidnappings. That she lived in the area was only one of life’s strange twists. Mike went to her house merely to see her again. And looking across the table at her, her elfin face animated and happy, he was glad he had. They were good for each other.
“So,” he said, pushing his empty plate to one side of the table, “when do you go into rehab?”
Laura’s smile twisted into a grimace of distaste. “Monday, and thanks a lot for reminding me.” Then her green eyes lit mischievously, “But that gives me three more days to go on one hell of a binge. Care to join me?”
“I can’t, sorry.”
“You’re not still on duty, are you?”
“Of course not,” Mike smiled at her. “I went off duty before I stopped at your house. I’m on early this week.”
“Well, then why not?”
“I don’t drink, Laura.”
“Great, then you can drive. After this afternoon, I really could use a drink.”
Mike studied her. “You don’t need to drink, Laura. And you certainly don’t need one last binge. You’re better off without it.”
Modern Magic Page 2
