The third mine was about a half mile away, at the end of what barely could be considered a footpath. This one also had a large entrance. We left the truck and made our way up the winding path. Before we reached the entrance, Cavanaugh stashed me in a tiny clearing surrounded by heavy brush and close-knit trees. There was really only one way in and out of this clearing. The trees and brush made it impossible to pass through anywhere else. I stood in this area, listening hard for any foreign sounds, and waited for Cavanaugh to return.
At the entrance opening, I heard a sound, low in the brush. I tried to ignore it, but the sound became louder, with an accompanying movement of branches and leaves. I assumed it was a squirrel, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, looking for nuts or whatever it was that squirrels ate in the forest.
Well, I was partially correct about the animal having bright eyes and a bushy tail. The problem was that this bushy tail was black with a white stripe running down the center. A fat skunk waddled into my clearing and took up a stance at the only exit. We stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. I took a couple of steps back, closer to the tree line, and the skunk scurried forward. He raised himself up on his front paws, doing a type of weird handstand, and arched his tail high. I tried to scoot to the side, but with every step I took, the skunk took two.
I looked desperately around for a stick. I was hoping for a large branch and was freaked out enough to pull one of the trees out of the ground, but a stick would do. As my luck would have it, my small clearing was free of debris. I tried to shoo the skunk away, waving my hands. Doing that just made him arch his little black butt in my direction. I darted to the right, and the nimble skunk followed, still blocking my only exit. I tried to make a loud noise, hoping that would startle the skunk into leaving. I clapped my hands and shouted at it. Instead of scaring the little terror, I just pissed him off even more.
He began to do this complicated dance, advancing and retreating, waving his bristled tail at me. I started to really panic now, screaming and running back and forth, from left to right. I tried to force my way through the brush between the trees, but even though the trunks were no bigger than my arm, I couldn’t make them bend enough to let me pass. All I got for my trouble was scratches on my hands and leaves in my hair. Cavanaugh must have heard my screams, because he skidded to a halt right at the entrance to the clearing, his gun at the ready.
“Shoot it, shoot it!” I screeched.
“Shit!” Cavanaugh laughed. He holstered his gun and turned to walk away.
“Wait, where are you going?” I screamed, running to the left again, only to be cut off by the skunk. “Come back here!”
He was only gone for a second, but it seemed like an hour. Holding a really big stick, he stepped back into the clearing.
“Hit it!” I yelled.
“I don’t want to hurt it,” he said calmly.
Sure, he could be calm—this skunk hadn’t tormented him for the last twenty minutes. If it had, I’m sure he would have used the gun. He tried to sweep the skunk to the side of the clearing so I could run by, but the skunk just hopped over the stick and danced closer to me. Cavanaugh ran his hand through his hair, thinking.
“Okay, I’m going to try to lift him up and toss him to the side,” he told me. “When I lift him, run by me and get out of there.”
I nodded at him, not taking my eyes off the little menace. Cavanaugh slid the stick slowly under the skunk and tried to lift him up. It just jumped over, so he tried again. He managed, this time, to get the skunk about two feet off the ground, but somehow the skunk got turned around, his tail completely pointed in my direction.
“Run,” he called.
I barely took a step when the worst thing in my entire life—and yes, I am including getting struck by lightning and lying in a coma for a month—happened. The skunk sprayed me. Cavanaugh didn’t swing the skunk fast enough away from me, and the skunk spray caught both knees of my jeans and my running shoes.
One summer, we drove up into the mountains for a weekend of camping and spell casting with my mom’s coven. I remember rounding a particular curve in the road and smelling the worst smell I had ever encountered in my young life. My mom and dad quickly rolled up the windows, and Cassie and I buried our noses into the pillows we had in the backseat. I remember my dad saying something about how someone must have run over a skunk, but I had a hard time hearing him above my sister’s squealing complaints about the smell. Mom finally had to burn some of her favorite incense to get rid of the lingering odor. That smell was nothing compared to the one I smelled now. I guess if you multiplied that smell times a trillion, you might come close. Cavanaugh met me on the path and then quickly distanced himself from me by several feet.
“Christ, Tink, that’s really bad,” he said, pulling the neck of his T-shirt up and over his mouth and nose.
I didn’t have to hear and see his actions to confirm how bad it was; I could smell it for myself. The odor emanating from my pants was making me choke, and my eyes watered. I slogged back to the truck with Cavanaugh still keeping his distance.
“You wouldn’t consider riding in the back, would you?” he asked.
That did it. I was trying to hold it together, but when the most gorgeous guy I’d ever met wanted me to ride in the back of his truck because I stank so bad he couldn’t stand to be around me, I just fell apart. Big, hot tears spilled over my eyelids and trailed down my cheeks.
“Aw, Rommy, don’t cry,” he told me.
Which, of course, made me cry even harder, because this was the first time he’d called me Rommy instead of Tink. He then did something that made me fall a little in love with him: he hugged me. I reeked so bad even I couldn’t stand myself, but he took me into his arms and held me, rubbing my back, letting me cry it out on his chest.
When I got it all out of my system, I stepped back and wiped my cheeks. Cavanaugh reached into the back of the truck and unlocked the large metal storage chest bolted to the cab. Moving aside his detective paraphernalia, he pulled out a soft, worn, brown blanket. He unfolded it and held it up. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he told me to take off my pants. I turned and gave him my back and began to undo my jeans. Toeing off my shoes, I slowly pushed my pants down over my hips, arching my back as they slid down my thighs. I heard Cavanaugh growl behind me, but I didn’t look. I was wearing my boy shorts, which were designed to make any woman’s butt look fantastic. However, I was at my limit of being sexy. My pants were down as far as I could push them without touching the skunky parts. I felt stupid for starting something and then chickening out before I finished, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch the material from the knee down. So instead, I ended up looking like an idiot, pumping my legs up and down, trying to force the jeans off without touching them. Finally, I was standing in front of Cavanaugh minus my pants and shoes. It seemed like forever before he came up behind me and wrapped the blanket around my waist. He stood there with his arms around my middle and his face buried in my hair at my neck. I could have stayed like that forever, but then he reached over and opened the truck door, scooped me up, and tossed me onto the seat before bending down and picking up my jeans and shoes. He deposited these in the back of the truck, and then got in and started the engine. He turned on the heater and adjusted the air to hit the floor of the truck and keep my legs warm.
This was a huge mistake. When the heat blew onto my legs, the strong smell of hot skunk filled the cab of the truck. Oh my God, I thought, I was never going to get rid of the smell. I thought my abilities made me a freak, but now I was a stinky freak. It couldn’t get any worse. I looked at Cavanaugh, wondering if the smell was choking him like it was me. I waited for him to tell me to get into the back with my pants and shoes, but instead, he rolled down his window and pulled onto the road.
I sighed and fished my cell out of my purse. My mom was the only person I could think of who would know how to get rid of the stench. When she answered, I explained what had happened.
“Oh, sw
eetheart, that smell can last for weeks,” she told me.
“What!” I cried, tears threatening to once again roll down my cheeks. I couldn’t go weeks smelling like this.
“Wait,” my mom said. “I seem to recall years ago, before you were born, there was a solstice ritual I had attended where a young man was sprayed by a skunk. Of course, he was naked and so drunk that he didn’t know what happened at first. I think the skunk actually got him twice.”
“Mom,” I said, trying to bring her back from her reminiscing.
“What, dear? Oh yes,” she continued. “Anyway, I think that bathing in tomato juice finally made the smell go away.”
“Great,” I said, unenthused, “Thanks for the info, Mom.”
“Honey, do you need your dad and me to pick some up for you?”
“No,” I sighed, “I’ll have Kelli do it. She can borrow Grant’s SUV. I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot of juice.”
I hung up with my mom and called Kelli. It was almost four thirty, and I knew she would be getting off from work soon. I lucked out and caught her and Grant just leaving the university parking lot. After her laughter wound down, she told me that it would be no problem to run by the warehouse store and pick up a few cases of tomato juice. She told me that she would drop Grant off and meet me at my house.
When I arrived home, Kelli was already there. I could see two cases through the opened back door of Grant’s SUV. Cavanaugh grabbed them up and followed me inside the kitchen door. When Kelli greeted us in the kitchen, seeing me with the blanket wrapped round my waist and trailing behind like some hobo’s bridal train, she started laughing again. That was, until she caught a whiff of eau de skunk. She made a gasping-wheezy noise and ordered me upstairs. She took out a big stockpot and set it on the stove to heat tomato juice before ordering Cavanaugh to take the two cases he was holding upstairs to my bath. I was able to strip the rest of the way down and slip into my robe before Cavanaugh came into the bathroom.
When Papa Charles built this house for Nana he installed, in the master bathroom, a tub and a shower, as Nana always preferred baths and he always insisted on showers. Cavanaugh set the cases of juice on the floor by the tub and removed the plastic covering the thirty-two-ounce cans. One by one, we poured them into my tub. The juice was thick and still retained the chill from the warehouse store. I was not relishing the thought of having to bathe in this stuff. We got the tub filled about three quarters full when Kelli called for Cavanaugh to help her carry the stockpot. When they returned, they added the boiling tomato juice into the tub. Kelli brought my pizza paddle and used it to mix the hot with the cold. I stuck my hand into the liquid and found it to be the perfect temperature. Kelli told me that she would put on a couple of quart-sized pots to heat up extra juice to be added as needed when the bath started to cool. I piled my hair on top of my head so it wouldn’t get tomato-y and shooed Cavanaugh out of the bathroom.
Taking off my robe, I stepped into the tub and settled in for my soak. Aside from feeling like the world’s biggest Bloody Mary, it was somewhat nice. The thick juice felt silky on my skin. I closed my eyes and submerged myself to my chin. Inspecting six mines with my abilities and then having a crying jag had worn me out, and I began to drift. Not thinking of anything in particular, I let my mind wander. Before I knew it, I fell into a light doze and began to have weird dreams. I don’t think I’d ever dreamed like this before and if I did, I don’t remember. The images came in stills, like photographs, instead of the usual mind-movie. They also flashed rapidly at me, so fast that I was surprised I was able to see them at all. They were disturbing in their content.
Flash—the image of a riot, the brawling crowd was beaten back by a line of policemen dressed in riot gear. Then, flash—I saw children firing guns on a target range. The guns were not regular handguns or even rifles, but were military weapons. Once again, the images flashed and I saw the same children dead, massacred. Blood covered their small bodies, making the scene look like something out of a documentary from a third-world country. The only difference was that I knew these children; they were the kids I was looking for. Again, another flash and another image. This one was of a man. His features were blurred, but his eyes were stark and clear. I felt the evil in his gaze. He was shirtless, and a tattoo covered the expanse of his sweaty chest. Flames surrounded him. He was grinning maniacally, and there were rams horns protruding from his forehead. This image started to flash back at me every other image and it scared me more than I’d ever been scared before. With every flash, the image of the devil-man got closer and closer to me until it completely consumed my inner vision. I struggled in my mind, trying to push the image away from me.
Chapter 7
I opened my eyes to find that Cavanaugh had a hold of my arms, shaking me and yelling for me to wake up. Kelli was peering at me over his shoulder; her expression was one of terrified concern. The tomato juice was ice cold, and I was shivering uncontrollably. Cavanaugh told Kelli to turn on the shower as he scooped me up and carried me to the stall. I couldn’t stop shivering; my teeth clicked together like castanets. Cavanaugh stood me in the shower stall, the water splashing him and wetting the front of his shirt and pants. The heat and steam from the water began to sink into my body, and my shivering lessened. I was exhausted, and my head was pounding. Kelli had one of my big, fluffy towels. Cavanaugh gently pulled me from the shower, taking the towel from Kelli and wrapping me up. He sent her into the kitchen to make me some hot, sweet tea to dispel the lingering shock. Drying me briskly, Cavanaugh carried me into my bedroom and put me in bed. The fog that had invaded my mind since Cavanaugh woke me was clearing. I knew when it completely cleared I would be embarrassed that Cavanaugh had seen me this vulnerable and very naked, again. But right now, I just didn’t care. I was too busy trying to block out the lingering images from my dream that kept popping into my head. Cavanaugh went back to the bathroom and returned with another towel. He sat next to me and toweled my hair, blotting the water that soaked me. Kelli came in with the tea.
“I’ve put some soup on,” she said. “You need to eat before you take your pills.”
I took a sip of the tea and made a face. I hate hot tea. I’m an iced tea kind of girl. If I was going to drink something hot and sweet, I would prefer it to be coffee or hot chocolate. My headache was getting better. The pain was nowhere near the intensity it had been when Cavanaugh pulled me from the tub. I didn’t think it would be necessary to take my prescription pills. The tea, as nasty as it was, did a good job of warming me from the inside out. I suddenly became aware of my nudity and of Cavanaugh gently rubbing my hair with the towel. I started to fidget. Kelli, sensing my discomfort, gathered up a tank top and matching sleep pants and bullied Cavanaugh out of the bedroom so I could dress.
He complained about leaving me alone even though he and Kelli would be just outside my door. It wasn’t until I slipped on a pair of panties, the sleep pants, and the tank that I realized Cavanaugh hadn’t made a single sexual advance or comment toward me through this whole thing. When I opened the door and allowed them back into the room, I realized the reason Cavanaugh was keeping his comments to himself: I scared him. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his features were stern as he bullied me back under the covers. Kelli slipped down to the kitchen to see if my soup was ready.
Cavanaugh tucked the covers snugly around my body, and then sat down on the bed next to me.
“What the hell happened, Rommy?” he asked fiercely.
I applauded his restraint. I knew it had taken an enormous effort for him to hold off on the questions as long as he did.
“I don’t know,” I told him. “I think I was dreaming.”
He shook his head, his gaze never leaving my face. “That was more than just a dream,” he said. “You were screaming and flailing around in the tub. We thought by the way you sounded that you were being attacked.”
I furrowed my brow in concentration. I didn’t remember moving a muscle in the tub—just seeing tho
se images—but I had felt as though I was being attacked.
“I’ve never had a dream like that before. It was horrible.”
He reached for my hand and held it. “Tell me about it,” he said.
Before I could say anything, Kelli appeared with a tray holding a large bowl of soup, a crusty roll, and my favorite soda. Cavanaugh got up to take the tray. She gave him a funny look but let him take it and place it on my lap. I picked up my spoon and took a bite. I love clam chowder, and even though this came from a can, it was perfect. I smiled at Kelli and thanked her. She still looked worried about me. I patted the bed on my other side, inviting her to crawl up and sit next to me, like she used to do when I would overuse my abilities and end up in bed for a few days. As I ate, I told them about the dream. Kelli sat quietly, thinking about what I said. Cavanaugh began his third degree.
“Were these visions of the future?” he asked, looking like he couldn’t quite believe he’d said those words out loud.
I shook my head, not really knowing how to answer that question. Sure, I have a little precognition, but it only allows me to occasionally know who was calling without looking at the caller ID or who was coming over to my house when I wasn’t expecting them. These occasions were rare. I’d never had dreams that foretold the future, and I didn’t want them now.
I looked at Kelli and could tell she was working through the problem. That’s the great thing about her degree in psychology. She has knowledge of how the human mind works and what it does to protect itself.
Lightning Strikes Page 8
