Sam just groaned in response, and added regular massage to the list of things to set aside money for. First, she would have to find a way to make more money.
"Relax," Stephanie said. "You just stiffened up like a board. Try to let it go."
With Stephanie's warm hands gently shaking her torso back and forth, Sam did what she could to let the tension and anxiety go. It was more difficult than she would have imagined, but it was worth it in the end. The latter part of the massage seemed more like a dream, and when Stephanie used long strokes with some sort of hot stones, Sam thought she might be in heaven. Shells had a point. This was magical. It was as if she was more in touch with herself and more in touch with the world around her in the silence of her mind. Perhaps it was the Native American drums and chant that played from the hidden speakers or maybe it was the nurturing of human contact for no other purpose than to make her feel good, but she felt more whole than she had in years. With a deep breath, she tried in earnest to let everything go.
"Good." Stephanie said, and Sam felt her body relax even further. She thought she even felt bones sliding back into place.
It was then, when she had reached absolute bliss that something began to pull at her. It started softly at first, but then it became almost a physical tug. In the silence it was like an insistent whisper. Something else had changed as well and it took Sam a minute to figure out what it was. Stephanie's hands had stopped moving for the first time since the beginning of the massage; not even her breathing could be heard. It seemed like it lasted for minutes.
"Is everything alright?" Sam asked, partly to find out what was wrong with Stephanie, and part to drown out the yearning call that insisted she should get up and follow this urging.
"Oh," Stephanie said, sounding flustered. "I'm sorry. That's been happening to me lately."
The pulling eased, gradually fading in a way that made Sam wonder if it had ever really existed or if it was just her imagination playing games with her. She'd always had a very active imagination, which had somehow managed to damage her credibility at times in her life, and she did what she could to keep reality and imagination very separate.
"You're here to investigate the ghosts, right?" Stephanie asked.
Surprised by the question, Sam reluctantly shook some of the dopamine-induced fog from her mind. "Yeah," she finally said.
"I'm sorry. I should just let you enjoy your massage, but I just have to ask you: Before you asked if I was alright, did you . . . sense any thing? I mean, did you feel anything strange? Oh . . . never mind. I shouldn't have asked you that."
"It's OK," Sam said, never taking her face out of the cradle, her voice was muffled so she spoke a little louder. "And I did feel something." Stephanie's sharp intake of breath interrupted her for a moment. "It was like something was pulling me, like there was a thread attached to the skin on my forehead and someone was tugging on it, trying to get me to go . . . that way." Sam pointed without raising her head. Stephanie was silent, so Sam picked up her seemingly heavy head and turned to look. With blurred eyes, she saw Stephanie leaning against the wall with her hand over her mouth.
When she saw Sam looking she pulled her hand away. "What else did you feel?"
"That was pretty much it," Sam said. "But it was pretty strong. I felt like I needed to go that way." This time she pointed and tried to orient herself. "What is that way?"
"Beyond that wall is a parking lot, then the beach, and then . . . the lake."
The lake. Something about the way Stephanie said it and the way her body reacted when she heard it, Sam knew: this had something to do with the lake.
"It's been happening to me for weeks," Stephanie said after a long silence. "I was starting to think I was going crazy. Ok, crazier…but you felt it too. And you felt the exact same thing I did. And I didn't tell you about it either. Right?"
"Right," Sam said. "Is that it for the massage then?"
"Oh. Right. I'm sorry. I'll run you a little long. You're my last client for the day. Let's have you turn over."
Feeling somewhat rude, Sam tried to get back into that place of complete bliss, but Stephanie couldn't stop talking. Perhaps she was talking to Sam, but when Sam made no responses, she kept talking, so Sam supposed she was talking to herself. It seemed like no time at all had gone by when Stephanie placed her hands on Sam's forehead and said, "Thank you, Sam."
Not knowing exactly what to do, Sam just waited while Stephanie left the room and closed the door behind her. Again feeling exposed, yet far more relaxed, Sam dressed, feeling only loosely connected to her body. Her fingers fumbled and made dressing difficult, but she managed. Her hair was a wreck, so she pulled it back into a ponytail. Despite being inside, she put on her sunglasses, an old habit.
Shells waited in the reception area, looking like someone had poured her into one of the comfortable chairs that lined the walls. "And you say I'm a schemer. How'd you manage an extra fifteen minutes of massage?"
"She helped me with something," Stephanie said in Sam's defense, and both Shells and Lori raised eyebrows.
Sam tried to give Stephanie a tip, but the woman refused. "You've done more for me than you can imagine. Thank you," she said in little more than a whisper, obviously not wanting Lori to hear.
"Thank you," Sam said to Lori as they left, and Lori smiled warmly in return and waved.
Shells stretched her neck far to each side, which resulted in loud cracks, pops, and grunts of pleasure. "Man, I needed that," she said.
A pair of older women approached from the lobby and smiled when they saw the relaxed looks on Sam and Shells faces. "Did you girls just get massages?"
"Damn straight," Shells said.
This took the women back a moment, but then the first one just smiled and asked, "Did you enjoy the massages? We were heading there to make appointments. Any tips?"
"Great massage," Sam said. "Stephanie is highly recommended."
"And Carol rubs a mean ass," Shells said, ignoring the looks she got from the women. "But don't drink the coffee. Straight up, yo. That shit is whack like crack."
The women just nodded with open mouths and started back toward the spa. Sam could see them whispering to each other, and she could only imagine what they had made of her and Shells. Let them think what they would, Sam thought with a smile. Shells was never dull to hang around with, that was for certain.
Chapter 11
Heading for the front doors without a word, Sam followed her instinct, followed her gut, and followed her 'psychic' abilities. She wasn't so sure about that last one yet. For some reason the thought terrified her. It didn't seem much different from having good instincts; it just sounded a whole lot more frightening.
For the moment she chose not to put a name on it and let it take her where it would, just this once; just to satisfy the nagging curiosity that would gnaw at her if she didn't at least see it through. This one's for you, Aunt Julie, she thought. What shocked Sam the most was that Shells followed without saying anything, as if she too were in a trance.
When Sam stopped at the crosswalk, Shells finally spoke up. "I thought you didn't want to go to the beach."
"I changed my mind," Sam said.
"Uh huh."
In one of those rare moments only seen in college towns and vacation destinations, the traffic in both directions stopped to let them cross. Sam strutted to make it worth their while. A whistle came from one of the trucks in line, and Sam waved. It brought a smile to her face. After paying for beach passes, Sam and Shells took off their shoes, which were actually boots in both cases; cowboy boots for Sam and engineer boots for Shells. The reddish sand was different from the Jersey shore and reminded her more of the shores of the Delaware River, and the lake barely moved against it in comparison to either of them. Truly, this was a placid lake unlike anything Sam or Shells had ever experienced before. Shells walked into Sam twice, her eyes wandering everywhere but where she was going. A volleyball game showed off some hard bodies in action, and even Sam caught h
erself looking in that direction more than she needed to. There was something about taut, tan flesh jumping around in skimpy outfits. Volleyball was a good-looking sport indeed.
Again Shells walked into Sam when she stopped. Closing her eyes, Sam tried to see if she could still feel the sensation that had interrupted her massage. "Spin me around three times and face me in a random direction."
"What the hell for?"
"Just do it, please," Sam said. Shells did as Sam asked, and after what seemed like more than three spins, Sam was left feeling a little dizzy and not knowing what direction she was facing. Then she tried to find it, tried to get back that sense of pulling, that sense of direction. In a way it had brought her comfort, in that it told her what to do. Though she did not want any person or group of persons telling her what to do or how to live her life, she still searched for a sense of purpose; and there were times she just wished someone or something would tell her what it was that she was supposed to do. It was a strange contradiction, one that Sam struggled with every day of her life.
As her mind wandered, the storm of her thoughts calmed, and with her eyes clamped shut, she felt herself achieving the serene quiet she needed.
"What the hell are you doing? People are staring," Shells said.
"I don't care," Sam snapped, her eyes still squeezed shut. "Just give me a couple minutes, OK? And then I promise I'll explain over pizza."
"I guess if you put it that way," Shells said, and even with her eyes shut, Sam knew that Shells had her arms crossed over her chest and her face probably looked like she'd been sucking on a lemon.
Blocking the sounds that surrounded her, Sam once again searched for that inner silence, that tranquility she had never before known existed. She would have to get a massage more often, she said to herself, remembering Stephanie's comment to the same effect. Again her mind wandered from thought to thought before growing calm and quiet. She had no control over how quickly it happened, and she did her best to wait patiently, hoping that Shells would do the same. When that thought passed, she found the quiet, and within it a singular impulse, insistent and specific. Sam turned herself and pointed. Then she opened her eyes. Her finger pointed to the exact same spot underneath a very recognizable bald; not on the mountain, but pointing to a spot in the water below that point on the mountain.
"That would seem to be the spot," came an almost familiar voice that was not Shells. "Somehow I knew I would find you here."
"Well, you are psychic after all," Shells said to the tattooed woman they had met earlier. "Either that or you are stalking me." The last was said with a wink, and the woman laughed.
"I didn't get your name," Sam said, realizing afterward that her tone was less than warm.
"Madeline Vanderbright," the woman said as she presented herself and took a bow. "My friends call me Maddie. Please, call me Maddie."
"It's nice to meet you, Maddie," Sam said.
"Who's your daddy, Maddie," Shells said as she reached out, took Maddie's hand and kissed her knuckles.
"Ah, she's a frisky one, now isn't she?"
"We usually don't let her out of the attic at this time of year," Sam said, and Shells elbowed her in the ribs.
"I'm sorry," Shells said. "I just sometimes forget myself in the presence of beautiful women."
"And a charmer, too."
"You ain't seen nothing yet," Sam said, ignoring the look from Shells. "What did you mean when you said that seems to be the spot?"
"Just that. Every psychic I've run into since I've been here, whether they know it or not, are being drawn to that spot. I don't have even the foggiest notion as to why, but I know it for certain nonetheless. You proved it nicely without my asking."
Sam thought about that a moment, and then said, "We need to get out there."
"I took the boat tour," Maddie said, "and while interesting, it was of limited benefit. There were too many energies around us in the boat and I couldn't seem to get past everyone else's issues so that I could see my own. Is it any wonder I like to live like a hermit; at least I can hear myself think."
"Yeah," Sam said, only half listening. "We need a private charter. Let's go down to the marina and see what turns up."
"C'mon. I'll drive," Maddie said.
"Good thinking," Shells said. "Just because we can see it doesn't mean we have to walk there." She gave Sam an accusing look.
After crossing back over the crosswalk at highway 64, Maddie took them to a forest green 68 GTO.
"No friggen' way!" Shells said. "This is your ride?"
"If you've gotta go somewhere, then I say ride in style," Maddie said.
"Bitchen'," Shells agreed, and then she opened the passenger door and leaned the seat forward. "There's no way I'm getting in there and back out without butter and a winch, so it's all you, girlfriend."
Bending down and squeezing herself into the back seat, Sam felt a hand smack her on the ass.
"You've had that coming for a while," Shells said, and Sam didn't bother to argue. "This is a sweet ride, girlfriend."
"Thanks," Maddie said.
"The only thing missing are your footprints on the headliner," Shells said, and Sam dropped her head into her hands. She had known something was coming, just not what. You never knew what Shells was going to say.
The GTO rumbled to life and issued a low growl as Maddie eased them out onto highway 64. Her hand clutched the pistol-grip shifter like an old friend, and her shifts were smooth and flawless.
"That shifter's hot," Shells said. "I gotta get me one of those. This whole car is hot. You're hot. Damn it's getting hot in here."
"Charmer," Maddie said again.
When Maddie turned into the marina, Shells pointed. "No friggen' way. Get the hell out of here. No bullshit? Aw, man."
"What?" Sam and Maddie asked at the same time.
"Greg's here."
That statement brought silence. Maddie looked at Sam in the mirror, waiting for a response.
"Park next to that silver Ram pickup over there."
"The one towing a cigarette boat?" Maddie asked, and Sam peeked over the front seat, trying to catch a glimpse. "Damn, what is this, Miami Vice or something?"
When Sam got out of the car, all she could do was laugh. The boat was ridiculous. She would have called something out to Greg, but he was busy talking to a man in uniform who did not seem to approve of Greg's boat.
" . . . no size limit . . . "
" . . . within reason . . ."
The snippets of conversation made it pretty clear what was going on.
"I'll keep it slow," Greg said, crossing his heart.
The man in uniform nodded and seemed reluctant as he handed Greg a slip of paper. "Don't make me come get you. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Welcoming committee?" Sam asked when the man in uniform walked away.
"Hey! You found me! That was fast."
"How long have you been here?" Shells asked.
"Just long enough to tick off the locals. I guess they don't like my boat. My Uncle's boat, that is."
"Man, that thing should come with a white suit and some pastel tank tops, bro." Shells said, and Maddie laughed.
"Shut up, Michelle," Greg said earning a glare. "My Uncle's been rich a long time, and he bought one of these in the '80s. He hadn't pulled it out in years, and since I had some free time on my hands, he said I could bring it down here and blow the dust off of it."
"I bet half of that dust is cocaine, dude. Straight up. I watched TV in the '80s, I know what's up. There's probably blow in every seat crevice."
Shells was convincing enough to actually make Greg look worried for an instant. "I think we're good," he said. "I mean I made it through a spot check on my way in here, although it took me a while to explain the boat. Thought they were gonna send me back there for a couple minutes, but they let me through. They were gonna have a serious mess if they didn't, since there wasn't exactly enough room for me to turn around."
"Can you ge
t this thing in the water?" Maddie asked, looking impatient.
"Yeah. Guide me back to the ramp, will ya?" Greg said after climbing up and pulling bumpers out over the sides.
"I got your back, brother," Shells said, and Sam had to laugh at the serious look on Shells' face as she used hand signals to guide Greg back. Her favorite was the closed fist she used to tell him to stop. It was done with authority, and that alone cracked Sam up.
After pumping up his parking brake, Greg hopped out as if afraid his truck might end up in the lake.
"It's not going anywhere," Shells said, and she gave the truck a good shake. The tires slid the slightest bit on the slick ramp. Greg grew pale and quickly went for the winch release. Once the boat was in the water, his truck would be a good bit safer.
Greg then handed Sam a rope and said, "Don't lose it."
Though not much of a boat person, Sam didn't think she had to worry about losing it; until the boat began to drift. "Damn. Shells, grab one of the ropes on the other end."
"Can't," Shells said, as the boat moved out too far for her to reach.
Slowly the boat turned, and by the time Greg got back, it was perpendicular to the dock. "Uh. What the hell are you doing?" he asked.
"It didn't get away," Sam said, "But it's not exactly where I wanted it either." Then after a moment longer she said. "Help?"
Greg laughed. "Now that's a first." Without hesitating, Greg just walked into the water, his rubber-soled sandals giving him good grip. "The water's cold," he said, and he let out a whoop when the water reached his waste. "Man, that's cold."
"What's the matter, Gregory?" Shells said. "The little sailor afraid of the cold?"
"He's gone below decks," Greg said in a strained voice, but then he reached the back of the stern and pushed it back toward the dock.
Shells caught the boat with her foot and grabbed one of the stern ropes. "Got it."
Greg waded back to the ramp and joined the girls on the dock. "It'll just take me a few minutes to get her going. Life jackets are under the seats." No one moved to put on a lifejacket, and Greg noticed the eyes of the men in uniform, and some of those who were not. "What's with all the undercovers?"
Lure Page 13
