Dark Dreamer

by Jennifer Fulton

  “There’s something we’d like to try,” Vernell said.

  Phoebe had known this was coming, having sensed his frustration during the debriefing session after her dream. She had failed to seek out important details like the van registration, the street name, the number on the letterbox.

  “You want me to go back?” she asked.

  “We can’t wait until you sleep again. If June’s alive, the clock is ticking.” He met her eyes. “We’d like to try hypnosis.”

  Phoebe frowned. “I don’t know how I feel about that. I mean, I’ll do it, but it makes me nervous. What if I can’t wake up or something?”

  They turned a corner. Dr. K was standing outside his office, fidgeting like a man who needed to smoke. At the sight of them, he beamed at Phoebe, whom he now treated like a cross between a movie star and his favorite laboratory dog. Apparently he’d heard her last question.

  “Don’t worry, my dear Ms. Golden. Nobody leaves my couch thinking they are a frog.” He waved them into his lair. “And when you wake from your trance, I have something for you.” He took a box from his desk top and lifted the lid. “Jeff de Bruges on rue Mouffetard. Who can leave Paris without visiting the markets, hmm?”

  The smell of rich chocolate made Phoebe’s mouth water, and she thought instantly of Pavlov’s dogs. Now she knew why Dr. K had asked about her favorite foods during their first interview. Evidently, he thought she would work for treats, too.

  “They look delicious,” she said, pondering which one to sample first.

  He closed the box before she could decide and placed it on a shelf. “They are all yours whether or not we enjoy success.” He tweaked his bow tie in a self-congratulatory manner. “See. The FBI pays you in chocolate. That is something to tell the grandchildren, no?”

  He ushered her into a comfortable armchair, reclined it until she was semi-prone, then clapped his hands. Vernell rolled out a veiled board and parked it opposite her chair. Dr. K angled this so that Phoebe would have to keep her head up to see it, then whipped the cloth away like a magician revealing a dove.

  “It’s one of her paintings.” Phoebe smiled. A lake in winter, the water iced over. “It looks so cold.”

  “Cold as the Urals,” Dr. K noted in a murky undertone. “Look at that ice. Imagine yourself there. Touch it. Imagine running your hand across it. And listen to this.” He turned on a small cassette.

  Phoebe recognized the sound immediately. It was the grandfather clock she’d heard while she lay on June’s bed.

  “Yes. You know that clock, don’t you? It’s making you sleepy. Very sleepy.” Dr. K picked up a small brass bell. “Listen carefully. When I ring this bell”—he rang it to illustrate—“you will wake up, and you will remember everything, but it will feel to you like a dream. At all times you will be able to hear me and you will be completely safe. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Phoebe listened to the clock and stared at the lake. Already she could feel her limbs getting heavy.

  Part of her wanted to stop right now, get off the chair and go back home to Dark Harbor. But how would that help June? If there was a chance that she was alive and Phoebe could do something to save her, she had no choice. She tuned in to Dr. K’s voice and allowed herself to relax completely. Her eyes felt heavy and she closed them, then found she could not open them again. She was drifting. Colors swirled against her eyelids. The ticking of the clock seemed louder.

  “You know where Iris took you,” Dr. K said. “You can remember everything. You can see everything.”

  Phoebe gazed down at the world below. Instead of shimmering lights there were cars, buildings, a vast city. Water.

  “What do you see?”

  “The Capitol. Buildings. Highways.”

  “You’re traveling north?”

  “Yes.” Ceaseless blue. The sky, the ocean. Phoebe felt vividly content. Floating. Lost. Suspended in a beautiful nowhere. She tried to keep herself on track, but she was drifting farther and farther from the shore. “Iris,” she called. “Iris, please come.”

  She could hear the soft, regular march of time. Yet she could feel nothing. Her flesh was no longer flesh. She was made of cloud, prey to the wind, recklessly, terribly alone in a world unraveled into skeins of color spread endlessly across a canvas she could not escape. She called Iris again.

  This time her dead friend answered. “What are you doing here?”

  “Take me to his house,” Phoebe requested.

  Iris’s honey blond hair swirled around her face. She looked sad. “I don’t want to go there anymore.”

  “Please.” Phoebe took her hand. “Just once more. It’s very important.”

  The colors on the canvas changed, running together, and Phoebe felt her stomach plummet. She released Iris’s hand and cradled her head in her arms, bracing for a sudden crunch. Instead, like sails when the wind drops suddenly, she sagged into inertia.

  “We’re here,” Iris said. “You should have brought them with you.”

  “I will. But they have to travel the normal way.” Phoebe stared along a quiet road. The houses were on large blocks of land.

  “I saw it all,” Iris said. “The blindfold came off in the van, and I looked out the windows. A sign said New Hampshire. I don’t know which town.”

  “What is the name of the street?” A man’s voice came from nowhere, the accent heavy and foreign.

  Phoebe repeated the question to Iris, who said, “Pennysdale.”

  “Look at the mailbox,” Dr. K ordered.

  “There are no numbers on it.” Phoebe hovered before it trying to make out the dusty outline of numbers that had once been there. “It’s Pennysdale Street. Somewhere in New Hampshire.”

  “Is the van there?”

  “No.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Iris asked.

  “The FBI.”

  “Tell them to drive fast,” Iris said forlornly.

  Phoebe kissed her on the cheek. “I wish I could have done this for you.”

  “It’s okay. My parents talk to me more now…my ashes, at least. They say things they never used to say.”

  “Can they hear you if you talk to them?”

  “Sometimes my mother looks up as if she does. But I think she feels silly. She always starts doing housework.”

  “I want to find my parents.” Phoebe became aware of a bell. The sound grew louder and louder. “I have to go,” she blurted as colors cascaded around her and a blinding sterile sea washed everything white.

  She stared up into a beam of bright light. Dr. K placed his index finger a few inches before her eyes.

  Phoebe knew the drill from her head-injury days. Tracking the fingertip right and left, she asked, “Am I really awake?”

  The doctor placed the box of chocolates in her lap. “Completely. And you remember everything, do you not?”

  Grieving for Iris, Phoebe said, “Yes. Everything.”

  *

  “We have to hurry,” Phoebe urged, appalled that Vernell hadn’t sent people immediately to smash down the doors and rescue June.

  He had explained that they’d had to use her pictures to locate the right house in the right Pennysdale Street and find out if the occupant resembled the man she and Colby had drawn. Then they had to stake out his place of work. He assured her that nothing could happen while their man was not at home. Now she and Cara were in a Bubird, on their way to New Hampshire so she could make a final positive identification of the house before they sent in the SWAT team.

  Vernell checked his watch. He did that constantly, when he wasn’t leaving his seat to talk on the phone out of earshot. He said, “We’ll be landing in twenty minutes.”

  An agent approached and spoke to him in an undertone. Phoebe could just make out what he was saying. “The residence is staked out. No sign of the van. According to neighbors, the suspect leaves early in the morning and gets back around five.”

  “Place of work?” Vernell asked.

  “The static team is in po
sition. Twenty rent-a-goons.”

  “I don’t want this rabbit spooked. Floating box until he enters the target location.”

  “Yes, sir.” The agent straightened and returned to the rear of the plane. His eyes strayed to Phoebe as he passed her seat. Like everyone, he looked curious.

  “Feeling okay?” Cara placed her hand over Phoebe’s.

  “I just want her to be alive.” Phoebe wished she’d had time to check on June before Dr. K rang that bell.

  “I know. Me, too.” Cara stared out the window for a moment, then shot a look at Phoebe. “Whatever happens, you did good, sweetie.”

  Phoebe glanced around the cabin. It was full of men, some in suits, others in black body armor. Despite their calm outward demeanor, they were restless, and a palpable excitement pervaded the cabin. Occasionally she caught one of them looking at her and Cara. She wasn’t there under cover of her fake forensic science ID. Instead, to explain Cara’s presence, Vernell had given everyone the same story he told the forensic artist, that Phoebe was a key witness and that her sister was there to provide emotional support. People accepted this with identical twins.

  A circus of cars and vans were waiting at the airport. As everyone disembarked, several agents from the plane immediately ringed Phoebe and Cara like they were about to be fired on, and guided them to a dark red Chrysler sedan with tinted windows.

  One of their escorts slid into the front passenger seat and twisted around to talk to them. “When we get there, we’ll park a short distance from the house. The SAC will walk you past the place. If it’s the right house, just say the word, then return immediately to the car and stay put.”

  “Who are all those people?” Phoebe gestured at the crowd gathered around Vernell. “Are they the FBI agents?”

  “Yeah, mostly. Agents out of Boston. And some local cops.”

  Phoebe’s stomach rolled. What if she had it all wrong? What if she was actually losing it and none of this was real? She had seen A Beautiful Mind. People who were crazy usually had no idea.

  “Okay, ladies. I’m out of here,” the agent said. He left them alone in the new-smelling interior.

  Cara adjusted her jeans over her boots. “Well, this is a whole lot more exciting than a day at the studio. And the good news is, if they nail this guy, you just made a hundred thousand bucks.”

  “What do you mean?” The Bureau already paid her a salary of eighty thousand dollars. No one had said anything about a raise.

  “That’s the deal I made with them,” Cara said. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you getting all stressed about having to deliver.”

  “It’s too much.” Phoebe was mortified, imagining how she would feel if someone close to her was the one imprisoned in a madman’s basement. “This is a woman’s life. I don’t expect money.”

  “Of course you don’t, but we won’t mention that fact.” Cara looked at her seriously. “You work for these people, and you deserve to be rewarded properly for the impact this has on your life. Who knows how long you’ll be able to do this. I’m thinking about your future. Anyway, a hundred grand is peanuts to them.”

  Cara had always been the one who was responsible about money. What had Phoebe expected—that her twin would allow the FBI to exploit her for nothing? If she’d been the one negotiating with Vernell she wouldn’t even have a salary.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I guess I got stuck on the ethics.”

  “You’re not doing anything unethical accepting money for your services,” Cara reiterated. “Imagine how much it costs for all the man-hours on a case like this. If you can shorten the investigation, you’re saving them a fortune. That’s the way Vernell sees it. Trust me, you’re a real bargain.”

  “A hundred thousand dollars,” Phoebe murmured.

  “After tax,” Cara said with satisfaction.

  “I’ll be able to get you that sports car for your birthday.” Irrationally, she thought of Rowe and wondered what kind of gift would thrill her.

  Cara grinned. “No, that money is going away. If anything ever happens to me, it means you’ll be okay.”

  Phoebe gulped a breath, her thoughts instantly back on track. “Don’t say things like that. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

  Cara embraced her. “Silly, of course it’s not. And it’s your money. You can spend it on anything you want. You’ve earned it.”

  Phoebe leaned into her twin’s shoulder, inhaling the comforting scent of her. Cara smelled faintly of the outdoors and of Coco, the distinctive spicy fragrance she always wore. “Maybe I’ll get myself that new stove. You can invest the rest or whatever.”

  Cara laughed softly. “You and your stove fetish.”

  The car’s front doors swung open and two men got in. Vernell was on the passenger side. Phoebe didn’t recognize the driver. All FBI men were starting to look the same to her.

  Vernell introduced the agent, a guy called Farrell, and said, “Ms. Golden is our witness.”

  “Thank you for assisting the Bureau,” the agent said and started the motor.

  Vernell got on his cell phone. The agent talked into a radio. Most of what they said was incomprehensible, a scramble of numbers and mysterious acronyms. At one point, the agent turned to Vernell and said, “Rabbit tracks, sir.”

  Vernell responded with, “Get a bird dog on it. Not too close.” And they accelerated into the traffic.

  Phoebe’s watch said 4:10 p.m. when they arrived at Pennysdale Street. The scene was not remotely similar to anything she had imagined. There were no police cars with lights blinking, no signs of life other than a man shoveling snow from his driveway a few doors from where they parked.

  Alarmed, she said, “He’ll be home soon. Where is everybody?”

  No one replied.

  “Wait for me to open your door, then step out of the car and take my arm,” Vernell instructed. “We’re looking around the neighborhood because we’re thinking about buying real estate here.”

  “Okay.” Phoebe buttoned her coat, pulled on her gloves, and tried to look casual as she stepped out onto the pavement.

  Walking along the quiet suburban street with Vernell, she felt safe knowing he probably carried a gun beneath his charcoal gray overcoat. But it was all she could do not to break into a run and drag him along behind her to rescue June. Tall trees and a curve in the road obscured the houses they were approaching. She could almost feel the dark blue van creeping along the street behind them.

  “Everything’s fine,” Vernell said. “You’re doing great. Look up at me and say something, then we’ll laugh.”

  “Why?” She gazed up at his nutmeg brown face. “He’s not here to see us.”

  “For all we know he doesn’t work alone. There may be someone in the house, watching.” He laughed as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  They rounded the curve, and Phoebe instantly recognized the trees she’d hidden behind and the broad sweep of the yard. She wanted to scream, to run behind the house and yell through the grille to June to hang on a little longer. Help was on the way.

  “That’s the place,” she said, laughing as he’d told her to.

  “Good.” Vernell’s eyes swung left and right. “We’re going to cross the road here and you’re going to walk back toward the car. Don’t run.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “In this SUV.” He stopped next to a forest green Ford Explorer parked at the curb and opened the driver’s door. Bending, he kissed her lightly on the cheek. “We’re saying good-bye. Go back to the car and wait with your sister.”

  Phoebe forced a phony smile. “She’s in the basement, round the back of the house.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  Phoebe walked away, forcing herself not to increase her pace. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. Several shadowy figures ran from behind one house to the next. They were carrying assault weapons. Another dark form was just visible against the roofline of the house she was passing. She l
owered her head, breathing deeply, understanding that she was seeing a highly organized plan in operation. The place was surrounded. Every innocently parked car, every shadow on every rooftop, every man shoveling snow or changing tires was part of a team about to swarm into the white house and rescue June from the hell of her captivity.

  Phoebe prevented herself from stopping and yelling, You’re safe. We’re coming! Instead, flooded with relief, she reached the red Chrysler and opened the door like she was in no big hurry to get in the car.

  “Well?” Cara asked.

  Phoebe dropped into the backseat and exhaled long and hard. “It’s the house.”

  Agent Farrell spoke into his radio, then opened his door and instructed, “Remain with the vehicle, please, ladies.” With that he left them.

  “We can’t see anything from here,” Cara complained. “And the windows are all fogged up.” She bailed out and climbed into the driver’s seat. “If we’re going to have to sit here for God knows how long, at least I want to know what’s happening.”

  Before Phoebe could protest, Cara started the car and moved out onto the road, driving twenty or so yards then making a U-turn. “There,” she said, parking not far from the Explorer. “Now we’ll see everything.”

  “We’re going to be in a lot of trouble,” Phoebe said.

  “Who cares?” Cara climbed over the seat and settled next to her once more. “Anyway, you’re the golden girl. You can do no wrong.”

  Phoebe cringed. Whenever Cara took that tone, it usually spelled trouble. It had been that way all through their childhood. Cara always imagined she could get away with disobedience, and most often she did. Grandma Temple was never one for spanking or punishment.

  “Where’s Vernell?” Cara knelt on the seat and wiped the fog from the rear window.

  Phoebe contemplated going all vague on her, but Cara could tell when she was lying. “In that SUV.” She pointed to the Explorer.

  Cara looked satisfied. “Good. This is exactly the right place to be, then.”

  “Whatever.” Phoebe knew better than to argue when Cara’s stubborn streak took over. Secretly, she was pleased. She wanted to see what happened, too. Just hold on, June. She hurled the thought into the ether, hoping it would find the woman trapped in the cage. “I hope they shoot him dead,” she said.