The rest of the afternoon was spent discussing the editor, the next book, men in general, and sex in particular. When Tori’s face felt it had reached a broiling temperature, she held up her hands in defeat.
“Okay, okay, okay. You guys win. I can’t keep up my end of the conversation so I might as well go home.”
Lydia, by now feeling the effects of an afternoon of gin, slipped into the cockney accent she had paid to lose.
“Naw, love, you can’t. Litl’ gulls like you shouldn’t even try.”
“Well, ladies, it could be because I haven’t been around as many blocks as you.”
Mother and agent both laughed uproariously. One of the things Tori thought was so special about these two women was their sense of humor.
“Lydia, don’t even try to say you’re taking me home. I’ll call a cab. I don’t want you behind the wheel of a car. Stay here with Mom and drink about three gallons of coffee before you leave.”
“Coffee? Oh my gawd! I can’t stand that garbage and you know it!”
Tori giggled. She gave the cab company the address and went to sit with the two most important people in her life until the taxi arrived.
* * *
Sharon and Lydia were still laughing and joking when the cab driver tapped the car horn. Tori kissed both of them but she wasn’t sure if they even noticed she was leaving. When she left her mother’s house she wore a cloak of familial love that kept her warm.
The taxi driver was in a talkative mood. The only thing required to keep up her end of the conversation was an occasional murmur from Tori. The closer they got to her house, the less she answered, until the driver was answering his own witty questions. When they arrived, Tori paid the driver then stood on the sidewalk that led up to the house that waited for her. For a few seconds Tori felt that her home looked sinister and foreboding.
That’s just silly, Tori. This is home, your sanctuary, your soft place to fall and hide from the world. I just wish… oh, I don’t know what I wish anymore.
Mentally berating herself didn’t alter her mood.
She stared into the empty windows, a deep longing washing over her. She seldom left the house and this desperate loneliness at her return was probably the reason. No matter how much she might dream, or write those dreams on paper, she still had to face facts.
This is reality, Tori. At least, it’s your reality. There’s never going to be a husband throwing open the door to say, “Hi, honey, I’m home!” There’s never going to be the sound of little feet running to greet Daddy.
Tori stared at the sidewalk as she shuffled to the door. Patchwork leaves rattled crisply under her slow step. She stared at the key in her hand for several seconds before sliding it into the lock. The door creaked inward.
She stood on the weathered boards of the porch and stared into the empty void of her life. She stepped into the entryway, closing the door softly behind her.
In an effort to lighten her own heavy heart, Tori shouted into the silence of her home.
“Okay, stop me now if you’ve heard this one. Did you hear the one about two jumper cables walking into a bar and the bartender said, “Don’t you two start anything in here. Get it? Jumper cables? Start something…”
Not even an echo.
“Gee, tough crowd tonight!”
Tori dropped her jacket on the back of the couch. She walked into the dining room and put both hands on the back of a chair, leaning heavily into the wood. Her head hung low, one crystal tear slipped down her ivory cheek.
In the dark recesses of the corner there stood a witness to this display. Without form or texture, the being struggled to be heard. In a voice that could not be detected by the human ear, the entity spoke.
Welcome home, Victoria.
Chapter Three
Tori made a sandwich for herself and another of the endless pots of coffee she drank while writing. Last night had proved to be a dismal failure, so she had to make up for it tonight. She’d always heard that to be an accomplished writer, you should write at least one page a day. Normally, she had no trouble whatsoever doing just that. Most days saw the completion of ten pages or more. Yesterday had been a bust and she hadn’t written one single word she could keep. She vowed to herself that tonight would be different.
Tori wasn’t easily distracted, so she was angry with herself that she imagined all sorts of things that go bump in the night. She now believed it only an excuse to get out of writing and justify it to herself, which was pretty lame, since she answered to no one else when it came to the business of writing.
Tori assembled all her normal equipment following her usual writing protocol. Many writers went through their own type of a superstitious ritual before they began to work and Tori was no different. She had her coffee mug to the right of the keyboard. Her dictionary and thesaurus were to the left (none of this website research for her!) and an orange Tennessee Vols baseball cap on her head honoring her favorite college team. Go Big Orange!
“Alrighty, I’m ready. O great and powerful Oz! Come! Fill me with my own brand of bologna so I can put it on paper.”
Staring at the wall above the video monitor, Tori jutted her chin forward in anticipation. She threw her hands up in the air and shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m waiting!”
She held her hands curled over the keyboard, ready to begin typing. An idea flashed through her mind and just as quickly skated away.
“Oh man! I lost it! And I bet it would’ve been a great idea, too.”
Elbow on her desk, Tori leaned her face against her hand, then leaned forward and lightly bounced her head on the computer monitor.
She sat up straight and held her arms out in surrender.
“O Great Gods of Words, don’t fail me now! Send a writing spirit to help me. Yeah, a ghostwriter! Wow! That would be cool!”
But no one answered her cry for help even though Tori stared at the video screen for almost two hours. During those long hours her mind wandered in and out of reality. This is how she got her ideas, her inspiration. But the grassy fields she walked through in her mind yielded no brilliant story lines tonight.
Tori was so intent upon her daydreaming that she didn’t notice the approaching darkness. When she pulled herself from her imaginary trip, the room was deep in darkness. Quickly, before she had time to think about being afraid, she turned on her desk lamp. She looked through the open doorway behind her and the quiet darkness seemed to be crouching, waiting.
“Okay, that’s it! Another day I didn’t write anything. Strike two! What’s the matter with me, other than being flaky enough to talk to an empty house?”
Tori walked quickly through the large rooms, turning on lights as she did. She knew that from outside, the house looked like someone inside was afraid of the dark.
Refilling her coffee mug, Tori took it to her recliner. Flipping open the TV schedule, she saw there were several sitcoms coming on she hadn’t taken time to watch before.
“Big Bang Theory, hmm? I wonder if that’s any good. Well, I guess I’m getting ready to find out.”
Closing her eyes, she shook her head at her own idiocy.
“And while you’re at it, Tori, stop talking to yourself. Maybe I should get a dog, at least then I’d have an excuse for talking out loud.”
Tori decided she liked the show “Big Bang Theory” very much. Television, just like most things people take for granted, was a luxury for Tori. She was always too busy writing to watch TV, or live life. Since writing productively was a doubtful prospect, Tori decided she would watch the rest of the comedic line-up.
After that she watched the news, a special on whales, and a movie on her one and only pay channel. She rose out of the recliner to stumble into the computer room, determined to write something, anything, so the night wasn’t a total loss.
She typed the opening chapter of a book which she felt was all wrong. She typed nonsense words then hit all the symbol keys, just playing around. She tapped the backspace key repe
atedly and watched the cursor gobble the words from the screen. The shrill screams of the dying words echoed around her writer’s brain and she laughed at herself for having such a silly imagination. When she began to yawn she realized she was putting off going to bed.
The house seems so big lately. What’s the matter with me? I’m starting to act like a kid, being afraid of the dark, and the silence, and the sudden noises. This is truly crazy! I’m going to take my shower and go to bed like I always do. Well, I guess I could take my shower in the morning, since it’s kinda cold with the draft and all. Okay, I’ll take my shower in the morning, but I am going to bed right now. I’m a grown woman and NOT afraid of the boogeyman!
Tori changed into her warm flannel pajamas and started to her bedroom. She paused in the hallway long enough to flip on the light in the bathroom. She stood in front of the half-closed door and stuck out her tongue at the beam of light falling into the hallway.
A puff of wind hit her in the face, strong enough to ruffle her hair and dry the saliva on her outstretched tongue. It lasted only a moment but it left Tori shaking.
What the hell was that? Man, I’ve got to get someone in here to check this old house for drafts. But, what if it wasn’t a draft? What if it was a… and if I start thinking like that I’ll be wearing one of those cute little white jackets that buckle in the back. There I’ll be, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, slobbering all over myself… Oh, shut up, you idiot and go to bed like a big girl! Sheesh! That imagination is going to drive you crazy yet. At least it’d be a short trip and I’d probably get great mileage.
Tori crawled between the sheets. She punched the pillow several times, trying to shape it into an implement of sleep.
For over an hour Tori tossed and turned. Finally falling into a restless slumber, she was treated to a dream so beautiful, and frightening, she would remember it always.
* * *
She was bathing in a sapphire-blue stream, the water cool on her sun-warmed back and up-turned face. Then insidiously, the idyllic setting was being lashed by wind that screamed through the trees at the water’s edge. Thunderclouds appeared in seconds and the water began to churn into an alarming whirlpool. Tori was pulled toward the swirling water and she fought to swim toward the mossy bank. Fear wrapped itself around her spine and she was frantic to the point of hysteria. She began to fight even harder.
Her legs were leaden weights, sluggish, reluctant to obey her will to move. Move damn it! The torrent of water turned murky as it slipped past her lips and into her mouth opening in a scream. As the brackish water filled her throat the scream was drowned into silence. She could feel herself losing consciousness and gave into the despairing reality of her own death. She grew limp and allowed herself to slip further into a watery grave.
Strong arms pulled her from the water now stilled to a glassy sheen and full lips covered hers. Gently, insistently, life-sustaining air was forced into her quiet lungs. Gasping, spitting vile, fetid water over the ground, Tori coughed back to consciousness. Cool, wet fingers soothed her temple as she sputtered. Loving fingers lifted her trembling chin upward and she stared into the blue eyes she so loved.
* * *
“Avery!”
Still gasping for air, she awoke from the sweat-drenched dream. She sat bolt upright in the middle of the bed, pulling in great lungs of full sweet, blessed oxygen. Tori was crying with disappointment and shaking uncontrollably by after-shocks of a desire never experienced before.
Her tears soon melted into laughter as she finally realized the all-too-real dream was just that—a lovely, frustrating dream.
Damn! I can’t fulfill a fantasy, even in my dreams! My life stinks!
Knowing that sleep would not be her companion this night, Tori pulled on her terrycloth robe and walked barefoot to the computer room.
No rest for the weary. Or is it the wicked?
The blackness of the room was awash with bright dancing colors from the monitor’s screensaver. For a few moments, Tori stood mesmerized by the changing hues on the screen. She made a conscious effort to shake herself into movement, walking to the keyboard with purpose.
You’re awake, you’re here, now write! Mr. Big Shot Editor won’t be too impressed with a stack of blank pages! You’ve got the synopsis, now all you have to do is actually write the book. Come on, girl, you’ve done this before!
Tori fell into the contoured desk chair, ready to disappoint herself once again this night. She just couldn’t understand why she was having such a tough time getting in the groove. She leaned back in the chair, head hanging over the backrest.
Again, she allowed her mind to go strolling through fields that covered Avery Norcross’ lands. A heavy fog covered the moors and Tori could almost feel the cool mist of it fall on her face. She continued to peer through the density until, at last, she saw him!
Man and horse seemed to be one as they sat atop a rocky ridge rising from the damp earth. Mankala snorted and danced in place, anxious to run. Avery held the large steed at bay despite the way the superb animal tossed his massive head against the reigns until master leaned down to whisper something only Mankala could hear. The beautiful animal calmed, head high, waiting for commands. The ruggedly handsome man appeared to be looking for something, or someone. Tori could almost sense when he found whatever, or whoever, he was looking for.
Avery sat straighter in the saddle. Mankala felt his master’s excitement and reacted by rearing up on his back legs. Tori could feel, as well as see, Avery’s smile dazzling in the moonlight; her legs grew weak.
Man and horse began to ride slowly, even though Lori sensed that Mankala wanted to race wherever he went. Tori could hear Avery’s fierce commands that controlled the equestrian masterpiece. As slowly as they were moving, they still grew closer at an alarming rate. Tori almost felt as if they were traveling in a straight line toward her. Her eyes were opened so wide they watered as she watched their approach.
Mankala was in a playful mood, prancing sideways down the hill. Avery, losing his patience but never his focus, demanded the horse act accordingly. Tori could now see the buckles on Avery’s boots and Mankala’s warm exhalations in the cold night air. At no point did they deviate from their course, approaching within twenty feet from where Tori felt she stood.
Avery was staring into her eyes, a smoldering look of desire on his face. Mankala nodded his head up and down as if in agreement of his master’s emotion. They stopped ten feet from Tori’s view. Mankala bent one knee and lowered his sleek head in a bow. Avery, too, removed his hat, and in a sweeping gesture bowed at the waist.
“Good evening, Milady!”
Frantically, Tori’s mind whirled around to survey the surrounding countryside, looking for whomever he was speaking to.
“No, lovely lady, there’s no one here but you and I. ‘Tis you I am speaking to.”
Tori’s heart raced until it had difficulty keeping up with her torrent of disbelief and fear. Her lungs couldn’t expand fast enough and she grew faint. She could feel herself losing the fight to stay conscious, yet she could see Avery extend his hand toward her.
As she slipped away, Tori plainly heard Avery’s deep bass voice shouting in alarm.
“No, wait! Please, Victoria! Please…”
Tori nearly fell out of the desk chair as she awoke. Groggy, she regained her balance then stared at the computer monitor. Words covered the screen and she saw in the bottom right corner that she had written twenty pages while she had been asleep! Like a frightened little girl, she panted for breath as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes with her fists.
O God! What was that? What just happened? This is too weird, even for my wacky imagination! It all seemed so real. It felt like I could have reached out to touch him. And then to wake up and find I’ve written twenty pages in my sleep. Whew! I know I said it would be cool to have a ghostwriter but I was only kidding! I just don’t get it. But would I even really want the answers if I could have them? Nope, I don’t thin
k so! That was some wild dream. Can sleep deprivation actually cause a person to hallucinate? Oh, I really need to get more rest!
Tori ran her fingers through her tangled curls then dropped her hands to smooth the wrinkles of her sleep-rumpled robe. She immediately jerked her hands away from her clothing. She stared incredulously at the moisture on her hands.
Just like condensation from a gently falling mist—or fog!
Tori jumped up, knocking her chair to the floor. She ran from the room, coming to a stop in the kitchen. Her chest was heaving from the exertion of the short run and the disbelieving terror. As she stood there, she tried to regroup her thoughts.
I wonder what is written on the computer. Is it my own words, or someone else’s? Should I look? Of course I should! This is preposterous! There is no writing phantom and the words will be mine.
Squaring her shoulders, puffing out her chest, and lifting her head and jaw locked in place, Tori walked back into the computer room. The screen saver had kicked in and she tapped the space bar to stop it. The words flickered into reality and Tori read them with a sense of dread.
But she had no reason to worry. The words were, indeed, hers and the rhythm was perfection. The story line was pure, imaginative, and each line flowed smoothly into the next. Tori was amazed at the train of thought she had chosen but she was also pleased with herself.
This novel, as with the rest of the series, centered on Avery Norcross and his ladylove. However, this one promised to be more lusty, and more loving, than all the others. She read the words out loud, speaking in her own type of cadence, lending sincerity to the words. Yes, she definitely liked it.
Wow! Maybe I should write in my sleep more often! Oh, Lydia’s going to love this one!
If at that moment Tori had to think of one word to describe how she felt, it would have been satisfaction. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t remember writing those beautiful words, or even from where she had gotten the idea, her new book had begun. And she felt that it just may be the best she had ever written. She once read an interview with a well-known author who had said that every book he had written had been the best book he had ever done. He continued to say that for a writer to be an accomplished author, he had to feel that each and every book he wrote was the best of his career. Tori hadn’t understood this before, but she could now imagine how good it must feel.
Through the Shadows Page 3
