Lydia opened her arms to hug her. The warmth of her embrace surprised Tori. She knew that Lydia loved her like she was her own daughter, but she rarely displayed such deep emotion. She correctly assumed this was due to the fiasco of the night before.
“That ass is no longer a client of mine! I’m going to tear his contract into a million tiny pieces.”
“Lydia, you know you can’t do that.”
“And why the hell can I not do that, Tori? I can do whatever…”
“No, dear friend, you can’t, and you know it. It’s not ethical or professional to cancel his contract with you because of me. It’s a business, Lydia, and he could sue you for not fulfilling the contract.”
Lydia stared at the wall as she considered what Tori had said. All at once, her face was wreathed in a mischievous smile.
“You’re right, of course. I can’t tear up the contract but I have other options. Such as, I’m sure that no one will be interested in Mr. Roger Hart’s new book. Why, the response from publishers is going to be just crushing to poor, dear Roger. It may hurt him so badly it could possibly destroy his horribly inflated ego and he would be unable to write another word.”
Tori stared at her agent in shock.
“No, Lydia. Surely you’re joking. You can’t do that to an author. I don’t like the man but I think that would be so wrong. He may be a low-rent piece of crap when it comes to the way he treats a woman, but he is a talented writer. Please, if you care for me, don’t do this on my behalf. I would be forever sorry that other people may be unable to enjoy his work.”
Lydia sighed loudly and Sharon’s face was covered with a proud smile.
“Even though I’m your mother, you still amaze me. You’re a beautiful soul, Victoria. I’m honored to be your mother.”
Tori’s gaze traveled the room as her face emanated a pretty pink glow.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Lydia leaned over to kiss the young woman on the forehead. She spoke in a gruff voice.
“I just gained even more respect for you, Luv.” Then clearing her throat and raising her voice, Lydia asked for a drink. “If you don’t have the makings for a decent martini and force me to drink coffee, at least pour a generous dollop of Irish crème in the cup.”
Sharon and Tori chuckled and pulled Lydia into a familial embrace, both of them kissing her on her cheeks until the Brit joined them in the laughter.
The women all sat down at the table with a mug of coffee, sans Irish crème. Lydia grimaced with each sip she took. Tori got up and made a cup of tea. When she handed it to her, Lydia smiled her appreciation.
“Bless you, sweet Tori. Now, tell me how the new book is coming. Mr. Editor in New York is concerned about the deadline. You’ll make it in time, won’t you, dear?”
Tori hoped the other two didn’t hear her gulp of air. She felt the sweat begin at her brow.
“Sure, I will! I’ve got another three months and the book’s about 75% done. I don’t see any problem with meeting the deadline. In fact, I’m leaving in a few minutes so I can get back to work.”
“Marvelous. I’ll stop worrying then. It’s just that this is your shot at the truly big time and I don’t want one single problem to stand in your way. Plus, it’d be a feather in my hat, too, if I have a client on the bestseller’s list. You’re going to be the one that does all that, Tori. This book is only the beginning, Dear.”
“I’m going to work hard to live up to that, Lydia.”
Sharon patted Tori’s hand. “You’ll do it, Honey. I just know you will.”
Tori hugged them both before she left. With assurances that she was, indeed, going to have the book done before they knew it, she reminded each of them that she loved them. She was still smiling as she drove into her driveway.
Her mood was much lighter than when she had left the night before. She wasn’t sure she understood what exactly had happened with Roger but she decided to just let it go. It wasn’t possible that some sort of ectoplasmic man had come to her rescue, no matter what it looked like. To accept the notion would be one step closer to a padded room.
For all her protestations to the contrary, she approached her home with trepidation. It seemed to take an hour for the door to swing open as she stood at the threshold. The only thing she heard when she walked into the house was the heater, which was just fine with her.
She grabbed the remote and switched on the TV as she passed through the room. The volume was low because all she wanted was background noise that wouldn’t disturb her train of thought.
The teakettle was whistling by the time she had slipped into her writing clothes. The loose knit pants and bulky sweatshirt felt as comfortable as an old friend. Even if she spilled a drop or two of her tea on her clothes, it wasn’t a tragedy.
Tori hummed along with the faint strands of a commercial on TV as she danced into her office. When she saw the computer monitor her mouth fell open and tea sloshed out of the cup as she slammed it down on the desk. She fell into her chair, jarring her teeth together.
The Earl Grey grew cold and tears began to flow as she read the words that she hadn’t written.
Katherine called Avery to her bed. He gently lowered himself to sit beside her faded body that had brimmed with vitality just six months earlier. His throat felt as if he had swallowed something too large and his lungs became constricted.
“Good morning, Mother. You’re looking much better…”
Her benevolent smile stopped his words. It was time to face the truth because she was no longer going to allow anything less.
“Avery, my child, the light of my life and heart. Today will be a sad one for you and I’m sorry that I shall be the reason for that. No, please be silent and listen, yes, love?”
It was with great effort that she reached for his hand. He moved quickly to conserve her strength. As she held his large hand in her own delicate, pale grasp, she continued to smile.
“Do not weep for me, Son. I was blessed in this life. I was given a man that loved me above all others, a man that would have given his life to defend mine. I was blessed with a son that all mothers would have wished for, a son that grew to be a fine man, just like his father.”
She reached into her pocket and brought forth a ring that she placed in his hand. When Avery began to protest she made shushing noises while maintaining her smile.
“There will be many women in your life, Avery, but there is only one that was created just for you. This ring belongs to her. There is magic in a ring created for the love of your life. Place this ring upon her hand and love her as your father loved me-for the rest of your life.”
She pulled his arm down so she could kiss the fingers closed over the ring. “I love you, my darling boy.” She let her eyes drift shut. Her smile remained even after she was gone.
Tori pulled a tissue from its box, then dabbed at her eyes. Her reaction to these words overrode the fear she had felt when she first came into the room. It was as if she felt the physical ache deep within her chest. Imagining the death of her own beloved mother caused her own heart to be squeezed in an emotional vise. She sighed deeply as she forced her attention back to the computer monitor.
He laid his head at her heart and was still for several minutes. When he felt her soul had time to float onward, he lifted his pale face to the heavens. The thick, plush velvet of the heavy draperies and the lush pile of carpet failed to absorb his wail of anguish. The pain and desolation were nearly too large for the mammoth room to hold. The sound was so pervasive, so large, even the sleeping pigeons were awakened and flew to various points of the village.
Though the piteous cries were loud, the release of emotions was short-lived. As quickly as the sobbing began it ended. He reigned in his outburst. In the aftermath, the silence was deafening.
Avery rose from the deathbed and turned to his mother’s three maids crying softly as they stood in the shadows. He touched each of their folded hands.
“Would you please help me? I need to get her r
eady. Find her favorite gown.” Under his breath but still audible, “This is going to be so difficult. Dear Mother, I miss you already.”
He rubbed his hands across his cheeks to wipe away the evidence of his tears. He was happy that there weren’t more people present to witness his weakness.
Tori’s anguished cries were as loud in the solid world as they were in the fictional account of Katherine Norcross’ death. In her own mind Tori envisioned making arrangements to bury Sharon. She imagined her mother’s waxy countenance, her still, cold body dressed in the clothing that Tori had taken to the funeral home, and the brave front Tori would be expected to wear for everyone else. The perceived pain was almost more than she could bear. She wished she could reach out to Avery, to hold him in her arms, to offer him comfort and console his wounded heart.
“What am I thinking? Console Avery? Have I finally, truly, lost my mind? This is a work of fiction. Words that I didn’t even write! O God, what’s going on here? This isn’t possible; it can’t be real!”
She put her head on the edge of the desk, her tears turning to agonized sobs of fear and confusion.
“Am I so lonely or insane that I could write chapters of a book and not remember it? Do I have such a need to create my own perfect man that I’ve lost touch with reality? Please, God, tell me what to do. Tell me how to get back to normal, whatever that may be.”
At this point her words became undecipherable. She lifted her head to stumble from the room. She buried her face in the pillows on her bed and once more cried herself to sleep.
* * *
He sat beside her on the mattress. He stroked her hair but he knew if she felt it at all through her wracking sobs, she would mistake the touch for merely a draft of wind.
If only I had more substance so that I could comfort you as you wish to comfort me.
I have learned so much while watching you, being near you. I can push the buttons on that strange machine to create words but I cannot make you feel my touch.
I would lie beside you and hold you in my arms until your tears dried and you smiled into my eyes. I would caress your slender shoulders and run my fingers through your fiery, soft curls. If only I was fully here, I would love your pain away.
Avery began to feel a heaviness in his body that was deeper than an emotional reaction to his feelings for Tori.
Chapter Twelve
At some point during the early morning hours, Tori left her bed and sat in front of her computer. She wasn’t aware she’d done it. When she again awoke at her desk, her neck and shoulders screamed in protest.
“Okay, dammit, that’s it! I’ve had it. I’m fed up with this crap! So, what to do about it? I need to talk to someone other than myself. I don’t really think I’m crazy anymore. So Tori, who do you talk to about all this Twilight Zone junk? I wonder if there’s an 800 number, maybe for a group called ‘Ghostbusters R Us.’ ”
She walked to her bedroom, fell onto the side of her bed and pulled the phone book from the drawer in the nightstand.
He listened as Tori spoke to someone about her haunted house. He shook his head as she described cold spots, objects being moved, familiar voices calling her name when no one was there. He grinned at her humorous descriptive phrases. Avery was certain that whoever was on the other side of the speaking device must be laughing.
“Ah sweet, Victoria, if you only knew that the only haunting here is what you are doing to my heart.”
The ghost busters arrived at the house early, long before Tori wanted to be awake, dressed, and genial to strangers. She knew all of them would be upset to be called anything other than parapsychologists. She’d just keep that term to herself. Tori offered them coffee and they carried it around with them as they worked.
They spent hours walking through the house, at times with their hands outstretched into thin air, their heads were nearly touching as they whispered to each other and casting sidelong glances into the shadowy corners of every room. They held instruments that emitted high-pitched squeaking noises when tested.
Phrases like electromagnetic field, amorphous, astral plane, and discarnate entity peppered their dialogue. Digital recorders were placed in different rooms for EVP or electronic voice phenomena. The technicians explained that many times words were captured on recorders when no one was present. It’s the way a spirit tries to communicate with the living. Tori nodded as if she knew what the heck they were talking about.
“Where do you notice the most activity?”
“Activity?”
“You know—cold spots, hot spots, the feeling that someone is watching you, objects being moved, etc.”
“Oh, in just about every room; however, the room I’m most concerned with is my office. That’s the place that scares me the most. I’ll go in there and find pages written for my new book that I didn’t write.”
James, the self-proclaimed director of the group, snapped his head around. Tori could imagine his ears perking up as he raised his eyebrows.
“Really? Perhaps it’s automatic writing, with a modern technological slant to it. I’ve heard of it being done with pen and paper but I have to admit, I’ve never heard of it being done with a computer keyboard before.”
“What is it, this automatic writing? Sounds weird to me.”
“I would imagine it does sound strange but it’s a more common occurrence than most people realize. Someone writes, or in your case perhaps, types without any conscious thought. We believe it to be a spirit writing through a living being.”
Tori tried to smooth the frown that she could feel was furrowed between her eyebrows, but was unsuccessful.
“Uh, what?”
“A spirit has something to convey to you, a loved one, or just anyone who will listen. It could be that he or she left something undone, an injustice was done, or is trying to warn someone that disaster is coming.”
“But this… man, for I’m certain it’s male, is writing entire chapters of a historical romance. In essence, he’s doing my job for me and scaring me more every time he does it.”
“I don’t have an answer for you there. Maybe he doesn’t like your style or he’s just trying to make sure you’re accurate.” He laughed too loud, too pleased with his own wit.
Tori stared at him until he understood the glare and stopped braying. Her footfalls were hard and her shoulders tight when she exited the room. She heard James sputtering an apology behind her.
Chapter Thirteen
“Hello?”
“Lydia, it’s me, Tori. Did I wake you?”
“Yes, but it’s okay. You know I’m usually still up at midnight but it’s been a long day and I was tired. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing really.”
“You’re not like other women, Tori, calling me just to chat, especially at this hour. Don’t tell me nothing’s wrong. Don’t you ever sleep anymore, Victoria?”
“I have a question, Lydia.”
“And that would be…?”
“I’m thinking about taking up drinking full-time. Can you give me any advice? You know, share a few tips with the new kid chasing the booze wagon?”
“You know, love, if it weren’t you saying these things, I…”
“I know, Lydia, I know. I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to offend you or upset you. I’m an ungrateful wench.”
“A wench, eh? Very old-worldly of you, Sweetheart. Okay, spill it. What’s wrong? I’m awake now so you might as well open up. It’s obvious you want to talk to someone.”
“I’m scared, Lydia.”
Tori could hear the bed sheets rustle and imagined Lydia sitting ramrod straight against the headboard.
“Scared? What’s going on, Tori? What’s happening? Is someone threatening you? Is that bastard Roger bothering you again? I’ll hurt him so…”
Her subdued voice silenced Lydia faster than a shout of obscenities.
“No, Lydia. It has nothing to do with that slime-ball.”
“Well then, what is it? C’mon Tori,
don’t make me drag this out of you. You’re starting to make me nervous. You know I don’t like to be nervous. It’s why I drink.”
“Uh-huh.”
Lydia let that one slide.
“My house is haunted—or something.”
“What? For the love of Pete, Tori!”
“No, really! There’s something very spooky going on here.”
“Define spooky, Tori.”
She told Lydia everything then. She began with the instances of objects being moved, even thrown, the radio taking on its own personality, the times an unseen someone stood behind her, and even the cold and hot spots in various rooms.
As Tori expected, Lydia began to logically account for each symptom of the supposed haunting.
“It’s an old house, Dear. The structure settles, getting all comfy on its perch. That would sometimes cause things to slide off a table or slip from a countertop. Of course you’re going to have drafts of cold air. I’d be surprised if you didn’t have many of them. And your stereo is nearly as old as the house. I’ll buy you a new one. And all of us have felt as if someone were watching us, standing behind us, even following us from room to room. Frightening, unsettling, but not a ghost. Maybe you need to get some of those odd people to come in there to check it out for you. Just to put your mind at rest.”
“I did, Lydia.”
“Wow! Okay, so what did they have to say?”
“They said that I was nuts to hang around with you.”
“Victoria…”
“Okay, okay. They hooked up all these wacky gadgets, had wires strung all over the floor and instruments held in their sweaty palms.”
“Well, you sound positive about this experience. I’ll assume they didn’t find anything.”
Tori gritted her teeth.
“ ‘Nothing conclusive’ is how they put it, which means they found nuttin’. They did, however, have a couple of suggestions. Other than being committed to the loony bin, it was said I should find someone to ‘channel’, which is a fancy word for a psychic. Then I heard the term cryptomnesia used in conjunction to me and I got the definition out of James before I threw them out of the house.”
Through the Shadows Page 10
