Touch Me in the Dark

by Jacqueline Diamond

  There were details about his seizures that he hadn’t mentioned to the doctor. Ian had deliberately withheld anything that hinted at the supernatural. An instinct for self-protection had made him portray the episodes as mere physical manifestations.

  He didn’t want to be classified as delusional. Something real was affecting his paintings and touching his mind, and had led him to this spot tonight, although for what, he didn’t know. That had been part of his motivation for coming, along with a desire to protect Sharon.

  As he started back toward the church, colored light filled the stained-glass windows. The women had found the light switch. They didn’t need him and probably would appreciate not being interrupted. .

  Thunder murmured again. The graveyard was calling. Its insistent voice teased through Ian.

  Tilting back his umbrella, he let the cold moisture wash off his warm coziness. He was being summoned on a quest. Cheerfully raising the shield again, he headed toward the graves and whatever or whoever was waiting for him.

  Chapter Ten

  Moments after Ian went out to get a flashlight, Karly located the switch near the door from the minister’s office. She should have looked there first, she reflected ruefully, instead of at the back where the congregation entered.

  With a flick of her finger, flat white lighting dispelled the blackness. Across the sanctuary, Sharon gave her a shaky smile.

  “Spooky, isn’t it?” Karly didn’t like to admit she’d enjoyed fumbling around in the dark, not when Sharon was obviously uncomfortable. But she’d enjoyed the deliciously eerie echoes when the lights were out, as if this were some ancient cathedral instead of merely a small church. She’d felt as if she were visiting the haunts of one of the great composers like Handel or Bach.

  She supposed she ought to be more considerate of her sister, who seemed to be identifying with Susan. After all, the family had come to this church the night of the murder.

  Sharon sat at the piano and switched on a reading lamp. Standing the sheet music before her, she studied it thoughtfully. Karly moved toward her, working through scales to warm her voice.

  When Sharon glanced up, her eyes revealed green depths even more unusual than Karly remembered. She’d always had stunning looks, with her rich auburn hair. For a time when she was singing with a band, Karly had tried to dye her dull brown locks that color, but the effect had never been as lustrous or as natural.

  “Ready?” Sharon asked.

  “Sure.” Soon the lyrics to I Don’t Know How to Love Him were rolling off her tongue. At first, she had to push the high notes, a reminder to warm up more thoroughly next time. After a while, the strain eased and her soprano licked the highest and farthest corners of the room.

  Outside, lightning flashed colors through the stained glass, haloing a small painting of a Madonna and child that hung above the piano. The cherubic baby reminded Karly of Lisa and the daubs of paint on the infant’s gown suggested the embroidered flowers on the heirloom dress.

  When lightning flared again, the Madonna appeared to shift her eyes until she returned Karly’s stare. After one startling moment, the illusion vanished.

  Sharon stopped playing. “Lose your place?”

  “Did you—?” No, of course she hadn’t noticed anything. It was only a trick of the light and not worth mentioning, Karly thought. “Sorry. Let’s start over, shall we?” she said, and they did.

  In the graveyard, Ian hardly noticed the rain that slanted beneath his umbrella, soaking his pants and socks. He found the lightning exhilarating as it played over the gravestones, picking out fragments of names and carved symbols—a cross here, a rose there. The thunder followed, low and insistent.

  Ian had never been superstitious about cemeteries or dead bodies. As far as he was concerned, the spirit departed upon death, and what was left belonged to the earth.

  Until his accident, he’d never taken much interest in life after death, either. Yet on two different occasions, he’d been surprised to hear other men describe supernatural experiences.

  One beefy fellow cop had admitted that, while technically dead after being shot by a robbery suspect, he’d watched from overhead as the paramedics worked on him. “I heard every word they said,” he’d confided over beer after a shift. “I haven’t been afraid of dying since then. I figure you just kind of go on to the next place.”

  Another time, a paramedic had volunteered, during a workout at the gym, that he’d seen a formless white mist float out of the body of a severely injured traffic victim. “I swear, it looked like Casper the Ghost,” he’d said. “I checked his vitals and he’d died, right at that moment.”

  Now, playing the flashlight over a headstone, Ian wondered where those spirits went and whether there was such a thing as heaven and hell. And, above all, why he’d been summoned tonight.

  With quiet determination, he started at one corner of the graveyard and began systematically walking the rows, giving each headstone its moment of revelation in a circle of light. If he’d come here for a reason, he intended to find out what it was.

  Frank Weeks was on his way home when he remembered that Karly had scheduled a rehearsal tonight. He stopped at a hamburger stand, drove through the line and wolfed down dinner in his car.

  Rain spattered against the windshield, distorting the glare from the restaurant’s sign. His wife’s absence from home annoyed him. After an exhausting day, he wanted to come home and eat dinner without any hassles.

  Frank missed Karly, even though he hadn’t been apart from her any longer than usual. He missed the quick-witted, dark-haired lady who had enchanted him the first time he met her. Thinking about the empty apartment ahead, he found himself resenting having to struggle all day with nothing to look forward to.

  At some time that Frank couldn’t pinpoint, he had resigned himself to compensating for the lack of a dependable job by earning as much as possible when work was available. Like his father before him, he believed a man’s responsibility was to make his family financially secure. His wife needed to appreciate how tough things were for him. She needed to understand that it wasn’t a lot to ask that she should be home when he returned.

  They would discuss the matter tonight. With a grimace, Frank threw the hamburger box and leftover fries out the window into a trashcan. This was supposed to be a partnership, after all.

  “I wish they’d given me at least one upbeat song,” Karly admitted as they finished Close Every Door. “These are both so wistful.”

  “They show off the beauty of your voice.” Sharon had enjoyed hearing her sister sing so much that she’d nearly lost track of her playing. “People with so-so voices can hide their shortcomings in a fast number. They can’t fake a ballad.”

  Karly sighed. “I miss the applause, the excitement when a number builds and everyone jumps to their feet at the end. I get a burst of adrenaline.”

  “These songs will do that, you’ll see.” Sharon closed the sheet music. “You always have that effect on people.”

  “I hope I never lose that ability,” Karly admitted. “Something magical comes over me when I’m singing. Without it, I don’t feel fully alive.”

  “I’d love you whether you sang or not.” Sharon had always admired her sister’s talent without reservation. “But I’m glad you’re singing again.”

  Rain pattered against the roof. “What do you suppose happened to Ian?” Karly asked. “I thought he was going to fetch a flashlight.”

  “He must have seen the lights come on and gone for a walk.”

  “In this weather?”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to intrude on our rehearsal.” Ian was sensitive about things like that, Sharon reflected.

  Glancing up, she noticed a painting of a Madonna and child hanging over the piano. The super-real quality gave the impression one could touch the velvet of their skin. “That looks like an original. It’s beautifully done.”

  “I was studying it earlier. It seemed almost alive.” Karly walked over to investigate.
“Do you get the feeling she’s watching us? Oh, here are the initials of the painter—BJ!”

  The sisters stared at each other. “Surely not,” Sharon said.

  “That might be him,” Karly said. “Bradley Johnson. Was he an artist, too?”

  “Yes. He painted the portrait of him and Susan,” she said. “But surely they wouldn’t have kept his painting here at the church after what he did.”

  “Why not? Something so lovely.” Karly regarded the image steadily.

  “I suppose he could have donated the piece before he left for the war, and by the time he returned, people forgot who’d painted it,” Sharon said. “I guess that’s where Ian gets his talent.” As well as his looks, she thought.

  The lights flickered and the wind rose to a howl, like a wolf on a snowy night. Abruptly, the lights died. The faint hum of the church’s heating system faded as well, leaving them in darkness punctuated by bursts of rain.

  “Great,” Karly said. “We’re blacked out.”

  “Talk about spooky.” As soon as she said the words, Sharon wished she hadn’t. The air felt colder, and she began noticing little creaking sounds overhead, reminding her of their proximity to the graveyard.

  “Uh oh,” Karly said. “If Frank’s home, he just lost his TV. That’ll really make him crabby. Just what I need.”

  “I wish I were home.” Around her, Sharon could feel the darkness thickening as if hidden realms nested within. “This place gives me the willies.”

  Karly sat on the bench beside her. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s pretend.” They’d played that game as children, imagining themselves into stories and films and favorite TV shows.

  “Pretend what?” Sharon asked.

  “You’re Susan,” said her sister. “I’m Jody.”

  “I don’t find that in the least reassuring,” she said. “I don’t want to be Susan. What a tragic life!”

  “But it’s our family history,” Karly reminded her. “I’m amazed at how much they were like us.”

  “Maybe in appearance,” Sharon said.

  “Susan certainly was beautiful.” Karly’s voice echoed in the darkened church.

  “The old minister didn’t like her,” Sharon pointed out. “I wonder if he’s a rejected suitor who carried a grudge.”

  “He said Jody adored her sister,” Karly recalled. “I’ll bet she hated what her parents did to Susan. If I’d been there, I’d have tried to help.”

  Here was a possibility. “Do you think she got in contact with Bradley, about Susan being forced to marry?” Someone must have notified him, after all. “Maybe she arranged for him to come to the house that night, thinking he’d rescue her sister. So Jody went with the family to church and Susan stayed home because she knew Bradley was coming.”

  “And then he killed her,” Karly said. “How awful. Think how Jody must have felt!”

  “Guilty enough that she devoted her life to raising Susan’s son,” Sharon murmured. “No wonder she never married, if that’s true. Oh, dear, we’ve created quite a scenario, haven’t we? I would never dream of asking her if it’s true, though.”

  A bolt of lightning turned the air white, and then came an explosion that rocked the church. “What was that?” Karly gasped.

  Sharon’s heart thudded in her throat. “Not thunder.“ Another thought struck her. “Ian’s out there!” Had something happened to him?

  “We’d better go check,” Karly said.

  The blackout hit as Frank was pulling into the carport. His first thought was, Terrific, now I can’t even watch TV. Then he wondered if Lisa would be frightened. Her mother ought to be home with her, he grumbled to himself.

  With the help of a penlight, he groped his way to the entrance, only to find the interior of the building hopelessly inky. The penlight gave no sense of depth, and Frank stumbled twice on his way up the steps.

  As he neared the Torres apartment, lightning and thunder struck almost at the same time. The corridor flared into surrealistic clarity, and over the rumbling he caught a boom from far off, as if the lightning had struck something.

  Mrs. Torres’s doorbell didn’t work, so he knocked loudly. Frank wished he’d insisted the sitter come to their place. He didn’t relish staggering down the hall in the dark with a baby.

  “Yes?” A familiar olive-skinned face regarded him by the light of an upheld candle, and the door swung wider. “Mr. Weeks! Come in!”

  The Torres apartment, although about the same size as Frank and Karly’s, appeared smaller due to the jumble of furniture, toys and religious icons. Above the couch, a painted Jesus regarded Frank with gloomy piety. No wonder he looked grim, Frank reflected irreverently, with so many crosses nailed to the wall around him as a reminder of his terrible experience.

  A circle of candles in mismatched holders decorated the tables and floor, where Greg sat playing with a Monopoly board. Frank hadn’t seen his nephew in nearly a year, since Jim’s funeral, and the boy had grown considerably. They greeted each other with a hug, rather diffident on both sides.

  “I was prepared for a storm, as you see.” Mrs. Torres indicated the candles. “The children think this is fun, like a game.”

  Frank nodded, only half-listening. The cradle lay in shadow. Moving toward it, he felt a moment’s apprehension. He’d been expecting to see Lisa awake and alert in Mrs. Torres’ arms.

  Swooping past him, the sitter lifted the tiny figure from the cradle. “You hold her and I’ll get the diaper bag.”

  Frank accepted the bundle stiffly. The baby was small and wiggly and, irrationally, he feared losing his grip.

  Tiny eyes popped open and Lisa began to wail. Oh, great. “What do I do now?”

  “You’ve got her tilted too much,” Greg said.

  “I do?” Frank adjusted his arms, and the baby stopped fussing. The discovery that his daughter behaved logically reassured him. This wasn’t so baffling, after all.

  “Do you want to play with us?” asked the boy. He had a pleasant, freckled face and an expression of open curiosity. Judging by the amount of houses and hotels on the board, he played a mean game of Monopoly Jr.

  “Sorry,” Frank said. “I’m too tired. And I’d better get Lisa to bed. Maybe another time.”

  The boy shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Here you go.” Mrs. Torres handed Frank the bag. He had to balance Lisa against one hip as he shouldered the thing. “Do you want to take Greg with you, also?”

  Two kids at one fell swoop seemed a bit much. “I suspect he’d like to stay here and finish the game,” Frank said.

  “You bet,” said the boy, to his uncle’s satisfaction.

  Almost immediately, however, he thought of another detail. “I suppose I should pay you. I don’t have much cash on me.”

  Mrs. Torres waved away the offer. “Your wife can take care of that later. Besides, you’ve got your hands full.”

  Frank thanked her and went out. He liked when people behaved reasonably.

  The lights came on just as he reached his door, which was good, except that he didn’t have a spare hand to retrieve the key. He balanced Lisa again, dropped the diaper bag, and got the door open. After using his elbow to hit the interior switch, he made his way into the baby’s bedroom. He’d made it. They were home.

  As he laid Lisa in her crib, Frank began to smile. She didn’t smile back, but at least she wasn’t crying. “I guess you’re not used to Daddy toting you around, are you?”

  She watched him, wide awake. He had intended to leave her and go see what was on TV, but Frank didn’t want to, just yet.

  He poked a finger into the crib, and her tiny hand closed around it. He could see from her absorption that, in this moment, he filled her entire world. What a trusting little thing!

  Since Lisa’s birth, there’d almost always been someone around whenever Frank was with her, or else the baby was asleep. Now, with the rain swirling outside and the thunder rumbling, he stood tall as her guardian.

  Her father. What immense im
portance that word carried. Frank hadn’t been close to his own father and had lost him before they could come together as adults, but even so, his dad had stood as the foundation to his childhood. Now his turn had come to carry the torch.

  Frank tapped his daughter’s nose. She giggled and waved her arms.

  There was no harm in standing here a while longer. There probably wasn’t anything decent on television tonight, anyway.

  By the time Sharon and Karly reached the side door, the booming had stopped but an eerie glow flickered over the graveyard, making the headstones appear to perform a danse macabre.

  “Ian?” Sharon pressed through the rain, scarcely noticing the dampness on her face and hair. She and Karly only had one umbrella between them and she couldn’t stop herself from hurrying ahead. “Where’s that light coming from?”

  “Something’s on fire.” Her sister sounded worried.

  A quick glance reassured Sharon that the lightning hadn’t struck the church, but rather something on the other side of the cemetery. The downpour formed a blurry screen, so that at one moment she thought she saw flames licking from a nearby house, and then the graves themselves appeared to be burning.

  “Do you have your cell phone?” Sharon asked. “Call the fire department.”

  “What about you?” Karly stopped and reached into her purse.

  “I’m going to look for Ian.” She hadn’t been able to do anything to help Jim. He’d already been dead when she discovered him in the morning. She couldn’t bear to think it might be too late for Ian as well. “If he’s hurt, he needs me.”

  “Of course.” Karly pulled out the phone.

  Sharon stumbled onward, calling Ian’s name. The ground rose in a gradual swell toward a low rise from which jutted a number of old monuments. It didn’t appear very high to her, particularly compared to the hills that arose a few miles to the north, but she didn’t know much about lightning strikes. Maybe they were unpredictable.