Night Mist

by Helen R. Myers

  “I can’t believe you’re asking me that considering what we’re about to do.”

  “What you say we’re about to do.”

  She stopped in her tracks and gaped at him. In a way he understood that, too. After agreeing to do this, he knew she’d gotten the impression he was beginning to believe her, and maybe he thought something had spooked her. But what he was really doing was trying to prove to himself that she wasn’t a lie. From his point of view, those were two different things.

  Pretending he’d missed her stare, he nodded toward the bridge. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

  His behavior left Rachel more subdued than ever. It was for her own good, he told himself, knowing that was untrue. The fact was, any display of excitement made her all the more captivating to him, an added torment he didn’t need. As far as he was concerned, the quieter he could get her, the safer for him.

  As they approached the bridge, his unease broadened to include their surroundings. A car rambled by, and then a noisy pickup. He recognized both vehicles, the first belonging to some crusty old buzzard who owned a junkyard at the northern edge of town, and had a complaint about everything and everyone in the world. The pickup’s driver was a drinking buddy of Mudcat’s whose aggressiveness grew with each six-pack of beer he consumed.

  But neither of them was what bothered him. It was something physically oppressive, and by the time they stepped up onto the pavement, it took Joe a moment to realize he wasn’t winded, he couldn’t go any farther because something was blocking his way.

  “What the hell…?”

  Already up on the sidwalk, Rachel swung back to him. “What’s the matter? Don’t lag now, we’re almost there.”

  “I can’t.”

  “But, Joe, you said—”

  “I said I can’t,” he snapped, his unease getting the best of him. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “That makes two of us.” Instead of meeting her somber scrutiny, he searched for visual confirmation that an obstruction was indeed blocking his way. “Somehow, something is stopping me from getting up on the damned bridge, Doc.”

  It was the oddest thing he’d ever experienced, but he was finally forced to meet her concerned look and offer a helpless shrug. He didn’t know what to do.

  She reached out to him and took hold of his good hand. “Try with me. You can do it.”

  Nothing interfered with her movements. He found that as unnerving as what was happening to him. He tried to follow her, but as soon as he was parallel to the first inch of steel girder, he came flush with an invisible but unbreakable barrier.

  “Good Lord,” she whispered, standing on the opposite side.

  Joe decided it gave new meaning to the expression “so close, yet so far.”

  “Looks as though you’ll have to go on ahead,” he told her.

  “Not without you. You need to be there more than me.”

  “Apparently not. It seems this is as close as I’m allowed to get.” What did get through to him was that in a way he’d just received his proof something unusual was indeed happening here. When he told her that, he had to smile at her startled look. “Didn’t think of that yet, did you? Go on now,” he added. “Do whatever you feel you need to do.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just be careful.”

  Rachel felt torn. In a way that was nothing new; she’d been feeling split since she’d realized she’d been dividing her attention, maybe even her loyalties, between two men who were ultimately the same person. But this feeling had less to do with that than with fear.

  Why was Joe being denied access? The reason could make all the difference. Was it so that he wouldn’t interfere with what was happening, or was it because he mustn’t change things?

  Oh, great, Gentry, next you’ll be spouting that karma and destiny stuff.

  It was too confusing. She did, however, take strength in the change she sensed in him. Maybe he wasn’t completely convinced she wasn’t working for Senator Garth’s people, but there were large cracks in his theory. She saw it in his eyes and she’d heard it when he’d told her to be careful.

  Nodding, she backed away from him, two steps…three. The more distance she put between them, the more his expression began to resemble the Joe she was about to search for—yearning, possessive. Almost tempted to run back to him to say God only knew what, she spun around and broke into a sprint toward the center of the bridge.

  The fog enveloped her in its myopic reality. Checking her watch, she barely made out that she had about six minutes’ leeway from her previous visits. What effect would that have on things? Would she see anything?

  “Joe?” she called softly as she approached the spot where they’d been meeting.

  There was no sign of him. Not even the bullfrogs’ or tree frogs’ night music could break through the laboring cloud engulfing her…and yet she felt a presence.

  “Joe?”

  She heard footsteps behind her. Behind her? How could that—She whirled around and saw him walking toward her.

  Yes, it was him. But which one? she wondered, her heart doing an erratic skip.

  And then she knew.

  The fog kept his secret until he’d almost reached her. It was then she suddenly noticed a vagueness about him, a translucent quality that made him almost one with the mist.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, anxiety wrenching a pain in her chest. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I can barely see you.”

  “I’m getting weaker.”

  At least the wound wasn’t present. Rachel took hope from that. “Is that good or bad news for you?” she asked, her hands clenched.

  “There’s only what is and what will be.” Although his tone was enigmatic, his gaze was every bit as intent and mesmerizing as before. Then he swung away, uttering a tortured sound that seemed torn from him. “Why won’t the craving weaken, too?”

  It was as hard to hear him as to see him, and Rachel followed as close as she dared. “I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he ground out as though each word brought him pain. “How it was between us. I can’t let the memories go, Rachel.”

  His passion and anguish broke her heart. “What can I do? You have to help me to help you.”

  “If you wanted to help, you should have listened. Why did you meet him?”

  His rebuke stung. “You know it was inevitable. And why do you keep talking about him as though he was a stranger? He’s you!”

  “Oh, Rachel, don’t you get it? He’s not me. I’m him. The thing he’ll become because he won’t be able to deny you.”

  Horrified, Rachel tried to take that in, but found it too much. “You can’t mean…this is my fault?”

  “It’s no one’s fault. You’re only following your own…” He tried to speak, but Rachel realized he could no more explain than the other Joe could get on this bridge. “The old woman understands—” he began, and stopped suddenly, his attention drawn behind him. “They’re coming. It’s time to go.”

  “No, please. Wait,” Rachel cried. “What old woman? Joe? How can I help you if you…”

  She heard it, too. The sound of an approaching vehicle coming from where she’d left Joe. But as she started worrying about him and whether he’d been spotted, she was blinded by headlights and lost sight of his ghost.

  Covering her eyes, she determined the vehicle was low, a car, not a truck. About to leap out of its way, it vanished.

  “Joe!” she screamed into the swirling gray mist. The distant, but profound echo of a shot made her recoil as though it had struck her. “Joe…? Joe!”

  He heard her scream from the end of the bridge, and it went through him like a bullet. With his heart in his throat, he grabbed his gun and broke into a sprint. He didn’t realize until he was a dozen yards across the bridge that he hadn’t hit the invis
ible wall this time.

  Please, he prayed, please.

  They almost collided in the middle of the road. He grabbed her to keep from knocking her to the ground, while she wrapped her arms around him and clutched tightly.

  “Where are they?” he rasped, ready to drag her out of the line of fire.

  “It’s all right. They’re gone.”

  “Are you sure?” He stroked her hair and held her close, absorbing her shaking body while he searched the fog. For death. He could feel it. Smell it.

  “Joe,” she whispered.

  “I’m fine. C’mon, honey. Tell me who shot.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You heard?”

  “It sounded kind of muffled, but yeah, I heard. I thought—God, I don’t want to think about what went through my mind, I just knew I had to get to you.”

  It finally registered that he was on the bridge. He saw it reflected in her eyes, and he lifted his eyebrows in lieu of a shrug. “Don’t ask me, I can’t explain it.” Then he grew sober again and scanned the area. “We’ve got to get away from here.”

  “Out of the street, maybe, but we’re safe.”

  There was something about her voice, a numbness he didn’t like. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s my fault. My fault.”

  Joe saw she was emotionally, psychologically wiped out. With a last glance around that made him decide there was no danger, he shifted his hold of Rachel and began leading her back toward the boardinghouse. “It’ll be okay,” he assured her.

  He didn’t try speaking again. He decided getting her away from there seemed the biggest priority.

  Upon reaching the house, he tried his best to lock up as quietly as he could, but when he began to lead Rachel to the stairs, he was disconcerted to see someone step out of the shadows and approach them.

  He began to reach for his gun…and recognized Jewel.

  “She’s got powerful trouble in the heart,” she said, pausing at the balustrade and gazing up at a zombi-like Rachel. “She needs time. Rest. You make sure she gets both, Mr. Police-man. Then you tell her to come see me.”

  Joe froze. She knew? “The last thing she needs is to get mixed up with a nickel-and-dime witch doctor,” he threw back, figuring he had nothing to lose.

  “Brave words for a dead man,” Jewel sneered back.

  That won an anguished gasp from Rachel. “Jewel!” she cried, reaching out as though to stop the word from reverberating in the darkness.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Joe wasted no time in getting Rachel upstairs and away from their viper-tongued housekeeper. He didn’t want her defending him, not after what she’d been through. It bothered him enough that she looked drained and ready to collapse.

  But she soon reminded him that it was a mistake to underestimate her. By the time they reached their floor, she’d collected herself enough to need almost no support. What surprised him the most, however, was discovering that he found himself leading her directly to her room instead of his.

  Rachel seemed surprised, too. She looked up at him with an expression that brought a unique tightness to his chest.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, trying to explain. “Maybe I’m thinking you’ve earned it.”

  She leaned back against the door, and rocked her head back and forth. “No. That’s the one thing I’m certain is not true. I should never have forced my way into your business. He made that clear tonight,” she added, nodding briefly toward the bridge.

  Joe had to ask. “Can you talk about it now?”

  At first he thought she might not answer; then she replied, “He’s getting weaker. I think…he’ll be gone soon.”

  It felt strange to hear what she thought was him be referred to as though he was another entity entirely. Is that how she saw the apparition? She must for it—for him—to have affected her so profoundly. Joe couldn’t help feeling oddly resentful, jealous.

  “What else?” he asked, unable to keep his voice as casual as he would have preferred. She heard the tension, or maybe the stiffness; he knew it by her suddenly surprised, guilty glance.

  “I think I’m afraid to tell you.”

  “Rachel—” he took a calming breath “—whatever that force was or wasn’t that kept me from joining you up there, it did make me accept that something unique was going on. I want to understand, if you’ll give me the chance.”

  “I can see that. But you don’t know how hard it’s going to be to explain. You see, I think…it seems that what’s going to happen will be my fault.”

  Was this part of an intricate plan to gain his compassion as well as his trust? He didn’t want the doubts to resurface; nevertheless, they did, and he had to struggle to keep them contained. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I didn’t listen to him. He’d warned me not to meet you and I did, anyway.”

  “How could you know?”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought. But it’s not only that.”

  “Then tell me. Rachel, look at me and tell me.”

  She’d lowered her gaze to his chest. At his command, she lifted her eyes and let him see her own awareness of him. “He said you won’t be able to deny me.”

  Those were words he understood, and their truth bound him with a heavy anchor chain and dragged him down, down, down. Within seconds, he felt as though his lungs would explode. This was what he’d been afraid of: that what was so powerful and real between them would grow, overwhelm, and demand its due.

  “It won’t happen,” he told her.

  “No, it mustn’t,” she agreed.

  What didn’t help was watching her eyes soften even more, with apology, compassion…yearning. Again he felt the strain of denying himself what he craved the most.

  “We’re not going to do this,” he said gruffly, although he took a step closer to her.

  “Because it’s wrong,” she said sadly.

  “It wouldn’t be wrong!” he ground out, stopping before her.

  “It wouldn’t?” She moistened her lips. “What would it be?”

  Somehow his good hand shifted to her hair, her cheek. He knew he had to resist, and yet he wanted her. Dear heaven, he wanted her. “Dangerous,” he rasped.

  Nothing had ever been this hard. His mouth was mere inches away from relearning the lush, moist pleasure of hers. Their bodies were close enough to ignite from each other’s heat. When her unsteady sigh caressed his chin and lower lip, he steeled himself against the pain of wanting to feel it, her, over every inch of him.

  “Too dangerous,” she agreed, averting her gaze.

  “Try to get some rest.” He reached around her, opened her door, which they’d left closed but not locked. “We both need some time and space. We’ll talk about what happened in the morning.”

  “I won’t be able to sleep.”

  He knew that. He wouldn’t, either. He’d be busy torturing himself with what could have been if life—fate—had been different; not wanting to face the knowledge that if things had gone differently, they would never have met. “You have to try. It’ll be dawn soon.”

  For a moment he thought she would challenge him, do something impulsive and insane like press her mouth to his and push this beyond the point of containment. To his relief, after another few excruciating seconds, she nodded her acceptance and wordlessly retreated into the dark room.

  “We will need to talk in the morning,” he reminded her, backing away.

  “Yes. Whatever you want.”

  “Don’t I wish,” he muttered, turning to his own room.

  “I wish.” His last words to her echoed in her mind and, despite her exhaustion, refused to let Rachel find relief in sleep.

  “I wish.”

  She did, too. An hour later, as she lay wide awake in bed, she couldn’t explain at what particular moment she’d known that, or how she could want him so badly, while at the same time feeling a powerful closeness to his ghost. And to her, they were two separate entities, so different, like night and day, fire and water, c
oldness and warmth; yet both of them had broken through her defenses and were staking a claim to her heart.

  As though he felt the weight of her troubled thoughts, Rachel heard Joe sigh and shift restlessly in his own bed. A moment later he rose.

  Every inch of her being listened. They’d both left their doors open, an unspoken agreement she could have explained away with a half-dozen reasons, each of them legitimate. But when she heard the faint sound of his bare feet on the hardwood floors, her heart began to pound, and she knew the gesture had been done for this reason alone. They’d wanted to keep some form of connection, even if it was only the sound of his steps and the air shifting around his body.

  What was he doing? Where was he going? The heat was unbearable; maybe he needed a drink of water. But when, instead, she felt him pause in her doorway, it was all she could do not to lift her lowered lids completely and acknowledge that she wasn’t asleep, either.

  Of course, she didn’t. If he wanted her, she asked herself with brutal clarity, shouldn’t he be the one to make the first move? The final decision?

  Then she felt the hot caress of his eyes.

  It was tormenting him. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to come to her bed and ask for what neither of them seemed strong enough to deny?

  Unable to keep still any longer, Rachel sat up in bed. “What is it?”

  He muttered something, an apology maybe, and turned away.

  “Joe?” Rachel scissor-kicked herself off her bed and followed. “Joe.”

  He retreated to his room and shot back, “Don’t come in here.”

  But Rachel didn’t stop until she was inside. Didn’t stop as he turned on her, although even in the dim light she could see his feral mood.

  “I said don’t,” he half warned, half pleaded.

  “I can’t sleep, either. Maybe you’d like to try that talk now?”

  Sometime since they’d parted he’d shed his T-shirt, and the sheen of sweat on his chest and arms caught the faint light in the room with every breath he took. “No. I don’t want to talk.”

  “Then we’ll sit together.”

  “Damn it, Rachel.” He reached out and grasped her arm. Like a wild beast who’d realized it had hold of its prey, he quickly tried to perfect that control, shifting his grip on her neck, her shoulders, gentling only when he slid a hand back up to frame her face. “Rachel…”