Once buckled in their cramped seats in coach, they waited until the plane took off and safely reached the proper altitude before uttering a word. Only then did Mrs. Pratt turn to Annie and speak. In a low voice she said, “Annie-my-love…this has me so addlepated that I’m about to lose my mind. I don’t know whether to see a doctor or a priest when we get home.”
“Mrs. Pratt…let’s not do anything about it right away…okay?”
The older lady narrowed her eyes and studied her young companion for several seconds, then nodded. “You know…ten years ago, when your folks took you up to Maine, and you came down with that strange flu…well, I knew something unexplainable had happened. You left, a fairly happy contented little girl, and returned…well, you just weren’t yourself, and I seemed to be the only person with enough get-up-and-go to notice. Humph. It’s that cabin. That place has got a hex on it, or something. Talk about the Amityville Horror. I don’t know how else to explain it, I don’t. But, sweetie, I think you know more than you’re telling your old nanny.”
Annie looked past the housekeeper, out the small, rectangular window to the sky beyond. She fixed her eyes on the jumbo, marshmallow clouds around them. Her mind drifted, carrying her up and out…and far, far away. Somewhere, someone played a musical instrument, and it sounded hauntingly familiar. Although faint—hardly discernible—Annie recognized it. It was the mellow sound only produced by a chahl…somebody played a chahl…
“Annie? Annie-love?”
Annie jerked and blinked, trying to focus on the woman sitting beside her. It was Mrs. Pratt and the housekeeper wore a very concerned look on her lined face.
“Annie, did you hear a word I was saying? I thought I lost you there for a minute. You blanked out on me, honey. Are you feeling all right? Shall I call a flight attendant?”
Annie ran her hands down her face and peered over the fingertips at the worried woman next to her. “No…I’m okay…I just daydreamed for a sec. I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“I was saying that for now, I agree with you. We’ll just keep this to ourselves for the time being. Until I can, well, sort this out in my own mind. I just wish you’d confide in me—tell me what you know…or think you know. Did something happen to you ten years ago, sweetheart?”
Annie sat back in her seat. “I…don’t…know,” she sighed. “Honestly, Mrs. Pratt…I just plain can’t remember.” She closed her eyes. Chahl? Chahl? She said the word over and over in her mind. Chahl? What’s a chahl and how would I know what it sounds like? I’ve never even heard of a chahl before, and yet…the music I heard was from someone playing a chahl…a chahl…a chahl…
* * * *
They arrived home late that evening. Since Paul Wren was already in the Florida Keys, deep-sea fishing, they had to order an airport shuttle to take them to the house. After waiting thirty-seven minutes for it to arrive, both were dead on their feet by the time they walked into the empty living room of the brick house at 3312 Sweet Springs Court. Mrs. Pratt declared that unpacking and laundry, and anything else needing to be done, would have to wait until the following day. They needed their sleep. Annie didn’t argue. She wanted nothing more than to be able to shut the world out of her churning mind. And when she woke up the next morning—well, maybe everything would be back to normal.
Annie slept until ten. When she finally got up, she ached all over like an athlete after a grueling decathlon. Stumbling to the bathroom, she turned on the shower and made sure it was nice and hot before stepping in. The force of the cascading water on her back felt good. She let it pummel her for several minutes and then shut it off. For one absurd moment, Annie stared dumbly at her wet feet. Then she lifted her hands and held them up. They were dripping.
I’m wet. She thought in awe. The shower made me wet. Startled by that incongruous thought, she gave her head a hard shake. Jeez. What’s wrong with me? Of course I’m wet. Get a grip, girl.
Mrs. Pratt’s voice calling from the hallway snapped her into focus. She answered in a higher than normal voice. “Yes, Mrs. Pratt? I’m in the shower.”
“I said brunch in nine minutes. You be down. I want to talk.” The voice came through the door.
Annie toweled dry, got dressed and hurried downstairs. The housekeeper was in the kitchen. Seeing her charge, she made a clucking sound with her lips, and set a plate with a bacon and tomato sandwich on the table. Then she motioned for Annie to sit down. “Sit, honey. I want to talk.”
“This is great. Thanks,” Annie said as she took a huge bite from one of the sandwich halves, chewed for a moment, then looked up at the woman—uncertainty written all over her face. “You, uh, said something about wanting to talk?”
Mrs. Pratt folded her hands on the table. “Yes. I’ve been thinking—all night, as a matter of fact—and I’ve come to the conclusion that we—you and I, both—will never in a million years be able to explain why we, uh, misplaced ten days. Ten days, mind you. And not a pound shed or-or anything. No, no one could possibly understand, no matter how hard we tried. If we talked to a priest or minister, they’d say we dabbled in the occult. If we tried to talk to a medical doctor—well, I think they’d put me away for child endangerment. There is no…”
“Mrs. Pratt, you don’t have to worry. I’m certainly not going to tell a soul about any of this. I’m trying to forget it. Let’s just move on, please. You said you weren’t going to talk about it. I don’t want to, either. I’m going to call Jenny and maybe go to the mall…or something…and…”
The housekeeper’s forehead puckered, and she set her mouth in a grim line. For several seconds she appeared to be floundering in deep thought then gave her gray head a stern shake. “Fine. We won’t talk about it—at least right now. I guess I do need more time to mull this whole nightmare over. I’m at my wits’ end, so to speak, and can’t seem to think straight at all. You go call Jenny. That sounds like a wonderful idea.” The older woman leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Good. Thinking about everyday things makes me feel a whole sight better. You go out with your friend, and I’ll putter around the house. Since it’ll just be the two of us, we can have a simple dinner in front of the TV. We’ll find a good movie on that classic channel and have ourselves a fun evening. Okay?”
Annie nodded. “Yeah. That would be great, Mrs. Pratt. I’ll go call Jenny, but I was also thinking about maybe giving Mom a ring.” She lowered her eyes and toyed with a hunk of bread crust. For some reason, she couldn’t quite meet her nanny’s eyes.
“Ohh?”
“Uh, yeah… Think it’d be an okay hour to call?”
“You want to call your mother…in Paris, France, no less…”
“Yeah.” Annie raised her eyes and chewed on her lower lip. “Do you think Mom would mind if I called her?”
“Darling…I think your mother would be tickled pink if you called her. And even if she’s not, well, at least you made the effort. Right?”
“Yeah…right. So…they’re about five hours ahead…right?”
“I think so…”
“Okay. Good. I’ll call Jen then give Mom a buzz.” The crust had crumbled into a white powder. Annie sucked in a deep breath and looked at the woman across from her. Mrs. Pratt was staring at her with an unreadable expression, which made Annie feel like squirming. Plastering a smile on her face, she hastened to add, “I want to hear how her classes are going. You know? I mean, gee. Paris. The perfect artsy-fartsy city for Mom. Right? I mean, she must have a zillion exciting things to talk about…right?” She winced at how inane that sounded.
The housekeeper did her best to maintain a neutral expression. “Yes, she certainly must… She certainly must… Okay. You go call your mom, honey. That would be…nice. Yes, you give your mom a ring.” Mrs. Pratt’s face was a mask of perplexity but her head bobbed up and down. She smacked her lips. “Yes. Good. But before you make all these phone calls, please put your dirty clothes in the laundry room. Check all the pockets because I don’t want to spend an hour picking lint and tiny
pieces of Kleenex out of the drier. Now finish your breakfast. Then you can call Jenny and your mom.”
The subject of lost days, forgotten memories, and strange occurrences was closed, sealed, and put away in that nebulous place where family secrets wait—sometimes forever. Annie finished her sandwich, rinsed off the plate, then returned to her bedroom. Dumping the clothes out of her suitcase onto the floor, she sorted through them.
The last article to check was the pair of jeans she’d been wearing the morning she woke from her strange sleep. Reaching into a pocket, she found something small and hard. She pulled it out and saw a green stone. “Wow.” Annie held the exquisite multi-faceted rock up to the light and squinted. Like looking through a kaleidoscope, the objects in her room danced and whirled in a wonderland of emerald green. It was the strangest rock she’d ever seen.
“Wonder where I picked this up? Somewhere on Nana and Doc’s beach, no doubt…but I sure don’t remember doing it…”
Annie tucked the green stone in her pocket and gathered the bundle of dirty clothes to carry down to the laundry room. Mrs. Pratt already had a load churning in the washer and told her to leave the bundle on the floor.
“You go make your calls, lamb. I can do the laundry,” the older woman said as she began separating whites from the darker colors.
Annie hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t need me for anything?”
“No, ma’am, I would kind of like a bit of quiet to myself. You go and have a good time. Let your mind think about clothes and French fries, and boys.”
“Mrs. Pratt. You’re awful.” Annie laughed over her shoulder as she sprinted to the telephone.
It took only eighteen minutes to make plans with Jenny. Her older sister would pick Annie up in thirty minutes and drive them to the shopping center. The girls could spend a blissful three hours at the mall, and then Mrs. Kim would pick them up and take Annie home. It was going to be great.
Annie then punched in her mother’s cell number and waited for her to pick up. For some reason her heart was doing calisthenics and she felt breathless. When, after four rings, she heard her mother’s voice, a wash of something euphoric poured over her.
“Hey, Mom…it’s me, Annie. How’re your classes going? Been up in the Eiffel Tower yet?”
Annie was more than surprised when, after an initial deafening silence, her mother opened up like a geyser. Her parent, usually terse and tight-lipped, tripped over words as she described her daily activities in Paris. She didn’t even scold or get sarcastic when Annie explained about not attending the camp.
Twenty-seven minutes later, Annie happened to glance at the clock and had to interrupt her mother’s description of the boat ride she’d taken with other artists down the River Seine. The woman didn’t reprimand or ridicule but seemed genuinely disappointed.
“Gosh, Mom. I really don’t want to get off, but Jenny’s picking me up any minute to go to the mall.” It was more than gratifying when her mother said good-bye, vowing to call her the next day at ten in the morning. Annie promised she’d be ready and waiting.
Her heart almost buoyant, Annie galloped back upstairs to decide on the perfect outfit to wear to the mall.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Nancy Kim dropped the girls off in front of the food court. They thanked her and dashed into the building, almost knocking themselves silly colliding with the heavy entrance doors, resulting in an eruption of giggles. Once inside, they were assailed by conflicting but delectable odors from the food court.
Jenny pulled on Annie’s sleeve. “Do you want to eat now or wait for a while?”
Annie sniffed the air and grinned. “I was planning to wait because I ate only a few hours ago, but…”
“You’re hungry. Great. I’m starving for a shake and some onion rings.” Jenny grinned. “Boy, I’m glad you didn’t have to go to that camp. You would’ve been away all June and July.”
Annie glanced at her friend. “You would’ve had Carolyn…”
“Oh, pooh. I like Carolyn—don’t get me wrong. But you and I are simpatico. You know you’re my best friend, Annie.”
Annie’s heart felt like bursting. Everything seemed to be falling into place. She and her mother had actually—for the first time in her entire life—carried on a conversation for more than two minutes, had actually seemed interested in what the other was doing, seemed disappointed to cut short the call. And now, the friend she thought she’d lost linked an arm with hers and chattered about everything under the sun.
They stuffed themselves with onion rings, chocolate chip cookies, and French-fries. Jenny had a vanilla shake and Annie drank a super-large Coke. Afterwards, they ambled up and down the wide thoroughfares, poking fun at the mannequins posing in the windows.
It was when they approached the store featuring outdoor and recreational equipment that Annie started feeling funny. Goosebumps did a number up her arms.
As usual, Jenny wanted to pause and watch the people struggling up the rock-climbing wall. Elbowing her friend, she chuckled. “I’ve got to try that. Nancy and David both say it’s awesome. Wanna watch me do it now?”
When Annie didn’t answer, Jenny spun around and gave her friend a sharp look. Annie couldn’t take her eyes off the steep climbing wall. She didn’t blink or move a muscle. Jenny jabbed her again. “Annie? Annie? Earth calling Annie.”
“Earther,” Annie mumbled, eyes still glued to the climbers.
“Huh?”
“Earther,” Annie whispered. “I’m…” She blinked twice then shifted her attention back to Jenny. Jenny’s face was a portrait of confusion and mild alarm.
“Jenny? Oh…did you say something?” Annie faltered.
Jenny bit her lip and shook her head. “No…I mean, I did say something, but…it wasn’t important…Is there anything the matter? You look funny…”
Annie was gazing at the climbing wall again. “I want to climb that thing.”
“You do?”
“Yeah…let’s go.”
Jenny’s mouth dropped open, but Annie didn’t notice her friend’s utter bewilderment. She’d turned on her heel and was already making a beeline to the wall.
* * * *
Annie didn’t say much as Mrs. Kim drove her home. Jenny, on the other hand, talked non-stop about their rock-climbing experience, how Annie had scooted up the steep wall like a pro, how only a while ago, she’d declared herself to be petrified, and on and on. Mrs. Kim made the occasional parental comment, and Annie gave terse replies when questioned. She thanked the Kims, hopped out of the car, and ran into the house with only a cursory wave. She wanted—needed—the sanctuary of her bedroom.
Calling a quick greeting to Mrs. Pratt, Annie took the stairs two at a time. Once ensconced in her room, she threw herself on top of the bed and hugged her pillow for dear life. Thoughts and pictures and colors whirled in her head, making her dizzy. Voices spoke, sang. Pressing her hands against her ears, Annie moaned.
And then…the music began to play, tease, beguile. Haunting, smoky, mellow sounds from a flute-that-wasn’t-quite-a-flute. What was it called? Oh, yes…a chahl…it was called a chahl…
“Annie. Annie, love.” It was Mrs. Pratt.
Annie rolled off the bed and dashed to the stairway railing and leaned over. “Yes?”
“Are you all right? You ran in like the devil was after you and didn’t even say a proper hello. Did you have a good time with Jenny?”
Annie forced a smile. “Yeah, I had a great time. I’m sorry if I seemed rude. I had to use the bathroom and…”
“Oh, no need to apologize. I was just wondering, that’s all. Come down when you’re ready. I have a question for you.”
“Sure. Give me a minute.”
Annie walked back into her room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Chahl,” she murmured. “What is a chahl? Dear Lord, what is it?” Running both hands through her short hair, Annie stood and looked at herself in the mirror over her dresser. There were dark circles under both eyes. She looked awful. �
��You’re a mess,” she muttered. “Maybe a new hairdo would perk you up. I’ll tell Mrs. Pratt that I need to go to Darla’s and get a complete makeover. Yeah. A complete makeover. My fifteenth birthday is in less than a week. I’ll splurge, go all out. I’ll ask Jenny to go with me. She can get a manicure or pedicure while she’s waiting. My treat. Yeah, I’ll do it.”
Downstairs, Annie made her face as pleasant as she could, straightened her shoulders, and walked into the kitchen where she found the housekeeper sitting with a cup of tea. Mrs. Pratt smiled but Annie detected a frown lurking behind. Something was up.
“Any more tea in the pot?”
“Sure is. Help yourself.”
Annie filled a mug, added sugar and a dollop of milk and sat down across from the older woman. “Okay. What’d you want to ask me?”
Mrs. Pratt wrinkled her nose. “Well…I want to know what this thing is.” She reached into her pocket and brought out a tiny object. Letting it rest in the palm of her open hand, she looked at her charge with raised eyebrows. “What, in heaven’s name, is this? I found it in your jeans. Looks like a funny little harp of some kind, but…”
Annie stared at the miniature instrument as though it were a poisonous insect. Her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her heart was thudding against her chest like a jackhammer. She felt light-headed—disoriented—far above the confines of gravity.
“Well…do you know what this is?” Mrs. Pratt pressed.
Annie licked her lips and shuddered. “No…no, I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life.” Yes, you have. You know you have.
“Well, it was in your pocket, Annie-lamb.”
“Okay, fine, but I still don’t know what it is.” Oh, God. I have seen it before. I have.
Mrs. Pratt got to her feet and walked over to Annie’s side of the table and put a hand on her shoulder. Annie, who was now shaking like a leaf in a stiff March wind, flinched at the touch. “Anne Veronica Wren. Now you look at me.”
Centauri Serenade Page 16
