by Lora Palmer
"You should get to the emergency room right away and have that wound checked out," Officer Johnson said. "She could have a concussion. As for what happened, it is the last night of school, and it's the anniversary of the Stanford girls’ murder all those years ago. Every year it seems something happens on the anniversary. Crowds, pranks, raves and all that. Now, Jenny, can you tell me anything about tonight’s events?"
"I don’t remember." Jenny’s brow furrowed in confusion. Her speech sounded strange, soft, with an odd, flowing quality. She blinked as her eyes drifted closed, obviously fighting to stay awake. How much of her memory had she lost, and would she regain it? I bit my lip; the amnesia was bad, but sleep would be deadly if Jenny had a concussion. They had to get to the hospital, and soon. As I started to say this, Police Chief Jacobs spoke again from the foyer.
"We found nothing unusual in the cemetery apart from that hole — no crowd in the forest, no sign that anyone used that abandoned building — the old parsonage — as a rave site. We'll check things out again in the morning, but I think we've done all we can here tonight. Have a good night, folks — what's left of it, anyway. I'm real glad we found your girl safe and sound, Mrs. Taylor."
Again I had the impression that he hadn’t told us everything. The mysterious hole, the lack of footprints, and vanishing crowd seemed strange enough. The fiery look of triumph in his eyes said he’d found something else out there, something he didn’t want us to know about. But what?
"Thank you so much for everything, officers. Have a good night." Mrs. Taylor’s gaze lingered on Officer Jacobs, and she smiled.
"You, too, Katherine," Officer Jacobs replied, giving her a warm glance before starting for the door. Mrs. Taylor walked the officers to the door to show them out. The doorbell rang, startling me. Jenny jumped, too, and I gave her arm a light reassuring squeeze before peeking out into the hallway to see who had arrived. Kara stood behind me, looking over my shoulder.
"Who could this be now?" Mrs. Taylor shook her head and opened the door. "Can I help you?" she asked, offering her usual kind smile despite the stress of tonight’s events. Still, I could tell she wanted nothing more than to send everyone off and take care of her daughter.
"Sorry to disturb you, Ma'am. I'm Caleb Drake. I just moved into the neighborhood with my son. When we heard shouts outside, and saw the police car here, I wanted to make sure everything was all right."
"Yes, thank you. Everything's fine now. We think a start-of-summer party caused all the commotion," Mrs. Taylor assured him, resting one arm against the door.
"Ah. That explains it. A group headed into the woods, but they didn't stay there long." He scanned the house but did not enter, his well-muscled frame imposing, almost menacing, in the doorway. My breath caught in my throat as light and shadow brought his face into stark relief. Searching his features, I compared the strong jawline, the cleft chin, his athletic build, and most importantly, his eyes to those of the man from my vision. My mind went numb. No, no, no! I didn’t want to believe it. It was him. Not a ghost, but a living, breathing presence. His ice-blue gaze settled on me, and he stared hard, scrutinizing my face like he knew me and was all at once stunned, disbelieving, maybe even relieved to find me. There was something terrifying in that expression.
I stood just outside the living room, rooted to the spot, and stared right back at him, unwilling to let him intimidate me. Finally, I allowed myself to turn away as Jenny gravitated toward me and Kara. When I hugged Jenny, careful not to interfere with the bandage, a powerful shock of electricity buzzed and crackled over my skin. I pulled back. What was that? The others stared at me in confusion.
"Weird. When I hugged you, it felt like static shock or something." I couldn't think of another way to explain it. It was as though something dark and powerful had touched Jenny tonight.
Jenny suddenly had a knowing look in her eyes like the dawning of a realization. I opened my mouth to ask about it, but Kevin interrupted.
"I'm so glad you're safe! You have no idea how scared I was for you. How scared we all were." Brushing a strand of hair from Jenny’s face with a gentle touch, Kevin trailed his hands down along her cheeks, her lips, her shoulders before drawing her against him. He held her as if he never wanted to let go, as if he had forgotten anyone else was there, including Jenny’s mother. To give them some space, I stepped away.
Annoyance sharpened Jenny's features for an instant. She pulled away from Kevin, then seemed to come to her senses, and her expression softened. "It's been a...difficult night." With a smile that seemed forced, she slipped her arms around him.
"Yeah. It has," he said, his voice hollow at her reaction. He managed to return a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. They stood together, in each other’s arms, yet a wide gulf had grown between them. Shouldn’t she turn to Kevin instead of push him from her? Jenny didn’t know how lucky, how blessed, she was to have what she and Kevin had. I would give anything for a love like theirs.
"No harm, no foul," Jenny said, putting on a front to appear her normal self. She stood still, muscles taught, fighting with herself to stay in the embrace.
Mrs. Taylor coughed, causing Jenny and Kevin to release each other. "Kids, meet our new neighbor, Mr. Drake. He also has a son in high school. You all might get the chance to meet him tomorrow. Except you, Jen. I'm not letting you out of my sight!"
Laughter rippled among the group, but the expected protests from Jenny didn’t come.
"A pleasure," Jenny replied, holding his gaze, a look of challenge and recognition on both their faces.
"It's good to meet you, Mr. Drake." I tucked a stray strand of blond curls behind my ear, feeling small inside and afraid. So much for not showing signs of intimidation. Trembling, I forced myself to meet his gaze. As he studied me, I studied him, taking in his black hair cropped short and neat in a military cut, his sharp, chiseled features, an unfamiliar symbol tattooed on his left bicep, and the way he coolly assessed everyone with whom he came in contact, making mental notes with indelible ink. If he came after me the way he’d gone after Janice and Lisa Stanford, I was in trouble.
"It is good to meet you as well, my dear," he replied.
A shiver ran down my spine at the spark of recognition in his eyes and the threat of danger in his voice. Seconds passed, an eternity. I barely dared to breathe as I wondered what he would do next.
He shifted his attention to Mrs. Taylor, extending a hand for her to shake. The gesture seemed oddly normal, civil. "Thank you for allowing me to take up a bit of your time. I should head home and let all of you get back to your evening. A lot of unpacking awaits, and Brian and I have a few things to finish before bed. Good night, everyone. Hope to see you all tomorrow. Brian will look forward to meeting all of you."
Echoes of "good night" from the group followed Mr. Drake out the door, but I stayed silent, still. After he had left, Mrs. Taylor shooed everyone else out. She and Jenny needed to go to the emergency room, and no protests of, "But I'm fine...Mom," could change that.
Chapter 5
I awoke to sunlight streaming into my room, while my open windows let in the fresh SoCal breezes and fragrance of tropical flowers. Their heady scent mingled with the delicious aroma of breakfast as I breathed in. Last night’s dramatic events had drained me, so I snuggled under my covers and languished in bed with a groan, not wanting to move quite yet. Between the odd visions, Jenny’s near death, and the dead ringer for a man who committed murder over a century ago, a lot of unanswered questions remained. For instance, I wanted to know why I’d seen those things in the mirror, how Jenny had ended up in the forest with a possible concussion, and whether the new neighbors had anything to do with it.
Persistent knocks on my door made me sit up to find David standing in the doorway, grinning as he ruffled the back of his hair with one hand. He was wearing his typical navy gym shorts and a grey T-shirt.
"Hey, Sleepyhead. Mom and Dad are making breakfast."
"As if I haven’t noticed the arom
a," I teased. "How come you’re so chipper first thing in the morning?"
"Unlike you, I'm a morning person." David smirked then headed for the stairs, stomach growling loud enough for me to hear. In my doorway, he paused and considered me. "With those dark circles under your eyes and your hair all wild, you could probably use another hour or two of beauty sleep."
"Thanks for the lovely compliment." I smoothed my tousled locks and threw off the covers. Dragging myself out of bed without bothering to change out of my blue tank top and matching plaid pajama shorts, I chased after David, our feet thundering on the steps. "And since you want to be rude, the last piece of bacon is mine."
"You wish!"
Down in the kitchen, I inhaled the heavenly scent of pancakes and bacon.
"'Morning, you two," Dad said, pouring orange juice for everybody while Mom was busy flipping pancakes.
"Oh, good, you’re up," Mom said. "I heard something odd happened at the cemetery last night. Do you two know anything about that?"
Avoiding eye contact with my mother, I peeked out the kitchen window and into the yard, where our retriever was rolling around on the grass until he lay with his belly up, golden against the green grass. Cameron rarely missed an opportunity to gather with the family at meals and beg a scrap from me. Guess we won’t be getting away with that today, I thought.
"Last night was kind of confusing," I admitted.
"Oh?" Mom asked absentmindedly.
Breakfast ready, everyone sat around the screened-in porch area of the back deck, enjoying the fantastic ocean view. We helped ourselves to pancakes, bacon, and fresh strawberries, while David and I shared a condensed and understated version of last night’s events.
Eyes widened and eyebrows raised, Mom and Dad exchanged glances. They probably hadn’t heard about the pranks and parties that seemed to happen every year on that date. David often said that our parents lived in a bubble world where weird things just didn't happen. Not here in Sea Cliff Heights!
"I wish I'd known about it last night," Mom said. "I'd have called Katherine to see how Jenny was doing, or even gone to keep them company in the ER."
"Yeah." I bit my lip and rushed to say, "But she was taking Jenny to the hospital, and wouldn’t have accepted any company." The last thing I wanted was for Mom to know how bad things had gotten.
"I'm just glad you kids weren't hurt or a part of that rave," Dad added, frowning.
David bristled at Dad's comment. His jaw clenched, and he sat stiff-backed in his chair, saying nothing but giving a curt nod. Suddenly finding breakfast fascinating, I dropped my gaze to my plate. I hated when they argued.
"We might get an update at church," I said after finishing a bite, simply to relieve the tension brewing in the air. "Or later at the beach, if Mrs. Taylor lets Jenny come with us."
"Don't you two have work tomorrow?" Dad asked.
I suppressed the urge to groan. Dad probably envisioned that we’d spend today going clothes shopping, reading anything that might help us on the job, and touching base with our employers. Not my idea of a good time when the sun and sand beckoned. This was the last day of freedom I would have all summer, and I wanted to enjoy it.
"I’m ready," I replied. "Celia’s going over everything about the kids tomorrow."
I’d expected that his question would further annoy David, but surprisingly it didn’t.
"I have to stop by the Wharf for a brief orientation," he said, his enthusiasm for his new job shining through in the joyful look on his face and the light in his eyes. "Shouldn't take too long, but I'm going to tour the kitchens. What’s kind of awesome is, they liked my special grilled chicken salad so much they want me to make it for the customers."
"Honey, that's great!" Mom said. "I can't wait to hear how it goes when the customers try it. They're going to love it as much as we do."
"Maybe you could make it for dinner one night; I'd love to try it as well," Dad said, trying to be supportive. He hadn't tasted it the other day because he had been working at the accounting firm — typical for him even on a weekend.
"Yeah, sure, Dad," David agreed, sitting up straighter in his chair now.
Maybe Dad was slowly coming around to the idea that David's path in life would diverge from his own.
Steering the chatter onto other subjects, David and I asked our parents about their own jobs. Breakfast was over by the time we had all finished discussing Dad's latest business travel plans, which included flying to London for a week next month, and Mom's latest property sale to the Drakes.
"Oh, yeah. We met Mr. Drake last night over at the Taylors's," I said, careful to keep my tone light while clearing breakfast dishes from the table. "He said he has a son about our age. His name is Brian, I think. We'll probably see him today sometime."
"Brian... Yes, that's it! He seemed like a quiet and polite young man. Cute, too."
Once again I resisted the impulse to groan. Mom often pointed out guys I might find cute. Her persistent interest in my social life had begun when my best friends and I first started talking about boys, makeup, and fashion. I could live with that. Since turning fifteen, I’d been allowed to date in a group, as long as my parents had met the boy in advance and given their approval.
"I'm sure he is." I did want to meet Brian, if only to see whether he was the boy in my vision.
"Anyway, Mr. Drake runs a private investigation business. He must be doing pretty well, because he didn't even need to take out a mortgage. And that's rare. It made the closing of the sale go super fast, so it was a good thing."
Mom spoke in a light, cheerful tone as if being a P.I. was perfectly normal. The others didn't pick up on that aspect, but I noticed. It raised huge red flags for me. I couldn’t help wondering whether he’d tracked me the way he — or someone who looked exactly like him — had tracked Janice and Lisa Stanford. If he had, I needed to figure out what he wanted and outmaneuver him before he managed to kill me. My heart gave a lurch at the thought. No. I wouldn’t give him that chance.
Then I observed the way Mom wouldn’t meet my gaze, instead sitting with her hands clutched together, brow furrowed and lips pursed, eyes downcast, thoughtful. I had seen Mom wear this expression once before, the time my world had been shattered by a secret that should never have been kept.
"Mom, what is it?" The reply, a shake of the head and a tight, worried smile that was likely meant to be reassuring, to let me know I wasn’t going to get answers so easily. To give myself something to do while I figured out how to respond, I took a sip of orange juice. A moment later, I slammed my drink down on the table. I couldn’t believe Mom would risk breaking my trust after all she’d done to rebuild it. "Don’t say it’s nothing, okay? The guy is a private investigator, and something about him obviously has you worried, too. You and Dad promised not to keep anything this important from me ever again!"
The effect of this simple sentence was immediate. Visibly shaken by the vehemence in my voice, Mom and Dad blanched. Even David’s jaw dropped, and he’d had nothing to do with that other secret. Mom frowned, her expression apologetic. She reached across the table and clasped my hand. I considered pulling away, but opted instead to hear Mom out.
"And we never will, honey. I was just thinking about Mr. Drake, how inquisitive he was, especially about you, Leah. Oh, I know how you are around new people and just didn’t want you to be even more nervous about him. That’s why I wasn’t going to say anything. It’s in his nature to ask questions."
I leaned forward, gripping Mom’s hand. "What exactly did he ask?"
"Oh, ordinary things. He saw your picture in my office before I showed him the house and wanted to know what you were like, how long we’d lived here, what activities you were involved in. Because he acted curious about all of us, it didn’t occur to me until later that he focused mainly on you." She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and added, "For his son’s sake, I’m sure."
"He didn’t ask you anything that made you think he knew more about us than he sh
ould?"
"No," Mom said, then paused as she remembered something. "But he did comment that you look different than the rest of us." She extricated herself from my grip, which I realized had become too strong, judging by the dark pink marks and pressure indentations on Mom’s skin where I had squeezed.
I narrowed my eyes. Sure, Mr. Drake was obviously trained to notice details, but there must be some reason he felt the need to point it out. Fishing for information? Whatever that reason was, it wasn’t good. "You didn’t tell him, did you?"
"Of course not! It’s none of his business. Look, I’m sure the reason he was particularly interested in you was because he thought you and Brian would like each other."
Right. He just wanted to introduce me to his son. I wondered if Mr. Drake had picked up on Mom’s willingness to play matchmaker for her daughter and exploited it during their conversation, or if he was so good that he had Mom supplying her own rationalization for sharing all this information with him. Either way, it made me nervous. The worst part about it was that I couldn’t exactly warn Mom or Dad about him. They’d think I was crazy if I explained my visions.
"Fine," I said, before taking a last bite of pancake and picking up my dishes. "I’d better go get ready if I’m going to make it to church on time."
"Hey, maybe we'll go over there after church and invite Brian to hang out with us at the beach," David suggested as he joined me in the kitchen to clean up his own breakfast dish. I had just finished placing my plates in the dishwasher, and now scooted over to give him room at the sink.
"They need to unpack, so give him a little time," Mom advised. "But I could make up a care package with cookies and some meals for you two to bring over."
"We'll finish cleaning up in here," Dad said, shooing us upstairs to get ready for church.
