Among the Shadows (The Ash Grove Chronicles)

by Amanda DeWees

  Then his shoulders sagged. If she was gone, Rose and Joy had gone with her. It was too uneven a tradeoff. He dropped into a chair and began listlessly eating his chili.

  “You look worried, son,” said Bobby. “Something on your mind?”

  “Yeah, kinda.” He picked his phone back up and did a search for Tristan.

  “Tanner, you know the rule about phones at the table,” said Donna.

  Rule? “Sorry, gotta text somebody. It’ll just be a second.”

  The results he got were folklore, businesses, movies—but not him, not any model working under that name.

  He thought back. Shirley, the clinic nurse, had recognized him. But nobody since then had—he’d had to rely on his looks and charm to coax information out of the employees in the Hayesville and Murphy hospitals. Was the world gradually losing its memory? Maybe some kind of supernatural virus was erasing people’s minds. The thought sent a shiver over his scalp. What if that meant that Joy, wherever she was, had forgotten him too? And would he forget her?

  He had to find someone who would know what was going on. Since Steven didn’t, the next best person would be Mo, or another member of the Ash Grove council. But none of them would be on campus at this hour. Maybe they’d already have left for the winter break, unless the concert fire had disrupted everyone’s travel plans. There’d have to be an investigation…

  Donna was talking about Christmas shopping the next day. “I thought we could drive to Biltmore Village, see the decorations, do a little shopping there,” she said. “I need to pick up that fabric I special ordered to finish off Chuck Junior’s present, and I figured we could make a day of it.”

  He realized she was waiting for him to respond. “Would you mind if I skipped it?” he asked. “I need to go talk to Mo.”

  “Who?”

  Good lord, don’t let him be gone too. “Dr. Marzavan. At Ash Grove High.”

  “The music director? Well, Tanner Lindsey, you are just full of surprises.” Donna beamed at him, and he tried not to show the disappointment he felt at being called by his old name. He’d taken Joy’s last name when they married, but Tanner Sumner didn’t exist now, apparently. “Don’t tell me you’re finally going to take up your music again.”

  “Would that be a good thing?”

  “It sure would. We always knew you had too much talent to let it go to waste.”

  “Cool.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I hope it’s okay to eat and run. I need to go see someone.”

  “Someone named Joy?” Bobby asked, and chuckled when Tan hesitated. “All right, Romeo. Just don’t forget your helmet this time. I found it earlier after you left and put it in your room.”

  “In my room?” He must sound like an idiot, asking about everything they said.

  “I know you hate wearing it, but you know the house rules.”

  “And be back by midnight,” Donna added. “I worry about you out riding when there’s frost on the ground.”

  He must be living with them, then. At least that was one thing to be thankful of.

  The room that seemed to be his was what Donna used to use as her sewing room. The overhead light illuminated a plain bed, desk, and chair. Posters of musicians lined the walls, sharing space with a framed diploma from Murphy High—why not Ash Grove?—and a photo enlargement showing him and the Hartwells at a motorcycle meet.

  In the closet he found his helmet on the shelf, and he glanced through the clothes. Nothing to suggest that he’d ever been a model—mostly well-worn jeans in chain-store brands, sweatshirts and plain flannel shirts, and band t-shirts. And a beat-up black leather jacket. That disquieting prickle crept up his scalp again as he removed it from the hanging rod. It was the one he remembered wearing when he got the call that Joy was in labor, the one he’d worn to Atlanta.

  No, not quite the same. The designer label was gone, and the leather was stiffer and cheaper. It wasn’t the same jacket after all.

  And yet he found that he remembered hanging it in this closet. He and Bobby had just come in from a ride, and he had a mental picture of putting it on a hanger—as Donna, after many reminders, had trained him to do—while Ducati barked as if to reproach the guys for not having taken him with them.

  Just as he could now remember the graduation ceremony at Murphy High last spring, outdoors in the blazing sun, with Bobby and Donna applauding him, and then getting knee-walking drunk afterward on beer that someone’s older brother had bought.

  But last spring at that time he’d been in LA with Melisande, shooting the ads for her skin-care line. He could easily call up the memory of the heat of the lights, the waiting around while everything was made ready—including Melisande herself, who was always perfectly composed as stylists clustered around her to touch up her makeup and hair, adjust her costume, fetch her things, and report to her. She always looked serenely accepting, as if this fussing was just their way of worshipping her, their goddess. She would send that enigmatic smile toward him, and even though he didn’t know then that she wasn’t human, he’d feel that unease, that unsettled sense that she could read his mind.

  This had to get sorted out, now. He grabbed his jacket and helmet and headed for the Sumners’.

  This time he cut the bike’s motor when he reached the mailboxes at the foot of the hill, dismounted, and walked the bike up the drive so as not to give Steven any warning of his approach. In the Sumner house lights were on behind the blinds, and he could faintly hear someone playing Christmas carols on the piano. So Joy was home, he thought in relief. As he brought the bike silently up the hill and parked it, a heat-sensing light turned on, illuminating the front of the house and yard, but there was no sign that his approach had been noticed.

  Treading lightly, he reached the porch and lifted the flowerpot by the door. No key. Damn. Maybe he could get in through a window?

  But then he’d just scare her to death. Especially if she didn’t know him.

  That was the problem: he didn’t know if she would remember him. He retreated to the driveway and leaned against his bike as he tried to think what to do. It was early in the evening yet; maybe she’d leave the house for some reason—Christmas shopping, a movie with Maddie, something—and he could talk to her. Or maybe Steven would leave, and Joy would come to the door if he knocked. Or if he could decoy Steven away, even. It would have to be something convincing…

  The longer he stood there the more jittery he became, and he found himself patting the pockets of his jacket until he turned up a half-empty pack of Winstons and a lighter. Evidently he smoked in this new reality. Great. His body automatically went through what must have been habitual motions of lighting the cigarette and putting it to his lips, and a scattering of cigarette butts collected at his feet as he considered different plans to get to Joy. More and more he found that he seemed to belong to this alien new world, but that only increased his anxiety instead of easing it. How could he have memories of two different lives? Something was definitely wrong.

  Could it have something to do with Rose? He and Joy had been so certain that she was normal, but it was only after she was born that everything had gone crazy. Maybe, as wrenching a thought as it was, she had taken on some kind of evil supernatural energy from Melisande after all, and maybe that was what—

  No. He stamped out a cigarette under his heel as he stamped out the thought. Rose was a normal, innocent human baby. Hadn’t she passed all their tests—the salt and silver and rowan—with flying colors? He lit another cigarette and tried to find another solution.

  He had almost finished the pack when the cursory blip of a police siren sounded, and strobe lights shattered the dark. A patrol car nosed into the drive and idled there as two cops got out.

  “Aw, it’s our old friend,” said one. He was middle-aged, and his uniform strained across his belly. “Haven’t seen you lately, Lindsey.”

  “Heard you were cleaning up your act,” added the second, a rangy younger man with a high-and-tight haircut. “Guess it didn�
�t take.”

  They knew him? That didn’t bode well. “Come on, guys, I’m not a peeping Tom,” he said. “I just wanted to see if someone’s home. I’m not hurting anyone.”

  “Dr. Sumner says otherwise. Says you’re harassing him.”

  “That’s bullshit!” he burst out. The younger cop rested a hand on the butt of his sidearm, and the looks on their faces told him he was just getting himself in deeper. He took a more placating approach. “I can see how it might look that way. But I don’t want to make any trouble; I just wanted to talk to his daughter.” He tried a man-of-the-world smirk. “You know how paranoid overprotective fathers are.”

  “I sure do,” said the older cop. “I am one.”

  Crap.

  “Get moving, Lindsey. You don’t want to make this into a bigger deal. You know what your record looks like—any more charges and you might end up serving time.”

  What record? He wished he could ask. Depending on what it was, now that he was eighteen and no longer a minor, he might well end up in jail if he tripped up again. It was a frightening thought.

  “Come on, man,” urged the younger cop. “Move it along. Maybe find a girl whose dad isn’t so strict.”

  “Okay,” he said, subdued. “Sorry. I’ll clear out.”

  The cops waited while he started up his bike—and it was a good thing Bobby had made him bring his helmet, since he knew they could have run him in for not wearing it—and rode off. He’d have to find a more discreet way to see Joy.

  * * *

  Maddie managed to steal a few more minutes with William before his mother arrived. He was sitting up and looking better, and refused to let her feed him the soup that had been brought to him for lunch.

  “I’m not totally helpless. I’d feel weird having you feed me, as if you were my mom.”

  “Well, I definitely don’t want to put your mother out of a job. Being your girlfriend is enough for me.”

  The spoon paused for half a second on the way to his mouth, and he seemed on the point of speaking, but she went on. “Thank goodness I had that vision thing and knew where to look for you. I hate to think what would have happened otherwise. Especially with Sheila and Reed trying to bring Horseface into this dimension.”

  “How much of that do you remember?” asked William. “I can’t tell the difference between what was real and what I imagined at this point. It’s foggy in places. Wasn’t there something strange about Reed? I keep thinking I saw…”

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. Something. Like he wasn’t just Reed.” After another spoonful of chicken soup, he added, “What did you mean, vision thing?”

  She had tried once before to tell him about that, but she hadn’t gotten far. “I kept seeing you and Sheila in that room underground,” she said. “And she was about to hurt you. It’s what I was trying to warn you about. It’s too bad I didn’t see the rest before—I might have been able to keep you from getting hurt.”

  “I’d have been hurt a lot worse if you hadn’t gotten to me. Being a little brain foggy is nothing.” He sighed, pushed the tray away from him, and lay back in the bed.

  “Tired?”

  “Kind of. I wonder if we just imagined that shadow thing, Maddie. I don’t see how it can have been possible.”

  “I definitely saw it. And I definitely saw Sheila with a knife, about to make you its dinner.”

  “I just can’t imagine her doing something like that.” His voice was sounding stronger now; the soup must have perked him up. “I can’t help thinking we must have misunderstood what was happening.”

  “What? How?”

  “It just doesn’t seem real. How did the fire start? I thought there was somebody fighting Reed, so he crashed into the soundboard and started an electrical fire, but there was nobody for him to fight with except Sheila, and if they were fighting she wouldn’t have been so blasé about seeing him in the underground room.” He shook his head again, more sharply this time, as if to dislodge cobwebs. “I think getting konked on the head messed up my memory.”

  “But you remember Sheila trying to fillet you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that anymore either.”

  “What’s there to not be sure about?” she demanded. “She had you tied up, and she was about to stick you with a big knife. She said you were going to be an offering for Amdusias. I don’t know what’s ambiguous there.”

  “So you think she really was just playing me all the time she and I were together.” His hazel eyes went distant, and she cursed herself for being so tactless.

  “I didn’t say that. I can’t know what was in her head.” Probably all metal gears and accounts ledgers. “William, talking about her isn’t going to get you anywhere. Whatever she felt, it died with her.”

  He winced at the word died, and she mentally dope-slapped herself again. She was definitely not at her best with words today. She moved from the chair to perch on the bed, facing him, so that she could see his face better. “Look,” she said. “Whether or not she realized it, I’m telling you you’re a wonderful guy. You deserved better, from her and from me. I’m just really lucky to get a second chance with you. And I’m not going to screw it up.” She leaned in to kiss him, for the first time without urgency, just enjoying the touch and the clean soap scent of him.

  “William, I’m here,” came a woman’s worried voice from close behind her, and Maddie broke away from him, embarrassed to find that his mother had entered the room.

  “Hi, Mrs. Russell,” she said.

  “It’s Maddie, isn’t it?” Mrs. Russell was a pretty fortyish woman with William’s fine bone structure and hazel eyes. Those eyes took Maddie in from top to toe, and she found herself wishing she’d worn something more conservative than her purple corset blouse. “I hope you don’t mind if I evict you. I think William needs some time to recover without any visitors.”

  Did she think Maddie was trying to take advantage of William’s weakened state? To avoid the awkwardness she volunteered herself and Tasha to pick up fresh clothes for William from his dorm room. As a day student, Tasha was one of the few people in their group that had a car, and she was incredibly patient about letting herself be used as a taxi service. But she also had her own reasons for being so quick to agree to the errand.

  “Okay, Mads, tell us,” she ordered as they piled into the old Toyota four-door along with Clark, William’s roommate. “What happened to you and William? How did you two end up in the fire?”

  “And is it true that Sheila was just stringing William along for some evil purpose of her own?” Clark added, blue eyes bright with interest. “Are we talking your basic golddigging, or human sacrifice? Because I can totally see Sheila wearing a crown of human bones and throwing people into volcanoes.”

  “That’s actually not too far off,” she said. She did her best to reconstruct the night for them, but between the holes in her memory and the general unbelievability, they weren’t entirely satisfied. They were still pelting her with questions after they parked and headed across the quad to the senior boys’ dorm.

  Mo was standing near the music building talking to a tall, well-built guy about their age who struck Maddie as somehow familiar. At that moment he caught sight of them and waved. Even at that distance, he was well worth looking at.

  “Do you two know that guy?” she asked.

  Tasha followed her gaze, and her amber eyes widened. “Mercy,” she sighed. “If only.”

  “My god, he’s beautiful,” breathed Clark, almost reverently. “He should be a model. For Michelangelo.”

  “Listen to yourselves. You’ve both got boyfriends, if you’ve forgotten.”

  “If Blake were here, he’d totally back me up,” said Clark. “Hey, maybe he is a model. There’s something familiar about him—I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

  Tasha frowned in thought. “Me too. Didn’t he use to be a student here?”

  “That’s right!” exclaimed Clark. “Tanner something.
He’s put on some weight—in all the right places, too.”

  “Nympho,” said Maddie. “Come on, let’s get William’s things and get back to the hospital.” And as they walked on to William’s dorm, she dismissed the handsome quasi-stranger from her mind.

  Chapter 3

  “I didn’t expect to see you again,” Mo said to Tanner. “After you got expelled—”

  “What?”

  “Now don’t tell me you thought it was a secret. Once the police got involved there was no way we could keep it quiet. Vandalism on that scale… well, after all the warnings you’d had, I’m not surprised you ended up doing some time in juvenile.”

  Tanner tried to remember what he could have vandalized. And why. When he felt backward with his mind he was unsettled to discover new memories of juvie, of being led off campus in handcuffs. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. It didn’t seem possible for him to have lived two lives, but that was what he was starting to think must be happening.

  He and Mo were standing outside the music building, which was cordoned off with caution tape. Men and women in protective gear were swarming in and out of the building, conferring with each other in terse voices. At a word from one of them they drew back a few paces, farther away from the activity.

  “I was pleased when I heard you went back and finished your degree,” said Mo. “Murphy’s a perfectly good school. But I wondered if you’d ever want to take up music again.”

  At that moment Tanner caught sight of some welcome faces across the quad: Maddie, Clark, and Tasha. He waved eagerly, but although they hesitated for a moment, staring at him, they walked on without returning the greeting. His hopes sank as he realized that they didn’t know him.

  “You can’t expect all your old classmates to recognize you right away,” said Mo, noticing his disappointment. “And we’re all still pretty unsettled today anyway. A fire broke out in the theater building Friday night at the start of the solstice festival, and we’re still trying to figure out how it started. One student was just released from the hospital, and another is still missing.”