“What do you think is going on?”
“Until tonight, until you said the dogs had been drugged, I thought I was going crazy.”
Chas assimilated this without visibly reacting. Allison crazy? Never. Hot tempered maybe. Risk-taker certainly. But crazy? Nope. Not possible. But it was the flat acceptance in her voice that made him understand that whatever was happening had been going on for some time. Long enough that she said the words as if bored by them.
“Why would you think you were going nuts?”
She didn’t look at him now but at her crossed and folded hands resting on the table. “I’ve been experiencing what the doctors call ‘fugue states,’ where my memory seems to be erratic at best. Usually short-term, seemingly inconsequential things. But there’s lost time, unaccountable minutes or even hours.”
“You haven’t been abducted by aliens, right?”
She chuckled weakly, then cleared her throat, a throat probably still raw from her screams and from coughing after downing the brandy. “Don’t think I haven’t considered that,” she said. “In a lot of ways, I fit the profile. Missing time. Scared of my own shadow. Forgetful.”
She shot him a look he could only have called teasing. He was glad to see it and grinned when she said, “Somehow I wouldn’t have pictured you in the UFO-believer category.”
“Oh, you know me, Allison, I’m curious about damned near anything.”
She smiled, but the gesture was perfunctory at best. And he knew why. She didn’t know him. She’d known him in the past. She didn’t know his interests—beyond Billy and his own practice. She didn’t know his opinions, his tastes, his preferences, even what his house looked like. And he didn’t know her anymore, either. He felt the chasm between them threatening to yawn wide again.
“Why don’t you tell me when this...fugue thing started?”
She nodded and closed her beautiful eyes. “About two months ago.” Her eyes slowly opened, and she gazed down at her hands, making a diamond of her forefingers and thumbs. “I was involved in a car accident.”
Chas knew about the accident. He frowned. “A head injury could account for the fugues, something neurological could explain the missing time, the spot-occurrence memory loss.”
“I know. So the doctors claim, but they say there’s nothing like that in my case. It’s a complete mystery.”
“Especially because a head injury doesn’t account for drugged dogs,” Chas said. He didn’t add that it wouldn’t account for the drugged dogs unless it was Allison doing the drugging.
But unless she really was crazy, her relief at knowing that a human agent had been responsible for whatever terrified her put paid to any notion of mental distortion.
He said, “Taylor told me it was a pretty bad accident. You were in the hospital for quite a while, weren’t you?”
Allison nodded again, flexing the diamond shape into a butterfly, then back to a diamond. A crooked smile shifted her lips. “Taylor was mad at me for not letting her know until afterward.”
“Can’t blame her,” Chas said.
Allison lifted startled eyes to meet his gaze. “Why?”
“You’re her sister, Allison. She loves you. She cares about you,” he said, genuinely surprised at her question.
“She hasn’t seen me in fifteen years,” she said defensively.
“As Billy told me a couple of nights ago, feelings don’t just die, Allison.”
“Is he so sure about that?” she asked.
Chas knew they had strayed from whatever was troubling her to far more global issues and far more interpersonal ones. He had the distinct feeling that how he answered her bitter question might determine the course of whatever relationship they might have in the future.
A tremendous weight to place on one little “Yes, Allison, and so am I.” But he said it anyway.
Then, when she remained silent, he added, “Feelings can change, shift even, but they never just die.”
She nodded as if he’d confirmed something she’d dreaded hearing but knew all along. “I’m not sure about anything these days.”
“Just since the accident?”
She nodded again. Her hair glimmered in the light from the overhead lamp and glistened pure gold. Chas had to lay his hands flat on the table to keep from reaching out to touch it.
“Is there any pattern to these fugues?” he asked, forcing himself to stick with the topic at hand and to keep from touching the subject so close to hand.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. And don’t think I haven’t gone over everything.”
“When did they start?”
“In the hospital. The first one I can remember is hearing someone coming in the room and turning to see who it was, then the next thing I remember it’s three or four hours later and the nurse is in my room.”
Chas frowned. “That’s not uncommon, Allison. You were probably on some kind of painkiller.”
“That’s true. That’s what I told myself at the time. But see, Chas, every time one of them happens, I have an absolutely unreasonable fear build up inside.”
“Like today at the wedding?”
“Exactly. And speaking of which, how did you—? No, it doesn’t matter.”
“I was watching you, not Taylor.”
She blushed and flexed her fingers again. She cleared her throat. “I was just looking at Steve and...and Tom Adams?... and then it hit. I had to run. If you hadn’t been there...”
“You’d have carved a path right through the center of the guests and gone straight through the wall, cartoon style.”
She gave a wan chuckle and looked up at him. “Seriously, though, I would have bolted.”
“I know. But you didn’t.”
“Thanks to you.”
Chas felt like his own fourteen-year-old, ready to scuff his feet in the dust and hang his head. “Part of the job,” he said.
“You country vets must have quite a job description.”
“We do. It’s in the country-vet handbook—never take your eyes off beautiful women who return home after a lifetime and never let them run from a room when the organ music starts to play.”
Her brow furrowed. “It wasn’t the music, you know. That had already been playing and didn’t bother me then. It was...oh, I don’t know.”
“Sure, you do. You’re the only one who can.”
“But it’s not like it was a certain light or the sound of a chain rattling or anything obvious. At least, I don’t think it is. Because it happens all the time. I was riding in a cab going uptown last week, at least I think it was last week— I’m not really sure. See, I don’t drive much anymore, and not at all in the city.”
Her eyes unfocussed a little, and Chas knew she was remembering the car accident.
“You were riding in the cab...” he prompted.
She started a little and gave him a weak smile. “Anyway, I was staring out at the people, not even paying attention. Suddenly I was terrified. I had to get out of the cab. I had to run. That’s all I could think about. Running. Getting away... escaping.”
“From what?”
“From...from I don’t know. But you want to hear something really funny about all this?”
“I’m all ears,” he said dryly, knowing whatever she said wouldn’t be very funny at all.
“Somewhere in the back of my head, I seem to equate all the panic with quitting smoking. At least, I always want a cigarette whenever I’m coming down from a panic attack. Isn’t that crazy?”
“How long ago did you quit?” he asked, never having known she’d smoked at all.
“About three months ago now.”
“And any problems back then?”
“Not really. I just quit. One day I was smoking, then I took a week off, and sometime during that week I just gave them up.”
Though she was looking directly at him when she said the words, Chas had the chilling feeling she wasn’t seeing him. And her voice sounded strange as she spoke, as if she were r
eciting something not particularly interesting.
“You must have really wanted to quit,” he commented, pursuing the thought process for no discernible reason other than the fact she’d brought it up.
She frowned. “No. I mean I don’t know. I smoked almost two packs a day. Then I just quit. One day I was smoking, then I took a week off, and sometime during that week I just gave them up.”
Chas felt a cold tingle work down his spine. Allison had just repeated verbatim her earlier comments. She didn’t appear even remotely aware of having done so. Part of him wanted to ask about the cigarettes again, but a bigger part didn’t want to hear that crazy, flatly inflected little speech for a third time. Tomorrow perhaps, or another day. But not tonight.
However, he did have to ask one very important question. “Are you still on any painkillers, Allison?”
“What? No. I gave those up when I quit the physical therapy.” She gave him a quick and sad little smile. “Drugs were a good theory for a while for me, too. But no dice.”
Chas wanted to ask if the painkillers had been for her leg, if her limp stemmed from this accident or the one long ago, but he didn’t know how thin the ice was that now lay between them. For the moment, they had found a safe place to stand; while talking about whatever was plaguing her, they had a common ground. Any reference to the past, however oblique, might prove the one bit of extra weight that would shatter their fragile support.
“Does Tom Adams look like anyone you know? Does Steve? You said you were looking at them when you felt the urge to run come over you.”
“Urge isn’t quite the word, Chas.” She really chuckled this time, though her face was still deathly pale. “It’s more a flat-out, dead panic. What do you do with a horse that spooks too easily, that breaks into a lather at the slightest thing?”
Chas smiled and settled back in his chair before replying. “You’re not a horse, Allison.”
“Some people I’ve interviewed would argue that point,” she countered. “Though not recently. I don’t remember them.”
He chuckled this time. He was struck by her ability to laugh at herself. He didn’t know if he would have been able to joke about something so frightening as fearing he was losing his mind.
“So what would you do with a spooked horse?”
Chas studied her for a long moment, feeling the tension in the room shift, knowing—without thinking about how—that she’d asked him something entirely different. Her eyes met his, a hint of the old Allison present, the sassy gal with the wind-tossed mane of hair.
He was aware that she was dramatically changing the subject, that she was ducking whatever was bothering her, a neat side step from a very uncomfortable topic. With all that she’d been through, he wasn’t about to force her.
Besides, he would have to have been a robot, devoid of any feelings, to ignore the flicker of fire in her blue eyes, the shyly teasing smile she wore.
He pushed to his feet, slowly and carefully, keeping his eyes locked with hers, letting her see every movement, every gesture, even his thoughts. He stayed by the end of the table, but held out his hand to her, palm upward. “With a horse, I would work on making her feel so cozy she doesn’t have to panic anymore.”
“And how do you do that?” she asked, looking from his hand to his eyes.
He shook his hand a little, coaxing her to place hers in his. “I would let her see she can still have all the fears she wants, but she doesn’t have to be scared of me. I’m not going to grab her or slap her. I’m not going to hurt her in any way. I’m just going to stand here and let her come to me.”
She lifted her hand and slid it into his. “You let her think she can trust you,” she said.
He folded his fingers around her slender hand and just held it, slowly stroking his thumb along the fine planes of her delicate knuckles. “I let her know she can.”
He lifted his hand slightly and pulled just the merest fraction toward his midsection.
“And that makes her feel cozy?” Allison asked, rising to her feet and allowing his grip to steady her.
“Oh, no,” he said, drawing her still closer. “I’m old-fashioned. I happen to believe that every scared thing needs to be held.”
“Is that right?” she asked, but to his delight she stepped closer.
“That’s right. So I give her space, then I wrap my arms around that space.”
He released her hand and for a moment didn’t move at all. Then slowly, achingly slowly, he lifted his arms and wrapped them around her. He didn’t try to pull her closer, simply stood there, nearly at arm’s length, but encircling her nonetheless.
“And then?”
“And then I wait for her.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “And what does she do then?”
“If I’m very, very lucky, she’ll step forward.”
With a faint smile, Allison moved another step closer. “Like this?”
His heart was pounding so fiercely now, he was surprised she couldn’t hear it. “Exactly like this,” he rasped.
“And then...?”
“And then I hold her close. Let her know she’s safe. Let her know that I’m there to take care of any other worries.”
She slid her own arms around his waist and pressed her palms flat against the contours of his back, making him shiver with a sharp, hot want of her.
Her hands, trembling only minutes before, were steady now on his back, and knowledgeable. They roamed across his back with a sure and sculpting touch, strafing the lines from his belt to his neck, cupping his shoulders and molding her fingers to the valleys of his muscles there.
“Ah,” she said. “And then...?”
Chas couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t think what she meant. He could only gaze at her heavy lids, her slightly parted lips, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the robe slipping open to reveal a satin tease of a chemise. “Allison...”
“Yes?”
The single affirmative, issued more as a question than a statement, undid any remaining resolve. He pulled her even closer and lowered his lips to hers, any tenderness forgotten, all gentle thought lost to a raging desire for Allison.
His hands roamed her back, her hair, the contours of her silken face. And at the slightest sound from her, he would have come back to the surface of his plunge into lunacy, but she pressed harder against him, her breasts flattening against his ribs, her hands pulling him firmly to her.
She tasted of brandy and something of mint, and he pressed his tongue against hers, warring with it, drinking her, arching against her, needing, aching to be a part of her. And she met him equally, straining against him, moaning a little as her sweet tongue played with his.
Ah, it had been so very long. This untrammeled, unfettered freedom to touch, to taste and drown in her sweet scent left him weak in the knees, but feeling stronger than he ever had in his entire life.
Then, baffling him, she chuckled. He continued his kiss, lowered his lips to nuzzle the sharp points of her collarbone and the hollows at the base of her lovely throat. And she chuckled again. He couldn’t help but smile in response, no matter how puzzled.
She arched a little, and he lightly drew his teeth across a jutting nipple, then drew it into his mouth through the satin.
“Chas...”
“Mmm?”
“If you tame a spooked horse this way...somebody’s gonna lock you up.”
Chas caught her to his chest and laughed aloud.
Allison laughed with him, not because she thought what she’d said was so particularly hilarious, but because it felt so very right to be in his arms again.
She’d been through a full range of emotions that night, every night for the past two months, but none of them more certain or more readable than the one she felt now: accord.
This was a man she had once loved desperately and lost. She’d thought of him off and on, with a little more emphasis on the “on,” for so
me fifteen years. And now, like the little girl she’d been then, she was turning to him for safety. Like a knight of old, he’d rescued her that morning, then come to protect her in the night.
But she wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a woman, confused and tormented with fears for her sanity, yes, but a woman. And with a woman’s desires and knowledge, she’d allowed him to tease her, coax her into his embrace, and with a woman’s surety she’d made him laugh aloud, a laugh she’d been unaware of craving for nearly fifteen years.
She savored the emotions he brought forth in her. Peace, charm, even a bit of the playful. Accord. Nations negotiated for years to achieve it. Neighbors went to court and counseling to find it. Couples strove for it. A union devoted to compromise, a treaty disallowing war, a camaraderie, two former lovers finally becoming friends after all this time. A gift.
Strangely, in the middle of feeling nuts, in the midst of uncertainty and now every possibility of danger, she felt better than she had for days...years. She felt strong, free, effervescent with sheer life force.
She’d done an interview about three months ago with a psychologist who had claimed that a Jane didn’t fall in love with a John so much as she fell in love with how John made Jane feel about herself. She’d done her usual hardhitting interview, happily punching a hundred different holes through the guy’s theory, but now she wondered. She might have to look the guy up and apologize. If she could remember his name.
“What did you say?” Chas asked her.
“What?”
“I thought you said, ‘I can’t remember your name.’”
She chuckled again. “No. You I remember.”
He let her loose a little to cup her face in his hands. “Do you, Allison?”
“Yes.” She could say it without awkwardness now. Guarded, perhaps...careful, certainly. But no longer feeling awkward.
He brushed her lips with his. The touch of a feather, the breath of a breeze. His cheeks were rough with unshaved beard, and his eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“About five.”
“Good heavens. And you have work tomorrow... today.”
Almost Remembered Page 9
