"Basically the same as Jan's answer. I guess it's a matter of perspective."
"I'd say it's a shame you've never really had a place to call your own. This place has made us who we are. I mean, we've both been out in the world, spent time in other places, but we've always known that this is waiting for us. That it's where we ultimately belong."
She tried to focus on him in the darkness. "I've always felt it was better not to get attached to something you will eventually lose. Nothing lasts forever, David."
"No, but many things will outlast you and me. My family's legacy, for instance. It's worth working to preserve."
"What about children?" she asked. "Do you want to have kids — to preserve your legacy?"
"Well, I'd say I want to have children," he said with a little chuckle. "I'm just not sure I want to be a father. Not anytime soon, anyway."
Something heavy crashed in the darkness to the right. Then a splash, like a boulder dropping into a shallow body of water. They froze.
The sound of wood cracking.
Another crash.
"What the…?" Courtney said, her eyes burning holes in the darkness. "What the hell is that?"
One of David's hands slid around her shoulder and gripped her bicep fiercely. He said nothing, but she could sense his eyes intently scanning the dense woods.
"What is that?"
"I don't know."
The crunching-splashing sounds continued for a moment, drawing nearer, and then stopped.
Something in Courtney's field of vision moved: an indistinct shape, pale and huge, some indeterminate distance into the trees. To her horror, David let go of her arm and began moving forward slowly.
"David!" she whispered, her nerves rapidly unraveling now. What in God's name did he think he was doing? "David, stop!"
He didn't answer and continued creeping toward the woods until his figure dissolved, wraithlike, into the darkness, though she could still hear the sound of his footsteps. The pale thing in the trees shifted slightly, and she heard a low, heavy rumble — the sound of breathing, like a big cat, or a bear. But this was neither.
David's footsteps died at the edge of the road. Even though he was much closer to the thing, she felt vulnerable, alone. She took a few steps forward, her eyes trying to trace the contours of the amorphous shape just beyond the tree line. She thought she saw a huge, oval skull with a pair of deep, black sockets, within which something twinkled, but then the thing moved and became a formless blob of mist.
It was watching them. Her.
This was the instrument of Hank Surber's death. Aunt Martha's Monarch. No flawed perceptions, no imaginary concoction of shadows and light here.
She felt David's presence nearby, but when his hand closed on her wrist, she nearly yelped. "Don't move," he whispered. "And maybe it'll leave us alone."
He had no sooner spoken than the misty shape began to undulate like a huge glowworm; then it swirled into motion and vanished. A moment later, something splashed, and the sledgehammer pounding in the mud followed, punctuated by the staccato cracking of tree limbs. Gradually, the sounds receded into silence.
She stood there for several ages, contemplating the consequences of moving a muscle. She could hear David's breathing, at first rapid and shallow, finally softening to a regular, deep rhythm.
Overhead, she heard a rapid beating sound, like great wings, and she looked up quickly but saw nothing.
Just a big bird. A buzzard, perhaps. Frightened by the thing in the woods.
"That was odd," David finally said.
She shot him a surprised glance, but said nothing for a time. Finally, she asked, "Is it gone?"
"Yeah, it's gone."
"That," she said, "was what came to my window the other night. That was your Aunt Martha's Monarch."
Once reasonably certain the thing had retreated beyond the possibility of returning, they had broken into a sprint, heedless of obstacles that might lie in their path, never pausing to look back, stopping only when they reached the relative safety of the driveway. Before they made it halfway to the house, Courtney's legs buckled and she collapsed, less from the exertion than delayed shock. David knelt next to her and offered his hand, but she waved him away.
"Just give me a minute. I'll be all right."
"I know."
She gazed at him, panting. "'Odd.' You called that thing 'odd.'"
"It was."
"It was a fucking horror. Don't you have any idea what this means? Don't you know what that thing did?"
"You're certain you know what it was?"
"What else could it have been?"
"Well, it was damn big. Wild dog, maybe."
She stared at him in amazement. "You're as demented as the old woman. A dog?"
He shrugged. "Well, it was too pale to be a bear, and it certainly wasn't a horse."
"Didn't you see it? That thing was twice the size of a horse."
"How could you tell in the dark? You don't know how far away from you it was."
She dragged herself to her feet and faced him defiantly. "It wasn't so dark that I would mistake a damn dog."
"Dark enough," he said, glancing toward the road. "What say we get back inside?"
"You think it might come back this way?"
"Who knows? Look. Humor me, and let's assume it was a dog. It could still be very dangerous."
She said nothing but began walking, her muscles on fire, her eyes fixed on the shadowed hulk of the Blackburn house, her mind beyond caring whether David remained with her. How could a man be so blind?
No, not blind.
Complicit.
He must be. To think she was just coming to trust him, and now this. The sting surpassed her fear.
She found herself shivering as she walked and realized the air was frigid, like wintertime.
As she went around the house toward the back door, David trailing several steps behind, her footsteps crunched too loudly in the gravel, and she stepped more gingerly, her ears sensitized to any sound in the trees. She paused at the door, for she could hear, far in the distance, the vaguest whisper of wind beginning again, and for a second or two, what sounded like a heavy, rhythmic thumping.
David opened the door and started inside. "Are you coming?"
"I'll be there in a minute."
"You sure you want to stay out here alone?"
"Go."
He complied with a wry shrug, leaving her gazing into the wall of darkness, her head cocked slightly as she listened, trying to decide whether the distant, nearly indiscernible sounds indicated something approaching. After a full two minutes, when the wind was all she could hear, she went inside, locked the door, and stood at the window for yet another minute, numb to the idea that she might actually be in danger.
How, she wondered, could anyone even hope to convince her that she had seen anything so mundane as a wild dog — or that she couldn't tell the difference between the sound of a four-legged animal running and a two-legged one?
Chapter 12
Even after standing beneath a near-scalding shower for ten minutes, she felt as if she had bathed in ice water.
She dried her hair, luxuriating in the warm breath of her blow dryer, and then went to her dresser to pick out some fresh clothes. Opening the top drawer, the first thing she noticed was the sweater she had retrieved from Martha's closet. For one wild moment, adrenaline spiked in her veins, and she wondered whether she was prepared for a nasty confrontation, after having hoped, just this afternoon, that the old woman would not discover what she had done until she had left this place permanently.
Trembling, she pulled on her sweater, and then went to her jewelry case and slipped on the earrings Martha had stolen.
Hell, chances were, she wouldn't even encounter the hag tonight. What she desired most was a stiff drink and some time to determine how she was going to escape from this madhouse in which she had unwittingly imprisoned herself.
Confronting David was pointless. If he were already aw
are of the true nature of the thing in the woods — which he surely was — then he had his reasons for withholding it from her, and nothing she could say would make any difference.
She made her way to the great room, headed straight for the bar, and began rummaging through the bottles on the various shelves, taking stock of the plentiful spirits. One interesting-looking bottle proved to be a half-full fifth of Woodford Reserve, so she took a tall tumbler from the overhead rack, dropped in a few ice cubes from the mini freezer, and filled the glass to the brim with the fine bourbon.
Then she sat down on a barstool, sipped the strong, smooth whiskey, and waited.
"Hey, sweetie."
Jan sat down next to her, already holding a glass of wine, her pupils dilated. She looked Courtney up and down and frowned. "Are you cold?"
She nodded. "I suppose you're not."
"No, it's quite warm."
"I'd like to borrow your car tomorrow, if it's all right. I've got more job hunting to do."
Jan shook her head. "As it turns out, I need to go in to hospice tomorrow. They're short a person."
Courtney's heart sank a little, but this turn seemed almost inevitable. "All right."
"Tell you what. You could ride in with me and then take the car for the day. I have to be there at eight, so you'd need to get up early."
"I usually do."
"Oh, that's right." Jan stared into space. "I hear you went running tonight."
"Yes."
"Had a bit of a scare?"
"A wild dog. Apparently."
"You don't think that's what it was?"
"It was whatever David said it was."
Jan's already bright eyes sparkled with unkind humor. "So…you've come around to trusting him."
"I don't really have any choice, do I?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that instead of the truth, all I get from either of you is the standard Blackburn family line — that my perceptions have gone haywire. That I 'don't understand.' Well, I understand enough to know that I made a mistake coming here."
"Courtney…"
"It's true. There's something very wrong about this place, and I don't want any part of it anymore. I need to find somewhere else to go."
"And where might that be?"
"I don't know. Yet."
"You're being rash. Come on. This is me, you know."
Courtney glared at Jan, her stomach twisting in knots, the ice in her glass tinkling as her hand began to tremble. Torn between the overwhelming desires to lash out at her friend and humbly beg for honesty, her voice failed her.
Jan downed her remaining wine and gazed at Courtney for a long moment before turning her eyes away. "Why don't you just accept how things are with us and be happy?" she said. "You don't want for anything here. You have everything you need. You've even got David…if you want him."
"Yes. But I don't have all the answers."
"So what? A wise person knows which questions to ask and which ones not to. Maybe you need to learn to differentiate between the two."
"Your secrets affect my life. How can I 'be happy' without trust between us? Here I've entrusted my life to you, but evidently, you don't trust me. None of you do. I can't keep living like this."
"Given your personal situation," Jan said coldly, "you really don't have any choice." She placed her empty glass on the bar and turned toward the door. "I'll see you early in the morning."
Courtney didn't bother to watch Jan leave. She looked down at her drink through a tapestry of crystal tears, lifted the glass to her lips for a long swallow, and then wiped the water from her eyes. There could be no feeling sorry for herself. She had to remain in control, to think, to determine what to do next.
Tomorrow, she thought, she would have access to Jan's car.
Whether she would return it, she didn't yet know.
She heard a heavy thunk and, thinking Jan must have re-entered the room and let the door handle strike the wall, didn't bother to turn around. But when she realized she was still alone, she slowly swiveled her head, and as her gaze fell on the window that faced the woods, an icy, iron fist slammed into her, dumping her from her stool onto the floor. Her drink sloshed and the glass rattled as it spun on the bar, thought it didn't tip over. A few drops fell onto her outstretched hand, but her blood was so cold she didn't feel them.
Pressed against the windowpane was a tall oblong of pale bone, with deep hollows for eyes, within which something glittered icy blue, and a gaping mouth rimmed by crooked battlements of ivory. Before she could open her mouth to cry out, it vanished.
She struggled to her knees, desperate to keep fear from immobilizing her. Grasping the barstool with one hand, she shakily pulled herself to her feet, wavering like a willow in a gale, breathing deeply to try to steady her nerves. Her first impulse was to call out for someone — for David — but she fought it back, some small, rational part of her mind insisting that it would be pointless now. She would only look the fool to him. Again.
The thing was toying with her.
Or perhaps it wasn't.
Aware of a new presence in the room, Courtney turned and saw, standing in the doorway, the stooped, withered figure of the witch from the attic, her eyes shining like globes of polished glass. Beneath a drab gray nightgown, Martha's legs appeared motionless as the wiry body began gliding toward her, the too-bright eyes never blinking.
As Martha drew nearer, Courtney detected a faint whiff of an acrid, chemical odor.
"Oh, my," the old woman croaked, eyeing her sweater. "You've been messing where you're not supposed to be messing, haven't you?"
"I could say the same about you," Courtney managed.
Martha's eyes roved up and down her body, her expression unreadable. Crooked fingers came forward to caress her shoulder, to stroke the rib-knit fabric of her sweater. Finally, Martha's lips spread into a grin so wide that the ancient skin of her cheeks looked as if it would split, and she began to chuckle.
"Yes, you would be cold, wouldn't you? Very cold."
"What?"
"Naughty girl, I should be cross with you. But it's all right. I don't need those anymore. It already has your scent!"
Then, with shocking vigor, the crone whirled and glided out of the great room, her laughter ringing through the hall like an ecstatic crow calling to the wind.
"It doesn't matter anymore! It doesn't matter anymore!"
Instead of retreating to her room, Courtney went straight up the stairs to David's studio, where she knew she would find him. He was standing at his easel, dressed in old, paint-streaked jeans and a tattered T-shirt, a palette knife in hand. Mellow electronic music, almost eerie, wafted from speakers somewhere behind him. His eyes flickered toward her as she stood in the doorway.
"Did I hear Aunt Martha yowling?"
"Yes."
"At you?"
"You might say that."
"You're very pale. Do I need to go deal with her again?"
"Can you commit her to an asylum?"
"Someday, maybe. Are you cold?"
"Yes."
"Odd. It's warm in here."
"So I'm told."
He set down his palette knife and looked into her eyes. "What's wrong?"
She gazed accusingly at him. "Oh, I suppose I'm just paranoid. What with that old woman fussing and a wild dog lurking outside."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're still upset about that?"
"I'm upset with your willful blindness."
"Meaning what?"
Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, "That was no wild dog out there. And you know it."
He sighed. "We're back to that, are we? Okay, Courtney. Maybe I was wrong. Why don't you tell me what it was."
"I want to hear it from you."
"I hate to disappoint you."
She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to appear to him a frightened, deluded creature whose nerves and will had been broken. But she wanted to melt the ice in his gaze. She needed t
he eyes that had gazed adoringly at her the night before.
"It was at the great room window. That thing. I saw it."
"When?"
"A few minutes ago. Just before your aunt came in and started on me."
"Okay. Tell me what you saw."
"A huge face. All bony, like a skull. But…different…from a human's."
"Different?"
"Misshapen. The proportions are wrong. David, I want to get out of here."
"Where to?"
"I don't know. Anywhere. I can't take this anymore."
"I don't know what to tell you, Courtney. I don't know who or what else there is for you."
"There's no one," she said softly, holding back the emotions that threatened to cascade over her. "There's no one."
"Come here." He raised his arms to her, and she shuffled forward, helpless to do anything else. She fell into his embrace with some relief, but his eyes had yet to lose their chill. Here she was in the arms of a man who was lying to her. No better than Frank, she thought. Men knew nothing other than to lie to her.
Still, she wrapped her arms around him, for his warm, strong body was an anchor, and without one, the maelstrom in her mind would bear her into an inescapable abyss. She pressed her head against his shoulder to keep from having to meet his cynical gaze again. She hated seeing it.
Most of all, she hated being the one responsible for it.
You fool. If you believe you're responsible, then he's played you so well that you're already beyond hope.
She felt him maneuvering her toward the bed in the corner.
Of course. Why not? Only natural for a man to use her vulnerability to his advantage.
Instead of lowering her to the bed, he turned her body so that her back was against the cold, hard wall. His hands pressed against her shoulders, pinning her there, and he stepped back to make her look into his eyes.
Deep blue seas. Alluring, but still icy.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, and they were hot, and she needed his heat, so she responded fervently. One of his hands lowered, fluttered briefly over her breasts, and then moved to encircle her hip. He drew her body into his, then pressed forward, grinding her back against the wall before pulling away again. His hand slid back around her waist and moved to unbutton and then unzip her jeans. She moved her hips to work them over her thighs, and his hand assisted them on their way down.
Monarchs Page 14
