happened? Was she so desperate that she had to dream a man into existence to make love to her?
It didn’t seem possible to feel things so intensely in a dream. But if he really did exist, the implications were staggering. It meant that a virtual stranger had come into her bedroom last night and rendered her naked and utterly helpless with desire. Despite all the stories her grandfather had told her, Kerry no longer believed in curses and fairy tales. The man was real, and therefore he must have broken into her house.
He wasn’t a stranger either. He looked exactly like Jean, and he knew about the game. He talked about it. Malcolm’s paranoia seemed less scary to her in comparison to this. Maybe her tenant was right. Someone was spying on them through their computers and Palm Pilots. Everyone was under surveillance and it was a government plot.
But why did the government care whether or not she had an orgasm?
She was going crazy. She was.
Icy air gusted through the open doorway. She hadn’t thought to put on her parka or flap hat. Talk about shuddering. Her legs began to shake, but her hands were clammy, despite the frigid weather.
She should have called the police immediately. Why hadn’t she done that?
She rubbed her arms for warmth. No, it was too soon to bring the police in on something like this. And it was too strange a story. She had to find out for herself what was going on before someone had her carted off to an asylum.
Go outside and check the door, Kerry.
It was early, and the world was still hushed under a fresh layer of white, but someone had shoveled her walk, she saw. The concrete steps were wet with a film of melted snow. It was probably her neighbor, the retired grocery store manager who’d pretended not to see while she was being mugged. The gangs had made everyone afraid of reprisals, but Kerry would never understand why someone who’d lived next door long enough to know her grandparents hadn’t tried to help. She would have taken on the thugs herself if he’d been attacked.
She checked the knob on the outside of the door, but there weren’t any visible scratches or marks. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a break-in, however. A real professional wouldn’t have left any evidence. Kerry had no idea what she was dealing with, but this was beginning to feel more bizarre every moment, if that was possible.
“Kerry? What’s wrong?”
The whispered question came from behind her.
Kerry nearly slipped on a patch of ice, trying to get turned around. It was Malcolm, standing alongside the house. He’d scared her half to death, but she didn’t have time to be upset with him.
“Malcolm, did you see anything odd going on around here last night? Anyone strange lurking around?”
He crept toward the porch, peeking out at her from under a baseball hat. He was bundled up in the pea jacket and a heavy turtleneck that was mostly hidden by his beard. His breath was as steamy as a horse’s.
“Why?” he asked, flipping up the collar of his coat. “Has someone been lurking around?”
“I just asked you that question, Malcolm.”
A smile glimmered. “Oh, yeah, you did. No, I haven’t seen anybody. Are you missing something?”
“Not really.” Just my sanity, my dignity, and possibly my faith in mankind. “I thought I heard noises, but you know how that is. Maybe it was a dream. Thanks anyway.”
She gave him a halfhearted wave and started inside. The plan was to beat a hasty retreat, but something stopped her midstride. Her other hand was frozen on the railing, and she couldn’t move. It felt as if she were being zapped with electric current. She could not move. Could not. Move.
Dear God, she thought. She was outside, and she couldn’t get back. This was her worst fear realized. She was as paralyzed as the statue across the street. She hadn’t been out of the house in weeks. What had made her think that she could do this?
At some point she realized Malcolm was on the porch with her. He was trying to help her, but she was so rigid with fear, he couldn’t get her unfrozen, either. With some prying he got her fingers unlocked. And then, to her horror, he picked her up in his arms, carried her into the house and dropped her on the sofa.
“Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling next to her. His blue eyes were dark with concern. “Are you sick or something?”
“No—Yes, maybe. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Should I call the doctor? I could take you to a clinic.”
She pulled a woolen throw over her and huddled inside it. “Just c-c-cold,” she said. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”
“How about something to drink? Wine? Whiskey? Something stronger?”
“Is there anything stronger?” She managed a little smile. Malcolm obviously thought she needed sedation, and he was right. “Some hot tea would probably help, but I can get it myself.”
He crammed his hands in his jacket pockets and shuffled his feet. “Well, if there’s nothing I can do, maybe I should be going. Is there anything I can do?”
Kerry didn’t want him to go. It hit her all at once that she didn’t want her odd duck of a tenant to leave. Boy, that was scary. But even scarier was the prospect of being alone with her bizarre fantasies and suspicions. At least Malcolm was someone to talk to, another human being, not an assortment of pixels like Jean. Okay, a gorgeous assortment, but pixels nonetheless.
“Heard any good conspiracy theories?” she asked him.
He gave her a look that said she was scaring him.
She tucked the blanket under her chin, brought herself to a sitting position and began to mutter. “Think maybe you could get up, Kerry?” she said. “Think maybe you could make you and your guest a cup of tea? Something herbal? Something calming? And no more L-tyrosine?”
“Kerry, who are you talking to? Are you all right?”
Poor Malcolm. Now he had one more thing to worry about. Her.
“No, I’m not all right,” she said impulsively. “I’m lonely, Malcolm. I’m lonely, and I think maybe what I need is a roommate. Would you like to live with me?”
Malcolm was already up on his feet and inching toward the door. “I really have to be going,” he said. “I hope you feel better soon.”
Kerry shrugged. “Me, too, Malcolm. Me, too.”
“Kerry?” Something seemed to have halted Malcolm’s progress. He acted as if he wanted to tell her something, but he was rocking back and forth like a self-conscious teenager. “You will overcome your fear,” he said, “when there’s something more important to you than your fear.”
Kerry sat up. “Malcolm? What does that mean?”
“I—uh—” He shook his head, seeming as bewildered as she was.
As the front door closed on her tenant’s fleeing form, Kerry gave out a resigned sigh, followed by a bittersweet sigh, which seemed to bring on a huge, wistful sigh. Now she knew how to get rid of Malcolm. That should have made her happy. But it was true, she was lonely. Lonely, confused and afraid.
It was her grandfather who’d always told her if you wanted something badly enough, you should wish for it. “With an open heart,” he’d said, “because only open hearts can receive.” There were times when she could feel her grandparents’ presence so strongly it felt as if they were still about, keeping an eye on her. They knew she hadn’t had good luck with men, and it had occurred to her that if some wonderful guy ever did come her way, they might have had something to do with it.
Silly child, she thought.
Her computer sat forlornly on the secretary, silenced by a poof of smoke. Kerry tried to ignore it. She made her tea, drank it and tidied the kitchen, but finally she couldn’t postpone the day any longer. She had work to do. There were other games to test and she had to make a living. No more wandering around in a daze. She’d done that all night. She told herself sternly that she could get the computer working again without being tempted to revisit the scene of the crime. She was never going near Jean Valjean or his criminally seductive video game again.
She wasn’t.
Well, she
wasn’t, damnit.
“Jean, are you in there?”
Kerry peered into the depths of her computer screen with a feeling of despair. She could feel the sequence of sighs starting again, but she’d been sighing all day, and she wasn’t going there again. She’d been wrestling with what to do all day too. It had taken her entire supply of tea bags, but finally she’d realized that no mattered how frightened—or crazy—she was, she couldn’t pretend that nothing had happened.
“Knock knock? Anyone there? Jean?”
“I don’t seem to be programmed to answer that,” the game guide said.
How like a man, she thought. They weren’t programmed to answer the really important stuff. And how like her life. She tried to have a relationship with a computer simulation, and even he turned out to be a jerk.
“Perhaps you would like to start by giving me a name?” the guide suggested.
“You have a name. It’s Jean. My name is Kerry and I’ve played this game before. You must have a record of me somewhere in your memory. Dammit, Jean! look again!”
“You’re not in my memory banks, Kerry. I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am.”
Kerry sprang from her chair and walked away from the computer. It had become the source of all her frustration and pain, and she couldn’t sit there any longer. She had to escape it, or she would go crazy, but how was she to do that? It was also the source of her income. She was trapped in her house and had no other way to make money.
She had to let go of this obsession with Jean and get on with things. Her survival depended on it. Even if there was a slight possibility that he’d ever existed, he didn’t now. She lost him the first time when the keyboard shorted out, and she lost him the second time last night when she wasn’t able to free him. Whatever the missing emotion was, she had not touched it. She hadn’t been able to give him what he lacked, and that had made her feel like a failure. That was why she’d told him to go. She was afraid of the feelings he touched in her and devastated that she couldn’t touch him the same way.
Out her window Kerry could see Lover’s Park and the defiantly graceful statue. Neighborhood folklore had it that the two young lovers were caught together against the wishes of their families. They were betrothed to others, and their punishment for falling in love was imprisonment. They were kept in separate towers, chained and naked, until they came to their senses and did as their families wished. It was believed that to venture out into the icy winter without clothing would freeze them solid and they would die the moment they touched.
Kerry had wholly accepted the story as a child, probably because the existence of the statue seemed to prove it. Her favorite part was the ending, which her grandfather swore was true. He told her the young lovers missed each other so grievously they felt as if they were dying anyway, and one night, with the help of servants, they both escaped their prisons. A terrible blizzard had blown in, but the passion flowing in their veins kept them warm until they found each other. The moment they touched, they froze, forever inseparable and locked in a lover’s embrace.
Decades passed but the exquisite ice sculpture did not melt as much as one drop, even in the hottest summers. The lovers had preferred death to separation, and the statue Kerry saw out her window was said to represent the way they were found by their families, entwined in naked splendor.
The statue was called Winter Lovers, and Kerry had often wondered if a love like that was possible. She wanted to believe it was true. She wanted to believe. But there was little in her romantic past that would allow her to. She’d had so few good experiences with men… until now, she realized.
“Kerry, are you there? Do you want to play the game? If you don’t, just say ‘Go to sleep’ and I’ll turn myself off.”
Kerry whirled. It was the game guide. “No, wait! Don’t go to sleep, don’t!”
She dashed back to her chair and sat down. The Winter Lovers had given her an idea. Please let this work, she thought. Please please, please.
The man staring back at her from the screen had Jean’s features—the same dark eyes and hair and mouth—but he wasn’t anyone she knew. Certainly he wasn’t the man who’d materialized in her house last night. He had the blank stare of a computer simulation. He didn’t look like he ever had been or could be human.
She began to speak to the monitor, but she wasn’t talking to him.
“Jean, I know what it is now! I know how to make you shudder. You have to come back. Please, Jean, come back. I can free you this time, I’m sure of it.”
* * *
Chapter Six
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Kerry lay in bed, frowning at the fire ring of burning candles and wondering what kind of stupid you had to be to believe in fairy tales. She’d even arranged the candles in threes as he had. But he wasn’t coming back. She had to stop waiting, wishing, hurting so badly she could die with every second that passed, every second he didn’t show up. She had to stop.
She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Jean, please. If you exist, don’t let it end like this. Find a way to come back. Find a way.
“Stop this, Kerry,” she told herself, “just stop.”
She didn’t understand why she couldn’t let go of this fantasy and put it out of her mind. She wasn’t in love with him. You couldn’t be in love with someone who existed only in video games and dreams, no matter how lonely you were. But she knew what it was like to be held prisoner against your will, and maybe that was why it had seemed imperative to help him. There had to be some reason she and Jean had been brought together, something for her to learn from the way he’d come into her life… even if it was all a dream.
If she could free him, then perhaps she could find a way to free herself.
She closed her eyes and envisioned the cloudlike images that had hypnotized her, hoping they might help put her to sleep. Still, it seemed like hours before she finally did drift off… and only moments before a vaguely familiar noise woke her. The beeping was soft and intermittent, but she’d heard it before. She lay there, dozing, her mind searching for connections, and suddenly she was awake, aware. It was the video game. She’d heard the same sound the first time she played the game. There was a feedback loop keyed into the player’s responses. If your heart rate went up, it beeped.
Her heart rate had just gone up.
She sat up and scanned the dark room, wondering what was going on. Her eyes were slow to adjust, but as far as she could tell the whole house was dark. The computer couldn’t be on, but she could still hear the noise.
She slipped out of bed and put on her heavy chenille robe. She wasn’t wearing her usual layers of flannel. She’d hoped the panties and tank top she wore last might somehow magically encourage him to come back. What kind of stupid? That kind of stupid. Sadly, there wasn’t anything she hadn’t tried, including bargaining with the angels for their help.
Her phone! If it wasn’t the computer, then it had to be her cordless phone, she realized. It made a beeping sound when it ran out of batteries. She’d probably left it off its cradle.
The moonlight was so bright she didn’t need her flashlight to get around. Silvery rays lit her way into the living room, where she began to search for the phone. She usually left it on the catalogs by the rocking chair, but the beep didn’t sound as if it were coming from that direction. Where the heck—
“Is this what you’re looking for?”
Kerry let out a scream that could have brought her grandparents out of their graves. There was a man standing in the shadows of the front hallway, and she had no weapon, nothing to protect herself. For a second, she thought it was Malcolm, but the intruder was so well-concealed she couldn’t tell.
Her voice quaked. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
“I was under the impression that you wanted me to be here. Was I wrong?”
No one talked that way, except— “Jean?”
“Kerry, I came back.”
T
he floor tilted and the lights danced, even though they weren’t on. Kerry took that as a sign that she was going to faint, and when she sat down, it was in the old rocking chair. The creaks and groans drowned out her soft exclamation as he walked into the room, and she saw his face.
“My God, Jean, why didn’t you say something? You scared me to death.”
“I did. Didn’t you just hear me? I said, ‘I came back.’”
And she wanted him back, but did it always have to be unannounced?
“Oh, never mind.” She was dealing with Starman. She had to remember that. “What is it you’re holding?” It looked like a gun in his hand.
“Your phone. It’s making funny noises.”
I would be too if you were holding onto me like that.
Forlorn little beeps echoed through the darkness. It was a sound that had always made Kerry acutely aware of her own loneliness, and she rose from the chair to put the phone out of its misery.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “I know where it goes.”
He knew where it went.
He seemed to know where everything went, including her. This was the man who picked her up and set her on the console last night, the man who sent wild delight tumbling through her. Was that magic or madness?
There was no time to stop and ask him if any of this was really happening. No time for that or any of the other nonsensical questions that were piling up in her mind, like what he’d done before he was cursed and why he’d ended up in a video game, of all places. That must have been symbolic.
There were other things that had to be taken care of first, before he disappeared again.
“Do you remember when you hypnotized me?” she asked him.
“You’re an excellent subject.”
“Well, let’s hope you are, too, because I think that’s the way to free you.”
He looked skeptical. “You’re going to hypnotize me?”
“Yes, with the help of a Web site that specializes in trances and hypnotic suggestion. Of course, the key suggestions will come from me.”
“And what will those key suggestions be?”
All Through the Night Page 7
