She sat up quickly. She was fully clothed in the casino black and whites, her black high heels on the floor at her feet. Her nylons were snagged on both legs but still mostly intact.
She swiveled around, taking in her surroundings. The room was approximately five by six feet. She sat on a narrow army cot covered with a lavender chenille spread. The walls and ceiling were a mosaic of various carpet scraps, a straw mat fit corner to corner on the floor. Adhered to the walls with masking tape were pages torn from magazines. Three pictures: a mountain lake, two deer grazing in a golden meadow, and a single dewdrop rose.
She reached out and pulled back a corner flap of carpet on the wall. Behind it she saw a layer of Styrofoam. Styrofoam was used for insulation. It could also soundproof a room. She’d learned that from Sonny. Her boyfriend, Carl Masser—she called him Sonny— was a carpenter. Sonny. They’d had a fight last night after she’d gone home from work. To punish him she had stormed out of their apartment and ended up at the Stardust, a bar she hung out at before she met Sonny. Oh, Jesus, Maggie, you really did it this time.
Beyond the small room she heard scratching. The door opened and he ducked down and came through. His huge bulk seemed to choke the tiny space.
Margaret’s heart slammed painfully in her chest.
The man remained hunched over, the back of his head touching the angled ceiling. He looked around the room as though seeing it for the first time, then his gaze settled on her. He smiled that same lopsided smile.
“Time to eat.”
Margaret only stared.
“Come.”
“I wan—” Maggie’s voice cracked, partly from fear and partly from the physical trauma to it “—to go home.”
“C’mon.” He stepped away from the doorway.
Maggie stood, began to slip a foot into one shoe.
“You won’t need those.”
She walked ahead of him through the door. Her legs shook. Any minute she expected a blow to the back of her head. She had to crouch down, walk crablike to an even smaller door at the end of a short, dark passage. He was right behind her as she entered a main room.
She straightened. He had kept in the closed-in stairwell. She started toward a main staircase, a sense of urgency giving her wobbly legs the strength she’d need to climb.
He held her back. “No.” He pointed to a small Formica-topped table.
Margaret wanted to scream. If she opened her mouth just a tiny bit, a blood-curdling scream would rush out and paralyze her with fear. She pressed her lips together and allowed the big man to propel her, on leaden feet, to the table. From out of nowhere he produced a limp bouquet of wildflowers. She took them, held them in a death grip.
They were in a basement of some sort. She saw old furniture, a wood stove, things that failed to register fully in her numbed brain.
She heard him saying something about fixing the place up… she only had to tell him what she liked … anything she wanted … wanted … wanted…
She sank down on a plastic and chrome chair, exposed straw stuffing prickly through her thin blouse. In a daze she watched him open a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup with the blade of a Swiss army knife. He poured the soup into a tin coffee mug and put it in front of her. He pushed a spoon to her.
Maggie stared at the cold soup. Pale chunks of hardened fat floated on the surface. “Where … where are we?” she asked quietly.
He smiled. “Home.”
Despair overwhelmed her. The wildflowers slipped from her fingers.
CHAPTER TEN
The next two days Robbi spent more time out of bed than in, savoring the wondrous gift of sight. She read, watched TV, or stared out the window at the towering Sierra Nevada. She marveled at inconsequential things: traffic on Mill Street and jetliners taking off and landing at Reno Cannon International. The fluffy Cottonwood seeds floating through the air and the pigeons on the ledge just outside her window gave her hours of pleasure.
The regular visitors to Room 411—her mother, sister, Angela, Sophie, and the staff from the shelter— surprised her with a belated birthday party. She was an exuberant guest of honor, eager to talk, laugh, but even more eager to go home.
The battery of tests, CAT-scan, EEG, and others, taken after she’d come out of the coma, showed nothing out of the ordinary. Her mood, already excellent, grew jubilant with word she was free to leave the hospital.
She sat up in bed, applying the last of her makeup. It felt fantastic to be able to put it on herself, then to actually see the results in a mirror.
The phone beside her bed rang,
“Hello?”
“Robbi?”
“Yes?”
“It’s me, Donald.”
“Donald?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my voice already?”
“I—”
He didn’t wait for an answer. “Christ, Robbi, why didn’t you call, or have someone call, and tell me about your accident?” His tone hurt, scolding.
“I’m okay now. How did you find out?”
“I kept getting your damn answering machine. I finally called the center,” he said. “Sophie told me. I couldn’t believe it.”
Robbi couldn’t believe it either. Why had he waited so long to call Sophie?
“Well, I’m okay now,” she said. “Just about to go home, in fact.”
“So tell me … what happened?”
After she told him and he had fussed appropriately, they spent several minutes talking about mutual friends, then current events.
“So, Don, what’ve you been doing … besides working?” she asked.
“Well, there’s a few of us who hang out together. Conrad, Wayne, Tom and Kar. A great bunch of people. Can’t wait for you to meet them.”
“Kar?”
“Yeah, Karen. She’s an interpreter at the U.N. Helluva head on her shoulders. Most guys would be intimidated by her.”
“Not you?”
“A little at first.” He cleared his throat. “But hell, I don’t have to impress her. Oh, hey, I got that big account I’ve been working on. Busted my butt, but it paid off. Last weekend I zipped over to the Cape to close the deal. The guy put me up at his estate. Jeez, Rob, you should’ve seen this place. Ten thousand square feet, gold inlaid pool. I thought I was at Hearst Castle. I kept wondering where those little velvet ropes were, y’know, that keep people off the carpet. Babe, this could mean a lot of money for me—for us.”
“Congratulations. Did you celebrate?”
“Sort of. But we’ll celebrate together when you come up. Someday soon yours truly will be eating at classy places on a regular basis. I won’t deny it, babe, I love this kind of life. Love the pace. I bet you will too.”
“Ummm,” she responded.
“Honey, I’m sorry. What a jerk I am. Talking about classy restaurants and estates and there you are laid up in the hospital.” He spoke softly. “I’ll make it up to you soon. Promise.”
After that the conversation waned, the pauses became more frequent, lasted longer.
“Don, I have to go,” she lied. “The nurse just came in. I suspect she’s here to do something unpleasant to me.”
“Roberta, if you want I…uh, can fly out to Reno, or at least…” His words, feeble, trailed off.
“Thanks, Don, but no. We’ll save our money and meet somewhere in between. We’ll make it a vacation. I still haven’t had one yet.”
“Hey, sounds good. You take care, huh? Love ya, babe,” he said.
“Me too.”
For several minutes, with the receiver hugged to her chest, Robbi sat quietly. Sophie’s words came back to her. Long distance relationships are a bitch. You bet, babe.
As she reached around to hang up the phone, her elbow bumped the water glass and tipped it over. She grabbed for the glass which spun away from her fingertips on the wet table. She swore under her breath.
“Good morn—” a voice began. Then, “Oh, here, let me get that for you.”
&nb
sp; Twisted around in the bed with her back to the door, Robbi paused. She recognized the voice of Dr. Reynolds immediately.
He pulled tissues from the box. “It’s tough enough when you can see what you’re doing,” he said, mopping up the water.
He didn’t know she could see. No one had told him.
“Doctor, I’m sorry, I—” She stopped herself. Turnabout was fair play. “Thank you,” she said, sitting back and staring straight ahead. “I must’ve made a real mess.”
He gathered more tissues and caught the flow before it went over the table’s edge. “When I was a kid I spent a few days in the hospital with an eye injury. I’m lying there, both eyes bandaged, can’t see a thing. The nurse brings my breakfast, runny oatmeal and a bowl of overripe blueberries, puts a spoon in my hand, and leaves. That, Roberta, was a real mess.”
From the corner of her eye she watched him. He was taller than she imagined, at least six feet. She guessed he was in his mid-thirties. Though his voice was not deep, she’d expected a much older man. He had light brown hair, sun-streaked nearly blond in front, swept to one side of the high forehead. The hair at the back of his neck was somewhat long and curly. He was wearing stonewashed shorts, a green polo shirt, and gray Avia sport shoes. He dressed like no shrink she knew.
When he straightened, she quickly averted her eyes. She felt him openly staring at her as she focused at a point on the opposite wall.
“There,” he said. “No harm done.”
She smiled, blinking.
“So how are you today, Roberta? You look…very nice.”
“Thank you. I’m better.”
“Headaches? Nightmares?” He was looking at her intently, studying her. She began to feel uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny.
“Gone,” she said.
“The headaches or the nightmares?”
“Both.”
“Oh? Well, that’s interesting. When was the last?”
“Two days ago. Actually, the day you came.”
“Really? Perhaps I can take credit for that,” he said, grinning. He leaned in toward her, his head moving from side to side as he continued to observe her.
She smiled. “Somebody should, so it might as well be you.”
“I wish I had more patients like you,” he said, pulling back. He turned and stepped to the window. With his hands in his pockets he rocked on his heels as he stared outside. “There’s still the blindness. Of course, there’s more than a good possibility it’s psychosomatic.”
With his back to her she took the opportunity to look him over. Strong profile, good posture and physique. Then she tipped her head and forced herself to stare at a point beyond his head.
He turned to her again. That same intense stare.
She looked directly into his clear blue eyes. “Do psychiatrists always dress so casually for appointments?”
A heavy silence filled the air as he stared back. Then he said evenly, “Only when the doctor thinks his patient can’t see him.”
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
His smile was slow to form, but when it did it was broad and friendly. He shook his head as he moved back to the side of her bed, laughing good-naturedly. “We’re even now.”
She smiled. “Good.”
A lock of hair fell onto his forehead. He brushed it back. “That’s great news. When?’
“The same night. I had a headache and a nightmare. When I woke up I could see again.”
They stared at each other. Robbi could think of nothing more to say.
“Well,” the doctor said finally, “I guess you won’t be needing me anymore.”
“No, I guess not.”
He offered his hand, said goodbye, then moved toward the door. He paused. “Roberta, if you ever need to talk, call me.” And he was gone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The cold rain beat against Roberta’s face. Her joints ached and her ankle throbbed unmercifully, yet she couldn’t stop. She ran through the dense woods, her heart pounding, her breath ragged in her throat. Branches reached out, impeding her escape. Over her shoulder she heard something huge crashing through the brush, gaining. Two burning disks glowed in the untamed forest. There was no escape, absolutely no escape.
She bolted upright in bed, her legs churning under the damp sheet. She moaned softly.
Her eyes darted around the room, its familiarity instantly calming her. She buried her face in her hands and moaned again. The running nightmare was back. Since leaving the hospital three days before, she had slept soundly. Now it was starting all over again. What did she expect? Miracles? It was only a nightmare. It would go away with time.
A commanding thirst forced her from her bed.
Minutes later in the kitchen, as she stood at the open door of the refrigerator, a plastic bottle of ice water in her trembling hands, a tiny pinprick of pain stabbed in her forehead. Images began to take shape before her eyes.
________
Moonlight sparkled on the pond’s mirrored surface. In a long white dress she glowed ghostlike—a wood nymph. Her lovely hair now hung in dull, limp, tangled ropes. Eckker wanted to see it shine again, like that night in the bar where they met.
Standing at the pond’s edge, he handed Maggie a sliver of soap. She stared at it as though it were something alien.
“For your hair,” he said.
She looked from the soap to the pond to him incredulously. “It’s freezing.”
He reached out to touch her hair. “Make it shine again.”
“I won’t go in unless you leave.”
“I have to stay. To protect you.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He folded his arms over his chest, a set expression on his face.
An animal screamed deep in the woods. Sounds of something scurrying in nearby shrubs made her jerk involuntarily. He saw fear in her eyes.
“I want to go back.”
“Your hair. Wash it.”
“Turn your back, then,” she said.
He hesitated, watching her, then he slowly pivoted his large bulk until his back was completely to the pond.
Several moments later he heard the rustle of fabric, then water sounds. He pictured her wading out to her waist, lowering herself until the water covered her nakedness.
Thinking of nakedness made him think about her, Tobie, the one who unknowingly shared the pond with him. The young, innocent one.
He turned his head and looked for Maggie.
In the long white dress she was swimming, pulling herself through the water with strong, silent strokes.
With unhurried steps he walked to the bank, pulled off his boots, and waded out to his thighs. Then he pushed forward and began to swim. The freezing water puckered his skin, though he scarcely noticed its coldness.
Her once-smooth strokes turned choppy when she realized he was in the pond, not far behind her and rapidly closing the distance. She had nearly reached the other bank when he caught up to her. He felt the movement of the water as her feet kicked frantically beneath the surface. His massive hand closed around an ankle.
She cried out, twisted around, sputtered, spitting water.
He stood, pulling her up with him. She screamed and flailed out at him.
“Quiet. Quiet, Maggie, you’ll—”
She shrieked, the sound stabbing into his brain like needles.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.”
She screamed again.
Her shrieks were spoiling the sweet peacefulness of the pond. His pond. Echoes of her cries rushed up and down the mountain. His mountain. Desperation raced through his body like a flash fire. It consumed him. Angered him.
She was hysterical. Out of control.
He pushed her under to silence her. She broke free, her head cleared the water, and she screamed loud and long before he pushed her back under again. He leaned over her, his body weight pressing down. Why wouldn’t she stop? She was acting crazy. He pulled her out long enough fo
r her to fill her lungs with air before pushing her back under.
The futile struggles of her submerged body beneath his hands confused him, yet he felt a strange elation. He lifted her up. She gasped, threw her arms around his neck, and clung to him tightly. She was through screaming. Everything was going to be okay. He tenderly brushed back the wet hair from her face.
“Shhh, shhh, Maggie.” His hand awkwardly patted her heaving shoulder. “I won’t let nothing hurt you.”
The brightness of the moon filled his eyes.
________
Robbi stared at the soft light. Her eyes focused and she realized she was staring at the bulb inside the refrigerator. In the dark kitchen she stood with the ice water container in one hand, the door handle in the other.
Pain in her head pounded like a hammer against an anvil.
What was happening? That was no dream, no nightmare, and certainly no hallucination. A vision of some kind. Not the premonitions that had been a part of her life in her early childhood—the portents of death—
Grandma Paxton, her best friend Trudy, and just recently, Sam. And there was Ronnie. Just thinking about Ronnie made her heart ache. With an effort she managed to push the memory back into a crevice of her mind.
In a dream, or what she thought to be a dream, she had seen a blond woman attacked in an alley by the large man. A chilling gut-feeling told Robbi that this man was the same one in the forest who had killed the woman in white.
In the dry summer air, she shivered violently.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sophie Bennett drove the dilapidated Chevy down Plumas Street. Over the loud roar of the muffler she hollered out. “What can it hurt? Robbi, she can tune in to you. Tell you if the guy’s for real or not.”
“Who’s going to tell me if she’s for real?” Robbi replied.
“Take my word for it.” Sophie pushed the tortoiseshell frames of her glasses up on her nose. “She’s a damn good psychic, little one. She told me to lose Leonard before he caused me major grief. Do I listen? Two months later Len borrows a grand and I never see him again.”
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