The Trouble on Highway One

by Anne McClane

  He groaned.

  “Oh, fine, you don’t want to thank the Lord for the strawberry shortcake we’re gonna have for dessert? I’m sure he won’t mind if you don’t have any.”

  Brother huffed, and begrudgingly recited the family grace.

  Sometimes things get close to perfect, Birdie thought.

  21

  San Luis Obispo, California

  Current day

  Two days after the earthquake, Lacey was counting her blessings. Rosie was on her way to a rapid recovery, and Kandace had postponed the work she wanted Lacey for in town. Though she would still need to go to the studio later in the week, the day ahead of her was all hers.

  What Lacey was most grateful for, however, was the turn her relationship with Eli had taken. In the span of less than twenty-four hours, it had become a friendship. A strange one, unlike any other she’d ever experienced, but a friendship nonetheless.

  Their mission through the remainder of the earthquake scene was largely uneventful. Eli had helped her gain access to a victim who was stable, but had multiple lacerations. She fixed those up nicely. And there was an EMT who was struggling mightily but silently, the quake having triggered memories of a past trauma. He also seemed to enjoy some relief after Lacey’s touch.

  EMS had cleared the rest of the scene concurrent with Lacey and Eli’s stealth maneuvers.

  On the way back to Eli’s truck, Lacey reflected on Rosie’s healing.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked. “The ‘breeze’ that kept my clothes from bursting into flames?”

  “It was a channeling of energy,” he answered. “You will learn it. You’re already beginning.”

  Lacey looked confused.

  “The ‘breeze’ wasn’t all me,” he said.

  “Oh. Really?” Lacey felt inexplicably proud of herself. Suddenly, her goal of becoming a first responder, who wouldn’t have to strip down on every call, felt more attainable.

  Back in the truck, Lacey felt less nervous than before with Eli in the driver’s seat. They had picked up Christine—she was the connection to Rosie—and brought her to the hospital. Eli and Lacey sat together in the waiting room.

  As the hours stretched on, they found themselves alone in a break room, drinking stale coffee. And Lacey felt emboldened enough to ask about Eli’s power. He had been typically cagey when Lacey pressed for a full accounting of his abilities. And when she had asked if there was some sort of secret society, or marker, or maybe even just a directory of people who possess these unique abilities, he had actually laughed.

  “It doesn’t work like that,” he had said.

  “Well, how about if I start something? Maybe when I meet people who have a special kind of power, I can label them. Make them my ‘Superfriend.’”

  It had been an unusually light-hearted moment between them. Eli had warned her against assigning labels of any kind, to anyone. But he had agreed to be her Superfriend.

  Lacey had spent most of the following day sleeping.

  Now, wandering the grounds, Lacey saw Christine on the path ahead of her, close to the dome. And it dawned on her in that instant that the wedding in the Healing Arts dome that Christine mentioned, the day Lacey first arrived, must have been Christine’s and Rosie’s. Lacey had learned, in the truck on the way to the hospital, that she and Rosie were recently married. She just hadn’t realized how recent.

  Christine was moving so tentatively, Lacey felt obliged to offer help.

  “Christine,” Lacey called, a few feet behind her.

  Christine turned. “Oh, Lacey! There you are. Can you spare a few minutes?”

  “Sure,” Lacey said. She caught up with her at the door. Christine had the key and had opened it.

  Filtered sunlight cast rainbow prisms all through the entry foyer of the dome. Lacey caught her breath. One word came to mind.

  “Oh, I know, it’s magical, isn’t it?” Christine said.

  “Huh, that’s just what I thought,” Lacey said, staring at Christine, wondering what Superfriend powers she possessed.

  “Christine, how is Rosie feeling? Is she giving herself time to heal?”

  The doctor at the hospital had said she was lucky to come away with no worse injury than a stress fracture. Lacey and Eli both knew it had been a lot worse than that just a few moments earlier. But Lacey was still paranoid that maybe her healing effect would wear off if Rosie didn’t take it easy.

  Christine laughed. “Getting Rosie to stay off her feet is no easy feat. But she’s following her in-home exercises religiously. And says it doesn’t even hurt to bear weight on that leg. It’s rather miraculous, actually.”

  She tilted her head at Lacey. Lacey couldn’t tell if Christine expected her to say something, and wasn’t sure what she would say if she did.

  Christine finally ended the impasse. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I could use your help with that vase. The aftershocks.”

  Lacey looked to the corner and saw a large, ceramic vase lying on its side. It was her turn to tilt her head now, at Christine.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just curious,” Lacey said. “How did you know it had toppled?”

  Christine looked for moment like she didn’t understand Lacey, then laughed.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “I should apologize to you. Most folks around here are pretty used to my compensatory vision.”

  “Compensatory?” Lacey asked as she moved toward the vase.

  “It’s as good a name as any for it, I think,” Christine said, following Lacey. “I can see shapes and contrasts, like what you might describe as being in a very dark room. And my other senses might be more finely attuned than those with normal vision.”

  They each took a side and righted the heavy vase.

  “It’s pretty impressive that you can tell who I am by the sound of my voice,” Lacey said.

  “Your accent is a dead giveaway. I don’t need hyper-acute hearing for that.”

  “That’s so funny,” Lacey said. “My accent isn’t really what you’d call a strong New Orleans accent.”

  “Maybe not to you.” Christine returned to the reception desk and turned her head around the circular room.

  Lacey stood by and tried to identify the fragrance in the air. Lemongrass. She was immediately transported back to Angele’s house, growing up. Angele’s mom, Miss PJ, always had lemongrass incense burning.

  An unadorned trellis lay against the wall, near the vase. Lacey imagined it festooned with flowers, and remembered the wedding. “Were you and Rosie married here?”

  “Yes! That’s right,” she considered, “I first met you that afternoon.

  “It was so wonderful, Lacey,” she continued. “We had some chairs set up, and a little altar over there.” She pointed toward the vase.

  “The energy in the room couldn’t have been more perfect.”

  Lacey let her imagination run for a bit. What a lovely, intimate space, with the scent and the dancing light. St. Daniel’s was much more imposing, but was also the only place that could accommodate the more than 300 guests at hers and Fox’s wedding.

  “How long has it been since you lost your husband, Lacey?” Christine asked, turning toward her. “That is, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s been about eighteen months. But I’ve seen so many changes this summer, it’s beginning to feel like a lifetime ago.”

  Christine removed her glasses and placed them atop her head. Lacey tried not to stare at the glassy star shapes at the center of Christine’s eyes, where a pupil would normally be. They were strangely beautiful, in an otherworldly sort of way.

  “It’s okay, Lacey,” Christine said, laughing. “You can look. I can only imagine how my eyes appear, but they do seem to fascinate other people.”

  Lacey relaxed. “They’re really bea
utiful, Christine. I hope it doesn’t sound awful to say that.”

  “No, Lacey.” She reached out for Lacey’s arm and clasped her on the forearm, a warm reassurance. “It’s wonderful that you see beauty there.”

  Christine’s expression changed, and she turned her head toward Lacey’s arm, then lifted her opaque gaze toward Lacey’s face.

  “Oh, my,” she said. She nodded and slowly released her grasp on Lacey’s arm. “Changes, indeed.”

  Lacey folded her arms across her chest. There was a burning sensation where Christine’s hand had been. She was struck mute with surprise.

  Christine is a Superfriend!

  “Breathe, Lacey,” Christine said.

  “What just happened?” Lacey asked, finding her voice.

  “I’m sorry, Lacey, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Christine said. She took a step back. “But as soon as I felt your arm, I could tell something was going on. Impossible to ignore.”

  Lacey took a deep breath. “What do you mean?”

  “The compensatory vision,” Christine said. “It gives me an inkling of when someone might need my assistance.”

  Lacey wondered just what Christine’s Superfriend power might be. It made her lightheaded.

  I need to sit down.

  “Do you mind if I find a place to sit?” Lacey asked.

  “Of course. There’s a small room, just beyond that wall.” Christine pointed right.

  “Is it okay if I come with you?”

  Lacey didn’t answer. Christine followed anyway.

  Lacey turned the corner and found the source of the lemongrass scent. A small room with no furniture except a small table and some large pillows arranged around the walls. An extinguished incense burner rested the table. It reminded her of the worship space at the New Orleans Healing Center, except much smaller.

  “I would have thought the incense would be lit, the scent is so strong,” Lacey said.

  “Leaving things burning is not the best idea in earthquake zones,” Christine said.

  “Oh, I suppose you’re right.” Lacey placed her hand against the wall and sunk down into one of the cushions.

  “I’m sorry, Christine, I’m not sure what came over me. I’m just starting to get used to . . . to . . . what’s going on with me.”

  Christine stood in the doorway. She didn’t answer.

  “Lacey, I’m a licensed masseuse,” she finally said.

  “Okay . . . ” Lacey said.

  Christine laughed again. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually foist that set of skills upon people, they usually set appointments with me. But this is a slightly unusual circumstance. Would you be open to some impromptu massage therapy?”

  Lacey didn’t allow herself time to think before answering, “Yes.”

  “I will get my table,” she answered.

  Lacey tried not to dwell on the fact that she knew very little about Christine. There was something strangely magnetic about Christine, and Lacey’s intuition told her she was utterly trustworthy.

  She thought of Cecil. Lacey felt a sudden, intense pang of longing for home. For New Orleans.

  There were similarities between Cecil and Christine. The instant affinity, the effortless persuasion. A sense of goodness and light. No rough edges like Eli.

  “You seem better,” Christine said when she returned.

  “A little, yes. Thank you.”

  Christine cleared a spot on the floor and laid out her table.

  “Are you sure I’m not keeping you from something else, Christine?”

  “I think this is where I’m most needed, Lacey.”

  “Am I that fragile?” Lacey asked with a slight laugh.

  “No, certainly not,” Christine said. “Okay, I’m ready. You can leave your clothes on or take them off,” she said. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, but it might be more effective with your clothes off.”

  “More effective sounds good,” Lacey said. “Give me a moment.”

  Lacey stripped, folding her clothes in a neat heap.

  “Lie here, face down,” Christine said. She covered Lacey with a sheet once she was on the table.

  “Thoughts and feelings are likely to arise, Lacey. Make note of them, but try to keep yourself detached. Try to not let any one thought or feeling take hold of you.”

  “Okay,” Lacey said, her voice muffled.

  “If there’s one thing that keeps coming up, it’s usually important. Remember it enough so that you can reflect on it further.”

  The last bit sounded a bit ominous to Lacey. She gave a muffled, “Hmph.”

  Christine worked on Lacey’s shoulder. She thought of Nathan. He had been shot through his shoulder. She had healed it.

  Her lower back. Warmth flowed into her pelvis. She thought of Nathan first. Then Trevor.

  Her quadriceps. Helga. Gunshot wound to the leg. She had healed that, too.

  Her hands. She thought of Kevin. She felt a flicker of grief, a shadow of Fox. She thought of Kevin’s sister, Holly.

  When Christine began to work on her feet, Lacey lost sense of time. She could have been on the table for a minute, or an hour. She resisted the sense of panic that aroused.

  Lacey found herself back near the top of the ridge, near the hot tub. It wasn’t a daydream, or imagination. It was a near out-of-body experience. She wasn’t sure if she felt Christine’s touch anymore. Again, she resisted the panic.

  Someone moved through the trees, just on the other side of the ridge. A shadowy presence. No face was visible, but Lacey sensed one. A flash image of red eyes, and menacing, bared teeth appeared to her. Because she was there, but not there, she didn’t feel threatened. The presence seemed to be near a wrecked car, but she couldn’t see it, she only sensed it. She could only see trees and a human form. And the human form was feeding. Devouring something, like a wild animal would.

  She heard chatter at her feet. She looked down and saw a weasel. She yelped.

  “Was that painful?” she heard a voice say.

  Lacey looked for the weasel, but it was gone. All faded to darkness.

  “Lacey, are you okay?” the voice said.

  Lacey finally recognized it.

  “I’m fine, Christine. I’m sorry.”

  Lacey tried to remember Christine’s admonition to not let one thought take hold, to little avail. She was back on the table, and remembered where she was, but she was fixated on the shape through the trees. There was something so familiar about it.

  Pay attention.

  “Okay, Lacey, lay here for as long as you need. I’m going to step out of the room for a moment.”

  “You’re all done?” Lacey asked in an absent voice.

  “Yes. Take your time,” Christine answered.

  Lacey opened her eyes and blinked in the low light. She stared at a pillow. It had a Mayan pattern. It was set back against a solid pillow of a brilliant, deep burgundy. She was still on the hillside, confounded by the menacing presence and the car wreck.

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? And why am I so compelled by it?

  She rose and pulled her clothes back on.

  Things can affect each other. Even through space and time.

  The little weasel at her feet. The Weasel. Edmund Villere. She hadn’t thought of him since before Kevin’s funeral, yet there was the matter of his trial. Very much in her future. But the familiar presence in the trees was not him.

  She folded the blanket Christine had used to cover her.

  A ferret. Ferrets are domesticated weasels.

  That was it. Gus Savin has a pet ferret. Gus Savin was the presence in the trees, she knew it, even though she didn’t really know him at all. She knew it as much as she knew the sun would rise tomorrow.

  Spooky action at a distance.

  So, I have some vision
of Gus Savin with a car wreck in the trees, Lacey thought. Yes, I have an unnatural fear of car wrecks. And Gus Savin feeding on something like a savage is an image I could do without. So what the hell is it all supposed to mean?

  Christine came back in with a glass of water. Lacey folded herself down onto the Mayan pillow. Her eyes were leaking.

  “Lacey. Can I help?” Christine asked.

  Lacey shook her head and said in a quiet voice, “I’m not sure.” She kept talking, because somehow, she thought it might help. “I saw some things, and I don’t understand them. Some pretty creepy things. And I don’t know how any of it relates . . . to what’s going on with me.”

  Christine’s glasses were back on her face, covering her eyes. “Whatever you saw, I think you’ll need time to reflect on it. On what it means. But regarding your special gift . . . what’s going on with you . . . I might be able to offer some insight.”

  Christine sat down cross-legged onto one of the cushions.

  “I was quite young, nine years old, when my gift first manifested. I had lost my sight years earlier, when I was so young that I barely remember what it was like to see. I was staying with an aunt, Aunt Janie, one of my mother’s sisters.”

  Christine paused and smiled. The peace that usually radiated from Christine was amplified.

  “Aunt Janie would read to me, stories that my mother wouldn’t. Stories that my mother thought would scare me. But Aunt Janie had such a flare for drama, she would make the stories come alive. And they always had a happy ending, so that even the scary parts were worth it. The ending just seemed that much happier for the trouble the heroes faced.”

  Lacey listened, silent, wondering what any of it had to do with Christine’s gift.

  “So, that one summer, for the time I stayed with her, Aunt Janie would bring me to an ice cream parlor. I was returning to my mother in a few days time, and it was likely to be our last trip for ice cream. Our routine was always the same—hand-in-hand we’d cross the street, me following Aunt Janie’s lead.

  “While crossing the street, a noise behind us startled me, and I squeezed Aunt Janie’s hand, tightly. I heard Aunt Janie catch her breath, and I thought I’d hurt her.