by Joanne Fluke
It was difficult to lie quiet and immobile when she wanted to jump up and be off. Now that she knew what she had to do, she could scarcely contain herself. Sally would have all the answers, and then she would know.
Time crawled as David went through his morning ritual. There was the clatter of a spoon against the thick mug as he stirred his coffee, then a muffled exclamation as he burned his lip on the scalding liquid, which he did every morning. All was quiet for a few moments except for the rustling of the morning paper, and finally, his footsteps coming into the bedroom to gather his clothes.
Kathi shut her eyes and feigned sleep to the rattle of the hangers in the closet. Would he never finish dressing? She peeked out beneath her long eyelashes and saw David carrying his shoes, tiptoeing out of the bedroom. After what seemed like hours, the apartment door closed, and he was gone.
Kathi leaped out of bed and grabbed her robe, heading for the phone at a run. There was a flight in an hour. She could just make it if she hurried. She left a quickly scribbled note to David telling him that she was making a short trip to Los Angeles to pick up some things at her parents’ house, and then she was off. For once, everything was going her way.
* * *
The taxi was prompt, a rarity in Berkeley, and the plane was on time. By noon, Kathi was in another taxi, heading toward the south side of Los Angeles and Sally’s neat little house. Anxiously, she rang the bell.
“Why, Miss Kathi!” Sally gasped, her creased brown hand sweeping up to her throat. “What are you doing here? You look a little peaked, child. Does your mama know you’re here?”
“No.” Kathi smiled, hugging Sally’s familiar full figure. “I came to see you, Sally. I think you can help me.”
“Help you?” Sally questioned, pulling Kathi into the small living room. “Whatever do you mean, Miss Kathi? You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you, lamb?”
“No . . . well . . . I don’t know,” Kathi confessed, feeling better already. She could tell Sally. Sally was the one person who would understand.
Sally frowned, the creases in her mahogany forehead crinkling like finely carved wood. She put her comforting, heavy arm around Kathi’s shoulders and led her to the couch.
“Sally . . . I’ve got to know something,” Kathi blurted out. Suddenly, it was as if a dam had burst inside her. She couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Please tell me the truth! Tell me who Sheri Walker is! I’ve just got to know, Sally . . . it’s driving me crazy!”
“Why sure, honey,” Sally soothed. “I always tell you the truth, child, but you’re asking somethin’ I don’ know. I never knew anybody by that name. I never knew no Sheri Walker at all.”
Deflated, Kathi sank back against the cushions of the couch. All the life seemed to go out of her, leaving her feeling boneless and tired. She had been so certain, so sure that Sally would know. Perhaps there wasn’t any Sheri Walker. Perhaps it was all in her confused imagination.
“What’s this all about?” Sally asked, still patting Kathi’s nerveless fingers. “Why are you so all-fired set on knowing who that Sheri Walker is?”
“Do you remember when I used to have nightmares, Sally?” Kathi asked softly.
“I sure do, Miss Kathi! I swear you used to scare me out of a year’s growth every time you had one of those spells! Why you’d be cryin’ and carryin’ on like your little heart would break, calling out for Mama and sayin’ all sorts of stuff about trains and tigers and . . . and . . .”
Sally stopped with her mouth open. Then she sighed deeply and went on. “But that don’ mean nothin’, Miss Kathi. All little children have nightmares. That’s just a part of growin’ up.”
“Wait,” Kathi interrupted, staring intently at Sally’s face. “You remembered something . . . I know you did! Tell me, Sally. You’ve got to tell me! What was it?”
The shrillness of Kathi’s voice made Sally start to tremble. Her baby was all worked up over this. Sally just hoped it wasn’t happening again. She’d thought it over a hundred times while Kathi was growing up, and she’d even tried to talk to Miss Vivian about it once, but all she’d got for her trouble was a sharp reminder never to mention it again. Her own mama used to say the spirits of the dead visited small children in their sleep. A child’s mind was more open, but when a child like Miss Kathi grew up, she had to learn how to block out those spirits. But Sheri . . . there had been a Sheri once. Miss Kathi had had nightmares about Sheri. She remembered one night now, just as clear as if it were happening all over again. Was that what Miss Kathi wanted to know?
“Please, Sally!” Kathi was twisting her hands in her lap and her face was uncommonly white. There was nothing for Sally to do but tell her what she remembered.
“It was years past, lamb,” Sally began, trying to make her voice sound soothing, the way she used to when Kathi awakened in the middle of the night, screaming and crying. “Years past, right after I started workin’ for your mama and papa. You were havin’ another nightmare, the screamin’ kind, and I shook you but you didn’t wake up . . . your eyes were open but you wasn’t awake. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Kathi nodded nervously. She understood only too well. It was the same thing that had been happening to her lately, that half-awake, half-asleep state. Now that the moment was here, Kathi had to bite her lip to keep from telling Sally that it had all been a mistake, that she didn’t really want to know anything at all.
“You were sittin’ up in bed with the covers twisted all around you, awake but not awake, and I tried to make you go back to sleep. I said, ‘Go back to sleep, lamb . . . go back to sleep, Miss Kathi,’ and then you said it.”
“What?” Kathi asked, hanging onto Sally’s words even though her head felt as if it would splinter into a million pieces. She was getting a headache again, the worst headache she’d ever got.
“‘My name’s not Kathi!’ you said, and you stared right at me like I should know better. You said, ‘My name’s Sheri and I want my mama!’ Then you started cryin’, the kind of keenin’ that a body does when they’re grievin’. I kept tryin’ to tell you to go to sleep, and finally you gave in, and laid your poor little head down on the pillow.
“‘Everything’s all right now,’ I said. ‘Everything’s fine now.’ And you opened your eyes and looked straight at me.
“‘I know,’ you said. ‘I gave Baver the Tiger, and now he won’t cry anymore.’ And then you went straight off to sleep like a good girl. You never mentioned it again, and the spirit must have left you as you slept, ’cause the next mornin’ you didn’t even remember it.”
“The spirit?” Kathi whispered. “The spirit . . . of Sheri Walker?” Even though there was skepticism written in her expression, another stabbing pain to her head convinced her that Sally was right. She was being haunted by the spirit of Sheri Walker! Was such a thing possible?
Sally’s gaze had been focused on the bowl of feather flowers on the table as she recalled that night so long ago, and now she looked up to see Kathi’s dead-white face.
“Child!” she gasped. “Miss Kathi! Don’ look like that! I never should’ve told you. It’s nothin’, just the ramblin’ of an old woman. Don’ pay no mind to what I say, child.”
“The spirit of Sheri Walker,” Kathi breathed, her lips barely moving. “That’s it, Sally. I thought I was going crazy, but it’s something worse, isn’t it? It’s something much worse!”
“Now, child, that was a long time ago.” Sally tried to soothe her. “You’re fine now. No sense in getting all worked up ’bout somethin’ that happened when you was just a child.”
“It’s happening again, Sally!” Kathi’s voice was sharp. “And it’s not just dreams now either! I hear strange voices, and they’re real, Sally! Sheri Walker’s back, and she’s taking over my mind!”
There was a long uncomfortable silence when neither one of them spoke. Was it possible? Was that why the strange memories she had didn’t belong to her? They belonged to Sheri Walker, and somehow she had to fight them
off . . .
“What can I do, Sally?” Kathi spoke tightly, holding her scream of terror inside. “I understand now . . . it’s all beginning to make sense, but what can I do?”
“Now, Miss Kathi, you just take it easy. I don’ rightly know, child,” Sally said, wincing as Kathi’s fingers dug into her hands with a desperate grip. “I don’ know about things like that. All I know is what my mama used to say, and some folks called her crazy.”
“What would your mama say to do?” Kathi insisted. “You’ve got to tell me, Sally. I can’t go on this way . . . I just can’t!”
Sally’s stomach contracted in fear as she saw the expression of desperation that shadowed Kathi’s face. Should she tell Miss Kathi what her mama had always said about the spirits? Wouldn’t that frighten her poor sweet lamb even more? Sally folded her arms around the shaking girl. Agonized sobs were tearing from Kathi’s throat, and she was trembling violently. She had to do something. She couldn’t stand to see Miss Kathi sobbing like this.
“Hush now, child,” Sally soothed. “Mama always used to say that the only way to fight it off, was to find out what the spirit wanted, and do it. She said there was nothin’ to be afraid of. A spirit is just a soul in torment ’cause there was somethin’ they had to do, and they got killed before they could do it. Mama would’ve told you to find out what this Sheri wants, and let her do it. Then she’ll leave you in peace again.”
Even as Sally spoke in her comforting tone, she felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck. It wasn’t that easy, setting a spirit to rest, but she couldn’t tell Miss Kathi that. Let her have what comfort she could. Maybe this Sheri Walker did want something simple, and Kathi would find out what it was. Maybe Kathi would be one of the lucky ones.
“I . . . I have to go, Sally,” Kathi whispered, hugging the housekeeper again. “Please . . . please don’t tell Dad or Vivian I was here. They can’t know anything about this. Promise me, Sally. Promise me you won’t tell.”
“I promise, child,” Sally said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Take care, baby . . . and if you need me for anythin’ at all, child, you won’ have to ask twice.”
Sally stared vacantly at the wall after Kathi left. She hoped she’d told her the right thing. Miss Kathi had seemed a little calmer when she left, but Sally couldn’t help feeling a chill of foreboding. Now she wished she’d listened more carefully when her mama had rambled on about spirits and possession. She wished she’d copied down how to make the charms against evil, and the words to say to protect Miss Kathi. But she hadn’t believed either. She hadn’t believed until she took care of Miss Kathi. Mama was dead and buried when she’d gone to work at the Ellisons’ big house in the canyon, and it was too late to ask her then. Now it was too late again . . . too late for Miss Kathi . . . too late for anything except praying, and that was what she was going to do.
Sally dropped to her knees on the worn rose-patterned rug and clasped her hands so tightly that they hurt. She looked up at the ceiling and shivered. “God, protect my little girl,” she pleaded, her voice rising in desperation. “Sweet Jesus, keep her from hurt and evil. I ain’t asked for much, Lord, but I’m beggin’ you now. Keep Miss Kathi safe under your guidin’ hand and take this evil from her!” But the harder Sally prayed, the more fear she felt in her heart. Was it possible for one old woman’s prayers to save Miss Kathi?
CHAPTER 9
David bounded up the stairs, two at a time, careful to avoid the third step from the top, which was crumbling away. It was a steep staircase leading up the outside of the converted barracks building, and he didn’t pause until he reached the second-floor landing where the Psychological Services Center was housed. The staircase had originally been a fire escape, but now college personnel used it as a private entrance.
The Psych Center smelled old and musty, and even though David had grown to regard it as a second home, he took a deep breath of the clean air outside before he pushed open the wooden screen door and greeted the dank, familiar aroma inside. It had been good of Dr. Kauffman to give him an appointment this afternoon, and he didn’t want to be late. Dr. Kauffman was the busiest of all the staff psychologists. Everyone in the department regarded him as a brilliant therapist.
David hurried down the creaking hallway to the last office on the left. The heavy door was shut. Perhaps Dr. Kauffman was running over on his last appointment. David checked his watch before he raised his hand to knock on the wooden door. He was exactly on time.
“Come in!” a muffled voice shouted at David’s hesitant knock. David turned the knob and entered, shutting the door quickly behind him. Dr. Kauffman was alone, sitting behind his desk with his feet propped on a chair next to him. He smiled cheerfully at David and waved him to a chair.
Dr. Kauffman picked up a note pad and pen from the clutter on his desk and leaned back in his chair. “Now, what can I do for you, David? You said it was urgent.”
David nodded. Now that he was actually here, he didn’t know how to begin. Dr. Kaufman would probably think that he was overreacting, but he had to get some advice from someone. Someone had to help him help Kathi.
“Yes—” David took a deep breath. “At least, I think it’s urgent. Of course, I’m personally involved, and it’s hard to be objective about something like this.” David recognized his own reluctance to talk. Now that he was here, his fears seemed out of proportion. What if it really was just stress from the election and midterm exams? How much should he tell the professor about Kathi? Did he dare mention her name and explain the whole problem honestly, including his part in it?
Dr. Kaufman raised his eyebrows and leaned forward, peering at David closely. His experienced eyes quickly scanned the young man’s face and made note of the slight tightening around his eyes. David’s mouth had a pinched look, and he was sitting upright on the edge of his chair, not relaxing as he usually did. Something was really bothering him today, and Dr. Kauffman recognized that this was no ordinary problem.
“Relax, David,” Dr. Kauffman encouraged him. “Why don’t you sit back and have a cigarette, and then tell me about it.”
David took another deep breath to steady his nerves and busied himself with lighting a cigarette. He had to convince Dr. Kauffman that he wasn’t just borrowing trouble or exaggerating the seriousness of Kathi’s problem. He desperately needed the professor’s experienced help, but he had to choose his words carefully, so that he didn’t give Dr. Kauffman the impression that Kathi was just another high-strung college coed.
“I need to discuss something with you, but it’s got to be confidential,” David began, gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “I wouldn’t mention this to anyone, but I can’t handle it alone. I really need your advice.”
“Anything you say in here is confidential,” Dr. Kauffman quickly assured his young student. “No notes and no record of the appointment if that’s what you want.”
“Fine,” David quickly agreed. There was no choice now. He had to tell Dr. Kauffman everything and trust the professor to keep it under wraps. “I-I’m worried about Kathi, Dr. Kauffman. Kathi Ellison, my girlfriend.”
“Ellison?” the professor questioned, looking down at the newspaper on his desk. “Any relation to Doug Ellison, the politician?”
“His daughter,” David said, nodding. “That’s why this has to be strictly confidential. If Kathi knew I’d come here and discussed her, she’d be even more worried about everything.”
“What seems to be the problem, David?” Dr. Kauffman asked, assuming a relaxed pose in his chair. He’d never seen David Carter this upset before; he was usually self-contained and articulate. The young man was obviously struggling for words, and Dr. Kauffman could see what an effort it was for David to speak calmly.
David swallowed noisily and cleared his throat. “I . . . I think she’s having a nervous breakdown,” he confessed. “She seemed fine until a week or so ago . . . at least, if she was having problems before then, she hid them well. Now, all of a
sudden, she’s starting to fall apart, and I don’t know what to do to help her.”
“Tell me her symptoms,” Dr. Kauffman encouraged him. “What makes you believe that she’s having a breakdown?”
“Well . . . she . . . she’s been having terrible nightmares, and they’re getting worse. Last Sunday, she started crying in her sleep and I tried to wake her. Right before she opened her eyes, she started talking in a high-pitched voice, like a little kid’s, and it took me almost two minutes before I could make her open her eyes.”
David stopped, looking up at Dr. Kauffman with a lump in his throat. Just talking about it brought that helpless feeling back full force. She had been so terrified. Somehow he had to convey that terror to the professor.
“She’s been having these nightmares on and off for a couple of weeks now, but they’ve never been this bad before. She was so frightened when I finally woke her up. I’ve never seen her that way before. I tell you, Dr. Kauffman, I was really afraid that I couldn’t bring her out of it. Each time she has one of these awful dreams, it takes her longer to wake up. When she finally calmed down from this one, I insisted that she go to the health center and see the doctor.”
“Yes?” Dr. Kauffman asked. “What happened then?”
“The doctor told her there was nothing to worry about and gave her some tranquilizers. At least that’s what she said. I’m not sure she’d tell me if he said that something was seriously wrong. Anyway . . . the doctor seemed to think that it was just midterm nerves. That’s what I was hoping too. But she’s been through with her exams since yesterday morning, and it hasn’t gotten any better. She’s afraid to go to sleep now, Dr. Kauffman. She sleeps out on the couch and gives me some excuse, like she doesn’t feel well or she wants to stay up late, but I know the reason she isn’t sleeping in bed with me is because she’s afraid she’ll have another nightmare.”
