“Until recently?” They stopped at a crosswalk, and Alison turned to face Tom.
“Have you seen or read anything in the past two months about the murders on the south side of town?”
Alison did remember reading something about the murders, and how they were some of the more gruesome killings the city had seen in decades. “A little, but what’s that got to do with me?”
Tom looked around as if he was about to divulge a national security secret. Leaning toward Alison, the man lowered his voice. “What’s been kept out of the news is the way the victims were dispatched. It’s akin to ritual killing.”
Alison’s brow furrowed and her stomach tightened. “That’s horrible.”
Seeing the street was clear, Tom took Alison’s forearm and the two crossed the street. Once on the other side, Tom released Alison’s arm and reached into the front pocket of his jeans to retrieve a pack of Winston cigarettes. “Do you mind?” He held the pack up.
Alison shook her head. “That’s fine.” She wasn’t a fan of cigarette smoke, but since they were outside, and the man seemed nervous, she felt she should oblige him. “Sorry if I’m being a little thick, but what does any of this have to do with me?”
Taking a long drag off the cigarette, Tom waited several seconds before exhaling. “I really should let these go. Terrible habit.” He rolled the cigarette back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. “Got hooked in my late teens when I was working on a cattle ranch in West Texas.”
“West Texas? Given your accent, I thought you were from North Texas. The panhandle maybe.” The fact Tom hadn’t answered her question wasn’t lost on Alison, but they had another block to walk so she could bide her time.
Tom gave her a crooked smile and took another pull from the cigarette. “Good ear. Lubbock. Went to Texas Tech, but worked summers on a ranch near El Paso.”
Alison nodded as they rounded the last corner before reaching Fallor Hall. She had taken a mandatory Sociolinguistics class during her undergraduate work at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She had initially not seen the point of the course, given her American Studies degree plan, but after a couple weeks she had found the source material fascinating.
In fact, the blending of influences as one culture came into contact with another, including the resulting variation of grammar and lexicons and the impact that had on regional storytelling, had ultimately spurred Alison to narrow her studies to American folklore.
“So, Tom, what does this have to do with me?” The entrance to the hall was within sight, and the cloak and dagger bit was wearing thin.
Tom stopped and turned to face Alison. “I’m writing a series on the killings and would like to utilize you as a source.” He took another pull from the cigarette.
“Are you attempting to tie these killings back to witchcraft?” She immediately resented the implication. Over the years she had dealt with ignorance regarding the practice of witchcraft and found most people’s ideas about the practice came from overly exaggerated accounts in books and movies.
“I can tell by your tone and your expression this isn’t sitting well with you.” Tom stopped and put the half smoked cigarette out on the sole of his western style boot, tossing the butt in a nearby trash can.
“I do object to over sensationalizing what are clearly serious crimes in an attempt to-” Alison stopped. It occurred to her before she got on her soap box, she didn’t actually know what this man’s motivations were, and she reminded herself to be open minded. “I’m sorry, what are you getting at with all this?”
Tom smiled, his teeth whiter than they should have been given the years of smoking. “First, I know that most forms of witchcraft are offshoots of traditional Judeo-Christian based religions, not some Satan-fueled fun fest.” He winked at Alison, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “Second, based on what I’ve read, I can appreciate your skepticism as to my motives. Witches have been scapegoated for centuries as an easy way of explaining away any number of misfortunes.”
Alison liked Tom. He was clearly intelligent, and though she wasn’t certain she would end up helping him, she was certainly intrigued. “You’ve got my attention, but I have to get to class.” She pulled a pen and a scrap of paper from her bag. “Here’s my email. Message me and we can talk.”
Taking the slip of paper from Alison, Tom grinned from ear to ear. “Can we make it dinner? A date?”
Alison was walking away, but turned her head to answer the exuberant man over her shoulder. “Sorry, Tom. I don’t bat for that team.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the slack jawed expression that replaced his smile.
***
“Are you flossing? And don’t lie to me, Ali, I can tell.” Chad Bailey stood over his older sister with a long, sharp, metal pick in his right hand. Alison’s mouth was open and her eyes narrowed at her brother.
“M bm treeng.” Alison muttered.
“Trying or doing, Ali?” Chad picked at the back of Alison’s bottom teeth. The scraping sound was like nails down a chalkboard, and she struggled not to cringe.
“M bugy.” Alison could feel the spit pooling in her mouth.
“We’re all busy, but if you don’t take care of your teeth now, you’ll pay for it tenfold later.” Chad laid the metal instrument on the elevated stainless steel tray to his right and nodded to his assistant Amber.
The young brown haired woman, dressed in pink scrubs, her face covered with a splash guard, inserted a narrow tube in Alison’s mouth that sounded like a large vacuum. “Close your mouth, Ms. Bailey.” Alison did as she was told and felt the suction pulling at her tongue and cheek.
Relieved to have the excess spit removed, Alison turned her attention to her brother. Chad was over six feet tall, with dark brown hair and a square jaw to accent his angular features. A handsome man, he was oblivious to his good looks and a bit of a nerd. Alison had never known any other twelve year olds who, like Chad, had wanted nothing more than to be a dentist when they grew up.
Amber got up, removed her splash guard, and left the exam room. “How’s Gayle?” Alison took the opportunity to ask after Chad’s wife. The couple had dated for nearly ten years, throughout their undergraduate and graduate studies. They had finally been married a little over three years ago and were trying desperately to have a child. Chad didn’t talk about it often, but from what Alison had gleaned from him and their mother, Gayle had begun taking fertility treatments.
Chad removed his white latex gloves and skillfully tossed them across the exam room and into the trash can. He sat back on the stool he was straddling. “She’s okay. It’s been tough, but she’s determined.”
Alison could see from the pained expression on her brother’s face things were far from okay. But with the exception of herself, the Bailey family had always shared at their own pace, and prying rarely got you anywhere. This never stopped Alison from trying. “Have you considered adoption?”
The tall man stood and began typing notes into a laptop near the back of the exam room. “We’ve talked about it, but Gayle has taken the whole thing as a personal affront.” His voice was heavy, and Alison could see from his slumped shoulders the situation was serious.
“How do you mean, affront?” She knew Gayle was competitive and an overachiever. Alison had once made the mistake of playing golf with Gayle, Jules, and Alison’s then girlfriend Ash shortly after Chad and Gayle started dating. All three of the other women were incredibly competitive, and at one point, things got so heated Alison expected them all to begin fencing with their respective clubs. Luckily, Alison had played poorly enough that none of the other women considered her a threat.
There was a long pause as Chad typed several notes, the click of the keys filling the awkward silence. When he turned around, Chad’s brown eyes glistened with tears. “Shit, Ali, you know Gayle. Now it’s a contest - something she has to beat.” He shook his head as he sat back down on the stool. Before Alison could ask her brother how he was doing, Amber walked back in with
a box of cotton swabs.
Clearing his throat, Chad gently patted Alison’s forearm, and the two siblings exchanged reassuring smiles. “I mentioned you were coming in today, and Gayle suggested I invite you to dinner Friday night.” He smiled, and Alison knew him well enough to know he was about to say something he thought was very clever. “Mind you it’s merely a suggestion, and I’m not obligated in any way.”
Playfully punching him in the arm, Alison nearly knocked the tray of dental tools over. She and Amber both grabbed for the wobbling tray simultaneously. “Crap, sorry. Dinner Friday? Sure.”
“Wonderful.” Chad sighed. “So, big sister - good news, bad news. You need a deep plaque cleaning because you’re not flossing as often or as effectively as you should be. Plus you skip appointments and -”
“What’s the good news, Chad?” Alison had heard varied versions of this lecture over the years and knew it by heart.
Chad pursed his lips. “Well, damn, I guess there isn’t any.”
“Bad. You’re a bad brother.” She teased, but the urge to console him from earlier lingered; so she didn’t prod at him as much as she might otherwise.
“I would usually suggest a separate appointment, but since getting you here in the first place is hard enough, and we’ve had a cancellation - let’s -” He removed a fresh latex glove from the box behind him, and dramatically pulled it over his right hand. “- do this thing.”
Amber chuckled and slid her stool back toward a large set of drawers built into the wall. “Give me about five minutes and I’ll have the topical anesthesia ready. Ms. Bailey, since you were here last, Doctor Bailey has added an ultrasound pick to the inventory. That will minimize bleeding and discomfort.”
Alison looked at Chad. “Are you sure you don’t want to use the old rusted crap?”
Chad laughed, his deep baritone voice filling the small exam room. “What she didn’t mention was the ultrasound thing is - very experimental, and may not go well for you.”
“All kidding aside, I have a lecture tonight. Is this going to impede me talking?” Alison covered her mouth just as Amber was coating the cotton swab in the topical anesthesia.
“If it was that easy, don’t you think I would have done this years ago?” Chad raised and lowered his eyebrows in jest.
“Smartass.” Alison laid her head back on the hard leather headrest of the inclined chair. She was happy to have the time with Chad, but the sharp, metal instruments chipping away at her gumline she could live without.
***
In typical fashion, Alison had been coerced into facilitating a night course for Masters candidates. The university was broadening its appeal to working students and providing an array of courses during the evening was one way the board was ensuring the school’s long term viability.
Alison rubbed her cheek as she walked through the nearly empty parking garage. Her gums were still sore from that afternoon’s heavy cleaning, as well as the last hour she had spent lecturing. A woman’s voice echoed through the garage. “Professor Bailey?”
Alison’s hand slid into her front pant pocket and tightened around the pepper spray dispenser secured there. Though the campus wasn’t known for violent crime, Alison felt it never hurt to be prepared. She had bought the spray when she agreed to teach the night classes.
Keeping her finger on the red button at the top of the dispenser, Alison turned toward the voice. The vise like grip she had on the canister lessened when she saw a woman in her early thirties ten feet away. She had cropped black hair and was dressed in a pair of loose fitting khaki pants, a tan scoop neck t-shirt, and a pair of beige leather sandals. “Yes?” Alison forced confidence into her voice, hoping her nervousness wasn’t obvious. The last thing she wanted was to sound like a victim.
The woman smiled broadly. Her mouth was large and slightly disproportional to the rest of her face, causing her to have an almost clown like expression as she walked toward Alison. “Professor Bailey, I’m sorry if I startled you.” The woman extended her hand toward Alison. “I’m sure a stranger’s voice in a nearly deserted garage isn’t exactly reassuring.”
Alison released the pepper spray canister, letting it drop back to the bottom of her pocket as she took the woman’s hand. “You’re fine, but you would have got a dose of pepper spray if it wasn’t for these snail-like reflexes of mine.”
The woman laughed and the throaty sound filled the garage. “Then today is my lucky day.” She stepped closer to Alison, their hands still joined. Placing her other hand over Alison’s, the woman lowered her voice so it sounded intimate and secretive. “I’m Christine. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
The intensity of the woman’s gaze, and the hushed tone she spoke in, made Alison uncomfortable. Slowly extracting her hand from the woman’s, Alison took a step back, but not before noticing the small silver Wiccan Triqueta emblem hanging from a thin silver chain around the woman’s neck. “Finally? Have you been trying for a while?”
Christine smiled, and her face took on a slightly demonic expression. “I have, as a matter of fact. I’ve read both your books and thought your analysis of the early puritanical culture of the Colonies and the patriarchal structure of the church as key elements triggering the witch trials was incredibly insightful.”
“Wow, you actually did read them.” The encounter felt odd, and Alison was too tired to engage in an academic discussion with a complete stranger at ten o’clock at night. “I’m glad you enjoyed the books.” She was amazed how many people as of late had read the books, and how there seemed to be a convergence of fans. “My office hours are nine to eleven, Mondays and Wednesdays, if you would like to swing by and discuss.”
Shaking her head, the woman reached into her pocket. “Oh, I’m not a student, and I wouldn’t think of interrupting your working hours.”
Alison’s eyebrows shot up, and she felt an uneasy feeling stirring in her stomach, as the woman extracted a small, black stone from her pocket. “You’re not a student? Then what brings you to campus?”
Christine flattened her hand out, palm up in front of Alison’s face. The black stone lay perfectly still in the woman’s hand. “I want you to have this.” Even though the stone had a matte finish, there was a brilliance to it, and Alison, though her mind equated this to a child taking candy from a stranger, couldn’t stop herself from reaching for the trinket.
Just as Alison was about to touch the stone, the sound of footsteps drew her attention to the stairwell near the elevator. Suddenly realizing she was holding her breath, Alison exhaled sharply as Bryce emerged from the stairs. “Alison? What are you doing here?”
Alison turned her head toward Christine. “I was just talking -” Her breath caught. The garage was empty. “Oh - that can’t be.” She walked around a large concrete support beam, convinced she would see Christine, but instead, having walked a full circle around the pillar, she came face-to-face with Bryce.
“You look pale. Are you feeling okay?” Bryce put her hand on Alison’s shoulder. “You’re shaking.” The concerned woman took Alison’s bag from her shoulder. “Come on. Where’s your car? You need to sit down.”
Alison didn’t feel well and as she lifted her hand to point at her car several spots over, the disorientated feeling she had swirling in her head was causing her vertigo. “Yeah. Thanks.” She took a step forward and the joints in her legs felt weak. Instinctively, she reached for Bryce and managed to grab the woman’s arm before she collapsed.
Startled by suddenly having Alison’s body pressed against hers, Bryce quickly pivoted and wrapped her arms around Alison’s waist. Their faces were only inches from one another, and Alison was feeling too discombobulated to care that Bryce seemed actively put off by their proximity as she turned her head to the side.
Bryce guided a lethargic Alison to her Honda, and her eyes averted, handed Alison the worn leather mailbag. “Can you get your keys out, please?”
Alison stared absently into space as she reached into the side pocket of the
bag and pulled her car keys out. Bryce took the keys and the bag from Alison, and the chirp of the car alarm broke the silence in the garage.
Bryce opened the passenger side door, took Alison’s hand, and guided her into the vehicle. “I’m going to recline the seat a bit.”
A moment later, Alison was looking up at the black ceiling liner of her car. “I’m sorry about this. I was talking to a woman an -”
“What woman?” Bryce frowned as she crouched next to Alison, her arm resting on the open car door.
“Her - she - her name was Christine, and we were talking about my book, and -” Alison stopped. She knew how ridiculous the next part of her statement would sound. She shifted so she was angled toward Bryce. “I know this sounds stupid, but she disappeared.”
Bryce’s brow furrowed. “You mean she left?”
Alison shook her head. “No. She was there. I turned when I heard you walking up the stairs, and when I looked back she was - just gone.”
When Bryce spoke, her tone was gentle and reassuring. “I didn’t hear any voices when I came around the corner, and I - I assure you I would have heard something.”
Alison reached for the seat lever to her right and pulled it up, returning the seat to an upright position. Her head was beginning to clear, and the spinning sensation in her stomach was gone. “The acoustics are odd, and the stairwell is concrete, so you probably wouldn’t.” Bryce shook her head, but didn’t say anything. Alison was confused and feeling defensive. “Look, I appreciate your help, but I know what happened.”
Not waiting for Bryce’s response, Alison swung her legs out of the car, suddenly eager to be on her way. Bryce quickly stood and slid out of the agitated woman’s way. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to upset you.”
Alison shut the car door and took her bag from Bryce’s hand. Their fingers lightly brushed, and Alison was reminded how cool Bryce’s skin was, and how much she liked it. “I’m just tired. You helped me and had the decency to at least not call me crazy to my face - so I’m sorry.”
Dying Forever (Waking Forever Book 3) Page 3
