“Sorry we couldn’t find the body to put your mind at rest,” Brickman added.
Startled speechless by his insincere tone – as if he were saying what was expected of him – she merely stared. Water splashed into her eyes and she realized the drizzle had turned into a steady rain.
Dakota squeezed her shoulders and urged, “Come on, Syd.”
“Thank you both for coming to the service,” she murmured, trying not to let her speculations about the men bother her. She wouldn’t be able to think clearly until she got some rest.
The walk with its painful memories only forty-eight hours old exhausted her. She remembered every rock or tree she had passed in her flight to the house... her last desperate attempt to save Kenneth even knowing it was too late. A front window was boarded up. She’d broken the glass to let herself in and call for help, but the searchers hadn’t found Kenneth’s body.
If only they had, she wouldn’t have imagined he might still be alive.
EVERY TIME Sydney closed her eyes the dreams began. Trapped. Surrounded by fire. Falling. Danger everywhere.
She was exhausted and feeling more fragile than she wanted to admit when the family convened in the living room the following evening. The past three days had been a living nightmare, one from which she wanted to run. But nightmares had the power to follow. So she would stay, make her peace with herself and settle Kenneth’s estate before moving on.
Feeling as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders, she curled up on the couch where she sipped at a brandy Dakota pushed on her. He parked himself in front of a windowed wall and stared out at the gray skies that reflected her own mood.
“You’ll feel better once you get to Seattle,” Jasper Raferty suddenly announced from the chair across from the couch.
Sydney realized he meant her. “I’m not going to Seattle. This will be my home for the immediate future.”
“She can’t stay here alone,” Jasper said, looking from his younger daughter who sat on the floor, back to the couch, to his son. “Tell her, Dakota. She listens to you.”
“If she wants to stay, that’s up to her.”
Sydney gave him a grateful half-smile. “I want to stay.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Asia volunteered.
Sydney knew her younger sister did so out of love. She patted Asia’s long ash blond hair, almost silver compared to her own streaked ash brown. “You’ve got a shop to run and this is high tourist season.”
Asia leaned her head back to the cushion and looked at Sydney from the upside-down position. “Port Townsend can survive without me for a few days. And Jeanne can run the shop.”
“You’ve already been gone for several days,” Sydney reminded her. “All of you have lives to get back to, work to do, while I have...”
She didn’t want to say nothing. She had memories, as few as they were. And she had to get her life in order.
“I’d like to stay,” Asia insisted.
“And I need to be alone.”
The ensuing silence lasted mere seconds. Her father coughed and said, “Being alone at a time like this isn’t healthy.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t for you when Mom died.” Because even though she was nothing like her pragmatic father, Sydney knew he loved her, she tried to soften the statement. “I need to have quiet time. Time to think.”
“So you can conjure up a dead man?”
His skepticism, ready at the fore, hurt her even though she was trying to convince herself that she really had imagined things this time, that she’d been reacting to the stress of the situation. But her father had always been didactic with her. Judge Jasper Raferty had never allowed his highly imaginative child to develop what some people considered her gifts.
And after years of feeling different – alienated – she had put what she eventually saw as a curse behind her. She’d started over, made a new life for herself amongst offbeat, creative people who probably wouldn’t view her as a sideshow freak even if they knew about the dreams and premonitions. But now she was either in the midst of a nervous breakdown or her past was catching up to her. She needed to decide which and to deal with the situation before she could find happiness again.
Not that she would ever find another Kenneth, she thought, choking back a sob.
Asia’s hand slipped into hers. “Hey, want to go for a walk or something?”
Dry-eyed despite the emotions that welled within her, Sydney scrambled off the couch. “No. I, uh, just need some rest. And I think you should all leave.” Hearing her father’s sharp intake of breath, she said, “I love you and I thank you for being here, but it’s time for you to go. I’ll call you in a few days.”
Before she could receive more well-intended advice, Sydney headed for the guest room she was using. Though she didn’t feel comfortable surrounded by an abundance of opulence that bordered on bad taste – the furnishings belonged in a mansion rather than a simple seaside home – she hadn’t been able to face the master bedroom that she and Kenneth would have shared. The person who had decorated the guest room had an inflated sense of self-worth. Disturbed ego. Something Sydney had grown to dislike in her dealings with such people through her work.
She wasn’t aware that Dakota followed her upstairs until she was about to close the door.
“Can I come in?”
In silent agreement, she turned from the doorway. “Think I need to be tucked in, do you?”
“Among other things. As I remember, you used to like my bedtime stories.”
Sydney pulled a face. “When I was ten, maybe. In case your memory is failing, I just hit thirty-two.”
“I’m still your big brother. And I still love you.”
“But...?”
“No buts.” He turned back the satin quilt. “Get in.”
Following orders, Sydney slipped into the ostentatious four-poster. She allowed herself the luxury of a closeness she hadn’t felt in a long time... until she’d met Kenneth. Dakota sat next to her and leaned back against a garishly carved post.
“Once upon a time,” he began while stroking her forehead, “there lived a young woman who always felt slightly out of step with the world around her.”
“Hey, this isn’t really necessary,” Sydney told him, immediately discomfited. “Besides, as I remember, you used to tell me horror stories, not fairy tales.”
He put a finger over her lips. “Shush. Let me finish. Despite the fact that she was different, this young woman had everything going for her. She was bright, creative, enthusiastic. And most important, she had a heart of gold. Unfortunately, when she finally found someone to share that heart with, she lost him and thought everything was lost.”
Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes. “Maybe she was right.”
“She was wrong. All she needed was time to heal.”
”And then everything would be great and she’d live happily ever after. How can you be so sure about the future, Dakota?”
“Because I know you. You’re not just a survivor,” he said, continuing to stroke her forehead, to relax her in spite of her tightly wound feelings. “You’re a winner.”
“Of awards, maybe.” She’d always been good at creating images as the head of an advertising creative team. “Awards don’t count for much in the long run.”
“You’re a winner at life, Syd. You’ve got to believe that. We learn something from loss. We find strength in it and go on.”
Dakota knew something of loss himself, Sydney remembered. He’d been madly in love only to be betrayed by the woman. Maureen hadn’t died, but a piece of her brother’s heart had.
As had a piece of hers.
Dakota’s gentle massage vanquished such unwelcome thoughts from her mind. The stress and sleepless hours of the past days caught up with her and Sydney let herself go...
SYDNEY.
She opened her eyes to night. Rather than coming up out of sleep gently, she was startled awake. Kenneth had been calling her. Heart pounding, she strained to hear. Nothing.
Had she really heard Kenneth’s voice? Now she lay in the dark, pulse quickened, ears strained, but the only sounds were those of wind and ocean drifting through the open doors that led out to the second floor deck.
“Kenneth?” she called out.
No answer.
Her throat closed as she realized she’d been dreaming.
Chilled by the damp night, she rose and closed the outside doors before wandering downstairs where her family had left the lights on. A note on the glass coffee table informed her that Asia had made dinner and all she had to do was throw it in the microwave. Too bad she wasn’t hungry.
What to do?
She could watch television, but she might see one of her ads and start rehashing the burnout that had taken her away from L.A. on the odyssey that ultimately led to tragedy. And listening to music would remind her of her and Kenneth’s favorite pastime. She preferred something that would lift her spirits.
The Tarot cards immediately sprang to mind.
She could ask them if she’d have something to look forward to. Though she’d consciously suppressed her own psychic abilities for years, Sydney hadn’t rejected her interest in cards and crystals. As a source of insight, the Tarot drew her. She rarely did her own readings, but she was compelled to make an exception.
Maybe it would comfort her.
Fetching the deck from her purse, she cleared the coffee table where she began laying out the cards in the traditional Celtic Cross. As usual, she lost herself in concentration and looked for the positive, something she was always able to find.
Until now.
Card after card reinforced her anxiety. Swords and more swords combined with the less positive figures of the Major Arcana made her view the overall layout unfavorably despite her wish to do otherwise.
She fathomed sorrow and separation, which was natural. But treachery and violence? The inability to choose wisely in an important matter? Her immediate past – the Fool reversed – indicated faulty thinking. While the future showed no way out of present difficulties, the Knight of Swords implied an aggressive, dark-haired stranger was about to rush headlong into her life. The Five of Swords realized her greatest fear, that she was a threat to herself.
Was she going out of her mind, then?
Reluctantly, she flipped over the last card, the x-factor. The Lovers. She glanced back at the dark-haired stranger. The Knight must be Kenneth.
But her love was dead, wasn’t he?
Perhaps she was meant to join him.
Sydney told herself she was being ridiculous. The cards were subject to personal interpretation. Her mood was coloring her reading as was natural.
Still, unable to help feeling spooked, she decided to do something physical. Take a walk. Fresh air would clear her head so she could think rationally. She didn’t bother to gather up the Tarot before pulling on a long-sleeved cotton sweater and walking shoes. Leaving the house lit, she locked the door behind her and set off across the grounds.
The ocean called to her, but rather than retrace the path Kenneth had chosen, she headed in the opposite direction, north toward the beach that led to town. The going was easy – no scrambling over rocks. At the far edge of the property, a sloped path led down to the hard-packed sand strip. As she descended, fog rose from the water. Ghostly fingers slithered along the ground and wrapped themselves around her ankles and calves. She glanced back over her shoulder. The lit house was merely a hazy beacon in the distance.
She kept going, increased her pace, tried to separate herself from the tragedy that would be part of her forever. The fog danced around her like a shroud.
When the moon slid behind a bank of clouds, and darkness blanketed her surroundings, Sydney glanced back again. The house had been swallowed by the murky night. She realized her foolishness. She should have taken a flashlight. Unsure of how far she’d gone, of how she would get back without being able to see, she stopped. Waves lapped the shore to her left, the sound deadened by the fog. She had a sense of the hill that rose steeply to her right. Ahead, tiny glimmers pinpointed town buildings and urged her forward. From there, she could follow the paved road back to the house.
A calming thought had her imagination not been hard at work.
A scrabbling noise... footsteps... a soft expulsion of breath.
Did she really hear them or not?
A glance over her shoulder proved nothing. The fog was too dense, the night too dark, her senses too confused. She shoved balled fists into jeans pockets, hunched into her sweater and hurried.
Sydney...
Her name whispered eerily on the wind, sending a chill up her spine. Unable to decide from which direction it came, she turned full circle. No matter how she tried she couldn’t see further than a few feet. She strained to hear. Nothing. Of course, she was imagining things.
Continuing on, however, she wasn’t at ease. She sensed another presence nearby. She rushed forward, tripped over something. Hands flashed out of her pockets. Her palms scraped the rough bark of a log half buried in the sand. Before she could get to her feet, she heard the voice again.
Sydney...
Clearer this time.
Kenneth’s voice.
Hands groping to avoid further obstacles, she rose and stumbled away from the voice, away from the presence. She choked back a sob, told herself she wasn’t going crazy. Wanting contact with a loved one was only natural. She hadn’t yet let go, that was all. There was no presence. No voice. Only her desperate wish to wake up from a living nightmare.
Then why was she so frightened?
Sydney, my love...
A strangled sound escaped her as she ran blindly through the fog. Her feet hit water, splashed, and she knew she was going in the wrong direction. Confused. She slowed down and veered away from the heavy smell of the ocean and headed directly for those pinpoints of light. She didn’t want to join Kenneth in his watery grave. Didn’t want to drown.
Sydney... Her name so soft it might have been the wind sighing.
She couldn’t help herself. She began to sob. Control gusted away. She couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop the rush of her pulse that fluttered through every limb. And still her name echoed faintly through her mind. What was happening to her? She had to get away from the ocean with its smell and noise and terrifying memories.
Get away from the dream.
Glowing lights meant people, civilization, someone to talk to. Sydney shuddered with relief as she got control of herself and slowed down, threw one last look back into the ocean’s shroud. As she sought the lights ahead, she was slammed to a stop by something solid, but she’d hit neither rock nor tree limb. The object was warm. Human. Her hands steadied herself on arms well-muscled. The arms of a man.
Kenneth?
Breath caught in her throat, making her force out the words: “Is that really you?”
CHAPTER TWO
BENNO DEMARTINO steadied the frantic-sounding woman. “Whoa, you’ve got the wrong guy.”
Making a choked sound, she pulled away from him. “S-sorry. I thought you were someone else. I forgot m-my flashlight and couldn’t see.”
“I guess not.”
Benno snapped on his own torch and shone it on the woman. It didn’t take much insight to realize she was terrified and on the verge of collapse. Her distress was written on her face and in her carriage. Shoulders hunched, she seemed about to shrink into herself.
“Are there stairs or something around here so I can get up to the road?” she asked.
“Not too far from here. I was just heading back into town,” he lied, having only set foot on the beach moments ago.
He’d just got back into town an hour before and meant to lose himself in the solitary night for a while – something he’d done most of his life when troubled – but this woman’s problems seemed monumental compared to his own. Doing a good deed wouldn’t hurt him; he didn’t have that many to his credit.
Indicating the flashlight, he said, “We can share.”
“Thanks.”
As he started off, she fell in step but didn’t come too close. Even so, her tension vibrated through the space between them. He could smell fear on a person and this lady was definitely afraid. He knew every resident of Stone Beach on sight and she wasn’t one of them, so she must be a tourist. But why had she been out alone on the beach at night? He was too aware of a person’s need for privacy to question her motives.
When they got to a part of the embankment that wasn’t very steep, he asked, “Think you can make it up here if I give you a hand? Or should we keep going until we get to the stairs?”
Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder as if she were looking for yet dreading meeting up with the man for whom he’d been mistaken. “Here.”
He climbed halfway up and held out his hand. She hesitated only a second before giving him her trust. Some people trusted too easily, he thought, helping her up over the sand hill. The moment she set foot on level ground, however, she withdrew her hand. Still a ways from the main beach area, they stood in a paved cul de sac, a turn around area for residents of this side street at the south end of town.
Benno flashed his light over the young woman once more. Her short hair was damp. Thick tendrils were plastered to a broad forehead and rounded cheeks that gave her something of a baby face. She was shivering, but from chill or fright? Maybe both.
“You look like you could use something to warm up your insides.” Benno found it amazingly easy to be kind to this stranger. That she might disappear into the night as quickly as she had materialized disturbed him. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? A drink? Herbal tea?”
“Tea sounds good.”
She seemed relieved, as if she didn’t want to be alone. He could identify with that feeling.
“I know just the place,” he said, lightly settling his hand on her elbow. He led her past his wind-battered cottage which overlooked the beach. She’d probably get the wrong idea if he invited her into his home. “Since we’re going to share a cup of tea, we shouldn’t be strangers. I’m Benno DeMartino.”
Pushed to the Limit Page 2
