The Third Eye

by Lois Duncan

  Cast up so abruptly onto the shores of consciousness, Karen was too shaken to think past the pounding of her heart. It had been a dream, she tried to reassure herself, not a vision. The two were distinctly different. Visions depicted reality, but dreams were imaginary. It would have been strange, indeed, if the events of the previous day had not triggered at least one good, old-fashioned nightmare.

  Forcing her mind away from the spectacle of the child-spattered river, she transferred her gaze from the bedroom ceiling to the window. Beyond the pane, the sun was shining, but the pearl-colored sky was still smeared with the remnants of yesterday’s rainstorm. The diffused brilliance produced an eerie glitter that seemed to fill the air with flickering silver.

  For a long time Karen lay quiet, letting herself become semihypnotized by the oscillating patterns of the shifting light. Finally she forced herself to sit up in bed. The effort it took to haul herself into a sitting position brought home to her how much abuse her body had taken. Tentatively, she felt for the spot on her head that had struck the stove corner. It was puffy and sore to the touch. The smudged yellow bruises that lay exposed below the sleeve of her T-shirt were additional ugly reminders of the previous day’s adventure.

  Painfully, Karen dragged herself out of bed. When she went downstairs, she found her mother at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the paper.

  “So you’re up!” Mrs. Connors said by way of greeting. “I thought you’d sleep a lot longer. How are you feeling?”

  “Sore,” Karen told her. “I ache all over, especially my legs.”

  “I bet you’re hungry,” her mother said. “You ate so little yesterday. What would you like for breakfast? There’s bacon and eggs, or, if you like, I can make French toast.”

  “Eggs would be fine.” Karen eyed the newspaper apprehensively. “I suppose it made the front page?”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Connors, getting up from the table. “Where would you expect it to be? They even have a photo spread of the children. It’s disgusting the way those media people insist on wringing every drop of drama out of people’s heartache. There’s one bright spot, though—they don’t seem to have made the connection yet that you’re the same Karen Connors who found Carla Sanchez.”

  “Well, that’s something, I guess,” Karen said.

  She picked up the paper and spread it out on the table. An array of familiar infant faces gazed up at her. In the bottom right corner of the lineup, a round-cheeked Matthew Wilson beamed engagingly. The picture was a standard department-store photograph, shot against an artificial backdrop of autumn foliage. It appeared to have been taken quite recently, for the dimple-to-dimple grin displayed his current four teeth.

  “See this baby?” Karen held up the paper. “He’s Rob Wilson’s nephew.”

  “You mean, that police officer’s related to one of the children?” her mother exclaimed in surprise. “That explains, then, why he’s so wrapped up in this case. He’s already called you once this morning. He left his number and wants you to call back.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “No, but he did say there haven’t been any ransom demands.”

  “I can’t understand that,” Karen said. “It makes no sense. Why would anyone kidnap children except for ransom? This is the same thing that happened in Dallas. None of the parents there were contacted either.”

  “Why do you mention that?” her mother asked her. “Do the police think the two cases are connected?”

  “Yes,” Karen said. “Anne Summers, the woman Rob took me to visit at the hospital, was the psychic who worked on the case in Dallas. She thinks the kidnappings were committed by the same people.”

  “The ones who shot her?”

  There was a moment of silence.

  Then Karen asked softly, “How did you know that? How did you know that Anne was shot?”

  “You mentioned it last night when you left for the hospital.”

  “I did not!”

  “You must have,” her mother said logically. “How else would I know? Doesn’t that prove to you that you’re playing with fire here? Involvement in this sort of thing is dangerous!”

  “I know,” Karen said. “Mom, believe me, I’m scared by it, too.”

  “Then why take the risk? Why not leave town for a while?” Mrs. Connors was standing at the stove now, with her back toward Karen. She lifted an egg and brought it down with a sharp crack against the edge of the frying pan. “We could take a little trip.”

  “You mean, you’d go with me?”

  “I suggested it to your father at breakfast,” her mother said. There was a sizzling sound as the egg slid into hot bacon grease. “What I was thinking was that you and I might visit San Francisco. There are all sorts of things to do in a city like that. The stores are fantastic, and we do need to get you clothes for college.”

  “But I have a job,” Karen protested. “I can’t just take off. The day care center’s understaffed. That’s why Betty was able to get in there.”

  “I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Dunn,” Mrs. Connors said. “She called last night while you were out. She wanted to know how you were feeling and said to tell you that she’s temporarily closing the center. Actually, I don’t think she has any alternative after all this negative publicity.”

  “That’s not fair!” Karen exclaimed. “Mrs. Dunn wasn’t to blame for what happened!”

  “Legally, she was. Those children were her responsibility. She could even be charged with a crime.”

  Mrs. Connors slid the eggs from the pan out onto a plate and placed bacon strips beside them. “About our trip,” she continued as she brought the food to the table and placed it in front of Karen. “Don’t you think it might be fun?”

  “I don’t want to have fun,” Karen told her. “There’s no way I can enjoy a vacation right now.”

  “Don’t be difficult, Karen,” her mother said. “If you don’t want to think of it as ‘fun,’ then think of it as self-protection. Just because reporters so far have missed the connection between Karen-the-Kidnapped and Karen-the-Psychic doesn’t mean that they’re going to keep on missing it. Soon, now, somebody will put two and two together. When that happens, it’ll be front-page news again. You know how it was before, with all those letters and phone calls. Can you imagine how much worse it’ll be this time, when the missing children are all from here?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Karen said. She had taken some food onto her fork. Now, she lowered it to her plate, untouched. “It’ll be terrible.”

  “There’s also real physical danger,” her mother said. “If those people felt so threatened by Anne Summers that they tried to kill her, how will they react when they find out that you have similar abilities? I would think they’d consider you an even greater threat, because you’ve had personal contact with them.”

  “Okay,” Karen said. “Okay, Mom, you’ve convinced me. We’ll go to San Francisco.”

  “Good,” her mother said with satisfaction. “I’m glad you’re being sensible. I’ll call your father and see what sort of plane and hotel reservations he’s been able to make for us.”

  “You seem to have been pretty certain I’d go along with this.” Karen was unable to keep the edge of resentment from her voice.

  “I was sure you’d realize you had no choice.” Her mother frowned as she consulted her watch. “There are so many things to be done. I have a hair appointment at ten. I should be out of that by eleven thirty, and I’ll stop by the ATM to get some cash for the trip. On the way home, I’ll stop at the cleaner’s.”

  “We’re going today?” Karen exclaimed incredulously. “How long will we stay?”

  “As long as we have to,” her mother said. “That’s why I’m picking up the cleaning. Since we can’t be sure how long we’ll be away, we should take clothing for different weather. If it doesn’t seem right to come home after San Francisco, we can stay with my cousin Ashley in Los Altos. In her Christmas letters, she’s always
begging us to come visit.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Karen asked.

  “As soon as you’ve eaten, you’d better start packing,” her mother told her. “If the phone rings, don’t answer; it might be a reporter. I don’t think you should answer the doorbell either. There’s no sense taking risks. I’m carrying my keys, of course, and I’ll lock the door as I go out.”

  This is crazy, Karen told herself in the oppressive silence that followed her mother’s departure. It’s all crazy. Everything’s happening too fast.

  Her stomach was churning. Getting up from the table, she carried her plate to the sink and scraped the meat strips and globs of yellow egg yolk down the disposal. Then she left the kitchen and went down the hall to the storage closet where the family suitcases were kept. She chose one of these at random, carried it up the stairs to her room, and set it on the bed.

  What should she pack? she wondered. Would there be a pool where they would be staying? Yes, probably. She would want a swimming suit, then, and some shorts and T-shirts. She crossed to the closet and stood staring in at the rows of hanging dresses, skirts, and tops. After considering for a moment, she selected several outfits, took them down from their hangers, and carried them over to the bed.

  When she returned to the closet, her eyes fell upon the prom gown that hung toward the back, protected by a plastic dry cleaner’s bag.

  Karen started to reach for the dress, and then hesitated. Suddenly, the whole scene seemed disconcertingly familiar. It was as though she were experiencing a replay of something that she had lived through once before. She had stood like this at a closet on another occasion, and had gazed in through the open door. There had been cotton dresses there, a jacket of some kind, and a lacy gown in a plastic bag. She had taken the dress from the bag and held it against her cheek. She had closed her eyes and—

  Oh, god, she thought in a flash of horrified realization. It’s not a prom gown that I’m remembering!

  The nausea that had threatened her in the kitchen came rushing back in a vicious surge. Wheeling away from the closet, she threw herself onto the bed and buried her face in the pillow. In the churning darkness, the row of Carla’s dresses flapped and fluttered as though caught in a windstorm, with the First Communion dress flying like a banner above them all. Gradually, like objects from that old Disney film Fantasia, they began to change in shape and size until they were infant clothing—tiny undershirts and onesies.

  It’s happening, Karen thought wildly. It’s happening again, and I can’t stop it!

  Mercilessly, the visions swept in upon her, and she was no longer in her bedroom, but speeding down a highway. The low, golden light of late afternoon slanted in through the window and fell warm against her left shoulder. Beyond the window glass, there lay a strange landscape composed of rose-colored rocks that stabbed at the cloudless sky like jagged spears. Beyond those, in the far distance, she could see a mountain with snow on its peak.

  It was the man who was doing the driving. Karen saw him as though she herself were riding in the backseat. The woman, Betty, sat beside him, studying a road map. When viewed from this angle, it was evident that her pale blond hair had orange roots.

  Karen could not see the children, but she could hear them crying somewhere behind her in the depths of the van. She could smell soiled diapers and the faint, sour odor of curdled milk. She could hear…

  She could hear a telephone.

  The reality of the jarring, repetitive shriek snapped open her eyes. The speeding van, the snowcapped mountain, the surrealistic pink rock formations were gone as quickly as they had materialized, and she was back on her bed, sprawled next to an open suitcase. The sky beyond the window was not clear and blue as the sky outside the van had been; it was iridescent and glimmering and sheeted over by a thin layer of misty clouds.

  The phone continued to ring.

  Responding automatically, Karen got up from the bed and went out into the hall. She had the receiver halfway to her ear when her mother’s warning came back to her: If the phone rings, don’t answer it.

  Habit was so deeply ingrained, however, that she did so anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “Karen? It’s Rob,” said a familiar voice. “I tried to reach you earlier, but your mother said you were still sleeping.”

  “She told me you called,” Karen said. “I haven’t had a chance to call you back yet. Things around here are pretty hectic right now. We’re going out of town.”

  “Who’s going out of town?”

  “My mother and I are,” Karen said. “We’re going to California. Mom thinks it would be better for me not to be here when the newspapers find out that I’m the same girl who located Carla.”

  “When are you leaving?” Rob asked her.

  “This afternoon,” Karen said. “Will you please tell Anne Summers something for me? She was right about the things she told us last night. I saw it today, too—that mountain with the snow. And Betty’s natural hair color is red, just like Anne said it was.”

  “You saw them?” Rob exclaimed. “You saw the children?”

  “I didn’t see them,” Karen told him, “but I could hear them. They were out on the highway, and the children were in the back of the van.”

  “Which way were they headed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think!” Rob commanded. “They must have left here with the kids sometime around midday. That means they were driving during the afternoon. In your vision, was the sun at your right or your left?”

  “My left,” Karen said, beginning to see his intention. “That means—it must mean—that they were headed north.”

  “And there was a mountain? Could you identify it?”

  “No. There are a ton of mountains north of here, and it could’ve been any of them. It could’ve been anywhere in northern New Mexico or Colorado or in Utah or even in California.”

  “What else did you see?” Rob pressed her. “There had to be something: a bridge, a road sign, railroad tracks? Were you passing through a town?”

  “I didn’t see buildings,” Karen said. “All around us, though, there were pink rocks.”

  “Pink rocks,” Rob echoed. He sounded excited. “That gives us a base to work from. If we head north and keep our eyes open, we should be able to spot a place like that.”

  “Rob, no!” Karen said. “I told you, Mom and I are leaving.”

  “But you can’t leave now,” Rob objected. “You can’t just walk out on this.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know,” Karen said. “I saw a mountain and some weird-colored rocks. I don’t have any idea what those two things add up to. If anybody can make sense out of it, Anne can.”

  “That’s not an option,” Rob said. “Not after last night. Dr. Prior has that room sealed up like a bank vault. Nobody gets in there now except her husband and son. Don’t you feel any sense of responsibility about this, Karen? You’re the one who hitched a ride in that woman’s car. If it weren’t for you, she’d never have gotten access to the kids.”

  “You’re just trying to make me feel guilty!” Karen said accusingly.

  “You are guilty!” Rob shot back at her. “It was unintentional, I know, but you did make a dumb mistake. Don’t you owe it to those kids and their parents to help undo it?”

  “You’re making me feel terrible!”

  “That’s my intention. You know what I’m saying is true, and you don’t want to hear it.” Rob paused. “Karen? Are you listening? I’ll be over to pick you up in twenty minutes. My nephew is out there somewhere with those two creeps. This isn’t just any kid I’m talking about, this is Matthew!”

  Karen took the receiver from her ear and held it away from her. Rob’s voice kept coming, hollow and strange, from its new vantage point.

  “Karen? Do you hear me?”

  She could not fight it.

  “Come on over,” Karen said with a sigh. “I’ll be ready when you get here.”

  CHAPTER 17
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br />   By the time dusk fell, they had been driving north for over seven hours. Rob had taken the interstate up through northern New Mexico into Colorado, pausing at junctions to turn questioningly to Karen.

  “Should we take this side road? Do you think they might have turned off here? Should we stay on the highway?”

  “I don’t know,” Karen told him repeatedly. “I don’t have any feelings about this at all.”

  The visions that had on previous occasions arrived unbidden and undesired now seemed to have deserted her entirely. Scenery slid past the car windows, the sagebrush and mesquite bushes of the dry southwestern flatlands giving way to the pines and aspen of higher altitudes. Hills grew more rugged and eventually became foothills bordering mountains. None of them were capped with snow. The sun slid slowly down the blue slope of sky and disappeared in the late afternoon behind a mountain ridge.

  The road was bathed in shadows, but the sky itself remained light for several more hours, reflecting the brilliance of the now-hidden sun. Enough light still lingered to form a pale, violet-tinted dusk when Rob at last pulled into a parking lot in front of a roadside diner.

  “We’d better stop and get something to eat,” he said wearily. “It’s been a long drive up here, and there’s the same distance to cover going back tonight. We both need a break and some food.”

  “You mean you’re planning to turn around now and go home?” Karen’s relief was tinged with irritation. “You’re giving up already?”

  “What is it you want me to do?” Rob fired back at her. “I hauled you up here under duress. You didn’t expect it to lead to anything, and so of course it hasn’t. I might as well take you home so you can go on your vacation.”

  “That’s not fair,” Karen said resentfully. “You’re making it sound as though I’m deliberately holding out on you. I want to find those children as much as you do.”

  “How could you? Matt’s not your nephew!” There was a moment of silence. Then Rob leaned back in the seat and rubbed furiously at his eyes with his knuckles. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to get snarled at like that. I’m tired and disappointed, and I’m taking it out on you. Let’s go in and get some food, okay?”