"Brenna," he said helplessly. "Babe, settle down, I can't understand what you're saying. Talk to me, you're killing me here."
"Dink," she whispered, "something scary crazy is going on here and it's getting worse."
Nightmirror
Missing chessmen, empty board
No someone here, just a void
Tot up the squares, search for the rows
Gone.
Loose ends, crumbs, the grains of who
Slide off the landscape, decline to nil
The wind yawns, bored, and scatters scraps.
Gone.
Please, please don't go
Please, please come back
Empty station, no travelers found
A house deserted, echoes sound
Dust in the corners, tissue on the floor
Gone.
Fear at the door, peeks through the crack.
Smiles. You're next
Gone.
Chapter 18
Brenna forced her eyes open, relieved when she saw her bedroom instead of the frozen chessboard of her dream. God. That was a bad one.
She pushed the bedcovers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, shivering in the chilly air. Her hoodie was at the foot of the bed and she slid her arms into the sleeves, hugging the warm material to her body. She'd thought she was over the nightmares. She'd been in Boulder six days and she'd had one nearly every night. How long would she have to live with them?
She headed for the bathroom and began her morning drill, including the familiar pep talk. The faucet handle twisted under her hand as she reminded herself of what the hospice counselors had told her, that grief would come and go at its own pace. Healing had no timetable. She needed to acknowledge her feelings rather than fight them. If she relied on her support group all would be well.
Her support group was Dink and he was in L.A. "So I dream," she muttered. And those dreams were kicking her emotional ass. Brenna let the hot shower spray over her head and down her back, visualizing shards of the nightmare flowing down the drain.
When she stepped out of the shower, her shoulders were relaxed and her head was clear. Enfolding her hair in a towel, she grabbed another to wrap around her body. Brenna was squeezing lotion into one hand when she glanced at herself in the mirror. The bottle slid from her fingers to the floor.
On the foggy surface of the glass was scrawled an uneven five-pointed star.
Her breath hitched and her head began to spin. The strength leached from her knees and she sank onto the bathroom floor. Her head fell to her chest and she wept.
* * *
The sun pouring through the big window highlighted the shadows under Brenna's eyes. Andrea held her breath as Brenna poured coffee and sighed in relief when the shaking carafe was returned to the machine without spilling all over the counter. "What do you think the stars mean?"
"I don't know." Brenna clutched her cup, bringing it to her lips cautiously, barely sipping from it. "None of them make any sense. First I thought somebody was messing with my film, but when I took it to the guy at the processing place, the stars were gone. He thinks I'm crazy." She flicked a cynical look at Andrea. "I don't know what to think about the one on the mirror." She set down the cup. "Either somebody real came in and drew it when I was in the shower, which is creepy as hell, or..." Her bottom lip quivered. "Or something I can't see was able to draw it, which is beyond scary." She swallowed and pushed out a few more words. "I don't like either option."
"Aura Lee would say something's trying to communicate with you," Andrea said softly.
"Jesus, that's no comfort." Brenna rubbed at the base of her skull.
Andrea gasped at the purple mark on her skin. "What happened to your hand? That's a hell of a bruise on the edge."
Brenna didn't look at it. "I banged it against the wall last night."
"What? Climbing it?"
"As good as. After you walked me home, something happened." She hunched her shoulders at Andrea's raised brows. "I came inside and everything looked okay. Then the lights in the hall went out."
"Brenna!"
Brenna nodded. "It was pitch dark. I couldn't see anything, but the real freak-out was the sound. Every tiny bit was amplified. It was like the noises were alive and growing. I dropped my keys and the jangle just built, like in an echo chamber. Pretty soon it was blasting my ears and I couldn't think."
"I'll bet," muttered Andrea.
"I swore or something and the words echoed, first in whispers, then building into screaming. I was feeling around for the keys like a maniac, and that's when my hand hit the wall. I finally found them, and felt my way to the door. I got in here and shook like a fool for a while. When I could stand it, I opened the door. The lights were on. No noise at all."
"You opened the door?" The look Andrea shot her was heavy with respect. "I would've hid under the bed. No kidding," she added at Brenna's weak smile. "No way would I have gotten anywhere near that hallway."
Brenna sagged against the sofa back. "Then I had a truly awful dream, worse than the rest, and they're bad enough. I feel like a mental case, and that's not good right now."
"It isn't good anytime. What kind of dreams?"
"Nasty ones." She rubbed both hands over her face and then looked at Andrea. "About my grandmother—she died last year."
"I'm sorry." Andrea patted Brenna's shoulder. "Were you close?"
"She raised me after my mom left." In answer to the question in Andrea's face, Brenna added, "I was nine."
"That's rough."
"It would've been if it hadn't been for Gran. She was wonderful." Brenna's lips moved in a smile but it didn't reach her eyes. "She worked as a studio makeup artist, started at RKO in the forties, and later went to MGM." She folded her legs under her and leaned against the sofa arm. "Gran really was an artist. She could make the most ordinary person look gorgeous. When I was about thirteen..." Brenna's eyes brightened as she remembered. "You want to be pretty more than anything at that age, but you haven't grown into your face yet. I pestered her, though, and she gave in. She stared at me for the longest time. It was getting uncomfortable, but then she reached into her kit and told me to sit back in the chair.
"Gran got out her brushes and started on my eyebrows and cheek bones. I couldn't see what she was doing 'cause she draped a towel over the mirror. She was cracking jokes the whole time she was putting stuff on my face, stupid kid jokes, knock-knocks, that kind of thing." Brenna's laugh broke in the middle. "When she was done she stood looking at me like before. She had an old-fashioned scent bottle. You know, the kind with a bulb. She sprayed me once with her own perfume, Wind Song, and then she tugged the towel off the mirror. When I saw myself, I couldn't believe it."
Her cheeks were pink, her eyes cloudy with memory. "I guess I expected thick makeup, you know? That she was using her equipment to give me a thrill. Instead, she showed me what I'd probably look like when I grew up. She saw the adult me in my kid face and used her makeup to reveal it. It was magical, unforgettable. And she talked about how I was going to make it in Hollywood, that I was a good enough photographer to do it."
Brenna's lips quivered and the anguish in her eyes drew Andrea closer to her. She put her arm around her shoulders. "She had Alzheimer's. By the time she died, she didn't remember my face. For a while she thought I was my mother." She struggled to control her voice. "Gran would call me by her name, Diane. After a few months, she didn't remember who Diane was, and she thought I was her sister or her mother. Then she stopped calling me by any names. She hardly talked, but when she did, she acted like a girl herself. If what she said was true, I learned a lot about what it was like for her."
"Oh, Brenna," murmured Andrea.
"She had a crappy childhood, and she ran off to Hollywood before she was eighteen. All those stories about the dirty old men running the studios? Well, if what Gran said was true, they didn't save their lousy behavior just for actresses. She was a pretty girl, too. I've got a couple of
snapshots. I don't know if she ever interviewed on her back, but from a few things she said toward the end, she might have."
Brenna looked down at her hands. "I'll never know for sure." She drew her wrist across her eyes, and it came away wet. "Every piece of her was destroyed. No dignity, no self. By the end, I was praying for her to die. I just wanted it to end for her, and for me."
Andrea rested her head on Brenna's shoulder and held her more tightly. "Poor girl," she murmured. "Poor girl."
"I feel so guilty," Brenna choked. "She always built me up, told me I had talent, an eye for pictures, that I'd have my own star on the Walk of Fame. You're gonna be a star, chickie. She told me that so many times. She was the only family I had and I wanted to kill her to stop her suffering. I couldn't figure out how to do it and still look at myself in the mirror every day. Now I'm scared it's genetic, that I'll end up like her, and that's so selfish and cold." She broke down.
Andrea cradled Brenna against her as she cried. She whispered comfort words, nonsense words, just as she had when her daughter Grace had run to her with a skinned knee or a schoolyard betrayal. "It'll be all right, it'll be all right."
It would never be all right, but Brenna already knew that.
The tears passed and Brenna pulled herself together. She excused herself for a trip to the bathroom and Andrea slumped against the sofa. Life is so unfair, she thought for the millionth time in her life. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply to deal with the jagged feelings Brenna had loosed.
* * *
"Kerry."
She turned toward the sound, eyes closed, drifting on a tide of pleasure. So happy. Her nose twitched at the scent of cinnamon.
"Kerry." The voice was thick, rusty, unused for too long.
The warmth held her immobile and she yearned to stay in the soft river of comfort. It was the humming that had her opening her eyes.
In the gray of early morning the small flickering light barely caught her attention. Triangular, it hovered for a long moment and slowly began to move. It slid across the patterned plaster and she thought it a reflection from a car's headlights. It's just someone going up Flagstaff road. The light stopped again before it raced across the ceiling and skimmed down the wall.
Kerry blinked sleepily and yawned, turning to snuggle against Max. His eyes were closed and he inhaled and exhaled the slow breaths of deep sleep. She wondered that he'd called her name as he slept, but soon drifted off on the thought.
* * *
Kerry's cell phone chimed and she surged to a sitting position, heart pounding. Grabbing it, she flipped it open and croaked, "Hello?" A shaft of sunlight stabbing through the bedroom window blinds forced her eyes shut.
"Kerry, it's Rose." When she didn't respond, she added, "I hope I didn't wake you. It's almost ten."
"Um, no, of course not." She started to push her hair out of her eyes, but Max caught her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing her fingers. She looked down at him, feeling a sloppy grin spread across her face.
"Kerry? Are you there?" Max was licking between her fingers with the tip of his tongue, the soft friction of his lips sending shivers up her arm.
Kerry struggled to round up a few brain cells. "Sorry. My mind's wandering. I didn't sleep much." Because, in between making like Ghostbusters, Max and I were exploring other ways of communicating.
"Is Max there?"
Kerry tugged her hand out of his grasp. "I think he's on the phone in the other room." She stuck out her tongue at his mischievous smile. "Can I ask him to call you back?"
She heard Aura Lee in the background before Rose spoke again. "We need to talk to both of you about something that happened last night. Can the two of you come here for brunch? Aura Lee just took cranberry muffins out of the oven."
"Sure. What happened?"
"It's a long story. We'll discuss it when you get here."
Kerry frowned, curious at the flustered note in Rose's voice. "Ten-thirty okay?"
"We'll see you then."
Kerry set down the phone.
"You look worried, luv," Max murmured. "Is anything wrong?"
"Rose said something happened last night." She gnawed at one thumbnail until he pulled her hand away from her mouth. "Considering what went on before we left, I wonder what it was."
"We happened last night," he stated firmly. "I'm in hopes of our happening again."
"That's one way of putting it." Kerry glanced over her shoulder at the clock and bent to him, finding his mouth with her own. "We have a half hour before we meet up with Rose." She nipped at his lips. "You want a shower or do you want to mess around?"
Max didn't dignify the question with a response. Not a verbal one.
Chapter 19
A chilly wind pushed Kerry and Max toward the main house across the cobblestone square. Swaying tree branches creaked in protest as silver clouds tumbled toward Boulder from the northern horizon.
They hurried up the porch steps and slipped inside, slamming it shut, both leaning on it until Kerry made sure the latch had caught. As she turned toward him, flushed and smiling, Max pulled her toward him. To her delight, he kissed the tip of her nose.
"Well, well," quavered Noreen from the arched entry to the dining room. "The heart swells with attachment like a storm-tossed topgallant sail filled by the force of a storm. Eliza Justice Belmont..." her voice died away.
Kerry's laugh at the terrible quotation stopped short when she really looked at Noreen. Her face was ashen and she held her arms against her chest as if in the grip of bone-deep cold, despite her thick sweater. "What's wrong?"
"Apparently our unwelcome visitors are active today." Her voice trembled. "No," she added as they began to take off their jackets. "Leave them on. It's cold in the kitchen." Noreen extended her hand to Max. "Come along, the others are anxious to get started."
Concerned, Max took Noreen's hand and walked beside her. Kerry hurried along behind, her heart thumping faster, a feeling of dread sliding over her like a piece of clothing.
The scent of cranberry muffins couldn't combat the air of fatigue and frayed nerves in the group seated at the table. And Noreen was right that it was cold. Andrea was at one end, her jean jacket zipped to her chin, propping up her head with both hands. Brenna hunched on a chair at one side, hood pulled over her hair. Her weary eyes told of interrupted sleep.
Aura Lee was pasty-faced and her scarlet caftan was half-covered by a crocheted shawl. She carried two mugs of coffee to the table. "I'm so glad you're here."
"I'm glad, too." Max pulled out a chair for Kerry and took his place beside her. "What's the situation?"
"None of us can get warm so we've left on the oven." Rose took a book from the counter and brought it to the table. "I don't know if our invisible friends disapprove of our activities last night, or if they can't help casting a chill."
Kerry was shocked at her pallor. "You look terrible. Which activities?"
Rose shook her head. "After you two left last night, we had another adventure." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. She picked up her coffee cup but only took a sip, setting the cup down, touching the book cover.
Kerry leaned toward her. "Something else? Why didn't you—"
Rose held up her hand. "Hold on a minute and I'll tell you." She rested her hands on the book. "When I went up to bed I was directed to something you've been trying to find."
"Directed?" Kerry shook her head in confusion. "What're you talking about?"
"Long story short: thanks to a cold spot from hell and a disco ball effect in the hall, we found the hidey hole you've been looking for. Ironically, it was fairly near where we were looking yesterday."
Kerry felt a jolt of hope that made her heart beat faster. "Are you telling me—"
Rose pushed the book across the table, the lines of worry at the corners of her eyes deepening as Kerry pulled it to her, lifting the cover with care.
She took in a sharp breath and let it out, then read the title aloud. "My Personal Journal: 1939 to 19
45." Kerry looked up from the page, shaken. "That's what was written on the scrap of paper I found in Max's book." She ran her fingers lightly over the page, feeling only the smooth surface. "Nothing's been torn out." She looked to Max in confusion and pushed the volume toward him. "How could that be?"
Max ran his hands over the paper. "There's not a crease or any other damage." He shot a look at Rose, and Kerry suppressed a shiver at the grim purpose in them. "I want to hear about what happened, all the details."
"You'll get them, but not right now. All of us—especially Kerry—need to know what's in that journal."
"Amen to that." Kerry's chest tightened and she forced herself to take another deep breath. "I hope it tells us more than we know so far." She opened the volume, and began to read.
I write this memoir with reluctance, but I've come to see it is necessary. Things set into motion long ago have grown in power and the ones who remain must know in order to see that Wisdom Court survives. My strength is waning. I must use it to shore up the defenses I put into place at the beginning.
Andrea gasped aloud and Noreen looked at her sharply. "Someone walked across my grave," Andrea said and trembled again. "Ugh, that's cheerful."
"You're pale as a ghost." Aura Lee looked dismayed. "I'm sorry, I'm as bad as you are. I mean, we're both crepe-hangers today." She waved her hands in the air in frustration. "Never mind."
Rose rolled her eyes and turned to Kerry. "You want to keep reading?"
Kerry looked down at the page again, fingers tightening on the journal.
I have long focused on living in the present, rarely pausing to look back at what happened long ago. When one has killed herself, it's hard to return to the scene of the death, for fear of experiencing it all again.
"What's she talking about?" Aura Lee's voice cracked with distress. "She killed herself? What does that mean?"
"We'll find out, I think," Rose said. She caught the concern on Noreen's face and something passed between them. "We may not like what we learn," Rose murmured.
Aura Lee's posture stiffened. "This is Cottie we're talking about. She was one of the best people ever." She motioned to Kerry. "Keep going."
A Signal Shown Page 13
