“ You see it, Bec?” Molly shouts. “Can you see it?”
I can see it by then. As amazing as it seems, as buried as it is in the trees, I see it as clearly as I see Molly before me.
A house set in the middle of the woods.
Then a noise.
My cell phone vibrating.
And a voice.
“Rebecca.”
Chapter 34
The name was not screamed, nor spoken. It came to me as a kind of whisper. Or maybe it just came to me. Maybe it just happened inside my head.
The cell phone went from vibrate to chime.
I thought I heard movement coming from inside the living room. I sensed movement anyway, the same way an expecting mother might sense baby’s first kick. Heavy booted feet shuffling against the hardwood.
My prone body was bolted to the bed. It wasn’t a bed at all. It was a concrete platform and I was bolted and chained to it.
Heart drummed triplets against my ribcage.
Was my cell phone really ringing? Was this a repeat of two nights ago? Had a voice been spoken? Had it been whispered? Had it all been a dream?
“Rebecca.”
I listened. I must have heard a voice. The voice had personality. It was gruff and low. There were specific details to the voice. There was a smell that went with that voice.
The smell of stale cigarettes. I knew that smell, recognized it. Cigarette butts.
Eyes wide open, unblinking, I swear I saw a shadow. The shadow of a man staring back at me from the open bedroom door, as if someone were standing inside the open frame-a silhouette against the darkness.
Was Whalen standing there, looking back at me? Had he violated his parole by sneaking out of the half-way house to come here?
I swear it’s him.
Footsteps along the bedroom floor. The filthy ashtray smell. The cell phone vibrating and chiming.
If only I could lift my arms. If only I could have reached out and grabbed hold of the phone. If only I could have lifted my arms, reached out and picked it up.
I wanted to scream. But want and desire were meaningless.
I felt the presence of Michael beside me. We were not divorced. We were still married and he was sleeping soundly right next to me, close to me, his body curled into my side, his face facing me. Just like it’s always been.
His sleeping breaths were not the least bit bothered by the sounds, the smells, the sights taking place inside this bedroom in the middle of the deep night.
“Rebecca.”
Every nerve in my body was body tingling, twitching.
I can’t possibly be dreaming. Can’t possibly be dreaming. Can’t possibly be dreaming…
I made a wish. Wished the voice away; wished the smell away; wished the figure of a small, thin man away.
The man who took Molly and me.
I began to drift.
As though by some miracle I started falling.
Faster.
Then faster still…
Chapter 35
When I woke up the sun was shining through the windows. It seemed like a beautiful day, the terrible dreamt sounds, smells and sights of the night behind me. But not far enough. I reached out for the end table, picked up my cell and peeked at the time.
Six-thirty.
My hands trembling, I opened the phone to see if someone had called me during the night.
Nothing. Not even a new text.
Michael was still asleep. I decided to leave him be. Or maybe I just wanted some time to myself. Time to breathe, get my act together. I needed my routine. Craved it.
I got up, threw on a robe to fight off the chill and got to work on making the coffee. I swallowed a vitamin with a tall glass of orange juice, tried to eat my two ounces of Frosted Mini Wheats, but only managed a couple of bites.
As the rich aroma of the coffee filled the apartment, I began making a check on the living room. I walked the square-shaped room from one end to the other, my eyes examining the floor, the couch, the desk, the bookshelves.
Nothing seemed out of order; nothing seemed as if it had been tampered with. No footprints on the floor, no handprints on the walls. I looked over the windows and the door that led out onto the stone terrace, looked for fingerprints or smudges on the panes and sills.
Nothing. All deadbolts and safety chains secured.
But what about the bathroom?
I crossed over the vestibule, traversed the narrow hall that accessed the bedrooms and my rarely used painting studio, and entered the bathroom. I checked the window over the toilet.
The window was closed.
Reaching up and under the shade, I felt for the lock. It was unlatched. A jolt of electricity shot through my veins. Was it possible that my apartment had been broken into? Had Whalen opened this window from the outside, climbed in through it, slipped into my apartment and my bedroom, whispered into my ear? Just because no visible evidence of a break-in existed didn’t mean that it hadn’t happened. I remembered him as a small man. Maybe even small enough to fit through that open window.
I couldn’t help thinking that Whalen had made his physical presence known inside my apartment last night. Or was I just plain crazy like Harris suggested? The victim of the dreaded PTS? The victim of vivid nightmares?
I locked the bathroom window. Then I went into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, sipping it carefully. I tightened my robe against the chill. The old radiant heat system was blasting, but I was shivering cold.
What was happening to me? I knew now that Harris wasn’t kidding when he suggested I see a psychiatrist. Post Traumatic Stress. I also knew that today I would fess up to the detective about the texts. Michael was right. I should never have kept the truth from the cop for even a single day.
I took another sip of the coffee. It tasted bitter-sweet. Today was Thursday. Would Franny have a new painting for me today? Would he be upset that I wasn’t around to see it? That I was spoiling his routine?
Smell and Touch.
Those were the only senses left. They would be the titles of the final two paintings.
I drank some more coffee, picked up my cell phone, and punched the instant dial-up for Robyn. Again, the answering service popped on.
Why in God’s name wasn’t she picking up?
Noise came from the bedroom. Michael was up.
