She tossed and thrashed, feeling manipulated,feeling her anger roaring back…
35
Sleep wouldn’t come.
She lay for hours, her inner world hot andracing, trying to make sense out of too much that collided. The accident shecouldn’t remember (why?), the young blonde’s face as it appeared thatday on the glass (and did look like Sasha Perry!), and then oh God thatscrawl for help she’d seen just nine hours ago in the shower. Now, at three inthe morning, was her first chance to re-think that one. She’d pushed itdown when it happened. Had to rush to get ready anyway, had welcomed the busynessthat helped her block it…only now it came howling back in the way of all bogeymenwho just lie in wait - then pounce in the darkest, most vulnerable hours. Liddytossed and punched her pillow. The unlocked front door tormented her too - evenmore than again seeing Sasha and trying to chase her. Liddy was sure she hadlocked that damned door; could remember the rasping sound of the key as sheturned it. But it was unlocked when they came back! Again and again, before herhand holding her outstretched key, she saw the door pop open and then, like ahorror movie, creak open further into shadows. She remembered Paul’s sharpintake of breath; could now, lying in darkness, imagine him thinking, That’sit, she’s looney tunes. This whole damned move was futile and everything’s goneto hell…
Liddy rolled over, feeling her wildthoughts start to slow, give way to just a weary craving for peace. She eventried to rationalize - hell, why not? Rationalizing made you feel better, it wasprobably what helped most people stay sane.
Maybe three a.m. is even a good time indisguise, she told herself. A time to think through awfulness and deal with itin a way that busy daytime doesn’t allow. Yeah, that’s it, she thought. Threein the morning might really be the best self-shrink time - kind of like a mental/emotionalpurification plant.
She was dimly aware of a muffled thud,somewhere just outside that last thought she’d had. Startled, she peered acrossthe room to the doorway, a tall, silent rectangle of lighter dark. No one was lurchingthrough it, though; just her crazy imagination again. Gotta do something aboutthat…try try try to get better…
She rolled back on the pillow, resuming hertrip down Rationalize Lane. Admit it, she thought…returning from the restaurantshe’d been semi-drunk and wanting to be angry. Paul had been vehementabout Carl, pointing out that after all Liddy had seen Sasha, hadn’t she?So maybe the lost, mysterious girl was alive and hiding (from what?) –but anyway there it was, re-thought and re-packaged - and oh how tempting itwould be to believe that and end this self-torment, even if it did involve alot of mea culpa. Somehow, Liddy thought, Sasha just appeared in my sketchbookand I built her up into some horror show-
But wait - if Sasha was indeed alive, whyhad Paul been so frantic about any connection between her and Carl?
Just nervousness, probably, from a hardworking researcher whose grant had already been revoked once because of therecession, and who would naturally cringe from any association with a police-casemissing person who had been in the news amid sad, awful coverage.
Liddy let out a pent-up breath. There, itwas done. She’d pulled off the great gymnastic flip from fear and anger to re-thinkingand accepting her own role in the craziness. A slow whisper escaped her lips. “SashaPerry, I know you’re alive because I saw you. Which means that the rest isnothing, just my overburdened mind playing tricks-”
Thud!
She heard it again, and this time it waslouder, along with something like a long, soft sigh that came from the livingroom.
Liddy sat up. Was there a draft? Had sheclosed her studio window? She could only remember having opened it to let outthe turp fumes. She turned to Paul who was sleeping, breathing heavily and exhausted.Uh, how would it go, after their unhappy night and his fears for her sanity, ifshe woke him and said, I just heard something go bump?
She got out of bed. Crept to the hall whereshe stopped, just outside the open door of her studio, and felt for an aircurrent. Nothing. No draft at all; quiet in there.
A few more steps brought her to the livingroom, all darkened shapes dimly lit by a thin wash of moonlight. Carefully, herfeet moved from hardwood floor to a rug as she headed for the nearest lamp, listeningfor a draft, looking around.
Then she stopped.
At first the shape seemed like a shaft ofmoonlight hitting one of the white cast iron columns. But it was too wide…andit was moving…swinging every so slightly, back and forth.
Liddy stared; felt her heart explode.
She sank to her knees, her eyes wide,frozen in terror as she stared at the face, chin down to its chest, neck brokenby the cruel, taut rope, blond hair spilling down.
Breath was gone. She could not scream. Couldnot hear for the wild drumming of her pulse in her ears. A faint, mewling cry finallymade its escape from her lips, and then another cry, louder this time, and thenlouder-
“Liddy.”
Something crashed, and suddenly Paul washolding her. They were both on the floor with him holding her, frantic, askingwhat happened and watch out a lamp broke and my God, what happened, whathappened. She tried to tell him, tried to point, up, up to the support beamthat wasn’t there anymore, the beam where Charlie Bass had hung himself andfrom which Sasha Perry now hung.
“It’s her,” she managed. “It’s her.”
She felt him shaking too, craning to whereshe was pointing.
“There’s nothing there,” he whisperedfrantically. “It’s nothing, Lids…just…moonlight.” He held her tighter. “My God,what happened?”
“I dreamt…there was a draft. Got up tosee…found…her.”
He was gone for seconds, got a differentlamp on, then was back and holding her again, trembling, emitting words that fellover each other. “See? There’s nothing. You were sleepwalking…”
She must have blacked out, then opened hereyes again back in bed with her nightgown soaked, her body sheened with sweat. Paulwas half holding her, half toweling her dry, trying to comfort. She felt
