The Charm of Lost Chances

by Lucia N Davis

  David shrugged. “Maybe she wants you to find her body?”

  Sara frowned. “Maybe. But somehow I don’t think that’s how it works.”

  “Well, there’s no use speculating about it now. Let’s get print-outs of the two articles and head back. How about a bite to eat before we go? I know a good place nearby.”

  Sara sighed. “Food might be good, I guess.”

  Soon they were sitting across from each other in a cozy restaurant called Suzie’s. Sara, whose appetite was nowhere to be found, ordered only a small salad.

  David eyed her critically. “Maybe I should let my mom feed you—not sure you’re getting enough calories.”

  Sara poked at her salad. “I’m okay, don’t worry. I’ll eat more later. I’m just—I’m tired, that’s all.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” Sara shifted in her seat. “Look, David, I’m worried it’s this place that’s triggering all these dreams and experiences. I had none in Seattle, and I certainly remember nothing of the kind growing up in California. To be honest, I’m not sure I can handle any more of it. It’s very… emotional.”

  David narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to tell me something. Right?”

  Sara took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m leaving. I know we agreed on a month’s stay, and I’ll pay for it, of course, since you probably can’t rent out the cabin to someone else so quickly. But I think I’ll head back to Seattle in a few days.”

  David’s mouth fell open. “But why? We found the story. The dreams may end now. You said yourself you can’t run from it.”

  “I did, but…” That’s not all I’m running from. “But maybe I can get away from it. Like I said, I haven’t had these experiences anywhere else.”

  “Maybe that’s because big cities dull your senses,” David grumbled. “Look, you’re emotional right now. I don’t think you should make any rash decisions. Why don’t you—” He paused as his cell phone started ringing. “Hold on,” he said, looking at the display, “it’s Taylor.”

  Of course it is.

  He picked up the phone with a casual, “Hey Taylor, what’s up?” Listening intently, he gave a few short “uh-huhs” in reply.

  Unable to follow the conversation, Sara focused on her salad.

  “Okay, sure,” David said. “Well, let me know if I can help. I hope you and Alex solve the furniture problem.” He said goodbye and hung up.

  “Who’s Alex?” Sara asked.

  “Oh.” David shrugged. “Taylor is dealing with her ex. They shared an apartment.”

  “I see.” No wonder things seemed so complicated. Maybe David did like her—maybe he liked both of them, and he couldn’t make up his mind. All the more reason to get out of here.

  “You didn’t tell her what we found out,” she continued.

  “Yeah… I didn’t think that was such a good idea. Ben Stevens was her grandmother’s younger brother. No one wants to hear they have a child-killer in the family.” David looked troubled. “Though at least maybe she’d let go of the idea to buy the property. I don’t think she’d want to live there, considering the circumstances.”

  ‘No, probably not.”

  “We were in the middle of an important conversation. Can we get back to that?” David said, frowning.

  Sara shook her head. “I’m sorry, David, but my mind is set. I’m going to leave in two or three days. Besides, I think I should find a steady job again. I’m not certain I want to go back to San Francisco, but I could look into teaching in Seattle, see what I’d have to do for certification in Washington State. And I’m sure my aunt and uncle would love to have me closer.”

  David nodded. “Very well. If that’s what you want,” he said, his voice flat.

  The drive back to Dunnhill was a silent one. David seemed in no mood to talk, but Sara was fine with that; her mind was brimming with everything else that had happened that day.

  When they arrived in Dunnhill, David asked if she’d mind swinging by his office quickly before he dropped her off. As David fumbled with his keys at the front door, a man stepped up to them.

  “David Sanders?” he asked in a deep voice.

  “Yes,” David said, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s asking?”

  The man extended a well-manicured hand. “Arthur Monasset. We spoke on the phone?”

  “Arthur Monasset—right! Yes, we did. Nice to meet you.” David shook the proffered hand. “I have to say, this is a little unexpected. Did you make an appointment?”

  “No.” The man shook his head. “I didn’t think that was necessary.”

  David introduced Sara, who also got a firm handshake. Observing Arthur closely, she thought he probably looked younger than he was. Still, judging from the wrinkles on his face and the amount of grey in his hair, she figured he was at least in his late sixties or early seventies. He was tall, and in good shape. His clothes—even though he had dressed for a day of leisure—were expensive and well fitted, and did not seem to match his serious demeanor. Somehow he looked like he would be most comfortable in a suit.

  “How can I help you?” David asked, opening the door to let them in.

  “Well,” Arthur said in a clipped voice, stepping inside, “since you so kindly reminded me of my property here, I figured I should go have a look. I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction. I’m sure I can find my way.”

  “It is uphill, just to warn you.”

  Arthur pressed his lips together. “I may be seventy-four, but I can manage just fine, thank you.”

  “Of course.” David smiled. “I could take you there, if you like. It would be no trouble at all. It’s a short hike.”

  “I wouldn’t want to take up your time. As you said, I didn’t make an appointment.”

  “It really wouldn’t be a problem,” David said. “My afternoon is open.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ll take you up on your offer.”

  “Great. If you can just give me a few minutes to get ready.” David rummaged in his desk drawer. “You know, I was surprised during our conversation that you weren’t aware you owned of the property.”

  “I don’t, really,” Arthur said tersely. “It was my late father’s. It must have slipped past me when I was handling his affairs after his death.”

  “I wasn’t aware your father had passed. I am sorry for your loss.”

  Arthur smiled politely. “Thank you, but he died a while ago.”

  “Do you know anything about the history of the property?” David asked.

  “I don’t. I assumed you could help me with that.”

  “Yes, I think I may be able to,” David mumbled. He looked over at Sara, who had been feeling a little ignored. “Would you like to join us?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll just walk home, if that’s okay—I think I could use a walk.”

  “Oh, that’s right, I was going to drop you off.” David looked mildly abashed.

  “Yes, that’s quite all right. I can see you’re busy. Thank you for the productive morning—and your help.” She turned to Arthur. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Monasset. I hope you have a pleasant walk.”

  Arthur only gave her a curt nod, making Sara quite happy that she had declined to accompany them. Not the cheeriest fellow, she thought as she walked out of David’s office. Kind of fitting that he owns the property.

  With a sad smile, she headed back toward her little cabin.

  Shivering, Sara hugs herself. Someone forgot to turn on the heating. Or maybe she is supposed to have a jacket with her, but someone forgot to give her the memo. Trying to get her bearings, she turns around slowly in a full circle. The floor beneath her is hard, like concrete, but she is surrounded by total darkness. Dreadful darkness, almost palpable and sticky—like molasses. Cold sweat starts to form on her back and her heart pounds in her ears.

  She hears herself breathing. A fleeting image of Darth Vader passes through her mind. Afraid someone will hear her, Sara holds her breath for a mo
ment. It’s quiet now, apart from her pulsing heart.

  No, there is something else—a squeaking sound, rhythmic. Like the rope of a swing. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  The darkness seems to lift a little. Sara sees now that she’s in a room. From the far end, a little light comes in, just enough to reveal a shape in the center. A hanging shape. A human shape. It sways softly, its rhythm matching the squeaking sound.

  Sara opens her mouth to scream…

  Sara sat straight up in bed, wide-eyed and panting, her T-shirt soaked with sweat. Trembling, she turned on the light on the nightstand. With a sigh of relief, she took in the cozy room. Nothing out of the ordinary. Still shaking, she curled up, hugging her knees, as her mind returned to what she had just seen.

  This had to stop. She wanted it to—desperately. Finally, she pulled the covers back over her, too tired to get up. For the remainder of the night, she left the light on.

  The next morning she packed up her things. Last night’s dream had been the last straw. She needed to get out of here as soon as possible. While throwing clothes into her suitcase, she considered what to do about David. She resolved not to call him. Even though it hurt, it was better this way, less complicated.

  When she called her aunt in Seattle to let her know she was planning to return, Aunt Shelley was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I guess it didn’t work out the way you expected?”

  “No,” Sara said, fighting back tears. Aunt Shelley always seemed to know exactly what was going on.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’d love to have you. Our door is always open.”

  As always, Sara was grateful to have her aunt as a steady presence in her life. She missed her parents terribly, but at least her mother left behind an amazing sister, who helped Sara pick up the pieces whenever she needed.

  Sara loaded up her car and drove over to Margaret and Henry’s house. Margaret opened the door, a look of wonder flitting across her face.

  “Sara, dear!” she exclaimed. “What a nice surprise! Please come in.”

  Sara gave a half-hearted smile. “Hi, Margaret. I just thought I’d say goodbye before I… before I head out to Seattle. And I wanted to return the key to the cabin.” She handed the key over.

  Margaret frowned, turning the key over in her hand. “You’re leaving? I see… Well, do come in. Pops would love to see you,” Margaret said, ushering her in. “Can I get you something to drink? I made a lemon pound cake—you can’t leave without having a piece. It turned out very well, if I do say so myself. How about some coffee as well?”

  “Uhh, sure, thank you. I’d love that.”

  “Good. Let me take you to Pops. I’m sure he’ll have another piece of cake as well, now that you’re here. We’ll have a bit of a chat before you leave. We’re going to miss you, dear.”

  Slightly flustered, Sara allowed Margaret to lead her in to the living room.

  “Look who’s here, Pops. It’s Sara. She’s come to say goodbye. She’s leaving us.”

  Henry was hidden in his usual big armchair, but looked much better than last time. His face lit up when he saw Sara. “Sara! What’s this? How come? I know Dunnhill is not exactly titillating, although you make it more so.” He winked. “But it’s no Seattle, of course.”

  Sara pulled up a chair. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving without saying goodbye, Henry. Not to you. And no, the lack of excitement was not the issue. To the contrary. Did David tell you what we found in the newspaper?”

  Henry frowned. “Yes,” he said darkly, “that was some nasty business. Who’d have thought? I guess you can never really know people, even if you think you do.”

  Sara put her hand on his. “I’m sorry. I feel connected to them, because of my dreams. But you actually knew Ben Stevens.”

  “Yes, I did. But it was a long time ago, Sara. Still… it came as a shock to me.” The old man stared off into space, as if seeing different faces from a different time. He sighed, then shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it now.”

  Margaret came in with a tray of coffee and a gorgeous-looking Bundt cake. “Here you go, dear,” she said, handing Sara a mug of coffee and a very generous piece of cake. “Now tell me, Sara,” she said innocently as she sat down, “what are your plans? You’re going back to Seattle? I guess we’d all hoped you’d stay a bit longer.”

  Sara took a sip of her coffee, struggling to find the right answer. “I just decided I needed—well, I can’t keep putting my life on hold, you know. I’m an adult. I need a job, for starters. I left San Francisco to clear my mind, to deal with the fact that my parents are gone. But it left me... without a clear direction. And here, there are too many distractions, as it turns out. Those dreams. I can’t keep living in the past. I need to focus on the future.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow. “And there’s no future here?” he asked.

  Sara thought she knew where he was going with that. “I don’t think so,” she said softly.

  “That’s too bad,” Henry said, though his eyes conveyed understanding. “Well, you need to do what’s right for you.” Margaret nodded in agreement.

  Sara took a bite of cake, which she had to admit was absolutely delicious. They were all quiet for a while.

  “You know,” Henry said, breaking the silence. “It’s funny, all that talk about the past—it brought back so many memories. Have I ever told you about my wife?”

  “Uh-uh.” Sara shook her head, her mouth full of cake.

  “Ha!” The old man had a twinkle in his eyes. “My Laura, she was something else. I’d never seen anyone like her before. She wasn’t as stylish as Charlene, perhaps, but to me, she was the most beautiful girl in the world. She was a nurse; I met her during the war. I had to work damn hard to convince her I was the man she’d been waiting for, let me tell you. But some things are worth fighting for. It took some time. That woman—she was a hard one to crack. Stubborn as a mule. A cute one, though.” Smiling, he cradled his coffee cup in his wrinkled hands. “And we had a wonderful marriage,” he said softly, “and two wonderful boys. You know, I never thought I’d outlive my wife and one of my sons, but there you go; it just happens. And you’re right, you do have to pick up the pieces. Life goes on. Isn’t that right, Margaret?”

  Margaret nodded. Sara thought she saw some tears in the older woman’s eyes. The son Henry lost had been her husband.

  “Yes, well…” Henry cleared his throat before continuing in a lighter tone, “In any case, don’t be afraid to fight for something you think will bring you happiness, my dear. It’s worth it. Take it from me. I wouldn’t change a single thing if I could do it all over again.”

  “Neither would I,” Margaret said softly.

  Sara shifted in her seat, somewhat uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed.

  Margaret glanced over at Sara. “Let’s talk about something else,” she said. “What are you going to do in Seattle? Are you going to pick up teaching again?”

  Relieved, Sara talked about the possibilities she had researched, and how she was going to make a fresh start in Seattle. When it was time for her to leave, she gave Henry and Margaret each a long hug.

  “Please tell David goodbye, and thank him for everything,” she said. Stepping out of the house, a lump formed in her throat. She loved David’s family. It could’ve all worked out so perfectly, if only…

  As Dunnhill disappeared in her rearview mirror, she wanted to cry, but for once, she was all out of tears.

  In Seattle, the days flew by. Sara moved back in to the guest room at her aunt and uncle’s—it was small, but cozy. At some point, she’d have to get a place of her own, although how she was going to afford that, she wasn’t sure. Her old studio back in San Francisco still held most of her stuff, and it was being sublet at the moment. Pushing that out of her mind, she focused on her teacher certification for Washington, with the hope that she could start as a substitute teacher in due time.

  Her days thus far were leisurely, which was fortunate, because she hadn�
��t been sleeping well. Seattle was doing nothing to keep the dreams away, proving that Dunnhill had nothing to do with it. Over the course of two weeks at her aunt and uncle’s, she had the same dream of the dark room and the hanged person every night; she woke up in cold fear and began feeling anxious about going to bed. Dark rings formed around her eyes and her face looked drawn. Aunt Shelley suggested she look into therapy, but Sara declined—the therapist would almost definitely send her to a psychiatrist for the episodes, or worse, have her admitted to a hospital. Sara was questioning her own sanity these days.

  Often, she would sit in one of the local coffee shops and try to finish her freelance writing assignments, or just stare out the window. It wasn’t just the insomnia bringing her down: She missed her parents. And she missed David. Running away hadn’t made things easier—in fact, it seemed like the opposite. Not that she had been capable of feeling much happiness after her parents’ death, which happened almost a year ago now. But David had let in some light during the darkness. He had made things better. He had called once, since she left Dunnhill. Not knowing what to say, she had let it go to voicemail. The message was short, just asking her to call back, so they could talk. So far, she hadn’t.

  One rainy morning, as she was plugging away on her laptop at Starbucks, she heard a familiar voice. “Sara? Is that you?”

  She looked up; to her surprise, Taylor was standing next to her table. Slightly overwhelmed, Sara got up. She glanced around to make sure David wasn’t here too. She was painfully aware of her sweatpants and the fact that she had left the house without any makeup. Despite being drenched from the rain outside, Taylor still looked stunningly beautiful. She reached out and gave Sara a long hug, soaking her sweater in the process.

  “Hi, Taylor. What brings you here?” Sara asked.

  “Me?” Taylor raised a perfectly curved eyebrow. “I’ve had an apartment here for years. What about you? I heard from David you left. Why did you leave so suddenly? You didn’t even say goodbye…”