Finding Shelter

by Kathi Daley

  “Has the girl been injured?”

  I slowly shook my head. “Not that I can tell. She’s scared and sad, but I haven’t noticed any blood or bruising. Of course, I have no way at this point to know what happens during the time I’m not there as an observer.”

  “And you still don’t know who it is you’re channeling?”

  “No,” I answered. “I can see the old woman, but I can’t feel her experiences or read her thoughts, so I don’t think it’s her mind I’m visiting. The same is true with the girl. I can see what’s happening to her during my visits, but I can’t feel her pain or her fear. I can only observe it. I feel like there must be a third person in the cabin, but even if there is, why would this person follow the old woman down the hallway, and why wouldn’t the girl acknowledge this person’s presence once he or she arrives with the old woman. The whole thing really does feel more like a dream than a vision, and I initially believed that was what was going on, but the dreams are so regular, and the headaches left behind have lingered.” I put my hand to my head. “I really don’t know what to do at this point.”

  “And Houston still hasn’t found a missing persons report for a girl matching the description of the girl in your dreams?”

  I shook my head. “No one who matches the description of the girl in my dreams has been reported missing. At least not from this area or from any of the nearby towns. Houston offered to expand his search, but I guess that at this point, I’m still hanging onto a thread of hope that maybe what I’m experiencing is a dream and not a vision. If it is a vision, it’s different than any I’ve ever experienced. If it’s a dream, I’d hate to have Houston spend so much time hunting down someone who only exists in my imagination.”

  Jake put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I can probably handle things here if you want to go home.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll stay. I don’t want to fall asleep too early. I’m hoping that if I’m tired enough, I’ll sleep soundly. I figure that keeping busy is the best course of action at this point.”

  “Okay.” He pulled me in for a hug. “If you change your mind and decide you want to leave early, I’ll cover for you. If it gets too busy, I’ll call the house and have Jordan come over to help out.”

  Not only was Jordan Fairchild Jake’s girlfriend, but she was also a doctor and a member of the search-and-rescue team.

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know if I decide I can’t stay awake. I’m doing okay now, but I did get up early for my volunteer shift at the shelter.”

  Jake took a sip of the coffee he always seemed to have at hand. “I’m sure Harley will understand if you decide that you need some time off.”

  “Harley is making a movie. He won’t be back for at least a month. Maybe two. Serena has been handling the desk most of the time, but even she needs breaks, so I’ve been filling in as much as I can.” Serena Walters was our number one volunteer, next to me, of course.

  “Did Harley take Brando with him?” Jake asked about the dog Harley had adopted from the shelter two Christmases ago.

  “He did. Brando has been doing really well with his training, and I think Harley feels much more comfortable as his handler at this point. Harley has a motorhome for his exclusive use when he’s on the set, so he’s been taking Brando along when he films and just leaves him there. According to Harley, the cast and crew love the huge puppy, so Brando has been getting a lot of attention even when Harley is busy.”

  “I’m glad it worked out. I wasn’t sure it was the best idea for Harley to adopt a rambunctious puppy when you first foisted the pup on him.”

  “I didn’t foist Brando on Harley,” I defended.

  Jake lifted a brow.

  “Okay, maybe I did, but Harley lives alone. He needed a companion.”

  “Harley is a very famous action star. I’m sure if he wanted a companion, he could have one,” Jake pointed out.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Not that kind of companion. Harley needed someone to go home to every night. Someone who would always be there for him. Someone who would love him even if he wasn’t rich, gorgeous, and famous.”

  Jake laughed. “It sounds like that someone might be you.”

  An image of Houston flashed through my mind. “No. I do love Harley. He’s such a great guy, and we have a history of sorts, but I think of him as my best friend.” I smiled. “Second to you, of course.”

  He shrugged. “Of course. You and I are family. There’s no one closer than someone you’re related to even if you’re only related by marriage.”

  I felt a moment of melancholy as I remembered my sister, Val. If not for her marriage to Jake, he most likely wouldn’t be part of my life. I missed Val more than I could say, but after her death, Jake had taken me in and helped me to move on, and I had to admit that most days, I really was happy with the way my life had turned out.

  I hugged Jake one more time before moving toward the back room to store the small backpack I used as a purse and grab a clean apron. Waiting tables at Neverland wasn’t a glamorous job, but it was a flexible job that allowed the time I needed to volunteer at the animal shelter and to do whatever the search-and-rescue team required. Jake was good about giving me as much time off as I needed to deal with whatever was going on in my somewhat complicated life.

  By the time I returned to the bar and grill’s main dining area, Jake was in the kitchen, discussing the daily specials with Sarge. Sarge was former military, a heck of a good cook, and one of Jake’s best friends. I waved at both men and then headed toward the bar.

  “Hey, Harm,” the bartender and search-and-rescue volunteer, Wyatt Forrester, greeted. “You look like death warmed over. Still not sleeping?”

  I really wished everyone would stop saying I looked awful. I didn’t look that bad. Did I?

  “I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “Still having the dreams?”

  I yawned as I nodded.

  “Still have no idea why you’re having the dreams?”

  I shook my head. “I assume I’m supposed to figure out a way to help the girl who’s locked in the bedroom, but she isn’t the one I’m channeling, so I’m not even sure about that. I can see her, but I can’t feel her.”

  “And you still have no idea where the cabin in your dreams might be located?”

  “No.” I sighed. “I’ve tried to look around for clues, but the movements I make in my dreams seem to be controlled by someone else. It’s like I’m watching events unfold through this third person’s eyes, but I can’t read their thoughts or experience their emotions. It’s almost like my presence is known to the individual I’m connecting with each night, and they’re only allowing me to see and experience what they want me to see and experience and nothing more.”

  “So you don’t have free will?”

  I narrowed my gaze. “No. Not really. I experience the event unfolding as if I’m simply a spectator. I can’t seem to control things. It occurred to me a couple of nights ago to try to go to the door. I figured that if I could open it, I could look outside. The windows are boarded up, so getting a peek of the cabin’s exterior hasn’t been possible. I hoped if I could open the door, I’d recognize something, but once I’d had the intention and tried to move, instead of moving toward the door, I found myself following the old woman down the long dark hallway again.”

  He began checking and replacing the bottles of alcohol that were low. “Do you think the cabin is real or just a manifestation of some sort?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “The cabin seems real, but that hallway can’t be real. The cabin is small, really just a single room plus whatever is down the hallway, but the hallway is long. Really long. Spatially, the whole thing is off. As I’ve already mentioned more than once, this dream is unlike any I’ve had before.”

  “In what way?”

  “As you know, I’ve had visions that have presented themselves as dreams previously, but in the past, I’ve experienced events through the eyes of the victim. I can feel what t
hey feel. See what they see. Know what they know. But this is different. As I mentioned, I can see the old woman and the girl, but I’m not connected with them. Yet, I do feel connected with someone. When I wake, I remember fear and longing. It feels like I’ve experienced the dream on a more intimate level than that of a simple observer, but I can’t figure out whose experience I’m connecting with. The whole thing is very odd.”

  Wyatt offered me a look of sympathy. “Not knowing with any certainty if there’s a real girl out there needing your help or if the whole thing only exists in your head must be making you crazy.”

  “It is making me crazy. Houston has been looking, but he hasn’t found anything. It seems that if a young girl was missing, there would be someone looking for her, and Houston would have found a missing persons report. This makes me think the whole thing might really be a dream, but it feels so real.” I put a hand to my head. “And the headaches are very much real. In fact, they remind me of the headaches I’ve had when I’ve connected with the killer and not the victim.”

  “Do you think that’s what is going on?” Wyatt asked.

  I frowned. “I don’t know. It seems unlikely that the person who actually did the kidnapping, assuming the kidnapper isn’t the old woman who’s taking care of the girl, would follow the old woman down the hallway when she delivers the food.”

  “You did say that the hallway seemed to be more of a representation of something else than an actual hallway.”

  I bit down on my lower lip softly. “That’s true. I suppose the whole thing, the cabin, the old woman, even the girl in the room, might be a representation of something else, but a representation of what?”

  Wyatt slowly shook his head. “Man, I wish I knew. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have someone visiting your dreams every night and have no idea who they are or what they want. No wonder you have headaches.”

  “Yeah,” I thought to myself. “No wonder.” I picked up a rag and began wiping tables. They’d been wiped before closing the evening before and really didn’t need wiping again, but I needed to do something to keep myself moving, and wiping tables seemed like a mindless chore. As I looked out on the frozen lake beyond the bar, I considered the idea that perhaps it was the individual who’d kidnapped and imprisoned the girl whose eyes I’d been viewing the scene through. I couldn’t imagine why anyone, other than the person who took the girl, would be in the room, but I felt fear and sadness rather than rage and pain when I experienced the dream. In the past, when I’d connected with the killer, the rage and pain I’d experienced had been so intense that there was little doubt in my mind whose thoughts I was sharing.

  Sarge walked up behind me as I was wiping the table closest to the huge picture window on the meadow side of the bar. “I brought you some chowder,” he said.

  I looked at the bowl of thick Alaskan Salmon Chowder and the basket of hot bread he held. “It looks delicious, but I’m really not all that hungry.”

  “Eat,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

  “Okay, but sit with me while I eat. It’s been forever since we had a nice long chat.”

  Sarge nodded and sat down across from where he’d set the food. “Jake said you’re still having the dreams.”

  I took a bite of the thick, rich chowder, nodding as I did so. “Every night.”

  “Anything new with each new dream?”

  I slowly shook my head. “Not really. Although I do seem to be lingering in the dream longer. I enter the scene earlier in the script. Last night, I watched as the old woman who brings the soup or stew to the girl busied herself in the kitchen for quite a while before attending to her chore.” I took a bite of the chowder and then continued. “In the first dream, I hesitated before following her down the long dark hallway, but now that I know what is expected, I follow right away. Each night, the old woman’s movements are the same; it’s almost as if I’m watching a scene that had been taped and rerun, but the motion of the girl is different, seeming to indicate that I’m watching the scene live.”

  “Different how?” Sarge asked, picking up a hot roll and buttering it.

  “The first night I had the dream, my experience with the girl didn’t last long. The girl was obviously terrified. The old woman offered her food, which she turned down, choosing instead to pull the covers over her head and hide.” I accepted the buttered roll Sarge handed to me. “As the week has progressed, the actions of the girl have changed. She’s more accepting of the food and the old woman. Don’t get me wrong. She still seems frightened, but she’s no longer crying each time the old woman comes into the room. She almost seems happy to see her and has begun accepting and hungrily eating the food.”

  “So she’s adapting to her circumstances.”

  I nodded. “Yes. That seems to be the case.”

  “Does she seem to be afraid of the old woman with the food?” Sarge asked.

  “No. Not anymore. She was at first. In fact, she seemed to be terrified when the old woman showed up, but now I sense acceptance of her presence.” I lifted my glass of water and took a sip. “As I mentioned, I’m not channeling the girl, so I can’t actually feel what she’s feeling, but I no longer sense the fear I sensed that first night.”

  “Do you think she’s being abused?” Sarge asked.

  I slowly shook my head. “No. I don’t think so. I’m only present for this one small part of her day, and I can’t hear her thoughts, but she doesn’t seem to be in any sort of physical distress. She is locked in the room, and I’m sure that can’t be pleasant, but she’s free to move around the room. I haven’t noticed any cuts or bruising, and I don’t sense that she’s been sexually assaulted, although I can’t know any of this with any certainty. She seems unhappy but no longer terrified. I’d say she is definitely adapting to her circumstances.”

  Sarge crossed his arms on the table in front of him. “Kids are adaptable, and I suppose as long as the girl in your dreams hasn’t had to endure any sort of physical pain, she might be allowing herself to settle into her new circumstances. Self-preservation is a powerful thing. It’s a drive that can make all the difference between a life that is tolerable and one that isn’t.”

  I tore off a piece of the roll. “Yeah. That’s my sense. I just wish I knew why I’m having the dreams and how I can help her.”

  “Based on what I know from watching you work all these years, there’s a reason you’re having the dreams, and while that reason might not be clear at this moment, if you’re patient and open to whatever message is trying to make itself known, you’ll figure it out.”

  “You’re right. I know you’re right, but given the circumstances, it’s hard to be patient.” I pushed the mostly empty bowl to the center of the table. “That was delicious, but I’m stuffed. The after-work crowd should be arriving soon, so I guess I should head to the back and wash up. Thanks for the food and the conversation.”

  “Any time, darlin’. You know ol’ Sarge is always here for you.”

  Chapter 3

  The dream this morning was different. For one thing, the cabin, while similar, wasn’t the same. As with the other cabin, this one was small. A single room with a living area and a small kitchen, but not much more. The windows on both cabins were boarded, but the interior of the rooms and furnishings were different. The old stone fireplace from the first cabin had been replaced with one of brick, and the old woodstove was a little bigger and a bit more modern than the first one. While the first cabin had featured a table and chairs in front of the fireplace, this new cabin had an old sofa and coffee table.

  But some things were the same as well. The room was still dark, with the exception of the light from the fireplace and several oil lamps. And it was still cold if you ventured too far away from the fireplace. The old woman looked the same, and as she had before, she’d been busying herself in the small kitchen area when I’d first arrived. As she had in the past, once her chores in the kitchen were completed, she headed to the old woodstove where sh
e had something heating in a pot.

  I thought back over the dreams I’d had in the past week and tried to compare every detail. So far, while this cabin was different, the old woman was the same. If the script she’d been following was adhered to again, I knew that once she’d ladled the soup or stew into the cracked bowl, she’d head over to the sink, grab a spoon, and then head down a long dark corridor until she reached a heavy wooden door. She’d take a key from the pocket of her apron, open the door, and bring the bowl into the room. She’d hand the bowl to the girl and then leave.

  As I watched the old woman ladle the soup or stew into the bowl during this dream, however, I noticed something alarming. While she had initially followed the script, this time when she ladled the soup or stew, she filled two bowls.

  “A second victim?” I asked myself as I followed the old woman down a long dark hallway, which was very similar to the first one. I watched as she took out her key, unlocked the door, and then pushed it wide enough to reveal two girls in the little room with a single bed.

  The girl with the blond hair, who I’d been visiting all week, was hugging and attempting to comfort a girl that looked to be close to her own age but had brown hair. When the old woman offered the food to the girls, the new girl cowered in the corner, but the blond-haired girl accepted both bowls.

  The dogs had become so used to my nightly terrors that they barely even stirred when I got up. I picked my cell phone up off the bedside table, sighed in relief when I realized I had bars, and called Houston despite the fact it was only three a.m.