In the Blink of an Eye

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  “At least take my jacket,” he urged her, but she refused;

  “Use it to put over Dulcie’s head when you bring her in,” she told him.

  Now, she makes a mental note to get her raincoat back from Lorraine. Either that, or buy a new one in a more suitable color. With the way this summer’s weather has been shaping up so far, she’s going to need one.

  Julia finishes her iced tea in a few more thirsty gulps, then puts the glass in the sink. Time to get out of these wet clothes, into some dry pajamas, and sink into bed.

  There, she’ll be able to think about what Paine said when she asked him how he can turn his back on Lily Dale so quickly and with such finality.

  “I thought you wanted to know more about what happened to Kristin here, Paine,” Julia said from the backseat of the car as Dulcie dozed on her shoulder and Paine steered through the treacherous storm.

  “I thought I did, too,” he told her. “But now I realize that it’s pointless. Being here, and speculating about what happened to her . . . well, how can that be healthy? Not so much for me, but for Dulcie? I’ve got to take her home, Julia. We need to make a fresh start. For three years, I’ve been a zombie. Like Rupert is now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Seeing him, realizing what he’s going through, hearing his pain—that really shook me up, Julia. It’s hell to live like that . . . immersed in pain and loss every second of the day. Rupert has a chance to do some of his grieving and to accept reality before his wife dies. I didn’t get that chance. Instead, I’ve spent the past three years trying to accept the shock of what’s happened. It’s time for me to stop being haunted by Kristin’s death and figure out how to live again. For Dulcie’s sake.”

  “I understand what you’re saying,” Julia said quietly, staring out the rain-spattered window into black nothingness.

  She also understands that her reasons for wanting Paine and Dulcie to stay are purely selfish. These past few days with Dulcie have given her a taste of what it would be like if she ever has a child of her own. Her whole life, she has instinctively been a nurturer. Having somebody who needs her—somebody who so desperately needs to be cared for—has awakened a fierce longing in Julia.

  She wants a child of her own. A family, a husband of her own.

  Her mental image of Paine is replaced with one of Andy. Before they parted last night, she happened to mention needing to find somebody with a boat to take her out on the lake to scatter Iris’s ashes on Thursday. Andy immediately offered to do it. Until that moment she forgot that Andy, an avid fisherman, rented a small motorboat to use while he’s here this summer. It was sweet of him to offer to help her with such a somber task.

  Julia turns off the kitchen light and walks into the living room, pressing the wall switch that plunges the living room into darkness again. As she does, a flashing red light catches her eye.

  The answering machine.

  She’s tempted to leave the messages until morning.

  But sheer force of habit makes her cross the room in the dark and press the button.

  The tape rewinds. Julia wonders if it was Andy who called.

  If it was, I might as well call him back tonight, she thinks wearily. I’ll just get it over with, and I’ll tell him I’m tired and can’t talk.

  The tape stops whirring.

  Myra Nixon’s recorded voice fills the room.

  “Hello, Julia, this is Myra. It’s almost ten on Tuesday evening. If you haven’t heard about Lorraine, please call me when you get in, no matter what time it is.”

  Lorraine?

  Has something happened to Lorraine?

  Her hand trembling, Julia dials Myra’s number.

  HEARING THE PHONE ring, Rupert rises from the chair at Nan’s bedside.

  She’s sleeping again, peacefully, for a change. No calling for Katherine. No digging.

  He hurries into the kitchen to answer it, glancing at the clock as he picks up the receiver. It’s nearly eleven o’clock. Who could be calling at this hour?

  “Rupert? It’s Pilar. I hope I didn’t wake you . . .”

  “No. No, I was up.”

  “I thought so. I just spoke to Myra Nixon and she happened to mention that your lights were still on. Is everything all right?”

  Myra Nixon. Leave it to that busybody to see to it that everyone in Lily Dale knows his business. Being out of her sight range is another plus to the move back to Ten Summer Street, he thinks grimly.

  “Everything is fine. I was just about to go to bed,” Rupert tells Pilar brusquely, not in the mood for chatter.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving tomorrow morning. For my cruise.”

  “Yes. Yes, that’s right Well, have a good time, Pilar.”

  “I will. But Rupert please know that you and Nan are in my prayers.”

  “Thank you.”

  There’s a pause. Then Pilar says, in a rush, “Please ask for help, Rupert, if you need it. There are so many people around who would be happy to help you. Nan is such a wonderful person, everybody around here is just aching to do something for her, or for you.”

  Tears sting Rupert’s eyes and he reaches for a paper napkin from the holder on the counter, wiping them away before they can fall.

  “I’ll be gone a week, and then I’ll be over to visit,” Pilar promises. “Please tell Nan I’ll read to her when I come.”

  He clears his throat. “I’ll tell her.”

  “Oh, and, Rupert, did you hear about Lorraine?”

  “Yes. I heard earlier, when I went out for milk.”

  “It’s tragic, isn’t it?”

  Yes, he murmurs, it certainly is tragic.

  A lot of things are tragic, Rupert thinks as he hangs up, alone in the silent kitchen as thunder rumbles in the distance.

  AN ENORMOUS TREE has fallen across Route 60 just south of Sinclairville, blocking the road leading to Jamestown. The vast mountain of leafy branches is surrounded by police cars with flashing red lights. Officers in reflective orange uniforms stand in the roadway, directing cars to take turns creeping around it as the rain continues to fall.

  It isn’t coming down as heavily now as it was earlier. The thunder has long since faded into the distance, the deluge giving way to a steady drizzle.

  Waiting for the cops to wave him around the downed tree, Edward finds it hard to be annoyed by the delay.

  Usually brimming with impatience, especially when it comes to driving, tonight Edward is feeling almost serene.

  He can sit here all night, for all he cares. He’s in no hurry to get back home to Jamestown. He’s content just to sit here, alone in the dark, savoring the moment—and digesting the little added surprise he stumbled across.

  But nobody will ever have to know about that part. He’ll see to that.

  At last things are about to fall into place for him.

  At last he has what he needs to make it happen.

  He lips curve into a faint smile as he pats the envelope safely tucked into his T-shirt pocket.

  LYING IN BED, her hand resting reassuringly on Where the Wild Things Are under her pillow, Dulcie stiffens at the sound of soft footsteps in the hall outside her room.

  Is it Daddy?

  No.

  No, she’s almost positive it’s not.

  She’s been lying here, wide awake, since well before he climbed the stairs and went to bed a long time ago. She heard him close his door at the far end of the hall, and she hasn’t heard him open it since.

  For some reason, Dulcie can’t sleep tonight Yes, she slept in the car on the way home from the restaurant so soundly that she didn’t even get to say good-bye to Julia. And she slept right through Daddy carrying her up to bed, which is the only way she could have gotten here. He even remembered to change her into the new pink flowered pajamas she and Julia picked out in T.J. Maxx, and to take the ponytail scrunchy out of her hair, and to put her book under her pillow. Somehow, Dulcie slept through all of that.

  But sh
e didn’t stay asleep. She doesn’t know what woke her up earlier, or what kept her awake despite her exhaustion. She only knows that she’s been lying here for a long time, almost as if she’s been waiting for something.

  Almost as if she’s been expecting something, and now, at last here it is:

  Footsteps.

  Somebody creeping through the old house in the dead of night.

  Is it her again?

  The lady who Julia says might be my mommy?

  Her heart pounding, Dulcie considers the possibility.

  There are two things wrong with it.

  The first is that she doesn’t feel the now-familiar presence of the ghost lady who has visited before.

  The second is that whenever the lady came, Dulcie never heard her approach. It was more as though she came and went in a rush, appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye.

  Not like this, creeping in one sneaky step at a time.

  Outside Dulcie’s window, the overflowing gutter drips rhythmically, sending one droplet after another to plunk onto the driveway below.

  Inside the house, in the hallway outside Dulcie’s room, a floorboard creaks.

  The little girl holds her breath.

  The footsteps have stopped.

  Somebody is lurking there, just outside her door. She can feel it.

  Is it Daddy?

  Is it the ghost lady?

  Is it Mommy?

  Dulcie lies very still, her eyes open to nothing but the usual blackness, her whole body tense as she listens. She tries to tell herself not to be afraid, that it might really be her mommy’s spirit, as Julia said. And she shouldn’t be afraid of her mommy . . . should she?

  There is a slight rustling outside her door, followed by a faint, telltale click.

  Dulcie recognizes the sound.

  It means somebody is turning the knob.

  Then, all at once, the face appears in front of Dulcie—the face she saw before. The face of the beautiful golden-haired lady. Her blue eyes are wide, as if she’s afraid. She’s waving her hands frantically at Dulcie and her mouth is open wide, lips moving.

  With the vision comes a rush of sound in Dulcie’s ears, drowning out anything else. It’s a frantic jumble of words, screeched in a phantom voice that Dulcie can hardly understand.

  But one word is clear.

  Danger.

  In the instant before the spirit’s energy dissolves, Dulcie gets a closer look at her. That’s when she sees it—the grotesque crack in her skull, above her right ear. The blood that covers one side of her head, matting her hair, smearing her cheek red.

  Then she’s gone, leaving Dulcie in the dark once again.

  But not alone, and not in silence.

  She can hear the door softly opening, inch by inch.

  Danger.

  The beautiful woman isn’t outside Dulcie’s room, trying to get in.

  She was right here, inside already, trying to warn Dulcie about whoever is on the other side of the door.

  Danger.

  Dulcie opens her mouth.

  Her voice seems to catch in her throat as she hears a quiet footstep crossing the threshold.

  Then she finds her voice and lets loose with a bloodcurdling scream.

  “Daddy!”

  She hears immediate commotion. Running footsteps in the doorway, in the hall, on the stairs before the front door closes with a distant click.

  Then Daddy is rushing into the room. “What is it? Dulcie? What’s wrong?”

  He’s too late.

  Too late to catch the intruder.

  But just in time to save me, Dulcie thinks, trying to catch her breath.

  “Somebody was here, Daddy,” she says, tears spilling down her cheeks as Daddy puts his arms around her and holds her close. “I’m scared. Somebody was in my room.”

  “It was just a bad dream, Dulc—”

  “No! No, it wasn’t, Daddy. Didn’t you hear it?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Footsteps. Whoever was here—they ran out of my room and down the stairs.”

  Daddy doesn’t say anything for a long time.

  When he does speak, he doesn’t say what Dulcie wants to hear. Actually, she doesn’t know what she wants to hear, but she knows what she doesn’t.

  “Dulcie, don’t worry. Whatever you think you heard . . . it wasn’t anything that can hurt you. Nothing is ever going to hurt you again, because I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to take you home.”

  “Home?” she echoes, bewildered. “You mean, to California?”

  “Yes. We only have to stay here another day, maybe two, while I wrap things up. Then we’ll get out of here, and we’ll never come back.”

  “But . . . what about Julia?”

  Again, Daddy says nothing for a long time. Then he says, “Maybe Julia can visit.”

  He says it in that way adults have of telling kids something just to keep them quiet. To keep them from asking too many questions.

  Dulcie leans her head against her daddy’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

  “Don’t leave me in here alone, Daddy,” she says, wiping at her eyes, realizing she’s crying.

  “I won’t, sweetheart Come on.” He stands and scoops her into his arms, carrying her down the hall. “You can come sleep in my room. I promise there are no ghosts in there and nightmares aren’t allowed.”

  Ghosts.

  Nightmares.

  He thinks it was all in her head.

  He doesn’t believe that somebody was here, in the house, in Dulcie’s room.

  And she has no way of proving it to him.

  Whoever it was has fled into the night.

  But what did they want?

  And what if they come back?

  And how did the lady get covered in blood?

  Chapter Eleven

  JULIA HURRIES DOWN the corridor, a bouquet of flowers in her hand. She didn’t take the time to cut them from her garden before leaving home first thing this morning—they’re from the Garden Gate florist shop a few blocks away from Brooks Memorial Hospital in Dunkirk.

  She’s left her sunglasses on to hide her eyes, red and bloodshot from a sleepless night and teary morning.

  Suddenly, a nurse in pink scrubs materializes in her path. “Excuse me, can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m here to see Lorraine Kingsley. She’s a patient here.”

  “I’m sorry, she isn’t able to have visitors yet,” the nurse says, wearing a sympathetic expression. “She’s in intensive care.”

  Julia swallows over a lump in her throat. “How is she?”

  “It’s been touch and go all night, and she’s still critical, but her condition seems to be stabilizing. Her mother is flying in later this morning and the surgeon will consult with her then. Are you a friend of hers?”

  Julia nods, unable to speak.

  “Would you like to leave the flowers for her? I can put them by her bed so that she’ll see them when she wakes up.”

  Encouraged by the fact that the nurse said when and not if, Julia manages a smile and hands over the bouquet.

  “Do you know if . . . are her daughters here?” Julia asks.

  “They were here earlier, with their aunt.”

  That would be Lorraine’s older sister Laura, who lives in Buffalo.

  “This is such a shock,” Julia murmurs, wondering how the girls are coping. Their mom is all they have. She has to recover. Feeling tears spring to her eyes again, Julia reaches into her pocket for a tissue. She finds only a handful of soggy ones she used up during the ride over.

  The kind nurse reaches for a box of tissues on a nearby counter and offers it to Julia, asking, “Have you heard anything about the police investigation? They told us it was a hit and run down in Lily Dale during that awful storm last night.”

  “That’s all I know,” Julia tells her, dabbing at her damp, sore eyes.

  She has been picturing what happened ever since Myra Nixon described the a
ccident last night on the phone. She told Julia that Lorraine was struck as she was walking along the road on her way back from a healing temple service. The car mowed her down and kept going.

  I can’t believe the driver didn’t see her, Myra said. Somebody mentioned she was wearing that bright orange raincoat you must have loaned her. Everybody in town is always saying you can see that coat of yours from a mile away—no offense, Julia.

  Julia looks at the nurse. “When you see Lorraine’s sister again, would you please tell her Julia was here, and that I’d be happy to help if she or the girls need anything? They’re teenagers, but I know they must be devastated by this. They’re very close to their mom.”

  And so am I, Julia thinks as she walks slowly back down the corridor toward the elevator bank. She still can’t quite believe what’s happened to Lorraine. She didn’t sleep most of the night, drifting off only when the first light of dawn slipped through a crack in the blinds. The alarm went off half an hour after that. She set it early so that she could be at the hospital first thing.

  Elevator doors slide open the moment Julia presses the down button. She finds herself face-to-face with Lorraine’s sister, Laura.

  After a tearful hug, Julia asks, “Where are the girls?”

  “I brought them over to one of their friend’s houses to rest for a while. They’ve both been up all night.”

  “Is there anything I can do, Laura? Do you want me to get anything from Lorraine’s house to bring here? I have the keys.”

  “Not yet. I don’t know what she’ll need when she comes out of this . . .” Laura rakes a distracted hand through her dyed red hair. “I can’t believe this is happening, Julia. Just when things were finally falling into place for her, and she’d finally unloaded that bastard Bruce.”

  “I know. This feels like a nightmare. What a horrible accident.”

  “If it was an accident,” Laura says darkly.

  “What do you mean?” Julia asks, startled.

  “The police said she was wearing a neon orange coat with the hood up, and she was right under a streetlight when she was hit, well off the side of the road. The car swerved into her. There were tire marks on the grass, Julia. It was almost as if somebody was out to get her.”