Imprints

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  What was going on? Inclar had obviously slipped this under my door. How else could it have gotten here? But then why try to kill me? Or had he followed someone else here—perhaps one of the farm’s disciples?

  No, they didn’t even know my name. Come to think of it, how had Inclar known where I lived? Yet as I considered, I realized Inclar’s finding me wasn’t really a mystery. He lived in the area and could have seen me in the shop. Since many of my fellow shop owners knew where I lived, especially following the publicity of Winter’s death, anyone could have traced me with a few questions. Yet why give me a map and a key and then try to kill me? He was a psychopath at best and probably schizophrenic on top of that.

  There was no imprint on either the envelope or the map, which told me this wasn’t a treasured object or something that had been touched very often or for long, despite the obvious feeling behind the scrawled words.

  I picked up the key. At once intense images shot through my head in a rapid, blurry succession. Darkness. Pain. Laughter. Evil. A slap on the face. Fingers bleeding from the stab of a needle. Power and conquest. Agony. Triumph. A corpse.

  My fingers opened, and the key slipped back into the envelope. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding erratically. This was the second object I’d come across that held such intense and rapid conflict that my brain couldn’t process anything with any degree of intelligence. The first time had been days after Winter’s funeral. I’d fainted then.

  Rising, I stumbled unsteadily across the room to the couch, falling over the back and sprawling onto the cushions, too tired to go around. I set the envelope on the antique coffee table and the map on top of that. My handbag I let slide to the floor. Pulling Summer’s multicolored afghan over me, I basked in the imprint of her memories that washed gently over me like warm, soothing water. They were so gentle and faint that sometimes I wondered if they were only my memories and no longer imprints at all.

  After a while, I reached out and took Summer’s picture from the coffee table. This imprint was stronger. I felt a rush of love, saw thin, familiar fingers on the frame. Winter’s fingers. I’d replaced the glass that had shattered when I dropped it on the day of his funeral, but the imprints on the gold and black frame were unchanged. Silly to have reacted so strongly when I’d been raised to think of the world being capable of communication on many different levels—spiritual and physical. Winter and Summer would both love the idea of imprints.

  Exhaustion lay heavily upon my shoulders, but I knew I should call someone. Jake? No. He’d just be more set against my participation in this whole thing. Too bad, because he was my first choice. He could stay with me all night, sleeping in Winter’s room or on the couch. But because the attack was wrapped up with Harmony Farm, I knew I couldn’t call him without raising more objections to my plan. Same with Tawnia and Bret. The people in my building and my friends from work couldn’t begin to understand what was going on. So far none of them had even a hint about my paranormal ability. Better to rest now and figure things out in the morning.

  A creaking came from the apartment above me. Or was it coming from my place? Maybe someone was in my kitchen or in one of the two bedrooms. I looked around for something to use as a weapon. Not my antique vase or the ogre statue. They were too valuable.

  The sounds stopped, but I found myself clutching Summer’s picture, my hands shaking. This was going to be a long night.

  I had Ethan’s business card out of my purse and was dialing the phone before I realized it.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Autumn. I’m sorry to bother you this late.” My throat ached at the effort to speak, and my voice sounded husky even to my ears.

  “It’s barely ten.”

  “Oh.” It seemed much later to me.

  “Are you all right? You’re not having second thoughts?”

  “Someone was outside my apartment tonight. That guy I told you all about during dinner, the brother of that leader—not the leader in Marcie’s imprint, but the younger one I met today. Anyway, his brother left a map under my door. At least I think it was him.”

  “A map?” Ethan’s voice was eager. “Of what?”

  “It’s not marked, but there’s some cryptic wording about his being killed if he they knew I had it, which is sort of stupid since I thought he was going to kill me before I even saw it.”

  “He hurt you?”

  “I must have startled him when I got home. I think he’s a little nuts.” I explained the attack and how Inclar had debated with himself whether or not to kill me.

  “I wondered what was up with your voice,” he said. “I wish I had been there.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What he wrote on the envelope seems to indicate someone needs saving.”

  “I agree. But who?” I was feeling steadier now that he was on the line. I scooped up an antique vase and checked out the bedrooms. No one there, and the windows were closed. The tiny kitchen was also empty, my tall frame of herbs against the window undisturbed, the familiar smells welcoming me like an old friend. A cup of camomile tea was what I needed for both my sore throat and my nerves. I set down the vase and put the water on the stove to boil.

  “Has to be the rebellious disciples, I’d say,” Ethan replied, answering my questions. “Who else would need saving?”

  “I thought about going to the police, but I worried that would get in the way of what we were trying to do.”

  “Maybe it would help.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then again you could be right. If he’s obviously crazy and we have him arrested, his brother might come to get him out on bail, or whatever.”

  “And my chances of joining Harmony Farm would probably be nil.”

  “Yes, your identity could be compromised. But what if he tries to hurt you again?”

  “Well, I’m not going to open the door for him.” I took down a mug from the cupboard.

  “Don’t open it for anyone.”

  I snorted. “Not even my sister?” A loud horn sounded from his end, and I wondered if he lived near a freeway or large road.

  “Well, of course.”

  We laughed.

  “So about the map,” he said. “Is it legible?”

  I went back to the living room to retrieve it. “Looks like a photocopy—a poor one. I don’t recognize any of the landmarks, though there is a main road down at the very bottom. The 95, I think.”

  “That goes through Rome.”

  “Just a minute, and I’ll check it against my own map.”

  I plucked my Oregon map from the bookshelf and took it to the kitchen. The water was hot, so I poured it into my cup and plopped in a bag of camomile tea. Winter had used only loose tea, but I thought tea bags were one of man’s greatest inventions. Letting the tea steep, I spread the map onto the table.

  “Well?” asked Ethan, who was understandably anxious.

  I had to search for a moment. “Yeah, I think it is there. Like I said, the photocopy is kind of poor, and my map doesn’t show a lot of details, but I bet we could find it from this.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t need to join them after all.”

  “You think you’d be able to find your sister if you watched the place?”

  He sighed. “You’re right. She might not be in view. Without someone on the inside, it’d be hard to tell if they are what they appear to be. They aren’t going to be abusing anyone in the open, even if the place itself is hidden.”

  I hadn’t exactly been implying any of that, but he did have a point. I didn’t mind letting him think I had come to that conclusion before he did. All was fair in love and war. I smiled, knowing which I hoped this might be. Intelligence, finger-attracting hair, a smile that made my heart beat faster, and a steady job. What more could a girl want?

  “I’ll make you a copy of the map at work tomorrow,” I told Ethan.

  “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  “Well, I guess I’d better let you go.”

  “I don’t l
ike the idea of you being alone. Maybe you should call your sister.”

  “She’d be freaked out, especially now with all the hormones.”

  “What about that guy. Jake, was it? I got the feeling you two are, uh, close.”

  I frowned. “He’s like a brother to me.” Unfortunately.

  “A brother.” Ethan sounded glad, and that made me feel better.

  More small talk while another idea occurred to me. I turned on the computer I’d crammed in a corner of the kitchen next to the washer piled high with dirty clothes. With a little help from technology, I might be able to find myself a better map. Tawnia, who was miles ahead of me in technology, always turned to the Internet when she had a dilemma, and she always found what she was looking for.

  It took me less time than I expected. I’d only finished half my tea before I was able to pinpoint a dark patch of green on the interactive map that I thought might be the location of Harmony Farm.

  “It’s a lot clearer on the Internet,” I told Ethan triumphantly. “I mean, it’s just a patch of trees—I can’t see any buildings or anything, but that might be because they’re hidden or the satellite picture is old.” I sent the file to my e-mail address, planning to print it at work since I didn’t have a printer in the apartment.

  “Great. That’s really going to help.”

  Help him, maybe. Because for me being able to find it on a map and in real life were two completely different things. I was hopelessly directionally impaired, another trait I shared with my sister. Bret had finally insisted that Tawnia use a GPS, and it had made her life easier. A GPS wouldn’t do any good in this instance, though, since I didn’t have exact coordinates.

  I turned off the computer, my eyes heavy. I decided to finish the tea in the living room under my mother’s afghan. “Look, thanks for everything, Ethan. We’d better hang up now.” Why did I feel so ridiculously close to this man I really didn’t know?

  “Go open your door,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Open it.”

  I went to the door and peered through the peephole. Ethan was standing outside, smiling, with his phone at his ear. My gaze flitted to the clock to see that we’d been on the phone more than forty-five minutes. Still, he’d made good time; at normal speeds he lived forty-five minutes from Tawnia’s and my apartment was fifteen minutes farther.

  “There’s a man outside my door,” I said. “He might be here to attack me.”

  “I don’t think so. He might actually protect you.”

  “How did you find me?”

  He laughed, a sound I could hear through both the phone and the door. “I’m a private investigator, aren’t I?”

  I let him in, embarrassed to be so happy to see him and glad that I wouldn’t have to jump at every creak in this old building all night long. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I came for the map.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Tea?” I indicated my cup.

  “No thanks.”

  We talked a while at the kitchen table, poring over the map, until I could no longer hide my huge yawns. “You go on to bed.” He opened his jacket to show the gun in his shoulder holster. “I’ll keep a lookout.”

  My stomach felt queasy at the idea of having such a thing in my house. A killing thing. But he was sweet to have driven all this way, and I really didn’t know what Inclar might be capable of.

  “Okay,” I said, all joviality gone. “Good night.” I touched his arm as I arose, a simple gesture of thanks. At least that’s what it was supposed to be. His scent drifted to my nose. Something masculine and incredibly attractive. He looked up at me, his expression acute. The tension between us grew so thick, I had no doubt at all that we were both experiencing the same emotion. I liked this man, for all that I didn’t really know him.

  I lifted my hand and stepped back. Sometimes I actually manage to make the right decision, saving myself later embarrassment—or worse.

  “Good night,” Ethan said, his voice low. I felt his eyes follow me to the door, and I smiled to myself.

  In my own room, I locked the door, shed my outer clothing, and fell into bed. Sleep settled over me, and the last thing I thought about wasn’t Jake’s comforting arms or Ethan’s intense stare but Inclar’s eye rolling uncontrollably in his head. And the key that was sitting inside the envelope on my coffee table.

  In all the excitement with the map, I’d completely forgotten the key.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning I awoke with the sun, which can really mess up your day in the winter but is an okay thing to do in mid-June. It was Friday, a work day, but I had time before I needed to open the shop, and if I wasn’t there exactly at nine, it really didn’t matter because Jake would open for both of us. I stretched in my bed under a quilt I’d tied when I was thirteen—with a little help from Winter—feeling snug and warm.

  Then I remembered Ethan and sat up straight. Was he still here? I pulled on last night’s clothes, ran a hand through my short hair, unlocked my bedroom door, and went out into the living room.

  Ethan was there, all right. He’d dragged Winter’s comfy chair near the door, not an easy feat as it had been made in the days when furniture was built to last more than three years. He lay back in it sound asleep, his hair tousled even more than yesterday and his mouth partially open. He looked like a little boy, and I smiled at the image. Until my eyes fell to the gun in his hand. He’d obviously been worried that Inclar might return. Though it was sweet to put himself in the line of fire, I doubted I was in immediate danger. This was dramatic overkill. Asleep holding the gun, he looked a parody of the courageous PI at my sister’s dinner table the night before.

  I laughed softly, but Ethan didn’t stir. Some PI. I wondered how long he’d stayed up studying the map. No doubt he was anxious to get on the road to see if anything was really there.

  Why would Inclar give me a map and then try to kill me? There didn’t seem to be an answer, and I hated wasting time playing “what if,” though normally I was a master at the game.

  What if Summer had survived the cancer? What if I hadn’t let Winter go with me to shop for antiques that last day? Or what if we hadn’t driven over the Hawthorne Bridge?

  I went back to my room and grabbed a few clothes from the closet. Normally, I’d take whatever came to hand because I wasn’t into fashion. Whether because I’d been raised by hippies or because I didn’t have money, I really couldn’t say, but I liked to think those things didn’t matter in the long run anyway. You are what you are underneath, and that couldn’t change with the wrapping.

  Yet there was a little piece of me that wanted to impress Ethan, so I made sure my hand chose the low-rise green army pants and the dark brown shirt that was cut longer so it would stay tucked in. In this outfit I got a lot of admiring looks from men because for some reason I couldn’t exactly pinpoint, it flattered my too-thin figure exactly right. I’d never been able to reproduce the look in other clothing, which was strange since there was nothing special about the pants or the top. Except the way I felt when I had them on. Every woman needed an outfit like this—comfortable and appealing.

  Although I suppose I could have been attracting attention because the clothes looked terrible on me.

  Pushing that last thought away, I showered, humming to myself and feeling more alive than I had in a long time. Only a slight huskiness remained when I tried out my voice, and my throat felt much better.

  My smile died when I looked in the mirror and saw two thumbprint bruises in the middle of my throat. Everything came rushing back. My heart thumped and then hammered in my chest as last night’s terror flashed into my mind. My stomach churned so hard I felt sick. I gripped the sink until the memory passed.

  I should have called the police. But what would that mean for the map and the key?

  I gave my hair two minutes with the blow dryer, using a little gel to add body to the red-dyed hair on top. Jake’s sister had helped me with it only the week before,
so it looked fresh. Randa would make a highly paid stylist one day, but for now she was my own personal hairdresser. Or I was her guinea pig. But still.

  I applied my makeup quickly. I used more than Tawnia, which was weird considering I was into the more natural way of doing things, but all my products were organic and healthy, bought from Jake at wholesale. I had given up wearing false eyelashes, though. They’d been over the top, even for me. Makeup gave me back my color, which I sometimes thought had been leached from my face when my car plunged into the Willamette River.

  Studying myself in the mirror, I knew I looked good, and I felt that excitement when you first meet someone you really like. Before you know all their bad habits and they discover yours. I opened the door.

  Ethan was no longer snoring in the chair by the door. Nor was he anywhere else in my apartment. Both my map and Inclar’s were gone, but the envelope with the key lay untouched on the coffee table next to my marble figurines. Unable to make myself touch it again, I folded it up in the envelope and slipped it into my handbag. I’d have to find some way to take it to the commune undetected.

  A part of me couldn’t believe I still planned to go. Another part of me couldn’t stop smiling. Something interesting was happening, and there was a new guy in my life. Maybe.

  There was a sound at the door, not quite a knock, and I went to see who it was. Ethan, back from wherever he’d gone. I unlocked the door and let him in. He’d combed his hair, probably with his fingers, and it had regained its normal look that skirted the border between professional and messy.

  “Sorry, hands are full.” He hefted two bags that looked suspiciously like doughnuts and coffee.

  “I don’t drink coffee,” I said. “Or eat doughnuts.” No use in delaying the inevitable confession. That way there could be no let-down later. “Do you know how terrible those are for you? Caffeine and trans fat. Processed flour and sugars. Yuck.”

  He couldn’t have been more surprised if I’d told him I had supernatural powers, which, it could be argued, I do, so I know the look. “You don’t eat doughnuts?”