A Gift of Time (Tassamara)

by Sarah Wynde

  Oh, damn, she was stupid.

  Natalya hurried after Kenzi. Her eyes swept the living room, a quick check to see that the girl wasn’t hiding under the tables before she headed straight to the bathroom closet. Kenzi wasn’t buried in the back of it as she had been before. Frowning, Natalya checked the tub and behind the door, then more slowly, went back to the kitchen. The back door was closed, deadbolt locked. Her eyes scanned the room, but there was no place to hide. She checked the linen closet on her way to the bedroom, then her bedroom closet, but Kenzi wasn’t on the shelves or crouched in the back behind her clothes.

  She looked around her room.

  Where could Kenzi be? Her house just wasn’t large enough to have many hiding places. She crouched to look under the king-size bed, despite knowing the little girl couldn’t possibly fit because of the boxes stored under it. A pair of small feet tucked up at the top revealed that she was wrong.

  Natalya knelt for a moment, wondering what to do. Crossing to the other side of the bed, she lay down flat on the floor. From this position, Kenzi was totally hidden. If Natalya had looked under the bed when she came into the room instead of after checking the closet, she would never have seen her.

  “You’re not hiding because I said a bad word, are you?” she asked, her voice gentle. She waited for a response, but wasn’t surprised not to get one. The carpet felt scratchy against her cheek and her nose itched as if the dust might make her sneeze but she ignored the discomfort. “Do you think you know the man in my drawing?”

  Still no response, but the silence felt frozen, as if Kenzi was holding her breath.

  “I don’t know him. I just drew a picture that came into my head. But that’s what scared you, isn’t it?”

  Still no response.

  “I’m scared, too.” The words slipped out without forethought.

  Immediately, she cursed herself silently. What the hell kind of grown-up tells a troubled child that she’s afraid? What an idiotic thing to do. But a rustle from under the bed told her Kenzi was pushing a box aside.

  In the shadows, Natalya couldn’t see much but there was enough light to let her see Kenzi’s searching gaze.

  “I am,” Natalya repeated herself. “I don’t know why. I don’t know what there is to be afraid of. Do you know?”

  Kenzi didn’t answer her.

  “We’re safe here,” Natalya told her. She slid her arm under her cheek, hoping to get more comfortable, but her discomfort wasn’t caused by the hard floor. It was the surge of dread rising in her throat at her own words. “You don’t think so,” she whispered. The words weren’t quite a question.

  Kenzi shook her head.

  Natalya stared at her, trying to put the pieces together.

  Her gift was back. Not completely, not like it used to be. But the nightmarish feeling, the sketch—those were premonitions, not random.

  “Do you recognize the man in my drawing?” she asked Kenzi, keeping her voice steady with an effort.

  Kenzi turned her face away, burying her expression in the darkness under the bed.

  “Kenzi, I can keep us safe,” Natalya said. “Colin is the police. He can keep us safe. I promise you, he can. But not if you don’t tell us what we should be afraid of.”

  Kenzi took a gasping breath, the kind of shaky inhalation presaging tears. But she didn’t say anything and she didn’t start crying.

  Natalya reached under the bed and touched the top of Kenzi’s head, feeling the smooth silk of her hair under her fingertips. What could she do? How could she comfort the girl? Kenzi must have scoped out this hiding place earlier in the week, maybe right after Natalya found her in the bathroom closet. What must her life have been like if she searched for hiding places as a matter of course?

  “I want to help you,” Natalya said softly. “But sweetheart, you need to help yourself, too. I know…”

  She paused. She had deliberately sheltered Kenzi from their conversation with Rose. Little girls didn’t need to know about ghosts and she’d been worried about the long-term consequences if Kenzi started talking to outsiders—like that psychologist—about her experiences. But what did Kenzi know already? “You drew a picture of a girl in a pink dress,” she said, voice cautious. “You saw that girl when you were lost in the woods, didn’t you?”

  Silence from under the bed.

  “Her name is Rose.”

  A scramble as boxes shifted. Natalya rolled away, pushing herself up as Kenzi pulled herself out from under the bed and stared at her, eyes wide. The little girl opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it again, pressing her lips together as if the words were struggling to fly free and she fighting them. She swallowed hard.

  Natalya reached out and stroked a bit of hair out of Kenzi’s face. “Someone told you not to talk,” she said. “Someone told you to run, to hide, not to say a word. And you’re trying so hard to do what you were told, aren’t you?”

  Her lips stayed tightly pressed together, but her chin wobbled. Natalya could see the answer in Kenzi’s eyes. What now? She wasn’t about to tell Kenzi her mother was likely dead—that job was reserved for a time when the knowledge was sure and certain, not speculation. But how could she reassure Kenzi enough that the little girl would tell her the truth?

  The doorbell rang.

  Suddenly, the dread was back. Natalya’s stomach churned as she glanced over her shoulder.

  It was broad daylight.

  She was in her own home.

  The doors were locked.

  She had no reason to be afraid. But she was. The fear felt almost like a living thing, grabbing her and twisting. She put a hand on her abdomen, pressing against it, and looked back at Kenzi.

  “Sweetheart,” she said, “I’m sure this is nothing. But you go ahead and hide again.” Kenzi’s lips parted in surprise but Natalya nodded at her, gesturing toward the bed. “Quickly, go on now.”

  She waited until the girl obediently slithered under the bed again and then helped her position the boxes, feeling her heartbeat pulsing at her throat.

  Leaves on water, she reminded herself, trying to calm her racing thoughts. It was probably Grace at the door, bringing more furniture for the dollhouse. She’d promised to come by again after the afternoon mail delivery.

  Undoubtedly, Natalya was being ridiculous.

  Of course, she was being ridiculous.

  But telling herself so didn’t calm her pounding heart as she walked toward the front door. Leaves on water, she told herself again. Leaves on water. Why the hell was calming meditation so hard?

  At the door, she called out, “Yes, who is it?”

  She never did that. It was Tassamara, home. She knew her neighbors. She knew every person who would drop by. The doorbell rang and she opened the door. That was how it worked. But not today.

  She pressed herself against the door, trying to hear a response. Grace’s voice, she told herself. It will be Grace… except Grace never bothered with the doorbell, she just let herself in. So maybe a delivery guy? A package she needed to sign for?

  “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  Natalya’s brows drew down. That sounded like a boy. A young boy, maybe in his early teens.

  “I was wondering if I could use your phone? My grampa and me, our car’s broke down.”

  Natalya pulled away from the door.

  She stared at it. A car breakdown. On her dead-end road?

  “Where were you going?” she called out.

  The answer was slow to come. “Fishing, ma’am. On the lake.”

  In the middle of the day?

  Natalya’s heartbeat was so loud in her ears she almost missed a muffled aside as if the boy were whispering to someone else.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her hands against her face, trying desperately to think. Okay, two people out there. One of them, maybe, the scary man Kenzi feared. One of them, a young boy. She could send him on his way easily enough, but what then? If they’d found Kenzi and were lying to
get to her, they’d be back. And the boy might need help as much as Kenzi did.

  But maybe she was being ridiculous. Maybe that was just a young boy, going fishing with his grandfather, experiencing car trouble, nothing to worry about.

  She snorted, a sound audible and louder than she expected, and then rubbed her hands across her face, shaking her head in decision. No one went fishing in the middle of the day. The car breakdown was bad enough, but fishing was a stupid lie.

  “Hang on, I’ll get my phone,” she yelled through the door, keeping her voice steady.

  She’d call Colin. He might still be out marching around the woods with Akira and Rose, searching for Kenzi’s starting point, but he’d send help. And a nice police officer, preferably in uniform, joining the two people on her doorstep would make everything so much simpler.

  She retrieved her phone from the kitchen. Standing in the archway between the kitchen and the living room, she found Colin’s number in her caller ID and pressed the call button. Eyes on the front door, she waited for him to answer.

  Her heart was pounding, she realized. His phone only rang twice before he picked up, but the time stretched out like saltwater taffy. What was the boy doing? Was he waiting patiently? She hadn’t exactly been welcoming, but did he believe she was going to open the door to him?

  “Nat? Everything okay?”

  The sound of Colin’s familiar voice, the warmth and the worry, sent a rush of relief flowing down her spine.

  “Colin, good, you’re there,” Natalya said, keeping her voice as calm and steady as if she were issuing orders in the emergency room. “I need you to send a deputy to the house—one in uniform.”

  “A deputy? What’s going on?” His tone sharpened, instantly concerned.

  “Someone—I think—I can’t tell…” Natalya inhaled and then exhaled as slowly as she could bring herself to. She should have organized her thoughts instead of worrying about what the boy was up to. “I think my foresight’s coming back. There’s a boy at my door, maybe with company.”

  “And you think he’s trouble?”

  “He’s connected to Kenzi, I’m sure of it. But he claims his grandfather’s car broke down while they were on their way to fish on the lake. He’s asking to use my phone.”

  “Fishing? This time of day?”

  Natalya felt her lips turning up. She loved the way Colin jumped to the same conclusions she did. Back when they watched television together, they’d always liked guessing the culprit in their favorite shows. “That’s what I said.”

  “All right, I’m going to need to put you on hold to call in. But stay on the line. Don’t hang up and don’t let go of the phone.”

  “Got it,” Natalya answered.

  “And don’t open the door,” Colin ordered.

  Natalya rolled her eyes. Did he think she was stupid? She had no intention of opening the door. But as the line went quiet, she heard a jangle of breaking glass followed by a crash as the glass fell to the ground from the room behind her.

  Natalya whirled.

  A thin brown arm was reaching through the window of her kitchen door, feeling around for the interior lock.

  Natalya yelled, “Don’t you dare!”

  She lunged for the knife block next to the stove, grabbing the smooth handle of her biggest chef’s knife. She didn’t know what she’d do with it—it wasn’t as if she would slice up a kid, not even one who smashed her window and tried to break into her house—but maybe she could scare him off. Him and the grandfather she had yet to see.

  But as she spun to face the door, the kid screamed. “Oh, shit. It hurts, it hurts. Mac! Mac! Travis, help me!” His hand withdrew from the window as abruptly as it had appeared.

  Nat dropped the knife and the phone. The red on the shards of glass still caught in the frame told the story. Without hesitating, she leaped to the door, fumbling with the deadbolt, finally yanking the door open.

  “You idiot,” she scolded him. “What did you think you were doing?”

  His left hand clutched his right forearm, blood spurting from between his fingers. She took it in with one quick glance, then darted back inside and grabbed a clean dish towel from the drawer by the sink. She hurried back out again.

  “Sit,” she ordered, pushing his shoulder until he folded onto the porch steps. “Arm up.”

  He was moaning, rocking slightly, muttering “oh, shit, oh, shit,” under his breath. He didn’t move to obey her, still holding his arm, so she crouched in front of him.

  “Arm up,” she repeated herself. “Elevate to slow the bleeding, pressure to stop it. You’re going to be okay. Let me help you.”

  He blinked at her, brown eyes framed by dark lashes looking imploring. “I need Mac.”

  “Is he around front? I’ll get him, but let’s get the bleeding stopped first.” Natalya lifted his arm gently. He’d hit the radial artery. Fortunately, the laceration wasn’t long, although it was deep. She pressed the dish towel against his forearm, holding it firmly in place even as he winced away.

  “Not a he,” the kid said.

  Natalya barely heard him, most of her attention on his arm. She’d need to check if he’d gotten glass in the cut. They’d need to clean it out. He should get a tetanus shot and maybe stitches. “Are your vaccinations up-to-date?”

  “My what?”

  “Shots?” she asked him. “Does your mom take you in for checkups?” His clothes were well-worn, t-shirt faded and blue jeans dirty. For plenty of families in Florida, routine health care was a luxury item.

  “Ain’t got a mom.” He sniffled. Natalya guessed he was trying hard not to cry, and estimated his age a year or two downward. Eleven, maybe.

  Thudding footsteps sounded from the side of the house. Natalya glanced that way as another boy rounded the corner. This one was older, a teenager, maybe sixteen or seventeen. He had the lanky look of a boy spurting into adulthood, with long legs and arms that looked too big for slender shoulders to carry.

  “Mitchell, what did you do?” The boy skidded to a stop next to them.

  “Learned how stupid it is to try to break into people’s houses,” Natalya said with a bite in her voice, as she rose, bringing the younger boy’s arm up and over his head.

  “Never hurt myself before,” Mitchell protested.

  “Oh, you make a habit of this?” Her fingers pressed tighter on the towel and the boy yelped. “Sorry,” she said, loosening them slightly but still keeping the pressure on. Blood was seeping through the towel, a stain slowly beginning to grow.

  “Shut up, Mitchell.” Worry put lines on the older boy’s face that belied his age. “Did you find Mac?”

  “Didn’t get a chance. She was on the phone.” The jerk of his head at Natalya made it clear he was referring to her.

  “We gotta find her and get outta here.” The older boy moved as if to shove past them and up the steps.

  Natalya shifted to block him. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

  “Lady, you don’t want to get in our way.” The grimness in his voice, like the lines in his face, didn’t belong there.

  “Your friend here needs to go to the hospital.” Natalya stood firm, but she couldn’t resist a glance toward her bedroom window. Mac? Could they be talking about Kenzi?

  “My brother,” the boy corrected her, touching the younger boy’s shoulder with a possessive hand.

  Natalya’s eyebrows rose. The older boy’s skin was several shades darker then the younger boy’s brown. She supposed it was possible they were related, but it seemed unlikely. Maybe half-brothers? Or loyal step-brothers?

  “He’ll be fine as soon as we find our sister,” the older boy continued.

  Natalya’s lips parted in surprise—could Kenzi be related to these boys?—before she pressed them together and scowled. “He’ll be fine as soon as he gets stitches and a tetanus shot. Where’s your grandfather?”

  The older boy grunted, but Mitchell gave a quiet whimper.

  Natalya put her free hand on his cheek to c
omfort him and said, voice gentler, “It’ll only hurt for a minute or two.” The stain on the towel didn’t seem to be growing any bigger. The blood must be clotting, the bleeding slowing.

  “Not if he catches us,” Mitchell mumbled, his eyes down. A tear clung to his eyelashes and then trickled free.

  “Yeah, which means we need to get outta here.” The older boy tried to stare Natalya down but she didn’t budge.

  She only had to delay these boys another ten minutes or so. A deputy would be on the way. And since she’d dropped the phone, a whole slew of them might be on the way, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Colin would be doing his version of freaking out, which probably still meant barking orders and moving fast.

  “Mac! Mac!” The older boy abruptly bellowed, loudly enough that Natalya flinched, tugging the younger boy’s arm. He groaned.

  “Quit yelling,” she snapped at the older boy, annoyed at her own reaction. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  For a second, his hands clenched into fists and his shoulders hunched up as he glared at her. Then his shoulders dropped and his fists uncurled. “I’m real sorry about this, ma’am,” he said with unexpected politeness, one hand sliding behind his back.

  The gun he was holding when he slid it back out looked ridiculously large.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hell.

  Natalya’s heart was pounding again. Here it was, the danger she’d been anticipating. She had a momentary flash of realization—she didn’t much care if this boy killed her, but it would break her heart if he hurt Kenzi and she could have stopped him. The thought was clarifying. She didn’t shift her position.

  “The police are already on their way,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “Killing me will destroy your life. There’s no way you’ll get away with it. And it won’t help your brother.”

  “I don’t want to kill you,” the boy said, his voice much too steady, his hands too tight on the gun. “I just want my sister.”

  The back door flew open and Kenzi burst out, her arms stretched in front of her as if she were going to hug the boy. Or push him off the steps, Natalya realized, as Kenzi skidded to a stop next to her and glared at him, making a shoving motion with her hands without touching him.