Sleep No More

by Susan Crandall

  The cottage door was locked and appeared undisturbed. Abby unlocked it and stepped inside. “I’ll only be ten minutes.”

  She left Jason in her living room and ran up to the loft.

  As she was stripping off her clothes, Jason called up, “Do you smell something?”

  She paused and sniffed the air. “Nothing but old house. Everything in here except the couch and my mattress is ancient. Sometimes the drains get a little stinky when they haven’t been used.”

  He made a noncommittal noise. She could hear him moving around downstairs, as if searching for the source of the odor.

  She turned on the shower and got in before it was fully warm. If she didn’t hurry they were going to be late.

  As she washed, she tried to ignore the places on her skin that were irritated from the scrape of Jason’s unshaven face and the intimate soreness from their lovemaking.

  She quickly shampooed her hair, then got out and wrapped in a towel. After running a comb through her hair, she picked up her blow dryer and bent over at the waist, flipping her hair so she could dry it upside down. She was just about to turn on the switch when Jason yelled, “Stop!” and wrenched the dryer from her grasp.

  She jerked upright, her hair falling over her face. She shoved it out of the way and Jason was standing there with terror in his eyes. “Gas. That’s what I smelled. Gas.”

  She took a long sniff. “I don’t smell it.”

  “It’s stronger downstairs. Your pilot light was out on your stove.”

  She sniffed again and decided it was there, lying beneath all of the other smells she’d grown so accustomed to.

  “I’ve opened all windows downstairs and shut off the gas at the tank.” He set the dryer on the sink ledge, but he didn’t unplug it. Then he took her hand and said, “Grab some clothes; you can get dressed outside.”

  “The smell isn’t that strong.” She lagged back, trying to sort out propane gas from the other odors.

  “It’s less strong up here, but I think it’s strong enough that if you’d started that dryer, you’d have gotten more than you bargained for. It’s a damn lucky thing that we took the alarm off the front door. It might have been enough to ignite it.”

  She felt as if she’d been kicked in the face. How much closer could they have come?

  He tugged her hand. “Stop standing there sniffing and get some clothes.”

  She didn’t explain that she was stunned, not sniffing. On the way to the stairs she grabbed clothes from the laundry basket on the floor.

  Once they were outside and what Jason considered a safe distance from the house, Abby went behind an overgrown boxwood hedge to dress. Silly, she realized; Jason was familiar with every inch of her body already.

  When she came out, Jason was closing the front door—gently. “We’ll have to leave the windows open for now. I want to check the shop; give me your keys.”

  “Oh.” She realized she’d been rushed out without picking up her purse. “They’re in my purse on the coffee table.”

  He started back to the house.

  “Hey! You can’t go back in there; you just made me come out here naked.”

  Jason ignored her and re-entered the house, leaving the front door open behind him.

  Ten seconds later, there was a concussive whoosh and orange-yellow flames shot out of the windows and door, rolling in huge balls toward the sky.

  CHAPTER 22

  Jason!” Abby screamed as heat blasted her face.

  She ran toward the house on trembling legs. The initial ball of flame had dissipated. She made it up the steps, shielding her face from the heat with her hand. The skin on her forearm felt like it was starting to blister.

  Fire licked over every surface inside the house. Smoke was building rapidly.

  “Jason!” She squinted but couldn’t see him. He should be somewhere between the front door and the center of the room.

  Please, God, let him be alive. It was a prayer she didn’t expect to have answered as she braced herself to run into the burning house.

  Just as she started to dash through the door, she was slammed off her feet so violently that she was thrown off the steps. She hit the ground on her back, her breath knocked from her lungs, her head feeling as if she’d been whacked with a board. Jason was on top of her.

  As she wheezed, she looked into his scraped and bloodied face. She blinked, unable to believe her eyes. She managed to raise her hand and touch him, just to make certain he was real and not caused by her bump on the head.

  He was.

  He had a sprig of azalea stuck in his hair. He was panting, nearly as breathless as she was, but he managed a half-smile before he rolled onto his back beside her.

  When she could finally get some air into her lungs, she croaked out a single word. “H-how?”

  Jason rolled to his knees. “Can you get up? We need to get away from the house.”

  She nodded.

  He helped her to her feet. They stumbled, arms around one another, away from the house. When they were nearly to the car, they collapsed onto the ground again.

  “I can’t believe….” Abby struggled to even out her breathing. “How?”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. He pulled his BlackBerry out of his pocket. “Thank God I didn’t kill it.” Then he dialed 911 to report the fire.

  Abby looked at her cottage. The structure was brick, but she didn’t hold much hope that anything inside could be saved, no matter how quickly the fire department arrived.

  Through the windows she saw the dancing flames. Suddenly she was transported back to the night fire had destroyed the big house.

  She closed her eyes and saw bright flames against the night sky. The plantation house had been constructed of wood and had burned fast and furiously, the fire a ravenous monster consuming everything it touched.

  And then the screams began, shrill and pain-filled. Although the shrieks were inside Abby’s head, she instinctively covered her ears. That only made the sounds more intense.

  She felt Jason’s hands on her wrists, gently pulling her hands away from her ears. “It’s all right, Abby.”

  It was then that she realized she was yelling for it to stop.

  He leaned close. “Look at me, Abby. Look in my eyes.”

  When she did, it felt as if a cool breeze blew through her burning soul.

  “That’s it, baby. No one is screaming. It’s just you and me.”

  Then the shaking started. It began in the center of her chest and radiated to her extremities. The harder she tried to stop it, the more fiercely she shook.

  He pulled her to him and cupped her head, pressing it against his shoulder. She clung to him, reassuring herself that he was alive and unharmed. That this fire had not claimed one she loved.

  And she did, she realized in that moment. She loved him.

  After a few moments, she had herself back under control and she leaned away from him. She touched the scrapes on his face. “I thought you were gone.” She felt a tear slide down her cheek. “I was so afraid… I couldn’t stand it if—”

  He cut her words off with a soft kiss on the mouth. “You were going into that fire to try and save me?”

  “I couldn’t leave you in there.” She swallowed convulsively. “How did you get out?”

  “I saw the little lamp you normally have on the table beside your front door. It was on the floor in the far corner of the room. When I got closer, I saw the glass on the bulb was broken and its timer had been moved with it. And it was about to switch on. I dove out the back window just in time.”

  “My God,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, I know, it was too close.”

  Her next thought overshadowed her elation over his survival. “The pilot light didn’t go out by itself,” she said hollowly.

  “No, I don’t think it did.” He said the words cautiously, as if fearing his confirmation would set off a new round of tremors in her.

  Instead of shaking, every muscle in her body tensed,
and she ground her teeth until they hurt. Anger dominated her emotions. Someone was after her and had almost killed Jason. She was a danger to him in ways she hadn’t even imagined.

  Great-Gran Girault’s accusations rang in her memory: “It ain’t natural. That girl is cursed, I tell you. She’s a danger to everyone.”

  It was true.

  Abby got to her feet and walked a few feet away, turning her back to the fire consuming her home, and on Jason.

  Things could be replaced. But Jason… dear God.

  He came and stood close behind her. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “I don’t think you do.” She hugged her middle and closed her eyes.

  “Abby, the fact that I’m here with you might have saved you—and it didn’t kill me.”

  Just because we got lucky. She didn’t respond.

  He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “This happened because someone out there is dangerous, not because of you.”

  She rolled her lips inward and bit them. Finally she said, “It still all goes back to my sleepwalking.”

  “Which isn’t your fault,” he said emphatically.

  She heard an approaching siren.

  Drawing herself up and squaring her shoulders, she asked, “How did he know when to set the timer to come on?” It turned her blood to cold sludge thinking someone was trying to kill her.

  “Maybe he didn’t want you here. Maybe he wanted it to serve as another warning. If it did… more than that, well, there was nothing to make it look like more than an unfortunate accident.”

  “Or maybe he’s watching us,” she said, looking at him, gauging his reaction. His words might twist things to soothe her, but his eyes wouldn’t lie.

  Jason gave a slow shake of his head but didn’t spare her when he said, “Maybe he is. Which should make him easier to catch. But it doesn’t really matter. What matters is we have to figure this out before he gets more serious—or luckier in his timing.”

  Abby stood as if frozen when the fire truck roared into the lane. She watched with odd detachment as the fire-fighters scrambled around her, shouting to one another, dragging hoses and putting water on the fire.

  It didn’t matter if they saved the house. Jason was right; the only thing that mattered was stopping this before someone was hurt.

  It had been difficult to dodge the newspeople gathered to report on the fire, but somehow Abby and Jason had managed. The last thing she wanted was to make a stupid statement to the press that would make things worse.

  Now everyone except a single fire truck had packed up and left. According to the firefighters, this last truck would be here for quite a while, making certain there were no hot spots. But there was no reason for Abby and Jason to remain. They’d moved their meeting with Kitterman to four-thirty. They were going to have to get going.

  Abby walked to Jason’s car without looking back.

  Once seated in the passenger seat, she used his BlackBerry to make a call to her father to let him know there had been an accidental fire caused by a gas leak and that she was fine. Once she convinced him the emergency was over and he didn’t need to get a neighbor to bring him out to the property, he immediately insisted she move in with him until her place was repaired.

  Reluctantly, she looked at the brick shell, its roof collapsed and still smoking. “Repaired” was a gross understatement. Reconstructed would be more like it. She kept that to herself.

  There was no way she could move in with her father. She couldn’t be trusted, and he wasn’t in any shape to protect himself from whatever dangers she’d come up with while sleepwalking. Stress played a major role in her sleep disorder; she didn’t see it going away anytime soon. Besides, after what just happened to Jason, it was clear the farther she was from her dad right now, the safer he’d be.

  “I think I’m going to set up a little apartment in the back of the shop temporarily,” she said with forced cheer. “That way I can still be close to work. You know how late I have to work sometimes. It’s better that I don’t have to drive back to town in the middle of the night.” That should convince him.

  “Good idea, Jitterbug. But you’ll need a place to stay until you get that set up.”

  This was why she had put off calling him. She knew it was going to be lie after lie. She didn’t lie as a general principle, and never to her father.

  She sucked it up and spun another one. “I have a friend who’s already offered to bring over a bed and some basic things for me to use. So I’m all set.” She had to get off the phone before he came up with another thing that forced her to lie. “Listen, I need to go now. I just wanted you to know I’m fine. But my cell phone was in the house, so you’ll have to call me on the shop phone if you need me.”

  “I think I should come out there,” he said.

  “No need, Dad. Besides, I’m going to be helping move the bed and all over, so I won’t be here.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “You’re just as damned independent as your mother.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Gotta go. Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, Jitterbug. Call if you need anything.”

  “Will do.” She disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Jason. “I feel like such a slimeball, lying to him like that.”

  “Think of them as white lies.”

  She huffed. “Call them whatever color you want, they’re still lies.” But she knew they were necessary.

  At four-twenty-five, Abby followed Sergeant Kitterman into the sheriff’s office conference room. Her head throbbed with each footstep. She had dirt skid marks on the back of her shirt, a scraped elbow, and no clothes except those on her back. But she looked a lot better than Jason. The EMTs had cleaned his cuts and scrapes, which were numerous. She’d noticed him flexing the fingers of his left hand and repeatedly bending and straightening his left elbow, as if trying to work out a tingling nerve in his funnybone.

  God. There was nothing funny about it. Any of it.

  Abby could only imagine how much worse his injuries would have been if that window had not been open. His close call was the nail in the coffin of their near-relationship. She brought nothing but bad to those she loved. Once she and Jason were finished here today, they were going their separate ways. He would fight it, she knew. But she had to be strong.

  As he followed her down the hall, their echoing footfalls on the tile floor tapped out a farewell. She’d developed a connection with Jason unlike any she’d experienced with anyone. It seemed cruel, to have so much that she could not have laid before her.

  Even after this short time, Jason Coble was going to be a hard habit to break.

  Kitterman stopped in front of an open door, his arm extended, inviting them to enter the room ahead of him. “I appreciate you still coming today. I know you’ve already been through the wringer.”

  “I want to do everything I can to help catch this guy before he really hurts someone,” Abby said. Her insides were still quivering from that moment when she’d thought Jason had been killed.

  They sat down at the conference table on which several manila folders were stacked beside a small tape recorder. Kitterman said, “Sheriff Hughes gave the go-ahead to share what we have with you. But first I want to get this newest development on tape.” He turned on the recorder and said to Jason, “Tell me again exactly what happened before the fire erupted.”

  Jason recounted the entire ordeal once again, from first smelling gas to the moment he dove out the open window. As Abby listened she could have sworn she was becoming feverish. She felt clammy and chills ran just beneath her skin.

  “So this lamp and timer were normally in the house?” Kitterman asked.

  “Yes,” Abby said. “Obviously I don’t keep the lamp on the floor. When we came in I was in a hurry because of our appointment here. And Jason was preoccupied with finding the gas leak. It’s a small lamp; we didn’t notice it wasn’t in its usual place.”

  “Pro
pane gas is heavier than air,” Kitterman said. “It would pool and travel across the floor; the highest concentration would be there.”

  Abby shuddered at the calculating nature of whoever had done this. How well did this person know her? How closely was she being watched? Had he checked out her stove on the previous break-in, or had he improvised?

  Kitterman said, “I’m sure the fire marshal will get his report to me ASAP. He knows the urgency.” He tapped the top folder on the stack. “Since there’s a good chance this is linked to your accident on Thursday morning, let’s take a step backward, Ms. Whitman. I’ve read all of Deputy Trowbridge’s notes and looked over the other evidence. I’d like to hear your account of what happened.”

  Abby shot a glance at Jason. He nodded encouragingly.

  “That’s one of the reasons we wanted to talk to you,” Abby said. “I’m fairly certain that I was sleepwalking, or sleep-driving, at the time of the accident. That’s why I can’t remember anything before I woke up in the swamp.”

  He raised a brow, but didn’t say anything.

  She explained her history and her experience with Sonja. Occasionally Kitterman would look over at Jason, as if seeking corroboration, but he didn’t interrupt her.

  When she was finished, Kitterman asked, “So you’ve done plenty of everyday things while sleepwalking?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I only know that I’ve been up and moving if I’ve done something to leave a clue—or if I awaken while I’m still out of bed.”

  “Had you driven in your sleep before?” Kitterman asked.

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  Her answer seemed to take him a little by surprise, as if it was just now sinking in that she truly did not have any memory of what she did while sleepwalking.

  He sat quietly for a moment. “Perhaps if we make this public knowledge—the sleep-driving and amnesia, that is—whoever is threatening you will stop.”

  Jason put his palms on the table. “In my experience, people who have never had somnambulism aren’t going to readily believe that: one, Abby could have driven; and two, she won’t remember eventually. Certainly not someone hiding something he’s willing to go to these lengths to protect. He may even see her claim as a ruse to hide the fact that she does know. It could force him to act more aggressively.”