The breath froze in her lungs as her smile fled. Her eyes widened and terror like she’d never known ignited a scream. Rolling away, she fell onto the floor and then jerked to her feet. Without a backward glance at the terrible visage in her bed, she half limped, half ran down the hall.
“Anne, Anne!” she shrieked.
Coming to a halt in the middle of the living room, she spun around. Alone . . . she was alone. Except for the awful thing lying in her bed.
She darted to the kitchen door and was ready to fling it open when Anne suddenly stepped in from the deck.
“What’s going on?” she asked, crossing to Sam.
Sam sagged against her in relief and, with a trembling arm, pointed to the bedroom.
“Back there,” she said, her voice quivering, “in the bed—”
Anne quickly moved her to the couch. “Stay here,” she said, pivoting, then taking off toward the bedroom. A few moments later, she returned and sat next to Sam.
“Whatever you saw, it’s gone now,” she said.
Sam covered her face with her hands and tried to catch her breath. “It can’t be—I saw it—I know I did.”
“What did you see? A snake? A bat?” Anne glanced over her shoulder. “Bats can find their way into these old cabins, but they’re nothing to be afraid of.”
“No, not a bat.” Sam dropped her hands and stared at Anne blindly. “It was so real—”
Anne gave her arm a little shake. “What was so real?”
“A corpse,” she said, choking on the word.
Anne sat back in disbelief saying nothing.
“A body—a woman—with her face battered in and rotting.”
Anne shot to her feet. “I’m calling Dr. Douglas.”
“No, wait.” Sam grabbed at her hand and forced herself to breathe evenly. “I must’ve still been dreaming and the body was part of the dream.” She shuddered and let her head drop back against the couch.
“What were you dreaming?” Anne sat back on the couch.
“Edward—I think I know what really happened to Edward.”
“He was in a car accident. Everyone knows that.”
“But everyone thinks he was alone.” Sam lifted her head. “He wasn’t. Blanche was with him, and she caused him to run the stop sign.”
“Sam, that’s cra—”
“Crazy?” Sam finished the sentence for her. “Do you know for sure that Blanche wasn’t with him?”
“The farmer who went for help said he was alone.”
“What has Edward said?”
“Not much—he doesn’t like to talk about it, and I don’t want to pry.”
“Did he ever explain how he came to run the stop sign?”
“He believes he dozed off for a second.”
“Look, I know this sounds unbelievable.” Sam paused. “At first, I thought meeting Edward at Fritz’s this morning triggered the dream, but now I’m not so sure.” Tugging on her lip, she stared off into space. “It’s almost as if someone is trying to tell me something. First the dream about a party at Fritz’s.” Her eyes slid toward Anne. “Now this dream. It was the same woman in both dreams, and I know it’s Blanche.”
“What?” Anne’s eyebrows rose. “You think you’re being haunted by Blanche Jones?”
Sam sat up. “There’ve been cases of this . . . I found a book about ghosts . . . Jackson was reading it . . . it talks about stuff like this.”
“When were you reading it?” Anne asked in a skeptical voice.
“This afternoon, before I—” Sam stopped.
“Before you fell asleep?” Anne gave her a knowing look. “Sam, you suffered a traumatic experience this afternoon. Old fears might have surfaced—”
“No,” Sam interrupted, “the dreams haven’t been about me. They’ve been about Blanche.”
Anne rose to her feet and looked down at her. “I knew all this talk about Blanche wasn’t good. You’ve never even seen a picture of her, have you?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t know that she’s the woman in your dreams.” She held out her hand to Sam and helped her to her feet.
“You think I’m losing my grip on reality, don’t you?”
“Like I said, I think you had a bad scare this afternoon.” She guided Sam down the hallway. “From what I know, Blanche Jones was the type to land on her feet, and right now she’s probably living the high life with her latest love. Not haunting you.” She stopped at the door to the bedroom. “See? Everything’s fine—nothing in this room has changed. Why don’t you try and rest again?”
Sam drew away from the door. “I’m not sleeping in there.”
“Okay, then how about the guest room?”
Sam nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” She looked over her shoulder at the bed. She wanted her sketch pad, but couldn’t seem to force herself to step inside the room.
Anne noticed her looking at the bed. “I’ll get it,” she said, crossing to the bed and grabbing the pad and the pencil lying next to it. “Here,” she said as she handed them to Sam. “Maybe sketching will help you relax.”
With Anne following her, Sam entered the guest room and sat down on the bed.
“Would you like something to eat?” Anne asked from the doorway.
“No . . . thanks . . . maybe later.” Sam swung her legs onto the bed and lay back against the pillows, the closed sketch pad resting on her lap.
After Anne left, softly closing the door behind her, Sam opened the pad and stared at the blank paper. Twiddling the pencil between her fingers, she tried to empty her mind of the awful sight she’d thought she’d seen. Anne was right. Her subconscious had been playing a nasty trick on her, but she wasn’t going to let it get away with it. She’d had enough of that when she’d first come out of the coma. And she wasn’t going through that torment again. She was better, stronger, she thought as her grip on the pencil relaxed. She’d forget about Blanche and everything would be fine.
The tickling sensation of drool running out of the corner of her mouth woke her. She wiped the side of her mouth. Man, she’d slept hard. She’d probably been snoring, too. Still, she thought, it was better to drool and snore than hallucinate about lying in bed with a corpse.
Reaching over, Sam turned on the nightstand light and glanced at the clock. It was past eleven—she vaguely remembered Anne coming in periodically to check on her, but she’d fallen back asleep each time. Wide-awake now, she sat up in bed and looked around the room. What was she going to do to kill time? Watching television would disturb Anne, and she figured she’d put her through enough for one day without interrupting her sleep. Reading was out of the question. She didn’t want any more tales of ghoulies and ghosties slipping into her head. She could try sketching. She’d fallen asleep without making a single mark.
Sam picked up the sketch pad and opened it. The page she’d been staring at before she’d fallen asleep wasn’t blank. The face of a woman looked up at her. Her heart hitched. She didn’t remember drawing this, but it was definitely her work. Another blackout? Please, no, she thought, fighting the urge to rip out the page and tear it into a thousand pieces.
Her gaze was drawn back to the drawing. The woman’s face wore a half smile as she sat, with her legs curled beneath her, on a grassy lawn. Sexuality oozed from every line of her body, from the way she held her head to the tilt of her shoulders. A profusion of flowers lay in her lap.
Sam’s eyes narrowed and she studied the flowers. There was something familiar about them. Pushing the pad off her lap, she suddenly remembered. She quietly left the bed and padded over to the door in her bare feet. Opening it, she peered into the hallway. The cabin was dark, and from across the hall, she could hear the rustling of bedcovers. Anne must be sleeping in her, Sam’s, room. Good, she thought as she stole out of the room. Reaching the kitchen, she eased the dead bolt back and unlocked the door. With a quick look over her shoulder, she stepped out onto the porch.
The rising moon hung above the pine trees
and cast the yard in shadows. In the distance an owl hooted while Sam crept across the porch. Sitting on the top step, she leaned toward the bush that was growing there. The red blossoms seemed to glow with a light of their own as she bent and plucked one of the heavy stems. Cupping the crimson flowers, she raised them to her face and softly stroked them across her cheek while tears gathered in her eyes.
Love Lies Bleeding.
Chapter Twenty-six
Anne heard the kitchen door lightly close and was on her feet immediately. On her way to the kitchen, she checked the guest bedroom. No Sam. No Roxy. She found the dog lying with her nose pressed up against the base of the door. With a soft whine, the dog lifted her head and her soft brown eyes seemed to implore Anne for help.
“Is she outside?” Anne whispered, moving the dog out of the way and opening the door. She expected her to follow, but Roxy plopped on the floor with a sigh and refused to budge.
Once outside, Anne saw Sam sitting on the top step, swaying from side to side in the moonlight. Dropping down next to her, she waited for Sam to speak, but she remained silent. Great, was she sleepwalking?
Finally Sam spoke. “See my plant?” Sam asked in a dreamy voice. “See how pretty it is?”
Anne decided to play along. “Yeah, I noticed. I thought it was dying but the rain last night brought it back.”
Sam stopped her swaying. “I planted it from seeds.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.” Her head bobbed. “Alice gave me some from her plants.” Sam giggled. “I didn’t think she would after Pumpkin tried to dig one up. Alice was so angry.”
“I didn’t think Alice ever got mad at her dogs.”
Sam’s gaze shot to Anne’s face. “Pumpkin isn’t Alice’s dog. She’s mine.”
“Your dog’s name is Roxy,” Anne said carefully.
“No, my dog’s name is Pumpkin,” Sam insisted in an even voice. “Ted bought him for me.” She gave Anne a wink. “Harley thinks I got him in a pet store.”
Damn it all to hell—she is sleepwalking and she thinks she’s Blanche. Anne tried to stay calm, but inside she was scared. Very scared. The blow to the head had caused more damage than she thought. She had to get Sam to the hospital. She could have a seizure or a stroke.
She stood and gave Sam a reassuring smile. “Hey, what do you say we go for a drive?” she asked, reaching down.
Sam inched away from the outstretched hand. “No, I have to wait right here.”
“Why?”
Sam looked up at her with an expression that said, Isn’t it obvious? “Ted promised he’d come by tonight.”
“Ted?”
“Theodore Brighton the First,” Sam said proudly. “He’s crazy about me, you know.” She gave a happy laugh as she lifted her face to the sky. “What that man can do.” Lowering her face, she gave Anne a sly look. “You’d never know he’s on the downhill side of forty. A twenty-year-old would be lucky to keep up with him.”
When Anne didn’t comment, Sam pointed down the road. “You can’t tell anyone, but he pulls off right over there and flashes his lights.”
“Then you run out to meet him?”
Sam hugged her knees to her chest and grinned. “Sure do.”
Anne was losing her patience. She had to get this woman medical attention. Bending down, she made a grab for Sam’s arm. “Come on, Sam, let’s take a ride.”
Sam dodged her by rising to her feet. Moving past Anne, she paced to the far side of the porch. Anne noticed she was moving without a limp.
“I don’t know who Sam is,” she declared. “My name is Blanche.” She gave a short bark of laughter. “Terrible name, isn’t it? I don’t know why my ma couldn’t have named me something more mysterious . . . like Cassandra . . . instead of plain old Blanche.” She turned and cocked her head. “I don’t think it suits me at all, do you?”
“Come on, let’s go inside.”
Sam turned with a wiggle of her hips and leaned against the railing. “I told you I can’t. Ted’s coming.”
“No, no, I don’t think he is.”
With a sigh, Sam straightened and turned. “You’re probably right.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Isn’t that just like a man? Promises, promises, but they never come through.” She jerked her head toward the cabin. “Harley promised me the world, but look what I got—a stinking shack in the middle of nowhere.” She whirled, staring out at the empty road. “Ted has to take me away from this,” she cried. “Lordy, I don’t think I can stand another winter up here. Day after day cooped up with him.”
Anne had had enough. Striding across the porch, she grasped Sam’s arm and gave it a shake. “We’re going inside. Now.”
Sam’s posture suddenly changed. Her shoulders fell and she took one limping step forward. Her head whipped from side to side until her attention stopped on Anne. “What are you doing out here?”
Anne released her arm. “What are you?”
“I—uh—came out to look at that bush.”
“And then?”
Sam shrugged. “I guess I dozed off.”
“You don’t remember our conversation?”
“No.” Sam’s voice rose in panic. “What conversation?”
Anne slung her arm around Sam’s shoulders and guided her toward the door. She noticed Sam’s limp was more pronounced than it had been in days. Had she had some kind of a stroke?
When they entered the house, Roxy jumped to her feet and pressed her black nose into Sam’s palm. Kneeling, Sam brushed her face against the dog’s neck.
“I had another blackout, didn’t I?” she murmured, not lifting her head.
“I don’t know what happened, but I’m calling the emergency room and taking you in.”
“No, please,” Sam cried in a desperate voice. “I’m okay. It’s Tuesday night—”
“Monday,” Anne said quietly.
Sam fluttered her hand nervously. “Okay, so it’s Monday. My name is Samantha Moore; I’m thirty-five years old,” she said, rattling off statistics. “See, I remember. I’m okay.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Please, don’t take me to the hospital.”
Anne’s heart broke for her. The Sam she’d seen the last couple of days had vanished, and the woman, kneeling on the floor and clutching her dog, needed help that was beyond Anne’s skills. She walked over to her and helped her to her feet.
“Sam,” she began gently, “I’m afraid your head injury is more serious than we thought. You must see a doctor.”
“Do you promise that you won’t let them keep me?”
“We’ll do whatever the doctor thinks best, and—”
Sam struggled away from her. “No.”
“Sam,” she said, laying it on the line, “during the blackout, or whatever it was, you thought you were Blanche.”
Sam’s eyes flared and she held up her hand, stopping Anne. “Wait.” She turned and fled down the hall.
Anne took the opportunity to grab the phone and quickly dial a number.
“Yeah?” Greg’s sleepy voice sounded in her ear.
“It’s Anne.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m at Sam’s and I think I’m going to need your help,” she whispered into the receiver. “Would you please come over right away?”
Not waiting for an answer, Anne disconnected before Sam caught her on the phone. A moment later, Sam came rushing into the kitchen, waving a piece of paper.
“Here. Take a look at this.” She held out the paper. “It’s Blanche.”
Anne stared down at the paper and remained silent.
“Don’t you get it?” Sam asked as she tapped at the sketch. “Blanche is holding a bouquet of Love Lies Bleeding.”
“You’re not making sense,” Anne replied, not trying to hide the weariness in her voice. “What does this prove?”
“It’s Blanche, I tell you,” she said as she furiously shook the paper in Anne’s face. “The woman from my dreams.”
“Sam—”
Anne broke off as Sam’s at
tention flew to the door then back to her. She saw the mistrust written on Sam’s face.
“Who did you call?”
Before Anne could answer, Greg appeared in the doorway. Roxy ran to him in delight and he paused to scratch her head. When he looked up, his eyes went first to Sam then to Anne. “What’s going on?”
“Greg,” Anne said calmly, “Sam had an accident this afternoon. She hit her head on a pylon at the dock and she needs to see a doctor.”
“No,” Sam exclaimed, “I did hit my head, but she thinks I’m nuts.” She rushed over to Greg and tugged on his sleeve. “She’s going to have me committed. You can’t let her do that.” She quickly gave him a garbled version of what had happened that afternoon and finished by waving the picture at him.
“Sam, calm down and let me see your sketch,” he said gently. He took the picture and studied it. “I was a kid, so I barely knew Blanche, but this does kind of look like the way I remember her.”
“See?” Sam threw Anne a triumphant look.
“But,” Greg continued, “whether or not this is a drawing of Blanche, you still need to see a doctor.”
Sam took two steps back. “You’re siding with her,” she cried. “I thought you were my friend.”
Greg stepped forward. “I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Sam, don’t be angry with Greg. He’s as worried about you as I am.” Anne stepped forward. “Please, let me take you to the hospital.”
Sam lowered her head. “What about Roxy?”
Placing a hand on her shoulder, Greg smiled at her. “I’ll take her home with me.” He placed the picture on the counter. “I’ll bring her back tomorrow.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, Sam, I promise. Now, will you go with Anne?”
Love Lies Bleeding Page 23