Love Me to Death

by Maggie Shayne

  Turning away, she ran down the path, and she knew he was coming after her. She knew it.

  But she ran. She ran, and the rocks were slippery and she had to take care not to fall. She ran, and the tree limbs tried to smack her, so she weaved and bobbed and avoided them with the skill of a boxer in the ring. She ran, and the road was nearly in sight, just around the next bend in the trail. She ran, and then she heard a siren.

  And she stopped running.

  Oh, God, what had she done? She’d thought the man in the window had glimpsed her and reacted in shock, alerting the others and sending David out to hunt her down. But now, she thought back on his pale skin, gaping mouth, staggering backward steps, and she wondered if she’d caused even more harm.

  Please, she thought, no. Don’t let me have hurt another one.

  Swallowing hard, she pushed aside a low-hanging limb and stepped around it, expecting to see only her little Bug sitting on the other side awaiting her.

  Instead, she saw him.

  David.

  Just as handsome as she had imagined he would be. Just as beautiful to her as he had ever been. As he had, it seemed in that moment, always been. Even though she’d never met the man before. Everything in her yearned to rush into his arms and whisper, “finally.”

  Again, she heard the heavily accented voice of the Indian woman, Pakita.

  Your soul mate.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DAVID STARED AT HER as emotions he hadn’t even known he could feel roiled inside him. Powerful as the waves crashing to the shore below the cliffs, they rocked him, and he couldn’t even identify most of them.

  He didn’t know what to say to her. He just stood there, staring at her beautiful face and searching for words.

  But she spoke before he could. She said, “I’m sorry.”

  He felt the shock rip through him anew, maybe because her speaking to him meant she was real. She was real.

  “How…?” He lifted a hand with the unfinished question, and it was trembling when he moved it closer, the backs of his slightly bent fingers brushing over her cheek, making her eyes fall closed. “God, you’re really here,” he whispered.

  “No,” she said. “Not…not the way you think.” She swung her head sideways, her dark eyes widening as she looked toward the house. “What happened?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.” She met David’s eyes again, and he felt her willing him to be honest with her. “I saw him in the window—one of your friends. I couldn’t tell which one. But I know he saw me, and something happened. Was it his heart?”

  “It was Brad, and yes, I think so.”

  The paramedics loaded him into the back of the ambulance and it trundled away. Sara lowered her head, shaking it slowly. “I never meant to hurt any of them. I only wanted to talk to Mark Potter—he was the only one of you still in town, and I had so many questions—” She lowered her head as tears filled her eyes, and a sob choked off whatever remained of her words.

  “I have questions, too,” David said. “I don’t—understand. Was it someone else who died in that fire, Sierra?”

  “Oh, no, that’s not—”

  “And if it was, why did you wait so long to say anything? Why let us—especially me—go on believing—”

  “It wasn’t—”

  “Do you know what that did to me? And God, why haven’t you aged in all this time? I mean, you’d have to be—”

  “I’m not Sierra.”

  He finally stopped speaking, and just stared at her, blinking in disbelief.

  “My name is Sara Jensen. I’m twenty-two. I’m an art teacher from New Hampshire. I am not Sierra Terrence. I just…”

  “If you’re not her, what are you doing here?”

  The ambulance pulled away, and he turned to watch it go, wondering how Brad was doing and feeling guilty for not being with him.

  “This is a conversation that’s going to take a while,” she said. “And one we need to have—I mean, I need to have it. Sierra seems to be…all wrapped up in my life right now. And I don’t think she’s going away until I find out why. But…” Her eyes moved over his face, again and again, almost like a caress. She looked at him as if she were having trouble not touching him. And he got that, because he felt the same.

  “Let’s not do this standing on the side of the road,” she said.

  He nodded, and realized he was looking at her just as longingly as she was looking at him. “We’ll go to the house.” He reached for her as if to take her hand, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, but then he stopped himself, frowning.

  She noticed, and for some reason, she closed the gap between his hand, hovering in the air, and her own. She slid her palm against his, and he felt a shower of sparks shooting outward from his chest into every other part of his body as he closed his hand around hers.

  “I just don’t want to…cause any more harm,” she said. “When the others see me—”

  “I’m pretty sure they all went to the hospital. They took the rental car.”

  “I don’t want to be here when they get back,” she said.

  He nodded as they walked up the road, into the driveway and toward the front door. Once inside, he waved her toward the sofa and opened the fridge. “I can offer you hot coffee, cold beer or tap water.”

  “Nothing, thanks.” She sat on the sofa, watching him. He didn’t take anything either, and came to sit beside her.

  “Do you want to call and check on him?”

  “It’s too soon,” he said. “Besides, the guys will call me the minute they have anything to report. Why don’t we get to you? Is there some reason you’re avoiding the subject of what you’re doing here?”

  She nodded, to his surprise. “Because it’s going to sound like I’m crazy.” She lowered her eyes. “Maybe I am.”

  “Why don’t you just start at the beginning?”

  She tried to relax, he thought. At least she unclenched her fists and leaned back on the sofa. “Okay. Okay. I’m an artist. I paint when I’m not teaching. I’ve been painting several pieces where the focal point is a house. Always the same house.”

  “The Muller House?” he asked, knowing it without needing any confirmation.

  She met his eyes and nodded. “Yes, although I’d never seen it before. Not until I came here the other day.”

  “Then how could you paint it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been having nightmares where I’m trapped inside that very house as it burns. I painted that scene, too, and there were five shadows on the snow outside, as if five people were standing there.”

  He said nothing for a long moment. And then, finally, his guilt burning in his belly, he said, “We did it. The five of us, Mark, Brad, Kevin, Randy and I. We set the fire that killed you. But I guess you already knew that, or you wouldn’t be stalking us.”

  “Her.”

  “What?” He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes.

  “You set the fire that killed her. I’m not Sierra, remember?”

  He nodded slowly, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “God, you look like her.”

  “I know. I saw her yearbook photo and thought I was going to pass out. But I’m telling you, I’m not her. I didn’t even know that what I was painting was a real house—what I was dreaming about, a real event—until my new roommate, Nikki, moved in. She saw the paintings, and she’s from here. She told me the story and I didn’t really believe her. Not until I came here. Not until I saw that house, and…and you.”

  “Me?”

  “The yearbook photo. It was so…I don’t know. It shook me and touched me and jolted me all at once. The photos of the others didn’t…it wasn’t the same.”

  He nodded slowly. “That would make sense, I guess, if you were her. But you’re not.”

  She slid a little closer to him on the sofa, and he noticed, reacted, deep down on a gut level, but held it inside.

  “I’ve been having…other dreams, too
. Dreams…Tell me, were you and Sierra…?”

  “No.” He said it too fast, still shaken by what she’d said. She’d been having other dreams. And then asking about sex. Hell, had she been dreaming the things he had? He cleared his throat, tried again. “I mean—hell, I don’t know. We never dated. I wanted to and I think she did, too. We were friends, though. And I was working up the nerve to tell her I wanted more when she disappeared.”

  “Oh.” She drew a breath. “I was out there, at the house.”

  “I thought I saw you there,” he said.

  She nodded. “I saw you, too. And then someone else. Only, I’m beginning to think I imagined her.” She lowered her head into her hands. “God, I’ve cost two men their lives, and now I think my sanity is slipping, as well. I can’t sleep for the dreams. Or barely function for the longing they leave behind. I can’t—”

  “Easy.” He put his hands on her shoulders, amazed yet again that she was real. She lifted her head to blink into his eyes, and he saw that hers were brimming with tears and swirling with emotion. “You didn’t cost anyone their life, at least not that we know of. In fact, we’re the ones guilty of that.”

  “Then why were you the ones I wanted to cry out to for help?”

  He blinked and stared harder at her, but this close, it was difficult to rein in the incredible urge to pull her closer, and to kiss her. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “In the dream—in the dream, I was trying to call out to you for help. The last time, I did. I screamed your name, David, even though I didn’t know who you were at the time.”

  He shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “The Indian woman said you were my soul mate.” She met his eyes, but then it seemed she had to look away. “But she thought I was Sierra. She said I had come back, because there was something that had to be made right. That I wouldn’t know peace until I learned what it was, and fixed it.”

  “What Indian woman?” he asked.

  “The one who seems to be a figment of my imagination.”

  “Come on, tell me about her.”

  She sighed, shaking her head. “She said she lived in the only yellow house on Maple Street. She told me my father was still alive, and in the trailer park further up. Only she was talking about Sierra’s father, I think. She said her name was Pakita.”

  David sat there, gaping more with every word she spoke, and when she looked at him again she had to see it. But before he could speak, his phone started ringing. He yanked it out, barely able to tear his eyes from hers long enough to glance down at the screen. But then his attention was caught. “It’s Randy.”

  “Go ahead, please. I’m as eager as you are.” She lowered her head, whispering what sounded like a prayer as he answered.

  “How is he?” he asked without preamble.

  “Had a heart attack, but he’s stable now. They say they won’t know how much damage was done until all the tests are back, but he’s probably going to need a catheterization. His arteries are plugged full of plaque.”

  “That’s no surprise.”

  “So did you find the girl?” Randy asked.

  “She’s sitting here with me now, as a matter of fact.”

  “You…you’re kidding, right?”

  “No, and she’s not a ghost. She’s just an ordinary young woman who bears a striking resemblance to Sierra, and who wanted to know more about her. She never meant to hurt anyone. And we can hardly blame her for Mark freaking out and running into the path of a truck at the first glimpse of her, or Brad’s poor, long-abused heart failing because she startled him. Hell, the way he was drinking, he might have collapsed before morning anyway.”

  “Oh, I’m with you there. Still…there’s more to this than you’re telling me, isn’t there?”

  David sighed. “We really haven’t figured it out yet, Randy. But we’re working on it.”

  “Good enough. Look, we’re going to stay with Brad for a while. Then we’ll head home. I’ll fill Kevin in so he doesn’t stroke out when he sees the Sierra look-alike, in case you guys are still there when we get back.”

  “Okay.” David pocketed the phone, and lifted his head. “Brad’s stable. His arteries were clogged, and you didn’t have anything to do with that. The timing, maybe, but this was going to happen, and soon, with or without you.”

  She nodded. “Thanks for saying that.”

  “So what do you want to do, Si…Sara?”

  She blinked slowly. “I want to find out whether I’m sane or not. Whether Pakita was real or a hallucination. That’s first. And then, if I’m not crazy, then I need to find out what it is that needs to be made right—and—and fix it, I guess.”

  He nodded. “Pakita’s real. I can take you to her, if you want.”

  She lifted her eyes to his, stunned beyond words. “What?”

  “Will you come with me?” he asked.

  Sara nodded hard. “Yes. God, yes, right now, if you can. I need to start finding some answers.”

  “And so do I,” David said, unable to take his eyes from her face. Her beautiful, beloved face.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS, SARA THOUGHT, utterly ridiculous that, with her life falling apart at the seams and her very sanity in question, she couldn’t seem to think about anything else but David. David’s hands. David’s mouth. David’s eyes.

  She’d only just met the man, but it felt to her very core as if she would die if he didn’t touch her. Kiss her. Soon.

  She stood beside him at the headstone of Pakita Kasir, chilled to the marrow to realize the woman she’d seen and spoken to was not a hallucination. She had been real, once. And she had been related to Sierra Terrence, who was buried right beside her. It almost would have been easier to believe she’d imagined the woman than to believe she had seen a ghost.

  “She was real,” she whispered. “But I couldn’t have seen her. I couldn’t have talked to her.”

  “How else would you have known where she lived twenty-some years ago? In the only yellow house on the street?” David asked. “Or even that she was Sierra’s aunt?”

  “I don’t know.” Sara had turned her eyes away from the grave of Pakita, and was staring now at the headstone beside it. Sierra’s grave.

  “It must be hard for you to be here,” David said softly.

  She lifted her eyes quickly. “Why would it be? It’s not my grave. I’m not her.” The wind blew. She shivered and hugged her arms around her.

  “I know, I know. I just…You’re connected to her somehow. I mean, you must be.”

  “Apparently.”

  “But how?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “No, really.” David touched her shoulder, turning her so that she faced him instead of the cold gray stone. And she wanted nothing more in that moment than to be folded up in his arms, held against his broad chest. She felt as if she’d been waiting forever for him to find her, and now that he was here, she didn’t have the guts to tell him so. “Really,” he went on. “You must have some gut feeling about all of this. What is it?”

  She lowered her head. “Did you love her?” she asked.

  “Nice way to change the subject.” David sighed. “You’re freezing. Let’s get you inside.” He took her arm and started to lead her back to his car. Hers was still parked along the roadside in The Heights.

  But after only three steps, she planted her feet in the snow, and he was forced to stop. He frowned at her, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

  “I want you to tell me. Did you love her?”

  His lips thinned, he blinked slowly. “I was sixteen.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I know. I know it’s not. To be honest, Sara, I’ve been asking myself the same thing for the past twenty-two years. At the time, I thought I loved her, but I thought I loved the three girls who’d captured my attention before her, too. The thing is…I never stopped thinking about Sierra. I never stopped aching, hurting, regretting, wishing it had
been different. I’ve never thought about any of the other girls I dated the way I keep thinking about her.”

  “But you didn’t set a fire that killed any of them, either,” she said.

  Her words hurt him. Hurt him badly, she saw that in his face. “No,” he said softly. “No, I didn’t.”

  “So maybe that’s why you’ve been obsessed with her.”

  “Maybe. But over the past couple of weeks, it’s been—”

  “It’s been what?”

  He blinked, searching for words. “Worse, I guess. I’ve been dreaming about her—or you—I’m not even sure which.”

  “What happens in the dreams?” she asked.

  He parted his lips, then closed them again, and shook his head. “Let’s get in the car where it’s warm.”

  “Because I’ve been dreaming about you, too,” Sara said, still not budging. “I’ve been dreaming about making love to you.” She blurted it quickly, forcing the words out before she lost her nerve. “Is that what happens in your dreams, too?”

  He held her steady gaze, his eyes showing surprise, and then gradually softening into something else. “Yeah. That’s what happens.”

  “Did you ever—make love with her, in real life?”

  “I never even kissed her.”

  “If you kissed me, right now, do you think you’d be kissing her, in your mind?”

  He lifted a hand to her face, his fingertips gently pushing the hair off her cheek, and sliding slowly down it. She let her eyes fall closed, and felt his breath on her lips as he moved closer. And then, suddenly, only cold.

  “I’m not going to kiss you, Sara.”

  Her eyes flew open, and then burned, though it was ridiculous to feel this much disappointment over a man she’d just met. Even if it did feel as if they’d been together for lifetimes.

  “Why not?” she whispered.

  “Because—because you’re sixteen years younger than me.”

  “That’s not a reason, and I think you know it.” Her eyes were wide now, and focused on his.

  He nodded. “Maybe not. Then let’s go with this one. I don’t know the answer to the question you asked me. I don’t know if I’d be kissing you, Sara, or if I’d be kissing a memory that has built up in my mind until it’s more than it ever was, or probably ever would have been. And that wouldn’t be fair to you.” He turned then, started walking. “I’m going to the car.”