Erin laughed. “What should I commit to?”
“I don’t know,” Aleesha said. “You never tell me what you really think.”
Erin gave her a quick hug. “I like him, Leesh. He’s smart, funny, and nice to my kids. He was great to have on Orcas. I’ll see more of him.”
“All right. I’m glad you like him.”
A knock at the door, and Hannah bounded into the kitchen, her wet blond hair in a braid down her back. She was wearing baggy jeans and a yellow rain jacket that dripped water onto the shiny wood floor.
“Hey, you two,” she said. “What a great day. Carlos made me eggs Benedict this morning, and it was fabulous. Do you think this rain’ll let up soon?”
Erin and Aleesha smiled at each other.
“Probably not for a while, dear,” Aleesha said as she grabbed a towel from a drawer in the kitchen and wiped up the water from the floor.
“You’re dressed for it, though. I like your rain slicker,” Erin said.
“Thanks. Sorry about the water.”
“It’s okay. Should we get going?” Aleesha asked.
They filed out of the house and drove the short distance downtown in Erin’s car and parked. The rain had stopped, and a few patches of blue sky shone between the hurrying clouds. They strolled into an Italian restaurant where the wait for a table was short, and they were soon sitting by the window. Each ordered a glass of red wine.
“Remind me, who is this author we’re going to see?” Erin asked.
“Michael Woodward,” Aleesha said. “You still haven’t read any of his books?”
“No, I meant to, but haven’t had a chance.”
“They really are good,” Hannah said. “And the author’s very nice-looking and charming.”
Aleesha and Erin stared at her.
“You’ve met him?” Aleesha leaned forward and grabbed Hannah’s arm.
Hannah grinned. “We chatted over a latte in the bakery just two days ago.”
“Really? And you didn’t tell me? What’s he like?” Aleesha asked.
“He’s tall, dark hair, and very pleasant. He said he’s ‘intrigued’ by Anacortes.”
Aleesha sat back. “I’ll have to have a party for him. After all, he is a new neighbor. I should invite him to the gallery, too.”
“Of course!” Erin and Hannah laughed together.
“Would you two be open for a dinner party in two or three weeks? Carlos too, of course, and Gary if you want, Erin.”
“We’d love to come,” Hannah said.
“I’m sure I can make it,” Erin said. “I’ll ask Gary.”
Their food was served, and they each ordered another glass of wine. Aleesha nibbled at her salad, while Erin and Hannah filled their mouths with forkfuls of pasta. They talked and laughed throughout lunch, and it was nearly two o’clock by the time they were finished and had paid the check.
Sunshine had broken through the clouds and the air smelled like spring flowers. They put on their sunglasses and walked down the street to the Blue Heron Bookstore with their coats on their arms.
A table had been set out with about twenty folding chairs facing it. Another chair sat behind the table, and a few piles of books were stacked on top. No one was sitting, but people stood around the room in small groups, talking quietly. Erin recognized a few music store customers and greeted them. Two tall men stood near a bookshelf talking to Richard, the storeowner. Erin assumed one of them must be the author. They both looked familiar. One was a little younger with brown hair, blue eyes, and a smile that didn’t stop. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on each person, his smile widening if they happened to look back. The other, a taller man with dark hair and gray eyes, appeared more serious. He wore a French blue shirt and jeans and was slim, his shoulders well-defined. Erin was sure she’d seen him before. Richard said something to him, and he laughed. As his face lit up, Erin couldn’t help but smile. Then her smile dropped from her face, and she turned her head away, wishing she could step back and hide behind a bookshelf. He was the man she’d spilled coffee all over on the ferry.
People began to take their seats, and the three friends found chairs in the middle of the room. The younger man walked to the back of the group and sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him. The tall man walked over to the side of the table.
Richard stepped forward. “Thank you everyone for coming. It’s wonderful to see so many of you here. I’m Richard Shore, owner of Blue Heron, and I’d like to welcome you. Our guest today has written a variety of books and articles, from thrillers to philosophical essays to how-to articles. He has taught writing classes at City University in New York and at Portland College, and has made presentations at schools around the country. We are fortunate he has decided to make Anacortes his home. His latest book, just published, is called The Course. I finished reading it last night, and I can say confidently that you won’t be able to put it down. It’s excellent. With great pleasure, I introduce to you: Michael Woodward.”
The man stepped forward while Richard took a seat. He took a deep breath. “Good afternoon. Thank you Richard, and thank you everyone for coming out on this rainy day. I’m Michael, and I’d like to introduce my latest book to you today—The Course. I can read a few excerpts for you, tell you a little of the story’s background, and answer any questions you have. Does that sound good?” His voice was deep and soothing but carried easily to the back of the room.
Several people said, “Yes.”
He looked around the room and his gaze lingered a moment on Hannah, then he glanced at Aleesha, and when he spotted Erin, his eyes locked onto hers, and his mouth curled into a smile. Erin felt the color rise in her cheeks. He smiled broadly, took a deep breath, and then looked away.
“The Course was conceived when I was in New York four years ago teaching a writing class. The class was full to overflowing, and several students were really struggling. One day I was walking home from the college carrying armfuls of papers. One of these students, John, was out for his daily run, and he crashed right into me. The papers went flying everywhere. Of course, he helped me gather them up again, but he felt terrible. He helped me carry the papers home, and we talked for quite a while. I learned a lot about him. John’s a long-distance runner. He runs marathons. And four years ago he was almost killed in a car accident. He could barely walk after that, but now he’s running marathons. This remarkable young man who was struggling so hard in my class, but could run marathons, was my inspiration for The Course.
“But the book is not an inspirational story about his ordeal. It goes beyond that. John had a very unusual experience while unconscious following his accident. I’m sure you’re all aware of many people’s near-death experiences?”
Several people in the audience nodded.
“His own experience was similar but went beyond that of most people’s.”
Erin wondered if John’s experience had been anything like her own after the car accident.
The author continued, “John entered another world, a world with beauty and also dark, fearsome evil, before he was sent back to consciousness. And ever since, night after night, he continues to pass into that world through the doorway of his dreams, where he travels into other people’s worst nightmares and fights the shadowy demons that seek to destroy them.”
The hair on the back of Erin’s neck tingled, and she felt a wave of dizziness.
He continued. “Who knows the depth of the human mind and what worlds it can enter once it crosses that first border?”
Erin sat as still as stone, her eyes fixed on Michael Woodward, her breathing shallow. Is that what is happening to me? No—this is fiction.
Michael looked into the eyes of the people as he spoke, and their eyes were on him; it was as if the audience held its collective breath—the only other sound was from the traffic on the street outside. He picked up a copy of the book, opened it to a page that was marked, and began to read. He was relaxed and read confidently in his deep, calm
voice. Erin studied him as he leaned against the table, and each glance he gave to the audience seemed full of interest, almost amusement, as if he held a secret.
When he set the book down, the crowd applauded. People slowly got out of their chairs and walked forward to have him sign copies of his book. He sat at the table and spoke to each person in turn, asking what they thought and how they’d like him to sign their book.
Erin sat in silence for a few moments. She turned to Aleesha. “I see why you wanted me to read his books.”
“When I’m reading one, I can’t put it down,” Hannah said.
“You see, I told you,” Aleesha said. “Let’s go get a book signed.”
They got into line. Michael spent a lot of time with each person, so the line moved slowly. Erin felt eager to meet him but reluctant as well. She hoped he didn’t remember her from the ferry, and she played with the idea of leaving before she got to the front of the line.
He was still signing the book for the woman in front of her when he glanced at Erin. “Did you have a good time on Orcas Island?” he said.
She groaned inside. “Actually, it was a disaster of a day. I should have realized that bumping into you was an omen.” She took a step closer and held up both hands, palms out. “Don’t worry. No coffee today.”
He laughed. “I was concerned when I saw you coming. But I’m sorry to hear your day on Orcas turned out badly. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, thanks. We all survived.”
“Good.” They were both silent.
Erin felt her face begin to grow warm. “I’m very sorry about drenching you with my coffee. I hope it didn’t ruin your day.”
“Not at all. Don’t worry about it.” Michael stood up. “Would you like a book?”
“Oh, yes.” She picked one up and held it out to him. “I haven’t read any of your other books yet. But I can see I’ve been missing out. From what you read today, this sounds very good. In fact, it sounds, well, very intriguing,” she stammered.
“Thank you.” He took the book from her, and his hand brushed hers for a second. She shivered and pulled it back. “What’s your name? Would you like me to write it to you or just sign my name?”
“Oh, my name’s Erin. With an E. Please sign it to me.”
He held her gaze briefly. “All right.”
The skin on the back of her neck prickled, and a picture flashed into her mind of his face in an icy, terror-filled cavern. He bent his head to write in the book, then handed it back to her. Her heart beat hard in her ears, and her hands began to shake.
He leaned forward and spoke softly. “I’ve never seen you in Domus.”
Erin shook her head. “Domus? I don’t know what you mean.”
Michael frowned and studied her. “I must have been mistaken. It’s nothing—my mistake. What’s your last name, Erin?”
“Holley.”
“Nice to meet you, Erin Holley.” He reached out his hand. She clasped it, and his grip was firm, his eyes clear and dark, his face still wearing a touch of a frown. He held onto her hand several more seconds. The skin on her arms rose in goosebumps.
“You, too,” she said.
He let go, and Erin turned and rushed to the front of the store where she purchased the book. She quickly walked out of the store and stood still for a few minutes as her heart calmed. She couldn’t understand what had happened to her in there. Taking a deep breath, she opened her book and looked at the inscription he had written.
“Salve Erin, Viator, Tutus somnium, Michael Woodward.”
Chapter 17
Erin paced the street while she waited for Hannah and Aleesha to leave the bookstore. At the corner, she stopped and read the inscription again, then closed the book with a snap. What does he mean “Salve Erin Viator?” She walked back to the store just as Aleesha and Hannah walked out.
“Why did you leave so suddenly?” Aleesha asked. “We had a lovely chat. He’s not only going to stop by the gallery Monday, he’s coming to the dinner party in a couple weeks.”
“Wonderful,” Erin said. She tried to smile.
They walked down the street toward the car. Hannah touched Erin’s arm.
“What did he say to you in there? You looked upset. And then when you left …”
“It was nothing. I was embarrassed. We saw each other on the ferry to Orcas last weekend, and I spilled a cup of coffee all over him,” Erin said. She smiled weakly.
Aleesha stopped. “You spilled coffee on him? I thought you hadn’t met Michael Woodward before today.”
Erin shook her head. “No, I didn’t know it was him. I bumped into him on the ferry.”
Hannah grinned. “Was he angry?”
“Not at all. He couldn’t have been nicer.”
“So why did you run out of the bookstore?” Aleesha asked.
“I don’t know. His story kind of spooked me, and I guess I felt strange.”
They both stared at her. “Why?” Hannah asked.
“I don’t know.” Erin shrugged.
They walked the rest of the way to the car and drove to Aleesha’s house in silence. She turned to Erin. “Honey, you’re a bit shaken. Do you want to come inside?”
Erin shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re still creeped out,” Hannah said.
Erin sighed. “It’s these dreams I’m having. I had one last night that woke me up, and I never did go back to sleep. I have so many nightmares, but all I remember is terrifying shadowy monsters. They want to hurt me. And today in the bookstore, Michael Woodward—and his book—made me think of those dreams.” Erin frowned and looked out the window, taking a deep breath. “And, well, look what he wrote in my book. Do either of you know what it means?”
She handed Aleesha the book. They were quiet for a minute.
Aleesha read the inscription. “Salve Erin, Viator. Tutus somnium.” She shook her head. “It sounds Latin to me. I don’t know what it all means. Salve, of course, means something like ‘good morning.’ It’s just some kind of greeting.” She gave the book to Hannah. “He does write thrillers—of course he’ll give you the creeps. Why don’t we all go into my house and have a little glass of wine?”
“Thanks, but I should really pick up my kids.” Erin said. “It’s getting late.”
Hannah nodded and said, “Carlos is expecting me any minute—I’ll take a raincheck.” She handed the book back to Erin.
“All right. But why don’t both of you come to the gallery Monday around one o’clock? That’s when Michael Woodward plans to drop by. Maybe seeing him in a different setting will chase away those goblins, Erin.”
Erin laughed. “Yeah, sure. I’ll plan on stopping by on my lunch break.”
“I’ll try to,” Hannah said.
“Good,” Aleesha said. She and Hannah got out of Erin’s car and said goodbye.
*****
“That went well today,” Bruce said to Michael as he opened a bottle of beer.
Michael pulled two slices of bread from a plastic bag, set them on the counter, and spread them with mustard and mayonnaise. “Yes, very well. They aren’t all as pleasant.” He folded several slices of roast beef onto his bread. “Tell me what you thought of the audience.”
“Attentive, interested. They’re all fans, obviously.”
Michael nodded his head. “Sure.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, which he handed to Bruce. “I’ve been invited to this woman’s art gallery Monday, and to a dinner party in her home in a couple of weeks. Want to go along?”
Bruce took the card and asked, “Is she the thin woman with dark hair—very, umm, elegant? Maybe in her forties?”
“Right.”
Bruce nodded, studying the card. “I really need to get back to Portland soon, but I could come back. Yeah, I’d like to go. She owns a gallery, huh?”
“Yep,” Michael said.
“The two women we saw while running were there. What is it about
them that interests you?” Bruce said.
“Just the small one. You haven’t felt it? She’s the woman I’ve seen in my dreams. I’m sure she’s a viator,” Michael said. He took a big bite out of his sandwich.
“Ahh.” Bruce frowned and nodded his head. “A viator. So, have you talked to her in a dream?”
Michael nodded his head and took a long drink of his beer. “Yeah. I was so surprised when she dropped into a cavern that I almost ran her through with my sword. I’m glad I was there. She was outnumbered, and she didn’t realize a mortifer was right behind her. I got her out of its way.”
Bruce lifted his eyebrows and shook his head. He began making himself a sandwich. “Did you work together?”
“Yeah. She was a big help. But she didn’t say much to me.” Michael looked out the window. The sun was shining into the kitchen, and he squinted at the backyard. Leaves were just budding out on the trees, and a few blue and white forget-me-nots were blooming under them.
“Was this another one of Arthur’s dreams?” Bruce asked.
“No. It was Bagley’s. It was bad enough. He needed all the help she could give him.” Michael shook his head. “But one thing was odd. Today I mentioned to her that I’d never seen her in Domus. And she didn’t know what I was talking about.”
“Really? Are you sure she’s a viator?”
Michael was thoughtful. “That was my first thought, too, but I don’t know. She seemed genuine at the time. But if she’s a viator, she should know what I’m talking about, and if she’s not, what was she doing in that dream?”
Chapter 18
Erin drove down the highway and took the Deception Pass cutoff, heading toward home. Her thoughts were jumbled; her stomach twisted and her head hurt. This author and his book with the events he described—how could they be so similar to her own experiences? The cemetery appeared on her right, and she slowed her car and turned through the gates. She drove along the narrow gravel road past the neat rows of headstones, past the statue of the angel and the mausoleum, to the one grave she needed to see.
She stopped her car and stepped out. Clouds spread out across the sky in lines of white and pale pink. Sounds of traffic from the highway below mingled with the hissing of the wind. A dog barked in the distance. Erin walked down the hill across the grass until she came to a standing stone, and she dropped to her knees. The yellowed remains of carnations lay on the ground, and she picked them up and kissed them.
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