No, God no. She’d just been telling herself to remember-had she dreamed it? Had she walked in her sleep? Could she have been? Maybe the someone in her house who had awakened her had been her.
She jumped to her feet, grabbed her cell phone and, clutching it to her chest, ran to the front of the house, flipping on every light on the way.
No more scrawled messages or open windows. Nothing different. Nothing out of place.
Call Reed.
No. He can’t know this. Crazy… he’ll think I’m-
Losing my mind, she thought. Is this what it’d been like for her mother? Had she even been able to recall destroying her art? Or had it played out like a nightmare or a fugue state?
Stop it, Alex. Stop. Think. Get a grip on yourself.
She made her way to the couch and sat. She struggled for calm. She concentrated on the in and out of her breath.
The window, she thought. It’d been open. Maybe someone had climbed in and… scrawled Remember on her mirror?
But why? And how did the lipstick get on her sheets and hands?
Hold yourself together. Consider the possibilities. Look at each event and-
A list, she thought. There in black and white, to manipulate and untangle.
She jumped to her feet and hurried to the work area she had set up in the corner of the room. Her dissertation research sat on the desk there, untouched since her first day in Sonoma. She rummaged through her supplies until she found an empty legal tablet, then took it and a pen back to the sofa.
At the top of the page she wrote: “Vision while making love with Tim. Robed figures. Baby screaming.”
She followed with her panic attack in the Red Crest Winery cave. The smell of incense. The sound of people partying. Her scream.
Next, she listed the slaughtered lamb. Then the altar Reed had shown her, and meeting Max Cragan. She noted his strange behavior change after seeing the ring, then his even stranger call.
Then finding him dead of an apparent suicide. Reed sharing that her ring and the tattoo on the bottom of a murdered man’s foot matched. Max’s house torched. Beside that, she noted: Alibi/Reed.
And in the midst of all that, her morphing dreams. The forest setting. The sense of crouching, eavesdropping on something she couldn’t understand.
Alex swallowed hard and moved on to the next event-her second vision in the Sommer Wine cave. She jotted down all the details: the smell of incense again, the flickering light becoming fire, its tentacles grasping at her.
The next day, the mutilated doll. And finally, this morning: Remember scrawled in lipstick on her bathroom mirror. The damning stain on her hands and sheets.
Alex gazed at the list, heart pounding. It was overwhelming. Frightening. A boatload of really weird, scary shit.
Why was she still here? Why hadn’t she packed her bags and headed home? She recalled Reed’s words: Whatever’s happening, you’re a part of it.
A part of it, what did that mean? That she was a catalyst? The center? The victim-or the perpetrator?
Head pounding, she went to make coffee. While it brewed, she studied the list. When the coffeepot had burbled its last, she filled a mug and sat at the table, going over every detail, recalling the date each event occurred, when she had learned of it. And her reactions.
The sandalwood scent. She had recognized it. It had triggered the first event in the cave. It had intruded upon her dreams. Of course. Alex stood, went for the package of Oreos and poured a glass of milk.
She returned to the table. Humans lived experiences through the senses. Studies had proved, of all the senses, the sense of smell was the most strongly associated with recovered memories.
Alex dunked a cookie in the milk, gaze fixed on the list, thinking back to her visions and dreams and how they had adapted to each new piece of information. The faceless baby, no longer faceless. The scent, now identified. And most recently, the angry voice, the words she had not been able to grasp.
“You want to know so bad? I’ll show you.”
Clark’s voice. Even as a chill moved over her, she shook it off, frustrated. Had it been Clark speaking all those years ago? Or had her confrontation with him, the implied threat simply triggered the memory?
She didn’t know. She was no closer to an answer than when she had begun.
Could she be responsible for any of this?
She couldn’t do this alone, Alex realized. She needed someone who knew her well, who wouldn’t judge. Someone who would help her see through her emotions and ferret out the truth.
Tim. She needed Tim.
Alex dialed his number. It rang once, then twice. She prayed he’d answer. He did and relief rolled over her. “Tim, it’s me.”
“Hey, you.” He yawned. “I’d wondered if you’d fallen off the planet.”
She struggled to keep her voice from shaking. “I need to talk to you.”
He yawned again. “What the hell time is it?”
“Early. It’s important.”
He must have heard the urgency in her voice, because he suddenly sounded wide awake. “What’s wrong?”
“I think-” A hysterical-sounding laugh bubbled to her lips. Now she sounded as crazy as she thought she was becoming. “Tim, I think I’m losing my mind.”
He laughed. “And you’re just realizing that? Honey, you lost your mind a long time-”
“I’m not joking, Tim.” She lowered her voice. “I need you to come here. Can you?”
“I guess, sure. I have classes until-”
“Can you cancel them?”
His silence said it all. Now he was worried.
“Please,” she whispered. “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency.”
For a long moment he was silent. Finally, he agreed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Sit tight.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Monday, March 15
9:10 A.M.
The two hours’ wait seemed interminable. She made another pot of coffee, showered and straightened the cottage. Still, every minute seemed like ten. When he finally pulled up, she ran to meet him.
He wrapped her in his arms. “My God,” he said, “you’re shaking.”
“There’s so much to tell you… so much has happened. I don’t know where to begin.”
“Slow down, honey. Take a deep breath. Start with today.”
Alex breathed deeply, then said, “To start with today, I have to show you.”
She led him into the house and through to the bathroom. She flipped on the light and stepped aside. She saw it through his eyes, the smears of garish red, the crudely written word, the underlying mania of it. As if it had been done in a frenzy.
He looked at her. “Holy shit, Alex. What is this?”
“I don’t know, but I’m afraid… I think I might have done it.”
For a long moment he didn’t speak. When he did, he did so carefully, his tone measured. “That’s a fairly bold statement, Alex. One I don’t think you should make lightly.”
In his eyes, she saw real concern. “I’m not. I thought someone had broken in. The window was open. I was startled awake by something.”
“Or someone.”
“That’s what I thought, but then I saw… my right hand was stained. From the lipstick.” She held out her hands. “I showered. I probably shouldn’t have, but… It was on my sheets, too. I could show you.”
“It’s okay. I believe you.” He frowned and touched one of the smears, then rubbed it between his fingers. “I’ve never seen you wear red.”
“Rachel and I each bought a tube of it. We were being silly.”
He looked at her. “Who’s Rachel?”
“My stepsister. I really like her.” She rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. “I need some sun. How about you?”
They ended up on the front porch, on the swing. On the way out, she’d grabbed the legal tablet and handed it to him now.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“I made a list. Of ev
erything that’s happened. I hoped it would help me make sense of it all.”
He took the tablet from her and began to read. While he did, she held her face to the sun. The morning was bright and lovely. The light angled across the porch, touching them as the swing moved. In the small oak tree at the end of the porch, two finches were busy building a nest.
After several moments, he stopped the swing and looked at her. “I want you out of here, Alex.” As if anticipating her argument, he held up a hand to stop her. “You should have gotten the hell out when you found that lamb. Frankly, I’m a little concerned that you didn’t.”
“I thought the same thing this morning, when I took it all in.”
“And?”
“They’re not going to chase me off, Tim.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, whoever’s doing this. I’m not leaving until I learn the truth.”
He angled toward her and gathered her hands in his. “What truth is that, Alex?”
“What really happened twenty-five years ago. To my brother. To me. Why my mother took me away and did her best to expunge my memory of the first five years of my life. What they’ve told me so far is a lie.”
Tim frowned. “What’ve they told you?”
“That my mother had been seducing the teenage sons of her and Harlan’s friends. It was a club, she publicly initiated them into sex. Then they all-”
She bit the last back.
“Then they what, Alex?”
She looked at him defiantly. “Took turns fucking her.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Who told you that?”
“Wayne Reed. He and his wife were my mother and stepfather’s best friends. His oldest son was one of the boys.” She cleared her throat. “After Dylan’s abduction, he confessed it all to his father. Wayne Reed went to the other fathers, they confronted her and ran her out of town.”
“And he just shared this out of the blue?”
“No. I was asking around about her ring, the one I found in her trunk.”
“With the vines and snake motif?”
She nodded and he frowned. “I thought maybe it’d been from my father. Turned out she’d had it designed for herself. Her initiates got a tattoo of the same motif.”
“And one of those ‘initiates’ turned up dead?”
She nodded. “They were afraid their secret would get out. They hadn’t even told the boys’ mothers. Or Harlan, he’d already lost so much. Plus, they didn’t want it all dredged up for the boys.”
“Nice and neat,” Tim murmured. He tapped the list. “Except for all this. Why’s it happening?”
A rhetorical question, she knew. Reed’s words jumped into her head again. “Whatever’s happening, you’re a part of it.”
Tim returned his gaze to hers. “Describe your wine cave experiences. Physically, how did they make you feel?”
“Both times, it was like having a panic attack. My heartbeat accelerated. My breathing. Palms began to sweat.
“Then the hallucination thing happened, though the two episodes were very different.” She clasped her hands together. “The first time, I smelled incense and heard a group of people… I thought there was a group having a party. I called out, but no one answered.”
Alex cleared her throat, remembering. “Some of the sounds coming from the group were… strange. Bestial. I lost it and screamed, though I had no recollection of doing it.
“My date found me,” she went on. “I was so certain there were people partying in there, we searched together. But the cave was empty.”
“I don’t think this is about your mother, Alex.”
She swallowed hard. “No?”
“No.” He covered her hands with his. “Who’s the sacrificial lamb?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The slaughtered animal left under your sink was an actual lamb. The mutilated baby doll is its metaphorical parallel. Who in this story is the lamb?”
The one unfairly blamed for the acts of another. The one killed to further a cause.
“Dylan’s the obvious choice,” she whispered. “He’s the faceless baby of my visions. Screaming. Children are often called lambs.”
“Maybe. Who else?”
“My mother.”
“Maybe the baby is you?”
She stared at him, heart thundering. “No. I would know it.” At his expression, she added, “How could that be? I’m there in my vision. I’m the one seeing him scream.”
“In dream interpretation, everything in a dream represents an aspect of the self.”
“But these aren’t dreams. I’m awake, Tim.”
He tightened his fingers over hers. “Honey, this is about you. You’re the sacrificial lamb.”
She shook her head, not wanting to believe it. He pressed on. “Something happened to you, probably in the wine caves. And whatever it was, it was traumatic.” He searched her gaze. “And either somebody else knows about it and is tormenting you. Or your subconscious is doing its damnedest-”
“To get me to remember,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
She didn’t want to believe it, but it rang true. She started to shake. “That’s why it was so easy for me to forget.”
“I think so.”
“I’m like her, aren’t I? It’s happened.”
“No, Alex. You were a little girl and you were hurt. You’re not unbalanced.”
She laughed, tears filling her eyes. “Wow, that’s not the way it feels.”
“There’s still so much we don’t know, Alex. What’s the rest of the story? How does your brother’s abduction fit in? Or does it at all? What about your mother, that story about her? What about your father?”
She blinked, surprised. “My father? What could he have to do with any of this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that’s the point.” He lowered his voice. “I think it’s time for you to come home.”
Home, she thought. Away from all this craziness.
But how could she escape the craziness inside her?
“I can’t run away,” she said. “And I’m not afraid.”
“I sure as hell am, Alex. Afraid for you.” He leaned toward her. “Look, babe, whoever’s doing this isn’t screwing around. Somebody’s dead. A house has been burned to the ground.”
“I can’t run away,” she said. “You know I can’t. If I don’t stay to find the truth, the truth will find me.”
His lips lifted. “Ever heard of therapy? A nice safe couch, a boring but intuitive counselor, two or three visits a week-”
“No. I’m not going.”
“Think about it. Please?”
She opened her mouth to refuse, then shut it as a series of images filled her head: the mutilated doll, the blood of the lamb, Max Cragan’s gentle countenance distorted in death.
She should be afraid. Terrified.
Why wasn’t she?
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Monday, March 15
7:40 P.M.
Alex and Tim sat at a window table at the girl & the fig. She had slept most of the afternoon. For part of the time, he’d laid with her, holding her. He’d made her feel safe.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Drained.”
“I’m glad you slept. You needed it.”
“Thanks for watching over me.” Emotion tightened her chest. “I’m a total screwup, aren’t I? A real head case.”
“Don’t say that, it’s not true. We’ll figure this out.”
“Alex?”
She looked up to find Rachel crossing to them. She got to her feet and hugged her. “This is Tim Clarkson. My ex-husband. Tim, my stepsister, Rachel.”
He stood and held out his hand. Rachel took it. “Tim of the chopsticks,” she said.
He glanced at Alex in question. “She admired the chopsticks you gave me.”
“Oh.” He smiled. “And you’re Rachel of
the really red lipstick.”
“I guess I am. Although I prefer to think of myself as Rachel of the really wonderful red wine.”
“That’s right,” he murmured. “You’re one of the Sommer family.”
“Would you like to join us?” Alex asked. “Please do.”
“I’d love to, but I’ve got a date.” She motioned to a striking, silver-haired man at the bar. “It’s a first date, you know how tricky those can be. Nice meeting you, Tim. Call me,” she said to Alex. “We’ll have lunch.”
They returned to their seats. Although Tim didn’t comment, Alex could tell he hadn’t liked Rachel. She told him so.
“It was that obvious?”
“To me.”
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “You know me a little too well.”
“That I do.” She squeezed his hand, then slid hers away and reached for her glass of wine. “Why didn’t you like her?”
He pursed his lips. “Too pushy.”
“She is not. I asked her to join us, remember? Not the other way around.”
“Fact was, she didn’t like me. And she didn’t waste a moment telling me who she was and why she was important. That says something about a person, Alex.”
“The wine comment?” She rolled her eyes. “First off, here it’s all about wine. If you are the wine, you let people know. Second, if you think she didn’t like you, it’s probably your own guilty conscience making you feel that way.”
“My guilty conscience?”
“You’re worried about what I might have told her.”
She was teasing him, but he flushed. Obviously, she’d pushed a button. “She’s possessive of you. It’s not normal.”
“That’s not true.”
“An entitlement thing. Like all those children of the vine.”
“You’ve had too much to drink. Children of the vine, give me a brea-”
She bit the last back and brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. I know what it means.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“What you just said. Children of the vine. Not children, boys. Boys of the Vine. That’s what BOV stands for.”
He reached for his wine. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
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