by V. E. Lemp
“Really?” She took a deep breath.
“It’s a very nice laugh. You should use it more often.”
Karen fell silent, fingering the star pendant on her necklace. Mark glanced at her once or twice as they drove toward Drew Bronski’s home. Finally, he asked, “Did Bronski say anything else when you called him last night? About his information, I mean. I suppose he knows I’m accompanying you?”
“No, nothing more, and yes, I told him. He was a little worried at first, but he came around in the end. I think he just wants to talk to someone. He seemed quite upset.”
“Well, here’s hoping he’s got some real evidence. I could use a solid lead after all this time.”
“He said he had a file. That sounds pretty solid.”
“Yes, it does.” Mark’s determined expression told Karen he’d brook no obstacles to their quest.
“Mark,” Karen said, after another period of silence, “it occurs to me there’s another person who might have information about Vance. Pandora O’Drury. We haven’t tried to talk to her yet.”
“Dora? I’ve spoken with her. It was some time ago, though.” Mark’s excessively casual tone made Karen turn to study his face.
“She might know more now.”
“I doubt it. She left Vance years ago. Took the kids and drove off one day. She lives in Chicago, and the children are in college.”
“So did she tell you anything interesting?”
“Not really. She wasn’t involved in Vance’s business or research activities. In fact, that’s one reason she left. Vance was so wrapped up in his various projects he was never home. Never had time for his family. She didn’t much care for his business associates either, to tell the truth.”
“Did you meet with her soon after she left Vance?”
Mark glanced at Karen. “No, a few years later. That was one of the times my superiors warned me off the case. They didn’t much care for my interactions with the ex-Mrs. Vance.”
“I liked Dora.” Karen was surprised to realize the truth behind this statement.
“So did I, once I got to know her better.”
“Was there also something”—Karen hesitated for a moment before plunging on—“about Vance and Leena Rebani?”
“Nothing Dora could prove. But she had her suspicions. Dora really was too good for Ian Vance.”
Well, well. There was a twist. Karen eyed Mark’s expressionless face. She wondered just how well he had gotten to know Ian Vance’s ex-wife.
“We should be close now,” Mark said, after a few minutes. “Can you double-check the directions? Isn’t Bronski’s house a few streets ahead?”
Karen looked at her notes. “Should be just another block or two. Wait, what’s that?” She peered out the front windshield at flashing lights. Several police cars were blocking access to the next street.
Mark pulled the car over to the curb and jumped out. Karen followed, struggling to keep up with his longer strides. As they approached the police barricade, an older woman in sweatpants and a ragged plaid robe grabbed Mark by the arm.
“You can’t go up there,” she said. “It’s all blocked off.”
“I can see that.” Mark gently removed her hand from his arm. “What’s going on?”
“Not sure, but heard one of my neighbors offed hisself,” the woman said. “Threw hisself out an attic window, someone said.”
Karen exchanged a look with Mark before they both ran toward the barricade. Karen reached the line of police cars several paces behind Mark. She pressed her hand to her chest, panting from the exertion.
He turned to Karen as she reached his side. “Apparently we can’t go any farther.”
Mark held out his arm, and Karen grabbed it and leaned against him.
Karen stared at the chaotic scene. An ambulance was pulled up next to the house. It and several police vehicles, their lights flashing, had cut deep ruts into the carefully manicured lawn and flattened a bed of zinnias.
Mark pressed his hand to his lips as she opened her mouth to voice a question. He jerked his head in the direction of two officers, who were standing at the cordoned off perimeter of the yard.
“Looks to be the owner,” said one of the officers. He held out his phone to show the other policeman a photo. “Andrew Bronski. Psychologist, has a practice here in town.”
Mark tightened his grip on Karen as she gasped.
“Psychologist? Looks like he needed help as much as his patients.” The man’s partner shook his head. “Imagine throwing yourself out of the attic. What drives a man to that?”
“Least he had the decency to do it when his family was away,” said the other officer. “Apparently they were off on a trip. So, you gotta give him that. I’ve seen too many of these where the wife or kids finds the guy.”
“Yeah, but”—the partner said, with a glance up at an open attic window—“they still have to live with the results.”
As Mark pulled Karen back a few feet, away from the officers, she stumbled. Her legs were quivering so hard, she had to lean closer to Mark for support. “I don’t understand? He killed himself?” she whispered. “But he was supposed to meet with us today. We confirmed the appointment last night.”
“I know,” Mark said, worry lines creasing his brow.” Listen, we need to get out of here. I don’t want to get caught up in this investigation, and I certainly don’t think it’s safe to stay much longer.”
Karen was startled by the expression on Mark’s face. “What do you mean? What about the file?”
“The file is long gone, I’m sure.” He glanced down at her. “We need to go, Karen. Walk with me to the car. Do not run. Walk like you’re just another curious neighbor who came upon this while out for a stroll.” He extracted his fingers from Karen’s grip and placed his arm around her shoulders.
When they were seated in the car again, Karen turned to him. “What are you thinking, Mark?” Her voice broke on his name. “You think he was killed, don’t you? You think someone murdered Drew to prevent him from giving us that file?”
“I’ve seen something like this before. A very convenient suicide. It looks perfectly acceptable in all the reports, but in actuality ...” Mark shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Someone knew we were meeting Bronski today. I don’t know how, unless they bugged his phone.”
“Or mine.”
He looked over at her, his brown eyes very solemn. “Or mine.” He started the car and backed it far enough down the street to turn and head in the opposite direction. “Do me a favor. Watch for any cars following us, would you?”
“What exactly am I looking for?
“A vehicle that makes every turn I make. And I’m going to make quite a few. It may take some time to get home.”
Karen kept watch as Mark drove to her condo. She didn’t notice anyone following them, perhaps due to Mark’s adept navigation of a more circuitous route. They said little in the car, but as they approached Karen’s street, she laid her fingers across his right arm.
“Could you come up?” she asked in a muted voice. “Just for a few minutes? I don’t want to be alone right now.”
“Of course.” Mark parked on the street. He helped Karen out of the car and kept his hand under her elbow as they climbed the stairs to her condo.
Karen told him to sit as she headed to the kitchen. “This may be the night,” she said, opening a bottle of wine, “we get very drunk.”
“I have to drive home.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
When Karen walked into the room carrying two glasses, Mark was standing by the end table, examining her home phone. “Your landline looks clean,” he said as he sat on the sofa.
Karen handed him the wine glass before she sat next to him. “You can crash here if you want.”
“Guess that’s one problem solved. I assume you mean on the sofa?”
She stared at him. “I only have one bedroom.”
“So you said.” Mark leaned against the sofa cus
hions. “This is comfortable enough, I suppose.” He surveyed the living room, his gaze coming to rest on the watercolor of the falls. “That’s one of yours, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Karen sank into a corner of the sofa, swirling the wine in her glass.
“Is it real? That place?”
Karen refused to meet his eyes. “Yes.”
“It’s quite beautiful.” Mark took a swig of the wine and set down his glass. He grabbed Karen’s cell off the coffee table. “It’s only natural to feel terrible right now. What happened to Drew Bronski—it’s a dreadful thing. A thing that shouldn’t have happened. But it isn’t your fault, Karen. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I should’ve double-checked our phones. I don’t know that they were the problem, but I should’ve checked them anyway. I’ll do that before we use them again.” He pocketed her phone.
“You’re not to blame.” Anger colored Karen’s voice. “It’s Vance. Ian Vance and all those who support and protect him. Mark”—she placed her glass on the end table and turned to him—“will we ever be able to stop them or expose them? Or will they always be one step ahead?”
“I don’t know. All we can do is try.”
Damn, the tears were coming. She turned away, but Mark took hold of her shoulders and pulled her to him. She laid her head on his shoulder and wept in earnest.
“They will pay, Karen,” he whispered in her ear as he held her tightly against his chest. “Someday, somehow, I promise you. They’ll pay for Drew Bronski and the other Morpheus Project subjects. They’ll pay for Alex Wythe. And they’ll pay”—he smoothed back her hair with one hand—“for what they did to you.”
Karen pulled away from him and sat up, brushing away tears with the back of her hand. “I must look a sight.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Mark said with a smile.
“Now that’s what I call damned with faint praise.” Karen rubbed at her eyes and met Mark’s steady gaze with a serious expression. “Do you believe it, Mark? Truly? Do you believe Tarrow’s theory? I can imagine many things, but that’s difficult. Not impossible for me to believe such things exist, you understand, but improbable I’d ever be involved. That isn’t my life. My life is ordinary. My life isn’t about aliens and government spying and dream communications and murders to cover up some grand conspiracy.”
“I’m afraid it is. You just didn’t know it. Which is a crime. Vance should’ve told you something of the dangers, even if he couldn’t tell you the absolute truth. And I think”—Mark kept his eyes locked with hers—“Alex should have told you.”
She sank back into her corner of the sofa. “Don’t go there.”
“Is that a taboo topic, then? Any criticism of Alex? Or anything to do with Alex?”
“You didn’t really know him.”
“Did you?”
Karen turned her face away. “I’m going to rescind my sofa offer if you don’t stop this.”
“The thing is, he had to know.” Mark’s words rang in her head, maddeningly clear and logical. “Alex Wythe was a lead researcher on the project. He was one of Vance’s protégés. You don’t think he knew? Why else would he have been killed? Oh, he was probably ready to expose them, in the end, but what I don’t understand is why he never told you anything. You were in that program for a while. They were using you, Karen. Using your ability to convey messages through your dreams. Using your artistic talents. Allowing alien entities to exploit you. To invade your mind. And he never once told you?”
“Enough, Mark.”
“No, it is not enough.” Mark turned her to face him. “I know you loved him, Karen. You may love him still. But you should be honest about that relationship. Alex Wythe didn’t deserve to die, but he was no saint.”
“I never said he was.”
“No, but you’re living like he was. You put your own life in danger to investigate his death. You live alone, not letting anyone get too close. You allow no one a place in your heart, except perhaps one friend and her family.”
“It’s none of your business who is or isn’t in my heart,” Karen snapped, ducking her head to avoid his direct gaze. “And anyway, you live alone.”
“You forget, I have the cat. And two other females have lived with me over the years. One at a time, of course,” he added with a smile in his voice. “Although I confess Kate wasn’t always enthusiastic about that.”
“What’s your point? Sounds like you’re taking up psychoanalysis now, on top of your other mysterious talents. I hope you don’t have a hero complex or something. Well, if you do, drop it. Don’t try to save the crazy woman who can’t forget the past. Or the man she loved.”
“Karen,” Mark said firmly, “look at me.” He tipped up her chin with the back of his hand so she was forced to meet his eyes. “No one is trying to take Alex’s place. I just have this strange belief that there’s room in the human heart for more than one person. Especially during an entire lifetime. It doesn’t diminish your love for Alex if you allow yourself to love others, you know.”
“And who did you have in mind?” Heat rose in Karen’s face under his intense scrutiny.
“Well, me, for one.” He leaned forward and kissed her.
Lips on hers, gentle but passionate. Something she hadn’t felt in so long. In a corner of Karen’s mind she admitted her paralyzing shock was only partially because she hadn’t anticipated Mark kissing her. No, it wasn’t just because she was taken by surprise, but also because of how much she enjoyed it.
After only a moment, Mark sat back. “It’s customary,” he said, “to kiss back. At least a bit. If only experimentally.”
Karen simply stared at him.
“Or are you just out of practice?” The corners of Mark’s mouth twitched.
“Out of ...” she sputtered.
“Because,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, “the best cure for that is repetition.”
Karen leapt from the sofa and stalked off toward the kitchen.
“Now you want me to go.”
Karen turned at the kitchen door. “You can stay if you promise not to say another word on this topic. I know I need your help to bring down Vance, so I’m going to forget this happened.”
“I think I’ll go.” Mark stood. “I haven’t even had one full glass of wine, so I’m safe to drive. We’ll save that getting drunk together for another time.”
Karen met him at the front door. “Why’d you have to do that?” she demanded, as he laid his hand on the doorknob. “We were working so well together, like partners. And”—she met his gaze and held it—“I know we argue sometimes, but I feel we’re friends. We can talk about almost anything, and we get along great most of the time.”
“That’s why.” Mark opened the door and gave her one final, searching look. “Think about it, Karen.”
He walked into the hall without a goodbye. Karen stood still for a moment before closing and locking her door. Then she crossed to the sofa and pulled her home phone closer to the edge of the end table.
When her call was connected, she sat on the sofa and took a deep breath before speaking.
“Thea, I need to come see you. There’s a lot I need to tell you.” Unshed tears thickened her voice. “I think I need your advice.”
Dream Journal, July 13th:
I was in my studio, standing before a large canvas I’d leaned against one wall. The painting was an abstract—swirls of vivid color with no discernible pattern or form.
“This can’t be mine. I don’t paint in this style.”
The swirls on the painting began to spin clockwise. As they cycled faster they created vortexes across the canvas, pulling the paint from the surface. All the color was sucked into the whirlpools until there wasn’t a trace left.
“Is this what you want, Karen?” asked a familiar voice behind me. “To stir the waters until nothing remains?”
His breath heated the back of my neck. “Alex, what are you doing here?”
“Don’t turn around,” he said, as I attempte
d and failed to do so.
“Can’t I see you?” My feet felt glued to the floor.
“No, I’m forced to take on the role of Eurydice.” The teasing note in his voice was achingly familiar. “You may listen but not look upon me.”
“Or what? You’ll disappear?”
“Oh, my sweet, I’m already gone. You know that.”
“And yet you’ve come to me again.”
His shadow fell across the blank canvas. “To warn you, Karen. To tell you to be careful.”
“Careful about what?”
“Digging up secrets. About what you remember. About what you choose to forget.”
“It’s for your sake I seek the truth.” I reached out to touch the shadow of his hand on the white canvas.
He curled his fingers so his shadow hand clasped mine. “For my sake, don’t look for answers.”
“I must. It’s too late to turn back. I must finish this.”
“You needn’t. Simply hold me in your memory. I ask for nothing else.”
“But now,” I said, “I need more.”
His shadow flickered and disappeared as I turned, finally able to move. The studio was empty. I looked back at the painting. The canvas was covered in odd drawings and symbols, like the renderings I drew while asleep.
This was not art. It was messages again.
“This also isn’t mine.” I kicked the canvas, and it crashed to the floor. “Whose work is this?”
“What does it mean?” I asked aloud as I woke in my bed.
But there was no one to offer me any answers.
NINE
In Thea’s kitchen, Karen studied the black cat clock as its tail swished back and forth in time with the seconds. “That’s new.” And creepy. The cat’s moving eyes made her skin crawl.
“Gift from the kids.” Thea placed two cups of coffee on the red Formica top of the chrome-edged kitchen table. “In keeping with the retro decor. Aaron picked it out, though.”
“After you suggested it to him?”
“Well, yes.” Thea grinned. “How did you guess?”
Karen shook her head. “Don’t I know you, after all these years?”