Listen to the Shadows

by Joan Hall Hovey

  “He’s in New York this week,” Jason said. “A lawyer’s convention.”

  “Lonely?”

  He shrugged and tapped the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray.

  “Not really. I think short separations are good for both of us.”

  Jason had been open about his gayness from the beginning, letting Katie know that he wanted only her friendship. Well, he certainly had that. She respected and admired him. Not only because he was, in her opinion, the most talented student in the art class they both attended weekly, but because he was one of the most sensitive and gentle human beings she had ever known. He was the brother she’d never had; a kindred spirit.

  Remembering that even spirits occasionally need sustenance, she rose from her chair. “I’ll get your tea. I nearly forgot. Did I miss anything important at class?”

  “You come back here and sit down,” he commanded. “I have something here much more interesting than tea.” He surprised her then by producing a bottle of Mateus from beneath his bulky sweater. “You’re certainly not to wait on anybody today.” His eyes danced. “You are going to join me, of course.”

  Katie sat back down. “Well, maybe just a drop.”

  Jason brought two wine glasses from the cabinet in the parlor, and was intently polishing them with a paper napkin. “There was one interesting chap who came and gave a talk. He brought along some of his own work, abstracts, mostly. Quite good, too. It seems the fellow is a direct descendant of Renoir.” Handing Katie her glass brimming with wine, he said, “Careful love, don’t spill it. Anyway, Raymond, in his usual good form, proceeded to insult him.”

  “Oh no.” Raymond Losier seemed to Katie to be pursuing a career in meanness rather than painting. “What did he say?”

  “Told him that talent obviously didn’t run in the family.”

  “Ouch.” Katie grinned in spite of herself. “Well, I’m sorry I missed his talk.”

  She sipped her wine. “Will he be coming back?”

  “Would you? Actually, he did promise a return visit. A good sort.” Frowning, he waved his cigarette impatiently at the air. “But I’m darned if I can remember when. You know how I am with dates, Katie. I don’t even know what today is.”

  She grinned. “Monday. October 31st.”

  “There, you see. I even saw a few ghosts and goblins on my way out here, and it completely left my mind.” He gave his cigarette a hateful look and tossed it into the fireplace. “I really ought to quit these disgusting things,” he said, as he so often did. “Anyway, the date will be on the bulletin board. But that’s not the most important matter at hand as far as you’re concerned.”

  “Oh?”

  “The main reason I came out here tonight, aside from wanting to see with my own eyes how you were, is that I don’t want you to miss placing an entry in the state competition. Especially since your show is garnering some nice reviews. The time is right, dear. Carpe diem.”

  Seize the day. “You’re right, of course. Oh, Jason, I’d completely forgotten about the competition with all that’s happened…”

  “I’m not surprised. But the prize is five thousand dollars, to say little of the nice tidy feather in your cap if you were to win. Good God, an honorable mention alone would be well worth the effort. But you’ve only got until the end of the week.”

  “Thank you, Jason. You really are sweet to come all the way out here to remind me.” She gestured to the finished painting propped on her easel. “Actually, I had considered entering my painting of the full moon on the lake. What do you think?”

  “You’re fishing, dear,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “You know very well I’m mad about it.” Setting his glass on the floor, he rose and wandered over to the painting. Hands clasped behind his back, he cocked his head. “Oh, yes. Yes. You’ve managed to capture all the beauty of the scene, certainly. But there’s more. The painting evokes a powerful feeling of longing—a deep, collective human longing that’s somehow primal and ancient. Yet at the same time the thing scares the hell out of me. I expect to see at least one self-respecting werewolf rising out of the mist.”

  Katie laughed, and realized how often she had laughed since Jason’s arrival. “You’re good for me,” she said softly.

  He smiled at her.

  “Speaking of lawyer’s conventions…”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Were we?”

  “No, but I wanted to tell you—Jason, I met someone.”

  “Well, this is news.” His interest peaked, he refilled both their glasses. “And about time, I should think.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. I want your advice.”

  “This has something to do with lawyer’s conventions?” He was unconsciously pulling another cigarette from the pack. “No, but the person I’m talking about is a lawyer. He just recently passed his bar exam, in fact.” She went on to tell him about Drake, and about her own confusing feelings toward him “Let me show you what he brought to the hospital.” Leaving her chair, Katie knelt and opened the case and, one by one, displayed each of Drake’s extravagant gifts to her while Jason looked on in silent astonishment. “I—I tried to give them back,” she said feebly. “On the night he was to take me to his graduation dinner—the same night I had the accident—his father suffered a stroke. At the suggestion of the doctors here, Drake took him to the clinic in Boston. When he went back to visit him, he uh…“ She gestured to the open case. “… did a little shopping.”

  Jason blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. “I’ll say.”

  “His father is home now, recuperating, and I just didn’t have the heart to insist that Drake drive all the way back to Boston just to return these gifts. It’s a three hundred mile trip.”

  There was a mischievous grin on Jason’s face. “He’s got great taste, I’ll have to say that for him. It’s obvious the man has a real thing for you, Katie, m ’dear. He spent a bundle.”

  Sighing, Katie shut the case. “I know.”

  “But you don’t feel good about keeping these things.”

  She shook her head, returning to sit down. She felt weary. Jason flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the fireplace, and made a careful pyramid of his long fingers, studied them. “Then give them back, regardless of the inconvenience to the gentleman. It was presumptuous of him to buy them, of course. They’ve become a weight, haven’t they, love?”

  “You ever hear of a cement nightgown?”

  He grinned. “Give them back, Katie. The sooner, the better.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. You always seem to know intuitively what’s best for me.”

  “You already knew what was best. You just wanted confirmation.”

  He was right, of course. She was such a child sometimes.

  “Do you feel up to talking about the accident now? It might help.” He refilled her glass, which she hadn’t realized was empty. The combination of the wine and the warm fire were making her drowsy. “You don’t have to, of course, if you…”

  Again, he was right. She did need to talk about the accident. She knew the moment Jason left and she was alone, the eyes would come back to haunt her. As well as the vision of the boy. She couldn’t really call it a dream, could she? Could she?

  “Jason,” she began tentatively, “would you answer me truthfully about something? I mean, well, don’t worry about my feelings.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  His expression at once grew thoughtful, concerned. He settled back in the chair. “All right. Shoot.”

  “Jason, do you think—I’m the sort of person who is easily given to hysterical imaginings—hallucinations?”

  “Dear girl,” he said, looking relieved at the easy question. “I don’t know a single soul with their feet more firmly planted on the earth than you.” He allowed himself a small grin. “Actually, some of my other, less well grounded friends, shall we say, could take lessons.” He leaned forward in the chair. “Maybe you better tell me what this
is all about.”

  She did, choosing not to meet his eyes until she’d finished her story. When she did look up, he was staring at her.

  “Well, am I crazy?”

  “Of course you’re not crazy, love,” he replied, just a fraction too quickly. “My God, you’ve been through a ghastly experience. Perhaps you just—I don’t know. It was raining torrents, and dark. Could it have…”

  “I’ve heard all the theories, Jason,” she cut in wearily. “I tried to find the one that made sense. But, no, I know what I saw in that rearview mirror. Eyes dead eyes. And they were staring straight at me.”

  Jason dragged nervously on a new cigarette. “But the police found nothing.”

  “No. I was quite alone in the car.”

  “Eerie,” he muttered. “Damned eerie.”

  Not exactly an answer to the mystery, but what did she expect? It was a crazy story. Even Dr. Miller had thought she needed a psychiatrist, and worse, Dr. Jonathan Shea had implied she was making the whole thing up. Jason finished off the wine in his glass, and she saw him shiver just before he went to get his coat. “Horrible business,” he said, shrugging into his coat.

  It was suede, olive-green. Katie brushed an imaginary piece of lint from the collar. “New?”

  “I needed a treat. Do you like it?”

  “Smashing.”

  He looked pleased. Each button he buttoned took him farther away.

  “Do you really have to go right now? I haven’t had any supper. I could make us both some.” She heard the near-pleading in her voice and realized how very much she didn’t want to be alone right now.

  “Your road’s a hazard at the best of times, love,” he said, touching her arm affectionately. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Now just try and put the whole, nasty business out of your mind.” He moved toward the patio doors, flipping his collar up. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation.”

  “Yes,” Katie said. “You’re probably right.” She was glad she hadn’t told him about her vision of the boy. It would really have freaked him out.

  “Get some rest, Katie,” he said, and she smiled at the familiar, easy advice.

  “Thanks, I will.”

  Jason lingered, looking anxious, as if sensing he was letting her down. “Will you be all right? Have you enough wood for the fires? God, when are you going to install central heating in this place, love?”

  “Probably about the same time I’m discovered as the next Rembrandt. But I’m fine, Jason, really. And thanks for coming out on such a terrible night—and thanks for the wine.” She kissed his cheek “I really do appreciate it and you.”

  He looked at her, shifted his feet. “You know, I think you’re quite mad to stay here all by yourself. No pun intended.” He peered behind him through the part in the drapes. “God, I hate it when the lake looks like that,” he blurted. “So black and angry.”

  Katie was surprised at the vehemence in his voice. “I didn’t know you have a fear of water, Jason. You never told me.”

  “More like a terror. I can’t swim a stroke. I nearly drowned when I was a kid. A couple of bullies threw me into—well, it doesn’t matter now. It was a long time ago. But I guess that has something to do with it.”

  Katie stood on the little balcony, chilled to the bone in only her linen dress, until he reached his car. “Drive carefully,” she called out, but her voice was lost in the rising storm.

  Poor Jason, Katie thought. I’ve spooked him. Once inside, she quickly closed and locked the patio doors behind her. And then, too late, she remembered that she’d meant to ask him if he’d used her front door the last time he was here. She would call him tomorrow.

  A gnawing uneasiness, which she knew had been further fueled by Jason’s reaction to her story, had crawled inside her skin. Maybe Jason was right about the wisdom of her living alone out here. Maybe everyone was. Yet she’d never minded it before. Black Lake was her home; she loved it here. Katie stood before the fire, rubbing the goose-bumps from her arms, thinking.

  She’d always been independent. Even before she came to live with her aunt she’d had her own apartment, working as a hostess in the town’s one good restaurant. By then her mother had already left and was living in Florida, their relationship having become more and more strained. And then when Todd didn’t come back from the war there was no longer any reason to remain in Lennoxville—no longer anyone to wait for. And so she’d accepted her aunt’s invitation to come and live with her here at Black Lake.

  More than a decade ago. In some ways, only yesterday.

  Holding the lighted lamp in one hand, and the glasses she and Jason had drunk from in the other, Katie headed out to the kitchen.

  In the living room, she paused, frowning at the muddy footprints on the rug. She’d missed them on her way in. Jason? It didn’t sound like her friend to track mud into someone’s house. But footprints didn’t lie. Someone else’s? The thought sent a blade of ice straight to her heart. She played the lamplight over the tracks—definitely a man’s. He’d actually walked around in here.

  Allen? After all this time? He was capable of breaking and entering, she knew that.

  Well, it was stupid to jump to conclusions until she talked to Jason. Katie continued on to the kitchen. Here, the air smelled of wood-smoke and of the apples Katie had picked a few weeks earlier. It was a large country kitchen, painted ivory, the trim a robin’s egg blue.

  The kitchen windows looked out on the grounds that sloped down to the road. Beyond the road were dense woods.

  The nights came early now. The stark branches whipped in the wind. Some of the trees nearer the house had lost their leaves. There were fallen leaves on the floor in her front hallway! About to turn from the window, Katie’s heart skipped as she thought she saw something move down by the big white pine near the path. She stood at the window for several minutes, her eyes fixed on the spot where she’d seen it, or imagined she had, but there was nothing. Just nerves, Katie thought, turning away. Or maybe a hungry raccoon, or a squirrel foraging for fallen pine cones.

  At the porcelain sink, she rinsed and dried the glasses, set them upturned on the counter. On either side of her was an ivory painted door. The one on her right led into a walk-in pantry, while the one on the left opened onto a narrow flight of steps descending into the cellar where the wood was kept. Thankfully, there was enough wood in the woodbox to last at least until tomorrow, Katie thought, reaching for another chunk and feeding it into the monstrous cast-iron wood stove that took up most of the back wall. It occurred to her she was hungry, but the thought of preparing something, or even eating it, would take far more energy than she had at the moment. Sleep was what she needed most right now. Hours and hours of sleep.

  She would face the world tomorrow.

  The wide stairs leading to the bedrooms rose through the center of the house. Gripping the handrail for support, the candle’s flame guiding her steps, Katie climbed the stairs on legs that felt weighted with lead chains. Once she stumbled slightly and realized that having had nothing to eat, together with all the wine she’d consumed, were taking their toll. Katie was halfway up the stairs before she noticed the same muddy tracks as in the parlor. Bending to examine them closer, she picked up what appeared to be a few pieces of straw. She shoved them into her dress pocket, refusing to give any of it another thought until she had a chance to talk to Jason.

  She thought instead about her car in the garage for repairs. The insurance would cover most of the cost, but in the meantime she was without a car. She would have to walk the mile and a half to the highway; from there she could catch a bus into town. Not a happy thought, what with the weather having turned so damned cold, but she didn’t have a whole lot of choices. She had to work. Well, no sense moaning about it. She supposed she should be grateful that the car wasn’t beyond repair, or she herself, when it came right down to it.

  As she stepped onto the landing, a cool draft brushed the fine hairs on her arms, and in the next second th
e candle went out, leaving Katie in inky blackness. Fear made her heart race, dried her lips.

  Get hold of yourself. There’s no reason to panic. You’re not a child; there is nothing to fear in the darkness.

  Reminding herself there was a lamp in the room, and matches with which to light it, she felt calmer. Katie continued down the hallway, feeling along the papered wall like a blind woman trying to negotiate her way in a stranger’s house. At last she was outside her room, her fingers closing around the cool porcelain knob. Pushing the door open, she stepped carefully across the threshold.

  Inside, she crossed to the dresser, relieved when her hand touched the glass base of the lamp. After fumbling briefly among familiar objects, she found the box of wooden matches. Striking one against the coarse strip on the side of the box, she then gave a delicate turn of the wick, and lit the lamp. Immediately the room was bathed in soft light.

  Fitting the chimney back into place, Katie picked up the lamp, thinking she would read awhile. Reading always helped her to fall asleep. As tired as she was, she knew she would lie awake otherwise.

  Half-turned from the dresser, Katie froze. Her breath clogged in her throat, escaping in a tiny whimper of shock and horror at the grotesque sight before her, now spotlighted in the flickering circle of flame.

  Outside, the wind howled and raged, rattling the window in its casing, but Katie heard only the blood rushing in her ears, and the scream of terror she did not recognize as her own—a scream cut off as she sagged to the floor in a faint.

  Chapter 12

  The ringing of the telephone downstairs pulled Katie up from the darkness, dazed and disoriented. She felt as if she’d been passed out for hours instead of the few minutes it had been. Although a deep chill seemed to pour from the very walls of the room, Katie’s skin was clammy with perspiration.

  What happened? Why was she on the floor? The edge of the braided rug dug into her cheek. The smell of kerosene was strong. Struggling to her feet, she reached out to the chair for support, and as she did, clutched a handful of thick, coarsely textured fabric. Memory jolted, and her hand jerked back.