When You Call My Name

by Sharon Sala

  Glory was laughing too hard to continue her taunt. The world hung at a crazy angle as her head dangled halfway down his back. The ground kept going in and out of focus as she bobbed with his every step. And then her view shifted, and a corner of her mouth tilted. She knew just how to make him put her down.

  Hey, Hatfield…nice buns!

  “Lord have mercy, Glory, give a man a break,” Wyatt muttered, suddenly thankful that his face was too dirty to reveal his blush. And while she was busy enjoying the point she had scored, he turned on the faucet, picked up the connected garden hose and aimed it directly at her face.

  She choked on the water and a laugh, and then fought him for the nozzle. In the middle of the game, her participation suddenly ceased. Wyatt dropped the hose, letting it run into a puddle at their feet as he watched her withdrawal.

  “What is it, honey?” he asked.

  She started to speak and then covered her face, suddenly ashamed of what she’d been doing.

  He grasped her hands and pulled them away. “Talk to me, Glory.”

  “I shouldn’t have been…It isn’t right that I…”

  Understanding dawned. “You feel guilty for being happy, don’t you?”

  She nodded, and tried not to cry.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Wyatt said, and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s natural, you know. But you can’t regret being alive, and I don’t believe that your father would have wanted you to die with him…would he?”

  She shook her head.

  “So, okay then.” He picked up the hose, then handed it to her. “Come on, let’s wash ourselves off before we go unload. And, after I put some of that brake fluid you found in the truck, I’m driving. You, however, will have to navigate our way to the city dump. It wasn’t on your town’s tourist map.”

  She held the hose, watching intently as he washed his hands, then lowered his head, letting the water from the hose run over the back of his hair and down his neck. He straightened quickly, shaking his head and wiping water from his eyes with both hands.

  “Now you,” he offered, and held the hose while she washed her hands, then cupped several handfuls of water and sluiced them on her face. “Feel better?” he asked, as he handed her his handkerchief.

  “Wyatt?”

  “What, darlin’?”

  “Thank you,” she said, and gave the used handkerchief back to him.

  His gaze raked the contours of her body, now obviously revealed by the wet clothes clinging to her shape, and reminded himself of the task at hand.

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  The sign said Dump—$2.00 Per Load. But there was no one around to collect the fee, and so they drove right in and then backed up as near to the edge of the open pit as Wyatt dared. Taking into account the lack of decent brakes on the truck, he had no intention of going too close and then being unable to stop.

  Glory got out of the truck with every intention of helping unload when Wyatt stopped her.

  “Let me, okay?”

  She relented. Her arms already ached from the strenuous job of loading the debris, and her legs were shaking with weariness.

  “Okay, and thanks.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome. Now go find yourself some shade. This shouldn’t take long.”

  Glory did as she was told, moving away from the side of the truck as Wyatt shed his shirt. She watched from a distance as he climbed up on top of the truck bed and began tossing the rubble, board by board, down into the pit, admiring the fluidity of his body and the grace with which he moved. After a while, she began to stroll around the area, stepping over bits of loose trash that had blown about, and kicking at pieces of metal and stone lying haphazardly about the site.

  Down in the pit, a huge, black crow began cawing loudly as it suddenly took flight, and two others followed. Glory turned, watching as they moved through the air on obsidian wings. She looked back to where Wyatt was working and saw that he had paused and was scanning the area with a careful eye. It gave her courage to know that he was ever on the lookout for her welfare.

  He turned to her and waved. She started to wave back when his image began to waver like a fading mirage. Believing it to be caused by heat rising from the pit, Glory started to shade her eyes, and then felt the ground go out from under her. It was reflex that sent her to her knees to keep from falling face-first, down in the dirt. And when her heart began to race, and the mirage began to reshape itself, Glory grabbed on to the grass beneath her hands and held on, afraid to let go of the ride through her mind.

  Bright sunlight was suddenly gone, as was her father’s flatbed truck and Wyatt’s image. Another had come to take its place. One stronger…darker…deadlier. She groaned, unaware that she was plunging her fingers deep into the dirt and grass in an effort to hold on.

  Panic painted the man’s movements, hastening his actions and coloring the short, uneven gasps of his breath. His rapid footsteps were muffled by the loose dirt and grass as he moved from the front of a car to the back.

  A faint glow of a quarter moon glinted on the trunk lid of the car as it popped open. He bent down, then straightened, carrying something in his arms. Something heavy…something long…something white.

  He staggered to the pit and then dropped it over the edge, watching as it fell, end over end, rolling, tumbling. Panic was beginning to subside. His relief was palpable.

  Glory shuddered, trying to pull back from the scene in her mind, yet caught in a web not of her making. She watched, as if through his eyes, unable to see his face. She rode with his thought, moved with his stride, paused with his hesitation. But when he stood on the edge of the pit and looked down, Glory’s own horror pulled her out of the fugue. In spite of the realization that it was all in her mind, she began to scream.

  The wind tunneled through Wyatt’s thick, dark hair, cooling the sweat upon his body and blowing away the ever-present stench of burned wood. Nearly through with the job, he paused and looked up, making certain that they were still alone, and ever careful to keep Glory within constant view.

  Watching the wind play havoc with her hair made him smile. She’d already remarked while loading the truck that she should have done more than just tie it at the back of her neck, that it should have been braided to keep from whipping in her face and eyes.

  And then he watched in horror as she suddenly dropped to her knees. Her name was on his lips as he jumped from the truck bed. And then he was running as fast as he could run, across the ground, past the edge of the pit, toward the sound of her screams. He yanked her out of the dirt and into his arms.

  “Glory! Sweetheart! I’m here! I’m here. Let it go!”

  She staggered, then swayed and, without thought, wrapped her arms around Wyatt’s waist and held on, because he was her only stability in a world gone wrong.

  “Dead. She’s dead,” Glory moaned. “All in white. And it came undone.”

  The plaintive wail of her voice sent shivers up his spine. She? Dead? What in God’s name had Glory seen now?

  He cupped her face with both of his hands, tilting it until she had nowhere to look but at him.

  “Look at me!” he shouted. “Damn it, Glory, look at me!”

  Her gaze shifted, and he could actually see cognizance returning. Breath slid from his lungs in a deep, heavy sigh as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rocked her within his embrace.

  “Tell me, honey. Tell me what you saw.”

  And as quickly as her terror had come, it passed. There was intensity in her voice, in her manners, in the way she clutched at his bare arms.

  “I saw a man take something white from a trunk of a car. I saw him drop it in the pit. It rolled and tumbled and…” She shuddered, then swallowed, trying to find ways to put into words what she saw in her mind. “He watched it fall. I felt him smile. The thing that he’d thrown came open. Like a candy that had come unwrapped. I could see her face. Her eyes were open wide, as if she’d been surprised. Oh, Wyatt, he threw a woman’
s body into the dump!”

  “Good Lord! Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  He stared down into the pit, noting the few bags of garbage that had been dumped earlier in the day, and then looking more intently at the huge layers of earth that had already been pushed over weeks of refuse.

  “They probably cover this site every night. There’s no way of telling how long ago this happened, is there?”

  Her face contorted as she tried to remember everything that she’d seen and then she slumped in dejection. “No, it was so dark, I couldn’t tell…” She gasped, and then cried. “A quarter moon! There was a quarter moon.”

  Wyatt tensed, then turned and stared at her face. “That was less than a week ago. I know, because I sat on a porch in Tennessee, watching clouds blowing across a quarter moon and listening for the sound of your voice.”

  Glory shuddered. “What do we do?”

  “We go tell Chief Conway.”

  She groaned. “He’s going to laugh in our faces,” she warned.

  “Sticks and stones, honey. Sticks and stones. Now let’s get the rest of that stuff on the truck unloaded and get back to the cabin. I think we need to look our best when we ask the chief to dig up a dump.”

  Chapter 7

  Lane was waiting for Wyatt and Glory when they pulled up to the curb and parked in front of the police department.

  “I got your message,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “After you left, Glory wanted to haul some stuff to the dump. While we were there, she had a…uh, she saw…”

  Glory sighed. Even Wyatt, who claimed to believe, had trouble putting into words what she so took for granted.

  “Granny always called them visions,” she said.

  Lane’s attention piqued. “Look, Glory, you’ve already made a believer out of me, and that’s no easy task. So what did you see?”

  “A woman’s body being tossed in the dump.”

  “Oh, hell,” Lane muttered, thinking of the ramifications of convincing the law to act on a psychic’s word. “This won’t be easy.”

  After they went inside, he knew he’d been right. The police chief erupted as Glory started to explain, while the deputy slipped out of the room, hovering just out of sight on the other side of the door.

  “You saw what?” Conway shouted, rising from his chair and circling his desk to where Glory was standing. “And I suppose you saw this incident in your mind, as well?”

  Wyatt glared, inserting himself slightly between them. “There’s no need to shout,” he said.

  A vein bulged near Conway’s left eye as his face grew redder by the minute. “Let me get this right. You had this vision, during which time you saw a man throw a woman’s body into the dump. Oh! And she was dressed all in white, right?”

  Glory’s stomach tightened. She wanted to turn and walk out and forget she’d ever seen what she’d seen. “Yes, I told you I saw her—”

  Conway interrupted. “Can you explain why the man who works the bulldozer at the dump didn’t see her…or why twelve men who work three different trash trucks on two different routes didn’t see her while they were dumping loads?”

  “No,” Glory muttered.

  Conway smirked. “I didn’t think so.” He glared at Wyatt, as if blaming him for this latest in a series of problems he felt unequipped to deal with. “Look, Hatfield. I deal in facts, and these…uh, impulses she claims to have are not facts. They’re dreams. They’re imagination. They’re…”

  The deputy slipped back in the room, unable to resist a comment. “But Chief, she was right about them gas stoves.”

  “Shut up,” he growled, and the deputy wisely retreated again, this time to the back room.

  The chief’s attitude did not surprise Lane. Law enforcement dealt with rules and givens. There were no rules for what Glory Dixon could do.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve had any missing person reports filed recently,” Lane asked.

  Conway made no attempt to hide his surprise. He apparently couldn’t believe that a U.S. marshal would actually take any of this hogwash as fact.

  “No, I don’t suppose I have,” he muttered.

  “You’re also real certain that none have come in over the wire from surrounding areas.”

  Conway flushed. He was pretty sure, but not positive. Obviously, however, he wasn’t about to say it.

  “Look, you two. You think because you’re from the big city that the law in a little hill town like Larner’s Mill can’t cut the mustard, don’t you? Well, you’re wrong, and I don’t like anyone buttin’ into my business.” His glare was directed as much at Lane as it was at Glory.

  Before Wyatt or Lane could answer, Glory interrupted.

  “I said what I came to say. What you do with the information is strictly up to you. However…if I’m right…and you’re wrong, you’ve just let a man get away with murder. And that’s your business, not mine, isn’t it?” She walked out, leaving Wyatt and Lane to do as they chose.

  They chose to follow her, and when they were gone, Anders Conway had no one to argue with but himself. It was a brief discussion that ended on a question. Just because Glory Dixon had been right about the fire that killed her folks didn’t mean that she was always going to be right about that stuff floating around in her head…did it? He ran a hand through his thinning hair in frustration as he shouted at his deputy.

  The deputy came running. “Yes, sir, what do you need?”

  “I want to see everything we’ve got on missing persons in this county, as well as recent faxes along the same line.” And when the deputy grinned, Conway glared. “Just because I asked to see the files doesn’t mean I believe her,” he grumbled. “I’m just doing my job. That’s all.”

  Outside, Wyatt caught Glory by the arm as she walked toward the car.

  “What?” she asked, still angry with the sheriff and the world in general.

  “You did good,” he said quietly.

  Surprise colored her expression as Lane agreed.

  “Wyatt’s right. You said what had to be said. If the chief fails to follow up, then he’s the one who’s going to look like a fool. Now, if you two think you can make it on your own for a day or two, I’m going home to check on Toni and Joy, then swing by the office. I can access more information there than we’re ever going to get out of Conway. Maybe something will turn up on the computer that fits what Glory saw.”

  “I’m really sorry all of this mess is taking you away from your family,” Glory said.

  Lane smiled. “My job always takes me away from my family, honey. We’re used to it.” And then his expression changed as he turned to Wyatt. “I’ve got some stuff I need to leave with you before I go. Why don’t you pop the trunk of the car? I’ll toss it in there.”

  “I’ll do it,” Glory said, and as she scooted across the seat, missed seeing the look on Wyatt’s face as Lane set a handgun and several boxes of ammunition inside, then handed him his portable phone.

  “Just so we can keep in touch,” Lane said.

  “And the other?” Wyatt asked.

  “Just in case.”

  “Damn, I hate this,” Wyatt said. “I thought I put all of this behind me when I left the military.”

  “Just take care of yourself,” Lane said, and then gave Wyatt a quick, brotherly hug. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

  Wyatt watched him drive away, then looked back at Glory, who sat patiently inside the car, waiting for him to get in. Her profile was solemn as she stared out a window, obviously lost in thought. Wyatt glanced at the trunk lid, picturing what Lane had put inside, and then looked up at Glory, struck by her repose and innocence.

  Oh, Lord, I don’t know what I’m afraid of most. Trying to keep you safe, or taking you to bed.

  She turned. Their eyes met, and for a second, Wyatt was afraid that she’d read his mind. But when she did nothing but smile, he got in without hesitation, satisfied that his thoughts were still his own.

  “
Where do we go from here?” Glory asked.

  He’d asked her that same question this morning right after the kiss, and like her, he had no answer.

  “It’s all up to you,” he finally said.

  “Wyatt?”

  “What, honey?”

  “Have you ever had so many problems that you just wanted to run away from everything?”

  “Unlike you, sweetheart, I’ve been running all my life. We’ll find a way to work this out. Just don’t quit on yourself, and better yet, don’t quit on me. I would hate to wake up one morning and find you gone.”

  An odd light glittered in her eyes, and then she turned away. “When it comes time to leave, I won’t be the one with a suitcase in hand, and we both know it.”

  There was no way to argue with what she said and come out on the good side of the truth. Angrily, he started the car. Having done what they came to do, they headed back to Granny Dixon’s cabin.

  As they drove, Wyatt fought demons of his own that kept tearing at his concentration. Okay, he told himself, he didn’t have to love her, and she didn’t have to love him. All he had to do was keep her safe. He thought of the gun in the trunk and the look on Lane’s face when he left. His stomach turned, imagining Glory in pain or danger, and he wanted to slam on the brakes and take her in his arms. He resisted the urge and kept driving. Yet the farther he drove, the more certain he became that it was too late. He didn’t have to love her…but he did.

  Thunder rumbled beyond the valley, and a streak of lightning crossed the sky. The rocking chair in which Glory was sitting gave an occasional comforting squeak as she kept up the motion by pushing herself off with the toe of her shoe. She looked up as Wyatt came in the door and dropped the magazine she’d been reading into her lap.

  “Did you find the puppy?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe he’s afraid of the storm. He’s probably under some bush or even gone back to the barn to a place that’s familiar to him.”