"Does Keoman know? About your wife and child, I mean."
He nodded. "I had to tell him." But I didn't tell him how the windigo managed to grab my wife and son. My part in it. "Otherwise, he'd think I was just another bullshit paranormal investigator looking for fodder for a book. Or some adventure to brag about to my friends."
"So what happens now?"
"You don't need to be concerned about that," he assured her. "You just need to follow your instincts and get the hell out of here until after January. Especially given the fact that this thing tracked you down tonight."
"Wait a minute. You think the windigo was out there because of me? Not just out hunting?"
Pissed that he'd let that slip, Caleb went on, "Better safe than sorry. The tribe's on high alert, and they'll do everything they can to protect people. Yet every forty years, this windigo has managed to make its kills. And you don't seem in shape to handle this."
Chapter 12
I'm not in shape for this type of danger and emotional horror, Kymbria thought. That's why I'm outta here.
She'd gone totally off her medications a week ago, as soon as Keoman agreed to work with her, although traces probably still lingered in her system. She wasn't stable, though; her nerves were still shaky. Hell, a moment ago she'd jumped at a gun-shot-like pop in the fireplace. She'd hoped Keoman's teachings would help get her through the withdrawal from the drugs; that by the time they were completely out of her system, she'd have enough control to weather the lingering trauma and infrequent flashbacks.
Now she'd have to resort to the pharmaceuticals again for a while, at least until February. She hated to put off her quest. She'd been fervently counting on the lessons in the Old Ways to counteract her problems, as they had done after Tina's death.
Counting on the lessons to make her loved ones safe from her.
She reminded herself, however, she wasn't the same naïve teenager as the girl who went to pieces over Tina's death. And so far, despite the psychiatrist's mismanagement of her counseling, the PTSD hadn't progressed. She hadn't disassociated and lost time, her paramount fear. She couldn't remember her last night of interrupted sleep, since she'd refused the sleeping pills right from the first.
The emotional anesthesia was wearing off, though, her recall of Rick's death churning at the healed ulcer in her stomach. Her guilt also kept crawling out of the bottom drawer, the certainty that their personal battles had contributed to the outcome.
So confusing. She remembered holding Rick later in Germany, recalled his last words, but she couldn't visualize his face….
"What's wrong, Kymbria?" Caleb asked quietly, making her realize she'd been off in her own thoughts for several moments. "PTSD?"
Her gaze flew to him. "How did you know?"
"Some of my Desert Storm buddies. But, also, my uncle, my father's older brother, was in Nam. When I knew him, Uncle John vacillated between being zombie-like on his meds to…well, with your background, you know what PTSD does to men."
"And women," she murmured.
"And women," he agreed. "My uncle hated how he was on the meds. I overheard him and Dad talking a couple times. Uncle John said the meds zapped every bit of emotion out of him. They kept him from being a danger to others, but didn't give him much of a life in return. Yet without the meds, he didn't have much of a life, either. He didn't dare have a relationship with a woman."
"The divorce rate is sky-high among vets who come home with PTSD."
"Uncle John's wife left him less than six months after he got back. He actually shot at her once during a flashback. She'd just come home from a doctor's appointment. She was pregnant, and he thought she was carrying explosives under her coat."
"My God," Kymbria whispered.
Concern in his expression, Caleb reached for her, then drew back. "Is that why you're up here alone? You're afraid you might hurt someone you love?"
She glared at him. "That's none of your business, McCoy!" Immediately, she fought to control herself, worried she was on the verge of another attack. But…she hadn't heard any whispered words. She was only reacting to the fact this man was too new in her life to be trusted with something as important as answers to the questions he'd asked. The look on his face still held concern, though, not irritation at her nasty tone.
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "But maybe you better go now."
Rather than stand to leave, Caleb said, "I didn't mean to intrude in your personal life. But I still feel uneasy about leaving you alone."
"Why should I put any trust in you?" she said before she could stop herself. Too late, she bit her lip to halt her words. She didn't have the right to add to his pain.
"You mean, why should you believe my being here would add to your safety when I didn't protect my wife and son from the same situation?"
"You don't owe me an explanation," she said.
"Maybe I want to give you one," Caleb said. "Maybe, for the first time since I entered that Colorado windigo's lair, terrified of what I'd find, I can actually form the words. Maybe I've wondered myself why I was ludicrous enough to leave my wife and son unprotected...even if I didn't know this fucking beast was on the prowl."
She understood guilt. He wasn't a patient, though, and her training was rusty now. No, not rusty, just buried under her own problems. She should listen to him. He had to be suffering tremendously. Still, she didn't know if she could handle another person's problems right now, along with her own. Hell, she even had trouble making decisions these days.
She made this decision, propped an arm on the back of the couch, then laid her head on it to meet his gaze directly.
"I'm not judging you, Caleb," she began. "God, I've got enough remorse in my own life over stupid things I've done…or not done. One of the things I’m working on now is not judging myself."
"I am judging myself," he agreed. "Hell, if there was one time in my life when I wished I had been born psychic, like a few of my friends, it was a few months ago out in Colorado."
"How would psychic senses have helped you?" she asked, puzzled.
"They might not have," he admitted with a shrug. "But…how much do you know about how the psychic senses work?"
With in inward sigh, Kymbria realized that he was detouring the conversation, not quite ready to voice his deepest guilt. She well knew that path. She'd let him work through this without prodding.
"I suppose some of our people have psychic ability," she said, "but we've never singled that out of all the other abilities they have, especially the ability to communicate with the other side of the realm."
"Hearing and seeing are probably the most readily understandable," Caleb explained. "You can hear the spirits talk to you, understand what they say. It's called clair-audience. The words are there in your mind, sometimes without the benefit of sound."
Kymbria stifled a jab of stunned shock, hoping Caleb hadn't noticed. Probably not, since he gazed into the fire and went on, "From what friends have told me, they can also see into the other realm, distinguish beings at various levels, from misty shapes all the way to fully-formed people as clear as you and I are to each other."
He sipped his drink, then continued, "I suppose you're wondering how this all ties in to my guilt."
When he looked at her, Kymbria shook her head negatively. "I imagine you thought that, with a psychic ability, you might have felt or sensed the evil entity and not left your wife and son alone." He started to speak again, but she forestalled him with an upraised hand. "What if's, what might-have-been's…all those are useless guilt cultivators."
"I know. I've told myself that a million times. And also told myself being psychic could be a pretty horrible ability, dealing with a windigo. With any sort of evil entity."
"A hell of a horrible ability," she agreed, adding silently, especially if you start to feel the bastard is actually trying to communicate with you.
Caleb lifted his drink, one finger pointed to indicate the medicine pouch she wore. "There damned sure is evil out the
re. And we need protection against it."
She let the silence linger for a few seconds while she fingered her medicine pouch, then said, "But you still haven't been able to completely come to terms with your guilt. With being unable to protect your wife and son."
"Mona and Skippy," he said, giving her their names.
"Mona and Skippy," she repeated.
"And yes, I've tried to appease my guilt by reminding myself I'm not psychic. Still, there were plenty of other things I should have been aware of. Possible warnings."
"Hindsight," Kymbria assured him. "Hindsight is another great guilt builder."
"You're good," Caleb said. "I'll bet you were a hell of a counselor."
"Physician, heal thyself," Kymbria murmured. "But let's get back to this clair-audience thing. I — "
"Jesus, Kymbria. You heard something out there tonight, didn't you?"
She studied him. When she'd brought this up to Keoman, he'd pretty much ignored her. Did she only want to share it with Caleb because it, too, had been bottled up inside her, questions bubbling in her subconscious? Because he seemed the right person to give her some answers? Come to think of it, when she'd mentioned the voices to Keoman….that was when Keoman had insisted they get the hell out of there…and quickly. He'd even burned the sweat lodge.
It could have been her imagination, though. Could mean her PTSD was worsening, maybe to the point where she'd end up confined to a mental ward. She didn't know Caleb well enough to trust him with that highly personal information. She needed to keep it to herself, until she could understand what was happening to her.
"Listen," Caleb said. He cupped her chin in his palm and held it so she couldn't look away. "Did Keoman hear this thing speaking?"
She had to firmly remove his hand in order to speak. "He said he didn't. And neither did I," she lied even as she recalled the weird chanting that lingered on the edge of comprehension.
"Think," Caleb said. "This could be really important. Did you hear something, but not recognize the words? Or something you couldn't hear well enough to understand?"
He wasn’t buying her lie. How the hell could he know? Would he contact Keoman and the two of them unite? Would Keoman get in touch with Niona and tell her that Kymbria's emotional stability was worsening? She couldn't handle her mother second-guessing every step she took, hovering over her even when she played with Risa. Have her mother checking up on her dosages, should she be forced to go back on her meds.
"I didn't hear anything," she said with as much certainty as she could muster. "Keoman is the one in contact with the spiritual world, not me. And he didn't hear anything, either. I asked him."
Caleb started to stand. She grabbed his arm to hold him in place.
"No you don't, McCoy. You're not pulling that 'she's a little woman and doesn't need to know' crap on me. Tell me what you're thinking." Then she frowned in puzzlement. Her voice seemed to dwindle off, her words dropping into a deep void. Yet she knew she still spoke clearly.
All at once, Scarlet stood and stared out the front of the cabin, a low growl in her throat. A second later, the same eerie howl Kymbria had heard outside the sweat lodge rose on the frozen lake.
"That's what I'm thinking," Caleb muttered somewhere on the edge of her understanding.
Chapter 13
It dumped what was left of the fresh kill from the lair on the lakeshore and stared at the lights and warmth inside the cabin at the top of the stairs. She was in there with the one called Caleb. It could smell them both.
Eons ago, It would have been welcomed by Her ancestors. Eons ago, such light and warmth were a comforting part of existence, a memory while on the trail. A memory that brought It home each time. A memory that fostered the resulting choice between the two paths down through time to this existence.
One path tracked back to another woman, the one who suffered so much pain from Its actions. Had It known, would death have been easier to accept before It gave in to the desire for survival? It could not change the past, though, only endure the consequences.
The other path led backwards in time, to another Midé — the enemy who secretly sought the woman for his own.
Keen eyesight caught the flicker of movement inside the cabin. At the same instant the man appeared at the window, It flashed away in movement too swift to be discerned by humans. Strength for this new hunt was returning quickly, powers fueled partly by what It left behind.
It hid again in the copse of pines, close enough to see if the man came out of the cabin. Close enough to sense. Close enough for contact, if desired.
Awareness and thought also seemed sharper this time, reasoning more clever. It knew why the kill, made by someone unknown, had to be left there rather than remain hidden in the lair. It continued to allow these out-of-practice thinking skills to increase. Should this truly be the last hunt, a few things still remained unfinished.
Yet…It frowned. How could It know for sure if this would be the final hunt? Last season, It had made another attempt, but taken defeat without a struggle, allowed the flame of hope to die a quick death. That season, once again, It had continued to follow only the one path.
This season, with the new vigor that appeared to have come from the fresh kill It had not had to use its own energy, for both paths could be pursued without harm or lack of focus to either. Better not to let the power abate too much, though. Better to keep fueling the muscles, tendons, and abilities by feeding them. Better not allow too long a period in between.
First, though, It would wait.
Chapter 14
Scarlet's growl died in a fearful whimper. As the setter slunk back to her rug and curled her tail around her muzzle, cold fingers of fear slithered up Kymbria's spine. Yet something else filtered into her senses. Distant, barely discernible feelings loomed on the edge of clarity. As soon as she acknowledged the intruding awareness, sorrow and…evil seeped in. With a desperate effort, she forced her hand up to grasp her spirit bundle. The sensations dissipated, but lingered faintly.
Gaze wide with apprehension, she turned, but Caleb was gone from the sofa.
God! Where was he? There. Over by the front windows. Deep in the throes of her struggle to maintain a grip on reality, she hadn't heard him leave. Even now, she couldn't move to comfort her poor dog.
Kymbria tightened her hold on the spirit bundle. The terror had made her feel as though she sat in a hollow space, a roaring in her ears. She couldn't discern any words clearly through white noise, just the impressions.
Dogs can't speak, and there were words, too. Words that nagged at me, like in the sweat lodge.
Fighting her thoughts, she surged from the sofa to stumble over to Caleb. "Did you see it?" she croaked. "What was it?"
"I didn't see anything," he admitted. "But…damn it, I swear I sensed it." He spared her a quick glance, his gaze sharp but troubled, then looked back out the window toward the lake. "Only because I believe it was trying to let us know it was out there."
"The howl did that," she insisted.
"A few seconds before the howl. You looked as though…as though the entire atmosphere was changing. You felt it. I could tell. I have imprints in my arm from your nails before I freed myself."
She bit her lip. She needed time to think. Time to rationalize. She needed the hell out of here, space between her and whatever was going on. All too well she knew how easy it would be for her to lose the little ground she'd gained on her own. The first day at the cabin, she'd felt, if not stronger, at least less controlled by the past and her guilt. She'd developed a measure of hope and a beginning confidence that she could face the future, with Keoman's help. Now she was on the verge of reaching for the meds again.
Coming here had definitely been a mistake. A huge one. Rather than the serenity she'd sought, the peace she'd gained when she was sixteen and accepted the tribal Midé's teachings, she'd stepped into the middle of a myth returned to life. One of the stories that she'd only heard around the campfire, a creature in the games th
e carefree youngsters played at powwows.
She'd believed once. Accepted the Midé's teachings as fact. Accepted that another realm existed, one where the spirits offered tranquility for the taking, but also held danger not to be ignored. She'd lost that from her life over the years, thought she wanted it again.
Now she wished she had never come back. Knew without doubt she needed to get out of here.
"How much do you know about windigos?" Caleb asked.
Windigokazo odaminowin. The cannibal game. More Old words crept up from Kymbria's memory. This time she struggled to bury them, especially when something else long buried sprang to mind.
"We are not always in control of our own destiny, Daughter of our People," Keoman's father had said so long ago. "Yes, we have free will, and our paths in life at times result from our decisions. Yet at times, other forces are at work. It was Tina's destiny to die then. And perhaps there was some reason you were injured as you were.
"Many times we do not realize these things as they happen, only when we look back over the weeks, months, sometimes years. Other times, we understand them even during our journey through a certain life period. But make no mistake, guidance happens at times, urgings we can't — and should not — control. Rarely for some, more often for others. The spirits…nearly always have our best interests in mind, their eyes on a future we cannot see ourselves."
She'd caught the Midé's hesitation, the fact that not all spirits worked for the good of those living.
"But if there are evil spirits," Kymbria had said, "won't they try to control us also?"
"Yes," the Midé had answered as he ended that session.
Caleb was staring at her, waiting for her answer. What had he asked? How much did she know about windigos. She cleared her throat, unclogging the lump enough to murmur in a tone that somehow befitted the tense atmosphere, "Only that they are an evil entity. That…that they're cannibals."
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