Night Visions

by Ariana Dupre

  "Have you been able to find out anything about that blue light you saw?” he said after a moment.

  "I didn't find anything myself,” she answered, “but Jared came across this website that had a section on cursed spirits. And they had a picture of the same blue glow I saw."

  "What did it say about it?"

  "Not much that made sense, really, until Jared phoned the office of the people who own the site. They're a ghost hunter's society. Jared spoke to the head honcho. He turned out to be the one who took that picture. He told Jared there are two kinds of curses. One can be broken, the other can't. From the research he's done, supposedly the cursed spirit has to help the living in order to break the curse."

  "And if that blue glow was a cursed spirit,” Alan interjected, “then you have to consider the facts. It helped you escape from that fire unharmed."

  "Yeah, you're right. Maybe the curse is true. I'm still not convinced though.” Angie drank some coffee. “Alan,” she said after she swallowed, “did you notice anything odd in Jared's reaction?"

  "Just now? Yes, he seemed bothered by what Mary said."

  She nodded, and frowned. “How's that research coming?"

  "We're almost finished, Angie, almost finished."

  * * * *

  "Look what you've done with this place!” squealed Mrs. Turner. “I swannie, it doesn't even look like the same house."

  "Thank you.” A grin tugged at the corners of Angie's mouth. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard someone say “I swannie.” She'd dreaded the meeting with the Turners all weekend, but with the wedding coming up, it was unavoidable.

  "It's just so homey and warm,” Mrs. Turner exclaimed. “Angie, dear, could you redecorate my place? I want to make some changes now that Kimmie's moving out. Your work is excellent."

  Kimmie broke in. “Angie, it looks wonderful. You've done the most amazing things! I can't believe you found the perfect antiques to make everything look authentic."

  "That's all part of my job.” Angie smiled; then said to Kimmie's mother, “When this project is complete, I'd love to discuss your home with you, Mrs. Turner.” She paused, her smile growing into a giant grin. “Now, both of you, come with me. I have something very special that I want to show you. I know you want to have the ceremony under the sycamore tree, but I thought you might consider having the reception inside."

  "Oh, I think outside will be fine for the reception, too.” As they walked through the house, Mrs. Turner trailed along behind, peeking inside decorative vases and pitchers, running her finger along railings as though looking for dust, feeling the quality of runners and curtains. “I don't want the guests to ruin anything in here before the Inn opens."

  "Let me show you this room before you decide."

  Angie opened the double doors leading into the ballroom. Her heart filled with pride when she heard the gasps of appreciation behind her. No one but Angie and Jared and others involved in the renovation had seen this room until now.

  "Wait, there's more.” Angie touched a switch and the ceiling immediately blossomed into a clear night sky. Little stars twinkled as the moon beamed down its iridescent glow onto the painted gardens below.

  Kimmie's hands flew to her mouth then to her cheeks. “Oh, Mama,” she breathed, “Isn't this beautiful?"

  For once in her life, Mrs. Turner was speechless.

  What a compliment, thought Angie. “Don't you think this would be a wonderful place for the reception?"

  Running over, Kimmie hugged Angie, squeezing the breath out of her. “Can I have the reception in here? Pleeaaassseee?"

  Angie laughed out loud. “Oh course you can, silly. That's why I showed it to you."

  "You are so sweet, Angelina Benton.” Mrs. Turner took Angie's hand. “Now you must tell me how you came up with such a wonderful idea for this room. I've never seen anything like this in all my born days!"

  "I guess I was inspired."

  A knock on the doorjamb turned three heads in that direction.

  "Angie, the delivery you expected is here,” said Jared. “The driver needs you to sign off on the paperwork. Hello, ladies."

  "Hi,” the Turners said in unison.

  "Okay.” Angie nodded. “Can you tell him I'll be right out?"

  "Sure thing."

  "Well, well,” said Mrs. Turner, patting Angie's hand as Jared disappeared from view, “if he was your inspiration, my dear, no wonder this room is so exceptional."

  "Mrs. Turner! Jared was not my inspiration."

  "You go see that driver, dear. We want to look under the sycamore tree again but let's definitely move the reception to this room.” Mrs. Turner rubbed Angie between the shoulder blades. “Martha would be so proud of you, dear."

  * * * *

  Sinking into her office chair, now located in the small room beside the library, Angie pulled out the Renobook to double check the task list.

  Only six more nights and she could sleep in her own bed, in her own house.

  But—something she'd never thought possible before—she'd miss the Slayton Inn, she really would.

  She'd miss Jared too.

  We've never talked about the night he refused to make love to me. I wonder why he never brought it up again after the morning I saw Mary and Theodore. It probably wasn't important to him and he's forgotten all about it.

  She turned a page in the Renobook.

  Who am I kidding? In my heart, I understand that he did the right thing. And if I'm being really honest with myself, I know he saved me from making a terrible mistake. But if he's not going to bring it up first, I'll be damned if I will.

  Still, she'd miss those boyish grins, that tanned muscular body and the way he teased her.

  Stop it! You'll just make yourself crazy.

  She closed the book. All done. She'd finished the Davis house yesterday. Now, she could just hang out for a few days in case Kimmie needed help with her wedding or if any last minute emergencies came up.

  Picking up the phone, she dialed Alan's number. “Hey stranger!"

  "Hi, Angie.” He laughed.

  "What's so funny?"

  "You did it again. I was going to call you."

  "Did you find something?"

  "Yes, I did. Can you meet me in an hour at the hard surface road? We'll go to your house again."

  "You've got it.” Hanging up the phone, she glanced at the clock on the computer. She had just enough time to ditch security.

  Angie sighed deeply.

  After all this time, she'd finally know Jared Maxwell's secret.

  * * * *

  "Okay, Alan. Spill it!” Angie exclaimed, locking the front door of her home.

  "Impatient are we?” he asked. “Let's at least sit down first?"

  "Sure, if we must,” Angie laughed, leading the way into her living room, and plopping down on the sofa.

  Alan chose her high-backed armchair with the beige upholstery. “Okay,” he began the minute he sat down. “The genealogist traced the lines of both Sally Mayfield and Mary. Sally's lineage didn't reveal anything unusual. The grudge she'd had against the Slayton's didn't continue with her descendants. The last of the line were two daughters. One died five years ago and the other twenty-eight years ago. Both married, but neither were able to have children."

  "A dead end then,” Angie sighed. “Sorry, no pun intended."

  "Mary's story is different."

  "Really? Tell me."

  "There are several living descendants who can claim Mary Slayton as their ancestor."

  "Who are they?"

  Alan took a deep breath. “You're not going to like this, Angie."

  "Let me guess. Jared Maxwell is a descendant."

  Alan nodded. “Yes. Jared, his mother, and his grandmother. This doesn't include his half sister Terri. Jared's mother was Mary's descendant. Jared's parents divorced when he was three and his father remarried and had Terri."

  "I knew it!” Angie smacked her hand down on the sofa's padded arm. “He was to
o damn eager to jump into this project."

  "There's more."

  "More?"

  Alan rubbed his forehead with one hand. “After Theodore's death, Ruby took over and sent Mary away. Mary took any work she could find and told everyone her story. She swore revenge on the Slayton's for ousting the rightful heir to the estate. Mary ingrained the idea of revenge into her son and his children, and they instilled it in the grandchildren. In the last generations, the story became more of a folktale than a reality to the family members."

  "Except maybe to Jared Maxwell?” Angie could feel anger rising like a flame inside her. “You mean Jared still wants vengeance? That's why he was so quick to be part of the Inn.” Angie stared at Alan in horror.

  "I can't believe this!” Angie stood and went to the window. “That's why he wanted to buy me out. He had an ulterior motive all along.” The controlled anger in her voice stilted her speech. “Is that all?"

  "Not quite."

  The calm assurance of his tone caused Angie to whirl around. “You mean there's more?"

  "I just wanted to tell you that Jared offered Sam Slayton a hefty sum for his property before he died."

  "How much?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "How much, Alan?” Fighting hard for control, Angie clenched her fists together.

  "Nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

  The words had the same effect as a bucket of ice water. Knees collapsing, Angie sank to the edge of the couch. “What?"

  "I don't need to repeat it, you heard me."

  "You mean to tell me that Sam turned down almost a million dollars?"

  "Yes. Obviously he didn't need it, based on the fund he set up for the Inn."

  "But Jared could have paid that much?” She sank back against the couch.

  "Jared Maxwell's a very wealthy man, Angie."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "What would you have done if I had? Married him?"

  A lightning strike couldn't have moved faster. Angie jumped off the couch to sit beside Alan. “I'm sorry—can you please repeat your last sentence."

  "Would you have married him?"

  "Why in the world would you think I'd marry Jared?” Angie softened her voice when she saw the worry lines crease Alan's forehead. “Alan, that doesn't make any sense. You know I'd never marry for money!"

  "But you do love him, don't you?"

  "No."

  "Angie, you've never been a good liar. I've seen the way the two of you look at each other."

  "Alan,” said Angie with a mock frown, “have you by any chance been playing matchmaker?"

  Alan gave a shamefaced grin. “You caught me. I promised Martha that I'd look after you, get you fixed up with a nice man."

  "Oh, Alan.” Angie's heart melted as she hugged him. “You silly old fool. I hate to disappoint you but I'm not marrying Jared Maxwell. I don't think he knows the meaning of commitment. Besides, he's not interested in me."

  "Don't be too sure, Angie."

  "Well, it doesn't matter if he is. I'm not interested.” She glanced at her watch. Obviously Jared isn't interested in me either or he would have made love to me that night—or at least told me since then why he didn't. It doesn't matter now anyway. I've fallen completely in love with a liar that can't be trusted. Sighing deeply, she stood. “Can you take me back to the Inn now? It's getting late."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm not sure yet,” Angie said, standing to leave. “I do know that Jared Maxwell is going to get a piece of my mind."

  * * * *

  An old oil lantern bounced flickers of light off the wooden walls of the tiny storage shack.

  He sat on the floor, leaned back against the wall.

  Sliding a fifth of whiskey out of the brown paper bag, he crumpled and tossed the paper into a corner; then held the container up to the light.

  "Damn!” he cursed. “Half empty.” Pressing the glass to his lips, he drank deeply. The brown liquid scorched his throat, burned his stomach.

  And he liked it.

  He wanted to have a good buzz going before he went after Miss Goody-Two-Shoes tonight. Otherwise, he just might not have the guts to do the deed.

  Too bad she'd gotten out of that damn hay barn. He'd waited at the edge of the woods to hear her screams as she burned. But that thing had helped her escape.

  "What in the hell was that blue glow?” he muttered, taking another gulp from the bottle, then rubbing his mouth slowly with his shirtsleeve. From where he'd stood, it had looked like a man floating in the air.

  Then again, he'd been quite drunk.

  Scanning the pictures of Angie that filled the wall, he felt hatred for her welling up inside. It has been so easy getting into her bedroom today. Those security guards were a joke. He wondered who would find the note he'd left behind.

  His low baritone rumble of laughter bounced off the walls. He had to admit it was a perfect plan. He had made her suffer the same way she'd made him suffer.

  Bitch.

  Nothing would stop him now.

  This would be the night of all nights. Tonight she would suffer the most. Angie would give him what he wanted; then die. Or maybe, he'd wait until morning, after he'd sobered a little.

  No, that might be a mistake.

  Could he pull the trigger sober?

  He turned up the bottle, guzzled it dry. Two down. He tossed the empty container into a different corner. He didn't care if the room was a mess. Brown paper bags littered one corner, glass whiskey bottles another, his sleeping bag was right in the middle.

  He could wade through the junk. Besides, he'd never sleep in this hellhole again. Tomorrow, he was hightailing it out of this god-forsaken town forever.

  Finally, revenge would be his.

  Standing, he took the remote control from the pocket of his blue jeans. He'd known this little gadget would come in handy when he'd seen it in the store. It activated the deadbolt inside the door. The device had paid off already, when someone had tried to get inside his hideout.

  Reaching down he grabbed several red bandannas from the floor and shoved them in his pockets. He extinguished the lantern's flame before pressing a button on the remote. The lock popped. He went outside, shut the door and pressed another button to secure the red shack. Adjusting the 357 Magnum stuck inside his jeans, he turned to leave.

  And froze.

  It was in that twilight when dusk becomes night, when a person can barely see. The moment before darkness descends upon the earth.

  Facing the back of the old shack, he saw a blue light glowing inside the kitchen. The same iridescent light he'd seen the night he'd burned the barn. It floated toward the back door, glided right through the screen, passed over the three steps and continued across the yard toward him.

  He bolted into the forest, never looking back to see it following close behind.

  * * * *

  Chapter 17

  "Hey, Burt.” Angie said, storming past him on her way to the stable. “Where's Jared?"

  Burt scratched his head. “I haven't seen him in a while. He got upset when you snuck away. He took off in the truck a couple of hours ago."

  She whirled around. “In the truck? Did he say where he was going?"

  "He said he got a call to personally pick up a delivery."

  "That's odd.” Wonder what Mr. Sneaky-Rich-Man's up to now?

  "I thought so, too,” Burt said, adjusting his cap. “I'm taking off now myself, Angie. You look like a ticking time bomb and I don't want to be around for the explosion. See ya tomorrow."

  "Yeah, you're right, Burt. See you tomorrow."

  Angie waved; then, feeling I'm-being-watched prickles on the back of her neck, turned around and stared at the security officer following a short distance behind her. When he didn't retreat, she rolled her eyes and headed for the barn.

  Go away! she mentally said to him as she went inside.

  Feeding and brushing down the horses helped calm her, but the sound of ti
res crunching on gravel made her anger flare again.

  "Here you go, girl.” Pulling sugar cubes out of her pocket, she fed them to Whisper, stroking the mare's nose. “You'll have some new friends in a couple of days. Since I've got less than a week left with you it's good that you'll have company. I'll come for visits, too. You never know, maybe I'll buy you from the Inn."

  A car door slammed, the barn door creaked, and the sensation of being watched spread all through Angie again, that prickling feeling that caused a slight shudder. She knew exactly who was causing it.

  Without turning to look, she said, “Spying on me again, Mr. Maxwell?"

  "No, I just walked up.” Jared put himself into her view. “Where did you go this time? How can you care so little for your safety?"

  "Some things are more important than my safety.” She hung the currycomb on a hook on the barn wall. “Where have you been? I didn't know we could leave the farm.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  "You left didn't you? I had to pick up a delivery in town."

  "What delivery could be so special that you couldn't send one of the guys for it?"

  "A personal delivery."

  She turned to glare at him, purposefully shooting daggers from her eyes. “Is that a fact?"

  Jared raised a brow. “What's your problem tonight?"

  "I don't have a problem.” Pent up anger made her agitated. She had to move or she would do exactly as Burt had said she would—blow up. Storming past Jared, she ran to the house.

  "Like hell you don't,” Jared muttered, following her. “Angie!"

  The porch door slammed behind her as she went inside the house. Jared ran to catch up but she'd made it to the living room doorway before he got to her.

  "Angie!” he said again, seizing her arm. She flinched, and he instantly loosened his grip. Damn! He'd forgotten her dream! Ashamed, he let his hands fall to his sides. “What is going on here?"

  "Maybe I should ask you the same thing.” Her eyes flashed with the fury threatening to unleash itself on him.

  "You lost me,” he said with a sigh. “Can we please start this conversation over?"

  "No, we can't start it over.” Pressing her fists against her hips, Angie widened her stance. “Unless you're willing to be completely honest with me. Which I highly doubt that you even know how to do!"