Audrey’s imagined breath caught in her throat. She thought the woman was Tara—a much younger Tara than she remembered. But realization struck her like a blow.
Not Tara. Mother.
Whenever Audrey had tried to picture her mother, the only image that appeared was that of an old crone. A snarl-haired witch with close-set black eyes and a warty face. A woman garbed in filthy clothing who lived in shadows. Audrey didn’t know whether the picture she had of her mother was real or whether she had simply created it to fit the hateful half-memories that haunted her. The woman she envisioned dragging the little girl into the basement bore no resemblance to the woman she now saw standing in the light of that long-ago day.
How could this beautiful woman have changed in a few short years into the horrible monster that Audrey recalled?
Had she somehow caused her mother to metamorphose into the dark creature that she remembered? Was that the guilt that she was so terrified of discovering?
Her mother called for Craig, who argued. The dog spotted him at last and raced around its house to place his front feet on the boy’s shoulders. Both girls stared at the boy and Audrey noticed that she could sense Paula’s feelings toward Craig. Love, respect, awe.
Craig finally gave up the fight and disappeared inside the house with their mother, and for some time the girls played quietly together, swinging and skipping rope. But something had changed. A dark cloud seemed to have slipped over the sun. The day dimmed and Audrey knew that all was not right inside their home.
Paula was the first to notice. She stared at the still-open back door and her easy smile was now a straight-lipped look of concentration. She turned back to face Audrey and shook her head.
Time flashed. Clouds scudded eerily fast across the lowering sky before their mother returned to the back porch. She seemed to have shriveled, dropping down onto the top step and staring out across the yard with empty eyes. The girls ran to her and crowded near like ducklings fearing a storm. Their mother seemed not to notice them at first.
“He’s gone,” she said.
The words echoed down through the years and struck Audrey in the center of her heart.
He’s gone.
They were words she’d heard in her childhood, and then words she had spoken herself. Words she hated more than any others she could think of. What could have possibly happened inside that house in that brief period of time?
Where had he gone?
Their mother shook her head, still staring blankly out across the fence into the distance.
“He’s gone,” she repeated. She turned to look at each of them in turn and drew them close. A mother duck, shielding her brood. But why hadn’t she shielded Craig? What had happened to him? Had she taken him down into the cellar? Was that what this memory was about? Or was something else happening here? Was this even the same day that Craig had gone into the house with Mother?
Audrey wanted desperately to ask so many questions, but she was locked inside another body in another time and she could only relive events as they were revealed to her.
What have you done with him? she wanted to scream. As she looked into the tortured eyes and face of the woman before her now, she began to sense the madness that would become the greater part of her mother in the coming years.
“He’s gone.”
It struck Audrey again how much like Zach Craig had looked. Could it have been Craig’s face she’d seen in the kitchen window? In the fountain? Was that what happened? Was the answer to Craig’s disappearance locked away somewhere, back down that long corridor? Was the truth of his vanishing so terrible that it, too, had to be sealed tightly away from her conscious mind?
If she could open those doors and find out what had happened to Craig, then perhaps she could put the boy in her visions to rest. It would mean that she had been wrong about them, that there was no hope for Zach, but perhaps she would finally be able to say good-bye to him.
She jerked away from the memory of her siblings and her mother, now frozen like a photograph, and stepped back through the door into the long corridor again. There was a pressure change at the doorway, as though she were being sucked once more into the present from the vacuum of her past. A whispered voice skittered down the hallway, calling her name, and it took her a moment to recognize the source.
Richard.
As his voice grew more strident, she felt her body shake and she opened her eyes. Richard held her upright, gripping both her upper arms.
“Jesus, Audrey,” he said, easing her back onto the bed. “Are you all right? Can you hear me?”
“Of course I can hear you,” she said, sitting up and stretching. Even though she remembered everything she had just experienced, she felt better than she had in months. She was more confused than ever about her past, but now she knew that she could open the doors. Before, she had only wanted to.
“I was afraid you’d OD’d on those pills. You were out like a light.”
He was wearing his bathrobe and his hair was still wet from the shower.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, studying his face. “You’ve got a scratch.”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Tell you about it over dinner, okay?” He looked as though he had something more to say but didn’t know how to say it.
“Sure,” she said, sliding around him to get off the bed. She was surprised to see that it was already dark outside. “There are some things I need to tell you too.”
He watched her straightening her blouse. “How about a nice candlelight dinner at home? I’ll thaw out a couple of steaks.”
“I thought you were going to take me out.”
“I just thought it would be nice for us to be alone.”
“Okay,” she said, kissing his cheek. “That would be nice.”
31
RICHARD WAS ENJOYING the silence in the house for a change, staring across the kitchen table at Audrey. She was so beautiful and so vulnerable that he wanted to take her in his arms and carry her away somewhere safe. She did seem better, but he still wasn’t sure Doctor Cates had been the right decision. He wanted to call Tara, but Audrey didn’t want to see her. Tara had explained to him why it was so hard for Audrey to have any kind of relationship with her anymore.
“She’s been hurt, Richard. Hurt more than you can possibly imagine. We’ve had to lock away so much of her past that Audrey has no past, and a part of her blames me for that. And she’s afraid that if I try to help her, she’ll lose Zach the way she’s had to lose her childhood.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“No. And on some level Audrey knows that. But I was the one in the chair across from her all those years, making her forget.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. But I’ll always be here for Audrey. And for you. I want you to know that.”
That was the day Tara had left their house; the last time he’d seen her. He leaned across the table now and took Audrey’s hand. She smiled back at him shyly, as though the expression had faded from disuse.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
“Better than I’ve been in a long time,” she said, but she frowned when she spoke. “I’m figuring some things out.”
“You seem distracted.”
“So what’s new?”
“Did you take your medicine?”
She glanced through the glass doors, out across the backyard, and he squeezed her hand.
“Audrey?”
“We’ll talk after dinner. Can’t we have a nice dinner?”
“All right. I’m sorry.”
Richard sipped his wine and pronounced it suitable. Audrey chuckled under her breath.
“What?” he said.
“You wouldn’t know a good year from vinegar.”
“I beg your pardon. I took a wine appreciation class at college.”
“You did not!”
“I went to a lot of frat parties.”
“That I can believe.”
“I haven’t seen you smile like that in over a year.”
“You haven’t smiled much either.”
They chatted quietly, steering clear of Zach’s disappearance, clear of children, clear of Audrey’s night terrors. They spoke instead of gardening and accounting. Until Audrey felt the time had come. “I have something to tell you.”
Richard shook his head, wiping his lips on his napkin. “Me first.”
“All right.”
He dropped the napkin onto the table and pushed back in his chair, staring at the white lace tablecloth as though reading cues from it. When he sighed loudly, Audrey knew he was having trouble with the words. She hadn’t expected whatever he was going to say to be quite so important to him and a tiny twinge of fear surged through her.
“Whatever it is,” she said, “just say it.”
“I love you.”
“I know that. I love you too. Was that so hard to say?”
He lowered his chin down onto his chest and stared her straight in the eyes. “I think maybe there was someone in our backyard. I think maybe you did see someone.”
“What?”
He took a long time before answering, gathering his thoughts. “I should have told you, but I was afraid my imagination was running away with me. I found footprints under the window.”
“Oh, my God!”
He shook his head. “It might not mean anything, Audrey. Maybe they were old prints.”
“Whose old prints? Why would they be underneath our window?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. I’ll talk to the sheriff tomorrow.”
“Call him tonight.”
“I don’t have anything to tell him. The prints are gone. Maybe it’s just all in both our heads. We’ve both been under a lot of stress. You have to admit it sounds crazy.”
“I don’t care how it sounds anymore.”
“I’ll call Sheriff Milche tomorrow.”
“Promise?”
He nodded.
“What if Zach’s in that old house down the road?”
Richard sighed. “Audrey, that’s crazy. The sheriff told you all about the investigation. He checked out everyone. Nobody around here was involved. And even if the guy is a Peeping Tom, that doesn’t have anything to do with Zach. Don’t let your imagination run away with you.”
“I’m not letting my imagination run away with me. I can feel Zach! Or I could until I started taking those damned pills.”
“The pills are helping you.”
“No, they’re not. I know you think they are. But they make things worse, not better. I’m doing what you wanted. I want to work with Doctor Cates now. But I’m not going to take the pills anymore.”
He sighed again. “Are you sure about that?”
She nodded, determination set deep in her eyes.
He reached out and took her hand again. “Okay, then. As long as you think Doctor Cates can help. I’ll be right beside you all the way.”
She squeezed his hand.
“You seem like you have more to say,” she said.
He took a deep breath and when he spoke he put all the sincerity he had in his words. “I don’t want to have anymore children.”
“But you said… After all our arguments?”
“I’ve thought about it a lot. I know what having more kids would mean to you.”
“But—”
“Let me finish. I was being selfish and I realize that now. Our marriage means more to me than anything in the world.”
“Richard—”
“I’m serious.”
“Stop!”
He stared at her with the most guileless face she had ever seen in her life. If Richard had told her at that instant that he had signed up for the astronaut program and been accepted, she would have believed him.
“I should have gone first,” she said.
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, I don’t want you to give up on having another baby.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. I mean, not yet. Not right now. But someday.”
The relief in his eyes was so evident it was painful to look at. “That’s fine, Audrey. Whenever you’re ready will be fine.”
“I just have some things to work through with Doctor Cates. Then we can think about the future.”
“Fine. Whatever you say. It’s just that, well, you know, Doctor Cates is going to dig things up. Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want to do?”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Richard, there’s something going on in my head, and it’s going to drive me crazy if I don’t find out what it is. Even if it’s bad, I think I can face it. What I can’t face is the not knowing. I had a twin sister, Richard.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
“I’m not certain. But I know it was bad. It had to do with the mask I’ve been dreaming about.”
“You never said anything about a mask.”
“I didn’t?” She shook her head and frowned. “I had a brother too.”
“Audrey, are you sure these are real memories?”
“They aren’t hallucinations.”
“I didn’t mean that. But sometimes our mind makes up things in our past. I forget what it’s called, but I’ve read about it. That’s why eyewitness testimony is so easy to beat in court.”
Audrey shook her head. “These aren’t fill-in-the-blanks memories, Richard. It’s not a question of whether or not someone was wearing a red shirt or a green one. I know their faces. I remember playing with them.”
“When did you remember that?”
“This afternoon. I was practicing self-hypnosis.”
“That’s why I couldn’t wake you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You startled me, that’s all.”
“Well, if you think Doctor Cates can help, honey, then I’m all for it.”
She withdrew her hand, smiling to let him know he shouldn’t read anything into the gesture. “I know you think I’m crazy. But I still think the man in that old farmhouse has something to do with my dreams.”
“You never said anything about a man in your dreams.”
“There isn’t one.”
“Then how—”
“I don’t know how. But I know it’s true. Please don’t think I’m insane.”
“I don’t think you’re insane.”
“You’ll call the sheriff?”
“I promise. First thing tomorrow.”
32
THE MASSIVE MULLIONED WINDOW diced the moonlight spilling into the room. The vaulted ceiling was two stories overhead, shrouded in gloom. An iron catwalk surrounded the open space on three sides, girding high bookshelves and a spiral staircase. The massive building dwarfed the woman and dog silhouetted by the frigid light.
Tara stared out at the distant hills. She was tired and wanted to go to bed, but her work wouldn’t let her. She was close. So damned close. Unconsciously she massaged the two small scars on her left bicep, inflicted years before by one of her patients. Her eyes gleamed in the yellow light, while her small form below the neck was obscured beneath a light blanket. Beside her leather armchair, Adler rested his jowls on crossed paws and stared out into the night with her.
Tara had been sitting in silent meditation for over three hours. She was perfectly capable of maintaining her present state until dawn, but she had no intention of doing so. The light trance was simply a way of recharging her batteries, relieving stress and focusing her mind. The dog noticed immediately when Tara began to return to her body. The merest blinking of her eyelids alerted Adler and he woofed gently. Tara stretched her neck, then her shoulders and arms, stopping to lean and pat the dog before rising and completing her postmeditation exercises.
She flipped on the lamp over her desk and fingered the two thick manila folders. Closing her eyes she could recite line for line, page after page, from the hundreds of
miscellaneous reports, affidavits, and records. She could pull either patient’s face into the front of her mind from a mental database that was as accurate and probably faster than any police computer on the planet. Her hard files were stored mostly for management and organizational purposes, but now there was little to manage.
Not that losing either her license or her government funding had ever really affected her. If anything, the newfound freedom had given a boost to her experimentation. Before, she’d had to operate within the constraints of the system. After she lost her legal facade, she became autonomous. True, there were no research grants, and no large institutions with their endless supplies of research material would hire her. But she had no monetary worries. By the time her license was revoked, she had already made a fortune on her book sales, and few people thought to connect her name with a little-known government program.
Thinking of her books reminded her of her meditation. Usually Tara would fall into a deep state of oblivion when she meditated. But occasionally something transpired in her subconscious, ideas jelled, memories synthesized into new insights, and she had discovered some incredible revelations upon returning to the present.
Like tonight.
Enough bits and pieces had wormed their way out of her subconscious mind for her to develop a picture. She could hardly believe the fatal line of coincidences that had occurred in order to turn her carefully constructed fortress into a house of cards, but believe it or not, she had to take action now.
She shuffled aside a chart marked 79B and picked up another, unlabeled. Laminated and taped to the folder was a color photo of a young girl, about ten, with straight blond hair and piercing eyes. The look on the girl’s face was what the Marines called the thousand-yard stare. It was clear that the adolescent had witnessed more than her mind could assimilate. Anyone glancing at the photo might wonder if there was any hope at all for the child.
Failures.
79B and Audrey both.
The thought of Audrey as a failure bothered Tara deeply. Richard hadn’t called back since informing her that Audrey had gone to see Cates. Why? He was supposed to call immediately anytime Audrey showed signs of dredging up her past. If she was starting to pry at the doors in her mind, something needed to be done. And she certainly shouldn’t be talking to another psychiatrist.
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