Grey Dawn

by Clea Simon

  Nancy only shook her head. ‘To be honest, I’ve been so distracted, I don’t know if I would have.’

  ‘Dulcie …’ Trista was about to interrupt, when Dulcie found the number. She raised her hand for silence as the detective’s cell rang.

  ‘You’ve reached Detective Milo Rogovoy …’ His first name was Milo? She turned away from her friends, preparing to leave a message.

  ‘Detective Rogovoy, this is Dulcie. Dulcie Schwartz,’ she started. Behind her, Lloyd yelled something. Then Raleigh was talking, too. Dulcie spoke louder. ‘We have a situation at the English Department headquarters. It seems our visiting scholar, Renée Showalter, has gone missing—’

  ‘No, she hasn’t.’ The voice behind her caused her to turn. ‘I’m here. I made it.’

  Dulcie turned to see the professor standing in the doorway. Her face was dirty, and her hair had come down from its neat bun. Raleigh was brushing leaves off the professor’s jacket sleeve, and Lloyd was leading her in by her other hand.

  ‘I’m afraid I messed up my hair though.’ She put one hand up to smooth it, and stared with dismay when it came away bloody. ‘Oh my. This is going to put a crimp in my lecture.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Dulcie left another message for Rogovoy while Trista was calling 911, and Lloyd and Raleigh got the professor settled on the sofa.

  Nancy, meanwhile, was fretting. ‘I shouldn’t have waited. She was out there. Hurt. Alone.’ Dulcie longed to comfort her – and to question the professor. But even as she was talking to voice mail, they heard a car pull up and suddenly the large detective was filling the doorway. Within minutes, he had gotten the basics and was sitting down with the professor to take her statement.

  ‘I don’t know what happened,’ she was telling Rogovoy. He had folded his ungainly body onto the sofa next to her and tried to banish the students and Nancy from the room. They had retreated as far as the open doorway, where they now stood, listening. ‘That’s what’s so maddening,’ Showalter was saying. ‘The last thing I remember was crossing the Common. I know I shouldn’t have – the concierge warned me. The moon was so bright, though. It was like daylight, and I thought it would be safe.’

  Raleigh shook her head. They’d all been warned as undergraduates: the city Common, once used to graze cattle, was larger than it first appeared. And despite its pasture origin, it held enough trees and shrubbery to shield any number of evil-doers.

  ‘So, you set off across the Common.’ Rogovoy was writing on a pad, but Dulcie had the strong impression that he was also committing her words to memory. ‘And this was around six thirty?’

  ‘Maybe six forty.’ The scholar couldn’t stop reaching up to touch the top of her head. Nancy had wrapped some ice in a dish rag for her, and Showalter had immediately applied it to the spot where her bun had been. She’d taken it off a few moments before, though, and Dulcie could sense Nancy’s impatience to intervene – to offer fresh ice or a larger pack.

  ‘Six forty?’ Rogovoy must have sensed something, too. He glanced up at the spectators in the doorway: a warning glance – be still. ‘You had your bag.’ He did glance at his notes then. ‘A large leather briefcase on a shoulder strap. And you were heading to Emerson lecture hall?’

  Showalter nodded and winced. Nancy started forward, and Rogovoy held up one ham-like hand, stopping her in her tracks. He did, however, pick up the discarded ice pack and offer it to the professor. She took it gratefully and held it to the back of her head.

  ‘Yes, I was giving tonight’s Newman.’ She looked over at Nancy. ‘I’m so sorry. It was very foolish of me. Careless. I hope the nominating committee won’t hold it against me.’

  ‘I’m sure they won’t,’ Nancy said, before Rogovoy’s hand went up again.

  ‘Let’s proceed,’ he said, his gruff voice as much a bark as a command. ‘You were walking across the Common. It was bright out. Did you see anything?’

  ‘That’s what’s so foolish.’ She was shaking her head, slowly. ‘I should have been more careful. I knew I was distracted. You see, I’d found something. Stumbled across it, really, which was occupying my mind. I needed to talk to someone – to talk to …’ She stopped, tongue-tied. To Dulcie, it looked like she was in pain, her face white and her hand, where it pressed the ice pack to her hair, trembling. ‘I had something in my bag. Not money – a document. A letter? No, it’s hopeless. I feel like it’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t remember.’

  ‘Let’s go back to what you do remember.’ Rogovoy was nothing if not thorough. ‘You’re walking through the Common. How far did you get? Did you see the big statue? Or were you under the trees?’

  ‘Did you hear anything?’ Dulcie couldn’t resist. This woman had been hit – by someone or something – not bitten or stabbed. Still, she couldn’t forget what she had heard, out on the street the night Mina Love had been attacked, or the series of warnings.

  ‘Ms Schwartz, please.’ It was a command, and Dulcie shut up. Still, Renée Showalter had heard her.

  ‘I did.’ She seemed to be working hard at something. Trying to remember. ‘I did hear something – like a dog. Or, no, wilder. Louder. Like a wolf.’ She looked up at the detective. ‘That’s not possible. Is it?’

  ‘Coyotes have been spotted in some wooded areas.’ The detective sounded very matter-of-fact. ‘But there are no known cases of any animals attacking an adult in this city.’ From his tone of voice, they wouldn’t dare.

  ‘No, I didn’t think so.’ The professor’s face was screwed up, though with the pain or the effort to remember, Dulcie couldn’t tell. ‘I feel like it’s important, what I was thinking about. It wasn’t just the lecture.’ She shot a glance at Nancy. ‘Though of course I was thinking about that, too. Mentally going over my notes.’

  ‘And then?’ Rogovoy was trying to keep her on track.

  She just shook her head again. ‘Nothing,’ she said, sadly. ‘No, that’s not entirely true. I heard something – I think I heard something – coming up behind me. But then he – it – it must have hit me. Hard. I went down, and all I remember is looking straight up. All I could see was the moon.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘It was you, Dulcie.’ Lloyd was talking, but Dulcie only half heard him. ‘It was you whom Professor Showalter wanted to talk to. She had something she wanted to tell you about, she said. Maybe something that would help you with your thesis. Another part of that manuscript.’

  Dulcie looked at him, mildly surprised. They had shared an office for nearly five years. Still, she often felt like she was working in a vacuum.

  ‘Showalter had something for Dulcie?’ Trista leaned in, and Lloyd filled her in on the conversation. Trista had been just a little too far away, Dulcie realized, to hear either the professor’s words or the sense of urgency in her voice.

  The friends were still sitting in the departmental headquarters. Rogovoy had finally gotten his statement and agreed to let the EMTs – who had shown up by then – take the visiting scholar to the infirmary. She had protested: ‘It’s just a bump. I knew there was a reason I had so much hair,’ but Rogovoy had insisted. Dulcie had wanted to tag along, but he’d stopped her, literally blocking her way with an arm like a fallen tree.

  ‘Let’s let the good professor get checked out, shall we?’ From his tone, Dulcie could tell he suspected that she knew more than she’d let on. She was spared from an interrogation, though, when another call came in. A uniform had found what might have been the professor’s bag, and Rogovoy took off, leaving the students with a warning.

  ‘You live in a city, kids. Not the Forest of Arden or something.’ Dulcie couldn’t suppress a smile at that. ‘Please, be sensible. I’m busy enough as it is.’

  ‘Exeunt, pursued by a bear.’ Lloyd had muttered as he left. ‘Okay, exit bear.’

  Now the four of them sat in the student lounge, while Nancy made phone calls and generally fidgeted. The cheese plate was long gone. Dulcie wanted to take off, too – she had questions that none of he
r friends could answer. As she looked around

  at them, however, she realized that she was the center of attention.

  ‘I don’t know what she wanted to talk to me about,’ she said. ‘Honestly, I was actually a little worried. You know, she’s in my field, I may have made a discovery …’ She left it open. They knew the risks and the rewards of working with senior scholars.

  ‘I think she had something she wanted to show you.’ Lloyd was determined. ‘Something about her voice. But, hey, she’ll probably remember tomorrow, right? And if someone coshed her over her head for her bag, he probably wouldn’t care about a bunch of papers, right?’

  ‘If it was an ordinary mugging.’ Nothing about this sat right for Dulcie.

  ‘You’re thinking it was the same guy.’ Raleigh was watching her more closely than her boyfriend was. Dulcie nodded. ‘But what’s the connection? Mina, well, maybe it was her boyfriend – or someone who wanted to be. Emily was the room-mate. She knew something, or had seen something. Maybe he only wanted to scare her. But Professor Showalter?’

  ‘If I knew that …’ Dulcie could only shake her head. Before any of the friends could chime in again, they heard Nancy, softly clearing her throat.

  ‘I’ve reached the dean,’ she said. ‘I’ve explained everything. He was very understanding, actually. Said I behaved admirably.’ She smiled a little, the first time all evening Dulcie had seen her do so. ‘He’ll handle everything from here. And now, I think I’d like to lock up and go home. It’s been a tiring evening.’

  ‘Of course!’ Lloyd was the first to jump up. ‘Shall we walk you home?’

  ‘You could walk me to the Harvard Square cab stand,’ she said, her smile widening with gratitude. ‘And thank you. I trust you will all take care getting home?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Raleigh, giving Trista and Dulcie a pointed look.

  ‘I’ll walk her back home, and grab a cab,’ said Trista. Dulcie doubted she would, but by the time they reached the apartment Dulcie shared with Chris, Trista would be almost to her place anyway.

  The four gathered on the sidewalk as Nancy locked up and set the alarm.

  ‘Well, that’s that,’ she said, coming down the steps. ‘I daresay we’ll be fielding calls all morning.’

  ‘We?’ Dulcie turned to the secretary, her words sparking a thought. ‘I hope you’ll have some help, Nancy. I hope …’ She stopped, the reality of the situation coming home. ‘Martin Thorpe never showed up. Were you able to reach him? Was the dean?’

  Nancy only shook her head. ‘I tried, several times. The dean tried, too.’ They turned the corner, the lights of the Square bright ahead of them. That’s when Dulcie noticed that the moon had reappeared, after a brief eclipse by a fleeting cloud. ‘Nobody’s seen or heard of him since dusk. No sign of hide nor hair.’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘Look not to your accustomed Havens, your usual sources of Refuge and Succor. For they may betray you.’ The Voice, though quiet, carried clear and stern despite the Howlings of the night. ‘Be wary, for that which you carry endangers you greatly, and those who would be near to you, more greatly still. Such is the threat, lying as it does within the very Promise of your Burden.’

  ‘My Burden? What do you know of my Burden?’ She clasped the edge of the carriage’s leather-cushioned seat, one hand reaching blindly toward the rattling door. ‘I would know, Sir, who you are and how come you to be so most Familiar toward that which is most private unto me?’

  Those eyes, brilliant as Emeralds, bore deep within her and yet with Warmth. Her hand came away from the door, and the Coach, that vile conveyance, ceased for a moment its tumultuous sway. Almost in that moment, she knew Peace, the Stranger’s words confirming in her what she must do. Dire deeds awaited along one path. If she could flee, if this carriage could carry her beyond His reach, she would be safe. She would be freed of the Burden. Those nefarious Acts which she feared she must do, she most dreaded. And yet …

  Dulcie woke with a start. It was happening again: she was seeing herself in the dream. She was not only reading, she was the heroine, the mysterious woman in flight. Well, she thought, reaching for the sleeping cat, maybe that made sense. As Esmé murmured and shifted to a more comfortable position, Dulcie thought it through: the reason she loved this author – the reason she was able to devote so much of herself to studying her writing – was that she related so strongly to her. Unlike so many other novelists from the past, this writer’s stories had always felt contemporary to Dulcie. Never mind the language – that was just the style of the times. The emotion, the motivations underneath, had rung true through the centuries. As vital as a call from the sister she never had.

  Suze. She hadn’t called her friend back, and she missed her now. Well, this was a rough time for both of them. They were both so busy. Actually, considering everything on her plate, the dream made even more sense. Despite all that had happened yesterday, Dulcie’s mind was clearly still on her work, and the fragment she had just deciphered had featured her heroine talking in a familiar way to her strange fellow passenger. In some sleeping part of her mind, Dulcie figured, she had simply carried the conversation one step further. The stranger had picked her up for a reason and was helping her figure a way out of a tough situation. Maybe he was trying to warn her about something – or about someone.

  Maybe, she admitted, he was trying to warn her about her own future choices. As much as she might like to, Dulcie couldn’t forget that first fragment she had located, only a few months back. That scene, which seemed to be from a later part of the book, had shown her heroine standing over a dead body – the body of the man Dulcie had identified as Esteban the Young Lord. Because of what had then occurred in Dulcie’s own life, she had wondered about the heroine’s role in that scene: had she uncovered a murder, or had she been culpable, in some way, herself? Dulcie didn’t want to believe that this strong-willed heroine was capable of violence. That’s what the stranger seemed to be suggesting, however: that at some point, in one of the book’s upcoming scenes, the heroine might find herself forced to do something – those ‘nefarious acts’ – that would forever alter the course of her life.

  Esmé squirmed, and Dulcie let her down. Caught up in her dream, she’d been holding the little cat too tightly, and as she watched her pet begin to groom, a sense of normalcy resumed. Yes, maybe her heroine would end up involved in the mysterious death of the young lord. This was a Gothic novel, and as much as Dulcie related to its heroine – and its anonymous author – she should understand the conventions. The horrible storm, the mysterious stranger, the handsome young lord – these were all standard features of the popular genre, although fancy theorists like Lukos would undoubtedly have some wordier explanation tying it in with the death rate of the era or the sublimated rage of the oppressed female. It had been a violent time, with wars and revolutions on both sides of the Atlantic. But to Dulcie – and, she was pretty sure, to her author’s contemporaries – a murder, or some kind of demonic monster, was just a bit of spice added to the mix. If only Dulcie didn’t relate so strongly to this book.

  Maybe, she thought as she got out of bed, it was because she was uncovering this long-lost novel page by page. Paragraph by paragraph, sometimes. That could amplify the emotional impact. Now that she was awake, the apartment seemed peaceful. Chris was still at work, and Esmé had curled herself back up to resume her sleep. Dulcie would try to follow suit, as soon as she’d had a glass of water.

  Maybe, she acknowledged as she let the tap run, she’d had the dream as a follow-up to that last phone call with Chris.

  ‘I’m worried, Dulcie.’ Her boyfriend had said. ‘This just sounds bad. I don’t think you should go out after dark alone any more. Not until this is resolved.’

  ‘Chris.’ Dulcie knew she was whining. She couldn’t help it: he hadn’t even let her finish. ‘You’re not listening. I’m telling you, this isn’t some random maniac. I don’t think it’s a mugger either. I saw Thorpe – all of us did – and
he was definitely acting strange. And he never showed up. I mean, he is the acting head of the department.’

  ‘And maybe he went home and unplugged his phone.’ Chris wasn’t buying it. ‘Maybe he went out and got drunk. Who could blame him? Look, Dulcie, I know he’s been hard on you. Okay, I know he’s been a real jerk. But the way you’re thinking doesn’t make sense. It’s like you’re thinking: “Thorpe is a jerk. Women are getting hurt. Therefore, Thorpe is hurting women.” In terms of logic strings, it just doesn’t—’

  ‘Chris!’ Dulcie hated when he got all mathematical on her. ‘I am being logical. I mean, I thought that maybe Professor Lukos was involved. He’d been hitting on Mina, after all. But Trista saw him leave.’

  ‘Trista saw him get into a cab.’ Chris was speaking slowly, as if she wouldn’t understand otherwise. ‘Excuse me, Trista says she saw him get into a cab. Do you see the possible loopholes, Dulcie?’

  ‘Yes, Professor.’ She couldn’t help her tone. He had brought it on herself. But she had one more argument – one he couldn’t simply bat away. ‘You’re forgetting one thing, though, Chris: Mr Grey. If I were really in danger … I mean, if someone was close to hurting me, don’t you think I’d have gotten a warning? We both know that I’m not alone out there.’

  ‘I don’t know, Dulcie.’ Chris didn’t sound convinced, but Dulcie knew she’d won. He had no case against her spectral feline protector. ‘But there’s one more variable you’re not taking into consideration.’ Or did he? ‘Maybe everything you’ve been hearing isa warning,’ he said. ‘The voices you hear, the dreams you’ve been having? After all, there’s only so much that one ghost cat can do.’

  There was no answer to that. Either one had faith, as Dulcie did, or one didn’t, and she had ended the conversation with her boyfriend on an unsatisfactory note. The dream had come after, and Dulcie, awake in the pre-dawn, found herself wondering about its meaning. ‘Be wary,’the stranger had warned. Well, that was what Chris had been saying, more or less, so it was quite possible that she had simply let his message into her dream. Then again, he had also warned her about Trista. He couldn’t really suspect Trista, could he? No, it was more likely that he was just pointing out the flaws in Dulcie’s humanities-oriented logic. Still, his words had put the idea in her head, and standing in the cool half-dark of the kitchen, Dulcie couldn’t quite rule them out. ‘Your usual sources of Refuge and Succor,’the stranger had also said. Granted, Dulcie had felt angry – and a little betrayed – by that last phone call with Chris. That could have sparked those dream warnings. Unless it was more. Dulcie stared out of the kitchen window, taking in the sleeping city and its wide-awake moon.