by Angel Smits
The night air grew cooler as she stood there. A breeze whispered through the pines, and she watched their branches sway with the wind. The branches danced and then parted, as if a great hand pulled at them.
Shadows formed, and she backed up until the steel frame of the car supported her. She should turn and run, but her feet refused to move. Her gaze was riveted to the spot in the tree branches where figures swirled and slowly took shape.
She recognized the brass bed she’d come to realize was Rafe and Maria’s marriage bed. The quilt lay rumpled and askew across the mattress. Cord—no he had a mustache—it must be Rafe, looked right at her.
His long fingers reached out and grasped the quilt, pulling it up over his waist, a smile of satisfaction on his face.
“Mama! Mama!” the tiny voice echoed from somewhere outside the vision, and Faith heard the patter of running feet in the distance. “Look, Mama.” Timmy Cumberland’s excited face appeared beside Rafe, looking up at her expectantly. He thrust a stuffed bear toward her. The bear’s big black eyes sparkled in the light. “Santa came, Mama. He really did.”
“Now, what makes you think Santa left him?” Rafe leaned back against the brass headboard and laughed.
“‘Cause he ate the cookies we left. The note said they were for Santa.” His excitement grew as he thought of the wondrous stranger, Santa Claus, actually being in his home.
Faith heard her own voice joining theirs. “Come show me your gift.”
Timmy jumped onto the big bed, and Faith could almost feel his warm little body pressing against hers.
In an instant he nodded off, forgetting he was too excited to sleep and that the bear he held so close was a new friend. She looked down at him. Soft eyelashes rested upon his cheeks. His hair was nearly as dark as those lashes. A stray lock curled and fell across his brow. He’d be a heartbreaker someday, chasing all the pretty girls.
But she knew he’d never grow to manhood.
A sob broke from Faith’s throat. Suddenly, an icy breeze whipped through the fantasy bedroom, stealing the stuffed bear from Timmy’s arms. He started awake. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his sad eyes turned to Faith. “Mama, I’m scared.”
“Don’t worry, Mama won’t let anything happen to you,” she heard herself promise. Her voice echoed through the night until it diminished with the growing breeze.
The scene melted away. The dancing tree branches fell back into place. Faith trembled, unable to move, afraid the vision would return—and just as afraid that it wouldn’t.
As the daughter of a minister, she had spent half her life in the pews, listening to her father speak of the ways of the world. He’d spoken of spirits, but never quite like this.
He’d also spoken of the afterlife, but that too had been drastically different than what she had witnessed over the last few days. Tipping her head back, she stared at the stars, wondering about heaven and hell and any worlds in between. The quiet, still night held no answers.
“I have to go,” she cried, explaining to the voice, to the vision, to the wind. “I can’t stay.”
She expected to hear a childish voice ask her why, and when the sound didn’t come, disappointment slipped through her.
There were answers. She had to find them and knew of only one person who might know how to help her. First she had to get away from here, away from the distraction of Cord, away from the frightening images in Cripple Creek. Away from the painful memories of Rafe and Timmy Cumberland.
So why did that knowledge hurt so much?
Eight
THE SMELL OF old books and paper permeated the air. The quiet of the library had always comforted her, and Faith relished its warmth.
As she strolled through the stacks, she’d thought about how she should have called her father this morning to update him on her work. She needed to pave the way for the changes she planned to make to the book. But she hadn’t called.
She’d crossed a line in Cripple Creek—an invisible line, but definitely one her father wouldn’t understand. She didn’t even know where to begin to explain. Instead, she’d called her friend Clarissa Elgin, the one person she knew who might know something about something—paranormal then headed for the library. She’d relied on research in the past, so surely she’d find answers here.
Like neat little soldiers, the books lined the shelves, a contradiction to the variety of topics represented: apparitions, astrology, ghosts, paranormal.
“You won’t find what you’re looking for in any book,” a soft, female voice said behind her. Startled, Faith dropped a book on her toe. Grimacing, she bent to pick it up.
She straightened to replace the book and then turned to face her friend. Clarissa leaned on the edge of the shelves, a smile on her face. Only she could wear the bright orange dress hanging loose around her trim figure and look so good. A matching scarf pulled thick blonde hair away from her face. Gold bracelets matched the chains gathered around her neck. A large black amulet hung between her breasts, pushing the fabric close to the tanned skin at the low neckline.
“Hi.” Clarissa smiled, and her whole face lit with animation. “I got your message.” She waved her hand in a clatter of metal bracelets. “Cryptic meeting place.”
“Funny.” Faith’s composure returned, and she pushed the book back into the empty slot. Casting a quizzical glance at Clarissa, Faith reached out and hugged her friend. The simple gesture felt good and reassuring.
They pulled apart, but Clarissa didn’t let go. “Are you okay?” Clarissa leaned back, peering into Faith’s eyes, a frown on her face. “Those cuts . . . ” her voice trailed off.
Uncomfortable with the close scrutiny, Faith moved away examining book titles.
“Oh, heavens. It was real.” The color drained out of Clarissa’s face. “He’s still not safe.”
Clarissa’s voice stopped Faith dead in her tracks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The danger hasn’t gone away.” Clarissa walked quickly toward Faith and laid a hand on her arm. “I saw him. Who is he? Whatever or whoever is trying to hurt you is also trying to hurt him. The window was just the beginning of things to come.”
“How do you know . . . ?” Faith felt the color drain from her own face. Her breath caught in her throat.
“You know I’ve had visions all my life.” Clarissa let go of Faith’s arm and rummaged through a dilapidated purse, which at one time must have been white. “But never about people I know.”
Clarissa didn’t look anymore like a psychic was supposed to look than she had the day they’d first met. There was no dark hair, no craggy features, no secretive Gypsy air. Just Clarissa with her bright hair and warm smile. And a mind too filled with horror. She and Faith had been friends for years and never once had she been close to one of Clarissa’s visions. The fact that she was now seemed to scare them both. “Are you sure?”
“You know I don’t ask for these damned visions. They’ve been quiet until lately.” She paused to take a breath. “I know most people don’t believe me, but I always thought you did.”
Her words were loud in the small library. Several heads peeked around book stacks to see what was going on. At least no one mouthed, “Shhh.”
Clarissa glared at her. Faith knew Clarissa hated people who didn’t believe her, something she’d encountered too many times.
“That isn’t what I meant. Come on.” Faith grabbed Clarissa’s arm and walked to a small grouping of chairs by the windows. The view was beautiful as the midday sun glinted off the distant snow-capped Rockies. Clarissa stopped beside the chairs and stared back at Faith, waiting for her direction.
Faith pulled out a chair and sat, motioning her friend to one of the wide chairs in the grouping. Sitting, Clarissa pulled her feet up underneath her skirt. She looked like a rag doll, her wide skirt and vivid curls strewn across the chai
r. Faith sat stiffly facing her.
“I see things in my dreams, remember? Sometimes, like this time, I get a vision during waking hours. Usually around sundown or just before a storm. Last night I dreamed about you. I saw you here by these books, and then I saw you up in the mountains someplace. There was a man with you.”
“Wh . . . what did he look like?”
“Drop dead gorgeous.” Clarissa smiled at her. “About six foot two? Dark curly hair? Eyes like ice chips with fire inside? Am I ringing any bells?”
“Yes.”
“He’s in danger.”
Faith felt panic grip her chest like a cold hard fist and leaned forward. “How do you know that?”
“In my dream I saw a huge yawning cavern. At the end of the dream, it was looming over him. He was looking for someone—or something.”
This was too weird. Faith wrung her hands and sat forward in the seat. “I don’t understand any of this, Clarissa. I don’t know what to do.” Faith stood and stalked a few paces away. “I don’t want anything to do with it. I just want things to go back to normal.”
“Normal? What’s normal? What does the name Timmy mean to you?”
Faith spun around and met Clarissa’s eyes. There was no gloating stare, no taunts. Faith recognized genuine concern. Something told her this was as real as the other events in her dreams. Dangerously real.
She wanted to run, wanted to leave everything behind. Even as the thought raced across her mind, she knew it would do no good. She’d run away from Cripple Creek and Cord, but she couldn’t run from her memories of the feelings the past days’ events had created. There were several questions she wanted—needed—answered.
Faith looked around at the crowded library. “We can’t talk here.”
“I’ll treat you to a triple mocha,” Clarissa offered, and Faith smiled. It had been several weeks since she’d had time to stop in at Clarissa’s coffeeshop, the Angry Bean.
“You’re on.” Faith searched through her purse for her car keys. “Can I drive you?” she offered, recalling Clarissa’s habit of walking whenever possible. The shop wasn’t far away.
“I’m parked right out front. I’ll meet you there.”
Faith saw something resembling relief flash through Clarissa’s eyes. There were numerous questions she intended to ask her friend—as soon as she had a strong cup of coffee between her trembling fingers.
Clarissa walked to a vivid red, late-model sports car. Faith was impressed. The coffee shop must be doing well. Clarissa climbed behind the wheel. She sped out of the parking lot before Faith could get her car door open. It didn’t matter. They both knew where they were going.
The Angry Bean was small, and a stand of pine trees graced the entrance. Slipping around the side of the building, Faith found the heavy wooden door open to the warm sun. She stepped into the dark interior, blinking several times before seeing Clarissa seated beside the window. A large mug sat before her. Steam wafted towards the slowly moving ceiling fans.
Faith slid into the wooden seat. The waitress set a large mug of chocolate-laced coffee in front of her before she finally looked up. “Where do we go from here?” Faith asked.
“That depends on you.” Clarissa took a deep swallow of coffee.
“Me?”
“Yes. Do you believe me? I can’t force you to. I can only tell you what I see.”
Heavy silence hung between them. They each took a few sips of coffee. The restaurant was quiet. The lunch crowd hadn’t yet put in an appearance.
“Okay. You know I believe you. I’m just afraid of what’s in that brain of yours.” Faith took a deep breath. “What have I got to lose? Tell me, what did you see?”
Clarissa smiled and stared at Faith for a long moment as if trying to gauge her emotions. “Many lives tangled together. A great deal of time is involved. Last night in the dream, the man was searching in darkness. I wish I could have heard his voice. He spoke, and his expression held a great deal of pain.” Frustration filled Clarissa’s voice.
“Where was he?”
“I’m not sure. It’s an unfamiliar place. Can I ask you some questions? Perhaps I can get some clues from your answers. I’ve seen other images over the past couple weeks, and I think they might be connected to you.”
Words escaped her, and Faith swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. She wrapped both hands around the warm mug. She didn’t really know if she wanted to hear about Clarissa’s dreams, yet she knew she had to.
“There are mountains around the man.”
“Yes. He’s up in Cripple Creek.”
“That explains the image of lots of money and machines. I also see a blue dress, a red wooden box and . . . wait I’ve been keeping track.”
While Clarissa reached into her old purse again, Faith drank deeply of her coffee. She wished something stronger than chocolate laced it.
“Here it is.” Clarissa pulled a tattered notebook from her purse. She quickly flipped through the pages. The sound of the crackling paper seemed loud in the quiet, empty restaurant.
“A brooch. I had a dream about it last week. Pretty thing, I drew a sketch of it. Does this look familiar to you?” She turned the book around for Faith to see.
Maria’s brooch. This was too real. “Oh, God,” she murmured, rubbing her suddenly pounding temples. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
Clarissa smiled. “You know I do sometimes. Adds to the image and all.” Her smile faded, and her expression grew serious. “But not this time.” She reached across the table and covered Faith’s hand with hers. “You’ve helped me in the past. It’s my turn to help you.”
“I don’t want to need your help.”
“You need it. She’s not going to leave you alone.”
“She?” This wasn’t getting any better.
“The voice. She’s from the past, and she’s here to hurt you—or him. What’s his name?”
“Cord.” Speaking his name aloud brought forth images Faith wanted to forget. Images she had hoped would stay behind in the tiny mountain town. Images of Cord making love to her. Even so far away, his memory wreaked havoc with her body. It would feel so good to have his strong, warm arms around her right now.
“I don’t know why, but I got the idea it was a different name.” This time Clarissa looked confused.
“How about Rafe?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “That’s it. Who is that?”
“It’s him . . . sort of. I think he was . . . reincarnated. I think maybe I was, too.” She felt strange admitting this to anyone, even someone who had a connection to the world of the unusual.
Clarissa sat up straighter, interest sparkling in her eyes. “Really? How fascinating. What makes you think that?”
“We’ve both had dreams, actually the same dreams, for years. We recently met and found the room we’ve been dreaming about. I know it’s a little odd.” Faith ducked her head, sipping her coffee, trying not to feel like a fool.
“It’s not so odd,” Clarissa assured her.
Faith sensed the sincerity in her friend’s voice. For the first time since they’d left the library, she felt safe and smiled.
“What do you know about the people you think you were?”
“Not enough.” The grainy photo image of Rafe Cumberland leaped into her mind, reminding her of the doctor’s suggestion to visit the state archives. She’d thought about going this afternoon. “Have you ever been to the archives in Denver?”
Clarissa shook her head, causing her long hair to glisten in the sunbeam falling through the skylight. “No. Where are they?”
“Downtown, near the capitol.”
“Are you planning to visit?”
“I’d thought of going this afternoon.”
“Can I tag along?”
Relief settled over Faith. She’d secretly dreaded facing what she’d find—or not find. Having Clarissa along might bolster her courage. Faith glanced at her watch.
“We could leave now.”
“Works for me.”
Clearing their dishes, Clarissa gave instructions to her waitress before they headed for the door.
THE COLORADO STATE Archives building was modern, but the inside was as old as time. A guard sat at the front door, as if the state feared the history might suddenly vanish. His head swiveled toward them when they entered.
Clarissa stopped as Faith pushed open the door. “Oh, my. Talk about sudden impact. There are a lot of lives here.”
“You feel something?”
“Overwhelmed. This could be more difficult than I expected. Images are crowding in.”
A light sheen of perspiration stood out on Clarissa’s brow, and lines of strain bracketed her lips. “Here.” Faith led the way to a large table. “Sit down, and I’ll get what we need.”
A young man sat behind a wide desk, carefully turning the pages of an old book with white-gloved fingers. He looked up as she approached. “May I help you?”
“Yes.” She smiled at him. “I’m looking for information about Cripple Creek.” She recalled the date on the newspaper Cord had read to her.
“The late 1800s is quite a way back. I’ll get what I can for you. That sounds like about the time of the fires.” He slipped into another room. It seemed an eternity before he returned.
Faith glanced back at Clarissa. Her eyelids drooped and her skin had grown pale. She tried to perk up each time Faith glanced her way, but Faith could see it was an effort. An antique grandfather clock bonged loudly in the corner.
“That’s weird. I wonder if anyone knows we’re coming up on the anniversary of that first fire?” The man plopped a heavy book on the counter and grinned. “A few years ago a history professor reconstructed the history. He found the old timers and put this together.”