by Angel Smits
Ever since Clarissa Elgin’s visit yesterday, he’d been edgy, and last night he hadn’t been able to sleep or escape to the diner. Instead, he’d lain awake, staring at the ceiling, waiting. Waiting for what never came. Today the old woman’s appearance on the tape only added to his frustration.
“I’ll take some work home. Maybe take off early,” he told Melanie. Her surprised silence told him what he didn’t need to be told. He, David Lorde, VP of Accounts, never went home early.
Well, today was a different day.
Outside, the fall air was crisp and musty from leaves and the damp. A slight breeze ruffled his hair, and he yanked at his tie and released his collar, recalling his boyhood days when school let out. He remembered strolling down the neighborhood streets, his backpack dragging off his shoulder, the mounds of golden yellow leaves crunching beneath his sneakers.
Life certainly had changed in the years since. He reached his car and pulled open the door. No. He refused to let the past ruin his suddenly good day.
He stripped off his loose tie and suit jacket and tossed them into the backseat. His briefcase followed.
Antsy, he slammed the door closed and instead of climbing in, started walking. God, it felt good to be free.
The heels of his dress shoes clicked on the walk, and he almost convinced himself it sounded like those crackling leaves of old. The late afternoon sun took on a red glow. He felt the sun’s pull. The warm fingers of light slipped over the horizon like the whisper of a kiss.
A park across the street teemed with life. People moved about in a mishmash of color and sound. Drawn to the warmth and normality of it, he quickened his step and found a farmer’s market sprawled across the lawns.
He joined the moving crowd. A yawn escaped, and he blinked, trying to fight the exhaustion that soaked into his bones. He took a deep breath, dragging the cool afternoon air into his lungs. The urge to throw his head back and cry out nearly overwhelmed him. Instead, he stalked through the crowd, letting the warmth of humanity engulf him. The scents overwhelmed him, and he breathed it all in. Beautiful. His keen senses sharpened, and he took another breath, this time with closed eyes.
Her. He smelled her. All woman, wild and sweet.
He opened his eyes, scanning the pathways until he found the now familiar form. White gold curls tumbled from beneath a straw hat as she bought a bag of apples. He smiled as he watched her talking with the old woman.
A new scent filled the air. A damp, dark scent he recognized all too clearly.
Her fear.
What was she afraid of? The old woman? Was she the same person who had been in the bank earlier today? He didn’t think so. He looked closer, but he couldn’t really tell. His frustration returned and he knew he’d made a mistake. All afternoon he’d controlled his emotions, controlled the changes. Now he didn’t have the strength to stop it.
No, not now. Not here. He balled his hands into fists, struggling against the inevitable transformation. He had to get out of here before anyone saw him change. His steps quickened as he left the park. Bone, sinew and skin shifted, pulling tight and driving pain through every inch of him. A cry broke from his throat, and he ducked behind a stand of lilac bushes, a hedge thick with a leftover green summer coat.
Where smooth skin had been, thick golden fur grew. His fingernails formed claws that he scraped across the bare dirt. Hunched over, he viewed the world from a lower angle.
He no longer walked or jogged, but broke into a full run. The rough dirt trail, sand and stone, bit into the callused pads of his feet. He looked down, saw the light fur-covered paws that he knew were his. Misery swamped him. His pained growl broke the air. This time he gave into the urge to roar that he was here and awake and on the prowl.
His long strides ate up the distance and soon he was far from the park, safe from the prying, misunderstanding eyes. He hunkered down in a bush and dropped his head. His breath came in sharp pants and he waited for his heart to calm
Why did this happen? What made him this . . . this . . . man trapped as a beast? A beast he strangely understood. A beast he feared, not because it might harm him, but because what if it one day consumed the man?
As he rested there in the fading glow of the day, the sounds of nature returned. He listened, closing his eyes and praying.
As he calmed, the pain returned, tearing through him with greater ferocity than before. Suddenly, a loud crack broke the quiet. “Scat!” He heard a man’s rough voice before the crack sounded again.
New pain tore through his side, burning deep into his body. Once again the world shifted, returning the beast to man.
A man whose blood pooled on the trail and trickled down onto the ground.
Four
CLARISSA SIGHED. Three days had passed since her trip to the bank. Three miserable days where she kept thinking about David Lorde, The Infuriating. Three nights where her mind filled with visions of the diner.
The growing night reached out with long shadows across her backyard. The still full trees blocked her view of the neighbor’s yard, and she usually liked that. Over the coming winter months, she’d become accustomed to seeing the familiar figure of Mrs. Larson as she washed her dishes each night. She actually looked forward to it, which surprised her.
But right now, she felt isolated and more alone than she had in a long time. In the window glass, she watched herself lift her coffee cup and sip. She was still tired, but in the distorted reflection she couldn’t see the dark circles she knew were there. All she saw was the outline of her riotous curls that fell in a tangle down her back. She barely reached five feet. A throwback, Mother had always called her, referring to how she looked like that old tintype of her great grandmother instead of a modern young lady.
She shook her head. She was happy with herself, with her looks. Somehow seeing David Lorde had messed with her thinking.
Why did the memory of the icy coldness in his eyes make her think of heat? So what if he made her heart pound like it hadn’t since her first crush? So what if he made her yearn for things like she’d felt back in high school? So what if he made her feel things—and it was obvious she made him feel nothing. Except maybe suspicion.
The straight arrowness of his stance made her feel like melting—and taking him with her. The stiffness of his jaw and the twitch in his cheek told of anger, but it also showed her a man fighting to keep control.
But control of what? Himself? Her? His sanity?
She’d tried to lie down and rest earlier, but her mind filled with the alternating images of David’s handsome face and the awful images of the visions. They both overpowered and intimidated her. She wasn’t sure which was more disturbing.
She had managed to forget for just a little while at the farmer’s market. Until she’d run into that old lady. Even now she shivered as she recalled her words. Trust in your instincts, just like Granny had always said.
She sighed. Her life seemed to have gone haywire lately. Strange visions. Strange people. And David. Clarissa wanted nothing more to do with him, or anyone unusual, for that matter.
She’d done her job. She’d warned him, hadn’t she? That had to be good enough. But why didn’t it feel good enough?
With another heavy sigh, she flipped the kitchen light off and made her way down the hallway to her bedroom.
She passed the living room and paused. The turmoil and thoughts she couldn’t escape seemed to continue. She walked into the darkened room and settled into the old rocking chair by the picture window, recalling the hours she’d spent as a child nestled in it. The heavy wooden arms curled around her in a welcoming hug. The high back hovered protectively overhead. The long, narrow runners had taken her on countless flights of fancy.
She’d longed for this chair when she was away from Granny. As soon as they arrived at Granny’s house, she’d grab one of Granny’s old mu
sty-smelling books and climb into it.
For hours she flipped the pages, trying to read the old-fashioned handwriting that looked more like curls and art than any letters. She’d woven stories, and sometimes she’d closed her eyes and let the stories play on the inside of her mind. Later she learned she didn’t have a normal overactive imagination, but was actually seeing bits and pieces, glimpses, of other people’s lives.
She’d stopped looking through the old books then, afraid of what she’d see. When Granny passed away and the books came to her, Clarissa packed them away. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at them.
She hadn’t been able to pack away the old rocking chair. It was her ground, her lasting connection to the one person she’d loved most.
So the chair remained in her living room and frequently, like now, served in the role of the comforting embrace as Granny had once done. The tension eased and seemed to slip away as she relaxed in the familiar chair.
For the first time in days, she went to bed and slept soundly . . .
. . . Until the sudden ring of the phone shattered the quiet.
Fumbling around on the nightstand, she finally located the phone. Though her first inclination was to fling the receiver across the room, she put it to her ear. “Hello,” she mumbled.
“Ms. Elgin? My name’s Linda. I work at Dove’s Place. You, um, were talking to Barbara? She left a note for me to call you when that guy came in.”
“Yes. I remember.” Clarissa sat up, shoving her hair out of her eyes as she squinted at the digital alarm. Two thirty a.m.
“He just came in. I don’t know. Something’s not right. He doesn’t look good. I think he’s hurt.”
“Linda, is it?”
“Yes.”
Clarissa chewed her lip for a moment before saying, “Don’t let him leave, if you can keep him there.”
“Oh, once he’s here, he never leaves until the sun’s up.”
After she hung up, Clarissa sat staring at the receiver in her lap. What was she doing? What was he doing? She’d warned him. She didn’t owe him anything else.
Frightening thoughts slipped into her mind. Should she go to the diner? If she didn’t, could she stop the events? What if . . . No, her visions, especially ones this strong, had never been wrong. She had to convince him she was telling the truth.
Reaching into the nightstand drawer, she pulled out a business card. Mac, the big, burly cop who’d given it to her, was one of her early morning regulars who finished his overnight shift with a strong cup for the drive home. He’d told her to call him if she had problems at her shop. She’d suspected he’d had other motives for giving it to her—complete with his cell phone number, but she wasn’t interested in him that way. He was nice enough, but . . .
Thoughts of David’s tall, slim frame came to mind, and she hastily pushed those thoughts away.
Quickly, she dialed the phone number. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she waited for Mac to answer. The deep voice on the other end wasn’t inviting in any way. “This is McHenry.”
“Uh. Hi, Detective . . . uh Mac. It’s Clarissa Elgin. From The Angry Bean coffee shop?” She spoke fast, before she lost her nerve. “Do you know of a diner called Dove’s Place? Do you know where it is?”
At first the line was silent, as if he were trying to get his bearings. “Dove’s Place? Yeah. A hellhole just this side of condemned. How do you know about a place like that?”
“I was there yesterday, and I saw something. I think something bad is going to happen.”
“Whoa. What do you mean you saw something and think something might happen? What’s going to happen?”
“I’m not sure, but it’ll be bad. I think it’s going to happen tonight.” She tried, and failed, to keep the tremor out of her voice. She knew she sounded like a crackpot, but it was better than being branded as an accomplice.
“That isn’t much information.”
“I know.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m not crazy. Please, just trust me. There was a man there yesterday, really creepy, with blue eyes.” She shivered at the coldness in those eyes. “I just got a call from, uh, my friend Linda. She says he’s there now.” Or would probably be there soon if the vision became reality. She knew lying to the police was probably on some sin list, but she didn’t have a choice.
“Is there anyone else involved?”
“I don’t know anyone’s name except . . . David Lorde.”
A low whistle came through the line. “Lady, you sure can pick ‘em.” His breath came unevenly, and she knew he was moving around. “Do you know who that guy is?”
“Well, sort of. He works down at the First National Bank.”
“He doesn’t just work there, he is First National. I think his family founded the place. Do you know what you’re getting mixed up in?”
She couldn’t explain that she didn’t have a choice. She’d already been sucked in too deep.
“We’ll check it out.” She heard a door slam on the other end of the line.
“I’ll meet you there.”
“No, you won’t. We’ll handle it. Stay home where it’s safe.”
“Mac?”
“What?”
“Thanks.” She hung up the phone before he could say another word.
She stumbled to the closet and pulled on a pair of jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt over her blue nightgown. Gathering up her keys and shoes, she ran through the house. She had to convince David she wasn’t a nut case, that she was telling the truth. She relaxed a little knowing that at least she had back up if that didn’t work. Please, God, don’t let me be too late.
DAVID STARED AT his reflection in the mirror behind the counter. He didn’t look any different but he felt different. Inside emotions fought for their place in his mind, struggled to be felt and set free. He grabbed his coffee cup and, with a swallow of the dark brew, he tried to wash them away.
He met his own familiar gaze and saw the triumph there. Once again he felt nothing, a cold, lonely emptiness settled into place. The physical pain in his ribs that had plagued him was duller now, too. But what pleased him most was the lack of emotions he felt.
The door of the old diner opened, accompanied by the faint tinkle of the bell mounted on its frame. He watched in the mirror as the woman stepped into the dimly lit room.
Even in the gloom he recognized the bright riot of curls that cascaded down her back. Her skin looked pale in the dimness, but just as pretty as when she’d walked into his office. While he couldn’t quite make out the color of her eyes he knew they were light. And warm.
She stood in the entry as the door slowly closed behind her. She looked around the room as if searching for someone—searching for him?
A frown creased her brow, then their eyes met in the mirror.
The frown vanished, and he thought the color faded in her face. Her shoulders lifted, and she shoved her purse strap up farther on her shoulder. Then, without breaking eye contact, she started toward him.
This time he frowned. What the hell was she doing here? He took another swallow of his coffee and looked away.
He didn’t have to see her to know she’d stopped right next to him. A light floral scent reached out to him, daring him to ignore her.
He couldn’t resist and turned his head to find her only inches away. Up close she looked beautiful. Her skin no longer looked pale, but light and fair like a soft summer breeze. And her hair fell in those ringlets that tempted him to reach out and touch their softness.
And her eyes were green. Bright and warm, as he’d noticed before, but now he saw something else.
He saw knowledge there and suddenly a reflection of himself.
FOR SEVERAL LONG seconds David continued to sip his coffee, staring straight ahead. Then he turned to lo
ok at her. Clarissa gasped. Pain marred his handsome features, and the pallor around his lips told her he was hurting.
“You should change your perfume,” he said before she could comment. “That scent’s a dead giveaway.”
She grimaced at his choice of words. “Sorry. I didn’t put it on to irritate you. I came here to help you.”
“Yeah, like you tried earlier? Sorry to disappoint you, but your warning came a bit too late.” He gulped his coffee as if it were laced with something stronger than sugar.
“I’m not trying to pry into your private life. I just don’t want the vision I saw to become reality. Just do me a favor and go home.”
“Why? Tell me one concrete, believable reason why.”
Clarissa bit hard on her lip, controlling the angry retort that nearly sprang from her tongue. “Just humor me. If I didn’t have a vision, then you’ll be none the worse for wear. If I did, you’ll be safe. Is that asking too much?”
“Tonight? Yes, it just might be.” He turned then and winced with pain.
“You’re hurt.” Concerned, she reached out. Rather than accept her touch, he pulled away. Disappointed, she dropped her hand.
“It’s no—”
They didn’t have time to say more. Suddenly, the door behind them slammed open, the jangle of the bell shattering Clarissa’s nerves.
Too late.
“Gimme what’s in the register.” The frighteningly familiar voice emerged from Clarissa’s vision and grew into a terrifying reality. Slowly, she turned to see the masked face. She knew exactly what he looked like. The madness in his eyes still shook her.
Linda stood motionless, staring at the robber with a fearful expression.
“Now,” he barked, gesturing toward the register with the gun.
At his sharp command, Linda tried to push the correct buttons, but she kept fumbling and missed. Tears formed in her eyes as her fright grew.
Clarissa’s heart pounded, and she knew that within a few moments David would be dead. No! She had to do something. But what? She didn’t want to get shot either, and this time he could see her.