“Should we talk to the police?”
“And tell them our toothpaste is missing?”
“Right.” Bair laughed sheepishly.
“I mentioned the occurrences to Gaston, but he told us to handle it.”
“I wouldn’t mind, if I knew how.”
Smith nodded. Unless it escalated, the best plan seemed to be to wait. Gaston already thought him stiff and unappreciative. He didn’t want to look foolish and reactionary as well.
She was back, and it filled him with unparalleled glee. He had watched for her, wanted her. He knew her now, knew her by her drawings, her beautiful drawings. So exact and perfect. And the lines. The lines in the circle mesmerizing. He wanted to ask about the circle.
It was what she did in the field. She walked the lines. He wanted to see her walking it again. He had hoped she would come out alone and walk it. But she hadn’t. She had stayed with them. Especially the tall one, who devoured her like a fox with a rabbit. His heart galloped. His head hurt. He had almost revealed himself, almost rushed at them to make him stop. Only by strength and cunning did he restrain himself.
He had waited for the darkness. In the shadows she belonged to him, like the plants in her horticulture manual that bloomed at the sun’s passing, at the coming of dew. Jasmine. Moonflower. Angel’s-trumpet. Sweet scenting the night.
In the moonless night he loped. He had read her book, imagining her hands hollowing and planting and pressing in the plants that scented the night. No gaudy day bloomers, no sun soakers. He’d learned more than he’d known before from its pages, not just about the plants detailed in the text, but about her too. The pages she had marked, the notes penciled into the margins, but most of all the receipt tucked into the flap for the inn where she stayed, where she now slept, or prepared to sleep.
It was far, but now he knew. He knew where she went when she left, and in the silence of the night he drew near to her. To where she slept, where she dreamed. He wanted to see her dream, and so he passed through the night, loping, loping, risked the light that spilled yellow onto the ground, risked the spaces until he could hug the walls of the inn searching for entrance.
His hands found the coal chute, but the grate was firmly attached. He huddled, regarding the grate half shrouded by shrubs. He moved his fingers to the chute itself, pulled the iron handle, felt it give. Infinitely patient, he pulled again, imposing a constant force to counter its resistance.
With a groaning squawk the cover slid open to a dark and narrow cavity. Small. Very, very small. Could he make himself that small? Already on his knees, he extended one arm into the hole. Pressing his head against his shoulder, he eased himself into the maw, letting it swallow him like a snake, squeezing, undulating, its crushing muscles drawing him deeper into the darkness.
His other shoulder loosened in the socket, slipping down his side as he drew it into the throat. His front elbow pressed against the inside wall. He slid inch by painful inch, pushing with his knees, releasing the air in his lungs. Farther, deeper.
His arm came free of the metal grip. He seized the inside of the grate and twisted, clinging with both hands as he bent his waist and pulled his legs inside, giggling. He’d gotten smaller than ever before. He dropped to the cement floor, rolling his shoulders to set them back into their sockets. He spread his arms and fingers, cracking the knuckles, straightened the painful slump of his spine with more insistent crackles, then turned, scouring the darkness.
A cellar. He liked cellars. Dark, cool, musty cellars. Since this one was new to him, he crept around, feeling the pipes, hearing their hiss and gurgle. At last he found the door. But it was too soon. He’d wait, wait in the darkness until everyone slept, everyone dreamed. Then he’d find the place where she dreamed.
Gasping, Tessa clutched the sheet and bolted up in her bed. Something pale and gray moved in the darkness around the door. A draft of rank air touched her. The scream lodged in her throat. She was not asleep. She had come very much awake, though her racing heart matched her primal nightmare fright.
As she reached, her hand shook so badly she dropped her cell phone with a clatter to the floor. She wanted to call Dr. Brenner, but for the first time, she doubted he could help. He might not even believe her. How could anyone believe a nightmare had entered her room?
She stared into the darkness where it had disappeared, unable to catch even a glimpse. Did it stare back at her? She pressed her eyes shut as the whisper chilled her heart. “I’ll find you. Just the way I did tonight.”
She gulped. “I haven’t said a word.” Her voice wavered. “Not a word.”
She had told Smith about the warning, but she didn’t know what she was supposed to keep secret. She strained toward the dark hole around the door. Was it there, waiting? Would it leap if she illuminated the darkness?
Her mouth went dry as powder. She groped for the wall switch. Light poured over her and spilled into the narrow doorway beside the bathroom. The door was closed, the space before it empty.
She slipped from the bed and went to it. With trembling fingers, she felt the knob: locked. The deadbolt was not. She frowned. Had she forgotten to turn it? She’d been dead on her feet from the strain of Gaston and the trip back, emotionally wrung out from the turn of events with Smith.
She lowered her forehead to the door and whiffed the scent she had caught before. The monster’s essence? Her knees almost collapsed as a different smell, an olfactory memory, invaded her consciousness, the smell of antiseptic breath. “You’re not afraid, are you?”
She pressed her palms to the door. If the monster was real enough to breathe … She moaned. “Leave me alone. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Fear spiraled up her spine. Daddy! The monster’s breath gagged her, stifling her cries, choking them back into her throat with the words she couldn’t say. She staggered back from the door and fell to her knees beside the bed, groping for her cell phone.
She had meant to call Dr. Brenner, but it was Smith who answered in a half whisper, “Tessa?” She must have hit the wrong speed dial, or had chosen it subconsciously.
“He was here … the monster … in my room.” She heard him changing position, or maybe getting up and moving into the office so he didn’t disturb Bair.
“Did you see him?”
“He said he would find me and he did.”
“I thought Gaston was the monster,” he said gently.
“He … is one. But this was … this one came out of my dream. I know how that sounds, but I can’t explain it any other way. I opened my eyes and he was there.”
“And then what?”
“I turned on the light and he was gone.” She knew what he thought. Who wouldn’t?
“Do you want me to come over?”
Her shaking had stopped, her heartbeat normalized. “I just wanted you to know.” She must have, or the intuitive part of her had, the part she accessed through the labyrinth, the part she trusted more than the rest of her mind.
“I’d feel better doing something.”
“You already have.” He’d listened without contradicting her, without saying it was only her imagination.
He sighed. “You’re all right? You can breathe?”
Amazingly. “I guess I needed to tell someone.” “Not a word.” She sank into her pillows. Was the command losing its power to control her? “He’s gone now. I’m okay.”
“Sure?”
“I’m sure.” She threaded her fingers through her hair, loving the sound of his voice in her ear as she switched the light off.
“Will you sleep now?”
“I think I will.”
His warmth and tenderness filled the space between them. “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”
She suddenly felt bad. He wasn’t paid to take emergency calls in the middle of the night. What had she been thinking? “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“I’m not.” He added softly, “I thought you’d spend the night pushing me away.”
She c
losed her eyes with a sigh. “The night’s not over.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Good night, Smith.”
“Peaceful dreams, Tess. I mean it.”
She clicked off the phone and let her hand fall. If only.
CHAPTER
20
After searching her room unsuccessfully for the drawings and horticultural manual, Tessa headed for the property in the brisk autumn morning. She arrived at the same time as the flatbed truck delivering the Bobcat, which saved her from discussing the night before with Smith. In the light of day, the monster in her room seemed strange and ridiculous, and even though Smith had taken her seriously, she didn’t want to discuss it.
The driver jumped down. “You ordered the Bobcat?”
She nodded.
“You have an operator?”
“I’m using it.” When Smith chose a contractor, she would bring in a team. Until then, she wanted control of what happened with the labyrinth. She knew how to operate the mini skid loader and would take the care necessary for this delicate job.
She signed the agreement, assured the guy one more time that she knew what she was doing, that it was indeed a flat landscape she’d be clearing, and she understood how the narrow wheelbase made the vehicle unstable on hilly grades. If she used the rope hook, she would look out for springy rebound. Finally convinced, the driver moved the lumbering truck back out to the street.
She climbed aboard, took hold of the levers that independently controlled the left and right skids, and headed for the labyrinth field. The agile Bobcat had as much power as she’d need, and the ability to rotate around its center for complete maneuverability. If the labyrinth wasn’t such serious business, it would be playtime.
Though God may not have spoken to her in words, he’d shown her what had to be done. Physically, symbolically, or psychologically, she had to lock the monster back where he belonged, where he could not hurt her or anyone she loved. It was no accident that the labyrinth on this property was of the cathedral design. No other script had such sacred intention.
She believed—had to believe—that in this place, in this way, she would bring an end to the fear. Here, once and for all, God would deliver her. And if Smith was part of that, how much better it would be. The danger she had felt would not overcome her purpose or the satisfaction of participating in her own liberation. Soon the monster would be helpless, and she would be free.
Starting near the mouth she had cleared by hand, she carefully tore away the sod with each thrust of the Bobcat’s blade. Near the center, a new growth of kudzu had sprung up, but she wouldn’t tackle that yet. Instead, she worked to clear the circumference and get a look at the size and condition of the labyrinth. The scent of earth and bruised grass filled her senses, until the sound of her name broke through her concentration.
Catching sight of Bair, she stopped the Bobcat and cut the engine. The exhaust cloyed, then wafted away as he reached her.
“Thought you might be ready for a break.”
She took the snack of apples and cheese and the icy bottle of green tea she’d stashed in their refrigerator, even though she hadn’t intended to break yet. “Thanks.”
Bair planted his beefy hands on his hips. “Didn’t really see you as the bulldozer type.”
She wiped the damp hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Landscape architects get to play in the dirt. You should ditch Smith and come have some real fun.”
He flushed. “You’ve, um, made some … progress.”
She looked over her shoulder at the exposed ground, then tapped the lever. “Goes a little quicker like this than with a shovel.”
“Easier on the back.”
True, but the vibrations had all but numbed her forearms.
Bair swallowed. “Looks more like a, uh, trough than a path.”
“The base is bedrock. They dug down to it, then raised the sides to form the beds for the hedge.”
“Oh, I see. Is that how it’s usually done?”
“I’ve never worked this design with a vertical element. Only flat, or nearly so.”
“A path with no walls?”
“You’re still thinking of a maze. Most labyrinths are stone tiles or turf. With hedge walls this will be a completely different experience.”
“Different how?”
She pressed her hands to the small of her back. “In a turf or floor labyrinth, you watch the ground to stay on track, but the whole way is laid out in plain view. In this one, with walls as tall as the walker, you can’t see the entire path, only the part before you.”
“Then it will be like a maze.”
“Without dead ends, but yes. You won’t know what’s around the corner.” Or who. She shuddered, imagining Rumer Gaston, or last night’s creepy specter. Or the monster trying to break through her subconscious. “Anyway, it’s going to take a lot of work to recreate.”
“Then it’s good I brought fortification.”
For his sake, she crunched an apple slice. “Thanks again, but why exactly are we having this picnic?”
Bair cleared his throat. “Smith’s, uh, taking a call.”
“Not Petra changing things.”
“Not Petra, no.”
She searched his reddened face, his discomfort triggering hers.
“It’s, um, Danae. I don’t know if he told—”
“He told me.”
“Right. Well, I came out to give him some privacy.”
Privacy? “I didn’t know he still talked to her.”
He shifted from foot to foot. “Odd timing, actually. She hasn’t called in over a month.”
One whole month? “I thought she left him for someone else.”
He nodded. “She did, but he’s … loyal, you know?” No, she didn’t know. He’d cut and run the moment she didn’t fit his parameters. They hadn’t talked once since their relationship blew up, not until he’d called her for this job—at Rumer Gaston’s urging. Her mind flew back to the day she’d heard him laughing with his friends and confronted him.
“You told them I’m switching paths? You think it’s funny?”
“I don’t think it’s funny. I think it’s a tragedy.”
“Tragedy, Smith?”
“And a waste.”
“Because I prefer landscape to structures?”
“Because you think you can make something out of your ridiculous labyrinth fixation. Nobody cares, Tessa. They’re an obsolete oddity.”
She shook, remembering. They hadn’t spoken again, and their paths had scarcely crossed, yet he spoke regularly with Danae, who had obviously made an indelible mark. “What’s she like?”
“Well, she’s nicely put together. Long legs, long hair. That’s Smith’s downfall. He can’t resist a soft sweep of hair.”
Why was he telling her this? “So, she’s pretty.”
“Not so much pretty as attractive. Commands the eye, if you get my meaning.”
Oh, she got it. “What did she call about?” She deliberately chewed her way through the apples and sharp cheddar chunks.
Bair shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Maybe he did; maybe he didn’t. The reason was less important than Smith’s response.
“Has he asked her to stop?”
Bair kicked the dirt. “He doesn’t like to give up on people.”
She could offer a different opinion. “He still has feelings for her.”
“He’d, uh, have to say.”
“But you’re warning me.”
He squinted up at her. “I only know what I saw.”
“And that was?”
“She hurt him.”
Her throat squeezed. “Didn’t he tell her to bog off and good riddance?”
Bair frowned. “Is that what he said?”
“It isn’t true?” She clenched the tea bottle.
“I’m sure he wanted to. And … maybe he thinks he did. Guys remember stuff the way they wish it had been.”
“But in r
eality?”
Bair shrugged. “I think he told her he’d be there when she realized her mistake.”
She trembled.
“Don’t cry to me when you realize your mistake.”
“You’re the last person I’d cry to, Smith.”
“Good.”
She drew a ragged breath. He’d said he wasn’t filling Danae’s slot. But if he thought he could slip her in next to Danae’s hallowed ground, he’d better think again.
Bair cleared his throat. “Are you all right?”
“Not really.” She drew herself up. “But I will be.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“What did you mean?”
“I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Again. She knew what Smith was capable of. Bair must also. “Thank you.” She smiled, though tears crawled up her throat and invaded her eyes. “For caring.”
He reached for the empty baggie and bottle. She didn’t remember eating or drinking any of it.
Bair scrutinized her. “He wouldn’t intend to. I’m just not sure he’s let her go.”
She started the engine. “I should get back to work.” She was there to build a labyrinth. And she would. Nothing had changed— except the joy was gone.
Smith spent the day taking over for light-hearted Gordon Ellis, who’d suffered a coronary and was convalescing. He could draw the specs for the structural engineering himself, and may as well, since they were on schedule with the base drawings and on-site with no other projects and only Danae’s phone call interfering.
Why would she tell him she was breaking off with Edward unless she considered reconciliation possible? He had left the door open in more ways than one, but things had grown a great deal more complicated. He had not only his own feelings to think about, but also Tessa’s. They were just starting off, but it was no light thing to disengage, even at this point.
Did he want to? He had just wondered whether he’d ever cared for Danae, and now this call had made him—Stop. He dropped his head back and rubbed his neck.
At least Tessa had been out in the field. He wouldn’t know how to explain—if he even could—without her overreacting. No, without her being hurt.
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