Walks Through Mist

by Kim Murphy

  His arms went around me. “It’s me, Phoebe. You’ve seen enough for now. Come back.”

  Come back? Caught betwixt the cracking whip and the misty world, I howled from the pain and slumped against the ropes. My father had won.

  * * *

  47

  Lee

  An empty stare crossed Phoebe’s face. She swayed, and Lee called her name. Before he could catch her, she sank to the floor with a thump. “Phoebe?”

  She murmured in Algonquian.

  Why could he no longer comprehend? Only moments ago during the dreaming, he had spoken and understood the language fluently. He checked her breathing and pulse. Normal. Thank goodness for small blessings. “Phoebe? Are you okay?”

  She muttered, still in Algonquian.

  After a quick check to make certain she suffered no broken bones, Lee gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He helped her to bed and covered her with a blanket. Climbing in next to her, he held her in his arms.

  Soon, he drifted.

  “Lee?”

  He blinked.

  Phoebe looked at him with a curious stare. She stroked the side of his face and his lips as if making certain he was really beside her.

  Still groggy, he stretched. “You worried me that time.”

  Her index finger traced along his jawline. “You brought me back.” She hugged him.

  In their embrace, he felt the deep ridges on her back where the whip had bitten into her skin. “Now we know where you got some of the scars.”

  “Aye.” Still afraid, she tightened her grip and cried.

  Lee brushed away her tears, telling her everything would be all right. She continued to sniff back the tears, and he handed her a Kleenex.

  She sobbed into the tissue. “You don’t understand. The dreaming is symbolic. Through Little Falcon, I have witnessed your death.”

  “Mine?” No matter what he said, he was unable to convince her otherwise. He held her until she finally calmed down and slept.

  * * *

  48

  Phoebe

  Late Monday afternoon, I called Shae and canceled my appointment for the following morn. Though thwarted by my action, there was little she could do.

  “If there’s something wrong, I wish you’d confide in me.”

  “’Tis not that easy.”

  “Phoebe...”

  I hung up the phone.

  “Phoebe?” came a gentle voice from behind me. I turned, and Valerie stared in bewilderment. “You’ve been on edge ever since returning this morning. Did something happen between you and Lee?”

  How could I explain? She had indulged my whims when I last had such a feeling, only for everyone to discover that Lee was fine. “Lee and I are still courting. I shall see him later this week,” I said, hoping that my voice hadn’t wavered. “I have some chores to tend to afore supper.”

  “Phoebe, you know we’re here for you if you need to talk.” She squeezed my arm. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “I shall.”

  With my nagging foreboding, a plate slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor whilst I helped prepare supper. I bent down to pick up the shards and cut my forefinger.

  “Phoebe,” Meg said, entering the kitchen, “let me help.” She knelt aside me and started collecting glass fragments.

  I held up my bleeding finger. “I fear that Lee is in trouble.”

  Her brows knitted together. “Because you cut your finger?”

  “Nay. I simply know.”

  “Have you talked to him? Sometimes that helps our fears.”

  He had held me long into the night, comforting me, yet I could not shake the feeling. “I told him my fear.”

  Meg placed the shards on the counter. “What did he say?”

  “He said he’d be fine.”

  A large grin appeared on her face. “And he will be. Why don’t I finish cleaning up this mess, while you take care of that finger? Afterward, call Lee. You’ll see that he’s okay.”

  When I faltered, one of the women from Colwell House always supported me. With me hailing from the seventeenth century, it couldn’t have been easy for any of them. I hugged Meg and told her how much I cared for her.

  * * *

  49

  Lee

  Finished transcribing his notes for an assault report, Lee had the sudden feeling something was amiss. He trusted his gut and dialed the number for Colwell House. Meg answered and immediately passed the phone to Phoebe. “Are you all right?”

  “Aye.”

  “I had a weird feeling and thought I had better call.”

  She remained silent.

  “Phoebe, what’s wrong?”

  “’Tis what I saw in the dreaming.”

  “Just because Little Falcon died doesn’t mean I will too. I’ve had a rather uneventful day, writing reports mostly.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.” Lee checked his watch. “In fact, I’m just about ready to head home.” Ed tapped him on the shoulder and showed him a murder call that had come in. So much for heading home. He motioned to his partner that he’d be right with him. “Listen Phoebe, I have to go, but call me if you need anything.”

  “Lee, pray be careful.”

  “I will,” he promised. With her words, he had an overwhelming sensation of coldness. Quickly dismissing the feeling, he told Phoebe goodbye. He had barely hung up when his cell phone rang. Thinking Phoebe had forgotten something, he said, “Phoebe...”

  “Lee, it’s Carol.”

  “Carol? Is Phoebe okay? I just talked to her...” Ed sent him an impatient wave.

  “She’s fine. You told me to call you—”

  “Carol, can I call you later? I really can’t talk now.”

  “Sure.”

  Lee joined Ed for the drive to the crime scene and worried that something had happened. Phoebe would have called. But he couldn’t shake the feeling. He put in a quick call to Colwell House. When Valerie answered, he told her about the odd calls from Phoebe and Carol.

  “Everyone is accounted for. Phoebe’s worried about you, and Carol called to reassure her.”

  Logical explanation. Lee thanked Valerie. He needed to mentally shift gears, but the nagging inside his head wouldn’t vanish.

  Upon their arrival at the upscale apartment complex, Lee took several photos and noted the time, before passing under the yellow tape to the uniformed police officer for his report.

  “... mother and daughter, side by side.”

  The most gut-wrenching cases were those involving children.

  After hearing the officer’s account, the detectives went into the living room, where the sectional sofa with plump cushions sat in front of a bay window. Magazines were neatly arranged on the coffee table. In one corner of the room stood a wooden doll house. Beside the doll house was a red child-sized rocker and a bookcase filled with children’s books. The only telltale sign that anything was amiss was the blood splattered across the white carpet. In the middle of the red pool was a three-foot body. Her mother lay a couple of feet away.

  Lee swallowed, keeping the bile and his rising fury down. The girl’s face, or what was left of it, was an unidentifiable bloody mess from the close-range, execution-style gunshot. For a second, he envisioned a brown-skinned woman in a deerskin apron, weeping with a small child in her arms.

  “Lee,” Ed asked, “you okay?”

  The image faded, and he suppressed the building rage. What kind of lowlife wasted a child? He faced Ed. “No, I’m not okay. She couldn’t have been any more than four.”

  Ed cleared his throat. “I know, but we have a job to do.”

  By the time they finished their examination of the bodies, photographing and sketching the scene, one of the detectives reported back from canvassing the building. “I think it might be worthwhile to question the neighbors further.” He handed Ed his notes.

  Ed passed the report to Lee. “Ready, partner?”

 
After a quick scan, Lee nodded. They went into the hall. Apartments were separated by five feet of a pale marble mosaic tile that had the appearance of being freshly scrubbed—all the way to the next door. For a brief instant, Lee saw an armored soldier looming over him.

  Not again. The vision distracted him. What am I doing? He blinked and stared at a door. The investigation.

  Ed knocked. “Police.”

  The door opened to an auburn-haired woman of about average height and maybe twenty-five years old. Both detectives showed their badges and identification.

  “I’ve already told the cops what I know—twice,” she said in an unsympathetic manner.

  “I’m Detective Bailey,” Ed replied, “and this is Detective Crowley. We want to make certain nothing was missed, ma’am. Two people were murdered next door. One was a four-year-old child.”

  She opened the door, inviting them in. “I didn’t see anything.”

  Lee confirmed her identity from the previous detective’s report before asking any questions. “Did you hear gunshots?”

  She shook her head.

  After a few more routine questions, he added, “According to my report, your brother also lives here.”

  A man equal in height to Lee’s entered the room. “I do.”

  Lee noted the man’s holey and worn athletic shoes were sparkling white. Exchanging a glance with Ed, he knew his partner had made the same observation. Lee went ahead with his questioning. The sister vowed that her brother hadn’t been out of the apartment all day, yet he spotted hesitation in her eyes. He suspected spraying Luminol in the hall would trace blood from the victims’ apartment directly to the athletic shoes.

  Without warning, Lee heard voices. Frightened screams surrounded him, along with the smell of smoke. Crawling on his hands and knees, he escaped the worst of the suffocating fumes. Guns fired, and he called out. To whom? More screams. Blind in the smoke, he was lost. Heat from a flame nearly burned him.

  The vision faded to a gun in the perp’s hand. Lee drew his own at the same time. Gunfire exploded. He felt a sharp sting and heard a snap in his left thigh. His leg crumpled from beneath him, knocking him flat on his back. Blood spurted. Lightheaded, he sank to the floor. He thought of Phoebe before darkness engulfed him.

  * * *

  50

  Phoebe

  Sitting upright in bed, I awoke in a cold sweat with my heart pounding. Lee. Once again, I had an overwhelming feeling that he was in danger. I resisted the temptation to call him. ’Twas well past ten and outgoing calls were strictly forbidden ’til the morrow. I would have to answer to Valerie if I tried.

  I lay back. Unable to sleep, I struggled to get comfortable. Amongst the Arrohateck, I had been known as Walks Through Mist. Why did I not follow my instinct? The last time that I had felt this way....

  Recalling the day in my mind with shocking clarity, I curled to a ball and let out an unearthly howl.

  “Phoebe...!” came Meg’s voice from the hall. Her fist hammered on my door. “Phoebe! Answer me! What’s wrong?”

  I sobbed into my pillow.

  The door swung open, and comforting arms went around me, holding me like Meg so oft held her young daughter. Soon, Carol and Valerie joined her.

  “He’s dead,” I cried.

  “It was a bad dream,” Valerie said, shoving my hair from my eyes and hushing me.

  Her words failed to soothe me, and I continued to weep, repeating the god-awful truth, “He’s dead.”

  * * *

  51

  Shae

  The phone ringing in the middle of the night woke Shae. Russ fumbled for the light switch before answering, “She’s right here.” He handed her the phone. “It’s Valerie.”

  “Shae, we can’t console Phoebe. She keeps crying and repeating, ‘He’s dead.’”

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Lee.”

  Surely she would have heard something if that were true. “What set it off?”

  “A dream, I think, but she’s in bad shape. She believes it’s real.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Shae switched off the phone. “I’ve got to go. For some reason Phoebe thinks Lee is dead, but she’s inconsolable.”

  Russ grasped her elbow as she got up to dress. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “I’ll be fine.” The phone rang again. Russ reached for it, but Shae got to it first. “Valerie, I’m on my way just as soon as I—”

  “Shae?”

  But it was a baritone voice, not Valerie’s. The phone nearly slipped from her fingers upon recognizing Ed. “Oh God, Lee is dead.”

  “No, he’s not dead, but there’s been a shooting. I’m sorry to bother you, but he never changed his emergency contact.”

  Her mind blurred as Ed relayed the details. So much for being hit by a truck. And Phoebe had felt him die. “I’ll pick up Phoebe and be right there.” Why had her voice seemed to come from outside of her body?

  “Thanks, Shae. They don’t know yet whether he’s going to make it.”

  Even Ed’s voice had sounded shaky. The line went dead. “Lee’s been shot. That goddamned bastard. I divorced him. Why does he keep dragging me into his life?”

  Russ hugged her. “Are you angry at him or yourself, for still caring?”

  She struggled to keep from crying and forced a smile. “I should have known better than to become engaged to a psychologist.”

  “How is Lee?”

  “Ed said he was in surgery. They don’t know whether he’ll survive. I need to calm Phoebe down and get her to the hospital.”

  “Let me drive you.” He pulled on his pants. “Lee’s tough. He’ll pull through.”

  “Thanks.” That was why she loved Russ. No matter the circumstances, he was always there.

  * * *

  52

  Phoebe

  Meg and Carol stayed with me. Struck numb, I had cried all my tears. I heard voices in the hall but took no notice of what they were saying. The voices came closer, and I felt the bed shift. Meg and Carol left my side, as if they had been instructed to do so.

  “Phoebe, get up and get dressed. Lee needs you.”

  Hovering over me, Shae’s face came into focus. I saw fear in her eyes. “Lee’s alive?”

  “He is, but he’s in serious condition. I’m going to take you to him.” She took my arm, forcing me to my feet, and helped me to dress.

  “Lee’s alive,” I repeated, not knowing whether to allow myself to hope.

  Shae finished dressing me and guided me to the door. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I need to get you to the hospital.”

  I focused on her words. “What has happened?”

  “I don’t know the details, only that Lee’s been shot.” She led me down the stairs and outside the door.

  A car waited by the curb, where Shae’s betrothed kept the engine running. Shae slammed the car door behind me, and Russ whisked us through the night-lit streets, only for me to recall a time when the lights aft dark had been the moon and stars.

  Though I prayed for Lee, I yearned for Lightning Storm. He, too, had been shot. I had wrapped his battered body in mats. I blackened my face with charcoal and wailed as he was placed on a scaffold. Months later, he was buried with his bow, for he would need it in the afterlife.

  The kwiocosuk existed no more. I had to find my own way to appease Oke’s wrath and present offerings of tobacco and bloodroot. If I did so, mayhap Lee would be spared and not suffer the same fate.

  Russ screeched the car to a halt outside the hospital. As Shae ushered me through the halls, nurses and uniformed police officers pointed the direction. Finally, we reached a waiting room filled with people. Ed emerged from the crowd. “Phoebe, thank God you’re here. Shae, thanks for bringing her. There’s been no word yet.”

  “Take me to him.”

  He shook his head. “They’re not going to let us in. He may not even be out of surgery yet.”

  Confused as to why I had been summoned if I was n
ot allowed by Lee’s side, I looked at Shae for guidance.

  “What happened, Ed?” she asked.

  He ran a hand through his thin hair. “He saved my life. We were questioning a suspect. Lee saw the gun before I did. He drew his fire. I should be the one in there, not him.”

  “It’s not your fault, Ed. The blame belongs to the man with the gun.”

  “He murdered a woman and her young daughter. Small comfort, but we got him. I don’t know which one of us sent the fatal bullet.”

  Like most warriors, Ed attempted to hide his true feelings, but an intuitive woman could see beyond the appearance. I touched his hand and felt a surge of grief.

  Uncomfortable with the revelation that I was aware of his sorrow through a mere touch, he said, “Let me get you some coffee while we wait.”

  Shae guided me to a chair, but I had difficulty sitting still and waiting. She picked up a publication called Prevention and thumbed through it, pretending to read. If only I had some solitude in which I could face the four winds and send my prayers to Ahone.

  Ed returned with a cup of coffee. I did not wish for him to think his efforts were in vain, but ne’er having acquired the taste, I sipped the bitter drink and nearly choked. He quickly apologized, when a doctor attired in a bluish-green material entered the waiting room. The doctor singled out the three of us and led the way to an office. “Detective Crowley isn’t out of the woods yet, but because of his excellent health and conditioning, I think he’ll make it. However, the next twenty-four hours will be critical.”