This Jacque Marquette could absolutely pass for the man at the pier. Uncanny. “I don’t know what to tell you, Detective Marquette,” she said with a little bit of attitude.
“I understand you grew up in this museum. Wouldn’t you, of all people, notice something amiss?”
“What are you saying, Detective? That I’m withholding information, or maybe you think I stole the mannequins? I didn’t see anything.”
He sighed and slipped his jacket on. “I think you know more than you’re telling. You tore straight to the Pawnee earth lodge like a bat out of hell.”
“It was dark. The anniversary of my father’s disappearance is approaching, and nothing has been resolved. Couple those things with a very vivid imagination and you would run, too. I don’t suppose Chicago PD has any leads on my father’s case?” Before the detective could respond, Cleo narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t think so.”
“Is that what this is about? You want us to reopen the case?”
“I wasn’t aware the case had been mothballed.” Cleo dropped her arms to her sides and took a step away but turned back to roll her eyes over him top to bottom in disdain. “I think you’re stalking me. First at Navy Pier and now here. I’m leaving. And, since it’s about to rain, you’d better take care of your leg. This kind of weather can make you limp something awful.”
Before she could take another step, the detective moved into her personal space and leveled an impatient stare. All the good will evaporated from his face, leaving a cold, hard expression, his jaw clenching over and over. “How the hell do you know about my leg?”
“You limped at the pier. Nice try.” Tilting her head, Cleo watched the detective purse his lips. “But you’re not limping. I guess you were faking it this afternoon.”
A voice came from the shadows in a French accent. “The Osage is coming. We need to find Wind Dancer.”
The detective drew his weapon and pointed it toward the voice. He tucked Cleo behind him. “Come out with your hands up.”
Cleo peered around the detective as the Frenchman from Navy Pier stepped out to confront his look-alike. Cleo whispered, “Hmm. I’m sorry, Detective. Apparently, you really do have a twin. I’m thinking he is as much on the up and up as you.”
“Ya think?”
Chapter 3
When the Frenchman lowered his hands, the detective waved his weapon at him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Get ‘em up higher.”
Thunder rolled across the museum, followed by a lightning strike somewhere close by. Cleo flinched when another boom rattled the display cases.
Cleo stepped to the detective’s side and watched him squint at the Frenchman. It must be terrifying to realize the person before you was a mirror image of yourself. The Frenchman wore clothes resembling something to wear on a camping trip in some remote Alaskan wilderness.
“And you are?” The detective’s voice held icy calm.
“That is of no consequence.” The Frenchman’s gaze fell on Cleo, taking her in, head to toe. He extended his hand toward her, palm up, as if wanting her to grasp it. “Cleopatra. It is time to go. Soon the opening will close. We could die here if we don’t cross over. Join me. The Osage comes, and I need to make sure you’re safe before he finds us.” His voice grew tight with urgency.
“Dr. Sommers isn’t going anywhere.” The detective spoke into his collar microphone as another rumble of thunder rolled over them. “Hey! Officer needed.” They all stood for a moment, not moving, but nobody came. “Dr. Sommers, can you get an officer to come in here? They probably can’t hear me over the storm.” He backed toward the double-door opening, moving Cleo along behind him, his weapon pointed at the Frenchman.
She rushed into the grand foyer and halted so fast she nearly fell forward. Everyone stood frozen in various positions, as if mannequins. The scientists from the lab still huddled together as if talking, the policemen peered out the front door, their eyes narrowed in some kind of bizarre fascination. Her friends sat at a small bistro table on the edge of the coffee shop, facing each other with blank stares. A flash of lightning revealed a single moving figure outside the glass doors in the foyer. He stood over six feet tall with a Mohawk haircut. Neosho, the Osage, had found her. She watched him rattle each door and stopped each time as if confused as to why it wouldn’t open.
With an awkward pivot, Cleo raced into the Native American exhibit to find the Frenchman lowering his hands as the detective lowered his weapon and spun around in a circle, agape. The mannequins in the cases surrounding them banged on the glass, shouting in languages she couldn’t understand.
Cleo arrived beside the detective. “I hope you figure this out.” She looked over at the Frenchman. “Let’s go,” she yelled above another boom of thunder.
The Frenchman smirked at his detective twin, grabbed Cleo’s hand, pulled her toward the Pawnee earth lodge. “You need to stop my brother who is coming through the front doors, to give us a head start.”
The detective, in spite of his frown of bewilderment, nodded and headed toward the grand hall.
They escaped into the earth lodge. A fire blazed up in the pit but failed to emit any heat. A wind blew the buffalo hide at the rear of the lodge. He jerked it aside and tugged Cleo forward. “I leave you here. Go through and jump. I can’t let the Osage know of this. I will find where he came through and return if I can.”
“Jump?” Cleo felt panic rise up inside her. “There is no jumping here. It’s solid.” Even as she spoke the words, she felt a wind blow through the opening where she’d seen someone wave to her earlier in the day. Hadn’t she played with a little Indian boy who came through this opening when she was a child? “I can’t.”
“Remember to jump forward.”
The Frenchman grinned with wicked resolve and shoved her through. The hide dropped down and she stood in darkness. “No,” she screamed patting the wall for the opening. It had disappeared. She banged on black walls smelling of wet earth as something skittered across her feet. She lifted them in a frightened dance of revulsion. Knowing she could be trapped with bugs and maybe rodents did nothing to calm her pounding heart.
She reached out her hands to try and touch another wall, but found nothing, only darkness. Tears welled up in her eyes as terror gripped her ability to think. Would Neosho find her before she could get out of this dark tunnel? What if he did? It had to be better than this.
“Jump forward,” the Frenchman said.
“Okay,” she whimpered. “Forward it is.” She took a small jump but slammed into a human wall. A scream escaped her as her hands went behind her to find the earth lodge wall again. Falling against it, she tried to slow her breathing and the heartbeat pounding in her ears, setting up a roadblock to rational thoughts.
A hand grabbed her arm and drew her deeper into the darkness. The shadowy image of a man with long hair lowered his face into hers before he pulled her after him. No amount of twisting, begging, or slapping freed her of the vise-like grip. The feel of buckskin touched her body as the man halted and jerked her in front of him, while at the same time wrapping a muscled arm around her waist.
Cleo felt crushed against his chest as he patted, what should be a wall, with his free hand. Somehow the pause enabled her to piece together what was happening. He sidestepped two more times without any trouble, dragging her, still pressed against his heaving chest. The pounding motion continued until the third time he used his fist. This time the sound changed. A glow emanated from a growing hole in the wall, lighting up his face.
“I need you to hold tight, Cleopatra.” His voice carried the slight accent she’d heard from some Native Americans when her father took her on his summer trips to the reservations. “This may hurt at first. You will feel hot then cold. Do not let go of me.” He wrapped what felt like a rope around her waist then around him. “The wind may try to tear us apart. Do you understand?”
Cleo nodded as she dug her fingers into the buckskins then buried her face into his chest. The touch of his p
alm on the back of her head reassured her somewhat. “Once we are there I will need your help.” Cleo stared up into his dark face and realized Wind Dancer, the man of her creative imagination for so many years, held her in his arms. “Ready?”
Before Cleo could agree, the floor gave way beneath them, and they fell into an abyss where darkness gobbled up the light she’d seen only seconds earlier. She would have screamed if the pressure inside her lungs allowed it. One minute her lungs burned with a kind of fiery heat then instantly felt ice cold as a wind tried to drag her free of Wind Dancer. The rope loosened; his arms tightened to the point of cutting off her circulation.
Her arms flew upwards as a scream continued to try and escape her lips. The downward plunge through a tunnel widened, its sides hard like polished stone, until she saw shimmering light beneath them.
The sound of her dress ripping as it caught on something sharp caused an avalanche of fear. She continued to spiral out into open space. With nothing beneath her but air, Cleo reached out, but Wind Dancer no longer held her. Had he disappeared? The flailing of arms and legs could not stop her plunge toward what she imagined a shimmering lake. She crashed into water with ungodly force, knocking her into confusion.
The cold water swallowed her to a depth one feels near death. A momentary sense of confusion caused her to open her eyes into a watery world in search of Wind Dancer. She pushed free of the rope and swam upward toward the light. Something large moved beneath, giving her an adrenaline rush to swim faster toward the surface. Two beluga whales shoved her playfully, eyes twinkling. She spotted Wind Dancer pulling himself out of an indoor pool. He bent down and reached for Cleo coming to the edge. Lifting her out of the water felt as if he possessed super strength.
“I have not ever seen such a fish,” he panted, gulping for air.
“It’s a beluga whale. I think we’re in the Shedd Aquarium. Security will be here any minute. We’ve got to get out of here.” Cleo twisted the water from her hair, nodding toward exterior doors. Of course, security might be frozen there, too. She tried to push against the doors only to discover them locked. “I can’t budge them. Help me get these open, Wind Dancer. I think if we…”
Before she could finish instructions, Wind Dancer slammed into the door with all his strength knocking it off the hinges. She stared up at him in awe as he lifted his hands for inspection. He seemed as surprised as her at his ability.
The belugas chattered and splashed.
“The fish says we must go.”
She could correct him later on his use of fish for a mammal. Wind Dancer from the Pawnee Tribe of Nebraska in the 1800s would have no knowledge of such beasts. Yet, he understood the beluga. Astounding.
“I live about five miles away, near Navy Pier,” she said. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get there.”
They circled around to the front of the building. The storm had evolved into distant thunder, while sheets of cold rain continued to fall. Squad cars remained still with their strobe lights on but not flashing. Several officers stood nearby, remained frozen in some kind of time warp. How long had it been?
“Come,” he demanded, striding toward a mounted police officer.
“What are you going to do?” Cleo’s teeth chattered as much out of fear as from being wet and cold. “Can’t he see you? And why are animals still moving when humans can’t?”
“I don’t know. I will explain what I can later.” He lifted the officer from the saddle and sat him on the hood of one of the cars. The chestnut horse followed Wind Dancer and snorted disapprovingly. After he rubbed the animal’s neck and mumbled some words, the horse bobbed his head then shied away. With hand outstretched toward Cleo, he nodded at the cars. “Those machines will not work. Can you ride behind me?”
A loud roar of discontent came from the top of the steps at the Museum of Natural History, adjacent to the aquarium. The Osage barreled down the steps.
When Cleo and Wind Dancer approached the horse, the animal shook its head as if he would have none of it. Grabbing the bridle with one hand, he then released it long enough to swing up into the saddle. As he reached down to grab Cleo’s hand and swing her up, the Osage rushed toward them with an ear-splitting yell. She dropped Wind Dancer’s hand and raced toward the highway.
The sound of galloping hooves echoed on the pavement as Cleo tripped and spilled into a bed of tulips. Rolling over, she crab crawled away from danger. Wind Dancer guided the horse to cut off Neosho. The Osage grabbed the bridle and dragged the horse to the ground.
She feared Wind Dancer would be pinned beneath the animal. He managed to jump off onto the other man, swinging a fist that connected to his face. Both men hit the ground, but Wind Dancer staggered up and whistled for the horse struggling to its feet.
With one fluid motion, he leapt into the saddle and tugged on the reins. As he let loose his own ear-splitting yell, the horse reared then galloped toward his enemy. The Osage did not budge at first then jerked to the side, only to lose his footing and fall, hitting his head against a short concrete pillar.
Cleo stumbled to her feet, and Wind Dancer guided the horse toward her. “Come.”
Cleo grasped his hand and he swung her up behind him. Neosho stirred, but she pointed in the direction of Navy Pier then wrapped her arms around the Pawnee’s waist. The horse lunged forward, nearly throwing her off sideways. Her knees tightened against horseflesh as her body jarred against the movement of a terrified animal.
~~~~
Cleo banged on the locked doors of her building. Around them, things came to life. Cars moved at a snail’s pace one second then over the speed limit the next. Dodging them proved to be tricky, but the horse did what he needed to. She suggested, to avoid further scrutiny, they free the horse a block away from her place. Running the rest of the way in soggy clothes complicated a speedy progress. The effects of hypothermia from falling into the Shedd Aquarium pool then riding, soaked to the skin, like the wind through remnants of a thunderstorm could kill them if they didn’t get inside soon. Chicago wasn’t known for warm spring nights.
When the attendant opened the door and wandered away swaying slightly, Cleo tightened her grip on Wind Dancer’s waist and guided him inside.
He revived a bit as the elevator door closed and fading gravity lifted them to the tenth floor. He pushed on the walls then banged his fists until she grabbed him around the chest and patted his shoulders.
“It’s okay, Wind Dancer. I’m taking you to my condo.”
“What is condo?” He took a deep breath and smashed her tighter into his chest. “Safe?”
“Yes. Safe. I live here.” The doors opened. He staggered out, but straightened as if ready to do battle. “It’s okay. This way.” She motioned for him to follow.
They left wet footprints of bare feet. Their shoes would cause a lot of speculation at the bottom of the beluga whale pool. She punched in her security code to unlock the door and stepped across the threshold. Wind Dancer remained in the hall, glancing warily from side to side.
“It’s okay, Wind Dancer.”
His teeth chattered as he tried to speak, his narrowed eyes filled with confusion. Tugging on his hand, she led him inside and hit the light switch. He fell against the door as if she’d created some kind of miracle. “Lights come on with this.” She showed him the switch. “No magic.”
He appeared helpless to Cleo as blue lips indicated he suffered the onslaught of hypothermia.
“I never thought I’d be saying this to you, but get undressed. I need to warm you up.” Her own body spiraled toward danger, but someone had to take charge of the situation.
She hurried into the bedroom and retrieved a thermal blanket from the top shelf of her closet. Entering the living room, she found Wind Dancer standing in the middle of the floor, dripping water on her new hardwood floors. He turned his head toward her like a robot in one of those lifelike displays they had at Disney World.
“Help me.” She tried to lift up his buckskin shirt and only ma
naged to free him when he finally reached down to assist. “Okay. Now the pants.” She locked her fingers in the waistband and met his interested gaze when he grabbed her hand. “Don’t tell me you’re shy. I’m not buying it. Besides, I’m a doctor. I’ve seen it all.” He smiled and let her continue but offered his help here as well. “Oh. My. Goodness. Okay. So maybe ‘seen it all’ was an understatement.” Cleo couldn’t help but stare at him in all his magnificent glory. “Where have you been all my life?”
“Museum,” he said with such unconcern Cleo shook herself back to reality. In quick order, she wrapped the blanket around his naked torso then grabbed a dry towel for his long hair. She stood on tiptoe to rub it across his head. “You should get warm. I don’t think I can help with your clothes.” It sounded so matter-of-fact coming from his blue lips.
No way could she undress in front of a god, so she hurried into the bedroom, disrobed down to her undies, and suddenly wished she’d taken more care to spring for the lace ones instead of sensible cotton. What did it matter? Women didn’t wear anything under their clothes in his time. But, somehow, her twenty-first-century attitude beckoned her to at least make an effort. Unfortunately, when she searched through her dresser drawer, it reminded her she’d neglected her sex life for way too long.
“Are you feeling better?” Cleo hugged the blue quilt around her as she spied Wind Dancer standing in the exact spot she’d left him. He stared out through the expansive plate-glass windows at the flickering lights of the city and neighboring building. A stream of light moved along the highway. What must it be like for him seeing all of this for the first time?
Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1) Page 3