by Jim O'Shea
The corners of the older woman’s lips turned down. She closed the notebook in her lap and slid out to the edge of her chair. “Let’s think this through.” Lambert’s voice was calm and measured. “I can envision a number of possible explanations for that. You’ve been under a lot of stress and not getting much sleep, plus we both know you have a history of sleepwalking. For you to do something like this and be unaware would not be unusual, especially in your current state.”
“Several new pieces were added to the puzzle,” Libby said. “I’m sure they weren’t there the night of the party.”
Lambert started to speak, but instead opened the notebook and made a lengthy entry.
“I’m fairly sure now the puzzle image is a photo of Melissa and me when we were infants in the Tooele maternity ward,” Libby said. “I recognize the balloon wallpaper on the newer pieces, as well as a couple of empty bassinets on the outer edges on both sides. I think it’s the same photo that’s been on my parents’ bookshelf for the past thirty years.”
Lambert let out a breath. “Good,” she said. “Then it’s probably just—”
“I found another piece in my credenza at work yesterday.”
Lambert leaned back in her chair and inhaled slowly. Her face could best be described as expressionless.
“The new piece has a pair of green eyes on it like one of the previous pieces,” Libby said. “One should eventually fit into my face in the photo and the other Melissa’s. If the shape of the pieces themselves weren’t different, they’d be carbon copies of each other.”
Lambert smiled. “You were two peas in a pod.”
“Tooele’s sheriff goes to my dad’s church and Dad told her about it,” Libby said. “She sent an officer by to check on me.”
Lambert’s lips had formed a thin line. “I’m glad you’ve got people involved.”
Libby shrugged her shoulders. “Sheriff Huneke wasn’t very concerned. I told her about my tendency to sleepwalk, but she thought it could also be somebody trying to make up for ruining a surprise gift. She said she’d open a case since it’s officially considered breaking and entering.”
Lambert logged another entry in her notebook.
“She also suggested I get a security system installed.”
“That’s a good idea for any woman living alone, Libby. You’re very strong, but you can also never be too safe.”
“It’s hard to get too excited about stuff like this down in Tooele,” Libby said, feigning a smile. “The worst thing we ever get is underage drinking or graffiti on the old train station.”
“No matter. You should do it anyway.”
“Overall, as far as work goes, everything was going great until yesterday.” Libby sighed. “I was up for a promotion since the project was coming along so well and poof, just like that I get steamrolled.”
“Promotion?” Lambert scrunched her face and positioned her pen over the notepad. “Is it safe to assume this incident will have an effect on that?”
“Probably.” Libby spoke deliberately, as disturbing new thoughts pushed out the old. “I was targeted for the senior manager level, like my boss, and possibly slated to open an office in Butte. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Lambert pursed her lips while jotting down another note.
“I didn’t make those changes or deliver those drawings,” Libby said. “If they’d let me talk to the client, I could prove it.”
“The Ms. Olds you mentioned?”
Libby nodded. “She likes me for some reason, which I think is the only reason I still have a job. McCauley told me Marcia was concerned I’d be fired and he assured her I wouldn’t, but he forbade me from talking to her directly. He’s worried it could make a bad situation worse.”
“Interesting,” Lambert said.
Libby exhaled loudly. “I didn’t make up the puzzle piece in my credenza either. It’s in the car if you think actually touching and seeing it would help.”
Lambert’s lips melted into a warm smile. “It could have been in there for years without anyone noticing. You told me yourself you’re probably the twentieth person to use that desk over its lifetime and—”
“It fit in the puzzle.”
Lambert gulped and stared into space for a few seconds. “It sounds to me as though someone in your firm may be trying to take advantage of your situation, Libby. Were any of your co-workers at your birthday party?”
“Quite a few.”
“I strongly suspect someone from your firm is involved. Although it could simply be a misguided attempt at gift giving, I believe it’s more likely an effort to manipulate your circumstances for self gain.” Lambert stood, strolled around the windowless office as if searching for an exit, then stopped abruptly, and turned back toward Libby. “However, like everything else in your life, how you deal with it comes down to choice.”
Choice? Libby struggled to keep her eyes from rolling out of their sockets. Did she choose to see Melissa’s specter lingering at funerals and office buildings, or in passing cars and buses in recent weeks? Did her nose decide to imagine the subtle aroma of vanilla orchids occasionally drifting through her home’s ductwork? Or her recurring nightmare, starring a white clad specter whose identity was no longer a mystery?
Melissa was everywhere lately except in Libby’s bathroom mirror—the one place she should see her twin sister. Instead, the polished glass reflected the image of a young woman who was increasingly feeling like an imposter—a stranger cleverly disguised as Libby Meeker, but somehow different from who she’d always been.
Lambert’s lips tightened into a thin white line. “Let’s get back to your visions.”
Libby frowned.
“It’s not uncommon for twins to experience psychic connections.”
“Even when one of them is dead?’
“She’s still alive to you in many ways, Libby.”
“I did feel a special connection with Mel when she was alive.” Libby’s pulse quickened. “Sort of an ESP type of thing. But can those connections extend beyond the grave?”
“That’s not what I was trying to say. However, the spiritual world is as legitimate as the physical world, in my opinion. Another dimension, if you will. Most of us are more yoked to the material plane, but many claim one must only scratch the surface of our physical existence to find the spiritual side alive and well, lurking behind a very thin veil.” Lambert stood, circled the chair, and leaned on its back. “In any case, you’re definitely suffering from very high levels of stress. Is it safe to assume you still refuse to take the meds I prescribed a few years ago?”
Libby nodded as she gazed deeply into the aging doctor’s unflinching, steel blue eyes. “I’m not sure how to explain this to you, but I don’t think I’m making it all up in my head. I can tell the difference between experiences I’ve had in the past and what is happening now. This feels real. It feels as if I have unfinished business with my sister.”
“Regrets?” Lambert returned to the chair, crossed her legs at the ankles, and leaned forward.
“Some.” Libby shrugged. “She didn’t leave for the Navy on the best of terms, and dodged the issue when I saw her in Naples.”
“Your mother said there were some hard feelings, but didn’t elaborate.”
“I’m not sure what all happened myself, but she had a falling out with my parents and it kind of bled over to Aisha and me when we tried to defend them.”
“I attempted to probe into that very subject with your mother earlier this year, but she also avoided the subject. She seems to be very tight-lipped when it comes to family.”
Libby exhaled. “Isn’t family the real source of all this?”
“Granted, your issues are a lot like your mother’s, and…” Lambert paused and pointed her pencil at Libby. “Look, no two people’s psyches are exactly the same. Take Melissa, for example. Despite being your identical twin, her psychological makeup was quite different than yours. I don’t believe she was quite as mentally and emotionall
y strong as you. However, issues like yours can become more pronounced as a person gets older, as it did with Marilyn and Pearl. God rest their souls.”
Libby had never mentioned her eccentric grandmother as far as she could remember, and hearing the name startled her. “G-Ma?”
“I met your grandmother, Libby. Your mother introduced me to her when she married your dad, and I got to know her well in the early years of their marriage. Pearl was a wonderful person, at least until...” She paused, closed her eyes, and leaned back in the chair.
“Until?”
Lambert sat up straight in the chair and her body stiffened, as if buffeted by a blast of cold air. After a few seconds of silence, she said, “Did you know your grandmother delivered you and your sister?”
Libby arched back in her chair, letting her face ask the obvious question.
“I didn’t think so, but it’s high time.” Lambert clasped both hands in her lap and leaned forward. “The Tooele County Medical Center was much smaller then than it is now, and there was a major accident north of town the night you and Melissa were born. Pearl was an experienced midwife and volunteered to assist when the labor and delivery nurse on duty was called into the E.R. to save lives. Pearl actually handled the deliveries herself.”
“Why wasn’t I ever told any of this?”
Lambert drew in a deep breath. “Your mom was never happy about the whole episode for some reason. Neither one of them liked to talk about it.”
“Because?”
“All I know is that complications apparently came up that night that caused your mother to pass out from the pain and put both you and Melissa at serious risk. It’s my belief your mother blamed Pearl, at least in part. Your grandmother also seemed to take it hard, and I can only assume it was because it happened on her watch.”
“What type of complications?”
“I never got the whole story from your mom or grandmother, but it had something to do with yours and Melissa’s umbilical cords being tangled. It must have been quite a traumatic experience, because Pearl was never quite the same after that. I…” Lambert turned toward her office windows and then looked back at Libby.
“Did you ever see my grandmother professionally?”
Lambert shook her head. “I suggested it to your mother many times. It was very apparent in my dealings with your mother that Pearl was a big influence and that their issues were serious. Marilyn did force the matter once and your grandmother did come in, but she wasn’t a big fan of psychiatry. According to Pearl, there are four types of people when it comes to dealing with stress and anxiety. Some work their troubles out with a friend or bartender, others take it out on their fellow man, and some bury it deep inside until it festers. Then, of course, there are the people who see psychiatrists, but Pearl felt the results were pretty much the same across the board.”
Libby felt a weak smile crease her face. That sounded like G-Ma.
“In any case, a better understanding of your grandmother’s beliefs could be beneficial. As I said, she was very influential with Marilyn.”
Libby debated a deeper dive into her grandmother’s history but quickly decided against it. Enough insanity for one day. “That’s kind of what Aisha was thinking. I don’t know.”
“Approach it as you would if you were in the library tracing your genealogy, Libby—nothing but research. Not to mention it might give you a little more…”
“Closure?”
Lambert smiled.
“Aisha said the same thing.”
“Ms. Barry is wise beyond her years,” Lambert said. “Don’t ever underestimate it.”
Libby nodded and tried to smile. She was learning a lot about herself and those around her, alive and dead. About what lurked deep inside a person…in what many people called the soul.
11
Norm stood rigid at the end of Libby’s bed, his gray fur blending in with dim morning sun that pressed against the window panes.
Even though the light revealed nothing unusual to the naked eye, Libby sensed it too—a sound or vibration—just enough to disturb the atmosphere, just enough to interrupt disturbing dreams of tire swings and white-clad ghosts. Whatever the disturbance was, it existed somewhere outside the confines of her small bedroom, yet inside an old house that was once again making the noises houses made when someone or something was trying to be quiet. “Geeze,” she said aloud. “Whatever happened to boo?” That’s when it came to her. Maybe now was a good time to check off a box she’d been meaning to for quite a while.
Libby forced herself out of bed, tiptoed gingerly to the hallway outside her room, and then went down the hall with Norm growling at her heels. She stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs and clasped her open mouth with both hands.
The shadow of a person, but lacking a host, stood motionless at the foot of the stairs.
Her mind recoiled in horror, anxious to refute the image no matter how vividly her eyes confirmed it. The fear came in waves—first down her neck and back; then it saturated her entire being.
She stumbled back to her bedroom with Norm again at her heels, locked the door, and pulled the blanket over her head. The old dog crawled in with her, shaking like a leaf.
It took twenty minutes to calm down, and twenty more to convince herself the shadow was something other than a person. The house had been quiet since the episode, and Norm had long since lost interest and given in to sleep.
Libby considered calling the Tooele Police, but more attention was the last thing she needed, so she grabbed the baseball bat under her bed and tiptoed again to the top of the stairs. The landing at the bottom was devoid of shadows this time, and no new ones peeled away from the darkness on her way down the stairs.
She was almost as good as new after thirty minutes of hot coffee, and even more intent on checking off that box. She finished the rest of the coffee in one gulp, set the baseball bat on the table as she stood, grabbed a flashlight, and turned left at the foot of the stairs.
She knelt in front of the old breakfront at the opposite end of the stairs and opened one of the two small bottom doors. It was a much tighter fit than when she’d last tried, which was back before she had hips.
Libby was able to squeeze into the bottom part of the cabinet and had begun prying off the back panel when she stopped abruptly and tapped on the thin wood lightly three times. After a brief pause, she added two additional taps.
It took almost thirty seconds of silence before Libby let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The back panel came off easily, and she poked her head through the opening. When she clicked on the flashlight, the shaft of light illuminated a part of her past.
The space looked exactly as she remembered, the memory enhanced by two familiar princess sleeping bags—one rolled up like a pillow and the other spread out on the floor. She was about to climb in further to examine a large cardboard box tucked in the corner when a ringing caused her to jerk her head up and bang hard on the low plaster ceiling.
The doorbell rang three more times as Libby slowly backed her way out of the breakfront, followed by the bleat from a car horn before she could make it to the front door.
A familiar white sedan sat with its engine running in the driveway, and an even more familiar face stared out its windshield smiling and waving.
Shoot. Libby gestured through the picture window for Aisha to come inside, unlocked the front door, and trudged up the stairs. Minutes later, she bounded back down two steps at a time wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt, carrying scissors in one hand, and a new pair of wool socks in the other.
Aisha was leaning against the kitchen counter holding Norm while paging through a paperback featuring a scantily-clad young woman on the cover in the arms of a muscular man.
Libby sat down across from her at the kitchen table, carefully slid one blade of the scissors between the two socks, and snipped the thin plastic band holding them together.
“You are one ka-ray-zee woman, Meeker,” Aisha said, peeking
up from the book with a sly grin.
Libby began pulling on one of the socks. “My feet have been freezing lately and I can’t seem to find any of my warm socks.”
“You were literally running with scissors.”
Libby grinned. “You know I like to live on the edge.”
Aisha rolled her eyes. “What took so long to get to the door?”
“I was doing some research.”
“Excuse me?
“Something I’ve been meaning to do,” Libby said. “Let’s just say I had a box I needed to check off.”
Aisha crossed her arms. “You’re still not coming, are you?”
Libby focused on the second sock.
“You’ll wish you did.” Aisha pulled a bottle of orange juice out of the refrigerator. “Mind if I take some of this with me?”
“Good luck finding a glass. Everything that isn’t nailed down seems to be disappearing lately. I had to use the good china this morning just to have a cup of coffee.”
“You’ve been misplacing stuff your entire life. What makes now any different?”
Libby shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’ve been a little more hair-brained than usual lately.”
“Lately?”
Libby gave her the look. “I can’t believe you’re doing this, Barry.”
“I can’t believe you’re not. You’ll be thanking me later.”
“I’ll make a note of it.” Libby reached into her pantry, grabbed the lone mug on the shelf, and filled it with hot coffee.
“I read the synopsis.” Aisha held up the paperback. “Another knight in shining armor story?”
Libby shrugged. “It’s just escapism. Knights in shining armor exist only in romance novels and fairy tales.”
“Speaking of which…” Aisha crossed over to the table and tugged on Libby’s sleeve. “I recognize the sweatshirt. That handsome guy from the journalism school gave you that. How long has it been?”
Libby folded her thumb into her palm and held up four fingers.
“Four years? That wannabe writer was the last man you dated?”
“Only seems like three and a half.” Libby forced a sheepish grin.