Echoes of the Past (12 page)

The water, now ice cold, poured over her body,
freezing her. She fought to breathe. Terrified, unable to feel the wall, she
lost her balance and plummeted out of the tub and onto the floor, tearing the
shower curtain from the rod and striking her head against the toilet seat.
Everything went black.

* * * *

Tony sat up in
bed. He coughed until he gagged. He swung his feet over the side, placing both
feet flat on the floor in an attempt to anchor himself in the here and now. He
shivered violently. His heart hammered in his chest, its throbbing so loud he
could hear it.

Holy crap! What the hell just happened?

Last night,
he’d dreamed of being chased, he’d even scratched his face, but tonight…He’d
never had a dream like this. His heart still hadn’t settled, and he struggled
to breathe. He covered his face with trembling hands and slowly lowered them.
He convulsed with cold. Carefully he stood, not sure his legs would support
him, and went into the bathroom.

He grabbed the
robe on the back of the door and put it on. He turned on the light and stared
at the face in the mirror—his and yet not his. He looked haunted. His hair was
disheveled, and his face was pale against the beard growing there. His eyes were
shadowed.

He’d recognized
her at the onset. She’d been dressed the way she had been in his kitchen, but
she hadn’t had her blanket. He’d seen her enter the water and helplessly
watched as she was swept toward the lip and eventually down the rocky
embankment to the waters below. There was no way she or anybody could have
survived the fall. He’d tried to save her. He’d thrown himself into the water
to swim to her, but hands, hands like the ones grabbing at him the day he’d
fallen out of the canoe, had held him in place, and then they’d pulled him
under the water, and he’d gone down into blackness. Despite the robe, he
continued to shiver as if the cold he felt penetrated his soul. Would he ever
feel warm again?

What could have
caused such a vicious dream? Obviously, Joseph’s story had affected him deeply.
The guilt he felt about Aaron and Lindsay probably came into play too. His
imagination had pretty much recreated the legend, with a few twists entirely
his own. Joseph had to be wrong about The Three Sisters releasing him years
ago. As a scientist, he knew what he’d felt against his legs
had
been Eurasian
Watermilfoil
or Curly-leaf pondweed—it
was all over the lake. Tony looked at the alarm clock. Just after two—again.
Enough was enough. Once they determined the cause of death for Lindsay and
Aaron, and they found the source of the poisonous chemicals in the water, he’d
go back to Toronto and apply for his sabbatical. He might give up research and
go to work for a company where he’d never be responsible for the lives of
others again.

He went down
stairs and got a bottle of water. He opened the curtains he’d closed earlier. The
moon was hidden behind clouds, and the lake was a void in the blackness. He
couldn’t even see the fog on it now. There was no hint of a breeze. The water
was calm. Just as he was about to turn away, a flash of lights out toward the
center of the lake drew his attention. He watched what seemed to be headlights
moving across the water. He blinked his eyes, and they were gone.

I’m seeing things. There’s probably a hill
along the road over there. Now the leaves are gone, it almost looked as if they
were riding on the water.
Weird.
He shuddered as
that eerie feeling that had been with him earlier returned. He closed the
curtain, finished his water, and went back upstairs to bed.

Chapter Six

Michelle awoke cold and shivering in the rain. She
was lying on the pavement, beside a red pool.
Blood?
What the hell happened?

She pushed herself up and the room came into
focus—not outside, inside. The rain was coming from the shower head whose
curtain, now cold and stiff, wrapped itself around her naked torso and legs.
Blood trickled down the side of her face. She lifted her hand and touched the
edge of her forehead.

“Ouch!”

Her head throbbed, and she felt nauseous. She used
the toilet to leverage herself upright and stood. She leaned forward, careful
to keep her face out of the stream of water and turned off the taps.
Shuddering, she pulled the wet plastic away from her, tossed it into the tub,
and grabbed the towel from the bar, drying herself quickly before donning the
fleece robe there. Somewhat warmer, but still trembling, she stared into the
vanity mirror to view the damage. The gash at her hairline still seeped blood. Why
did head wounds have to bleed so much?

Memories of her struggle in the shower flooded her.
Quickly, she spewed the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Absolutely
humiliated to realize the depths to which she’d sunk, she straightened, opened
the medicine cabinet, and took out the first aid kit, an antacid, and a mild
analgesic. She quickly attended to the cut on her forehead, grateful it didn’t need
stitches. How humiliating would that be?

She brushed her teeth, dried her hair, packed up
her cosmetic case, and wiped down the mess in the bathroom with towels and the
bath mat. She carried the wet items into the laundry room and tossed them into
the dryer. She returned to the bathroom, took the offending shower curtain,
hooks and all, and carried it into the kitchen where she shoved it into a large,
plastic garbage bag. She’d order shower doors and have them installed as soon
as possible. Still shivering, she made her way back to the bedroom, donned the
warmest pajamas she could find, and crawled into bed. The cut continued to
ooze. It would no doubt stain the pillow by morning—something else she’d have
to replace. Exhausted, she closed her eyes. The fear she might have a
concussion surfaced briefly, but she was too tired and upset to care.

* * * *

Michelle drove her black Camaro along Highway 33,
well aware she procrastinated. She’d used her own car today instead of one of
the coroner’s office vehicles. Her baby needed a good run, and this jaunt to
the island would do the trick. Despite Audra’s warnings about rain, she’d hoped
for nice weather. While the sunroof remained closed, driving the car she’d
always wanted made her feel better and, after last night, she needed an
emotional boost. When she was behind the wheel, she was in control. As she’d
moved eastward, the rain had intensified. Road conditions were atrocious. It
had taken over four hours and two detours to get here, and she still hadn’t
reached her destination.

She’d gotten off the 401 at Trenton, not the most
efficient way to get to
Picton
. She enjoyed driving
the curvier secondary roads, mindful to keep her eye on the speedometer, and
wasn’t ready for the fun part of her day to end. Who knew what was waiting for
her? She didn’t want her lead foot getting her into trouble—she’d probably have
enough of that as it was. Whatever was going to happen to her in the next few
days would either make her or break her. She’d never doubted herself or her
abilities before, but Audra’s words echoed in her mind.
Don’t trust your senses, trust your heart.
What she did, what she’d
done these past four-plus years, depended on her senses—a scientist’s litany of
facts and figures, and that sixth sense that let the dead tell her the truth.
How was she going to do her job if she couldn’t rely on those? Gut feeling
wasn’t listening to your heart, was it?

Thank God the side bangs that hairdresser in
Thunder Bay had talked her into hid the lump, bruise, and small cut on her
forehead.
It could have been worse. I
could have a shiner to go with the bruise.
A black eye would have been hard
to explain. The last thing she wanted to do was expound on her fight with the
shower curtain. Just thinking she’d almost been done in by the toilet rattled
her enough. People died from similar accidents. Before she’d specialized in
drowning, she’d seen too many people dead because of household falls. More
accidents happened in the bathroom than in any other room in the house. She
reached up and touched the tender spot on her forehead and sighed.

It had been a shock when she’d awakened at seven
when the alarm went off. Other than the bump on her head, she’d felt great,
more rested than she had in months. Go figure! Maybe she should crack her head
open more often. She’d finished her packing, had taken the paperwork to the
office for filing, and had left for
Picton
by eight
o’clock. Unfortunately, the driving had been horrendous, and whatever good
feelings she’d had earlier had evaporated.

Come hell or high water, when this was over, she
would go and see a psychiatrist before she killed herself. While she prayed
Audra was right and there’d be no more nightmares, her water phobia had to be
dealt with once and for all.

The highway and streets of Prince Edward County
were quiet. She drove through several small communities including Wellington
and Bloomfield. Here and there, parts of the terrain seemed eerily familiar,
but Ontario wasn’t that different a place, and one part of the province could
easily resemble another. She saw the signs pointing to Sandbanks Provincial
Park, a popular camping place. She liked to go on holidays, but she preferred a
five-star hotel to a tent and sleeping bag.
Oh
well,
to each his own
.
Tourism, farming, and
wineries accounted for the islands economic productivity. Judging from the size
of some of the houses she’d seen, the island hadn’t suffered from the recent
economic downturn. Most likely, some of the permanent residents were retirees,
with healthy vested pensions, who’d come to live here because of the island’s
relatively mild winter climate. She and Tasha should come back sometime and
take the wine tour they’d discussed yesterday—had it only been yesterday?

Michelle pulled her car into a parking space
across the street from Shire Hall,
Picton’s
century-old municipal building in which all the county’s services were based. She
stared at the building across from her, reluctantly acknowledging the time had
come to get to work. She opened the blue folder on the seat beside her and
reread the mayor’s bio. Colin had said the man had been annoyed about the
delay. Well, there wasn’t much she could do about it now, and it wasn’t likely
going to change. She hadn’t seen the bodies yet, but the deaths were
suspicious. How could they not be?

She’d stopped for coffee at a service center, not
her favorite beverage, but tea in a paper cup—even steeped tea, just didn’t cut
it. She’d made notes on her tablet of things she thought seemed odd about the
case. Obviously the fact they’d been found so soon posed one question, the
bundled bodies another, but after last night’s dream, the missing shoe nagged
at her. She’d ask the mayor about the professor and the research project too.
She looked closely at the photo again. The man wasn’t unattractive, and that
sense of déjà vu she’d experienced yesterday was as strong as ever. She closed
the file.

The mayor had his office on the second floor of
the municipal building. The sooner she met with him, the sooner she could get
on with the rest of the job.

You just
want to see the professor,
her inner voice prodded.

A momentary twinge of confusion gripped her. Both
men attracted her. How would she know which one was which?
Listen to your heart.
Warmth filled as she remembered her erotic
dreams. Would making love to the real man be even better than to the dream one?

The last thing Michelle wanted to do was hang around
here all day playing “what if.” Other than the muffin she’d had at the service
center, she hadn’t eaten this morning, and she was hungry. The cut on her
forehead ached more than it had. It was probably time for another analgesic.

She got out of the car, locked it, and pulled up
the hood on her hunter-green, water-resistant jacket. She’d decided to wear her
waterproof shoe-boots as well. Her new skinny jeans might get wet, but it
couldn’t be helped. The rain, now an annoying cold mist, continued as it had
all morning. She looked at her watch. She was well over an hour later than
she’d expected to be. She focused her attention on the red brick building with
its Doric columned, small, white portico. Shrubs and a black wrought iron fence,
designed to keep people off the grass, fronted the building. With the grass
covered in wet maple leaves, it didn’t look any different than a hundred
similar structures she’d been forced to enter in the past. She crossed the
street and walked up the five steps to the white-painted veranda.

She cursed when she saw the small sign posted on
the door.
Please use side door
, and
an arrow pointing to the right. She retraced her steps and followed the
sidewalk leading to the back of the structure. The wind came up suddenly,
bending the branches of the maple tree and blowing her hood off, allowing an
unexpected downpour of rain to soak her face and hair. When it rains, it pours.
The adage had never seemed truer.

As she pulled the hood back into place, she
realized the water in her face hadn’t caused the panic it normally did. Had the
events of last night put an end to that too? It would certainly be nice if they
had. She held the hood in place and continued along the walkway to the elusive
side door.
Why do buildings like these
have front doors if they’re always locked?

The side door was almost at the back end of the
building, and when she pulled on the handle, it didn’t budge.

Great!
The rain was coming down harder, and here she was locked out, without even the
benefit of an overhang to protect her. She pressed the bell and
waited,
none too patiently, for someone to answer. She was
cold, wet, her head throbbed, her stomach grumbled, and she was tired. Not a
good combination.