Ghost Light (43 page)

5

W
ith a sharp intake of breath, Krissy woke up and found herself sitting bolt upright in bed with her pillow clutched tightly against her heaving chest. Her eyes were wide open and staring at the surrounding darkness, which seemed to vibrate with a solid, black intensity. In the corner of her eye, she thought she caught a glimpse of a fading glow of blue light, but when she turned to look at it, it was immediately swallowed by the pulsating black of the night.

The dream—whatever it had been—had disappeared, dissolving in the shattering instant between sleep and wakefulness. Sobbing deeply, but telling herself that she couldn’t cry out loud because she didn’t want to disturb Billy or Aunt Cindy, Krissy covered her face with her pillow and muffled the long, agonized wail that was resonating deep inside her.

She pressed her hands so hard against her eyes that vibrant red and yellow light patterns began to spiral across her vision. Whimpering softly, like a wounded animal, she searched her memory for a trace… just the tiniest trace of what her dream had been about, but it was gone like dry sand, blown away by the wind. All she knew, as she sat there shivering and lonely in the pressing darkness, was that the dream had left her with a cold, gnawing tension deep inside her stomach. She sensed immediate danger, but there was also something else… something that she didn’t like to think about because of the hollow, aching feeling it gave her.

She started to cry when she thought about how much she missed her mother.

Sobbing in the darkness, she wished to God that her mother could be here with her right now so she could cry out all of the hurt and fear and sadness that was bubbling up inside her. Her anguished sobs filled the darkness for more than an hour before she finally drifted off to a fitful sleep.

Showdown

“O
ur top story this morning. Late yesterday evening, Portland police discovered a Portland woman dead in her Coyne Street apartment, apparently the victim of foul play.”

Cindy was in the kitchen, scrambling eggs for breakfast while she listened to the morning news report on the TV, which was on in the living room. As soon-as she heard the words “Coyne Street,” she let out a long gasp and dropped the whisk she was using onto the floor. Moving like a stiff-legged zombie, she walked into the living room, her eyes wide open, unblinking. She stared at the news reporter’s fresh-scrubbed face until his features began to blur together. His smiling, chipper attitude seemed to be in total contradiction to the words he was saying.

“Responding to a tip from an anonymous caller yesterday afternoon, Portland police went to an apartment on Coyne Street, where they found the body of Alice Crowther. The young woman appears to have been strangled and then was left for dead inside her bedroom closet. State and local officials are investigating the case, but so far Portland Police Chief Greg Mitchell says there is no apparent motive, and that there are few leads. He does ask if the individual who initially reported the incident to police yesterday afternoon has more information, would she please step forward. We’ll keep you up to date on this story as it develops.”

She’s dead… sweet Jesus, Alice is DEAD!… just like Debbie!
was Cindy’s first thought.

For several heart-pounding seconds she just stood there, frozen, unable even to take a breath, much less begin to process what she had just heard. The newscaster had started in on a report concerning a mill strike in the northern part of the state, but Cindy could barely hear him above the roaring sounds that filled her ears and the voice that was screaming inside her mind.

Alice is dead!… oh, dear God in heaven… Alice is DEAD!

The thought was like a spike driving deep into the center of her brain. And as the true import of what she had just heard began to register in her mind, she was filled with another, even more terrifying thought.

When we were at the apartment yesterday… when I had that weird feeling outside the apartment that something was wrong, I didn’t know it… I had no way of knowing, but she was probably already dead! She was up there, dead, and if I had gone upstairs, I might have been the one to find her… But now… how can she be dead?… No, NO!… She can’t be… DEAD!

Her body felt suddenly leaden and numb. She was hardly aware of the hot tears that were streaming from her eyes. Burning, stabbing pains lanced her chest every time she took a sip of breath. Every muscle in her body was tensed and trembling as the idea slowly began to worm its way into her mind.

Alice—the one and only friend I’ve made since I moved here!… How can something like this happen? How can she be snatched away from me like this, in an instant, and I wasn’t even aware of it!… Oh, God, was there anything I could have done to help her, to stop this from happening?

But right now, even the fact that Alice was dead—
It had to be true; the newscaster just said it!
—was too crazy, too impossible for her to grasp! Any coherent thoughts were swept away by a confusing rush of sadness and terror that struck the very core of her soul. She closed her eyes, almost collapsing as she stared at the internal darkness and wished that it would simply sweep her up, take her away forever from the loneliness and hurt she was feeling.

But then… somehow, the thought of her sister’s two kids sleeping upstairs invaded her consciousness, drawing her back to awareness. She was instantly flooded with a near-frantic fear for their safety.

What if it was him?

The thought tore like a bullet through the blinding swirl of her emotions.

Somehow, she knew that it
had
to be him, the man who had been hanging around outside the apartment the man in the white van who had tried to pick up Krissy and who had followed her out to Fort Williams that day.

Jesus, he must have done this to Alice!

And what if, all along, he wasn’t even after Alice?
, Cindy thought with a mounting rush of panic.
What if he was looking for us?… looking for the kids?

Staggered by the idea, Cindy let out a roaring gasp and had to grab onto a chair back to keep from falling down.

But who is he? Who in the name of Christ is he?

“Hey, kids!” she suddenly shouted, so loud that it hurt her throat. She wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands as she directed her voice up the stairway. “Hey! Come on! Both of you! Wake up! We have to get going!”

Taking the steps two at a time, she raced up the stairs to the bedroom and started alternately shaking both Billy and Krissy by the shoulders.

“Come on! Come on! Wake up! Something’s—”

She almost told them then that Alice had been killed, but she stopped herself and, clutched with a panicky, frantic feeling, shook them all the harder.

“Come
on!
”

Mumbling a low, groaning complaint, Billy rolled away from her and buried his head under his pillow. Krissy sat up, rubbed her eyes and looked up at Cindy with a dazed, frightened expression.

“I’m not kidding,” Cindy said, trying her best to keep the rising edge of panic out of her voice. “We can’t stay here anymore. We have to get going.”

“Wha—? Where?” Billy asked. His voice was barely audible from underneath the pillow. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter,” Cindy said shakily, wanting nothing more than to collapse onto the floor and cry, “but we’ve got to pack the car and get going.
Now!
”

Billy shifted the pillow to one side and opened one eye to look at her. Frowning, he said, “What the heck? Why are you in such a panic?”

“I … I’ll tell you later,” Cindy said sharply, turning away so he wouldn’t see that she’d been crying. “For now, just get your butt out of bed and get dressed. Pack up all your stuff and hurry. Well have breakfast on the road. Come on,
hurry
!”

Not waiting to see if either of them got moving, she raced into her bedroom and, still sobbing, hurriedly threw all of her clothes and toiletries into her suitcase. Her hands were trembling and slick with sweat, and she kept dropping things, but she didn’t care as she crammed the suitcase full of rumpled clothes and then sat on top of it to latch it shut. Seconds later, she was pushing it across the bedroom floor toward the stairs.

“Come on, kids, I
mean
it! You’ve got to get moving,” she shouted when she saw that both kids were still in bed, staring at her in amazement and looking stunned and surprised. When Billy finally tossed aside the bed covers and stood up, she picked up the suitcase and started down the stairs. The heavy suitcase bounced off each step on the way down, sounding like steady hammer blows. As she made her way through the kitchen, heading toward the front door, she noticed the bowl she had been using to mix the eggs and paused, wondering how crazy she must be to overreact like this.

Christ, this whole thing is absolutely insane! How can this be happening?

As terrible, as eerily unreal as it now seemed that Alice had been killed—and there had been no mistake about that; she had heard the news report—why in Heaven’s name did she think it affected her so much?

Why was she freaking out like this?

Why couldn’t she take the time to fix them all a good breakfast before they took off?

As much as she felt impelled to contact the police about what had happened to Alice, she knew she couldn’t. No doubt as soon as they began investigating, they’d discover that the adjacent apartment was now empty, and—
damnit!
—she had rented it under her own name, not an assumed one, so it wouldn’t be long before they’d be looking for her.

If her name was already on any wanted posters for kidnapping, this would only add to the list: Wanted for questioning concerning a recent murder.

Jesus! What should she do? Where could she go?

She wasn’t sure. All she felt was an urgency to get moving—and fast! Once they were packed up and on the road, she and the kids could stop and buy whatever food they wanted later.

Feeling limp and already fatigued from the unbearable tension, she unlocked the camp door and pushed it open, blocking it with her hip as she slid the suitcase out onto the front steps. The icy bite of the morning air sent a shiver through her, but that was nothing compared to the jolting shock she felt when she caught a glimpse of something in the corner of her eye and looked up to see the arrow that was sticking out of the side of the house, about six inches above the door frame.

What in the name of Christ?
she wondered.
How the hell did that get here? Was that what they had heard, hitting the side of the camp last night?

Raising her arms protectively, she scanned the small front yard and looked cautiously around the side of the camp down toward the lake. The long, uncut summer grass and weeds were silvery with dew and looked undisturbed. The water looked like a flat, pewter mirror, and small ripples of waves gently lapped the sandy beach. A rich, earthy smell filled the chilly air, and her breath sent out a steaming plume of moisture as she panted from nervousness and the exertion of carrying the suitcase downstairs. She jumped and let out a piercing squeal when, from somewhere off in the woods, a blue jay suddenly squawked. Shifting her gaze up toward the trees at the top of the crest by the road, she at first thought she was imagining things when she saw what looked like a vaguely human shape, a man, standing in front of one of the large pine trees at the top of the crest.

What the hell?
she thought, wondering if her nerves were wound up so tight she’d see monsters in every shadow.

The shape was nothing more than an indistinct blur of dark gray against the misty gray backdrop of the forest. He appeared to be nothing more than an illusion, a fabrication of the diffused light and the twisting tangle of branches and trees that surrounded him, but as her eyes focused more clearly on the figure, she saw that it was indeed a man. He was wearing a camouflage hunting jacket and had a wide-brimmed camouflage hat pulled down low, shielding his eyes. He was leaning on something which, at first she thought was a walking stick, but in the space of a heartbeat, realized was an elaborate hunting bow with pulleys and a quiver full of arrows stuck to one side.

Sweet Jesus, is he really there?
she wondered as a wave of numbing panic swept over her.

She wanted to call out to him, but no matter how much she licked her lips and tried to form words the only sound that would escape her dry throat was a high, strangled whimper.

Still not quite able to believe that he was really there, Cindy straightened up, locking eyes with the man. His cold, pitiless stare bore into her, nailing her where she stood so she felt like a deer, paralyzed by fright into immobility. She desperately wanted to say something, to ask him if this was his arrow that was stuck into the side of the camp. If it was, she wanted to let him know in no uncertain terms that, hunting season or not, people lived out here and he should be more careful where he shot, but words failed. Her throat felt constricted as if a thick, knotted rope was strangling her.

Slowly and deliberately, the man took a few steps forward, shifting silently toward her. Cindy’s impression that he wasn’t even real became all the stronger, but her surprise and anger gradually blended into a cold, rising terror when she saw him raise his bow, take an arrow from the quiver, and draw it back to his ear as he took steady aim straight at her.

Cindy’s mind was suddenly ablaze with panic as she tried to think what to do next.

Is this man crazy? Does he really intend to shoot at me? What the hell is going on? Who the fuck is he?

Forcing chilled air into her lungs, she cleared her throat and said in a high, trembling voice, “What the—what the
hell
do you think you’re doing?”

Without a word, the man started down the slope. The closer he got, the more substance he took on until he was terrifyingly real. His footsteps made squishy, sliding sounds on the damp leaves that carpeted the sloping forest floor.

“Good morning,” he said, almost cheerfully, his deep voice reverberating like rolling thunder in the still morning air. He sounded almost friendly, but the whole time, he kept the arrow pointed straight at Cindy.

The icy ball of fear that had formed in Cindy’s stomach spread out frigid tendrils to every nerve and muscle in her body. Her legs felt like they were going to fold up on her.

This is insane! This can’t be happening!
she thought, but when she tried to speak all she could do was stammer senselessly.

The man made his way down the slope until he came to the edge of the driveway; then he stopped. Cocking his head to one side so he could sight along the arrow, he steadied his aim and then, in between heartbeats, drew back and let the arrow fly.

Cindy let out a piercing scream that echoed in the morning stillness as she covered her face with her hands and dropped quickly to her knees. The arrow whisked through the air and stuck with a reverberating hum into the side of the camp mere inches from where her head had been.