Listen to the Shadows (8 page)

Her hand went automatically to the bandage above her eye. “No. A slight laceration. The doctor says it probably won’t even leave a scar.”

He nodded, beginning to fish into his coat pockets for, Katie knew, his cigarettes. He found them and lit one while Katie went to fetch his partially filled ashtray from the square oak table set against the wall facing the fireplace. She grimaced at its scarred surface strewn with art magazines, pages of sketches and a large peanut butter jar containing her brushes. Her aunt would have been dismayed at her niece’s housekeeping, or lack thereof. Katie dumped the contents of the ashtray into the fireplace and handed it to Jason, who had settled himself in her chair in front of the fire. She pulled up another to join him.

“Sorry I didn’t visit you in the hospital,” he said, “But you know what a ghastly effect they have on me.”

She smiled. “Yeah. On me too. I didn’t have a whole lot of choice.”

“No, you didn’t, did you, dear?” He patted her hand resting on the arm of the chair, then combed his tangled hair with his fingers. “My God, it’s wild out there. Did I bring the right clothes to the hospital?”

“Everything was fine,” she said, stifling a giggle. She’d nearly forgotten how Jason’s mind flittered from one thing to another with barely a pause. She found it endearing, but sometimes it was hard to keep up. Katie suddenly remembered she’d left Jason’s flowers on the front landing, along with everything else. “There probably won’t be a flower left in the vase,” she called after him as he hurried to bring them inside.

Miraculously, most had survived. Jason dropped the overnight case at her feet, set the basket of fruit and the flowers on the table, having to clear a place, then flopped down on the chair. “Well, what’s new, darling?” he blurted. “Silly question. We do have the damnedest conversations, don’t we? My God, Katie, I’m exhausted.”

She laughed. “No wonder. And why don’t you pull your chair up a little closer to the fire, Jason? You still look half frozen to me. Actually, now that you mention it,” she said, going through the small packet of get-well cards in her purse. She found the one she was looking for, and handed it to Jason. “From Allen. What do you think?” It was a particularly pretty card, long and narrow with a single rose on the front, and inside a note that said simply that he was sorry about her accident, and hoped she would feel better soon. Innocent enough on the surface. And thoughtful. Yet she didn’t have a good feeling about it.

Jason was studying the card, frowning. “Humph. He’s not starting up again, is he?”

“I hope not,” Katie said, an understatement.

“It’s been some time since you heard from him.”

“Almost two years.” Katie slipped the card back into her purse wondering why she didn’t just tear it up. Allen Parker was a policeman, a Burt Reynolds lookalike, and the last man with whom she’d had a brief involvement, one that ended with her wishing to God she’d never laid eyes on him. Attracted by his good looks and sense of fun, she’d liked him well enough in the beginning. But it wasn’t long before another side of Allan, one not so pleasant, began to assert itself. He was possessive to the extreme, bullying, questioning her every move, criticizing her friends, accusing her of sneaking around behind his back. Ironically, it was Allen, she found out later, who was doing the sneaking around. When she broke it off, he became enraged. Though not at first. At first came his pleas and promises, the blaming of his behavior on job stress, on booze. When none of it worked, he grew obsessed with getting her back. That was when the harassment began. And Katie’s fears for her safety.

Jason had been there for her through it all. She didn’t know what she would have done without him.

The last she’d heard, Allen had been transferred to Los Angeles—at his own request. But the card had a Belleville postmark.

“Forget about it,” Jason advised. “There’s probably nothing ominous about it. The guy just had a monstrous ego; he couldn’t handle your rejecting him. Maybe the card is just his way of apologizing for being such an ass.”

“Maybe.”

“The paper said you ran into a telephone pole,” Jason said, changing the subject. “Seemed off to me, rain or not. You’re usually such a careful driver, Katie.”

She slid her hand along the velvet chair arm. “It’s a strange story, Jason. And of course I’ll tell you everything. But not just now, okay?”

He looked at her for a long moment, arching one blond eyebrow in his long, sensitive face—an artist’s face. “Sure, love. Tactless of me to bring it up. You must be absolutely destroyed.”

“Not absolutely,” she said, smiling. “Anyway, I feel much better now that you’re here. How’s Peter?” Peter Machum was Jason’s live-In lover, had been for ten years now. He was younger than Jason, maybe thirty, dark-haired and slim. Unlike Jason, there was no hint of effeminacy about him, and also unlike Jason, he was shy and withdrawn. Jason said Peter became animated in the courtroom—that he was a fine lawyer.

“He’s in New York this week,” Jason said. “A lawyer’s convention.”

“Lonely?”

He shrugged and tapped the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray.

“Not really. I think short separations are good for both of us.”

Jason had been open about his gayness from the beginning, letting Katie know that he wanted only her friendship. Well, he certainly had that. She respected and admired him. Not only because he was, in her opinion, the most talented student in the art class they both attended weekly, but because he was one of the most sensitive and gentle human beings she had ever known. He was the brother she’d never had; a kindred spirit.

Remembering that even spirits occasionally need sustenance, she rose from her chair. “I’ll get your tea. I nearly forgot. Did I miss anything important at class?”

“You come back here and sit down,” he commanded. “I have something here much more interesting than tea.” He surprised her then by producing a bottle of Mateus from beneath his bulky sweater. “You’re certainly not to wait on anybody today.” His eyes danced. “You are going to join me, of course.”

Katie sat back down. “Well, maybe just a drop.”

Jason brought two wine glasses from the cabinet in the parlor, and was intently polishing them with a paper napkin. “There was one interesting chap who came and gave a talk. He brought along some of his own work, abstracts, mostly. Quite good, too. It seems the fellow is a direct descendant of Renoir.” Handing Katie her glass brimming with wine, he said, “Careful love, don’t spill it. Anyway, Raymond, in his usual good form, proceeded to insult him.”

“Oh no.” Raymond Losier seemed to Katie to be pursuing a career in meanness rather than painting. “What did he say?”

“Told him that talent obviously didn’t run in the family.”

“Ouch.” Katie grinned in spite of herself. “Well, I’m sorry I missed his talk.”

She sipped her wine. “Will he be coming back?”

“Would you? Actually, he did promise a return visit. A good sort.” Frowning, he waved his cigarette impatiently at the air. “But I’m darned if I can remember when. You know how I am with dates, Katie. I don’t even know what today is.”

She grinned. “Monday. October 31st.”

“There, you see. I even saw a few ghosts and goblins on my way out here, and it completely left my mind.” He gave his cigarette a hateful look and tossed it into the fireplace. “I really ought to quit these disgusting things,” he said, as he so often did. “Anyway, the date will be on the bulletin board. But that’s not the most important matter at hand as far as you’re concerned.”

“Oh?”

“The main reason I came out here tonight, aside from wanting to see with my own eyes how you were, is that I don’t want you to miss placing an entry in the state competition. Especially since your show is garnering some nice reviews. The time is right, dear. Carpe diem.”

Seize the day. “You’re right, of course. Oh, Jason, I’d completely forgotten about the competition with all that’s happened…”

“I’m not surprised. But the prize is five thousand dollars, to say little of the nice tidy feather in your cap if you were to win. Good God, an honorable mention alone would be well worth the effort. But you’ve only got until the end of the week.”

“Thank you, Jason. You really are sweet to come all the way out here to remind me.” She gestured to the finished painting propped on her easel. “Actually, I had considered entering my painting of the full moon on the lake. What do you think?”

“You’re fishing, dear,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “You know very well I’m mad about it.” Setting his glass on the floor, he rose and wandered over to the painting. Hands clasped behind his back, he cocked his head. “Oh, yes. Yes. You’ve managed to capture all the beauty of the scene, certainly. But there’s more. The painting evokes a powerful feeling of longing—a deep, collective human longing that’s somehow primal and ancient. Yet at the same time the thing scares the hell out of me. I expect to see at least one self-respecting werewolf rising out of the mist.”

Katie laughed, and realized how often she had laughed since Jason’s arrival. “You’re good for me,” she said softly.

He smiled at her.

“Speaking of lawyer’s conventions…”

His eyebrows shot up. “Were we?”

“No, but I wanted to tell you—Jason, I met someone.”

“Well, this is news.” His interest peaked, he refilled both their glasses. “And about time, I should think.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. I want your advice.”

“This has something to do with lawyer’s conventions?” He was unconsciously pulling another cigarette from the pack. “No, but the person I’m talking about is a lawyer. He just recently passed his bar exam, in fact.” She went on to tell him about Drake, and about her own confusing feelings toward him “Let me show you what he brought to the hospital.” Leaving her chair, Katie knelt and opened the case and, one by one, displayed each of Drake’s extravagant gifts to her while Jason looked on in silent astonishment. “I—I tried to give them back,” she said feebly. “On the night he was to take me to his graduation dinner—the same night I had the accident—his father suffered a stroke. At the suggestion of the doctors here, Drake took him to the clinic in Boston. When he went back to visit him, he uh…“ She gestured to the open case. “… did a little shopping.”

Jason blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. “I’ll say.”

“His father is home now, recuperating, and I just didn’t have the heart to insist that Drake drive all the way back to Boston just to return these gifts. It’s a three hundred mile trip.”

There was a mischievous grin on Jason’s face. “He’s got great taste, I’ll have to say that for him. It’s obvious the man has a real thing for you, Katie, m ’dear. He spent a bundle.”

Sighing, Katie shut the case. “I know.”

“But you don’t feel good about keeping these things.”

She shook her head, returning to sit down. She felt weary. Jason flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the fireplace, and made a careful pyramid of his long fingers, studied them. “Then give them back, regardless of the inconvenience to the gentleman. It was presumptuous of him to buy them, of course. They’ve become a weight, haven’t they, love?”

“You ever hear of a cement nightgown?”

He grinned. “Give them back, Katie. The sooner, the better.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. You always seem to know intuitively what’s best for me.”

“You already knew what was best. You just wanted confirmation.”

He was right, of course. She was such a child sometimes.

“Do you feel up to talking about the accident now? It might help.” He refilled her glass, which she hadn’t realized was empty. The combination of the wine and the warm fire were making her drowsy. “You don’t have to, of course, if you…”

Again, he was right. She did need to talk about the accident. She knew the moment Jason left and she was alone, the eyes would come back to haunt her. As well as the vision of the boy. She couldn’t really call it a dream, could she? Could she?

“Jason,” she began tentatively, “would you answer me truthfully about something? I mean, well, don’t worry about my feelings.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Yes. It is.”

His expression at once grew thoughtful, concerned. He settled back in the chair. “All right. Shoot.”

“Jason, do you think—I’m the sort of person who is easily given to hysterical imaginings—hallucinations?”

“Dear girl,” he said, looking relieved at the easy question. “I don’t know a single soul with their feet more firmly planted on the earth than you.” He allowed himself a small grin. “Actually, some of my other, less well grounded friends, shall we say, could take lessons.” He leaned forward in the chair. “Maybe you better tell me what this is all about.”

She did, choosing not to meet his eyes until she’d finished her story. When she did look up, he was staring at her.

“Well, am I crazy?”

“Of course you’re not crazy, love,” he replied, just a fraction too quickly. “My God, you’ve been through a ghastly experience. Perhaps you just—I don’t know. It was raining torrents, and dark. Could it have…”

“I’ve heard all the theories, Jason,” she cut in wearily. “I tried to find the one that made sense. But, no, I know what I saw in that rearview mirror. Eyes dead eyes. And they were staring straight at me.”