Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (87 page)

“You got it,” I said.

I expected the rain to turn to snow before we reached Government Camp but it never happened. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it was warm for December. I told David about Erin’s place.

“Next time I’m totally staying with her,” he said. “I was stuck in a grungy dank, mold infested basement all night. Barry and Cliff are fun to hang with, but I am definitely staying with Erin next time.”

“Yeah, girl lives in style,” Paloma said.

“So what did you get me for Christmas, Abby Craig?” David said after a while. “Wait, don’t answer that. I do love surprises. Did you find something for Kate?”

“I went with a traditional plaid scarf.”

“Can’t go wrong with the original Burberry. She’ll love it. Sista Kate is such the fashion diva.”

***

“David, look out!” I shouted.

It was just past 10 and we were on the outskirts of town. The rain had finally turned into an icy mix. There was hardly any traffic.

Suddenly I saw her. Standing in the middle of the road with her back toward us. We were going to hit her.

David hit the brakes, the sound of rubber on the pavement loud in my ears. I lunged forward toward Paloma’s seat, the belt cutting across my chest and neck as the car slid sideways into the oncoming lane. David did more steering and less braking, righting the car and barely missing a truck. Eventually, we came to a full stop by the side of the road.

“Jesus Christ, Abby Craig!” he yelled breathlessly. “What was that?”

“Yeah,” Paloma said. “
Hija de la chingada
. Did you see something?”

David threw his head back on the seat, bringing his hand up to his chest.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!” he said after a series of deep breaths.

The young woman was still there in the middle of the road, not moving, staring at us. Her light-colored hair clung in clumps to her forehead and the sides of her pale face. She wasn’t wearing a coat.

“Look,” I said, leaning forward and pointing. “She’s still there.”

“I don’t see her,” Paloma said.

“There’s no one there,” David said, gripping the steering wheel and looking right at her. “Do you still
see
her?”

I didn’t answer. I sighed instead, bracing for what was coming. If that was even possible.

She was still there.

CHAPTER 9

Like basketball, Metallica, and baseball caps, the first snow of the season always reminded me of Jesse. I was up thinking about him when the alarm went off at 5:20.

I couldn’t remember a milder autumn in Bend, but the weatherman said that the first serious snow of the season was finally on its way. It was time to get my snow tires on. It was time for a trip to Les Schwab’s.

I had gotten into the habit of doing it this way. I knew that some people dropped their cars off at the tire store at a more decent hour and got a ride. Others, still warm in their beds, avoided the whole thing altogether by having year-round tires that worked in the snow. That’s the kind Jesse had on his car as we drove down the mountain, too fast, on that snowy, beautiful day when he told me that he loved me. That last day. That snowy, horrible day four years ago when the car skidded off the highway and everything changed.

I preferred those little metal spikes coming out of the rubber when the roads got icy. They made me feel safer.

I got dressed, threw the heavy tires in the back of the Jeep, and drove off in the dark. I parked and took my place in line behind three other early birds. It was strangely quiet. There was always at least one old man at the front of the line going on about the things old men go on about. It was almost a tradition. But not on this morning. There were no long-winded stories that began, “I remember when…”

The temperature was hovering around 40, but the dusty breeze coming off the railroad tracks made it seem much colder. I pulled my hood tight around my head as I leaned hard against the wall and tried not to check my watch too often. It only made the time go by slower.

It wasn’t long before my thoughts returned to her. I had seen her two days earlier. I knew now she was a ghost. But there was something about her that was different than most other ghosts I saw. She seemed real, of this world. That’s what confused me and caused me to shout out to David.

It was too soon. I wasn’t ready to get back on that horse. Dealing with ghosts and all their problems. I wasn’t over Clyde yet.

He had been too strong, leaving me powerless to resist his takeover. Like Paloma and the other women who had not been so lucky, in the end I was just another one of his helpless victims. He had shaken me. Like a broken Christmas ornament, my confidence lay in pieces. I wasn’t sure I could help anyone. I wasn’t sure I could even protect myself the next time. I didn’t want there to be a next time.

I was scared.

When the doors opened at seven, there were at least 30 people behind me in line. I knew from experience that the ones in the back would have to wait most of the day for their cars. But if things went well, I would be back home in half an hour.

The odd smell of popcorn at dawn drifted through the waiting area. Like they always did, people sat around reading
The Bugler
or watching ESPN or making small talk about how nice it was to be inside.

“Bill,” the woman called from behind the counter a few minutes later. “Bill Clemons.”

An ancient old man in white sweats shuffled up slowly.

“Wild Bill,” another employee said when the man finally reached the register.

I could see his point. It was wild that the guy was still alive. And driving around. I smiled. It was wild that
I
was still alive. That Nathaniel hadn’t killed me with his twisted experiments. That Clyde wasn’t the one sitting here inside me, eating stale popcorn and drinking whiskey. Considering some of the things I had gone through, the old guy walking around was actually pretty tame stuff.

Mild
Bill was more like it.

I yawned and pulled out of the parking lot as the sun came up over Pilot Butte. I could hear the strange sound of the metal studs hitting the pavement. It always took some getting used to.

The noise somehow seemed to fit in with what was happening. It sounded like something was sneaking up on me, not really caring that I heard. I wondered what it was this time.

CHAPTER 10

I took the pill at two.

The sleepless nights had been piling up all in a neat little stack again, and I knew it was time. There had been too many nights where my thoughts ran out ahead of me, dragging me along for the ride.

I got back in bed, flipped on the television, and waited for the fake sleep to set in. I checked my phone again. Nothing. Ty was still in Montana and I was seeing now that it might be easier for him to just stay there, to move back home so he wouldn’t have to see me anymore.

We had talked earlier, but only for a few minutes. He seemed friendly, but more like a kind stranger than anything else, and our conversation was forced and strained. I tried to think of things to fill in the dead silences on the other end, but it wasn’t what I was good at. I never had to be good at that with him before. I couldn’t ignore the fact that it was becoming more painful to talk to Ty than not to talk to him. Maybe it was like David said, that it was over and I was the last to know. Or to admit it.

I put my phone back on the nightstand and flipped around some more, stopping at an infomercial for 60’s soul music. Marvin Gaye was asking what was going on. I wish I knew. Staring out at me with those sincere zombie eyes, Smokey Robinson called the music timeless. The Supremes then came on and started singing
Love is Here and Now You’re Gone
. Maybe Smokey was right.

I thought about Ty some more. I thought about Jesse. But it wasn’t long, of course, before my thoughts went back to the ghost on the highway. I hadn’t seen her again, but I knew that it was just a matter of time. I tried to reconstruct her in my memory. It was dark when I saw her, but she looked to be about my age with what I knew had to be some shade of long, light blonde hair. She was wearing a running outfit. Dark, thin lips were set off by her pale skin.

But it was her eyes that came to me now. Accusing, warning. I wasn’t sure. Black and angry. Dark, hollow circles around them.

I fell into those eyes.

***

I was in the whiteness again, a bright snow coming down. Against my will my legs started moving. I didn’t know where they were taking me. It began to snow harder. I moved faster, the cold closing in all around me.

And then I saw it. Not blood this time. Something else. Something in the snow.

There was a body on the ground. It was a young woman. The legs splayed unnaturally, an arm out to the side. Bits of snow starting to stick.

Bright red blood spreading out underneath it.

My screams echoed as I backed away, pushing myself, running back to my bed. Away from the color. Away from the blood.

CHAPTER 11

“Really?” I said. “Do you think he will?”

Kate and I were shopping at the Old Mill.

“Yes,” she said, picking up another hat. “That’s what he said anyway. He’s coming back here in February.”

It wasn’t like I had completely given up on Dr. Mortimer returning to Bend, but I had stopped holding my breath. He had been in India now for almost a year and he felt even farther away than that.

“So did he say he was coming back to live here and work at the hospital?”

“Ben didn’t say,” Kate said. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

I thought about the last time I saw Dr. Benjamin Mortimer. He had helped to rescue me from Nathaniel, who had kidnapped me. The brothers had struggled and a gun went off. Nathaniel was shot and killed. Dr. Mortimer blamed himself. Soon after, he left the country.

Kate and I had promised each other to not discuss the upcoming trial of the other kidnappers that was scheduled for February until after New Year’s. I wanted to enjoy the holidays and not think about Seattle and having to testify in front of the scientists who did experiments on me for medical research. It was a good idea in theory, but it didn’t stop me from thinking about it. Late at night Jack Martin often crept into my mind, doing his part to help keep me up.

But thinking about Dr. Mortimer made me happy. He had nursed me back to health after the accident and we had developed a bond. I missed him.

“Feel this,” Kate said as she held out a hat. “Cashmere.”

“It’s so soft,” I said. “I think Erin would love it. I’d go with that one.”

“Okay then,” she said. “Hey, has David heard anything about the audition?”

“No. They told him it was only going to be a few days. So now he’s thinking he didn’t make the cut.”

“Well, sometimes people say one thing and mean another or something comes up. He shouldn’t lose hope.”

Kate paid for the hat and we walked outside into the cold air blowing off the river and cutting into our faces. The sky looked like snow, but that was nothing new. So far all rumors of snow had been just that, nothing more than a dusting here and there.

U2 was playing on the outdoor speakers. It seemed that along with all the other things that haunted me, I had this song too.
Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)
. It used to be one of my favorite holiday tunes, but now the lyrics clawed at my insides until the sadness came pouring out of me.

“I’m going in here,” I said a minute later, pointing to the kitchen store.

I walked in, the warm air bringing my cheeks back to life. I stopped at the first display, looking at some
Le Creuset
cookware. I picked up a large pan, with both hands. It was heavier than a small boulder.

“Wow,” Kate said, walking up behind me and turning one over to look at the price on the bottom. “It’s so expensive.”

“Because it’s the best,” I said. “You buy one of these and you never need to buy another again. Plus it’s engineered for slower cooking methods, for simmering, stewing, and braising. It’s worth it.”

Kate smiled.

“If the coffee thing doesn’t work out, you’d make a swell sales rep,” she said. “But seriously, would you like one for Christmas?”

“No, you’re right, it’s too expensive,” I said, walking away.

“Yeah, but you’re worth it.”

Kate had that look in her eye. I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it.

“Which one?” she asked.

I pointed to the one I wanted, the deep sauté pan called “Flame.” Kate pulled out a small book from her purse and wrote something down.

“And you want that color? It’s bright orange, just so you know.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks, Kate. That’s really special. I’ll do my best to pay you back. In food.”

“No pressure. But I wouldn’t mind trying a few more of those dishes you learned about in your class.”

“Deal.”

For my 21
^st
birthday, Kate had bought me cooking classes with a local chef who owned a small Italian restaurant at the foot of Awbrey Butte. He had moved to Bend recently from Florence.  He was friendly but intense at the same time.

There were six of us in the class and we worked in the kitchen on Wednesday afternoons, learning how to make things like pumpkin gnocchi,
zuppa di funghi
,
pappa al pomodoro
, and lemon-infused olive oil. I was planning on taking more classes next year.

“That gnocchi you made me afterwards was to die for,” Kate said. “I’m hoping you’re still planning on making it again for Christmas dinner.”

“It’s a strong contender,” I said.

In fact I was planning an Italian-themed dinner and had invited everyone who came to Thanksgiving. I already had a lot of the recipes picked out.

“Never mind that crack I made about sales, Abby, you’d make a great chef. Do you ever think about doing that? I mean, for a living? The college has that new culinary school now.”