A Circle of Time (8 page)

Sadie yelled Becky's name once more and glanced around, scanning the surrounding meadow and trees. She waited another moment, then turned and stomped back into the cabin.

“I have to go, Joshua.” Allison pulled away from him.

“I can't let you,” Joshua said, turning her to face him. “I'm afraid for you.”

Allison rubbed her arms, trying to rid herself of a sudden chill. “I'm afraid, too, but what else can I do? Maybe ... maybe we could try to think things through some more ... before I go.”

“Like what?”

Allison thought for a few minutes. “Let's try to figure out what danger could possibly be lurking in Becky's future. Has she ever mentioned anything she's afraid of?”

The moment she said that, Allison realized there was one thing—or person—that Becky was definitely afraid of. The look on Joshua's face told her he was thinking the same thing.

“Her mother!” they said in unison.

Just then, Sadie Thompson stepped out carrying a small white bundle. She glanced around, scanning the meadow once more, before she rushed down the front steps and disappeared into the forest.

“C'mon!” Joshua took Allison's hand and started running. “Let's get out of here before she comes back. We've got to get to Magda's. We'll figure out what to do when you're safe.”

Alison spent the night wrapped in a feather-filled comforter on the floor of Magda's cottage. Joshua had left her with Magda and gone back to his waterfall cave. Allison tossed and turned, unable to rid her mind of Becky and her mission. After what seemed like hours, she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

Images from the past few days flickered in and out of her consciousness. She was in the meadow, walking toward the cabin, and Joshua was calling to her. He seemed to be running in place, yelling to her, begging her to stop, but she couldn't keep her legs from moving toward the cabin.

Then she was crashing through trees in the dark, running for her life. Someone was chasing her, breathing hard. Branches were snapping, cracking. She reached a clearing and stopped. For a moment, she looked down. A thin stream of moonlight illuminated the calico dress.

It was smeared with dark stains. She held up her hands. The same stains. They felt sticky. She gagged. Blood. She was covered in blood.

Allison opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her body convulsed, emitting a silent scream. The sound of labored breathing, the
thump-thump-thump
of heavy feet hitting earth, joined by the crackling of dry leaves and the snapping of breaking twigs filled the darkness. Allison tried to run, but her legs would not move.

As her heart pounded against her ribs and throbbed in her ears, another sound took over. A weeping voice—the voice of a girl, crying, “Help me! Help me, someone. Help! Joshuaa-aaaa!” Then, she was flying through the air, down the cliff of Devil's Drop, and onto the rocks below. Screams pierced her ears, permeated her brain, shot through her senses. She felt as if her whole body would burst from the screams.

Someone grabbed her shoulders. The screams became unbearable. She tried to pull away, but strong arms held and shook her body.

“Allison! Wake up, Allison.
Por favor, niña,
wake up!”

Allison opened her eyes. She was struggling, pushing away the arms, and screaming. They were her screams.

“Shhhh, shhhhh,
Allison. It is all right. You are safe.
Cálmate. Shh-shh.
”

At the sound of the soothing voice, Allison relaxed. She gazed around the dark room lit only by a few embers in the fireplace.

The arms held her close, comforted her. “You are safe now, Allison. It was only a bad dream,
una pesadilla.
You are safe.”

“Where am I?” Allison was still dazed, confused by the dream.

“You are in my cottage, Magda's cottage ... in the forest...”

Allison looked up. “Magda? Oh,” she said, remembering. “I'm in the past ... Becky's past.”

“That is right, the past. Go back to sleep now—rest.” Magda settled Allison on the comforter and covered her as though she were a child of three, then stroked her forehead and cooed to her in Spanish.
“Shhhh, duérmete.”

As Allison's mind drifted back into darkness, Magda's voice became another voice, whispering, insisting: “It's time, Allison. It's your turn now. I helped you, now you must help me. Go ... into the woods ... go ... I helped you ... now you help me...”

When Allison awoke once more, Magda was gone, the embers had died, and the room was shrouded in darkness. The whispers persisted, “Go, Allison. I need you.”

As if in a trance, Allison unwrapped herself from the comforter and went to the door.

“Hurry, Allison. It's time.”

With the tiniest creak, the door opened and she stepped into the yard. Her way was lit only by a sliver of moonlight and a sprinkling of stars.

“Into the woods, Allison, go.”

Like a zombie, Allison lumbered across the yard.

“This way, Allison. Follow the path.”

Allison stepped onto the path and into the woods. Her feet seemed to have a life of their own. Her mind was on automatic pilot, listening to the whispers, following the whispers.

“Hurry, Allison, go to Joshua. Hurry. Joshua can help.”

At the sound of Joshua's name, Allison's pace quickened. Soon she heard the crash of the waterfall in the distance. The ground felt softer, more moist.

“Hurry, hurry! Joshua can help.”

Allison began to run. She believed the voice: Whatever the problem, Joshua could help. When she reached the edge of the forest, she stopped. The waterfall and pool beyond gleamed like mercury in the moonlight. Tall pines surrounding the pool loomed ominously, stretching upward and disappearing in the star-sprinkled blackness.

“Go, Allison. Go to Joshua. Hurry!”

Allison picked her way over the rocky path, behind the waterfall, and to the cave. The thundering water was deafening.

“Joshua!” Allison called. “Joshua, are you awake?”

She poked her head into the cave. “Joshua?”

The moon reflected off the sheet of cascading water and illuminated the mouth of the cave, bathing it in silvery light. Joshua's tiny cot was empty.

Allison stepped past the cot to the back of the cave. “Joshua?” The cave wall continued a few yards and stopped. Allison looked back at the tiny shelter. The blanket on the cot was neatly tucked in at the corners; the cot did not appear to have been slept in that night.

Allison ran to the mouth of the cave. “Joshua, where are you?” she screamed. But her cry was swallowed by the crash of the waterfall.

What if something had happened to him? What if he were lying somewhere, injured? The image of the bloodstained calico dress filled her mind. Allison swallowed, trying to rid herself of the bitter taste of fear that tugged at the back of her throat.

“Help me, Allison. I'm running out of time,” the voice whispered in her ear. “Hurry, hurry! Find Joshua. Joshua can help.”

Yes, find Joshua. That's what I have to do,
she thought.
Joshua will help us.

For more than an hour, Allison meandered through the forest, following the whispers. The farther she went, the more urgent the instructions. “Faster, Allison, faster. I'm running out of time. Hurry! ”

The deeper she went into the woods, the more dense the trees and the darker the night. She could barely see branches that reached out and scraped her face. She was beginning to pant. A twig snapped somewhere behind her.

“Run, Allison,
run!
” The voice screamed in her ears. “Save me, Allison. Run!”

Panic spread through her like wildfire. Blindly, Allison tore through the forest, arms stiff in front of her, trying in vain to protect her face from the outstretched branches that ripped her skin. Her lungs burned. Her heart thundered. She began to slow.

As her bare feet slapped dead pine needles and crunched dry leaves, Allison became aware of another pair of feet,
thump-thump-thumping
behind her. Heavy, labored breathing grew closer.

“Oh, Allison, help me, please. Save me!”

The air around her seemed electrified. Drawing strength from it, Allison caught a second wind. She tucked her head and rammed through the branches. She sprinted along the forest floor. The trees appeared less dense. Moonlight filtered through the branches. On a narrow path, Allison picked up her pace. Her foot hit something. She tripped and fell forward. Her arms stretched out to break her fall.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. She fell onto a soft mound, the wind knocked out of her, and her hands slid forward in something thick and sticky. Gasping for air, Allison pushed herself up and sat back on her heels, wiping the slimy goo on the front of the calico dress. Still in slow motion, she poked the mound before her. It was covered with cloth, and beneath the cloth was a squishy mass. Slowly she looked from one end of the mound to the other.

In the dim moonlight, empty white eyes stared up at her. A wave of nausea swept through her body, leaving her limp with fear. A scream stuck in her constricted throat. Behind her, the thumping footsteps grew closer.

“Run, Allison! Save me!”

Lightning shot through her limbs. She scrambled over the lifeless mound. Her hands and bare feet slipped on the thick slime that surrounded it. The last thing she felt as she stumbled away was the stiff, cupped hand she stepped on when she bolted from the body. As Allison veered off the path and crashed into the unmarked forest, her brain reeled with the image of the face she had seen in the moonlight: the death mask of Sadie Thompson.

 

Allison broke through the branches and stopped, panting heavily, at the edge of a clearing. Her throat was dry and her lungs felt as though they were on fire. Her limbs trembled. Becky's body was simply not in the athletic condition hers was in and could not take the stress. Allison's spirit alone had willed it onward.

She bent over to ease the painful stitch in her side. As she did, she noticed dark stains on the front of the calico dress. She looked down at her hands and feet. They, too, were smeared with dark stains.

Oh, God, no ... it can't be happening again! Not again!

Tentatively, she lifted her hands to her face. The smell was unmistakable.

Blood.

She was covered in Sadie Thompson's blood!

Behind her, an explosion of twigs cracking and branches snapping made Allison duck beneath a clump of bushes. She peered out in time to see a figure crash through the branches and halt a few feet away.

In the moonlight stood a man, barefoot and shabbily clad in tattered shirt and pants. His back stooped, making him appear shorter than he was, arms dangling below his knees like those of an ape. He wheezed as he breathed. His head oscillated back and forth, scanning the clearing.

He turned toward Allison. She bit her lip.

The man's head was like that of a lion: A matted mane of dark hair stuck out past his ears and fell to his shoulders. A black beard that hung below his neck covered most of his face; the rest was hidden by unkempt strands of long, dark hair. The whites of his eyes, round with emotion, stared from behind the matted strands.

As the man turned away, something cold slithered over Allison's bare foot. She gasped and bit her lip harder to keep from screaming. But the man whipped around and lunged toward her. Before his arms could reach her, Allison sprang up and tore into the clearing. She could hear the man's footsteps close behind.

“Wait!” the man yelled. “Stop! Stop, I say. Come back!”

The louder the man yelled, the harder Allison ran. When she reached the other side, she plunged into the woods. All the while, another voice screamed in her ear: “Run, Allison. Save me!”

Allison stumbled through the dense cluster of branches. She tripped on roots and over logs on the forest floor. But each time she'd pick herself up and keep going. It felt as though she had been running for hours. Becky's body was ripped and scraped and bruised, but Allison ceased to feel pain.

She didn't know how long she could keep Becky's body moving. But if she was tired, the man had to be tired, too. No matter how out of condition Becky might be, the man was older and seemed to have a breathing problem. She had to keep going. Her life and Becky's depended on it.

Allison had no idea where she was headed or how far she had traveled that night. Nor had she any idea of how far she was from Magda's cottage or Joshua's cave or even the Cardona Pomales estate.

The only thing that seemed to matter now was survival.

By the time Allison reached the edge of the forest, dawn was breaking. The terrain was rugged and dry, and she had to be careful not to trip on loose rocks. She came to a steep hillside. At the bottom of the hill, a dirt road wound along the edge of a ravine.

Although Allison had not heard her pursuer for what seemed like over an hour, she wasn't willing to take chances. Tired as she was, she crouched down and, half sitting, half squatting, slid down the loose dirt and gravel of the hillside. She had to get to the road. Perhaps it would lead her to a town or even back to the Cardona Pomales estate.

Finally, Allison reached the bottom of the hill. Trembling from terror and exhaustion, she lowered her head to her knees and hugged her legs. Maybe she could take a few minutes to rest. She glanced around. She was sitting at the edge of the dirt road, exposed on all sides. This was no place to rest. About to stand, she was startled by the sound of falling rocks.

At the top of the hill squatted the black-bearded man. He was trying to make his way down the hill. Allison scrambled onto the road and stumbled along it, trying to get away.

“Girl! Stop, wait,” he yelled. “Don't run away!”

As Allison turned to see how close he was, she stepped on a stone in the road, twisting her ankle. Hot flares shot up her leg. She stumbled. The man was gaining on her. No time! Even if she tried to hop-limp, she could never outrun him. Allison searched around for a weapon—a stick, a rock—something to protect herself.