Blue Twilight (25 page)

 

Jason settled onto the bench seat and snapped the oar back into its spot—there were holders mounted to the inside of the boat, one on each side. Lou sat on a smaller seat in the rear and used the handle on the motor to steer the boat away from the motel.

“So where do you suppose this boat came from?” Jason asked.

“I don't know. I suspect it's Gary's, but that's just a hunch.”

“Gary? The motel manager?”

Lou nodded as he guided the boat around a bend in the shoreline. He spotted the lighthouse ahead and aimed toward it. When they got a little closer, the island appeared on the horizon. “There it is.” The island rose from the sea, a dark shadow against the lighter sky, swathed in mist.

Jason looked out over the bow, his back to Lou. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Gotta do it. You want your sister back, don't you?” And he wanted Max back. The thought whispered through Lou's mind like an errant breeze. He didn't even try to analyze it.

“I'd do anything—
will
do anything—I have to, to get Delia back,” Jason said. He turned to glance back at Lou. “You would, too, wouldn't you? If it were Max?”

“I would.”

“Then you understand.”

Lou frowned a little, wondering what he was getting at, but then Jason faced front again and said, “So how we gonna do this?”

“I think I see a roof. On the far side of the island, see it?”

Jason nodded. Trees blocked the structure, but peaks and gables were coming into view.

He said, “Why don't we beach it on this side, so we can't be seen from the house. Just in case.”

“Good idea.” Lou slowed the boat as they drew closer, guiding them around to the west end, where their arrival would be concealed from the house. Then he cut the motor and grabbed the oars, rowing the rest of the way.

Near shore, they both jumped out and dragged the boat up onto the pebbly beach. Lou had landed it near a clump of scraggly brush, and they wedged the boat into its cover as far as possible, to keep it concealed.

Then Lou straightened and looked around. The island was dense with pines, large, old trees that towered high and kept the ground swathed in shadow. Pine cones littered the ground, along with a thick blanket of browning needles. The scent was amazing. Max would love this place, he thought as he started walking. She would absolutely love it.

He and Jason picked their way beneath the giant pines. Birds were singing, flitting among the trees, startling him every time they took off. He kept walking, eventually finding the place where the trees ended and
the house stood, glaring down at him as if in silent anger. It was built of huge rough-hewn blocks of white granite, with rounded turrets at the corners, flanking the giant arch-topped wooden entry doors. It looked like a church, Lou thought. Or a castle.

“Doesn't look like getting inside will be easy,” Jason said.

“Getting inside won't be any trouble at all.” Both men spun around, because the voice came from behind them.

Chief Fieldner and two other men stood with weapons drawn, trained on Lou, every one of them. Lou reacted instantly, years of training kicking in without thought, and clocked the closest thug in the jaw, grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back and took his gun. In the space of a heartbeat Lou had the guy in front of him as a human shield and was holding his gun on the others.

“You two, drop your weapons, or your friend here is history.” They stared at him, then at one another.

“Do it!” Lou barked, moving the barrel toward his hostage's head.

They looked at Jason. Jason nodded at them. “You'd better do what he says.”

Each man dropped his firearm on the ground. Lou shot Jason a look. “Get the guns, Jay.”

With a nod, Jason scrambled to gather up the guns. He tucked two into his waistband, kept the other in his hand. Then he hurried to stand beside Lou.

“You'll be sorry for this,” Fieldner said. “You were supposed to bring the women out here, not the man!” he shouted at Jason.

Lou's alarm bells went off, and he swung his gaze and his gun around toward Jason—only to find the gun Jason held pointed right dead center at his forehead.

“I told you on the phone, I couldn't stop him from coming,” Jason said. “But it won't matter. The women will come. If he's out here, they'll come.”

“Jesus, Jason, just what the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Put the gun down, Lou. I told you, I'll do whatever it takes to get my sister back. Unfortunately, that includes hurting you.”

“Me, yeah. I get that. But Maxie? And Storm?”

“I'm sorry, Lou. Just put the gun down.”

Lou hesitated.

“Don't make me shoot you.” Jason thumbed the hammer back on the revolver.

It was a goddamn .44. A .44-caliber round would blow the back of his head off on the way out, Lou thought. There was no chance he would survive if Jason fired, and then Max would be at his mercy. Trusting a friend who didn't deserve her trust. He had to stay alive. For her. For Max.

He dropped the weapon he'd taken from the man he held, and the man jerked himself free.

“Your own gun, too,” Jason said. “I know you brought one.”

Nodding, Lou took his gun out carefully and dropped it on the ground. “Don't do this, Jason. He's not just going to let Delia go just because you do what he says.”

“He's gonna kill her if I don't.”

“How do you know he won't kill her either way?” Lou took a step toward Jason, but no more. Someone smashed him in the head from behind with something hard. He dropped to his knees, and they hit him again.

Lou went down and stayed down. No point getting back up, not against four of them. He lay there, clinging to consciousness, but pretending to be long past it.

But he heard the impact of fist on flesh, heard Jason grunt and swear.

“You stupid fool! You were told not to bring him here.” Fieldner was doing the talking, but it was the other two beating the hell out of Jason.

“I tried to stop him—I called to tell you—”

“Bull. You went back on your word!” Another thud, another grunt, and then Jason was on the damp ground not far from where Lou lay.

“Enough,” Chief Fieldner commanded. Lou peered through mostly closed eyes and saw the police chief standing near Jason. “We'll have to make the best of it. Having Mr. Malone here might work to our advantage. Take him inside.”

“What about this one?” one thug asked, looking down at Jason.

“He's going to have to go back. Tell the women Malone's being held here, lead them back to rescue him.”

Lou opened his eyes. He fixed Jason with a glare that told him in no uncertain terms not to
dare
follow those orders.

The chief went on. “It'll have to look like he fought us, tried to save his companion.” He nodded at his two
henchmen. “Make it convincing. Just not so much that he can't make it back to the mainland.” He shrugged. “Then again, if you do, you can always take him back yourselves.”

They smiled, actually smiled, and closed in around Jason, who curled in more tightly around himself before the first boot landed. When they finished, Jason was lying still in the dirt. They grabbed Lou's arms and began dragging him toward the house.

 

Martha proceeded to guide Stormy into a deeper state of hypnosis. Then she told her that she, Storm, was in control and the other part of her psyche must not take over again. She gave the other permission to speak to Stormy and told it to listen as well, and again reaffirmed that Stormy was in control. Then, slowly, she brought Stormy back out of the trance state, telling her to remember everything they had discussed, even the things said by the other, and to awake feeling refreshed, in control and safe.

By the looks of things, Stormy did.

Martha poured fresh tea, this time a cinnamon-and-spice blend she said would lend energy. She instructed Stormy to eat some of the cookies she'd brought in, whether she wanted them or not.

“So? What do you make of all this?” Max asked. It had been killing her to keep quiet and watch for so long, without speaking or injecting thoughts or opinions. Killing her, too, that her plan to slip away and head out to the island alone had backfired. But there was still time. “Is it a case of possession?”

“If it is,” Martha said, “it's by someone who is convinced she really is a part of Storm.” She looked at Stormy. “Do you remember the parts of the conversation when I was speaking to the other?”

Stormy frowned, and then her brows rose. “I do. I remember all of it.”

“And what did you sense from her when she was speaking to me?”

“Honesty. Sincerity and a kind of…almost a desperation.”

“Then she really does believe what she's saying,” Max said.

“Either that, or what she's saying is really true,” Martha put in.

“How could it be true?”

Martha sipped her tea, set the cup on the saucer thoughtfully and met Stormy's eyes. “What I have to say to you is purely theoretical. You must know that, and understand that no one can be certain about what happens to us in the spiritual realms. My opinion is no more valid than anyone else's. It's one possibility, out of many. All right?”

Stormy nodded. “All right.”

“All right. I believe that each of us has…a spiritual self. A higher self, if you will. I think that when we pass on from our lifetime, the person we have been, the soul, leaves the physical world and goes into the spiritual realm, where, if all goes well, it merges with the higher self. Are you with me so far?”

Max was nodding. Not sure she agreed, but as a theory, it wasn't bad.

Stormy just stared at Martha, rapt.

“So the higher self is made up of each person we've been in each and every lifetime. And the higher self generates a new soul, made up of the combined experiences of all the old ones, to be born into each new lifetime.”

“If you buy into the theory that we live more than once,” Max said.

“Yes. Now, you're familiar with the idea of ghosts—of souls that refuse or are for some reason unable to move on and remain in the physical world instead.”

Max nodded. Stormy said, “You think this is a ghost?”

“Not exactly,” Martha said. “I think most souls do move on, leave the physical realm and go on to the other side. But I think once there, some might be unable or unwilling to merge with the higher self. So they remain an individual, even though the higher self generates a new soul, that is reborn and living a new lifetime. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Max said. “Not sure if I buy it, but I understand.”

“Storm?”

Stormy nodded but still didn't speak.

“Now,” Martha said, “before we began, you told me that when you were in the coma, you left your body. You spoke of the experience of being lost. Even meeting someone else you had never met before, but whom you met later in real life. And she remembered this meeting, too.”

“Yes,” Stormy said. “If she hadn't, I'm not sure I would believe it was anything more than a hallucination.”

“Too often we mistrust our own senses,” Martha said. “Suppose that while you were there, wandering, a soul that had failed to merge with its higher self saw you and somehow attached itself to you, so that when you returned to your body, there were two souls, rather than one.”

“I think we're getting a little far-fetched here,” Max said, reaching for her tea, shaking her head.

“But, Max, that's exactly how it feels,” Stormy said, her voice louder, her face more animated, than it had been before. “Who is this other soul? Why did she want to come back with me?”

“I can't say for sure, Storm. She kept telling me she was you. I think there's a possibility—and mind you, only a possibility—that she might be part of you. Another soul that was generated by your higher self.”

Stormy frowned, puzzled, but Max saw where this was going. “You think this
other
is one of Storm's previous incarnations?”

“I think it's one possibility she ought to consider.”

Stormy closed her eyes. “It's not fair. I just want to get rid of her. How can I do that? What does she want from me?”

“Now, that's the relevant question. What does she want? Why did she return? It may be that she left unfinished business in her own time. It may be that there is something here, in the physical realm, that she wants and can only claim by being here herself.”
Martha slid a hand over Stormy's. “I believe I have opened the lines of communication for you. I tried. If it worked, then you'll be able to find out. Talk to her, listen to her, feel what she feels, and maybe you'll come to understand.”

“And if I can't?”

Martha lowered her eyes. “I don't know.”

“Wait a minute,” Max demanded. “Are you telling me there's no way to get rid of this…this intruder, this interloper? What about an exorcism? Could that work?”

“It might. Or it might end up banishing the wrong soul.”

Stormy shivered visibly at those words.

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Max, don't raise your voice. She's doing the best she can,” Stormy said.

Max rolled her eyes and paced away. “I'm sorry, Martha. I'm just worried about my friend.”

“I don't blame you. You know, I've long suspected that what I've just explained to you is the cause of many cases of multiple-personality disorder. I believe older souls may step in to protect a younger one who's experiencing severe trauma, to save them, and it works, but ends in the creation of many individuals inhabiting one body. Whether that's true or not, the symptoms are much the same, and so the treatment could be, as well.”

“And what treatment would that be?” Max asked.

“There are two schools of thought on that. In one, therapists lead the patient through guided meditations in which they imagine finding and killing the other parts. I seriously doubt this is the best course. Other psy
chiatrists have had great success with merging the individual personalities into the whole, which I feel could be a far healthier solution.”