Echoes (47 page)

Last week I made my final journey to San Francisco to visit my sister,
she wrote.
One fine afternoon while I was there, we ventured into town to shop and I noticed a young man standing on a street corner. The sight of him brought me to a halt, though it took many moments for me to understand why. He was so familiar that I knew I must have met him before, and yet I could not place his face.

By some peculiarity, the young man sensed my interest and spoke to me. He asked if I knew him. When I said I did not, he apologized for his intrusion. He had hoped for recognition from someone because he knew no one himself. He told me he’d been raised by Indians and only recently had he rejoined the white civilization. Had my sister not been holding onto my arm, I fear I might have fainted dead away from my shock. I knew at once who he was and in that instant I saw the resemblance to dear Miss Molly, his aunt.

I wished I had news of his father, but I knew nothing of what had happened to him. He left our party as soon as he was able and we never saw him again. In my heart, I fear he searched for Arlie and Miss Molly until his dying day.

Tess paused, thinking back to her first days in Mountain Bend, to the beginning when she'd seen the man on horseback—Adam—from Tori's bedroom window. She thought of his wasted life, of the endless days spent searching. Molly had known he'd feel responsible for Brodie's crimes. Did his shadow still darken the spaces between the trees, forever seeking a life unlived? Tess thought not—not anymore. With that came a profound tranquility that seemed to spring from Adam himself. Between Craig's unmasking and defeat, Grant's action to set things right and her own happiness now with Grant, Tess felt she had helped rewrite the story, the past, so that everyone—here and gone—could rest in peace. Smiling, Tess returned to the diary.

I thought perhaps young Arlie would be able to tell me what had happened to Miss Molly. Brodie insisted that the Indians had taken her as well, but Arlie knew nothing of her fate.

We shared tea that afternoon and he listened to this old woman with rapt attention. I told him what I knew of his father and aunt, of their dreams of owning a ranch where there would be land for miles and a place to raise a family. I confided that I’d thought one day the two would marry and have more children. Finally, with a heavy heart, I told him what I’d read of his uncle and the shame of his life.

Before we said goodbye, he asked me one final question—Did I know his full name. I was never so pleased as to say yes, indeed I did—Francis Arlington Weston! He repeated it with pride and his smile had a satisfied quality as he left me. The good Lord giveth, the good Lord taketh. I must remind myself.

Tess stared at those words, remembering the times when she'd spoken them to Molly. Remembering the past...

She turned the page. One last entry was made.
A letter from Mr. Frank A. Weston arrived today. He has settled in the mountains in a place he describes as endless green meadow, banked against the bend of the mountainsides. He calls his new home Mountain Bend for its picturesque setting. He has taken a wife and hopes to live there for all his days. May the good Lord bless them and watch over them.

Sighing, Tess closed the book and went to find her husband.

The End

Keep reading for a sneak peak of

HAUNTING BEAUTY
by Erin Quinn

Chapter One

The man came to her just before dawn.

Danni had awoken with a start a few moments earlier, tangled in her bedding, unsure of what had pulled her from sleep. The inky blackness outside pressed against her windows, a dark entity that wanted to creep in and take over. Uneasy, she crawled from bed and shuffled to the kitchen for coffee.

That's when she felt the air turn.

It plunged in a silent, cold force that made her ears ring and her stomach sink. Like a latent memory, the sensation of it was suddenly there, filling her head—familiar and frightening, pressure and relief. She knew it; she feared it. She remembered it, though what the turning air heralded escaped her.

She spun to find the man waiting behind her. Tall, with broad shoulders and the layered muscles of a warrior, he leaned against her counter. As if it was perfectly natural for him to be there. As if he really was in her kitchen.

Dark brows and long black lashes emphasized the unusual color of his eyes—not quite green, not quite gray. Eyes like the sea, relentless and deep. A straight, blunt nose gave balance to his full lips and square jaw. There was a harsh and rugged edge to his features that flawed his beauty and made it something masculine, something more compelling than simple aesthetics. He wore a black leather coat over a crisp white shirt and jeans that tapered from lean hips to long legs. Not just tall. Not just broad. A big man.

He watched her, assessing and judging her with the same weighted concentration she gave him. She felt self-conscious in her faded Save the Children T-shirt and pink boxers, which was ridiculous. He wasn't really here.

She knew it, but the knowledge didn't stop her stomach from knotting with uncertainty and fear. Why was she seeing him? What did he want? There had to be a reason. She knew that, too.

Danni sloshed coffee over the edge of her mug as she set it down. She would drop it if she held it any longer. The man interpreted this as acquiescence and began. Sometimes it was like that, she remembered. Sometimes they seemed to take Danni with them, like tour guides on a ghostly journey. Other times they were completely unaware they'd unraveled the fibers of reality and forced Danni to peer in at them.

When she'd been a child, the visits—the visions—had been frequent and exciting. The plunging turn of the air had felt like flying to her. But the visions had stopped so long ago she'd forgotten they'd ever happened at all. No, she corrected herself. She hadn't forgotten—she'd wiped the experiences from her memory with purposeful precision, because only the crazy saw people and things that weren't real.

The man turned, gesturing for her to follow as the familiar kitchen walls behind his broad shoulders vanished and, like a painting created before her very eyes, a stark landscape appeared in their place. The image had fuzzy edges and a grainy texture, but it breathed in a lifelike way, just as the man did.

It seemed so real. Too real.

A patchwork quilt of vivid greens, earthy browns and heavy pewter spread out unending. Danni frowned, trying to put a name to the place. Did she know it? Had she seen it before? The man crossed from the pale kitchen tile to a spongy turf that should have left footprints, but of course, didn't. His steps were as unreal as his presence. Reluctantly, Danni went with him.

It felt like they walked for some time, but she knew they'd never left her kitchen. Still the frosty cold of the earth against her feet, the wintry wind on her face and the damp mist clinging to her hair and scant clothing, chilled her to the bone. The sensations were crisp and visceral and frightening.

Barefoot, still wearing her pajamas, she followed the man across a valley to a destination she couldn't fathom. The sky above them grumbled and rolled in bleak shades of slate and steel. It seeped down to lush emerald pastures and saturated the air with freezing dampness. The brisk wind carried the spice of sea salt as it tormented the many limbed alders and bandied with the stranger's long leather coat and short cropped hair. She could hear waves crashing somewhere close.

Where are you taking me?

He paused and looked back at her, as if she'd spoken out loud. There was something in his eyes as he stared. A longing. A need. Her heart thumped painfully at the echo it dragged from inside her. Who was this man? Why did she feel as if she should know him?

They reached the edge of a precipice hanging out over the churning sea. A foot path cut a sharp trail down the side. Even as she prayed he'd turn away from it, the man started down the steep slope. His long legs covered the distance easily as he descended but Danni had to scramble to keep up—certain a deadly plunge was in her future—not so clear on what that might mean to her real self. If she died in a vision, would it be for real?

The sounds of the tide thundering relentlessly were louder now and she smelled the sharp scent of brine. She sensed something big looming high up to her left, but didn't know if it was real or imagined and couldn't turn to look back.

Enormous rocks poked from the hillside, forcing them to weave as they descended. The exertion warmed her and now she could hear sounds rising from down below. A woman's voice. Danni paused, listening to the agitated tone. Frantic, pleading. There were other voices too. A man, maybe two. And children. Frightened children.

Danni's blood raced so fast she felt sick. The sound of their young, scared pleas propelled her back into her own history. To nights in the communal bedroom of the group home, where someone was always afraid, always crying.

Solemn and intent, the man continued down with effortless grace. Danni remained frozen where she was, listening to the troubled but unintelligible words. Whatever was happening down there, it wasn't good and every instinct Danni possessed urged her not to continue.

There was a loud bang—a shot followed by screams. Danni trembled, her palms slick with clammy fear. Her shaking dislodged pebbles that rappelled down the hill. She didn't want to follow the man anymore. She wanted out of this vision. She wanted to be back in her kitchen where it was safe. She clenched her fists tight, wanting to escape it. Reject it.

The man paused and looked back. It seemed he knew what she was thinking. His eyes darkened with compassion, but also with disappointment he couldn't quite hide. She felt it as much she saw it. He gave her a small nod. Go ahead, he was saying. The gesture came without condemnation. He was giving her permission to turn away. To run away.

For a moment the steep sea wall, the glowering sky . . . the compelling man watching her . . . It all wavered and Danni could see her kitchen through the overlaid image. All she had to do was step through, step out.

Down below the children sobbed and the woman beseeched with frantic incoherent words. Danni felt her despair, her terror. Her desperate need . . . .

The man started down again, now with urgency. Danni clenched her eyes tight and breathed deeply. Knowing she couldn't turn her back on such desperation, she mentally closed the passage to her kitchen, slamming the door on safety and sanity. She began to follow once more, hurrying to catch up as he disappeared into the deep gloom covering the bottom.

Broken shells and rocks crusted the shallow strip between massive boulders and angry surf. It crunched painfully beneath her feet as she followed the man to a door cut into the base of the wall rising up to the cliffs. Danni peered through the gathering shadows and thick fog that hugged the ground, obscuring her feet

She couldn't see anyone until she reached his side. And then, with the pop of her ears clearing and a surreal rush of color and texture, the source of the voices emerged from the blur into shocking focus.

Danni was suddenly inside a cavern of some sort that hunkered low over a tide pool. A stone floor circled it and on the far side she saw people standing in the glow of a lantern. The muted lightening turned their faces into masks, distorting their features with ghoulish hollows and shiny plateaus. They stood in a cluster—a woman with two children. A man knelt on the ground just at the edge of the lantern's glow. He held something in his arms Danni couldn't make out.

She wanted to move closer. She wanted to see their faces. But she stayed where she was, motionless beside the green-eyed stranger as the scene played out.

The children she'd heard crying clung to the woman's legs, trying very hard to be a part of her. A boy and a girl, Danni thought. She guessed their ages at four or five, but she couldn't be sure. The woman was speaking again, her voice high with fear. Someone cloaked in the concealing shadows, responded. The voice was deep and masculine, but Danni couldn't see the speaker or understand what was said.

The green-eyed man Danni had followed from her kitchen approached the woman. Pausing to look back at Danni, he lifted the hem of her light jacket and blouse, revealing the bulge of an early pregnancy and . . . bruises. Huge discolorations that covered her ribs and abdomen in a mottled mixture of black, blue, neon yellow, and sickly green. Old and new, the marks layered one on top of the other.

The woman spun with a gasp, her eyes wide and frightened. She stared at the empty space where Danni stood for a long, breathless moment. Danni felt the contact of the woman's gaze as it settled on her face.

She can see me . . .

But that wasn't possible. Danni wasn't really there. None of them were. This was a vision . . . a hallucination . . . wasn't it?

The woman continued to stare right at Danni as she searched for the cause of her discomfort. Danni saw a shiver work its way through her body, shuddering down to the hands that held onto her children. Who was she? How could she . . . ? The thought died suddenly as recognition covered Danni in an icy sweat. She looked at the boy standing so quietly beside his mother then at the little girl holding her other hand. The child's face was tear-stained, her eyes big and gray, hair golden brown. She blinked back at Danni with wide, knowing awareness.

It felt like a giant fist had punched through time and yanked Danni from her body. The little girl was no stranger, but neither was she an acquaintance or a friend. Like the vision itself, she was of the impossible. She was Danni . . . Danni as a child.

I'm looking at myself . . . . Herself as she'd been twenty years ago.

Danni's eyes were hot with feelings she couldn't process, couldn't comprehend in this moment that had no place, no substance in the world she knew. Slowly she shifted her attention back to the woman, now seeing the familiar features, remembering how it felt to put her arms around her, to be held by her.

The woman was her mother.

The mysterious male voice said something in a vicious, sharp tone, jerking her mother's attention abruptly away.

"No," Danni shouted. She rushed forward and tried to turn her mother back around. Tried to touch her, hold her, beg her to see Danni again. But whatever connection had been made for that brief instant was gone. The little girl began weeping inconsolably and the man who knelt beside them rose unsteadily. Through the twilight, Danni saw a face wet with tears, swollen and red, ravaged by grief. She felt his pain pulsing off him like the lapping waves in the pool at her feet.

The tension in the air tightened around them, like a noose of thin wire that would soon cut through the skin. There was terror in her mother's eyes. In the way she flicked her gaze back and forth between the disembodied voice and the man at her side. He lifted his hands, holding them away from his body, palms out—the universal sign for compliance.

The hostile words exchanged between the woman and her unseen antagonist grew louder until they echoed all around them. Why couldn't Danni understand what was being said? Why did her mother's answers come in as an indecipherable and discordant throb?

Suddenly another bang resounded in the cave and Danni's screams joined those of her mother and the children. A gun, she thought. That was a gun. Even as her mind catalogued the sound, her body reacted to the bite of pain slicing through her. She felt it—felt it —as if a bullet had burrowed into her heart. She looked down, expecting to see blood. To see her life draining out of her. But there nothing, nothing to explain the bewildering agony. She looked around her in shock, in panic, seeing again the crumpled shape on the ground beside the cluster of frightened people. Only then did she grasp what it was—what the man had been holding when they'd first come in. It was a body.

She managed to turn to the stranger who'd brought her here. He only watched her, his face impassive. His presence neither comforting nor threatening. As she stared at him, she felt trapped by his gaze. She couldn't look away, couldn't turn back to the unfolding drama. The voices of her mother and the children waned, taking with it the searing pain. They were fading—all of it, vanishing.

Danni wanted to cling to her mother like the child she'd once been. But she couldn't break the hold of his enigmatic green eyes, couldn't make her legs support the weight of her need.

Again a swirling mixture of grays and browns frosted the air, making Danni think of a giant God creating sand art on an unending pane of glass. The light changed from dark gloom to hazy murk and they were outside again. The wind joined the sensation of biting fresh air and bitter cold. It was just the two of them now. The crushing pain of the gunshot was gone but Danni's heart filled with grief at the loss of her mother. Again. Again Danni had been abandoned by her.