Murder In Her Dreams (4 page)

Most of their early dates had been at her
initiative. She first asked him to escort her to a Women in
Communications banquet and on several later occasions when she
needed an escort. Eventually, Ian asked her to dinner and to a
concert. When he thought about the future, it only seemed natural
to include Sharon.

However, this matter of choosing a best man
bothered him. It made him realize how isolated he had become, not
that he had ever had many friends. He had spent more time on his
car than with girls in high school, and his few friends had had
similar interests. After high school, he had just lost touch with
those friends. In college, with his studies and his part-time job,
he had no time for a social life.

He supposed he could ask his brother David.
They weren’t close and hadn’t seen much of each other for the last
five years since David had gone away to college at Stanford. He had
a job working for a software company in Santa Clara. Ian could
never remember which one. Unless he could think of someone he had
forgotten, he would have to rely on David.

Suddenly a patch of darkness, deeper than the
night, darted in front of the car. Instinctively, Ian hit the
brakes.

The tires screeched as they fought to grip
the road. The car lurched sideways and came to a rocking halt with
the car facing the side of the road. The acrid smell of burning
rubber came through the partially open window and overlaid the
smell of damp vegetation.

In the glare of the headlights, two amber
eyes glowed and a pair of long ears twitched. Ian stared at the
creature in front of the car, and a black rabbit stared back,
mesmerized by the bright lights. Blasted rabbit.

Then it turned tail and ran into the
underbrush. Ian’s heart beat wildly. He inhaled slowly, trying to
regain control. A black rabbit? He had never seen a wild black
rabbit before, just the brown cottontails. Maybe it was an escaped
pet.

That thought made him doubly glad he hadn’t
hit it, but another driver might not see it or the dogs or wild
cats would find it. At least he hadn’t killed or maimed it. He had
no desire to end the life of one miserable rabbit by squashing it
with his car.

Ian started the car forward. With no traffic,
no one had been behind him, so no one had hit him. The rabbit’s
blurred motion across the road had caused him to brake
automatically, but he cursed himself for being so stupid. One
rabbit more or less wouldn’t make much difference, but an accident
would. He could have smashed up his car. Ian cursed again.

Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to kill or
injure anything— rabbits, stray dogs, or even spiders. Life was
much too precious.

He grinned. At least this rabbit could look
forward to another day. He hoped it had a home.

The grin faded. He still faced the problem of
finding a best man. Sharon had surprised him by wanting to get
married so soon. When he asked her to marry him, marriage had been
a nebulous future thing. Now it bore down on him just as his gray
Accord had sped toward the hapless rabbit.

He hoped it felt less confused and uncertain
than he did.

Chapter
Three

The more Cassie thought about the man of her
dream, the more apt Tula’s comments on her anemic social life
appeared. She had avoided men after the break up with Rod Malvern
more than a year ago.

She and Rod had begun well enough. The
unaccustomed attention of a handsome and charming man flattered
her. He persisted until she finally agreed to go out with him, and
after that, they became an item until Cassie dreamed about Ellie
Latham.

Rod laughed about the dreams when she first
told him. He said they came from the newscasts and newspaper
stories. Obviously, she let such things too easily influence her.
However, the memory of those dreams still frightened her.

The first dream began with vivid but innocent
night images. She remembered seeing scattered clouds float past the
bright disc of the full moon, a big, yellow harvest moon. The crisp
air smelled of burnt leaves.

Cassie stood on a rutted dirt road alongside
the cornfield. At one end of the field, a tall microwave tower
soared skyward. A light at its top flashed on, off, on to warn low
flying aircraft. The bright moonlight glowed against a low-lying
fog that shrouded the ground.

The bucolic scene held no obvious danger, but
unreasoning fear gripped Cassie and twisted her insides into a
tight knot. The moon turned a hard, brilliant white. Cold light
etched the long rows of dried cornstalk, sentinels against the
obsidian sky. A strong wind blew through the empty field. The dried
stalks rattled and clashed like old bones.

Cassie wanted to walk forward, but something
held her back. She struggled to move ahead, but her feet refused to
obey.

A terrible thing waited for her. It hungered
for her.

* * * *

Cassie woke in a cold sweat. Beside her, Rod
slept undisturbed. She shivered and pulled the covers up to her
chin. She stared into the blackness, unable to sleep. She wanted to
know, yet feared to discover, what lay among the withered stalks.
Sleep eluded her, but so did dreams. Near dawn, she dropped back
into a restless sleep.

With the morning light, the dream and its
sense of hovering doom faded. Cassie dismissed it as just anxiety.
She said nothing about her dream to Rod.

* * * *

As an Assistant Children’s Librarian at the
Upper Arlington Public Library, she worked hard to interest the
younger children in books and reading. She had a presentation to
make at the end of the week to her boss on the activities program
for the next two months. She had spent a lot of time developing a
theme, selecting stories, and identifying resource people.

She had chosen fir trees as the symbol of
life amid winter’s landscape. Mary Kendall, the third grade Tremont
Science teacher, and her class were growing seedlings and planned
to bring them for a show and tell session in the library. Nancy
Grayson, a storyteller, had promised stories using several myths
centered on trees, while Sandra Mason would give arts and craft
lessons with pinecones and needles. The climax of the program would
be a modified scavenger book hunt through the Children’s Section of
the library using various tree-related clues. The theme also tied
in nicely with the Christmas season and Christmas trees.

Between stints on the Reference Desk, Cassie
spent the day polishing her report and then making copies for the
review committee. As the newest member of staff, she wanted the
other librarians to approve her ideas for teaching and entertaining
the children and also gain the parents’ support for the library’s
programs. Centered in a well-to-do community, the library enjoyed
broad support, but, with the city’s budget crunch, it too had
experienced cuts.

At the end of a busy day, she headed home to
supper. Rod came by and they watched
West Wing
together, the
local news, and then David Letterman.

Tired after a long day, neither Cassie nor
Rod gave their lovemaking more than a token effort. When he
finished, she fell into an exhausted slumber.

* * * *

She stood on the dirt road next to the
shadowed cornfield. Again, the acrid smell of burnt leaves assailed
her nostrils. She tried to move forward, but like a swimmer in
molasses, she struggled against the viscous air. The ground’s haze
formed a thin white scarf between the rows of dried stalks, parting
to reveal the ground and then hiding it. At last, she succeeded in
moving forward, but she almost tripped as her foot encountered
something soft.

When she looked at her feet, a puddled, dark
pile tangled around her shoes. Fear made her heart race. Ice
encased her numb fingers.

With reluctance and infinite care, she
stretched out her hand. Something soft and woolly lay there. She
lifted it. Drops of dew wet her fingers.

Cassie raised the item to see it better.
Bright moonlight shone on a blood red cardigan. Shock and horror
touched her core. Her nerveless fingers released the sweater. The
garment fell to the ground.

A scream rent the air.

* * * *

“Cassie, Cassie? Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes to see Rod leaning over
her with startled hazel eyes. No cornfield, no bright moonlight.
She lay in her own bed.

Sitting up, Cassie rubbed sleep-crusted eyes.
“I was in a cornfield...” She chafed her arms, trying to warm
herself.

“You screamed.”

“It was the sweater.” She shivered and tried
to shake off the horror.

“A sweater?” He frowned, his eyes shadowed
pits. “What?”

“I think ... I think it belongs to Ellie
Latham. Something has happened to her, something bad.” Cassie
stared down at her hands. “I think she’s dead.”

Rod raised his eyebrows and snorted. “Too
much late night news. You’re too suggestible. They reported the
kidnapping on the news, and you have nightmares. Stop imagining
things.”

Cassie shook her head. “No, it’s a message.
I’m supposed to do something about it. Stop it in some way.” Her
fingertips tingled, still sensing the softness of the red sweater.
A shudder shook her.

Rod scowled and glanced over at the bedside
clock. “It’s four a.m., Cassie. The kid’s been missing for more
than twenty-four hours. The odds are whoever took her has already
done whatever they planned to do. She’s probably dead, and you
can’t do anything about it. A lot of these kidnappings are never
solved or not until years later, so let it go.” Rod’s closed face
and hunched shoulders underscored his annoyed disbelief.

She couldn’t let go. “Rod, I’m sure the dream
is telling me something.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe where she’s being held.”

Rod rolled his eyes. “Yeah, in a cornfield.
Do you know how many cornfields there are in central Ohio, let
alone in the entire state?”

“I know, but this one had a tall tower near
it.” She screwed her face up in a frown trying to see again the
cornfield and its surroundings. “A microwave tower, I think.”

“That narrows it down a lot.” The sarcasm in
his voice made Cassie curl up into a tight knot as she hugged her
legs. “All you have to do is get someone to check all the
cornfields along the tower routes. Have you any idea how many miles
that covers?”

She shrugged and sighed. “I guess you’re
right.”

“Let’s get some sleep. I’m tired.” Rod turned
over and yanked up the covers.

Cassie lay back and slid down to lie on her
side, her head propped on one outstretched arm. Images of the
cornfield and the forlorn red sweater kept her from sleeping. A
sense of guilt plagued her.

She and Rod got up late the next morning and
had a brunch at TGIF. They had arrived early enough to avoid the
after-church rush. The hostess seated them quickly at a table by
the front window. A server appeared with a pot of coffee and, at
Rod’s nod, poured them each a cup. She then hurried off to the next
table.

They made a quick foray to the serving bar
and returned with plates loaded with eggs, sausages, bacon,
pancakes, toast, and fruit, that is Rod did. Cassie had stopped
with eggs, toast, and fruit.

“You look like hell.” Rod studied her over
the rim of his coffee cup.

“I didn’t sleep well.” Cassie stared down at
the beige liquid in her cup. At home, her mirror had confirmed the
dark circles under her eyes, while her lank hair refused to do
anything except lie in separated locks no matter how much she
brushed it.

“I know. I didn’t either.”

Rod took her hand. “Look Cassie, I’m sure you
feel bad for the Lathams, but there isn’t anything you can do about
the kid. Every kidnapping ends in a cornfield somewhere. You don’t
know where your cornfield is or even if the kidnapper took the girl
to such a place. You’re too imaginative. Just forget it.”

Cassie pulled her hand back and sat rubbing
her right thumb over the left. “I can’t. I know it may be a false
lead, but it looked and felt so real.” She looked up at Rod seeking
some sympathy and a little support.

A frown etched his face. He stared back,
impassive as a stone. “Nothing you dreamed has to be real. They’ve
talked about the kidnapping on every newscast. The newspapers
carried the story including what the kid wore. Your subconscious is
just using that information. Stop talking like a wacko. You don’t
know anything more about it. How could you?”

As always, Rod took comfort in the facts,
just the facts.

“I’m not sure, but I think it meant
something. I feel I should tell someone.”

Helplessness enveloped her. Rod sat across
the table, but he might as well be on another planet. He just
didn’t understand what she was trying to say.

“Like what? Call the police?” He laughed.
“They’ll want to know where you got your information, and, when you
tell them in a dream, they’ll either laugh it off or arrest you as
a conscience-stricken accessory who withheld information.”

He sipped his coffee. “You’d better forget
it.” He then picked up his fork and continued eating.

Cassie said nothing more, but the thoughts of
Ellie and the cornfield nibbled at the edge of her consciousness
and refused to leave. She picked at her food.

“This brunch is wasted on you.” Rod glanced
at the half-eaten food on her plate. “Next time just order a
regular breakfast.” Cassie nodded, too miserable to protest.

That night she delayed going to bed until
well after midnight. Exhausted, she felt certain she wouldn’t
dream. She snuggled down to sleep. Rod had fallen asleep an hour
ago. The warm bed comforted Cassie as her eyes closed.

* * * *

“NO.”

Cassie tried to cry out as she faced the
cornfield. No, don’t do this to me. It’s not my fault. I didn’t do
anything.