Somewhere I'll Find You (36 page)

Paige found herself smiling at the absurdity of it all. 
A haunted mansion
, spies in the dark,
and now a man in black who speaks to a dog that seems intelligent enough to talk back.  Definitely, coffee is needed here, O’Neal.  And fast. 
“I
don’t know how much I see … but I do
wish I knew more about the man who built this house.” 
Gesturing in the direction of the Mulholland house, she tried to ignore the wistful sound of her own voice.

“Erik Fletcher?”  A dark brow quirked as he tilted his head.  “He was a . . . complicated man.”

“Do you know anything about him?” she pressed hopefully.  The man was entirely too young to have known the actor personally, but perhaps he
had heard rumors or
lived nearby enough to have heard stories.

Expressive hands paused for a moment, pale against the dog’s sleek fur.  “What would you like to know?”

“Everything!  Michael . . . Michael Sinclair, led me to believe that the man was a complete mystery.”

“Is that what he says?” 
Pity,
thought the stranger,
that his father never told him of a rainy night and a certain young actress.

Paige was becoming impatient with this strange man and even stranger conversation.  “Well, can you tell me about him or not?”

“There isn’t much to be said.”  Once more, his elegant hands moved slowly across the dog’s fur.

“I wo
nder why he died here all alone, shut away from everyone,
”
she remarked, gazing expectantly up at the man.

“An interesting question,” her companion agreed, his intense eyes fixed on the dog.  “The ‘why’ is always the most important
of the
question
s
.”

“I was hoping for some answers
.
” Paige barely stopped herself from growling in frustration.  “After all, if you live around here, you must know something about the house.”

“Something,” he affirmed casually.

“So, what’s your guess?  Why would a man do something like that?”

The dark eyes narrowed and for a moment, Paige felt their force with every molecule and atom in her body.  She shivered under the force of them until he spoke once again. 

“Love.  Hatred.  Perhaps jealousy.  Maybe even revenge.”  He smiled bitterly, ticking off each emotion with his fingers.  “All the usual reasons.”

“We know,”
Paige,
continued stubbornly, “that he was once in love with a woman named Jenny.  But the particular
s of her life are almost as shad
y as his.  Did they fall
in love and later have a lover
’
s quarrel?  Or did something else come between them?”  Each question seemed to obscure matters even further.

“I expect there must be records somewhere,” her companion
remarked
absently.  “There usually are.  Damned nuisance, too, right
,
Argo?”

The dog popped open one eye, blinking at Paige.  Her companion snorted when he looked at the animal’s expression.  “Ah, well, you
would
disagree, you old turncoat.”

Does this man always speak in riddles?
  “Do you know where I might look?” she pressed.  “For proof, I mean.”

“There are a lot of treasures in that old house,” he answered calmly.  “And the greatest treasure
s
of all are those that cannot be seen.  I suggest that you remember that.”

Cannot be seen?  Oh, that’s really helpful
Paige thought irritably.  Couldn’t the man give one straight answer?

“Beyond that, I cannot help you,” he said, somehow answering what she hadn’t asked.  “Ask the right questions, and you’ll find the right answers,” he added cryptically.  “But all the answers, and the questions, must come from you.”  He smiled faintly.  “And from him.”

“Him?”

Again, that smile.  “The one
possessed of
the trick of silence that you’re not going to let bother you.”

Paige swallowed hard, wind trailing over her, enveloping her in the cloudy scent of roses.  And gardenias.  Maybe he was right, she thought.  Maybe she hadn’t been asking the right questions all along.  About her past – or about Michael.

And the seconds trailed out, full, silent, and comfortable in the warm sun.  After a while, her companion nodded to the dog.  “Yes.”

Paige had no idea to what he was referring when he murmured that simple word.  It might have been to her, to the day, or even in some strange way, to the dog that seemed so comfortable there.  It might have been an affirmation to something much, much more.

But before she could speak, the dog stirred, uttering a low whine.  Her companion straightened suddenly.  “I must go.”

Suddenly, she felt a keen sense of loss.  “Must you?”  There was a power in his company as well as a strange comfort.

He laughed; its
sound
was as
soft and fluid as the air around them.  “I am afraid so.  But there is one thing that you could do for me, if you will.”

“Of course.”  She studied the face of a man who had tasted far more than his share of pain and pleasure.  “Anything.”

“Anything?”  His lips curved in a bitter smile.  “I suggest you be more careful with your promises, my dear.”

“Why?” she asked, wary but not frightened.  “Should I be afraid of you?”

A look crossed his face, a nearly perfect mixture of amusement and regret.  “Perhaps.  Perhaps
once,
but not any longer.  Now, I’m quite harmless, you see.  As it happens, my request is the same.”

“I’m listening.”

His eyes narrowed, again that faint tug of his lips that seemed to light up every inch o
f his handsome face.  “Tell him
that I send my greetings and my blessings.” 

At his feet, the dog growled restlessly.  “Yes, I know, dear Argo, but blessings I send just the same. I have every confidence that this mystery, too, will
finally
be solved.”  He turned back to Paige.  “And you will be part of the solving.”

“But how . . . and to whom do I tell . . .”

The dog moved past her ankles, vanishing into the bushes.  Drawn by the animal’s movement, she watched the dog instead of his master.  Spinning around at the last moment, she discovered that her odd companion was simply gone.

Through the bushes, Paige caught sight of black fur through the tangled leaf and bud
s
, and then, further up, a tall form with broad shoulders that moved silently alongside.

Abruptly, she went very still.  There
came
the brush of something faint and cold
over her skin
– too cold for a sunny day
, and abruptly, she felt her mouth cramp dryly with dear
.

Dear God, what now?  My gift …

Helplessly, Paige
watched while the ground around her seemed to shimmer and the trees darken, the stream suddenly appearing to reverse its flow.  She stiffened, trying to fight off the approaching vision, trying to hold back the sights and sounds welling from out of the distant past.
  With her heart pounding, she caught snatches
of images
as they
began dancing through her mind.

She knew that shouting and gunfire waited for her
, could taste the oily bite of the smoke despite the clarity of the air around her
.  Breathless, she stumbled to her feet, clambering towards the house, the evil warning of her vision crawling up inside her.  Tears blurred her sight as she reached the top of the hill, her breath coming in halting sobs.  She was trying to outrun her visions, but couldn’t seem to run fast enough. 
It’s a nightmare, of those dreams where you’re running as fast as you can, but the monster behind you
,
still gaining
, and you know you’re
not going anywhere.

The shouting and gunfire rose to a cacophony in her ears.  Then Paige caught the briefest sight of silver-gold hair falling in loose array as a slender form ran from the chill of rain that fell from the sky towards a house
in the distance
that seemed only a blur
to her dream-fogged eyes
.

Abruptly, shattering the force of the vision, Michael was there, grabbing her arms and chafing them hard to remove some of the chill that seemed to grip Paige.
  He called her name, chanting
it
sharply as he shook her
.

He was
caught between a violent collision of relief at finding her alive and well, and his reaction the deep horror painted on her face.  In his chest, his heart gave a great, jerking leap; later he would come to believe that it had actually stopped beating for a smattering of moments at the sight of her. 

“Damn it
, Paige, come back to me!
”  He shook her violently, almost lifting her from her feet, attempting to bring her back to the
now
, rather than some glimpse of a
past that she – or someone else -
had long since left behind.

A cold shudder ran through her
as she fought to do as Michael commanded, even as fought to make sense of what her gift was attempting to show her
.
  As the visions faded, leaving behind only the terrible sense of growing horror, Paige found she could not control her shivering limbs. 

She knew the taste of the horror which gripped her now – had gotten to know it quite intimately over the past few days, as a matter of fact.  There were no visions of a past which was not her own, not now – in their place was the terrible pressure of someone else’s eyes, of knowing that they were being watched by someone whose malice towards both of them was too great and deep even for words. 
He … I don’t know who ‘he’ is, but he … He’s here …
Like before, when she had seemed to know her odd companion and his dog, but also
not
like before,
because there had been no deep-seated terror in the half-knowing before.  But now – sensing this person whom some part of Paige insisted she should know – now, there emanated a terrible, constant sense of danger. 
Michael and I – we have to go … we have to get away from that person! 
Desperately, she tried to form words to that effect, but nothing came.

He watched from a distance.  Her horror was real, and it tantalized him.  He had known such a trancelike state himself, had tasted its ashes and listened to its same voice.  To see it in
another
delighted him.