The Lost Night (19 page)

Marcus jacked up his talent a little, just enough to get a fix on the vulnerable wavelengths in Oakford’s aura. It wasn’t hard. The doctor was desperately anxious for feedback that would tell him that the experimental psi-drugs were working.

“I’m in my bed in my parents’ house,” Marcus began. “It’s night. I know that something terrible is about to happen. I want to warn my folks but I can’t speak. I can’t move. Can’t get out of bed to go down the hall to warn them.”

“Go on,” Dr. Oakford said.

“I lie there, frozen. I sense someone or maybe something coming down the hall. I know that whoever or whatever it is, it’s coming for me.”

“You’re not sure if the creature in the hall is human?”

“It’s the monster-under-the-bed thing, Doctor. You know what it’s like when you’re a kid.”

Oakford made a note. “Please continue.”

“I finally manage to get out of bed. I can’t go out into the hall because the monster is there. My only hope is to crawl out the window. But I’m moving in slow motion. I know I won’t be able to escape. I hear the door open behind me. I turn around.”

“What do you see, Marcus?”

“Nothing,” Marcus said. “I always wake up at that point.”

“When was the last time
you had this dream?” Dr. Oakford asked.

Marcus made himself frown a little, as though he could not recall the exact date. The truth was, although he had dreamed the dream frequently over the years, it never went quite the way he had described it to Oakford. The real version had a slightly different twist and a very different ending.

“It’s been a while now,” he said. He blinked a couple of times and allowed his expression to clear, showing just the faintest hint of surprise. “Not for a couple of weeks, in fact.”

Dr. Oakford nodded. “What do you think that means, Marcus?”

“I’m not sure,” Marcus said. He risked a sliver of a smile that was tinged with relief. “But I will say I’m sleeping better these days, even if I am locked up in a para-psych ward.”

“Better sleep is a sign of progress.” Dr. Oakford’s smile held more than a hint of satisfaction. “We’ll continue work on the meaning of your dream tomorrow.”

“Do you think that it’s important that I’ve stopped having the old nightmare?”

“It’s very, very important, Marcus. It means that you are moving toward recovery.”

“I do feel calmer.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Dr. Oakford closed his notebook. “We have a lot of work ahead of us, but the medications are working.”

Marcus allowed himself another hopeful smile. He made sure it looked
like the kind of smile a grateful patient would give the doctor who was saving his sanity.

Oakford got to his feet and went to the door to summon the orderly. Marcus stood, wondering with some amusement what Oakford would say if knew the truth about the dream.

In the real version of the dream—the version Marcus had dreamed off and on for years—he was not the terrified little boy lying helplessly in bed. Oh, no. He was on his way down the hall to set a fire.

“I’m just a
small-town cop,” Kirk Willis said. “I’m not ex-FBPI like the chief, but for what it’s worth, I’ve got a feeling that those two perps are telling the truth. I don’t think they remember much about what happened last night. Probably high at the time. That would explain the memory loss.”

“I agree they were flying last night,” Harry said. “Drugs would account for the inability to recall the actual torch-lighting ceremony at the gatekeeper’s cabin, but they don’t explain forgetting how and where they came into possession of a high-tech accelerant and the device that was used to start the fire. That required planning, and you don’t do that under the influence of dope that is strong enough to cause a blackout.”

They were sitting in Willis’s small office at the Shadow Bay Police Station. Kirk was in his early twenties and still figuring out
what kind of man and what kind of cop he wanted to be. It was obvious, though, that he was taking lessons from his new boss.

Although Kirk was young, his desk and just about every other aspect of the place looked as if it had been locked in a time warp for the past few decades. The old-fashioned filing cabinets, window blinds, and furniture could have qualified as antiques, assuming anyone wanted to collect that kind of shabby stuff.

The computer on the desk was new and so was the phone, but neither was of much use at the moment and maybe not for a long time to come. There was no way to know when the phone and rez-net service would be restored.

The door of the office was open. Harry could hear voices drifting down the hall. There was a fair amount of serious conversation going on among the volunteers who had gathered at the station. While the news of the fire and the arrest of the two young arsonists was of keen interest to the locals, assessing damage and cleaning up after the storm was the first priority this morning.

“You got me there,” Kirk said. “But all I can tell you right now is what you already know. According to the ferry ticket stubs and the other info in their pockets, Vince Pritchard and Eric McClain arrived on the island yesterday. Rented one of the Vibe buggies that the tourists use and got a room at Garrison’s B&B. Garrison says he didn’t see much of them. The kids went out about six o’clock last night and returned with a couple of hamburgers and soft drinks. Ate in their room. He didn’t see them leave last
night. Didn’t even know they were gone until this morning.”

“It would have been easy enough for them to take off without anyone noticing after the storm got going,” Harry said. “But they must have asked directions to the gatekeeper’s cabin. Not like the place is on one of the tourist maps. Only the locals know where it is.”

“I’ll ask around,” Kirk said. He stood behind his desk. “Chief said I was to give you any help I could. But right now, I’ve got an island to clean up.”

“I understand,” Harry said. He got to his feet.

Kirk shook his head. “Never seen storms like the ones we’ve been having lately. Anyhow, sorry I don’t have more information for you, Mr. Sebastian. But with the phones and computers down, there’s not much I can do. No telling how long we’ll be cut off from the mainland.”

“I’d like to talk to Pritchard and McClain if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, help yourself. Myrna can keep an eye on them while you question them.”

“Thanks. I’m going to let Rachel sit in on the interrogation.”

Kirk frowned. “After what happened last night you want her in the same room as those two?”

“No, but she seems to think she might be able to read something useful in their auras.”

“Huh.” Kirk picked up his cap and positioned it squarely on his head. “I don’t know about this aura-reading business, but Rachel sometimes seems to know things about people.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “She
does.”

“Doesn’t mean she always knows everything she should about a person, though.”

“Are you trying to tell me something, Willis?”

Kirk flushed but he drew himself up to his full height and fixed Harry with a cop stare. Harry had a hunch that Willis had copied the flat, hard look from Slade, along with the brand of sunglasses.

“Rachel is a little different,” Kirk said. “Folks say she was raised in some kind of alternative community. One of those places where folks do a lot of meditation and such.”

“A Harmonic Environment community, yes, I’m aware of that.”

“I don’t know much about that kind of thing myself, but Myrna says she got to know Rachel’s aunts pretty well when they lived here on the island. The aunts told Myrna that folks—especially men—sometimes get the wrong idea about women who come from HE communities.”

“You’re trying to warn me not to take advantage of Rachel?” Harry asked politely.

“Doesn’t matter where she came from,” Kirk said. He was a little red-faced now, but his cold-eyed stare didn’t waver. “Rachel’s one of us now. We look after our own here on Rainshadow.”

“Good to know,” Harry said. He suppressed a smile. Willis had definitely been studying Slade’s style.

“Right, then, guess that’s all that I need to say.” Kirk started toward the door. “I’ll check back in here at the station in a couple
of hours. Good luck with getting something useful out of Pritchard and McClain.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “I appreciate it.”

He followed Willis down the hall to the entrance of the station, where a small group of people were gathered.

“You’ve all got your sector assignments from Myrna here, and you know the drill,” Kirk said.

“Should know it by now,” one of the men in the crowd said. “This is the third or fourth time we’ve been through it since that first big storm hit a while back.”

“You got it, Hank,” Kirk said. “Only difference this time is that the chief isn’t here, but we’ll stick with his plan. Phones are out, so instead of calling in the problems, you’ll need to make notes. Check the main roads and the bridges in your assigned sector and note downed trees and other obstructions too heavy for you to move out of the way on your own. Come back in at noon. Earlier if that damn fog gets worse. Don’t want to have to go out looking for stragglers in that stuff.”

“For sure,” someone muttered. “That fog is wicked. Never seen anything like it.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the others.

Kirk surveyed the crowd. “Any questions?”

“Heard there was a big fire out at the old gatekeeper’s cabin,” someone said. “Couple of off-island kids torched the place.”

Everyone looked at Harry. He inclined his head politely but stayed silent. This was Willis’s show.

“No one was injured and the kids who threw the fire-bomb are locked
up here at the station,” Kirk said. “They aren’t going to be setting any more fires on Rainshadow. Myrna will keep an eye on them while we’re out doing damage control. Right, Myrna?”

The middle-aged blonde at the front desk spoke up briskly. “Don’t worry, those two aren’t going anywhere.”

“That’s it, then,” Kirk said. “Let’s go.”

The crowd tromped outside. In spite of the fog, Kirk took his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on with both hands in a cool, deliberate way that looked very familiar. Harry remembered seeing Slade put his shades on with the same kind of move.

Kirk followed the gaggle of volunteers outside. The door closed behind him.

Harry found himself alone with Myrna. She gave him a cool, speculative look.

“Sounds like you and Rachel had quite the adventure last night,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Word is that the two of you had to spend the night in your SUV after the cabin got torched.”

“Wasn’t much choice. Didn’t want to risk trying to drive back to town in that storm.”

“You seem to be making a habit of getting caught in storms with Rachel and then having to spend the night with her.”

“It’s only happened twice,” Harry said.

“Twice in three days.”

“Is this where you give me the lecture on not taking advantage of naïve, unworldly women
from an HE community?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did someone else already give you the talk?”

“Willis did just a few minutes ago. Couple of days ago I got it from those two retired ghost-hunters at the Kane Gallery, and I believe Levenson, the fishmonger, may have said something along the same lines.”

“We look after our own here on Rainshadow.”

“I got that message as well.”

Myrna turned thoughtful. “Did Slade deliver the same message, by any chance?”

“No. Probably didn’t feel it was necessary.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Before he left the island he was pretty focused on meeting Charlotte’s family.”

“I saw enough of Attridge to know that he takes his responsibilities here on Rainshadow seriously. He wouldn’t have hesitated to warn me to stay away from Rachel if he had felt I needed warning.”

Myrna pursed her lips and gave that a moment’s thought. Then she nodded once, satisfied. “Slade’s got good, solid cop intuition. Okay, moving right along, then, Kirk said you wanted to question those two kids we’ve got locked up in back. When do you want to do that?”

“Now. But I want Rachel with me.”

“Why?”

“She suggested it. And since she was there last night when that pair tried to kill us, I think she’s got a right.”

“Good idea,” Myrna said. “Rachel sometimes seems to know things about people.”

“So I hear.” He started to take
out his phone and belatedly remembered again that it wasn’t functioning. “I’ll go down to the bookshop and get her.”

“No rush. I’m not going anywhere and neither is that pair back in the cell.”

He started toward the door but stopped halfway across the room. “I’ve got a question for you, Myrna.”

“What?”

“I know people tend to assume that Rachel’s a little naïve in the ways of the world because of her upbringing. I get the part about looking after your own. But I’m starting to think that the level of vigilance here is approaching overkill. Mind telling me why you think Rachel needs so much protection?”

“It’s not like she has any family here to take care of her,” Myrna said. “Now that her aunts have moved away, she’s on her own.”

“I’ll buy that, but only up to a point.” He walked back to the desk and stopped in front of it. “There’s some other reason you’re worried about her, isn’t there?”