The Power of Love (14 page)

Gregory had his arms around her. Philip stood next to the bed, clutching Ella.

Ivy stared at them, then sank back against Gregory. “When will it stop? When will this nightmare end?”

“Shh, shh. Everything’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. The nightmare kept growing. It kept adding on details, continually sending out tendrils of fear that curled into the dark places of her mind. Ivy closed her eyes, resting her head against Gregory.

“Why does she keep dreaming?” Philip asked.

“I’m not sure,” Gregory said. “I guess it’s part of getting over the accident.”

“Sometimes dreams are messages from angels,” Philip suggested. He said
angels
quickly, then glanced at Ivy, as if he thought she’d yell at him for mentioning them again.

Gregory studied Philip for a moment, then asked, “Angels are good, aren’t they?”

Philip nodded.

“Well, if angels are good,” Gregory reasoned, “do you think they’d be sending Ivy bad dreams?”

Philip thought about it, then slowly shook his head. “No … but maybe it’s a bad angel doing it.”

Ivy felt Gregory stiffen.

“It’s just my mind doing it,” she said quietly. “It’s just my mind getting used to what happened to Tristan and me. In a while, the nightmares will stop.”

But she was lying. She was afraid the dreams would never stop. And she was starting to think that there was something more to them than her getting over Tristan’s death.

“I have an idea, Philip,” Gregory said. “Until Ivy’s nightmares stop, we’ll take turns waking her up and staying with her. Tonight’s my turn. Next time it’s yours, okay?”

Philip looked doubtfully from Gregory to Ivy. “Okay,” he said at last. “Ivy, can I take Ella in my room?”

“Sure. She’d love to cuddle with you.”

Ivy watched her brother as he carried Ella, his head bent over her, his brow furrowed.

“Philip,” she called after him. “When I get home from work tomorrow, we’ll do something, just you and me. Think about what you want it to be—something fun. Everything’s all right Philip. Really. Everything will be all right.”

He nodded, but she could tell that he didn’t believe her.

“Sleep tight,” Ivy said. “You’ve got Ella with you. And your angel,” she added.

He looked at her, his eyes wide with surprise. “You saw him, too?”

Ivy hesitated.

“Of course not,” Gregory answered for her.

Of course not, Ivy repeated to herself—and yet for a moment she almost thought she did. She could almost believe an angel existed for Philip, though not for herself.

“Good night,” she said softly.

When he was gone, Gregory held Ivy close to him and rocked her for several minutes. “Same old dream?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Is Eric still in it?”

“The red motorcycle is,” Ivy replied.

“I wish I could stop your nightmares,” Gregory said. “If I knew how, I’d dream them myself every night. If only I could keep you from going through this.”

“I don’t think anyone can stop them,” she replied.

He lifted his head. “What do you mean?”

“There was something new tonight. The same way the motorcycle got added on before, something else was added this time. Gregory, I think I might be remembering things. And I think I might have to keep doing this until I remember—something.” She shrugged.

He pulled his head back a little to look at her. “What was added to the dream?”

“I was driving. The window was there, the one I can’t quite see through with the shadow on the other side. It was that same window, but this time I was driving toward it, not walking.”

She paused. She didn’t want to think about it, think what the new part could mean.

He held her close again. “And everything else was the same?”

“No. I was driving Tristan’s car.”

Ivy heard the sharp intake of breath.

“When I saw the window, I tried to stop the car. I stepped on the brake, but the car wouldn’t slow down. Then I heard his voice. ‘Ivy, stop! Stop! Don’t you see, Ivy? Ivy, stop!’ But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t slow down. I pressed down the pedal over and over. I had no brakes!”

Ivy felt cold all over. Gregory’s arms were around her, but his own skin was cold with sweat.

“Why were there no brakes?” she whispered. “Am I remembering, Gregory?
What
am I remembering?”

He didn’t answer. He was shaking as much as she.

“Stay with me,” she begged. “I’m afraid to go back to sleep.”

“I’ll stay, but you have to sleep, Ivy.”

“I can’t! I’m afraid I’ll start dreaming again. It frightens me! I don’t know what will happen next!”

“I’ll be right here. I’ll wake you as soon as you start dreaming, but you need to sleep. I’ll get you something to help you.”

He stood up.

“Where are you going?” she asked, panicky.

“Shh,” he soothed. “I’m just going to fix you something to help you sleep.”

Then he took Tristan’s photo down from the bureau and set it on the night table next to her.

“I’ll be right back. I won’t leave you, Ivy, I promise I won’t leave you.” He smoothed her hair. “Not until these nightmares stop for good.”

14

“Ivy, stop! Stop! Don’t you see, Ivy? Ivy, stop!”

But she hadn’t stopped. Ivy kept telling Gregory the dream, and now he knew that she was remembering more. Maybe next time she’d remember it all—whatever it was Gregory didn’t want anyone to know. If there was a next time.

Tristan lay still in Ivy’s room. He had gone crazy, shouting and screaming at her. He had used up huge amounts of energy. For what? She sat fidgeting, frightened—and hoping for Gregory’s return.

Tristan pulled himself up. He rushed out of the bedroom and down the main stairway of the darkened house, turning instinctively toward the kitchen, where Gregory was. Only the small light over the stove was on. Water hissed in the teapot. Gregory sat on a stool at the counter, watching it, his skin pale and glistening.

He kept toying with a cellophane packet he had taken from his pocket. Tristan could guess what it contained and what Gregory planned to do next. And he knew that, even if he had his full strength now, he couldn’t overcome him. He couldn’t use Gregory’s mind the way he could use Will’s. Gregory would fight Tristan all the way, and his human body had a physical strength a hundred times greater than that of Tristan’s materialized fingers.

But human fingers could still slip, Tristan thought. If a little red capsule—something that Tristan could manipulate—moved unexpectedly, Gregory might fumble.

Gregory had chosen raspberry tea, perhaps because its sharp flavor would cover the taste of a drug, Tristan thought. He moved steadily closer to Gregory. He’d have to materialize his fingers at just the right moment

Gregory carefully undid the cellophane packet and picked up two of the three capsules. Tristan extended his glowing hand and began to focus on his fingertips. Gregory’s hand hovered over the hot tea.

The moment he let go, Tristan flicked the capsules away. They skittered across the countertop. Gregory swore and flung out his hand, but Tristan was quicker and flicked them into the sink. The capsules stuck to the damp surface and Tristan had to work again to get them down the drain.

As he did Gregory dropped the third capsule into the tea.

Now Tristan reached for the mug, but Gregory wrapped his fingers firmly around it. He stirred the liquid with a spoon, and when the capsule had dissolved, he carried the cup upstairs.

Ivy looked so relieved to see him.

“This ought to help,” Gregory said.

“Don’t drink it, Ivy!” Tristan warned, though he knew she couldn’t hear him.

She sipped, then set it down and laid her head against Gregory.

He picked the cup up again before Tristan could touch it. “Too hot?”

“No, it’s good. Thank you.”

“Stop!” Tristan cried.

She sipped again, as if to reassure Gregory that the tea was fine.

“I chose the right stuff, didn’t I? You’ve got so many kinds down there.”

“Put it down, Ivy.”

“It’s perfect,” she said, and took longer drinks.

“Lacey, where are you when I need you? I need your voice, I need someone to tell her no!”

Whenever Ivy reached to put the drugged tea back on the table, Gregory took it from her and held it. He sat on the bed with her, one arm around her, the other lifting the cup to her lips.

“A little more,” he coaxed.

“No more!” Tristan cried.

“How do you feel?” he asked several minutes later.

“Sleepy. Strange. Not scared … just strange. I feel like someone else is here, watching us,” she said, glancing around the room.

“I’m here, Ivy!”

Gregory offered her the last mouthful of tea. “There’s nothing to be worried about,” he said. “I’m here for you, Ivy.”

Tristan struggled to keep himself calm. One capsule probably wouldn’t kill her, he reasoned. Had Gregory found the other pack that Tristan had thrown behind the bureau? Was he planning to dope her up a little, then give her the rest?

“Lacey, I can’t save her by myself!”

Will, Tristan thought, find Will. But how long would that take? Ivy’s eyes were slowly closing.

“Sleep,” Gregory was saying over and over. “There’s nothing to be afraid of Sleep.”

Ivy’s eyes shut, then her head dropped. Gregory did not bother to catch her. He pushed her to the side and let her slump against the pillow.

Without realizing it, Tristan had begun to cry. He wrapped his arms around Ivy, though he could not hold her. She was far away from him, and drifting away from Gregory, too, sinking further and further into an unnatural sleep. Tristan cried helplessly.

Gregory got up abruptly and walked out of the room.

Tristan knew he had to get help, but he couldn’t leave Ivy alone for long.

Philip. It was his only chance. Tristan hurried into the next room.

Ella became alert as soon as he entered.

“Help me out, Ella. We need to get him awake, just enough to let me in.”

Ella climbed up on Philip’s chest, sniffed at his face, then mewed.

Philip’s eyes fluttered open. His small hand reached up and lazily scratched Ella. Tristan imagined how soft the cat felt to Philip. A second later, having shared his thoughts, he slipped inside the boy.

“It’s me, Philip. Your friend, your angel, Tristan.”

“Tristan,” Philip murmured, and suddenly they were sitting across from each other with a checkerboard between them. Philip jumped Tristan’s marker. “Crown me!”

Tristan had dropped into a memory or a dream woven from a memory. He struggled to get them out of it.

“Wake up, Philip. It’s Tristan. Wake up. I need your help. Ivy needs your help.”

Tristan could hear Ella purring again and saw her face peering into his, though everything was blurry. He knew Philip was listening and waking up slowly.

“Come on, Philip. That’s the way, buddy.”

Philip was looking over at the angel statues now. He was wondering, but he was not afraid. His arms and legs still felt relaxed. So far, so good.

Then Tristan heard the noise in the hall. He heard footsteps—Gregory’s—but Gregory was walking oddly, heavily.

“Get up, Philip! We have to see!”

Before Philip could rouse himself, Gregory was down the stairs. A moment later, an outside door banged.

“Put on your shoes. Your shoes!”

A car’s engine sputtered. Tristan recognized it—Ivy’s old Dodge. His heart sank. Gregory had Ivy with him. Where are you taking her? Where?

“I don’t know,” Philip said in a sleepy voice.

Think. What would be easy for him? Tristan said to himself.

“I don’t know,” Philip mumbled.

With Ivy drugged, it would be easy to stage an accident. What kind? How and where was he going to do it? There must have been clues in his room, a hint in the newspaper clippings.

Tristan suddenly remembered the train schedule. He recalled the strange look on Gregory’s face when he found the timetable on the floor. Gregory had circled the late-night train, the one that stopped at Tusset. Then he had done some calculations, written down a time, and circled it twice. 2:04. That would be right—Tristan knew the train rushed through their station a few minutes after two each morning. Rushed through! It didn’t stop at small stations such as Stonehill’s, which would be deserted after midnight. They had to stop him!

He glanced at Philip’s digital clock. 1:43
A.M.

“Philip, come on!”

The little boy was slumped down in the chair, with only one shoelace tied. His fingers were clumsy when he tried to tie the other one. He could barely stand up, and moved slowly down the hall with Tristan guiding him. Tristan chose the center staircase, where there was a railing to hang on to. They made it safely to the bottom, then Tristan guided him around to the back door, which Gregory had left open. As if he had a clock inside him, Tristan felt each second ticking away.

They’d never make it in time by foot; the long driveway down the ridge took them in the opposite direction from the station. Keys—could he find the keys for Gregory’s car? If he did, he could materialize his fingers and—But what if they wasted all their time looking for keys that Gregory had with him?

“Other way, Philip.” Tristan turned Philip around. It was a dangerous shortcut, but their only chance: the steep and rocky side of the ridge, which dropped to the station below.

After a couple of steps, the cool night air revived Philip. Through the boy’s eyes and ears, Tristan became aware of the night’s silvery shadows and rustling sounds. He too was feeling stronger. At Tristan’s urging, Philip broke into a run across the grass. They raced past the tennis court, then forty yards more toward the boundary of the property, the edge where the land suddenly dropped off.

They were moving faster than a child could have, their powers combined. Tristan didn’t know how long his renewed strength would hold out, and he wasn’t certain that he could get them safely down the steep side of the ridge. It seemed to have taken forever just to get this far.

He felt a moment of resistance as he and Philip climbed the stone wall marking the end of the property.

“I’m not supposed to,” Philip said.

“It’s okay, you’re with me.”

Far below them he could see the train station. To get to it they’d have to climb down a hillside where the only toeholds were the roots of a few dwarfed trees and some narrow ledges of stone, with sheer drops beneath them. Occasionally patches of brush broke through the rocky surface, but mostly it was rutted earth with a cascade of tumbled rocks that would roll at the lightest touch of a foot.

“I’m not scared,” Philip said.

“I’m glad that one of us isn’t.”

They picked their way slowly and carefully down the ridge. The moon had come up late and its shadows were long and confusing. Tristan had to continually check himself, reminding himself that the legs he was using were shorter, the arms unable to reach as far.

They were halfway down when he misjudged. Their jump was too short, and they leaned out too far from a narrow strip of rock. From their ledge, it was a straight drop down twenty-five feet, with nothing but stones to snag them at the bottom before another drop. They teetered. Tristan drew into himself, cloaking his thoughts and instincts, letting Philip take over. It was Philip’s natural sense of balance that saved them.

As they descended, Tristan tried not to think about Ivy, though the image of her head hanging over her shoulder like a limp doll’s kept passing through his mind. And all the while he was aware of time ticking away.

“What is it?” Philip asked, sensing Tristan’s concern.

“Keep going. Tell you later.”

Tristan couldn’t let Philip know how much danger Ivy was in. He cloaked certain thoughts, hiding from Philip’s consciousness both Gregory’s identity and his intentions. He wasn’t sure how Philip would handle the information, whether he’d panic over Ivy or even try to defend Gregory.

They were at the bottom now, racing through the tall grass and weeds, getting tripped up by rocks. Philip’s ankle twisted, but he kept going. Ahead of them was a high wire fence. Through it they saw the station.

The station had two tracks side by side, north-bound and southbound, each with its own platform. The platforms were connected by a high bridge over the tracks. On the southbound side, which was farthest from Philip and Tristan, there was a wooden station house and a parking lot. Tristan knew that the late-night train ran south-bound.

Just as they reached the fence Tristan heard the bells of a town church, tolling once, twice. Two o’clock.

“The fence is awfully high, Tristan.”

“At least it’s not electric.”

“Can we rest?”

Before Tristan could answer, a train whistle sounded in the distance.

“Philip, we have to beat the train!”

“Why?”

“We have to. Climb!”

Philip did, digging his toes into the holes of the wire mesh, stretching and grasping with his fingers, pulling himself up. They were at the top of the fence, twenty feet high. Then Philip jumped. They slammed into the ground and rolled.

“Philip!”

“I thought you had wings. You’re supposed to have wings.”

“Well,
you
don’t!” Tristan reminded him.

The whistle blew again, closer this time. They ran for the first platform. When they climbed up on it, they could see across the station.

Ivy.

“Something’s wrong with her,” Philip said.

She was standing on the southbound platform, leaning back against a pillar that was at the edge of the platform. Her head was hanging to one side.

“She could fall! Tristan, a train’s coming and—” Philip began to shout. “Ivy! Ivy!”

She didn’t hear him.

“The steps,” Tristan told him.

They raced for them, then across the bridge and down the other side.

They could hear the train rumbling, getting closer. Philip kept calling to her, but Ivy stared across the track, mesmerized. Tristan followed her gaze—then he and Philip froze.

“Tristan? Tristan, where are you?” Philip asked in a panicky voice.

“Here. Right here. I’m still inside you.”

But even to Tristan it looked as if he were out there, on the other side of the track. Tristan stared at the image of himself that stood in the shadows of the northbound platform. The strange figure was dressed in a school jacket, like the one Tristan wore in his photograph, and had an old baseball cap pulled on backward. Tristan stared, as entranced by the figure as Ivy and Philip.