The Awakening

Page 19

The four-cup machine took only seconds.
While the coffee brewed, he dug into his belongings. He didn't smoke often; this morning, he wanted a cigarette.
He found a half-crushed pack of Marlboro Lights. He got his cup of coffee and his cigarette and headed for the balcony.
He hesitated, then forced himself to open the doors, walk out, and take a seat on one of the little patio chairs there.
The sun was rising. It was beautiful.
He lit his cigarette, sipped his coffee. The sun kept rising. It wasn't like a Southern sunrise. The brilliant crimsons and golds didn't streak across the sky. But still, day came magnificently. Soft grays became violets, and that color became softer still, an incredible powder blue.
He closed his eyes. There were noises now, too. Car doors, shouts here and there, conversations…
The world was awakening. Day-to-day. Usual. He heard a mother remind a child to grab a lunch bag.
He crushed out his cigarette, drained his coffee, and went back inside, ready to go back to sleep, despite the coffee. The dream had, at long last, left him. Only vague, scattered remnants remained.
Still…
He paused as he closed and locked the balcony doors again.
He had forgotten so much.
And still, that vague feeling remained.
Too late, too late, far too late…
There was no way to lock out…
Evil.
He swore, set the cup down, and crawled back in next to Megan. Oddly, he hesitated again, as if he had wronged her somehow.
Tentatively, he pulled her into his arms.
She came, not really awakening, just readjusting into his embrace.
I love you. I will protect you against any evil! he swore silently.
But then another thought plagued his mind.
What if I truly am the evil?
He slept at last with one very logical, disdainful, and determined notion.
Bull!
Chapter 6
Megan awoke around ten. Finn, a rather restless spirit at the best of times, was usually up before her.
Not that morning. He was out like a dead fish. In fact, he seemed so still that she found herself besieged by a moment of panic, checking to make sure he was breathing. He was.
She hesitated a moment, then touched his injured hand. Somewhere along the line, he'd lost the bandage.
But the bleeding had stopped, and the injury didn't appear to be too bad. It would be annoying on his hand, but there was already a scab forming on the slash.
She started for the coffee machine and was surprised to see there was about an inch or two of cold coffee in the pot. He'd apparently awakened, and gone back to bed. Caffeine never had an effect on Finn. She thought it was because so many of his waking moments were so intense.
And getting strange, she thought ruefully.
Like last night.
Newly disturbed, she rinsed the coffeepot, and grimaced when she saw that the only little package left was decaf. That wasn't going to help her a lot. She'd have to get dressed and make her way out to the dining room. Breakfast would be over, but coffee and tea were available throughout the day. And she didn't need anything to eat. They were going to Aunt Martha's for lunch.
That thought gave her a smile. Martha was so wonderfully pragmatic. Down to earth, and a sensational cook. The concept of going to see Martha was a cheery one, banishing some of the discomforts that began to plague her more and more.
She started the coffee, then stepped into the shower while it brewed. The water crashed down on her hard and she let out a little cry, realizing for the first time that there actually were bruises on her arms and hips.
What the hell had gotten into him?
Part of Finn's sexual charisma was his ability to be subtle. The slightest brush could seem to awaken every erogenous zone in her body. He could go from a touch softer than a whisper to a tumult of fever, electricity, and passion with a finesse that was breathtaking and so seductive she never knew sometimes how she wound up in such mindless frenzy. He could be gentle, and then rugged and forceful, in his lovemaking.
But never hurtful. Until…
Last night.
They'd have to talk, she decided. He'd been so… weird.
Yes…
But exciting.
Like a stranger.
Being with a stranger would not be exciting, she thought ruefully, and honestly. He was incredible; even when she had been determined she couldn't live with him, she'd never wanted anyone else, and she'd been certain she would never find anyone who attracted her again, not after Finn. So…
She shook her head, then rinsed quickly, frowning at the bruises once again. They were definitely young and in love with healthy sexual appetites, but even living in a city like New Orleans, they'd never been…
weird. Sadistic, or masochistic. She vaguely remembered that there had been moments of pain.
But still, she'd been so enwrapped in the frenetic rise to climax that she hadn't realized just how he had held her… pinioned her, actually.
She dismissed the uneasy notion that Finn was changing as she stepped from the shower. And she didn't want to think that being here, close to her home, among her family members and old friends, was bad for them. That it was causing them both to be different.
The decaf had gone through. She poured a cup while she quickly dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and a sweater. As she tied on her sneakers, she saw that Finn was still sound asleep.
She left him, heading out to the breakfast room for real coffee. The dining room was empty. In fact, it seemed that the entire house was as silent as a tomb.
She was standing still, looking out the bay window in the dining room, when she was startled by a voice behind her.
"Ms. Douglas!"
Coffee slopped over the rim of her mug as she spun around. Susanna McCarthy was behind her. She hadn't heard the woman walk into the room. In fact, the housekeeper's movements seemed downright creepy.
"Yes, good morning, Ms. McCarthy," she answered in kind.
"There's a telephone call for you."
She frowned, instantly worried that something might have happened with her parents. But her emergency number, which she insisted both her folks keep on them at all times, was her cell phone number.
She didn't have to worry long. Not about her folks.
"It's old Andy Markham," Susanna said with a sniff. "Do you wish to speak with him?"
The question implied she shouldn't. Perhaps because of that, she decided to take the call, even though she wasn't sure she wanted to be talking to old Andy.
"Of course, Ms. McCarthy, thank you," she said sweetly.
"You can use the phone in the salon, right on through there," Susanna said, indicating the very formal living room.
"Thank you."
Megan walked on into the adjoining room and sat in the elegant Victorian chair next to the phone.
"Hello," she murmured into the receiver. Looking back into the dining room, she saw that Susanna McCarthy was gone.
She was probably listening in on another extension in the house, Megan couldn't help but feel.
"Megan. Megan Douglas?"
It was definitely the old man. He had a way of sounding like an old Maine fisherman.
"Yes, it's me. How are you Mr. Markham?"
"Andy, it's Andy, I've told you to call me Andy."
"I'm sorry. Andy. What can I do for you?"
"Something very important," he said seriously. He sounded very sane. And determined. "You can listen to me. Really listen to me. Then you can call me crazy, if you still wish."
She hesitated, aware that she didn't want to listen to anything that he had to say. He did sound crazy.
And it was all the crazy talk that seemed to be getting to everyone.
"Please."
He knew she was hesitating. And his entreaty was so earnest.
"I swear before God Almighty, I am trying to help you, woman!" the old man insisted.
Again, he sounded so sincere.
"All right, Andy. I'm listening."
"No. You've got to meet me."
She hesitated again. Meet him? Finn would go through the roof.
"Where? When? I'm afraid I have a number of appointments during the day."
"Now. It's a ten minute drive. Just on the outskirts of town, not far from the hotel where you're playing.
And now."
"Now? What if—"
"Your husband is still sleeping, isn't he?"
She was startled by that.
"Give me the address. I'll come—if I can."
He didn't give her an address, but explained the route. Andy hung up.
She sat in the chair a long moment, the receiver in her hand—certain that she heard a second click.
Susanna McCarthy, she thought. Listening in.
She exhaled on a long sigh. All right, if Finn was still sleeping, she'd go. And if he had wakened… well, she'd said that she'd come if she could.
If Susanna had been listening in, she would tell Finn where Megan had gone once he started prowling around, looking for her.
But then again, she didn't intend to be gone long.
She rose with a strange determination, dreading the idea of meeting the man, and wondering why she was even contemplating doing so when the idea was so loathsome to her.
It had been his voice. The pleading in it.
She hurried back to her room. Finn was still sound asleep.
"Finn?" she spoke his name.
He didn't stir.
She walked to the dresser and picked up the car keys. They jangled. He still didn't make a move.
Shaking her head, she grabbed her handbag and walked out of the room.
By daylight, the car was just a stone's throw away. Bizarre how last night the walk from their auto to the B and B had seemed so ridiculously long. And scary. By the sun's light, it was a pretty walk, even with the dead and dying leaves of autumn scattering the paths. Some—a few—remained on the trees. It seemed a gentle day.
She followed the easy directions he had given her, leaving the center of town behind in a matter of minutes. Soon she was passing the new hotel where they were playing. Just about sixty seconds after the hotel turn-in, she found the trail he had indicated she take, a narrow, winding road into what looked like a forest area.