Dare (16 page)

D
are had been right. There was no way I could go to work on this leg.

I picked up the phone to call Lacey.

“Hey, boss. What’s up?” She sounded happier than the last time we spoke.

“I just need you to let the director know I’m working from home today. I’m going to take the day to write. Do some research for my book.”

“Right. And that’s the only reason?”

She seemed to think I was avoiding her. I didn’t care.

“Yes, that’s it. It’s part of my job.”

“I know it is.”

“Ok, will you email me any messages?”

“Of course I will. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Lacey.” I hung up before she tried to pry further.

I followed my same shower routine, hanging my leg over the side of the tub. This would be day two of not shaving. Maybe Dare would like the rough and rugged look. What in the hell was I thinking? That didn’t matter either. If she were interested in things going further¸ she wouldn’t have bolted out of my bed last night like I had electrocuted her.

I shook my head. The water pelted my face. That was what I got for trying to get involved with a college girl. Sure she was days from graduation, but still. She had life in front of her. With five years between us, I probably seemed anything but exciting.

I cut the water and steadied myself for a minute. I wrapped a towel around my waist and limped to the sofa.

I didn’t take days off during the week. I was too new at the museum to have acquired any days of vacation leave. No girlfriend. No family in town. No reason to skip work. I looked around the house.

Here I was again faced with the prospect of another day alone, trapped with memories and feelings of guilt that stabbed at me. I had another dream last night. It wasn’t any different from the others. It still felt as if the cold mist clung to my skin. I rubbed my arms.

Five years ago, I had started seeing a therapist at the insistence of my girlfriend. But after one session, I dumped her and the guy with his judgmental stares and questions about forgiveness. I didn’t need dream analysis to know why I was having the dreams. Blake was dead, and I wasn’t.

Instead of living in a town where I was pitied and blamed, I took off. I left without a destination. The only place I wanted to land was one where I didn’t hurt so damn much.

I poured a cup of coffee and sat on the couch. There was no way I was ducking back into that hole today. I didn’t want to remember the dream.

My laptop was in easy reach on the coffee table.

I flipped open the screen and typed in
North Carolina she-panthers
.

I skipped past all the sports-related stories. I was looking for something different. Something unique.

I clicked on a blog, then another, and another. Until finally I found what I was looking for. There she was. Of course, it was a drawing, not an actual photo, but it was her. I leaned closer to the screen. The sketch was captioned:
Ghost of the Forest. Artist Silver Erikson.

I typed the name in the search engine. Silver was a prolific artist with a gallery downtown. I didn’t know if the sketch was from a personal account or copied from another photo. The only way to find out was to track down Silver Erickson.

I swallowed a handful of ibuprofen and struggled to my room to get dressed. There was an old pair of sweatpants in my dresser. I had to hope they wouldn’t rub across the gash. Without Dare, I hadn’t tried to re-bandage it. I grabbed at the pain running up my leg, but tried to ignore it. I could sleep it off the rest of the day.

I picked up the keys from the table and maneuvered myself to the car. This would almost be enough to make me forget the dream. Almost.

The Legacy Gallery was on the corner near a coffee shop. I hadn’t noticed it before. Admittedly, I wasn’t the artsy type.

The bell chimed as I walked through the door. I dragged my leg behind me. The walls were crammed with canvases. I recognized the skyline of Sullen’s Grove downtown district. The museum was in the foreground.

I moved to the next section of paintings. These looked like abstract pieces. I couldn’t make out the shapes. I squinted harder, thinking something might come into focus. As I edged farther into the gallery, the lighting dimmed.

In the corner, I saw the sketch that was posted on the website. Underneath was another one, bordered by a different pose. There had to be at least fifteen of them.

“Fan of the Ghost of the Forest?”

I almost knocked over a standing floor canvas. “Hi. Yes, I guess I am. New to her fan club.”

The man watched me. He wore a pair of glasses on his nose, while another set rested on top of his head.

“Are you the artist?” I asked.

“I am. All of these are mine—the whole gallery. Occasionally, I’ll bring in another painter to do a showcase. Got one planned next month, actually.”

This man must have been painting his entire life. The canvases were stacked on top of each other, covering all the walls.

“Impressive work.” I tilted toward a painting. If you looked hard enough between the trees, you could see her eyes.

He nodded. “Something in particular interest you?”

I backed up and pointed to the sketch. “This one. I saw it online.”

He chuckled. “My panther collection isn’t for sale. These are display-only. But I have to say they are my most popular.”

“Why not sell them, then?” I pulled out my wallet. “Name your price.”

“They’re special. I don’t paint these to sell.”

I winced. My leg was starting to take over. I didn’t know how much longer I could stand on it.

“What about a print of it, then?” I suggested.

He scratched his head. “Let me see what I can do. Wait here.” He disappeared into a side door and emerged five minutes later holding a scroll.

“Here you go. I had some of these made up for the festival.”

I unrolled the paper. It was similar to the picture I wanted, but not exactly the same. She was looking away in this one.

“How long have you been following the Ghost?” I asked.

“Since I was a boy. She’s sort of my muse.”

My eyebrows arched. “Muse? Does that mean you know her?”

“Yes and no. I’ve seen her, but I don’t know who she is.”

“She’s a panther. What do you mean
who
?”

He chuckled and rolled the print back into a tube. It was a tie on who was slower to the register. I followed him and watched as he punched in the numbers then gave me my total.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

I hesitated. “I’d really like to hear more about the panther. I can’t seem to find anything but hand-me-down stories. I keep hoping I could talk to someone who had an experience with her.” I reached for my knee.

“Looks like you need to get off that leg.”

“I do, but it can wait.”

“Why are you so interested in her?”

The gallery was quiet. We were alone. “I’ve met her too.”

“When?”

I thought he might react, but as someone who studied the panther, perhaps he was used to this. “A couple of nights ago in the woods behind Oaks Park.” Maybe if I gave him some morsels, he would return the favor.

He leaned on a cane, knocked an empty box out of the way, and then walked to the front door, flipping over the open sign on the door. He locked the top bolt.

I waited for him to return to the back of the gallery. He waved me through a door. “Come with me.”

It appeared to be his studio. There were pallets and brushes on the table. The ceiling was open to the rafters.

“Cool place.”

“Thank you. I do most of my work here.”

I noticed an empty bottle of gin next to a pail of brushes.

“Can you tell me more about the panther?”

He wheeled a chair in front of me. “Sit.”

I followed his instructions and gingerly moved into it. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what I saw since the other night.”

I glanced over his shoulder. The eyes were startling. They were a deep emerald green, and I immediately knew whom they belonged to. He had painted her in perfect detail. The fur around the ears was whipped in the wind. For a second, I thought the painting might actually growl.

“And what is it you saw?” He shoved tubes of paint off a milk crate before sitting.

“I was walking the trails behind the park, preparing for the festival. I went off the path a little too far and ran into—”

“Her?”

I shook my head. “Not at first. There was a different cat. I think it was a jaguar.”

I spent the next fifteen minutes recounting my two different encounters with the big cats. Silver listened. He nodded. He mumbled.

“So what do you think?” I asked.

“Sounds like it was her.”

“Ok. Anything else?”

“Don’t know about the other cat though. I’ve had my suspicions another group has moved in here. She’s probably not happy about that.”

“She didn’t seem to be. I don’t speak panther or anything, but she seemed pretty pissed.”

I waited. Silver stared toward the exposed beams overhead. “I wonder if you could draw her out.”

“What do you mean? Sketch her?”

“No.” He shook his head. “She’s saved you twice. Third times a charm.”

“What do you want to do? Catch her?”

“No, I want to find out who she is.” He picked up a brush and ran the bristles against his thumb. “You might already know her. Have you thought about that?”

“She’s an enormous panther who guards the forest. That’s how I know her.” The man was sounding crazier by the second.

Silver looked amused. “She’s only half panther, boy.”

“Excuse me?”

“That cat, the one who has saved you. She’s a girl.”