Dark Angel; The Chosen; Soulmate (42 page)

“The witch place?”

“Exactly. You can triple your salary if you get there fast.”

When Hannah got to Paul Winfield's house the next afternoon, the sheriff was there. Chris Grady was an honest-to-goodness Western sheriff, complete with boots, broad-brimmed hat, and vest. The only thing missing, Hannah thought as she walked
around to the back of the house where Paul was hammering boards across the broken windows, was a horse.

“Hi, Chris,” she said.

The sheriff nodded, sun-weathered skin crinkling at the corners of her eyes. She took off her hat and ran a hand through shoulder-length auburn hair. “I see you found yourself a couple of giant timber wolves, Hannah. You're not hurt, are you?”

Hannah shook her head no. She tried to summon up a smile but failed. “I think they were maybe wolf-dogs or something. Pure-bred wolves aren't so aggressive.”

“That print wasn't made by any wolf-dog,” Chris said. On the concrete flagstones outside the window there was a paw print made in blood. It was similar to a dog's footprint, with four pads plus claw marks showing. But it was more than six inches long by just over five inches wide.

“Judging from that, it's the biggest wolf ever heard of around here, bigger than the White Wolf of the Judith.” The sheriff's eyes drifted to the empty rectangles of the broken windows. “Big and mean. You people be careful. Something's going on here that I don't like. I'll let you know if we catch your wolves.”

She nodded to Paul, who was sucking his finger after banging it with the hammer. Then she set her hat back on her head and strode off to her car.

Hannah stared at the paw print silently. Everyone else thought there was something going on. Everyone but her.

Because there can't be, she thought. Because it
has
to all be in my head. It has to be something I can figure out and fix quick… something I can control.

“Thanks for seeing me again so soon,” she said to Paul.

“Oh…” He gestured, tucking the hammer under his arm. “It's no trouble. I want to get to the bottom of what's upsetting you as much as you do. And,” he admitted under his breath as he let them in the house, “I don't actually have any other patients.”

Hannah followed him down a hallway and into his office. It was dim inside, the boards across the windows reducing the late afternoon sunlight to separate oddly-angled shafts.

She sat in the contoured chair. “The only thing is, how
can
we get to the bottom of it? I don't understand what's upsetting me, either. It's all too strange. I mean, on the one hand, I'm clearly insane.” She spoke flatly as Paul took his seat on the opposite side of the desk. “I have crazy dreams, I think the world is going to end, I have the feeling I'm being followed, and yesterday I started hearing voices in my head. On the other hand, me being insane doesn't explain wolves jumping through the windows.”

“Voices?” Paul murmured, looking around for a pencil. Then he gave up and faced her. “Yeah, I know. I understand the temptation. Last night after having those wolves stare at me, I was about ready to believe that there had to be something…” He trailed off and shook his head, lifting papers on
his desk to glance under them. “Something… really strange going on. But now it's daytime, and we're all rational people, and we realize that we have to deal with things rationally. And, actually, you know, I think I may have come up with a rational explanation.” He found a pencil and with an expression of vast relief began to waggle it between his fingers.

Hope stirred inside Hannah. “An explanation?”

“Yeah. I mean, first of all, it's possible that your premonitions and things are entirely unconnected with the wolves. People never want to believe in coincidence, but it happens. But even if the two things are connected—well, I don't think that means that anybody's after you. It could be that there's some sort of disturbance in this area—something that's stirring up the whole ecosystem, making wolves crazy, doing who knows what to other animals… and that you're somehow sensing this. You're
attuned
to it somehow. Maybe it's earthquake weather or—or sunspots or negative ions in the air. But whatever it is, it's causing you to think that some terrible disaster is coming. That the world is ending or that you're about to be killed.”

Hannah felt the hope sink inside her, and it was more painful than not having had it at all. “I suppose that could happen,” she said. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. “But how does it explain this?”

She reached into the canvas bag she carried instead of a purse and pulled out a folded slip of paper.

Paul took the paper and read it. “‘They've seen you. They're going to tell him. This is your last chance to get away.'” He stuck the pencil in his mouth. “Hmmm…”

“I found it this morning wrapped around my toothbrush,” Hannah said quietly.

“And it's your handwriting?”

She shut her eyes and nodded.

“And you don't remember writing it.”

“I
didn't
write it. I know I didn't.” She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “The notes scare me. Everything that's happening scares me. I don't understand any of it, and I don't see how I'm supposed to
fix
it if I don't understand it.”

Paul considered, chewing on the pencil gently. “Look—whatever's happening, whoever's writing the notes, I think your subconscious mind is trying to tell you something. The dreams are evidence of that. But it's not telling you enough. There's something I was going to suggest, something I don't exactly believe in, but that we can try anyway. Something to get to your subconscious directly so we can ask it what's going on.”

Get to her subconscious directly…. Hannah held her breath. “Hypnosis?”

Paul nodded. “I'm not a big hypnosis fan. It's not some magical trance like TV and the movies want you to believe. It's just a state of mind where you're a little more relaxed, a little more likely to be able to remember threatening things without
choking up. But it's nothing you can't achieve yourself by doing breathing exercises at home.”

Hannah wasn't happy. Hypnosis still seemed to mean giving up control. If not to Paul, then to her own subconscious.

But what else am I supposed to do? She sat and listened to the quiet helplessness in her mind for a moment. Not a peep from the cool wind voice or the crystal voice—and that was
good,
as far as she was concerned. Still, it pointed up the fact that she didn't have an alternative.

She looked at Paul. “Okay. Let's do it.”

“Great.” He stood, then reached for a book on the corner of his desk. “Always assuming I remember how…. Okay, why don't you lie down on the couch?”

Hannah hesitated, then shrugged. If I'm going to do it, I might as well do it right. She lay down and stared at the dark beams in the ceiling. In spite of how miserable she was feeling, she had an almost irresistible impulse to giggle.

Here she was on a real psychologist's couch, waiting to be hypnotized. Her friends at school would never consider even going to a shrink—out here in Montana craziness was okay. After all, you had to be a little eccentric to be living in this hard land in the first place. What wasn't okay was admitting you couldn't deal with it on your own, paying too much attention to it, asking for help. And allowing yourself to be hypnotized was even worse.

They all think I'm the most independent and together of any of them. If they could see me now.

“Okay, I want you to get comfortable and shut your eyes,” Paul said. He was perched with one hip on the edge of his desk, leg swinging, book in hand. His voice was quiet and soothing—the professional voice.

Hannah shut her eyes.

“Now I want you to imagine yourself floating. Just floating and feeling very relaxed. There's nothing you need to think about and nowhere you need to go. And now you're seeing yourself enveloped by a beautiful violet light. It's bathing your entire body and it's making you more and more relaxed…”

The couch
was
surprisingly comfortable. Its curves fit under her, supporting her without being intrusive. It was easy to imagine that she was floating, easy to imagine the light around her.

“And now you feel yourself floating down deeper… into a deeper state of relaxation… and you're surrounded by a deep blue light. The blue light is all around you, shining through you, and it's making you more comfortable, more relaxed…”

The soft soothing voice went on, and at its direction Hannah imagined waves of colored light bathing her body. Deep blue, emerald green, golden yellow, glowing orange. Hannah saw it all. It was amazing and effortless; her mind just showed her the pictures.

And as the colors came and went she felt herself becoming more and more relaxed, warm and almost weightless. She
couldn't feel the couch underneath her any longer. She was floating on light.

“And now you're seeing a ruby red light, very deep, very relaxing. You're so relaxed; you're calm and comfortable, and everything feels safe. Nothing will upset you; you can answer all my questions without ever feeling distressed. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Hannah said. She was aware of saying it, but it wasn't exactly as if
she
had said it. She wasn't aware of
planning
to say it. Something within her seemed to be answering Paul using her voice.

But it wasn't frightening. She still felt relaxed, floating in the ruby light.

“All right. I'm now speaking to Hannah's subconscious. You will be able to remember things that Hannah's waking mind isn't aware of—even things that have been repressed. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Again, the voice seemed to come before Hannah decided to speak.

“Good. Now, I've got this last note here, the one you found wrapped around your toothbrush this morning. Do you remember this note?”

“Yes.” Of course.

“Okay, that's good. And now I want you to go back in your mind, back to the time that this note was written.”

This time Hannah was aware of a need to speak. “But
how can I do that? I don't
know
when it was written. I didn't write—”

“Just—just—just let go, Hannah,” Paul said, overriding her. His voice soothing again, he added, “Feel relaxed, feel yourself becoming very relaxed, and let your conscious mind go. Just tell yourself to go back to the time this note was written. Don't worry about
how.
See the ruby light and think ‘I will go back.' Are you doing that?”

“Yes,” Hannah said. Go back, she told herself gamely. Just relax and go back, okay?

“And now, a picture is beginning to form in your mind. You are seeing something. What are you seeing?”

Hannah felt something inside her give way. She seemed to be falling into the ruby light. Her ordinary mind was suspended; it seemed to have been shuttled off to the side somewhere. In this odd dreamlike state, nothing could surprise her.

Paul's voice was gently insistent. “What are you seeing?”

Hannah saw it.

A tiny picture that seemed to open up, unfold as she stared at it.

“I see myself,” she whispered.

“Where are you?”

“I don't know. Wait, maybe I'm in my room.” She could see herself, wearing something long and white—a nightgown. No, she
was
that self, she was in her bedroom, wearing her nightgown. She was in Paul's office, lying on the couch, but
she was in her bedroom at the same time. How strange, she thought dimly.

“All right, now the picture will get clearer. You'll begin to see things around you. Just relax and you'll begin to see them. Now, what are you doing?”

Without feeling anything—except a kind of distant amusement and resignation—Hannah said, “Writing a note.”

Paul muttered something that sounded like,
“Aha.”
But it might have been, “Uh-
huh.
” Then he said softly, “And why are you writing it?”

“I don't know—to warn myself. I have to warn myself.”

“About what?”

Hannah felt herself shake her own head helplessly.

“Okay… what are you feeling as you write it?”

“Oh…” That was easy. Paul was undoubtedly expecting her to say something like “fear” or “anxiety.” But that wasn't the strongest thing she was feeling. Not the strongest at all.

“Longing,” Hannah whispered. She moved her head restlessly on the couch. “Just—longing.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I want—so much… I want…”

“What do you want?”

“Him.”
It came out as a sob. Hannah's ordinary mind watched somewhere in amazement, but Hannah's body was entirely taken over by the feeling, racked with it. “I know it's impossible. It's danger and death to me. But
I don't care.
I can't help it…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I mean, you're feeling very relaxed. You're very calm and you can answer my questions. Who is this person that you're longing for?”

“The one who comes,” Hannah said softly and hopelessly. “He's wicked and evil… I know that. She explained it all to me. And I know he'll kill me. The way he always has.
But I want him.
”

She was trembling. She could feel her own body radiating heat—and she could hear Paul swallow. Somehow in this expanded state of consciousness she seemed to be able to see him, as if she could be everywhere at once. She knew he was sitting there on the edge of the desk, looking at her dazedly, bewildered by the transformation in the young woman on his couch.

She knew he could see
her,
her face pale and glowing from inner heat, her breath coming quickly, her body gripped by a fine muscular tremor. And she knew he was stirred—and frightened.