Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1) (25 page)

 
“He doesn’t know that. If he thought you knew he’d done something illegal, he might be worried you will expose him. He doesn’t have to believe you’re dreaming. He might just think someone told you.”

Marianne threw up her hands in exasperation. “No one told me anything. I wish they had! Instead I just dreamed about it, but I don’t have any proof.”

Kelly looked over her shoulder as she stirred something on the stove. “Sometimes people imagine everyone else is guilty of the same things they are. If they’re willing to bend the rules, they think others are willing to do the same and have a hard time believing they wouldn’t. I’ve heard that one more than a few times, I can tell you.”
 

Sarah nodded in agreement.

Marianne shook her head. “How can I convince him I don’t know anything about him? If I tell him I don’t, he’ll just think I’m lying.”

 
“Hopefully he’ll never pursue you up here. But your dream suggests he might turn up here someday.” Sarah ran the loop of the little crystal up and down the chain before she said, “What if you tell him in a general sort of way that you do know something about him?”

“What could I say?” Marianne replied. “Besides, I really don’t want to give him a reason to hassle me more!”

Sarah pursed her lips. “Don’t be specific. Just hint that you know something and you won’t tell as long as he leaves you alone. If he continues to hassle you—calling, emailing, stalking—you’ll go to his boss.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” Marianne looked as unhappy as she felt.

Sarah patted her hand. “I’ll keep thinking about it, too, and if I come up with anything better, I’ll let you know. Besides a Restraining Order, I mean. We could go that route if you need to. That’s just a piece of paper, though. It would be better if you could stand up to him and show him you can’t be bullied anymore.”

Marianne nodded dejectedly.

Sarah made another pot of tea. While she was at the counter, Kelly offered her a bite of something that smelled delicious. Sarah smiled and kissed her partner fondly before returning to the table.

Sarah cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Now, regarding angry George. You took away his ability to actually lock you in the basement, and you very effectively escaped him last time. So I don’t think he can make that work again. But, he also made it clear he doesn’t want you to interfere in his relationship with Anne. He may be part of the reason she is still lingering here. Her childhood trauma is probably part of it as well: she may still feel guilty about her brother’s death. And George may be keeping her here, or she may be afraid of him and can’t move on.”

“That would be awful to have a sad life and still not be able to escape it even after you died,” Marianne said emphatically.

Sarah refreshed her cup and added honey. “Tell me about it. That’s often why people’s spirits get stuck in limbo, neither here nor there.”

“How can we get them both to move on? I don’t mind having a piano-playing roommate, but George is really horrible, and I don’t want to live with him.”

Sarah raised her cup in salute. “Amen, sister. Maybe we can empower her to stand up to him. Maybe that would serve to banish him and free her up to pass over to the other side as well.”

“How would you do that?” Marianne asked, mystified.

“I’m not sure yet.” She clarified, “I usually burn sage and cedar and have a conversation with them and try to convince them to let go of this plane of existence and move on to the next world. But each case is different, so it varies.”

Marianne was thoughtful and nodded slowly. “I’ll let you know when I have a clearer idea of what the situation is. When can you come over? In general, I mean. You probably can’t take off work to do this, right?”

“Unless it’s a total emergency, weekends or evenings will have to be it. It’s not easy to take sick days, particularly when we’re busy at work. If I think I’m going to have a hard time, I’ll have Kelly come along. She’s my anchor sometimes.”

“I think I’d like to be there,” Marianne said tentatively.

“I expect you,” Sarah responded promptly.

“Oh! Thank you,” Marianne was both curious and a little nervous at the prospect.

Sarah laughed. “It’s so nice to work with someone who believes me, and who is powerful in her own way.”

Marianne flushed and shook her head. “I don’t think I’m powerful at all.”

“We’ll be working on that,” Sarah said with a wry grin. “First, we need to get you some sleep. I can give you some things that will offer protection from intrusive dreams from your ‘roommates.’”

“That would be great,” Marianne said gratefully.

“Do you need to sleep here tonight?”

“Maybe. I have some things I need to do at home today. Let me see how it goes. Can I call you later?” Sarah nodded. Marianne felt much better after talking things over and realized she was hungry again. The tantalizing smells coming from the stove only made her stomach growl more plaintively. Glancing at her phone, she realized it was after noon.
 

“I wondered if you guys wanted to go to the co-op for lunch? I know you’re cooking and all, but…?” She asked them.

Sarah glanced at Kelly who gestured at the stove with her wooden spoon, “This is for dinner and the freezer. Give me a moment. I’m out of cumin and turmeric anyway.”

The co-op was busy and full of both locals and people up from the city for the weekend. They each did a little shopping and met at the deli counter to get lunch. While they were there the PA mic clicked on.

A man’s voice said in a heavy Scottish accent, “Scotty? The
Enterprise
wants to know if you’re planning to return soon. They have a wee bit o’ engine trouble they want you to look at. And, by the way, there’s a spill in the bulk foods section, something involving beans and pasta.”
 

While they were chuckling about the announcement, a harried looking young man with an awkward, gangly body hurried out of a back room with a broom and dustpan and trash bag, headed for aisle four.

Once they’d gotten food, they retreated by mutual consent to the sidewalk table area to get out of the press.

Still chuckling, Marianne said, “I can’t believe that’s just one person!”

Sarah replied, “That’s Arlo Gordon. He hopes to do standup in New York someday.”

“He’s amazing,” Marianne admired, shaking her head.

Kelly laughed. “The co-op agreed to let him do different voices and styles as long as he kept it clean and non-personal. It was meant as a way to get customers to come back.”

“It totally works! I love shopping here. The co-op’s already got a great selection of stuff, but the funny announcements are a big bonus. I hope he gets into a good club. Does he ever perform here?”

“He hasn’t yet, but people have badgered him to do something at the community talent night,” Kelly answered.

“Was that other guy ‘Scotty’? I hope he doesn’t mind…”

Sarah smiled. “Scott Fleishman helped dream it up. He wants to be an actor. Sometimes he gets a little annoyed, but mostly he’s cool with it and hams it up.”

Before they parted company, Sarah handed Marianne a paper bag. Marianne peeked inside, and the scent of some fresh herbs wafted up over a linen pouch and about a dozen smoothly rounded stones.
 

“Your best bet is going to be to ask George and Anne not to communicate with you by dream tonight. Be firm and clear. But just in case they don’t hear you or are too insistent, these things should help block nightmares.” Sarah told her to put the herbs under her pillow and to lay the stones around the bed and on the bedside table to ward off unwanted dreams. The stones would have to soak in the sun for the afternoon to ‘charge.’ Then she and Kelly headed home.

The time of burning was upon Anne, and Marianne had to leave for her own safety. She must be kept safe! Anne had failed to save her little brother, and he’d died. That must not happen again…

Chapter 21

Marianne headed home thoughtfully, the paper bag a reassuring weight in her arms. Her conversation had made her feel much better overall, but tired and thoughtful. She mulled things over as she strolled through the richly scented August afternoon. A picture was gathering in her head of all the bits and pieces. She just needed time to let it fall into place.

She contemplated finishing the work she needed to do in the dining room or doing some work in her office. Maybe Gillian, her history colleague had gotten back to her. Wandering down to the bedroom to get something, she realized she hadn’t seen Oscar for a while. Going through each room, she looked for him with increasing anxiety.

“Oscar?” She called. Standing at the bottom of the stairs to go up she called upstairs a few times with no answer. Finally, she noticed that the door to the basement was ajar. Since she’d taken the lock off, it hadn’t really closed properly. It was certainly possible that he’d gotten bored or curious and gone down into the basement. She approached the door and opened it reluctantly.

“Oscar, are you down there?” She called. Her voice fell flat in the dank silence below.

From out of the depths there came a pitiful yowl. He sounded like he was stuck in something and unable to get out. Her unease increased, and she did not want to go down there to look for him.

Oscar yowled sadly again, and pushing against her apprehension, Marianne slowly went down the stairs. “Oscar, where are you? Come on, mister, let’s go back upstairs.” She listened hard in the dense silence and thought she heard him back behind the furnace. She began to detect a faint sulfurous smell that set off warning bells in her head. Gas leak!

Abruptly she remembered that the shower water had been stone cold that morning and that there was something wrong with the hot water heater. It must be a gas heater, and the scent of gas in the air might mean a leak. She was not about to try to relight it. She would leave that to the professionals, but in the meantime, what if a spark set off an explosion? She knew somebody whose apartment had been severely damaged by a gas explosion, and the thought had always terrified her.
 

Fire in the basement could rip through the floor and torch the whole house if it got started. She had to get out now! But not without her cat.

“Oscar! Where are you?” The hair raising, primal smell of smoke began to penetrate her awareness, and she began to panic as she looked quickly around the bulky furnace sitting in the middle of the room. Catching a glimpse of the orange and white concentric rings of his fur, she reached down to grab him. He protested and scratched her arms in his distress and her haste. “Come on, baby, we got to get out of here.” She turned and found there was more smoke in the air, obscuring the way out. She started to cough, each intake bringing more smoke into her lungs.

“No, no, no. Where is the door? Stairs were right here.” She blundered forward feeling the heat behind her pushing her forward. Oscar twisted unhappily in her too tight grip. “Stay with me, baby! Don’t go.” The basement was too dark to see well, and she stumbled into something hard and slammed her head. Reeling dizzily and truly panicking, she heard the high-pitched screaming of a child lost in the smoky darkness.
 
A woman shouted, “Get out! Get out!”

She couldn’t find the stairs anywhere and banged her shoulder painfully against something splintery. Part of her thought, there’s a window. Find the window.
 

Dimly, she could see daylight through the smoke and heat. The fearsome crackle of the fire was growing behind her, and she stumbled towards the light, the gravel of the driveway just inches away behind glass. She had to put Oscar down on the stone ledge in order to break the window. She had nothing safe to break the glass, and the fire was blazing behind her, consuming the floor above. She reached down and grabbed her sandal and pounded it against the glass. The stubborn pane, a mere eighth-inch thick, refused to break easily, and the rubber sole was too soft. She pounded harder, fearing both the fire and being sliced open. As the floor fell in behind her with an animal roar, she howled and slammed her hand through the glass. It shattered into jagged pieces that tore her flesh as she battered at it with the sandal, one-handed. The moment the hole was big enough, Oscar leaped through it and vanished. Marianne took deep lungfuls of clean air and sobbing, hoisted herself through the opening. She pulled herself painfully through the window and lay on the walkway coughing, panting, and sobbing hysterically.

The relative cool of the summer air revived and calmed her. Her hand throbbed and she looked in horror at the blood streaming down her left arm. Pressing her arm to her chest, she moved to get up and found that her palm hurt, and there were numerous sharp pains in her knees and shins. She moved away from the window and looked back, expecting to see smoke billowing out of the shattered hole, but there was nothing. The dark square of basement beyond the window was quiet and blank. There was no smell of smoke.
 

She pulled her phone out of her pocket with shaking hands and dialed Sarah. It seemed to take forever to scroll down to her name. Gotta put her on speed dial, she thought.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Marianne,” she said in a low voice.

Something in her voice caused Sarah to say urgently, “What happened?”

“I think I just escaped a fire that happened more than a hundred years ago,” Marianne said shakily.

“We’ll be right there. Are you hurt?”

“Yeah. Yes. And I lost Oscar.” She could feel her voice break. “Please come.”

Marianne made her way to the dining room door stoop, sat and leaned against the railing, trembling, as the adrenaline ebbed. Some time passed before a car pulled up to the curb, and she heard voices come up the drive. Gentle hands pulled her to her feet and guided her inside, half swooning. Soft swearing accompanied her. She was laid on the sofa with her feet propped up and a blanket over her just in time to counter her shivering.

She faded in and out of consciousness, and she felt her wounds being cleaned and bandaged.
 

“I think there’s glass in her knees. We’re going to need to take her to the urgent care place.”