Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1) (5 page)

A tear slid down her cheek, followed by a sob and more tears. Face crumpling helplessly, she shook as her chest heaved with every moan. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and rocked back and forth. “Just leave me alone,” she sobbed over and over. She cried until she didn’t have any more. Finally, she sniffed and wiped her face and took some deep, shuddering breaths. Oscar insinuated himself into her lap, purring and rhythmically kneading her stomach with his big paws. Her hands moved automatically to stroke his soft fur and rub his chin where he liked it best.

Suddenly, she was exhausted. She felt drained and blank. The whole day came crashing down on her, and she picked up Oscar and carried him to the bedroom where she dumped him on the bed. He gave her an aggrieved meow and then settled down. After brief ablutions, she crawled under the sheet in the darkness, and let her tired eyes stare at the unfamiliar pattern of streetlights on her walls, listening to the lack of street noise until she fell asleep.

She was surrounded by flames. As she stood in the living room, she watched the curtains become a terrifying wall of flickering orange and yellow, fall off their hooks, and collapse onto her sofa, which began to smoke and smolder. Everything seemed larger than life, bigger than normal. The upholstery of the sofa browned, then blackened as the fire greedily tore into it. She turned in horror to escape down the hall but found that flames had somehow rolled out of the fireplace, towering over her head. The hallway beyond was unreachable across the wall of orange. Inhaling mouthfuls of thick, smoky air, she began coughing and choking. The heat was like a blast furnace, and the stench of smoke was overpowering. Her fear turned to blind panic. The front door to the right of the flaming curtains was her only avenue, and she ran. Her hand touched the scorching metal handle, and she screamed as she tore at the door trying to open it. Behind her the fire roared and fell upon her.

Chapter 4

She woke bolt upright in bed, her breath coming in harsh gasps, her heart pounding, fit to burst. A heavy, hot weight trapped her under the sheet, and she pushed it harshly away from her, still in the grip of the nightmare. There was a heavy thud as Oscar leapt awkwardly for the floor. A pressure filled her ears with a distant buzzing noise. She thought she could smell a faint scent of acrid smoke. As she awakened further, her fear receded along with the buzzing in her ears. The room was cool and dark, her nightie twisted around her, damp with sweat.

“Sorry, Oscar,” she croaked. “You can come back now.” She had no bedside lamp yet and was strangely reluctant to put her feet on the unseen floor to turn on the overhead. Instead, she lay back down, feeling a slight breeze waft in. The memory of smoke was gone.

What the hell was that? Am I true-dreaming that the house is going to burn down?? She panicked for a few moments, feeling like she was being turned away from every safe haven. Taking some deep breaths, she tried to calm herself and think more rationally.
 

The vivid dream seemed almost like a memory of a fire, as if someone had told her a story about a fire, and she’d then dreamt about it. But she couldn’t recall a single conversation about a house fire. If this was a prediction, it remained to be seen whether the nightmare would repeat itself. She fervently hoped it wouldn’t.

Reluctant to close her eyes again lest the vivid images return, she lay between the sheets unable to sleep. When Oscar jumped back up and curled against her hip, she was able drift into uneasy slumber with his company.

Marianne woke some hours later to Oscar tickling her face with his whiskers. It was an adorable, albeit annoying, habit of his. She rubbed his chin and snuggled with him for a few minutes, feeling him purr on her chest, but an already warm breeze was coming in the window, spoiling the nighttime cool of the house. Though she did not feel rested, she roused herself from bed anyway and went around closing windows to preserve the cool inside. By the light of day, the house seemed ordinary and certainly had no fire damage or smell of smoke.
 

After a lukewarm shower, she put her wavy, dark hair up in a ponytail, slipped on a fresh shirt with yesterday’s shorts and got breakfast. A call to Mrs. Thomas was on the top of her list today since she couldn’t really unpack until she’d painted. She also planned to get the utilities—mainly the Internet—up and running, and explore the rest of her new place. She saved the trip to Grandma’s for a treat in the afternoon.

Retrieving her cell phone from the bedroom—she slept with it under her pillow ever since Geoffrey had started stalking her, she found Mrs. Thomas’ number. It was after eight a.m. on a Friday and should be okay to call.

After many rings Marianne was ready to give up, but finally the phone picked up.

“Hello?” Mrs. Thomas sounded old and a little shaky.

“Mrs. Thomas? Hello, this is Marianne Singleton, Selene Singleton’s granddaughter?”

There was a pause before she said, “Oh yes. Selene said you wanted to rent my house over in Maple Hill. That would be fine. I don’t think I have any renters right now…”

“Yes, Mrs. Thomas, I know. Remember we talked last week about my living here for a while? I can’t really pay you a lot of rent, but I’d be happy to fix things up in exchange for some of the rent.” She sat upright on the edge of the couch as if Mrs. Thomas could see her.

 
“Oh?” There was a pause and Marianne was about to fill the void when Mrs. Thomas added, “Yes, I remember we talked about that. I’m sorry—sometimes it takes me a while to remember things. I haven’t been able to do much with that house, and it would be nice to have things fixed up.”

“Thank you, so much. I just wanted to let you know I’m here at the house, and I got in yesterday.”

“Oh good, good. Is everything in order? Are you having a hard time?” She sounded a little anxious.

“What? No, the electric is on, and the water is fine. Listen, I wondered if you would let me paint the inside? It doesn’t look like it’s been repainted in a long time, and I’d be happy to do it. I promise I’ll pick decent colors. I can show you the palette, if you want to approve it.” She looked around the sad pink living room and crossed her fingers.
 

“Oh, no, I trust you. It’ll look splendid with fresh paint.”

Relieved she said, “Thank you! I’ll get started right away. When I’m done you can come by and see it.”

“That would be very nice. Are you sure everything is all right? He’s not giving you a hard time?” She sounded worried.

“Who are you talking about? Gloria’s Realty? The neighbors? SueAnn Talmadge seemed nice if a bit rushed, and I haven’t met the neighbors yet.”

“Well, if you’re sure, then maybe you’ll do all right there. I have to go. Miss Lisa is at the door to take me to bingo at the senior center.”

“Okay. Nice to talk to you, Mrs. Thomas. ‘Bye.” The connection ended. Mrs. Thomas seemed a bit vague but nice enough.
 

She made a call to the local cable-Internet company and arranged for her hook up. Mid August was a slow time, so they promised to send someone out on Saturday for an extra fee. After that she walked around the house with the color palettes in hand thinking about paint until she’d decided on a simple scheme.

Backing the car out of the driveway, she drove back to Main Street. It was still early, but the tourists were clearly out and about, taking up parking spaces everywhere. She managed to get one within a half block of the Brown’s hardware store and considered herself lucky. A couple of hundred dollars later, Marianne bought several gallons of high quality primer, paint, and other supplies and loaded the car with the help of the salesperson.
 

She was sweating freely by the time she’d unloaded the car into the living room of the house. Today was going to be as hot as yesterday. Luckily the house retained the coolness of overnight and was still comfortable. The two rooms at the back of the house were the least crowded, and she decided to start there. She’d never painted while she was married. Geoffrey would have had a fit. He always hired menial jobs out and seemed to take pleasure in being able to gripe about how poorly it was going.

After her divorce, Marianne moved to her own place and ended up painting over the last renter’s color choices—black and red and silver—and learned quite a lot. So, she set up in the office and got to work. The faded and scuffed institutional green would be replaced by an off white with a touch of brown. She plugged in the little clock radio, turned on the classic rock station, and spent the morning preparing the room. A wooden kitchen chair served as a step stool for now. Oscar came and went as he pleased.

It was strange that Mrs. Thomas had said the neighbors were difficult. Marianne hoped she would get along with them fine. She’d begun to meet people in her last apartment building and had gotten along even with the more eccentric ones.
 

After she’d been at it for a while, smiling as she listened to Oscar racing up and down the corridor, she heard him come tearing into the room. Moments later she felt like someone was looking into the room from the door and turned to see. No one was there. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Oscar crouched and lashing his tail, staring at the door warily. The radio chose that moment to break up in static, crackling and hissing. She got down off the chair and turned it off. Her ears buzzed and hummed in the silence.
 

“Is someone there?” She called out. The Internet installer was due tomorrow. Could someone else have strolled in without her hearing? She couldn’t see down the hall from here, so she went to look. No one was there, though she passed through a chilly zone near the door as if the A/C was on. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. The house didn’t have a cooling system.
 

Okay, she told herself, that’s weird. She returned to the office and saw that Oscar was no longer staring fixedly at the doorway. He had relaxed and decided on a nap amid the folds of the tarp. The sense of coldness was dissipating, and she went back to work, spackling dings and nail holes in the plaster while the radio played tunes from the eighties. She would have to let it dry before she could put the primer on.
 

After lunch she moved into her bedroom and began repairing holes in the flat, oatmeal colored walls. By the time she was done, the room looked like an abstract painting. ‘Bird Poop on Sidewalk,’ she thought, grinning.
 

The office was ready to paint, and she sang along to classic rock tunes as she slowly turned the room a neutral flat white. She’d gotten most of the way around the room and was back at the doorway when the radio crackled loudly again, and she felt a shock of intense emotion. She cringed and shivered in the suddenly cool air, and she was reminded forcibly of Geoffrey in an ugly mood. I guess he’d hate this color and hate that I’m working like a day laborer, she thought shakily, trying to explain her sudden fear.

Another part of her countered, where did that come from? He’s not here. He is no longer part of my life. I don’t care what he thinks. I do my own work, and I get to paint my own colors. The hell with him.

She dipped the roller in time to the suddenly clear Queen lyrics, “We will, we will rock you…” and obliterated the last of the green. Singing loudly helped drive away the unpleasant feeling of being watched. The raw umber tinted white would look great in this room, and she couldn’t wait to top coat it. With the humidity, it was going to take the rest of the day and all night to dry properly. Given the strong smell of paint, she was going to have to sleep in the living room.

Her arms ached with the effort of moving the roller up and down, and she gratefully took a break. She grabbed her purse and a couple of paper bags from the co-op, told Oscar she was going out, and locked the door behind her.
 

In the silence and stillness of the house someone observed the fresh paint and blotches on the walls and grew angry. He had lain quiescent for a time absorbed by memories of a lifetime, but now someone was living in his house again. Her things clashed with his house and did not belong there. That was not to be tolerated. Once something was yours, you never let it go. This one was alone and would be easy to dominate or frighten off. Everyone had a weakness. He just had to find hers.

The verdant green of the maple and oak trees lining the Violet Lane filtered the hot August sunlight and made a cool tunnel on the way up to Primrose. Her immediate neighbors lived in a blue, two-story, raised ranch style house with a well kept lawn bordered by beautifully tended flower gardens. Maybe she could stop by that evening and introduce herself and prevail upon them to lend her a ladder. Further toward Primrose there were other well-tended lawns, making hers the only one that looked ragged and unkempt. Maybe someone would have a lawn mower to lend or have a teen or ‘tween who wanted to earn a little extra.

Main Street was more crowded than it had been that morning, and she stepped into a bustling co-op market. Fresh fruit and veggies and something to cook for dinner were on her list.
 

The PA switched on and a nasal New York twang declared, “Scott? Scott? There’s a spill on aisle three. It’s the Hansen kid again. Bring the haz-mat team: it’s reeeally sticky.”

Marianne couldn’t help chuckling. Whoever did the announcements had a good sense of humor. She got her produce and a small steak and was browsing the things in the supplements and herbal remedies aisle when the PA clicked on again. This time her ears pricked in anticipation.

A breathless, vapid valley girl voice said in positively orgasmic tones, “Ohmigawd! The deli just put out a plate of their like toh-tally amaaazing bak-lahva for samples! If you, like, want any, you’d better hurry and get some before they are, like, toh-tally vacuumed up!” Click.

Marianne glanced toward the deli counter to see the customers smiling and reaching for a plate on the top of the meat case. The two employees behind the counter were laughing and cutting up more. She smiled and finished shopping. While at the checkout there was one more announcement, this time in the voice of deepest ennui, “Floral, you have a call on line two.” A heavy sigh wafted across the microphone, “Ffffloral, line two.”