Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (4 page)

“Thanks.”

“We took some blood and everything else looks fine,” he said, looking at my eyes with his penlight. “I don’t think it’s anything more serious than a migraine.”

“So I can go home?” I asked.

“Yeah. Get some sleep, Abby. I’ll be consulting with your regular doctor. She may want you to do some more tests. We’ll talk about that later.”

I stood up. I was a little weak, but was able to walk.

“Keep an eye on her,” he said to Kate.

“Thanks, Doc,” she said as she grabbed my arm. “Hey, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, my brother is in town,” he said. “I’m trying to talk him out of cooking.”

“Why don’t you guys come over for dinner? Or at the very least for a drink. We’d love to have you. A few other people from the newsroom are coming and it should be pretty fun.”

“Well, thank you,” he said. I could tell he was happy. “Sure. Yes. We’d love to. Thank you.”

We were quiet as we walked. Kate guided me through the double doors out into the parking lot, the frozen air hitting us with a thud as we navigated over ice to the car.

“Gotta stop doing that to me,” she said, forcing a smile. “Abby, I can’t take much more of this stupid hospital.”

I smiled but I saw how serious she was and knew I had shaken her up. Again. Kate was the one who had it the hardest. First mom died five years ago, then my accident last year. She was too young for this kind of stuff and she wore it on her face sometimes. This was one of those times.

“Sorry,” I said, and really meant it.

Tears spilled from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. She hugged me hard.

“Seriously. I need you. Okay?”

We pulled away from the lot into the quiet, dark streets.

“I’m glad you invited him,” I said. “Although it was kind of random.”

“Yeah,” she said. “He always seems, I don’t know, kind of lonely or something. But I hope he didn’t get the wrong impression. I just thought he needed a nice home-cooked meal. Can’t get any more home cooked than Thanksgiving.”

Kate and I did it right every year. Thanksgiving had been one of Mom’s favorite holidays and when she was alive, we always had the best ones. It was important to Kate to continue the tradition so we cooked really good food and invited a lot of friends over.

“He likes you, you know,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” she said.

“Must be nice, gorgeous doctors throwing themselves at your feet. And you just step over them,” I said.

“Come on, Abby. It’s not like that at all. He knows I’m involved.”

“You mean Matt?”

She sighed.

“Matt’s an artist,” she said, sounding like she needed to convince herself. “That’s one of the reasons why I’m so crazy about him. You’ve seen his paintings. They’re amazing.”

I had seen his paintings. Amazing wouldn’t have been the word I would have chosen to describe them. Abstract. Messy. Confusing. But definitely not amazing. 

“Okay, okay. I know. Maybe I’m just going through a phase. But relax, will ya? It’s not like we’re getting married or anything.”

“Does he ever wash his hair anymore, by the way?”

Lately Matt was looking more and more grungy. He had gone with a dreadlock look, which he did himself by rubbing his hair with a wool sweater over and over again. He said it took him one entire day and that it “hurt like hell but that it most definitely was worth it.” I wasn’t so sure.

He had also grown a scraggly goatee, which he sometimes braided. And he was always wearing the same clothes. Baggy jeans, a striped shirt, and a wool hat, looking like the
Where’s Waldo
guy. A few of Kate’s friends had reported seeing him roaming the streets downtown looking for inspiration, but I was pretty sure he was picking up spare change from tourists.

“Let’s not have this conversation right now,” she said, yawning.

We stopped at a traffic light. We were the only car around for miles.

“Still feeling better?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

Then I remembered the dream.

“I was having that same nightmare right before the headache,” I said, shivering suddenly even though it was hot in the car.

“The one where you’re drowning?” she asked.

“Yeah, it was bad. Really bad.”

She drove up our street and I was thankful we were almost home. The sun would be coming up soon, but I couldn’t wait to get to sleep. Maybe I could talk Kate into letting me sleep in her giant, feathery bed.

Then I remembered.

“Strange, though, in this one, there was this old guy in the water with me.”

“What?”

“An old man with an enormous tattoo on his neck. That’s when the pain hit.”

Kate looked over at me suddenly.

“A tattoo on his neck? What kind of tattoo?”

I thought a moment. It was so strange. The tattoo was illuminated in the water, like a stream of light had made its way from the surface down into the darkness.

“It was a mermaid tattoo. It wrapped around his neck.”

Kate turned several shades lighter as we pulled into the driveway. She turned off the car and just sat there.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’m trying to figure out how the dead body I did a story on, you know, the one who committed suicide in the river the other night, how he ended up in your dream.”

CHAPTER 8

“I’m going to make some tea, Abby. We need to talk about this a little more. Are you feeling up for it, or do you want to get to bed?”

I did want to get to bed, but Kate seemed to be so excited about the dream that I told her to go ahead. I owed her that much even if I could barely keep my eyes open.

“The man, the suicide I investigated down by the river? That was one of the things I noticed. He had this giant mermaid tattoo on his neck. I mean it was huge, it covered his entire neck. It was really bizarre.”

I nodded. The dream was still with me and I could still feel him. I couldn’t shake his fear.

“Yeah, that tattoo was really big,” I said. “There was something else, too. Just a feeling, but it was strong. He was terrified. Really, really scared.”

“You’ve never had other people in that dream before?” she asked, pouring the steaming water from the kettle into our cups.

“No,” I said. “I’m always alone. Like when I was in the lake.”

Kate had never asked too much about when I died. Only once actually, and it was just about whether I had seen Mom. I wished I had. But on hindsight, I wouldn’t have wanted to see her in the place where I was, a place no light or goodness or angels ever touched. So when I told Kate that no, I hadn’t seen Mom, that was the extent of her questions. I knew all that kind of stuff wasn’t Kate anyway, believing in the afterlife and all. She was much too logical for any of that. Besides, as she often told me, the past was the past and the only place to move was forward.

“Kate, it’s just a feeling. But I think the guy in my dream was killed. I’m sure it wasn’t a suicide at the very least.”

She looked at me like I was crazy. But I could also tell that she was thinking the same thing.

“It never felt right to me,” she said. “But this is all too weird.”

We talked a little longer before she saw that I was fading. She let me sleep in her bed while she worked at her desk on her laptop. I don’t think she ever did get any sleep, because she was in the exact same position when I woke up and light was streaming in through the window.

“No school today, Abby. Doc’s orders.”

I smiled and rubbed my eyes.

“How’s the head?” she asked while she kept typing.

“Good,” I said.

She walked over to me and put her hand on my cheek.

“Good. Okay, here’s your cell phone and those pills. I’m going into work for a few hours but will be back early. Call if you need anything, anything at all. Remember, if your head starts hurting, take one right away.”

As I sat up I saw she was all dressed. Makeup, shoes, jewelry, everything. I didn’t mind staying alone though.

“Bye,” I said.

“See you later,” she said, and soon I heard the door slam.

I made a grilled cheese sandwich and started flipping around for something to watch. My head felt back to normal. It was nice to take a day off. I settled on an old Bogart movie. I preferred black and white movies these days because then I didn’t feel like I was missing anything.

At about four, the doorbell rang. I nearly opened it, but suddenly my arms filled with goose bumps as I thought about my dream and the man with the mermaid tattoo. I looked through the peephole.

“Jesse!” I shouted.

I flung the door open and threw my arms around him. I knew I was overreacting, but it was great to see him. He just laughed.

“Take it easy, Craigers,” he said. “It’s only been like a few hours since I saw you last.”

He was dressed in snow clothes so I knew where he’d been. I got him a soda as he slid out of his ski jacket and boots.

“You feeling okay?”

We sat at the table.

“I’m good,” I said.

I told him about the migraine, going to the ER, and seeing Dr. Mortimer.

“How was the snow?” I asked.

“Oh, man,” he said. “It was awesome! I mean, it was
right
.”

He seemed to be a little checked out of school this year so far, and I was hoping it didn’t have anything to do with me. He never would have ditched to snowboard last year. I knew he would be able to keep up on his grades, but I also knew that the basketball coach had a strict policy about missing practices, even off-season.

“I know what you’re thinking, Craigers, and you don’t have to worry,” he said. “Basketball practice is just starting. So relax. Anyway, the snow was incredible! I think you should really think about getting back out there.”

“Stop nagging, dude,” I said. “I’m not quite ready to tackle mountains yet. I wouldn’t be the one doing the tackling.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what you need. It will cheer you up,” he said, tugging at his hat.

I paused. Lately he had been saying things like that a lot and it made me wonder if I was just walking around with a giant neon sign over my head that flashed
DEPRESSED
in bold letters.

“You think I need cheering up?” I asked.

“Just a little,” he said.

I stared at him and could feel those crazy emotions swirling around in my gut. His eyes sparkled. I tried to remember what color they were, but couldn’t. I wanted to say something, but I wasn’t sure how it would turn out.

“Jesse,” I said. “What color are your eyes?”

“What color do they look to you?”

“Light gray,” I said, staring at them. “With little black flecks. But I can’t remember the color.”

“They’re whatever you see now, Craigers,” he said.

I knew I should stop there. But I didn’t.

“I still remember that night. You know, the one when we were looking at the stars?”

This wasn’t how I wanted to start it. Bad beginning, especially when I saw his face turn pale and his eyes fall to the floor.

“Yeah, I won’t ever forget that,” he said.

My stomach was in knots. Big knots. I wanted to hurl. But I needed to push ahead, at the very least let him know that I was wrong about everything that night.

“I can’t seem to erase that stupid scene from my mind and I wanted you to know how sorry I am about what I said.”

He sat back in the chair and was quiet.

“You shouldn’t be sorry for your feelings,” he finally said.

“But, Jesse, look, I—”

But he wouldn’t let me finish. He jumped up.

“I gotta get going,” he said. “It’s not a bad thing, what happened. Really. It turned out for the best. You were right.”

“But Jesse, my feelings have changed, I love you…”

I blurted it out as I walked up to him. I sounded stupid and desperate. I knew that. But I had to say it no matter how dumb it made me feel.

He shook his head and finished putting on his boots. I cautiously stepped closer. I knew he still loved me, I could feel it. He gave me a quick hug and then pulled back.

“I’m sorry, Abby, but it’s too late,” he said.

Then he left. My stomach dropped as I watched him walk down the street.

By the time Kate returned from work, I had stopped crying. But it had taken an hour to get my emotions back in check. I hadn’t expected that. I thought Jesse would forgive me.

“Take a look at this,” she said, placing a photograph on the table in front of me.

I stared at the 8x10. It was of the dead man with the mermaid tattoo. The man I saw in my dream.

“Same guy, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s him,” I said.

It was hard to believe.

“That’s just so weird,” Kate said. “Seriously, Abby. How could that be?”

I shrugged. She sat down across from me.

“The medical examiner found water in his lungs,” she said. “So he did drown. Whether it’s a suicide or an accident, they don’t know yet. The basic toxicology report came back, showed alcohol in his system. But because it showed some other unidentifiable drug too, they’ve sent for a more thorough tox report to a lab in California.”

 “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

“Yeah. At least they’re keeping the case open until they get that one back. But those take weeks. They aren’t thinking it’s murder,” she said. “Smart money is on suicide. But maybe he just tripped and fell into the river. He was drunk and that water’s pretty cold.”

I had a feeling that wasn’t what happened.

“I think there’s more to it,” I said as a strong chill shot through my body.

CHAPTER 9

A huge Thanksgiving storm dumped over a foot of snow on Bend and once again everything was white. It was beautiful, especially when you could stay home and watch it fall from the windows. The house was warm and the playlist was heavy on Diana Krall, The Cure, Josh Ritter, and Miles Davis as we cooked. Ten people were coming, making it our largest Thanksgiving ever.

Jesse was never able to make it because he always spent the holiday in San Francisco with his mom. I had never met her and he didn’t talk much about her. All I knew was that she worked in a gallery and had left when he was little.