Grey Matters (31 page)

FIFTY-EIGHT

‘
O
ne more day . . .’ Dulcie couldn’t block that thought from her mind, as she pulled reference works and piled them in front of her on the carrel. ‘One more day,’ she muttered as she stared at their covers, unsure whether even to open them. How could she focus on a thesis that already seemed to be unraveling – for an adviser who also seemed to be unraveling? For the first time in ages, the quiet hum of the library felt ominous. A spirit waiting for her to falter, waiting for her to fail. ‘One. More. Day.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

The voice caused her to spin around, knocking the books off the carrel top.

‘Oh, please!’ The vision of Mr Grey wincing, as cats will at loud noises, flashed in her mind, and Dulcie found herself apologizing.

‘Mr Grey! I’m so sorry. It’s just that, well, everything is falling apart.’ Somewhere, a set of large grey ears flicked, and Dulcie found herself getting a little peeved. ‘Seriously, Mr Grey. This is important to me.’

‘I’m not dismissing your emotions, Dulcie.’ The deep, calm voice sounded a little condescending to Dulcie. ‘I’m simply questioning the validity of your concerns.’

‘That’s because you’re a cat.’ Dulcie heard the nasty tone creeping into her voice. ‘Or, you
were
a cat.’ Silence. ‘Mr Grey?’ She tried to picture her late pet, how his tail would lash and those velvety ears would turn back and flatten. In the hum of the ventilation system, Dulcie thought she heard something more threatening. A growl, perhaps? And suddenly the enormity of her thoughtless reaction hit her. ‘Mr Grey, I’m sorry! Please don’t leave me.’ Her eyes filled up with tears.

‘Now, now, kitten. Why would I leave you?’

Dulcie sobbed with relief, but dashed the few escaping tears from her face with the back of her hand. ‘It’s just been such a difficult time.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat. If she lost Mr Grey, she didn’t know what she’d do.

‘You know, you do have others in your life now. New friends to lean on.’

His voice was warm, but his words pushed her near to tears once again. ‘It’s not the same, Mr Grey. I mean, I’m not even sure what’s going on with Chris. And Suze is . . .’ She couldn’t think of how to explain what was happening with Suze. ‘I don’t really know if I have anybody, Mr Grey. Nobody like you.’

‘Trust goes both ways, Dulcie.’ Dulcie sniffed. Yes, he was right. She was going to have to talk to Suze – and to Chris, too. ‘And there are others in your life, too. Some whom you haven’t even named.’

‘Lloyd? Yeah, I do trust him, Mr Grey. And Helene, too.’ The thought of her stolid and businesslike neighbor gone all goofy over her kittens was cheering, and Dulcie felt her equilibrium returning. ‘I guess everything has just been getting to me. My thesis and, well, what happened with Cameron . . .’

‘Hmmm . . .’ The sound was akin to a purr. ‘Be careful what you take on, kitten. And keep in mind, sometimes when we get bitten, it’s because we’ve been chasing our own tail.’ Mr Grey’s voice was fading, and Dulcie sat up and strained to hear.

‘Do you mean I’m looking for trouble?’ Deep in her heart, Dulcie wanted to believe that was true. That
The Ravages of Umbria
was really all she’d hoped it was and that all her fears were based on her misinterpretation of Lucy’s dream. ‘But there was that quote, and if you look at the dates—’

‘Character counts, Dulcie. Character can be motive.’ The voice was getting softer. ‘Remember, the key is in the book.’

‘Mr Grey?’ It was no use. Something in the air – the humming of the ventilation system, or the far-off footsteps of another researcher in the stacks – told her that Mr Grey was gone.

Still, his visit had been heartening. ‘Maybe I
was
looking for trouble,’ Dulcie muttered to herself. ‘And anyway, I still have that meeting tomorrow.’ And so, blocking out all thoughts of who that meeting was with – a barely functional professor who was likely soon to lose his university position – she hunkered down and got to work.

A shade then, more mystical than wild . . .
Before long, Dulcie was caught up again in the magic. Did it matter, really, when the book had been written, or by whom? What mattered was the magic of the words. The story. The characters.

Dulcie thought back to what Mr Grey had said. So she didn’t trust people? Couldn’t judge character? Who could blame her, when a nasty Demetria might be lurking. No, she shook her head. Suze was a good and faithful friend. It’s just that she had moved on. Just like Mr Grey had moved on, leaving her with only the kitten. The klutzy, mute kitten.

Something tickled at Dulcie’s consciousness, but she was too distracted to make it out. Time for a break, she decided, looking at her watch. And nearly time for dinner.

‘Chris? It’s me. Just wanted to know if you wanted to grab something to eat.’ Dulcie’s heart sank as she left the message. He’d been so eager for her to go to the police, but he hadn’t even touched base to ask how it had gone. Of course, she had to admit as she trotted down the wide library steps, she hadn’t actually spoken to the police. But did he know that?

‘Dulcie . . .’ Dulcie whipped around, sure she’d heard Mr Grey’s voice. But the only people on the steps were a group of Japanese tourists, all listening as the guide spoke loudly from the top. It didn’t matter; she knew she was being silly.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Grey.’ She whispered as she trotted the rest of the way down. ‘I’ll try to be a little more fair to everyone. If I get through tomorrow, anyway.’

‘Dulcie?’

‘Sorry.’ She looked around at the grey clouds scudding across the sky. Already the shadows were lengthening, the day growing frigid. ‘As soon as I get through tomorrow. That’s what I meant.’

A dry oak leaf, caught in a gust, slapped against her face, its pointed edges momentarily scraping against her cheek before flying off. ‘Point taken, Mr Grey.’

Given her lack of action, Dulcie was a little relieved to find Suze gone and a note about a late showing of
Casablanca
on the fridge. She had too much on her mind to focus on an old film, no matter how great, but at least she wouldn’t have to explain the day to her roommate. By the time she’d heated up some dubious leftover pizza – when had this been from? – Chris called back. She bit into the pizza, glad for the company, even if remote. But he sounded distant, apologizing for the noise as he ran through the Square from a teaching section to the Science Center.

‘So, did you talk to the cops?’ From the sudden quiet, Dulcie guessed that he’d reached his second job of the day.

‘It’s a long story, Chris.’ She took another bite. She was famished. But she also, she admitted to herself, wanted to stall.

He made a noise that didn’t sound happy and in her fatigued state, Dulcie almost snapped at him. But, remembering her encounter with Mr Grey, she opted for the diplomatic approach. After swallowing, she made sure to keep her voice even. ‘It would be easier to tell you about it in person, Chris.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ That wasn’t the answer she expected and she nibbled on a piece of pepperoni. Did he sound particularly tired, or was that something else in his voice? ‘We’ve got to talk anyway, Dulcie.’ It was fatigue. It had to be. ‘About a lot of things.’

Dulcie coughed out the cold sausage as her boyfriend said something about dinner the next day. Mouth dry, she could barely respond. ‘We should talk.’ She didn’t need to be a semiotics major to know what that meant. Was she going to lose her thesis, her adviser, and her boyfriend all in the same week? Somehow she choked out a response, agreeing to meet after her powwow with Bullock, and they hung up. Suddenly the remaining pizza looked disgusting to her, congealed and stiff. She sat there, stunned, staring at it until a certain small feline scrambled on to the table, knocked over the salt cellar, and mewed as loudly as a cat twice her size.

‘Kitten, I don’t . . .’ Dulcie swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I can’t play right now.’ But the kitten pounced, wrestling Dulcie’s hand to the table, and she was forced to pick up the small beast.

‘Oh, kitten.’ She held the little cat up to her cheek. Even as the tears fell, she could feel the kitten start to purr. This wasn’t Mr Grey, far from it, but there was something comforting about the tiny animal’s warmth and the rhythmic rise and fall of soft fur.

FIFTY-NINE

T
he dream came again, full of choking smoke and sparks. This time, Dulcie was more aware in it. She knew, right away, what was happening – and that the large, carved door in the corner was not an option. She couldn’t keep herself from glancing out the window once again, but those leaded panes only looked out over a terrifying drop. The rocky slope below was too steep and too far away for it to provide an escape. For a moment, she leaned against the window, the glass still cool against her palms. But she could hear the flames now, the snap and hiss as sparks caught. Already the edge of the carpet glowed, as embers caught in the ancient wool. Time was running out.

That left only the shelves of books, and in the dream Dulcie started pulling at them. Against all reason, she grabbed at them, indiscriminately. Some she opened, most she simply knocked to the floor. Behind her, the pages of one bound volume had already taken a spark, the pages turning red – then black – as the fine old rag paper was eaten by the flame. Still, she kept pulling at books, desperate now, in a panicked attempt to find something. But what?
Look in the book, Dulcie
. Even in her dream, the ghostly voice called to her.
The key is in the book
. But the smoke was rising, and Dulcie tripped over her long skirts to tumble to the ground.

Round green eyes stared into hers and blinked once. It was the kitten, and Dulcie was awake – on the floor.

‘Kitten! Are you okay?’ Dulcie raised herself on one elbow, trying to figure out how she’d gotten so tangled up in the sheet. In response, the kitten scampered off, leaving Dulcie to shake off the remnants of the nightmare and begin her day.

‘Well, you’re under deadline so that could be a “burning” issue.’ Suze had put down the paper when Dulcie came downstairs. Her take on the nightmare was more psychological than psychic. ‘And all that about the books, well, it does make sense.’

‘But what was I looking for?’ Try as she might, Dulcie couldn’t dismiss the idea that the dream was more than symbolism. ‘What was the key?’

‘Does it have to be that literal?’ Suze stopped, mouth open. But Dulcie knew her well enough.

‘You think I’m turning into Lucy, don’t you?’ The recurrence of the dream had made her wonder.

‘I think you were raised in an environment where psychic phenomena – magic – is taken seriously.’ Suze was choosing her words carefully. Too carefully for Dulcie.

‘And my mom is a nut.’ She poured herself more coffee and then refilled Suze’s mug, too. It wasn’t her roommate’s fault if she was rational. ‘But there is something odd about this dream.’

‘Why should your dream be any different from the rest of your life?’ Suze smiled as she said that and Dulcie had to agree. Why indeed?

Despite the disturbing dream, Dulcie felt strangely calm as she got dressed and headed into the Square that morning, deciding at the last moment to splurge and take the T. Perhaps, she told herself, this is what condemned prisoners go through. Some strange mix of resignation and denial. After all, it wasn’t like she had any choice. She’d go teach her section. Then she’d gather up what notes she had and make her case to Professor Bullock. Maybe he’d see what she had done and sign on for another half-year of grants. Maybe, she thought, with Lloyd in mind, he wouldn’t understand what she was talking about, but for his own reasons – to hide his disability – he’d sign off on her grants anyway. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Nothing she could do about it now.

Dulcie checked her cell phone before she descended into the T. Chris had called to wish her luck, in the tired and distracted voice she’d almost gotten used to, and to stress that they needed to talk. Great. But she hadn’t heard from Lloyd yet, so she was hoping that the fourth option – that Bullock would already be either in custody or on his way out of the department – was off the table. By dinner time that night, she’d know one way or another.

Maybe it was that certainty. Maybe it was the way Suze had slipped out while she was in the shower, but Dulcie felt a need to settle things. Waiting for the rush of air that presaged the arrival of the train, Dulcie thought back on the morning – and her own attempt to set her life straight. Suze had been dismissive of her dream, but not hostile. After all, to a legal mind, proof was something physical and everything else was speculation. But Dulcie had other concerns besides that strange recurring nightmare. Before heading up to the bathroom, Dulcie had tried to feel her roommate out about the upcoming holiday – and about the new distance that seemed to have grown between the two old friends. A few pointed comments had been met with noncommittal grunts. And her one outright question, asking about Ariano’s Thanksgiving plans, had been countered with an observation on the time. Suze was certainly honing her lawyerly skills, and Dulcie had given up, partly because the clock had shown the morning getting on. Chris, however, should be somewhat easier to tackle.

‘Hey, Chris. It’s me.’ Dulcie heard her grammar slipping and hoped her boyfriend would find it vulnerable and endearing, rather than sloppy. ‘I’m glad we’re going to get together. I have some things to talk about, too.’ She swallowed. ‘About Thanksgiving.’ She hung up. For good or ill, the message had been left. Of course, that just meant her imagination could run wild. Maybe he was planning on breaking up with her. But wasn’t it just as likely that he’d been working so hard that the approach of the holiday had eluded him? He was a computer geek, after all. She paused on the T platform. Or maybe he’d found someone else during those long nights in the Science Center. Someone more rational and law abiding. Someone slim and pretty, like Raleigh. They were both tall and graceful, and Dulcie could picture them, heads together and laughing, at the Krullworth Awards banquet, while she toiled away at her new career as a waitress . . .

That distracting vision evaporated as she found herself slammed into the wall of the stairway. ‘Watch it!’ A large woman gave her a dirty look as she pushed past. ‘This is a T stop, you know.’