Gull Harbor (17 page)

And there was, but Claire couldn’t bear to deal with it at the moment. She could feel Maria hovering, like a shadow in the peripheral vision of her mind’s eye, waiting to be recognized. She covered her head with her pillow in a vain attempt to drown out the spirit’s white noise.

Claire sat up and relinquished the pillow. The sounds were in her mind, humming with persistence; the most effective earplugs in the world wouldn’t help quiet the dull whispers. She pushed herself out of bed and stomped down the stairs, slamming her bare feet onto the creaky steps with childish satisfaction. She crossed through the dim living room to the kitchen, snatching a blanket off the couch on her way.

The round plate inside the microwave was decorated with a circle of canned food. Shaking her head, Claire removed the cans and set a mug of milk in their place. When it was hot enough to send plumes of steam rising from its creamy surface, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and took the warm milk out onto the front porch.

The rain tapped against the roof of the porch musically, and she lowered herself slowly onto one of the wooden rocking chairs. She watched the droplets shine against the night sky and drizzle over the leaves and pine needles that carpeted the ground. Cupping her hands around the steaming mug, she sipped her milk and tried to enjoy the solitude.

Despite her efforts, her breath caught hopefully when an engine rumbled in the darkness, its headlights cutting a path through the mist.
Please be Max
, she prayed silently; but the car had passed before she had completed the thought. Her heart sank as loneliness draped itself around her again.

Let
me
in, she imagined Maria saying. Claire could still feel her presence out here, gentle but persistent. She finished the milk in a few hearty gulps and pushed herself off the rocker. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Let’s go.”

At the top of the stairs, she hesitated, still clutching the blanket to her chest. She had no desire to return to the bed where she’d lain with Max not so long ago. With grim determination, she turned left and entered the spare bedroom.

Cold air curled itself around her. A few leaves drifted off the pile, skittering across the floor like overgrown spiders. She wandered around the room slowly, trying to picture it as she’d seen it in the visions.

A stack of dusty cardboard boxes now lined the wall where Claire knew a four-poster bed had once stood. She approached the spot cautiously, ignoring the sickening revulsion that clawed at her belly. Lowering herself to the floor, she tucked the blanket between her body and the hard wooden floorboards and leaned back against the boxes.

“Okay,” she whispered, drawing the chilled air into her lungs. She struggled to calm her racing heartbeat as she focused on the staccato tapping of raindrops on the roof. Maria’s disembodied conscious was waiting, straining to make the connection. Claire closed her eyes in the darkness and opened her mind to the desperate spirit.

She was lying in the bed, no longer completely bound. Only one wrist remained strapped to the wooden bedpost, but it didn’t matter—she was too sick to move. Nausea rolled through her in hideous waves. Fire ants bit at her skin. Her bones burned like glowing embers, scorching her flesh from the inside out.

A rattling moan escaped from her dry lips. Where was he? She shifted painfully and her stomach heaved, sending bile coursing through her chest and throat. The bitter fluid stung her nasal passages, momentarily blocking the foul odor of sweat and urine that permeated the mattress.

Somewhere in the house, a door slammed.
Please,
she begged silently. He knew she was suffering. He wanted her to suffer. The steps creaked under his weight, and she shuddered with urgency.

The bad man entered the room, and she tracked him with her gaze, her eyes certainly revealing her guilty need. He spread the paraphernalia on the bedside table, and she almost sobbed with relief. She would survive. This time. For reasons beyond her comprehension, he had kept her in a pleasant state of oblivion for days, or maybe weeks—it was hard to say. He’d injected her with the powerful drug regularly; then suddenly, he had begun to withhold the doses, forcing her to endure horrendous physical symptoms until he returned to temporarily deliver her from the agony.

She rolled to the right, exposing the inside of her tied left arm to him. He tightened the rubber tubing around the flesh above her elbow, taking his time. After an excruciating wait, the needle finally pierced her skin and slid into her vein.

The pain began to subside as warmth rushed through her bloodstream. Her limbs grew heavy and her breathing slowed. She no longer cared what his motivations were—for now, she was healed. A drowsy euphoria settled over her, and she drifted away.

Claire’s eyes snapped open and she stared at the ceiling in panic. She couldn’t breathe. Exploding stars in shades of gray and white swam across her vision. Her paralyzed lungs refused to move, and she clawed at the floor with her fingernails.

A splinter slipped under her nail, sending a jolt of pain through her nervous system. Her lungs suddenly came to life, and she sucked in air with a wheezing gasp. Clutching at her aching chest, she rolled to her side and maneuvered herself into a sitting position.

Dizziness overcame her as she looked around wildly, and she slumped against the boxes, struggling to catch her breath. The room was cold and dark, exactly as it had been when she had initially sat down. The rain had stopped; other than that, she had no way of knowing how long she had been under the influence of the horrible vision.

She had to calm down. With one last glance around the room, she closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing. Her heart slammed erratically in her chest as it worked double-time to return precious oxygen to her cells. What exactly had happened to make her physically react in such an extreme way?

A terrifying thought surfaced in her mind, causing her heart rate to skyrocket again. Had she just experienced Maria’s death? She crossed her arms over her chest protectively, curling her fingers into fists with enough force to reawaken the sting of the sliver lodged under her nail.

The bad man had to be Gary, and for whatever reason, he had purposefully tried—and succeeded, apparently—to get Maria addicted to heroin. Then he had used that physical dependence to torture her. In the end, he must have given her a toxic dose—enough to make her stop breathing. Was it an accident? Claire wondered with a shiver. Or did he deliberately set out to murder her?

She pushed her shaky legs under her body and stood up. Forcing herself to walk slowly, she crossed the room toward the hall. God, she wished she could talk to Max about this. But she had burned that bridge. She leaned against the door frame of her own room, gazing at the clock. The red glowing numbers told her it was almost 4:00 in the morning.

A melancholy ache settled over her as she stared at the empty bed. It appeared desolate and unwelcoming. The idea of curling up under the covers, with only her regrets to keep her company, was almost enough to convince her to give up on sleep entirely for the night.

“Snap out of it,” she told herself firmly, ashamed. How could she be wallowing in self-pity after what she’d just experienced? Maria had been tormented and killed by a sadistic drug dealer. Claire was lonely and depressed, but she was alive and free—things that should not be taken for granted.

She turned and went into the bathroom, locating her tweezers among a group of nail implements and makeup brushes artfully arranged in a sunburst pattern. Bracing herself, she plucked the splinter from the tender skin under her nail and popped her finger in her mouth.

Not very sanitary.
Her gaze lifted to the mirror, and she was startled by the reflection staring back at her. She looked like a ghost herself. Her face was drawn and pale, with purple smudges shadowing the skin under her dull green eyes. Even her vibrant hair color seemed somehow diminished.

She bent her head quickly to avoid looking at her frightening image any longer. As she scrubbed her hands under warm water, she began to notice the pounding in her temples. The looming headache was gathering strength for a full onslaught. She rummaged through the drawer to find the ibuprofen. Tapping two capsules into her palm, she knocked them back and washed them down with a full glass of water.

She caught one last glance of herself in the mirror as she turned off the light. “That person needs some sleep,” she murmured wryly. Padding across her room, she crawled into her bed. The headache would incapacitate her soon if she didn’t get some rest. A few hours of sleep, she decided, praying her body would comply. Then she’d head to the diner to research heroin overdoses.

Chapter 23

“Hi, beautiful,” Dan greeted her from behind the diner’s counter.

Claire looked around as she dropped wearily onto a stool. “You can’t possibly be talking to me.” She’d managed to get a few hours of restless sleep, but it hadn’t done much for her haggard appearance. And the headache, rather than abating, had evolved into a pain so fierce she thought her head might split open.

“Of course I am,” he said with a wink. “Coffee?”

“What do you think?” she replied testily as she pulled her laptop from its case.

Dan was staring at her when she looked back up. “Something wrong?”

That was a loaded question, she thought, warmth flooding her cheeks. “Sorry, Dan,” she said with a sigh. “I’m…” She searched for an appropriate word to describe what she was and came up empty. Finally she settled on, “I’m really, really tired.”

He studied her as he filled a white mug with coffee. “Hmm. You just missed Max, you know.”

More heat surged to her face.
At least that will give me some color
, she thought wryly. “Oh,” she replied, dropping her gaze back to her computer.

“Yeah, he seemed kind of moody this morning too. Now that I think about it, when I asked him how you were doing, he changed the subject.”

“Oh,” she repeated. He continued looking at her expectantly. Apparently vague, monosyllabic responses were not going to satisfy him. “Well…um…I’m fine. I mean, except for a horrible headache and general exhaustion, I’m fine.”

“But you and Max are not?”

With a defeated sigh, she gave up. “No.”

He nodded sympathetically, pushing her coffee mug toward her. “Maybe it’s none of my business, but whatever happened in the past…”

Wrapping her hands around the mug, she shook her head. “It’s not just the past.” She swallowed the coffee, praying the caffeine would help settle the pounding in her temples. “We’ve both made mistakes. It’s too much.”

“According to whom?”

She shrugged, gazing into her coffee cup as if it held the answers. “It just is.”

“Well,” Dan said. He drummed his thick fingers on the countertop. “That’s funny.”

“How so?” She turned on her computer. It was rude, but she was beyond caring. He was the one ignoring her verbal cues. And he was probably doing it on purpose; she thought she was making it pretty obvious that she wanted to get out of this conversation, get online, and get back home.

“I know I haven’t known you that long, but you seem like a very determined woman. I can’t picture you just giving up on something important.”

She typed
effects of heroin
into the search engine box. “Depends on the situation.”

“Well, I
have
known Max for a long time, and I’ll tell you what—I’ve never seen him happier than he’s been these last three weeks with you. But he can be fairly stubborn as well. It would be a shame if the two of you let pride derail your relationship.”

Her heart contracted painfully. She nodded, tears pressing against the backs of her eyes. “Maybe I’ll try to talk to him when I feel better,” she mumbled. There was no way she could deal with Max—or Maria, for that matter—while she still felt like someone was hacking at her brain with an ice pick.

Dan placed a large warm hand over hers. “It’ll work out, Claire. Anyone can see you two belong together.” With a final squeeze, he released her hand and left to check on the other customers.

The words on the screen blurred. She blinked, allowing the tears to slide down her cheeks. Her breath hitched as she held back a sob, and she rubbed her chest, suddenly reminded of her terrifying experience in the dark early hours of the morning. With a shudder, she swiped at the remaining tears and clicked on a promising link.

The information on the website confirmed her suspicions. Heroin was described as an incredibly addictive and dangerous drug, able to produce physical dependence in users within a matter of days. Claire chewed on her lip as she scanned the page. Her eyes caught on the phrases
affects the breathing center of the brain
and
can result in severely slowed breathing, sometimes to the point of death
.

She slammed the computer closed with trembling fingers. One mystery finally solved. Maria had to have died of a heroin overdose—but was it intentional or accidental? And then there were the other daunting questions: Why had this happened, and where were her remains?

Claire gulped the rest of her coffee and slid the laptop back into its case. The bright lights of the diner were making her headache worse. She needed to sleep this off, and if sleep wouldn’t come to her, she was going to force the issue. A few sleeping pills should hopefully do the trick.

She waved goodbye to Dan, and he gestured at the plate of food he was carrying. She smiled wanly—he didn’t want her to leave without eating. She pointed at the glass case filled with muffins and raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

“Take two,” he called across the room.

Unfolding a paper napkin from the metal dispenser, she selected a whole wheat blueberry muffin. “What the hell,” she murmured to herself, and helped herself to a second one loaded with chocolate chips. Shouldering her computer bag, she took an enormous bite of the buttery muffin as she shuffled toward the door.