Mystery Dance: Three Novels (53 page)

But it wasn’t Mitchell’s fault. She didn’t allow an opening, wouldn’t let anyone in the secret place where she might be healed with a touch. Dr. Danner and Dr. Forrest came close; they had softened her. But stubbornness or pride or merely the delusions caused by her disorder kept her always alone, always holding part of herself away from the world. Even knowing that ugly truth about herself didn’t allow her to alter it.

She stumbled toward the door, squinting against the afternoon’s brightness. The meadow was like fire, yellow against the backdrop of blazing red trees and the houses that clustered along the fence line. A train whistle sounded, an iron giant rumbling along distant tracks over in Frayser’s industrial zone. The scant breeze shifted, carrying the river-mud smell of the Mississippi.

Julia waded through the tall grass to the fence. Through the trees at the back of the yard, she saw the Lexus still in the driveway. The driver’s seat was reclined. Mitchell was either napping or steeped in a deep sulk.

She glanced at the sky, drawing on the reserves hidden behind clouds.

God, I suppose it’s selfish to beg for a little help when I don’t really believe in you. But maybe just push me a little farther along the path. At least let me walk.

The clouds appeared unchanged, and no shafts of golden light bathed her in benevolent warmth. No calm voice whispered comforting words in her ear, and no squad of angels winged down to rescue her. Yet she felt better from the simple task of reaching out, and the sense of isolation eased.

Okay, if you’re not going to help, at least stay out of the way.

Julia brushed the hay and dust from her clothes, pushed her hair back, and climbed over the fence. She went to the rear of the house and opened the sagging screen door. She tried the knob to the back door, but it was locked. Just as she had expected.

She went to a rear window and looked through the smeared glass. Her old room. An electric buzz raced along the back of her neck as memories came rushing back. Not the bad memories of people in robes, but memories of a child at play, a child who had crawled on that wooden floor, who had sat in the sun with dolls and Chester Bear and alphabet blocks and books she couldn’t yet read.

The room was bare and the closet door was missing. The walls had been painted, were now dirty off-white instead of the sky blue they had been when she lived here. One pane of the window had a piece of duct tape covering a crack. The top half of the window latch was lying twisted on the ledge.

Julia took a barrette from her purse, fastened her hair back, and banged on the pane to loosen the chipped paint. She worked her fingers under the window and lifted. A shower of dust drifted down as the window slid open. She glanced at the barren houses on each side before climbing headfirst through the opening. Her feet kicked wildly in the air for a moment. Then she wriggled through and stood on the floor she hadn’t touched in more than twenty years, letting the window slide closed behind her.

She was inside the room she had been stolen from 23 years before.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Despite her shakiness, Julia felt almost giddy from the exhaustion that came after the crippling anxiety attack. What would Mitchell think if he saw that she had broken into the house? Mitchell worked mostly in property law and knew how to bend the rules in favor of his clients. However, he was very straight-laced about property rights. Visiting a vacant house that was up for sale was one thing, but crawling through a window was quite another.

The floor creaked under her feet. The door was the same, only the knob wasn’t at eye level to her anymore. She put her hand on the knob–

The voices
.

In the living room, Daddy and the man that Daddy called Lucius were talking.

Her breath caught, just as it had done when she was four. She pushed the door ajar with a groan of hinges, fully expecting to see the hooded people gathering around Daddy. But this time she saw only the dull glare of the sun on the worn beige carpet.

Julia went down the hall, past the dark bathroom, and turned to the other room. Daddy’s bedroom.

She couldn’t rid herself of Dr. Forrest’s suggestions that Daddy had taken her in there as a child, had made her do naughty things, had touched her in ways that Daddies weren’t supposed to touch. But Julia felt no dread, none of that suffocating shame that she’d suffered while reliving those suggested scenes in the therapist’s office. Still, a mild shiver raced across her skin as she entered the room.

It was as bare as her own former room, the cover plates off the wall sockets, strips torn in the Sheetrock walls. The light fixture dangled from two wires, and the curtain rod had been ripped down and leaned in one corner.

Julia approached the small walk-in closet, much of it in a darkness as thick as night. Shelves lined each side of the closet, and the rod held three rusty hangers.

No skeletons here
.

She was about to leave the room when she accidentally kicked a bottom shelf. It rattled on its wooden braces. Julia tucked the toe of her shoe under the shelf board and lifted. It flipped away easily, and Julia saw a small crack in the floorboards underneath. Something, a memory or
deja vu
or dream fragment, made her pause.

She got on her knees and ran her fingertips along the rough cut in the boards. The flooring was loose. A hollow sound answered her tap on the wood. She took the barrette from her hair and used it like a small crowbar to jimmy one of the boards up high enough so she could slide her fingers underneath. A cool rush of air came from the gap in the floor.

She removed more boards, three segments less than a foot long. The insulation had been pushed away. Her heart hammering, she reached into the crawl space, hoping that no spiders were waiting in the dark. She inserted her arm past the elbow before she touched dry dirt.

Julia worked her fingers around and scraped the block wall of the foundation. Then she raked the powdery dirt with her fingernails. Behind her, in her old bedroom, came the sound of the window sliding open.

“Julia?” Mitchell called, his voice reverberating in the empty house.

She quickly scrabbled in the dirt, cobwebs clinging to her forearm. Her palm brushed across a sharp edge. She dug around it, glancing behind her as her fingers freed the object. It was a tiny box. She brought it up and wiped the grit from its lid.

The box was carved from soft cedar. A strange shape was imbedded on its top. Julia traced the symbol with her finger. A star?

“Julia!” Mitchell called louder. “Are you in there?”

She didn’t think he would crawl through the window, not with his dogged views on trespassing and his love of his power suit. But Mitchell would keep after her. He must have seen her go to the rear of the house. She wasn’t sure she could disguise her excitement about her find. What if the box had belonged to her father?

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mitchell shouted.

Julia glanced into the dark crawl space, wondering what other secrets might be lying under the soil. She thought of her dream of bones. Did the body really remember what the mind tried to forget?

She stood and went back into the living room, tucking the box into the front pocket of her slacks. She kept her hands in her pockets to disguise the bulge. Mitchell probably would accuse her of stealing if he saw the box, and if she tried to explain it belonged to her, she would have to delve into the past with him. Far easier to act crazy. She hunched her back and tried to look beaten, tired, and disoriented. It wasn’t a difficult role.

Mitchell was holding up the window, his mouth set in a hard line, when she entered her old bedroom. “Have you gone nuts?” he said, with no hint of affection in his voice. “Do you want me to be a party to trespassing? Just think what that would do to my reputation.”

Your reputation is stainless steel, Mitchell. Cold and shiny and beyond tarnish. Just like your heart.

She smiled weakly and looked at the floor. “I just wanted to see the house.”

Mitchell sighed. “Come on, get out of there before somebody sees you.”

She crawled out the window as Mitchell held it open. The box worked its way to the top of her pocket, but she managed to shove it back out of sight.

“Your hair’s a mess,” Mitchell said, letting the window slide shut and then wiping his hands. “Hope they don’t check for fingerprints.”

“I left it the way it was,” she said, walking toward the Lexus, hoping Mitchell wouldn’t stare at her and see the box. She needn’t have worried. Mitchell hadn’t really looked at her in a long time, not at the way she really was. Mitchell must have seen only the Julia he wanted to see, the perfect match for his perfection, a mirror that positively reflected his own self-image.

She got in the car and, before he reached the driver’s side, slipped the box into her purse. She took a last look at the barn in the distance, trembled at the memory of panic, and closed her eyes as Mitchell backed out of the drive. Neither spoke on the trip back in. They were entering the city when Mitchell turned on the radio, a middle-of-the-road pop station. The earnestly bland emoting of the singers was almost as interminable as Mitchell’s stoic silence.

Carrie Underwood was serving up a dish of love as if it were a slice of frozen pizza when Julia finally spoke. “I’m sorry I was strange back there. But you didn’t have to yell at me, Mitchell. I needed you.”

Mitchell was in heavy traffic now, and spared her only a cold glance before refocusing on the bumper ahead. “Need. Well, what about my needs?”

“What about them?”

“You call and tell me you’re flying in from North Carolina, and what’s the first thing I think about? How we’re going to have a great time together, get close, reaffirm the wonderful thing we share. God forbid, even spend the night together. And you barely give me the time of day. It’s always about you, isn’t it?”

Julia had no answer. Though she was burning inside, she couldn’t help but admit the truth of it. If only Mitchell could see she needed an ally more than she needed a lover. She hated herself for not being able to reach him, for having so very little to offer. Even God had no use for her.

“You think it’s easy to go six months without sex?” Mitchell continued, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “I mean, if you were holding out on religious grounds, maybe I could respect you. But I can’t help thinking you’re teasing me on purpose. Your tap runs so hot and cold, I sometimes wonder if you’re trying to make me crazy, too.”

“I’m not crazy.” She stared straight ahead, at the spires of the tall buildings looming in the thick of Memphis. “They call it ‘panic disorder.’ Or ‘personality disorder not otherwise specified, with schizotypal traits,’ depending on whom you ask.”

“That’s what Lance Danner says. But I’m sure he had his own reasons for keeping you on a short leash.” The traffic had jammed and slowed to a crawl. Mitchell turned to look at her. “I don’t care if these screwballs get their jollies by turning you on a spit and roasting you over the flames of your own juices, but I wish they’d leave a little meat on the bone for me.”

“Let me out at the next corner.” The hotel was three blocks away. Even though Creeps filled the sidewalks and lurked in the alleys, they were a safer risk than Mitchell.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Julia.” Mitchell’s tone changed, became patronizing. “Let’s have dinner.”

The traffic backed up to a stop, and Julia opened her door.

“
What do you think you’re doing?
” Mitchell shouted. But Julia was already out of her seat, her purse under her arm, dodging between two parked cars and heading down the sidewalk. Mitchell called her name once more, but a blaring car horn forced him to close the passenger door and move with the traffic.

Julia tried to avoid looking at the strangers who passed her, the people who lurked in doorways, those who hid behind newspapers or peered out from windows. A police siren sliced into her like a laser, its frenzy echoing off the concrete facades. Car exhaust hung heavy in her throat and in her nose. The city’s humid stink pressed against her like a second skin, and she suddenly longed for the clean, fresh smell of the Blue Ridge forest.

She kept her eyes on the sidewalk, concentrating on making it to the next crack, and the next, trying to ignore the hundreds of moving shoes. She hugged her purse close to her chest. To have it snatched now, when she finally had a clue to her past that might be more valuable than money, would be the final joke played by this cruel city.

Someone bumped into her, she gasped and glanced up despite herself–

A bad man, face hidden by a hood
–

She gave a small scream, and the man backed away, his hands spread in innocence.

“Sorry, lady,” he said, sweat beading his balding head. He wasn’t one of the bad people, just an overstressed, overweight jogger who was in a hurry for a date with a heart attack. He tugged the hoodie of his Tennessee Titans sweats and continued on. Julia staggered away and the sea of flesh swept on.

The hotel lobby was cool and sparsely crowded. Julia controlled her breathing during the solo elevator ride and was finally in her hotel room, the door safely locked. She sprawled on the bed, the image of a million bad people painted inside her eyelids, an entire Memphis filled with hooded Creeps. She lay there until she was as back to normal as Julia Stone could get.

Then she sat up, carried her purse to the desk, closed the curtains, and took out the box.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was the first time Julia had ever used the fingernail file she carried in her purse. She scraped the blunt, hooked edge against the lid to clean the accumulated grime and wiped the lid with tissues moistened by her saliva. She turned the box around and saw that the star was actually a pentagram. Carefully etched into the points of the star were the features of a goat’s head, with curling horns and broad nose and evil, slanted eyes.

Two words were carved beneath the symbol:
Judas Stone
.

She had hoped that her memories were faulty, that her father had no connection to the bad people despite what Dr. Forrest said. But here was damning evidence that blew a spark of memory into a bonfire of unavoidable truth. Here was a solid piece of the past, hellish and strange and as disturbing as a dozen Creeps. She realized with a spasm of fear that she would no longer be able to lie to herself.