The Haunting of Anna McAlister (5 page)

“Wake up, Anna.”

At the sound of those words, Anna started to scream. She waited for the pain to begin again. The voice . . . his voice . . . Its voice. She felt for the blood. “No! No! No! No! No!”

Strong arms grabbed her and held her. She was shaking uncontrollably. She started to urinate.

“Anna! What are you doing?”
 

Anna dug her nails into the side of Tom’s face and pulled down, tearing away small ribbons of skin.

“Anna, stop!” Tom ducked away. “It’s just me, for Christ’s sake.”

Anna focused on the voice that she now recognized as being Tom’s. She was awake and suddenly acutely aware that she was in her dining room and quite wet.
 

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” Anna looked at the shallow scratches on Tom’s face. “I thought you were. . . ”

Anna was about to say a name, but it was lost before she could complete her thought.

“Who did you think was?” Tom patted his face and checked his hand for blood.
 

“I don’t know,” Anna started to cry. “I don’t remember.” She touched his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have to do something about those dreams,” Tom laughed softly and hugged her close. “And those pee-dyed jeans.” he pulled away slightly and laughed a bit louder.

After changing her clothes, Anna changed their dinner plans. “We’re going out,” she announced.

“I thought you bought steaks.” Tom sounded disappointed.

Anna gave him a look that made his tune change on the spot. “I hate steaks. Out it is.”

As soon as they walked downstairs, Anna grabbed her car keys and made for the door.
 

* * *

Anna drove, and kept driving. Neither she nor Tom said a word until 15 minutes had passed.
 

“Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

Tom had to ask the question twice again before Anna responded with a harsh and clipped, “No.”

“Okay.” Tom looked back at the road. “I was just kind of wondering.”
 

“I’m sorry,” Anna apologized. She had been thinking about only two things. The music boxes and escape.
 

“Honey, are you sure you’re okay?” Tom touched her arm and stepped softly into the conversation. “I mean these dreams and all? What’s going on?”

Anna just shook her head and drove faster.

* * *

All was quiet in Anna’s house, but it was far from empty. Then, the silence was broken when a single music box began to play.

* * *

“It’s the music boxes, Tom,” Anna said while stirring way too much sugar into a cup of coffee.
 

The diner where they finally stopped was an old converted railroad car. It was uncomfortably small and packed full of people and noises. The juke box was blaring out “Stand By Your Man” and the two waitresses were alternately screaming orders to the unseen cook in the back and calling every male customer
sweetie
. It was just the kind of place Anna was looking for. She finally felt a little safer, at least safe enough to talk.
 

“I don’t think what’s happening is a dream.”

“Of course it’s a dream,” Tom said as he fiddled with the tiny cartons containing non-dairy creamer. “What else could it be? You can’t seriously think your music boxes are trying to get you.”

Tom stacked one creamer on top of the other.

“Why are you doing that?” Anna’s voice was shaking again. She stared at the tower of creamers and held her breath.
 

“Doing what?” Tom knocked over the stack. Anna started to breathe again.
 

Anna told him about what had happened with the music boxes.

“Sorry about my leaning tower of creamers,” Tom’s apology was sincere. “But I still say it was just a dream. When I came into the dining room, you had your head down on the table and you were sleeping like a baby, or like me back in algebra class. Then I woke you up and you went all freaky. But that was it. End of dream. End of story.”

“I don’t think anything’s ended yet.”

“Look,” Tom said. “You’re just scaring yourself now. But, I’ll tell you what. If you think those music boxes are something that horrible, then fine, just throw them away.”

“No!” Anna shouted so loudly that all noise stopped and everyone in the diner looked at her for a moment before returning to their burgers, veal cutlets or
Mom’s homemade meatloaf
.
 

“No!” she whispered emphatically. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? To hell with the money.”

“It’s not the money, Tom.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“You do know this sounds crazy, right.”

Anna paused. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Good.”

“But I have to find out what’s going on. I’m just not sure how.”

“Okay,” Tom looked into her eyes. “If you really have to do this, why don’t you just call the guy who sold them to you. He told you they were from France, right? Maybe he knows more.”

Anna smiled and bent over the table to kiss Tom. “Great idea, baby.” she slapped her forehead lightly. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”

“See, you need me,” Tom returned her kiss.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Anna teased. “I knew you had to be good for something.”
 

“Is that the only thing I’m good for?”
 

Tom’s mind had returned to its usual one track. It was a track Anna often enjoyed taking. She leaned back, kicked off a shoe and ran her foot up the inside of Tom’s leg. “Maybe I can think of a couple of others.”

“I know I can,” Tom reached down and moved her foot up until it reached his desired destination. “Want to hear some of them?”

The waitress interrupted the conversation. “So, sweetie,” she looked at Tom. “What’ll it be?”

Both Anna and Tom laughed.
 

“Do you need a couple of minutes?” the waitress asked, not getting or caring about the joke.
 

“Come on, give me some credit. I take longer than that.” Tom looked at Anna. “Okay, usually.”

“Huh?” The waitress snapped her gum.

“Ignore him, please.” Anna removed her foot from Tom’s crotch. “I think we know what we both want.”
 

Two of the three people at the table again started to laugh. The waitress walked away, only to return a few minutes later. This time Anna and Tom knew they were on the verge of being asked to leave and quickly ordered their meals.
 

Anna was happy to laugh, even if it was somewhat forced. She now had a plan, so she could push her fears aside and concentrate on what needed to be done to accomplish her goal. Contacting the auction house was concrete, real and diverting. She tried to remember the phone number.
 

Anna happily ate her eggs, and Tom complained bitterly about the state of his steak.
 

“I said well done,” Tom shook his head. “This is a bloody mess.” He pushed his plate aside and stuffed his mouth full of bread.
 

“Ah, that’s it. Now I remember.” Anna pulled a pen from her purse and wrote the number down on a napkin. “I’ll call them tomorrow.”

* * *

A short while later Anna and Tom walked out of the diner. Tom had left most of his steak and a tiny tip on the table. Anna had finished everything on her plate.

At his insistence, Anna let Tom drive, and he drove them directly back home.
 

“Would you check,” Anna pointed to the dining room as soon as they entered the house. “Please.”

“Sure,” Tom smiled. “We wouldn’t want the boogie-box to get us.” He walked directly into the dining room before Anna could respond.

Anna watched from the hallway as Tom disappeared into the room. A moment later the light came on. Anna waited. Ten seconds became twenty, then thirty.

“Tom?”
 

There was no answer. Anna took a couple of steps forward and called out again. “Tom? Is everything all right?”

Tom suddenly burst from the room, screaming for help. He was frantically trying to pull an open music box from his throat.
 

“Tom!” Anna screamed and raced to Tom, who fell to the floor still grasping at the box around his neck.

“No!” Anna shouted. “Leave him alone!”

When Anna got to Tom she looked down at his contorted face. His tongue hung out from one side of his mouth and his eyes were crossed.
 

Anna kicked him. “You jerk!”

Tom jumped up and offered the mahogany music box to Anna. She quickly turned away.

“God, what happened to your sense of humor?” Tom asked.

“No,” Anna responded. “The real question is what happened to yours?”

Anna felt the adrenaline racing through her body. She waited for it to stop, or for her heart to explode, whichever came first.

Tom took the music box back into the dining room. “I’m sorry,” he called out to Anna. “I was just trying to lighten things up a bit. I kept seeing a headline: MAN MURDERED—MUSIC BOX IN CUSTODY.”
 

“Not funny.”

“Actually, I think it kinda is.”

Tom came out of the dining room. He was smiling. “Come and take a look for yourself my little Ms. Para Noid. There’s nothing weird in there. Well, except for your Aunt Clara’s furniture of course”

“That’s okay,” Anna closed the dining room door. “I trust you. . .I think.”

Anna followed Tom upstairs, but made an excuse that she had go down to get a glass of water. Instead of going to the sink, she wedged a chair up against the dining room door. Then, she pushed another chair up against the first one.

Once back in the bedroom, Anna closed the door, and locked the lock. After Tom had fallen asleep she moved her stationary exercise bike up against the door. She then read every magazine she could find before finally falling into a form of sleep; one where there is no rest.
 

* * *

Anna was awake when the sun rose. She was heading for work an hour later. The office suddenly seemed more like a sanctuary than the prison it had felt like for the past several years. As soon as she got to her desk she looked up the number of the auction house where she had purchased the music boxes. Now there was nothing to do but settle in and wait until 9. Anna put her head down on her desk and immediately fell into the first peaceful sleep she had in three days.
 

“Wake up sleeping beauty.” Jeffrey massaged Anna’s shoulders gently. “Or Tony might start charging you for lodging.”

Anna pulled her head up from her arms. Her cheek was sweaty and creased from the folds in her shirt.
 

“Ummm, Jeffrey,” Anna stretched her arms into the air and yawned. “I was having the best sleep.”

“Sweet dreams?”

“No dreams,” Anna smiled.
 

* * *

At 9 o’clock sharp, Anna was on her phone. The auctioneer immediately came on the line as soon as his secretary told him who was calling. Anna had to promise that they might, some day, have lunch, before he would give her the name and phone number of the antique exporter in Paris who had arranged for the sale of the music boxes.
 

Anna said a quick “thank you,” and hung up before the auctioneer could finish saying “I’ll call you next week.”

Just as Anna was about to call Paris, the light on her interoffice phone line started to blink.
 

“Go away. Go away. Go away,” Anna whispered.

It kept blinking.

“Be Jeffrey. Be Jeffrey. Be Jeffrey,” she prayed and picked up the phone.

“What-cha working on?”

Shit,
Anna thought. “Cold calling for new clients.”
 

Anna used her usual answer to Tony’s question.

“Got a minute?”

Shit.
“Sure.”

Tony’s “minute” lasted until almost lunch. When he finally called in an intern and ordered his CB on an OR with regular mustard, Anna practically ran to her desk. With the time difference, it was now almost 5 p.m. in Paris, and she didn’t want to wait another day, or night, to find out whatever she could.
 

Her fingers shook as she started dialing the 14 numbers that would, she hoped, connect her with some answers. “Fuck!” she had to start four times before she dialed all of the numbers without making a mistake. Finally she heard a phone starting to ring.

Come on, answer the phone. Come on, come on, come on.

“
Bon jour
,” a male voice answered on the tenth ring.

Finally

“
Bon jour
,” Anna said. She immediately realized she couldn’t really say any more. “Um, do you speak English?”

There was a pause. Then there was a terse, “No.”