Tymber Dalton (35 page)

A vision hit him.
She tripped and Matt caught her. Sami standing there in her yellow Sandusky T-shirt, the one they got at the park two years earlier when they went for the weekend, the one she liked because it was so huge on her. They looked at each other and she kissed him…

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he dropped the knob.

“No!”

Good drugs combined with a very overactive imagination.

He would
not
give in to this. It
wasn’t
happening.

Steve backed toward the doorway. He needed to lie down on the sofa, and go to sleep.

A vision appeared, a naked woman with curly red hair, tied to the bed, fear in her eyes—

“
No!
” He squeezed his eyes shut. “It is not there. It is not real!” Steve opened his eyes and the vision had disappeared. He let out a breath. Just
really
good drugs and a
really
vivid imagination.

Instead of going downstairs he went to the guest room, where the door stood ajar. Nothing out of the ordinary here either. Matt’s things lay on the dresser. Loose change, his Ohio keys, a couple of grocery store receipts.

No visions.

Steve felt stupid.
What did I expect?
He pulled the door shut behind him and went to the guest bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He walked in and used the toilet. Washing his hands, he turned to look for a towel and spotted the glass on the floor behind the tub.

* * * *

Matt shivered when they entered the clearing. He felt the air almost perceptibly change. “Do you feel that?” he asked.

She nodded. “It feels like the house did before Julie did the first ritual.”

“I wonder if it always felt like this, or if whatever was in the house is now out here?”

“Better out here than in there.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, but we don’t want it going back into the house, either.”

“Good point.”

“Any idea where the well is?” he asked.

“No. Not sure what it’s supposed to look like.”

They picked a trail and slowly worked their way back to the house. They crossed another access road that was little more than a firebreak and spotted a forestry pickup truck parked a few yards away.

“Hey, let’s ask him,” Sami said.

“There’s no way it could be that easy.”

Tom Jenkins was dragging a fallen tree limb off the path when they rode up.

Sami introduced Matt. “Tom, I was wondering about something. I’ve been doing research on the house’s history. Do you know where the old well is?”

Tom removed his gloves. “Why on earth would you want to know that?”

“Research. I’d like to see it, if possible.”

Tom looked from Sami to Matt and back again. “Not much to see,” he said. “I’ve spent a lot of years making sure no one knew where the damn thing was. Too many people wanting to hunt down mysteries. Some people are downright gruesome, like those idiots who think Charles Manson’s a neat guy.”

“Tom, I assure you, we won’t advertise the location.”

He considered. “I don’t suppose it’ll do any harm to show you. It’s not far. Follow me.” He climbed in his truck, and they trailed him nearly all the way to the main road. He parked and motioned to an overgrown trail where several large branches blocked the way. “I did that deliberately, on the other end, too. This trail got too close. Trail goes unused long enough, it gets overgrown. People don’t ride it because they always have to duck or get swatted off their bike, or stuff grows in the trail and hides it. You can’t go in on horseback. Tie them to my bumper, they’ll be okay. We’ll be right back.”

They followed as he picked his way around the makeshift blockade. A deep layer of pine needles and leaves blanketed the trail. Small saplings had sprouted in some places. In others, palmetto bushes were taking over, forcing them to pick their way around. In a few years, the trail would be totally erased.

“The cemetery is that way.” He pointed. “About one hundred yards. Keep an eye out for snakes, there’s rattlers in the park.” He climbed around another, much older, blockade of branches, and pushed his way through a palmetto thicket. They came across a cluster of three very tall slash pines, larger than most in the park. About eight feet up, each tree bore a blackened, V-shaped gash. “Cat marks,” he explained. “Turpentine. They used to harvest the pitch from the trees, sort of like they do to get maple syrup up north. Run by the mine when it was still here. There’s not many trees left in the park with cat marks on them. These trees are old.”

The three trees bordered a small, bare depression. Tom knelt and brushed away a deep blanket of pine needles. Beneath it lay a crude concrete disk, a loop of steel rod embedded in the top.

It looked heavy. Sami wondered how they’d get it open.
Maybe Julie won’t need to get into the well.

“Probably two hundred pounds, at least,” Tom said, answering Sami’s unspoken question. “Head office wouldn’t let them seal it permanently. Groundwater studies, they said. Had to keep it accessible. Not that anyone’s opened it since they laid the cover. My grandfather oversaw it himself.”

“When was that?” Sami asked.

Tom scratched his chin. “Within a year or two after Lisa Prescott was killed. Right around in there sometime.” Matt helped him re-cover the well. “Like I said, not much to see.”

“Thank you for your time, we appreciate it,” Sami said, untying the horses back at the truck.

“No problem. How’s your husband?”

“He’s home from the hospital. He’s still in pain, but that’s to be expected.”

The ranger nodded. “Give him my best. Well, have a good day.” He drove off and they mounted.

“That was easier than I thought,” Matt quipped, following her to the main park road.

“Sometimes, the easiest solution is the obvious one. Can you remember how to get back there?”

“Yeah. You?”

She nodded. “I think so. I can look for those trees.” She turned and pointed behind them. Sure enough, Matt spotted the tops of the three trees.

“Good idea.”

A frazzled-looking young woman in a small compact car pulled alongside them on the main road. “Can you help me? I’m looking for the Corey residence.”

“I’m Samantha Corey. That little car doesn’t like the dirt road, does it?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t think I’d make it, at first. I hope getting out is easier. Can I give you the paperwork?”

“Sure. It’ll save you having to drive to the house.” The girl handed her a thick, heavy, legal-size manila envelope.

“I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” They watched the girl struggle to turn the car around. Luck smiled on her, as it was a fairly firm stretch. She made it.

Sami tucked the envelope into her backpack and checked the time. “I didn’t realize how late it was. We’d better get back.”

* * * *

Steve stared at the glass. No problem. Sami liked to soak in this tub. Nothing unusual about that. She probably brought it up here and forgot it after her bath.

He picked it up. It looked like watery orange juice.

He sniffed. Curious, he tasted. Orange juice, soda water, and—

He wheeled around and spit it into the sink, dumping it, nearly dropping the glass.

Vodka.

Shit.

A very strong drink. He swore he saw a flash out of the darkness, a brief mental snapshot of Sami floating in the tub, Matt sitting on the edge—

His imagination again. He could convince himself he was Frosty the Snowman if he tried hard enough. Dammit, he had to get downstairs, he needed sleep. He felt his forehead. Was it warm? Was he feverish? Almost time for another IV dose, wasn’t it?

His mouth watered. God, he could use a drink!

“NO!” he yelled at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. “I am not going to drink again!” It was bad enough betraying Sami’s trust all these years, lying to her. He would stay sober this time.

For real.

He grabbed the glass, went downstairs, and set it in the kitchen sink. Pog had eaten the remains of his sandwich. That was okay, he wasn’t hungry anyway.

He put the plate in the sink and opened the fridge. There had to be something, anything, to take the taste out of his mouth. He didn’t want to go back upstairs right now.

The bottle of soda water sat on the shelf next to the carton of orange juice.

He slammed the fridge door and rifled the pantry. He found a bag of chocolate mints, and ate several of those, tossing the wrappers in the garbage.

He thought about taking another sedative, but it was too soon. It would knock him out, that’s for sure.

He needed sleep. That’s what he needed. Then Sami would return and give him his medicine, and he’d feel better. He knew his face felt warm. He had to be feverish again.

He channel surfed, settling on the Weather Channel. He distracted himself with the tropical update——they expected the blob in the Gulf to become an early tropical storm in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. They warned Florida’s residents to stay tuned for updates from the National Hurricane Center.

He closed his eyes and yawned.
Sleep. That’s what I need.
He’d ask Matt to get plywood for the windows tomorrow before they went for the closing. Hopefully they wouldn’t need it. Better safe than sorry…

Steve finally drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

Pog looked up but didn’t make a sound when Sami walked in. Steve lay sound asleep on the sofa where they’d left him. He was due for his next IV dose, and she prepared everything before waking him.

He smiled. “Did you have a good ride?”

She nodded. “We ran into the courier. She gave me the paperwork.” She handed it to him.

He leafed through it. He tried to ignore what she did while she flushed his port. “Where’s Matt?”

“Taking care of the horses. I wanted to start your meds.” She hooked up the small bag of IV fluid and added the dose of medicine. “Damn, I need to hang this.” She looked around and spotted the gooseneck floor lamp. “Hold on.” She unplugged it and moved it behind the couch and snapped the plastic clip around one of the lamp’s arms. “There, that’ll work for now.”

He looked at it. “Nothing like shining light on a situation?”

She laughed. Steve had a good sense of humor. Too bad he waited so long for his attitude adjustment.

“We should get some plywood tomorrow,” he said.

“Huh?”

He pointed at the TV. “That stuff in the Gulf might become a tropical storm. We don’t have any plywood.”

“Most of the storms don’t hit. My parents never boarded up. Usually it’s stiff breezes and lots of rain, especially this far inland. If we lived closer to the coast, then I’d worry.”

“I still think we should be prepared.”

“This place is what, almost a hundred years old? It’s gone through quite a lot without being boarded up.”

“Humor me, please? Let’s get the stuff in case we need to board up.”

“Again with the ‘we’ stuff.
You
aren’t doing anything.
You
are going to sit on this couch.
You
are not ripping those stitches out again.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “Humor me?”

She sighed. “I’ll go tomorrow morning.”

“Matt can go with you.”

“I can go by myself,” she insisted.

“You’ll need help loading it.”

“They’ll load it for me, Steve—”

“Just take him with you.”

She didn’t feel good leaving Steve alone in the house with the whiskey. “I don’t want to leave you alone that long. And maybe Matt doesn’t want to go with me. I’m sure he has other things he’d rather do.”

“Like what?” Matt asked. Neither heard Matt come in through the kitchen. Sami had used the leftover spray lube on the screen door, quieting it. Matt stood in the kitchen doorway. “Go where?”

“Will you please tell my stubborn wife you don’t mind going with her to get plywood tomorrow?” Steve asked.

Matt shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“See? He doesn’t mind.”

She glared at Matt. This wasn’t helping. “Then why don’t I send Matt to the store?”

“Because you have to pay for it.” Steve smirked, knowing he had her over a barrel.

She sighed. “All right. But if you get sick while I’m gone tomorrow, it’s straight back to the hospital.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” As if to punctuate this statement, a crack of thunder boomed, followed by rain pelting the tin roof.

Matt glanced out the front windows. “It looked like it might rain. I put the horses in the barn.”

“Thanks, Matt.” Sami stormed into the kitchen to start dinner.