44: Book Six (5 page)

Like a fog, the whiteness started to fade away. I looked around and saw new details. A sign for a wine shop. There was a row of old auditorium chairs up against one wall. Another sign, this one for coffee.

There was something vaguely familiar about this place. I felt as if I knew it. I had been here before, and not in a dream.

Another bell rang through the dark, still night.

The ghost had been murdered here in this alley. I could see her body up ahead.

I stumbled toward it, the snow falling harder now.

The cold shot through me like a hail of bullets. My teeth chattered uncontrollably as I stood over the body.

One of her arms was pinned under her in an unnatural pose. Her legs were spread out awkwardly in the snow. And the blood was still leaking out of her in streams.

And then I saw it. The slightest movement in her chest. It was more subtle than a spasm. A breath. Weak and shallow. She was still alive.

I dropped beside her on the ground and took her hand.

“You’ll be okay,” I stuttered. “Hang on.”

I fumbled with my phone, my fingers numb and fat.

More blood gurgled up and spilled over her lips and face, down onto the light-colored hair spread out around her head. Down into the fresh snow.

Another bell echoing in the background.

And then I felt them.

Eyes watching me.Behind me. Dark eyes, drilling through me.

The eyes of evil.The eyes of a killer.

CHAPTER 13

I reached the ball just before smashing hard into the wall.

“You’re getting too good for me, Abby,” Dr. Krowe said, bending over and breathing hard.

He ripped off his glasses, sending large drops of sweat raining down on the floor around his shoes.

“I just got lucky,” I said, trying to make him feel better. I wasn’t very good, but the truth was he had certain disadvantages. He was terribly out of shape and didn’t seem to have an athletic bone in his body. Dr. Krowe and coordination were not on speaking terms.

“Lucky my ass,” he wheezed.

I volleyed the racquetball off the wall while he tried to recover.

Dr. Krowe made up for his lack of physical prowess with his mind. During our court sessions he mixed in professional questions with ones that a friend would ask. And I guess that’s how I thought of him now. A friend. He had seen me through a lot. He helped me piece my memory together in the months following the accident. When I thought Jesse was still alive. He never forced me to face the awful truth until he thought I was ready. And he had been there when Clyde showed up.

I was pretty sure that seeing me possessed had shaken him in some ways too.

He asked about Ty and Kate and my job.

“I have a question,” I said a few minutes later. “If you have time.”

“Sure,” he said, still breathing hard.

He buried his face in a towel and then looked up.

“I guess I’m on a little bit of roll,” I said. “I beat Jesse the other day.”

“Wow,” he said, smiling. “That doesn’t happen every day.”

“First time.”

That was one good thing that came out of the Clyde encounter. Ever since seeing me during those dark hours, Dr. Krowe was a believer. He always seemed open to the possibility, but now I felt that he sincerely believed I really saw Jesse.

His breathing finally returned to normal.

“Okay. So what’s the question?”

“I’ve had these dreams lately,” I said. “And I’ve been seeing colors in them. Well, just one to be exact. Red. And I was wondering if it’s possible, from a medical standpoint, if it might be a sign that my ability to see color is, you know, returning.”

I didn’t want the get into the details of the dreams or visions, if that’s what they were. I didn’t feel like telling him about the ghost or the body on the ground or the blood. At least, not yet.

He was quiet for a moment.

“Red. That’s very interesting,” he said, looking off like he was still thinking about it. “And normally, since the accident, you only dream in black and white, is that correct?”

“Yes, except for that one dream I had about Jesse during the, uh, Clyde thing.”

He rubbed his chin.

“Honestly, off the top of my head, Abby, I don’t know. I would have to do a little research on that. But I could see where you might think that. Stranger things have happened. Perhaps the damage you suffered during the drowning to that part of your brain wasn’t permanent. And if that’s the case, I think it would be possible for your ability to see colors to come back slowly over time. That doesn’t mean that’s what you’re experiencing. But I will definitely look into it. I’m sure there are some case studies out there. Give me a few days, and then I’ll have you stop by the office and we’ll talk about it some more. I mean, if you don’t mind going there.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. “Like old times. Thanks, Dr. Krowe. I appreciate it.”

I really did. He never sent bills anymore.

I smiled and nodded my goodbye before heading to the locker room.

“Wait,” he said. “What kind of things have you been seeing in your dreams?”

“What?” I said.

“Well, you said you see the color red. What’s the object or objects? An apple, a car, a tomato? What is it in relation to?”

I should have known he would ask.

“Blood,” I said. “I see blood.”

CHAPTER 14

I walked past the line in front of the large steel double doors. I smiled nervously at a few people and looked away quickly, wishing David and I had come together. I hadn’t ever helped out at a soup kitchen before and while I was glad to be doing it, I wasn’t sure what to expect. And as I glanced at the worn jackets and the children standing out in the cold, I couldn’t help feeling guilty for the things I had and the way I lived. For the roof over my head at night and the clothes in my closet and the food that I ate. And all those other things I took for granted.

But it was more than that.

Nathaniel’s first victim had been a homeless man. He had killed him by the river. I had seen it in another vision. The image came back now, reflected in these hungry faces, leaving me feeling uneasy.

Some of these people were obviously homeless. I had probably seen a few of them on street corners around town and looked right past them. Sometimes I saw ghosts attached to them.

Kate and I talked about the homeless sometimes, especially if we were waiting at a light and saw one sitting by the side of the road with a sign.  Kate always gave them money.

“No one should be hungry,” she would say.

“But how do you know that’s where the money goes?” I asked her once. “How do you know they buy food with it?”

“I know that drugs and alcohol and mental illness account for how a lot of these people wind up on the street,” she said. “And it’s not like giving someone a dollar makes me a better person or that it’s going to make a real difference in someone else’s life. I don’t know what they do with the money.

“It’s out of my hands after that,” she said, smiling. “All I can control is what I do. It’s just a little thing. But sometimes little things add up. I don’t think too much about it really. It’s just a habit.”

“Abby Craig!” David said, swinging open the door and letting me in.

He smiled, but I could tell he was anxious. It had been almost a week, and he hadn’t heard anything regarding his audition.

“Not yet, huh?” I asked, taking off my coat.

“Nothing! I’m not sure what it means, but it can’t be good. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad I’m here. It’s good to get some perspective sometimes.”

I knew what he meant.

“You too, huh?” I said. “But dreams really matter too. Don’t lose hope, David. They still might call.”

He nodded and smiled weakly.

I looked around. There were rows and rows of tables with benches and at the far end was the kitchen. The smell reminded me of my old high school and I cringed for a moment thinking about my senior year. The tables looked exactly the same and I flashed back to sitting by myself, while some of the girls from my soccer team ignored me. Sometimes I forgot how nice it was to have those days behind me forever.

A short woman in a plastic apron and hairnet walked up to us.

“Hi, I’m Angie,” she said, sticking out her hand. “You must be Abby and David from Back Street.”

“Yes!” David said, sounding like his old self, like we had just won a contest or something.

The woman smiled. She had bright hair and judging from the freckles splashed across her cheeks and nose, I figured it must have been red.

“So do either of you have any experience doing this kind of thing?”

We both shook our heads.

“Well, it’s pretty simple,” she said. “Follow me and I’ll show you the ropes. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

She showed us the kitchen and introduced us to four others.

“Tonight is spaghetti and meatballs night,” she said. “We also have garlic bread and a little salad. They’ll line up here and we let them take whatever they want. But they only get to come through the line once. Try to watch for that. A few will try to get through again. Just let us know and we’ll handle it.”

“But not if they’re kids,” one of the other volunteers said, looking at me a little too long. A cold chill ran down my spine when he licked his lips. “If it’s a kid or a teen who wants more, I look the other way.”

“Oh, Abby and David, this is Sutter by the way,” Angie said.

He crossed his arms and gave us a nod. He was in his 40s, had dark sloppy hair and small gray eyes, half opened with heavy lids. His energy was strange, both light and dark, jerking around him in stops and starts.

The spaghetti sauce hung in the air like dirty laundry. It reeked of boiled onions and a heavy hand of oregano. It made it hard to focus.

We walked back out to the main room, standing near the stacks of dishes and the long table of food on hot plates. Two older women with gray hair were rolling plastic silverware in napkins next to us and stacking them in a pile.

Angie handed us plastic aprons, gloves, and those creepy hairnets.

“The important thing is to keep the line moving, in a friendly way. But always moving,” she said. “Some of them like to talk and that slows things down. That can cause problems at the back of the line.”

I smiled at David. He ran his fingers across his lips in a zipper motion, his eyes bulging.

“We get all types here. Most of these people never imagined they’d end up in a place like this,” she continued. “But they lost their jobs, their savings, and can’t find work. Or they do have jobs but just can’t make ends meet. Some of them are homeless and sleep in shelters. For some it’s temporary. For others it’s a way of life. Anyway, focus on being friendly but efficient. I’m sure that after a while, it won’t feel that much different than serving coffee. And I think you’ll find it rewarding.”

I nodded.

“David, I’m going to put you on the food line tonight,” Angie said. “And, Abby, if you don’t mind, I’ll have you work in the back with the girls in the kitchen for a while.”

I gave David a little wave goodbye and played with the hairnet. The two older women in the kitchen had me work on the garlic bread. I was grateful. I inhaled the aroma of the garlic, trying to block out the horrid tomato sauce that seemed to run down the walls and drip from the ceiling.

It was hot in the kitchen and even though I wasn’t working very hard, I could feel the beads of sweat forming on my forehead and the back of my neck.

But after a while I started to get in a rhythm of sorts and relax a little. After I finished chopping the garlic and spreading the cheap margarine on top of the bread, I dressed the salad with a weak vinaigrette.

I heard the doors open and the sounds of people shuffling in. I peeked out a few times to see how David was doing. He was up to his usual behavior, a little work mixed in with a lot of talking. I smiled. Wherever he went, there he was.

He came in a few times during our shift to say hello. He made fun of the mesh on my head and whispered that my spaghetti sucked.

“Someone needs to go back to cooking class, Abby Craig,” he said, clearing his throat.

He buzzed back out before I could answer.

Unlike David, I stayed busy and it made the time go by quickly. I was surprised when the women started cleaning up and putting things away.

Angie had been right. By the end of the evening I felt good. I was glad that Mike had signed us up. David handed me my jacket and we said goodbye.

“Thank you for coming, guys,” Angie said. “We really appreciate it. They do too. See you next time.”

“I’m beat,” David said as we walked outside. “No way do we work that hard at Back Street.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t either.”

“Ouch, Abby Craig, sizzle, burn. Why all the hostility? Did something hairy and nasty crawl under that fabulous little number you were wearing on your head?”

I swung at him and he stepped right into it, causing me to hit him harder than I had intended.

“Ouch!” he said. “Double ouch. No, triple. Ouchy, ouchy, ouchy. Help! I’m being assaulted. Help!”

I reached up and put my hand over his mouth. We both started laughing and it wasn’t long before he was in the throes of that familiar wheeze.

I was glad he was feeling better. I could see the energy dancing around him, quite the change from just a few hours earlier.

“C’mon, let’s go get some pints at McMenamins to celebrate.”

“We’re celebrating our first night of helping the needy with a beer at a pub?” I said.

He laughed again.

“Of course, Abby Craig. I have my needs too. I need a beer. Plus, we live in the Beer Capital of the World. Where else would we go to celebrate?”

I shook my head, but didn’t say no.

“It’s a date then,” he said, hooking my arm and turning me in the direction of McMenamins.

“Okay, for reals now,” he said, skipping now. “What we’re really celebrating is that I got a call while we were in there. They want me to audition again! I made it to the second round, Abby Craig! Don’t pinch me, you’ve inflicted enough damage to my poor body tonight, but it’s like I’m dreaming!”