House of Fallen Trees (8 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was after midnight when she looked up from her computer, her memories of the events so far now out of her system and stored as she clicked the SAVE button for the last time that night. She couldn’t believe that despite feeling so exhausted all day, she’d still been able to get it all down without a single yawn.
   But now she barely had the energy to put the laptop aside. A walk to the bathroom was out of the question, at least for a couple minutes. Just a few minutes…she would close her eyes, only to give them a little rest. They were burning inside her skull and they needed a rest…

She jerked awake in the dark. Had she shut off the light? She couldn’t remember doing so.
   The laptop was still open on the bed beside her, its screensaver dancing loops of color across it. The light thrown by the open computer was weak but enough to see shapes by. Groaning, she tossed the covers off and got out of bed, aiming for the bathroom like a drunk on a tossing ship.
   A ship, she thought. Now
that’s
funny…
   She did her business without turning on any lights and made it back into the bed without stumbling over anything. She debated on closing the laptop but realized the feeble light thrown by it was comforting in this strange place. She rolled over, her back to it so it wouldn’t keep her awake but she could still have the benefit of a nightlight. Closing her eyes, she snuggled down into the bed, feeling almost happy for a reason she couldn’t define and was too tired to puzzle out.
   Maybe it was being here. Yes, the place was odd, but it also had a certain old world charm about it. And it was Sean’s…
   The touch on her forearm was feather-light, so light it was barely perceivable, could have been mistaken for the fall of a cotton sheet across the skin, had it not been for the heat it radiated.
   Close to the precipice of sleep, she opened her eyes slowly, not even a squint, closed them again, opened them again.
   The hand on her arm was illuminated by the screensaver, clearly masculine and whiter than the petals of a new daisy. She could clearly see the cuff at the wrist—some dark-colored flannel—and then she was screaming, sitting up fast and screaming, reaching for the lamp beside the bed and screaming, fumbling fingers in the dark, screaming, screaming until she found the light switch and, despite it being a low watt bulb, the room flooded with light, plenty enough to see by and she was alone…alone in the room and still screaming, screaming, heart beating painfully, throat searing with her screams until the bedroom door flew open and Saul was there, his face terrified and confused and half asleep, dressed in a white tank-top and blue boxers.
   Dear God…only Saul. Crossing the room. Putting a strong brown hand on her shoulder, brown eyes blinking fast as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He was speaking—she could see that—but she couldn’t hear him, though she’d stopped screaming by now. Instead, she burst into tears, wrapping her trembling arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest, dampening his shirt with her tears, already feeling like a foolish, weak woman, jumping at shadows.
   But, she had
seen
it. She
knew
she had. She just didn’t know who or what or how and that was the terrifying part.
   In the kitchen, Rory poured them all mugs of tea, which Karen accepted gratefully, wrapping her hands around the ceramic as if it were some sort of talisman that would keep her safe. Now dressed in sweatpants over his boxers, Saul watched her closely, worry creasing his brow. “It was just a dream, Karen. Nothing more.”
   “It wasn’t a dream,” she said firmly, looking away from his face and into the depths of her steaming mug. “I wasn’t even asleep.”
   “You must have been asleep,” Rory said, sitting down across from her. “You just don’t know it.”
   “No.” She shook her head. “I
wasn’t.
”
   She could sense them exchanging glances but she was
sure
she’d seen what she’d seen. She was
positive
it had not been a dream.
   “So…what?” Rory asked. “There’s a man hiding in the house?”
   “Obviously,” she snapped, harsher than she’d intended to.
   Rory had put on a robe and given her one as well. Sean’s old robe. It was soft and warm and comfortable, if a little too large for her frame. Unfortunately it was also flannel, which she found unnerving and pushed the sleeves up to her elbows despite the chill in the air.
   “That’s impossible,” Rory said.
   “Why?” she countered. “Why is it impossible?”
   He let out an exasperated moan. “It just is! All the doors are locked! Don’t you think we would have noticed a strange man in the house? Or
heard
him?”
   “Evidently not.” Then, as the thought occurred to her, she spoke it hopefully. “Maybe it’s a homeless person. Maybe he lives in the basement and only comes out at night! You said yourselves that you don’t go down there.”
   “We don’t go down there
often
,” Rory corrected. “I didn’t say we never go down there.”
   “Well, it’s possible! Why are you so quick to dismiss it as a possibility?”
   Rory looked at Saul with a pleading expression. “Jump in here anytime, Saul.”
   Saul sipped his tea and said nothing.
   “See?” Karen said, taking his silence for agreement with her. “
He’s
not saying it’s impossible!”
   “I’m sure you were dreaming,” Saul said quietly, barely speaking above a whisper.
   Karen gaped at him as though betrayed by a confidante. “What? I
told
you, I
wasn’t
dreaming. I was
awake
!”
   “Okay, fine, you were awake!” Rory was practically shouting. “But, I’m telling you there is no one in this house but the three of us!”
   Karen opened her mouth again, intending to argue further, but she saw it was useless. There would be no convincing them. It was best to just drop it, drink her tea and try to stop freaking out. Otherwise, they would think she was either insane or prone to fits of hysteria and since she was neither, she knew to make her case, she would have to remain calm and rational and just drop it for now.
   It had occurred to her that she should insist on conducting a search of the entire house, from top to bottom, but now she knew the suggestion would only frustrate them further. If she wanted to do that, she’d be doing it on her own.
   She’d have to risk coming against the intruder alone and the mere thought filled her with dread.
   “Okay,” she said at last. “You’re probably right. It was just remnants of a dream. I’m sorry I got so hysterical about it. I guess I’m just a little jumpy.”
   Both men nodded, Saul looking relieved, but Rory’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, just enough to let Karen know he wasn’t buying her sudden about-face. He knew she was full of shit, that she didn’t believe for a single second it had been a dream. From that point on Saul tried to make small talk but neither Karen nor Rory were very receptive to his attempts.
   Eventually, Rory excused himself. “I’m going back to bed, if you two don’t mind. I’ll be a total bitch tomorrow if I don’t get my eight hours.”
   Karen managed to muster up a smile and wished him a good night. It wasn’t long after that she finished her tea and bid Saul goodnight as well.
   She was far from anxious to return to her bedroom, but what choice did she have? Besides, what if they were right? What if it
had
been a dream? It’s not like it was completely outside the realm of possibility. She’d had lucid dreams before and though what she’d experienced didn’t feel anything like those past dreams, who was she to say it couldn’t have been one nonetheless? It wasn’t like she was an expert on them, for Christ’s sake.
   Back in her room, she went around turning on every light, though they still did little to keep back the oppressive darkness. It was too thick and loomed heavily in places where the light should have easily banished it.
   Not brave enough to try sleeping again just yet, she opened her laptop and wrote down this latest incident. She suspected she would feel like a complete fool when she reread it at some later date, but for now, she wanted to keep the journal as honest as possible.
   When she was done, she played several rounds of spider solitaire before her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Karen blinked awake early the next morning for one of two reasons, either she’d been having an odd dream involving a dark room where she huddled in fear, listening to predatory voices on the other side of the walls as the beams of flashlights played back and forth outside a solitary window.
   She’d been hunted, but by who or why, she had no idea.
   The other reason she may have woken up was an unusually urgent need to pee.
   Glancing at the bedside clock, she was startled to discover it was just past 5:00 a.m. and still quite dark outside.
   She groaned, flipped the bedding back and made her way to the bathroom, stumbling and weaving a bit, as though she were not only drunk but also in a sea-tossed ship. The thought almost made her giggle—she
was
after all on a ship of sorts.
   When she finished in the bathroom, she returned to the bed where she lay restlessly for over an hour before she finally gave up and accepted that she was awake for good.
   Without bothering to shower, she dressed and padded quietly down to the kitchen, making her way through the gloom as carefully as possible, unwilling to turn on any lights just yet.
   Helping herself to a glass of orange juice, she sat at the table sipping and thinking about the dream that was most probably the reason she was up at this ridiculous hour.
   What did it mean, if anything, and who had been hunting her? And, why?
   So strange.
   She pondered the dream, trying to puzzle it out, until she finished the juice and finally concluded that it was pointless to try to decipher the workings of her slumbering mind. It was just one of those things. There was no reason or meaning.
   Once her glass was rinsed, she briefly debated putting on a pot of coffee, then rejected the idea. Maybe she’d want to return to bed soon. In fact, she already
did
want to go back to bed, but she still felt too awake at the moment.
   Gazing out the window at the shrouded morning, she drummed her fingers against the countertop, thinking. Several minutes passed before she resigned herself to the fact that if she was awake anyway, she may as well be getting some work done.
   Silent as a wraith, she moved through the house, wondering when the men would wake up. Not that it mattered. She knew neither of them would disturb her if she was in her room with the door closed. They would probably assume she’d never even been up.
   Back in her bedroom, she pulled out the laptop, waited for it to power-up and then opened the document file containing her latest book.
   She carefully read over the last page, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and when she’d finished re-reading what she’d written and her brain was back in her fictional world, she began to type with an almost magical speed.
   Lost in the land of make believe, Karen didn’t look up again until 8:45, surprised, as she often was, that she’d been able to disappear inside her head for so long.
   She listened for the sounds of movement in the house, but heard nothing and assumed the men were still asleep. Despite its size, the house had an odd way of amplifying noise—particularly voices—and she was positive if the guys had been talking she could have easily heard at least murmurs.
   Putting aside the laptop, she rose and stretched. The idea of coffee was irresistible now and besides, her belly was rumbling up a storm.
   She left the room, anxious for the caffeine and maybe a couple of slices of toast and jam and, coincidentally, she heard a voice drift down to her from the floor above.
   
Oh, good
, she thought.
They’re up.
   She paused in the hallway, head cocked, listening, waiting for the second voice she knew would come.
   But there was no second voice. Only the first, speaking low, then pausing as if listening to a reply she couldn’t hear.
   Immediately, she knew one of them—probably Saul—had somehow managed to get a cell signal and was chatting on the phone.
   
Thank God.
   She began climbing the stairs. Though she didn’t need to call anyone, it was still comforting to know that she
could
call out if she wanted—or needed—to.
   At the top of the staircase, she hesitated, looking down the long dim hallway, first in one direction and then the other, trying to determine if the voice was coming from the left or the right.
   When the voice spoke again, she knew it wasn’t Saul and her chest tightened painfully. She held her breath, peering down the hall to the left.
   More murmurs. This time she was able to make out a single word:
   “
…crawling…
”
   
Slowly, she forced herself forward. One foot in front of the other, almost shuffling. Her mouth had gone dry, her palms damp. She suddenly felt as though she were moving through a dreamscape. A nightmare…
   She’d determined where the voice was coming from, three doors down on the left.
   What Rory had said was Captain Storm’s office.
   With every step closer, more words floated to her through the ether, but still no more than broken fractions.
   “
…everyone asleep…
”
   
“
…hiding in…
”
   
“
…angry…insects…
”
   
When she reached the door, she found it slightly ajar. Leaning forward, she peered inside, seeing only darkness, and the whispered murmurs abruptly ceased.
   With trembling fingertips, she pushed the door carefully, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom as she did.
   “Hello?” she said softly. “Saul?”
   She knew she was being ridiculous. Knew it wasn’t Saul she’d heard, but she was beyond caring. If her suspicions were correct…
   The room was empty.
   She reached for a light switch and squinted in the sudden illumination.
   The office was exactly how it had been when she’d first seen it, when Rory had given her a tour of the house. At least, it
appeared
to be the same. But, still, she couldn’t shake the feeling something was amiss.
   Crossing the threshold, she glanced around the room, taking care to look behind both the door and the huge mahogany desk on the off chance someone may have been hiding there.
   No one was.
   Imagination, then. What she had thought was a person speaking was either an over-active, stressed mind or perhaps just the wind or creaking support beams. Or who knew what. But, it hadn’t been a person. That much was now clear.
   Still…
   She went to a large framed map on the south wall. The edges yellowed with age but still easily read, the map was probably three feet by four feet, mostly in varying shades of browns and greens.
   It appeared to be a layout of the surrounding area, with Indigo Bend to the southwest and a large black X in the middle of empty forest land, the X presumably signifying where the house now stood.
   Besides its age, there was only one other thing remarkable about the map: the thin red lines crisscrossing it. Perfectly straight, there must have been a dozen or more of them going in every direction. The black X stood directly on top of the spot where six of the lines seemed to intersect and converge.
   “That’s been here since the beginning.”
   Karen spun around to see Rory standing by the Captain’s desk, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, his hair tousled and falling over one eye.
   “It’s something else, isn’t it?” he asked. When Karen was still too startled to reply immediately, he asked, “What are you doing?”
   She was tempted to ask
what does it look like
, but instead turned back to the map, tapping the X with a finger. “‘You are here’ I assume?”
   “Yep.” Rory joined her at the map, sleepy eyes traveling over it with only mild interest. “Still haven’t gotten around to researching it much though. No clue about the lines.”
   Karen frowned at the map. “I think they might be ley lines.”
   “What?”
   “Ley lines. I don’t know a whole lot about them, except that they’re supposedly alignments of holy places—churches and whatnot—dating back to ancient times. Some people still believe the places where they intersect are somehow magical.”
   Rory sniffed and rubbed his cheek. “Magical how?”
   “Maybe
magical
isn’t the right word. But possessing a certain…I don’t know…cosmic energy, I guess. Like I said, I don’t know much about them. But I do remember reading that some people believe that vortexes can form at the spots where the lines intersect and that those places are often ripe for paranormal activity.”
   “Are you serious?” Rory laughed. “And who are these ‘people’?”
   Karen shrugged. “Psychics, mediums. Sensitives.”
   “Ah,” he said. “That explains everything.”
   She gave him a quizzical look, but said nothing.
   Rory laughed again. “You’re not going to tell me you believe in that kind of stuff, are you?”
   “I don’t know,” she replied, turning her attention back to the map. “But I wouldn’t say I
don’t
believe.”
   “You actually think we’re sitting on some kind of vortex?” He tapped the X on the map just as she had done a couple minutes before. “That we’re being sucked into a magical realm?”
   “No. Of course not. But…” She let the word hang, unsure of how to continue.
   Rory watched, waiting for her to complete the sentence, but when it became apparent she wasn’t going to, he stretched and yawned. “Well, I need some coffee. You want some?”
   “Yeah. Thanks.”
   He turned and left the room, leaving Karen alone once more. Her mind immediately went back to the voice which had drawn her here in the first place. Chewing her lower lip, she glanced back at the map, the wheels of her mind spinning…spinning…
   She stood there for a long moment, and finally decided that sometime today she would see what else she could learn about ley lines, if anything. That was, if the internet would cooperate. And, she knew, that was one hell of a big
if.