Incredible Dreams (6 page)

...Her sixth birthday. She’d asked for a pair of ice skates and ended up breaking her arm....

...Her mother’s tears, brought on by the family’s darkest moment—the loss of baby Rebecca....

...And then, Izzy’s greatest loss—the death of her parents....

No matter what she did or tried, her thoughts always snuck back to that one moment in time. It was her burden to bear and a memory Izzy would never be rid of. She’d come to accept it, and unwillingly learned to live with it.

Okay, Isabelle...concentrate. The words rambled around in her head. She was too tired to acknowledge that forcing the issue never worked. You need to focus on Jack, and sleep. You’re not going to get back to 1946 unless you fall asleep.

At least she knew her destination date, or thereabouts. Anytime before February 21, 1946. The day Jack died—also his twenty-seventh birthday.

Sleep, Isabelle
. Well, at least her mind was on the right track now and not off wandering around the cosmos of her chaotic memories.

Izzy lay awake, fretting the night away. She tried to coax herself into sleep, with no luck. She tried concentrating on Jack, hoping that might induce slumber. It didn’t happen. Frustration turned into heat and she threw back the covers. She waited, but the AC offered no solace.

At 5:30 a.m., she gave up the fight and headed back to the abandoned Air Force base. Driving in silence, she struggled to find a way to put off the inevitable. Jack’s life was literally on the line and dependent upon her. If she failed, he suffered the consequence.

Terror placed its icy finger in her heart. Izzy didn’t have the stomach for this sort of risk.

Whatever happened to the simplistic, clear-cut rules she’d come to count on? Send the wandering spirit on into the hereafter. Whose bright idea was it to throw
save the wandering spirit
into the mix? Who really thought she could accomplish such a feat?

By the time she reached the abandoned base, she hadn’t come up with a plausible solution. Jack didn’t want to leave, but she worried that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself after the truth came out.

Navigating the facility’s streets, which hadn’t seen traffic in who knows when, she absorbed the somber sentiment of the deserted surroundings. A strange gray pall hung over the neglected buildings and sidewalks overgrown with weeds.

In a moment of blurry confusion, Izzy’s sight faded into a hazy daze. Scenes from the past, the base’s heyday, intermingled obscurely with its present rundown state.

She rubbed her eyes. When she looked back, fate had twisted with a savage glee, and the only thing left was the notion of what might have been.

Screams of frustration clawed at the back of her throat as Izzy reached her destination. She eased off the gas and the sedan rolled to a stop in front of the abandoned hangar.

Getting out of the car, she tried to come up with a reasonable excuse not to go in. The cool morning air chilled her with goose bumps. She slammed the door and an involuntary shiver shook her upper body, encouraging a little heat. She cleared her uncertainty with a muffled cough and headed inside.

“Well, well, well...look what the cat dragged in.” Jack’s voice filled the hangar seconds before he materialized in the office doorway.

She pointed a finger as she passed him. “Don’t start with me.” She played the hardcore card. Jack and his charms were a lethal combination, capable of luring her in with a simple smile and a tempting word or two. Izzy searched her soul, hoping to stay focused so she could keep the details of his death to herself, for now.

“Are we having a bad day?”

“Look, I’m tired. And I’m not in the mood for your jokes.”

“What’s the matter?” He zoomed past her and settled atop the desk. “Couldn’t sleep without me?”

She hit him with her best intimidating glare. “If you weren’t dead...I’d kill you.”

“You like dreaming about me.”

“I’d like to save your miserable hide.” She corrected him and hoped it sounded real. A silly schoolgirl persona was not impressive. “And the only way I can do that is to dream it.”

“Why, Isabelle?” he asked. “Why are you so hell-bent on saving me?”

As a rule, she didn’t like it when people called her Isabelle. It didn’t bother her when he did, but that in itself did. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s just something I have to do.” She gave the whole notion a quick, insignificant shrug. “Besides, what kind of person would I be if I could save a life and chose not to?”

Jack’s countenance softened and he leaned toward her, stopping a whisper’s breath away. “So...” His smoldering eyes penetrated her soul. “Are you and I able to
touch
in your incredible dreams?” His suggestive question, accompanied by his attempt to hide his laughter, rattled her composure.

She looked at him, disapproving of his ability to fluster her so easily. “You’d better hope not.” Her tone emanated a subtle warning. “Because if we can, the first thing I’m going to do when I get there is strangle you.”

“Is that so?” Jack reached up as if to caress her face. His fingertips swept through the side of her head, but he still managed to touch her...somehow.

A salacious craving rippled through her and she closed her eyes. There was something stimulating, almost erotic, about his spirit touching her soul. Her strong desire to wrap herself around him would get her nowhere—except maybe brokenhearted. His fingers had slipped right through her, but in the spiritual sense, his touch had brought more pleasure and desire than any physical contact she’d ever experienced.

Izzy’s intuition told her that Jack Baker knew every inch of her—mind, body and soul. Fat chance of hiding her darkest secrets and strongest desires from him.

A sensual appetite flooded her senses and Izzy swatted at his hand as if she could knock it away. Shivering, she hopped off the desk and dashed to the makeshift Air Force cot. To her dismay, Jack followed her.

“You and I seem to share a connection, Isabelle.” He settled beside her on the cot.

She looked toward him, taking note of their proximity and the bed they sat on. “Why is it that you’re able to sit on things, but you can’t touch me?”

“Contact with the physical world takes effort and practice, see.” He tilted his head and those smoldering gray eyes sent delectable chills rippling over her. “I’ve had plenty of practice at sitting. Not so much at touching a beautiful woman.”

Beautiful
? Izzy almost lost her train of thought. “Stop that.” She hoped she didn’t look as stupid as she felt. She leapt to her feet and trudged across the room toward the desk.

Jack laughed and zoomed to the chair by the door. “You look tired, Isabelle. Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Why do you call me Isabelle? I told you everybody calls me Izzy.” She’d never let anybody call her Isabelle. It didn’t seem right. Until now.

“You don’t like it when I call you Isabelle?”

Well, no
. That wasn’t it. It’s not that she minded. She just wasn’t used to it. “No...” she muttered. “I never liked being called Isabelle until I met you.”

“You know what’s in the records, don’t you.”
His inquiry was more of a statement than a question. He folded his arms across his chest and propped his ankle over his knee.

“Yes, I do.” She couldn’t lie to him.

“And you don’t want to tell me.” His tone remained unchanged. If that notion bothered him, he wasn’t owning it.

“Not yet.” She nodded. “Just give me one more night. If you’re still here tomorrow, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Jack snorted a laugh. “I’ve already told you, Isabelle, I’m not going anywhere.” He paused, wagging his head disagreeably. “I like it here.”

“Well, if I’m successful, you won’t have a choice,” she said, gaining the upper hand. “Look, Jack, I’m really, really tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Can we table this until I catch some Zs?” She returned to the cot, straightened and smoothed the sleeping bag before turning it back in preparation to climb inside.

“Catch some Zs?” He drew her in with a raised eyebrow and a captivating smile.

Izzy slipped her shoes off. “Look, I’m tired, okay...I’ll play later, I promise.” Right now, she just wanted to go to sleep and dream, so she could save his life.

CHAPTER 6

IZZY RECOGNIZED her mother’s dream realm and took a seat. She planted her palms against her knees and surveyed the dimly lit area, anticipating seeing her mother’s form emerge from one of the shimmering lights twinkling against the darkness.

A smile filled her soul when Cynthia finally materialized wearing an exquisite crimson evening gown. Her hair had been styled to perfection. Perhaps she was dressed for the “jam session”. She looked beautiful. And real.

Her mother came closer and Izzy rose, overwhelmed with the desire to feel the warmth of her embrace.

The hug came as a surprise. Nothing like this had ever happened in all her years of ghost whispering. She’d never been able to touch a spirit.

She hadn’t thought it possible, but she did notice a distinct sensation each time Jack’s spirit came into contact with her body, or maybe it was her soul.

Izzy relished the feel of her mother and squeezed her tighter. “I found it, Mommy. I know how Jack died. And better yet, I know how to save him.” The possibility of changing the outcome lit her tone with hope.

Cynthia’s expression filled with relief and satisfaction. “I knew you’d find the way.” Her gentle touch led Izzy to the couch and they sat together, holding hands. “Tell me...what happened? And how will you fix it?”

Explaining the circumstances, the pitch in Izzy’s voice escalated. Quickly though, as soon as she mentioned the defective dinghy and it’s part in Jack’s untimely demise, Cynthia’s smile faded and her fleshy appearance turned translucent.

“How can you fix that?” Cynthia’s eyes darted back and forth, just like Izzy remembered, when her mother was worried about something.

“If he carries a hunting knife in his flying boot, he can stab the dinghy when it inflates.”

The solution settled into Izzy’s thoughts and slowly drained her confidence. Getting Jack to carry that knife wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded. But she couldn’t tell that by looking at her mother’s face, her lips spreading into a massive grin.

“A hunting knife would be a fine present for Jack’s upcoming birthday.”

“Yes, but I can’t remember anything but my name when I’m back there.” A dark quality claimed Izzy’s mood. “How am I supposed to remember to buy him a birthday present? Never mind that I need to know him well enough to buy him a gift in the first place, and get him to carry it with him when he—” Fear filtered into her shaky voice. “—dies while flying a patrol mission on the evening of his birthday.”

“Well, sweetheart.” Cynthia’s tone, calm and gentle, soothed Izzy’s nerves. “I’m going to help you with that.”

Cynthia’s fingers rested comfortingly on Izzy’s shoulder. Her mother didn’t say anything more. Instead, she closed her eyes and continued to hold on to Izzy. Izzy felt...enlightened somehow, but couldn’t put her finger on exactly why. After a moment of what appeared to be meditation, Cynthia’s eyelids fluttered open and she smiled.

Out of the blue, a delirium of sudden, spinning optimism filled Izzy.

“I forged a couple of suggestions into your mind. First, you have to be receptive to a friendship with Jack.” An impish facet glinted her eyes. “You’ll have an overwhelming desire to get to know him.”

“But how do we know I’ll see him when I go back?” Izzy felt like she was poking holes in her mother’s plan, and that saddened her. Being receptive to making an acquaintance was one thing, but expecting an urge to compel her to track down some guy, one she had no memory off, seemed a little far-fetched.

“Well, I do have
some
control over where you’re placed,” Cynthia said. “I’m privy to a few details of Jack’s life. I know where he lives, where he likes to hang out...the route he takes when he goes to town.” Cynthia paused, drawing a deep breath. She seemed overwhelmed, as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “That’s why I put you in a nightclub where he likes to hang out.” Joy climbed in her tone. “Personally, I thought the singing act was brilliant. You’ll need a job while you’re back there, and this is perfect. He can’t help but notice the singer.”

“I’m that forgettable, huh?” Izzy’s doubt plugged her speech. She cleared her throat, unable to cleanse the insecurity from her next words. “You had to stick me up on stage to make sure he noticed me?”

Cynthia shook her head. “I don’t think there’s any doubt about Jack’s attraction for you,” she said, as if she knew something Izzy didn’t.

Izzy wanted to question her innuendo but a bigger question plagued her. “I’m going to need a job? Just how long will I be there?”

“Jack’s birthday is next month. That’s also the day he dies. You’re going to be there at least until then.” Her tone was the same one she’d always used when she knew her influence had prevailed.

Aunt Marilyn had said, more than once, that Izzy had inherited the ability to know when she’d won from her mother. Now she realized how frustrating that must have been for her aunt.

Common sense told Izzy to object to spending several weeks in 1946, but try as she might she couldn’t rally sufficient reservations.

“By the time Jack’s birthday rolls around, you have to be friends so you can present him with a birthday gift.” A certain amount of hope had crept into Cynthia’s voice, but it was still mostly filled with doubt.

“And you’re sure I’ll go out and buy him a hunting knife?” Izzy’s confidence lacked the assurance she saw bubbling over in her mother.

“Yes. It’s something you’ll feel compelled to do. You’ll insist that he carry it with him when he flies, too.” Cynthia’s tone, now calm and relaxing, reached out to Izzy but didn’t quite soothe her doubts.

“If you say so.” Izzy bit back the vulnerability charging up her throat and trying desperately to surface as laughter.

“You must believe, Isabelle.” Urgency enhanced Cynthia’s words. “Your ability to succeed will depend upon your belief.”

She believed her mother believed it. She believed the woman had a distorted view of reality too. She also believed she couldn’t forget about Jack and just go on with life as if nothing happened. Even if it meant jeopardizing her own existence, she had to make a heartfelt attempt at the endeavor.

“Okay, I believe I can do this.” Izzy’s tone fell flat, her words forced, her belief suspect.

“Are you sure about that, Isabelle?”

Great. She had to say that and question her dedication.

Was she sure?

Maybe.

Yes. “I’d rather be disintegrated and banished into oblivion than have Jack’s death on my conscious.”

“If you’re sure.” Her mother reiterated with a probing eye. “There’s so much riding on your success, but the decision ultimately has to be yours.”

“I have to do it.” There was no other choice. Izzy had resigned herself to that. Although, she wished she had more going for her when she landed in the past than a forgetful memory and a few intuitive inklings toward Jack.

Cynthia smiled and laid her hands over Izzy’s. “Close your eyes,” she said in that soothing voice Izzy remembered from her childhood. She followed her mother’s lead and stretched out on the couch. Izzy rested her head in her mother’s lap and set about clearing her head. “Let your mind relax and open your psyche to the possibilities.” Cynthia stroked Izzy’s hair. “Open yourself to the idea of holding my pre-suggestions inside your mind. Open yourself to the notion that when the time comes, your mind will release those suggestions. Open yourself to the possibility of success.”

Izzy’s urge to giggle was replaced by an even greater need for this to work. If she could save Jack, it was worth the risk.

An overwhelming need to find him, in his time, and forge a friendship swallowed her up. If they became friends, she believed the rest would fall into place.

Izzy nodded. “All right. I’m there.” Images of Jack flashed in her mind. “I am definitely open to your suggestions.” That was mostly true. Seeing Jack in the flesh again was worth just about any peril.

But wait—what about Rebecca and Daddy? “Mother, wait. I wanted to ask you....”

I
zzy opened her eyes.
What the hell
?

Rows of twin-sized, wrought iron beds lined both sides of the long, rectangular quarter. Where was she...a hospital? A primitive patients’ ward came to mind, like something from the thirties or forties.

What I am doing here
? Pain, dull and throbbing, pounded against her skull.

Sunshine blared through sheer curtains hanging over sparkling windows. The effect was almost blinding. The strong stench of antiseptic weakened her stomach. She cut her breath off, but it was too late. Nausea had already set in. Izzy groaned.

That’s when
he
stepped through the doorway. “You’re awake. Good.” His statement, spoken directly to her, crawled up her back and spiked the hairs at the nape of her neck.

Talk about déjà vu
. She’d heard those same words pour from his mouth before. She was sure of it. But she couldn’t remember when or where, and that bothered Izzy.

He moved toward her and his attentive smile quickly faded. “You don’t look so good.” He stopped at her side, scrutinizing her. “Can I get you something?”

“Water.” Cottonmouth was a bitch. She licked her lips, cracked and dry and brittle. Lip moisturizer would come in handy. Where the hell was her purse? Surely she had some with her.

He latched onto the pitcher sitting on the bedside tray and filled the cup.

Thirsting for water, she drank in the sight of him instead. His leather jacket didn’t hide his broad shoulders or how they tapered perfectly into his narrow waist.

Izzy swallowed hard, taking in the length of his thighs. His attire reminded her of some sort of outdated military uniform with golden wings flying on his lapel. The man’s tall, sturdy frame wore the strange clothing well.

A flyer
? Did she know him? She had two memories floating around in her head, besides the one she was currently creating, and he was in all of them.

But Izzy couldn’t remember a thing except her name, and this
Adonis—er...man
. She didn’t like being in the dark, without memories, it left her feeling marred.

She wasn’t sure of much, except that she didn’t like this sensation of losing control. If her mind cooperated a little and shed some light on her past, she wouldn’t feel so powerless. She needed answers to things like, where she lived.

Oh, shit
. She had no idea where she lived.

He must have seen the worry in her eyes. A soft smile crossed his lips, one that said
don’t worry
. “Everything’s going to be okay, see.” He patted her hand.

Chills tingled and raced up her arm. She wanted more. She liked his touch. Images of the two of them tangled in the heat of passion flashed in her mind. Was it a memory...or just wishful thinking?

“Do I know you?” She wanted his response to be...
yes, Izzy, I’m your husband
.

“Sort of,” he said, offering the cup of water.

Too bad
. She shook her head, disappointed. “Sort of...” Her brow crinkled with her unconvinced thoughts. “What does that mean? How exactly are we acquainted?”

He paused in silence, taking liberty of the chair behind him. It looked small beneath his overpowering physique. He shifted, as if searching for a comfortable position.

“Well, the first time we met, see, I nearly ran you over with my car. I never did figure out what you were doing in the middle of the road at night.” He laced his hands together and laid them in his lap. “You passed out at the Cool Cat last night. I was there, and we were chatting when it happened. You seem to do that a lot. Pass out. So I brought you here.”

“And that’s the extent of our acquaintance?” she asked with the slightest hope that he’d issue a denial. Instead, he nodded, aggravating her already fragile demeanor. “I do know you, but I don’t know your name.”

He flew out of the chair and extended his hand. She received it. The strength of his grip, the power of his touch, the feel of his skin surged through her.

“My apologies,” he said, his hand still reflexively clinging to hers. “Captain Jack Baker, at your service.”

God, why did that sound so familiar? The inquiry echoed in her mind and she slipped her hand away from his. “What’s wrong with me?”

She avoided Captain Baker and soaked in the near-empty hospital ward around her. A man, a soldier, at the other end caught her eye and refused to let go. Perched on the edge of the bed, feet dangling over the side, his hands rested in his lap. The odd little fellow glanced away a couple of times and then turned back with a smile.

Pulses spinning, Izzy cleared her throat and turned back to the Captain. “Why can’t I recall anything other than my name, and you?”

“According to the doctors, you have some form of amnesia, see.” He sank down into the chair at her bedside.

Amnesia
? Panic she was sure she’d never known before welled in her chest and squeezed out the space typically reserved for air.

She needed to get a hold of her fright, and quickly. Imposing an iron control on herself, a unidentifiable influence came to Izzy and her feelings of dread lessened.

The only thing remaining was her awareness of what was right there in front of her. This man. He’d always been there. He lived in all her memories, and knew more about her than she did.

“You’re not stalking me, are you?” she asked, filing the amnesia thing to the back of her mind.

Jack had no idea what it meant to
stalk
someone, but if he had to guess, he’d say it wasn’t good because her desire for his denial echoed in her voice. “I don’t think so. I don’t really know what that means.”

“It means to follow someone, pursue them for ill-intent.” Remorse filled her tone as she spoke. He’d guess she’d started it as a joke, but now regretted her poor choice of words.

Considering the implication, he remained calm and steadfast. The girl had lost her memory, so she had good reason to be cautious. She had no irrefutable proof that anyone deserved her trust, least of all him.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, solely to ease her doubt.