Last Seen Alive (12 page)

“Warning
thoughts.”

“Yes,” Chyna nearly pounced. “Not just the usual stream-of-consciousness sort of thing, but thoughts that seem to leap out from the rest to get your attention.”

“I have those,” Scott said slowly.

“Do you think
everyone
has them?”

“Yes.” Chyna noticed he was rubbing the Band-Aids on his hand again. “I don’t think they’re unusual, Chyna. I believe some of them are the subconscious repeating warnings you’ve been given in the past. I think the rest of the voices are really instinctive thoughts for self-preservation that all normal people have.”

“That makes sense,” Chyna said. “I believe that, too. But what if the thoughts are … stronger?”

“Stronger?”

“What if they manifest themselves as voices?”

Scott waited an instant before answering. “I’m not an expert or anything, Chyna, but it seems to me a particularly strong thought could
seem
like an actual voice coming from someone besides yourself.”

“Even if it isn’t warning you about something?”

Scott stopped scratching his hand and leaned closer to her, frowning. “Why don’t you just
say
what you’re talking about instead of circling it like a plane circling the runway? Because you
are
talking about a particular experience, Chyna. I can tell. And I think it happened to you in the mortuary.”

Chyna looked up at the Renoir print, tucked her long hair behind her ears, and finally said softly, “Nancy Tierney spoke to me.”

Scott stared at her in obvious shock for a moment before blurting out,
“What?”

Chyna drew back, offended. “I knew you’d react that way!”

“And other people wouldn’t?” Disbelief, chariness, and an urge to flee crossed Scott’s face all in the space of less than a minute. Then he seemed to use all his strength to compose himself mentally, gave Chyna a tolerant, if not understanding, look, and said quietly, ’Tell me exactly what happened.”

She hesitated, furious with herself. She was certain he didn’t believe her, but she’d blundered by telling him about Nancy instead of keeping her mouth shut as she should have. Now she’d backed herself into a corner and couldn’t just leave things hanging without explaining the incident.

Chyna began slowly, being careful to keep her voice calm and her manner composed. “After we’d discussed the arrangements for Mom, Owen Burtram was walking me to the mortuary door when someone came saying they needed him immediately. Owen told me not to go into the ’slumber room’ where a funeral was to be held in about half an hour. I was leaving when I passed that ’slumber room.’

“I didn’t know anything about Nancy Tierney or her death. I was just drawn in, almost against my will,” Chyna plowed on, not quite meeting Scott’s eyes for fear of what

she might see. “There was a mountain of flowers, classical music playing, and lighting that threw everything into a soft glow. I looked in the casket and there was Nancy, beautiful and looking as if she were asleep. And then I heard a voice. She said,” Chynna’s own voice changed slightly as she imitated the singsong quality of the voice that had seemed to come from Nancy, “ ’Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight …’ Nancy’s mouth wasn’t moving, of course, but the voice sounded like Zoey’s down at the lake—”

“Down at the lake?” Scott interrupted.

“I’ll get to that later.” Chyna’s gaze finally met Scott’s, challenging the guarded expression in his eyes. “Anyway, as soon as Nancy had finished speaking, Rusty came in.”

“But he didn’t hear her.”

“I told you she’d already finished speaking. No. Rusty didn’t hear her. By then, the only sound was music. I asked Rusty about the girl in the coffin. He told me she was Nancy Tierney, his niece, and how she’d died.”

“I see.”

Chyna looked at Scott in disappointment. “You don’t believe me.”

He fidgeted with a Band-Aid, then said carefully, “Well, I won’t say that I believe Nancy spoke to you.”

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me, Scott. Just say what you mean.”

“You’ve been through a lot, Chyna, and after all, Nancy
is
dead. But I do think you heard something or
thought
you heard something.” Chyna stared at him, frustration rushing through her. “It might have been a hallucination. Wasn’t Nancy the same age and coloring as Zoey Simms?”

“Yes, but—”

“Couldn’t you have been projecting your sadness about Zoey onto Nancy?”

“I
could
have, but I
wasn’t.”
For the first time, Chyna thought of the incident with absolute assurance. She
had
heard the rhyme coming from Nancy. “I told you it wasn’t the first time I’ve heard that rhyme,” Chyna said, wishing she could stop talking but unable to stem her flow of words.

“The day we were at Lake Manicora, I heard the same thing. You’d already gone to your rehab session. I was still standing by the pond and I heard: ’Star light, star bright…’.”

“Was that a favorite rhyme of yours when you were young?”

“No. I’ve heard it, of course, but I never went around saying it or even thinking of it. And there was more.” Scott gazed at her steadily and kept scratching his bandaged hand. “The voice at the lake—Zoey’s voice; I’d know it anywhere even now—said, ’Chyna, I’m lost in the dark.’ I looked all around. No one was near me. Hardly anyone was at the lake that day, if you remember, Scott. When I heard the voice, I’m ashamed to admit my impulse was to take off like a coward, but I was too scared to move.”

Chyna took a sip of her cold cappuccino before going on. “The voice asked if I was listening; then it said, ’You’re the only one who can help me.’ Then I
did
try to leave, but Michelle wouldn’t budge. Usually one little tug on the leash and along she comes, but not that day. The voice went on. ’You have to find me, because there were other girls like me. There will be more girls like me if you don’t do something.’ ”

Scott’s fingers tapped the white tabletop. Finally, he said, “My mother told me you only come home at Christmas and you haven’t been to the lake since Zoey disappeared. It was probably the influence—”

“Zoey disappeared in July, Scott, not October,” Chyna flared. “The lake doesn’t look anything like it does in midsummer. And I’m not even going to mention the gazebo, which used to be pretty and is now a wreck. The atmosphere was completely different the day we were there from the last time I saw Zoey at the lake, so don’t tell me I was influenced by being in the place that looked just like it did when Zoey vanished.”

“Okay.”

“And another thing,” Chyna rushed on hotly. “I wasn’t the only one who heard that voice. Michelle did. I told you she wouldn’t move when it started. As it went on, she

stepped into the water, which was highly unusual. I think she’s the only yellow Lab in the world who hates water. Her ears perked up. The hair on her back stood up. She
heard
something, Scott Kendrick, and it scared her!”

“All right,” Scott said mildly. “You don’t have to get so mad just because I offered a suggestion. Besides, you’re getting loud, your face is red, and everyone is looking at us.”

“I don’t care!”

But Chyna did care, embarrassed and hoping everyone would experience immediate memory loss. No such luck, though. Deirdre approached the table cautiously, gave them each a tentative smile, and asked, “Would you like anything else?”

Scott suddenly acted casually amused. “Not unless you have something to calm ruffled feathers. Seems I said the wrong thing.” Chyna glared at him, but his gaze was fixed on pretty, young Deirdre. “I’ll have a glass of milk this time. It’s supposed to be calming. One for the lady, too.”

“I don’t want a glass of milk,” Chyna hissed.

“Get her one anyway, Deirdre. She’ll thank me for it later.”

As soon as Deirdre left, Chyna said, “Well, aren’t
you
the big, strong man trying to settle down the little lady having a tantrum!”

“Please don’t get mad again. Almost everyone has stopped staring at us, and a glass of milk won’t kill you.”

“I hate milk. I won’t drink it!”

“You sound very grown-up, Chyna. At least five years old. You might have to be sent to bed without supper.”

Chyna glowered at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze in shame. She’d sounded about as mature as her niece and nephew. Most men would have walked out on her. This one had merely tried to tease her out of her anger. “I’m sorry,” she said reluctantly.

“Okay.” He smiled at her. “-So, you’re
sure
you heard the voice at the lake.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Well, I do and you owe me for embarrassing me in one of Black Willow’s classiest joints. Now, tell me about the voice at the lake.”

Chyna sighed. After all, she’d brought up the subject, she reminded herself. The least she could do was finish her story. “All right.” She began quietly. “Honestly, Scott, at first I thought I imagined the voice. I thought about how tired I was, how upset I was over Mom’s death, how little I’d had to eat, on and on.” She paused. ’Then I considered how oddly Michelle had acted. She was frightened, Scott, and I don’t think dogs imagine the dead speaking to them.”

“But they react to their master’s—or mistress’s— emotions. It all has to do with their being able to sense your adrenaline levels, and if my guess is right, yours was soaring.”

“Yes, I’m sure it was, but she’s never acted that way before.”

Deirdre arrived with the milk. Scott gave her a dazzling smile. Chyna managed a weak tremor around the mouth. She knew a smile wasn’t going to change the girl’s opinion of her now. When Deirdre left, Scott leaned across the table and said, “You can lift your head. I don’t think you’re the center of attention anymore.” She looked at him, still self-conscious but encouraged by the good-natured humor in his eyes. “You think I was dismissing you as overimaginative,” he said. “Maybe I was a little, and I’m sorry. Apology accepted?”

After a pause, she nodded. “Yes, if you don’t make me drink every drop of this milk I don’t want.”

“Deal. But take a few sips. It’s good for you and you’re looking on the thin side to me. Now, has anything else strange happened?”

She took a sip of the milk and decided it wasn’t so bad, after all. “Yes, and I’ll tell you if you promise not to dismiss me as a high-strung nut.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I haven’t dismissed the other two things, either, although I might have sounded like it.”

“You did. But here goes.” Chyna told him about the call

from Anita Simms—the strange, windy sound behind Anita’s voice, Anita sounding as if she’d just called to check up on Zoey—and finally about calling Ned and having him say that Anita had killed herself last year. She also described Michelle’s behavior during the call. “I know you’re going to say she was just reacting to my fear,” Chyna said, “but there was one more thing. The woman on the phone called me ’Bubble Gum.’ No one else ever did.”

“Couldn’t someone else have heard the name?”

“Besides Zoey and my mother? Anita only stayed for the night when she came to pick up Zoey. I don’t think she ever even met anyone around here. And Mom never used the nickname.”

Scott sat almost rigid in his chair, staring at her. She met his stare, determined not to act as if she doubted herself. She knew if he rejected her accounts of voices and phone calls, no matter how politely, she would be humiliated. Even worse, she would be deeply hurt, which was silly, because Scott Kendrick was not even a real part of her life. He was nothing but a guy she’d had a crush on for years when she was young.

Scott leaned forward, making a temple of his fingers, and asked without a trace of derision, “Are you sure you didn’t dream Anita Simms’s call?”

“I am absolutely sure,” she returned firmly. “And I wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating when I heard the voice at the lake or the voice in the mortuary.”

Scott looked at her steadily, then nodded. “When you were younger you heard voices. My mother told me you did.”

“Yes. When I was much younger. Then I told everyone I didn’t hear them anymore. Actually, I was just embarrassed by the way people looked at me and treated me, so I disciplined myself to shut out the voices, and I was fairly successful. In fact, in the last few years, I’ve only heard them a handful of times. But they weren’t voices like these. There was no tonal quality—I couldn’t tell if the voice was male or female—and they certainly never chanted nursery rhymes or

called me by old nicknames or begged me for help, like Zoey’s did.”

Scott lowered his gaze, staring at the white silk rose in a bud vase on the table. He thinks I’m a lunatic, Chyna thought. Either that or he’s trying not to laugh in my face out of respect for both of our mothers. But when he looked up, his dark eyes were serious, his expression grave. For a moment, Chyna thought he was being extremely cautious with what he considered an unbalanced woman and getting ready to say she needed professional help. But when he spoke, he surprised her.

“Chyna, I don’t believe in ESP. I’ve never even thought it might be possible, then rejected the notion. But what you’re telling me…” She nearly stopped breathing while she waited for what he would say. “I don’t understand myself right now, but for some reason, I believe that everything you’ve told me
has
actually happened.”

She was stunned. “You do?”

“Yes. I can’t explain why something I’ve always dismissed as overimagination or plain trickery suddenly sounds possible to me.” He gave her a humorless look. “I said
possible,
not
probable.
But coming from you …”

“But coming from me … what?”

“You’ve always struck me as so levelheaded, so sensible, that I’m considering it might actually
be
possible. I have to keep in mind that I don’t know everything. Phenomena I never thought about can, probably do, exist in the world.”

Chyna’s breath came out in a rush. “Thank you, Scott, for taking that attitude.” She paused. “I wish my father had thought the same thing.” She heard the slight pain in her voice. “He believed there was something wrong with me. That’s why I stopped telling anyone except Zoey when I had a vision or a premonition.”