Love Lies Bleeding (28 page)

Sam pulled her arm away. “Don’t treat me like an invalid. I took a little bump on the head. I’m fine.”

“Okay, but I’m staying. I’ll call Caleb, make sure he did talk to the deputy sheriff, and let him know that I’m spending the night.”

Before Sam could answer her, a knock interrupted them, followed by Fritz appearing in the doorway.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” he said self-consciously, “but I have a gift for you, Samantha—a CD of my compositions. I thought you might enjoy listening to it.”

She made a half turn and moved toward him, but Anne stepped forward and blocked her.

“This really isn’t a good time, Fritz,” she said, not hiding the irritation in her voice.

He looked flustered as his attention shifted to Anne.

“Sam’s had an accident,” she continued.

“Oh, my dear,” he cried, stepping over the threshold. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No,” Anne answered for Sam. “I’ve called the doctor and he said the best thing for her is rest, so I’m staying the night.”

“But, Anne, aren’t you concerned about Caleb?”

“Um—not at the moment.”

“Oh,” he said, not hiding his surprise. “I’d heard Duane Parker paid you a visit.”

“I’m sure that the matter has been straightened out by now,” she replied gruffly. “I want to get Sam to bed, so if you’ll excuse us . . .”

Fritz reached around Anne and shoved the CD case toward Sam. “Here, my dear, you can listen to this while you’re resting.”

Sam glanced at the case and shook her head. “Not now. I think I’d better do as Anne says.” She waved toward the counter. “If you’d put it over there, I’ll listen later.”

Fritz glanced down at his hand. “Yes—yes,” he muttered. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Placing the case on the counter, he left.

“I think we hurt his feelings.” Sam sighed after the door had softly closed. “It was sweet of him to make me a CD of his music.”

“You can thank him later,” Anne replied. “My job is to make sure you follow the doctor’s instructions, not worry about Fritz’s feelings.”

Muttering under her breath about Anne’s bossiness, Sam deliberately shut the bathroom door in her face and quickly changed. Such a fuss about nothing. Okay, so a feeling of panic had flashed in the instant her head made contact with the pylon, but it had happened so fast that she didn’t have time to react. The thought of another head injury nagged at her, but she had no intention of wearing a helmet for the rest of her life, so what was the alternative? She thought back to her walk earlier that day. She’d decided fear would no longer be in her vocabulary. This was a perfect time to put her new resolution in practice. She’d follow the doctor’s orders and all would be well by morning. Satisfied, she went to the bedroom and curled up on the bed. A moment later a rap sounded and Anne entered with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. She shook a couple out and handed them, along with the water, to Sam. Sitting up, Sam popped the pills while Anne crossed to the window and adjusted the blinds, sending the room into semidarkness.

At the door, Anne paused. “Rest, and if you need anything, holler.”

Yawning, Sam nodded. She was tired, she thought, scooting down in the bed. She shut her eyes and waited for sleep to claim her, but every sound seemed magnified. She could hear Anne rustling around in the kitchen, a boat speeding by down on the lake—even her bedside clock seemed to click away the seconds. Giving up, she sat up in bed. Her sketch pad lay beside her, but she didn’t feel like drawing. Her eyes spied a book on the dresser. Getting out of bed, she went over and picked it up. It was the book Jackson had been reading—
The Minnesota Guide to Haunted Locations.
She thumbed through it as she walked back to the bed and climbed in.

She scanned the pages, reading the usual tales of ghostly Native American princesses wandering the shores of misty lakes; lost miners still digging in abandoned mines; cabins plagued by poltergeists. It was the last entry in the book that caught her attention.

The story told of a cabin located not far from Elk Horn Lake where for years vacationers had been tormented by the pesky ghost of a young woman. This mischievous spirit seemed especially to enjoy playing pranks on the unwary visitors by hiding objects that belonged to them and startling them out of a sound sleep.

Hiding objects?
Isn’t that what happened to her brush and the photo Jackson had given her as a gift?

She snorted softly. In a way, it would be comforting to believe that it was some restless spirit that was haunting her, instead of her own mind not functioning as it should. With a grimace, she tossed the book to the side and eased down in the bed. She placed her forearm over her face and shut her eyes.

The dream that was unfolding was like watching a movie. She was present, but removed from the scene, like a spectator. The green light from the dashboard was casting eerie shadows on the faces of a man and woman as their car sped down a lonely gravel road. Warm humid air rushed into the open window of the passenger side, where the woman sat. With her red hair tumbling around her face, she extended her arm out the window as if she were trying to catch the wind. In front of her, the headlights lit the dark strip of country road. Turning with a laugh, the woman scooted closer to her companion and threw an arm around his neck.

The man’s profile revealed a strong chin, high cheekbones, and a straight nose, but the color of his hair and eyes were hidden in shadow.

“What’s my surprise?” the woman cooed.

The man’s lips moved in a faint smile. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

She inched closer and nuzzled his earlobe. “Please?”

“Behave,” he said, shifting his body away from her.

Lifting her head, she sat back. “But you like it better when I don’t.” Her hand stole up his arm and across his chest, her fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt.

“Knock it off—not while I’m driving,” he said as he brushed her hand away.

Flopping back in her seat, she crossed her arms over her chest while her lips formed a pout. “Aren’t we about there?”

“Almost.”

“I don’t have all night, you know,” she said in a querulous voice. “I need to be home before he gets back.”

The man didn’t speak for a moment. “Why don’t you leave him? You’re miserable.” One hand left the steering wheel to grasp hers. “I could make you happy.”

She jerked away. “How?” she scoffed. “Living upstairs in a two-bedroom apartment?” She tossed her long hair. “I’ve got bigger plans than that.”

Both the man’s hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. “He’s not going to change his life for you.”

“Yes, he will,” she answered with a firm nod.

“I’d treat you better,” he argued back.

“Oh, baby,” she crooned, leaning in until her full breasts were pressed tightly against his side. “You know this is just for kicks and giggles.”

He shifted his upper body to the side, creating a gap between them. “Right. Until something better comes along,” he replied in a bitter voice.

The woman slid closer, and the car filled with the scent of lavender. “Don’t be this way,” she said, moving her hand to his lap and letting her fingers wander up and down the zipper of his jeans.

He gasped.

She lifted her chin and pressed her lips to the tender spot below his ear and his gasp turned into a groan. His lower body arched, pressing into her open palm. The headlights wove an erratic pattern across the road. Laughing, the woman licked the side of his neck and his eyelids drifted shut for a moment.

Suddenly his body slammed into hers, throwing her against the passenger door. The car careened wildly into the ditch while clouds of dust poured in the open window. Bouncing over the rough ground, they were tossed like a couple of rag dolls. Finally the car came to a stop with its headlights pointing into the night sky at a crazy angle.

The woman tried sitting up, but the man’s heavy body was sprawled across her. She pushed him away and her hand found the door handle, which she wrenched open. Half crawling, half tumbling, she slithered to the ground. Getting to her feet, she staggered back while she drew a hand across her mouth. It came away wet and sticky. She held it in front of her face. Bleeding, she was bleeding. Still staring at her bloody hand, she jumped when a voice called out.

“Hey, are you hurt?”

The words were followed by the sound of heavy boots crashing through the weeds.

Without a backward glance at the man still lying in the wrecked car, the woman crouched and slipped off into the dark before the other man could see her.

Sam woke up curled on her side with her hands fisted into her pillow. What a dream—had it been triggered by Fritz telling her of Edward’s accident? Fritz had said Edward was alone that night, but in her dream, he hadn’t been. Blanche? Why had her subconscious inserted Blanche? Sliding over, she felt a body pressed up against her back.
Thank goodness for Roxy,
she thought, smiling as she rolled over. The dog was always there to comfort her. Still smiling, she turned her head to pet the dog.

The breath froze in her lungs as her smile fled. Her eyes widened and terror like she’d never known ignited a scream. Rolling away, she fell onto the floor and then jerked to her feet. Without a backward glance at the terrible visage in her bed, she half limped, half ran down the hall.

“Anne, Anne!” she shrieked.

Coming to a halt in the middle of the living room, she spun around. Alone . . . she was alone. Except for the awful thing lying in her bed.

She darted to the kitchen door and was ready to fling it open when Anne suddenly stepped in from the deck.

“What’s going on?” she asked, crossing to Sam.

Sam sagged against her in relief and, with a trembling arm, pointed to the bedroom.

“Back there,” she said, her voice quivering, “in the bed—”

Anne quickly moved her to the couch. “Stay here,” she said, pivoting, then taking off toward the bedroom. A few moments later, she returned and sat next to Sam.

“Whatever you saw, it’s gone now,” she said.

Sam covered her face with her hands and tried to catch her breath. “It can’t be—I saw it—I know I did.”

“What did you see? A snake? A bat?” Anne glanced over her shoulder. “Bats can find their way into these old cabins, but they’re nothing to be afraid of.”

“No, not a bat.” Sam dropped her hands and stared at Anne blindly. “It was so real—”

Anne gave her arm a little shake. “What was so real?”

“A corpse,” she said, choking on the word.

Anne sat back in disbelief saying nothing.

“A body—a woman—with her face battered in and rotting.”

Anne shot to her feet. “I’m calling Dr. Douglas.”

“No, wait.” Sam grabbed at her hand and forced herself to breathe evenly. “I must’ve still been dreaming and the body was part of the dream.” She shuddered and let her head drop back against the couch.

“What were you dreaming?” Anne sat back on the couch.

“Edward—I think I know what really happened to Edward.”

“He was in a car accident. Everyone knows that.”

“But everyone thinks he was alone.” Sam lifted her head. “He wasn’t. Blanche was with him, and she caused him to run the stop sign.”

“Sam, that’s cra—”

“Crazy?” Sam finished the sentence for her. “Do you know for sure that Blanche wasn’t with him?”

“The farmer who went for help said he was alone.”

“What has Edward said?”

“Not much—he doesn’t like to talk about it, and I don’t want to pry.”

“Did he ever explain how he came to run the stop sign?”

“He believes he dozed off for a second.”

“Look, I know this sounds unbelievable.” Sam paused. “At first, I thought meeting Edward at Fritz’s this morning triggered the dream, but now I’m not so sure.” Tugging on her lip, she stared off into space. “It’s almost as if someone is trying to tell me something. First the dream about a party at Fritz’s.” Her eyes slid toward Anne. “Now this dream. It was the same woman in both dreams, and I know it’s Blanche.”

“What?” Anne’s eyebrows rose. “You think you’re being haunted by Blanche Jones?”

Sam sat up. “There’ve been cases of this . . . I found a book about ghosts . . . Jackson was reading it . . . it talks about stuff like this.”

“When were you reading it?” Anne asked in a skeptical voice.

“This afternoon, before I—” Sam stopped.

“Before you fell asleep?” Anne gave her a knowing look. “Sam, you suffered a traumatic experience this afternoon. Old fears might have surfaced—”

“No,” Sam interrupted, “the dreams haven’t been about me. They’ve been about Blanche.”

Anne rose to her feet and looked down at her. “I knew all this talk about Blanche wasn’t good. You’ve never even seen a picture of her, have you?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t know that she’s the woman in your dreams.” She held out her hand to Sam and helped her to her feet.

“You think I’m losing my grip on reality, don’t you?”

“Like I said, I think you had a bad scare this afternoon.” She guided Sam down the hallway. “From what I know, Blanche Jones was the type to land on her feet, and right now she’s probably living the high life with her latest love. Not haunting you.” She stopped at the door to the bedroom. “See? Everything’s fine—nothing in this room has changed. Why don’t you try and rest again?”

Sam drew away from the door. “I’m not sleeping in there.”

“Okay, then how about the guest room?”

Sam nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” She looked over her shoulder at the bed. She wanted her sketch pad, but couldn’t seem to force herself to step inside the room.

Anne noticed her looking at the bed. “I’ll get it,” she said, crossing to the bed and grabbing the pad and the pencil lying next to it. “Here,” she said as she handed them to Sam. “Maybe sketching will help you relax.”

With Anne following her, Sam entered the guest room and sat down on the bed.

“Would you like something to eat?” Anne asked from the doorway.

“No . . . thanks . . . maybe later.” Sam swung her legs onto the bed and lay back against the pillows, the closed sketch pad resting on her lap.