Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Horror, #General, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Memory, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Time Travel
Time Out of Mind (13 page)
She raised her head and looked at him, a smile of mis
chief on her face. But the smile faded quickly as she saw
the confusion, the discomfort, even something approaching
revulsion in his eyes. She saw those eyes now darting
across her features, to her mouth, to her own eyes, to her
hair. Especially her hair. Something seemed to surprise him
about her hair.
“
Damn!” Gwen Leamas wiped the moisture from her
lips and sat upright. “Damn!” she repeated more sharply.
She reached for the flap of his robe and threw it roughly across his body.
Damn!” Gwen Leamas wiped the moisture from her
lips and sat upright. “Damn!” she repeated more sharply.
She reached for the flap of his robe and threw it roughly across his body.
Corbin tried to rise but fell back in the tangle of the
bathrobe. She offered him no help. He rolled quickly onto one side and, freeing himself from the terry cloth, pushed
himself into a sitting position facing her. He reached for
her shoulders but she jerked away.
bathrobe. She offered him no help. He rolled quickly onto one side and, freeing himself from the terry cloth, pushed
himself into a sitting position facing her. He reached for
her shoulders but she jerked away.
“
Gwen, I didn't...” Corbin stammered, searching for
words. “Gwen, I was dreaming. There was a fight, a fist-
fight. Then suddenly I was here with you and I—”
Gwen, I didn't...” Corbin stammered, searching for
words. “Gwen, I was dreaming. There was a fight, a fist-
fight. Then suddenly I was here with you and I—”
“
Like bloody hell, you were,” Gwen Leamas spat
“You were here with
her.”
“
Gwen.” He reached again and she slashed at his hands.
“
What is it, Jonathan?” she asked. The fire danced off pools of moisture that were forming in her eyes. “Doesn't
your precious Margaret go down on you? Or is she too
much of a lady for anything but the fucking missionary
position? To show pleasure is unseemly is what my great-
grandmother used to say. Just close your eyes, dear, and
think of England. Well, fuck off, Jonathan Corbin. I'll not subject you to my sluttish ways ever again. That, I promise
you.”
What is it, Jonathan?” she asked. The fire danced off pools of moisture that were forming in her eyes. “Doesn't
your precious Margaret go down on you? Or is she too
much of a lady for anything but the fucking missionary
position? To show pleasure is unseemly is what my great-
grandmother used to say. Just close your eyes, dear, and
think of England. Well, fuck off, Jonathan Corbin. I'll not subject you to my sluttish ways ever again. That, I promise
you.”
“
Margaret was a whore,” Corbin said quietly, his voice
almost a whisper.
Margaret was a whore,” Corbin said quietly, his voice
almost a whisper.
Gwen straightened. First confusion, then surprise, then a
growing astonishment softened her features. Most of the
anger and hurt drained quickly away. Because in
Jonathan's
eyes she saw an anguish far more profound and crushing than her own.
growing astonishment softened her features. Most of the
anger and hurt drained quickly away. Because in
Jonathan's
eyes she saw an anguish far more profound and crushing than her own.
“
Your eggs,” she said, setting the tray on the floor between
them. Corbin glanced at the steaming plates and mugs of coffee and then at Gwen, who had changed into an unal
luring quilted robe that reached the floor. He picked up a muffin half and spread it thickly with marmalade. This he
offered to Gwen as she settled facing the dying fire.
Your eggs,” she said, setting the tray on the floor between
them. Corbin glanced at the steaming plates and mugs of coffee and then at Gwen, who had changed into an unal
luring quilted robe that reached the floor. He picked up a muffin half and spread it thickly with marmalade. This he
offered to Gwen as she settled facing the dying fire.
“
How did you know that?” she asked, not looking at him. “About Margaret being a whore, I mean.”
How did you know that?” she asked, not looking at him. “About Margaret being a whore, I mean.”
“
It was this dream.” Corbin made a helpless motion
with his hands as if uncertain how to tell it. He was not even sure it was a dream.
It was this dream.” Corbin made a helpless motion
with his hands as if uncertain how to tell it. He was not even sure it was a dream.
“
You were with Margaret and she was a whore?”
“
No.” Corbin shook his head. ”I tried to tell you before.
I was in a big elaborate bar. It might have been a men's
club because there weren't any women, but I think the place
was a hotel. There was a fight. I went there to beat up a
man I know, who I think I've always known, but I just can't seem to place him. After I belted him a few times,
he told me he was going to get me and my whore. He was
talking about cutting up her face. I knew that he was talking
about Margaret.”
“
The fight was over Margaret?”
“
No.” Corbin took a long sip of coffee. “My impression
is no. She didn't enter into it until the man threatened her.
I don't think I know why I hit him. But I hated the son of
a bitch and could happily have blown his head off except
that I wanted other people to see what a coward he was.”
No.” Corbin took a long sip of coffee. “My impression
is no. She didn't enter into it until the man threatened her.
I don't think I know why I hit him. But I hated the son of
a bitch and could happily have blown his head off except
that I wanted other people to see what a coward he was.”
“
Jonathan”—Gwen Leamas kept her eyes on the scram
bled eggs she held—“are you in love with Margaret?”
“
No.” Not the way you think.
“
You say that as if you're certain.”
”
I think the ghost is in love with her,” Corbin said
slowly. “The man I become when it snows, the man I was
in that fight, I think he's in love with her. I know that
they've had sex between them. A lot of it. But as for the
kind of sex, I think what you said before was right. I think
it's very basic. I also think it's all he knows. Maybe it isn't
all Margaret knows, but I think he would have been
shocked if she tried anything fancy with him.”
“
Which, it seems, is what happened.” Gwen made a
face. “You're telling me that I was about to give a blow
job to a ghost.”
Corbin winced.
“
Well?”
“
Not exactly.”
“
Then what, exactly?”
“
It's true that...” Corbin paused, again sipping from
his mug, once more searching for the words. “It's true that
when I came out of the dream, I thought for an instant that you were Margaret, and I was a little shocked to see blond
hair. But that was all me. It wasn't the ghost. I, Jonathan
Corbin, was lying there naked with this person named Mar
garet and we were going to have sex. I was horrified. It's
true that at first I thought it was the kind of sex that both
ered me. But it wasn't. It was any kind of sex. Missionary, S and M, or hanging from a chandelier, it wouldn't have
mattered. Sex between me and Margaret just seemed so
terribly, awfully wrong.”
Gwen leaned toward him and took his hand. “Have you
any idea why?”
“
None.” He touched her fingers to his lips. “It's about
the way I'd feel if I woke up tomorrow morning and found
myself in the buff with your sister.”
“
You're saying that lovemaking with Margaret is inap
propriate. Even though she seems to be a prostitute.”
“
Yes.”
“
That's an interesting puzzle all by itself. And you're
certain, by the way, that Margaret was not the same woman
you left frozen in the snow?”
“
I'm sure. They weren't anything alike.”
“
But you said the murdered one was young and attrac
tive. And dark-haired.”
Corbin nodded.
“
What if you woke up in the buff with that one? How
would you feel?” .
A very good question, Corbin thought. Also an
unpleasant
question for some reason, though not an upsetting one. His mind wanted to fly from it. It wanted instead to replay
the scene in the hotel bar where he pummeled the tall, thin
man he hated so. Could the tight have been over that
woman? He wasn't sure.
“
Just plain disgust,” he answered. ”I don't like her.”
”
I daresay.”
Corbin couldn't help but smile at the dimension of his own understatement. I don't like her. I chased her through
a blizzard in the black of night and pinned her down in the
driving sleet until it covered her and she was dead. I didn't like her.
a blizzard in the black of night and pinned her down in the
driving sleet until it covered her and she was dead. I didn't like her.
“
It's good,” Gwen told him, “to see you getting a bit
more relaxed about this.”
It's good,” Gwen told him, “to see you getting a bit
more relaxed about this.”
”
I guess it's a relief to be able to talk about it.”
“
Are you ready to talk to a professional?” She expected
Corbin's hand to stiffen and pull away, but it didn't.
Are you ready to talk to a professional?” She expected
Corbin's hand to stiffen and pull away, but it didn't.
“
You're kidding, aren't you?” he asked. But he did not seem upset by the question.
“
I'm quite serious,” she said evenly. ”I assumed you'd
want to get to the root of all this. And it strikes me that a
psychiatrist might help you do so more dispassionately than
you're likely to manage by yourself.”
“
It struck me too,” he admitted. “Months ago. But can
you imagine how long it would take a shrink to even get
around to considering the possibility that I'm haunted? Be
sides, it's almost spring. If the ghost only turns up when it
snows, I might spend the next eight months thinking the
guy really helped me and then be right back where I started
as soon as the temperature drops below freezing again.”
It struck me too,” he admitted. “Months ago. But can
you imagine how long it would take a shrink to even get
around to considering the possibility that I'm haunted? Be
sides, it's almost spring. If the ghost only turns up when it
snows, I might spend the next eight months thinking the
guy really helped me and then be right back where I started
as soon as the temperature drops below freezing again.”
“
This ghost is in your mind, Jonathan. Surely you realize
that.”
“
Yes, I do.” Now he did let go of her hand. He pushed
to his feet and wandered the several steps to Gwen's win
dow, holding back the curtains long enough to see that the
snow rushing past the streetlight had not slackened. “But
it's real,” he added.
“
Jonathan—”
“
Don't bother saying that it's only real to me. I'm
dreaming things, even seeing things, that did happen. I'm
seeing details I don't think I could possibly imagine unless
I'd lived with them and remembered them. I know almost
nothing about horse-drawn vehicles and yet right now I
could name almost every kind of carriage or wagon I've
seen on those streets. I can tell you how to drive a drag
and I could probably show you. I could see some of those
carriages in the street and be able to tell you what family
owns them from a block away. The Vanderbilts, for ex
ample, always had maroon livery. The Astors' was blue. I can remember slang phrases and speech idioms I've never heard anyone use in my life. ‘Throw him down, McClos
key' springs to mind.”
“
Who is McCloskey?”
“
No one. I mean, it's a saying. It's the equivalent of
‘Watch out’ or ‘That's all she wrote.’ It's probably from a song of a popular joke of the time. I can even tell you who
I heard use it. It was a big tough Irishman named John Fl
ood who I think taught the ghost how to fight. I know
other things too. I can tell you the styles of clothing people wore. I can even tell you what they drank in cold weather. And as long as you've made up your mind that I'm slipping
over the edge, I'll tell you that you can also add paranoia
to your diagnosis. There's a man out there who hates me
and wants me dead.”
No one. I mean, it's a saying. It's the equivalent of
‘Watch out’ or ‘That's all she wrote.’ It's probably from a song of a popular joke of the time. I can even tell you who
I heard use it. It was a big tough Irishman named John Fl
ood who I think taught the ghost how to fight. I know
other things too. I can tell you the styles of clothing people wore. I can even tell you what they drank in cold weather. And as long as you've made up your mind that I'm slipping
over the edge, I'll tell you that you can also add paranoia
to your diagnosis. There's a man out there who hates me
and wants me dead.”
“
The man you thrashed in the bar?”
“
As it happens, yes.” Corbin's voice remained strong.
”A man I, or someone, beat hell out of several lifetimes
ago is still out there and he's after me. How's that for
funny-farm material?”
As it happens, yes.” Corbin's voice remained strong.
”A man I, or someone, beat hell out of several lifetimes
ago is still out there and he's after me. How's that for
funny-farm material?”
Gwen ignored this last. “You've considered, I suppose,
that you might have lived before.”
“
Which would make me a different kind of nuts.”
“
Not at all. A third of the world believes in reincarna
tion. Who's to say they're all wrong?”
Not at all. A third of the world believes in reincarna
tion. Who's to say they're all wrong?”
Corbin shook his head. “This is not the same. Those people feel they've lived a lot of different lives without
really knowing very much about any one of them. I don't
feel like I've lived before. What's going on here is that I
remember very specific events and even
emotions in
the
life of a man who was definitely not me. But I'm seeing
them through his eyes. Whatever that is, it's not like any
reincarnation I've ever heard of.”
“
The house you bought in Connecticut. Was it his
house?”
”
I don't know. I don't think so. Everything about it
seemed familiar except the upper floors. It's like I've been
there but only as a guest. The damnedest thing about it is that I don't feel like
him
when I'm in that house. It's a very
different feeling. Very happy. Like a...” Corbin let his
voice trail off.
I don't know. I don't think so. Everything about it
seemed familiar except the upper floors. It's like I've been
there but only as a guest. The damnedest thing about it is that I don't feel like
him
when I'm in that house. It's a very
different feeling. Very happy. Like a...” Corbin let his
voice trail off.
Other books
Oblivion by Arnaldur Indridason
Faraday 02 Network Virus by Michael Hillier
He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not by Lena Diaz
Rock Into Me by Susan Arden
Chances & Choices by Helen Karol
Little Knell by Catherine Aird
Nothing Left to Lose by Kirsty Moseley
The French Girl by Donovan, Felicia
Torque by Glenn Muller