44: Book Six Read online

  “Oh, good,” I said. “A bag full of crap. Just what I always wanted.”

  “You know, the crap you never eat unless you’re on the road. It never tastes the same when you’re home. There’s just something about the road I guess. It transforms things.”

  We rolled out of town on the highway, passing juniper trees and dry, large fields with incredible views of the Three Sisters in the distance. As Bend fell far behind us, something inside me opened up. It felt good to be getting away, even if it was just for a couple of days.

  “Thanks again for coming along,” David said. “I mean it. I’m as nervous as a naughty boy on Christmas morning. I’m a total wreck!”

  “I’m glad to help,” I said. “Besides, Paloma and I are going to get in some serious shopping, so it’s a win-win.”

  A nonstop nervous energy had swirled around David like a tornado ever since he had decided to audition for a role on a new TV show that was filming in Portland.

  “I don’t know why I’ve worked myself up into a tizzy over it,” he said. “It’s a total cattle call. But you have to go after your dreams, right?”

  Dreams.Something from another lifetime.

  It was how I had felt about soccer. I struggled to remember those feelings I had had when college scouts came out to my high school games to watch me. Dreams of playing for Notre Dame or Santa Clara or the University of Portland. Dreams that died with me at the bottom of that icy lake.

  “Abby Craig?” David said. “Earth to Abby Craig.”

  “Sorry. I was just thinking about what you said. Yeah, I think it’s great. Hey, what part are you going after?”

  “He’s a detective. A hard-boiled sleuth, if you will,” he said. “I just hope I don’t blow it.”

  “Blow it?” I said. “You’re going to blow them away in that audition. I can feel it.”

  David started to say something, but then stopped. But then started again.

  “So is that a psychic vision you’re having?” he finally said. “Me blowing them away?”

  “Come on, I don’t need a vision. I’ve seen you, remember? You’re a great actor. I know what I’m talking about.”

  David only had a small part in his most recent play, but by the time he was finished I had almost forgotten that I knew him. And it wasn’t the makeup or the clothes. It was something deeper. He was a natural. He had become the character. When the actors took their bows, the audience clapped the longest and the hardest for him.

  “That’s so nice of you to say,” he said. “Oh and thanks again for hanging out with my mom that night. Sorry about all those questions.”

  We were just outside of Terrebonne, Smith Rock coming up on the right. I looked back and saw that Paloma was asleep. I opened a bag of Cheetos, trying not to make too much noise. David seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

  “My mom just finds you fascinating,” he said after a while. “But even I have to admit she might have gone a little too far.”

  His mother had given me the third degree when we had all gone to dinner following the play. She sat across from me and was polite and quiet at first. But somewhere between her second and third drink, she began asking me about seeing ghosts. And then she started asking me about being possessed by Clyde.

  “I know she didn’t mean anything by it,” I said. “Anyway, I suppose it was good practice for my upcoming testimony.”

  It was stupid to blame David or his mom. It was true that he had spilled his guts to her. But he wouldn’t have if I hadn’t done some spilling of my own first. It was on me.

  I looked out the window. A snowy Mt. Jefferson shot up into the clear Central Oregon sky toward the west. Clyde was behind me. Getting farther away all the time. It was a beautiful day.

  But when the Raveonettes’ version of Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home) came on David’s playlist a few minutes later, I couldn’t help but think of Ty and feel a little sad. I pulled out my phone and checked for messages. Nothing.

  I sighed.

  “Well,” I said, “I can’t really blame your mom. I mean she’s not the only one who freaked out about what happened.”

  Ty had said that Jesse was my real hero. When I told David that, he said that Ty obviously didn’t know a thing about love, because you’re supposed to stick with people through the hard times.

  “It must be that he hangs around horses so much,” David said. “Kicking people when they’re down like that. Oh, just damn him, Abby Craig. Damn him.”

  “We haven’t officially broken up, you know,” I said.

  David sighed.

  “Okay, if you say so,” he said. “But I’m still mad.”

  He reached over and squeezed my knee.

  “I just want you to know I’m here for you, Lady Brett. I’ll be your Jake Barnes.”

  “Thanks, I think,” I said.

  “The Sun Also Rises, silly,” he said.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Abby Craig. There’s nothing wrong with my junk like poor Jake. It’s just that, you know, it doesn’t swing that way.”

  “Okay, too much information, David. Way too much.”

  “It’s just that you deserve better,” he said. “Someone who appreciates your talents.”

  I wondered if there was anyone out there who could really appreciate me dealing with evil ghosts and playing basketball with my old, dead boyfriend.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “Really.”

  “Don’t think I’m giving up on finding someone for you. I know, I know. It’s still too soon. But I told you about Levon. He’s gorgeous and smart and super serious like you. And he also just broke up with his girlfriend. You two would totally hit it off.”

  And then he started laughing, feebly trying to keep it down.

  “And this is the best part! Levon owns a Ouija board! I saw it on his bookshelf when we picked him up the other night.”

  “Good God, David, I don’t even own one of those.”

  “I’m just sayin’ that there’s lots of open-minded fish in the sea.”

  I looked behind me. Somehow Paloma was still sleeping.

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks. Next subject, please. We’re almost halfway to Portland and it feels like all we’ve done is eat crap and talk about Ty.”

  “All right, I’ll drop it for now, but only if you promise me that you won’t wait forever for Mr. Beer to come riding back in on his white horse. Promise me you won’t turn into a spinster before my very eyes.”

  “David, I’m 21.”

  “Yeah, sure, but keep this up and one day soon you’ll be sitting on that large, lonesome sofa of yours with an afghan wrapped around you, all alone, watching reruns of Murder, She Wrote.”

  “Just like that, huh?” I said. “I’ll go from 21 to being an old lady all alone.”

  “Trust me,” he said. “It happens.”

  “Okay, I promise that I won’t turn into a spinster before your very eyes. And I also promise that I will never, ever watch Murder, She Wrote, no matter how old I get.”

  “Good,” he said, flicking crumbs off his black shirt. “I’m glad it’s all settled then.”

  CHAPTER 4

  We left the high desert behind us and drove up toward the mountain.

  I helped David practice his lines. I read along with the script, playing the different parts, ready to prompt him if he forgot something. But he had it down pat and didn’t need any help at all. He had memorized the 15 pages of dialogue, word for word.

  “Man, when did you start going over this?” I asked.

  “Yesterday,” he said.

  “Yesterday? That’s incredible. I don’t think I could memorize this in a week, even before my accident. How do you do it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, smiling. “It’s pretty easy for me.”

  As we climbed closer to the pass, Mt. Hood came more and more into view. The pavement was dry, but David still kept his promise about going slow. After a few more miles we passed the sign for
Timberline Lodge, where they had filmed The Shining. David started reciting some of the lines from the movie.

  “Stop it, David. I feel like I’m trapped inside the car with Jack Nicholson.”

  I was laughing when I said it, but it really did give me the creeps.

  “Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I met Stephen King?” he said turning down the music.

  “No.”

  “It was in a supermarket when I was in high school. He lives close to my house.”

  I had a hard time imagining Stephen King shopping for groceries.

  “So was it scary meeting him?” I asked.

  “Well, yeah, Abby Craig. He’s, like, you know, Stephen King. But he was really nice. I’m just mad I saw him in the supermarket. I mean, how embarrassing is that? I won’t even tell you what I had in my shopping cart!”

  David started laughing again and it wasn’t long before it turned into a low wheeze. I prepared myself to take over the wheel, but he regained control after a minute.

  “Did you actually talk to him or just stare?” I said when he pulled himself together.

  “Of course I talked to him. I told him I loved his books and then dashed away.”

  “That’s so cool,” I said. “I haven’t ever met any celebrities before. So what books of his have you read?”

  “None, silly. It’s all I could come up with at the time. I like to think that I’ve become better at thinking on my feet since then.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “Are we there yet?” Paloma suddenly said in a sleepy voice.

  “Almost, Sleeping Beauty,” David said. “How was your nap?”

  “It was right.”

  “Oralepues,” he tried to say.

  “Stop hurting my ears, white boy,” Paloma said.

  I didn’t really know any Spanish, but I didn’t need to, to know that he had taken a cleaver to it.

  CHAPTER 5

  Erin was out of town, covering a story on the coast. David dropped us off in front of her downtown riverfront condo.

  “Knock ‘em dead tomorrow, David,” I said. “And go easy tonight.”

  “Yes, mommy,” he said before driving off into the Portland afternoon. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  He sped away like he was suddenly free, the squeal of his tires echoing off the tall buildings and bouncing along the busy city street.

  The condo building was what I imagined a four-star hotel would be like. There was even a doorman and a front desk in the large, modern lobby.

  “I’ll go get the key,” I said to Paloma.

  “Okay, but hurry,” she said. “I don’t want to get shanghaied by housekeeping.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Wow,” Paloma said when we walked through the door a few minutes later. “I thought reporters didn’t make jack.”

  We both looked at the spectacular view of the Willamette River below us with Mt. Hood off in the background.

  “Yeah, most don’t,” I said. “But Erin’s family is pretty well off.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Erin’s family is pretty well off,” I repeated.

  Paloma and I had fun. We went out to dinner at a Thai restaurant and then did some Christmas shopping at Pioneer Square. When we got back to the condo, we changed into our pajamas, watched Twilight, and ate Dulce de Leche ice cream.

  “You ever think about him?” she asked after the movie.

  “Who, Edward?” I said. “Jacob?”

  “Ha, ha,” Paloma said. “No, Clyde.”

  “Only every day.You?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes it feels like a dream. Which I suppose is progress. I mean, it didn’t feel like a dream when it was happening.”

  She must have been recovering faster than I was, because it still felt real to me. All too real. But the worst part was not remembering the things I did when he was inside me.

  “Well, we came through it,” I said. “We survived.”

  She smiled and put down her ice cream. Then she stood up.

  “Come, on,” she said, holding out her hand. “Help me sing it.”

  She started dancing and singing I Will Survive.

  “I’ve got all my life to live, I’ve got all my love to give…”

  She pulled me up and I found myself hesitating at first but then dancing and singing right beside her. It surprised me. By the end of the song I was as into it as she was.

  “Good times,” she said.

  “Good times,” I said, smiling. “But I’m all danced out.”

  We said good night and then each headed off to our own master suites.

  ***

  As the lights of the city danced outside the floor-to-ceiling window, I texted Kate and checked my messages. I wrote Ty and told him I was in Portland, closing it with “Wish you were here.”

  I felt tired but not quite sleepy yet, so I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels for a while, finally settling on a group of frantic chefs rushing around a studio kitchen, making entrées with grape leaves and polenta.

  Then I drifted into a soft sleep, floating like one of the feathers inside the comforter, light and peaceful, dropping down from the sky, falling, falling, falling into the darkness below.

  CHAPTER 6

  I woke up on the cold, hard ground. I got to my feet and noticed I wasn’t wearing any shoes. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out a faint light in the distance.

  I started walking toward it. It became colder with each step I took. I was soon shivering. I walked faster toward the light.

  And at some point, all that had been darkness turned to white. I had to squint to fight off the pain.

  I was alone in the brightness, trying to make sense of it. Nothing had an outline. There was only the white. It began to snow. Soft at first and then heavy, the flakes falling hard all around me, piling up in drifts at my bare feet.

  And then I saw it. Up ahead, something on the ground.

  I ran toward it, balling my hands into fists against the cold.

  I could see something other than white.

  I saw the color red, bright against the snow.

  It was just ahead now.

  I could see it, bright and flowing, the color moving like a box of melted crayons, edging toward me like a small river.

  It was beautiful. The color. The contrast of it on the white.

  But then I stopped, frozen in horror as I realized what it was.

  Blood.

  A river of it coming toward me.

  “No!” I screamed.

  But the blood kept coming at me through the snow. A bell rang in the background. I turned away and started running back from where I had come. Screaming and running and screaming again and again. Back toward the darkness. Away from the light. Away from the blood.

  Away from all that blood.

  CHAPTER 7

  I had been cold in the dream, but I woke up covered in sweat, my hair plastered down around my scalp. Whatever it was, whether a dream or a vision, it had scared me. I had seen color, just like in my last vision when I was sitting in the grass with Jesse. But in this one, it was only one color. The color of blood.

  I took a hot shower and went back to bed, afraid of what was waiting there for me.

  ***

  “I’m not a barista or nothing but here you go,” Paloma said in the morning, handing me a cup of coffee.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Bad dream?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I heard you struggling with something and thought about checking on you, but sometimes we have to work through that cucuy bogeyman shit on our own. I mean, that’s the good thing about nightmares, right? We wake up and realize they’re not real.”

  “Yeah, I’ve had plenty of practice,” I said. “But I’m not sure I’m getting any better at it.”

  When I told Paloma about it, I called it a dream, not a vision.

  “Nasty,” she said, cracking eggs into a frying pan
. “That sounds messed up.”

  Rain splattered across the window over the breakfast bar as I placed the silverware and napkins on the counter. I could barely see the river seven floors below.

  “More shopping this morning?” Paloma said.

  “For sure.”

  We sat eating quietly, listening to the rain. I tried to shake the feeling of dread that was still with me.

  “I know you have more experience, but I know with me, I have two types of bad dreams,” she said after a while. “The ones that are connected to something I’ve experienced or seen or heard about and the ones that come out of nowhere. You know, completely random.”

  I suddenly thought about seeing the sign for Timberline Lodge the day before and David doing those lines from the movie. I remembered that scene where blood is pouring out of the elevator like a tsunami. I shivered just thinking about it.

  But then the morning, gray as it was, started working its magic on me. Since the accident, I had gone four years without seeing any real colors. My world was limited to blacks and whites and grays. But this was the second time in as many months now where I had seen color.

  Could it be a sign that I was losing my color blindness? I suddenly felt excited at what the river of red in my dream might really mean.

  CHAPTER 8

  It was almost dark when David picked us up. The rain was still coming down and we were stuck in rush hour traffic. A city of taillights going nowhere fast.

  But David was in a good mood, his face glowing from the wide grin that had probably been stuck there since his audition.

  “I knew it,” I said, not waiting for him to tell me how it went. “I just knew it.”

  “Yeah, you were right, Abby Craig. I think I ‘crossfire hurricaned’ them.”

  Sitting in the back I could see his bright, crazy fast energy filling the car.

  “That’s great, David,” Paloma said. “Congratulations.”

  “Well, it’s just a feeling at this stage,” he said. “But it’s a good feeling.”

  It was going to be a long way home, but I didn’t mind. It had been a good trip all around. The dream or vision or whatever it was, was feeling more and more like a dream. The music was loud in the background and David was loud in the foreground, telling us everything about the audition.