Читать книгу Claiming Her - Marilyn "Mattie" Brahen - Страница 10

CHAPTER 7

March, although nearly over, kicked up strong cold gusts at us as we locked up the car in the mall parking lot. I looked forward to the winter ending, to Spring’s new beginning. But the trees and shrubs on the streets of the Northeast still sported bare budless branches, and patches of remaining snow mounds still dotted sections of the mall.

Carrying Daniel, I followed Mother into Lit Brothers and rode the escalator up to the second floor. The children’s department contained an infants’ section which included furniture. We looked at the two cribs displayed, Mother sighing at the prices. “Thank God for charge cards,” she said as a burly balding salesman lumbered over to us. “Can I help you, ladies?”

“Yes, we’d like to purchase this crib.” Mother pointed to the less expensive of the two. “We’d also like it delivered today, if possible.”

“I’d have to check the delivery schedule, Madam. It normally takes at least two days to schedule a delivery. If we can accommodate you, there’ll be an extra charge.”

“Fine. Please see if you can do so.”

The salesman bristled at Mother’s clipped response. He wrote down the model number and price on his sales pad. “If you’ll come this way, please.”

We followed him to the sales counter. “Let’s see. Without delivery, that comes to $195.63. I’ll call downstairs to see if any of our truck drivers are available today.”

A rack of infant clothing caught my interest. I walked over, Daniel on my hip, to rummage through it.

“Excuse me, Mr. Thompson. How much are you selling that crib for?”

The new voice, eerily familiar, brought my head up sharply. I glanced toward the counter. Mother and the pompous Mr. Thompson stood on either side. A younger man, behind the salesman, now peered over his shoulder at the figures on the sales pad. “That crib has been reduced,” he said. “We’re discontinuing that model to make room for new inventory. It’s $99.95. We have two more left in the storeroom.”

“Nobody told me, sir.”

The new man’s back was turned to me, but my mouth hung open at his tall thin frame, his thick and luxuriant black hair. He moved sideways, affording me a better view of his face as he wrote a new slip with the sale price. I nearly choked at his uncanny resemblance to my dark spirit, to Bael.

“Will you need delivery, Madam, or be taking the crib now?”

Mother smiled prettily at him, not seeming to mark his appearance as a strange coincidence. Perhaps she hadn’t telepathically seen Bael as clearly as I’d thought that first night. “Actually,” she told his look-a-like brightly, “we need this crib today. My grandson’s original crib collapsed rather dangerously a day ago, and the poor child is sleeping in a makeshift cradle. I understand there’ll be an extra charge for same day delivery, but we’re willing to pay for it.”

“Nonsense. There’ll be no extra charge.” He picked up the phone with a sharp glance at Mr. Thompson. “Hello, Walt? This is Bill. Who do you have down there running deliveries today?”

Within minutes, delivery was set for four p.m. that afternoon—a last, previously unscheduled stop for their driver. Mother handed him her credit card.

Bill, our mysterious champion, assured her as he completed the paperwork. “This crib will be sturdy and safe. As you heard, I told our man to put it together for you, to make sure it’s properly assembled. I take it your grandson wasn’t hurt when the old crib collapsed?”

“No, thankfully. He wasn’t in it. This is so kind of you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Well, thank you anyway. Leigh Ann,” she called. I turned and walked slowly toward them, afraid of facing this man, in voice and appearance so much like Bael. “This very nice gentleman has taken care of everything. Daniel will have his crib today.”

“Thank you, ” I said and looked him fully in the face. Up close, the similarity faded. The man had full cheeks and a rather round nose.

“You’re welcome, young lady,” he said. “If you have any problems, or if we can be of further service to you, please ask for me, Bill Withers. I’m the store manager.”

“My daughter,” Mother gestured, “and grandson.”

“So I gathered.”

“Well, thank you again. We’ll see your man at four.” She headed toward the down escalator, and I followed.

I glanced briefly back at the manager. His eyes were on me as I turned, and from a distance, once more, he resembled Bael. Then, realizing I had caught his look, in fact returned it, he lifted his hand in a friendly wave.

The crib arrived precisely at four, but when the delivery man carefully assembled it, it turned out to be the expensive one, not the half-price crib we’d purchased. We pointed this out to the man, but both the model number on the crib and our sales slip matched. Everything was in order. No mistake.

We signed his packing slip, accepting the crib.

Everything seemed normal again by dinner time. Mother waxed poetic about the luck we’d had buying the new crib. Fred talked about the science project he was working on; Ginnie complained about the chemistry exam she’d suffered through at nursing school that morning. Dad was interrupted during the meal by a customer’s emergency call and went off to fix a hot water heater with a broken valve later that evening. And Daniel fell asleep soundly and snugly in the new crib that night.

Ginnie still had no inkling of the brief possession she’d undergone that morning. We undressed quietly for bed, speaking in low tones, the bedroom rearranged and somewhat cramped. My bed still paralleled the larger crib, sandwiched between the crib and our dresser and closets.

Ginnie had always been a touch claustrophobic. Now she knelt on her bed on the other, less cluttered side of the room and opened the side window a smidgen, insisting on some fresh air.

“It was pretty brisk this afternoon at the mall,” I told her. “We might get cold.”

“It’s only open a crack.” She sat cross-legged on the bed. “Did you get a chance to look at those books?”

I walked over and sat beside her. “I went through them this morning.”

“Did you see how stupid it all is? It’s just legends and myths, all twisted up by ignorance and overworked imaginations.”

I answered her slowly. “Well, it’s hardly scientific. And psychologically, I wonder about the followers of some of those early religions. But I can understand the symbology, the reasons behind their belief in those gods and demigods.”

“Fear,” Ginnie whispered emphatically. “Fear of the unknown, of death, of the future. Nothing more than mystical talismans to get them through the days and weeks. I’m glad we live in a more rational century.”

“So am I. But I think there may have been some real-life events that triggered those legends and myths.”

Ginnie smiled uncertainly. “If that’s true, they became pretty distorted afterwards.”

I smiled back, then glanced at Daniel, who slept on, undisturbed by our quiet conversation. “Gin, do you remember playing ‘Whispering Down the Lane’ when we were kids?”

“Sure. Silly game.”

“It was. But that’s what this reminds me of. Someone or something starts a legend that satisfies an intense and universal human need. The more it spreads, the more it’s interpreted differently down the line. Some of the changes are subtle. Some have a large, distorting impact. Some changes are based on reverence, some on a population’s barbarism, some on a competing religion’s disdain. I find this a quite believable premise. When we played that whispering game as kids, the first person would start off with a completely uncomplicated message. But no matter how simple it was, it was always ridiculously distorted by the time the last child repeated it aloud.”

“That was the whole point of the game. It was funny, we laughed, and found out how important it was to communicate accurately, all while having a good time.”

“So . . . maybe poor communication is the culprit behind some of the strange things we’ve . . . I’ve been experiencing. Maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture—or clearly.”

“Maybe you’re viewing these things irrationally?”

I thought about it. “Possibly. Maybe there’s an explanation that’s not the one I’m pinning on it. Maybe some facts whispered down the lane so much, the original truth was lost.”

“Now you’re talking sense.” She yawned. “Now all you have to do is look for the truth.”

“Ginnie? Uh, this morning? You seemed awfully afraid of . . . well, you called it evil. Are you still upset?”

She hesitated a heartbeat or two, seemed to hold her breath, then sighed heavily. “I was afraid . . . for you. I was worried about you.” I waited, needing more assurance, not knowing how she might assure me. She stared briefly at me, then cast her glance downward. “I was afraid you were heading off the deep end with all this psychic stuff, that it would spread like a contagion, until there was no peace at home. Okay, I was afraid for myself, too, and angry. I wanted you and Mom to leave this stuff alone and let us lead a normal life. I can’t separate myself from it the way Dad and Fred do. I was so upset I couldn’t remember what I’d done to upset Daniel. That bothered me the most. I could barely keep my mind together when I drove to school. And then . . . well . . . I stopped at this light, and it turned green, and the weirdest thing happened.”

“What?”

“I . . . wasn’t worried anymore. All of those fears left me in an instant.” She lifted her head, our eyes meeting. “I knew we would be all right. You would be all right.”

“How could you know all that in an instant?”

She flushed, her smile almost beatific. “I know that this may sound as self-indulgent as some of your and Mom’s beliefs, but I know God is watching over you. Call it faith. I knew it the moment the fear left. I know God’s protecting you.”

I shivered at her intensity, the strength and conviction she conveyed.

“You’re protected, too, little sister,” I whispered, hugging her. “I won’t let anyone or anything ever hurt you, Gin. Not ever.”

“It’s all right.”

“It is,” I said. “Now let’s get to sleep.”

She nodded. I bunked down in the bed beside Daniel, still dreaming in the land of Nod in his fancy crib.

Gin turned off the light. I heard the rustle of her covers as she pulled them up. “Good night, Leigh Ann.”

“Good night, Gin. Sweet dreams.”

“For both of us,” she murmured, and then silence filled the room.

I didn’t sleep immediately, dozing lightly, snatches of thoughts and images drifting before my mind’s eye . . . one image in particular. A face had come sharply into focus, eyes alight with gentle humor, mouth a lopsided grin. Chloe. The girl from my dream of Eliom, who had teased me about love and Bael. Her curly brown hair cascaded down and wisps of it framed her forehead and cheeks. I gazed at her soft blue eyes and awoke with a jolt.

Her eyes, so clearly before me, had been Ginnie’s eyes.

Curiouser and curiouser, I thought.

My own eyes wanted closing, wanted the oblivion of sleep. I wanted no more shocks, no more dreams to puzzle out in the morning.

I began to drift off again, my body heavy and numb, but pleasantly so, sinking away from consciousness.

My bed creaked softly; I felt the mattress sway with an additional weight. A gentle sensation of touch caressed my left breast, hardening its nipple, my flesh responding to the feather-light exploration. A second simultaneous caress brushed my inner thighs, then moved like a soft breeze over my pubic hair. It swept over my vaginal lips to my clitoris. I arched sharply in response and sat up.

The room remained silent, no one but myself on the bed.

—Bael,— I thought and felt his lips press, barely tangible, on mine.

—Lie back.—

—How did you? . . I’m clothed—covered with a blanket!—

—My hands slide through them. Have I pleased you?—

I could psychically visualize his dark eyes, shining, mesmerizing, the curve of his lips, his lean taut body leaning over my own. My physical eyes were blind to his presence. —I can’t see you.—

—Of course not. In your plane, I am spirit-fleshed. Close your eyes. I can cross the gap between our dimensions through touch.—

—No.—

His anger rose palpably at my refusal, then ebbed, as if he struggled to suppress it. —I have waited over four thousand years, Leianna. Do you deny me this long-awaited fulfillment? And your own?—

—My son. My sister.— I gestured toward Daniel and Ginnie.

—They sleep. They need not know.—

—I can’t. Go now, Bael. I have to sleep. I have to find Quatama.—

—Quatama will not run away.— His tone became petulant, then coaxing. —I have sought you for so long. I must join with you. Let me rock you to sleep.—

—No.— I turned on my side, facing him. —Not until I know more. You promised me control.—

He bristled, the current sweeping over me physically. —We will finish what we once began,— he snarled, furious.

I lay curled in a fetal position, waiting, unafraid, but determined to defy him, to hold him to his psychic word.

A standoff silence, electric and hot, ran between us.

And then, like a capricious wind suddenly shifting direction, he vanished from the room.