Fade to Black (17 page)

Her head snaps up.

How did he know that?

Oh.

Because you just told him You’re really tired, you idiot
.

Relax and talk to him like a normal human being
.

Well, that would be a lot easier if she
were
a normal human being, instead of living the life of a paranoid recluse.

“What I asked before,” Harper is saying patiently, “is what you like to do in your spare time.”

“Oh … read. And … sew. I sew....” She tries to think of something else, something that won’t be a total lie.

“So you’re not the outdoorsy type?” he asks. “Not into Rollerblades or sailing or hiking or anything?”

Long ago …

So long ago, she had enjoyed all of those things. But now . . .

“Me? No. No, I guess I’m not really the outdoorsy type. Are you?”

“I like to work out, yeah. I ski …”

“Water or snow?”

“Both.”

She nods.

“And I run a few miles every morning, to stay in shape from all these cookies.”

She smiles.

There’s a pause.

“Do you go out much?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

He gives her a slightly puzzled look, then clarifies, “You know, with friends, out dancing, or playing pool … that kind of thing.”

“Not very often.” She does her best not to sound wistful.

It’s just that the way he’s talking to her, the way a man talks to a woman when he’s interested in getting to know her …

It’s making her remember exactly what she has given up in her life. There was a time when she had friends, when she went out, when she loved to drink margaritas and flirt and dance until the wee hours. And then there were the gala events, the glitzy Hollywood fund-raisers, the premieres …

“What about the movies?”

“What about them?” she asks, startled, like he’s read her mind.

“Do you go?”

I used to star in them
.

“Sure, I go....”

Just not in the past five years
.

“What kind of movies do you like?”

“Oh … all kinds, I guess,” she says warily, taking a drink from the hot mug of coffee.

“Have you seen
The Invasion
yet?”

She shakes her head, thinking she must be the only person on earth who hasn’t seen the extraterrestrial blockbuster hit of the summer; she’s been reading about it for two months now.

“You’re kidding,” he says, but not like he’s suspicious, rather … pleasantly surprised. “How about going with me, then, Elizabeth? Later on tonight? We could—”

“I can’t,” she cuts in before she can find herself doing something absolutely insane …

Like saying yes.

Because his invitation is so incredibly tempting, and she realizes that she would like nothing more than to sit in a darkened movie theater with this man, munching popcorn and watching a movie—
not
at a premiere or a private screening, but at a regular movie theater with regular people. People who aren’t bitter because they weren’t cast in
The Invasion
, who haven’t worked with the director, who didn’t have a hand in financing the picture.

It would be so different to see a movie now that she’s no longer in the industry, such pure pleasure, but …

“Another night, then?” Harper asks, looking only slightly disappointed at her refusal.

“Why not,” she says with a shrug, sipping her coffee.

Because it’s easier than telling him the truth—that there will be no other night.

“Great. I’ll call you.”

She realizes that he has her number; she gave it to him when she first called him about changing her locks.

But it doesn’t matter. She won’t be there when he calls.

“Unless,” he says, as though he’s suddenly realized something, “you’re seeing somebody else?”

Her stomach flutters, dammit. He’s romantically interested in her, and she wishes, oh, how she wishes…

“No, I’m not seeing anybody,” she tells him because he’s waiting.

“Good. Then I’ll call you,” he repeats.

“You know,” she blurts out, shoving her chair back and bracing her hands on the table, about to stand, “I have to get going.”

“No, you don’t.” He places a hand on hers.

Taken aback, she flinches, looks at him to see whether he meant it ominously.

Because despite his kind green eyes and her own fierce attraction to him, she still can’t shake the fear that he isn’t what he seems, or the memory of the way he hedged when she asked him about his background last night.

But his grip on her hand is gentle, and he’s smiling. “Don’t go yet, Elizabeth. At least finish your coffee.”

“I really can’t. I have a lot to do.” She had told Manny she would look for him in the park, though now she desperately wants only to go home, to hide.

“Are you sure you have to go?”

“I’m positive,” she tells Harper, and adds vaguely, “We’ll get together again soon....”

But only in my restless dreams
.

“Damn,” he says, releasing her hand, snapping his fingers, and shaking his head. “I’m never going to see you again, am I?”

How does he know?

A chill slips down her spine, though she realizes again that he hasn’t read her mind. He can’t know that she’s about to leave town.

“You finally meet a beautiful woman and you want to get to know her better,” he says as if to himself, “and you can’t seem to get it through your thick head that she’ s not interested.”

Elizabeth doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking at her. “It’s just that … I guess I read you wrong. It’s obvious you want nothing to do with me—”

“That’s not true. I—”

“Look, you don’t have to—”

“No, really,” she says, somehow unable to help herself. “It’s not that I don’t—I mean, I
do
want …”

She trails off, wishing he’d interrupt her again.

But this time he’s waiting for her to finish her sentence, and when she doesn’t, he prods, “You do want … what?”

“I want to see you again,” she says in a small voice, not looking at him.

“You do?”

She nods, still afraid to meet his gaze.

“Maybe it’s just me, but I can’t help feeling like you really have a funny way of showing your affection.”

She smiles. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I didn’t get much sleep last night, and … I don’t know. I guess I’m just not myself.”

Truer words have never been spoken
, she thinks ruefully.

“Oh, right,” he says, nodding. “The break-in. I forgot all about that. No wonder. Did the police find out who did it?”

She shakes her head.

“Are you afraid to be alone tonight? Because I can …”

Don’t tempt me, please
.

“… give you some pepper spray, if that’ll help you to feel safer.”

Oh.

For a moment she had thought he was going to volunteer to come spend the night, the way Frank had.

But Frank is a neighbor, and a cop.

This man is a virtual stranger. It would hardly be appropriate for him to offer to stay at her place....

Even if the merest notion of spending the night with him has already filled her mind with disturbing images.

Images of Harper Smith naked, in her bed, of herself lying in his bare, muscular arms, feeling safe for the first time in years …

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re not exactly turned on by the idea of pepper spray,” he comments.

She feels her cheeks grow hot. If he only knew what
is
turning her on …

“Well, that’s understandable. The problem with any weapon is that the attacker can turn it on you.”

Or they can surprise you so that you don’t have time to reach for your weapon
, she thinks, remembering the pistol she’d had tucked in the drawer of her nightstand back in Malibu.

“Well, maybe you can get a dog,” Harper suggests.

She freezes.

A dog.

She’d had a dog once, a big, lovable black Lab named Gent.

That was short for “Gentleman.” Because that was the dog’s nature. He never jumped on the furniture or slobbered or got in the way. He was a perfect dog.

And she had come home one day to find him lying stiffly on the living room floor, his throat slit, his blood soaked into the white carpet....

“What’s the matter? You don’t like dogs?” Harper is asking.

She forces herself to look at him, to shake her head mutely.

“Personally, I love them. Anyway, listen, Elizabeth,” he says, “I know you’re probably jumpy after what happened …”

Jumpy
.

The understatement of the year.

“… but chances are that whoever broke into your place yesterday won’t try it again. And even if they do, those new locks I installed are the best you can buy. Nobody’s going to be able to force their way in now.”

She finally manages to speak. “I know.”

He goes on, telling her more about the dead bolts he installed, about how they work, obviously trying to reassure her that she has nothing to worry about.

She can’t help thinking,
if you only knew …

And then, for some bizarre reason, it crosses her mind suddenly that maybe she should simply …

Tell him the truth.

All of it.

About who she is, and what she’s doing here, and why she can’t let herself go out with him …

Or fall in love with him.

No. That’s impossible. You can’t tell him anything. You’ve got to get out of there....

She bites down hard on her lip to quell the crazy instinct to spill her secret, and the second he pauses in his conversation, she stands and tells him she has to go.

This time he doesn’t argue.

Just tells her he’ll give her a call, and they’ll catch that movie some night this week.

“That sounds great,” she says simply. “Thank you for the coffee. And the cookie.”

“My pleasure. I’ll be seeing you.”

No
, she thinks as she heads for the door,
you won’t
.

And she realizes, as she hurries back down North Main toward the post office, that she’s filled with an inexplicably profound sense of loss.

T
he nightmare has come back.

It always does.

The woman tosses on the lumpy mattress, moaning in her sleep, trying to escape the image of the child.

Her child.

A child with large, pleading eyes …

A child with a frantic, sobbing voice …

Please don’t hurt me anymore, Mama. Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t do anything bad. Why are you hurting me?

She stands over the cowering child, her body taut with anger, her throat raw from screaming curses.

But gradually, the fury melts away, and she can’t remember why it was there in the first place.

She opens her mouth to speak, to say that she never meant to hurt anyone, especially this beautiful, vulnerable creature, her own flesh and blood.

But her voice is gone.

She can’t make a sound.

And then the tables are turning.

And she’s the one on the floor, trying to shrink into a corner as the child’s cruel fists beat down violently on her own tender flesh.

She’s the one sobbing; yet still, nothing is coming out of her mouth.

And now the child is turning away, walking away, without a backward glance.

And the woman is left behind, desperately trying to call out, to stop the child from leaving her.

Alone.

Abandoned.

“Y
ou’re doing a great job, Manny. Keep it up.”

The child smiles at his day camp counselor, Rhonda, a pretty high school girl with long, shiny brown hair. She’s not as pretty as Elizabeth, and her hair is a lighter shade, but Rhonda kind of reminds Manny of her anyway.

She always takes the time to talk to Manny, and she told him she was rooting for him to get the lead in the play. She’s the assistant director, and today, all through rehearsal, she kept catching his eye and nodding her approval.

“How are your costumes coming along?” Rhonda asks him, still in step at his side as they head away from the park pavilion where rehearsals are held.

“Fine,” Manny says. At least, he’s sure they’re coming along fine. Elizabeth said she would make them for him, and she would never say it if she didn’t mean it.

She’s the only person Manny has ever trusted not to let him down.