The Unseen (30 page)

She rounded another curve and stopped still.

In a clearing before her was a three-tiered white fountain, with three white benches placed in the curved circle around it.

The fountain was completely dry. Nothing but dust and leaves in any of its bowls.

Laurel swallowed. The air around her was still, silent.

The wind in the pines. That’s what I was hearing,
she told herself—and knew it was not so.

She felt watched from all sides, and suddenly she had broken into a sweat and chills. She whirled from the fountain, about to run …

And found herself staring up at the gazebo she’d been seeing from her window.

It was looking up at the gazebo that did it, the whiteness of it, with the tangled rosebushes climbing up the lattice, the dry fountain behind her.

It’s my wedding day,
she realized with a shock.
This is the day we chose, the one on the invitations that never went out.
And instead of standing with Matt under a gazebo in the Palisades, overlooking the ocean, she was alone in the dead gardens of a haunted house.

The thought crashed in on her, buckled her knees, made her head swim.

She lurched to the side of the fountain and sat, feeling waves of nausea, and the telltale prickling of hives rising on her chest.

And she felt a black despair welling up, that she would dry up like the fountain, wither like this garden, that she would never live, never love, never leave.

Never leave.

Somehow she made it back to the house, and went straight to her room, where she slept for the rest of the day, not even stirring when someone knocked softly on the door calling her name.

Go away. I’m dead… .

At some point it started to rain, and at another point she was sure someone was in her room, standing over her with a clipboard in hand, but both times she turned over and fell back into a dark and dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The sky outside was fading to dusk when she finally forced herself out of bed. She had been lying awake for a long time, with no desire to move, but someone was bound to come for her if she didn’t show herself.

When she moved to the door, something brushed her ankle and she cringed away from the animal-like touch … then realized her robe was on the floor again. She stooped to pick it up and tossed it on the bed before she opened the door.

The long upstairs hall was dark; they hadn’t brought nearly enough lightbulbs to cover the entire house, and it was a long walk to either staircase. The house seemed empty … no one stirring.

What if they’ve left me here? What if I’m alone?
she thought, completely irrationally.

She quashed the thought and glanced down both sides of the hall. She decided that in her current state she didn’t need to pass by the closed door of
that room
—Brendan’s room—in the dim light. She walked instead toward the Spanish side of the house, and she hurried.

She passed into the perpendicular corridor and took the turn onto the main stairs. Through the huge arched window she could see the moon almost full above the gazebo, which glowed white in the dark shadows of the garden, like a deserted altar …

All right, stop it.

She looked away from the window and hurried down the dark stairs. There seemed to be no light below at all, and panic started to rise, from her stomach to her throat… .

It was not until she reached the bottom that she heard the murmuring of voices in the great room, and the relief made her legs weak.

She stepped through the archway of the great room. The three of them were lounged in the chairs and sofa grouped at the center of the room, with a few candles lit in the candlesticks, reflected flickering in the mirrors. Katrina was curled like a cat on the sofa, Tyler propped on pillows on the floor, Brendan in a leather armchair. He looked up at Laurel.

“Dr. MacDonald. Are you all right?”

The concern in his voice made Katrina stiffen on the couch.

“I’m fine,” Laurel said, and realizing she would have to say more than that, she added, lying, “I didn’t sleep well last night—guess I needed to make up for it.” She looked around at them, looking for anything that would divert attention from her. There were Zener cards spread out on the low table in front of the sofa, and another table had been set up for testing, with the Zener-card display board in the middle, sorting boxes beneath it. There were two straight-backed chairs on opposite sides of the board. “Did I miss anything?”

“It’s been a slow day,” Brendan said casually, but there was a note of anxiety in his voice. “Nothing to report at all. We ran some two-person tests, sender and receiver and vice-versa… .” He trailed off and Laurel sensed some kind of concern in his voice. But he quickly continued on.

“We’ve been talking about past psi experiences.” He stood, offering Laurel his seat, the leather armchair. Laurel was about to decline and take one of the straight-backed chairs, but she saw Katrina glaring at her, so with a touch of rebellion she crossed and sat in the leather armchair. It was warm from Brendan’s body.

He moved to lean back into the curve of the grand piano. “Katrina was just telling us—”

“No,” the girl said, looking stonily at Laurel.

On the floor, Tyler raised his eyebrows. There was a silence, then Brendan laughed awkwardly. “Mr. Mountford, then. Anything to contribute?”

“I’m lucky,” Tyler said.

Everyone looked at him. He shrugged. “I don’t know what that means scientifically. But cards, dice, raffles—I win things a lot. I kind of know when to get in and when to get out.” He grinned, a twisted smile. “I don’t always pay attention, mind you. But when I do, I pretty much know.”

Laurel thought of Uncle Morgan:
“I’m good at cards.”

And where did that get him?
A wave of unease swept through her.
What have we brought these kids into?

Brendan was speaking. “That’s how Dr. Rhine first developed the Zenercard tests, and the dice tests. He wanted to test assertions by gamblers that they could influence the fall of the dice, and the lay of the cards. His findings backed those gamblers up. Of course, Rhine asserted that we all have innate psi ability. So far I haven’t had much luck with the lottery, though,” he quipped, and Katrina laughed, a musical, lilting, inviting laugh.

“And Dr. MacDonald?” Brendan asked. He looked across the room at her in the moving candlelight. Katrina’s eyes flicked to her with disdain, then the blond girl stretched on the sofa, crossing her legs, her eyes fixed on Brendan …
and suddenly Laurel was back in the dark hallway, walking toward the open door, toward the moans, toward the end of her life … stopping in the doorway …

… and the mirror shattering behind her—

Shattering her, shattering her world …

Laurel couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.

“Dr. MacDonald?” Brendan’s voice broke through the agony of the memory. Laurel forced herself back into the present, forced herself to respond. “I’m … I’m inclined to think that psychic flashes are just ordinary perception. We’re picking up on verbal, physical, emotional cues all the time. Sometimes our dreams—our minds,” she corrected quickly, “assemble those into a visual picture of what’s going on, and it feels psychic, but really it’s just perception.”

Brendan seemed annoyed by her analysis. Tyler just watched her with sloe eyes.

“What about you, Dr. Cody?” Katrina said, practically purring.

“Nothing myself,” Brendan admitted. “I’m Irish, though, so …” He stopped for a moment. “My grandmother—anytime anyone in the family was sick, or in jail …” he winked and laughed to indicate he was joking, but Laurel had the sudden and distinct feeling he was not. “We’d get a call from her. It was like clockwork … She just knew.” He shrugged. “But me—no. Not a thing.”

“Then what’s in it for you?” Tyler demanded, and Laurel could see both Brendan and Katrina stiffen at his tone. “Why are you so interested in all this?”

Brendan looked at him sharply, and then half-smiled. “Who wouldn’t be?”

The candles flickered, reflected in the mirrors, and in miniature on the monitors, and they watched each other.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

She was asleep and then she was not, and there was the sound of the piano downstairs, just one note played lightly, over and over. She lay frozen, listening …

Then her blood turned to ice as she felt the bedclothes sliding down her body, a faint tickling.

Her eyes snapped open and she lay in the dark, barely breathing. There was no light at all.

She felt pressure on the bed, like someone sitting beside her, only so light that it couldn’t be… .
Could it?
And then she realized there was someone sitting beside her, and his hand was on her face, his thumb brushing her mouth, and then his mouth on hers. Her body was instantly on fire. His hands were under her sleep shirt, brushing and then squeezing her breasts, and her breasts were straining against his hands, the nipples painfully hard, and his tongue was thrusting deeper into her mouth, deeper. She was moaning into his mouth and he was on top of her now, shoving the rest of the sheets away and grinding on top of her; she could feel the hard bulge of him pressing rhythmically against her through their clothing, seeking… . She whispered, “Please … please … and she meant no, but the word wouldn’t come. He reached between her legs and she almost fainted with pleasure at the brush of his fingers against her, then inside her, and he pulled her sleep shirt over her body, over her head, raking her skin, and his hand was over her mouth, now, silencing her moans, and his mouth was on her breasts, sucking and licking and biting and she was writhing under him, lifting her hips against his, wrapping her legs around his. He was somehow naked then and she gasped as the crown of his shaft shoved against her wet warmth … throbbing against her … he slid just the head of him into her, teasing, teasing, and she was whimpering, out of control, lifting her hips to find him and he reared back and thrust, all the way to the core of her. She dug her fingers into his ass and he took her hands and pinned her wrists above her and was thrusting, thrusting; his mouth covering hers again and sucking her tongue into his mouth … she felt a wave of unbearable heat radiating and breaking through her whole body … as he thrust and shuddered against her, spasm after spasm until she was gasping and soaked … their bodies bucking and their hearts beating against each other in a mad tattoo …

And then blackness.

Her eyes flew open and it was dark. For a long moment she was unable to move—she felt enveloped in a paralysis, almost drugged. She was naked under the covers and she was alone, and limply reeling with confusion.

I passed out? I must have … what happened?

She felt weak, almost nauseous. Her womb ached and throbbed, tingling, swollen, on fire with the remnants of pleasure, she felt dazed with wantonness, incredibly, hungry again. And then the real horror dawned.

She had no idea what had just happened to her. She had no idea who had been on top of her, inside of her … or if it had been real at all.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The morning sun streamed through the wavery windows, casting shadows like rippling water as she descended the main staircase, past the recessed window seat. She stopped in the entry, just inside the archway. The great room was empty but she could hear them… . They were all downstairs already: Brendan had them at the table in the dining room, filling out their journals and mood questionnaires.

Laurel was afraid even to walk into the room, to feel her body flame with heat, her cheeks flush—it was obvious, so obvious; she felt everyone would be able to see her shame. But when Brendan looked up at her from the table there was nothing in his face. “Dr. MacDonald, you survived the night. So nice to have everyone still with us,” he joked.

He was either the best actor she’d ever seen, or he actually didn’t remember.

The alternative was something she didn’t even want to contemplate.

She took a chair, and Tyler watched her with a secretive smile, until she felt quite insane with doubt.

But surely I would have been able to tell. Yes, they’re both tall, with good muscles on slender frames. But I would have known. Surely. Surely.

The thought was creepily incestuous.

Katrina was looking at her and Laurel forced her face still.
Calm down. Calm down.

“Miss Sugar had another interesting encounter last night,” Tyler drawled, and for a horrified second Laurel thought he was talking about her, but Katrina stiffened and glared at him.

“Not an
encounter
. I said someone was in my room. A man with a clipboard. He was watching me sleep.”

Tyler snorted. “If you were asleep, you knew he was watching—how?”

“He thought I was asleep but I wasn’t,” Katrina said loftily. “First I heard footsteps… .” She frowned, a pretty picture of concentration. “I thought they were coming from above me, but then they were in the hall. That’s what woke me up. He was standing in the doorway. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t move.”

Laurel felt a paranoid surge of horror.
What if she’s telling the truth? Was there someone wandering around last night?
She flashed on the black-clad apparition in the garden.

She tried to keep her voice level. “What did he look like?” Despite herself, she glanced across the table to Brendan and Tyler.

Tyler raised his hands in aggrieved innocence. “I swear, I never touched her.”

“He was blond,” Katrina said definitively. “Older … maybe forty. Blond, with …”—she raised her fingers high at the sides of her face— “cheekbones.”

Laurel looked at her, startled. Blond, cheekbones. It was the thing she had noticed about Leish—the cheekbones.
But that’s absurd. Leish is dead.

“Don’t stop now.” Tyler prodded suggestively. “Then what?”

“Nothing,” Katrina glared back at him. “He just stood there watching—and then …” Her eyes widened. “I guess I fell asleep, because then it was morning and he was gone.”