Thunderland (17 page)

There was no
way
—
no way
—she
was setting foot outside the house. Hell, no. She was curious about who—or what—had called her and perched in the tree waiting for her, but she wasn’t a fool.

It would have to break inside the house to get her, because she was not taking the bait.

Gripping the back of a chair, she waited for several minutes, watching the window.

Nothing happened.

She said a quick prayer, then mustered all of her nerve and went to the glass. She pulled back the drapes.

The yellow ball was gone. The figure that had been nestled in the tree had vanished, too. It was a gorgeous summer morning, with no hint of anything amiss.

I’m going crazy,
she thought.
What did I really see out there?

Maybe the backyard episode was a hallucination. She was certain that she had not dreamed up the phone conversation with the child, but she could explain it away as only a prank call. Just some weird kid.

Come on, girl. Be honest with yourself. You didn’t imagine anything, and it wasn’t a prank call. Something else is going on
...

She firmly resolved to put it out of her mind. She had a writer’s overactive imagination, and if she did not let go of this, she would drive herself crazy.

But she could not help thinking that something strange had happened yesterday, too: Jason’s anonymous admirer leaving the bicycle in the garage. It was human nature to search for patterns, and she had the wild notion that all three incidents-the disturbing call, the backyard visit, and the bike-had originated from the same mysterious source.

Jesus, she was creeping herself out.

Put it out of your mind, girl. Everyone has lived through an incident that can’t be logically explained. How about the time you got the call from Mama-the morning after she died-and she told you to look after Daddy? You didn’t lose your mind then, and you aren’t losing it now. Accept that these things happen, and don’t ask why unless you can handle the answer:

The phone rang. The sudden ring almost tore a scream out of her.

Warily, she answered. It was only Alice, thank God.

“Hey, I’ve got a question, Ms. Romance Writer,” Alice said.

“I’m trying to come up with a good plot twist for my two lead characters, after the scene where they come back from the cruise....”

Although Linda had housework to do and needed to spend some time on her own book, she was eager to talk to Alice and get her mind off what had happened. Nothing could draw her back to the real world as well as a conversation with her girl. She switched to the cordless phone, walked outdoors, and sat on the front steps, chatting away. Unknowingly, Alice had rescued her again.

Rows upon rows of data blurred across the monitor in Brains’s study. Jason had filled several pages with notes, and Brains had downloaded more than a dozen documents to his computer’s hard drive. Jason and Brains had a mighty task before them: in less than a day, they had to become experts on hypnotic regression. They had made significant progress since that morning. Jason was confident that, by the evening, someone—most likely, Brains—would be able to successfully lead him through a regression.

“My head is starting to throb,” Jason said. He leaned back in the chair, rubbed his eyes. The clock on the desk read a quarter to one. “Want to take a break?”

“No.” Brains’s attention did not leave the screen. “If you want to rest, that’s fine.”

“Do you want something to eat?”

“Some chips, maybe. They’re in the pantry.”

Jason brought back the potato chips and placed them on the desk. Brains did not reach for them. He was so immersed in his research that he probably did not realize that Jason had ever left the room. His concentration was mind-boggling.

Jason was glad Brains was on his side. As he watched Brains’s fingers fly across the keyboard, optimism filled him. They were going to beat this thing, he believed. They were going to bust the mystery wide open. They were going to put an end to the Stranger’s stupid game, and his life was going to return to normal. He would not be surprised if they resolved everything that night. They were rolling forward quickly.

Energized by the thought, he pushed aside the chips, grabbed the notebook, and resumed his research.

A couple of hours later, firmly settled in reality once more, housework complete, Linda settled in front of her computer to work on her novel.

It didn’t go well. For an agonizing hour, she typed in short bursts, struggling to find her flow. Although her current project was a departure from the category romance novels that she had been writing successfully for years, the book had been proceeding smoothly. Tough days had been rare, and there was usually an underlying cause for her lack of concentration.

She knew why she couldn’t focus on her book that day. Earlier, while eating a light lunch, she had been reading the current issue of
Essence.
One of the feature articles was entitled, “Infidelity: What to Do if He’s Cheating on You.” It threw her imagination in gear and made her face up to a suspicion that had plagued her since last night.

Thomas was hiding something.

With a sixth sense that all wives developed, she could detect her husband’s moods, and she believed that something distressed Thomas—something he wanted to keep secret. She had questioned him the night before, but he had not opened up, and though she had mentally analyzed their conversation dozens of times, she could not decipher the source of his unease. Her imagination had taken over. Instead of spinning out words for her novel, it weaved a disturbing explanation for Thomas’s odd behavior: he was sleeping with another woman.

She wondered if she was being too reactive, letting the
Essence
piece affect her too deeply. But ... the possibility of infidelity was real. Thomas was a successful, attractive man. He would have gotten his share of opportunities to mess around. She did not believe he would stoop that low, but she was getting suspicious. No telltale signs had passed under her nose—lipstick on the collar, a whiff of unfamiliar perfume, credit-card bills for mysterious purchases—but she knew how Thomas acted when he harbored a secret. Evasive, distracted, and tired. The same way he was acting lately.

Eyes narrowing, she pushed away from her desk.

If Thomas was seeing another woman, their marriage was finished. Period. She was willing to tolerate almost any mistake Thomas committed. But not an affair. Never.

At the thought of such a thing, her hands began to sweat.

Realizing that she was on her way to convicting Thomas before he’d had his day in court, she decided to get out of the house and do something to quell her anxiety. She went shopping.

Jason and Brains had finished their research. Eager to put their plan in gear to end the Stranger’s game, Jason went home to grab some clothes for the night. He would also ask Mom whether he could spend the night at Shorty’s, since Shorty’s place was their next base. He was certain that Mom would agree to let him sleep over. Lately, she was so afraid of denying him whatever he asked for that she would’ve agreed to let him take a trip around the world on his own. He didn’t know whether it was a good thing for her to give him so much freedom. But right then, he needed all the freedom he could get to regain control of his life.

Surprisingly, Dad was home. When Jason walked through the front door, he discovered Dad sitting on the sofa in the living room, puffing on a cigarette. Weird. He didn’t know that Dad smoked. Well, there was a lot that he didn’t know about Dad. He was hardly ever there.

“Hey, Jason.” Dad quickly put out the cigarette. ‘What’s up?”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Believe it or not, I live here. I like to drop by from time to time, make sure the house is still standing.” He chuckled.

“Oh. Where’s Mom?”

“I don’t know. She probably went to the store.”

“Man. I needed to ask her something.”

“What’s up? Maybe you can ask me. The last time I checked, I had parental rights.”

Jason shrugged. “I wanted to spend the night at Shorty’s—I mean, Mike’s—house tonight.”

Dad pursed his lips. “What are you guys into, Jason? Your mom suspects something.”

Great. He was sure that Mom had told Dad about finding the bike in the garage. The last thing he needed was for his parents to be dipping into his business. They would only make things more complicated. They wouldn’t believe him, anyway.

‘We aren’t into anything. Mom gets carried away.”

“What’s the deal with you finding that bike in the garage?”

“I don’t know who put it in there. Don’t have a clue. Do you?”

Dad looked dumbfounded for a moment. Then he said, “No, I’ve no idea.”

Jason began to walk toward the stairs. “So can I spend the night at Shorty’s?”

“That’s fine, son. Does your mother have the number to your friend’s house?”

“It’s on the board in the kitchen.”

“Good. Have fun this evening.”

In his bedroom, Jason packed his clothes in his duffel bag. When he had packed everything he needed and had walked downstairs again, he found Dad still sitting on the couch. Dad had lowered his head as if in prayer. He didn’t seem to hear Jason leaving.

“Bye.” Jason opened the front door.

Dad didn’t say anything. He only sat there with his head bowed, as if he were in a trance.

“Whatever,” Jason said under his breath. Both of his parents were crazy. He wished, not for the first time, that he lived with Granddad, not with these strangers masquerading as his family.

He shut the door harder than he’d wanted to, but he doubted that Dad had heard the sound.

* * *

At Gurnee Mills in Gurnee, one of the largest shopping malls in Illinois, Linda shopped for about two hours. Not a believer in spending money out of sheer boredom, she mostly window-shopped. Between stops at stores, she nibbled at a chocolate-chip cookie, and by the time she was ready to leave, she had bought a shirt for Jason and a set of place mats for the dining room table. She had also bought some peace of mind; during the drive home, she anticipated getting back to work on her book.

When she parked in the garage at three-fifteen, she was surprised to find Thomas’s Buick there. Thomas was in the kitchen. Of all things, he was cooking.

“Someone give me a camera,” she said. “I have to snap a picture of this.”

He grinned. He wore a dark-gray T-shirt and jeans that fitted him so well Linda wanted to slide up behind him and pinch his butt.

“You forget, I run a restaurant,” he said. “I can throw down when I want to.”

She inhaled deeply. “You’re cooking fish? It smells great. But isn’t it early for dinner?”

“It’s better to eat now.” He opened the refrigerator and removed a block of cheddar cheese. “Then we won’t have to stop till much later.”

“Won’t have to stop what?”

Standing at the counter, he grated the cheese. “I’ve planned a light meal. Tossed salad, blackened salmon, pasta, and a bottle of Chardonnay. Easy to digest, won’t slow us down.”

“Are we going to be running a marathon?”

“I talked to Jason, too. I really don’t think anything’s going on with him, baby. If there is, he sure didn’t give any clues. But he does want to sleep at a friend’s house tonight. I told him it was okay. He’s already picked up his things. We can reach him at his buddy’s place if we need to.”