Chapter Five

It wasn’t possible. How could the man and the little girl have simply vanished into thin air? Katherine stepped closer to the sliders in an attempt to see as much of the property as possible, but they were nowhere in sight.

Voices whispered to her, sweeping through her mind like a breeze, indecipherable and ephemeral, gone before any sense could be made of them. She slowly backed away from the sliders, still holding her robe closed as if this might somehow protect her, and listened to the sound of her heart crashing against the walls of her chest. Had the man and little girl simply walked away, they would not have had time to get beyond her range of vision so quickly. Could the falling snow have masked their retreat? Katherine wondered. She looked deeper into the slowly mounting storm, watched the flakes swirl about. But there was nothing, no one there.

A chill crept along her spine and fanned out along the base of her neck and shoulders. Her fingers and toes tingled, and she moved her arms out from her body in a slow flapping motion to shake the pins and needles free.

You can’t save yourself, Katherine. How could you have saved me?

“My God, James,” she said gently, “is this how it was for you?”

It’s all right, he’d told her, standing near these same sliders before he’d vanished, tears trickling along his face as he stared out into the night, seeing things no one else could. It’s me. I’m the one who has to go, don’t you see? It’s me, Kate. I’m the one.

And now perhaps those same shadows wanted her as well.

No, she told herself. Goddamn it, no. James was insane. James was mentally ill and she was not. She assured herself again, eyes still searching for the trespassers, that she was perfectly rational. There had to be an explanation, a reasonable explanation. There had to be.

Can you hear it? James had asked once, more statement than question, his head cocked as he listened to the silence.

Hear what, James? Katherine had asked, desperate to hold back tears, to somehow reach him and pull him back from the precipice his madness had lured him to.

The footsteps, can you hear them?

She hadn’t heard them, but now wondered if that too might soon change.

The only sounds that beckoned to her just then were memories of the night before, when she had finally given in and gone with Marcy to see Jacques, her psychic advisor. Marcy had shown up at Katherine’s in her new SUV, a hulking vehicle that brought new meaning to the term ostentatious. Though she adored Marcy, Katherine often found her flamboyant nature and flashy exterior a bit embarrassing, as she was nothing like that herself, preferring to remain understated whenever possible. And yet, some small part of Katherine envied her friend’s confidence and ability to draw attention so shamelessly.

“Hey!” Marcy screamed over the blaring stereo. “Can you believe this thing? I got the biggest, most expensive one they had on the lot!”

“My God, Marcy,” Katherine said, struggling to climb into the monstrosity, “are you sure it’s big enough?” Since she’d never been to see a psychic before, Katherine hadn’t been sure what to wear, and as she fought her way into the SUV she was pleased she’d opted for jeans and a sweater.

“I went all out and got the eight-speaker CD system too!” To further emphasis this she cranked the volume to a point where the entire vehicle was vibrating to the strains of techno dance music. “It’s like driving a tour bus,” she yelled. “Isn’t it scandalous?”

“I thought you were going to get something practical!” Katherine screamed back.

“I was but it’ll piss Luke off knowing I bought something so over the top and unnecessary! I plan to keep right on spending the bastard’s alimony as fast as he sends it to me. I was going for something really offensive and grotesque!”

Katherine reached over and turned the stereo down. “Mission accomplished.”

“I’ve lived in places that weren’t as nice as this.” She grinned. “At least it’ll be good in the snow.”

“It’s truly awful,” Katherine said, stifling a laugh. Though she was one of the sweetest people Katherine had ever known, Marcy possessed the kind of effervescence and frenetic energy generally reserved for speed freaks, and was someone for whom subtlety existed only as a vague concept. As if determined to prove this point, Marcy had dressed in a skin-tight leopard print top, an equally snug black skirt, black hose, trendy boots and a leather jacket—completely inappropriate considering the temperature and weather, but utterly Marcy. Her makeup was heavy, her hair styled and teased high like a rock groupie from the 1980s, and her fingernails were painted neon pink. Dangle diamond earrings, brilliant even in limited light, hung from each ear, and an array of gold necklaces and rings adorned her neck and fingers. Though forty-three, she still presented herself like a twenty-something party girl, and often got away with it, albeit at a distance.

“Now, I know you’re nervous or whatever, but don’t worry about tonight,” she told Katherine. “Jacques is way cool and not spooky or creepy or anything. I met him at a psychic fair at the mall a few years ago and I’ve been going to him every few months ever since. Lots of people in town do, actually, but he has clients that come from all over New England to see him. He’s really good if he gets the right energy from you, so just go with it and keep an open mind, okay?”

Katherine nodded helplessly.

“He’s been doing this ever since he was in high school when he was visited by his spirit guides. They told him about this gift he had and that he should use it to help others, so that’s what he’s done ever since.”

“Um, okay.”

“I know, trippy, huh?” Marcy winked and smiled knowingly. “Just wait, you’ll see.” 

Jacques—no last name, just Jacques, “Like Prince!” he’d exclaimed—lived in a modest home along the shore on the opposite side of town and hosted clients in his living room, which was decorated like something out of a high-end architectural magazine. A tall and gawky man of perhaps thirty-five, with meticulously styled hair and designer clothing, he looked better suited to the chic streets of Beverly Hills than a small and unassuming town like Blissful Point, and the moment Katherine met him she recognized having seen him around town from time to time over the years.

“Katherine,” he said in an agreeable voice, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She smiled and shook his hand. It was warm and smooth. “Nice to meet you too.”

Marcy was right, she thought. There was nothing eerie about Jacques at all. He seemed anything but a fortune teller.

“Before we get started,” he said, motioning to a plush sofa where Katherine and Marcy were to sit, “it’s important that you be comfortable as possible. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m not a devil worshiper or a crazy person. I earn my living in the graphic design industry. This, I do part-time. It’s a gift from my spirit guides.”

Katherine nodded and smiled, unsure of how else to respond. She sat on the couch. It was comfortable, and she relaxed, allowing the cushions to surround her.

“Let’s get a few things out in the open,” Jacques continued. “Blissful Point is a small town. Taking that—and the things I’ve discussed with Marcy during her sessions where you’ve come up—into consideration, I obviously know who you are to a degree already. I’m aware that you operate the cabins on the lake and that your husband James disappeared a little over a year ago. I also know about the little boy that drowned there. Other than that and some small incidental things that appeared in the newspaper when those events occurred, I know virtually nothing else about you personally. Clear?”

“Clear.”

The room was dimly lit, only a small lamp on a table between them was on, but the room was more cozy and intimate than spooky. It was warm and welcoming here and radiated a feeling of tranquility and safety Katherine embraced.

“There’s some white zin if you’d like some,” Jacques said, nodding to three glasses of wine on the nearby coffee table. “It helps to relax.”

Marcy scooped hers up but Katherine politely shook her head no.

Jacques smiled warmly. “It’s there if you want it, okay?”

Outside, in the darkness, the snow had begun. Light flakes blew about, offering up the delicate sort of snow that often signaled the beginning of a blizzard. It always came first, this sparse and harmless-looking snow, and was almost always followed by much worse.

“I don’t know if Marcy told you how I work, but I don’t use cards or tea leaves or anything like that,” Jacques explained. “What I like to do is to hold something of yours, or your husband’s, if you want me to focus on him. I notice you wear a wedding ring.”

Katherine glanced at her hand. She hadn’t taken the gold band off even once in all the years she and James had been married. “Yes,” she said uneasily. “I…still do.”

“Would it be all right if I held it while we talk?”

She’d come close to removing it on more than one occasion since James’s disappearance, but never had. “I don’t know,” she said awkwardly. “I’m sure this sounds silly but I haven’t taken it off since the day he put it on my finger.”

“No, it doesn’t sound silly at all.” Jacques gave a wide smile, revealing a set of perfectly white, capped teeth. “I only suggested it because a wedding ring, being such an intimate item, is often very effective. But you need to be comfortable, Katherine, that’s paramount here.”

Marcy elbowed her none too subtly and eyed the wedding ring.

“And you,” he said playfully, pointing a finger at Marcy. “Behave.”

Marcy flashed him an equally playful scowl, sat back deeper into the couch and sipped her wine. “I’m only trying to help.”

Katherine gazed down at her ring awhile but said nothing.

“Let the thoughts, memories and feelings you’re experiencing right now flow free.”

The soothing sound of his voice broke her concentration.

“Let them come to you,” Jacques said. “Let them wash over you like gentle waves.”

Katherine twisted the ring and slowly pulled it up over her knuckle. “I guess…I guess it would be all right.” She hesitated a moment, watching it there on her hand, then slid it off the end of her finger. A deep moat of smooth pale skin lay in its wake. Like a scar, she thought.

Jacques took her hand in both of his and gently allowed the ring to pass from her palm to his. With another warm smile, he leaned back a bit, letting her hands go, and moved the band slowly between his fingers, as if inspecting it for imperfections or divots. He drew a deep breath, held it a few seconds then released it in a long rush, his eyes closing as he did so. “Okay,” he whispered to no one in particular. “Katherine, do you have any family?”

“No, my parents are both deceased, and I’m an only child.”

“Strange.” Jacques frowned but his eyes remained closed. His fingers moved over the ring. “I’m getting a strong sense of a group dynamic here, like you’re part of a larger group. I normally only get this with twins or people from large and close families, or at a minimum, in someone with profoundly close sibling or parental ties.”

Katherine glanced at Marcy. She gave her a look that said: Be patient.

“Your husband,” he asked suddenly, “was he an only child as well?”

“James was an orphan. He never knew for sure if he had any brothers or sisters.”

Jacques said nothing for a few moments. “I’m also getting strong feelings of isolation and loneliness. It’s highly unusual to get feelings of duality like that so strongly in one person. Could be that the energy I’m picking up is originating from more than one source. It happens now and then.”

“Is that bad?” Katherine asked.

“Not in the least.” His eyes remained closed but moved beneath the lids rapidly. “I know this is an odd question, and please don’t be offended, but has anyone else ever worn this ring?”

“No, of course not, why would—”

“Do you and James have children?”

“No.” This guy is awful, she thought, what am I doing here?

“You’re certain James never had children?”

“Yes, I’m certain,” Katherine said in a tone that signaled annoyance had gotten the better of her. “He was my husband. We were married in our early twenties. If he’d had children in his teens, don’t you think he might’ve mentioned it?”

“I mean no disrespect, Katherine.” Jacques slowly opened his eyes. “I’m just telling you what I feel.”

“No, actually you’re asking me questions. So far you’re zero-for-three.”

Marcy sat up quickly. “Katherine, you have to—”

“Marcy, please,” Jacques said without raising his voice. “It’s all right, Katherine, express yourself honestly. The energy is pure and therefore—”

“Is my husband alive or dead?” Katherine asked suddenly.

His eyes remained locked on hers, but seemed to be looking right through her. He gave no indication that he’d taken her question as the challenge she’d intended it to be. “I’m getting a very odd sense of him, a very distant sense of him, and yet…it’s hard to describe. Those who have passed over come through very differently than those still here. I don’t say ‘died’ because we don’t die, we simply change. But right now I’m getting a strange mixture of the two, as if he’s somehow near to both, straddling them maybe. It happens sometimes with people who are close to crossing but haven’t yet.”

“You mean people on their deathbeds?”

“That’s one example, yes.”

“Then he’s still alive?”

“I—I’m honestly not certain.” Jacques sighed, clearly frustrated. “If he’s passed on, it was very recently. If he hasn’t, and is still here, he isn’t well and won’t be much longer. He may be having trouble passing, it happens if the situation is less than…let’s just say, ‘pleasant’. Sometimes if there are unresolved issues where—”

“Then he’s alive but—what—sick?”

“Yes, if he’s still on this plane of existence. But I can’t be certain he’s still here.”

“Is there anything you can be certain of?”

“God, Katherine,” Marcy said, “stop being so negative already.”

Jacques quieted her with another glance. “I apologize if I’m not giving specific enough answers for you, Katherine. I simply tell you what I feel and sense. Sometimes the process is a slow one, but it builds the longer we talk.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be, it’s fine. You’re nervous and you’ve been under a lot of stress for a long while now.” Jacques waved a hand in the air as if to shoo the negativity away. “I have to tell you I’m getting a very strong sense of children. I’m sorry, but I can’t shake it. It’s coming through quite vividly.”

Katherine stared at him, saying nothing.

“If this is too personal a question I’ll understand, but—”

“No, I’ve never had an abortion,” she said. “There were no children.”

“There are children all around you, Katherine.”

“I’m telling you there were no children.”

His eyes slid shut. “And I’m telling you…there are.”

“This is ridiculous, what does any of this have to do with—”

“Maybe they’re not literal,” he explained. “They could be representational of something else in your life, mind, heart or soul.”

“Such as?”

“That’s not quite clear to me.” Jacques cleared his throat a few times like he was trying not to cough. “But the fear is. Your fear, you—you’re afraid. It’s a deep fear, the kind that goes straight through to your soul. It’s almost childlike in its intensity.”

Katherine felt a chill lick the back of her neck.

His fingers massaged the gold band. “You’re…my God, you’re terrified. But you…you’re not entirely sure why, are you?”

“No,” she said softly, “I’m not.”

“I’m getting…water. Usually that’s a positive thing. It tends to represent cleansing or rebirth. Of course, since you live on a lake it could simply mean that as well. But there’s so much of it. I’m getting so much of it, so much so…so much it’s like—like I’m drowning.” He cleared his throat again, loudly this time. “It’s the lake, isn’t it? That’s it. It’s the lake you fear.”

The chill left her, replaced by strange slowly spreading warmth. “Yes, I…” She glanced at Marcy, who stared back with anticipation. “Yes, I’m no longer comfortable around the lake, that’s true.”

“But you say you don’t know why?”

“That’s right.”

He nodded, eyes still shut. “It’s more than discomfort, though. It’s fear. You fear the lake, you—you hate it.”

“Yes.”

“How have you stayed there with this level of fear? It’s uncanny.”

“It was bad for a long time before James disappeared,” she told him. “He was on a steady decline and—”

“My God, there’s darkness when you mention him. I can feel it moving through me and growing every time you say his name.”

“He was ill,” she said. “He was suffering, slowly losing his grip on reality.”

“You believe…” Jacques slipped the wedding ring over the tip of his left index finger, and with his other hand gripped the band and slowly turned it. His eyes opened, found Katherine. “You think James is still there?”

She forced a swallow. She had never told anyone that before.

“You think he’s still at the lake,” Jacques said, no longer a question. “But not like before. Not…exactly.”

“Yes,” she said softly, her confrontational tone replaced with one more closely resembling discomfort. “I—well, I think he might be but—but only in a sense. I think it’s possible that his memory lingers and—”

“No, that’s not true.” His expression shifted, like his head had just cleared. “You need to be honest with me. You think he’s still there but…but that it’s not really him. You think maybe it never was. You’re questioning your entire life with him and—”

“You’re wrong.” Katherine caught hold of herself.

“Am I, Katherine?”

“We had many happy years together.”

Jacques shook his head. “Such sorrow, it—it’s so heavy. He…he hasn’t crossed over yet, Katherine. It’s clearer now, I—I don’t think he’s completely gone yet. He’s running. James is running but he’s not alone.”

“James is dead,” Katherine said flatly.

“We don’t die. And if you believed we did, you wouldn’t be here talking with me.”

“I’d like my wedding ring back now, please.” Katherine held her hand out. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

“He’s not alone,” Jacques said again.

“My ring, please, may I have it?”

“He’s with the children.”

Katherine stood up, her entire body shaking. “Give me my wedding band back.”

“He’s with the children, Katherine.”

“There aren’t any fucking children!”

Marcy scrambled to her feet, put her wine aside and reached out for Katherine. “It’s okay, honey, take it easy.”

Jacques held the ring out for her. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. Sometimes in the heat of the moment my concentration is such that I go into something similar to a trance.”

Katherine snatched the ring but didn’t put it back on her finger. Instead she dropped it into her purse. “This wasn’t a good idea. I—I’m sorry, I don’t mean to disrespect you in your own home but I—look, what do I owe you?”

“This isn’t a carnival, Katherine.”

“You do expect me to pay you, don’t you?”

“I’d like to continue,” he said. “I know this is difficult for you but I think it’s important that we delve deeper here. I’m not interested in money. I’m trying to help you, and I’m getting some very intense—”

She removed a twenty from her wallet and placed it on the coffee table. “If that’s not sufficient you can bill me.”

“I’m truly sorry if I upset you.”

“Thank you, I know it wasn’t intentional.” Katherine forced a smile. “I’ve made enough of a fool of myself tonight. Thanks for your time. Marcy, come on.”

Marcy quickly gathered her things. “Sorry, Jacques, she gets emotional sometimes and—”

“Katherine?” he said, ignoring Marcy as he slowly rose from the couch.

She turned, looked back at him.

“These things won’t simply go away. You need to face and resolve them if possible.”

“Yes, I understand. Thank you for your time.”

“You’re planning to move from the lake,” he said abruptly.

She nodded.

“It’s a good plan. Do it as soon as possible. I’m getting a lot of negativity around it, a lot of dark energy that’s very…unsettling. There’s something more here than you know—more than I know and understand yet—something extraordinary. But just the same, it’s not healthy for you there anymore.”

“You mean it’s not safe.”

Jacques stared at her but offered no further elaboration.

The look in his eyes swept through her mind then slowly faded to memory, replaced by the spiraling flakes of the here and now just beyond the sliders.

The snow was getting heavier.

Katherine moved to the adjacent kitchen and grabbed the phone.

No dial tone.

She went quickly to her bedroom and tried that extension, but it too was dead. It was not unusual for lines to be down during a snowstorm of this size, and when they did go down, it was usually hours before repair personnel arrived. In storms like this, she realized it might very well be days. Still, she couldn’t help but feel it was too convenient to be coincidence. Although life in Blissful Point was quiet and lacked any violent crime rate to speak of, obviously it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that the stranger had cut her phone lines prior to his sudden arrival. Just because he had a child with him didn’t grant him immunity from evil. Some criminals even used children as shields or decoys, as a means of obtaining trust from unsuspecting victims. She had read about such things.

There are children all around you, Katherine.

Katherine returned to the den, found her cell phone on an end table and flipped it open. No signal. “Of course,” she muttered. “It just figures, doesn’t it?”

She paced about the den, sipping her now lukewarm coffee and mumbling the maelstrom of possibilities clogging her mind. Barney had taken position along the back of a recliner in the corner, watching over the proceedings with keen but impassive eyes.

“You saw them too,” she said, remembering the cat’s growl upon the man’s arrival. But what else do you see? she wondered. What else do you know?

Barney slowly closed his eyes then just as slowly slid them open again.

She thought of the little girl, so tiny and helpless, her face hidden in the hooded coat as the storm raged around her. Katherine knew firsthand how cold the winters were here, how the wind off the lake could cut through you like a razor. Guilt came to her in waves, bringing with it memories of the little Japanese boy, his small body limp and dead, dripping wet, swallowed then vomited up by the lake.

On foot and in these conditions, the man might last awhile but the little girl certainly would not. Surely they had a car, a vehicle of some kind, she told herself. Even if it had gone off the road, they could still take shelter in it and survive off the heater until the storm passed, weakened, or until someone passed by who might help, couldn’t they? But if the car were dead, she knew neither of them would last long huddled in the husk of an automobile. Not in these temperatures.

She saw James crying and rocking the dead Japanese boy in his arms, the boy’s diminutive limbs dangling and swaying lifelessly as his parents looked on. Their faces were burned into her consciousness like a brand, and though Katherine had learned to forget many things in her life, to set them aside and bury them or pretend they had never happened and to move on, as life often demanded, the faces of that young couple would never be among them.

With a reserved but devoted air, Barney watched her silently, as if he had read her mind and now awaited her decision.

Katherine put her coffee aside, and tried the cell phone again. The display read: Searching for Signal. She snapped the phone shut and went back to the bedroom.

Without stopping to think about it, she threw off her robe and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the freestanding full-length mirror in the corner. Startled, she stopped in her tracks like she’d never seen herself out of clothes. It was her ribs that first caught her attention. She’d lost a lot of weight in the past year, and they now hung beneath the surface of her skin, a fence of bone below her breasts, rising and falling with each nervous breath. Her stomach was so flat it appeared nearly hollow and sunken at certain angles, and her face seemed intrusive, her once soft features covered now with only a thin layer of skin stretched taut over severe slopes and pointed knolls. She turned slightly, rising up on the balls of her feet. She’d never been busty by any stretch of the imagination—a B cup since high school—but her breasts, though firm and nicely shaped, looked a bit smaller than they’d once been, and though they, like her legs and buttocks, appeared to belong to a woman younger than forty-five years, she noticed that her weight loss had caused similar illusions in the rest of her body as well, though most of them negative. She had been stronger in years past, more sinewy and substantial, but now appeared fragile, drawn, anxious and weak. Black rings circled her bloodshot eyes like a raccoon mask, and her lips were pale and chapped.

She brought a finger very slowly to her mouth, touched the rough and flaked skin there, as if to be certain she was in fact looking at herself.

God help me, she thought. Near the end James had looked this way too.

Katherine had never felt quite so vulnerable in all her life, and her nudity was only making it worse. She changed quickly into a pair of jeans, boots, a turtleneck and a heavy wool sweater, and by the time she was dressed she had convinced herself that at least attempting to drive into town would be best. The drive would allow her to use the payphone at the gas station to alert the phone company that her lines were down, and she could swing by the police station and tell them about the strange man and little girl.

Rather than look at her own reflection now, she focused on that of the bedroom floor behind her, and remembered how she had found James huddled there one early evening, his journal clutched to his chest as he sat on the floor, muttering under his breath, carrying on a conversation with no one, but animated and nodding in a way that suggested he believed there were others in the room with him. As always, his face was drawn and terror-stricken, but in this instance, he looked a bit more in control of himself, as if he were bartering, negotiating for his sanity. He had whirled around upon realizing she was in the doorway, looking like a child caught in the middle of something no parent would ever approve of.

Don’t come in, he’d said, voice shaking. Don’t come in here, I—you can’t come in here right now.

James, please, she’d pleaded. I can’t do this anymore. You have to get help. You have to let me get you some help.

James shook his head. There is no help.

She spent most nights on the couch now, as she hadn’t been wholly comfortable in this room since.

The memory of Jacques’s voice came to her. It’s not healthy for you there anymore.

Katherine forced herself from the mirror but hesitated at the bedroom closet, where something other than memories had caught her attention. She crouched and focused on a shotgun propped in the back corner. The gun had belonged to James. She’d only fired it twice, when years earlier he had insisted she learn the basics of the weapon just in case. He’d often seemed even more uncomfortable with it than she was, and she could never imagine either of them shooting anything, but it had been purchased as a precaution, a potentially necessary evil. The winters here can be desolate, he’d once said, you just never know today.

The recollection of the man with black eyes flashed through her mind. What if he was waiting out there somewhere for her? What if by cutting the phone lines he knew she would eventually venture outside to her Bronco and go for help? She’d be walking right into his trap. The entire scenario sounded ludicrous, but the fear and uncertainty was suffocating and anything but imagined.

There is no help.

Heart racing, Katherine grabbed the shotgun, a box of shells, and headed for the door.