“You want to run that by me again?”
Her words weren’t coming out right. He was throwing her off by watching her too intensely. As soon as she told him, he was going to get that look on his face, the same one she got whenever she mentioned her association with Lilithdale.
“Let me see if I can think of a better way to say this.”
She bought time by looking around his office. Behind his desk hung a framed cover of Architectural Digest, presumably with a mansion he’d designed on the cover. Pictures of other majestic homes covered the slate-colored walls. Dark blue carpet, polished wood furniture, all the signs of success. Well, except for the two yellow Legos in the candy dish. There were two framed pictures of a smiling Teddy, and one picture of Teddy and Wanda. And there was Dylan, tall, handsome, if fatigued. He fit into this world of thick carpet and rich wood.
Which meant he was going to think she was one Fruit Loop shy of a full bowl.
Fifteen times two-hundred-fifty is thirty-seven hundred fifty.
She turned back to him, mentally reciting another calculation. All right, it was her crutch, but she wasn’t about to let go of it now.
“Don’t laugh, just please don’t laugh. Something happened when I died. Believe me, nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
His expression remained blank. She walked over to the large window; she found herself seeking the light now, though it would never be as wondrous as the light in the tunnel.
She started plucking dead leaves off a staked philodendron plant. “Have you ever heard of near-death experiences?”
He walked up beside her. “Where people who die supposedly see a tunnel and their dearly departed loved ones?”
Ah, now she could see the skepticism, but she forged ahead. “It was the most incredible thing I have ever experienced. It was the first time I felt like I belonged somewhere, really belonged.” Let’s not go there. “It was incredibly peaceful, and there was the light they talk about, but I could feel it as much as I could see it. And I know now … there’s nothing to be afraid of when we die.” She could feel it all over again as the memory came alive inside her.
He’d been watching her, and she wondered what her face had looked like. She pinched another dead leaf off the plant.
“Go on,” he said, masking what he thought of her story so far.
“You’ve heard of people who feel they’ve been given a second chance for a reason? But they don’t know what that reason is? Well, I know. Wanda was in that tunnel. She told me I couldn’t die yet because I had to find Teddy. She was about to tell me where he was when you revived me. She said the voices told her to hide him, but now she knew they were wrong.”
At that, his expression hardened. “You know about the voices?”
She nodded, focusing on a new section of the plant now. “She said Teddy was special. Different. That I had to find him.”
Dylan released a breath and leaned against the glass. She dared a glance at him.
“You knew her, didn’t you? Maybe you were helping her, maybe you were supposed to meet her there. And now you’re worried because she’s dead and you know my son is hidden somewhere. The question is, why didn’t she tell you where?”
Chloe crushed the collection of dead leaves in her hand. She’d expected disbelief, certainly, but not accusations. “I never met Wanda before that day. When I saw her picture on the news last night, that’s when I knew it wasn’t a dream.” She caught herself pulling another yellow leaf from the plant and stopped. “What about my asking for Teddy when I came back?” Her eyes narrowed. “You came to the hospital to ask me about it.”
“I came to see how you were doing.”
“That was your cover story. You asked if I’d found Teddy, pretended it was an afterthought.”
“At the time, I thought it was a coincidence, that Teddy was a husband or someone you were with.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, but found the movement too painful. “I don’t have a husband, I wasn’t with anyone, and I don’t know any Teddys.”
Dylan moved closer, placing a palm against the glass to the left of her head. “Near-death experiences are nothing more than the mind’s way of easing a person into death. I read about it on a plane once.”
“I suppose you’re an expert then. Explain why we’re allowed to come back sometimes. Explain why some people have scary experiences where they go to hell.”
“I don’t have all the answers. What I do know is …” His gaze dropped down over her face, then up to her hair.
She knew she looked terrible, beaten and bruised, but disgust wasn’t what she saw in his eyes. Wonder maybe.
“What?” she asked, finding her voice only a whisper. Afternoon sunlight was spilling in through the glass, washing his face in radiant light. She realized that she wasn’t breathing; she was holding her breath, waiting for … what?
He remained there, transfixed. Then he pushed away from the window, turning his back to her and running his hand through his thick hair. When he turned back to her, he was wearing that impassive mask again. “Great, another nutcase.”
“Don’t disparage me. I came here to help you.”
He nodded toward her hand. “It looks like you came here to groom my plant.”
She slid her hand behind her back. “Do you want my help or not?”
“What are you going to do, pull out your crystal ball? Lay out tarot cards? Consult a genie?”
“No, no, no. I don’t do any of that. I’m just … ordinary.”
He actually laughed as his gaze took her in. “Yeah, right. Do you know how crazy that sounds, meeting my wife in a tunnel? You’re even nuttier than I think you are if you expect me to believe that nonsense.”
She scrubbed her fingers through her curls. “I am not nutty. All I know is that God gave me a second chance because I need to help find your son. Does my story sound crazy? Probably. Is there anything I can do about it? No.” She leaned toward him. “I hope the police — or you — find Teddy today, in the next hour, right now. Then I can go back to my cat and dog and my little life and take advantage of my second chance. But until he’s found, I can’t do that. I can’t turn my back on a desperate woman and a boy in trouble. If you don’t want to listen to me, I can damn well look myself.” She grabbed up her bag, then shoved the crushed leaves into his hands. “Here.”
Then, with as much dignity as her battered body would allow, she walked out of his office. Employees were still milling around the lobby, probably curious about the woman who’d come to see their boss. Well, give them a few minutes, and they’d think she was as crazy as Dylan did. He’d probably laugh as he told them her story. It didn’t matter. It didn’t. As long as she didn’t hear it.
When she opened the ornate wood door, she came face to face with Ross Allen. Tall and lean, with dark hair and a hook nose–the man who had broken her heart ten months ago. Great. Now she was sure she was wearing her finger-in-a-socket face. She’d read that his construction company had won the Kraft Theater job; marrying a commissioner’s daughter probably hadn’t hurt.
“Chloe, what happened to you?” he asked, then looked beyond her. “Dylan, hey, bud! You designing my little Chloe here a house? Or did you just go a few rounds with her?”
She braced herself for the usual knife-like pain that accompanied seeing Ross. It was more like a hammer in her chest, dull and pounding.
Dylan shook Ross’s hand, but his eyes were on her. “Neither.”
She waited for some kind of editorial comment, but he left it at that. Thank you for that, at least.
She expected to feel unnerved by Ross. Instead she was more unnerved by Dylan. If she’d ever entertained thoughts of a man in her life, he wasn’t what she wanted.
She walked to her T-Bird and flung her bag on the passenger’s seat. Not that she’d ever admit to anyone that she wanted a man in her life. She’d grown up in a society of women who didn’t need men other than for an occasional date or physical release. It was one more thing that set her apart from them, but this one was her secret. She did want a man in her life. She wanted a man to love her beyond bounds, to hold her throughout the night, to know life would be incomplete without her in it. She wanted a poet or an artist, someone sensitive and romantic.
Dylan wasn’t even close to that man. Then why did her heart speed up at the thought of him?
Because she was a nutcase, that’s why.
Dylan stood at the window and watched Chloe Samms drive off in an iridescent green Thunderbird. He’d figured her for something pink with painted daisies.
“So I thought I could embrace this search and give myself a little PR in the process,” Ross was saying as Dylan tuned back in. “We both win. What do you think?”
“You want to use my son’s disappearance to get publicity?”
“And help find your son. That’s where the win-win comes in. I’ll sponsor the search.”
Dylan held back angry words about opportunism. Help was help. “Sure, whatever you can do.”
“Great. While I’m here, I’d like to take a look at the theater plans, see where we are. I want that early completion bonus. Big kudos for us. They’re trying to book Barry Manilow if it’s done in time. I know this whole missing kid thing has been a strain … if you think you can’t deliver —”
“I said I’d deliver with my signature on the contract.” He clenched his hands so he wouldn’t be tempted to throttle Ross.
“Good. Because they want you to do the project, only you. Hey, I’m sure you’ll find your kid.”
“Thanks for your support,” Dylan said through gritted teeth.
“Hey, I’m here for you, bud. So, you know Chloe Samms?”
“Sort of. I take it you know her.”
“Oh, yeah.” Ross’s chuckle grated on Dylan’s nerves. “We had a thing going last year. She’s cute. And a pill, no doubt about that.” When Dylan waited for more, he added, “It didn’t work out. I needed someone like Melonie to move me into the right circles. She knows the money people.”
“You broke up with Chloe for professional reasons?” Dylan didn’t know why irritation slipped into his voice. He could understand what someone like Chloe would do to a man’s reputation.
“Hey, I felt bad, believe me. I wanted to marry that woman, have kids with her. She’s the kind of girl you want to hold and protect from the world.” His voice went low. “She’s that kind of girl.”
“She’s definitely that,” Dylan had to agree with that last part, curious about the way Ross’s eyes were getting all soft.
Ross blinked. “Don’t get me wrong. Melonie’s a great gal. She and I are going places; I’d never have gotten the Kraft job without her.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes. “Don’t worry Ross. I’d never get you wrong.”
After Ross left, Dylan spread out a map of Naples on his drafting table, securing the corners with tape dots. How far could Wanda have gone? He calculated distance based on speed, roads, and time.
A soft knock preceded Jodie opening the door. “Hi, sweetie. Just wondered if you needed anything.”
“Just some time alone, thanks.”
She hesitated in the doorway. “You know, hon, we’re here if you need us. It’s okay to reach out.”
“I appreciate that.”
He could see disappointment on her pretty face as she left him to his silence. As a boy, he’d needed his mother, and she hadn’t been there mentally for him. He’d needed his father, but he hadn’t been there physically for him. So he’d stopped needing people.
A minute later, he was on the phone with Detective Yochem, relaying Chloe’s story.
Yochem laughed, a low, gritty sound. “Let me tell you something about Chloe Samms. She not only lives in Lilithdale, she grew up there. You know that place, right? A town of all women.”
“I’ve heard about it. They seem to keep to themselves.”
“Thank goodness for small favors, too. That place seems to draw the oddballs, like the woman who can light up a bulb with her fingers. Most of them are so-called psychics, with all kinds of twists: new-age nonsense, astrology, biorhythms. My wife got this hair-brained idea that our dog had a motive for pooping on the carpet and took him to a dog psychic. The fruitcake claimed the dog just wanted a little one-on-one time before we left him alone.”
“Did it work?”
“Well … yeah, but the dog was ready to be housebroken, that’s all.”
Dylan thought of Chloe’s sensual mouth and had to ask, “Are these women gay?”
“Supposedly they’re just independent. They don’t hate men or anything, least that’s what the wife says. She’s nosy, got to ask all sorts of questions. Said she didn’t see any hanky-panky going on. Bottom line is, they believe in more mumbo-jumbo than you can fit in a spaceship. She’s one of them. Chloe Samms, not my wife. Next thing you know, she’ll be channeling your wife’s spirit a’ la Shirley MacLaine. I think she’s just shook up. Chloe, not Shirley MacLaine. You know, getting hit, dying, and all. That little cookie is nothing but trouble.”
Wasn’t that the truth. Dylan hung up and went back to the map. Chloe might be a kook in her own right, but he’d seen something in her eyes that spoke of being alone in a crowd. Hadn’t the aunt said Chloe was the only left-brained one in the bunch, but they loved her anyway?
He knew about being singled out. Maybe that was why he was drawn to her. The only reason. Other than the memory of his mouth on hers and of her body coming back to life in his arms. Any psychiatrist could explain it away. They had shared a traumatic moment.
A knock on the door preceded the arrival of the entire top-level staff of South Florida Architectural Associates. Jody and Steve, his senior architect, headed the group of ten. They all wore sober, determined looks on their faces.
Jodie jumped in first. “Dylan, we know you’re a private person, that you like to handle things yourself. But you need us, whether you like it or not.”
Steve approached next. “We want to help you find Teddy. You’re the boss; you tell us what you need us to do. Everything except butt out.”
“Look, it’s not necessary —”
“Yes, it is,” Jodie said, her hands on her hips.
Dylan surveyed his team. They weren’t going to butt out. He ran his hand over his mouth and smiled. “Well, maybe there are a couple things you could help with …”
Teddy didn’t like this place. His things were not here. There were only two people in the outside world that he sometimes allowed into his world: mom and Camel. He called her Camel, because her real name was hard to say. She laughed whenever he said it, a light, tinkly sound that he liked. So he kept saying it over and over, focusing on the word and the sound of laughter and nothing else. He wished he could laugh.
Mom and Camel weren’t here in this place he did not like. Another woman was, an old woman who sat in the tiny room and seemed lost in her own world. She talked a lot, almost as much as Mom, but at least she didn’t want a response from him like everyone else did. She didn’t wait, didn’t get that grimace like Mom did when he repeated the phrase because he knew he had to say something, but he didn’t know what.
But Mom wasn’t here. He’d looked for her, space by space. It didn’t take long.
Like he did whenever he went to a new place, he focused on an item. He could focus so hard, everything else would go away. Mom used to take him to a place with other people, kids like him. No, not like him. They played together and talked and laughed. He couldn’t understand what they were doing. Sometimes they would take his hand and try to drag him over to their game, and he cried until they let go. Then they looked at him funny and watched when he played alone, lining up letters and blocking out everything but those colorful cubes.
He kept hearing a sound now, and he focused on it. It came from outside, but he was too afraid to go out there. So he sat on the carpet and imagined. First it was a tapping at the door. Then it was Camel’s mop bucket when the water sloshed around inside. He put himself in a familiar place. His dad was there, throwing a ball to him. Dad kept saying, “Throw the ball back,” and Teddy would repeat it over and over.
Another sound invaded his world. The old lady sat on the couch, talking and talking. Mostly it was just a babble of noise. It took too much work to understand people, especially when they talked on and on like that. But he needed something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he had a hole feeling in his tummy. So he sat down in front of her, and tried really, really hard to listen to what she was saying.
“Wanda, why are you so quiet all of a sudden? Usually you’re talking all the time, talking to people who don’t exist, answering them. Your father thinks you’re plain crazy, and I know it hurts your feelings when he calls you that. I wish I could make him stop, but you know how he gets when I tell him what to do. And I know it scares you when he talks about putting you in a hospital — it scares me, too. This quiet is good, except you got to stop repeating stuff. That sounds crazy, too. We’ll fool your father, you hear. We’ll make him think everything’s just fine. All you got to do is act normal.”
It was too many words for Teddy to understand. Stop repeating, he knew.
“What happened to your hair, child?” The woman touched his curls. “It’s a tangled mess. Where’s your brush?”
Teddy hated having his hair brushed. He put his hands over his hair so she wouldn’t see it. She walked to the kitchen and started opening drawers.
“It’s gotta be here somewhere. Ah, this’ll work even better.”
She held up a pair of scissors. Scissors cut things. He remembered that, cutting, cutting, until Mom saw and got mad.
He touched the curls on his head, pulling one until he could see it in the corner of his eye. He liked the feel of his hair. It was attached to him. He didn’t like people to touch what was his. Everything that was his was part of his world — part of him. Touching those things meant touching him, and he hated being touched. It made him feel funny.
“All right, Wanda,” that other voice said, and he felt a tug on his hair.
He pulled away from the violation. He tried to reach for the scissors; he liked to cut things. But she tugged them away and grabbed some of his hair again. And then she snipped, and his hair fell to the carpet floor.
He opened his mouth to scream. But as usual, no sound came out.