Chapter Twenty-Two

 

 

 

It always started with the chattering of teeth. It always started soft, not frightening at all. It reminded him of castanets in a spastic fandango, but he always knew it wasn’t castanets. It was never castanets, though every time, even when he knew what was coming, he prayed that this time he’d be wrong, that this time he really would be dreaming about some fandango dancer with castanets that sounded like teeth chattering, just like in the cartoons. But it was never like the cartoons. It was nothing like the cartoons. The chatter of teeth was the only sound he heard. It was like the only sound his ears could register for so long, so very long, and all that eternity he had nothing to do, there was nothing he could do but lie there aware only of the icy burning of his side and the constant, endless castanets of chattering teeth as he waited for it. Then she spoke to him, her voice so strange in its effort to convince him everything would be all right. She believed it, maybe, but he’d been in this place long enough to know better. Still, he never had the heart to tell her. “Lie still, darling, just lie still. You’re injured. Someone will come for us soon. Lie still now and I’ll keep you warm.” She said that over and over through chattering teeth. Then the heaviness came upon him. At first, it was warm and pleasant, and he welcomed it. He wished she would stop talking, stop chattering and let him sleep. He was tired and cold and his teeth were chattering too, but he no longer felt the horrible pain in his side. All that was left was the smell of fire, burnt out and chilling on the wind. There had been wind, horrible, howling wind, but he hadn’t noticed it over the chattering of teeth. As the weight got heavier, the howling of the wind grew then the nightmare began. The nightmare always began when there was no more chattering teeth, when the castanets stopped, letting the howling wind in, and the weight pressed against him harder and harder and colder and colder. He screamed. Of course, he screamed. She said someone would come for them, but how could anyone know they were even here, and where was here? They were somewhere in the snow and ice, and the weight on top of him, it kept getting heavier and he couldn’t breathe. He screamed again and again, until the weight became so heavy that he couldn’t scream anymore. He couldn’t breathe anymore. All that was left was the consciousness of cold, dark weight that got heavier and heavier and he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move!

 

* * * *

 

It was the wild animal cry from the Sunrise suite that woke Kelly with a start. She sat up straight in the middle of the big bed, heart pounding. For a second, she didn’t know where she was. For another, she didn’t know what was going on, then another cry brought everything back to her. She was at Mountain View in the Meadowlark suite. She was tutoring Lex Valentine and he was having nightmares in the next room. She grabbed for the thick terry robe and threw it on over the tank and panties she’d fallen asleep in. In the time it took her to do that and orient herself, there was a loud thump in the next room and a gasp, followed by the opening and shutting of a door then footfalls in the hall. She tiptoed to the balcony and waited. Sure enough, Lex fled across the back garden as though he were being chased. He wore nothing but a pair of shorts, the scar along his side catching the moonlight like a pale stretch of ribbon snaking along his ribs, curving around his hip and low over his abdomen. A deep-throated moan that crescendoed and rose to a keening made gooseflesh rise along her spine. Dear God, the man was still asleep! Dillon and V and everyone at Mountain View knew of Lex’s nightmares and how best to cope with them. Surely she couldn’t have been the only one to hear his distress, but it was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. The decision was made in a split second, and she was out of her room, racing down the stairs into the garden. She’d expected him to turn toward his studio, but instead, he headed into the woods, into the sculpture garden. Heading into the woods and still asleep, he could seriously injure himself.

“Lex. Lex!” she hissed, speeding up to catch him. She wasn’t sure it was wise to wake him. Hell, she didn’t know what to do, so she sped up further, ignoring the odd pebble digging into her bare feet and the slap-slap of the dew-drenched grass against her calves.

She lost him for a moment as he ducked through the thicket and disappeared into the sculpture garden. She shoved and fought her way through behind him, raising her arm to keep the branches from smacking her in the face. The sculptures gleamed silver in the heavy moon and the light breeze made them appear to inhale and exhale and sigh. She shivered and tried not to think of ghosts and demon spirits. There was no sign of Lex among the sculptures she had seen when she was with him yesterday afternoon, but it was easy to see that there was a trail of sculptures disappearing into the woods along a curving path. The deeper into the trees she stumbled, however, the harder it was to see. The thrum of her pulse and the heavy drag of her breath drowned out all other sounds, and sweat trickled down her spine, cooling in the night breeze as she fought her way into the darkness, one hand stretched out before her, eyes open wide in an effort to let in as much light as possible.

When the same wounded animal cry pierced the air, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise, she stumbled forward on the uneven ground, ignoring the smack of branches and the gouge of pebbles. “Lex!” she called. Surely he’d hear her crashing through the thicket like a bull moose. “Lex!” But there was still no response. She shoved aside the branches of an oak and, to her relief, caught sight of him in the moonlight.

Her relief was short lived, though, when he dropped to his knees, held his head in his hand and cried out, “Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!” Then he shoved to his feet again and stumbled forward with way more speed than she would have thought possible under the circumstances, which were heart-stopping in themselves—him clearly still fast asleep and unaware that he was crashing through the woods in the dark in nothing but his shorts. She shoved through the undergrowth after him, all the horrible things that could befall a sleepwalker flashing through her head as she lost sight of him again.

With both of them stumbling through the trees, how could she possibly tell his thrashing about from her own? She stopped dead, holding her breath until it felt like her lungs would explode. Then she heard him just ahead of her, just beyond a couple of tall pine trees. She rushed forward, then the noise stopped.

She found him in a clearing obscured by several large rhododendrons. At first, she thought it was some sort of sarcophagus he knelt in front of, then she saw that it was, instead, a sculpture of a woman sleeping on a bed. She lay curled on her side, head resting in the crook of her elbow. The pose was so relaxed, so real that Kelly half expected to see her chest rising and falling in the moon glow filtering through the trees, the movement of light and shadow through the branches, adding to the illusion. At last, he came to his feet, his back turned to her.

“Lex,” she whispered. But he still didn’t hear her. He still slept. He bent over the woman and ran a finger along her cheek and down over the curve of her spine. Then he leaned forward and kissed her very softly on the mouth, as though he were afraid he might wake her. The sigh that escaped his lips was more of a sob. Then he climbed onto the stone bed next to her and curled his body around her like she was the love of his heart and he would now sleep with her in his arms. Kelly fought back her own sob at the sight of him. Once he had settled, taking pains to mold his body to fit the sculpture, seeing to her comfort before his, he gave a softer, more contented sigh, and, within seconds, his breathing slowed and he relaxed to restful, deep sleep.

Kelly approached on tiptoes, half fearing she’d wake him, half wishing she would. It wasn’t cold out. It was a clear summer night, but it was Oregon, the foothills of the Cascades. It wasn’t warm either. There was a rise of gooseflesh over his arm and down his flank. She was pretty sure it was no longer brought on by night terrors.

“Lex,” she said aloud, reaching out and almost touching him before she remembered not to. But then he was asleep. What could it hurt, to feel the rise and fall of him against her hand, to trace the scars, to smooth his hair? Though he couldn’t endure touch when he was awake, perhaps if he was already sleeping soundly it might ease him, comfort him on some deep, unconscious level. Intrigued by the idea, she reached out, but he shifted slightly and moaned in his sleep and she pulled back as though she had almost touched fire. It was an uninvited betrayal, no matter how sound her reasoning, and she stepped back out of temptation.

She had no way of knowing how long she stood watching him. Finally, she moved to sit on the other side of the woman, but as the night crawled on around her, she began to nod off as well. He had done this before, she was sure of it. He would be okay or someone else would have followed him out. Surely there had been a plan put into place to keep him safe, to make sure he didn’t harm himself when the night terrors came upon him, and even though the sculpture garden was his private place, she had no doubt that both Dillon and V were familiar with every sculpture, every little nook and hiding place that the sleep-walking Lex might get to. Perhaps there were even guards who kept watch at night just in case. They wouldn’t leave him vulnerable. They wouldn’t! And still she couldn’t go. She looked toward the house longingly, though in truth, she wasn’t sure she could find her way back in the night if she wanted to. Then she made a decision. She crawled up on the stone bed on the other side of the woman and did her best to settle, but seeing a goose-fleshed shoulder out of her peripheral vision, she heaved a sigh, slipped out of the oversized robe and spread it awkwardly over all three of them. There was just barely enough to cover her shoulders and, if she pulled her knees up under the stretchy tank top, she could scrunch into a fetal position and cover almost all exposed body parts. Once she got as comfortable as she possibly could under the circumstances, she closed her eyes and listened to the quiet in and out of his breath, wishing that she could take the woman’s place, wishing that he could find comfort in her flesh instead of having to seek it out in cold, hard stone. She would never sleep, keeping watch as she was. Probably V and Dillon would laugh at her in the morning, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t leave him vulnerable. That was her last thought before she drifted off.

 

* * * *

 

Her first thought as her consciousness rose to that level that wasn’t quite awake but was no longer sleep, either, was that someone was watching her. Her second thought was that she was cold and she ached all over. She opened her eyes to find Lex standing over her. He offered her a drowsy smile. “Coffee will be ready by now and something warm to eat.” He offered her the robe in his outstretched hand. “You must be freezing. I know I am.” He held her gaze. “Though not as cold as I sometimes am.”

She took the robe from him, careful to touch only the fabric, and slipped into it, mumbling incoherent appreciation between shivers.

“Thank you,” he said.

She mumbled something in return and followed him back to the house.