KATHERINE'S PROPHECY

by Scott Wittenburg

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Scott Wittenburg

Original Paperback version ©2005 Scott Wittenburg

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters and events of this book are entirely the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, or to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER 1

At six o’clock sharp, Emily Hoffman closed and locked the door to her antique shop. The unexpected snowstorm was raging now as she trudged down Peekskill Lane and spotted her old beige Volkswagen bus parked halfway down the block, covered by three inches of freshly fallen snow. When she reached the bus, Emily opened the door on the passenger side and took out the ice scraper lying on the floorboard. Working quickly, she began scraping the windows and observed the ease with which the powdery white stuff came off. Perfect skiing snow, she thought to herself as she finished the windshield and started clearing the windows on the driver’s side.

When she was done, Emily slid onto the cold vinyl seat and turned the key in the ignition tentatively, making a silent prayer that the battery wouldn’t be too cold to turn the engine over. The starter whined hesitantly at first—as if being aroused from a deep sleep—then sped up suddenly, long enough for the little engine to come to life with the distinctive putter-putt-putter sound that only a VW engine can make. Breathing a sigh of relief, Emily threw the gearshift lever into first and pulled away from the curb.

The interior of the bus was absolutely frigid and would remain that way for the entire duration of the three-mile drive to her house. But she loved the old bus in spite of its anemic heater and other shortcomings. It handled well in the snow and had plenty of space inside for hauling her antiques. She cleared away the frost formed by her breath on the windshield with the back of her hand and shivered to herself as she made a left-hand turn onto Hudson Street.

After driving ten blocks or so she reached the edge of town where Hudson Street became Route 17 and abruptly widened into a four-lane divided highway. Emily sped up to forty-five and found herself staring blankly at the two shafts of light emitted by her headlights as they sliced through the wild frenzy of blowing snow. Her mind was devoid of all thoughts save one—arriving at her house where it would be warm and cozy inside.

Emily drove a little over a mile and a half on the highway before turning left onto Mountainview Road. A quarter of a mile further the road forked as she bore right onto a narrow unmarked road and slowed down to a complete stop beside her mailbox. She reached inside and pulled out the mail and a newspaper, tossed the parcels onto the passenger seat then pulled away.

Within forty yards or so, the road began its steep incline up the mountain. Emily accelerated briskly to ensure herself enough momentum to negotiate the climb, being careful not to get the rear wheels spinning excessively and possibly cause the bus to sway sideways. There was a three-foot deep drainage ditch running along the left side of the road and a steep embankment to the right. Although the bus had snow tires, Emily knew that coming to a near stop at any time would most likely result in disaster—her fate dependent upon which side of the road the bus happened to slide toward at the time.

About two-thirds up the mountain the road leveled off for a short distance before resuming its ascent. When Emily reached this portion, she glanced to her right and could see the faint glow of lights coming from her house through a partial clearing in the trees. She unconsciously sped up a little in anticipation of arriving soon at her warm home.

Moments later, Emily pulled up beside her house and shut off the engine. The three story Victorian was well lit from the outside by several floodlights she had recently installed and the added illumination now played upon the falling snow and the surroundings, creating a wintry scene that looked like something out of a fairy tale. Breathing a sigh of exhilaration, Emily grabbed her mail before getting out and making her way over to the side door. As she stuck her key into the lock, she heard the excited barks of a dog coming from inside. She opened the door and was immediately greeted by a frisky black and white springer spaniel, its tail wagging furiously in response to the arrival of her master.

“Why hello there, Cassie! And how is my little puppy doing? Have you missed me today? Mommy sure has missed you! And I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

Emily knelt down and received a barrage of puppy kisses from Cassie, causing her to laugh out loud.

“Why thank you, girl! I love you, too!”

She stood up and held the door open long enough for Cassie to scamper out into the snow to relieve herself then called her back inside. Cassie followed her through the foyer into the spacious, well-appointed kitchen and waited impatiently for Emily to pour some dog food into her bowl before wolfing it down hungrily.

Emily removed her coat and slung it over one of the kitchen chairs. Stepping out onto the porch, she knelt down and gathered up a few good-sized logs and carried them back inside. With an exhausted grunt, she strode through the house to the den where she placed the logs in a pile on the massive stone hearth.

With Cassie at her heels, Emily led the way upstairs to the bathroom. She stepped over to the ancient four-legged cast iron bathtub and got the water running then went down the long hall to her bedroom. After removing her clothes, she grabbed the terry cloth robe lying near the foot of the bed and threw it on before retracing her steps back to the bathroom.

Cassie was curled up on the tile floor by the tub as Emily closed the door and sampled the water temperature. After sprinkling in some bath oil beads, she stepped over to the full-length mirror and removed her robe.

She stood there for a few moments, observing her body in a critical manner. She examined her skin—still soft, smooth, and youthful in spite of her age. Her muscle tone was still good—firm, no fat, and no sags. And her figure had maintained its youthful schoolgirl appearance; slim waist, slender hips, and small but well-rounded breasts. Emily resented her shortness of stature, but had learned to live with it—making up for her lack of height by her outward strength, which was considerable for her tiny size.

But Emily’s physical appearance was of no real concern to her; so long as she didn’t somehow let herself get fat or out of shape. Her mind and state of mind, however, were a different matter. She was more than adequately intelligent with an inherent thirst for knowledge and an insatiable appetite for learning that had to be constantly challenged and nurtured. She possessed a keen interest in the past—to learn all she could about given historic events in an attempt to relate their significance to the present and determine why things have come to be the way they are. She’d had this almost obsessive interest in the past for practically as long as she could remember—even as child—but in the past several years it had become more defined and focused. This was because she had since become obsessed by more than just the past per se. She had in fact become all but consumed by a particular family’s past to be more concise . . .

That of her own family.

Emily turned away from the mirror and stepped into the bathtub, gingerly eased herself down into the steaming water. With a long sigh, she lay back in the tub and closed her eyes, feeling her muscles relax and her skin responding to the hot oily water. She remained that way for a full ten minutes, reveling in the sensual pleasure that a hot bath afforded on a cold wintry night, totally oblivious to the snowstorm raging outside.

Having finished bathing, Emily toweled herself off and slipped into her robe. She returned to her bedroom and sat down at the antique vanity long enough to comb out her hair, then put on her house slippers and headed downstairs to the den.

The den was large and cozy with knotty pine walls and hardwood floors. Huge wood beams ran the length of the room, lending to it a rustic, natural ambiance. Virtually all of the furnishings were antiques: a sofa, a matching pair of bent wood rocking chairs, a coffee table with meticulously carved and etched legs, and an overstuffed Victorian chair which sat directly in front of the hearth. An oak bookcase containing numerous volumes of books, periodicals, and two different sets of encyclopedias sat on one side of the room and took up nearly the entire length of the wall. On the opposite side, an enormous picture window offered a panoramic view of the tree-lined side yard, now bathed in light from the floods.

Emily placed a few logs in the fireplace and stuffed a bunch of old newspapers under the grating before igniting the paper with a match. When she was certain that the logs would catch, she went back into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. Moments later she returned to the den and stoked the fire a few times with a poker before plopping herself down into the comfortable chair.

Emily took a sip of coffee and stared vacantly at the burgeoning fire, her legs crossed and her elbows resting upon her knees. She started thinking about the house—how empty and quiet it seemed now; more so than it ever had before. She glanced down at Cassie lying on the braided rug and realized with a sudden pang of remorse that no one other than herself and her faithful companion had been inside the house since her father’s funeral six months ago. Tears began welling up in her eyes but she shut them tightly, stifling the impending urge to cry.

Although Emily regretted her father’s death, she didn’t miss him in the least. She only wished things could have turned out differently than they had. If only he would have moved away and left her alone, she thought. Then she would have been freed and could have a clear conscience now. That’s what bothered her the most; the fact that her father’s passing was the only reason for her liberation from him—as opposed to a kinder alternative which might have yielded the same result.

Now she felt guilty. She knew in her heart that if she had to do it all over again, she still wouldn’t have done anything any differently. There simply had been no other alternative. The plain and simple truth of the matter was this: Charles Hoffman had been a selfish, uncaring, manipulative bastard. He had cared about one thing and one thing only: himself. Had he ever cared about anyone besides himself?

Her mother had always tried so hard to smooth things over; to make things seem better than they really were. But Emily knew better, and she knew that her mother had known better as well

Again, the overwhelming urge to cry came and passed as Emily thought about her mother. Although she had only been ten years old when her mother had passed away, the memories of her were still very vivid. She had been a remarkably gentle and loving person. And she had struggled so valiantly to try and bring her family closer together. But in the process, she had sacrificed everything—her pride, her dignity, her very person. How many times had she seen her mother with bruises all over her body from all the beatings he had given her? How many times had she seen her verbally assaulted by him—reduced to a whimpering, frightened woman stripped of her self-esteem while he stood there arrogantly blaming her for his own mistakes? That was the bitter irony of all. Her father had been so self-righteous that he wouldn’t even consider the possibility that he himself might have done something wrong. And the sickening thing was that on many occasions, he actually had her mother believing that it was all her fault.

Caroline Hoffman’s untimely death had left Emily devastated beyond comprehension. Suddenly, she had lost her best friend and the only person she had ever truly loved. Also gone was the force that had been keeping Emily safe from her abusive father. Without her mother there to smooth out the edges and cushion the blows, Emily had suddenly found herself all but neglected in a cold, unloving home; absolutely terrified of her own father.

Fortunately, not long after her mother’s death, her grandfather had suddenly entered the picture and managed to make Emily feel a little more optimistic about things. Up until then, Warren Hoffman had pretty much remained in the shadows, rarely visiting his son’s family at the mountaintop house that, ironically, he himself had built and lived in while raising his only child. Furthermore, Charles had all but forbidden Emily to visit Grandpa Warren in the past, thus making it virtually impossible for her to get to know him throughout her young life. Emily hadn’t known why at the time, but her father and grandfather had virtually estranged themselves from one another. In fact, with the exception of business matters at the mill, they had rarely even spoken to one another.

Emily had once asked her mother why her father and Grandpa Warren didn’t like each other and had been told that it only seemed that way because the two men had differing opinions on how the mill should be run, which had put a strain on their relationship. But, her mother had gone on to say, they truly did like each other in spite of how things appeared. Emily sensed that her mother was hedging the truth, and it wasn’t until many years later that she finally discovered the true reason for the animosity between Charles and Warren Hoffman.

During the summer following her mother’s death, Emily began visiting her grandfather frequently and eventually grew very fond of the kind old man. She also became quite close to Miss Rutledge, the elderly woman who had lived with him. She hadn’t been sure of their relationship at that time, only that Miss Rutledge had been a close friend to Grandpa Warren’s deceased wife, Katherine—the grandmother Emily had never known who had passed away many years ago.

Her grandfather mentioned Grandma Katherine from time to time and Emily could tell by the way he spoke—his voice often shaky and filled with emotion—that he missed his wife and must have loved her a great deal. He told Emily that she reminded him of her and on one day had shown her a photograph of Katherine which had been taken when she’d been around her own age. Emily had stood there in utter disbelief when she saw the picture—the resemblance was uncanny. As a result of this incident, Emily suddenly found herself wanting to know more about this long-deceased relative who had so much resembled her.

Although her grandfather had seemed hesitant at first, Miss Rutledge finally managed to persuade him to answer some of Emily’s questions. In the process, she learned that Grandma Katherine had been raised by Miss Rutledge’s mother, who had become her legal guardian after Katherine’s parents perished in a house fire while she was still an infant. Miss Rutledge had been a few years older than Katherine, and the two had been just like sisters to each other.

Years later, Grandpa Warren had fallen in love with Katherine while she was still quite young and the two had gotten married. Her grandfather had built this house on the mountain because Katherine had wanted to live near her parent’s ashes, which had been scattered over the site of their fire-ravaged home.

Emily had never heard of cremation before so she asked Miss Rutledge why Katherine’s parent’s bodies had been cremated instead of placed in coffins and buried in the ground. Miss Rutledge explained that her mother had been a close friend to Clem and Nancy Porter, Katherine’s parents, and had felt that they would have wanted it that way. She went on to say that many people believed that their souls entered their next life sooner by being cremated, as opposed to having their mortal remains buried in the earth.

When Emily asked her grandfather exactly where on the mountain the Porters’ house had been, he had looked at Miss Rutledge peculiarly, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to answer her. Miss Rutledge had answered for him. She told Emily that the remains of the Porter house could be found further up the mountain from her own house, and suggested that she ask her father to take her up there sometime.

When Emily had returned home that day, it suddenly occurred to her that her father had only rarely mentioned his mother in the past and that there weren’t even any pictures of her anywhere in the house. This, she decided, seemed very odd and she wondered why it was so.

Later that evening, she had approached her father and asked him why he never talked about Grandma Katherine. He’d balked for a moment then replied that he’d never known his mother since she had died shortly after giving birth to him. Emily asked him why there weren’t any pictures of her in the house. He appeared to be very uncomfortable with this question and had simply replied that his father kept all of his mother’s pictures.

Then she asked him if he thought she looked like Grandma Katherine. His face had turned beet-red and he just stood there glaring at her and offered no response. In spite of his mounting anger, Emily had asked him one final question: would he take her to the old house where her great-grandparents’ ashes were scattered?

To this he had snapped back, “How in the hell did you find out about that?”

Then he had slapped her hard across her face and stormed out of the room. Moments later she could hear him yelling at someone on the telephone and she knew that it was her grandfather on the other end of the line.

After this incident, Emily had found herself even more intrigued with her grandmother and her past. She suddenly had a suspicious feeling that there was a lot more to all of this than she was being told; taking into account her father’s defiant behavior and angry reaction to her questions. She also became aware of something that had only fueled her curiosity even more. Her grandfather and Miss Rutledge had suddenly refrained from discussing her grandmother the next time she visited them. This, she knew, was because her father had ordered them to do so.

Emily felt cheated because she wasn’t being told something that she felt she had a right to know. During one of her visits thereafter, she’d taken Miss Rutledge aside and asked her why she and her grandfather no longer spoke of Grandma Katherine. Miss Rutledge explained that her grandfather sometimes got upset by all of the talk because it often stirred up certain memories that he had a difficult time dealing with. Emily had an odd feeling that Miss Rutledge had wanted to expound on this, but had for some reason decided against it.

Not long after this incident, something unusual had occurred. Emily had been taking a bath one evening when her father had suddenly entered the bathroom—as he often did back then—and apologized for slapping her on the night that she’d asked him about the Porter house. It was the only time Emily could remember her father ever apologizing for striking her. He then told her that if it meant so much to her to go see the old house, that she had his permission; but that she would have to go without him.

Emily couldn’t believe her ears. Her father proceeded to give her directions on how to get to the house and cautioned her to be careful out on the mountain. Emily had been so thrilled that she threw her arms around him and kissed him, confused but elated at her father’s rare gesture of kindness.

Little did she know at the tender age of ten that her father’s intentions hadn’t been quite what she had perceived them to be . . .

A log suddenly shifted in the fireplace, causing Emily to flinch. She stood up and reached for the poker then rearranged the logs before settling down again. Cassie had awakened and hopped up into the chair beside her, resting her head on her lap. Emily petted her comfortingly as she stared vacantly into the flames.

The next day, she had gotten up bright and early and set out to find the remains of the old house. She traversed the sprawling backyard until she spotted the obscured path that her father had referred to and followed it. After several yards, the path widened somewhat and resembled a dirt road more than a footpath. Emily soon found herself ambling along at a leisurely pace in spite of her anticipation; enthralled at the quiet beauty afforded by this new, uncharted territory. The air was cooler in the forest, the towering trees shadowing out the harsh rays of the summer sun, and the only sounds were that of an occasional songbird singing and the leaves of the trees rustling in the breeze.

She had hiked nearly a mile when all of a sudden she spotted a clearing in the forest ahead of her. She quickened her pace until she reached the edge of the clearing then stood there for several moments frozen in her tracks.

Before her stood the charred remains of her great-grandparents’ house, its most prominent feature being a tall stone chimney surrounded by the ashen rubble scattered within the foundation. She stood there for several moments, transfixed, and an eerie feeling swept over her, causing her to suddenly feel lightheaded and anxious.

She drew closer to the ruins, taking one precarious step at a time until she was only a dozen feet away from the perimeter. Across from the house and to her left, she could see the remains of what had once been a shed or a barn, now a pile of gray weather-beaten lumber lying in a heap from where the roof had given way and caved in. She gazed back toward the house and spotted an outhouse off to the side about twenty feet away, which had somehow escaped the fire and looked as though a light breeze could blow it over at any moment. An old well with its spigot and pump arm still intact stood to her right between her and the foundation.

Emily could see from the remains that the house had been very plain—one story with no more than two or three rooms—and devoid of any modern conveniences such as plumbing or electricity. She finally gathered up the courage to step into the boundaries of the foundation itself, feeling as though she were trespassing on hollowed ground. She stepped gingerly amongst the charred rubble in hopes of finding something which might give her a clue as to what it had been like living in the house so many years ago, but soon discovered that everything had been well picked-over through the years. She went over to the fireplace and found an old fork blackened by soot and picked it up then wiped it off on her blouse in hope of finding an engraving of some kind. But the fork was devoid of any markings, so she stuck it in her back pocket and continued combing through the debris. Finally, after another half-hour or so, she gave up her search.

Feeling somewhat disconcerted, she went over to the edge of the clearing and discovered a footpath that led further into the woods. She followed the path for a distance of about fifty yards to where it suddenly cut down the side of a steep ravine. She peered down into the ravine and could see a creek at the bottom, the sound of its swift current audible from where she stood. After a few moments, she turned around and headed back to the clearing.

Emily remained at the site for another hour or so, sitting on a log and staring pensively at the ruins. She thought about Katherine and her parents, who had once inhabited this house all those years ago until a fire had ended their lives together. She felt sorry for her grandmother, who had never even known her parents. It was odd, but she suddenly felt closer to Grandma Katherine after having finally visited this place. She felt drawn in; compelled to stay there—as if her presence held some kind of purpose. Her anxiety had abated, and she in fact suddenly felt a sense of security and peacefulness sitting amidst the long forsaken remnants of her family’s past. When Emily finally stood up to leave, she knew that she would return. Little had she known at that point in time just how significant that fact would come into play over the years to come.

The next time she visited her grandfather and Miss Rutledge, Emily told Miss Rutledge about her visit to the house while her grandfather was out of the room. Miss Rutledge had an odd expression on her face when she showed her the fork that she’d found, and she had said something that puzzled her—that she had obviously inherited another one of Katherine’s traits: a boundless curiosity. Miss Rutledge told her that some day, when she was old enough to understand, she would tell her all about her Grandma Katherine. Emily, of course, had argued that she was already old enough to understand—that she was already ten years old and soon would be eleven—but Miss Rutledge had just smiled and said that she still needed a few more years yet. Her grandfather had suddenly entered the room and the subject was promptly dismissed, not to be addressed again for quite some time.

Not long after her initial visit to the old house, Emily’s father had hired Miss Cooper to be her live-in nanny as well as housekeeper. From the very first moment she’d laid eyes on her, Emily knew that she wasn’t going to like her. She was elderly—around sixty or so—and seemed overly stern and domineering as she immediately made it quite clear that she was to be the new boss around the house.

To make matters worse, Emily learned some time afterwards that she was to be sent to a boarding school once summer had ended, instead of being allowed to return to her old school in Ashland Falls. It was an all-girl’s school, no less, located further upstate in Albany.

Suddenly, her life was being turned upside down with all of these changes. She had pleaded with her father to let her stay in Ashland Falls but he refused to budge. He told her that he wanted his daughter to have the very best education available, and that The Andover School For Girls was recognized as one of the finest schools of its kind in the Northeast. She had then turned to Grandpa Warren for help, hoping that he could somehow change her father’s mind. But that had been like putting out fire with gasoline.

Feeling helpless and depressed, Emily had spent the remainder of that summer withdrawn and for the most part alone. She went out to the old house frequently, finding solace in its quiet, enchanting sanctity. She occasionally played with her friends but preferred being with her grandfather and Miss Rutledge instead, visiting them as often as she could. By the summer’s end, living at home had become unbearable between Miss Cooper’s constant nagging and her father’s sudden strange and erratic behavior. He left town frequently for days at a time, leaving her alone at the mercy of Miss Cooper. When he was home, he kept to himself for the most part; but rarely failed making an appearance in the bathroom at night while she was taking her bath. This had become a sort of ritual throughout the summer and Emily hadn’t really known what to make of it at the time—except that he was actually nice to her for a change as he helped her to bathe and she would always be on her guard not to do anything that might spoil his mood. But something about this ritual had never seemed quite right, and it often gave her the creeps whenever she allowed herself to dwell on it for any length of time.

Finally, in the fall, she was shipped off to boarding school. It had been very difficult at first; the teachers and the rules were regimental and strict, and the girls all seemed snobby. But she eventually found herself lost in her studies and adjusted. She made some friends and excelled in her courses. She went home rarely, only on major holidays, when her father would come up and act like he was glad to see her then spend the remainder of the drive back to Ashland Falls asking about her grades. Once they arrived home, everything would return to the way it had always been before—her father making himself scarce and leaving her all alone with Miss Cooper the hag.

Christmas had always been Emily’s favorite time of year, but her first Christmas since her mother’s death had been anything but joyous. Her father had always looked upon Christmas as a big nuisance anyway, and without her mother there to make it something special, he merely went through the motions as if he couldn’t wait to get it all over with. He set up an artificial tree (they had always gotten a real tree when her mother was alive), and he gave Emily a zillion presents, as if to make up for lifetime of neglect in one giant heap of generosity. Emily saw through this—but pretended to be grateful for the gifts that she would have gladly traded in for a warm hug and some kind of genuine expression of love from her father.

It was during this particular Christmas vacation, on New Year’s Eve, when it happened.

Her father had raped her.

And the nightmares began.

CHAPTER 2

Emily felt the tears well up in her eyes and the fire became a blur. As the events of that night raced through her mind she felt the impulsive urge to break down and cry. But she didn’t. Her sorrow turned to anger instead.

Her father had violated her. The man who had all but discarded her and abused poor Mother had gone one step further and committed the ultimate act of selfishness. He had raped his own daughter. And she had been no more than a child.

In an act of sheer will and determination, Emily completely blotted this grim reality from her mind, just as she had so many times before. Her eyes became lucid again. With a shrug of her shoulders, she glanced down at Cassie’s head resting on her lap. She was fast asleep.

Her thoughts shifted back to the period following her graduation from Andover. She’d been accepted at Yale on the strength of her academic status: a perfect 4.0 average. She had planned on a history major at the time but had mixed feelings about rushing into college so soon. She debated staying at home for a year, just to relax and ponder her options for the future. But the prospect of living with her father day-in and day-out at eighteen years of age was just too much to fathom, so she had enrolled at Yale in the fall.

Her first year of college had gone well, scholastically speaking. She excelled in most of her courses and made the dean’s list. She seldom socialized, preferring her studies over the numerous activities offered on campus. She made a few casual friends but dated no one—politely turning down the numerous offers she received by making the first excuse that popped into her head at the moment. She was often asked by her friends why she never went out with any of the guys on campus and her reply had always been the same: she had just gotten over a bad relationship with a boy back home and needed some time to “air-out” before even considering dating anyone again. This was the same pat excuse she’d used throughout high school and it had never failed her.

She spent the summer following her freshman year doing a lot of soul-searching and came to realize that being away at college had made her homesick. Her father had been away more often than usual that summer, leaving her virtually alone in the house for the first time in her life. Miss Cooper, who no longer lived at the house, had nonetheless remained his housekeeper and came to clean two afternoons a week.

Emily had reveled in this new solitude and enjoyed the freedom of living in the big house all by herself. She took up gardening, tried her hand at canning, and spent hours on end taking long walks on the mountain—particularly to the old Porter house. She continued her voracious reading habits and had eventually amassed quite a library of historical literature.

When she resumed classes in the fall of that year, it had been with considerable regret. After only a couple of weeks she found herself longing to be back home again. Her grades started slipping, and had it not been for her keen interest in history she probably would have dropped out of school before the year was over. But she had managed to hang in through spring quarter.

That’s when she met Ted.

Ted Chalmers was in pre-law and had asked her out repeatedly throughout spring quarter. In spite of her constant refusals, he had finally managed to coax her into going out to dinner with him—only after Emily had made it clear that she was accepting his offer on a friendly basis and had no intentions of letting it go beyond that. He’d taken her to an expensive restaurant off-campus and she’d ended up having a much better time than she’d thought she would. She enjoyed Ted’s company and found herself telling him things that she’d never told anybody else before. He had kept his end of the bargain too, behaving like a perfect gentleman and accepting a handshake when he’d dropped her off at her dorm instead of expecting something more. Ted’s chivalry had impressed her immensely.

They had become good friends from that day on. They frequently went out to dinner and studied together either at Ted’s apartment or in her dorm. Emily was surprised and delighted at how well they got along, especially considering the fact that he was a guy. It was an entirely new experience for her—she had always been wary of males before then—but she felt that Ted was different than the rest. She knew that she could trust him and always felt safe when he was around. And not once did he try to come on to her. He seemed perfectly content with their platonic relationship.

Near the end of spring quarter, Emily decided to go out on a limb and invited Ted to go back with her to Ashland Falls for a few days; to check out the little town in the Catskills she’d told him so much about. Ted happily accepted her invitation but confessed that he was a little leery of what her father might think of the idea. Emily explained that her father was rarely at home and assured Ted that even if he was, he probably wouldn’t object to the arrangement. After all, she asserted, they were just friends and he would be staying in one of the spare bedrooms.

So when finals were over they had headed down to Ashland Falls, Ted following Emily in his car. But when she pulled into the driveway and saw her father’s BMW there, Emily’s heart skipped a beat. She honestly hadn’t expected him to be home. In a flash, she realized that she’d made a huge mistake bringing Ted home but at the same time knew it was too late to do anything about it. Her only hope had been that her father would be civil about everything.

He wasn’t.

Emily could still see the hideous look of absolute fury on his face the moment she had taken Ted into the den and introduced him. She could remember glancing over at Ted and seeing the utter dread in his eyes as he stood there wondering what he’d let her drag him into.

To this day, Emily still had no idea how she had mustered up the gall (or would stupidity be a better word?) to announce that Ted was to be her guest in the house for a few days. Whatever it was that had motivated her, she’d known as soon as the words left her mouth that she had done a very foolish thing—

Her father had gone absolutely berserk.

He started screaming at her vehemently, called her a whore and a slut and smacked her hard across her face. He declared that she wasn’t going to fuck anyone in his house as long as he was alive to do something about it. Then he’d glared threateningly at Ted, adding that she especially wasn’t going to fuck “this egg-headed asshole.”

Ted had become enraged and took a swing at her father, but Charles was too quick for him. He slugged Ted so hard that he’d fallen back into the bookcase and hit his head, practically knocking him unconscious. Then he had stormed out of the room in a maniacal rage.

Emily had run over to check on Ted. Once he assured her that he was okay, Ted told her that all he wanted was to get the hell out of her house before her lunatic father came back to finish him off. Emily’s fear turned to anger once it had fully registered what her father had just done.

She had taken Ted out to his car and told him to wait for her then went back into the house. She found her father in his bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking as though he’d just see a ghost. He was pale and his eyes were staring straight ahead, blank and distant. Emily announced to him that she was moving away—getting away from him forever. Instead of lashing out at her as she’d expected, he just sat there staring vacantly at the wall. Then he calmly declared that she would never follow through with it. Emily knew that he was right, but wasn’t about to admit it. So instead of retaliating, she told him that she was going to check Ted into the hotel in town and that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. This hadn’t seemed to faze Charles at all. He merely replied quietly that she was probably right.

This had been just one of many instances when Emily had seriously pondered the possibility that her father was quite insane.

She met Ted outside and asked him to follow her into town. She told him he could stay at the Ashland Falls Inn and that they could still have a good time in spite of her father. Ted hadn’t been very keen to the idea and suggested that perhaps it would be better if he just left town and headed back to his home in Baltimore. But Emily was adamant—she wasn’t about to let her father spoil her plans. So Ted checked into the hotel.

For the next few days, Emily had the best time she’d had in her entire life. She and Ted hadn’t done anything particularly exciting; it was just the fact that she was getting out and doing things with a male companion whom she was very fond of on her home turf that had been so fulfilling. At night, they made the rounds through town, hanging out with the locals, and catching a movie at the town’s only movie theater. She’d taken Ted over to her grandfather’s house and it became more than obvious that both Grandpa Warren and Miss Rutledge were overjoyed to see her with a man and enjoying herself for a change.

At one point during the visit, Miss Rutledge had taken her aside and asked her if she was serious about Ted. Emily laughed and told her that they were just good friends. The look of disappointment on Miss Rutledge’s face had been more than evident, and Emily wondered at the time why she’d been so affected by her reply.

Just before she and Ted had left, her grandfather had given her a hug and told her he loved her. Then he’d asked her to wait a moment while he went into his study to get something. He’d returned with a framed portrait of Grandma Katherine and handed it to her. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he explained to her that the portrait had been taken not long before she’d passed away, and that he wanted Emily to keep it. Emily had tried to hide her shock at seeing the remarkable resemblance between herself and her grandmother as she thanked him and began weeping herself, telling him that she loved him and that she would treasure the portrait forever.

It was the last time Emily saw her grandfather alive.

On the fifth day of Ted’s visit, Emily had suggested that they take a picnic out on the mountain. She’d learned from Miss Cooper that her father was out of town on business and wouldn’t be back for several days. Emily packed a lunch complete with a chilled bottle of wine then the two had set out for the woods.

It had been an absolutely gorgeous day; sunny and warm, yet still early enough in the season not to be humid. Emily had considered taking Ted to the old house but decided against it since she hadn’t told him about her family’s past and didn’t want to have to try and explain the ruins to him. So she opted to take him to one of the more scenic areas of the mountain that she had frequented—a clearing near the western ridge that offered a spectacular view of the Hudson valley.

They had reached the clearing in a little less than half an hour. Emily spread a blanket out beneath one of the trees and went about preparing their lunch.

Emily had never been much of a drinker. One drink was normally enough to get her tipsy and much more than that usually got her downright drunk. They each drank a glass of wine with their meal and when Ted offered to refill Emily’s glass she declined. He’d seemed annoyed by this, Emily noticed, but he said nothing. He poured himself another glass and drained it then poured another one.

Emily began noticing a gradual change in Ted as they sat there in relative silence, taking in the beauty and tranquility of the surroundings. It was in his eyes; the way he looked over at her from time to time. It was a sort of wild, hungry look and it started to frighten her. Twice she’d caught him staring down at her breasts, and she suddenly wished she had chosen something other than the white tee shirt, sans bra, that she had worn. Each time she caught Ted staring, he sort of snickered at her in a scary way then turned his head away from her—pretending to be absorbed in the scenery.

She started feeling even more uncomfortable when Ted had poured himself the last of the wine. Something inside told her that things were going wrong—that Ted was breaking down and suddenly had more on his mind than friendship. She tried telling herself that perhaps she was just imagining these things; that surely Ted would never break her trust in him. Surely, she thought, she was just imagining all of this. But that look in his eyes, the way he kept looking at her . . .

All of a sudden Ted had thrown his arms around her and pressed his lips hard against hers. She tried to break away, but couldn’t. He lunged forward, causing her to fall back onto the ground with him on top of her. She screamed out his name and for a fleeting moment he merely stared at her; his eyes wild and vacant—like those of a hungry shark.

She started beating his back with her fists then dug her fingernails into him, but he never even flinched. One of his hands slid in under her shirt and grabbed her breast as his other hand yanked down her walking shorts. Her mind was reeling by then and she started screaming at the top of her lungs, knowing full well that no one would ever hear her.

Then she felt a finger enter her. Her shorts were pulled down to her knees as he took his hand away from her breast and started pulling down her panties. His strength was incredible as he pinned her hard against the ground with his chest, making her arms feel powerless under the pressure of his weight.

He yanked down her panties and shorts to her ankles and somehow managed to slide them over her feet, keeping her pinned down at the same time. Then he raised himself up from her just enough to undo his jeans, resting his weight on an outstretched arm.

This had been her only chance.

With every ounce of strength she had, she rammed her knee into his crotch, causing Ted to let out a bloodcurdling scream and fall to her side. In an instant she was on her feet. As Ted brought his hands to his crotch in agony, she kicked him in the face with her foot as hard as she could. Then, she ran.

She reached her house in what seemed like seconds and bolted into the kitchen. She was sobbing hysterically as she stood over the kitchen sink trying to catch her breath. She took a glass out of the cupboard, filled it with water and drank it down before realizing that she was naked from the waist down. She shuddered to herself in horror and ran up into her bedroom to throw on a pair of jeans before going back downstairs to await Ted’s return.

As she stood by the back door staring out the window, Emily had no idea what to expect; whether Ted would be running, walking, or crawling back to her. She only knew that he had to come out of the forest sometime.

She’d waited about forty-five minutes when Ted finally appeared. She spotted him just as he emerged from the woods and stepped onto her back yard. His stride was unsteady and slow, his hand holding something white against the side of his face. As he limped across the yard, she could see that he was staring at the house, perhaps in an effort to map out his next move. Her heart started pounding faster as he drew closer.

When he was about twenty yards away, he spotted her standing there and stopped dead in his tracks. He hollered her name and asked her to open the door.

Emily hesitated for a moment then opened the door a few inches and stuck her head out. She could see that his left cheek was bleeding where she’d kicked him and cringed when she realized that the cloth he was holding against it was her panties—now soaked with his blood.

Emily could tell by the expression on his face that he meant her no further harm. In fact, it looked as though he’d been crying—either out of shame for what he’d done or from the pain he no doubt was experiencing. She really wasn’t sure which was the case.

Ted started apologizing to her vehemently and begged her to forgive him. He told her he didn’t know what had gotten into him—he’d simply lost control of himself after all the wine he’d drunk. Emily remained silent as he spoke and merely stared at him until he was finished saying what he had to say. Then she calmly ordered him off her property and told him that she never wanted to see him again. She closed the door, locked it, and waited until Ted got into his car and left. Then she had gone upstairs and taken a long hot bath.

She never saw Ted Chalmers again . . .

Emily felt a lump come to her throat after recalling that day. She knew now what she hadn’t realized then; that she had fallen in love with Ted Charmers but at the time had hidden it from herself. And had what occurred on that Sunday afternoon never happened, she might have seen things turn out differently then they had.

But Ted had blown it. And ever since that day she had never trusted another man. She never would again.

Emily glanced over at the mantle at the portrait of Grandma Katherine her grandfather had given her on the last day she’d seen him alive. She missed him so much and wished that he could be with her now, holding her in his arms and reassuring her that everything was going to be all right. He’d always had that calming affect on her and, in retrospect, she realized now that Grandpa Warren had been the true father figure in her life—the father that her real father had never been. She silently cursed Charles under her breath for keeping her away from her grandfather as long as he had and depriving her of someone who had meant so much to her.

It had been less than a week after the incident with Ted when Miss Rutledge had called and told her that her grandfather had passed away. He’d had a massive heart attack earlier that morning. Her father had been in the room at the time and asked her why she was crying. When she told him what had happened, she couldn’t believe the look on his face. Not a look of shock or grief—but a look of jubilation, carefully masked by an expression of mock remorse. But he hadn’t fooled her for one second.

In his will, Warren Hoffman left to his only son, Charles, all interests to Hoffman Textiles and the remainder of his assets, with the exception of his home in Ashland Falls, which he left to Dorothy Ann Rutledge. Also, he left to his granddaughter, Emily Hoffman, the sum of $75,000.

But Emily later learned from Miss Rutledge that her grandfather had intended to have his will rewritten. The new will would have left Hoffman Textiles to her father and Emily jointly, with the added stipulation that Emily would own 51% of the interests and her father the remaining 49%. The purpose of this would have been to prevent her father from selling the business, which her grandfather suspected that he might well do. In order for him to sell out, her father would have to either acquire Emily’s consent or buy out her interests in order to do so, which would have been virtually impossible for him to do. Miss Rutledge told Emily that her grandfather had always been slow in doing things and although he’d mentioned changing his will several times throughout the years, he’d never gotten around to it.

This revelation had haunted Emily for the last ten years. She had thought to herself on numerous occasions: if only—

But Hoffman Textiles became her father’s legal possession and when this became common knowledge around town, the rumors started flying that Charles Hoffman might sell out. Emily had little doubt that he was going to sell—she’d heard him talking on the phone to several investors over the next few weeks after her grandfather’s funeral. But she had been under the impression that he was trying to find someone to take over ownership of the mill, and never in her wildest dreams thought that he would sellout completely—lock, stock, and barrel. When he had indeed sold the family business to land developers and Hoffman Textiles was subsequently leveled to the ground, Emily had been just as shocked as everyone else.

It was during the period between her grandfather’s death and the shutdown of the mill that Miss Rutledge had called Emily and invited her over to her house. She told her that she wanted her to look over several items that her grandfather had left that she might be interested in having.

It was on this particular day that Emily learned what had been kept from her all those years concerning her Grandmother Katherine.

Emily could still see the stern, deliberate look on Miss Rutledge’s face as she recalled that ominous day of revelation . . .

CHAPTER 3

Emily had no sooner arrived at her grandfather’s house, which now belonged to Miss Rutledge, when she was led into the living room and asked to sit down by her aging host. Miss Rutledge took a seat on the sofa across from her and cleared her throat ceremoniously.

“I have asked you over, Emily, because there are a few things I feel compelled to tell you now that your grandfather has passed on—God rest his soul. Warren and I both were beside ourselves for years debating whether we should or should not tell you what I’m about to say, and I must confess that it hasn’t been an easy decision to make. But I feel, and have always felt, that you should know these things because you have the right to know, if for no other earthly reason. I also feel it may shed some light on a few things and help you to understand why circumstances have come to be as they are.

“You already know part of the story concerning your grandmother, Katherine Hoffman, and how she was raised by my mother after her parents perished in the fire that destroyed their home. What you don’t know is that your grandmother had been inside that house while it was burning and that she had been rescued by your great-grandfather, John Hoffman, Warren’s father. John Hoffman had been coon hunting on the mountain alone that night when he discovered that the house was on fire. He ran over to the house, which had been engulfed in flames by that time, and went inside in an effort to save anyone who might still be alive. Clem and Nancy Porter, Katherine’s parents, were already dead but their infant daughter miraculously was unharmed. John quickly snatched up little Katherine and fled the house just before the roof had fallen in.

“John Hoffman had been quite close to Clem Porter’s father and in fact had given him the small plot of land where Clem and his family were living years before the tragedy. When Clem’s father had passed on, Clem was left alone in that house at a young age without any family and no means of support, so your great-grandfather had more or less taken him under his wing and given him a job at the mill. After rescuing your grandmother from the house that night, John felt an obligation to Clem to see that his daughter would be taken care of. So, he confronted my mother and asked her to consider taking little Katherine in and raising her. Neither Clem nor Nancy had any surviving relatives. He told her that had he not been a widower with a child of his own to raise—your grandfather, who was only two at the time—he would have adopted Katherine himself. He also offered to help out financially. My mother, who as you already know had been a close friend of Clem and Nancy’s anyway, happily accepted his proposal.

“My mother had been your great-grandfather’s housekeeper and we were living in the guest house that used to be out back across the courtyard. The fact that she was to become Katherine’s legal guardian was really only a formality since, for all intent and purposes, she was already raising your grandfather and myself anyway. In reality, we were more or less one happy family, seeing as we for the most part were living under the same roof.

“I was only four years old at the time and thrilled to have a little sister to look after and care for. Warren simply loved Katherine right from the beginning and they eventually became inseparable as the years went by. By the time Katherine was fifteen, and Warren seventeen, it became quite apparent that they had fallen in love with each other. Then, a dreadful thing happened. Katherine became pregnant. Warren was the father.

“This became a very grave matter indeed. It could have been resolved easily, in theory. Warren wanted to marry Katherine and she wanted to marry him. It wasn’t unusual for a fifteen year old girl to get married back in those days, so there was no real threat of public scorn or any such nonsense as that. Furthermore, your grandfather was financially secure since he had already been helping his father run the mill and knew that he would eventually inherit it. Everything should have turned out all right, in light of all of this.”

“But unfortunately, it didn’t.”

“John Hoffman hit the ceiling when he learned that Katherine was pregnant and he absolutely refused to let them get married. Nobody, including my mother and myself, could understand why he was so upset. It simply didn’t make any sense whatsoever. He loved Katherine as if she were his own daughter and had to have known that she would make a wonderful wife for his son. So why, everyone wondered, was he so adamantly opposed to their being married?”

Miss Rutledge posed this question rhetorically and paused before continuing. Emily, already in shock from these revelations, simply continued staring at her.

“Well, no one knew—except for John Hoffman himself. And he would offer no explanation. Warren and Katherine became defiant once it became clear that John Hoffman wasn’t going to relent. So, they eloped. They were gone for only a few days then returned to face your great-grandfather. He was absolutely livid to say the least, and from that day on became a changed man. He started drinking more than usual and was forever ranting and raving around the house, yelling at everyone—particularly at Warren. It seemed that the bigger Katherine grew, the more John’s anger grew.

“Then one evening, John had taken Warren into his study and closed the door. I happened to be in the next room polishing the silverware—I often helped Mother with the housework at the Hoffmans’—and I don’t think he realized I was there. I could hear every word that was said as clear as day.”

Miss Rutledge hesitated for a moment. Emily immediately sensed that she was debating whether or not to go on with the story, judging by the look on her face. Then, after clearing her throat for the second time, she continued; her voice lowered and at times tentative.

“John told your grandfather that he simply must not allow Katherine to give birth to this baby; that it would be a very big mistake. Warren was obviously bewildered by his father’s remark and asked what on earth he meant by it. John said nothing for a moment, then told him that it simply wasn’t a very good idea under the circumstances. Warren was quickly becoming annoyed and impatient with his father, and demanded to know what John was driving at; and I dare say that I, too, was wishing he would hurry up and get to the point.”

Again, Miss Rutledge paused for what seemed like too long a time. Then she spoke slowly, choosing her words very carefully.

“John told Warren that he’d had good reason for being so opposed to his marrying Katherine in the first place. That reason being the fact that Katherine could quite well be his little sister.”

Miss Rutledge paused yet again to discern the expression on Emily’s face before continuing. “Warren had merely laughed then asked his father if that was what he was getting so worked up about—that Katherine and he had virtually grown up together like brother and sister. Then he had laughed even harder and told his father that it didn’t make any difference in their love for each other; it only made them closer. Then John had gotten angry. He started yelling at Warren, telling him in so many words that he meant what he had just said in the literal sense—that Katherine might in fact be his sister!”

“Your grandfather then went into shock, I believe. There had been this long silence as he no doubt thought over what his father was implying. Then Warren asked him what he meant by this. John then proceeded to tell Warren something that I’m sure he would rather have not learned had he been given a choice.

“John told him that many years ago, while hunting up on the mountain—he owned all of that land up there—he had passed by Clem and Nancy Porter’s house and saw Nancy Porter out in the yard hanging up clothes, wearing only a nightgown. According to John, he simply said hello to her and walked on by. But Nancy kept standing there—half-naked, as he put it—and made no effort to cover herself up or run into the house. Then, he said, she said hello to him, calm as you please, and winked her eye at him. He took this as a come-on and knowing that her husband wasn’t around—he was working at the mill that day—decided to approach Nancy just to see what would happen. He then swore on the bible to Warren that Nancy started chatting with him, real friendly-like, then asked him if he wanted to go into the house with her, which he did. He then proceeded to tell Warren, in so many words, that he had gone to bed with Nancy and made love to her.”

Miss Rutledge turned red and looked away from Emily, who was staring at her in utter shock. Then she resumed. “After relating this story to your grandfather, John actually had the nerve to insist that it wasn’t his fault that any of this had happened—that it was Nancy Porter’s fault for being such a ‘seductive whore,’ as he put it—and that any red-blooded man would have done the same thing. He then went on to say, as if to somehow further justify his actions, that he was, after all, a widower and occasionally yearned for female accompaniment. There wasn’t any sin in that, was there? he’d said. Warren had kept silent so far throughout his father’s story; I suspect because he was still in shock.

“Then John told Warren that just before he’d left the Porter house, Nancy had invited him to come back again—whenever he pleased—providing that Clem wasn’t there, of course. John said that even though he knew that it wasn’t fair to Clem, he simply couldn’t refuse Nancy’s offer. So for the next couple of weeks, John paid a visit to Nancy Porter every chance he could. Then, he said, his conscience started bothering him so he quit seeing her altogether.

“Warren either didn’t believe any of his father’s story or didn’t want to believe it, because he all of a sudden started laughing hysterically. He asked his father what made him so sure that he had fathered Katherine; assuming that this whole preposterous story was true in the first place? John replied that he was certain of this because it had been almost exactly nine months after all of this ‘activity’ that Katherine was born. Warren started laughing again after he heard this. He told John that this still didn’t necessarily make him the father—just because Nancy Porter had become pregnant around the same time as his alleged affair with her. He reminded him that Nancy Porter, after all, had a husband living with her. John responded to this by saying that he had been quite aware that Clem could have been Katherine’s father—until he’d overheard something that my mother told a friend one day. My mother supposedly had told her friend that Clem and Nancy Porter had been trying to have children, unsuccessfully, ever since they’d first gotten married. John then sort of snickered and said something like ‘poor old Clem’s just been shooting blanks,’ which I assumed was a crude way of implying that Clem Porter was infertile.

“He then asked Warren if he didn’t think it a little more than coincidental that all of a sudden, after ten years of trying, Nancy Porter gets pregnant at around the same time that he had been sleeping with her?”

Miss Rutledge stopped abruptly. “Emily, are you all right?” she asked, no doubt seeing the color leave Emily’s face.

Emily replied quickly. “Oh yes! I’m fine.”

“Are you sure, honey? You look a little pale. I hope I’m not upsetting you.”

“Oh no, please go on. I just think I’m a little hungry. I skipped eating lunch today.” she added weakly.

“Well let me get you something to eat, then,” she offered.

Emily replied, “That’s all right. I’ll be fine. Please go on.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, really. I’m fine, Miss Rutledge.”

“All right then. But please let me know if you want me to stop.”

“I will,” Emily replied, struggling to appear unaffected.

“Well, after John told Warren what he’d overheard my mother say, he fell silent for a long time. Your grandfather still refused to believe that any of it was true—that was apparent. He finally told John that there was no way to confirm if he was Katherine’s father or not—so what difference did it make? If Katherine was indeed his half-sister, Warren argued, then what bearing did that have on her having the baby? he wanted to know. John must have realized that it hadn’t yet sunk in on his son, so he told him to consider it for a moment. Warren still wasn’t getting the gist, so John asked him if he’d ever heard of inbreeding and the effects it can have on the offspring. Your grandfather, God love him, finally grasped what his father had been driving at throughout this entire conversation and he just completely broke down once it dawned on him. It was the saddest thing you can imagine.”

Emily was practically in tears. Miss Rutledge quickly said, “Emily, there is something you must understand before I go on. My mother was Nancy Porter’s best friend and she told me later that Nancy would never have done what your great-grandfather was claiming she had done. She was a good, decent lady who was deeply in love with her husband. So please, don’t think for a moment that the story he told your grandfather was true.”

“But why would he make up such a story, then? It doesn’t make any sense.” Emily said.

“Well, that’s what is so mysterious about all of this. I must admit that there is a good chance that something happened between John and Nancy Porter. Either he fabricated this whole story completely from beginning to end, which seems unlikely, or there is a shred of truth to his story—particularly the part about a sexual encounter with Nancy Porter . . .” she said, her voice trailing off.

Emily knew what she was implying. “You mean that he might have raped her, don’t you?”

Miss Rutledge flinched at the sound of the word.

“Yes.”

Emily suddenly felt ill.

Miss Rutledge quickly added, “Or there’s a remote chance that your great-grandfather still resented Warren and Katherine’s marriage enough to dream this story up to make Warren think twice about what he’d done against his will. Maybe he still thought that he could somehow break them up.”

Emily replied, “From what you’ve told me about how much in love they were, I hardly think that he would bother trying to split them up at that point.”

“I know dear, you’re probably right. But one other important aspect must be considered. If John had really, er, forced himself upon Nancy Porter, then we can safely assume that it happened only once. Therefore, it seems highly unlikely that he made her pregnant in that one single act of sin.”

Emily was still skeptical. “But you said that Grandma Katherine’s parents had tried for ten years to have children but had never succeeded in all that time. If my great-grandfather truly had raped Grandma Katherine’s mother when he said he’d slept with her . . . then there’s a good chance that it wasn’t just ‘coincidence’ that she’d gotten pregnant when she did.”

“Emily, I must be frank. Yes, there is a chance that it wasn’t sheer coincidence; that John Hoffman truly did make Nancy pregnant. But there is also a chance that he did not, as well. Katherine never for a moment believed that John Hoffman had been her father.”

Emily was surprised at this. “She didn’t?”

“She most certainly did not. Nor did Warren. I don’t think John had planned on Warren telling Katherine about their conversation, but he did. He marched out of the room, after calling his father a liar of the worst kind, then went to Katherine. I think now that he probably should’ve waited a spell before telling her; to allow himself a chance to think things through before laying all of this on poor Katherine all at once as he did. Katherine’s reaction had been the same as his—not believing a single word of it—and she immediately went on the offensive. She told Warren that from that day on she wanted absolutely nothing to do with John Hoffman, and that after she had the baby, she and Warren were going to move out of the house altogether. Warren had been taken aback by her bitter reaction but nevertheless promised her that they would do as she wished.

“Katherine later approached my mother and I to tell us that which I had already known; I’d never been able to bring myself to tell Mother I’d been eavesdropping that day. Once she’d told us everything, she suddenly began asking my mother a lot of questions about her dead parents—that subject being something that had always been avoided while she was growing up. John Hoffman had always insisted it was best that Katherine not be reminded of her past because it would only effect her in a negative way. At any rate, my mother told Katherine everything she wanted to know, including the fact that her parents had been very much in love with each other and that Nancy was a decent, God-fearing woman who would never have done what John Hoffman was claiming she’d done. This had only reinforced Katherine’s conviction that John was lying, and that she truly had been the daughter of Clem and Nancy Porter.

“Things became very different in the house as a result of all that had transpired. John Hoffman, no longer in existence as far as Katherine was concerned, became quite passive and I dare say, probably regretful that he’d ever opened this Pandora’s box. Katherine refused to speak to him and his own son did little more than discuss the business dealings of the mill with him. In the meantime, Katherine had persuaded Warren to build her a house on the mountain near her parent’s former home. John Hoffman had become a broken man and did nothing to stand in the way of the construction of the house—or much of anything, for that matter. He merely became a hopeless, pathetic drunk while Warren more or less took over the operation of the mill.

“Then a frightful thing happened. For some reason, in her eighth month, Katherine had a miscarriage. She’d been rushed to the hospital in terrible pain, but they couldn’t save the baby. It was a little girl.

“Katherine was devastated. She felt it was John Hoffman’s fault that she had miscarried. She told him that had he not made up the absurd and fictitious story about her mother and gotten her all riled up, that she could have carried her baby to term and been a mother to a healthy baby girl. John made a dismal attempt to apologize to her for her loss, but nevertheless still refused to concede that his story was untrue.

“John Hoffman took all his guilt to heart,” she continued. “His drinking got so bad that he stopped eating and in fact, I think, no longer had the desire to live. A couple of months after Katherine’s miscarriage, he had a violent stroke and passed away. John Hoffman died a lonely, estranged man . . . an empty shell. The house on the mountain—your house- was nearly completed and Warren and Katherine began making preparations to move in shortly after his funeral. When they at last did move, Warren allowed my mother and I to remain here. He even had this house renovated not long afterwards, as it was in bad need of repair. My mother remarried a few years later and I lived here with her and my stepfather until Katherine gave birth to your father.

“Katherine simply adored that house you and your father are living in now. She had a natural talent for interior decorating and took great pride and pleasure in appointing it. She spent practically all her time at home while Warren was busy managing the mill. She also spent a great deal of time roaming the mountain and visiting the old house where my mother had spread her parents’ ashes. Katherine was a wonderful, happy housewife and refused to let the past take hold of her life in spite of all the tragedy she had endured.

“Then, several years after John Hoffman’s death, Katherine became pregnant again. She was still fairly young—only twenty-eight years old—when she gave birth to Charles. My land, were those two happy as larks when your father was born! Charles was an adorable baby; happy and healthy as can be.

“But a week later, Katherine ran into some complications. She was taken back to the hospital and remained there for two weeks or so. Then she passed away.”

A tear came to Miss Rutledge’s eye and she struggled to compose herself. “When Katherine died, Warren became a lost soul. He had loved her so. The love of his life was gone and he was suddenly left all alone with a newborn baby child to raise. And what made it even more difficult for him had been Katherine’s request that she be cremated after her death and her remains scattered where her parents’ were at the old Porter house. Warren couldn’t deal with this. Not only did he not believe in cremation, he couldn’t bear the thought of Katherine’s body being burnt to ashes instead of buried in a funeral plot where he could some day be laid to rest beside her. I know it took every bit of reserve he had to go through with it, and he spent the rest of his life regretting that he ever had.”

“Grandma Katherine’s ashes are at the old house, too?” Emily asked incredulously.

Miss Rutledge nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry I never told you, but Warren insisted that I don’t. He was very sensitive about it.”

“But what about her grave? Grandpa was buried right beside her—I saw her head stone!” Emily objected.

“And that is all that’s there—a head stone. But Katherine’s ashes lie on the mountain.”

Emily, for some reason, was glad to hear this. Now she knew why she had always felt so close to Grandma Katherine whenever she visited the old house. Her spirit was there, along with her mother’s and father’s, just as it should be.

Miss Rutledge continued. “After Katherine passed away, your grandfather asked that I move into his house and help out with little Charles. I was more than happy to oblige, so I left my mother and stepfather to move in with Warren soon afterwards.

“Your father was a sweet little boy and a joy to behold. But from the very beginning I could sense in Warren what I believed at the time to be resentment toward the child. I thought then that he was secretly blaming Charles for Katherine’s untimely death, and that he was holding that against the poor defenseless angel. But as time went by, I began realizing that it was something other than that; and it became more and more apparent as Charles grew older.

“Warren was actually sporting the notion that Charles might not be a—uh, normal child. I don’t know what on earth led him to start believing this because I will swear on the Holy Bible that Charles never behaved in such a manner that anyone would think it plausible. But Warren got it in his head that Charles was ‘not all there.’ He let what his father had told him about Katherine being his half-sister come back to haunt him and all of a sudden started believing that they had produced an imperfect child.

“The tragedy of this was that Warren started treating Charles as if he was abnormal, which ended up having a profound effect on him as he grew up. Warren often criticized everything Charles did—usually finding fault with it—and Charles eventually became so terrified of his father that he frequently ended up retreating into isolation rather than trying to correct whatever it was he’d done wrong. Your father’s behavior, as a result, made Warren feel that his worst fears were confirmed; that his son was indeed mentally deficient.

“I tried countless times to reason with Warren. I told him that Charles was perfectly normal and that he was only imagining he was anything but. Warren wouldn’t listen though. He was convinced that he was right and I was wrong. And your father, I’m afraid, paid the price for Warren’s obstinacy.

“The two of them grew further and further apart as Charles got older, but Warren eventually realized that he might have been wrong in his assessment of his son. Charles did very well in school and ended up maturing into a fine young man. Not long after he married your mother, Warren took your father aside and apologized for the way he’d treated him all his life. He begged his forgiveness and in a gesture of retribution, offered him the house he’d built for Katherine as a wedding present; he could no longer bear living there without Katherine anyway. Charles accepted his apology and the house, and for awhile, the two men were on friendly terms.

“But, as you know, they eventually drifted apart again. I don’t know what got into Charles; if it was simply too difficult for him to forgive and forget, or if the wounds of his childhood were just too deep. But he started defying your grandfather; criticizing the way he was running things at the mill and undermining his authority every chance he could. Your father’s behavior in the last twenty years or so has been reprehensible at times. Please forgive me for saying this, Emily, but I’m afraid that your father is not well. And what troubles me so is that he seems to be getting worse instead of better. But please don’t jump to any conclusions. I’m not implying for a moment that I think his problems are the result of an incestuous relationship between your grandparents. I just feel that Charles is psychologically unstable and needs professional help. I’m only telling you this because I fear for you and your well-being, especially now that your grandfather is no longer with us—God rest his soul.”

Emily knew that Miss Rutledge was now mincing words and in fact, was lying to her. She just didn’t want to come out and tell her that her father was crazy because his mother and father had actually been brother and sister. Or half-brother and half-sister—what difference did it make? Miss Rutledge was afraid that she would somehow let it ruin her life if she accepted the truth but couldn’t deal with the truth.

But what Miss Rutledge didn’t know was that her life was already more or less ruined, and these revelations only corroborated it. Her life had been ruined the day her father had raped her. And now, even if she could bring herself to let a man touch her again, she might just as well forget ever being married and having children. Because with her luck, her children would most likely wind up being either gibbering idiots or deformed freaks.

Or worse yet, being just like her father . . .

Right now, this very moment, Emily wanted to get up and run away; to just escape from everyone and everything. She didn’t want to hear anymore about her family’s past. She’d heard enough already.

But she knew that she couldn’t run away. That wouldn’t solve a thing. It never did. She was just going to have to somehow learn how to live with all of this.

Emily turned to Miss Rutledge and told her quite matter-of-factly, “What you’re implying is that I should try to talk my father into seeing a shrink.”

Miss Rutledge seemed caught off-guard by Emily’s sudden display of cool reserve. “Er, well, yes. Yes, Emily. I feel you should try to persuade him to see a psychiatrist. You’re probably the only person who could do it.”

Emily laughed out loud. “Me? Are you kidding? To my father, I don’t even exist!”

“But honey, if you can’t, then who can?” Miss Rutledge asked.

“Try one of the many women he takes out. They have more pull with him than I’ve ever had,” Emily replied bitterly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that things were so bad between you and your father.”

“Well, they are bad, Miss Rutledge. Really bad. But don’t worry. I’ll try to convince him that he needs help; I truly will. Just don’t expect it to do any good.”

“Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea, Emily. Maybe he’ll overreact and do something foolish.”

“Oh, he probably will overreact. But don’t worry, Miss Rutledge. I know how to handle my father. Seriously, it’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure, honey?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll just have to catch him at the right time. Who knows? Maybe he’ll even listen.”

“Lord in heaven, I hope so.” She paused a moment then said, “Emily, I hope and pray that I haven’t upset you by telling you what I have. As I said before, this hasn’t been an easy decision to make. Perhaps I’ve made the wrong decision. I hope not. Katherine was much more than a sister to me. She was my dearest friend. And I knew her perhaps better than even Warren had. She would have wanted you to know about all that happened, Emily—that much I am sure of.

“Your grandfather was forever saying how much you reminded him of Katherine. He’d say it was as though an angel had brought her back to him, in the form of his granddaughter, just so he could be with her once again. He loved you dearly, Emily. And he was very concerned about how your father has treated you. He blamed himself for your father’s behavior because he felt it was his fault that Charles is the way he is. It broke his heart to sit by and watch him manipulate you and your mother as he has all these years. But he felt utterly helpless; there was nothing he could do about it.”

Miss Rutledge heaved a sigh. She looked haggard and spent—as though she could fall asleep at any moment.

“Whatever happens, please promise me two things. One, that you’ll try and have a talk with Charles about getting some help. But please, under no circumstances, let him know that I’ve had this talk with you. Enough damage has been done in the Hoffman family already, and bringing any of this up to your father will most certainly only aggravate the situation even more.

“Secondly, promise me that you’ll think very carefully about what all I’ve told you. You mustn’t let it affect you and how you live your life. I hope that once you’ve had a chance to digest all of this, you’ll realize that none of it has any real bearing on you directly. It concerns events that have occurred in the past, and they should well remain there—dead, buried, and forgotten. You are a beautiful and intelligent young lady with your whole life ahead of you. Take my advice and go on with your life as you have, and don’t let these skeletons in the closet tie you down. Will you promise me this?”

Emily didn’t believe in promises. And what Miss Rutledge was asking her to do was impossible.

But she didn’t want to upset the old woman. She was kind and her intentions were sincere. And she obviously felt regret for spilling the beans as she had. The last thing Emily wanted was to make Miss Rutledge feel any worse than she already felt.

“I promise, Miss Rutledge,” she lied.

She sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you, Emily. You don’t know how much better you’ve made me feel!”

Emily forced a smile. “And thanks for telling me all of this. It has certainly cleared up a lot of things, and for once in my life I don’t feel left out in the cold about my family’s past. You’re right—I do have a right to know. My father has kept everything from me my entire life and it hasn’t been fair of him to do that. Apparently, he kept a lot of this from my mother too, didn’t he?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. But I would guess that he did—as much as he could, anyway.” Miss Rutledge replied.

“That would figure. Well, I’d better be going. I feel very tired all of a sudden,” Emily said, feigning a yawn.

“Thank you for coming over, Emily. And please, keep in touch. Let me know how things are going. Don’t hesitate to call me, anytime, if you feel that you need to talk to me. Okay?”

“All right, Miss Rutledge. I will . . .”

* * *

Emily arose from the chair and went over to the picture window. The snowstorm hadn’t let up yet and she estimated there to be around five inches of the powdery stuff on the ground. With a shrug, she turned around and sat back down in the chair.

She had kept one of her promises to Miss Rutledge. A couple of days later she had approached her father, not really sure how she was going to word what she wanted to say. He’d been sitting at his desk in his study going over some papers that she guessed had something to do with the sale of the mill. When she entered the study, he hadn’t even looked up from his papers to acknowledge her presence. She’d gone over to his desk and stood there, feeling like a school kid waiting for the teacher to stop grading papers long enough for her to ask a question. She stood there for a full minute before her father had finally asked her what she wanted. She stalled for a moment, then decided that the direct approach would probably be the best way to handle this.

“Father,” she had said. “I’ve been awfully worried about you lately. I know that you’ve been under a lot of stress since Grandpa died, and I wonder if maybe you need to take a little break from all of this.”

He had suddenly jerked his head up and glared at her with a sinister, sarcastic look in his eyes and said, “Is that right, dear? Are you suggesting that your old man should take a long vacation? Is that what my little girl thinks her daddy needs?”

She had managed to remain calm. “No, Father. That’s not what I mean. I just think that perhaps you need to try and put things into perspective. You know, let someone help you sort out everything. I mean, Mommy’s gone, and now Grandpa . . . It’s been an awful lot for you to handle all at once. Maybe you could see someone who could—”

His eyes had suddenly bulged out in rage. “You mean see a fucking shrink? Is that what my little girl thinks I need? Does my little girl think that her daddy’s gone crazy? Is that what she’s getting at? Why you fucking little whore!”

He had sprung up from his chair and smacked her across the side of the face. She had fallen backward, and in an instant he was on the other side of the desk. He struck her again, sending her reeling into the wall. He ran over and put his hands around her neck and started strangling her with a grip so tight she couldn’t breathe. His face was an inch from her own—his eyes filled with the fury and hatred of a madman on a murderous rampage . . .

Then all of a sudden he had removed his hands from her neck. He stared at her for a moment, his expression like that of someone who just realized he was lost and had no idea where he was going. Then he turned away and walked out of the room. Slowly, tentatively . . . like a lamb gone astray. Emily had stood there terrified, trying to catch her breath. She heard the side door open then close. Then she heard her father’s car start up and the sound of its wheels spinning on gravel as it pulled away from the house. Her father hadn’t returned for three days.

In the meantime Emily had done a lot of thinking. She had assessed her situation and considered her options then made her final decision.

She decided that she no longer wanted anything to do with her father. She could have moved out of the house, but refused to give him that satisfaction. Instead, she would remain at the house and completely ignore him—shut him totally out of her life. Let it eat away at him and show him what it was like to be ignored and unwanted just as she had been most of her life.

She had of course realized that it wasn’t going to be easy to pull off. Her father was potentially dangerous and she would have to keep a close eye on him at all times. But she felt confident that she could protect herself, if need be. Her father became violent only when something really riled him up. Otherwise, he more or less just did his thing and kept pretty much to himself. She couldn’t do or say anything that would possibly upset him because she wasn’t going to associate with him in the first place. Her silence would annoy him, no doubt, but he wouldn’t get violent over that. It just wasn’t the way he operated. She would be on her guard at all times though, nonetheless.

In essence, her father would live his life and she would live hers. Sort of the way it had always been, she’d thought to herself. Only this time, the rules would be different.

When her father returned, he had apologized for what he’d done and promised Emily that it would never happen again. She told him in so many words that if it ever did happen again that he would be going to prison for a very long time. Then she had told him that he was to stay away from her from that point on, and that she no longer wanted anything to do with him. He was to live his life; she was to live hers. And, she warned, if he didn’t comply with the rules, she would see to it that the entire town, including the authorities, would find out what he’d done to her as a child.

Her plan had worked. Somewhere in her father’s sick mind lay an enormous amount of guilt; it needed only to be tapped to be realized. Furthermore, he was paranoid, and the thought of her telling on him for his past deeds had been more than he could conceive. The fact that none of it would probably ever stand up in court most likely hadn’t even crossed his mind. It made no difference. The important thing was that he had backed off and never abused her again.

When her father had sold the mill to the land developers, Emily found herself in an awkward and embarrassing position. By this action, her father had completely severed any remaining thread of attachment between himself and her, and she became unyieldingly defiant of him. She publicly condemned him for jeopardizing everybody’s jobs and promised the townspeople that she would do everything in her power to help them. She wanted to make it clear to them that she was on their side, not her father’s.

She helped them get loans to set up their businesses in town and in some instances gave money to those who needed it as down payments or rental securities for their shops. She still had all the money she had inherited from her grandfather and could think of no better way to use it than to help Ashland Falls get back on its feet.

It was during this period of ‘rebirth’ that Emily had gotten the idea to open an antique shop. She had occasionally received gifts from people as a token of their gratitude for her help and Clarence Peterson had offered her an old rocking chair which was, as he’d put it, “a little banged-up, but nothing that some sandpaper and a little varnish can’t fix up.” Emily had accepted the old Victorian piece and restored it, feeling very pleased at her accomplishment. She started hunting around the area for old furniture to restore and this had eventually led to the establishment of her antique shop.

Once things had settled down a bit, Emily again found herself thinking about the conversation she’d had with Miss Rutledge after her grandfather’s death. The revelations made that day had festered in the back of her mind and she soon came to realize that she would never be at peace with herself unless she discovered the truth: Had John Hoffman truly been Grandma Katherine’s biological father? Or had Clem Porter? Her life, her well-being, her future all seemed to teeter on the answer. She started accepting the fact that she may never discover the truth and that the nightmares would go on forever . . .

Emily felt the quiet loneliness of the big house creep into her thoughts. Her eyes went from the burning embers of the fire to Cassie, lying beside her with her head in her lap. She patted her companion lovingly and Cassie looked up at her as if to assure her that she wasn’t the only living soul in the house.

Until she discovered the truth, she would continue living just as she had these past ten years. She had established her priorities and lived by them unfalteringly. She possessed a strong sense of values and lived a simple, uncluttered life free of social obligations and the trappings that often went along with them. The scars of her own past, along with the murky past of her family and its ramifications, were the driving forces that had put her in the position she now found herself in. Her course was set—straight and narrow—to live out a life that seemed to be predetermined for her. A life that was for the most part predictable and bland; fueled by a commitment to being good to others selflessly and abstaining from sinful wrongdoing as best she could. In essence, it was a life of relative isolation, goodness, and celibacy.

Not unlike that of a nun . . .

Emily could feel her defenses breaking down as the tears again welled up in her eyes. This time she didn’t hold back and allowed herself the luxury of release. For the first time in years she wept for herself; letting the tears flow freely—as though a dam holding back far too much water for far too long had suddenly given way and collapsed.

As she cried, the stark reality of loneliness gripped her like a vise and wouldn’t let go. She acknowledged that this loneliness was not only a feeling, but a fact as well, now that her father was dead. She no longer had any living relatives; she was the last twig of the Hoffman family tree. Her father, as cruel and selfish as he’d been, had nevertheless been an integral part of her life merely by being another living soul who lived in it and shared this house with her. But now he was dead and she was alone. And he had died a lonely man ridden with guilt and forsaken by his only child.

Had she been fair to her father?

Yes, she decided. She had been fair. Had it not been for him she could be living a normal life now. He had ruined her life a long time ago, and he had made her mother’s short life a living nightmare. He’d turned against his father and forsaken the existence of his mother.

Karma, Emily thought. What goes around, comes around.

Now she was stuck here alone in a world that seemed like a vacuum void of love and companionship. With the exception of Miss Rutledge, who was now ninety years old and wouldn’t be around much longer, there wasn’t a soul left in the world she could reach out to.

Emily suddenly felt a wet tongue on her cheek. Cassie seemed to sense that she was overwrought as she lapped at the salty tears from her face with zeal. Emily found it impossible to resist grinning at Cassie’s persistence and before long was laughing heartily as she swooped the puppy up in her arms and hugged her tight.

“At least I have you, girl. And you’ve just made Mommy feel a whole lot better,” she told her loyal companion.

Emily arose from the chair and reached for the poker then spread out the coals in the fireplace. She left the den and turned out all the lights downstairs before heading up the stairs to her bedroom. After turning on the bedside lamp, she removed her robe and slipped in under the covers. Reaching for the book on the nightstand she’d been reading, she noted the time. It was only 9:35.

She was surprised at how early it was and wondered why she felt so exhausted now. It hadn’t been a particularly busy day at the shop by any means. She recalled Henrietta Latham and her sister-in-law dropping by and it reminded her that she should pay a visit on Miss Rutledge at the nursing home the first chance she got. She hadn’t seen her in over two weeks.

With a yawn, she lay back on her pillow and opened the book. She was grateful that she no longer felt depressed and cautioned herself that from here on out she must quit feeling sorry for herself. It was unhealthy and totally uncalled for. Why had she let herself get so carried away? she wondered. She’d told herself a long time ago that she had to accept things as they were and mustn’t let them get her down as she had tonight.

She turned to the place she’d left off the night before and began reading. She read for the next hour or so until she could no longer keep her eyes open. Then Emily closed the book and turned off the light. Immediately, she fell into a deep and heavy sleep.

CHAPTER 4

In a sleepy haze, Emily became aware of something warm and hard rubbing against her chest. She wasn’t sure how long the rubbing had gone on—the steady, rhythmic movement felt relaxing as she slept; and only now had she become conscious of it in her half-sleep.

As she became more awake, she realized that she was being caressed by a hand; a very large hand. She could feel the fingers of the hand occasionally spread apart then come back together again in a scissors-like motion with her tiny nipples pinched in between them. Each time this happened, she could feel her nipples get big and hard, just as they did whenever she went swimming or got out of the bathtub on a cold winter night.

She also became aware of a slight dampness between her legs and for a moment thought she might have wet the bed. She sleepily brought her hand down to her crotch to feel her undies and was relieved to discover that they were dry. She hadn’t wet her bed in a long time and if Daddy ever found out that she had, she’d be in big trouble.

This sobering thought made her become fully awake. Her senses sharpened and she was suddenly aware of the fact that she hadn’t been dreaming all of this. She was lying on her right side and could feel the weight of an arm pressed against her left side. A hand was poked in through the bottom of her pajama top and moving all over chest; squeezing and rubbing her small, swelled mounds. Behind her she heard someone breathing hard and could feel his hot breath blowing against the back of her neck, sending a cold chill down her spine. His breath smelled really bad— just like Daddy’s whenever he’d been out all night drinking with one of those ladies.

Emily opened her eyes. The room was dark except for the faint red glow of her clock radio. The hand inched its way down her tummy and slid in under her pajama bottoms. The breathing suddenly grew harder and raspier. Petrified with fear, she could hear her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She tried to scream, but nothing would come out of her mouth.

Suddenly, a finger went inside of her. Her scream pierced the dark silence like a knife. The finger quickly withdrew from her just as another hand came from behind and covered her mouth. She screamed again in absolute terror, but the sound was muffled by the huge hand. She felt the arm encircling her side tense up and press harder against her. She began flailing her legs under the covers in an effort to get away, but it did no good. The rest of her body was pinned down firmly by the huge, heavy arm, rendering her completely powerless.

“Now, now honey—don’t be afraid. It’s only me,” she heard her father whisper into her ear from behind.

Emily felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

“I’m not going to hurt you, honey. Daddy just wants to keep you company for a little while.”

Her heart suddenly felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. Her father’s tone of voice was strange, frightening. She tried to scream again, but his hand stifled it.

“Why are you screaming, my child? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Her father’s voice was soft and coaxing with a sort of singsong quality to it—like that of a parent persuading a baby to take its food. She was not a baby though, and the sound of his voice made her wince in mortal fear.

“Will you do something for Daddy, dear? If I take my hand away from your mouth, will you promise me that you won’t scream? Can you do that for Daddy?”

Trembling, Emily nodded her head.

“Very good. Now you’ve promised me, don’t forget. Don’t you dare break your promise to your father or he’ll get very angry with you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She nodded again.

Slowly, he removed his hand from her face. Emily gasped for air.

“Now, isn’t that better?” her father asked.

Instead of answering, Emily nodded her head again. She was too terrified to do or say anything. Her instincts told her that her father might well kill her if she didn’t do as he said. Or if not that, beat her half to death.

“I’m going to let go of you now. But only if you promise that you won’t try to run away from me. You promise?”

Emily nodded.

He slowly raised his arm and at the same time withdrew his hand from under her pj’s. She became aware of the excruciating pain in her side where his arm had been pinning her down against the mattress.

“There, now. I’ll bet that feels a little more comfortable, doesn’t it?”

Emily again nodded. Tears were streaming down her face.

“Has the cat got your tongue, sweetheart? Why aren’t you speaking to me?”

There was a long silence as Emily struggled to think of what to say. She merely shrugged her shoulders.

“Don’t be afraid to speak to your Daddy. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said reassuringly.

Silence.

“Talk to me, girl!”

Emily nearly jumped out of her skin. “Yes, Father!”

His voice softened again. “That’s better. I’m sorry I snapped at you like that . . . Daddy was just getting a little aggravated, that’s all. You forgive me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. Now I’d like you to do me a little favor, honey. I want you to just stay right where you are while I turn on the light here, okay?”

“Okay, Father.”

She felt the mattress shift as her father reached over and turned on the small bedside lamp on the other side of the bed. The sudden presence of light in the room made Emily squint her stinging, tear-soaked eyes.

“There, now; that’s much better. Now turn around and let me take a look at you.”

Emily felt confused and frightened. Her father’s voice had returned to its singsong tone and she had a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. Slowly, she turned over on her back. Then she looked over at her father . . .

He was naked!

Before she could say anything, he grasped her shoulders with both hands and said, “You look surprised, sweetheart! You’d think that you’ve never seen a naked man before. But I know better than that. I know what you and your little girlfriends at school do when the teachers aren’t around to keep an eye on you. You sneak out and meet up with boys, don’t you? Then you play little games with those boys, don’t you? I know what goes on in that filthy mind of yours!”

“Daddy!” she screamed.

“Shhhhh. Now you promised me—no screaming. If you do that one more time I’m going to have to spank you real hard. You hear me?” His eyes were wild and intimidating, in sharp contrast to his soft, singsong lilt.

Emily panicked. She wanted to scream and run away. But she couldn’t. She knew she would have to do whatever her father wanted her to do. The look in his eyes told her that he’d do much more than just give her a spanking if she dared disobey him.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said weakly, her voice trembling.

“That’s my girl. I sure am glad I sent Miss Cooper to her sister’s for the night or you would have awakened her by now. That wouldn’t have been very nice, now would it?”

Emily’s heart sunk. In the back of her mind she’d assumed that Miss Cooper was in the house. Now she knew that she was all by herself now—with her drunk, crazy father.

She shook her head slowly, feeling utterly helpless.

“No, Miss Cooper wouldn’t have liked being awakened in the middle of the night one little bit. But we don’t have to worry about that, now . . . I’d like you to do a little something for Daddy, sweetheart. I’d like for you to take off your pajamas. Would you do that for your Daddy?”

Emily felt her heart racing. She stared into her father’s bloodshot eyes in utter disbelief.

“Why, Daddy?”

“Because I want to take a look at you, that’s all. It’s not like I’ve never seen you before without your clothes on, now is it? Why, just last summer I helped bathe you practically every night, didn’t I?”

“But that was different. I’ve . . . changed now, Daddy.” she protested.

His quivering smile gave her goose bumps. “I know you have, dear, and that’s why I want to see you. I want to see how much my little girl’s changed these past few months while she’s been away at school.”

Emily then did a noble but foolhardy thing. She continued staring into his eyes and said flatly, “No, Father.”

In an instant, his hand struck her on the side of her face. “Now you mind your father, you little whore! Do as I say, before I get angry!”

Her cheek was hot and felt like it was being stuck by a thousand needles all at once. She was facing away from him now; the blow to her face had spun her head around to the other side. Realizing that she had no choice but to comply with her father’s command, Emily started pulling her pajama top up over her head, tears streaming down her face as she did so. She felt the cool air of the room rush against her bare skin and shivered violently as she held the crumpled-up pajama top to her chest.

“I’ll take that,” her father said, grabbing the top from her and flinging it across the bed.

Although she couldn’t see him now, Emily could feel her father’s eyes upon her, staring at her heaving, exposed breasts. She felt ashamed and embarrassed as he sat there beside her in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually she became aware of his breathing as it became heavier and subsequently turned into a raspy, uneven panting.

“How old are you now, sweetheart?” he panted in the singsong voice.

“Eleven,” she replied distantly.

“You’ve come along very nicely; hell, you’re damn near a young woman now! Those are real sweet little buds you have there.”

With that, he reached over and gently pinched a nipple, sending an icy cold chill down her spine. Emily shuddered to herself and continued staring at an imaginary space on the wall. Fear and humiliation took over as she began sobbing softly. She heard her father’s breath coming in short gasps.

His hand traveled slowly across her chest and cupped her right breast; then began squeezing it rhythmically. Emily could feel the bed rocking slightly as he started doing something else with his other hand on the other side of the bed. What, she didn’t know.

“Now the bottoms, honey.” he commanded, his voice strange and guttural.

Something in her suddenly snapped.

“No!” she screamed.

She jumped from the bed in a flash.

But there was a huge, gaping hole in the floor beside the bed. Before she could stop herself, she fell through the hole and into pitch black darkness. She started flailing her arms wildly in space as she plummeted faster and faster into a black void. The air was frigid at first then became warmer the further she fell. Suddenly, in a matter of seconds, the air turned blazing hot—like a blast furnace.

Then, in slow motion, she fell flat on her back. She could see now. She was in the center of what seemed to be an enormous cave illuminated in the yellow-orange glow of fire. Huge flames encircled the cave along the walls and licked the ceiling in irregular, surging blasts.

The cave appeared to be empty for as far as she could see. In a few moments, she became aware of voices echoing off the walls; but she couldn’t tell where they were coming from. The voices were chanting something and there seemed to be a lot of them; both male and female. It sort of sounded like a church choir singing off-key.

Emily glanced down at herself and gasped in horror. She was naked and lying spread-eagle on a stone platform; her arms and legs bound to the corners of the platform by heavy iron chains. She tried to free herself by pulling against the chains but they wouldn’t budge more than an inch. In a sudden wave of panic, she realized that she was being held captive. By someone . . .

Beads of sweat rolled into her eyes, stinging them. The cave seemed to be getting hotter the longer she lay there. In a horrifying instant, it suddenly occurred to her that she was being roasted alive! Panic-stricken at this imminent prospect, Emily started twisting and squirming wildly in an effort to escape.

But the chains wouldn’t give.

Sweat poured off her body, forming little pools all around her on the stone platform. She screamed frantically as she tried to free herself from the chains. Blood oozed out of her wrists and ankles where the chains dug into her flesh.

The chanting seemed to be getting louder. She lay there in silence, trying to determine where it was coming from then realized that it was emanating from behind a wall of flames and getting closer.

Just then, she saw a black figure emerging from the flames. A man, wearing a black suit. An old style of suit similar to those worn around the turn of the century. He looked vaguely familiar but was too far away for her to clearly make out his features.

The man was holding a big black book in his hands. The book was opened and he appeared to be reading from it; chanting the words out loud. The words were unintelligible; perhaps a foreign language.

He strode slowly toward her and she saw another figure emerging from the flames behind him. Then another. And another. They formed a single line behind the man in black as if in a funeral procession. When they were close enough for her to see clearly, Emily let out a gasp.

There were freaks and mutants of all sizes and shapes. A man with two heads. A woman with two short stubs instead of arms. A hunchback, his face gargoyle-like. And a young girl, around eleven or twelve, who had no face at all—just drawn white skin void of any features.

Emily tried to look away from this parading freak show but discovered that she couldn’t. She was forced to watch each and every hideous entity one by one as it came into view.

After a dozen or so had come through the wall of flames, no more appeared. The procession was twenty yards away and Emily again stared at the man who was leading them. He looked familiar for certain—she’d seen his face before somewhere—a picture, a portrait . . .

He continued coming closer. Suddenly, she recognized who it was. It was her great-grandfather, John Hoffman! She’d seen his portrait somewhere at her grandfather’s house. He was still reading from the book he held in front of him, chanting, never looking up.

Emily’s heart pounded in her chest. Her great-grandfather was now no more than ten yards away from the stone platform. She kept staring at his face, trying as hard as she could to avoid looking at the others.

He was five yards away now. He began walking around the platform, beginning at the end where her head lay. The others followed closely behind. He continued encircling her until he reached the other end then stopped abruptly, directly at her feet.

John Hoffman continued reading from the black book. Emily could see out of the corner of her eye that the procession had formed a circle around her and that she was now completely surrounded by them. She quickly glanced around and saw that they were all staring at her in a way that made her skin crawl. They wore grotesque grins on their hideous faces—those who had faces, that is—and they were gawking lustfully at her various body parts.

Emily started screaming again and pulled against the chains in a renewed state of horror, wincing in pain from the fresh wounds on her ankles and wrists.

Her great-grandfather ceased reading. Emily fell silent. He looked up from the book and into her eyes—

His eyes were bone-white. He had no pupils!

Emily nearly passed out.

He spoke. “These eyes are blind, but they still can see. And now they see a woman-child before them. The by-product of long ago acts of lust, this child must be sacrificed to atone for those acts performed generations ago. The circle cannot be broken.”

He shut the book and handed it over to the faceless girl standing beside him. He then mounted the platform and began scooting toward her—between her spread legs. Emily struggled and screamed futilely as he leaned over her, supporting himself by placing his hands on either side of her head. He brought his face down between her sweat-covered breasts and began licking the sweat from her, moving all over her chest with his long tongue lapping like a thirsty dog standing over a water puddle. There was a sadistic grin on his leathery face.

Then she felt hands moving all over her body as the freaks joined in—pinching, squeezing, and prodding her soft white skin. All except for the faceless girl, who merely stood and stared at her. Emily closed her eyes tightly and cried uncontrollably.

“Enough!” a voice commanded from somewhere to her left.

Immediately, everyone ceased whatever they were doing and peered over in the direction of the voice.

Emily opened her eyes.

A figure was standing near the wall of flames. He walked over toward her at a brisk pace. As Emily tried to make out the features of the newcomer, her great-grandfather snickered and proceeded to climb off the platform. He then lumbered away in the opposite direction from the approaching figure.

Emily squinted her eyes as the figure approached. It was her father, naked, with long horns and a tail. His eyes were red, glowing orbs. He carried a long pitchfork in his left claw-like hand. His face was contorted in a hideous expression of murderous rage.

It was the face of Satan, and he had caught her!

“She is mine!” her father bellowed, glaring at the circle of freaks. “Leave us this instant!”

With expressions of mortal fear on their faces, they all fled in the same direction her great-grandfather had gone. All except the faceless girl, who remained at the foot of the platform.

Her father stood at her feet and glared at her defiantly, seemingly oblivious to the faceless girl.

“You thought you could escape from me, didn’t you, you little whore!” he roared.

Emily was paralyzed and unable to speak. Her father’s eyes were fixed upon hers as he stared maniacally across the length of the platform.

“You shouldn’t have run away from me. You’ve made Daddy very, very angry now.”

Emily’s eyes couldn’t evade his. Horror gripped her. She was going to die.

“Now you must pay for disobeying me.” her father declared, his voice lowered. “I’m going to fuck you.”

He set the pitchfork down and hopped up onto the platform. In an instant he was on top of her. His skin was hot and leathery against hers and his weight nearly crushed her to death.

Her father’s face was directly in front of hers. His eyes had now become the familiar deep shade of blue. His expression was a twisted sneer of lust and rage.

“You shall be the mother of out idiot child!” he howled, thrusting himself into her.

“No, Daddy!” Emily screamed, feeling as though a red-hot poker had been rammed into her. The pain and burning between her legs was so intense that she nearly lost consciousness as she struggled in vain to push him off of her. With each thrust, she let out a shrill scream that echoed off the walls of the blazing hot cave. She looked down at herself in horror. Blood was pouring out of her and flowing everywhere in steady streams of crimson.

She then noticed the faceless girl standing at the end of the platform.

She was no longer faceless, though.

She had become a mirror image of herself!

But that wasn’t possible . . .

Suddenly, she realized who the little girl was. It was Grandma Katherine!

Tears were flowing from Katherine’s eyes as she stood and stared at her in an expression of pity.

Emily knew she was on the brink of death as her father continued slamming himself into her faster and harder. Her blood was splattered all over the place; she was nearly split in two. She started to close her eyes to await her imminent death when something suddenly caught her eye: Grandma Katherine had picked up the pitchfork and was now standing over the two of them. She raised the pitchfork high over her head with both of her hands; then, with all her might, brought it down into the back of her father’s head.

His head exploded into a million pieces . . .

Emily awoke with a scream. She continued to scream until she finally realized that she was lying in her bed and that she had been dreaming.

She trembled uncontrollably. The sheets were soaked with perspiration. In spite of her relief that it had only been a dream, she was still absolutely terrified. She turned over and stared at the glowing red numerals of the clock radio. It read 3:37 A.M. She pulled the covers down to her waist to cool herself off but this only made her tremble more. She pulled the covers back up over her and began crying softly to herself.

Lying back against the pillow, fragments of the nightmare came back to her. It had begun the same way as they always began: her father fondling her while she slept. She had just turned eleven a few weeks before and had come home from school for Christmas vacation.

In essence, the dream had been an accurate reenactment of what had actually occurred on that horrible night. Up until the part where she’d escaped from her father by falling through the hole in the floor and landing in Hell. That of course, had never happened. Instead, her father had raped her right there in her bed. Then he had stormed out of her bedroom, leaving her alone, crying and in pain. Later, he’d come back and threatened her—made her promise him that she would never tell anyone what had happened. Otherwise, he had warned, he’d make her sorry that she’d ever been born. Emily had sensed that this was his way of saying that he would kill her. As she lay in bed crying herself to sleep, she had tried to figure out why her father had done what he had and why she suddenly felt so dirty and disgusted with herself. She knew that she must have done something awfully bad to be treated like that by her own father but had no idea what it could have been. She only knew that she would never be the same little girl she used to be anymore . . .

The nightmares always began the same way, but through the years had evolved into a number of varying scenarios that always ended with a different and more horrifying climax each time. And ever since Miss Rutledge had revealed to her the story about Grandma Katherine ten years ago, Katherine herself had begun making an appearance at some point of every dream—usually to rescue her from her father. Her great-grandfather, John Hoffman, appeared randomly—always with the featureless white eyeballs . . .

Suddenly, the image of her father climbing on top of her flashed through Emily’s mind and she shuddered. With that vision came the flashbacks: the freaks pawing all over her body, her great-grandfather lapping her chest like a dog with his long raspy tongue, her father splitting her wide-open as she lay flat on her back, chained-up and utterly defenseless; the pain, the horror, the blood . . .

Emily screamed bloody murder. Her eyes fluttered open in an attempt to make the images go away. But they wouldn’t. In a panic, she reached over and fumbled for the lamp. Finally, she found the switch and flipped it on. Light filled her bedroom. The flashbacks went away.

Emily breathed a long sigh. She was safe now . . . for the time being, anyway.

But how many more times was she going to have to go through all of this? she thought. How much longer was she going to have to live this nightmare over and over again? How many more nights was she going to wake up screaming in a cold sweat, wracked in mortal fear?

When would the nightmares go away?

Never, she thought. They were never going to go away. In fact, they had only increased in frequency through the years. She’d only had them occasionally when they first started; maybe once or twice a month. Then she’d started having them two or three times a week. And now, ever since her father’s death, she’d had them nearly every night of the week.

She simply couldn’t go on living like this.

She felt exhausted and weak. She wanted to go back to sleep, but she knew that her mind wouldn’t let her. She was going to have to just lay there and wait, just as she had all the other times, until her fatigue became so great that her body would finally shut down and allow her to fall into a deep, deathlike slumber.

Emily suddenly threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Before stepping out, she instinctively checked the floor for holes. Then, grabbing her robe and hastily throwing it over her shoulders, she fled the bedroom and ran downstairs.

She went to the kitchen and flicked on the lights. She strode determinedly over to one of the cupboards and opened the door. There behind the neatly arranged rows of glasses, she spotted the bottle of scotch. With a decisive shrug of her shoulders, she grabbed the bottle by the neck and took it out.

The bottle was still sealed and had sat in the cabinet since before her father’s death. She took out a glass, opened up the scotch, poured in a few ounces.

She hadn’t had a drink in over ten years. Not since that Sunday afternoon when she and Ted had gone on the picnic from Hell. She’d made a vow to herself later that day to never drink again; and she’d stuck to it faithfully all this time.

“But that was then, and this is now.” Emily said aloud then brought the glass to her lips and drained it dry. The liquor felt good and warm going down—perhaps a little too good, she thought to herself.

With a smirk, she poured herself another glass and drained it. She poured herself yet another one before taking bottle and all into the den with her.

Cassie was curled up on the hearth and stirred briefly when Emily entered. She glanced into the fireplace and was startled to discover that the embers were still burning. She already felt lightheaded from the scotch as she strolled over to the picture window and gazed outside.

The snowfall had tapered off to flurries, but not before dumping a good seven inches of fresh snow on the ground. The scene outside was breathtaking. Millions of twinkling ice crystals topped the blanket of snow. Beyond the tree line of her yard, the moon shone randomly through the windswept clouds, delicately illuminating the entire mountaintop. Tall pines were covered in a blanket of white, their branches sagging under the weight of the snow.

Emily felt herself glowing. She took another sip of scotch and continued to stare out at the winter wonderland before her. Her senses were numb now, and it occurred to her that she had absolutely no regrets about breaking her vow. She could justify this occasion by her own admission that she had been entirely too hard on herself in the past; too strict in the rules and guidelines she had established for herself that were supposed to help her cope with a dilemma which she had absolutely no control over.

She grinned and took another drink. What harm could there be in drowning a few sorrows once in a while? she thought. There was a clinical purpose to this drink; it had therapeutic value. She needed to get some goddamn sleep! She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in what seemed like ages and it was beginning to take its toll on her. She was tired of feeling flat-out exhausted all the time.

Emily drained the rest of the glass and prepared to pour herself another one. All of a sudden she felt dizzy and nearly lost her balance as she tried removing the cap off the scotch bottle while holding the glass between her arm and side at the same time.

“Seem to be losing my motor skills,” she giggled, fumbling with the bottle cap.

She finally managed to remove the cap successfully without the glass falling to the floor. Smiling triumphantly, she poured herself a generous drink then set the bottle down on the windowsill. Another sip later, she realized that she was quite sloshed. Her eyes wouldn’t stay focused and her head was spinning like a top. The notion of going back to bed and passing out suddenly appealed to her. In fact, she had to admit, it was becoming more like a necessity.

She clumsily set her glass down on the windowsill then went over to where Cassie was lying on the hearth.

“I love you, girl,” she said, patting her puppy on the head and kneeling down to give her a kiss.

Emily then fled the den in haste and stumbled her way up the long flight of stairs to the second floor. When she reached the top, she had to balance herself by running her hand along the wall of the hallway as she staggered toward the bedroom door. She made a beeline for her bed, slipped out of her robe, and jumped in under the covers. Switching off the bedside lamp, Emily closed her eyes and within seconds, was sound asleep.

CHAPTER 5

When Emily awoke the next morning, her head ached and she felt sick to her stomach. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand and gasped when she saw the time—12:17. She hadn’t slept in this late since she’d been in college.

Slowly, she got out of bed and made her way to the bedroom door and opened it. Cassie was lying on the hallway floor and jumped up to greet her master. Emily petted her for a moment before ambling down the hall to the bathroom.

She went over to the medicine cabinet and took two aspirins out of a bottle then closed the door. She was shocked when she saw herself in the mirror; her eyes were bloodshot with dark lines underneath and her skin was alabaster. She heaved a heavy sigh then popped the aspirins in her mouth and washed them down with a glass of water. After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she left the bathroom, resisting the lingering urge to throw up.

Her legs felt wobbly as she descended the stairs and went into the kitchen. After feeding Cassie, she prepared a pot of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to wait for it to brew.

She stared blankly at the kitchen table and recalled the night before. Another nightmare. And it had been the most frightening one she’d had yet. Why, she thought, wouldn’t they just go away? And why did they seem to be increasing in frequency? She’d long ago accepted the fact that they were apparently going to be a part of her life, like it or not, but she now feared that they were beginning to run her life.

And now, as an indirect result of the nightmares, she’d broken her long-standing vow not to drink alcohol. Ever since the day she’d nearly been raped by Ted, she’d blamed alcohol for the entire incident. She felt that the wine he’d guzzled down had made him aggressive and knew that had he not drank so much, he most likely would never have done what he’d done.

She wondered how much scotch she’d downed last night. Enough to do the trick, she thought to herself with a smirk. And although she was paying the price today, she had to admit it was worth it—she’d slept like a baby.

The coffee pot ceased brewing so she stood up and went over to pour herself a cup. She glanced out the window before sitting back down and smiled weakly when she saw the bright sun shining in a deep blue sky. At least the weather was going to be nice today, she thought.

She took a sip of coffee and felt her stomach growl. She was hungry, but decided to put off eating because she wasn’t sure she could keep anything solid down. Perhaps after a long walk, she thought to herself. She hadn’t taken her traditional Sunday walk out to the old house in weeks, but today she decided, she wasn’t going to let the snow stop her as she had the last few weekends. Besides, maybe the exercise would perk her up a bit.

She finished her coffee then went upstairs to dress. After throwing on a pair of jeans and a turtleneck sweater, she found her hiking boots in the closet and put them on then went back downstairs. After donning her heavy wool winter coat and gloves, she called Cassie and the two left the house by way of the back door.

The cold air nipped at her nose as she stepped off the porch into the backyard, and Emily welcomed the sobering sensation. She watched Cassie as she bolted into the vast expanse of deep snow and began sniffing and rolling around playfully. She headed directly for the tree line in the far corner of the yard and could feel her hangover abating as she made her way through the brilliant span of winter whiteness.

Cassie was well ahead of her when she reached the tree line and entered the path that cut through the woods. She noticed her springer spaniel pointing at something in the brush to the right of the path and quickened her pace to catch up with her. When she reached her though, Cassie suddenly bolted into a flat-out sprint and darted up the path, apparently no longer interested in whatever it was she’d been pointing at.

Emily slowed her pace and began ambling along, taking in the beauty and splendor of the winter landscape. She observed the way that the snow was nestled neatly in the nooks of the trees and marveled at the sheer magnificence of this mountain—how breathtakingly beautiful it was no matter what the season. Nothing in the world, she knew, could ever draw her away from this place she loved so much. It was the only thing in her life that she could count on to always be there and never let her down. It gave her a sense of security that otherwise was lacking in her reclusive existence and she felt at times that it was the only driving force keeping her plugging along life’s meandering path.

She was well aware of the fact that the entire village of Ashland Falls thought her odd; living alone on top of this mountain as she did. They couldn’t understand why an attractive young woman would want to live alone—as opposed to finding a man and settling down to raise a family like she was “supposed to do.” She also knew that they were no doubt aware of her personal wealth and that it boggled their minds why she would stick around here in the middle of nowhere running an antique shop, which for all intent and purposes was little more than an exhibit of old furniture and knickknacks from days gone by.

But what the locals didn’t know, and never would know, was the truth—why things were the way they were. And how her life had seemingly been destined for the skids long before she’d even been brought into this world. It was all due to the Hoffman legacy, for lack of a better term. In essence, she’d been born into a family whose past had been rife with greed, lust, and tyranny—a family whose past had never quite caught up with its individual members.

Until now . . .

Emily had hiked nearly a mile until she finally came within sight of the burned-down house that once was home to her grandmother Katherine as an infant. When she neared the clearing surrounding the house’s foundation, she spotted Cassie sniffing busily around the remains. Almost immediately, she could feel the familiar sensation of being drawn into the house and the mystery concerning its former occupants.

She brushed off the snow from a log lying near the old well with a gloved hand then sat down. This is where it all began, she thought as she stared blankly at the snow-covered rubble. No one, herself included, would ever know the truth about Grandma Katherine. Katherine herself hadn’t even known; and that was a tragedy in itself. In spite of Miss Rutledge’s implication that Grandma Katherine had felt confident she was the biological daughter of Clem and Nancy Porter, Emily felt certain that she’d had her doubts about it. Her grandmother had refused to believe John Hoffman’s story—and why the hell shouldn’t she? To think that her father-in-law was actually her father, and that her husband was actually her half-brother would be a hard pill for anyone to swallow.

A thought suddenly occurred to her.

What if Grandma Katherine had actually accepted John Hoffman’s claim that he was her father? It would have destroyed her! So she had opted for the alternative instead. To save herself. And her marriage to Grandpa Warren. And all their dreams for the future . . .

Emily swallowed hard. Why couldn’t she do as her grandmother had done and get on with her life; instead of letting this all consume her as she was?

One of the answers was obvious. Her father. He’d been insane; no doubt about it. His insanity had directly influenced her life. And it seemed more than obvious that his insanity had stemmed from the fact that his father and mother had been brother and sister—they’d shared the same father at any rate. The result: a genetic short-circuit.

Of course she wasn’t positive of this; she never could be. But it seemed likely the more she pondered what Miss Rutledge had told her. John Hoffman had slept with Katherine’s mother, Nancy Porter, and there was little doubt about that. Whether he’d raped her or not; the fact still remained. Why else would her great-grandfather willingly confess to his son that he’d committed an act of adultery if it wasn’t true? There would be absolutely no reason for him to do so, otherwise.

But the pertinent question was whether or not he’d actually conceived Katherine. The odds pointed to that being the case. Clem and Nancy Porter had tried for ten years to have a child without any success. Then suddenly, Nancy gets pregnant with Katherine in her womb at around the same time her great-grandfather was having his way with her. Sheer coincidence? Perhaps, but highly unlikely.

All of this troubled her more than she cared to admit. She realized that she could, theoretically, shrug the whole thing off as her grandmother had supposedly done if things were different. But her life was a living nightmare—literally—and the recurring nightmares were a constant reminder of both her own past as well as her family’s. People who were long dead and buried and whom she had never known had become living characters in her dreams; interacting with her and ultimately influencing the outcome of each horrifying episode.

Why was this so? she thought. Why couldn’t she have some peace?

Emily glanced over at Cassie who was now digging furiously around a charred wooden beam lying near the middle of the house’s foundation. Her thoughts shifted to yet another unanswered question.

Why did she have the unnerving feeling that there was a reason for these nightmares? That there was some underlying purpose to them, other than to scare the living daylights out of her? And why did she feel such a profound attraction to this old burned-down house? She’d been here dozens of times through the years for no particular reason; yet she’d always felt compelled to return to it over and over again.

She watched as Cassie pulled something out from under the wooden beam she’d been digging around then stood proudly holding the object in her clenched teeth. From this distance Emily couldn’t tell what it was; only that it was small and round. Her curiosity aroused, she stood up and walked briskly toward her puppy.

“What have you got there, girl? Let Mommy see it,” she called as she approached her.

With a playful leap, Cassie ran in the other direction as fast as she could. Emily reached the wooden beam and discovered a hole six inches deep underneath it.

“Cassie, come here this instant!” she shouted after her.

The springer spaniel froze where she was and turned to look at Emily. Then she dashed for another ten yards before looking back to see if her master was chasing her.

“Cassie! I don’t want to play games now. Let me see what you have!” she yelled, then began running toward her.

Cassie waited until Emily was five yards away then started running again. Emily, now getting annoyed, broke into a sprint in an attempt to collar her rambunctious pet.

“You’d better stop now!” she warned in a stern voice.

Cassie glanced back wearing a look of fear after hearing Emily’s tone of voice, and eventually slowed down to a complete stop.

“Good girl! Now let Mommy see what you have,” she said as she approached her.

Cassie lay down in the snow and began chewing the object she was holding in her paws. Emily caught up to her then plucked it out from Cassie’s grip.

Although it was charred black with no distinguishing features other than the cylindrical stem jutting out from its top, Emily recognized the object as being a man’s pocket watch. She took off her glove and began scraping the blackened metal with her fingernail until she was able to free the stem enough to allow it to move. Then she pulled up on it and the lid popped open, revealing the face of the old watch, which was still in remarkably good condition.

“Clem’s watch,” she breathed out loud in awe.

She began examining the watch closely, turning it over and over in her hands in utter fascination. The watch had stopped at 12:47 and Emily felt a cold chill run down her spine; wondering if that had been the time at which Clem Porter had perished in the fire. A fleeting image of her faceless great-grandfather engulfed in flames, crying in agony, shot through her mind and her hands began to tremble. What a god-awful tragedy! she thought.

For the first time since she’d been told the story about her Grandma Katherine, Emily felt a sudden wave of compassion and pity for the one key player who, up until now, she’d given little thought to.

Clem Porter.

Her other great-grandfather—theoretically. But had he been a blood relative; or merely the husband of Nancy Porter, and not the father of his wife’s child?

Had he known about John Hoffman sleeping with his wife?

Had he known that Katherine was not his daughter, but instead had been John Hoffman’s daughter?

Had he even suspected any kind of foul play?

Miss Rutledge had told her very little about Clem Porter. Only that he’d been Nancy Porter’s husband and that he’d been madly in love with her. And that he’d been a good man. From what she’d told her, Clem and Nancy had been the perfect couple—happily married for over ten years.

Yet, according to John Hoffman, Nancy Porter was a flirt, and had seduced him into this house to make love to her. Not just on one occasion, but several times over a period of a couple of weeks.

Did this sound like the stuff that happy marriages at the turn of the century were made of? Did it seem likely that Nancy Porter would repeatedly have sex with another man when she was supposedly head-over-heels in love with her husband who, in turn, was equally in love with her?

No. It absolutely did not.

So, John Hoffman had raped Nancy Porter.

Had Clem known about it? Had Nancy told him? And if Clem had known about it, why had he apparently done nothing about it? Especially if he knew that John Hoffman was really the father of his child?

Emily felt feint suddenly. She crouched down on her knees in the snow and closed her eyes for a moment. These questions that now came to mind left her weak and baffled. The sudden reemergence of Clem Porter into the mystery only added more questions to be asked which would no doubt remain unanswered.

After several moments, she stood up and sauntered back toward the old house. Cassie, who had been eyeing the pocket watch all this time and no doubt wondered when her newfound toy would be returned to her, quickly sprung up and followed alongside.

Once back at the old house, Emily went over to where Cassie had dug up the watch and began looking around. Thinking that perhaps something else might be pinned under the heavy wooden beam, she lifted if up as far as she could and threw it aside then examined the exposed area of ground but found nothing.

Exasperated, she plopped down on the wooden beam and let out a long sigh. Nearly every time she’d come out to the old house, she’d inevitably found herself poking around through the debris in hopes of finding something of significance. And every time, she’d questioned her behavior at some point; wondering why she always felt the compulsion to pursue this ridiculous and futile effort. Did she actually think that she could find something here that would give her all the answers to the questions she sought? If so, then she was clearly wasting her time. In all these years, she’d found only two things—an old fork, and now this pocket watch. Yet, she knew she would never quit searching . . .

Why is that? she wondered.

She stared at Clem’s watch in her hand. Although it gave no clue to what had happened, she still regarded it as a significant and precious find. For in her hand was a personal possession of her great-grandfather that she would cherish forever. In fact, it was the only memento of either Clem or Nancy’s existence on earth, with the exception of the fork. She had nothing else; not even a photograph of them to hold in her hand and look at from time to time.

The fire had destroyed virtually everything that her great-grandparents had ever owned. Except their most prized possession: their child.

Emily began sobbing softly. This was all too much to conceive. Beginning with Clem and Nancy’s tragic deaths and the abrupt end to their short, happy lives, three generations of her family had been profoundly affected ever since. Grandma Katherine had died young, never knowing who her real father had been, and never given the opportunity to raise her only child. That child, Emily’s father, had been an insane tyrant who had abused her mother and herself; as well as pulling the carpet out from under the folks of Ashland Falls. And now, she herself was watching her own life being swept away before her very eyes by the mental torment that wouldn’t and couldn’t let her live a normal life.

She, the last living Hoffman, was apparently doomed forever. And all of this was due to her greedy, selfish great-grandfather, John Hoffman, who had committed an act of self-indulgent lust. She had grown to hate the man. Almost as much as she wanted to hate her father. But she couldn’t hate her father. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been the way he’d been.

It all came back to John Hoffman. He was the Devil himself.

Sorrow turned to anger as she sat there thinking about him. He was the reason she was there now, confused and frustrated, among the ruins of what used to be a house filled with love and hope. He had destroyed the product of that love and hope, just as he’d destroyed nearly everything good and decent in this world that he’d touched. He’d turned his own son and his son’s wife against him and died a lonely and bitter man. Karma, she thought. What goes around comes around.

Once again, Emily stared at the pocket watch and realized how little she knew about its owner. Maybe, she thought, she could learn more about her great-grandfather if she talked to Miss Rutledge.

It was time to pay her a visit at the nursing home.

She stood up and stuck the pocket watch in her coat pocket then started to leave. Cassie, who was sniffing around the fireplace, broke into a sprint and led the way back down the path.

CHAPTER 6

Kingston was a thirty-minute drive from Ashland Falls. Along the way, Emily thought about the Miss Rutledge and felt guilty for not going to see her more often than she did. She knew she wouldn’t be around much longer—she was already ninety years old; and Emily was the only acquaintance of hers who ever paid her a visit as far as she knew. Miss Rutledge had never married; and her only living relatives were her deceased stepfather’s family—all of whom had apparently long ago forsaken the old lady. If it weren’t for Margaret Travis, Henrietta Latham’s mother who also lived at the nursing home, Emily felt certain that Miss Rutledge would most likely die from sheer loneliness.

It was 4:30 when Emily arrived at Oaklawn Senior Care Center. She was relieved to find that Miss Rutledge was awake and alert when she entered her room and saw her sitting up in bed reading a magazine.

“What a wonderful surprise! How are you, honey?” she exclaimed as she looked up from her magazine and saw Emily.

“Fine, Miss Rutledge,” Emily said as she walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “And how have you been?”

“Couldn’t be better,” she replied.

“Have you been feeling alright?” Emily challenged, after noticing how thin and weak she’d gotten since she’d last seen her.

“Why sure! My only complaint is the crazy diet they have me on. I’d give my eye tooth for a fat juicy steak!”

“They aren’t starving you, are they?”

“That depends on what you’d call having to eat cooked carrots, potato soup, and Jell-O day-in and day-out. I only eat because I have to—not because I enjoy it.” Miss Rutledge declared sourly.

“I’m sorry to hear that. But I guess they know what’s best for you,” Emily said, suddenly dreading growing old.

“I reckon so,” she replied with a sigh.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last visit. Things have been sort of helter-skelter since my father died,” Emily said, taking off her coat and pulling a chair up beside the bed.

“Have you been making out okay in that big house all by yourself?” Miss Rutledge asked.

“Oh yes, everything’s fine. I finally installed some floodlights outside in the yard so it isn’t so dark and spooky when I get home in the evenings. That helps a lot.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Your grandfather Warren was forever trying to get Charles to do that, but you know how stubborn he could be—especially when your grandfather was concerned. He’d tell your father that it wasn’t safe for a pretty young woman to be up there on that mountain alone half the time without at least having the grounds lit up.”

Emily shook her head. “Well, you needn’t worry about me, Miss Rutledge; I know how to take care of myself. Besides, I’ve got my ferocious puppy to protect me now if anyone dares to lurk around that house,” she declared with a wry grin.

“What did you say your new friend’s name is again?”

“Cassie. She’s cute as a button—and getting pretty big, too. She’s turned out to be the best companion a girl could ever have.”

Miss Rutledge made an odd expression, then said, “Some women seem to think that a man might make an even better companion.”

Here we go again, Emily thought to herself. Would she ever let up?

“Trust me, Miss Rutledge. Cassie is all I really need right now,” she said, hoping to get off the subject.

“I’m sorry, Emily, I’m not trying to put you on the spot. I just wish you’d find a decent young man and get married someday. You’re much too beautiful a young woman to be all alone as you are. I just worry about you, dear.”

Emily was moved, as always, by the elderly woman’s sincere intentions. “That’s all right,” she said. “But please don’t worry about me. I’m happy with things the way they are right now. And who knows? Maybe Mr. Right will come along and sweep me off my feet someday.” she added lightly.

“Well, I wish he’d hurry up!” she exclaimed, then after a pause said, “I’m not going to be around forever, you know. And I’ve promised myself that I’m not letting the Good Lord take me until I’ve seen you married off.”

Emily was caught off-guard. There was something in the way she’d said this that seemed odd for some reason. And in spite of the fact that she was piqued at Miss Rutledge for putting her on the spot, she tried her hardest not to show it.

“Then I guess you’re going to be around for a long, long time, Miss Rutledge. And I’m happy to know that!” she said, smiling widely.

“Why you little rascal!” Miss Rutledge exclaimed, then broke into laughter.

“What do you think of this weather we’ve been having?” Emily asked.

“We’re sure having our fair share of snow, that’s for certain. Have you had any trouble getting up that mountain in all of this?”

“Not yet. My bus does a pretty good job in the snow.”

“And have you been eating right? You look a little thinner than usual.”

“Yes, Miss Rutledge, I have,” Emily replied. She’d lost five pounds in the last month, but until now hadn’t thought it noticeable.

“Emily dear, may I ask you something?” Miss Rutledge said in a serious tone of voice.

“Sure. What is it?”

“Please don’t get angry with me. I just want to know, honestly, if anything is the matter. It’s just that—how should I put it—you don’t look too well. You look as though you haven’t been sleeping right; you’re pale, and your face is drawn. I can’t help but sense that something is troubling you. Please, Emily. Tell me.”

Emily looked away. If she only knew how many times she’d wanted to open her heart to her and tell her everything. But she’d never been able to bring herself to do it in all these years. It had just been too difficult; and now that she was so old and her health so fragile, she just couldn’t see any sense in it. It would upset her too much.

Besides, it was her problem to deal with, and nobody else’s.

“I’m fine, Miss Rutledge. I’ll admit that I haven’t slept well lately, but other than that, everything’s been fine.” Emily finally said, still looking away.

“Please, Emily. Tell me the truth,” her old friend gently coaxed.

For a moment, Emily wanted nothing more than to spill her guts to this wonderful woman. To tell her the whole ball of wax; to share the pain, fear, and grief she’d been enduring for so many years with someone other than herself. She would feel better—she’d have a shoulder to cry on and be consoled into thinking that everything was going to be all right.

But she didn’t tell her. She simply couldn’t.

Emily faced her and stared into her faded green eyes. “I’ll be okay, Miss Rutledge. I’ve had a few problems, but I’ll be able to work them out by myself. So please don’t worry.”

“Sweetie, maybe you should talk to someone else, if not to me. They may be able to help.” she suggested, he voice soft and sincere.

Emily shook her head. “I’m okay—it’s nothing serious. And certainly nothing a shrink could do anything about. I’m just going to have to deal with this myself in my own way.”

Miss Rutledge said, “Alright, honey. I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. But if there’s anything I can do to help, will you promise me that you’ll let me know? I know I’m old and feeble, but I would do anything on this earth within my power to help you, and make you happy.”

Emily stood up and went over to her then put her arms around her.

“I love you, Miss Rutledge.”

“I love you too, dear.”

After embracing her, Emily stood and reached for her purse lying on the bed. She opened it up and withdrew the pocket watch then handed it over to Miss Rutledge.

“I found this out at the old house. Cassie dug it up from under one of the boards. I think it must have been Clem Porter’s.”

Miss Rutledge eyed the watch she held in her arthritic hand and said, “It most likely was Clem’s. Every man owned a pocket watch back in those days.”

“What was he like?” Emily asked her.

Her eyes went from the pocket watch to Emily. “I’m afraid I don’t know much more than I’ve already told you, dear. I was only four years old when he and Nancy died in the fire, and I can’t recall ever laying eyes on him. All I’ve learned about him came from my mother who was Nancy’s best friend, as you already know.”

Emily could already sense that Miss Rutledge was more than a little hesitant about rehashing the past right now.

She said, “When I found this watch today, I realized that I know so little about him, and it just doesn’t seem right. For that matter, I don’t know much about Nancy either. Yet I know more than I care to about my other great-grandfather, John Hoffman. I don’t even know what Clem and Nancy looked like! Aren’t there any pictures of them anywhere?”

Miss Rutledge sighed. “As far as I know, my mother never had any photographs of the Porters. Keep in mind, Emily, that things were quite different in those days. Photographs were still relatively rare; more of a luxury, you might say. Cameras were not that commonplace and for the most part, only the well-to-do indulged in picture-taking. Clem and Nancy probably never even owned a camera, as they were common folk. And even if they did own a camera, everything they had went up in flames along with their house. They had no living relatives when they perished, either. Poor Katherine. She never even knew what her parents looked like . . .”

Her eyes clouded up when she said her name. Emily took her hand and patted it comfortingly.

“It just isn’t fair. None of this. And on top of everything else, Grandma Katherine wasn’t even sure who her father was,” Emily said.

Miss Rutledge nodded. “It’s such a tragedy . . .” her voice fell off, but not soon enough.

Emily looked at her. “She didn’t know, did she?”

Miss Rutledge realized that she’d given herself away. She shook her head from side to side and replied, “No, she didn’t.”

Emily felt guilty for trapping her as she had, but it confirmed what she’d suspected all along. Grandma Katherine had died never knowing the truth about her parentage. Nor had she alluded herself into thinking that Clem had been her father.

Miss Rutledge must have read her mind. “But that doesn’t necessarily imply that she believed John Hoffman to be her father, Emily.”

“But why have you misled me all these years, Miss Rutledge? Why have you led me to believe that Grandma Katherine never doubted that Clem was her father” Emily asked.

Miss Rutledge fell silent for a moment. Then she said, “I’m sorry, Emily. I have misled you, and I apologize. I’ve wanted to protect you from all of this from the very beginning because I wasn’t sure how you’d react. But on the other hand, I’ve felt you had the right to know; and hoped that once all was said and done, you’d take it for what it was worth and then get on with your life. But now I see the effect it’s had on you and I could just kick myself for having told you anything in the first place. You’ve let this whole matter regarding your grandmother get the better of you, Emily—that’s more than apparent. You’ve become obsessed with the very same thing that obsessed Katherine; and you’re letting it affect your life much in the same way that it affected hers. I wish to God that I’d never said a word and simply let the past die as I should have . . .”

“Please, Miss Rutledge,” Emily interjected. “Don’t blame yourself—it’s not your fault. I have coaxed you all along, trying to find out all I could about Grandma Katherine. And I do have a right to know. But I have a right to know everything. So please don’t keep anything more from me. Please,” she pleaded.

Miss Rutledge stared at Emily for a moment; then let out a long sigh of resignation. “Alright, Emily. What’s done is done, and we can’t change that. You’re just like your grandmother was; determined and obstinate beyond reproach. She spent most of her life doing the very same thing you’ve been doing—picking around in that old burned down house trying to find anything that might somehow answer her questions. And when you found that old fork and brought it over to show me a long time ago, I knew that it was inevitable—that history was going to repeat itself.

“And your grandfather suspected the very same thing. That’s why Warren was so hesitant to discuss certain matters concerning Katherine. Because he’d already seen what it had done to his wife, and he didn’t want the same thing to happen to you. He was such a good man—I should have listened to him and kept my mouth shut.

“But there were a few things that even Warren didn’t know about Katherine. And had he known, I suspect that things might have turned out differently than they had. It’s hard to tell.”

Emily’s eyes were glued to hers. “What things?”

Miss Rutledge hesitated before continuing. “I was at Katherine’s bedside when she passed away. She’d told Warren that she wished to speak to me—alone. So as he waited outside her hospital room, Katherine told me some most unsettling things.

“She told me that John Hoffman had sexually abused her as a child. I was so shocked by this that I nearly fainted on the spot. When I asked her why she’d never told my mother about it, she replied that John had threatened to kill her if she ever told anyone. Apparently he’d fondled her on several occasions—on those nights when she slept over at the Hoffmans’ house. I asked her how long this had gone on and she told me it started when she was about four years old and continued up until she was nearly ten.”

Emily sat paralyzed, her eyes staring blankly at the wall.

“Emily?”

She blinked then looked at Miss Rutledge. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes . . . Yes, I’m fine,” she replied weakly.

“I’m not going on with this,” Miss Rutledge declared flatly.

“No, please. Go on. I must know.” Emily insisted.

She heaved a sigh. “I will be so glad once I’ve gotten this off my conscience. This is very difficult, Emily. For both of us.”

Emily replied, “I know. And I’m sorry I’m putting you through it. But please continue.”

“Katherine then told me that she started having horrifying nightmares as a result of this; and that they had haunted her most of her life. I asked her if Warren knew about any of this and she replied that he knew nothing about the abuse, but that he was quite aware of her nightmares. I asked her why she’d never told him and she replied that had he known what his father had done, he probably would never have married her. I of course objected—telling her that he’d loved her far too much to have let anything like that stand in the way of his marrying her. She said that even though that may have been the case, she hadn’t wanted to take any chances at the time. Besides that, she told me, she’d been fearful of how Warren might have reacted had she told him what his father had done—that he might have done something ‘foolish.’ I think she was implying that he might have gotten violent.

“Katherine likened John Hoffman to the Devil himself; because, as she put it, ‘no God-fearing man could possibly be as vile and treacherous as he.’ She noted that not only had this man abused her as a child, he had also claimed to have once had an affair with her mother; and as a result of that affair, had fathered her. And as if this weren’t enough, he’d then gone one step further and nearly jeopardized her marriage to the man she loved by the very implications resulting from his false claims. She told me that she had never thought herself capable to hate anyone, but that she indeed hated John Hoffman with a passion. He had controlled her life from its very beginning, she said, and the only glimmer of hope in her life had been to marry Warren and get out from under John Hoffman’s hold on her.

“But as it turned out, she never quite got away from John Hoffman. She told me that she continued having nightmares about him, and that after his death, it was as though his spirit had suddenly come to life and started taking control of her. She saw visions of him in her dreams; horrifying visions of him raping her mother and herself repeatedly, and such. These nightmares got to be so terrifying that many times she would actually force herself to stay awake at night—just to keep herself from dreaming. She refused to discuss these dreams with Warren; feeling that there was nothing he could do about them and that she would only upset him. So she bore all of this trauma all by herself.

“Your grandmother spent a great deal of her short life in torment—though she seldom ever let it show. She was very independent, and determined to make the best of things in spite of the circumstances. She was always kind to others and had been a loving, caring wife to Warren. She told me that giving birth to your father had been the happiest moment in her life, and that at last she had felt complete. And although she knew that she was going to die as a result of bringing Charles into the world, she pleaded with me not to mourn for her; because she felt that giving new life was much more significant than losing her own, and that she will have died knowing that it hadn’t been in vain.”

Emily was in tears. She leaned over and threw her arms around Miss Rutledge and held her tight. Fragments of her own life, her grandmother’s life, and the nightmares she’d dreamt swam through her head like a hideous collage of utter Hell. For a moment she thought she would lose her mind and had to open her eyes to assure herself that she was in control. Her body felt limp as she clung to Miss Rutledge for dear life, sobbing hysterical sobs of absolute futility.

“There, now,” Miss Rutledge consoled, patting her back soothingly. “I know it’s hard; I’ve wept many times myself over the years. But I try to remember what she said—not to mourn her—and I tell myself that she’s in a place much kinder than the world she left behind. She’s there now, looking down upon us, and wishing that we weren’t grieving so.”

Emily continued clinging to her frail body, unable to control her emotions. Never in her life had she felt so alone and afraid.

“I’m so sorry, Emily. I can only say that you know everything now, however sorrowful it might be, and I pray that from this moment on you’ll be able to let the matter rest once and for all and get on with your life. Katherine would want you to. Please don’t let her down, honey.”

Emily somehow managed to nod her head. She felt sorry for Miss Rutledge, who surely had to be feeling that she’d been nothing more than the bearer of bad news to her for all these years. But this wasn’t at all true. She loved and respected this kind old woman who had been her closest friend for most of her life and realized now that Miss Rutledge wanted nothing more right now than a little reassurance that she was getting through to her.

She fought off the tears and faced her. “I’m okay now, Miss Rutledge. And I promise you, from my heart, that I won’t let Grandma Katherine down.”

Miss Rutledge told herself that she believed her. “I’m so happy to hear you say that, honey.”

“I’m afraid I’d better leave now, though. There are some things I have to tend to at the shop,” she lied. “But I’ll come back to see you soon—real soon. I just hope you’ll forgive me for taking so long to come around this time.”

She smiled. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, honey—I understand. You just take care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay. And you do the same. Do you need anything before I go?”

“No, thank you. Be careful on your way back,” she said.

“I will, Miss Rutledge,” Emily replied. She stood up and put her coat on then picked her purse up from the bed.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, glancing over at the pocket watch lying on the bedside table. She retrieved it and put it away in her purse then bent down and kissed Miss Rutledge.

“Bye, see you soon,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Good-bye, dear. Drive carefully,” she repeated.

Emily nodded then turned and left the room.

CHAPTER 7

Dorothy Rutledge continued staring at the door for a moment after Emily left then slowly turned her head and fixed her eyes on the jewelry box lying on top of her dressing bureau. Long shafts of afternoon sun sprawled lazily across the width of her room and fell directly on it, highlighting it—demanding her attention.

She hadn’t told Emily everything. And she most likely never would.

A mixture of guilt and frustration swept over her like a dark cloud. How could she possibly fulfill her promise to Katherine? And what had made Katherine so certain that she could? Had she seen a vision just before she died—a premonition of the future? Or had she simply become delirious in her final minutes of life before finally succumbing to the throes of death?

She gazed around at the room where she would most likely spend the remainder of her life and wondered how much longer she’d be around. A year? Six months? A week? She felt certain it wouldn’t be much longer; the doctors had all but told her so in that vague and elusive sort of way that they spoke of such things. Her heart was weak, and arthritis had all but confined her to a bed and a wheelchair. Her time was running out.

If she had but one wish to be granted before she died, it would be to see Emily Hoffman find a good man who would love and care for her and make her happy. She was such a good, sweet young woman; and to see her lead the dismal and lonely life she led made her heart bleed for her. She was undeserving of such a forlorn existence—much too good, much too innocent. And knowing that she herself was partly to blame for Emily’s grim situation by dragging skeletons out of the closet only made her feel worse.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head in prayer.

“Please, Dear Lord, see that Emily finds comfort and happiness in life. She needs you so, right now. And please forgive me for my sins and spare Emily any more pain and suffering. I have tried to do what I felt was right throughout this tragic situation, but I now fear that I’ve made a grave mistake. Please, Oh Lord, if I have indeed erred, spare Emily for my folly; for she is innocent. Thank you, Lord, for hearing me now. Amen.”

Dorothy opened her eyes long enough to fluff her pillow and pull the covers up over her frail, trembling body. Then, as the mental and physical exhaustion of the day set in and took over, she closed her eyes again and fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

CHAPTER 8

Emily approached the road, downshifted into third, and began her ascent. A full moon shining in the crystal-clear evening sky illuminated the snow-shrouded banks skirting the road; and had Emily not been so caught up in her thoughts, she might have paused to observe the breathtaking beauty of the mountain as she wound precariously up its slope.

She pulled up beside her house and shut off the engine then walked over to the side door. Cassie, as always, was barking excitedly inside as Emily unlocked the door and entered. She patted her loyal companion and went into the kitchen to feed her then removed her coat and gloves.

Although she was ravenously hungry, Emily decided that a good strong drink seemed more appealing than food at the moment. A hot bath wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. She took the bottle of scotch from the cupboard and poured herself a drink, adding a little ice. After a moment’s hesitation, she took a sip and grimaced as the liquor burnt a path down her throat to her stomach.

“Life’s a bitch,” she muttered, and sipped again.

With a shiver, Emily topped off the glass with more liquor and made her way upstairs. She went into the bathroom to start the water running, sprinkled in some bubble bath crystals then went to her bedroom to undress.

Before putting on her robe, Emily stood before the closet door mirror and stared at her body, recalling that Miss Rutledge had noticed her weight loss. She did look a little thinner, but not anorexic by any means. The most obvious change was her bust size, which seemed even smaller than usual. She placed her hands on her breasts to gauge their size and groaned in disappointment. She squeezed them a couple of times and the action sent a pleasant tinge of electricity down between her legs. Her fingers began tracing the line of her nipples as they tingled and swelled in response. She thought about Ted and wondered what it would have been like making love to him. Would she have enjoyed it? she wondered. Would she ever know what it was like to be touched and made love to by any man, for that matter? A man who loved and respected her; a man who genuinely cared for her whom she knew she could trust?

Emily moaned as she felt the familiar sensation of desire between her legs, but resisted the temptation to reach down and satisfy the intense yearning she was feeling there. She had let that temptation win her over a couple of times in the past, and each time had ended up regretted it. It never seemed to satisfy, and always made her feel ashamed.

In a single swift movement, Emily grabbed her robe and fled to the bathroom. As she sampled the bath water, it occurred to her that she had been blotting out her visit to the nursing home since entering the house. But the revelations made there were now beginning to invade her thoughts again, making her feel vulnerable all of a sudden. She reached for her drink and took a huge swig.

The liquor warmed her, but the cold thoughts wouldn’t go away. She shut off the tap and gently eased herself down into the hot bubbly water. Lying back in the tub, she took another drink and closed her eyes.

She wanted so much to forget what she had just learned from Miss Rutledge. In fact, at that moment, she wished she’d never known about her grandmother. Her own life was in a shambles now, and she was sick and tired of analyzing it.

John Hoffman had not only fathered Katherine, but had sexually abused her, too.

This thought played in Emily’s mind like a broken record.

She had more in common with Grandma Katherine than she cared to admit. How had Miss Rutledge put it? “History was repeating itself.”

Was the old lady implying she knew that my father had raped and abused me as well? she thought to herself.

How could she know?

She simply couldn’t. It was impossible. Just a stab in the dark.

But what about the nightmares? Another stab in the dark?

Surely. Nobody knew about them. Just as no one knew about her father and what he’d done.

So why did she still have the feeling that Miss Rutledge hadn’t told her everything? What was she still keeping from her? And why?

Emily opened her eyes. She reached for her drink and took a couple of sips, nearly finishing it off. She set it back down on the edge of the tub and yawned wearily.

A dull numbness swept over her as she closed her eyes. The alcohol was beginning to take affect—a fact she graciously welcomed. She became aware of the steady drip-drip-drip of the faucet amidst the still, dead silence of the house and the regularity of the dripping water had a mesmerizing, almost hypnotic effect.

With remarkable ease, Emily blotted all thoughts of her grandmother from her mind. She thought of Ted again, and how she wished he could be there with her now. Things would be different this time—she would pretend that Sunday afternoon had never happened. And instead of resisting his advances, she’d allow his hands to explore her body—to touch and caress her all over. And she would enjoy every moment of it.

She could almost feel him now; his hands cupping her breasts and gently squeezing them. Emily brought her hands down and imagined them to be Ted’s, and that he was in the tub with her. He was sitting there facing her; her legs wrapped around him while his hands worked their magic on her. He pinched one of her erect nipples firmly—just enough to cause her to tingle all over. The other hand moved slowly down her tummy, pausing long enough for a finger to encircle her belly button ever so lightly before gliding down along her hip to her thigh. His hand slid down to her inner thigh, then she felt his fingers touching and exploring her soft, wet mound of hair. He bent down and kissed her there for a few moments, his tongue occasionally sliding in and out of her, making her quiver in ecstasy. She could feel her juices beginning to flow, mingling with the warm saliva of his tongue and the hot bath water. Then he moved his head away and his fingers returned, sliding slowly in and around in her. He continued doing this for a long time, making her burn with uncontrollable desire.

She instinctively brought her hand down to where his was and touched his fingers as they moved deftly inside of her. The motion was smooth and graceful as his fingers plunged deep inside for a moment, then withdrew long enough to caress her gently just inside. She began thrusting her pelvis upward in rhythm—slowly at first, then faster and faster as she drew nearer and nearer to climax. Ted’s fingers began working faster in response, and more vigorously with each thrust. She wanted to open her eyes now; to look into his eyes just before she came, but she didn’t. Instead, she continued writhing in total bliss, reveling in the almost maddening sensation of orgasm.

As she came, she heard him breathe harder and harder. She felt his free hand move to the nape of her neck then slide slowly down her back. She sat forward in the tub a little, to allow his magical hand to move more freely along her backside. His hands felt monstrously large and leathery as they slid forward between her arms and engulfed her breasts . . .

Emily opened her eyes in horror. She looked down at the huge, gnarled hands on her breasts and screamed as she whipped her head around to see whose arms were encompassing her body.

Emily screamed again.

It was her father . . . or so she thought. What she saw was a decrepit old man with rotting, leathery skin and sunken pale blue eyes who resembled her father . . . had he lived to be a century or two old.

“My little girl has grown up quite a bit, I see!” he wheezed in a rheumatic, singsong voice. “But I hope she doesn’t think she’s too old to let her Daddy scrub her back for her—you’re still my little girl, you know!”

Emily howled and tried to break free. But her father was much too strong for her, in spite of his feeble appearance. She grasped his hands and tried to pull them off of her, but to no avail. She dug her fingernails into his flesh and to her horror, streams of blood oozed out and trickled into the bath water in snakelike trails of crimson. Behind her, she could hear her father laughing hysterically.

“You can’t get away from me, sweetheart, and you never will! I’ll bet when they buried me you thought you’d be rid of me forever, didn’t you? But you were wrong, weren’t you? Daddy will always be around to take care of his little girl!”

It was at this moment that Emily spotted the near-empty glass of scotch sitting on the edge of the tub.

This isn’t a dream! she thought.

She looked down at herself . . .

Her legs were long and slender. There was a dense patch of hair between her legs. Her breasts felt big and fully developed in her father’s hands.

I’m not a little girl!

Emily quickly glanced around the bathroom. She saw the white terry cloth robe hanging on the towel bar where she’d slung it only moments ago. On the sink lay her wristwatch, next to the ceramic toothbrush holder where she’d placed it just before she’d started the water running. She glanced out the window—it was dark out, with a full moon looming high in the sky.

This is now and this is real! she realized in horror.

Her father removed one of his hands from her breast and reached for the bar of soap lying in its holder. Then he plunged both hands into the water directly in front of her and began vigorously lathering up with the soap; leaning his head on her shoulder from behind. His face was so close to hers that she could feel his hot, rancid breath puffing in her ear. A sickening chill shot up her spine as she sat totally defenseless, riveted with fear.

“Daddy’s going to give you a good scrubbing this time, honey. You know what they say; ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness!’” he whispered in her ear. “Just relax, honey. And enjoy! It’s not everyone who gets this kind of royal treatment, you know!”

Her father’s hands, covered in a thick foamy lather, moved toward her. Then, with an alarming gentleness, he began applying the frothy white goo all over her chest. Emily could feel her heart racing madly as she began hyperventilating furiously.

“There now . . . Doesn’t that feel good? Daddy’s going to make his little girl squeaky-clean all over,” he wheezed.

His mouth was pressed firmly against her ear as he spoke. Emily saw the hair on her arms stand straight out as her father’s enormous slippery hands traveled all over her. Her mind was at a gallop, trying to figure a way to free herself.

His lips kissed her neck lightly as his hands plunged back into the water long enough to work up another lather. When his hands returned to her breasts, she flinched; but he didn’t seem to notice. His breathing became faster and raspier as he nibbled on her shoulder and continued fondling her breasts, seemingly oblivious to her constant squirming and staccato gasps for breath.

What can I do? she thought desperately.

Her father began licking her neck and shoulders with his sandpaper-like tongue as his hands traveled purposefully down between her legs. Then she felt a huge finger beginning to probe her inside as another hand slid in under and pinched her bottom, causing her to jerk violently in protest.

Must do something! she thought . . .

Suddenly, she had an idea. It was her only chance.

With all the composure she could muster, Emily said in a remarkably controlled voice: “Daddy, my back needs scrubbed, too. You’ve barely touched it.”

“Why of course, precious! I knew you’d start enjoying this once you let yourself relax,” he replied thickly, his breath coming out in huffs and puffs.

Emily held her breath as she waited for him to remove his hands. She glanced down at herself anxiously and could see her heart practically beating out of her chest. Her father finally took his hands away and started groping in the bath water for the bar of soap—his fingers frequently prodding her flesh in various places as he did so. He had always used that same ploy whenever he’d bathed her as a child, she recalled with a shiver.

Her father eventually retrieved the soap and began lathering up his arthritic hands while Emily forced herself to remain still. She felt him back off from her a little as he brought his hands up and rested them on her shoulders.

Now! she thought.

With all her strength, Emily gripped the sides of the bathtub and shot straight up. She heard the sharp cracking sound of his jaw as the top of her head slammed full force into his chin. Her father let out a grotesque howl of pain as Emily saw something red and fleshy fall down past her eyes and land with a plop in the bath water. Horrified, she looked down . . .

It was his tongue.

The impact had made him bite off his tongue!

On impulse, Emily spun her head around and stared at her father. He’d fallen back into the wall and was now flat on his back on the floor, writhing in pain. Emily gasped in horror at what else she saw. His naked body was splattered from head to toe with his own blood. He started screaming at her unintelligibly—like a deaf mute—as his eyes stared coldly at her with the unmistakable desire to kill.

Emily shook off the urge to vomit and sprung out of the bathtub in a flash, knocking the glass of scotch to the floor with her foot. She ran past him and headed for the door then fumbled with the doorknob frantically. It refused to turn in her slippery hands. She felt her father’s hand grasp her by the ankle and pull her toward him. As she wrestled with the doorknob, Emily looked down at where his huge hand encircled her tiny ankle like a clamp. Then, with all her might, she stomped down on his forearm with her other foot. But instead of letting go, her father laughed maniacally and tightened his grip on her even more. Then he rolled onto his side and was just about to grab her with his other hand when Emily finally got the doorknob to turn.

She swung the bathroom door hard to the right and watched as it smashed into her father’s head with a resounding thud. He screamed in agony and released his grip on her. In a second, Emily was out in the hallway running down the stairs.

She was halfway down when she heard Cassie’s growls coming from the bathroom. She stopped running instantaneously but lost her balance and ended up tumbling down the remainder of the stairs on her side, landing on her back.

“Cassie!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

She could hear Cassie’s barks echoing off the bathroom walls into the hallway. Then she heard her father cursing at her puppy in a vehement rage.

Emily was struggling to get herself up off the floor when she suddenly heard a sharp cracking sound come from the bathroom. Cassie fell silent.

Her face went bone-white . . . He had killed her puppy!

She sprung up onto her feet. Her side hurt like mad and she glimpsed down at the huge bruise just below her rib cage before tearing back up the stairs. She was no longer concerned with what her father might do to her—if he’d killed the one and only thing in her life that he hadn’t yet destroyed, then she was going to see that he paid for it before he murdered her as well.

Tears were streaming down Emily’s face when she reached the top of the stairs and staggered down the hallway toward the bathroom. She stood by the doorway and shut her eyes for a moment before looking inside, fearful of what she’d see.

Emily opened her eyes.

The bathroom was empty.

There were no signs of Cassie or her father. No blood, nothing. Just an empty bathroom . . .

She stood there bewildered and felt her heart skip a beat.

Was she losing her mind? Had she imagined all of this?

Then why was she standing there in the hallway naked, dripping wet from head to toe?

And where was Cassie . . ?

Suddenly, she saw the door to her father’s bedroom down the hall move. It creaked on its hinges until it was fully open and came to a dead stop, revealing nothing but pitch darkness beyond it.

Emily stood there riveted with fear and stared at the doorway expectantly; thinking that at any moment her father would come out of the darkness carrying Cassie’s limp body in his arms. She waited several minutes, her heart pounding and her hands trembling. But nothing happened.

“Cassie?” she called cautiously.

Not a sound, except for the pounding of her heart.

She remained there another moment or so then crept back into the bathroom. Grabbing her bathrobe from the towel rack and throwing it over her shoulders, she stepped out into the hallway and stared at the door again, gathering up her nerve. Then she started tiptoeing down the hall toward the door.

When she reached her father’s bedroom, Emily peered into the darkness and saw absolutely nothing. Leaning a shoulder against the threshold, she timidly stuck her hand inside and ran it along the wall in search of the light switch. She found it and flicked it up, but nothing happened.

Just then, she heard a rustling sound coming from inside. It seemed to have come from the far right-hand corner of the room.

“Cassie, is that you?” Emily implored, her voice cracking in fear.

There was no response.

“Come out, girl! I know you’re in there. Please don’t make Mommy have to come in there to get you!”

By now her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness of the room. Directly across from her she could barely make out the dim glow of the moon shining through the drapes of a window. Below the window, she could see the outline of the headboard to her father’s bed in the weak light.

“This is ridiculous!” she muttered to herself in a vain effort to allay her fright. “I’ve never been afraid of the dark before. I’m coming in to get you, Cassie, since you won’t come out to me.”

She heard the rustling sound again.

“C’mon, girl! You get yourself out here right this second or you’re going to be in big trouble!”

She suddenly heard a whimper. It was definitely Cassie, she concluded, but Cassie was injured and couldn’t make it out on her own.

“I’m sorry, girl. I didn’t realize that you were hurt. Mommy’s coming in to get you.”

Again, she heard a whimper.

Emily stepped warily into the room and stood for a moment. She looked to her right and saw nothing but darkness and the faint outline of another window in the far corner. Using the window as her only means of perspective, she crept slowly toward it, taking one tentative step at a time. After three or four steps, her knee ran into something hard—the corner of her father’s bed, she guessed. She stepped to her right to avoid it then moved another couple of steps forward until she felt the texture of the oriental throw rug under her feet, which she knew was located in the area between the bed and her father’s dresser.

“Cassie?” Emily called, her mouth bone-dry.

She heard a whimper coming from her left.

Her father’s bed. Cassie must be lying on it.

Emily turned to her left and groped in the darkness as she headed toward the bed. In a couple of steps she felt the wooden frame and began running her hands along the quilted bedspread in search of her puppy.

“Where are you, Cas—”

A hand suddenly grabbed her arm.

“Ah-ha! Got you!” a man’s voice cried out, pulling her onto the bed. He quickly pounced on top of her, pinning her down on her back.

Emily screamed. In the dim light afforded by the window behind the bed, she could just make out the outline of a man leaning over her, his face only inches from her own. She could smell his breath, a mixture of bile and raw sewage, and his body reeked of wet, smoking embers. Had she not been so terror-stricken, she would have vomited.

“Who are you?” Emily asked, her voice trembling. “What do you want of me?”

“Questions, questions!” the stranger snarled, his breath hot and putrid in her face. “Very well, let’s make this fun—a riddle, perhaps! Yes, that will do! Let me see . . . All right, I have one!”

Who do you know, in your wisdom so true,

Who could sire a daughter, granddaughter, too?

Who could be both a father and grandfather, too

To one in the same—great-grandfather, too?

The stranger recited the riddle as though it were a nursery rhyme; delivering it with an odd and vaguely familiar singsong voice. Afterwards, he began howling hoots of laughter, sending chills down Emily’s spine.

John Hoffman! she thought in horror. The Devil himself!

But what was even more frightening than his mere presence was what the riddle implied.

“Cat got your tongue?” he taunted, his razor-sharp fingernails digging deeper into the flesh of her arms.

Emily lay motionless, her heart beating madly in her chest. Her mind, dazed and a blur of confusion, was racing frantically.

What did the riddle mean?

“Speak to me child!” he commanded, tightening the grip on her arms.

Emily’s voice was little more than a whisper. “You’re my great-grandfather, John Hoffman?”

He drew his face even closer to hers. For the first time, she could make out his features—the same rough skin and piercing eyes she’d seen in his portrait at Grandpa Warren’s.

“A-ha! But I’m more than merely your great-grandfather, child, now aren’t I?” he asked menacingly.

“What do you mean?” Emily asked warily.

“Why, you already know most of the story, my child, so don’t act so naive. I won’t stand for such insolence! Now tell me, who was your grandmother Katherine’s real father, eh?”

Emily swallowed hard. “C-Clem Porter?”

John Hoffman let out a huge bellowing laugh. “Clem Porter? Hell, he couldn’t have sired a child any further than he could piss! Clem was a fucking gelding, for lack of a better word. A eunuch! No, my child. It was I who sowed the seed that begot your grandmother. Just as it was I who sowed the seed which begot my granddaughter.”

Granddaughter? Emily thought. She’d heard nothing about him having a granddaughter. Katherine had given birth to only one child—her father. And clearly, Grandpa Warren had been his father. John Hoffman had long been dead and buried by then . . .

So what was he doing here, now?

God, please let this be a dream!

“Well, my child? Have you figured it out yet?” he sputtered in her face.

Emily felt herself go faint. All she wanted was to wake up now to find that this had all been one horrible nightmare.

John Hoffman tightened his grip on her.

“I—I’m confused,” Emily stammered.

“Confused, you say? Why, I’m very disappointed with you, my child. And to think that you’re a Hoffman, too! Very disappointed, indeed, I am.”

Emily fell silent, unable to speak.

“Perhaps you can’t solve the riddle because you’re afraid to. That’s what I think. You know the truth, yet you can’t deal with the truth—so you refuse to acknowledge it. But all you have to do, child, is merely take a good, hard look at yourself. Look at the life you’ve led. Hasn’t been too rosy, eh? And you know why your life has been so miserable, now don’t you? Because you feel you’ve been cursed from the very beginning; and now that you’ve just about put all the pieces together, you realize that what you’ve feared to be true all along is indeed quite true after all. A-ha! The truth sometimes hurts, but you can’t run away from it now, can you?”

Emily started sobbing in fear and confusion.

“You’re weak, child. Makes me ashamed that you’re a Hoffman, it does. Face the truth, my child! It’s time to pay the piper. Don’t be so goddamned weak!”

Emily was in hysterics.

“You are my daughter, child! The child that my dear daughter Katherine lost. The child that my son thought would be his, but really was mine. They wouldn’t listen to me—they defied me! Katherine would have given birth had she listened to me and not married Warren. But they both paid the price for their insubordination, young fools that they were. They ended up producing your idiotic father instead. A-ha! What a poor excuse for a human being he turned out to be! But I got back at them for what they did. Your father was merely a pawn in a much bigger game than he could ever imagine. He fathered that child I lost so long ago, but it was my seed he cast. And that child happens to be you—my daughter, my granddaughter, great-granddaughter, too!”

“No!” Emily cried.

“Oh yes, my child. That is the truth. That is what you’ve tried so hard to deny. You are mine! You belong to me, not Charles! He’s a fake—an impostor! And now it’s time for me to stake my claim to that which is mine. You are here for me and nobody else. No other man shall ever have you as I shall have you. Never! And I shall have you whenever I please, wherever I please. Do you understand, child?”

“No!” Emily screamed. She started squirming fiercely in an attempt to free herself, but was utterly helpless under John Hoffman’s enormous weight. He suddenly bent down and licked the nape of her neck, sending a wave of revulsion throughout her entire body.

She spat in his face.

“Why, you little bitch!” he hissed, smacking her hard on the side of her face. In an instant, he seized Emily’s robe and ripped it open, exposing her. He grasped her wrists and spread her legs apart with his knee all in one rapid motion. Emily felt his huge, throbbing penis pressed hard against the inside of her inner thigh as he took her nipple in his mouth and bit it. Then, in one huge lunge, John Hoffman ripped into her tender flesh like a dull sword stabbing a soft, ripe peach.

Emily let out a howl as he started rocking up and down on her with unbridled lust. With each inward plunge, she felt as though she were being split in two. She lay there writhing helplessly in pain for several long and endless moments, awaiting her imminent death . . .

Suddenly, the room was bathed in an intense, blinding white light, startling both victim and assailant. John Hoffman froze at once and spun his head around to look in the direction of the door as Emily peered around him in the same direction.

There in the doorway stood a young man, perhaps thirty or so, silhouetted in the unknown light source. He held a tiny infant in his arms, its head resting peacefully on his shoulder. The man’s features were pleasant; with kind, caring eyes staring from a handsome face wearing an expression of concern and pity.

John Hoffman gaped at the man in utter disbelief. “Not you!” he cried as he released Emily and sprung from the bed.

Emily glanced over at John Hoffman and saw the look of mortal fear on his face as he stood there petrified, staring at the newcomer.

“Be gone, John Hoffman!” the young man commanded then started moving toward him at a steady pace.

John Hoffman turned and glanced around the room in a fit of panic, apparently looking for a means of escape. Then, after realizing that there were no doors other than the one through which the stranger had just entered, he suddenly let out a bloodcurdling shriek and leaped through the window in the corner of the room- the sound of broken glass accompanying his terrified scream as he plummeted two stories to the ground outside and landed with a dull thud.

Emily gaped in shock at the window and felt the frigid night air as it rushed in through the parted drapes. She then turned to look back at the stranger, but he was no longer there. He, along with the baby and the bright light, had totally vanished.

Emily covered herself up with her robe and closed her eyes.

The young man had saved her life, she realized. And although she’d never laid eyes on him before, she knew precisely to whom she owed her life . . .

Clem Porter.

The room was dead silent now. And dark as pitch. And freezing cold. Emily remained there with her eyes shut tightly. One thought played itself over and over in her mind as she lay there sobbing softly, feeling sorry for herself:

Her only salvation was Clem Porter. And Clem Porter was dead.

Emily felt her body grow colder and imagined her skin becoming a pasty white pallor as she awaited death. It wasn’t so bad to die, she decided; to finally see an end to all the pain and suffering. The finality of it all was in fact a blessing, for she no longer had the desire to live. Why continue fighting a war she had no chance of ever winning? Why put death off any longer? Just let it happen—let it take you over and have everlasting peace . . .

Although her eyes were closed, Emily could see the mourners standing over her now, staring down at her. Faceless people who were still among the living, bidding their final farewell to Emily Hoffman before she was laid to rest. People with lives worth living, unlike herself, who had nothing to live for. They pitied her, but they shouldn’t. Emily Hoffman was at last being relieved of all the hell that life had put her through. They should feel happiness for her.

The organ music, playing softly in the background, suddenly ceased. The only sound now was the ticking of a clock coming from somewhere in the funeral parlor. Tick. Tick. Tick. A pair of hands appeared above her, grasping the lid of the coffin. The hands began closing the lid slowly and ceremoniously. Finally, the resounding thud of the lid landing home, sealing Emily Hoffman forever inside her own private little home for the rest of eternity.

The ticking of the clock sounded muffled and more distant now, but she could still make it out from inside her final resting place. Tick. Tick. Tick. It was soothing, very mesmerizing. It made it seem all that much easier to die as it tallied out the final countdown.

Emily Hoffman was nearly frozen stiff now, and unable to move a single muscle. Her eyes stung, but she couldn’t open them or move her hand so that she might rub them with her fingers. It was nearly impossible to breathe, too. She had nearly expended the air remaining in the coffin.

She started choking, desperately trying to gulp in the air that was no longer there. But the harder she inhaled, the less her lungs expanded. She was sucking in nothing but a dead void—a perfect vacuum.

The ticking of the clock became more pronounced. Louder and more resonant—as if it were coming from an echo chamber. It was slowing down ever so gradually. Soon, she thought, it would cease altogether.

She wished that it would hurry up and end.

Panic suddenly swept over her for some reason. Her thoughts shifted to a new priority. To breathe. She was suffocating and needed air. Needed it now. Death no longer seemed quite so desirable—it was scary and it hurt. She wanted to live, not die!

But her body was entirely frozen in its present state. All she could feel now was her heart in her chest, pumping sporadically. She felt it pump for a moment in an attempt to force her blood through her arteries then suddenly stop for several seconds; unable to perform its task. Then it would race as it received a fresh jolt of adrenaline, only to suddenly cease beating again once it had spent up the last of this fuel.

She tried to scream, but couldn’t. Her mouth was clamped shut; her teeth locked together in a permanent fusion of white enamel. She no longer felt the cold—just the weight of a ton of crushed ice.

Yet her mind was still clear. And what should be taking only seconds to happen was taking entirely too long. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, yet she was still alive.

Why couldn’t she die?

The ticking of the clock ground to a near halt. Tick . . . Seconds later, Tock . . . The clock sounded closer now; very close, in fact. And it sounded less like a clock and more like . . .

Water dripping.

Emily opened her eyes. At the far end of the bathtub she watched as a drop of water fell from the leaking faucet into the bath water with a plop.

She had been dreaming all of this.

She’d had another nightmare.

Her first reaction was alarm. The nightmare had seemed so real that she was still uncertain it hadn’t been real. She shot a glance first toward the empty glass still sitting on the edge of the tub then over to her robe still slung over the towel rack. Then, with some hesitation, she looked behind her for signs of the struggle with her father. All she saw was an immaculate white tile floor—no blood, no bodies.

Cassie! she thought.

Emily shot up out of the tub, stepped over to the door and opened it. Looking down, she saw Cassie lying on the floor, curled up in a ball asleep.

“Cassie!” she cried, tears of joy coming to her eyes.

Cassie sprung up with her tail wagging furiously then allowed her master to pick her up and hold her in her arms.

“Oh sweetie, I love you so much! Mommy thought you were a goner—but it was only a dream! Only a dream!” Emily cried joyously as her puppy licked her face.

She glanced down the hall at her father’s bedroom door and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was shut tight.

It truly had all been a dream . . .

Emily smiled gratefully at Cassie and said, “Mommy’s going to set you down and dry off now, girl. Then we’re going to build a nice, warm fire in the fireplace and hang out together, okay? How does that sound?”

She set Cassie down and went back into the bathroom. As she toweled herself off, Emily tried blotting the nightmare from her mind, but with little success. Her hands were still trembling from the ordeal as she put on her robe then made her way to her bedroom. Sitting down at the vanity to comb out her hair, she glanced over at the clock radio on the nightstand—it read 8:22. She’d been asleep in the bathtub for nearly an hour! She reached for the comb as the events of the nightmare permeated her thoughts.

It immediately occurred to her that there were several disturbing differences between this nightmare and all those preceding it. For one thing, she had never dreamt while in the bathtub before, and for that matter, had never dozed off in the bathtub her entire life. And, until now, her nightmares had always begun in the same horrifying way: her father molesting her as she slept in her bed. But the most alarming aspect of this particular dream was the fact that she hadn’t been a child as she’d always been in her dreams before. For the first time ever, she had been her present age. In fact, the entire dream seemed to have taken place in the present tense, and that’s what had made it seem so alarmingly real.

Emily fast-forwarded through each terrifying episode in her mind: Her corpse-like father’s sudden appearance as she fantasized about Ted. Her bloody escape from the bathroom. Cassie’s apparent murder. Her abduction by John Hoffman in her father’s bedroom and the unsettling riddle he’d conjured up. Being assaulted and raped by John Hoffman, then being saved by the sudden appearance of Clem Porter.

What did it all mean? she wondered.

She began analyzing the dream and was able to come up with theoretical explanations for some portions of it. The appearance of Clem Porter, for example, could have been the direct result of her finding his pocket watch at the old house and her subsequent conversation with Miss Rutledge regarding him. The apparent role-reversal between her father and John Hoffman seemed obvious, too: she had all but resolved that John Hoffman was the real culprit in all of this; especially after having just learned that Katherine had been abused as a child by him, and that she had referred to him as being “the Devil himself.” Her father Charles seemed merely a by-product of John Hoffman’s crimes—an innocent casualty, so to speak.

But what about the other things? she asked herself. Why had she been a full-grown woman this time? Had this been some kind of omen that something was about to happen? Something really terrible, no doubt? That everything had gone as far as it could, and now it was time for it to end . . ?

Was she going to die?

Near the end of the nightmare she had imagined herself dying. And she had welcomed death with opened arms; ready and willing for it to just happen and put an end to her hellish existence.

Is that what she really wanted? Is that what her subconscious mind was telling her?

Emily swallowed hard and considered this. Was she, in real life, potentially suicidal?

She set the comb down and stared at herself in the mirror. Is this what it all came down to? That she no longer saw any reason to keep on living? Was she finally succumbing to the past and letting it consume her to the point that she was willing to accept defeat and simply accept death as her only alternative?

She suddenly recalled what John Hoffman had told her in the dream—that she was his possession and that he would “have her” whenever and where ever he wanted. A cold chill shot down her spine as she imagined herself having to live out the remainder of her life in mortal fear of this terrifying prospect. To find herself one moment taking a bath, or reading a book then suddenly dozing off into a world of utter hell; and then being assaulted and raped repeatedly by her great-grandfather. Or worse yet, having to endure yet another incarnation of the same nightmare; with her father included in it as well. The image of his decomposed body and huge, gnarled hands skimming all over her body flashed in her mind and she shuddered . . .

Then it hit her.

These people are dead! she thought. They can’t harm me! This is just one big, horrible nightmare, damn it! It is not real!

Emily felt vindicated; but only for a fleeting moment.

What difference did it make, anyway—whether it was real or not? Which ever it was, it was in control. And she wasn’t.

Emily buried her face in her hands and started sobbing. Her life raced before her: past, present, and future. Fragments of pain, fear, and sorrow were all she could see. Whatever it was that made life seem worth living wasn’t there—no love, no companionship, no sharing, and no caring. She was nothing but a lonely, terrified woman whose life was, and most likely always would be, absolutely barren. Why go on any longer? she asked herself. What earthly purpose was there to her miserable existence?

I’m better off dead . . .

Just then the telephone rang, promptly jolting Emily out of her thoughts. Wondering who in the world would be calling at this hour, she stood up and went over to the telephone on her bedside table. She paused to take a deep breath in an effort to compose herself then picked up the phone in her trembling hand.

“Hello?”

“Emily, is that you?” a woman’s voice sounding vaguely familiar asked.

“Yes, this is Emily,” she replied weakly.

“I’m sorry to bother you at home like this, but I felt that I simply had to get a hold of you, considering the circumstances. This is Joanne Travers—Henrietta’s sister-in-law? We were in your lovely antique shop yesterday afternoon. Do you remember?”

“Oh yes, Joanne, I remember. I’m holding the oak dinette set for you,” Emily managed to say.

“That’s right. As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m calling. We were supposed to pick it up tomorrow morning after you opened, but I’m afraid there’s been a slight change of plans. Tom has to be back in Philadelphia as soon as possible tomorrow for an important meeting concerning a project that the construction firm has been working on. I was wondering if by any chance we could come by a little earlier than nine o’clock—say eightish or so? I really hate being such a nuisance but I simply must have that set, and if we leave Ashland Falls any later than that, Tom’s afraid he’ll miss out on some of the meeting. I tried to convince him that they would wait for him, but he gets so paranoid about things like this, if you know what I mean. Anyway, please let me know if it would be too much of an inconvenience to you, and I’ll understand. I really do hate putting you out like this.”

Emily said, “It wouldn’t be putting me out one little bit, Joanne. I’d be more than happy to oblige you. But are you sure eight o’clock is soon enough for you? I could meet you earlier if you’d like.”

“Oh my, Emily, you are so sweet! Eight o’clock will be just fine. We’ve already rented the trailer, so all we have to do is swing by your shop and pick up the furniture. I really do appreciate this, Emily,” she declared earnestly.

“No problem at all, Joanne. I’ll have the set waiting for you by the rear door; Henrietta can tell you how to find it,” Emily said.

“Wonderful! Thank you so much, Emily. And I’m sorry for calling you at home like this; but Henrietta seemed to think you wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s quite all right, Joanne.”

“Well, I’ll let you go. Thanks again, Emily, and we’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight.”

“Okay, Joanne. Good night.”

Emily hung up the phone and stared at it as a thought occurred to her. There was a reason for living, after all. And that reason was so simple and so obvious that she nearly broke out laughing thinking about it. The rest of the world was the reason for living. There were other people besides herself—people who needed her, who relied on her for one thing or another, no matter how trivial it might seem. Take Joanne Travers, for instance. It may not seem important to anyone else, but that dinette set was something that she really wanted. And how else could she ever own it if it weren’t for Emily Hoffman?

And what about Miss Rutledge? She was old and lonely, with no family or friends. How important was Emily Hoffman to that dear old lady? The woman who had watched her grow up and had become her most cherished friend in the world?

And Cassie? What was Emily Hoffman to her? How dependent was that adorable little puppy on her?

A wave of shame swept over her. Suicide, she realized now, was perhaps the most selfish and cowardly act anyone could commit. No one, no matter how miserable or hopeless their life may seem, had the right to take their own life. Because someone or something, somewhere in the world needs that person in some way or another.

Emily shook her head slowly from side to side. How could she even conceive the notion of suicide? Because she was being haunted by dead people in her dreams? Because she couldn’t deal with her family’s past or bear to face her own questionable future?

Shit!

Pull yourself together, gal! You’ve gotten yourself this far in life, so why don’t you stick around and see what’s around the corner? It may look bleak, but you’ll never know the outcome if you’re not around to see it, now will you?

She sat down on the edge of her bed and stared at the clock. It read 8:47.

Sleep, she thought. That was the big problem. She needed sleep. But if she slept, she set herself up for yet another god-awful nightmare. And when she awoke from the nightmare, she would be unable to get back to sleep—unless she drank herself silly, that is. And there weren’t even any guarantees in that. She’d drank about six ounces of scotch before falling asleep in the bathtub and look what good that had done her—

She needed help—professional counseling. It was plain as day. She didn’t stand a chance of survival if she went on like this. Sleepless nights. Nightmares so real that she could no longer differentiate between what was real and what wasn’t real. A morbid fear of entering into a personal relationship with anyone—men in particular. In fact, she couldn’t trust a man any further than she could throw him.

Miss Rutledge had been right, Emily thought. Somehow the old woman had sensed she was having problems serious enough to warrant psychiatric counsel. She’d blown her off though, totally dismissing this option just as her father had done when she’d made the same suggestion to him all those years ago. Denial . . . Isn’t that what every sick person’s first reaction was? But she wasn’t going to make the same mistake her father had made. She had problems, and she was going to face them head-on and try to resolve them. She needed someone who could view her dilemma at arm’s length and guide her through all of this; to advise her as to how to deal with it. She couldn’t do it on her own. For all she knew there might be a simple solution; perhaps even a drug that would allow her to sleep without dreaming. It was a possibility, wasn’t it?

Emily sprung from the bed and headed determinedly down the stairs to the first floor. She walked briskly through the living room to her father’s study and opened the door, realizing instantly that she hadn’t been there since his death. She switched on the lights and swore to herself under her breath for neglecting the room as she had. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and in several corners of the musty-smelling room she could see cobwebs, causing her to let out a gasp of revulsion. She quickly went over to one of the windows and raised it a few inches to let some fresh air in. Then she stepped over to the immense mahogany desk and began opening and closing drawers until she at last found what she was looking for.

She set her father’s Rolodex on the desk and thumbed through the cards. She couldn’t remember the name of the psychiatrist who had treated him for his gambling addiction, but she knew she’d recognize it once she saw it. Finally, under the M’s, she spotted it.

Markowitz, Stephen.

Emily withdrew the card then placed the Rolodex back in the drawer where she’d found it. After taking another look at the room and deciding to give it a good cleaning the first chance she had, she turned off the lights and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Emily went to the kitchen and began brewing a full pot of strong coffee. She found some luncheon meat in the refrigerator and made herself a sandwich. She ate her sandwich quickly, washed it down with a glass of water then gave a Milkbone treat to Cassie who had been eyeing her hungrily. She opened the back door and picked out several good-sized logs from the dwindling stack of wood on the porch then carried them into the den. After starting a fire in the fireplace, she returned to the kitchen and poured herself a mug of black coffee and carried it back with her to the den.

Emily set the mug on the coffee table and went over to her personal library. As she browsed through the titles, she made a mental note to select a work that could hold her interest long enough to get her through the night and into the morning. Because, she had already decided, she wasn’t going to be sleeping a wink.

Finally, she made her selection: Victorian America: An Era of Change. She went over and placed the thick, leather-bound volume on the table beside her coffee then stoked the fire a few times before returning to the oversized chair and plopping herself down in it. Cassie jumped into the chair to join her, snuggling up with her head resting on her paws.

Emily reached for her coffee, took a sip and skimmed through the table of contents. She found a chapter of particular interest and turned to it. Before allowing herself to get absorbed in the text, she pondered the next day and considered her agenda.

After a sleepless night of reading and tons of coffee, she would eat a light breakfast, take a shower, and pack up a few personal belongings. She would then drive to the shop and tape a note to the door beside the closed sign explaining that there had been an emergency and that the shop would be closed temporarily until further notice. Then she’d hop in her bus and head south on the highway; en route to New York City to meet with Dr. Stephen Markowitz . . .

Emily breathed a long sigh then began reading the chapter entitled, Mill Workers: Salt of the Earth.

CHAPTER 9

The snow was coming down hard as Lenny Williams scaled the short flight of steps to his apartment building. He’d never quite outgrown his childhood fascination of winter storms and he now wondered why they were so rare nowadays. Global warming? The greenhouse effect? Hell, if he knew. All he knew was that it was a fact, and it bothered him. A lot of things bothered him anymore, it seemed. Things for which there seemed no rhyme or reason, yet nonetheless existed. Those cold, hard, inexplicable facts which one had to come to terms with and accept, like it or not.

He reached the stoop and swung the heavy steel door open then entered the foyer. After checking his mailbox and finding nothing inside, he located yet another key, unlocked the inner door and went inside. Fort Knox, he thought to himself as he ambled down the dimly lit hallway to the stairway.

He reached the fourth floor, turned left, and stood at the door long enough to locate his apartment key on the undersized (or was it overfilled?) key ring. He unlocked the door and entered then closed and locked the door behind him.

Lenny made a beeline over to the large living room window and pulled up the blinds, removed the bulky camera bag from his shoulder and set it down on the floor. As he took off his snow-flecked leather jacket, his eyes never left the wintry scene outside. The snow was coming down relentlessly; huge, wet flakes backlit by the lights of the city. Might as well enjoy this while it lasts, he decided. He went over and grabbed a well-worn directors chair, set it down in front of the window then plopped himself down in it.

Mesmerized by the fury of the storm, he thought of how nice it would be to go outside with a sled right this moment, find a steep hill, and sleigh ride for an hour or so—just as he no doubt would have done when he was a kid living back in Ohio. God, those were the days! he thought. Didn’t have a care in the world . . .

Where have all the good times gone?

The notion was preposterous, of course. There were no steep hills in New York City—just a lot of steep buildings. And he wasn’t a youngster anymore. He was pushing forty and felt anything but carefree. In fact, he felt like the whole world was closing in on him, inch by inch, and he was angry at himself for the way he kept letting everything get the best of him. Why, he wondered, did everything have to be so damn complicated in this world? And why did it only seem to be getting worse the older he got?

Lots of questions, but no answers. Lots of facts, and no explanations.

His eyes focused randomly on a portion of the Manhattan skyline, barely visible through the blurred frenzy of white. He thought back to when he still felt like he was “just a kid,” and decided it must have been sometime around his junior year in high school. He’d had no real responsibilities back then—just school and a part-time job in the evenings to pay for gas, beer, and cigarettes. The majority of his free time had been spent cruising around town in his ‘67 VW bug with his cohorts, trying to scheme on the chicks or scoping out safe places to park and drink without getting caught. It was the late Sixties and a real happening time. Days of lost innocence and great music . . . Sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Things were totally different nowadays. Casual sex had become a life-and-death situation, with the threat of AIDS and all. Drugs, considered back then to be little more than a recreational pastime, had now become a major problem. They were bad news. And basically, all those things that used to make growing up so fun now seemed to be virtually nonexistent. One had to feel sorry for the present generation of kids, who could only wish they’d been there during the Swinging Sixties and now were obliged to do the Next Best Thing: live vicariously through the legacy of that era- its music—and pretend to be getting a handle on what it was all about. But in reality, these kids couldn’t be any further from what it was all about. Wealth, status, “power lunches,” Beemers, computers, “screw thy neighbor?” Not exactly what was on most folks’ minds back in those days.

But the saddest irony of all was the fact that the very same generation of folks who had lived the Sixties had now evolved into the bloodsucking yuppies who were pulling all the strings today.

You had to laugh to keep from crying.

Lenny yawned. He felt incredibly tired—as though he hadn’t slept in days. But lack of sleep wasn’t the reason for this; nor was overexertion. His problem, and he knew it, was that his mind never seemed to stop wandering. Maybe “analyzing” was a better word. Whatever it was, it wore him out. Especially when his thoughts were negative, as they were now.

Gotta snap out of this funk, he thought. Gotta start looking on the bright side of things for a change.

Well, you’re alive . . . That’s something. You’ve got a roof over your head and you’re pursuing a career that you enjoy. Can’t complain about that, eh? Your friends back home envy you, too. After all, here you are in the Big Apple, you’re a professional photographer, and you’re making a living at it to boot. Pretty impressive. If only they could be in your shoes . . .

He let out a laugh, piercing the still silence of his modest Queens apartment. If they only knew . . . It was a fact that whenever he visited his hometown, he was forever being aloof around his friends and family. And for good reason: he didn’t particularly want anyone getting wise to just how dismal things were for him here in the big city. How he had to struggle just to make ends meet. How he snatched up practically every photo assignment that came along no matter how lousy it paid. Hell, he was supposed to be an artist; not some hacker taking headshots of corporate big shots in their offices; or shooting product shots of cams and gears. Nothing too artistic or glamorous about that shit, eh?

Granted, he’d had his moments of grandeur. The occasional high-budget fashion layout, for instance. Or the even rarer artsy-fartsy spread; such as the one he’d shot not long ago portraying the replacement of crumbling and decaying historical landmarks with glistening new high-rises or yet another parking garage. Stuff that really meant something; stuff that had been challenging and artistically fulfilling at the same time.

But these types of assignments were few and far between, and certainly not paying the bills. And that was the big problem. To survive in the city, you have to hustle. It was a plain and simple fact.

And he was just about all hustled out.

Lenny reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit up and inhaled deeply; his eyes riveted to the wintry scene outside.

New York. What could he actually say good about New York? he thought. That he is here? Big deal . . . Hey, everybody, guess what? New York ain’t everything it’s cracked up to be. In fact, it’s even worse!

Okay, so maybe it had been pretty exciting the first three years or so. So many things going on—so much to see and get excited about. It had been a great experience; a great learning experience if nothing else. But after eight years, it was no longer exciting. In fact, it was a huge pain in the ass. And downright scary at times . . .

Where have all the good times gone?

He arose from the chair long enough to snag an ashtray off the coffee table and sat back down again. Peering down at the street, he estimated the depth of the snow to be about three inches. The whiteness hid a multitude of sins and served as a baffle to the usual cacophony created by the clattering of subway trains on the el just outside his apartment and the ever-present traffic below. What normally sounded like a military invasion was now reduced to a muffled whimper of low frequencies. Quite soothing, he decided.

Leaning back in the chair, Lenny heaved a long sigh. The urge to go sledding popped into his mind again, but he quickly dismissed it before it had a chance to annoy him. He glanced at his watch, which read 7:05, and debated whether or not to fix something to eat. He was famished, but too stressed-out to do anything about it. He considered how much weight he’d lost in the last few months—certainly more than he could afford to lose from his already slender frame—and silently cursed himself for his apathy. He needed to start taking better care of himself and he knew it.

Opting for coffee to help battle the fatigue, he stood up and went into the tiny kitchen to brew himself a pot. He’d just finished cueing up the machine when the telephone rang.

He returned to the living room and picked up the phone.

“Studio,” he answered.

“Uh, yes. Is this the photographer?” a male voice with a thick Indian or Mideastern accent inquired.

“Yes, it is,” Lenny replied.

“Uh, yes. I saw your ad in the uh, Village Voice newspaper, and I was wondering what would be the price for the uh, headshot.”

“Black and white; or color?” Lenny asked.

“Uh, yes. The black and white is okay. I am a uh, actor and need the publicity headshot.”

“I see,” Lenny said. “Black and white headshots are seventy-five dollars. That includes thirty-six shots, a proof sheet, and two eight-by-tens of your choice.” And a bargain, at that, he thought to himself with a wry grin.

“Uh, that sounds okay. When could I uh, set up the appointment for the uh, session?”

“Just a second, and I’ll check my schedule,” Lenny replied.

He pressed the hold button and continued looking out the window. After a moment, he pressed it again. “How would the day after tomorrow at one o’clock be for you?”

“Uh, that would be okay.” the caller replied.

“Alright. Let me give you the directions to my studio. Where will you be coming from?”

“Uh, I would be coming from midtown.”

“Fine. Just take the “N” train at 59th and Lex. downtown to Canal Street. I’m at 303 Broadway—just a couple of blocks south of Canal. Third floor,” Lenny told him.

“Uh, Canal Street?” the caller asked, obviously confused.

Lenny sighed to himself. “Right. Now, write this down, please. Take the N train from 59th Street at Lexington Avenue downtown until you reach the Canal Street station. When you walk up to the street, you will be on Canal Street. You will also see Broadway on the corner. Just walk down Broadway for two blocks until you locate 303 Broadway. I am on the third floor. You got all of that?”

“Uh, yes. So sorry. My English is not so well.”

No shit? Lenny thought to himself. “I understand. Now let me get your name and phone number,” he said, reaching for a pen. He jotted down the caller’s name and daytime phone number.

“As a rule, I get paid up front on the day of the session—cash, preferably. Please wear dark colors and stay away from whites if you can—the shots will look better. Okay?”

“Uh, yes. Dark colors, no, uh, whites. I have it. I will see you Wednesday at one o’clock, sir.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then. By the way, the name is Lenny—Lenny Williams,” he said.

“Uh, Lenny. Okay. Thank you, uh, Lenny.”

“Thanks for calling.”

Lenny hung up the phone wondering if this potential client would actually show up on Wednesday. He’d certainly had more than his share of no-shows in this business; and the so-called “actors” were perhaps the least dependable of all. But this guy seemed sincere and would probably make it, he reckoned

If he didn’t get lost somewhere along the way, that is.

As he went back into the kitchen, Lenny reflected on how bad business had been lately. Up until the holidays, he’d been booked fairly solid. But January had been a total bust and February was proving to be just as lousy.

Time to get a real job? he thought as he poured himself a mug of fresh coffee.

No way.

Returning to the living room, he sat back down in the chair and took a sip then lit up another Merit.

As he sat there gazing out the window, Lenny suddenly wished he were somewhere else. Somewhere in the country—far from the city. A log cabin with a roaring fire in the fireplace. An icebox full of beer and not a care in the world. Stranded in the middle of nowhere with enough food, beer, and firewood to ride the storm out for months.

Just he, and his Dream Lady—

Yes! he thought excitedly. Now that would certainly get me out of this funk . . .

Lenny closed his eyes and envisioned her: Young, but not too young. Intelligent. Beautiful, but in a natural, unpretentious sort of way. She was soulful and kind; strong and profoundly vulnerable at the same time. She related well to the same things that he related to. Like good music, Mother Nature, speaking your mind instead of hiding behind a façade of total bullshit, and believing in the concept that there is actually more to life than making money just for the sake of making money. Stuff like that . . .

Dream Lady, where are you?

In my dreams, yes—but where else?

Nowhere else, but in my dreams

But dreams aren’t real, not reality

So nowhere else that she can be

But in my dreams

Lenny opened his eyes. As lame as it sounded, the poem he’d just concocted pretty much summed up the tragic truth: His Dream Lady existed, but only in his dreams.

He’d dreamt of her countless times throughout his life, even as a child. He had no idea who she was or where she came from. All he knew for certain was that she had appeared in his dreams practically every night, seemingly, since day one; or at least for as far back as he could remember. He’d never told a soul about her.

Some things were better left unsaid, he’d wisely decided.

Hence, this mysterious woman had remained his own little secret; always there whenever he needed a friend and a little spiritual inspiration. His Dream Lady had become his “beacon in the night,” so to speak.

But as the years went by and he grew older, this magical relationship began to drift in another direction. His Dream Lady eventually became more to him than just a mere nocturnal bosom-buddy. Lenny wasn’t sure if adolescence was to blame for this, or just plain insecurity. Whatever the case, his Dream Lady had in fact become the apple of his eye—his dream lover.

In essence, it boiled down to this: he had held out his entire life for what appeared to be, for lack of a better term, a ghost. He’d placed all his bets on this intangible phantasm of the night, who most certainly was no more than a figment of his imagination.

Oh well, he sighed . . .

Like throwing a switch, he promptly tuned out the subject entirely and his mind began sifting back through his past—the highlights of his existence here on terra firma. The hopes, the dreams, and the scores of letdowns. But then, wasn’t that what life was all about? he thought. Certainly it was, and he knew it. Yet another fact that had to be acknowledged, accepted, and dealt with accordingly.

He really had no right to complain. He’d had a damn good life for the most part. Quite eventful, and at times very gratifying. Enjoyed a rich and well-rounded childhood with loving parents and strong family values. Did above-average in school; avoided Viet Nam by going to college then subsequently by lucking-out with a high draft lottery number when they jerked his college deferment out from under him. Dropped out of college his junior year to pursue a career in music, moved to the Big Apple eight years ago in search of the Big Time, flopped miserably then became a professional photographer. And most likely failing at that, too.

But hey! It ain’t over till it’s over, right?

The significance of his life, he’d come to realize, had been the things that went along with living it more than the actual events themselves. Things like the people he’d met along the way, the situations he’d found himself in as a result of those events—some so bizarre it was scary—and those life lessons one learns as the result of being flung around and jerked around by the balls until one finally gets the point, like it or not. One eventually acquires a certain wisdom after awhile, he’d learned; a sort of “inner feeling” about what to get into and what to avoid like the plague when approached by something or someone which could be labeled as “questionable.” New Yorkers referred to it as being “street-wise.” But on a grander scale, it was could be referred to as being “life-wise.”

But being life-wise had its drawbacks. One begins to think he has everything all figured out after a while. And before he knows it, he’s in trouble. He makes the Big Mistake and pays for it dearly; by losing life, liberty, or the pursuit of happiness. Then he makes an even bigger mistake—that is, providing that he’s still among the living. He gets scared. He loses his self-confidence and before he knows it, becomes conservative. The Big “C.” No longer able to boldly go where no man has ever gone before, he finds himself unable to take any risks. He melts into the mainstream; perfectly content to take the safe route and sit on his hands while the rest of the world goes by, blazing new trails and getting things done. He becomes, in essence, a physical and emotional cripple. His aspirations go no further than his mind, actions go no further than words, and before he knows it, he’s become an aging, cynical fart who really can’t find a damn thing right in the world except the fact that he’s alive and that he still by God has his dreams if nothing else . . .

And this pretty much summed up where Lenny now found himself. Between the proverbial rock and a hard place. At the crossroads of Life. Eat or be eaten. Seize the day, or else . . .

Lenny stubbed out his cigarette with a vengeance. He at least deserved an “E” for effort, didn’t he? It wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried to make things happen, for chrissakes. He’d made some pretty damn bold moves in his time—taken risks that most people only talked about taking but never followed through with. Like moving to New York City, for example. How many people had he known who talked about dropping everything and moving to New York to seek fame and fortune and had actually done it? Most of them had only been dreaming—or just plain talking out of their assholes. But he had actually done it, by God! And now those very same people admired him for his intestinal fortitude. Never mind the fact that it’s been a living hell, and that he was living by the skin of his teeth. He, by God, had made The Big Plunge!

Lenny was quite aware of what the big problem was here. He could nit at this, and pick at that, but it all boiled down to one little four letter word: T-i-m-e. Time was supposed to be the great healer, which may well be true, but it also was a very big problem. Basically, because he was running out of it. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a grown man. He could no longer put things off like he used to do. And what used to be an excuse for why things weren’t getting done was now in short supply all of a sudden. It was sort of like taking a long walk off a short pier. Suddenly, the concept of time put things into a whole new perspective. It was the way of the world. He was now forced to acknowledge the fact that whatever he did from here on out had to be taken more seriously and more carefully thought-out beforehand. He could no longer afford to continue taking chances on things with the attitude, “if this doesn’t work then I’ll just do that . . .” The luxury of time was fast fading.

In other words, it was time to grow up. To face the music. Time’s a’wastin.’ You ain’t gettin’ any younger. All of those clichés -

It was time to get out of New York City, he realized. No question about it. The place sucked, and he hated it. Too many people, too much steel and concrete. It was like living in prison, and it was the last place on earth he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

But where would he go? Back to his economically deprived hometown in southern Ohio with his tail between his legs? “Hi, folks, I’m back! The Dream’s over. New York is swell, but I’ve decided that I need to get back to my roots. Know of any jobs available? Oh, really? You say it’s just been announced that this area has the second highest unemployment rate in the country? Gee, I didn’t know . . .”

No way!

So where to, then? Another big city—smaller than New York but economically sound like say, Atlanta, or Phoenix? And live in yet another booming metropolis? Thank you, no. That would be like taking a leap out of the frying pan into the fire.

So, perhaps a small town—somewhere in the boondocks. And do what? Start a fucking farm, for chrissakes? C’mon!

Feeling his frustrations mounting, Lenny decided to try and get his mind off his plight. Recalling that he had some printing to do, he stood up and headed determinedly over to one of two doors located at the other end of the apartment. He switched on the overhead lights and entered the former spare bedroom, now a fully equipped darkroom. As his studio in Manhattan was little more than a subdivided loft space without running water, he’d been forced to set up a darkroom in his apartment. This had been a prudent decision in the long run; allowing him more time at home and less time making needless trips from Queens into the city. His recent decision to add call-forwarding to his studio phone line afforded him yet more time away from the studio which ironically, was being utilized less and less anyway.

Lenny remained in the darkroom for the next hour or so, completing the print orders for his clients. Afterwards, he ate a light dinner then stretched out on the living room sofa with an ice-cold bottle of beer. Dear Prudence, from the Beatles White Album, was playing on the stereo and had just faded out when the telephone rang. He went over to turn the volume down then picked up the receiver.

“Studio,” he said into the mouthpiece.

“You aren’t really at the studio this late, are you?” he heard Julie Adams say.

“Oh, hi, Julie. No, I’m home,” Lenny replied in a slightly agitated tone of voice.

“Are you busy?” she asked.

“No, not really. Just sitting here sipping on a brew.”

“Something new and different,” she quipped sarcastically.

“Right. What’s up?”

“Well, I was sort of wondering why you haven’t called me.”

Lenny stalled for a moment. “I’m sorry. This is really the first chance I’ve had to sit down all day. I was just getting ready to give you a ring in fact.” he lied.

“You’re a terrible liar, Lenny,” she accused.

“I was going to call you, Julie. Really. It’s just been a hectic day, that’s all.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Are we still on for tomorrow night?”

Lenny wanted to say no, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d all but run out of excuses to give Julie these past couple of weeks. “Yeah, I’ll be there. What are we having?” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Stir-fried chicken and vegetables, salad, and homemade bread. How does that sound?”

“Delicious. You want me to bring a bottle of wine?”

“No need, I’ve got it covered.” Julie replied.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, Lenny wished she would have at least let him supply the wine. But this was typical of Julie. She made it too easy for him; always rolling out the red carpet and serving herself to him on a silver platter. Ideally, he’d be enjoying this royal treatment had he been receiving it from someone whom he had a genuine love interest in. But Julie Adams was not a love interest. She was not his Dream Lady.

“I’ll bring the beer then,” he insisted.

“Okay. How does six o’clock sound?”

Lenny thought for a moment. He had a shoot scheduled for three-thirty tomorrow. That should give him plenty of time.

“That’s fine,” he replied.

“Great!” Julie exclaimed. “I’ll see you then. What do you think of this snow, by the way? I Know how much you like this yukky stuff.”

“I think it’s great—I’d like to see about a foot or two fall as a matter of fact.”

“You’re crazy, Lenny. But I love you anyway,” she giggled.

Lenny hated when she spoke those words to him. She might as well have scraped her fingernails across a chalkboard.

“I’ve never claimed to be a sane person,” was all he said.

“You’ve got me there,” Julie said, her disappointment evident. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your beer. See you tomorrow, Lenny.”

“Okay. See ya, Julie.” he said, hanging up the phone.

His relationship with Julie Adams was yet another fact he was going to have to deal with someday. To him, Julie was just a friend—virtually his only friend in New York in fact. To her, however, he was apparently more than that. At least she wanted him to be more than that. Julie Adams was friendly and attractive—tall, blonde, had a great body. Lenny had met her a couple of years ago while doing a photo shoot for the annual report of the Meigs Corporation. She’d been one of the hundred or so employees he’d taken headshots of for the report, and they’d sort of hit it off in the brief time it had taken him to snap her picture. Julie had suggested that they get together some time then had scribbled her home phone number on her business card and handed it to him. Lenny had found her invitation too hard to resist and had called her later that week.

At first Lenny had enjoyed their relationship. A self-confessed loner, he discovered that having someone to hang out with once in a while was a welcome change at the time. They went out frequently for the first few months or so, hitting the nightclubs and occasionally taking in a movie. But he soon came to realize that Julie was viewing their relationship as a romantic venture leading up to an eventual commitment-type thing; the furthest thing from his mind.

He’d never forget that night when, out of the clear blue, Julie announced that she loved him. He’d sat there speechless and in shock. In retrospect, he should have leveled with her then, but hadn’t. Instead, he’d merely smiled at her like an idiot and said something like, “I like you, too,” hoping that she would get the hint.

She didn’t.

In fact, Julie had taken his response as a green light to pursue this nonexistent romance even more vehemently than before. She began calling him day and night, asking him over to her apartment incessantly, and going out of her way to do nice things for him. Like springing expensive gifts on him—which never failed to embarrass him. And cooking him gourmet meals, as she was planning on doing tomorrow night.

He was beginning to feel quite suffocated.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t dropped hints on several occasions that he wasn’t interested in a serious commitment. But Julie always managed to blow them off somehow—like he was just kidding around with her. It was slowly but surely becoming a sort of “fatal attraction” type thing. One night when he’d been totally blasted, he came right out and told her the truth; that he just wanted to be friends. Julie had gotten that incredibly hurt look in her eyes then proceeded to tell him that she didn’t care, that she loved him anyway. And that’s what had kept things going on as long as they had. Lenny’s conscience was clear, more or less, since Julie at least acknowledged and accepted his position in the relationship. So why rock the boat? he’d decided.

But the whole thing had gotten old and stale. Like everything else in his life, time was beginning to play into this in a big way. It was time to be honest about what was happening here. This woman loved him and no doubt wanted to marry him someday. Lenny didn’t love her, and basically, was just wasting her time. And the longer he let it go on, the more crushed she was going to be when the big ax came down, which was inevitable. Then he would feel even guiltier.

Why was he putting this off? he wondered.

Because he had become weak. It was just like everything else in his life right now. In limbo. This was what being in the middle of the road was all about. Sitting around letting everyone else make the calls; waiting for them to do or say something which might push or pull him in some definite direction. In other words, letting fate make his decisions for him.

This is certainly a scary way of doing things, he thought. He no longer had time to just sit around waiting for a fair wind to come along and set him back on course. He needed to start doing things, for chrissakes! Take some initiative for a change. Just take the fuckin’ bull by the horns and do something!

Tomorrow night, Lenny resolved, he was going to break it off with Julie Adams. Period. It wasn’t gonna be easy, but it had to be done. The poor girl deserved that much. He had no right to toy with her feelings as he’d been doing. Yes, it meant the end of his sex life for a while, but that’s how the old cookie crumbles. He’d get by.

Suddenly, he felt better. The mere fact that he had actually made a concrete decision about something left him feeling utterly jubilant. One of the major things that had been weighing heavy on his mind for months had suddenly been vanquished; a great weight had been taken off his shoulders.

Lenny drained the rest of his beer and went back into the kitchen for another one. He popped off the top and returned to the living room, pausing to glance out the window as he passed by. It was still snowing steadily. He went over and turned the volume back up on the stereo then sat down on the sofa and took a swig of beer.

The fleeting image of Julie’s face when he gave her the news suddenly overshadowed his elation. The look of pain, the welling up of tears in her eyes. He would no doubt feel like shit. He’d try and console her by telling her that everything would be okay, that she deserved someone better than him anyway. She would disagree and tell him that he was the only man she could ever love. Then he would feel even shittier, because at that point he’d have run out of things to say. And Julie would go on crying like a baby.

Just then, a light went on in his head. It was brilliant.

He would tell Julie that he was moving away!

Why hadn’t he thought of that before? And he wouldn’t be lying to her either; because he was going to do just that. He was going to get the hell out of New York City!

A broad grin came to his face. Things were finally beginning to make sense at last. In the course of one snowy evening, he had actually managed to resolve two major problems that had been eating away at him for years. He was liberated!

Lenny stood up and strode over to the window. The snow showed no signs of letting up as he felt a warm glowing feeling inside. He was going to take that sleigh ride, after all. Not literally, perhaps, but at least figuratively. He was about to take yet another plunge in his life—one that may well be his biggest yet. Moving to New York had been a daring move, granted. Ironically, moving out of New York would be even more diabolical. And the reason for this was now quite clear. By moving away, he was accepting a plain and simple fact which had been holding him back all along; one which he had refused to accept until now . . .

He had failed. Simple as that. He’d come to New York for a purpose and it had never materialized. Worse yet, he’d not only failed at his initial pursuit, music, but he’d also failed at his alternate pursuit, photography. A two-time loser, one might say.

Oddly, this didn’t bother him now. It was much easier to simply accept than go on pretending it wasn’t true. It was high time to get on with his life. Before it was too late.

He took another healthy belt of beer. The world outside had become bone-white. The ugliness of the city had been transformed into a clean, white, perfect beauty. Its flaws were no longer visible, hidden by nature’s handiwork. It made him yearn for the country again, where nature still called the shots and presented the world as it was supposed to be. Clean air, blue skies, crystal clear lakes and streams. Far and away from the mass of humanity that was screwing everything up. Rape the land, eat up the profits. Fuck tomorrow. Fuck the generations yet to come who would be stuck here trying to clean up everything the greedy bastards have left behind.

Let’s not get carried away here, he thought to himself with a wry smile. He was just as much to blame as everybody else for this mess.

But that’s just the point, he thought. He didn’t want to be a part of this anymore. The filth, the pollution, the hustle-bustle, the utter bullshit! He didn’t belong here. He wanted to be where living was enjoyable, not a chore. Somewhere plain and simple, without throngs of people everywhere you looked and noisy traffic everywhere you went.

But where, if anywhere, did such a place exist? Walden Pond? Mars? Heaven?

He laughed out loud. He wanted a utopia—a place that simply didn’t exist. It was a place in his mind, in his dreams. Like his Dream Lady. Neither existed. He would never see either as long as he lived.

But he wasn’t about to let this fact get him down. So what if they didn’t exist? There was nothing wrong in pursuing them anyway, was there? It was a goal to strive for, however unattainable. It gave him hope—not only in himself, but in all of mankind. What was that song? “Ya gotta have hope.” That’s the key. Because without hope, you’re screwed.

He heard the familiar click of the cassette deck as the tape reached its end. Lenny flipped it over, pressed “play,” and returned to the sofa. He glanced over at the clock. It was only 10:30. The fatigue he’d felt earlier had abated, no doubt partly due to his sudden renewed outlook on the future. The alcohol fix no doubt had helped, too. At any rate, he was on an emotional high and teeming with nervous energy.

Draining the last of his beer, he got up and went to the kitchen for another one. It was going to be a long night.

Lenny spent the next few hours staring out the window at the snowstorm and drinking beer. All this time, his mind never quit working; tossing this and turning that until he finally realized that everything was becoming a jumbled mess of incoherent pulp. The old brain had finally reached its Waterloo for the day.

But the day hadn’t been a waste by any means, he decided.

With a stretch and a long yawn, Lenny took one last look outside before getting up to turn out the lights. He found his way into the bedroom and hastily threw off his clothes then hit the sack. Within seconds, he was out like a light.

CHAPTER 10

Lenny was actually glad he had slept in so late. It was already past noon. He would have just enough time to eat, shower and shave, and get to the studio to set up for the session before his client arrived. It was going to be one of those beautiful, nonstop days.

He remained in bed long enough to down the rest of his coffee then made breakfast. After showering and dressing, he put on his jacket, slung his camera bag over his shoulder and left the apartment in haste.

When he stepped onto the street, a brisk breeze greeted him. He trudged the three blocks through the ugly brown slush to the subway station, deposited a token in the turnstile, and awaited the arrival of the “N” train to Manhattan.

During the twenty-minute ride, Lenny realized he felt better than he’d felt in a long time. He was finally beginning to move forward with his life. His future, seemingly to be forever on hold, now seemed to be taking some kind of shape on the proverbial horizon. He didn’t know what the hell his future was, or where it would lead him, but he knew it was out there somewhere. Somewhere besides where he was now. It was a strange feeling—to be so sure of something so vague; yet that’s how he felt at the moment.

Something remarkable was about to happen—that’s what his instincts told him. How he knew this, he didn’t know. It was just a feeling . . . a very strong feeling.

Tonight, he decided, after he left Julie’s, he would go home and make a conscious effort to figure out where he was going to move to. He’d strain his brain—hell, even take out the old atlas if he had to—and attempt to pick out a destination. It seemed a ludicrous course of action, but what other options did he have? None, really. He couldn’t just sit around on his hands for God only knows how long and wait for the answer to suddenly appear out of thin air, could he? Of course not.

Was he going to tell Julie that he didn’t yet know where he was going?

No, that would never float.

He’d have to lie. He hated lying, but he had no choice.

He’d tell her that he was moving back to Ohio. To air out until he decided his next move. She’d never know the difference.

Cool.

The train screeched to a halt at Canal Street and Lenny got out. He fought his way impatiently through the crowd up to the street then stopped at a corner newspaper stand to buy a pack of cigarettes before proceeding down Broadway to the old stone and brick building. He entered and took the elevator up to the fourth floor.

The tenants of the building were an eclectic mixture of artistic types trying to eke out a living in the city just as he was. On his floor alone were ten subdivided loft spaces; the media of choice ranging anywhere from sculpture and ceramics to stained glass. Lenny was the only photographer on the floor.

He unlocked the door and entered his studio. The space was long and narrow—eighteen by forty feet. The ceiling was high and made of galvanized metal with ornate patterns painted over in white. The floors were of well-worn and highly varnished hardwood.

Lenny went over to the small desk and laid his camera bag down on the floor beside it then picked up the phone and disengaged the call forwarding to his apartment. Sitting himself down in the director’s chair, he quickly reviewed the details of the upcoming session scrawled down in his appointment book.

The client’s name was Heather Thompson; seventeen years old and in need of a modeling portfolio. She had absolutely no experience in modeling, but wanted to give it a shot. (Didn’t they all?) He was going to shoot three rolls of film—two in black-and-white and one in color—and somehow attempt to make this kid look like a seasoned professional model in the process.

He recalled her appearance: cute, average height, but had terrible hair—a hideous-looking perm which had all but grown out, but not enough to hide the fact that not long ago all of her hair had looked that bad. Lenny had suggested to Heather’s mother, who had accompanied her to the consultation, that she either have the ends of her daughter’s hair cut off, or use whatever she could find to try and straighten the stuff out. (Motor oil, perhaps?) Modeling agencies, Lenny had explained after seeing the pained expression on Heather’s face, absolutely despised permed hair. The straighter, the better.

Lenny checked his watch. It was 2:45. He arose from the chair and went over to the makeshift dressing room, which was little more than a Formica counter and makeup mirror enclosed by a long black shower curtain hanging from a curved bar, forming a sort of alcove. He turned on the lights and checked to make sure that the counter was clean and that there was an ample supply of Kleenex, Q-tips, and spare makeup.

He then went over to the far end of the studio and took down the roll of white seamless paper from the stand and replaced it with a roll of gray. He placed a stool in the center of the floor about ten feet from the seamless background and switched on the power pack to the lights. After adjusting the umbrellas on the light stands, he test-fired the flash units and took a couple of readings with a flash meter then went over to his camera bag lying on the floor. He took out his Nikon and attached the 105 millimeter lens to it then secured the camera to the tripod.

Lenny spent the next half hour selecting the props he’d be using and setting them off to the side. He’d just wiped down and dusted everything off when he heard a knock at the door.

Early, he thought. That’s good.

He went over to the door and opened it. Before him stood Heather Thompson and her mother; each one carrying what appeared to be the entire junior’s department at Bloomingdale’s. Heather’s hair, he noticed immediately, was considerably shorter than it had been the last time he’d met with her.

“Hi, come on in,” Lenny greeted.

“I’m afraid we’re a little early,” Heather’s mother said apologetically.

“Oh, that’s all right,” Lenny replied. “Better early than late. Punctuality is an absolute must in the modeling business.”

He led them over to the garment rack standing against the wall next to the dressing room. “You can hang Heather’s clothes on this.”

“I hope I didn’t bring too much,” Heather said with a guilty smile. “But you told me to bring a variety of clothing changes.”

Lenny said, “No problem. We’ll just go through these and narrow it down a bit. Your hair looks great, by the way!”

“Thanks. I’m glad you suggested I get it cut. All my friends at school really like it. I think I do, too.” she added.

“You know you do, Heather.” her mother corrected her. “Now let’s show Mr. Williams what you brought.”

“Please, Mrs. Thompson. Just call me Lenny. I feel old enough as it is.”

She smiled at him. “Okay, Lenny. Show Lenny the black dress, honey,” Mrs. Thompson told her daughter excitedly.

Heather proudly held up a sheer black dress. The price tag was still attached to the sleeve. “We just bought this,” she told Lenny. “And it’s one thing that I definitely want to wear—if that’s all right with you, that is,” she added.

Lenny looked it over. “Sure, it’s beautiful. We’ll use it for the elegant look. What else have you got there?”

Heather proceeded to show him the rest of her wardrobe and Lenny narrowed down the changes to four: the black dress, a preppie plaid outfit, jeans and tee shirt, and a swimsuit.

When they were done selecting the outfits, Mrs. Thompson asked, “When do you think you’ll be done with the session, Lenny?”

“I’d say in a couple of hours or so. You’re welcome to stick around, if you’d like.”

“I would, but Heather won’t let me. She thinks I’ll just make her nervous, which is probably true. Besides, I have several errands to run.”

“Okay, we’ll see you at around 5:30, then.”

Mrs. Thompson turned to Heather. “Good luck, honey. And don’t be nervous!”

“Bye, Mom,” Heather replied with a typical teenage girl pout and a gesture of her hand for her mother to scram.

Lenny showed Mrs. Thompson to the door then went back over to Heather. “We’re going to start with a basic headshot. Why don’t you put on the preppie outfit and I’ll be setting up in the meantime.”

“Okay.”

Lenny went over and loaded the camera with a fresh roll of black-and-white film. After making a few adjustments and setting up a fan for a few windblown effect shots, he killed the rest of the time thumbing through a magazine until Heather was finally set to go.

The headshots took only fifteen minutes to shoot. Heather, in spite of a little nervousness at first, warmed up quickly and ended up posing quite naturally, greatly speeding up the pace. Lenny then took some three-quarter and full-length shots of her in the plaid outfit; occasionally directing her poses and facial expressions. Before long she was posing on her own without direction, and it soon became apparent to Lenny that Heather Thompson was a bona fide ham once she was in front of a camera.

Next, Lenny photographed Heather wearing the jeans and tee shirt, her hair up in a ponytail. Everything went smoothly, and at one point Lenny lauded her on her obvious natural talent. Heather beamed with pride and thanked him enthusiastically.

The shoot continued without a hitch. Lenny shot an entire roll of Heather in the black dress and felt certain he had a decent variety of usable shots. Heather modeled like a pro, her self-confidence seeming to grow in leaps and bounds with each frame he shot.

Lenny waited as Heather changed into her final outfit: a white two-piece swimsuit with strapless top. Moments later, she came out and approached him, her hair wetted-down and poker-straight.

“I’m ready. How do I look?” she asked.

Lenny looked her over and was relieved to discover that she looked absolutely stunning in a swimsuit—not many girls did, especially in the dead of winter. Not only was it apparent that Heather had been to the tanning booth recently, but she was as fit and trim as an athlete.

“You look great, Heather! Nice job with your hair, too. Now, why don’t you stand over here and we’ll get something on film before your hair starts drying out.”

“Okay!”

Heather went over to where Lenny indicated and stood while he made a quick lighting adjustment. He went over to the camera and began framing just her head in the viewfinder.

“Hold it right there,” Lenny commanded. Heather was looking off-camera, to the right side. Her head was lowered slightly and her eyes were soft and contemplative. He shot a couple of quick frames.

“Beautiful! Now try it from the other side.”

Heather moved her head slowly to the left, keeping her chin tilted downward. A perfect mirror-image of her former pose. Three more frames.

“Great! Now look straight-on.”

Heather’s head turned slightly until she was looking directly into the lens. Her eyes never blinked as she stared straight ahead at him—sultry and seductive. Click, whirr, click, whirr.

“Excellent! Chin down just a tad,” he ordered, clicking a couple more frames off.

“Hold it there just a little bit longer.”

Lenny backed up a step until Heather’s shoulders just barely came into view. He took another shot; the motor drive whirred the film forward.

“Now look to your right again—get your chin up,” he told Heather, his eyes never leaving the viewfinder.

He backed up several steps until he could see her from the waist up.

“Now, straight-on again.”

When Heather turned to face the lens, Lenny’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. She seemed to look different now, all of a sudden. Her eyes—they seemed larger. No, wider. That was it, he decided. Wider. They look absolutely awesome! So soft, so . . . mature. She seems a bit older all of a sudden, doesn’t she? he thought.

He glanced down at her mouth. Her lips were parted slightly. He could just see her white teeth gleaming behind those full, parted lips—minuscule sparkles of white light from where the modeling lights struck and bounced off the tiny air bubbles of her saliva. Her lips looked much fuller than he recollected them being. No lipstick—all natural pink. He could’ve sworn that Heather had worn red lipstick, hadn’t she?

His eyes skimmed down to where her hair lay on her well-defined shoulders. Wet, poker-straight locks of rich brown matted against her creamy-white soft skin. Lots of thick long hair shimmering in the light, falling randomly onto her collarbones and on down to her breasts; clinging to the rounded curves and falling out of his field of view. Beautiful shoulders. Beautiful collarbones. Beautiful breasts. Beautiful long hair . . .

Long hair?

Heather’s hair was short.

Lenny’s eyes shot back to Heather’s.

But those weren’t Heather’s eyes. Heather’s eyes were brown. These eyes were blue. And beautiful.

And vaguely familiar . . .

His Dream Lady! he thought. In the flesh!

Lenny lowered the camera and stared straight ahead. What he saw was Heather Thompson standing there with a bewildered look on her face: Short hair, brown eyes, her swimsuit top intact.

“Is something wrong?” Heather asked, puzzled.

Lenny blinked his eyes a couple of times and struggled to regain his composure. “Uh, no. Nothing’s wrong.” he replied distantly.

“How come you quit shooting? If you didn’t like my pose, I wish you would have at least told me, instead of just standing there staring at me. I’m not a mannequin, you know!”

“Jesus, Heather, I’m sorry! I . . . just sort of, lost it there for a minute. I suddenly feel a little dizzy, actually . . .”

Lenny set the camera down on the floor and brought his hand to his forehead, his equilibrium off-kilter.

“Are you all right?” Heather said with sudden concern.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Lenny replied, forcing a weak smile. “Why don’t we take a little break?”

Heather stepped over and placed a hand on Lenny’s arm. “You don’t look so good, Lenny. Your face is as white as a sheet. Maybe you should sit down for a while.”

“I think I will. Would you do me a favor?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“There’s a deli next door. Could you go get me a Coke and whatever you’d like?” As it suddenly registered that she was wearing only a swimsuit, he said, “On second thought, I’ll go myself—you’re not dressed. What would you like to drink?”

“A Coke would be fine. But I don’t mind going—I can just throw my coat on . . .”

“No way,” Lenny objected. “Your hair is soaking wet and it’s freezing cold outside. Why don’t you just relax a few minutes and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Heather shrugged, “I’ll get some money . . .”

Lenny managed a grin. “It’s on me.”

He went over and put his jacket on then headed for the door.

As Lenny walked down the hallway to the elevator, his head was spinning. He pressed the down button and leaned against the wall.

“Christ!” he breathed out loud. “What in the hell just happened in there?”

He felt disoriented as he entered the elevator and rode down to the first floor. It wasn’t until he stepped out onto the street and felt a blast of cold air in his face that he began feeling halfway normal again. He went next door to the deli, picked up a couple of cans of Coke then headed back to the studio, trying to make sense of it all.

When he returned to the studio, Heather was sitting on one of the director’s chairs reading a magazine. Lenny went over and handed her a Coke.

“Thanks. Are you feeling any better?” she asked.

“Yeah. We’ll get started again in a few minutes.”

Lenny popped the tab and took a slug of Coke then went over to his desk and sat down. He took a cigarette out and lit it up, staring at the wall.

He thought back and tried to recall at what point Heather Thompson had become his Dream Lady. He wasn’t sure. He recalled that he hadn’t recognized her at first; perhaps because he’d only seen her in the form of a dream before; a vague entity such as images in dreams were. What had really thrown him was the fact that not only had she appeared while he was quite awake, but that his Dream Lady had appeared in living color as well. Dreams were perceived in black-and-white, he’d read somewhere.

But the big question was: why had this happened?

Or more importantly, had it really happened?

Of course it had happened—at least he’d imagined it to have happened. But what in the hell had he been imagining? That he’d seen a vision—a visual phenomenon of some kind? Or had he been hallucinating? Hell, if he knew. All he knew was that one moment he’d been photographing Heather, and the next moment he was seeing his Dream Lady in the viewfinder . . .

He was losing his fucking mind!

Gotta snap out of this, he decided. Forget that it happened. Get on with the show.

He took one last hit off his cigarette then stubbed it out.

“Let’s get going, Heather,” he said, getting up from of the chair.

Heather set her Coke down on the table as she glanced over at Lenny. “ Okay. You look a lot better now.”

“I feel better, too,” Lenny lied. “You’d better wet your hair down again; it’s drying out.”

“All right.” Heather headed for the dressing room.

Lenny went over to the camera and checked the number of frames remaining on the film. He could hear the hiss of the spray bottle as Heather spritzed her hair as he strove to put the whole incident out of his mind; dismissing it as being most likely a by-product of fatigue and an overactive imagination.

Moments later, Heather emerged from the dressing room.

“You look great!” Lenny said, feigning enthusiasm. “Let’s get it on film.”

The session continued without further incident, and after he’d snapped the final frame, Lenny announced, “That’s a wrap—you did a great job, Heather.”

“You really think so?” she asked excitedly.

“I know so! We’ve got some really good stuff here.”

“I can’t wait to see! When will I be able to see the proofs, or whatever you call them?”

“In a few days, Lenny replied. “I’ll give your mom a call when they’re ready.”

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Lenny went over to answer it as Heather returned to the dressing room.

“How did my baby do?” Mrs. Thompson asked as she came into the studio.

“Great! She’s a natural.” Lenny replied.

“Do you really think so, or are you just saying that?”

“Seriously, she did really well. She’s got great potential.”

Mrs. Thompson poked her head inside the dressing room. “Did you hear that, Heather?”

“Yes, Mother. Now will you let me get dressed?”

Mrs. Thompson turned and winked at Lenny.

“Teenagers.”

Lenny smiled and started breaking down the set. Ten minutes later, Heather and her mother had gathered up all her clothes and were ready to leave.

Lenny strode over to them and said, “I’ll give you a call when the contact sheets are ready—should be a couple of days or so.”

Mrs. Thompson handed him a check. “Okay. Thanks, Lenny.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

Heather shook his hand and smiled. “Thanks again, Lenny. I really had a good time.”

“So did I. Take care.”

After they’d gone, Lenny looked at his watch. It was 5:25. If he left now, he could walk to Julie’s and make it there on time. He hastily gathered up his camera and lenses and placed them in his camera bag then put on his jacket and left the studio.

When he stepped out onto the sidewalk, he turned left and began walking north on Broadway. It had clouded up again and the air felt several degrees colder than it had earlier. As he waited for the light to change at Canal Street, Lenny observed the throngs of people heading for the subway station and hailing cabs as yet another New York City rush hour peaked-out. Soon, he thought to himself with a smug grin, all of this mass humanity will be history. The light changed and he crossed Canal Street along with a dozen other pedestrians.

Moving unhurriedly up Broadway, two things were on Lenny’s mind. The incident that had just occurred during the photo session, and his upcoming date with Julie. Both nagged at him mercilessly. He was still shaken up by the incident but tried his hardest to ignore it. The more he thought about it, the more perplexed he became. Just put it out of your mind for now, he told himself.

He crossed Grand Street as his thoughts turned to Julie. He felt his heart palpitate as the grim reality of what he was about to do flashed in his mind. Was he really up to this? he wondered.

Suddenly he felt a tug on his sleeve. He glanced over to see a genuinely scary-looking derelict staring at him with eyes that looked hauntingly similar to Charley Manson’s.

“Hey, man! Can you spare a few bucks for a cup of coffee?” the man asked gruffly, his breath reeking of cheap wine.

Lenny shook his head and kept walking.

The bum followed along and grasped Lenny’s arm. “How about it, man? You can spare a few bucks, eh?”

Lenny shook him off and said, “No, I can’t spare it, man,” and quickened his pace.

This particular bum was persistent.

“C’mon, man! Just a couple of bucks. That’s all I’m asking.”

Lenny knew that all he had in his wallet was a ten, and he wasn’t about to fork it over to this low-life asshole.

He glared at him defiantly. “I told you, I can’t spare it. Why don’t you go over to that guy there in the three-piece suit and ask him? He’s probably loaded,” Lenny snapped, pointing toward a stockbroker-type man trying to hail a cab on the street corner.

The transient glanced over toward the man then back at Lenny. “Fuck you!” he growled. Then he ambled away.

Lenny kept walking and never looked back.

“I’m getting the hell out of this shit-hole,” he hissed under his breath.

Bolstered by this unpleasant incident, Lenny felt a renewed determination to go through with his plans to tell Julie so long and farewell. The mere thought of staying in NYC any longer than he had to almost made him sick to his stomach. He waited for the walk sign to light up on the other side of Houston Street then crossed, picking up his pace.

When he reached 4th Street, he turned left, heading west. Julie lived near Greenwich Village, not far from Washington Square Park, and he was about four blocks away. He glanced at his watch. It was 5:49. He’d be right on time.

He reached Julie’s apartment building and entered the foyer. He stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the numbers and buttons on the intercom board then let out a deep breath. “Here goes.” He pressed the button for 10-A.

“Who is it?” Julie’s voice crackled over the speaker.

“It’s me.”

“Who’s me?” she asked.

“Lenny, who else?” he replied irritably.

“I don’t think I like that tone of voice, Mr. Lenny,” Julie quipped playfully.

Lenny heaved a sigh. Can we get this show on the road? he thought. “Sorry. Now, will you buzz me in before I die of old age standing here?”

A second later, Lenny heard a loud, hideous buzz. He pushed the inner door open, swearing under his breath. He went over to the elevator and stepped inside, pressing the button for the tenth floor with a vengeance.

During the ride up, Lenny realized that his patience was already growing thin. All he wanted to do was get this over with, go home and attempt to sort out the pieces of this already crazy day.

He reached the tenth floor and walked down the long corridor to the third door on the right and knocked three times.

“Who is it?” he heard Julie’s muffled voice ask from the other side.

“Jack the Ripper,” he replied dryly.

“Very funny,” Julie retorted. Two clicks, one bolt-slide, and a chain-rattle later, the door opened.

“Hi, Honey!” she greeted him brightly.

“Hello. How are ya?” Lenny said, receiving a light kiss on the cheek.

“Wonderful! Now that my man’s here.”

Lenny stepped inside. Julie closed the door behind him and secured it. “Let me take your coat,” she offered.

Lenny removed the camera bag from his shoulder, dumped it on the floor, removed his jacket and handed it to Julie.

“Thanks. It sure smells good in here.”

“I hope you like it; this is the first time I’ve tried this recipe. It does smell awfully good though, doesn’t it?”

“Yep, sure does.”

Lenny watched Julie as she traversed the living room and hung his jacket up in a closet. She apparently hadn’t changed clothes since getting home from work; she was wearing a navy blue wool suit and heels. Her apartment, he observed, was neat and immaculate as always. He’d never particularly liked it—too modern, and the furnishings too contemporary for his tastes. Comparing her apartment to his own was like comparing a Ferrari to a Model T Ford.

“So how did your photo session go?” Julie asked as she returned.

Lenny went over to the plush velvet sofa and sat down. The question caught him off guard. “Uh, okay. Just some teenager needing a modeling portfolio,” he answered.

“Was she cute?” Julie inquired, the slightest note of suspicion in her voice. Or was it jealousy?

“Yeah, she was pretty decent. A little on the short side, but she had plenty of natural talent. Could probably do well as a petite.”

“Did she like you?”

“What kind of question is that?” Lenny snapped. His foot was already tapping the floor nervously.

“I mean, did you get along together well—you know, did you ‘click?’” Julie asked, impervious to Lenny’s agitation.

“Yeah, we ‘clicked.’ She was reasonably at ease and took directions well.”

Lenny hated the inevitable third degree he always got from Julie whenever he shot models. He’d been better off lying and telling her that he’d done a headshot session of some guy.

“And how old was this little nymph?” Julie asked, not necessarily in jest.

Lenny’s blood began to boil. “Christ, Julie, she was seventeen! Would you like her life history while we’re at it?”

“I’m sorry, Lenny. I didn’t mean to pry. I was just curious.”

“I know, Julie,” Lenny replied, struggling to get a grip on himself. “Sorry I snapped at you—I’m just a little stressed-out today, I guess.”

“Well, I have go to check on the dinner. Would you like a beer?”

Lenny frowned. “Shit, I forgot to bring it!”

Julie grinned at him. “Not to worry, dear. I picked up a six-pack for you at the market—just in case.

“You think of everything, Julie. Yeah, I could definitely use one.”

Julie turned and went into the kitchen. A moment later she returned and handed him an ice cold bottle of Rolling Rock.

“Thanks.” He took a huge slug. It tasted good.

“Why don’t you relax while I look after dinner? I still have to cut up the veggies and make a salad.”

“You need help with anything?” Lenny offered.

“No. Just sit here and unwind—you look a little fatigued.”

“Okay—you’ve talked me into it. I do feel a bit rough.”

After she left the room, Lenny took another slug of beer and fumbled in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. He pulled out the pack retrieved one and lit it up.

This ain’t gonna be easy, Lenny thought to himself as he thought about Julie Adams. She was a sweet gal for the most part, in spite of her over-possessiveness and quasi-yuppy ways. She’d been a friend and much more to him for nearly two years, and to suddenly sever that tie, completely, seemed almost as brutal as it seemed untimely; particularly from her point of view.

Was he really up to this?

But there was more to it, he reminded himself. He was leaving New York—moving totally out of her life for good. That was the crux of the situation, after all. Nothing personal. Just a plain and simple fact.

A thought suddenly crossed his mind: What if Julie wanted to go with him?

Then he laughed under his breath. Don’t flatter yourself, buddy, he thought. She isn’t that hung up on you! Besides, she has a decent job and, unlike you, seems perfectly content living in New York. She’s not about to just throw everything away and go shuffling off to Southern Ohio just so she could be with ‘her man.’ She surely hasn’t gone that far over the edge, has she?

God, I hope not . . .

Just then, Julie reentered the living room.

“I’ve got to get out of these clothes—these shoes are killing me. Will you be a dear and keep an eye on the wok while I change?” she asked.

“Sure,” Lenny replied. He went into the kitchen and took the lid off the wok then stirred the contents lightly. It smelled delicious. She was a damn good cook, he had to admit.

A few minutes later, Julie came in. She had changed into jeans and the oversized V-neck sweater that he had once told her was his favorite. The V plunged so low that her ample breasts were semi-visible at any given time. This, along with her long blonde hair, now pulled back and tied into a ponytail, made Julie Adams look painfully alluring.

Did he really want to give this up? Lenny thought.

Julie came over and peeked at the food. “I think I’ll let it simmer a bit longer—the bread isn’t quite ready, anyway. I think I’d like some wine,” she added, glancing at him.

“I’ll get it. Is it in the fridge?”

“Yes, it should be chilled enough by now.”

Lenny went over and opened the refrigerator door. He spotted the bottle—an Italian dry, white—and took it out. He went over to the cupboard to get a wine glass, located the corkscrew and extracted the cork then poured Julie a glass.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Julie took a sip. “Let’s sit down for a few minutes.”

“Let me get my smokes first.”

Lenny went into the living room to get his cigarettes then sat down at the kitchen table across from Julie.

“How’s the wine?” he asked, lighting up another cigarette.

“Wonderful. Is your beer going down well?”

“Quite well, thank you”

“Has your business gotten any better?”

“It’s still pretty slow. I don’t know if it’s the slumping economy or just plain bad luck, but it’s been pretty lousy,” Lenny confessed.

“Are you making ends meet okay?”

Lenny immediately jumped on the defensive. “Oh, I’m fine as far as that goes. It’s not like I’m starving or anything like that. It’s just a slow period now, relatively speaking.”

“Well, just let me know if you ever need any cash. I don’t want my man to go hungry.”

Lenny wanted to scream—this was one of the quirks of Julie’s personality that he absolutely detested. Somehow he managed to keep his composure. “Uh, thanks, Julie. I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“Which reminds me . . .” Julie said, jumping up from her chair. “Wait here a second.”

In an instant, she fled the kitchen. Lenny already had a pretty good idea what she was doing as he felt his blood pressure go up another notch.

Another gift.

“I’ve got something for you,” she declared when she returned. In her hands was a large gift-wrapped box. She walked over to the table and handed it to him.

“Julie, why do you do this to me?” he asked, a pained look on his face. “I can’t accept this.”

Julie smiled brightly, undaunted. “Sure you can! Now open it up; I’m dying to see what you think of it!”

Lenny hesitated. Whatever it was, he didn’t want it. He’d never wanted any of the gifts that Julie was forever bestowing upon him, but she’d always insisted that he take them and he’d always obliged her.

Tonight, however, was different; he had to draw the line. He was about to jilt her and simply couldn’t accept this gift then bid her adieu forever. It was wrong.

“Come on, open it up!” Julie coaxed.

Lenny fumbled with the box nervously. On the other hand, if he flatly refused to accept it right now, she would most likely throw a fit. She would wonder why he was refusing, and he’d have to give her an explanation; which meant spilling the beans to her. And now was not the time for that.

Suddenly, he had an idea. He’d open it up, tell her that he loved it then “accidentally” forget to take it with him when he left later on. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice.

“Why do you keep buying me stuff?” he said suddenly.

Julie’s eyes widened. “Because I love you, that’s why. Now open it up Lenny, before I crown you!”

God, I hate this, he thought.

Slowly, Lenny pulled at the ribbon until it snapped then methodically tore off the wrapping paper until he saw the familiar Macy’s logo on the lid. He removed the lid and parted the neatly pleated tissue paper. It was an overcoat. A long, gray, and expensive London Fog that he would never wear.

“Wow, this is really nice,” he said as he took it out of the box.

“Do you really like it?” Julie asked excitedly.

“Yeah, I do. It’s very nice,” Lenny replied, trying his hardest to sound sincere.

“Well, I figured that if I can’t get you to wear a suit then the least I could do is get you something that looks dressy when you’re out on the street,” Julie explained.

Lenny bit his lip.

“Try it on!” she coaxed.

He stood up and put the coat on. It fit him perfectly.

“Oh, you look great—so distinguished! Go look at yourself in the mirror!”

Julie took him by the hand and led him through the living room to the hallway where a full-length mirror was mounted to a closet door.

Lenny looked at himself in the mirror. What he saw was a cross between a bitter Viet Nam vet and James Bond.

“You look wonderful, Lenny! Now, if you’d just get that hair of yours cut off, or at least styled, you could pass for a corporate executive!”

Just what I’ve always wanted, Lenny thought to himself.

“Yeah, I guess I do look pretty cool,” he lied, not the least bit convincingly.

“You don’t like it,” Julie accused.

Lenny eyed her in the mirror. “No, I do like it . . . Honest!”

“Don’t lie to me, Lenny. If you don’t like it, I’ll take it back and get you something else. I won’t be offended.”

“That won’t be necessary, Julie. I like it, and I want to keep it, okay?”

Julie’s expression softened a little. “Okay, then. Promise me that you’ll wear it—at least once in a while, okay?”

“I’ll wear it—really.”

“I’d better go check on dinner,” she said then walked away.

Lenny took the coat and hung it up in the closet before joining Julie in the kitchen.

When he entered, Julie was taking the bread out of the oven.

“That smells good!” he said, trying to lighten up the atmosphere a little.

Julie said nothing.

“Do you want me to help you set the table?” he offered.

She shook her head.

“What’s wrong with you?” Lenny asked, sensing that something was wrong.

Julie ignored his question and proceeded to set the table.

“Hey,” he said, putting his arms around her from behind. “Tell me what’s the matter. I can tell you’re mad about something.”

Julie froze where she was. Lenny felt something wet fall on his hand.

“Julie, what in the hell’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Julie began sobbing.

“Look at me,” Lenny demanded, gently turning her around to face him. Julie laid her head on his shoulder.

“Is it the coat? I really do like it, Julie. Honest!”

“It’s not he coat, Lenny. It’s . . . everything.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, genuinely bewildered.

“I’m not a fool, Lenny. I know you don’t love me. I’ve tried so hard all this time to accept that, but it just isn’t working. I keep telling myself that someday you’ll change your mind, but I realize now that you never will . . . Never.”

Lenny was speechless. This was not the way he’d planned on things happening. And now, taken totally off guard, his mind searched for something to say.

“Julie, I do love you. A lot.”

“Maybe you do. But not the same way I love you. You may love me as a friend, but you don’t love me the way I need to be loved by you. I need more than that . . .”

Lenny couldn’t speak.

“None of this is your fault, Lenny,” she continued. “In fact, it’s all my fault. You’ve been upfront and honest with me all along; telling me you just want to be friends and so on. But I’ve been pushing you, trying to make you love me. And that’s wrong. I guess I’ve just been living in a fantasy world. I’ve been trying to create a relationship that can never happen, and it’s time to face the music and accept the fact that it never can. I know that you’ve just been going through the motions lately, coming over to see me just to keep from hurting me, and I’ve been putting you in an awkward position as a result. Well, it’s time I give you a break; to let you know that if you want out of this, all you have to do is say so.”

Lenny’s mind was reeling. Here it was, all laid out for him, and he hadn’t even had to do or say a thing. Julie had already set it up for him.

So why wasn’t he jumping for joy?

He suddenly felt an urge to take Julie in his arms and hold her tight; to tell her that he loved her and that he was sorry for being such a shit to her. She would quit crying then, and smile brightly; tell him that she was the happiest girl in the world now that she knew he loved her.

But he couldn’t do this. Because he didn’t love her.

It was over . . .

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

For a moment she just stood there staring into his eyes. Then, she managed a weak smile and said softly, “It’s okay.”

Lenny put his arms around her and held her tight. It dawned on him that this woman represented everything that had happened in his life up to now; and at the moment he didn’t want to let go. Every trial and error, hit and miss, every hope and aspiration that had been snuffed-out by life’s harsh realities were in a way wrapped up in this pretty little bundle in his arms.

Julie Adams was his past.

It was time to step into the future and leave the past behind.

He faced her. Her mascara was running but she was no longer crying. She smiled at him.

“I’m going to miss you, Julie,” he said sincerely.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I guess I’d better go. I’m sorry about dinner.”

“It’s okay, Lenny. I’ll walk you to the door.”

Lenny followed her into the living room. She went over to the closet and took out his leather bomber jacket then brought it over and handed it to him.

“Don’t worry about the London Fog, Lenny. I know it isn’t you.”

Lenny managed a wry grin. “I guess I’m just not the Wall Street type.”

He put on his jacket then picked up his camera bag and slung it over his shoulder. Julie unbolted the door and held it open for him.

“Be careful, Lenny. You’ll always have a special place in my heart.” she said, her eyes sad but determined.

“Same to you, Julie. I . . . I’ll never forget you.”

With that, Lenny turned and left Julie Adam’s apartment, never looking back.

As he waited for the elevator to reach the floor, Lenny felt a dull numbness in his head—a state of shock brought on by the mixture of emotions he was being bombarded with. When the elevator arrived, he stepped in and mechanically pressed the button for the first floor, impervious to the whine and drone of the motor as the door closed. When he reached the first floor, he stepped out and headed for the door that led to his self-imposed freedom.

When he reached the street, a sobering gust of wind slapped him in the face. He headed east toward Broadway at a brisk pace, sticking his hands in his pockets and feeling the crosswind cut through him like a knife. When he arrived at the intersection of Broadway and 4th, he turned left heading north and glanced up at a street light to see tiny flakes of snow blowing wildly around.

As Lenny waited to cross 5th Street, he refused to dwell on what had just happened at Julie’s. His main priority now was to get to the subway station at 8th Street, hop on a train, and go home. Once there, he decided, he would grab a beer out of the fridge, put on some music and attempt to mellow out. This day, no doubt, had been one strange sonofabitch.

The light changed and he stepped off the curb onto the street. In a fleeting instant, he saw bright lights and a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye. He looked to his right just as he heard the screeching of tires, and a fraction of a second later, he saw the taxi cab as it sped directly at him.

The next thing he knew, he felt a sharp jab of pain in his leg and became airborne. He flew through the air for what seemed like several minutes, his hand clutching his right thigh, screaming bloody murder.

Then he watched in horror as he felt himself falling headfirst toward the pavement, coming at him closer and closer. Even in the darkness of the night he could make out the cracks in the asphalt—a complex configuration of thin lines not unlike a spider web.

He knew that it was all over. Oddly, his last conscious thought just before his head smashed into the pavement was that of relief. He suddenly realized he wasn’t going to have to worry about where he was going to move to, after all. Fate, in its fickle and profound way, was about to see to it that Lenny Williams’ next and final move would be six feet underground inside a pine box . . .

CHAPTER 11

He opened his eyes. At first, everything was just one green blur due to the difficulty he was having in focusing. He squinted hard several times and eventually could make out vague green shapes that appeared to be far away from where he now was. Finally, everything came into focus and he realized what the green shapes were.

Trees. Lots of trees.

He winced in agony as a sharp jolt of pain shot through his head. The pain was so great that he nearly lost consciousness. He put his hand to the top of his head and felt a lump the size of a walnut.

As his senses became keener, he became aware of a loud trickling sound like that of running water coming from somewhere nearby. Although it was painful to do so, he slowly turned his head sideways. It was then that he realized he was lying flat on his back in a creek bed. Water was rushing swiftly all around him and it occurred to him that he was soaked to the bone.

His immediate impulse was to stand up. He tried bending his legs in an effort to get up onto his feet when an excruciating pain ripped through his right thigh. He let out a scream and the sound of his own voice startled him. It sounded foreign for some reason; quite unlike his own.

For a moment he felt totally disoriented. It all of a sudden occurred to him that he had no idea whatsoever what he was doing here. For that matter, he didn’t even know where in creation he was. None of these surroundings looked the least bit familiar.

Then, amidst a rush of fear and panic, another question loomed in his mind.

Who in the hell am I?

He had absolutely no idea.

His heart began thudding hard in his chest as this stark realization hit home and swept over him like a dark cloud.

In desperation, he attempted to roll over onto his left side. His right leg felt like it was caught in a bear trap and wouldn’t budge. He slowly turned his head and looked down. His leg was partially pinned down by a large chunk of bedrock that had apparently shifted enough to wedge his leg underneath. He brought his right hand down and with great effort, managed to push the stone away far enough to pull his leg out from beneath it.

Again he tried to roll over onto his side using all the strength he could muster. Finally, after three attempts, he succeeded; but his head was throbbing relentlessly from the strain. He rested for a few moments then managed to sit up, using his arms as leverage and pushing off the slippery rocks with both his hands.

He sat there awhile, resting and gazing around at his surroundings. He was apparently in a deep ravine that was heavily wooded on either side. The banks were quite steep and arose a good thirty yards to the top. With the exception of the sound of the creek and the chirping of an occasional bird in the trees, there was an absolutely dead and eerie silence—no signs of human existence anywhere.

Suddenly he spotted a fishing pole and tackle box lying near the edge of the creek about ten yards away. They looked familiar.

Were they his? he wondered. They must be. There was no one else around.

He examined his leg. It was badly swollen but didn’t appear to be broken. He was able to move it—a little, anyway. He must have slipped on the rocks and fallen, hitting both his head and leg on the rocks when he’d gone down.

He suddenly felt odd sitting there in a creek bed, all alone, and having no idea how he’d gotten there or who he was. He observed his surroundings once again, hoping to perhaps find a clue of some kind that might enlighten him. Nothing. He then started looking himself over—maybe something he was wearing would help jar his memory. He looked first down at his feet; he was wearing a pair of well-worn leather work boots—the kind with the steel toes. Didn’t ring a bell. He then studied his soaked trousers that were also well-worn, black, and faded. They were made of thick cotton and were for the most part fairly nondescript . . .

The pockets! he thought suddenly. He stuck his hand into the left pocket, but it was empty. He then tried the right pocket and felt something flat, smooth, and hard. Excitedly, he pulled it out.

It was a pocket watch.

He carefully examined the watch, turning it over and over in his hand with hopes of finding identifying marks of some kind. There were none. He then pulled the stem up and the lid popped open. The watch was still running and it told him the time: 9:35. But it told him nothing else.

He continued staring at the watch. It seemed familiar. Vaguely familiar . . .

He closed the lid and stuffed the watch back into his pocket. He felt around in his back pockets. Nothing. He checked the breast pocket of the flannel shirt. To his dismay, it too was empty.

It was when he withdrew his hand from his pocket that he noticed the gold ring on the third finger of his left hand.

A wedding band.

Whoever he was, he was married.

This was a big clue indeed. Now all he had to do was find his wife. Whoever and where ever she might be . . .

He looked around again. He knew that he had to get out of the creek and start moving—in some direction, anyway. He just wasn’t sure he had the strength to do it. For that matter, he wasn’t even sure if his injured leg could support his weight; if and when he was able to get up onto his feet.

He had to try.

He took a deep breath then started to stand up, putting most of his weight on his left leg. He got halfway up then lost his balance and fell flat on his backside. The shock from the fall made his head feel like it was going to split wide-open.

He rested for a moment and waited for the pain to subside. It was more than obvious that he was going to need something to support his weight on before he could get up onto his feet. A stick or a pole of some kind . . .

The fishing pole! He gazed over at it, wondering if it would be strong enough. Although it was made of cane, it was worth a try.

He took another deep breath then began crawling toward the fishing pole, scooting forward inches at a time until he finally reached his goal. After catching his breath, he took the pole in his hands and dug one end of it into the creek bed then grasped it as far up as his hands would reach.

In one quick lunge he pulled himself up—balancing his weight between the fishing pole and his left leg. When he was fully upright, he staggered a little but managed to maintain his balance.

He was on his feet.

From this new vantage point, everything seemed to look a little more familiar. He’d been at this creek countless times before, that much he was sure of. He’d fished and even occasionally swam here on particularly hot summer days.

He turned around and glanced up at the hillside skirting the ravine and noticed the path that cut diagonally along it all the way to the top. He’d walked that path countless times as well.

That path led to his house. And his wife.

In a sudden flash, it all came back to him.

It was Saturday morning, May 25, 1907. He was off work for the weekend, and he’d come down to the creek to do a little fishing. He’d been here about half an hour when he’d hooked a three-pound trout, but it had gotten hung up on a snag and he’d snapped his line. Like a fool, he’d tried to get out to it by jumping the rocks—then he’d slipped and fallen in. The fall must have knocked him unconscious for a good hour or so; and had also given him quite a bout of amnesia. But only temporarily, thank the Lord.

His name was Clem Porter. His wife’s name was Nancy. And Nancy had just given birth three weeks ago to their beautiful daughter, Katie. And that had been a small miracle in itself!

Nancy and the baby were up on the hill at the end of that path right this moment. In their home. Nancy had told him that she was going to do the laundry today, and he’d bet his eyetooth that little Katie was fast asleep in her crib. She was perfect as pie, that child was. And an absolute godsend.

I must get home to my wife and child! he thought.

In his anticipation, he forgot his injured leg and stepped onto his right foot with all his weight, causing him to wince in pain. Cursing himself for his foolhardiness, he stood there for a moment and assessed the path leading up to his house.

It was too steep. He’d never make it up in his present condition.

Feeling distraught by this grim realization, he knew there was only one way to get up that path. He needed help—Nancy’s help.

So he began shouting her name. And each time he shouted, he could feel a painful throb in his head that only worsened each time he opened his mouth. After six or seven times, he wondered if she was even within earshot of his voice. Unless she was outside the house, he realized that he didn’t have the slightest chance of being heard.

Then suddenly he thought he heard something. He stopped and listened for a moment. Nancy was calling his name. She’d heard him!

With all the strength he had left, he took a deep breath and shouted, “Nancy, come down and help me!”

His head nearly split in two.

“I’m coming, Clem!” he heard her call back.

Although he was exhausted, he managed a smile. Thank the Lord for my little lady! he thought to himself.

He heard the rustling of brush high up on the top of the ravine and looked in that direction. His eyes caught a glimpse of white near where the path began and he knew it was Nancy, wearing the old work shirt of his that she always wore whenever she washed clothes. He’d teased her several times about wearing that shirt—telling her that if any of the town folk ever saw her wearing it outside instead of a dress that they just might mistake her for a man! Fortunately for him, Nancy had a sense of humor.

“Clem? Where are you?” he heard her shout.

“Down here!” he answered back.

She was about a third of the way down the path, and he could just make out her features. She looked in the direction of his voice and spotted him.

“My Lord, what happened? Are you all right?” she asked, quickening her pace.

“I’m all right, dear. I just slipped on the rocks,” he answered. “Watch your step coming down.”

She was more than halfway down now, and he could clearly see her. Even from this distance he could see the look of concern on her lovely face.

“How bad are you hurt?”

“Just a lump on my head. Banged-up my leg a little, too,” he replied.

“Land sakes!” she exclaimed when she came within twenty yards of him. Her face was flushed.

“It looks worse than it really is, honey. I just can’t get around too well at the moment,” he said in an effort to console her.

When she reached him, she quickly looked him over and an expression of horror came to her face. “My Lord, Clem! What in the world happened? You look like a drowned rat!”

“I feel like one, too,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

“You’re bleeding!” she shrieked, noticing the blood on his shirt.

“Must be from my head. Nasty bump there, I believe.”

Nancy gently touched the lump on his head.

“We’ve got to get Doc Pritchart to look at that as soon as possible. What’s wrong with your leg?”

“Must’ve fallen on it—the right one. Don’t think it’s broken, though. Just bruised-up a bit.”

Nancy gingerly touched his thigh. “It sure is swollen up! We’ve got to get you home and have Doc come and take a look at you.”

She took the fishing pole from him and threw it aside. “Put your arm around me, Clem, and keep your weight off of that leg.”

He put his arm around her shoulders. Although he was practically twice her size, Nancy was incredibly strong for hers.

“How’s that?” she asked, taking a couple of steps.

“Fine. But we’ve got a long way to go, dear,” he replied doubtfully.

“Don’t worry—we’ll make it. You just keep holding on to me.”

“You let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” Clem said.

“I will. We’ll just take it slow and easy.”

With that, they began the arduous climb up the path. They stopped and rested a half dozen times before they finally reached the top. When they stepped out of the woods and Clem spotted the house, he let out a long grateful sigh.

“Ah, home at last!”

“Yes, and you’re going to lie down in bed while I take the buggy into town to fetch Doc Pritchart,” Nancy declared as they began traversing the remaining distance to their house.

“Do you think that’s necessary, Nancy? I’ll be fit as a fiddle after a little rest.” Clem said unconvincingly.

“Don’t try to worm your way out of seeing the doctor, Clem Porter! After I get you out of those sopping-wet clothes, I’m going straight into town to get him. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, you hear?”

Clem sighed. “Okay, whatever you say, dear.”

When they reached the house, Nancy assisted Clem up the steps and onto the porch then opened the door and helped him inside.

“There’s my little girl!” he exclaimed upon seeing his tiny daughter lying in her crib near the hearth. “Daddy fell and went ‘boom,’ Katie! But he’s okay because Mommy came and saved him,” he told the wide-eyed infant staring at them as they crossed the room.

“And Daddy has to take a bath and go to bed like a good boy, doesn’t he?” Nancy chided.

“Did you hear that, Katie? Mommy’s making me take a bath!” he said, leaning down and gently touching her cheek.

“Come on, Clem. You can play with Katie after the doctor has had a look at you.”

Clem frowned, kissed his baby daughter, then said in resignation, “Okay, Mommy, if you say so.”

Nancy led him over to a chair and eased him down into it. “Wait here while I fix your bath. I have a cook pot full of boiling water on the stove that I was going to use for tonight’s beef stew.”

She walked over to the stove and removed a steaming pot of water then carried it over to the steel tub sitting in the far corner of the room and poured the contents in. “I’ll go fetch some more water from the well,” she announced, then carried the pot along with her through the door and outside.

In a few minutes she returned with the cook pot and a bucket, both full of water. Clem watched her as she poured them into the tub then came back over to him.

“Off with those clothes.”

“I love you, Nancy,” he said as she helped him off with his shirt.

“I love too, sweetie,” she said then kissed him on the cheek.

She pulled off his boots and eventually managed to remove his soaking wet trousers then let out a gasp. “My Lord, Clem, that leg looks horrid! I’ll bet Doc’s going to have to splint it. How bad does it hurt, honey?”

“It’s there,” he grimaced.

“Let’s get you over to the tub now,” she said then helped him out of the chair and over to the tub.

Once he was settled in, she handed him a bar of soap and said, “I have to change before going into town. Just relax and I’ll help you out when you’ve finished bathing.”

“Alright, Nan.”

Clem watched her as she went over to where the bed was and began undressing. She removed his old work shirt and flung it onto the bed then sat on the edge to take off the pair of faded dungarees.

As he bathed, he thought how lucky he was to have such a beautiful woman as his wife. She hadn’t seemed to have aged a day since they’d gotten married over ten years ago. She still had a shapely figure—even after having given birth to Katie. And she was still the kindest, most loving woman he’d ever known.

When he’d finished, she came over and helped him out of the tub then dried him off with a towel. She then helped him over to the bed and tucked him in.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, leaning down and kissing him on the lips. “And don’t you dare move from this bed,” she added.

“Okay, dear. Be careful.”

“I will. Good-bye.”

After Nancy went out the door, Clem leaned over to the window beside the bed and looked outside. He watched as she walked briskly over to the barn and untied the horse then climbed up into the buggy. A moment later she had the buggy out of the barn, and with a snap of the reins and a firm “git-up!” Betsy responded, and away they went down the winding mountain road that would eventually take them into Ashland Falls.

When she was out of sight, Clem laid back on the pillow and yawned wearily. The hot bath had made him feel better, but he realized now that he was completely exhausted. He glanced over toward Katie who was fast asleep in her crib then closed his eyes. In seconds, he too, was fast asleep.

The sound of horse hooves on the road awakened him. He leaned over and peered out the window to see Nancy returning in the buggy with Doc Pritchart following behind. He watched them as they drove up to the barn and tied up the horses then began walking toward the house.

“Here’s your patient,” Nancy announced as she came through the door with Doc Pritchart in tow.

Clem looked over at them. “Hi, Doc. Sorry you had to come all the way up here, but Nancy insisted on it.”

“Never you mind, Clem. It’s always a pleasure to see you folks. And I haven’t seen this young’un since I delivered her,” the elderly doctor said, approaching Katie’s crib. “My, she’s growing like a weed! Hello, sweetie,” he said, reaching his hand down to tickle her chin.

“Yes, she sure is getting big. She’s got a big appetite, too,” Nancy declared, then blushed.

“Well, there’s no harm in that—all that milk will make you grow up strong and healthy, eh little one?”

Doc Pritchart then turned and walked over to Clem. “So tell me what happened, Clem. Nancy says you took quite a tumble down at the creek,” he said, opening up his grip and taking out a stethoscope.

“Well, I was fishing when it happened,” Clem began. “I hooked a big old trout that probably went two and a half or three pounds, and the varmint got snagged up in the rocks. My fishing line snapped clean in two, but he was still there; tangled up in the rocks. So I figured I could go out there and pull him out of the water, and like a durn fool I started jumping the rocks. Then I slipped and hit my head, I reckon. Knocked me plum out!”

“Uh-huh,” the doctor nodded, then began checking Clem’s heart and blood pressure. After he felt his pulse, he said, “Sit up a second and let me take a look at that head of yours.”

Clem sat up in the bed and the doctor examined the lump on his head.

“Hmm—quite a nasty bump, indeed. How long would you say you were knocked out, Clem?”

“About an hour or so,” he replied.

“I see. That’s pretty darn long,” the doctor declared, his face suddenly taking on a more serious look.

“How did you feel when you came to? What I mean is, were there any side-effects; like numbness in your fingers or toes—or any other unusual sensations?”

Clem thought for a moment. “Well, I sort of forgot who I was at first.”

“Amnesia?”

Clem nodded.

Nancy shot him a look of surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me you had amnesia, Clem?”

Clem cast her a sheepish grin. “Didn’t think it was worth gettin’ you all upset over, I reckon.”

“Clem Porter! You should be ashamed of yourself!” Nancy exclaimed, leering at him.

“Sorry, Nan,” he said with a shrug.

Doc Pritchart asked, “How long did the amnesia last, Clem?”

“I don’t know . . . Maybe ten minutes or so.”

The doctor nodded his head slowly. “I see. Do you feel like you’ve gotten all your memory back now? Think hard, Clem, because it’s very important,” he added, his voice stern.

Clem thought it over for a moment then replied, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten it all back. As far as I can tell, anyway.”

“Well, let’s just try something—just to be on the safe side. On what day were you born?” he asked.

Clem chuckled. “November 7th, 1875.”

Doc Pritchart glanced over at Nancy standing at the foot of the bed. She nodded.

“And Nancy’s birthday?” he asked.

“July 8th, 1876,” Clem replied, “Come on and give me a tough question, Doc!” Clem laughed.

“Just one more, then. When and where was Katie born?”

Clem looked over at Katie’s crib then back at the doctor. His face beamed with pride as he replied, “Monday, April 29th, 1907 at 6:47 AM; right here in this very house.”

Doc Pritchart smiled broadly. “Your memory is fine, Clem. Better than mine, I might add!”

All three laughed.

“Now let me take a look at that leg,” the doctor said.

Clem pulled down the covers and revealed his bruised and swollen thigh.

“Land sakes, you really banged that up good, didn’t you?” he exclaimed then began examining it.

“Yeah. I must’ve hit a rock when I fell.”

“Can you put any weight on it?”

“A little. It hurts like the dickens, though.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s broken; possibly a hairline fracture, though. Actually, I think you just bruised up the muscle good and proper. I’ll give you something for the pain; and you’d better stay off of it for a few days.” the doctor told Clem.

Clem’s face wore a worried look. “But I have to go to work, Monday.”

Doc Pritchart smiled sympathetically. “I’m afraid you’re in no shape to go to work, Clem. Not until that swelling goes down and you’re able to put some weight on it.

Clem looked over at Nancy. “I hope old man Hoffman doesn’t get in a huff over me taking time off from the mill.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand, Clem.” Nancy replied.

“I sure hope so. I hate losing a day’s pay, too,” he groaned.

Doc Pritchart said, “I’m sorry, Clem, but look on the bright side. You could have broken that leg and then you’d be laid up for a lot longer than a few days.”

“You’re right, Doc. It could be worse, I reckon,” Clem admitted.

Doc Pritchart started putting everything back into his grip and said, “Well, I’d better be off. Faye Flannagan’s expecting any day now, and I promised I’d check on her this afternoon.”

He took out two small bottles from his bag then handed them to Nancy. “Give Clem two of the white pills every four hours for the pain, and one green one three times a day for the swelling.”

“Okay, Doc. I’ll walk you out,” Nancy said as the doctor stood up.

“Thanks, Doc,” Clem said.

“You’re welcome, Clem. Get lots of rest and stay off that leg, okay?”

“Alright, Doc.”

“Good day,” he said then followed Nancy to the door.

When she returned, Clem sighed and said, “I hate being bedridden! I feel so useless.”

Nancy went over to him and gave him a kiss. “Well, you aren’t useless, and you’re going to do exactly as the doctor told you to do. I’ll fetch you a glass of water so you can take your medicine.”

Clem groaned as she went over to the cupboard and took out a glass and filled it with water from a pitcher. She brought the water over and handed it to him along with the pills.

Clem popped the pills into his mouth and washed them down. “Thanks, honey.”

“You’re welcome.”

Just then, Katie started crying.

“Sounds like Katie might be getting hungry. I’d better feed her,” Nancy said then went over to the crib. She picked her daughter up and added, “It looks like our little girl needs changed, too.”

Nancy carried Katie over to Clem and handed her to him. He cradled her in his arms and started rocking her as Nancy went to get a fresh diaper. When she returned, she took Katie from him and laid her down near the foot of the bed then began the task of changing her diaper.

“You can thank your daddy for those beauty marks on your little bottom,” she said, observing the three tiny moles, arranged in a near-perfect triangle on Katie’s left buttock.

“What did Doc Pritchart say that the odds were of her having that birthmark—one in a million?” Clem said.

“Something like that,” Nancy laughed. “He also added that it made Katie an extra-special child. I must agree with him, because her father is certainly an extra-special man!”

“And my wife is an extra-special woman! I reckon that makes all three of us extra-special, eh?” Clem chuckled.

“But I don’t have as cute of a butt as you two have.”

“Ha! That’s where you’re wrong, gal! You’ve got the cutest butt in the whole world, and that’s the God’s honest truth! You don’t need any beauty marks!” Clem declared.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Clem,” she smiled coyly as she fastened the last safety pin. “Now it’s feeding time for you, sweetie,” she told her daughter.

Nancy stood up and removed her dress then picked Katie up and sat down on the bed next to Clem. She unlaced her corset then brought Katie to her breast.

“Save a little of that for Daddy,” Clem quipped then laughed heartily.

Nancy turned red. “Shame on you, Clem Porter!” she exclaimed then began laughing along with her husband.

When Nancy was finished nursing Katie, she carried her over to the crib and covered her with the blanket then took the cook pot outside to fill it with water. When she returned, she set the pot on the stove and fired it up then began cutting up vegetables for stew.

“Can you help me up, Nan?” Clem called. “I want to sit outside for a bit while you’re cooking supper.”

“You should stay in bed,” Nancy objected. “You need the rest.”

“But I’m not tired at all. I napped while you went to fetch the doctor.”

“Oh, all right,” she sighed. “But only for a little while.”

She went over and helped him out of bed then walked him over to the door and out onto the porch. Then she led him over to a chair and lowered him down into it.

“Thanks, dear,” he said.

“I’ll be back out to get you in fifteen minutes,” she warned then turned and went back inside.

Clem breathed in the crisp mountain air and gazed out at the landscape before him. He watched as the breeze gently blew the leaves on the tops of the trees on the mountain ridge to the west where the sun was just beginning to set, and breathed a sigh of contentment. It was a typical mid-spring afternoon on the mountain; cool and breezy with the scent of pine and new life lingering in the air. And quiet; so quiet that one could hear the singing of a bluebird from a hundred yards away.

He felt fortunate to have had the opportunity to settle here on the mountain; but was regretful of the circumstances under which he’d obtained the tract of land.

He had inherited this land from his father after he’d passed away nearly fifteen years ago. His father hadn’t been wealthy by any means, but he’d grown up being a close friend to John Hoffman as a child, and the two had remained close throughout the years. Clem’s father had been a widower at the time and was having a hard time making ends meet; his vocation as a cobbler was far from lucrative, and he had a young son to raise all by himself. So John Hoffman gave him this tract of land as a personal gift, under the condition that he be able to continue hunting and fishing the land as he always had in the past. Clem’s father had graciously accepted the terms.

His father had built this one-room house himself over a period of two years, scrimping and saving so that he might be able to purchase the building materials as his budget would allow. When the house was finally completed, Clem and his father moved out of the old worn-down shack near the outskirts of Ashland Falls and into their new home. Clem had been ten years old at the time.

Six years later his father passed away, leaving Clem the land, the house, and totally on his own. Once again, John Hoffman had saved the day—giving him a job as an apprentice at his textile mill. He worked hard at learning the textile trade and in fact discovered that he enjoyed his job, as well as the decent income it afforded him during a time when money was scarce. Two years later, he’d met then married Nancy; overjoyed at the prospect of settling down and starting a family.

Up until then, his relationship with his benefactor and employer had been amicable. They had occasionally gone fishing and hunting together on the mountain and had enjoyed a close working relationship together at the mill.

But not long after his marriage to Nancy, Clem began noticing a change in John Hoffman’s attitude toward him. He no longer invited him to go hunting or fishing with him, and his advancement through the ranks at the mill, which up until then had been steadily upward, suddenly stalled altogether. He’d been promised a promotion to foreman in the near future, but in all those years since, it had never happened.

Clem had no idea why John Hoffman had suddenly forsaken him. He’d been tempted several times to approach him and ask him what was wrong but could never quite bring himself to do it. Something told him not to rock the boat; that he owed John Hoffman more than he could ever repay him, and it wouldn’t be wise to “look a gift horse in the mouth,” as the expression went. So he’d remained silent, hoping and praying as the years went by that he wouldn’t someday suddenly be told that he’d been fired from the mill.

He sensed that John Hoffman held some kind of grudge against him, and the only possible explanation he could come up with was envy. Or perhaps jealousy might be a more fitting word. Because it was more than apparent that John Hoffman had no qualms with Nancy; in fact, he never hesitated to go out of his way to dote on her whenever he saw her.

As Clem watched a rabbit hop across the meadow, he wondered if that was John Hoffman’s problem—the fact that he himself had something that John Hoffman could never have . . . Nancy. It wouldn’t surprise him. People with as much wealth and power as he possessed never seemed to get enough. There was always something else they wanted—it was almost like a little game for them to see how much they could acquire in a lifetime; many times going to great lengths, regardless of the risks involved . . .

He was going to keep a very close eye on John Hoffman.

Clem’s thoughts turned to Katie. Her birth had made his life complete, and every day he thanked the Lord for her coming into being. Ever since he and Nancy had gotten married, they’d expressed their mutual desire to have children and had wasted no time in trying to do so. But after a year of trying and getting no results, they realized that something must be wrong. So they both had themselves tested for fertility. As it turned out, Nancy was as fertile as could be. He, however, had an unusually low sperm count. So low in fact that the doctor told him that his odds of conceiving were next to zero.

This news had of course been quite discouraging. But they never stopped trying—hoping to beat the odds and praying for a miracle to happen. Then finally, nearly a decade later, that miracle had happened and Katie was born.

The first time he’d held her tiny body in his arms, Clem had literally cried for joy, and that moment had been the happiest moment in his life. For in his arms he held the consummation of the unyielding love that he and Nancy felt for each other.

Katie, in that little body, embodied all that life and love was all about.

Clem yawned and stretched. The drugs were finally beginning to work as he realized that the pain in both his head and his leg was beginning to subside and that he was beginning to feel drowsy. He would sleep well tonight, he thought, and it would probably be a good idea to turn in earlier than usual.

He grasped the porch rail and managed to get himself up onto his feet. Although his leg still hurt considerably, he found that it wasn’t as hard to stand on it as it had been before. He limped over to the door and threw it open then stepped inside.

“Clem Porter!” Nancy exclaimed the moment she saw him. “Why on earth didn’t you let me know you wanted to come in? I would’ve come out and helped you!”

“I’m all right. The drugs are really helping; my leg doesn’t hurt half as bad as it did earlier,” he declared.

Nancy ran over and put her arm around him. “You just think it doesn’t hurt because of the pills, but that doesn’t mean that you can walk on it like that!” she scolded.

He grinned at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Nan, you’re probably right. I just hate being so damn helpless, that’s all. When will supper be ready?”

“Not for another hour or so.” she replied.

“I reckon I’ll just lie down for a spell, then. I’m feeling a little tired all of sudden.”

“I think that’s a very good idea. Here, I’ll help you over to the bed.”

Later that evening, they had eaten supper and Clem played with Katie for awhile before realizing that he could no longer keep his eyes open. He went back to bed and fell into a deep, much needed sleep.

* * *

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sleeping when he opened his eyes and saw Nancy sitting at the desk; writing on a tablet of paper in the dim glow of a kerosene lamp. He watched her for a moment and wondered in his half sleep who she would be writing to at that time of night. Then he saw her glance over at him as she folded several pages of paper in two and stood up from the desk.

She went over to the fireplace and pulled out one of the loose stones below the mantle, revealing the hiding place where they stored their valuables and important documents. After pulling out the steel box, she removed the lid and placed the folded paper inside. Replacing the lid, she pushed the box back into the space and returned the stone back to its original position.

As he looked on, Clem felt the urge to ask Nancy what she was doing but was too exhausted to do so. She snuffed out the lamp and removed her robe then slipped into bed with him just as he fell back asleep; making a mental note to himself to ask her about the letter in the morning.

The next thing he knew, he was being rustled out of his sleep.

“Clem, wake up! He’s coming!” he heard Nancy’s hushed voice in his ear.

He opened his eyes. “What? Who’s coming?”

Just then, he heard the shattering of glass coming from the direction of the front of the house.

It was pitch dark—the only source of light being the glowing embers in the fireplace. In the dim glow, Clem saw Nancy bound out of bed and run toward the corner of the room where his shotgun was leaning against the wall.

In an instant, the window slammed open and a bright shaft of light suddenly fell on Nancy.

“Hold it right there, Missy!” a man’s voice demanded from the direction of the window. There, standing outside, was John Hoffman, holding a flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other. Both were aimed directly at Nancy.

On impulse, Clem jolted upright and started to leap out of bed. He screamed out loud as a sharp jolt of pain ripped through his right leg, causing him to fall back onto the mattress. Nancy was frozen in her tracks, racked with fear.

“Clem!” she half-screamed and half-whispered.

“You both had better shut the hell up or the little lady gets a bullet hole in that pretty little head of hers,” John Hoffman threatened, his words slurring together as though he was drunk.

Clem stared across the room at him. By the light of the flashlight, he could see John Hoffman’s face set in an expression of rage and malice. He sensed that he was drunk, but apparently not drunk enough to impair his coordination. In a flash, he leaped through the opened window and into the house, the barrel of his pistol remaining pointed at Nancy.

“That’s a little more like it,” he scowled. “Now, Mrs. Porter, I’d be very grateful if you’d get some light on in this place. Perhaps you could light that lamp over there,” he said, pointing his flashlight at the desk.

Nancy started moving toward the desk.

“Slowly,” he warned.

Nancy reached the desk and picked up a box of matches, her hands trembling. She struck a match and lit the wick of the lamp.

“There now, that’s much better.”

Just then, Katie started crying. Nancy looked over at the crib and started moving toward it.

“Hold it right there!” Hoffman snapped.

“But the baby . . .”

“Shut up! One more word and I’ll silence you forever!” he threatened.

Clem’s mind was racing, trying to figure out a way to get the gun from Hoffman. A sickening feeling came to the pit of his stomach as he realized that he was virtually powerless. Hoffman meant business, and he didn’t doubt for a second that he would shoot Nancy if provoked enough.

Hoffman sauntered over to Katie’s crib, keeping the pistol pointed at Nancy. “You don’t think I know how to make a baby stop crying?” he said and then reached down and caressed Katie’s chin. “There now, my little girl. Daddy’s come to take you home.”

“What the hell . . ?” Clem sputtered, his eyes darting from Hoffman to Nancy, stupefied.

Hoffman glanced over at Clem and said, “You surely don’t think that you are the father of this beautiful child, do you, Clem?”

Clem let out a gasp. “I am her father!”

Hoffman guffawed. “Clem, nearly everyone in town knows you aren’t capable of siring a child!”

Clem’s heart was thumping hard in his chest. “You have no right—”

“Enough!” Hoffman exploded. “I don’t recall telling you that you could speak, Clem. Or have you forgotten?”

Clem stared at the gun Hoffman was holding and then over at Nancy. When he saw her, his heart skipped a beat. Her expression was not at all what he’d expected to see. He realized then that she knew more about all of this than he did, and he wanted an explanation.

But he couldn’t speak.

And Nancy couldn’t speak.

Katie continued to cry. “Come over here, Mother, and settle down our baby.” Hoffman commanded.

Nancy glanced over at Clem, her eyes conveying grief and frustration. She walked slowly over to the crib and picked up Katie and then held her close to her bosom. Hoffman touched her chin once again.

“Take your hands off her!” Clem screamed.

In a flash, Hoffman ran over and hammered Clem’s jaw with the butt of the pistol.

“One more word, and your wife is a dead lady,” he snarled, staring directly into Clem’s eyes. “Come over here!” he ordered Nancy.

Nancy, now in tears, walked slowly over to the bed.

“Sit down,” Hoffman ordered.

Nancy sat down, holding Katie firmly against her.

He eyed Clem again. “I hear you had an accident today down at the creek, Clem. Nasty bump on the head, eh? Seems you messed up your leg, too. Hard to get around on that leg, eh? Well, I can’t chance you interfering with me, in spite of your unfortunate injuries, so I’d better make damn sure you can’t.”

With that, he pulled out a length of rope from the pocket of his hunting jacket. He tossed it onto Nancy’s lap and said, “Tie this around your husband’s arms, Nancy. And tie it tight—I’ll be watching.”

He reached over and tried to take Katie away from Nancy but she refused to let go of her daughter.

Hoffman cocked the trigger of his pistol and pointed it directly at Nancy’s head. “Let me have her,” he demanded.

Nancy glanced at Clem and then reluctantly allowed Hoffman to take Katie into his arms. He carried her over to the crib and gently laid her down.

He came back and said, “Tie him up.”

Nancy grasped the rope and then stood up and walked over to where Clem was lying. He sat upright then tucked his arms against his sides and nodded at her helplessly. She slowly wrapped the rope around him several times then tied it in a knot. When she was finished, she gazed at Clem in the way a loved one would look upon a condemned man who was about to be executed. Clem knew for certain at that moment that he was going to die.

“Very good, Mrs. Porter. Now, I would like you to remove that little nightgown that you’re wearing.”

Clem shot a glance at Nancy and then glared at Hoffman. “No!” he cried.

Hoffman struck Clem on the side of his head with the pistol so fiercely that Clem fell sideways and nearly blacked out.

“No more, Clem. Or you’re both dead,” Hoffman warned. “Now, are you going to oblige me, Mrs. Porter, or not?”

As she began removing her nightgown, Nancy wore an expression of utter hopelessness. Clem, reeling in pain from the blow, clenched his teeth and wanted to close his eyes but couldn’t. He watched in dread as his beautiful wife stood naked before him, realizing that he was about to be forced to look on in vain as John Hoffman raped her.

“My, you’re lovely!” Hoffman gushed. “You look even better than you did the last time I saw you like this. Now, come over here. I want to take a closer look at you.”

Nancy stepped mechanically toward him, her eyes fixed on Clem. Eyes that said, “Please forgive me. I love you.”

Clem stared at her in horror and disbelief. Although it was now apparent that something had occurred between his wife and John Hoffman prior to that night, it was irrelevant at the moment. All that was relevant was what was happening now: His wife was being terrorized and forced into submission by a raging lunatic claiming to be the father of his baby.

“Ah, very nice,” Hoffman wheezed, gaping at Nancy’s breasts. He gently prodded her nipple with the barrel of the pistol and then ran the tip of the barrel slowly over her breast and down her chest to her belly. He poked her navel and then brought it down to her mound of brown hair.

Clem struggled to free himself but to no avail. Then he bit his tongue nearly in two to keep himself from screaming, feeling the warm, rusty-tasting blood running out the corner of his mouth.

Nancy’s eyes were shut tight, her head thrown back as Hoffman suddenly rammed the barrel of the pistol into her.

Nancy screamed. She screamed so hysterically that it startled Hoffman, and he quickly withdrew the pistol. Nancy continued screaming louder and louder, her head still thrown back and her eyelids fluttering. Clem saw the look of panic on Hoffman’s face; as if he had no idea what to do next.

Then Katie started crying, as if sensing her mother’s distress. Clem watched as Hoffman looked first at Katie’s crib, then at Nancy, and back at Katie again. His eyes were troubled, confused. He glanced down at the gun, which was still pointed at Nancy. Clem could tell that he was deciding whether or not to pull the trigger.

But he didn’t.

Instead, in a confused fit of insanity, John Hoffman suddenly raised his hand up and brought the butt of the pistol down on Nancy’s head, causing her to fall to the floor. Clem screamed in rage and lunged forward in the bed, only to fall flat on his face.

Hoffman stared at Clem and then sprung over and cold-cocked his jaw with the pistol.

Clem saw the flashing of bright lights and fell into semi-consciousness. He forced himself to keep his eyes open and stared down at where Nancy’s limp, lifeless body lay on the floor, her head lying in a pool of blood. Her beautiful eyes were wide-open, frozen in the terror of the moment . . .

Nancy, his wife; the love of his life, was dead.

Overwhelmed by grief, Clem felt the tears flowing out of his eyes and down his cheeks, stinging his open wounds. He knew that he should be unconscious now, but adrenaline was preventing it from happening. Grief eventually gave way to vengeance; and he began looking around the room from his limited vantage point for John Hoffman.

He saw him ranting around the room as if he searching for something. He was at the desk now, opening the drawers and slamming them shut in frustration. He went over to the fireplace and looked around the hearth, cursed and then ran over to the corner of the room where he kept his shotgun. Clem thought for a moment that he was going to take the shotgun and finish him off, but then realized that he could have used his pistol for the same purpose if that had been his intention. Then Hoffman suddenly leaned over and picked something up off the floor that was lying near the shotgun. Clem couldn’t tell what it was at first. Then he started moving toward him; and soon he saw what it was that he’d been looking for.

A can of kerosene—

He was going to burn the place down!

Hoffman glanced over at Clem and then screwed the cap off and began splashing kerosene all over the house in a wild and random fashion. Clem tried to scream in protest, but found that he couldn’t. He tried to move, but he couldn’t.

He was paralyzed.

Hoffman continued pouring kerosene everywhere until the can was empty. He then ran over to where Clem was and stared down at him with the eyes of a madman.

“I’m sorry it had to turn out this way, Clem. But I must take what is rightfully mine. And the little child is mine.”

Clem’s heart palpitated madly. Katie! he thought. That’s what this is all about! He is going to take his baby daughter and then torch the house with Nancy and himself in it—destroying any evidence of what happened!

And then it hit him. That was why he hadn’t shot either of them! The slugs would have given him away once the authorities had investigated the remains of their bodies.

Hoffman turned and ran over to the crib. He swooped Katie up in one arm and ran toward the door. When he reached the door, he opened it up and then pulled out a box of matches and struck one on the bottom of his shoe. He waited a moment until the flame was strong and then tossed the match onto the floor.

In a matter of seconds, there were flames everywhere. Hoffman watched for a moment and then fled out the door and into the darkness of the night.

Clem lay frozen and watched as his house caught fire all around him. The fire spread quickly, and before long the bed was totally engulfed in flames. He could feel the intensity of the heat, and eventually could smell his own flesh burning as the flames swiftly engulfed him.

He stared through the inferno at his wife lying on the floor, her entire body aflame. He thought about her and his daughter as he breathed in his last few gulps of smoke-laden air and felt a stab of sorrow.

It should never have ended this way.

He prayed to God to save their souls—and prayed that somehow, some day, Katie could avenge this unholy act of treachery.

“Somehow, God, let this murderous man be punished for his sins.”

And then, Clem took his final breath of life . . .

CHAPTER 12

It was nearly five in the morning when Emily Hoffman wearily opened the door and stepped inside her house. The moment she saw Cassie, she knelt down and hugged her tight, tears streaming down her face.

“God, Cassie. What have I done?” she cried mournfully.

She sat down on the floor and wept as Cassie licked her face affectionately, sensing that her master was distraught. Emily shut her eyes and tried desperately to blot out the events of the day, but was unable to. The images were just too real, too fresh in her mind.

A moment later, she stood up and mechanically went through the motions of feeding her hungry puppy and then fixed herself a strong drink. The scotch could well have been water as she drained the glass dry at once and then poured another one and took it with her into the den.

She considered starting a fire in the fireplace but quickly dismissed the idea—she had neither the strength nor the desire. Instead, she strode over to the window and peered out at the early morning light, her mind all but consumed with confusion and guilt.

What if he doesn’t make it? she thought to herself. Or what if he survives, but never regains consciousness and becomes a vegetable for the rest of his life? Would she ever in a million years be able to forgive herself?

Emily closed her eyes and bowed her head in prayer:

“Please, Lord. Let him live. Let him survive this ordeal so that he might go on to live a happy and healthy life. If you must take someone, then take me instead; for my life means nothing to anyone, anyway. He’s innocent—I’m the guilty one. And I will never be able to go on living if I’ve destroyed this poor innocent man’s life. I beg your forgiveness. God bless us all. In Jesus Christ, Our Lord’s name. Amen.”

Emily opened her eyes and felt the sting of tears. Taking another sip from her glass, she realized that she had never in her life felt as low and worthless as she did now. She had hit rock bottom. The fact that her life was now a documented and confirmed case of futility apparently wasn’t enough; because now she had gone on to mess up somebody else’s life—something she had struggled so long to avoid—and that somebody most likely would never forgive her for what she’d done to him. If he even survived, that is . . .

Why, she wondered, had she ever been born? What had been the point in it?

Why couldn’t she just disappear forever? The world would be a much better place.

Emily drained her drink and returned to the kitchen to fix herself another one. Two weeks ago, she’d be as drunk as a skunk by now; but alcohol didn’t quite have the same effect on her as it did back then. She had no doubt built up a tolerance to it, just as she had to the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed for her. What’s next? she thought to herself. Heroin?

Emily carried her drink back into the den and plopped down in the overstuffed chair. She had no right to be wallowing in self-pity like this and she knew it.

There was a young man, right this moment, in intensive care at the hospital fighting for his life while she sat here quibbling over how unfair life had been to her.

She had no right! How could she be so selfish?

But what could she do? How could she help?

There was nothing she could do but wait. And pray. And for now, somehow try to put aside the bizarre notion that she had just fallen in love with the man she had just left in a coma at a hospital in New York City.

CHAPTER 13

The first sound he heard when he became conscious was a steady beep-beeping and the occasional murmuring of voices. The sounds seemed distant and tinny—smothered in echo and reverb just like an old overproduced ‘60’s pop record. He started to open his eyes and then stopped himself. For some reason he had the crazy idea that he wasn’t going to like what he’d see; that maybe the voices belonged to The Enemy and the whole place would be engulfed in flames.

Sort of like Hell . . .

He thought about this for several moments and then through the powers of logic and good old common sense determined that his paranoia was totally unfounded. First of all, on what basis could he assume that these mysterious voices were those of The Enemy? If that were the case, why would he be alive now and not dead? For that matter, these people could well be the reason he was alive now, for all he knew.

Secondly, there couldn’t possibly be any fire within the proximity of where he was. He wasn’t hot; there was no intense heat. In fact, he felt rather cool if anything. If this was Hell, then everything he’d ever heard about it had been way off base.

He opened his eyes. It was so bright that it hurt, and he promptly closed them again.

Wow, he thought. This isn’t gonna be as easy as I thought it would be.

He blinked a couple of times. That helped. Gave his eyes a chance to adjust a little.

How long had his eyes been closed, anyway?

He flickered his eyes open again. Blurry white was all he saw. This was particularly alarming—if not altogether disappointing. He tried to focus on this white nothingness with great determination until finally, after a few blinks and some fine-tuning, he zoomed in on something that looked as though it actually had some features. It was long, thin, and square; and attached to more of the same. And it wasn’t white, it was a sort of silver, or gray.

It was the framework for the acoustic tile ceiling overhead.

Great, he thought. I’m in a room, and that’s a good sign. But where was this room?

He tried to turn his head sideways, but his neck was so stiff he felt like his head was going to snap off at the base of his skull. But it wasn’t altogether impossible to do, he was relieved to discover. It was just difficult and painful.

How long had he been laying here?

He continued turning his head slowly to the left until he could finally view his surroundings. He saw a wall, a stainless steel cart of some kind, and the monitoring device that had produced the beeping sound he was hearing.

It was more than obvious that he was in a hospital. And this realization evoked several more questions: Why was he here? What had happened? Where in the hell was everybody? Who was he . . .?

This was the scariest question of all, because he didn’t know.

Just then, he heard the sound of a door opening to his right. He turned his head slowly to the right until he was staring at the ceiling again.

“Mr. Williams!” a woman’s voice exclaimed.

Suddenly, a face appeared above him. It was a young woman’s face, about twenty or so—very pleasant, and very nurse-like.

“You’re awake! Can you speak, Mr. Williams?” the nurse asked.

Mr. Williams, eh? he thought. Nice sound to it, anyway. Could be worse—like Agnew or Stantanopolous.

Can I speak? Good question. I’ll give it a go.

“Whaf’s your mame?” he uttered weakly. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. His throat was like sandpaper.

The nurse smiled congenially. “I believe that translates into ‘‘What’s your name?’ My name is Brenda, Mr. Williams. I’m a nurse here at St. Vincent’s Hospital. And you could probably do with a little water or some ice chips—no doubt your mouth is a bit arid. I’d better go page Dr. Sanderson. He’s going to want to see you immediately.”

In an instant she was out of the room. He slowly turned his head around until he could see the other side of the room and gasped when he saw the inverted bottle of clear liquid hanging from a stand and the tube that ran from it and ended at a needle that was stuck into his arm.

An IV! he thought in horror. This is really serious! What in the hell happened to me?

Instinctively, he looked down at himself—just in case there was something missing. Everything seemed to be intact as far as he could tell.

He glanced over at his arm again where the IV needle was inserted, and noticed the white vinyl ID bracelet on his wrist. He tried to move his arm a little closer so he could read what the bracelet said, but was alarmed to discover that he could barely move it. His joints were as stiff as his neck; and it hurt just to make the slightest movement.

How long have I been lying here? he asked himself again.

He laboriously bent his arm at the elbow and moved his hand toward his face at the same time until he could read the ID bracelet.

It read: Williams, Leonard A. #786429, rm. 376, Dr. S. Sanderson, St. Vincent’s Hospital. 1-30-95.

He stared at the name quizzically. Leonard A. Williams, eh? Leonard? Please tell me that’s not really my name! Why couldn’t it be Bill, or John? Something a little less dorky?

His attempt at humor, he knew, was just a mask the fear and panic he was really feeling the moment. Because the name, Leonard A. Williams, seemed about as familiar to him as everything else had seemed so far.

The door opened again and an elderly man wearing a white jacket entered the room, followed by Brenda the nurse.

“A-hah, Mr. Williams! This is a pleasant surprise!” the man exclaimed, wearing a pleasant smile as he came over to his bed.

Lenny returned his smile, feeling like an idiot.

“We felt certain that you’d be coming around someday, but we had no idea just when that would be,” the man explained and then turned to Brenda the nurse. “Please see if Mr. Williams can handle a little water, nurse.”

Brenda came over to him and held a glass of water to his lips. “Not too much, Mr. Williams,” she cautioned.

He parted his lips a little and felt the cold fluid greet his cotton-like mouth. He swallowed, nearly choked, but managed not to. The water felt good, but he knew that if he drank much more he’d probably give the nurse a good showering.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Any better?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Well now, Mr. Williams, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Dr. Sanderson, a neurologist here at St. Vincent’s. Can you recall what happened prior to your being admitted here?”

His brow furrowed. “Dr. Sanderson, I don’t even know who I am, much less what I’m doing in a hospital.” he replied slowly, already feeling himself becoming weak from the effort.

Dr. Sanderson frowned. “I was afraid of that. Amnesia. A mild coma such as this frequently results in amnesia, but hopefully it won’t last long.” He paused for a moment to let this sink in and then resumed. “We’re just going to have to try and jar your memory a bit, Mr. Williams. But first, let me take a look at you.”

“Coma?” he asked, the word sticking to his tongue like peanut butter.

“Yes, but only a mild one. It’s not quite as serious as it sounds—more like being unconscious or in a deep sleep for an extended period of time. You have no life-threatening symptoms; all your vitals are stabile, no neurological damage as far as we can tell. Basically, you’re healthy, with the exception of a hairline fracture in your right femur and a good-sized contusion on your skull. You have a head like granite, Mr. Williams. That fact probably saved your life, I might add.”

He wanted to ask what he meant by this, but sensed that it was best to allow Dr. Sanderson to ask the questions instead; so he waited patiently as he examined him. In a few moments, he seemed satisfied with everything.

“Okay, Mr. Williams. I’d like for you to tell me anything and everything you can remember prior to regaining consciousness.”

He thought for a moment and then stared at the doctor blankly. “I’m afraid I can’t remember anything,” he replied, feeling a little embarrassed.

“That’s quite alright, it’s perfectly natural,” Dr. said reassuringly. “Do you know your name?”

“Leonard A. Williams—but I cheated.” he said, glancing at his wrist.

Dr. Sanderson chuckled. “Okay, that’s fair. I’m going to have to cheat a little myself, here,” he said and then opened a manila folder he was holding in his hand.

“Leonard Allen Williams,” he read. “Born on December 28th, 1952 at Smithtown General Hospital, Ohio. Parents Leonard Allen Williams Senior, and Jane Louise Schuler Williams. Brother Charles, and sister Lydia. Attended Rosemont Elementary, Garfield Junior High, and graduated from Mckinley High School in 1970. Attended Ohio University in Athens, Ohio through your junior year and then dropped out. Any of this ringing a bell, Leonard?” he asked hopefully.

Lenny hesitated before replying. None of this was ringing any bells.

“Uh, not really,”

“That’s alright. Let’s see here. This isn’t a life history by any means—just some background information I picked up from your parents while they were here. Oh yes, I just thought of something that could be significant. Your family and friends normally call you Lenny.”

He felt a jolt when he heard his name. Yes! He was Lenny Williams! Suddenly, fragments of his life raced through his head like a stampede of wild horses.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “I remember!”

“Excellent, Lenny,” Dr. Sanderson said with a broad grin. “Now, can you remember the last thing that happened before you woke up here in the hospital?”

Lenny thought back, but it was difficult. He was so relieved that he had regained his memory that he found it hard to concentrate.

“Just a second,” he said.

“Take your time, Lenny.”

Lenny searched back through the haze . . .

He’d been on a date, he remembered. Yes, with Julie. He’d been at her apartment—for dinner. He’d . . . he’d broken it off with her. Christ, he’d actually done it! But he hadn’t been as happy about it as he thought he’d be. It had been a pretty emotional experience, he remembered. Then he’d left her apartment. Went out to the street and headed for the subway station at 8th Street. He’d almost gotten there. He’d been waiting for the light to change at the corner of 6th and Broadway. It changed, and then . . . and then . . .

He gulped. A horn blowing. Headlights. Tires screeching. Yellow blur coming from his right. Smack! Pain in his leg. Flying through the air . . .

“Shit!” he exclaimed.

Dr. Sanderson narrowed his eyes. “You remember?”

“Yeah, I do. I was hit by a yellow car—a cab, maybe. I went flying through the air. I came down headfirst . . . That’s all I remember.”

“Very good. You were struck from the right by a taxi cab. The driver had run a red light—he was cited, by the way. The emergency squad transported you here. Now Lenny, I want you to brace yourself for what I’m about to tell you.”

Lenny swallowed hard. Here comes the bad news . . .

Dr. Sanderson looked at him solemnly. “Do you have any idea how long you’ve been here at St. Vincent’s?”

“No.”

“A little more than two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Lenny gulped. Two weeks! he thought to himself incredulously. That would make it about mid-February now! Two weeks of his life had gone down the tubes!

Suddenly, a million questions came to mind. “You mentioned my parents being here. Are they still in town?”

“No. They flew here from Ohio immediately after being notified of your accident and stayed for nearly a week. They would have stayed longer, but I finally convinced them both that there was little they could do at the time and suggested that they return to Ohio. Your mother had been suffering from a nasty bout of flu and obviously needed her rest. I promised them both that I would personally notify them the moment your condition changed; assuring them that it was just a question of time before you regained consciousness.”

Mom must be worried sick, Lenny thought. “Is it okay if I call them?” Lenny asked Dr. Sanderson.

“Certainly, if you feel up to it. But you need your rest; so I suggest that you make it as brief as possible.”

Lenny suddenly felt suspicious. “When can I go home, Doctor?”

Dr. Sanderson looked at him pensively. “Well, that depends. You’re going to need some physical therapy, no doubt about that. Your muscles are considerably atrophied, and are going to have to be exercised. My guess would be a couple of weeks, depending on your progress.’

Lenny’s heart sank. “You’re kidding me!”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Lenny. You’ll know what I mean once you’ve seen what it’s like trying to stand up. Your legs are going to feel like they’re made out of rubber. And your arms are going to feel almost as bad. Fortunately, they have an excellent physical therapy program here at St. Vincent’s and you’ll be receiving the best care possible.”

Great, Lenny thought. I’m a fucking gimp! How in the hell am I going to be able to hang around here for another two weeks?

Dr. Sanderson read his disappointment. “Relax, Lenny. It won’t be that bad. Just look on the bright side. Things could have been much worse.”

Lenny knew what he was implying. “I realize that now, Doctor. I’m just not very good at sitting around doing nothing.”

He smiled at him queerly. “Oh, don’t worry about that, Lenny. You’re going to be a very busy young man for a while. Physical therapy is no picnic, believe me!” He glanced at his watch and then said, “I’m afraid I’d better be going. Why don’t you give your parents a call and then get some sleep. I’ll check back on you later this afternoon.”

“Okay,” Lenny sighed. “What time is it, by the way?”

“Almost eleven A.M.” he replied. He looked at the nurse. “Why don’t you help him with his call, Brenda. Then see that he gets some sleep.”

“Okay, Doctor,” she replied.

“I’ll see you later, Lenny,” he said and then turned and left the room.

“Thanks, Doc,” Lenny called after him.

“Would you like some more water, Lenny?” Brenda asked, returning to the side of the bed.

“Yes, please.”

She held the glass to his lips and he drank. It was a little easier this time. When he was finished, she set the glass down and picked up the telephone. “What’s your parent’s telephone number?”

Lenny recited the number and she dialed and then placed the receiver to his ear. After two rings, his father answered.

“Hi, Dad—it’s me.” he said through the mouthpiece.

“Well I’ll be . . . Hello, son! This is sure a nice surprise!”

“It is for me, too.”

“When did you come around?” he asked excitedly.

“About forty-five minutes ago, I guess,” Lenny replied.

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty tired. I also feel like I’ve been encased in cement for about a year, but other than that, I feel okay.”

“Well, you’ve sure had your mother and I worried. I’m sorry we aren’t there right now, son, but your doctor seemed to think that we were of little use being there and we finally had to agree with him. Your mother was pretty sick, too, and he seemed almost as concerned about getting her home and in bed as he was about you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad, I understand. How is Mom, anyway?”

“She’s much better now. In fact, she’s standing here right now practically yanking the phone out of my hand. Here, I’ll put her on. Great hearing from you, son!”

Lenny heard his father handing the phone to his mother. “Hi, Lenny!” she said, on the verge of tears.

“Hi, Mom. Sorry I’ve put you two through all of this,” he said.

“You’ll never know how good it is to hear the sound of your voice! You sure have given us a scare, sonny!”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me anymore; I’m among the living again. How are things back in the Buckeye State?” he asked, trying desperately to downplay the whole ordeal.

“Same old same old,” she replied. “When are they going to let you out of the hospital so you can come down and see us?”

“I wish I knew the answer to that. Dr. Sanderson told me I have to go through physical therapy, which could last for a week or two,” he replied despairingly.

“Well, you have to do as they say, Lenny. They know what’s best for you.” she said.

“I know, Mom. It’s just that I feel like I’ve already been robbed of two weeks of my life. I’d like to get on with it before it totally passes me by,” Lenny lamented.

“You’ll catch up,” his mother said with a chuckle.

“Jesus, Mom! I just remembered that I don’t have any health insurance! Who’s paying for all of this?”

“That’s already been taken care of. The taxi cab driver was fully insured, and the cab company’s insurance is picking up the tab.” she replied.

Lenny heaved a sigh of relief. He knew this was costing a small fortune, and his parents were in no shape to handle it. “I’m sure glad to hear that,” he said.

“By the way, have you heard from your little lady friend yet?”

“You mean Julie?”

“No, not Julie. I believe her name was Emily. She was a passenger in the taxi cab that hit you,” his mother said.

“No, I haven’t talked to any Emily. This is the first I’ve heard about it,” he said, his curiosity aroused.

“Well, I have a feeling you’ll be hearing from her soon. She stopped by the hospital a couple of times while we were there. Apparently she feels it’s her fault that the cab driver hit you and wants to apologize. She was a very nice young woman, and I can tell you now that she had little if anything to do with that cab driver running the red light. The driver assumed all of the blame himself and never even mentioned this Emily woman in the police report. Your father and I both pointed this out to her but she still insisted that she owed you an apology.”

“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!” Lenny said. “At any rate, my guess is that she’s already given up her quest—I think Dr. Sanderson would have mentioned this Emily woman if she was still trying to get in touch with me.”

“Well, all I can say is that she seemed awfully determined so don’t be surprised if you hear from her some day.”

Lenny chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mom. Well, I’ve been advised to keep this call brief and get some sleep, so I’d better get off before my nurse gets mad at me. I’ll call you again tomorrow and let you know how things are going. I love you, Mom. And tell Dad the same.”

“I love you too, honey. Please take care and let us know if you need anything.”

“Okay, Mom. Talk to you later.”

“Goodbye, Lenny.”

Brenda took the receiver from Lenny’s ear and hung it up.

“Thanks, Brenda.” Lenny said.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. “I’ll bet they were happy to hear from you.”

“Yeah, they were. I hate to think of how worried they’ve been—especially my mom.” Lenny said. He paused a moment and then said, “Do you by any chance know anything about a woman named Emily? My mom said she was here a couple of times while I was, uh, unconscious.”

“No, I’m afraid not. But I can ask Dr. Sanderson if you’d like.” she offered.

“That’s okay, it’s no big deal. I’ll ask him when he comes back.”

“You’d better try to get some sleep, now. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No thanks.” Lenny replied.

“Well, just press this little button if you need anything,” she said, gesturing to the call button draped over the side rail of the bed.

“I will, Brenda. Thanks, again.” Lenny said.

“You’re welcome, Lenny. Pleasant dreams,” she smiled and then left the room.

Lenny watched her as she left then turned his head and stared up at the stark white hospital ceiling; realizing just then how totally exhausted he felt. His mind however was awhirl, and everything that had happened was just now beginning to sink in.

He found it hard to conceive that he’d been unconscious for two weeks—dead to the world—while the rest of the world lived on. It was like dying then suddenly coming back to life again. In fact, according to Dr. Sanderson, he was fortunate to be alive now . . .

He suddenly felt his eyes growing heavy and tried to force himself to stay awake but knew it was a battle he wasn’t going to win. His mind was quickly becoming one big blur with millions of thoughts and questions all jumbled up and running into each other.

He needed sleep . . .

Lenny closed his eyes and almost immediately fell asleep.

CHAPTER 14

Lenny Williams glanced momentarily across the room at the flowers sitting on the table. Two days after he’d come out the coma, a hospital volunteer had brought the flowers in to him, explaining that they’d been delivered by a special courier service to the flower room on his floor. His curiosity piqued, Lenny had taken out the card from the arrangement and read the neatly handwritten message:

Sorry about the accident. Hope you have a speedy recovery! Sincerely, Emily Hoffman.

Emily Hoffman, Lenny had assumed, was the same Emily who had been in the cab that had hit him. But that was about all he knew about this mysterious woman, except for what little his mother had told him about her over the phone.

Lenny had already questioned Dr. Sanderson about Emily, but the doctor had had no recollection of anyone besides his parents coming to see him while he’d been in a coma. The doctor suggested that Lenny check with the floor nurse who had been on duty on the night of the accident.

When he’d finally tracked her down, the floor nurse told Lenny that a woman named Emily had shown up at the hospital not long after he’d been admitted. She said that Emily had hung around in the waiting room for a few hours then had suddenly disappeared. The floor nurse told him that she hadn’t seen Emily since, but that she had received calls from her on a daily basis, requesting his status. Emily always identified herself as a friend of the family, and Lenny subsequently learned that his mother had authorized Emily’s name to be put on the patient information list while she and his father had been there.

Lenny had assumed that the sending of the flowers was Emily Hoffman’s official apology for being partly to blame for the cab driver running the red light and nailing him, and that it would be the last he’d ever hear from her. He had eyed the flower arrangement inquisitively, feeling compelled to try and learn a little more about the elusive Emily Hoffman. He had searched the arrangement for some kind of identification to its source, but found nothing; not even the name and address of the florist. Then he’d picked up the wicker basket containing the flowers and spotted a paper sticker stuck to the bottom that read: Handcrafted by J.L. Coombs, Ashland Falls, NY.

This discovery had at least cleared a couple of things up. It helped explain why the flower arrangement hadn’t been delivered by a local florist, and why it had been delivered by a special courier instead: the sender had apparently sent it from out of town—perhaps even from a town called Ashland Falls. And this might have been the reason why Emily Hoffman hadn’t shown up in person. Because Emily Hoffman didn’t live in the city.

Lenny recalled what his mother had told him—that Emily Hoffman had seemed hell-bent on apologizing to him—and the more he thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that Emily Hoffman would settle on just sending him a flower arrangement and a brief note as a means of achieving this. Maybe, he thought, she had originally intended on meeting him in person, but for one reason or another hadn’t yet had the opportunity to do so. In the meantime, she had sent the flowers as a token of her sincerity until she had the opportunity to get in touch with him in person.

Lenny had had plenty of free time to dwell on such things, and this was probably why he found himself pondering the subject of Emily Hoffman so intently. His physical therapy sessions had been the highlight of his days for the last two weeks; the remainder of his time had been spent reading, watching television, and anything else he could find to do to while away the hours.

With the exception of Willie Rodriguez, he’d had no visitors in all this time. Willie was the super of his apartment building in Queens, and the two had occasionally hung out together. When Lenny had called to inform him of what had happened, Willie had been sympathetic and offered to help him out in any way that he could. Lenny had graciously accepted his offer, so Willie had promptly brought him some of his personal belongings and dropped by periodically thereafter to give Lenny his mail and any messages that had been retrieved on his answering machine.

Lenny had contacted his clients by phone and explained his situation to them, promising to send them their orders as soon as was earthly possible. There had been very little activity in terms of any new business, taking into account the lack of prospective clientele on his answering machine, and this realization had neither surprised nor concerned him.

He’d given it a lot of thought and was as determined as ever to get out of New York and start a new life somewhere else. He’d begun researching potential destinations, but hadn’t yet made a decision. He was just thankful to be alive, and because of this, felt that anything he did from here on out would be a blessing. His narrow escape from death had suddenly altered his philosophy on life and he realized that he had become, in a sense, a changed man.

Tomorrow, Lenny thought, he would be out of here. His physical therapist had all but assured him of this. In less than twenty-four hours, he’d be able to go home to his apartment in Queens and get back to living again.

He couldn’t wait.

Lenny’s eyes returned to the book he was reading. Turning a page, he reflected.

A week after he’d received the flowers, the telephone had rung. It was Emily Hoffman.

The conversation had been brief. Emily had identified herself and asked Lenny if he’d received the flowers that she’d sent him. He’d replied that he had and thanked her and then asked her where she had gotten them. She replied that she’d picked them up at a little craft shop in upstate New York and then had hastily changed the subject by asking him how he was feeling. He’d told her that he was fine, but couldn’t wait to get out of the hospital because he was bored to death. She had laughed—a very warm and friendly laugh—then suggested that he try getting into a big, fat book to while away the hours—a classic, perhaps.

She asked him if he’d ever read Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky, and Lenny had facetiously told her that he was a big fan of Feodor’s, but that he’d never quite gotten around to cracking the masterpiece. Then all of a sudden, out of the clear blue, she’d told him that she had to go. Before he’d had a chance to recover from her abruptness, Emily told him that she would be in touch and then had hung up the phone in his ear.

The next day, Lenny had received a copy of Crime And Punishment via special courier. The enclosed card had read: Don’t try to read this in one day! and was signed by Emily Hoffman. He had screwed up, though. He’d signed for the package but never thought to ask the courier the address of the sender. There had been no return address anywhere on the plain brown paper wrapping.

The arrival of the book and the all too brief conversation with Emily Hoffman had only served to make Lenny even more intrigued by her. She’d become a paradox of sorts; a total stranger who seemed to be genuinely concerned about him, yet at the same time wouldn’t allow herself to get too close. Her behavior was as inexplicable as it was inconsistent, and he found himself faced with yet more questions needing to be answered: Why had she cut off their phone conversation so suddenly? Why had she sent him the book? And why she was being so damn secretive about everything; not divulging so much as a clue as to where she lived or why she’d waited an entire week to ask him if he’d received the flowers.

Later that same evening, he’d been lying in bed reading the book, when the phone had rung again. When he answered it, there had been no response on the other end. He had said hello again, but the line remained silent. Thinking that the hospital switchboard had screwed-up, he’d started to hang up and then suddenly thought he heard what sounded like Emily Hoffman’s voice, weak and shaky, say his name. A very strange and disturbing conversation had ensued:

“Emily, is that you?” Lenny asked.

A pause. “Yes . . . it’s me.”

“What’s wrong? You sound . . . strange.”

Another pause. “I . . . I can’t sleep.”

He glanced at his wristwatch and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock. He wondered why anyone would want to go to bed this early. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Another pause. Longer than the last one.

“Emily?” he said, suddenly sensing that something was very wrong here.

“Yes?”

Her voice sounded even weaker. As if she was incoherent—or drugged-out.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m sorry I called you. I’ll let you go . . .”

“No, please don’t! Talk to me,” Lenny pleaded, afraid that she was going to hang up on him again as she had the night before.

Silence.

“Emily, are you still there?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Listen to me. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you sound like you’re in some kind of trouble. Please talk to me! Tell me what’s going on.” He was beginning to feel desperate; like he was walking on eggshells. He knew that if he said the wrong thing, she’d hang up on him.

There was another pause. Then Emily said, “I can’t bother you with this. I really should go now.”

Her voice had softened a little. Lenny had the slightest feeling that she was reaching out to him and didn’t really want to go.

“No, you shouldn’t. And you’re not bothering me in the least. I’m a very bored man, remember?”

She laughed softly, which surprised him. It was that same warm, friendly laugh he’d heard the night before.

“Did you get the book I sent you?” she asked.

“Yes, I did. Thank you.”

“Why aren’t you reading it?”

“I am reading it—it’s right here on my lap—honest!” he exclaimed.

She laughed again. “I believe you, Lenny. Are you enjoying it?”

“Yeah, it’s really good. It’s sort of like a psychological thriller in a way, don’t you think?” he said, taking a stab.

She waited before answering, as though she was pondering the question. “Yes, I guess you could say that.”

Lenny wanted to keep the ball rolling. “Have you ever read any Thomas Hardy?”

“Yes, I love him! Why do you ask?” Her voice was more animated now.

“I was just curious. I really like him, too. I think it’s weird the way he wanted to be accepted more as a poet than as a novelist. I’m not too big on poetry, but the guy could definitely spin a yarn!”

There was another pause. Lenny’s mind was racing forward in search of anything he might say that would keep her on the line.

Then she suddenly said, “Do you like history, Lenny?”

He was caught off-guard by the question. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“Never mind. I was just . . . wondering.”

Lenny started to panic. Had he said the wrong thing? Quickly, he said the first thing that popped into his head. “I think history is interesting. It seems that life was a lot less complicated the further back you go into it. But I have to admit that I’m more interested in the future.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“Are you still there, Emily?”

“Yes, I’m here. I was just thinking about what you just said. It was very . . . interesting. My therapist would have loved it . . .”

Therapist? Lenny thought. Suddenly, he put two and two together and didn’t like what it added up to.

“Emily?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something? And will you answer me honestly?”

A brief pause, then, “I’ll try.”

He hesitated and then said. “Are you, uh, under the influence of any kind of drug right now?”

Silence. You could slice through it with a knife.

“Emily?”

“Yes,” she replied, sounding listless again.

“Can you answer my question?”

“Yes . . . I am.”

Lenny felt his heart skip a beat. “What kind of drug is it?”

“It’s just a sleeping pill. But it doesn’t work,” she replied, apparently disappointed.

“How many have you taken?” Lenny asked.

“Just one.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“Yes, Lenny. I only took one.” she replied, sounding a little annoyed.

He heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“Lenny?”

“Yes, Emily.”

“I’m really sorry the taxi cab hit you. It was my fault. Please forgive me.”

Lenny was taken aback by her abruptness. It couldn’t have come at a more unlikely time. He said, “It wasn’t your fault, Emily, believe me. The cabbie ran the light, not you. He has confessed to his crime, and he’s been charged for it. His company’s insurance is paying my hospital bill and everything’s all right. Okay?”

“You don’t understand,” she insisted. “I was rushing him. I was in a hurry . . .”

“Everyone in New York City is in a hurry, Emily. It goes with the turf. And cabbies are forever running red lights. It’s another given that goes right along with the rest of the madness in this city. So you will never, ever, be able to convince me that you had the slightest little thing to do with that cab hitting me that night. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like very much to drop the whole subject right now. Case dismissed.”

“But . . .”

“No buts,” Lenny objected, surprised at his own brashness.

Emily sighed audibly. “Okay, not another word about it. But I’m going to make it up to you, somehow . . . Whether you like it or not.”

For the first time during the conversation, her voice sounded strong, in control. Lenny liked what he heard.

In fact, at the moment, he was absolutely speechless.

“Lenny?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Did you hear what I just said?” she asked.

“I’m sorry. Yes, I heard. My mind just sort of went blank there for a second.” he sputtered.

That’s all right. My mind’s been doing the same thing this whole conversation.”

“You sound much better now. For awhile there, I was a little worried about you,” he confessed.

“I feel better now. And it’s all because of you.”

Lenny laughed nervously. “I haven’t done a thing.”

“Oh yes you have. More than you’ll probably ever know,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Thank you, Lenny. For talking to me. I’m very grateful.”

He could tell that she was getting ready to hang up. Before he could think of anything to say, she said, “I’d better go.”

“Wait!” Lenny exclaimed, his mouth suddenly feeling as dry as cotton. “A minute ago, you said that you couldn’t ‘bother me’ with something. What were you referring to?”

Emily hesitated and then said, “I can’t tell you—not now, anyway. Maybe some other time.”

Her tone of voice told him not to push her. “Do you have any idea when that might be?” he asked, knowing it was a gamble.

“No, Lenny, I don’t. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be aloof; it’s just something that I’m trying to deal with right now and it’s sort of a delicate matter. It’s something that I have to work out for myself, anyway. No one else can do it for me . . .” she added, her voice trailing off.

Lenny’s cerebral wheels were turning at breakneck speed now, trying to imagine what Emily’s problem might be. One possibility stuck out like a sore thumb: man troubles. Probably trying to get over an old boyfriend, he thought to himself with some discontent.

He said, “I want to apologize for prying, Emily. I realize now that it’s probably none of my business anyway. It’s just that, well, I’m concerned. That’s all. You sounded so . . . upset when you first called. I just thought that maybe I could help you out in some way.”

“You’ve already done that, by cheering me up. And I really do appreciate it,” she said earnestly. “This must seem so strange to you. Here I am, a perfect stranger, calling you up and carrying on so. You probably think I’m some kind of nut. Maybe I am nuts! I just don’t know anymore . . .”

She started crying softly, catching Lenny totally off-guard.

“What’s wrong, Emily?”

She sniffled and then replied, “Nothing. I’m just a little emotional now, I guess.”

Lenny took the big plunge. “But I thought you just said I was cheering you up. If my cheeriness does this to you and then don’t ever let me get you down!”

Emily managed a weak laugh. “I’m sorry, Lenny. I really do feel better now—much better than I did before I called you. You’ve been very patient with me. If I were you, I would’ve hung up a long time ago.”

“No way! I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you. In fact, I’m going to hate getting off.”

“Do you really mean that?” she asked.

“I sure do.”

“Then maybe we’ll just have to do this again some time. If you want to.”

“I definitely want to.”

“It may be sooner than you think, I have to warn you. Are you sure you don’t want to back-out now, while you still have the chance?”

“The sooner, the better.”

“Okay, then. But you don’t know what you might be getting yourself into.”

I wish I did, Lenny thought to himself. “I’ll take my chances,” he said.

“Remember, you’ve been forewarned. Well, I’d better go now, Lenny. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I actually feel like I might be able to get to sleep now. Do you have any idea when you’ll be released?”

“It’s hard to say. I’m in physical therapy now, which you’ve probably already assumed, and my therapist told me today that if I keep improving as I have, that I could possibly be out of here inside a week. Believe me, I have my fingers crossed.”

“I’ll have mine crossed, too,” she said. “I have to go now—I can barely keep my eyes open. I’ll get in touch with you soon and I promise that I’ll be more pleasant. Thanks, Lenny, for putting up with me. You’ve been very kind.”

Lenny felt a sinking feeling. “It’s been a pleasure, Emily. Get yourself some sleep, and feel free to call me anytime, okay? Please don’t hesitate for a second—I’ll be right here, night or day.” He hoped he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt at the moment.

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. Goodbye, Lenny.”

“Bye . . .”

Lenny continued staring pensively at page 314 of Crime And Punishment. It had been nearly a week since Emily Hoffman had called him. He’d spent the last few days trying to figure out why she hadn’t called back. The most likely possibility was that she’d changed her mind for one reason or another. Maybe he’d scared her off—gotten a little too close to her. Maybe she’d gotten back with her old boyfriend and she was no longer interested in chatting with some miserable cynic laid up in the hospital. Hell, for all he knew she was married and her husband had caught her and tightened up the reins—forced her to decide which was more important: keeping her marriage intact, or befriending some convalescing stranger.

But for some reason, Lenny had an odd feeling about this mysterious woman and couldn’t fully convince himself that any of these options were the case. Emily Hoffman came off as a loner of sorts—an insecure yet very independent type of woman. He had no idea why he perceived her this way, and had to admit he hardly knew her enough to make any kind of personality judgment. One thing was certain, though. He could kick himself for not asking her more questions about herself. At least gotten her phone number, for chrissakes! But he hadn’t felt it was a good idea to pump her with frivolous questions at the time. He’d been more concerned with trying to get to the bottom of what was wrong with her and trying to settle her down instead.

Another possibility came to mind, but Lenny hadn’t wanted to dwell on it for too long . . .

Maybe Emily Hoffman had gone off the deep end and had harmed herself in some way.

He couldn’t rule it out. She had admitted to having a problem and it was apparently a serious one—she’d clearly been overwrought and despondent over something that night. And she had admitted to being under psychiatric care at some time or another. Plus, she had been doped-up to a degree when she’d called, and although she claimed to have taken only one sleeping pill, he couldn’t be sure that she was telling the truth. And even if she had been telling the truth, what was to keep her from swallowing several more later on that night? Or the next night, or the night after that?

Once this alarming thought had hit him, Lenny had immediately called directory assistance for Ashland Falls, New York on a lark and requested the phone number for Emily Hoffman. The operator had told him that there was no listing under that name. Then he’d called information for New York City and there had been two listings for E. Hoffman. He’d tried them both, only to find that neither numbers were Emily’s.

Lenny had tried convincing himself that he was just being paranoid about Emily Hoffman in an attempt to put his mind at ease. But the long, drawn-out days in the hospital with so much time on his hands hadn’t helped matters any, and he eventually found himself obsessed with her—wondering where she was and what she was doing. Wondering if he’d ever meet her. Wondering if she was even alive.

Finally, he had decided it best to try and put the whole Emily Hoffman thing to rest before it drove him crazy. She hadn’t called, and she wasn’t going to call, he resolved. Case dismissed. It was time to start focusing on reality again. He was getting out of the hospital soon and needed to get back on track. And figure out what he was going to do about his future.

Lenny closed the book and set it down on the table and then reached for the folder containing the material he’d been researching: a map of the eastern United States, an AAA tour book for New England and the Atlantic seaboard, and the classified sections from yesterday’s Boston Globe and Buffalo Times. For the next hour or so he poured over the material, taking notes and referring to the map from time to time. By sheer coincidence he spotted Ashland Falls, New York and studied it. The tiny dot was located near the Hudson River in the Catskill Mountains, not far from Woodstock, and was about a hundred miles from the city. The nearest town of any real size was Poughkeepsie, and Lenny wondered if perhaps Emily Hoffman lived there. Then, shaking his head in exasperation, he threw the map aside and returned to the Boston Globe classifieds.

When he was finished trying to plot his future for that day, Lenny stood up and commenced to take what had to have been his hundredth stroll through the hospital halls. He went out to the courtyard and lit up a cigarette, wondering what Emily Hoffman was doing at that very moment in time. As he stared up at the dark leaden sky, he realized that he should be elated now at the prospect of getting out of the hospital tomorrow. But instead, he felt more than a little despondent.

His release from the hospital marked his return to reality in its purest form. Back to the rat race, back to the throngs of faceless people walking the streets, and back to that familiar empty feeling of having accomplished very little if anything in this melting pot of fools. And, he reminded himself with a disgruntled sigh, it was back to that ages-old, worn-out concept of having to make money to pay the bills, or else . . .

But Lenny knew what was really bringing him down now. His release from the hospital marked the end of his only tie to Emily Hoffman. After tomorrow, he would no longer be accessible to this mysterious woman he had never laid eyes on, and in all reality, never would. A woman who, for some weird reason, he felt compelled to get to know. Tomorrow, Emily Hoffman would become nothing more than a strange and intriguing memory of his hospital stay. Nothing more and nothing less . . .

This bothered him. Much more than it should bother him.

Why?

He stubbed out his cigarette and headed for the door. Once inside, Lenny sauntered back to his room and undressed and then went back to bed. The thought of an ice cold beer crossed his mind, and soon became an obsession. Suddenly, the hospital room became a prison and he wanted nothing more than to escape from it.

Tomorrow, he thought, he’d be out of here.

He smiled to himself and all of a sudden felt much better.

Nothing, he decided, could be worse than prison.

Later that night, Lenny had a dream. It was the only dream he could recall having in all the time he’d been in the hospital. It hadn’t lasted long; but then, none of the dreams about his Dream Lady ever lasted more than a few minutes or so.

The dream had taken place in a forest somewhere, high on a mountaintop. It was night, with a full moon looming high in the crystal-clear sky. He and his Dream Lady were walking hand-in-hand along a wooded path. They were both naked; like Adam and Eve strolling through the Garden of Eden. The air was cool, quite chilly in fact, but neither seemed to mind.

He looked over at his Dream Lady in awe. The wind blew back her long chestnut hair, revealing the flawless beauty of her face. He couldn’t take his eyes off her for fear that she might suddenly disappear. She glanced over at him with a reassuring smile and gave him a quick squeeze of the hand—just to reassure him that she’d never leave his side. He squeezed her hand in return, sealing the pact. They would always be together; forever in love.

Neither spoke—there was no need for words. They walked along in silence with the howling wind and the rustling of the fallen leaves the only sounds. They were at one with the world. This was the way it was meant to be—the way God had intended it to be. Man, woman, and soon . . . a child. All at one with the world.

Not far ahead on the horizon, they saw their destination. It was a house, plain and simple. Soon they would arrive, and their long journey would be over. And from then on, for the remainder of their lives, they would grow together in each another’s company in this simple world with its simple way of life, watching their little baby grow, too . . .

CHAPTER 15

“Is anybody meeting you?” the nursing assistant asked Lenny as she wheeled him into the elevator.

Lenny looked up at her and shook his head. “Nope.” Feigning a frown, he added, “I guess nobody loves me.”

“I can get you a cab,” she offered.

Lenny considered this a moment and then said. “No thanks. I think I’ll just take the subway home. I appreciate the offer, though.”

The young woman shrugged her shoulders. “Suit yourself.” She waited until the patient escort was inside then pressed the button for the main floor.

Lenny glanced at his watch and noted the time—it was 3:45. He then began planning the remainder of the day.

The first thing he was going to do when he got home was eat a decent meal. He’d either go to the market and pick out the biggest porterhouse steak he could find and take it home to broil, or save himself the bother and eat out at a restaurant instead. Either way, he was going to enjoy some real food for a change, and do it pretty damn soon—he was absolutely famished.

After eating, he would unpack his stuff then proceed to take care of any unfinished business he had yet to do. He wanted to get Heather Thompson squared away, so his first priority would be to process the black-and-white film from her session and print the contact sheets. Then he’d stick them in an envelope along with the color proofs that Willie had gotten processed for him and take it over to the post office.

Lenny glanced down at the camera bag lying on his lap and again marveled at his good fortune. Not only had the film he’d shot of Heather survived the accident, but so had his camera and lenses.

Yup, he thought with a grin, things could certainly have been much worse . . .

Then finally, the pièce de résistance. He would put on some decent music, stretch out on the sofa then commence to drink himself into oblivion. This would be his just reward for having survived near-death and a two-week long coma then enduring yet another two weeks of sheer torture in physical therapy.

The mere thought of an ice cold Rolling Rock made his mouth water.

The elevator arrived at the main floor and Lenny was wheeled over to the patient pickup area. The wheelchair came to a halt and Lenny stood up, slinging the camera bag over his shoulder. The patient escort handed him his suitcase and overnight bag then Lenny thanked both hospital employees and was given the obligatory “Have a nice day.” With a broad grin on his face, he turned to take one final look before making his departure from prison . . .

That was when he spotted her.

She was standing in the lobby, midway between the main entrance and the reception desk. She was looking around expectantly as she fidgeted nervously with her keys. She was short, only about 5’2, and wore a navy blue wool coat and faded jeans. Her hair was long and brown, framing a flawlessly sculpted face with beautiful blue eyes that were fiercely expressive.

It was his Dream Lady!

Lenny’s heart raced in his chest and he quickly looked away, thinking he was having another hallucination. But when he looked back, she was still there.

Dumbfounded, he hurriedly made his way back up the vestibule to the doorway and headed toward the main entrance, never taking his eyes off of her. There were two banks of elevators located on either side of the reception desk and she was now staring toward the one furthest from him. As he moved toward her, Lenny suddenly realized that he had no idea what he was going to do or say once he reached her, if anything at all.

All of a sudden, she turned and stared directly at him. To his surprise, she cast him a look of recognition and smiled and then started walking toward him. It was then he realized that this petite beauty was in fact the elusive Emily Hoffman, and that she and his Dream Lady were one in the same person.

“Lenny!” she called, picking up her pace.

“Emily?” he called back, unable to hide his shock.

She caught up with him, and for one awkward moment merely stood and stared nervously into his eyes without saying a word. Then she offered her hand to him and said, “Yes, Lenny, I’m Emily Hoffman.”

Lenny took her hand and shook it timidly, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded. He was overwhelmed by her; so much in fact, that his normally cool exterior was, for the moment, napalmed to cinders.

“Well, uh, hi! Nice to meet you,” he stammered.

Had it not been for her own apparent nervousness, Emily might have appeared to notice Lenny’s awkwardness. But she didn’t. “Are you surprised to see me?” she asked.

Lenny still had Emily’s hand in his own as he replied, “’Surprised’ is an understatement!”

Emily flushed a little. “I’m sorry. I planned on getting here sooner, but I had car trouble. I just tried calling your room to let you know I was here, but the floor nurse told me that you’d just left a few moments ago. So all I could do was wait here and hope I hadn’t already missed you.”

“Well, all I can say is I’m glad you did.”

“Me, too,” she said, giving his hand the slightest squeeze.

“Oh!” Lenny exclaimed as he suddenly let go of her hand and tried to hide his embarrassment.

Emily smiled. Then she said, “I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

“Well, yeah. That question has suddenly come to mind,” Lenny replied.

She looked at him uneasily and said, “I came to give you a lift home—if you’d like one, that is. And, to offer you dinner.”

Lenny was floored. “Well, uh, that’s very nice of you, Emily. But you really don’t need to . . .”

“No buts,” she interrupted. “I told you on the phone that I was going to try and make this up to you somehow. I know it’s not much, but . . . it’s a start.”

Lenny was at a loss for words. The only clear thought in his mind was that he certainly wasn’t going to turn down her offer. “Well, thanks. I really do appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Lenny.” She made a gesture toward the door. “I’m parked right outside. Let me help you with your things.”

“That’s okay—I can handle it.” Lenny objected.

“Are you sure? I noticed that you’re limping a little.”

“They told me I’d have that for a while, but it doesn’t hurt a bit. I’m not suppose to run any marathons in the near future, though,” he quipped.

She laughed—he loved her laugh. “Okay, then. Follow me.”

When they were outside, Emily pointed toward the parking lot. “I’m parked over there, not too far.”

Lenny walked beside her, feeling numb. It was cold and windy with a trace of snow flurries blowing around, but he hardly noticed. He was too busy trying to get a handle on what was happening and what to make of it.

“Here we are,” Emily said as they approached the beige bus. “Hopefully, it’s still warm inside.”

“Nice bus,” Lenny commented as she unlocked the passenger side door for him. “How’s she run?”

“Fine, once you get it started. It floods-out a lot,” Emily replied.

Lenny opened the door and got in. “I used to have a ‘67 Bug that did the same thing. VW’s are definitely a temperamental breed.”

Emily walked around and got in then stuck the key into the ignition. “Cross your fingers,” she said, turning the key. It started instantly.

“What year is this?” Lenny asked as Emily threw the gearshift into reverse and backed out.

“It’s a ‘66.”

“It’s in great shape for an antique.”

“I know, and we’ve been through an awful lot together. I don’t know what I’ll do when it finally dies on me.”

“Don’t let it,” Lenny told her, not really knowing why.

Emily pulled up to a stop sign and said, “Do you want to take your belongings home before we eat?”

Lenny thought for a moment and then replied, “Actually, I would, to tell you the truth. The only problem is that I live in Queens. All of the really decent restaurants are in Manhattan.”

She glanced over at him. “I don’t mind. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been to Queens—I’d like to see it.”

“You haven’t missed anything, believe me. Do you know where the 59th Street Bridge is?”

“The Queensboro Bridge?”

“Yeah, same difference.”

“I’ve driven past it a few times, I think. It’s midtown, just off Second Avenue, isn’t it?

“That’s right. Just drive east over to Third and then go north.” Lenny told her.

“Okay,” Emily said then took a right onto 12th Street.

While they waited for a light to change, Lenny observed the throngs of people walking the streets and gathered up the courage to ask his next question. He looked over at Emily. “Can I ask you something, Emily?”

She glanced over at him and replied, “Sure.”

“Why didn’t you call me back?”

She hesitated before answering. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me,” Lenny said.

Emily took a deep breath. “I’ve been having some problems, Lenny. I can’t say anymore than that. I just want to say that I’m sorry for not calling you back—I should have. I just . . . couldn’t. Please accept my apology and leave it at that for now, okay?”

There was that familiar edge to her voice; the one that said, “back off, don’t push me.”

He said, “Okay, apology accepted. At least I’ve finally gotten the chance to meet you.”

“Did your parents tell you that I met them?” she asked.

Lenny chuckled. “Oh yeah. Thus, beginning the mystery.”

Emily gave him a strange smile but said nothing. The light turned green and she stepped on the gas.

“I assume you don’t live in the city,” Lenny said.

“No, I live upstate, a couple of hours away.”

Lenny suddenly felt bolder. “Where, exactly?”

“A little town called Ashland Falls. It’s in the Catskills, not far from the Hudson River.”

“Near Woodstock?”

“Yes. The town, that is—not where the festival was. Bethel is about an hour away.”

“I don’t suppose your parents attended the festival by any chance, did they?”

Emily chuckled. “Thanks for the flattery, Lenny, but I’m a little too old to have had flower children for parents! Wrong generation, I’m afraid.”

“You’re kidding! I had you pegged at being in your early twenties.”

“You’re off by a decade, I regret to say.”

Lenny stared at Emily, trying to imagine her as being thirty years old. It wasn’t easy. “Suddenly, I don’t feel quite as old as I did a minute ago. You’ve aged quite well, Emily, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Thanks, but I don’t feel like it. I suppose now you’re going to tell me that you were a flower child.”

Lenny chuckled. “Actually, I was the right age for it. But I didn’t make a very good hippie in the traditional sense. I was more of a quasi-revolutionary, if anything. Long hair was about as radical as I got. But in my little hometown, that was enough to get me a lot of stares and plenty of discrimination. Not to mention the pat assumption that I was dropping acid on a daily basis.”

Emily laughed. “Well, I figured you to be around my age, so I guess that makes us about even on guessing ages. Where are you from, anyway?”

“Smithtown, Ohio. It’s a little town located a couple of hours up the Ohio River from Cincinnati,” Lenny replied.

“How long have you lived in the city?”

“Too long,” he answered. “About eight years.”

“You sound like you’d rather be somewhere else.”

Lenny groaned. “I’m pretty burnt-out on the place, that’s for sure. As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking lately about pulling out of here—as soon as I can figure out where to go. I’m having a real problem with that little detail.”

“I see,” Emily said, keeping her eyes on the road.

They reached Third Avenue. Emily turned left, heading north. The traffic was heavy as she navigated the bus through the maze of taxi cabs and busses, a look of intense concentration on her face the entire time.

Lenny sensed that Emily was becoming more lax, and this he was grateful for. Her aloofness seemed to be abating the more they got to know each other, and he no longer felt as shut out as he had before. He was already attracted to her beyond description; and why shouldn’t he be? Emily Hoffman was as beautiful as she was intriguing—the stuff that dreams were made of. His own dreams, as a matter of fact—in the literal sense.

“So you’re a photographer?” Emily asked suddenly. She glanced over at him and added, “Your mother told me.”

“A hack photographer, you might say,” Lenny replied in disdain.

“What do you mean?”

“I take pictures, so I guess that makes photography my vocation. Only problem is, I can’t take the kind of pictures I want to take and make a living at it. It’s a vicious circle, really.”

“What kind of pictures do you like to take?”

“Basically, pictures that mean something; that tell a story or make a statement. It’s hard to explain. I like fashion photography when it’s done properly—everything perfectly in place yet spontaneous at the same time. But nothing thrills me more than getting an image on film that jumps out at you and needs no explanation of what it is or what’s its saying. Take an old dilapidated barn in a cornfield, for example. The barn sags and is rotting away—it looks as though the slightest gust of wind could come alone blow it over at any moment. That image says so much; how something that once had usefulness and purpose has been abandoned—left to rot and decay until that gust of wind finally comes along and levels it to the ground. I mean, isn’t that what’s happening in this world on a grander scale? Out with the old, and in with the new? And it’s not just barns and inanimate objects we’re talking about here. People, too. Old people, neglected people, and so on . . . I’m getting a little off the track now, aren’t I?”

Emily stared at him, her expression conveying surprise and warmth at the same time. “That was beautiful, Lenny.”

He was caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“What you just said, and the way you said it. It was just so wonderful, so . . . true!”

He realized that he must have hit a chord; and though he had no idea what it was, Lenny suddenly felt himself much closer to Emily Hoffman. “Well, thank you, Emily,” he stumbled. “I sort of get carried away sometimes with my, uh, views on things.”

Emily smiled and her eyes returned to the road. It was snowing steadily by the time they reached the intersection of 59th Street and Third Avenue. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper as they inched their way toward the bridge.

“I hate this city,” Lenny mumbled half aloud.

“So do I,” Emily said.

He looked over at her. “What’s Ashland Falls like?”

“It’s very pretty. Also very small—more a village than a town.”

“Were you born and raised there?”

She nodded.

“And work there, too?”

“Yes. I’m an antique dealer.”

“That’s great,” Lenny said. “I admire anyone who’s into restoring the past—old furniture, historic landmarks, whatever. It’s a drag seeing old buildings leveled just to make room for the crap they’re throwing up in their place nowadays. It’s like watching a slice of history being destroyed that can never be replaced. The leveling of churches in particular really bums me out. Have you noticed the architecture of new churches lately? No steeples, no bell towers; just boring, single-story brick buildings that could just as easily pass as office buildings or department stores. It’s really amazing when you think about it, especially when you consider how bent on tradition most religious factions supposedly are. I mean, why don’t they dip into their pockets a little deeper and at least throw a damn steeple on their new houses of worship? Or better yet, hold on to the old church instead. Restore the thing; add on to it, or whatever. But don’t sell out just for the sake of newness!”

Emily was staring at him, her mouth slightly agape. Lenny said, “I’m getting carried away again, aren’t I? It just pisses me off—pardon the expression. It’s gotten so I hate ‘newness’ in general. Everything’s going too damn fast. We need to put on the brakes here a little, don’t you think?”

She nodded slowly in agreement.

Lenny, fearing that he was beginning to bore her, decided to change the subject. “Do you live alone, or with your folks?”

“Alone. My parents are both dead.”

Lenny wanted to kick himself. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Lenny,” she said, appearing to be unaffected.

“Do you come to the city very often?”

She balked a moment then replied, “No, not really.”

Lenny didn’t like the look in her eyes now. It was telling him to back off, and quickly.

“I don’t blame you,” he said simply.

They had reached the other side of the bridge. “Welcome to Queens,” he announced dryly. “My apartment isn’t far from here; just go left at the second light.”

They could hear the rumble and clatter of subway trains overhead as they crept along through the rush hour traffic. When they reached the traffic light, Emily veered to the left, following the path of the overhead train trestle.

“It sure is noisy, isn’t it?” Emily observed as a train squealed and clamored its way around the curve on its approach to Queensboro Plaza.

“Terrible. My apartment is practically eye-level with the tracks and believe me, it gets very old having to endure this racket day-in and day-out.”

They neared the intersection of Northern Boulevard and Lenny gestured for Emily to continue going straight. “Another block or so,” he told her.

When they neared his apartment building, Lenny spotted his old Celica liftback parked out front and he silently thanked Willie Rodriguez for shuttling the car around for him while he was in the hospital. There was an empty parking space directly behind his car, so he pointed to it and said, “You can pull up behind my car there.”

Emily slowed down and pulled into the space. “You have Ohio license plates. How come?”

Lenny grinned. “I’m still an illegal alien here. I just can’t see transferring plates and having to pay those outrageous insurance rates. So I’ve kept my car registered in Ohio. I still have my Ohio driver’s license, too,” he added.

Emily chuckled. “Preserving the past?”

Lenny laughed and replied, “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Emily shut off the engine as Lenny collected his belongings.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ll just wait out here.”

“I’ve got a couple of things to take care of. Why don’t you come inside where it’s warm?”

“That’s all right. I’ll just start the engine if it gets cold. Take your time.”

It was obvious that Emily was determined to remain outside and that bothered him, for some reason. She seemed to be withdrawing again, and he wondered why.

“Okay,” Lenny shrugged. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He opened the door and pulled his suitcase and overnight bag out along with him then closed the door. He glanced back at Emily before turning around and making his way toward the steps. Her expression had been more than a little apprehensive.

Lenny climbed the steps and took out his keys then unlocked the door and entered the foyer. He noticed that his mailbox was empty and assumed that Willie had already gotten his mail. He went through the inner door and stopped at the first door on the left then knocked on it. A moment later Willie Rodriguez opened the door and greeted him.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in! Welcome back, man!”

“Thanks, Willie.” Lenny said, shaking his hand. “And thanks for taking care of everything for me. I owe you one.”

“No problem, man. I’ve got your mail inside; I haven’t been up to your apartment yet. Come on in.”

“I’m sort of in a hurry, Willie. I’ve got a dinner date.”

Willie grinned slyly. “Hey, you don’t mess around! Did you decide to get back with Julie?”

“No, it’s not Julie. It’s uh, someone I met at the hospital.” Lenny hedged.

“Alright! That’s my man—making the best of a bad situation!”

Lenny laughed. “Can’t keep a good man down too long, eh?”

“No doubt! I’ll get your mail for you.” Willie said and then disappeared. A moment later he returned and handed Lenny his mail.

“Thanks, Willie,” Lenny said. “I’ll get back with you soon.”

“Okay, man. Good luck with the bambino!”

“See ya,” he said and then turned and walked down the hallway to the stairway.

When he entered his apartment, Lenny was immediately greeted by stale, musty air. He went over to crack open one of the windows and spotted the beige Volkswagen bus parked on the street below, white smoke billowing out of its exhaust pipe. He pictured the beautiful woman of his dreams sitting there inside and suddenly turned on his heels and headed back out the door.

“That was quick,” Emily said when he stepped inside the bus.

“I just had to get my mail from the super,” Lenny replied. “He took care of things while I was in the hospital.”

“Sounds like a very thoughtful person.”

“Willie’s a great guy—I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.”

“Do you have many friends here?” she asked curiously.

“No, not really. I’m sort of a loner, actually. I guess you could say I value my privacy.”

“Am I intruding on your privacy?” Emily asked.

Lenny cast her an incredulous look. “Are you kidding? I can’t think of a better way to celebrate my release from the hospital than this! Which reminds me . . . Have you got a particular restaurant in mind?”

“You know this city a lot better than I do. I was hoping you could suggest something.” she replied.

“Well, there’s a nice Italian restaurant not far away that’s pretty decent—if you don’t mind not eating in Manhattan, that is.”

“Sounds fine to me. I love Italian food.”

“Great. Just keep going straight on this street and I’ll show you where to turn.”

“Okay,” Emily said, checking her rear view mirror before pulling out.

“Looks like we might get some accumulation,” Lenny commented, noticing that the snow was beginning to stick on the pavement.

“It’s certainly cold enough,” Emily said.

“I’ll bet it snows a lot up where you live, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” she replied. “Especially in the mountains.”

“Do you ski?” he asked.

“I used to, every once in a while. But anymore, I just like watching the snow fall and walking around in it. It’s so relaxing.”

“I know what you mean,” Lenny said. “It hardly ever seems to snow in the city, which is yet another reason why I’m getting so disenchanted by this place. The day before the accident, it snowed really hard for the first time this winter, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to go out and mess around in it—you know, sleigh ride or something like that. But I realized that there wasn’t anywhere to go, and it seemed like such a waste. This city is like a prison. You start to feel like you’re locked in and can’t get out. It’s so . . . unreal here. Or maybe it’s too real. Hell, I don’t know. I just know that I have to get out of here; it’s not where I belong.”

Emily said nothing and kept her eyes on the road.

“Hang a right at the next light,” Lenny told her. When she reached the intersection, Emily slowed down and turned right then glanced over at Lenny expectantly.

“It’s a little further on up this street. We might as well start looking for a place to park.”

Emily spotted a parking space and pulled into it then turned off the ignition. Lenny noticed that she looked a little nervous all of a sudden, and asked, “Are you all right?”

She smiled at him weakly and replied, “Yes. I guess I’m just hungry—”

“Well, let’s go see what we can do about that!” he said sprightly as he started opening the door.

“Lenny . . .” Emily said suddenly, grasping his arm.

He looked at her imploringly. Even in the waning light he could see the troubled look in her beautiful blue eyes. “Yes?”

She stared at him for a moment then looked away. “Never mind.”

Lenny placed his hand on hers. “What is it, Emily?”

She looked at him again. “It’s nothing. I just . . . I just want you to know that I’m not very good at this.”

Lenny was stymied. “Not good at what?”

She looked embarrassed, her eyes even more innocent looking than usual. “At . . . being with someone,” she replied, struggling to get the words out.

He tried to comprehend what she was getting at, but didn’t have a clue. “I’m a little confused here. What do you mean by ‘being with someone?’ Are you a nun or something?”

Emily forced a smile. “I might as well be,” she replied with a painful sigh. “Let me put it another way. I haven’t been out with a guy in over ten years. You’re the first one since then.”

Lenny was incredulous. He sensed that this was a sensitive issue, so he tried hard to hide his disbelief. “Well, I feel honored, to say the least. I don’t suppose you want to tell me about it, do you?”

She looked past him and out the window. “Not now, maybe later. I don’t even know why I told you. I guess I wanted to see how you’d react—I don’t know.”

Lenny chose his words carefully, not wanting to upset her anymore than she obviously already was. “And how was my reaction?”

She smiled again. “I can tell that you were shocked, but you didn’t show it. That was what I’d hoped you’d do.”

Lenny returned her smile. “So I did okay, eh?”

“Yes, you couldn’t have done any better, really. Now that that’s all been said and done, maybe we could skip it for now. Okay?”

That familiar voice, but not quite the same edge. “No problem. What do you say we go eat?”

Emily smiled brightly. “Let’s do it—I’m starving!”

With that, they both got out of the bus and began walking up the street toward the restaurant. Lenny’s mind was in overdrive, trying to figure out Emily Hoffman and what she’d just told him. But instead of feeling that he was finally getting somewhere, he now realized that she was only becoming more and more mysterious the more he got to know her.

Emily was observing the people and storefronts curiously along the way, prompting Lenny to comment. “This is Astoria—a very Greek neighborhood.”

Emily nodded. “I see. I wondered why there were so many Greek names.”

When they reached Moretti’s, Lenny held the door open for Emily and followed her inside. It wasn’t very crowded and they were quickly shown to a table near the window. They both ordered coffee and began looking over the menu.

“Mind if I smoke?” Lenny asked.

“No, not at all,” Emily replied.

He took a cigarette out and lit it up. The coffee came, and Emily said, “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Actually, the only thing I’ve ever had here is the lasagna. It’s delicious, though.”

“Then that’s what I’ll have,” Emily declared.

Lenny closed his menu. A moment later, the waiter came over and took their orders.

“This is nice,” Emily commented, sipping her coffee.

“Yeah, I like it. I haven’t been here that often; I usually eat at home.”

“You cook?”

Lenny shrugged. “I have to. I definitely can’t afford to eat out every day.”

“Is your business fairly steady, or does it fluctuate like the antique business does?”

“Lately it’s only been fluctuating between bad and worse,” Lenny replied dryly.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. I’ve come to grips with it. The problem with this city is the way you have to hustle all the time just to keep your head above water. If it weren’t so damned competitive here, I could be doing much better. But unfortunately, it is competitive—more so than I care to deal with,” he added with a note of finality.

Just then, the waiter came over with their salads. They ate in silence and were nearly finished when Emily finally said, “Did you get a chance to read all of Crime And Punishment?”

“Not quite,” Lenny replied. “I’ve taken a good bite out of it, though.”

“Pretty cerebral, isn’t it?”

Lenny nodded. “It sure is.”

Moments later, the waiter returned with their meals. “Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked.

“No thanks.”

“This is wonderful,” Emily said after sampling the lasagna.

Lenny nodded in agreement. “Almost as good as my mom’s.”

They ate ravenously and spoke very little. Lenny sensed that Emily was in deep thought throughout the meal and wondered what was going on in her mind. He recalled what she’d told him in the bus and it continued to gnaw at him. How in the world could this lovely woman go ten years without dating anybody? he wondered. And why had she mentioned it to him in the first place? As an explanation for her aloofness, perhaps? To help explain why she hadn’t called him again while he was in the hospital? Or had she told him simply to drive a point home—a means of reaching out to him for either his advice or his sympathy, depending on what her intentions might be?

The waiter returned. “Would you care to have dessert?”

Lenny looked at Emily. “Uh, not me.”

Emily shook her head. “I’m stuffed. I wouldn’t mind having a drink, though . . . To celebrate your release from the hospital,” she added, giving Lenny a wink.

“Sure, sounds good to me!”

“What would you like, Miss?” the waiter asked.

“Scotch—over ice, please.” she replied.

“And you, sir?”

“A Rolling Rock, if you have it.”

“No Rolling Rock.”

“A Heinekin, then,” Lenny said.

The waiter nodded then walked away.

Lenny leaned toward Emily. “I haven’t had a beer in over a month!

She smiled broadly. “Then this one will be extra-special, won’t it?”

“It sure will,” Lenny replied.

The waiter came with their drinks. Emily lifted her glass and offered a toast. “Here’s to you and your freedom,” she announced ceremoniously. “And this may sound awful, but I’m sort of glad that I ran into you, Lenny Williams.”

Lenny tapped her glass with his beer bottle and smiled, his eyes lost in hers. “And I’m sort of glad to have been run into by you, Emily Hoffman.”

They both laughed and then sipped.

The atmosphere in the tiny restaurant seemed to change, all of a sudden. It became a stage of sorts, quiet and comfortable with only the two principal players present, ad-libbing their lines. They drank slowly and spoke sparingly—every word, every gesture carefully devised and thoughtfully delivered, neither wanting to disappoint the other.

Such is love in its embryonic stage . . .

But reality, in its imposing nature, came into play and put an untimely end to this moment of magic.

Emily glanced out the window and noticed that there was nearly two inches of fresh snow on the ground. “I’d better get going before it gets any worse,” she announced suddenly.

Lenny gaped at her in shock. “You’re driving home tonight?”

“Yes.”

“How far did you say it was to Ashland Falls?”

“A couple of hours,” Emily replied.

“There’s already two inches of snow out there! Maybe you shouldn’t drive back until tomorrow.”

She eyed him reassuringly. “I’ll be all right. The bus does very well in the snow and besides; I have a puppy waiting for me who’s probably pretty hungry by now.”

Lenny knew it was futile to try and change her mind, but tried anyway. “You could stay at my place if you’d like. I can sleep on the couch.”

Emily shook her head, her eyes hinting that familiar expression of retreat. “I’ll be fine. Thanks anyway, though.”

Her eyes softened somewhat, and she placed her hand on Lenny’s. “I’ll be careful. Thanks for your concern.”

Lenny’s eyes never left hers, “Will you promise to call me when you get home?”

She balked a moment, looked away then looked back at him, her expression somewhat reticent.

“Okay. But I’ll need your phone number.”

Lenny took out his wallet and withdrew one of his business cards. “Either of these numbers will reach my apartment,” he said, handing it to her.

Emily looked it over and replied, “All right.”

Lenny squirmed a little before saying: “Uh, I don’t suppose I could get your phone number, too?”

To Lenny’s surprise, she smiled. “You don’t think I’ll really call, do you?” Her tone of voice was playfully accusatory.

He cast her a sidelong glance. “Well, your track record hasn’t exactly been perfect.”

Emily giggled, dug out a pen from her purse and jotted down her phone number on a napkin.

“Here it is,” she said handing it to Lenny. “But you won’t be needing it. Tonight, anyway,” she added.

Lenny stuck the napkin in his shirt pocket. Emily picked up the check and studied it then took out her billfold

“Why don’t you let me handle it?” Lenny offered.

“No way,” she replied decisively. “And don’t say another word about it.”

Lenny sighed in defeat as Emily plopped down a five-dollar tip on the table. He stood up, helped her into her coat and stood by futilely while she paid the check.

“Thanks for dinner,” Lenny said as they made their way out the door.

“You’re welcome, Lenny. I really enjoyed it.”

“So did I.”

Outside, the snow was coming down heavily with huge flakes blowing in from the northwest. Darkness had fallen, and there was a still silence in the normally noisy neighborhood.

“It’s beautiful,” Emily said, looking around her.

“It sure is.”

Their pace was slow as they made their way in silence toward Emily’s bus. Once inside, Emily started the engine and turned on the windshield wipers before pulling out onto the street. They had driven several blocks before Emily suddenly turned and faced Lenny.

“I truly have enjoyed being with you today, Lenny. I don’t know quite how to say this, but I feel really good being with you.”

Lenny could tell by the intensity in Emily’s eyes that it had taken a great deal of determination for her to get the words out. He smiled. “If I told you that I feel the same way about you, would you believe me?”

Emily replied softly, “I’d try to.”

Lenny reached over and took his hand in hers. “Don’t just try, Emily. Just believe . . .”

Her face lit up and she gave his hand a light squeeze then focused her eyes on the road.

They drove the remainder of the way to Lenny’s apartment in a pensive silence.

When Emily pulled up behind Lenny’s car and put the gearshift into neutral, Lenny said, “You sure you won’t reconsider?”

She looked at him with genuine regret. “I wish I could, Lenny, but I can’t. I’ll call you as soon as I get home though—I promise.”

“Okay, but be careful. And please drive slowly. I know this Krautwagen has decent traction, but it’s not a snowplow, you know.”

She chuckled at his obvious display of over-protectiveness and said, “I’ll drive very slowly and be very careful, Lenny. Don’t worry!”

Lenny heaved a long sigh—he didn’t want her to go. He leaned toward her and gazed into her beautiful blue eyes. “Call me the second you get home,” he said softly.

“I will,” she whispered back.

He moved closer until his face was only inches from hers. Her lips looked warm, inviting.

“Would you mind if I kissed you?” he asked timidly, feeling like a kid in high school on his first date.

“No,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

With his heart nearly leaping out of his chest, Lenny slowly brought his lips to hers. They were soft, wet, and full. His arms went around her, encircling her tiny body. He pulled her against him, gently and passionately. Her hands touched then rested on his shoulders. Her scent was like a field of wild roses, her skin soft as a baby’s. Her kiss was tentative at first; she seemed unsure of herself—like a schoolgirl being kissed for the first time. Then her lips slowly parted, allowing him to explore as innocence turned to passion and she allowed herself to relax.

Moments later, Emily gently pulled herself away and gazed into his eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Are you all right?” Lenny asked, confused.

She smiled suddenly. “Yes, I’m fine. That was wonderful.”

“But you’re crying.”

“I know, but they’re tears of joy.”

Lenny hugged her tight. “You had me worried there for a second. I thought I’d done something wrong.”

Emily reached for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. But I’d better be going.”

He let go of her regretfully and said, “Be careful.”

“I will. And I’ll call you.”

Lenny pecked her on the cheek then reached for the door handle. “Do you know how to get back from here?”

Emily frowned. “I’m not really sure.”

“Did you come into town on the Triboro Bridge?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Just stay on this street until you reach Astoria Boulevard then take a left at the second light past it. That will take you right up onto the Triboro. It’s only five minutes away.”

“Okay.”

“Call me when you get home,” he said.

“I will. Goodbye, Lenny.”

“Bye, Emily,” he said and shut the door.

Lenny watched as Emily pulled out onto the street and headed north on 31st Street. Seconds later, she tooted the horn and he waved to her in response then waited until she was out of sight before heading up the steps to his apartment building. When he reached the door, he fumbled for the keys in his pocket and unlocked the door. As he stuck his key into the lock of the inner door, Lenny realized that he was grinning from ear to ear and his head was buzzing like a bee.

“My Dream Lady lives,” he breathed aloud as he stepped inside.

CHAPTER 16

As she pulled away from Lenny’s apartment building, Emily Hoffman was in a daze. She was experiencing an emotional high so intense that she could almost swear she’d died and gone to heaven.

She had fallen in love with Lenny Williams . . .

And as unlikely as it seemed, Emily wasn’t surprised in the least that she’d fallen for him so quickly. In fact, ever since the very first time she’d ever laid eyes on him, lying flat on his back the night the cab had hit him, she had felt herself mysteriously attracted to Lenny Williams.

Emily reflected on the irony of the situation and smiled to herself. Doctor Langstrom had adamantly advised her to start socializing with people again and, if at all possible, to try and establish a relationship of some kind with a male companion. The sooner, the better, he’d told her. Her isolation was her greatest problem and it needed to be addressed and dealt with. “You have built a wall around yourself, Emily, and you’ve deprived yourself of male companionship for virtually all of your adult life,” he’d said. She was to try and forget the pain and suffering she’d endured in the past, and move forward into the future.

She had of course immediately jumped on the defensive, insisting that her problem had nothing to do with men or the lack thereof. The nightmares were the problem, she’d told him. They haunted her every day; each one being even more frightening than the one preceding it. She couldn’t sleep for fear of having a nightmare. But it was a no-win situation because she had to sleep sometime. And when she did, she always had a nightmare. Wasn’t there some kind of drug she could take that would allow her to sleep without dreaming? she’d asked the doctor. He’d merely shook his head and told her no, adding that even if there was, it wouldn’t cure her condition. It would only mask it.

The sessions had been extremely difficult—particularly the first few. It had been embarrassing and agonizing, describing her dilemma to a total stranger like that. It would have been hard enough confiding in someone she knew and trusted; but sharing her most intimate experiences with a psychiatrist in New York City, who had been referred to her by yet another psychiatrist whom she didn’t know from Adam seemed inconceivable.

But somehow, perhaps out of sheer desperation, she had finally managed to tell Doctor Langstrom everything: the relentless nightmares, the sexual abuse by her father, her experience with Ted Chalmers, her family’s tainted, mysterious history—the whole ball of wax.

And once he’d heard the whole story, Doctor Langstrom promptly confessed to her that never in his entire professional career had he come upon such a “complicated and fascinating” case as hers. This had done little to encourage her, to say the least. If anything, it had made her feel like some kind of freak, and she’d almost walked out on him that day. But Doctor Langstrom must have realized what he’d done, because he had immediately apologized for his “poor choice of words,” and had assured Emily that he would get to the root of her problem and find a way to alleviate her suffering.

He had advised her to do two things in the meantime. One, she was to try and get her mind off the past and start dwelling on the present and the future. “Go out and mingle with friends, have some fun for a change, maybe take in a good movie,” he’d told her. There was a psychological stigma to these nightmares, the doctor explained, and if she continued dwelling on them and fearing them, she would most likely go on having them.

Two, she was to start getting more sleep. If she went to sleep and suddenly awoke, having experienced a nightmare, she was to try and go back to sleep immediately in spite of how frightened she might be. For this purpose, the doctor had prescribed some moderately potent sleeping pills for her to take.

Emily slowed down her speed. The road was getting worse the further north she drove and it was becoming increasingly harder to see through the frenzy of snow.

As instructed, Emily had tried a number of things to get her mind off her plight. She’d picked up a few new pieces of furniture to restore and had spent an entire week diligently working on them. She had spent another week rearranging several of the displays in the shop. She’d even done some baby-sitting for the Ferrell’s two-year-old a few evenings, hoping that this new experience in a different environment might somehow turn things around. But nothing changed and the nightmares persisted. The sleeping pills had been equally disappointing. She’d taken one every time she awoke from a nightmare, just as the doctor had ordered, but all it had done was make her a little drowsy. She had doubled and even tripled the dose on a few occasions, but the end result had been the same: No sleep.

But perhaps the most unsettling development to arise in the last month pertained to the actual nature of the nightmares themselves. They had evolved into full-blown scenarios that had taken on a chilling semblance to reality; to such a degree that she was having difficulty discerning fact from fiction. She was actually starting to hear and see things that weren’t there while she was wide-awake. Many were the times she had caught herself talking out loud to an empty room, or chasing imaginary people all around the house. Emily never told the doctor about this scary behavior because she already had a good hunch what he would have told her—that she was becoming schizophrenic.

One day, Emily had decided to stay overnight at the shop, thinking that perhaps sleeping somewhere other than in her house might help. She had ended up having her most terrifying nightmare ever that night. She had driven back up to the house afterwards, frightened and depressed to the point that she had once again seriously considered suicide as being her only solution.

Then Lenny Williams had entered the picture. Had it not been for her chance meeting with him as a result of the accident, Emily knew that she might well not be alive today . . .

She’d had her final session with Doctor Langstrom on that fateful day. Discouraged by the fact that after two weeks of therapy, three sessions a week, she was as bad if not worse than she’d been before she started seeing him, Emily had nearly reached the end of her rope. Furthermore, she’d grown weary of commuting to New York City, feeling half-dead from lack of sleep, only to be given some predictable advice and a bunch of pills that simply weren’t working.

So she had asked Doctor Langstrom, point-blank, if he really thought he would be able to cure her. He hedged at first, reminding her that these things take time and that it was too early to make any kind of prognosis. But then she pushed the issue, insisting that he tell her the truth—his gut feeling if nothing else—as to whether or not he thought the nightmares would ever go away.

He had then reluctantly proceeded to give Emily his assessment of her case; concluding in so many words that it was quite unlikely that the nightmares would ever cease, but that it was still possible. In other words, he confided, it was virtually impossible to predict phenomena such as dreams.

Emily had listened to Doctor Langstrom’s assessment with an open mind and admitted to herself that it sounded realistic. In a nutshell, he was telling her that she was most likely cursed for the rest of her life. She had started crying, and Doctor Langstrom tried to comfort her, urging her to continue therapy, citing that it may well be her only hope. He’d even told her that he would refer her to another psychiatrist if she was dissatisfied with him. But Emily had heard all she wanted to hear and stormed out of Doctor Langstrom’s office, never to return.

She was still in tears when she had arrived at the parking garage, wanting nothing but to get out of the city as quickly as possible and go home.

But the bus had refused to start.

She’d kept trying to get it started for nearly half an hour until the battery had finally ran down so low that it wouldn’t turn the engine over. Finding herself becoming more upset by the minute, she’d gone to a phone booth and called AAA for a tow truck to come and jump-start the bus. An hour later, it had finally arrived. After trying unsuccessfully to start it for nearly twenty minutes, the tow truck driver informed her that it was going to have to go to the shop. Emily had reluctantly allowed the driver to tow the bus to a garage located in Tribeca.

She had waited over an hour at the garage before the mechanic had finally gotten around to looking at the bus, only to be told that he was going to have to order a part, and that it would take at least another hour to install the part it once he’d obtained it. Unable to believe what she was hearing, Emily had decided to take a cab up to midtown and shop in the meantime, in lieu of hanging around the garage and getting angrier than she already was.

She’d moped around Bloomingdale’s for over an hour and a half then called the garage. They had picked up the part and were installing it at that moment, and it would be ready in half an hour, she’d been told.

By this time Emily was thoroughly exhausted and on edge. She’d hailed a cab to take her to the garage, and as if things weren’t going badly enough, she soon discovered that it was her cabbie’s first day on the job after he’d managed to get them lost somewhere in the vicinity of the lower east side. After getting directions to Tribeca from a pedestrian, the cabbie had finally got back on course as Emily squirmed around in the back seat pulling out her hair when she realized in horror that the garage would be closed in another ten minutes.

She’d ordered the cabbie to hurry it up a bit, promising him a generous tip if he got her to the garage before it closed. Then, before Emily knew what was happening, the cabbie had run the light at 6th Street and Broadway, striking Lenny Williams . . .

Emily reached the outskirts of Yonkers and wiped the windshield with the side of her hand. Visibility had steadily diminished and it was now impossible to see beyond fifty feet in the blowing, driving snowstorm. She glanced at the speedometer—she was doing forty miles per hour—and calculated that at this speed it would take her at least and extra hour to get home. She hoped Lenny wouldn’t worry about her.

She knew that Lenny was burning to know why she’d acted as she had while he was in the hospital. She’d been tempted to try and explain to him how difficult it was for her to share herself with him before they’d gone into the restaurant. But wisely, she had decided not to go through with it. It had been hard enough just telling him that she hadn’t been out with a man in over ten years; and that was only the tip of the iceberg. How could she ever expect him to understand the rest?

Emily swallowed hard and tears came to her eyes as the cold, hard reality of it all flashed into her mind. She loved Lenny Williams but she could never allow him to get involved with her. It simply wouldn’t be fair to drag him into her miserable situation. Who was she trying to kid, anyway? And why had she let this go as far as it already had?

Because there was something special about Lenny, she told herself. All her doubts and fears seemed to evaporate when she was with him. Reality no longer seemed relevant. He had a way of making her forget the ugliness of her life for a while. And when he’d kissed her . . . She’d never dreamed that something could make her feel so good! And so . . .

Emily grinned, unable to believe herself capable of the urges and desire she’d felt when Lenny had kissed her. It certainly hadn’t been that way with Ted Chalmers. She’d been repulsed, terrified of him. But with Lenny it had been so natural, so beautiful, so damn encouraging. That was the word—encouraging. For the first time in her life she’d been with a man who made her want more.

Love, she thought. That’s what this is all about. Love is what makes all reasoning and rationale seem suddenly irrelevant. Love is what makes life seem worth living again.

Was she going to deny herself this wonderful feeling?

She suddenly laughed out loud. There was one tiny detail she was forgetting in all her excitement. What about Lenny? He does have a vital role in this, after all.

Did Lenny love her?

Somehow, she already knew the answer to this. It seemed presumptuous, but she couldn’t help but believe that he did love her. Something to do with the accident when she’d held his hand and felt that they had somehow been joined together spiritually? Perhaps.

And that was another thing that made Lenny Williams so special. That immediate attraction she’d felt toward him from the very beginning.

All of a sudden, Emily felt the bus slide out of control as she rounded a curve on the highway. Instinctively, she grasped the steering wheel with both hands and turned it in the direction the bus was sliding, narrowly avoiding plummeting into an embankment. Once she had it under control again, she breathed a sigh of relief and slowed down her speed even more.

The near-disaster sobered up her thoughts and Emily again contemplated what she might be getting Lenny into by allowing him to enter her life. Paramount on her mind were the nightmares. What kind of relationship could they possibly have anyway? she thought. Lenny wasn’t going to want to be involved with someone who spent the majority of her nights being haunted by ghouls in her sleep; and she couldn’t expect him to, either. Case closed. There simply couldn’t be a relationship in the first place.

Emily tried blotting out all her thoughts by concentrating on her driving. She checked the time—she’d been on the road for nearly an hour already and she wasn’t even a third of the way to Ashland Falls yet. The snow continued pouring down, showing no sign of letting up, and the wind had begun to form drifts along the side of the highway. She turned the radio on and fumbled with the tuner, trying to pick up a weather report somewhere on the dial. She didn’t have any luck, so she tuned in a station that was playing an old Beatles song and turned up the volume.

It suddenly dawned on her that she was very tired. The emotions of the day had exhausted her and the stress of driving through the blinding snowstorm was making her even more fatigued. Her eyelids felt like lead weights as she struggled to keep her eyes open and on the road.

The hypnotic effect of the driving snow wasn’t helping much, either—

CHAPTER 17

Lenny glanced at the clock again: 9:47. She should definitely have called by now, he thought. Although he realized that the snowstorm would slow her down considerably, he doubted if it would take Emily more than three hours to make a two-hour drive unless it was snowing a lot harder upstate than it was in the city now.

He stood up and turned on the television, hoping to find a weather bulletin or update of some kind. Having flipped through all the channels several times, he turned it off and heaved a long sigh. He went over to the telephone and dialed Emily’s number for the third time that evening. He let it ring a dozen times then hung up.

Normally, Lenny wasn’t inclined to worry about things of this nature. But from the moment Emily had pulled away from his apartment, he’d had the uneasy feeling in the back of his mind that something bad was going to happen. He hadn’t been able to shake it off all evening.

He had finished up the work for Heather Thompson and mailed it, all the while thinking about Emily Hoffman, his Dream Lady, and all the weird, incredible things that had transpired earlier that day.

It all seemed too good to be true, really.

And maybe that was partly why he was so worried now. He wasn’t just worried about Emily driving in the storm; he was worried about Emily Hoffman in general. His mind had started wandering in the last couple of hours, and Lenny recalled that Emily had a problem—a major problem of some kind—and he now had the ominous feeling that whatever that problem was had something to do with why she hadn’t made it home yet. Maybe he was just being paranoid. And maybe he wasn’t.

Whatever the case, he decided to wait until ten o’clock and if Emily still hadn’t arrived at her home, he was going to drive up to Ashland Falls and find out what was happening.

Lenny went over and looked over the road map sprawled out on the coffee table. He located Ashland Falls and traced the route he’d be taking with his finger. He had no idea where Emily lived, but figured that in a town that small there would surely be someone around who could direct him to her house. This was assuming, of course, that he didn’t find her pulled over along the road somewhere between the city and Ashland Falls . . .

At ten o’clock sharp, Lenny tried her number again. No answer. Feeling a nervous pang in the pit of his stomach, he gathered up his coat, gloves, and the road map then left the apartment.

The snow had tapered off to flurries when Lenny stepped outside and hustled down the steps to the street. He walked briskly over to the Celica and started it up then let the engine run as he began clearing off the snow from the windows. A few minutes later he stepped in and pulled away from the curb.

He’d driven as far as the Tappan Zee Bridge when it dawned on him that he should have left some kind of message for Emily on the outgoing message tape of his answering machine just in case she called in the meantime. Cursing himself for this oversight, he drove on, convinced that it would be even more stupid to turn around and go back now.

By the time he’d reached the New York Thruway, the snow was coming down hard again. Within another ten miles Lenny found himself driving through a full-blown blizzard. He slowed down his speed somewhat, knowing full well that the traction of his Celica in the snow wasn’t worth a shit. And visibility was just about zero.

After driving for nearly an hour, it occurred to Lenny that it actually could have taken Emily up to four hours to get home in this snowstorm. It had taken him an hour just to travel forty miles, and he’d been pushing it to the limit just to make it that far. The road crews hadn’t yet plowed the highway and traffic was so light that it was like driving through four or five inches of virgin snow. Several times the Celica fishtailed precariously along the way, cautioning him to keep his speed down.

He began thinking that perhaps he’d overreacted to all of this. Emily might well be home now, wondering why the hell he wasn’t at his apartment answering her calls. This started eating at him, so he decided to pull off at the next available exit to give her a call.

In another ten minutes, Lenny spotted a huge yellow Shell sign and pulled onto the exit ramp. He checked his fuel gauge and decided to get some gas as well. When he reached the station, he pulled up beside the pumps, got out and headed for the office.

“Five dollars,” he told the attendant, handing him a five dollar bill. “Where’s your phone?”

“Back there,” the bored attendant replied, pointing toward the rear.

“Thanks,” Lenny said then walked back to the pay phone. He dug out a quarter and dialed Emily’s number, hoping it would be a local call. It wasn’t.

“Fuck it,” he groaned as he re-deposited the quarter and dialed the operator. He told the operator that he wanted to make a collect call then gave her Emily’s phone number. She put him through and after letting it ring nine or ten times, informed him that there was no answer. He thanked her and hung up.

After gassing up the car, Lenny pulled back onto the Thruway, feeling his stomach muscles tighten. Emily definitely should have been home by now, he thought, glancing at the clock on the instrument panel. It was 11:33.

Something had happened. He just knew it.

The snow fell relentlessly as he drove for the next hour and a half. When he approached Kingston, he reached for the map and turned on the interior light, recalling that he had to pick up another route somewhere around here. He found the spot on the map and took the exit for Kingston then quickly came upon the junction of Route 17 and pulled onto it.

The two-lane road was virtually free of traffic, and there was little wonder why. Nobody in his right mind would be out driving in this snowstorm on this desolate thoroughfare, he thought to himself. The Celica spun like crazy on the barely traveled road and it took every ounce of concentration Lenny could muster to keep moving in a straight line and avoid tail-spinning over the side into a snowdrift.

After a while he noticed that the terrain was getting hilly and reckoned that he must be getting near the Catskills. This was confirmed when he passed a sign that read: ENTERING THE CATSKILL MOUNTAIN REGION. Almost immediately the road started zigzagging through the foothills and the grade inclined sharply. Twice Lenny almost totally lost control; and at one point he got stuck on a hill and just barely made it up and over the top before coming to a dead standstill.

Then finally, from out of nowhere and in the middle of nowhere, he spotted a sign that read: WELCOME TO ASHLAND FALLS. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Lenny slowed down and started looking for some signs of life.

The town of Ashland Falls was minuscule, even smaller than he’d anticipated. He reached what he assumed to be the downtown area, which was little more than one main street—Hudson Street—which was lined by around twenty or thirty small businesses. He drove the length of Hudson Street, glancing curiously over at the little shops then suddenly realized that he’d reached the city limits of Ashland Falls proper as Route 17 resumed into the vast darkness of the mountains.

Disgruntled by the seemingly total absence of any living, breathing soul in the little hamlet, Lenny swung a U-turn in the middle of the highway and doubled back to Hudson Street. Thinking that surely there must be a pay phone nearby, he crept slowly along the street and took a closer look at the shops. They were quite distinctive, he observed; very quaint and inviting in their unpretentious charm. He saw pastry shops, candy stores, an antique shop (Emily’s?), ice cream parlors, pottery and ceramics, and J.L. Coombs Handcrafted Wicker—the place where Emily had bought the flower basket. Seeing something that he could relate to suddenly made Lenny feel a glow inside, knowing that Emily Hoffman wasn’t far away. He stepped on the gas.

He came upon a street that intersected with Hudson and turned right onto it. The stores suddenly gave way to several modest-looking homes with spacious yards between them. Lenny noticed lights on in some of the homes but elected not to disturb anyone at this hour unless it was absolutely necessary. After a few blocks he passed a bank, a church, and more houses before coming upon a tiny strip mall set back from the road. There was a supermarket, a cinema, another bank, and two gas stations located on either side of the mall. One of the gas stations was lit up and appeared to be open.

Lenny turned onto the access road and made a beeline for the gas station, crossing his fingers. When he pulled into the station, he spotted an elderly man in the garage who appeared to be working on an old Studebaker parked in the bay. He pulled up near the door and put the Celica into neutral then got out and went inside.

“Hello?” he hollered in the direction of the garage.

A moment later, the man came into view, wiping his hands on a shop rag and smoking a cigar that was chewed to a stump.

“Hello there, stranger. You needin’ some gas?” the man asked, his voice gravely, like George C. Scott’s.

“Uh, no. I was hoping you could give me some directions,” Lenny replied.

The man walked over to Lenny and said, “Hell of a storm out there, eh? Did you go and stray off the main road in that blizzard, son?”

“No, actually I’m trying to find out where somebody lives. Do you by any chance know Emily Hoffman?”

At the mention of her name, the man’s expression changed dramatically.

“Emily Hoffman, you say?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yeah, that’s right. She’s a friend of mine,” Lenny added, hoping to alleviate the old geezer’s suspicion.

His expression didn’t change one iota. “Yeah, I know Miss Hoffman. But I’m not so sure that she knows you.”

His tone of voice was guarded, almost accusatory.

Lenny forced a smile. “I know this all may seem a little strange, but you have to believe me, sir. Emily is a friend of mine—she was just down in the city earlier having dinner with me—then she drove up here in the storm and I’m afraid that she might have had an accident or something. I’ve tried calling her several times but haven’t gotten an answer. So I’ve driven up here to find out if she’s all right.”

The man continued staring at Lenny as if to size him up. Finally, he lightened up a little and said, “Well, you look like an honest lad so I reckon I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Have you tried calling Miss Hoffman since you came into town?”

“No, and that was my next question. Do you mind if I use your phone?” Lenny asked, gesturing to the phone sitting on the counter.

The man suddenly smiled. “Sure, son. Go right ahead.”

“Thanks,” Lenny replied. He stepped over to the old rotary phone and dialed Emily’s number. After several rings, the man said, “You know, it just occurred to me that just maybe Miss Hoffman’s phone line is down. With this storm and her living on that mountain, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.”

Lenny hung up and looked over at him. “I never thought of that! I’ll bet her phone’s disconnected! You say that Emily lives on a mountain?”

“Yeah, she sure does. Warren Hoffman built that big old house up there a long time ago—must have been seventy years ago if it were a day. Real nice, really solid. Lots of land, too.” he added.

Lenny brightened up. “Could you tell me how to get to her house? I’d really appreciate it.”

The old man glanced out the window at Lenny’s Celica and chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll tell you. But you’re gonna have to do a good bit of hiking, I’m afraid. You’ll never make it up that mountain in that little rice-burnin’ pea shooter of yours.”

Lenny wasn’t fazed. “If that’s the case then I guess I’ll just have to hike. How do I get there from here?”

The man took a match from a pocket of his overalls and struck it with his fingernail. Re-lighting his chewed up cigar stump, he said, “Just head into town up that way and hang a left at Hudson Street. Stay on it past the stores and once you hit the highway, go another mile or so until you see Mountainview Road. Take a left on that and go a little ways until you reach the fork. Take the right fork—that’s the road that goes up the mountain. Follow that road all the way up to the top. Miss Hoffman’s house is right smack dab at the end of the road.”

Lenny smiled gratefully and said, “Thanks a lot, sir.”

“No problem, son. When you get there, tell Miss Hoffman that George Turner said hello, eh?”

“I sure will, Mr. Turner. Thanks again.”

Lenny turned and went out the door.

George Turner watched as Lenny got into his car.

Looks like young Emily went and found herself a man, he thought to himself with a grin. Nice young fellow, too. Wait until the folks hear about this! They ain’t gonna believe it!

Lenny shifted into first gear and drove away, heading toward the mall exit. He turned onto the road and backtracked to Hudson Street and past the shops. When he reached the highway, he realized that the snow had slackened off to flurries, which was a welcome relief. As much as he loved snow, the thought of hiking through it for any length of time wearing only a jacket and no cap was a little too much to fathom.

He had driven about a mile or so when he spotted a sign for Mountainview Road. He turned left onto it, noting that he hadn’t seen one single moving vehicle in the entire time he’d been in Ashland Falls.

Lenny drove slowly along the road, being careful not to miss the fork that George Turner had referred to. In a few moments he spotted it and pulled off to the right. There to his left he saw a solitary mailbox mounted on a post. Emily’s, he thought. He drove past it and saw a fresh pair of tire tracks in the snow directly ahead of him.

She was home . . . Thank God!

He smiled to himself and proceeded slowly, following Emily’s tire tracks. Up ahead he could see where the road started its ascent up the hillside. He drove a little further and gasped when he saw how steep the road became. George Turner was right, Lenny thought to himself. He’d never make it.

Somewhat disconcerted by this grim realization, Lenny slowed down to a complete stop. He gazed ahead at the road and noted that not only was it steeper than hell, but also very narrow and curvy. He knew it was foolish to even attempt it—he’d only get himself stuck in the snow at some point then he’d be in a hell of a jam. It just wasn’t worth the risk. He backed up a short distance to where the road was at its widest then pulled over to the side and parked. After shutting off the engine and setting the parking brake, he sat for a moment and peered out at the darkness all around him.

A flashlight would sure be handy, he thought to himself. Too bad I ain’t got one . . .

His eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness and he realized that visibility wasn’t as bad as he’d thought, due to the brightness of the snow. He got out of the car and locked the door then gazed up to see the moon shining from behind a short break in the clouds. Inspired by the off-chance that it might actually clear up, he started hiking up the road, keeping his feet within the tracks left by Emily’s bus.

He’d gone about fifty yards or so when he began wondering what Emily’s reaction would be to his unexpected arrival. Once he’d explained the circumstances that had brought him here, he was pretty sure that she would be understanding, if not flat-out impressed with his concern for her. But there was the remote possibility that she might take this all wrong and feel put on the spot. He perceived Emily as a private person, not unlike himself, and she might actually be irked that he’d taken the liberty of hunting her down and imposing himself upon her, regardless of the circumstances. But that was a chance he was just going to have to take. His concern was real, and he’d never feel at ease with himself until he actually saw her and knew that she was all right. He still had a strange feeling that something was wrong, and it continued gnawing at him.

In the eerie light of the snow-covered road, he could just barely make out his surroundings. The trees were shrouded in snow; dark outlines against the whiteness of the mountainside. The air was crisp and fresh, laced with the slightest scent of pine, and the only sound he could hear was the crunching of his feet in the snow. When he stopped to rest, the quiet was so overwhelming that he could clearly hear his heart beating in his chest. The tranquility was enthralling, almost intoxicating.

After hiking nearly a quarter of a mile, he wondered how much further Emily’s house was. George Turner hadn’t given him a clue. The road was getting steeper all the time and he marveled at the fact that Emily had actually made it all the way up the mountain in that bus of hers. She apparently had a lot of experience taking the road in the snow and no doubt knew every twist and turn by heart, but she still had to be one hell of a driver to be able to negotiate this sonofabitch, Lenny thought to himself in awe.

His right leg was already beginning to ache, and he started favoring it as he continued trudging up the steep grade. He looked around, trying to find some kind of sign that he was getting close to her house. He saw nothing. He knew that if he didn’t get there fairly soon, his leg might well give out on him. He decided to stop and rest again. In spite of the bone-chilling cold, he was perspiring beneath his clothes and could feel tiny beads of sweat on his forehead. He wiped himself off with a gloved hand, the coolness feeling good against his skin.

A few minutes later, he resumed his trek. He tried to imagine what his physical therapist would have to say if she knew that he was hiking up a snow-covered road in the middle of the night on the very same day he’d been released from the hospital. She’d shit a golden brick . . .

He’d just rounded a curve in the road when Lenny spotted a glint of light up ahead. The light was weak, barely perceptible, and it seemed to be coming from a portion of the road about a hundred yards away. He focused on it and picked up his pace then soon realized that there were two dots of light, not one. An animal’s eyes? he thought. No, there wasn’t any light source around for an animal’s eyes to catch and reflect. Besides, they were too far apart. He quickened his pace more, concentrating on the two dots of light. They became yellow and grew larger the closer he got to them.

After another forty yards or so he saw the outline of a large square object set behind the pair of lights. Lenny’s heart stopped when he realized what it was . . .

Emily’s bus!

He let out a gasp and broke into a run. The front of the bus was resting against a tree and facing down toward a steep embankment. Emily had apparently lost control and spun around 180 degrees; the tree being the only thing standing between her and a fifty-foot plunge into a ravine.

“Emily!” he shouted as he came within twenty feet of the bus. When he drew closer, he could just make out the shape of a body slumped over the steering wheel.

He reached the bus and threw open the passenger side door then suddenly stopped himself before stepping inside. He wasn’t sure the tree could hold his added weight. He’d have to check it out first. He could see that Emily was alive but unconscious; her face was lying on its side against the steering wheel facing away from him and he could hear the steady rhythm of her breathing. He called out her name softly, but there was no reply.

Lenny stepped away from the bus and ran around to the front. The bumper was resting firmly against what looked like a spruce tree that had a trunk diameter of at least six inches. He crouched down and looked closely at where the metal met the bark and concluded that the tree was probably solid enough to support a Mack truck. He ran back to the door and climbed gingerly onto the front seat beside Emily. He reached over to the instrument panel, turned off the lights and pulled the handle of the parking brake out as far as it would go, the ratcheting sound breaking the still silence like machine gun fire.

“Emily?” he whispered, leaning over and touching her shoulder.

No response.

He scooted over further on the seat until he was beside her then took her shoulders in his hands and gently eased her back against the seat. She felt like dead weight. He swept her hair away from her face and stared at her alabaster skin. There was a slight cut on her forehead, just above the left eye. Her lips were slightly parted and he could see her eyeballs moving swiftly back and forth beneath her eyelids . . . Rapid-eye movements. She was dreaming.

“Emily?” he whispered again, cradling her limp head in his hands.

Suddenly, her lips started moving. She mumbled something, but it was unintelligible.

“Emily, can you hear me?”

She started moaning, softly at first and then progressively louder. All of a sudden she started jerking her head from side to side as her body tensed up and started convulsing. Lenny grabbed her shoulders and tried to bring her under control.

“Emily!” he shouted.

“No!” she screamed then started kicking her feet and flailing her arms wildly.

Lenny seized her wrists before she could deck him and tried pinning her arms against her sides, but Emily broke free in a startling display of incredible strength.

“No Daddy! Please! Go away!” she cried.

She slugged Lenny in the jaw, sending him crashing against the windshield.

“Jesus, Emily! Wake up!” Lenny shouted, wincing from the pain.

“Don’t, Daddy! Please get off! You’re hurting me!” Emily cried, again smacking Lenny hard on the face.

She then started wrestling with him. Lenny grabbed Emily by the arms but she managed to break away. He stared incredulously at her, her eyes clamped shut, and wondered how someone so tiny could be so strong as she continued flailing her arms and kicking out her legs like a bronking buck.

“Emily, it’s Lenny!” he shouted desperately as he took several more blows to his head. But Emily didn’t respond to his voice; she was totally oblivious to him. Lenny realized that he was going to have to do something to make her snap out of it before she beat him to a pulp. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do in his entire life.

He slapped her sharply across her cheek.

Emily stopped moving for a moment. Her beautiful face froze and she furrowed her brow ever so slightly.

“Emily! Wake up! It’s Lenny!”

She started wrestling with him again. Lenny slapped her a second time, harder than before, and shouted, “Wake up Emily!”

Emily froze again. Suddenly, her eyes flickered open. She screamed.

“It’s okay, Emily. It’s me—Lenny,” he said firmly, staring into her frightened eyes.

“Lenny?” she said in a soft, bewildered tone of voice.

“Yes, Emily. Lenny. Remember me?”

She blinked a couple of times, now seeming to recognize him. She turned her head and looked around, dumbfounded.

“Where am I?” she asked incoherently.

Lenny fixed his eyes on hers. “We’re on the mountain. You apparently lost control of the bus and ran into a tree. You were knocked unconscious.”

Her hand went to the wound on her forehead.

“You bumped your head on the steering wheel. How bad does it feel?”

“It’s a little sore,” she mumbled drowsily. “I can’t even remember what happened.”

There was an expression of helplessness in her eyes as she spoke.

“Do you feel like you can walk? We need to get you inside—you’re stone cold,” Lenny said, touching her gently on the cheek.

Emily looked around again. “How long have I been here?”

“I don’t know,” Lenny replied. “But I’d guess a pretty long time. A couple of hours, maybe longer.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked suddenly.

“I came to find out what happened to you. You hadn’t called me so I sort of got worried . . .”

“What happened to you?” Emily asked in shock when she noticed the bruises on his face.

Lenny smiled wryly. “You pasted me a couple of times. Remind me never to get in a fight with you—I’d probably lose.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, Lenny? I hit you?”

“Yeah. You were dreaming, I guess. And apparently you were struggling with someone in your dream. But you took it out on me.”

In a sickening flash, everything came back to her. My God! she thought. Lenny had been there while she was having a nightmare!

What all had she said and done while she was dreaming?

Emily’s face went flush and she became absolutely speechless.

“Are you all right?” Lenny asked.

She looked away from him, ashamed and embarrassed. She wasn’t sure what to do or say now. “I’m sorry I hit you, Lenny.”

“Hey, it’s okay! I’m just sorry that you had such an obviously bad dream. Do you remember any of it?”

Yes, Emily thought. She always remembered them. This had been the same dream she’d had over and over countless times since she was eleven years old. Her father in bed with her, fondling her and then her great escape into Hell where he finally caught up with her and raped her. She hadn’t had this dream in over a month, and she wondered why it had suddenly recurred again tonight . . .

She nodded slowly and turned to face Lenny. “Yes, I remember. Please tell me, Lenny. Did I say anything while I was dreaming?”

“Yes, you did. You screamed a lot, too,” Lenny replied. Something told him not to elaborate.

That’s it, Emily thought. He knows. Or he at least has an idea what’s happening. It’s now or never . . .

A part of Emily told her not to tell Lenny about the nightmares. But another part told her that she should. It was the same part that reminded her how safe and secure she felt when she was with him; and how grateful she was that he was there by her side this very moment.

“Can you take me home, Lenny? I have a lot to tell you,” she finally said.

Lenny gave her a confused look then replied, “Sure. Let’s go.”

Emily suddenly threw her arms around his neck and held him close to her. “Thank you, Lenny. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Lenny held her tight and could feel her body trembling in his arms. He never wanted to let go of her again. Never.

Emily pulled away and faced him, her eyes moist with tears. Lenny stared into her lovely pools of blue and could sense at that moment that something very special was happening between them. He kissed her gently and said, “Let’s go. Your skin is like ice.”

Emily nodded her head as Lenny slid toward the door, gesturing for her to follow. “It’s probably better if you get out on this side. There’s a mean drop-off on that one.”

Emily glanced out her window and let out a gasp then turned and scooted across the seat. Lenny opened the door and stepped out before taking her hand and helping her out of the bus.

“I can’t believe this,” Emily said, looking at where the bus was butted up against the tree. “I was so sleepy when I was driving home that I nearly fell asleep on the highway. By the time I got up here, I was whipped. I’m lucky I didn’t go over the side.”

“That tree was your savior,” Lenny declared as he fixed his eyes on her. “Why didn’t you just pull over if you were that tired, Emily? That’s how people get killed, you know.”

She cast him a sidelong glance. “Because I’m stupid?”

Lenny couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I don’t know if that’s the right word for it. How about you weren’t using much common sense?”

“You were worried about me, weren’t you,” she said mock accusingly.

“Hell yes, I was worried! I tried calling you until ten o’clock. I never dreamed it could take you that long to get home.”

Emily put her arm around his waist. “I hope you don’t mind; I still feel a little shaky.”

“Let’s get you home,” Lenny said flatly. “How much further is your house?”

“Not far. What time is it, anyway?” she asked as they started walking.

Lenny looked at his watch. “It’s 1:40.”

“Cassie!” she cried. “She’s going to be worried sick . . . And starving!”

“Your pooch, I take it?”

Emily nodded. “I hope she’s all right. She’s not used to being left alone for very long.”

“She’ll be fine,” Lenny said reassuringly.

“Where’s your car?”

“I parked it at the bottom. There was no way in hell I could’ve driven that thing up here.”

“How did you find out where I lived?” she asked.

“I stopped at a gas station in town. An old guy named George Turner gave me directions—once I finally convinced him that I wasn’t stalking you, that is. He told me to tell you hello, by the way.”

The whole town is going to get a kick out of this! Emily thought.

“George Turner is a nice old man. But a real busybody. Gossips like an old hen!”

Lenny chuckled and tightened his hold around her. “He looked the type. How’s your head?”

“It’s all right. I’ve just got a little headache,” Emily replied.

“We’ll get some aspirin in you once we reach your house,” Lenny declared.

As they trudged up the road, Emily’s mind was awhirl. She felt safe and secure right now, walking beside Lenny arm in arm, and she was astounded at how at ease she felt. It was as if she’d known him for years and years. It was wonderful . . .

“What are those lights up there—your house?” Lenny asked, pointing through the clearing at the glow of the floods.

Emily replied, “Yes, that’s it. We’ll be there in just another few minutes.”

Light snow began to fall again as they continued on in silence. Lenny took in the quiet beauty and held Emily close as they plodded steadily through the thick blanket of virgin white. His leg was aching to beat the band, but he didn’t care at the moment. He was just relieved that he’d found Emily and that she was safe.

But something was bothering him and it permeated his thoughts. The dream she’d had in the bus. He recalled how terrified she had been and how she’d nearly beat the hell out of him when he’d tried to bring her back to reality. It was scary. Emily had been fighting off someone in that dream—viciously—as if in self-defense. Who had been attacking her and what had he been doing to her? he wondered . . .

It had been her Daddy! he suddenly recalled.

She had told him to go away, to get off of her, that he was hurting her . . .

Rape?

Good Christ! Had Emily’s father been raping her in that dream?

Suddenly he remembered something else. Her voice. It had been high-pitched, squeaky, like a small child’s . . .

Had her father molested her when she was child? And she had been dreaming about it?

Good God! Could that be what her problem was?

Whoa!

“What are you thinking about?” Emily asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Lenny looked over at her. “Oh, nothing in particular. It sure is beautiful up here.”

“I know. I love it.”

“Are we almost there?”

“Just around this curve . . .”

CHAPTER 18

“Wow! It’s enormous!” Lenny exclaimed as he and Emily rounded the bend and the huge Victorian house came into view, flooded in light.

“My grandfather built it over seventy years ago,” Emily said proudly.

“All by himself?”

Emily giggled. “Of course not! But he designed it and did a lot of the construction himself. Grandpa Warren was a very special man.”

They reached the side door and heard a dog’s barks coming from inside. “Just a second, Cassie!” Emily shouted as she took out her keys and unlocked the door.

Cassie jumped up on Emily the moment she opened the door, her tail wagging wildly. “I’m so sorry, girl! Mommy had an accident.”

Cassie then ran over and sprang up on Lenny. “Hi ya, pooch—Whoa, you sure are a frisky one!” Lenny chuckled as he petted her.

Emily eyed Lenny. “She’s sure warmed up to you awfully fast!”

“I guess she knows a dog-lover when she sees one.”

Emily stood for a moment and watched in awe as Cassie licked Lenny’s hand affectionately. How odd, she thought. Cassie had met very few strangers in her young life and every time had behaved skittish around them. Yet for some reason, she responded to Lenny as though she already knew him.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend there,” Emily declared with a wink before entering the kitchen.

“Cute pup,” Lenny said as he stood up then followed Emily inside. He watched her as she went over to the pantry and poured some dry dog food into a bowl. Cassie ate ravenously, her tail never ceasing to wag.

“How old is she?” Lenny asked.

Emily removed her coat and said, “Not quite a year. I got her after my father died last year when she was still just a tiny little thing. My father would never let me have a dog,” she added with a note of disdain.

Lenny, suddenly feeling a little awkward said, “It sure feels good to be inside.”

“Why don’t you take off your coat? We could start a fire in the fireplace if you want,” Emily suggested.

“Sounds great! Tell me where it is and I’ll get it started,” Lenny replied enthusiastically.

“In the den—I’ll show you. Would you like some coffee?”

Lenny nodded. “That would be nice, thanks. Don’t forget to take some aspirin, by the way.”

Emily grinned and said, “Okay. Let me get the coffee started then I’ll show you where the den is.”

Lenny looked around as Emily began preparing the coffee. The kitchen was good-sized but comfortably so, and had been recently renovated judging by the granite counters and modern amenities. The room was appointed with old knickknacks, most likely antiques, which tastefully adorned the colonial blue wallpapered walls. It was in all a pleasing blend of the past and present; sort of like Emily, Lenny thought to himself.

“We’ll need some firewood,” Emily said, turning on the coffee machine. “Can you give me a hand? It’s out on the back porch.”

“Sure,” Lenny replied. He followed Emily through the back door onto the porch. After brushing the snow off the top of the woodpile they selected several small to medium-sized logs then went back inside.

“The den’s this way,” Emily said, closing the door.

They went to the den and set the logs down beside the fireplace. “Wow, this is really nice!” Lenny exclaimed, impressed by what he’d seen of the house so far. “And you live in this mansion all by yourself?”

“Just me and Cassie,” Emily replied. “I’ll never leave this place—I absolutely love it here. Just wait until you see the mountain in the daylight!”

As soon as the words came out, Emily turned red and smiled sheepishly at Lenny, realizing a little too late what they implied. Lenny quickly played the diplomat.

“I’d love to see it in the daylight,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Only a few hours to go, too.”

Emily laughed heartily and gave Lenny an endearing look. “I guess I’d better make this official, then. Would you like to spend the night here, sir?”

Lenny was unable to hide his joy and relief. “Why yes, ma’am, I’d like that very kindly.”

“I hope the sofa will be suitable for you,” she said, not too emphatically.

“The sofa will be just fine,” Lenny replied.

Emily smiled again and began nervously bunching up several old newspapers from a pile lying near the hearth. Lenny placed kindling and a few of the smaller logs on the grating then stuffed a bunch of the crumpled newspapers in underneath. Emily handed him a box of kitchen matches then said, “Would you mind if I take a quick shower? I suddenly feel a little haggard. I won’t be long.”

Lenny, a little taken aback by her sudden request, replied: “No, not at all. I can be working on the fire.”

“The coffee should be done soon. Just help yourself,” Emily said as she stood up to leave.

“Thanks . . . Uh, is it okay if I smoke?”

“Sure. Here, let me get you an ashtray.”

Emily went over to one of the end tables beside the sofa and found a crystal ashtray then brought if over and handed it to Lenny. “Here you are.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be back in a little while. Make yourself at home,” she said, smiling brightly. She then turned and headed toward the door.

Lenny watched Emily as she left the den then struck a match and lit the paper. He waited until the kindling caught fire before heading to the kitchen.

He found a mug in one of the cupboards and poured himself some coffee, added milk, took out his cigarettes from his jacket and lit one up. He retraced his steps back to the den, leisurely observing Emily’s house along the way.

After checking on the fire, Lenny strode over to the massive picture window and peered out into the night. By the light of the floods he observed the snow that was falling steadily now; blowing randomly in all directions in the gusty wind. He spotted the edge of the forest in the distance and breathed a long sigh of contentment, enthralled by the still, majestic landscape spanning out before his eyes. The view seemed oddly familiar, he soon realized; the distant forest, the blowing snow, the quiet, almost intoxicating stillness of the night. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Lenny could almost swear that he’d beheld this very same picture-perfect vista somewhere before—

In his dreams? he wondered.

Of course, he decided. Where else could it have been?

Nowhere else . . .

Moments later, he went over to the bookshelf and examined some of the titles. He saw a lot of classics—Dickens, Cooper, Thomas Hardy, Shakespeare—and an impressive array of historical works; mostly hardbound reference publications. From what little he already knew about Emily Hoffman, Lenny realized that the library suited her fittingly—she had let on to him that she loved the classics and had a penchant for history.

He returned to the fireplace and plopped down in the huge overstuffed chair. It was at that moment that he spotted the portrait sitting on the mantle and did a double take. The picture, old and yellowed from the years, was of a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to Emily. In fact, had the hairstyle, clothing, and obvious age of the photograph not given it away, he’d have sworn that it was Emily.

Lenny stood up and went over for a closer look. It was incredible; the eyes, nose, lips, skin—a nearly perfect likeness of Emily Hoffman. Her grandmother? he wondered. Most likely. He’d have to ask her about this.

He stared at the portrait for some time, finding it hard to take his eyes off it. There was something about this woman—her eyes perhaps—that kept him so absorbed. They had that same youthful, innocent look as Emily’s. It was eerie. And even though the print was black and white, he’d bet his last dollar that this woman’s eyes had been the identical shade of blue as Emily’s.

Finally, Lenny placed the picture back on the mantle and knelt down on the hearth. He reached for the poker and shifted the logs around until he was satisfied then returned to the chair. Taking the last drag off his cigarette and stubbing it out, he took a sip of coffee and recalled the bizarre incident in Emily’s bus.

He had a hunch that whatever it was that Emily was going to tell him probably had something to do with the dream that she’d had. He’d seen the look on her face when he had affirmed that she’d spoken during the dream. A sort of terrified, hopeless expression. Then she appeared to have deliberated for a moment; as if deciding whether or not to let him in on something that no doubt was very personal to her. Her problem? he thought. Quite possibly.

He flashed back to the second conversation he’d had with her at the hospital. He’d had the same feeling then; that Emily wanted to tell him something important, but then she had stopped herself before following through. It had been frustrating. He’d wanted to know what was bothering her, but at the same time felt that if he pushed her too hard he’d scare her away completely. At least now, it appeared, she was finally going to . . .

“I’m done,” Emily suddenly announced from across the room.

Startled, Lenny turned and glanced over his shoulder. Emily was standing in the doorway wearing a pair of sweat pants and an extra-large white and navy blue Yale sweatshirt. Her hair was still wet, combed out and poker-straight, and she was holding a mug of coffee in her hand. Even in this oversized, baggy outfit, Emily Hoffman was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

“The fire looks wonderful,” she said as she strode over, Cassie at her heels.

“It’s coming along pretty well,” Lenny replied. “Do you feel any better?” he asked, watching as Emily knelt down on the hearth to warm herself by the fire.

“Yes, much better,” she replied, glancing back at him with a nervous smile.

Lenny could smell her—the scent of roses, laced with a dab of lavender. The scent was intoxicating.

“Who’s picture is that on the mantle?” he asked offhandedly.

Emily looked up at the portrait and replied, “My grandmother, Katherine.”

“I’ll bet I’m not the first to tell you that you’re a spitting image of her, am I?”

There was a pause then Emily suddenly turned around and faced him, her eyes moist with tears. “God, Lenny. If only you knew what a mess I am!” she cried, rising to her feet and running over to him. She threw her arms around him; Lenny drew her gently onto his lap.

“What’s wrong, Emily?”

She didn’t reply.

Lenny held her tight and could feel her body trembling underneath the huge sweatshirt, her muffled sobs painfully evident.

A few moments later, Emily raised her head and faced him, her lovely eyes as sad and innocent as a lost lamb’s.

“I’m sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t cry,” she said, sniffling.

“It’s okay, Emily. But please tell me what’s wrong,” Lenny coaxed softly.

“I don’t know where to begin. I went over this a hundred times in my head while I was taking my shower; debating whether or not to say anything at all. Finally, I convinced myself that it was the right thing to do—the only thing to do. But now . . . I’m just not sure.”

Lenny didn’t know what to say. He had to let her call the shots; it was the only way. “I don’t know if this helps any, but I’m a very good listener,” he said encouragingly.

Emily smiled. “I already know that. I also realize that you’ve been very patient with me. I haven’t even given you an explanation why I never called you back at the hospital, which is the least that you deserve! Yet I know that it’s been eating at you and you’ve been so considerate and not tried to force it out of me. That’s just one of the many things I like about you.”

She hesitated a moment and then said, “Lenny, I’ve got to be honest. I think I’ve fallen in love with you. In fact, I know that I have. And that’s what makes this so hard. If I tell you what all that’s happened—everything—I’m afraid you’ll run away . . .”

“Hold it right there,” Lenny interrupted. “I want to say something before you go any further. I know we’ve only just met and that we hardly know each other, but there’s one thing I’m sure of. From the very first time I spoke to you while I was in the hospital, I knew that you were different and I immediately found myself wanting to get to know you better. And when I finally did meet you earlier today, I just went overboard. Somehow—I don’t know how to put this really—but I just knew that I wanted you. I felt so drawn to you, and I told myself, ‘this is it; this is the woman you’ve been looking for all your life.’ And from that point on, I’ve found myself wanting you even more the more I’m with you. It’s really strange, I know, but in this very short time I’ve realized that I love you. Beyond the shadow of a doubt . . . I love you, Emily.”

Lenny paused long enough to study her reaction to this. Emily was smiling—a huge, radiant smile. This, and her fiercely expressive blue eyes, told him everything he needed to know.

“So no matter what you’re about to tell me now, it isn’t going to change the way I feel about you. I’m in, Emily—hook, line, and sinker. And I won’t leave; unless that’s what you truly want me to do. Or I’ll wait for you, however long it takes, until you feel a little more comfortable about things, if that’s the way you want it.”

Lenny realized that this sounded like a something out of a Victorian romance, à la Thomas Hardy, but he didn’t care. He was on a roll, and meant every word he was saying. After all, in reality, he’d known Emily much longer than she was aware of—in the form of his Dream Lady.

“The bottom line is that the ball’s in your court. I don’t want to pressure you. I just want you to know that I love you and that I’m here for you. Now and forever.”

Emily was speechless. Lenny had just told her what she’d longed to hear from a man her entire life. She kissed Lenny gently on the lips and held him tight. She wanted to hold on to him forever, to never let go of him.

Finally, the words came. “I love you, Lenny. God, how I love you!”

They held each other for a few moments and then Emily faced him. Her expression was confused, doubtful. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you. It’s horrible. You’ll probably change your mind—”

Lenny took her hand in his and said, “I promise you, Emily. Nothing you could do or say will ever change my mind.”

Her eyes widened. “But you don’t understand! It affects me entirely—my whole life! And it would directly affect you, too. Lenny. I . . . I don’t even know if I could ever make love to you!”

Lenny felt his heart skip a beat. He wasn’t really sure how to respond, except to say, “If that’s the case, then I guess that’s just the way it’ll have to be.”

Emily eyed him skeptically. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”

Lenny nodded. “I sure do. I admit it would be a bit of a, uh, disappointment. But I could accept it if I absolutely had to.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“Losing you just because of that wouldn’t be fair to me.”

Emily smiled at him doubtfully. “I’m having trouble believing any of this.”

Lenny returned her smile. “Believe me.”

Emily fell silent for a moment. Then she said, “How can you be so sure of yourself? Have you actually thought through what I’ve just told you?”

At that very moment, Lenny actually considered telling Emily about his Dream Lady. But he chose not to. “What’s to think through?” he replied. “I’ve already told you that nothing could ever change my mind about you and I meant it. And I did think that through before I said it, by the way. But the clincher to all of this is that what you’ve told me so far is hypothetical; you said you might not be able to make love to me. I’m an optimist, Emily. I’m already prepared to try and turn that ‘maybe not’ into ‘maybe so.’ But you haven’t even told me why you’re being so pessimistic about the future; so until I hear what you have to say, I’m going to continue being an optimist.”

Lenny knew it sounded like a sermon, but it was too late now.

Emily was taken aback by Lenny’s remarks. They stung, but she had to admit that he was right—she was being pessimistic. But how could Lenny blame her, once he knew the truth? Her situation was so futile, so hopeless. She’d wanted to make that clear to him before she even began to try and explain. Maybe she shouldn’t have . . .

“I’m sorry, Lenny. I didn’t intend to paint such a grim picture, but I guess I wanted to prepare you for what I’m about to tell you. Maybe you’ll understand what I mean by the time I’m through.”

Lenny kissed her. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous. It’s just that you seem so doubtful about me; about everything. How bad can this be, anyway?”

“Pretty bad,” Emily replied dismally.

She took a deep breath. Then, Emily proceeded to tell Lenny her story. She told him everything in its entirety: how her father had abused both her mother and herself, the terrifying nightmares, Miss Rutledge’s account of the tragic relationship between her Grandma Katherine and her great-grandfather, John Hoffman, and his alleged affair with Nancy Porter. She told him about Ted Chalmers and all that had happened on that Sunday afternoon, as well as her estranged relationship with her father and the subsequent events following the mill shutdown, and what her life had been like for the past ten years or so.

As he listened, Lenny tried his hardest to appear calm and composed. But the more he heard, the harder this became. Emily stopped several times, either to collect her thoughts, or out of the difficulty she was having in divulging some of the more personal details. Twice she broke down and cried, and was only been able to resume after hearing his words of comfort and encouragement.

He admired Emily’s strength and courage; and before long, Lenny found himself in awe of the fact that she was still among the living, considering the god-awful hell that she’d been through in her life. Anyone else, he thought, would probably have cashed in her chips. But not Emily Hoffman. She was incredibly strong—much stronger than she gave herself credit for.

Emily’s story, and her strength, made Lenny love and respect her all that much more. When she had at last finished, he was left feeling pity and shock in equal measures, but tried not to show it. He tried to hide behind his cool, collected exterior in an attempt to appear strong and under control, when in fact, he was scared out of his wits.

What Emily had told him was much worse than he had ever imagined . . .

But looming above everything else—her father’s tyranny, her being assaulted and nearly raped by Ted Chalmers—were the nightmares themselves. They were by far the scariest aspect of all. What was it like, he wondered, to go to sleep each night, knowing that you were inevitably going to be sexually assaulted, tortured, and terrorized in your dreams? To be haunted by ghosts and ghouls who were not only long dead and buried, but were more fiendish than humanly imaginable? Sadists, rapists, lunatics . . . Good Christ!

Emily was staring at him anxiously, waiting for him to say something.

Lenny shook his head slowly. “I’m speechless.”

“Pretty pathetic, isn’t it?” she said.

“That’s an understatement.” Lenny declared. “Have you told me everything?”

“Yes, for the most part. I mean, I could’ve told you my entire life history, but it isn’t nearly as interesting.”

“God, Emily, I don’t know what to say! I guess the first question that comes to mind is what was your psychiatrist’s assessment of this? Did he give you any idea why you’re having these nightmares and why they won’t go away?”

“Well, sort of.” she replied. “He told me that he wanted me to remain in therapy; because it was much too soon for him to give any kind of ironclad prognosis. But he did, however, offer some theories.”

“And what might those be?”

“Basically, he told me that I have a fixation on my grandmother, Katherine Hoffman. I feel an affinity to her—I identify with her—because her life had been so similar to my own; rather, my life has been so similar to hers. He said that ever since I was a child and first discovered how much I resembled her, that I had become totally obsessed with Katherine. And once I learned what all had happened to her, I had in so many words allowed myself to become the same sort of victim that she had become. Both in my dreams and in reality.

“But he said the underlying problem was that Grandma Katherine had never known for sure who her biological father was; had it been Clem Porter, or John Hoffman? And, just as this became a dilemma for my grandmother, I’ve let it become my own dilemma as well. I’ve let it gnaw at me to the point that it has virtually become the single most important thing in my life; in spite of the fact that in reality, it shouldn’t be of such extraordinary importance to me.”

“But, he explained, it is important to me because of the sheer injustice of the whole situation. He felt that I am so abhorred by the notion that John Hoffman might have actually violated Grandma Katherine’s mother, and in the process had fathered Katherine, that it’s just too much for me to accept and deal with. He said that both Grandma Katherine and myself had been manipulated and abused by Hoffman men throughout our childhoods and that there was a subconscious need to know that we at least had some bloodline to someone other than Katherine’s mother and another Hoffman. In other words, Katherine needed to know that Clem Porter was truly her biological father; and supposedly, so do I.”

“And that’s the crux of it. He said that as long as there is this doubt, I will most likely continue having the nightmares. Which means, in reality, that I will keep on having them. Because there is no viable way for me to ever know if Clem Porter was Katherine’s father or not.”

Emily had tears in her eyes by the time she’d finished speaking. When Lenny hugged her, she started sobbing.

“I can’t go on like this much longer, Lenny. It’s killing me! And I can’t let you get involved in this mess, too. It just wouldn’t be fair.”

Lenny patted Emily’s back comfortingly. “I’m already involved. I love you, remember?”

She pulled away and faced him. “You still want to be with me after all I’ve just told you?”

He nodded emphatically.

“But do you realize what you’re getting yourself into? I mean, do you really want to deal with someone who moans and screams in her sleep every night until she awakens, mortified and then spends the rest of the night wide-awake because she’s too terrified to go back to sleep?”

Lenny chose his words carefully. “I wouldn’t say that’s what I want to deal with. But I will, if I have to. What I want to do is somehow make it so that neither one of us has to deal with this. In other words, I want to make it so you can live a happy normal life; so we can live a happy normal life.”

“But Lenny . . .” Emily protested. “If my shrink was right, which he probably was, you know that there isn’t any chance of turning things around. It’s virtually impossible.”

“You’re forgetting that I’m an optimist. Nothing is impossible in my book. You, on the other hand . . .”

She elbowed him playfully. “I know what you’re going to say. That I’m a pessimist, right?”

“Yup.”

Emily sighed. “I guess you’re right. But Lord, what’s there to be optimistic about?”

“How about us?”

She smiled, realizing that he’d caught her. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Lenny. But I’m still having trouble believing you could want me enough to make such huge sacrifices. I’m not worth it! And besides that, I’d always feel like I was holding you back—keeping you from having the happiness that you deserve.”

Lenny threw up his hands and gaped at her in exasperation.

“Okay, that’s it! What’s it going to take to convince you? Why is it so hard for you to believe me, Emily? If you can be so sure of your feelings for me this early in the game and then why is it so hard to believe that I can have the same feelings for you? What more can I do?”

All of a sudden, Lenny’s face lit up and he sprung up out of the chair.

“Stay right there, Emily,” he commanded. He knelt down on the floor in front of her and took her hand in his.

“Emily, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If I were to ask you someday if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, what would your answer be?”

Emily’s expression went from surprise to absolute shock. He was proposing to her! she thought. Or was it pre-proposing? It didn’t matter. She squeezed his hand firmly as her world, her life, whirled around in her head like a runaway train. She stared into his eyes to steady herself and saw a man whom she knew she loved and trusted. A man whom she absolutely knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, no matter what.

Her answer came surprisingly easy. “I’d say yes!”

“Need I say more?” Lenny said, grinning from ear to ear.

Emily giggled. “Okay, Lenny. You’ve made your point. But you may be sorry—

Lenny cut her off. “No buts, okay? Look, let’s just take one step at a time and see how it goes, all right? There are obviously some things we’re going to have to deal with—some major things, no doubt. But we’ll just have to chip away at them, one at a time, and keep chipping away until we get them resolved. Let’s try to be positive now and assume that we can and will work things out, okay? We’re here now, together, and I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely ecstatic about that. So let’s try to enjoy ourselves! You haven’t even given me the grand tour of this beautiful house yet; and I’d give my right arm for something cold, wet, and alcoholic to celebrate this momentous occasion!”

Lenny’s enthusiasm was contagious. Emily suddenly squeezed his hand in joyous resignation. “You’re absolutely right!” she exclaimed. Then her expression grew doubtful. “But I’m not sure if I have any beer . . .”

Lenny stood up and tugged at her arm. “Well, let’s just go and see what ya got. Then you can show me around this place.”

With a chuckle, Emily sprung up out of the chair, still holding onto Lenny’s hand. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said, “But you always manage to cheer me up and make me laugh.”

Lenny grinned and said, “I forgot to tell you—I was a stand-up comedian in another life.”

They both laughed then raced through the first floor to the kitchen, hand-in-hand. Emily was surprised and relieved when she found a six-pack of Heinekin in the pantry; Lenny promptly poured himself one over ice then put the remainder in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator. After preparing herself a straight scotch on the rocks, Emily then proceeded to give Lenny the guided tour of her house.

Afterwards, they sat in the overstuffed chair in front of the fire and talked for a long time about themselves -their likes and dislikes—and all those other kinds of things that two strangers just getting to know each other talk about. Not once did the subject of Emily’s nightmares or anything related to them come up in their conversation.

It had been their original intention to stay up until dawn, but it didn’t quite work out that way. They both were exhausted from the long eventful day, and eventually found it impossible to keep their eyes open. By four o’clock, they had both fallen fast asleep; nestled in each other’s arms before the warm, crackling fire.

CHAPTER 19

Lenny awoke to the aroma of bacon, eggs, and freshly brewed coffee. When he opened his eyes, he saw Emily’s den bathed in sunlight and remembered where he was as the events of the day before crept into his drowsy head.

He looked over at where Emily had fallen asleep in his arms and wondered how long she’d been up. Glancing at his watch, he read the time. It was nearly 11:30. He rose up slowly out of the chair and stretched, gazing out the picture window at the deep blue sky and crystalline snow. What a beautiful morning, he thought to himself.

When he entered the kitchen, Emily was standing in front of the stove.

“Good morning, sleepy head!” she greeted merrily. “I was just getting ready to go wake you up.”

“’Morning!” he greeted back. “How long have you been up?”

“An hour or so. Would you like some coffee?”

“I could definitely use some, thanks . . . It sure smells good in here.”

Emily walked over and pecked him on the cheek. “I hope you like bacon and eggs.”

“Love ‘em,” Lenny replied.

“Well, just have a seat and I’ll fix you right up.”

“Thanks,” he said, sitting down at the table. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Emily brought a mug of coffee over and set it down in front of him. “Like a log.”

“No problems?”

“None at all. I was in good hands,” she added with a wink.

Lenny poured some milk into his coffee and took a sip.

“Where’s the little pooch?”

“Outside, playing in the snow. She loves it out there.”

“I’ll bet she does.”

Emily went back over to the stove and said, “I called George Turner’s garage a few minutes ago. His grandson, Frank, is going to bring his tow truck up at around one o’clock so he can rescue my bus. I told him to go ahead and bring a new battery so it’ll be drivable. I thought that maybe we could drive into town afterwards—I need some groceries and I could show you around if you’d like.”

“I’d really like that,” Lenny said. “Was that your antique shop I saw last night there on the main drag?”

“Yes, the one and only.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“Okay,” Emily replied brightly.

She came over to the table and began filling the plates then stopped midway and looked at him. “Do you feel any differently than you did last night? I mean, has anything changed?” Her eyes were imploring, anxious.

Lenny stood up and put his arm around her waist. “All I’ve thought about since I first awoke was how beautiful last night was. But I’ve almost been afraid to say anything because I keep asking myself, ‘What if she’s gotten cold feet?’”

Emily sat the frying pan down and hugged him. “Well, if you’re asking now then here’s your answer,” she said and kissed him fully on the lips.

A moment later, she faced him again. “When do you have to go back to the city?”

“Well, let’s see now,” Lenny said, scratching his head as if in deep thought. “This is Saturday . . . Gee, I don’t have a single commitment this entire weekend,” he announced with a wry grin. Then he added, “But I really should go back Monday to tie up some loose ends. Why do you ask?”

“Two reasons, really. One is, I wanted to fix us a nice dinner tonight if you’re going to be here. The other is that I realize you haven’t had any time at all to yourself since you’ve been released from the hospital and I don’t want to keep you from anything you have to do. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want you to feel suffocated.”

Lenny laughed heartily. “Trust me, Emily. I don’t feel the least bit suffocated! As I told you last night, my life as I’ve known it for the last eight years had all but skidded to a halt before the accident happened. I was totally directionless. But now that I’ve met you, I feel like I finally have some direction to head in. In a nutshell, this is where I want to be.”

Emily smiled and kissed him again. “I was hoping you’d say something like that . . . I guess I just needed some reassurance.”

Lenny found it hard to let go as Emily resumed serving breakfast. They ate ravenously, and afterwards Lenny helped clean up the kitchen before they put on their coats and set out to meet Frank Turner.

It was fairly warm outside and the snow was beginning to melt under the radiant afternoon sun as they strolled leisurely down the road, taking in the mountain’s beauty along the way. When they reached Emily’s marooned bus, Frank Turner and his tow truck were already there. After the introductions, Frank informed Emily that he’d already installed the new battery but that he’d have to free her bus by pushing it away from the tree since the road wasn’t wide enough to get his tow truck around to pull it out from behind. So Lenny stood by and directed Frank as he inched the tow truck up against the bus’s bumper and finally managed to ease it away from the tree and back onto the road. After getting the bus started, Emily thanked Frank and paid him in cash then he left.

Emily and Lenny then drove into town and went to the grocery store. Emily picked out a couple of thick New York strip steaks along with several other items she had on her list then the two backtracked to Hudson Street. Their first stop was Emily’s antique shop. Lenny was so impressed that he insisted Emily give him the grand tour of her impressive inventory.

Afterwards, they checked out nearly all the other shops on Hudson Street. Emily introduced Lenny to practically everyone they met, and with each encounter, Lenny couldn’t help but notice the surprise and curiosity on their faces. He finally asked Emily what the big problem with the locals was, and she reminded him that she hadn’t been seen in town with a male stranger in over ten years—when she’d gone out with Ted Chalmers—and that the townspeople were a very curious lot by nature, anyway. She added with a chuckle that the two of them were probably going to be the main topic of conversation in town for at least quite some time.

The afternoon slipped by quickly and at around five o’clock Emily suggested that they head back to the house. When they arrived, they took Cassie outside and played with her in the front yard for a while before finally calling it quits.

Lenny offered to help Emily with the cooking but she insisted on doing everything herself; so he decided to take a shower in the meantime. By the time he’d showered and dressed, dinner was almost ready. Emily had set the dining room table elaborately, complete with a pair of candles and a chilled bottle of white wine. They ate slowly and talked a lot; relaxed and happy in each other’s company.

After dinner, Lenny cleaned up the kitchen while Emily took a shower. He hauled some logs to the den and started a fire in the fireplace then sat down in the chair and sipped on a beer.

As he sat there, Lenny stared into the fire and collected his thoughts. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours that his mind felt absolutely numb from all that was racing through it. He’d had little time to put things into any kind of perspective before now, and he found it difficult to concentrate on any one thing in particular; with the exception of the most obvious and troubling issue at hand: Emily’s nightmares.

Lenny hadn’t been able to get them out of his mind ever since he’d found Emily in the bus, screaming and wrestling with him in her sleep as though her life depended on it; and the more he’d dwelled upon this frightening scenario, the more apprehensive he’d become.

But now, having heard the whole incredible story from Emily, the sheer reality of what was happening became all the more horrifying. He didn’t want to let on to Emily just how weird and scary all of this in fact was to him, so he’d been playing it down as best as he could. After all, he figured, there wasn’t any sense in upsetting her any more than she already was, and Emily was already pessimistic enough.

But Lenny knew that he had to face the facts sometime; and now was the time . . .

If everything Emily had told him was indeed true, and if her psychiatrist’s hunch was correct then was there any doubt that she would continue having these horrible dreams for the rest of her life?

Almost twenty years—nearly two-thirds of her life, he figured. That’s how long Emily had been having these nightmares. What were the odds of them going away after all this time? And what in the hell made him think that he could do anything about it?

Who in the hell was he trying to fool?

He felt bad about this. Really bad. Emily was the most incredible woman he’d ever known, and he loved her beyond words.

But he couldn’t help her. In fact, he couldn’t do jack shit; and Emily no doubt knew that as well—

Just then, Lenny felt someone’s hands cover his eyes from behind.

“Guess who?” Emily said, her voice low and playful.

Lenny leaned his head back and replied, “My beautiful hostess?”

Emily took her hands away and leaned down to kiss his forehead. She was wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe partially opened to the waist, and her scent was as inviting as her barely visible breasts were.

Lenny felt a pang in his groin when she suddenly kissed him fully on the lips, her damp hair falling down into his face. He raised his arms and embraced her, feeling more than a little bewildered at this sudden and unexpected display of forwardness. Several intoxicating moments later, Emily slowly withdrew and took his hand in hers. Lenny’s head was swimming as she walked around the chair and faced him, her blue eyes timid and desirous at the same time.

“I want to try, Lenny,” she declared determinedly. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Lenny looked at her imploringly, not believing his ears. “Are you sure, Emily? We don’t have to rush into this, you know.”

“I know. But I’ve been thinking about it and decided that now is just as good a time as any; it may even be the best time. I don’t know—we don’t know—what the future holds in store for us. All I know is that I want to make love to you . . . I mean, I want to at least try and see what happens. We’ll never know until we try, will we?”

Her eyes were as innocent as a lamb’s as she spoke.

Lenny paused a moment before he spoke. “Well, you’re right about that. I guess I’m just afraid that you’re doing this only for me; and not thinking of how it might affect you. If that’s the case, well, I think we should wait. I want you to want this, Emily.”

She squeezed his hand emphatically. “I do want this, for both of us. It means a lot to me to know if we’ll be able to make love. It’s driving me mad just thinking about it. I need to know that I can at least offer you something that’s positive. Plus, well, I’ve never actually made love to anyone before. I’ve only been manhandled and pawed at. I need to know what it’s like to enjoy it, if I can, with the man I love.”

Lenny needed no more convincing. He stood up and kissed her passionately, her body warm and responsive in his arms. He started to remove her robe when Emily suddenly placed her hand on his arm and whispered, “Not here. Let’s go to upstairs.”

Lenny nodded in acknowledgment and kissed her again. Then Emily took him by the hand and led the way out of the den.

Her bedroom was dark except for the yellow-white glow of a single candle sitting in a brass holder on top of the vanity. Lenny followed Emily over to the bed then watched her as she strode over to the door and quietly closed it. She turned and moved slowly toward him, untying the sash of her robe and letting it fall off her shoulders to the floor along the way. Lenny stared in awe at her flawless body in the flickering glow of the candlelight. Her eyes were soft as she gazed into his, conveying guarded anxiety but little modesty. She stepped over and began unbuttoning his shirt, her eyes never leaving his.

She removed his shirt and started undoing his jeans, slowly and determinedly. Lenny felt the impulsive urge to help but continued letting Emily take the initiative, sensing that she had already rehearsed this scene beforehand in her mind. She pulled down his jeans in one smooth motion and knelt down long enough to pull them the rest of the way off. When she got back on her feet, Lenny took her in his arms and held her tight, feeling her soft, warm skin pressed firmly against him. He felt her arms encircling his back then felt her hands as they caressed and explored his backside.

Lenny kissed her gently on the neck, smothering his face in her damp, luscious-smelling hair. He could feel her heart beating hard against his chest from somewhere between her small, firm breasts. She took his head in her hands then kissed him wistfully, her tongue soft and wet as it darted and mingled with his.

She broke off gently, faced him, and whispered, “I love you so much, Lenny. But I . . . I need to be in control. For now, anyway. Okay?”

Lenny understood. He nodded his head in assent.

Emily lowered herself onto the bed and Lenny followed suit. She placed a hand on his chest as a gesture for him to lie on his back then mounted him. She leaned down, kissed him, and sat up again. Lenny gazed up at her. Her body was now lit from the right side by candlelight—her left side in shadow as in a Rembrandt portrait. The curves of her breasts were accentuated in the glimmering yellow glow; her slim waist, hips, and legs like those of a porcelain fashion model.

Unable to remain passive any longer, Lenny reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands, causing her to flinch. He started to take his hands away but Emily reached down and held them there, the determination evident in her eyes. She held his hands in hers for several moments then suddenly smiled triumphantly as if to let him know that she was finally over the hurdle. Lenny smiled back then pulled her gently down toward him. He turned over on his side and faced her, kissing her all over. He could hear her breathing become harder as his hands traveled deftly all over her beautiful, responsive body.

For the next several moments they kissed, caressed, and explored each other until finally, panting breathlessly and driven by unbridled desire, neither could hold out any longer. Emily rolled over and lay on her back, pulled Lenny on top of her then eagerly but ever so gingerly guided him home.

She let out a moan then gazed up into his eyes and never looked away; as if to reassure herself that it really was him, this man she loved so much, now inside of her and making her feel like she’d never felt before. In Lenny’s eyes she found what she sought—a gentle, sensitive man who cared for and loved her. A man whom she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, would never hurt her and always could be trusted.

Lenny wondered if he was dreaming as he gazed into Emily’s eyes, feeling her body responding to his every movement. In his dreams, he had never made love to his Dream Lady. He’d only had the pleasure of admiring her from afar. Their relationship had been a spiritual and platonic one—she being his soul mate, his companion for life who was always there for him to share the joys and complexities of life with. They were a unit, a melding of each other’s souls . . .

Yet, for some reason, they had never made love.

How odd, he thought, when this occurred to him.

Lenny knew now what had always been missing in his dreams: The consummation of their special relationship. The ultimate union between two in love.

And now, in real life, it was finally happening.

When it was over, they lay in silence for a long time in each other’s arms with only the sound of their breathing filling the still room. Finally, Lenny broke the silence.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” Emily replied.

“Are you . . . okay?” he asked.

She smiled broadly. “Oh, yes! It was wonderful, Lenny.”

“Are we over the hump, you reckon?”

“Definitely,” she purred.

Lenny breathed a long sigh. “I’ve got to be the happiest guy on earth.”

Emily said, “And I, the happiest gal.”

CHAPTER 20

Emily lay on her side staring at the dancing shadows on the wall and smiled to herself. Never in her life had she felt so happily exhausted and at peace with herself.

They had made love twice; and the second time had been even more gratifying than the first. At last, after being virtually celibate her entire life, she now understood why everyone made such a fuss about lovemaking. It was a beautiful, completely natural experience that went beyond description; and it had made her feel all that much closer to Lenny.

She could hear his slow, rhythmic breathing as he slept beside her, and Emily wondered if Lenny had enjoyed himself as much as she had. She’d surprised herself with her aggressiveness; and she knew it had really thrown Lenny for a loop. But she’d been fearful of letting him start the process—she hadn’t been quite sure how she would respond to a man touching and fondling her. So she had assumed the dominant role to avoid something happening that possibly could have put an end to everything before it even began. And although things had been a little shaky at first, she’d eventually found herself enjoying the role of aggressor and felt that Lenny had, too.

But above all was the mere fact that she and Lenny had actually succeeded in making love. It was a personal victory for herself; and Emily knew that in spite of the way Lenny had tried to play it down, it was vital to their relationship. Depriving him of sexual gratification would not only have been unfair; it would have been totally unrealistic.

God, she felt wonderful! For the first time in her life she could see a break in the clouds. And she owed it all to Lenny Williams. Would he ever know how much she loved him?

She heard Lenny stir and turned her head around just as he was getting out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

His eyes were half-open. “I’m sorry I woke you . . . I have to relieve my bladder before it bursts,” he replied sleepily.

“I wasn’t asleep. I’ve been thinking about how much I love you,” Emily said, gazing at him in the waning candlelight.

Lenny knelt down on the bed and leaned over to kiss her. “I love you, too. This has definitely been the most incredible night of my life.”

“Mine, too,” Emily said. “So why don’t you hurry and go relieve yourself so I can show you just how much I really love you?”

Lenny grinned. “Is that an invitation of some kind?”

Emily winked. “Could be.”

“I’ll be back in a flash!” Lenny said, and was out the door in seconds.

Emily lay back down and smiled triumphantly. Is this really happening? she thought. Had she ever in her wildest dreams imagined that she could be this happy? To be in this house, right this moment, sharing her bed with a man who made her feel loved and cared for?

Thank you, Lord!

Emily’s mind raced forward to the future, shrouded in doubt. She thought: Is Lenny really as ready for commitment as he lets on to be? And if so, would he be willing to move to Ashland Falls to live with her in this house? Would he be able to simply drop everything and leave New York City to spend the rest of his life in this tiny town? What would he do here? Would he be content to let her support them both until he found something to pursue career-wise?

She felt a fleeting wave of anxiety. Lenny didn’t remind her of the type who could sit around on his hands while someone else was paying the bills. What if he couldn’t find anything to do around here to satisfy his creative aspirations?

Suddenly, everything looked muddy. What if he had a totally different conception of their future together? What if he wanted to go somewhere else; to a bigger town or another state? Would she be willing to do that? Could she do that?

Then, like magic, a thought came to Emily and her doubts vanished into thin air.

What difference does it make? she thought. They were in love with each other and that was all that really mattered. And they would be together. So what difference did it make where they lived or what Lenny did for a living? They would be together, man and woman, in love with each other. A team. And as a team, they would work everything else out between themselves. The way it was supposed to be . . .

Just then, she heard Lenny enter the room and watched his shadow loom larger on the wall as he came over and slipped into bed beside her.

“Feel better?” she asked playfully.

“Much better,” a voice answered.

But it wasn’t Lenny’s voice . . .

Emily froze and then nearly jumped out of her skin when she spun around and saw her great-grandfather lying beside her.

“Out with the new, and in with the old!” John Hoffman cackled, gaping at her with a twisted grin on his leathery face, only inches away from her own.

Emily shuddered at what else she saw. John Hoffman was wearing a long nightshirt—like those worn near the turn of the century, and it was hiked up to his waist, exposing an enormous erection.

She screamed and started to bolt out of bed; but he snatched her arm then forced her back down.

“You can’t get away from me!” John Hoffman roared. “I told you that the last time we met!”

Emily lay flat on her back, riveted with fear.

“Where’s Lenny?” she cried.

He leaned down and whispered, “Are you referring to your boyfriend? The one who just fucked your brains out? Why, he’s gone, my child.”

Emily stared at him in disbelief. “Gone?”

John Hoffman guffawed. “That’s right. He’s through with you, sweetheart. He got what he wanted and now he’s on his way. ‘Fuck ‘em and forget ‘em!’ he told me as he was leaving. Nice young man, by the way.”

“What did you do to him?” she cried.

“I told you, he’s gone. You didn’t really think he was going to stick around, did you? Especially now that he knows you belong to me!”

“Lenny!” she screamed, struggling to escape. But John Hoffman leaped on top of her, pinning her shoulders down with his scabrous hands.

Emily started sobbing, unable to look away from his huge girth lying on top of her. John Hoffman leaned down in her face and whispered hoarsely, “You haven’t quite gotten it yet, have you my child? You belong to me, just as Katherine belonged to me. She couldn’t escape, nor can you. You’re mine forever!”

“No!” Emily shrieked.

“Oh yes,” he objected. “I can have you whenever I want you. Whenever I feel the urge. And, as you can plainly see, I’m feeling that urge right now. So why fight it, my little one? You might even enjoy this! Katherine’s mother enjoyed it, as you already know—couldn’t get enough of this big old hammer! Begged for it, she did . . .”

“That’s a lie!” Emily cried angrily. “You raped her!”

John Hoffman laughed so hard, the bed shook.

“Raped her? Now that’s quite a laugh! Nancy Porter was a whore—a bitch in heat!”

Emily couldn’t keep quiet. “She was not a whore! She was a good, decent woman. She loved her husband. But you raped her and made her pregnant. And then you raped your own daughter!”

He smacked her hard on the face. “You bitch! You’ve got it all wrong! I loved my Katherine; did everything I possibly could for her. But then she had to go and fornicate with my son. Now is that any way to show respect for your father? After all I did for her? Rescued her from that fire, raised her good and proper? She was all mine until she started fucking around with Warren. I took care of her, made her feel real good. And how does she repay me? Marries my only son! Turns him against me!”

“That’s not the way it happened!” Emily snapped. “You abused my grandmother as a child. You treated her as if she were just another possession of yours. You didn’t love her! You were ruining her life so she wanted to get away from you. She fell in love with Grandpa Warren and ran away. But she couldn’t hide. Because even after you died, you still managed to ruin her life by the lies you’d conjured up just to keep her your own and deprive her from ever finding any happiness . . . You are the most arrogant, despicable, slime bag who ever lived! I hate you!”

John Hoffman froze, unable to respond. Then his face turned red with rage, every blood vessel bulging out of his skull. His eyes were maniacal, wanting to murder. He threw back his hand as if to strike her then stopped himself midway. He stared deep into Emily’s eyes for a moment, as if trying to ascertain the proper way to deal with her insolence. In the meantime, his erection had gone limp. He looked down at himself then back at Emily, his eyes conveying a renewed rage.

“Now look what you’ve done, you young tart!”

With that, John Hoffman began laughing hysterically. Emily watched in horror as he rocked up and down on her, doubled-up in a fit of laughter. Then suddenly, the laughing ceased as quickly as it had begun.

“Not to worry,” he hissed, gaping at her with eyes as cold as steel. “There will be other times, my child. A lifetime of other times. I’ll come back and pay you another visit real soon; you can be assured of that. And the next time, I’m going to spread those little legs of yours and fuck you so hard, you’re going to wish you were dead. Yes, missy, I’ll be back!”

“No you won’t, John Hoffman,” a voice said, coming from the doorway.

They both turned and looked toward the door at the same time. There were three figures standing there, silhouetted by a blinding white light coming from behind. Their faces were obscured in darkness, but it was apparent that the figures were those of a man, woman, and small child, standing hand-in-hand just inside the doorway of Emily’s bedroom.

“No, it can’t be!” John Hoffman cried, bolting out of the bed.

The man stepped forward. “But it is, John Hoffman. It is I. And soon your heartless, selfish scheme will be found out. And then you will perish forever. You shall burn in Hell for all eternity.”

John Hoffman ran and cowered in the corner of the bedroom, like a stray dog that had just been flogged. “It’s not possible! No one could ever know!” he declared.

The man took another step forward. “But someone does know, John Hoffman. And soon, you shall pay. No crime ever goes unpunished!”

“You’re lying!” John Hoffman shouted. “You’re just as dead as I am. . . You’re all dead! You have no power . . .”

“Perhaps I’m not dead,” the man declared calmly as he continued advancing forward. “Have you considered that, you heartless swine?”

Emily quickly glanced over to the doorway where the woman and child stood motionless, hand-in-hand. Katherine and Nancy! she thought. And Clem! Together! Her eyes flashed back to Clem. He was standing near the foot of her bed. His features were now distinguishable . . .

“Don’t come any closer!” John Hoffman cried. Emily glanced over at him. He was huddled up in a ball on the floor.

“It is not you I want, John Hoffman. You mean nothing to me. I have come for this child, my great-granddaughter.”

Emily stared at the man incredulously as he strode slowly around to the side of her bed. He was gazing at her compassionately, a tear falling down his cheek. When he reached her bedside, he knelt down and gently placed his arms in under her then lifted her up, cradling her in his arms.

“You’re safe now, my child,” he declared comfortingly.

Emily continued staring into his eyes and whispered, “Lenny?”

CHAPTER 21

“Emily, wake up!”

The voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel; thin, reverberating.

“Come on Emily, wake up!”

The voice sounded closer and much clearer. Her cheek stung. Thousands of needles.

“Emily!”

She opened her eyes to see who was screaming at her.

“Emily! Thank God! Are you all right?”

The room was bright. Too bright. She closed her eyes. She felt something cold on her forehead and lifted her hand to touch it. It felt like a damp washcloth. She wondered what it was doing there.

“Emily, are you awake?” she heard Lenny say.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. “The light . . .” she mumbled.

She heard Lenny reach over and flip a switch.

“Is that better?”

“Yes,” she replied. The room was dark now, except for the candle on her vanity. Seeing it brought everything back to her. She and Lenny had made love—twice. They’d done it! It was wonderful . . .

“Emily? Are you all right?” Lenny asked again.

“Yes, just a little groggy,” she replied drowsily. “What are you doing awake? And why is there a wash cloth on my head?”

Lenny ran his fingers through her hair, damp and matted from perspiration. “You were dreaming again.”

Emily stared at him incredulously. “You’re kidding!”

“I’m afraid not. Your screams woke me up. Then you started squirming all over the place so I tried to settle you down. But you started wrestling with me—just like you did in the bus. I couldn’t get you to snap out of it to save my life! I even tried slapping you. Finally you calmed down a little, but you still wouldn’t wake up. You were hot as a pistol so I went to get a damp wash cloth to cool you off.”

Emily struggled to recall the dream but couldn’t. “I can’t remember, Lenny! Did I say anything?”

“I couldn’t understand most of it—you were mumbling. The funny thing is, the only word I could make out was my name. You spoke it just before you woke up.”

Emily was stunned. She’d never had any trouble remembering her dreams. Before she’d met Lenny, that is. This was the second time she hadn’t immediately awoken in terror screaming bloody murder after having a nightmare. She’d assumed the time in the bus had been a fluke since she had been knocked unconscious prior to having it; thus taking her some time to recall it. But now, she wasn’t so sure -

A thought suddenly occurred to her . . .

Maybe things are finally turning around!

“Lenny, I can’t remember any of it!” she exclaimed jubilantly. “Maybe I’m getting over them!”

Lenny smiled. “God, wouldn’t that be great?”

“It sure would!” Emily cried, now fully awake. “Hell, I don’t care if I have nightmares—as long as I can’t remember having them, that is. And that was one of the things that Doctor Langstrom found so unique about my case. He said that it’s perfectly normal to have dreams—even bad dreams—it’s a natural process that helps us to relieve stress and anxiety. But it’s very rare for someone to consistently be able to recall them, as I can. I’m an exception to the norm, he told me, having not only total recall, but the ability to remember even the slightest details. Maybe I’m finally ‘normal’ again!”

Emily suddenly threw her arms around Lenny. “God, I’m so happy!”

Lenny was skeptical, but didn’t show it. “So am I. See, I told you everything was going to be . . .”

“Shit!”

Lenny stared at her, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

Emily looked away for a moment, deep in thought. Then she turned and faced him again. “I remember it now,” she moaned.

Lenny saw Emily’s disappointment and kissed her. “How bad was it?”

Emily thought for a moment before replying. “It was really strange; different from the others.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well first of all, my father wasn’t in it. Not once. And every single nightmare I’ve ever had has always started out with my father. This one didn’t . . .”

“Can you tell me about it?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“It was horrible . . .”

Emily paused and then asked Lenny, “Did you get up to go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah. But you were sound asleep.”

“I didn’t say anything to you?”

“Of course not. I just said that you were sound asleep.”

She’d dreamt that too, Emily thought to herself.

After collecting her thoughts, she began. “Well, I dreamt that you got up to go to the bathroom. You told me that you’d be right back then you left the room. The next thing I knew, my great-grandfather was laying beside me on the bed—I thought he was you at first. He . . . he was half-naked. God, it was so horrible! I asked him where you were and he told me that you’d left—that you’d gotten all you wanted and had left me.”

Tears came to her eyes. “Although I didn’t believe him, I was still scared to death. I thought that he’d murdered you!”

Emily took Lenny’s hand in hers and squeezed, trying to compose herself. “He told me that I was his- that I belonged exclusively to him—just as he’s told me in all the other dreams. I tried to get away, but he grabbed me. Then he jumped on top of me and said that he was going to . . . do it to me. He said that I’d enjoy it, and that Grandma Katherine’s mother had always enjoyed it. I got really mad. I told him that he’d raped Nancy Porter—that she hadn’t let him do anything. I also accused him of raping his own daughter.”

Emily paused to catch her breath. Even now she could feel the anger welling up inside. “He got mad and slapped me and then denied everything. He said that he loved Katherine and that she’d turned against him by marrying Grandpa Warren.” She looked directly at Lenny, her eyes filled with emotion. “Then something inside of me snapped, Lenny. I was beside myself with anger by then, and I told him that he’d never loved Grandma Katherine and that he’d basically ruined her life forever. Then I told him that I hated him. I didn’t care if he killed me at that point. I was too angry to care.”

“What happened then?”

“It was really weird. He started to strike me again, but suddenly stopped himself. Then he realized that he had . . . lost his hard-on. He was absolutely livid then; and I thought for sure that he was going to kill me.”

Emily’s face was flushed. “Then all of a sudden he started laughing really hard, like a lunatic. He laughed for a long time then he suddenly stopped laughing, got right up in my face, and told me that he’d get me some other time—that I’d always be there for him whenever he wanted me.”

Emily’s eyes clouded up again as she recalled John Hoffman’s maniacal face leering at her. “Then it happened. Clem, Nancy, and Katherine suddenly appeared in the doorway. John Hoffman was petrified when he saw them and ran to the corner of the room. It was the first time I’ve seen them all together. In fact, I’ve only dreamt of Clem Porter once before. Remember?”

Lenny nodded.

“Just like in the other dream, Clem started walking toward John Hoffman. Clem told him that his ‘scheme’ was about to be found out, and that he would then burn in hell forever. John Hoffman didn’t believe him and said something to the effect that Clem was just as dead as he was and that there wasn’t anything he could do to him. Clem said that perhaps he wasn’t dead, and this made John Hoffman really freak out. By this time, Clem was close enough for me to see his face—before then, it had been indistinguishable . . . He looked exactly like you, Lenny!”

Lenny smiled. “Really?”

Emily gawked at him, annoyed. “Why are you smiling? Don’t you believe me?”

Lenny’s smile disappeared. “Of course I believe you! I was just thinking . . . I’ll tell you after you’ve finished.”

Emily softened a little. “Well, that’s about all there was to it. Except that you—I mean, Clem—said that he’d come for his great-granddaughter. Then he came over and picked me up in his arms. That’s it. Now, tell me why you were smiling.”

“I was just thinking of the symbolism . . . Freud would have a field day!”

Emily wasn’t the least bit amused. “Thanks a lot, Lenny!”

Lenny stared at her apologetically. “I’m sorry, Emily. I didn’t mean that to come out the way it did. What I’m trying to get at is that this dream seems sort of ominous in a way. And I mean that in a positive way. Think about it. First of all, your father wasn’t in this dream for the very first time ever, right? Couldn’t that possibly be because of what we did earlier tonight? That by making love to me you’ve managed to overcome your father’s ‘hold’ on you, or whatever you’d call it?”

Emily considered this for a moment and replied, “Well, I guess it’s possible. Doctor Langstrom did say something to that effect; that abused children often feel trapped by their abusive parent and find it difficult to break away from them psychologically.”

“Okay. So assuming that it’s true—that you’ve succeeded to free yourself from your father—then it appears that you have only one villain left to deal with: your great-grandfather, John Hoffman. Can you buy that, just for the sake of argument?

“Okay,” Emily replied. “I’ll try to.”

“Good. Now let’s consider how you dealt with your great-grandfather in this dream. From what you’ve told me about the other dreams, you’ve basically always been at John Hoffman’s mercy—totally petrified of him. Is that a safe assumption?”

“No, it’s a fact,” Emily answered dryly.

Lenny nodded. “This time though, it appears that you actually challenged him for a change. You met him head-on and nearly shut him down by flatly refusing to accept what he was telling you. In essence, you defied him. Then you came right out and told him that you hated him. Look at the symbolism here! In your subconscious mind you have at last chosen to defy John Hoffman, to let him know that you refuse to accept his terms; even at the risk of his killing you. In dreams, of course, you can’t actually die and you were probably aware of that. Anyway, the point is that you’ve finally begun to turn the tables around on John Hoffman. What do you think?”

Emily looked away from Lenny then back. “I don’t know, Lenny. I realize that dreams are manifestations of the subconscious mind and all, but I’m not so sure I deserve the credit that you’re giving me. I was, and still am, absolutely terrified of the man. I shudder now, even as we sit here, just thinking about him. What I’m trying to say is that I’m not truly convinced that he won’t be back to haunt me again.”

This wasn’t what Lenny wanted to hear. He’d hoped his theory made some kind of sense; that somehow Emily would interpret the dream the same way as he had.

“Not only that,” Emily went on, “but the only thing that kept me from being in any further danger in this dream was the sudden appearance of Clem Porter. What’s your explanation for Clem and his family showing up? And what about the fact that he looked just like you?”

“Didn’t you tell me before that you’ve never seen a picture of Clem? That you have absolutely no idea what he looked like?”

“Yes, that’s true,” Emily confessed.

“And didn’t you tell me that the other time you’d dreamt of Clem, that you clearly saw his face?”

“Yes.”

“And did he look like me then?”

“Well, no—I don’t think so, anyway. What are you driving at?”

“In both dreams, you apparently ‘assigned’ a face to Clem because you have no conception of what he truly looked like in real life. In the first dream, the person you perceived as Clem could have been just about anyone who happened to be in your subconscious at the time. But in this dream, you perceived Clem as me due to the recent turn of events. Think about it. Here I am, Lenny Williams, and I’ve suddenly entered your life and expressed a desire to help you out with all of this; sort of like your ‘knight in shining armor,’ for lack of a better term. So is it any surprise that you would envision Clem as none other than yours truly? It’s a possibility, anyway, isn’t it?”

Emily thought it over then said, “I guess it’s possible. But how do you explain the whole Porter family being there? I’ve never dreamt of Nancy before.”

“How do you know it was Nancy you saw? Did you see her face? For that matter, have you ever seen her face in a picture? I’m assuming that you haven’t.”

“No, on both counts. Nancy and the little girl were just sort of ‘there’—more a vague presence than anything else. But I know it was them! They appeared with Clem, so it’s safe to assume that it was Clem’s wife and Clem’s child.”

“Whose child?” Lenny prompted.

Emily knew what Lenny was implying. “All right, then. The little girl was either Clem’s child or John Hoffman’s. Either way, it had to have been Katherine.”

Lenny eyed Emily curiously. “I think it’s interesting that you just referred to Katherine as being Clem’s child all of a sudden. Could it be that maybe you’re beginning to change your mind about a few things?”

Emily shook her head in frustration. “God, I don’t know, Lenny! Of course I want to think that Grandma Katherine was truly Clem’s child, but it’s all so confusing. All I know for sure is that I hate John Hoffman, and I find it inconceivable that someone so lecherous could have fathered my grandmother. I guess I’m trying to convince myself that Clem was Katherine’s father in spite of the weighty evidence against it. He was a good man. And Nancy was a good woman. Katherine just had to be his daughter!”

“Then why don’t you simply believe it? Just tell yourself you know it’s true on the basis of your instincts. That’s what this dream was all about—it’s so obvious! Just forget about John Hoffman and he’ll go away!”

“It’s not that easy, Lenny. This has been going on practically all of my life, don’t forget. I can’t just suddenly snap my fingers and make it all go away.”

“I realize that, Emily. But you need to try and be a little more optimistic. I still think that this dream was trying to tell you something—something positive.”

Emily sighed. “Maybe so. But there are a couple of other things that really have me baffled. Like, what do you think Clem meant when he told John Hoffman that ‘maybe’ he was alive? And what was the ‘scheme’ he was referring to?”

Lenny shook his head. “I have no idea. That part has got me stumped.”

Emily grinned wanly. “Is Doctor Freud losing his touch?”

“Hey, I never claimed to be a trained psychologist, you know! I’m just trying . . .”

Emily cut him off with a kiss. Then she said, “I know, honey. You’re just trying to help me. And I appreciate it. I love you so much.”

Lenny hugged her, glancing over at the clock. “I can’t believe that it’s nearly four in the morning. How do you feel now? I’m wide awake.”

“So am I.”

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a beer.”

“Me, too. Why don’t you wait here and I’ll go down and get us one.”

“Sounds like a winner to me.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Emily stood up and Lenny watched her admiringly as she threw her robe over her shoulders then left the room. Emily Hoffman was as close to perfection as was humanly conceivable and he still found it hard to believe all that had transpired between them in the short span of less than two days. They’d met, fallen in love, all but totally committed themselves to each other, and made love all in the course of thirty-six hours . . !

Is this really happening? he thought.

He recalled their lovemaking and a smile came to his face. Had he ever felt so at ease and satisfied in all his life? No, he’d never even come close. It had been so incredibly different with Emily. So passionate, so . . . perfect!

The key was the undeniable fact that they were in love with each other. That’s what had made it so wonderful. They’d been sharing something very intimate and personal, consummating all the emotions they felt for each other. The bond was now complete. Two had become one, and everything from here on out would be a mutual venture . . .

Somehow, they had to eradicate these nightmares, he thought. They were the single entity that could threaten their bliss—the proverbial fly in the ointment.

Just then, Emily came into the bedroom carrying a pair of ice-cold Rolling Rocks. Cassie darted in from behind her and leaped up onto the bed beside Lenny.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a new bed partner there,” she said with wink as she handed Lenny a beer.

Lenny patted Cassie’s head and took a slug of beer.

“No problem—just as long as she leaves some room for her ‘mommy.’”

Emily went over to her dresser and opened one of the drawers then took out a fresh candle and replaced the nearly spent one.

“That’s better,” she said, returning to the bed.

Lenny reached over to the nightstand, took a cigarette from his pack and lit up.

“Mind if I have one of those?” Emily asked.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Lenny said, handing her the pack.

“I have one every now and then. I used to smoke like a chimney when I was in college, but I more or less quit after I dropped out,” she explained.

Lenny watched her pensively as she lit up a cigarette. Then he said, “I want to go see the old house.”

Emily looked at him in surprise. “Why this, all of a sudden?”

He wasn’t really sure himself. “I was just thinking. Maybe we could find something there, something you might have overlooked. It’s a stab in the dark, I realize, but what the hell? I’m curious about it anyway.”

Emily shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t mind. But I may as well tell you now, I’ve been through every square inch of that house with a fine-toothed comb over the years and all I’ve ever found was a fork and Clem’s pocket watch. So don’t get your hopes up.”

“Have you got that watch handy? I’d like to take a look at it.”

“It’s in my purse. Hold on and I’ll go get it.”

Emily left the room. Lenny had no idea why he was suddenly so interested in seeing the old Porter house, other than to satisfy his curiosity. The same was true with the pocket watch. Mere curiosity. But he felt a sudden urgency for some reason. Maybe “desperation” was a better word. He felt like he had to at least make some kind of attempt to free Emily from these nightmares—even if it meant grabbing at straws. One thing was certain. He sure as hell wasn’t going to just sit around on his hands while she continued being haunted in her sleep by a bunch of fucking dead people . . .

“Here it is,” Emily said as she reentered the bedroom. “I’ve polished it up a bit.”

She turned on the bedside lamp then handed the Lenny the watch.

The instant the watch touched his hand, Lenny felt strange. It felt hot; nearly too hot to hold. It also seemed to vibrate, and he felt a tingling sensation that started in his hand then spread throughout his entire body.

“Jesus, Emily! Did you just blowtorch this thing or something?”

She looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“The thing’s hot! Didn’t you notice?”

“Why, no, I didn’t. Let me see,” she said, eyeing him skeptically.

Lenny handed the watch to Emily. “Be my guest.”

“Lenny, it is not hot. A little warm, maybe, but I wouldn’t call it hot. What’s the matter with you?”

He felt a sudden wave of panic—that same sort of panic you feel when someone tells you that something is not as you know it is, and you think you might be losing your mind.

“Give it back to me,” he demanded, hoping that he’d only been imagining.

Emily handed it back to him. It still felt hot, and again he felt the tingling sensation. Surely, he thought, he wasn’t imagining this!

“Well?” Emily said, peering at him expectantly. “Does it still feel hot?”

Lenny started doubting his faculties and felt a little foolish. Maybe it was just his imagination; it certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

He shook his head, grinning sheepishly. “No,” he replied.

Emily looked relieved. Lenny ignored the heat and tingling as he turned Clem’s pocket watch over in his hand and examined it. He pulled up on the stem and the lid popped open, revealing its face. It was while he was watching the tiny second hand racing around its circular path that he became aware of the ticking.

“Did you wind this up recently?” he asked Emily.

Emily too, noticed the ticking as it became a sudden audible presence in the room. “Why, no,” she replied uneasily. “In fact, I’ve never been able to get it to run. The knob won’t even turn—it’s frozen up.”

Lenny tried turning the knurled knob. It wouldn’t budge. “Well, it’s running now,” he declared.

“That’s impossible!”

He gaped at her. “Don’t tell me I’m imagining this, too!”

Emily managed a smile. “No, it’s running—no doubt about that. But why?”

“Hell if I know. Maybe it’s been moved around just enough to jostle the mainspring into action. It’ll probably peter-out in a few seconds,” he said a little nervously.

Emily sat down beside Lenny and together they watched the tiny second hand ticking its circular course. They watched for two complete revolutions, but it didn’t relent. Lenny observed the minute hand and saw that it had advanced two increments. He continued staring fixedly at the second hand for another minute, his palm becoming increasingly warmer, the continuous electrical impulses shooting throughout his nervous system.

“It isn’t stopping, Lenny,” he heard Emily say. Her voice suddenly sounded distant. He continued staring, trancelike, at the face of the watch. The steady ticking sound was soothing; the tingling sensation was no longer a discomfort. It had instead become a pleasant buzz; sort of like the buzz from a hit of speed back in the old days . . .

“Lenny?” Emily’s faraway voice echoed in his ears.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The minuscule second hand was truly a man-made marvel, he thought. A relentless workhorse that would stop at nothing. Precision in its most pristine state. Poetry in motion. What a tiny, wondrous miracle! Marking off fractions of time accurately, without reservation or bias toward those whom it served. Counting seconds down for the pessimist—tallying seconds up for the optimist.

He stared at the sweeping second hand and recalled the last time he’ had held this trusty old watch in the palm of his hand, watching time go by with such intensity. He’d been sitting at his wife’s side in their four-poster bed, his hand placed on her huge, swollen tummy. He’d been timing her contractions; counting the time in between, and the duration of each one. It had been agonizing watching her lie there with clenched teeth and perspiring face, knowing she was in such pain. His only comfort had been in the prospect that all of this agony she was enduring would eventually yield them both a well-deserved reward—a beautiful baby boy or girl. It mattered not which one.

When the contractions came only five minutes apart, he’d gazed at his wife with a mixture of panic and joy; and she had somehow managed to return a warm, knowing smile. What a strong, beautiful woman! he thought. There was little time left. He’d have to saddle up that old mare and ride lickety-split into town to fetch the doctor . . .

“Lenny!”

Emily’s voice startled him, snapping him out of it. He turned and looked into her frightened eyes, feeling a sudden and intense dizziness.

“My God, what’s wrong with you?” she cried. “I’ve been shouting at you for five minutes!”

Lenny felt as though he’d just awakened from a deep sleep. Once he became aware of his surroundings, he struggled valiantly to compose himself. He stared at Emily, hoping not to alarm her, and mumbled, “I guess I sort of drifted off.”

“Drifted off? You were way out in left field somewhere, Lenny! And your eyes were wide open. What in the world were you thinking about?”

Lenny knew somehow that he had to play it down.

“Nothing in particular. Really! I just sort of got hypnotized by this crazy watch, I guess.”

“Lenny! You’re not leveling with me,” Emily accused.

He smiled weakly and shrugged. “That’s all there is to it. I just went blank. That’s the truth!”

He knew that Emily wasn’t buying this, but God love her, she didn’t push it. “You scared me, you know. I kept saying your name over and over, but you wouldn’t respond. You just kept staring . . . It was frightening.”

Lenny threw his arms around Emily and kissed her. “I’m sorry.”

Then he placed the watch in her hand. “Here, take this thing. It’s spooked!”

Emily looked at the watch and then at Lenny. “Are you superstitious?”

He chuckled. “Hell no! It’s just that . . .”

They both noticed the silence at the same time. Together they looked at the watch and then at each other.

“The watch has stopped running, Lenny,” Emily half-whispered

“I see that,” he said nonchalantly. “I told you the crazy thing’s spooked. Why don’t you just put it away?”

“But Lenny, aren’t you the least bit curious why it stopped running?”

He grinned. “Not really. But for those of us who aren’t superstitious—it’s most likely sheer coincidence.”

Emily tugged at his sleeve. “One of these days, I’m going to . . .”

“Sock me? You already have, remember?”

They both laughed. Lenny took a gulp of his beer then said, “It’s going to be daylight soon. What do you say we eat some breakfast then go out to the house?”

He hoped he didn’t sound overly anxious.

Emily shrugged. “Fine with me. It’s a beautiful walk, if nothing else.”

Lenny let her skepticism slide by. “Great. Uh, we’ve got a little time to kill in the meantime,” he said, staring at her partially exposed breasts.

“Now what could we possibly think of doing in the meantime?” Emily purred.

CHAPTER 22

He didn’t like this. It was scary. It reminded him of that day in the studio—the day of the accident—when he had been photographing Heather Thompson and she suddenly appeared as his Dream Lady through the viewfinder of his camera.

That had been weird enough.

But this was even weirder. Much weirder.

Lenny stared pensively at his coffee mug and took a drag off his cigarette, glancing briefly over his shoulder at Emily. She was still at the stove cooking breakfast, impervious to his thoughts.

The implications of what had occurred earlier in Emily’s bedroom were staggering; yet he still had no idea how to perceive them. Didn’t have a clue. All he knew for certain was this: there was a little voice in his head that told him not to let Emily know what had happened. It was the same little voice that had been telling him all along not to mention anything to her about his Dream Lady.

There was a reason for this. He didn’t know what that reason was, but it was nevertheless there.

Lenny played the incident over again in his mind. It all started happening while he’d been staring at the pocket watch that had once belonged to Clem Porter, Emily’s great-grandfather The watch had been hot; so hot that he’d barely been able to hold it in his hand. It had also vibrated, making his nerve endings tingle as though he’d taken hold of two bare wires hooked up to a low-voltage power source. He soon recalled having held that very same watch on another occasion. He’d been sitting in bed at his wife’s side, timing her contractions. She’d been in heavy labor in fact, and he realized that he was going to have to ride into town to get the doctor so that he could deliver their baby. He was going to have to leave his wife all alone and in pain while he flew into town on horseback, located the doctor then flew back home with the doctor in tow, praying that they wouldn’t be too late . . .

Lenny remembered it all quite clearly now, as clear as a bell. But there were just a few little snags in this profound recollection that he’d had . . .

He had never been married. He had never had a pregnant wife. And he sure as hell had never had to rely on a fucking horse as a means of transportation!

Not in this life, anyway . . .

But in another life.

Apparently, his past life.

Lenny took another drag off his cigarette. This had been no vision, he thought. Nor had it been an hallucination. It had been a flashback—a vague, fleeting memory of something that had happened a long time ago. But not while he’d been living on this earth in his present incarnation as Lenny Williams, struggling photographer. But instead, in his past life as . . .

Who?

He didn’t know.

At least, he couldn’t be sure.

This is way over my head, he thought. It defied logic.

Gotta look at this pragmatically, rationally.

The flashback had been real. The events in the flashback had been real. And Clem Porter’s pocket watch had been the obvious factor that had brought on the flashback. These were facts, not theories or illusions. And based on these facts, it was safe to venture a hunch: The reason that Clem’s pocket watch had triggered the flashback was either because he had once existed in another life as Clem Porter, or he had once existed in another life as somebody else.

Reincarnation . . . Wasn’t that the word for it?

Of course, he could jump to conclusions and assume that he’d once been Clem Porter—after all, it had been Clem’s watch—but he didn’t have enough facts to confirm it. In fact, he didn’t know squat about this kind of weird shit; much less what in the hell brought on a psychic experience or whatever they’d call what had happened. For all he knew, he could have once been the person who had assembled Clem’s watch at the factory. Or perhaps the jeweler who had sold it to him. Or for that matter, any number of people who might have once come in contact with the watch throughout its existence as a watch.

Whatever the case, he was scared as hell. He remembered that once he had snapped out of this psychic mode, all he’d wanted to do was get Clem’s pocket watch out of his sight and promptly forget that anything had ever happened. But he could feel another part of himself chipping away, urging him to get to the bottom of all of this in spite of how damn scary it was. And that was precisely why he now felt the compulsion to go out to the old house; to the place where the owner of the watch had once lived . . .

“Here, sweetie,” Emily said as she placed his breakfast in front of him.

Lenny smiled at her absently. “Thanks.”

Emily was about to sit down when the telephone suddenly rang. She cast Lenny a questioning look then went over to the wall phone and picked up the receiver.

“Hello,” she said, taking the phone cord in her hand and twisting it nervously around her little finger.

“Yes, this is Emily Hoffman.”

Lenny saw a look of shock suddenly come over her face. “No!” she cried.

A second later she said, “Oh, thank God!”

Lenny looked on as Emily listened to the caller with grave concern. Then she said, “Tell her that I’ll be there immediately. I’m leaving in ten minutes. Thanks.”

Emily hung up the phone and looked anxiously over at Lenny. “That was the nursing home in Kingston. Miss Rutledge had a heart attack yesterday. Fortunately, it was only a mild one. She told one of the nurses that she wants to see me and asked her to give me a call.”

“So she’s okay?” Lenny inquired.

“Apparently, she’s fine. I’m sorry Lenny, but I have to go see her. I hope you understand.”

“Of course I understand. I’ll go with you, if you want some company,” he offered.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief then went over and gave him a bear hug. “Oh, thank you, Lenny!” They kissed then Emily faced Lenny again, her eyes showing regret. “It looks like the old Porter house will have to wait. I know how much you wanted to go out and see it this morning.”

“No problem,” Lenny said. “It can wait.”

“Well, we’d better hurry up and eat. I still have to get dressed,” Emily said, glancing down at her robe.

“I’ll clean up the kitchen while you’re dressing,” Lenny said, reaching for his fork.

CHAPTER 23

It was a brilliantly sunny day with a temperature in the low forties; the warmest it had been in Ulster County in months. Throughout the drive to Kingston, Lenny observed the unexpected winter thaw through the window of Emily’s bus and decided that he wasn’t quite ready for spring to arrive. A couple more weeks of winter, he thought. Then he’d be ready.

As Emily pulled into the nursing home parking lot she looked over at Lenny and said, “I really think you’ll like Miss Rutledge. She’s pretty spunky for a ninety-year-old woman.”

“Ninety? I didn’t realize she was that old.”

“She’s aged very well. Sharp as a tack and an incredible memory for someone who’s been around for over nine decades,” she declared as they got out of the bus and headed toward the main entrance.

When they entered the lobby Emily went directly over to the receptionist’s desk. “Hi. We’re here to see Dorothy Rutledge,” she told the middle-aged woman sitting there.

“Room 122.”

“Thanks.”

Emily turned and headed for a corridor to the right. Lenny followed her down a hall past several rooms until they reached room 122. The door was open. They entered the small, starkly appointed room to find Miss Rutledge lying in bed, her head propped up on a couple of pillows.

Although she was pale and frail looking, Miss Rutledge’s eyes twinkled like a pair of jade crystals at the sight of some welcome company, Lenny observed.

“Emily!” she exclaimed as they approached her.

“How are you feeling?” Emily asked, going over and giving the elderly woman a kiss.

“I’m fine, honey,” she replied.

Miss Rutledge suddenly stared at Lenny as though she had just become aware of his presence in the room. Lenny was puzzled by the expression on the ancient woman’s face that conveyed a combination of shock, joy, and relief all at the same time.

Emily noticed her peculiar expression, too. “I’d like for you to meet someone, Miss Rutledge. This is Lenny Williams.”

Lenny felt Miss Rutledge’s eyes go through him as he stepped past Emily and then, unsure of what to do next, leaned down and pecked her on the cheek. “Nice to meet you, Miss Rutledge.”

She continued staring at him for a moment then smiled warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lenny.”

Feeling more than a little awkward, Lenny glanced uneasily at Emily in hope of a cue of some kind.

“Lenny lives in New York City,” Emily explained. “He’s a professional photographer.”

Miss Rutledge looked at Emily then back at Lenny before speaking. “A photographer, you say?”

Lenny inadvertently put his arm around Emily’s waist and replied, “Yeah . . . I’ll never get rich, but at least it’s interesting work.”

“It must be interesting, indeed . . . Why don’t you two take your coats off and make yourselves comfortable?” she suggested, her eyes continuing to gaze at both of them curiously.

Lenny helped Emily off with her coat then removed his own as Emily pulled up a chair and sat down.

“May I ask the two of you something without you getting angry at me for prying?” Miss Rutledge said as Lenny sat down beside Emily.

“Of course,” Emily replied.

“Is it safe to assume that you are more than just friends?”

Lenny and Emily gazed at each other, grinning. Then Emily winked at Miss Rutledge. “Much more than friends!”

The old woman’s face suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, I’m so happy to hear that! I knew the very moment I saw you two that love was in the air!” she exclaimed as a tear came to her eye. “I’m sorry . . . but when you get to be my age you start getting emotional over such things. I’m so happy for you, Emily! For you both!”

Miss Rutledge reached for a Kleenex, dabbed her nose and looked directly at Lenny. “You’re a very lucky young man, Lenny. I’ve watched this little gal grow up and blossom into the sweetest, most beautiful young woman Ashland Falls has ever beheld. But then, there was Katherine too, of course, whom Emily resembles so much . . . Has Emily told you about her Grandma Katherine?”

Emily exactly knew why Miss Rutledge was asking Lenny this; she of course wanted to find out if he was knowledgeable of her family’s history. She wondered what this might be leading up to.

“Yes, she has,” Lenny replied.

Miss Rutledge seemed relieved. “Then I feel that I can speak frankly to both of you—unless you have any objections,” she added, glancing at Emily.

Emily felt a slight pang of apprehension for some reason. What was she going to say? she wondered. “Of course not, Miss Rutledge,” she replied.

Miss Rutledge nodded. “Very well, then. The reason I wanted you to come and see me now, Emily, is quite simple. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be around; especially after what happened yesterday. They tell me I’m fine and that it wasn’t very serious, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to live forever. I dare say that it gave me quite a scare, and I’m not so sure I’d want to live through another one of those, to be quite frank.”

She paused a moment, apparently to collect her thoughts.

“Just before your grandmother died, she wanted me to promise her that I’d carry out a request for her—her last dying wish, you might say. Her request was most odd, and at the time I thought that perhaps she was delirious, taking into account the very nature of her request and the unlikelihood of my being able to carry it out. Katherine was, after all, quite near death when she spoke to me, and in fact died shortly thereafter.”

Emily and Lenny were staring at Miss Rutledge intently and saw her eyes beginning to cloud up. She took a moment to compose herself before continuing.

“Last night, I decided I would have you come here so that I could tell you what I’m about to tell you now. I made this decision only after much deliberation; I felt that you should know your grandmother’s last wish even though I couldn’t carry it out as she intended. But as it turns out—and this is a small miracle in itself—it appears that I’ll be able to carry out Katherine’s request after all. When you showed up here with this young man, Emily, and so obviously in love, I nearly fainted on the spot! In a moment you’ll understand why it affected me so. Will you do me a favor, sweetie, and go over to the dresser and bring me the jewelry box sitting there?”

“Sure,” Emily replied a little uneasily. She went over to get the small wooden jewelry box, returned and handed it to Miss Rutledge.

“Thank you,” Miss Rutledge said, placing the jewelry box on her lap. “I’ll now tell you Katherine’s final wish in her exact words; or at least as closely as I can recollect. She said, ‘When my granddaughter at last finds the man of her dreams, give her these rings. They were my parents’ wedding bands, and the only possession of theirs to have escaped the fire.”

Miss Rutledge studied Emily’s face for a moment before continuing.

“Katherine had grown very weak by then and spoke barely above a whisper. Her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes of hers, closed for the last time and a smile suddenly came to her lips. She then said, ‘My father will be back, Dorothy. And these rings will bring him back . . . to my granddaughter. Then all of the pain and suffering that she no doubt will have endured for so long will vanish, and my father will at last be free to join my mother—and quite soon, myself—in Paradise.’”

Miss Rutledge looked at Lenny and then Emily. “These were your grandmother’s final words.”

Emily’s face was white as a sheet as she arose and embraced Miss Rutledge. Lenny sat in silence, staring uneasily at the jewelry box lying in her lap.

Moments later, Emily stood up and looked at Lenny with tears in her eyes. He ran over and hugged her comfortingly.

Then Miss Rutledge said, “Although I felt Katherine hadn’t had her wits about her toward the end, I couldn’t help but feel certain that she had found peace at last. Only the Good Lord in Heaven knows how she could predict that she would someday have a granddaughter; and it baffles me to this day why she said what she had said. But that smile on her face was so serene, so at peace . . .”

Suddenly, the old woman’s eyes lit up. “But now we have you two lovebirds! My heart leaps for joy just watching you two loving on one another the way you do!”

If it was her intention to lighten the atmosphere of the room, then Miss Rutledge succeeded.

Emily managed a weak smile and her eyes widened when she turned to Miss Rutledge and said, “Don’t you think it’s amazing how suddenly this has all happened, Miss Rutledge? I mean, I only just met Lenny a couple of days ago and already we’re madly in love with each other!”

Shaking her head slowly from side to side, Miss Rutledge replied, “I’m not surprised at all. Love comes but once in a lifetime and only to a lucky few, I’ve always felt. And when it does, one knows it. It’s written all over your faces—any fool can see how much in love you two are. The same was true with Katherine and Warren. And they wasted little time being joined together in holy matrimony . . .”

She cut herself off and her aged face went red. “I’m sorry; I hope I’m not jumping to conclusions. I just naturally assumed that you two were planning to be married someday.”

Emily and Lenny stared at each other; then Lenny turned to Miss Rutledge and said, “Actually, I’ve already more or less proposed to Emily, and to be honest, I’m not exactly sure what her answer was.”

Emily nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “You do so know what my answer was, Lenny Williams!”

Lenny grinned at her sheepishly. “Then I can take that as a ‘yes?’”

“Yes!”

A silence so thick you could cut it with a knife hung in the air for a moment as they stared at each other in absolute disbelief of what had just occurred. Then Lenny, in his never-ending quest to put things in their proper order said: “Emily, will you marry me?”

Emily was radiant. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

In an outpouring of emotions, they embraced for several moments. When at last they faced each other again, they both had tears in their eyes. They kissed, then suddenly remembering where they were, Lenny turned to Miss Rutledge.

“Uh, your assumption was correct, Miss Rutledge,” he quipped.

Miss Rutledge chuckled. “Well, now that you’ve proposed, won’t you be needing something?” she said, glancing at the jewelry box lying in her lap. She picked the box up and proffered it to Emily, a wily grin on her face. “I believe there’s a couple of rings in this little box which should suffice.”

Emily stood up and gingerly took the box from her. She glimpsed at Lenny; suddenly thinking that she saw a hint of dread on his face and then deciding she’d only imagined it. She sat back down and slowly opened the lid. Inside, she saw two gold wedding bands, a man’s and a woman’s, both highly polished and gleaming. She took out the rings and held them in her palm.

“They’re beautiful . . . Look, Lenny!” she exclaimed.

Lenny stared at the rings. “They look almost like new,” he declared with an imperceptible trace of apprehension.

“They look like they just might fit, too,” Emily added excitedly. She glanced at Lenny expectantly, awaiting him to make a move for the rings.

Lenny braced himself. Gotta be cool, he thought. “Well, let’s just see if they do,” he said as he took Nancy Porter’s ring from Emily’s hand, avoiding the other one like the plague.

No problem . . .

Emily offered Lenny her left hand, her fingers splayed. Lenny slid the ring on her finger.

“It fits perfectly!” she cried. She showed it to Miss Rutledge. “See?”

Miss Rutledge declared, “It’s indeed a perfect fit, Emily. It looks simply lovely!”

Lenny took Emily’s hand and kissed the back of it. “For my beautiful fiancé.”

Emily beamed. “And now . . .”

She waited for Lenny to hold out his hand.

Lenny’s head was spinning at breakneck speed. He made a snap decision: Nothing is going to ruin this special moment. So be it.

He held out his hand. As Emily gazed into his eyes, Lenny prayed she couldn’t read his anxiety. He held her gaze for a moment, drawing all the strength he could from her. Then he felt her take his hand in hers. Her hand felt warm, particularly her fingertips. Then he felt something cold, hard, and circular slide over the knuckle of his ring finger and become seated at the base. Lenny looked down at his hand. The ring fit perfectly . . .

But more importantly, it wasn’t hot and he wasn’t tingling.

“Perfect!” Emily exclaimed.

Lenny felt a little shaky—but that was probably due to the drama of the moment, he decided. The emotions and all . . .

Emily took his hand and kissed it. “For my handsome fiancé.”

Lenny kissed her lips and held her tight.

It was the happiest moment of his life.

He glanced over Emily’s shoulder at Miss Rutledge, who was staring at them, tears of joy running down her cheeks. That was when Lenny realized what a joyous occasion this was for her as well. Emily had mentioned the old woman’s pledge to live long enough to see Emily get married. And now, in a sense, she was witnessing the big moment. God bless the sweet old lady . . .

Lenny brought his hand up behind Emily’s back and looked at the ring again. A perfect fit, he thought. Just like the two of them were—like a hand in a glove. Made for each other . . .

She’d made him the happiest man on earth the day she’d married him . . .

He held his wife closer then looked over at the crib to check on the baby. She was starting to cry and probably needed changing. Who’s turn was it this time? he wondered. His, he was pretty sure. He didn’t mind, though.

As he let go of his wife, she smiled and gave him that sort of endearing look she always gave him whenever it was his turn to change the baby. “Katie needs her daddy,” she teased playfully. He grinned at her in resignation. Their lovemaking was going to have to wait a little longer, it appeared.

He arose from their bed, strode over to the crib, and went about the business of changing Katie’s diaper. As he did so, he marveled at this little miracle of life and thanked God that he’d been blessed with so much. A loving, wonderful wife, and now this tiny bundle of joy. Was he not the luckiest man on earth?

As he lifted little Katie up to place a fresh diaper under her, he saw the birthmark on the cheek of her tiny bottom and chuckled to himself. What incredible odds, he thought, that her birthmark shared the same distinctive pattern as his own. And precisely the same location, too!

When he finished, he gently lowered the tiny infant into her crib, relieved that she had ceased crying. He turned and walked back over to the bed where his beautiful and naked wife awaited him with open arms . . .

“Lenny?” he heard Emily whisper in his ear as the wall he’d been staring at suddenly came into clear focus.

Another flashback! he thought to himself in utter disbelief.

Lenny managed to pull himself together somewhat and whispered back, “Huh?”

“I think you can let go of me now,” Emily said, her voice hushed.

Lenny glanced over at Miss Rutledge, who was still staring at him, before withdrawing his embrace. Emily’s expression was puzzled, and Lenny wondered how long he had been standing there embracing her and if she now suspected that anything was awry. He didn’t think so.

“Got a little carried away, I guess,” he proclaimed blindly.

“You two just can’t get enough of each other, can you?” Miss Rutledge quipped.

Lenny smiled. “Nope.”

As he sat back down in the chair, Lenny knew he had to get out of the room before he exploded. He looked at Emily and said quietly, “I need some air . . . I could use a cigarette, too.”

“Are you all right?” she asked in a tone of concern.

“I’m fine. It’s just a little stuffy in here.”

Emily nodded and turned to Miss Rutledge. “Lenny’s going to get some air, Miss Rutledge.”

“Are you feeling ill?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, Miss Rutledge. It’s just a little warm in here.”

“I’ve complained incessantly about that. They seem to think we’re all going to freeze to death if it gets below eighty degrees in this place!”

Lenny managed a weak laugh and winked at Emily then stood up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. He left the room.

As he fled through the hall to the lobby, Lenny fished nervously in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. Once outside, he ran over to one of the benches overlooking the nursing home grounds and slumped down in it. His hands shook involuntarily as he lit up a cigarette and stared blankly at the nondescript landscape.

His worse fears were confirmed. As he’d anticipated would happen, Clem Porter’s wedding band had triggered another flashback.

But, he thought, that still didn’t necessarily confirm that he had been Clem Porter in the flashback. Both flashbacks had been sort of dark and vague, and his wife had been only a face—a face with no name. And he had absolutely no idea what Nancy Porter looked like. Nor did Emily, for that matter.

And then there had been the baby—another unrecognizable face. The baby had been his daughter, no doubt the same child his wife had been pregnant with in the first flashback. Both he and his wife had been in bed, naked, and about to make love. The baby started crying. It was his turn to change her diaper; apparently they’d taken turns at this little chore. His wife had teased him about it: “Katie needs her daddy—”

It hit him like a ton of bricks: Katie . . !

A name!

Short for Katherine? Lenny thought. Yes, of course it was . . . But not once had anyone referred to Emily’s grandmother as “Katie.” Not even her lifelong friend, Miss Rutledge.

Still, this seemed more than just a little coincidental . . .

Lenny’s thoughts returned to the flashback. He’d gone over to the crib to change the baby’s diaper. He’d noticed something unusual about the baby . . . She had a birthmark on her butt—three tiny little dots forming a nearly perfect equilateral triangle. He was in awe of this birthmark—not only because of its unique configuration, but because he found it hard to believe that his daughter had . . .

The exact same birthmark as he himself had!

Holy Christ!

Katie was definitely his baby in the flashback—no doubt about that! And if Katie was Katherine, then he had been Clem, and that could only mean that . . .

Emily’s problems were over!

Gotta get back, he thought. Gotta find out the truth. Gotta confirm everything . . .

Lenny had a broad grin on his face as he tossed his cigarette on the ground, stomped it out, took three steps then suddenly stopped himself dead in his tracks.

How was he ever going to explain this if it was true? he thought. And who on God’s Green Earth would ever believe him?

You’ve got to be kidding!

Hell, he was having enough trouble believing it himself!

First thing’s first, he decided. Confirm everything and then figure out how to deal with it.

Lenny went back into the nursing home, his mind racing ahead at warp speed. When he entered Miss Rutledge’s room, Emily was in the process of telling her how they’d met—the second time—at the hospital. He went over and sat down beside her.

“You feel any better?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, much better.”

“Emily tells me that you had quite an accident,” Miss Rutledge said to him. “It sounds as though you should feel lucky to still be alive, from the way she described it.”

Lenny said, “I took a real spill, that’s for sure. The doctor told me if it weren’t for my head being so hard, I would have been a goner.”

Emily and Miss Rutledge both laughed. “I don’t suppose he was referring to your stubbornness was he?” Emily teased.

“I’m not really sure, now that you mention it,” Lenny replied with a grin.

“Well, all I can say is that you’re a very fortunate young man,” Miss Rutledge declared. “To be in a coma that long and come out of it with all your faculties intact is nothing short of a miracle. God’s work, it was.”

“I do feel very lucky—in more ways than one,” Lenny said, glimpsing at Emily.

“What went through your mind when the taxi cab hit you? Or do you remember?” Miss Rutledge asked.

Lenny thought back. That particular moment was still fuzzy in his memory, he realized. He could remember flying through the air and seeing the pavement just before he landed. He could even make out the cracks in perfect detail. Then he’d landed, his head smashing against the pavement.

Then he’d regained consciousness, lying flat on his back in a creek bed . . .

“Lenny?”

Lenny’s heart skipped a beat.

He looked at Emily. “Huh?”

“Do you remember?” She was staring at him oddly.

Lenny looked over at Miss Rutledge. “Oh yeah. Well, I . . . I sort of remember it. It’s still kind of blurry.”

Miss Rutledge said: “It’s probably something you don’t particularly want to talk about, I reckon.”

Lenny shook his head, feeling a little dizzy. “Not really.”

“I’m sorry, Lenny. I shouldn’t have asked such a hare- brained question,” she said, showing regret for having brought the subject up.

“No, it’s okay, Miss Rutledge,” he said. “I . . . I think my mind was elsewhere when you asked me, that’s all.”

“What’s wrong, Lenny?” asked Emily.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong. I was just curious about something . . .”

He turned to Miss Rutledge.

“Did Katherine ever go by the name of Katie, by any chance? You know, when she was younger, growing up?”

Miss Rutledge appeared to be perplexed by the question. She thought for a moment then replied, “It’s really quite odd that you should ask that, Lenny. My mother once told me that Katherine’s mother and father had both called her Katie on the few occasions that she’d seen the child. But for some reason, and I’ve never really known why, John Hoffman absolutely insisted on calling her Katherine once my mother had taken her in. Katherine was her legally given name, he pointed out, and he said that he preferred Katherine over Katie—that it sounded more ‘elegant.’ In fact, John would get so riled up whenever someone called her Katie that everyone ended up calling her Katherine just to avoid his scorn . . . But why do you ask, Lenny?” the old woman inquired suspiciously, peering intently into his eyes.

Lenny could feel Emily’s eyes on him as well.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that ‘Katherine’ seems so, uh, formal,” he hedged. “I guess it just seems a little weird to me that no one ever called her by a shortened version; like Kathy, Kate, or whatever.”

Lenny knew this excuse sounded completely idiotic, but he didn’t care. Now he knew.

One more hurdle to go . . .

Emily stared at Miss Rutledge, “How come you never told me about this?”

“It must have slipped my mind,” was the elderly lady’s reply.

Emily asked, “Why do you suppose that my great-grandfather seemed so adamantly opposed to calling Grandma ‘Katie’, as Clem and Nancy had?”

Miss Rutledge shook her head and frowned. “I have no idea, dear. But this was quite typical of John Hoffman. He often did things that seemed to have no apparent rhyme or reason. And it didn’t matter if what he did made sense or not, because only a fool would dare challenge him—he always managed to gain the upper hand on everything. Your great-grandfather was a tyrant in many ways. If he wanted something his way, he usually got it.”

“But it was so unfair of him!” Emily protested. “The least he could have done was respect Grandma’s name, for crying out loud!”

Lenny could see that Emily was getting upset. He put his arm around her comfortingly. “It’s all right, honey.”

Emily’s anger abated. “I’m sorry I got carried away. It’s just that . . . I hate him so much!”

Miss Rutledge seemed taken aback by Emily’s sudden outpouring of emotion but remained silent. Emily looked over at her apologetically. “I know that ‘hate’ is an awfully strong word, but I can’t help it. I despise John Hoffman for what all he did.”

“You needn’t make any excuses, sweetie. I understand. He was a loathsome man at times.”

There was a long moment of silence. Emily turned to Lenny and said under her breath, so Miss Rutledge couldn’t hear, “May I have a cigarette?”

Lenny cast Emily a bewildered look then nodded. While Miss Rutledge wasn’t looking, he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and slipped it into Emily’s hand.

“I’m feeling a little warm myself, now.” she told Miss Rutledge. “I think I’ll go get some air.”

“Want me to come along?” Lenny asked, crossing his fingers.

“No, that’s okay. You stay here with Miss Rutledge,” she replied. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She stood up then left the room.

Lenny knew he had to work quickly and carefully. He looked over at Miss Rutledge. “Emily told me about her grandmother’s unusual birthmark. I once did a theme paper in college on genetics and heredity, and was surprised to learn that birthmarks can actually be hereditary traits passed on from parents to their offspring. This is going to sound like a weird question, I realize, but do you by any chance know if either John Hoffman or Clem Porter had an unusual birthmark of any kind? Similar to Katie’s—I mean Katherine’s, perhaps?”

It was ludicrous and a huge gamble, he knew; but what the hell?

Miss Rutledge cast Lenny a startled look as if she’d just seen a ghost and the color went from her face. She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to choose her words before answering him.

But before she could reply, Lenny said, “I realize that this may be a little embarrassing for you, Miss Rutledge, and if I’ve offended you, I’m sorry. It’s just that I want to help Emily in any way I can, and when she mentioned the birthmark I sort of got this idea. And even though it’s a long shot, I thought it might be worth at least asking you about since you had all but lived with John Hoffman and your mother had known the Porters’ so well. I guess what I’m getting suggesting is that maybe we could determine which man was Katherine’s biological father by some kind of physical evidence—such as this birthmark. Not much to go on, really, I realize.”

Miss Rutledge looked at Lenny suspiciously and said, “Did you tell Emily that you were going to ask me this?”

Lenny felt the sweat in his palms. “Uh, no. In fact, I was sort of hoping that we could keep this confidential. It might upset her that I asked you behind her back.”

Miss Rutledge remained silent and continued staring at him. Finally, a faint smile came to her face.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about confidentiality, Lenny. My lips are sealed. As to your question, the answer is: I don’t know. My mother never mentioned anything about Clem having any unusual birthmarks; and as for John Hoffman, I don’t recall him having any unusual birthmarks, from what I could see. But of course, I could never be completely certain,” she added, her face turning red.

Lenny tried to appear disappointed. “I see. Well, it was worth a shot anyway.”

Yes! Lenny thought to himself. Although Miss Rutledge by now considered him a total idiot, at least he’d managed to get it out of her. Katie had indeed had an unusual birthmark. And taking into account the “personal area” it had been, was it any wonder why Miss Rutledge had been embarrassed when he’d asked if she’d know either man to have had an identical birthmark?

This sealed it. He now knew that not only had he been Clem Porter in his past life; but Clem Porter had also been Katherine’s biological father.

But convincing Emily of this would be difficult at best; if not altogether impossible. After all, he was basing this unbelievable claim on a totally unbelievable premise in the first place. All of this information had been obtained by means of a series of mental flashbacks that were now occurring as a result of his wearing the wedding band that had once belonged to his former incarnation . . .

Emily will never buy this, he thought. In fact, no one in his right mind would buy it.

Just gonna have to play it by ear . . .

CHAPTER 24

After Emily and Lenny had left, Dorothy Rutledge lay in bed fidgeting nervously with the jewelry box that she held in her hand. From the very moment Emily’s boyfriend had asked her about Katherine’s name, she’d grown leery of him. The question itself was odd enough; why in the world was he so curious about her name in the first place? She had asked herself. Never once had she mentioned to Emily that Katherine had been referred to as “Katie” by Clem and Nancy Porter; yet here was this young man, a virtual stranger, suddenly inquiring about it.

Then there had been the absurd excuse he’d made for asking—how had he put it? Because “Katherine” seemed so “formal?” Fiddlesticks! Why would he give a tinker’s dam what Katherine had been called, formal or otherwise? It had made absolutely no sense at all.

But then came the stopper. When he’d inquired about Katherine’s birthmark, she had known for certain that there was a whole lot more to Lenny Williams than met the eye . . .

Because she had never told Emily about her birthmark!

Yet somehow Lenny Williams had known about it. And there was no way in creation that he could have known about it, unless . . .

Dorothy recalled Katherine’s final words, and realized now that her best friend hadn’t been delirious after all. In fact, she’d been in rare form as she proceeded to foretell the future with uncanny accuracy. For not only had Katherine known that she would someday have a granddaughter who might have good use for her parents’ wedding bands, she had also managed to impart the prophecy that Clem Porter would come back someday, and that he would pay a visit on her granddaughter.

Clem Porter had indeed come back—in the form of Lenny Williams.

CHAPTER 25

It was past ten when Emily and Lenny left the nursing home. Both were silent as they traversed the parking lot and got into the bus.

“Would you like to tell me what you and Miss Rutledge talked about while I was out of the room?” Emily asked Lenny as she started the engine.

Lenny looked at her innocently and replied, “Nothing in particular.”

“Well, her attitude sure seemed to change after I came back. She seemed different somehow . . . Like she knew something that I didn’t,” she declared suspiciously.

“I didn’t notice. All I can say is that it was all small talk; nothing important.”

“You aren’t lying to me, are you?”

Yes, Lenny thought to himself, I am. But I have to. “No . . . Honest!”

“You didn’t discuss my grandmother’s last words; or tell Miss Rutledge about my nightmares?”

“No,” he replied flatly.

“I have a funny feeling about all of this,” Emily declared with uncertainty. “I didn’t want to appear to be overreacting when Miss Rutledge told us about Grandma Katherine’s last words, but I thought that it was absolutely eerie. Especially Katherine’s prediction that her father would be coming back to ‘save’ her granddaughter, who is obviously me. Remember the dream I had last night? How Clem Porter suddenly appeared and saved me from John Hoffman? Isn’t that just a little too coincidental?”

Lenny wanted to tell Emily everything now, but he couldn’t. It was all going to have to wait. “It’s weird, I have to admit. But don’t forget that who you thought to be Clem Porter had in essence been me.”

“I know,” Emily nodded. “But you said that was because I didn’t have a face to give Clem, since I’ve never known what he looked like. Maybe it really was Clem—his spirit or soul, or whatever you’d call it—even though I subconsciously gave him your face.”

Lenny smiled enthusiastically. “Then there you have it! Clem’s come back and you don’t have to worry about the nightmares anymore—just as your grandmother predicted!”

Emily heaved a long, exasperated sigh. “I wish I could believe that, Lenny; but it’s just not that simple. Besides, I still don’t know the truth.”

“Maybe you do know the truth!” Lenny persisted. “You saw the three of them together, right? Clem, Nancy, and Katie. That, along with Katherine’s prophecy should be all the convincing you need!”

Emily shrugged and fell silent for a moment. Then she gazed questioningly at Lenny. “Why in the world did you ask Miss Rutledge if Grandma Katherine had ever been called Katie?”

Lenny tried to sound convincing. “I was just curious. It was a dumb question, really. But I’ve been notorious for asking dumb questions all my life.”

Emily was still doubtful, he could tell. But she seemed willing to drop the subject for the time being as she backed out of the parking space and said, “I could use some coffee. You want to stop somewhere before we head back?”

“Sure . . . Maybe there’s a McDonalds nearby.”

“I think there’s one near the highway.”

Lenny nodded. “Let’s go.”

Emily pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road then glanced at Lenny’s hand, a playful grin on her face. “How come you haven’t taken the ring off?”

Lenny replied, “Probably for the same reason you haven’t taken yours off. As far as I’m concerned, we’re already married.”

Emily smiled broadly. “Ditto, for me.”

Lenny wormed his way out of his jacket. “It’s getting downright warm in here.”

“It sure is. Can you give me a hand with mine?”

Lenny leaned over and helped Emily off with her coat, pecking her on the cheek as he did so.

Moments later they found a McDonalds located near the access road to the highway. Emily pulled into the drive-thru and they ordered two coffees. As they pulled away, Lenny took a sip of his coffee and stared pensively out the window.

He had experienced three more flashbacks since the first one involving Katie’s birthmark. The first had been very brief—more of a fragment than an episode. He recalled lying in a creek bed, flat on his back, with his head feeling as though it had been hit with a sledgehammer.

Moments later, he’d had the second one. He had crawled out of the creek bed—his leg had been injured—then with the aid of a fishing pole had managed to get up onto his feet. He’d had amnesia, and absolutely no idea who or where he was. Then his memory had returned. He recalled that his name was Clem Porter and that he had a wife named Nancy, and an infant daughter named Katie. He’d started hollering for his wife, whom he’d known was up at their house on top of the ravine doing the laundry. Nancy eventually heard his cries for help and had come down the path to rescue him. She’d helped him up the path—it had taken them a long time to climb it—and then they finally had made it to their house. They’d gone inside and he’d seen his baby daughter. Then the flashback had ended.

Just before he and Emily had left the nursing home, he’d had a third flashback. Nancy had ordered him to take a hot bath and afterwards had helped him into bed. Then, after changing her clothes, she’d left the house and taken the buggy into town to find Doc Pritchart so that he could come and examine him. He’d fallen asleep in the meantime, but had awakened when Nancy returned with the doctor. After examining him, Doc Pritchart had given him some pills to take for the pain. Then the doctor had left.

After this flashback, Lenny began realizing what was happening. He was recalling, in sequence, a particular day in Clem Porter’s life.

And now, as he sat here staring out at the scenery in the midst of an untimely winter thaw, Lenny somehow knew that this particular day in Clem Porter’s life had been a significant one.

He glanced over at Emily. She was sipping her coffee and her eyes were fixed on the road. So far, he thought, she had no idea what was going on. It was almost laughable—if not downright ironic—that the woman of his dreams was in fact his great-granddaughter from his past life.

Not to mention downright weird . . .

But it was a fact, like it or not. And it didn’t affect Lenny in the least with regard to the future. He was still in love with Emily Hoffman, and he was still going to marry her. Nothing could ever change that.

But the ten thousand dollar question was this: How was he going to tell Emily what he knew, and at the same time effectively convince her that he wasn’t totally off his rocker in the process? He had no idea. All he knew at the moment was that he had to wait. That’s what that little voice inside was telling him to do.

So wait, he would.

Soon he would have another flashback. It was inevitable. There was nothing else to do for now but stare out the window and wait for it to happen.

CHAPTER 26

By the time the beige Volkswagen bus puttered past the sign marker denoting Ashland Falls’ city limits, Lenny Williams had practically forgotten who he truly was—

He had just spent virtually the last half hour or so living and breathing as Clem Porter.

And Clem Porter had been recalling his last day of life on earth . . .

Lenny glanced over at Emily. She appeared to be concentrating on her driving, but he knew better. In reality, she was wondering what he’d been thinking about all this time.

He now realized that it was absolutely imperative not to let Emily know about the flashbacks he’d been experiencing. He also knew why that little voice, which he now was certain was Clem Porter’s voice, had been cautioning him not to tell Emily anything all along.

The reason was quite clear: John Hoffman’s crimes had been more heinous and abominable than Emily could ever imagine.

And although John Hoffman was in fact innocent of the crime that had caused so much pain and misery for both Emily and Katherine Hoffman, he was instead guilty of something far more diabolical . . .

Murder. First degree. Cold-blooded. Two counts.

Not to mention kidnapping . . .

And if Emily were to ever discover the truth—what her great-grandfather had really done on the night he had supposedly rescued her grandmother from that burning house—she undoubtedly would never be able to shake off the recurring nightmares that had plagued her for so long.

As far as Lenny could surmise, Clem Porter apparently had a ‘mission,’ for lack of a better word. Clem had died wanting to avenge what John Hoffman had done to his wife and child. His last dying wish had been to see that the record was set straight and that justice would be served. And until this was carried out, John Hoffman’s spirit would continue haunting Emily in her sleep, as it had haunted Katherine in her sleep.

John Hoffman was a free spirit—unconfined like the wind—and he had never been punished for his crimes while he lived as a mortal being. Clem’s mission was to see that John Hoffman’s spirit was put to rest, once and for all. Ironically, Emily was the key, as well as the victim. Once John Hoffman’s alleged crime had been effectively exorcised from her mind, Emily could be free at last to start leading a normal life. Clem would then be free to join Nancy and Katherine inside the pearly gates. And John Hoffman would almost certainly rot in Hell.

Lenny realized that this was all mere speculation and that he was probably the least likely person on earth to be able to comprehend, much less conceive, what in the hell was going on here. Being mortal seemed to have a lot to do with it, plus the added handicap of his being neither a particularly religious nor spiritual individual. This was all way out of his league, he conceded—a job much better suited for a psychic, or a priest.

But here he was, like it or not. Unqualified and stuck smack dab in the middle of the whole thing. His only cohort, his only ace in the hole, was Clem Porter. He had steered him this far, and hopefully, would get him all the way to home plate.

Lenny lit up a cigarette and gazed out at the shops lining Hudson Street as the stark reality of this whole bizarre situation registered in his mind. He felt a sudden sympathy for the unfortunate individuals who had experienced similar “unexplained phenomena” such as this then made the mistake of trying to convince others that it really was happening; that they weren’t the loonies everyone thought them to be. But there wasn’t a soul on earth who would ever believe them, try as they may. Just as there wasn’t a soul on earth who would ever believe Lenny Williams.

Which was exactly why Lenny Williams had already decided that he wasn’t going to tell a soul.

All he wanted was to do whatever earthly possible to free Emily from her nightmares; so that they could get on with their lives together. And his only hope of accomplishing Clem’s “mission”—which in reality had become his own—was contingent upon one solitary shot in the dark.

If his hunch was right, and luck was on his side, he just might be able to complete the mission.

Otherwise, he wasn’t going to have an ice cube’s chance in Hell . . .

“How much of the old house is still standing?” Lenny asked Emily.

“What?” she said, obviously startled by the sudden break in silence.

“The old house. What’s left of it?”

Emily eyed him curiously. “Not much, really. Charred boards and rubble; that’s about it. And the chimney. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Let’s go check it out.”

CHAPTER 27

There was a nip in the air as they trudged along the slushy path, hinting that the unlikely winter thaw was to be only a brief one. To the north, Emily spotted a huge bank of leaden gray clouds swooping across the sky, promising another snowstorm before nightfall. Winter was far from being over in the Catskill Mountains.

Cassie was twenty yards ahead, stopping every now and then to sniff the air as she zigzagged rambunctiously along the path. Emily glanced over at Lenny walking beside her and gave his hand a light squeeze, wondering what he was thinking about. She’d played the morning over and over in her mind a dozen times since leaving her house, but she still was at a complete loss as to what was happening. Lenny had been so quiet since they left the nursing home and she still wasn’t fully convinced that he and Miss Rutledge hadn’t discussed something she should know about while she’d left them alone in the room. She hated doubting Lenny’s word—it made her feel paranoid—but she would bet her eyetooth that he was holding something back.

Her only consolation was in knowing that if there truly was something he was keeping from her, that it couldn’t be too awfully significant. After all, he and Miss Rutledge barely knew each other; how important could it be? She still wished she knew why Miss Rutledge had suddenly acted so strange, though . . .

“How much further?” Lenny asked.

“About a quarter of a mile,” she replied.

Emily hesitated a moment then said, “What’s the matter, Lenny?”

He looked over and smiled reassuringly. “Nothing, honey. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been so quiet—ever since we left the nursing home. I guess I’m just not used to you being so . . . quiet.”

Lenny halted abruptly and faced her. “I’m sorry, Emily. I know I haven’t been very conversational. It’s just that I’ve been sort of contemplating things. You know, so much has happened so fast and I, well, sometimes I feel like I have to think things through at times. To sort of put things into perspective. I guess it’s just my nature.”

Emily said, “I suppose I know what you mean. I’m the same way. I guess I just need to know that everything’s okay. That we’re okay.”

Lenny took her in his arms and kissed her. He then gazed into her eyes and said, “Well, what do you think?”

Emily smiled brightly. “We’re fine!”

Lenny grinned as they resumed their trek.

Within another thirty yards or so, Lenny began feeling an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The surroundings suddenly looked familiar—the trees, the brush lining the path, the path itself. He had walked along this path before, he thought. Many times in fact; when he’d lived here in another life. He knew exactly where they were now and what lay ahead. The path would run another hundred feet or so, turn gradually to the right for a short distance then cut back sharply to the left. Then after another fifty feet, the path would gradually widen into a road until it finally merged into a large clearing that would be surrounded by towering oak, maple, and birch trees. Near the center of the clearing and off to the right would be the house. Or at least what was left of the house. Across from the house, near the tree line, would be the barn. And beyond the barn there would be a path that cut back into the woods and ran along the edge of the ravine.

Lenny soon became aware of a faint ringing sound that grew increasingly louder with each step he took and a tingling sensation in his extremities. He broke out in a cold sweat and for a moment thought he was going to pass out. He continued walking as if none of this was happening; praying Emily didn’t notice.

The path cut to the right as Lenny struggled to keep his equilibrium. The ringing sound had increased to a nearly unbearable intensity as he felt the pressure build up in his eardrums. His heart started racing sporadically and he suddenly felt as though he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, causing him to panic. He squeezed Emily’s hand and shut his eyes, hoping to ward off his uneasiness. She squeezed his hand in reply and then, like magic, the ringing subsided as his heart rate and respiration leveled-out to a steady rhythm. A gust of wind suddenly hit him head-on and Lenny felt the feverish feeling and tingling promptly diminish.

Lenny breathed an inward sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure if what he’d just experienced had been an anxiety attack or something else. He only knew that he felt uncomfortable being here all of a sudden, and couldn’t wait to get this over with then get the hell out ASAP.

“We’re almost there,” Emily announced.

Lenny saw the clearing a short distance ahead.

“I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed,” she added.

Lenny looked over at Emily and merely shrugged his shoulders.

They reached the clearing and Lenny looked to his right, and then let out a gasp -

Could what he was seeing actually once been his happy home?

His heart sank.

The home his father had struggled for over two long years to build had been leveled to the ground. His house, along with Nancy and himself, had been all but reduced to ashes.

And his beautiful baby daughter had been taken away from him in the process.

Had this really been his happy home?

“Lenny?”

He couldn’t take his eyes away. “Yes?” he muttered, his voice not his own.

“What do you think?” he heard Emily say.

They ambled on toward the house.

“Not much left,” he mumbled.

“I told you that you’d be disappointed.”

Lenny stared at the well pump. How many times had he and Nancy pumped water from that well? He glanced over at the pile of weathered boards that had once been his barn and wondered what had ever become of Betsy, the old mare that had taken Nancy and himself into town on so many occasions. Had Hoffman taken her as his own, or had he destroyed her just as he’d destroyed everything else?

His eyes returned to the house as he felt his blood begin to boil. If only he hadn’t been so utterly defenseless that night! he thought. If only he’d known that John Hoffman had had no intention of firing that pistol. Then he could have overpowered him, in spite of his bad leg, and saved his family. But he hadn’t known . . .

The image of John Hoffman standing before Nancy’s naked body, plunging his pistol inside of her, flashed through his mind and he grimaced. His lovely wife, totally helpless, terrorized then pistol-whipped by a man who had no right to even exist. He could still hear her screams, high-pitched and hysterical, as Hoffman performed his perverse assault on her. He saw the pistol come down, striking her on the head. She slumped to the floor, lying in a pool of blood, her eyes frozen in the terror of the moment.

He could see the expression on John Hoffman’s face, standing near the door with Katie tucked under his arm, just before he struck the match. That maniacal, self-righteous expression of a man who always got what he wanted and who had just committed the perfect crime. “Sorry it had to end this way, Clem,” he’d chanted. “But I must take what’s rightfully mine.”

But Katie wasn’t John Hoffman’s child. Katie was his child. Why in the name of Christ had he said that? And why had he sensed that Nancy knew something about Hoffman that he didn’t?

In a moment, he would find out. God willing . . .

As they approached the well pump, he felt the presence of his wife and daughter. Their ashes were now a part of the very earth on which he stood. Their souls were together in Heaven, awaiting him . . .

When they reached the pump, Lenny stopped momentarily and grasped the handle in his hand then tried to work it. It wouldn’t budge. Breathing a long sigh, he stood and watched Cassie as she sniffed around in the debris. He glanced over at Emily, who was staring at him. He smiled at her weakly.

“Life goes on,” he said quietly.

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” Emily said. “It tears me up every time I see this place. Yet, in a way it’s an inspiration to go on living. To not take for granted the gift of life and be thankful for what you have.”

Lenny nodded then kissed her. “I know what you mean.”

With that, he strode over to the house and stepped into its foundation. He scanned the charred remains for a couple of moments then made his way toward the fireplace, kicking a couple of boards aside with his foot along the way. When he reached the blackened stone fireplace, he stared at an area just below the mantel then glanced inquisitively at Emily standing beside him.

“Doesn’t the mortar around this stone look a little odd to you?” he said, pointing to one of the stones.

Emily eyed the stone he was referring to and placed a finger in the gap formed by the crumbled mortar. “I’ve never noticed this before. It looks as though it’s been purposely cleared away from the stone.”

Lenny reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his keys then began scraping away at the loose mortar.

“Surely you don’t think . . .” Emily started to say.

“That this could be a hiding place of some kind?” Lenny interjected. “I don’t know, but it could be.”

Lenny continued scraping the mortar until he had one side cleared out enough to get his finger in more than half way. He began scraping the other side and in a few moments had it cleared out as well. Then he grasped both sides of the stone with his fingers and pulled. It didn’t budge.

For a fleeting moment Lenny thought he might have picked the wrong stone but then decided he hadn’t. Emily looked on as he took the key and began scraping out the mortar from the top and bottom of the stone. The mortar there was considerably denser and took nearly ten minutes to scrape away.

“Here goes,” Lenny finally said, again grasping either side of the stone and pulling. It moved a little, but not much. He then began jiggling the stone from side to side until it loosened itself up from the mortar. Finally, it slid out in one smooth motion, the resultant grating sound hollow and ominous.

They both saw the side of the steel box at the same time and stared at each other in disbelief. Lenny tossed the stone aside then reached in and pulled out the box. It looked just as it had before, apparently unaffected by the outside elements. Stored safely in its insulated nook, the steel box had survived fire, rain, snow, and God only knows what else for nearly a century.

“My god, Lenny! I can’t believe it! Open it up!” Emily cried excitedly.

Before he did so, Lenny made a silent prayer that the contents of the box would be intact and that they would tell Emily everything she needed to know.

He placed the box in Emily’s hand and removed the lid.

There on top were several pages of neatly folded and yellowed writing paper.

Nancy’s letter, Lenny thought to himself. He took out the letter and spotted several other documents inside. Realizing that he had absolutely no recollection of what they were, Lenny gazed at Emily, who was staring excitedly at the letter in his hand.

“Do you want to read it?” he asked, handing it over to her.

She shook her head anxiously. “No, you read it. I’m almost afraid to.”

Emily handed the letter back to him. Lenny opened it up and immediately recognized Nancy’s neat, fluid handwriting. He began reading aloud:

My Dearest Clem,

The reason I’m writing you is twofold. We have made a vow never to keep secrets from each other and I must now confess that I have been keeping one from you for quite some time. I should have told you long before now but I’ve always changed my mind, thinking that perhaps it’s best not to. Soon you will understand why this has been such a dilemma for me.

I’ve chosen to write you this letter because you are now in bed fast asleep and I don’t want to disturb you. After the accident you had earlier today, I know that you need all the rest you can get. And Lord knows it’s difficult enough to get you to rest as it is!

The other reason I’ve chosen to write is because I need to express myself now, while I have the courage. Tomorrow, I may not feel so bold, so this letter should serve well in that likely event.

In August of last year, two days after Doc Pritchart told me that I was pregnant with Katie, John Hoffman passed by the house in his hunting gear. I was outside hanging up the laundry and you were at work. He said “hello,” then came over to me and started conversing. Then, after a few minutes of idle conversation, he suddenly tried to kiss me. I managed to pull myself away from him just in time, which made him angry. I could smell liquor on his breath and I suddenly began to fear that he was going to try to take advantage of me by the look in his eyes after I rebuffed him.

My worst fears were confirmed when he suddenly grabbed me then forced me into the house. Once we were inside, he pushed me down onto the floor near the cook stove and threatened me; telling me that if I resisted his advances, he’d kill me. I was so frightened, Clem, and all I could think about was the baby I had growing inside me and that I had to be careful not to endanger it.

So I did as he told me, hoping that once he’d gotten whatever it was he wanted, that he would just leave. He told me to remove my clothes, which I did, and then he removed his clothes. He then got on top of me and started pawing me all over for a long time. You must believe me Clem, that I’ve never been so frightened and repulsed in all my life!

After ten minutes or so of this, he started getting angry because he’d been unable to achieve an erection. In his rage, he started hitting me, and twice he struck me in my midsection with his fist. I started fearing for the baby’s life and my own, so I started struggling with him. He started screaming obscenities at me, saying that I was the reason he couldn’t perform and that there must be something wrong with me. I will never forget the look in his eyes, Clem. They were the eyes of a madman!

After several minutes of ranting and raving, he suddenly started weeping like a baby. Had it been under different circumstances, I might have felt pity for him—he was that pathetic. But I had no pity for the monster and when I saw the opportunity, I reached up onto the stove and managed to grab a frying pan then hit him squarely on the head with it as hard as I could.

The blow knocked him unconscious. I stood up and put my clothes on then got your shotgun and waited for him to come to. When he did, nearly ten minutes later, I pointed the shotgun at him and ordered him to leave. After he got dressed and started to leave, he had a queer smirk on his face. He told me that if I so much as breathed a word to anyone what had happened that he would first fire you from the mill then decide what he would do beyond that. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he meant it, too.

Clem, I realize now that I should have told you about this the day it happened, but I was afraid to. We both know how influential John Hoffman is in these parts and I couldn’t see any sense, at the time, in taking any chances. After all, I’d thought, no real harm had been done, other than the fear and humiliation I experienced that day.

But I now realize that I must tell you—not only to ease my conscience, but because of what all has happened since that day.

For a while after he attacked me, John Hoffman acted as though nothing had ever happened whenever he passed the house on his way to hunt or fish. But when he learned that I was in a family way with Katie, he began believing, wrongly of course, that the baby was his. He started coming by the house more and more frequently, while you were at work, and he’d say such things as, “How’s our little baby doing today?” and, “Don’t you overdo it today, Nancy, or you just might endanger our little pride and joy.” I tried ignoring him at first and then I finally told him flatly that he knew there was no way on earth that the child could be his. He just laughed, like a lunatic, and refused to acknowledge what I was saying.

In my frustration at the whole situation, I decided one day to confront Doc Pritchart with all that had happened. After he’d heard everything, he told me in “strictest confidentiality” that John Hoffman was in fact, a mentally disturbed man. He told me that he’d complained of being sexually inadequate for as long as he’d been his physician and that this was most likely the reason for his illness and his resultant aggressive behavior. When I asked him how this could be so, seeing as he had a son, Warren, he replied—again in strictest confidentiality—that he was quite certain that John Hoffman wasn’t Warren’s real father! I was of course absolutely shocked when he told me this and I must admit that it piqued my curiosity, but the doctor didn’t elaborate. At any rate, as you know, John Hoffman’s wife died of unknown causes not long after giving birth to Warren, and Doc Pritchart told me that the sudden loss of his wife had only served to make John Hoffman even more unbalanced mentally than he already was.

Doc Pritchart then explained that although some might think it unethical of him to be divulging this information, he felt morally justified to in light of the circumstances. He cautioned me not to provoke John Hoffman; that it was best to just let him go on thinking whatever he wanted to think. Otherwise, he was liable to get violent again. He went on to say that people like John Hoffman were very unpredictable and that it normally didn’t take much to set them off. He assured me that in time, all of this would most likely blow over and John Hoffman would no longer pose a threat.

I thanked the doctor and gave him my word that I would keep silent regarding all he’d told me. I felt better having learned what I had, and no longer felt any pressing need to tell you about this, my dear husband. I knew though, in the back of my mind, that someday I would.

And after what happened this evening after supper, I realized that I must tell you right away.

As you slept, John Hoffman came by the house while I was fetching water from the well. He told me that he’d heard about your accident down at the creek and offered his condolences. I thanked him and then informed him that Doc Pritchart had advised you to stay off your injured leg for a few days and as a result, would be unable to go in to work on Monday. John Hoffman was very considerate and told me that you could take off work as long as needed until you were up and around again. I was surprised at his sudden cordiality, and I thanked him again for being so understanding.

He then asked if he could come inside to see Katie. I protested at first, telling him that both you and the baby were sound asleep and that I didn’t want either of you to be disturbed. He started coaxing me, promising that he only wanted a moment and that he’d be as quiet as a mouse. I thought about how nice he was being and recalled what the doctor had said, so I decided to let him come in.

I led him over to Katie’s crib and he stood for a moment just staring at her with a big grin on his face. Then he turned to me and said, “She looks just like me, doesn’t she?” I nearly fainted; his tone of voice frightened me. I objected as diplomatically as I could, reminding him that you were Katie’s father and adding that I in fact felt that she favored you more than she favored me. It was at that moment that his demeanor suddenly changed, and I guess something inside of him just snapped.

He told me that I must be blind; that any fool could see that Katie shared his traits and not yours. He then told me not to worry though, that he was going to let you go on raising Katie just as though she were your own, but that it was only fair that you should know the truth. He said that the next time he saw you, he was going to tell you that he was really Katie’s father. It took all I had to keep myself under control after he said that. I pleaded with him not to do it; that it would only stir up trouble between you and I. He told me that he was sorry but that he simply had to do it—that it was only fair to ‘his little girl’. Then, after he leaned down and kissed Katie’s forehead, he smiled at me oddly then left the house.

What frightens me, Clem, are the implications here. I wasn’t particularly concerned about his telling you that which you already know is untrue—I was merely humoring him. But what really concerns me is what John Hoffman might do next. The man is insane, and I fear that he’s capable of doing just about anything at this point. I’m also concerned as to how you’re going to react to all of this. Whatever your reaction, please, my love, don’t be angry with me. I apologize for waiting until now to tell you this; and I know how it must look to you. For that, I can only pray that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. But please, Clem, consider what Doc Pritchart said about John Hoffman. Perhaps it would be best to do as he recommends, and not provoke him.

I love you with all my heart and soul. Both you and our darling baby daughter have made me the happiest woman on God’s green earth.

I love you,

Yours always,

Nan

When he finished reading the letter, Lenny looked at Emily and was both surprised and elated to see that there was a broad grin on her face.

“I can’t believe it, Lenny!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Not only does this letter confirm the fact that John Hoffman was not Grandma Katherine’s father, it also explains why Grandpa Warren was so unlike him. He wasn’t even his real son!”

Lenny was stunned at how well Emily was reacting to the letter. Didn’t she even suspect that John Hoffman might have had something to do with the fire? Surely, he thought, she must have deduced that the fire occurred on the very same night that Nancy had written the letter.

Then a thought suddenly occurred to him. It was plausible that Emily assumed Nancy had opted to tell Clem the contents of the letter the following day in lieu of giving it to him. In that case, the letter would have remained in the steel box and she wouldn’t question why it was still there. Or, maybe she simply figured that either Clem or Nancy had felt the letter worthy of keeping; therefore not eliciting any connection in her mind between the day the letter had been written and the day of the fire.

Whatever the case, it was apparent that Emily saw no reason to assume that the fire had been anything but an accident—in spite of the underlying tone of Nancy’s letter and her obvious concern of “what John Hoffman might do next.”

Lenny smiled at Emily. “Well, here’s your proof, hon. No more guessing, no more doubts. Clem Porter, your great-grandfather, was truly Katie’s father. How do you feel?”

“God, Lenny! I feel like the weight of the world has suddenly been lifted off my shoulders! And to think that John Hoffman hadn’t even been Grandpa Warren’s biological father—it’s just too much! Do you realize what this means? It means that the name ‘Hoffman’ is only that—a name. John Hoffman had absolutely nothing to do with my family lineage from the very beginning. Which makes me wonder . . . Who had been Grandpa Warren’s real father? What was his name, what was he like?”

Lenny cast her a sidelong glance. “Please don’t open up a whole new can of worms now, Emily!” he pleaded.

She giggled. “Don’t worry—I was only kidding. It does make a mind wonder, though!”

Lenny laughed. Then his expression became serious.

“It’s amazing," he said.

“What’s that?” Emily asked.

“I was just thinking about the bitter irony of it all. The fact that this letter has been here all along and had anyone known that, well . . . all of this hell that you’ve been through could have been totally avoided.”

Emily breathed a long, painful sigh. “And all the suffering that my grandmother endured . . .”

Lenny smiled at her encouragingly. “But at least you know the truth now. And you still have your whole life ahead of you. I’m sure your grandmother would be happy knowing that.”

Emily suddenly stared at him, wide-eyed. “This is so eerie, Lenny! Do you realize that everything Grandma Katherine told Miss Rutledge would happen has happened now? Even the part about her father coming back. That really was Clem in my dream, Lenny! And he told me that he’d come for me—just like she said he would. And now that I’ve finally found out the truth about everything, I’ll bet you anything that right this moment, he’s in heaven with Nancy and Grandma Katherine.”

Lenny cast her a winning smile. “As unbelievable as it is, I think you’re absolutely right. Your grandmother must have had a vision of some kind just before she died, and that’s how she knew that all of this was going to happen. I know you’ve heard about those people who have experienced strange things like angels taking them by the hand and leading them up to heaven; or hearing the sound of a choir singing just before they thought they were going to die, but instead of dying, lived to tell about it. Maybe your grandmother saw Clem just before she died, and he foretold the future to her.”

“I really would like to believe that, Lenny. It would make me feel a lot better about her; that she died a happy woman knowing that Clem was truly her father,” she said passionately.

“Believe it, then,” Lenny said softly. He kissed her, glancing at the steel box. “Let’s see what else is in this thing.”

Emily nodded excitedly as Lenny took out a crumpled piece of paper lying on top and unfolded it. “It’s the deed to Clem’s property,” he said, handing it to Emily.

“And here’s their marriage license,” he said after examining the next document.

“Let me see it.”

Lenny handed it over and Emily began reading the yellowed document. “They were married on March 2nd, Eighteen—”

Suddenly, she grabbed him by the arm. “My God, Lenny—that’s today!”

He looked at her incredulously. “I’ll be damned, today is March second! Can you believe it?”

They kissed. Emily stared into his eyes and declared, “It is fate, Lenny. And you’ve made me the happiest woman on earth!”

“I love you, Emily.”

“I love you, too.”

Lenny stared at the next object lying inside the box. It was a rather large envelope, nearly as long and wide as the box itself. He took it out then gasped when he saw what lay beneath it.

“A camera! It’s a damn Brownie camera, Emily!”

Excitedly, Lenny handed the envelope to Emily then gingerly lifted the camera out of the box.

“It’s in mint condition—it still has the price tag on it!”

Emily looked first at the camera then at the envelope she was holding in her hand. “You don’t suppose . . .”

“Open it up!”

Excitedly, she opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. “Pictures!” she cried.

Lenny set the camera aside and stood beside Emily.

“Look, Lenny. This must be Nancy!”

Lenny stared at the sepia-toned, postcard size print. It was Nancy—sitting on the front porch of the house, smiling and squinting from the glare of the bright sun shining in her face. She was wearing Clem’s old white work shirt and a pair of faded dungarees. Her face was fair, her hair long, dark, and tied up in a haphazard bun with several strands falling down onto her shoulders.

“She’s beautiful,” Emily breathed half-aloud.

“She sure is,” Lenny nodded in agreement.

Emily stared in fascination at the photograph for a full minute then said, “I have her nose, don’t you think?

Lenny looked at Emily and then at the photograph.

“No doubt about it. It’s sloped just like yours. Her hair looks similar, too.”

Emily nodded. “And look at how tiny she is! I’ve always wondered why I’m so short—both my mother and my father were quite tall. Grandma Katherine was short, too. Our height came from Nancy,” she proclaimed.

Emily flipped to the next photograph and her heart stopped.

So did Lenny’s.

It was a picture of the entire house, as it once had been. The barn was included in the shot as well—complete with a horse and buggy parked outside it.

“Wow,” Lenny breathed, transfixed.

Instinctively, they both looked around at the gutted remains where they stood then back at the picture again.

“It’s hard to believe this is the same place,” Emily said disconcertedly.

“Really,” Lenny said, shaking his head.

Emily turned to the next picture. A tall man standing on the porch in overalls stared out at them. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties and wore a mustache; the expression on his gaunt, handsome face congenial but a little impatient as he posed for the picture.

“Clem,” Emily said in a near-whisper. “He looks so handsome, so self-confident.”

“It’s pretty obvious where your grandmother got her eyes—and you got your eyes,” Lenny commented.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Emily turned to the next photograph. It was a shot of Nancy sitting on the front porch as she was before, only this time she held a tiny infant in her arms.

“Katie and her mother,” she said, feeling a surge of warmth inside. They looked so natural together, mother and child.

Moments later, she flipped to the next photo. Clem was sitting where Nancy had sat in the other photo and was holding little Katie. The joy and pride was written all over his smiling face.

Emily then turned to the final photo.

“Now there’s a shot!” Lenny exclaimed. It was a picture of the whole family this time—Nancy and Clem sitting side by side on the porch with Katie held lovingly in Nancy’s arms. Clem had cleverly devised a way of getting himself in the picture by means of pulling a string that he’d evidently attached to the camera’s shutter release arm. The other end of the string was clearly visible in his left hand.

Emily felt the sudden urge to cry. Seeing this happy family together and knowing all that had happened to its members tugged mercilessly at her heart. But her aspirations for the future managed to stifle that urge. It was time to get on with living and forget the past, she now realized. And for the first time in her life, she felt an overwhelming desire to some day have a child of her own. Hers and Lenny’s child.

Lenny retrieved the steel box and took the camera out again.

“This has got to be one of the very first Brownies ever made,” he observed. “This camera changed the world when Kodak first introduced it to the public in 1900 for a mere buck; giving virtually everybody an affordable way to take their own snapshots.”

Emily saw the fascination in Lenny’s eyes as he examined the camera.

“Thanks for the history lesson,” she grinned, pecking him on the cheek. “This has been the second most wonderful day in my life . . . The first was the day that I met you.”

Lenny took her in his arms and held her tight.

“Think you’ll be able to be a little more optimistic about the future now?” he whispered in her ear.

Emily faced him, her beautiful blue eyes crystal-clear and filled with joy.

“Without a doubt—so long as you’re with me, my love.”

“I’ll always be with you. Forever and always.”

As they prepared to leave, a chilly wind blew hard out of the north, accompanied by a trace of flurries. After putting everything back into the steel box, Lenny slid the stone back into its original place then took a final look at the remains of the house where he’d once lived as Clem Porter in another day and age. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders and a smile on his face, he took Emily by the hand as they began making their way back to the other house on the mountain.

Along the way, Lenny felt Clem’s presence within himself diminishing. Finally, as they approached the fringe of woods behind Emily’s house, he realized that he felt like his old self again. Lenny knew then that Clem Porter had at last accomplished the task he’d set out to do so long ago, and that he now had most likely rejoined his wife and daughter in that mysterious and wondrous place called Paradise.

EPILOGUE

A year later, Lenny Williams sat comfortably in front of the crackling fire and reflected on all that had happened since that fateful day at the old house.

Just as he’d hoped and prayed for, the nightmares that had plagued Emily for so many years had never again occurred as a result of the discovery made that day. Since then, Lenny had occasionally caught himself trying to analyze Emily’s terrifying accounts of those nightmares. Had she actually been dreaming all of those horrifying things? he would ask himself. Or had she somehow entered some uncharted place, devoid of space and time, that went far beyond that of human comprehension? Some hellish place where restless souls of the past with nothing better to do haunted the living . . ?

Of course he’d never been able to come up with any kind of logical explanation for Emily’s nightmares, or for that matter, any of the strange things that had happened back then. Nor did he really care to. Life was much too short to be pondering such things, he would remind himself. Too may things to do—too many good memories to recall.

Such as what happened later on that fateful day after he and Emily had returned from making their discovery . . .

The snowstorm had commenced that evening and continued nonstop for nearly eight hours, dumping a total of two feet of snow in Ulster County before it was all over. He and Emily had stayed up most of the night in the den, staring out in awe at the fury of the storm. When they weren’t gazing out the window, they were snuggling in front of the cozy glow of the fireplace, reveling in one another’s company. It had been a beautiful experience; a real-life reenactment of those dreams Lenny had dreamt so many times before: He and his Dream Lady snowed-in by a blizzard, snuggling around the fire and the beer flowing. Later on they’d made wild and wonderful love on the hearth until finally, feeling all but drained bone-dry from the events of that long and fateful day, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

The following month, in April, he and Emily had been officially married. The little Methodist church just off Hudson Street had been filled to capacity with those in attendance including most of the townspeople, his parents, and his best friend from Ohio who had served as best man. Miss Rutledge had even managed to be there; against the advice of her physician, Lenny and Emily had later learned. The old woman had been ceremoniously wheeled into the church by Henrietta Latham to the surprise and delight of all the locals who hadn’t seen Ashland Fall’s eldest citizen in years.

Following the wedding ceremony, Miss Rutledge had motioned Lenny aside and whispered something in his ear: “Your secret will always be safe with me, Lenny. God bless you.”

Although Lenny didn’t know exactly what to make of Miss Rutledge’s statement, he had a feeling that the old woman knew more about all that had transpired than he really wanted to be privy to.

A few weeks later, Miss Dorothy Rutledge had passed away peacefully in her sleep.

God rest her soul . . .

Lenny’s move from New York City had been a breeze. No long goodbyes—just one last farewell—and no regrets. He’d come, he’d seen, he’d tried to conquer but failed, and then he’d split. Simple as that. It had been a learning experience and a hell of a good one at that, he had to admit. No sense in putting the place down and carrying around a bunch of bad vibes, right? After all, he’d decided, some people actually loved living there in spite of themselves. New York City was just one of those things one loves to hate, Lenny reckoned. His final analysis: It was a nice place to visit, but . . .

Once he had officially relocated to Ashland Falls, Lenny put his floundering career on temporary hold. He’d been content merely to revel in the fact that he was settling down in one of the most beautiful regions in the eastern United States with his new bride to start a new life and he quickly seized the opportunity to explore his new environment. That spring, he and Emily must have hiked a hundred miles through the mountains, taking in the awesome beauty of the towering trees, crystal-clear streams, unspoiled lakes and abundant wildlife. He’d taken his trusty Nikon along too of course, capturing images on film and preserving them for posterity.

Lenny soon came to realize not only the rare beauty in the natural surroundings of the region but the special kind of beauty in its people as well. They were common folks who were proud of their community, leading simple, uncluttered lives and hell-bent on keeping it that way. It wasn’t that the folks were against changes per se; but they were adamantly opposed to any kind of change that might somehow harm either the environment or their own sociological ecology in any size, shape or form. One had to draw the line somewhere; that seemed to be their philosophy. And Lenny couldn’t agree with them more.

By mid summer Lenny had amassed quite a few decent photographs of the region. One morning he’d been sitting at the kitchen table with an enormous stack of matted eight-by-ten and eleven-by-fourteen inch prints piled before him when he suddenly had a brainstorm: he would open a photo gallery on Hudson Street! There were still a couple of vacant buildings he knew of there, and one in particular that he felt would be perfect for a gallery. He would renovate the building, display some of his better photographs and hopefully sell them to the tourists—at a reasonable price, of course. He’d do a “seasonal” series of the Catskill region, he decided, beginning with spring and ending with winter.

When Lenny informed Emily of his idea, she’d been absolutely thrilled. Not long afterwards, the deed had been drawn-up, the building acquired, and by fall, the gallery had become a reality and an unqualified success; perhaps not so much in terms of monetary gain as in aesthetics and artistic fulfillment.

Emily had helped Lenny tirelessly throughout his venture until it finally became necessary for him to insist that she slow down and start getting her rest. He recalled Thanksgiving when his parents had come to visit and how frustrating it had been allowing Emily to prepare the dinner against his better judgment. She had been an absolute bear that day as she literally took over the kitchen and ordered him to stay out of her way. The meal was absolutely wonderful of course, but after his parents had left, Lenny made Emily promise she’d start taking it easy from that point on. She agreed, and for the next month had been a perfect angel.

Then finally, on December 20th, Emily had given birth to a seven-pound, eight-ounce healthy baby girl. It was the most beautiful and awesome experience he’d ever witnessed in his life and Lenny knew from that point on that his life would never be the same. For the first time ever, he had a clearly defined purpose in life: to be father to his child, husband to his wife, and to share all the joys and struggles of life with his newly acquired family. Nothing else would even come close to being more important.

When he first spotted the tiny birthmark on his baby’s little bottom, Lenny had nearly screamed out loud. For the first time since that fateful day at the old house, he had felt the overwhelming urge to tell Emily everything he knew, including the significance of their daughter’s distinctive birthmark.

But of course he hadn’t. The past, both Emily’s and his own, was no longer significant and best left behind them. The future was all that really mattered…

Just then, Emily came into the den carrying little Katie in her arms. She strode over and smiled at Lenny curiously then sat down beside him. He leaned over and gently kissed his crying daughter’s forehead, put his arm around his wife and looked at her imploringly.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“She’s hungry,” Emily replied.

Emily unbuttoned her blouse and began nursing Katie.

As the intense sensation of déjà vu swept over him, Lenny wondered if it was really himself who smiled broadly and quipped, “Save a little of that for Daddy!”

“Lenny!” Emily exclaimed.

Thank God! he thought to himself with an inward sigh of relief. My name is Lenny.

THE END

About the author:

Scott is a full-time visual arts teacher and part-time writer. He has written four novels in addition to Katherine's Prophecy including The Collector, See Tom Run, The May Day Murders, and The Edge. He has also written a non-fiction photography book entitled The Story Behind The Images and is host of the popular photography podcast, Photography 101. Scott lives in Worthington, Ohio with his wife, Marilyn.

Discover other titles by Scott Wittenburg at Smashwords.com:

The Collector

See Tom Run

The May Day Murders

Connect with Scott online:

ScottWittenburg.com

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Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

EPILOGUE