Dead Spots (14 page)

“We screwed up,” Grant said in a breathless voice. “That was the room we couldn't get into. I never thought that maybe they could get in through it.”

“It was destroyed. Not part of the house anymore, so it was a doorway, right?” Mackenzie fell over onto her side, her body shuddering. The anxiety attack had vanished in the wake of her terror. Now she felt keenly empty and exhausted.

Grant nodded, gulping in breaths of air. “Yes. Exactly.” Not looking directly at her, he tugged her bathrobe closed, covering her bare breasts.

Despite the trauma they had just endured, Mackenzie laughed.

“What?”

“You're such a gentleman,” she said, feeling foolish and a bit crazed.

“I was raised in a different era,” Grant said, not really admitting to anything.

“Are we safe now?” Mackenzie asked, sobering.

“Secure the other room's door, too.” Grant motioned to the other ruined room. “Just to make sure.”

Wincing at the anticipation of pain, Mackenzie climbed to her knees and took hold of the doorknob. The pain was more piercing and deeper, but it didn't last as long.

“Now, we should be okay,” Grant decided.

Using the wall for support, Mackenzie worked her way up to a standing position. “That wasn't Tanner.”

“And it wasn't your baby in that coffin,” Grant added.

“But that room was the nursery I designed.”

“Plucked from your mind by the dead spot. It can shape itself into anything it wants.”

“But as a shaper, I can't?”

Grant shook his head.

Mackenzie leaned heavily against the wall, her fingers rubbing the back of her head in soothing circles. “I felt like I was in a dream. I couldn't focus. I was so confused at first.”

“This is the world of nightmares and dreams, Mackenzie. Don't ever forget that.”

With a weary sigh, she pushed off the wall and walked on stiff legs to the bathroom. “I need a shower, but I'm leaving the door cracked. No peeking.”

“I'm a gentleman, remember.” Grant tilted his head upward and smiled wanly. His face was a bit battered. He would have a black eye in the morning.

“Grant, thank you,” Mackenzie said in a serious tone, tears pricking at her eyes. “Thank you. I could have died.”

Without answering her, he took her hand briefly, squeezed it, then rested his elbows on his thighs and ran his hands through his hair. He looked as exhausted and emotionally drained as she did. His broad shoulders and muscled back were covered in bruises and scratches from the battle he had with the wraith impersonating Tanner, and the sight sent a wave of gratitude through her.

Realizing he needed a moment, too, Mackenzie flipped on the light in the bathroom and left the door slightly ajar. There was nothing hiding in the shower or behind the toilet, so she dropped her robe and stepped into the avocado green tub and turned on the water. Once the shower spray was hot, she allowed the tears to come, mingling with the water that flowed over her body caked with the mud of the open grave.

 

CHAPTER 8

Mackenzie woke with a start, her heart beating rapidly in her breast. Dragging the tangled sheets and blankets from her face, she let out a startled cry at the sight of the unfamiliar hallway. Sitting up, she pressed her back against the wall, gaping at her surroundings. After several long, agonizing moments of sheer confusion, she finally recalled the events of the last twenty-four hours.

“Damn,” she whispered. “Still here.”

When Mackenzie had finally fallen asleep after the attack by the dead spot, her last thought was that maybe when she woke up she'd be back safe and sound in her mother's house in Kerrville. Instead, she was sitting on a twin mattress in a narrow hallway and clutching Joshua's baby blanket in her hands. After she'd showered the night before, she had searched through all her possessions to make sure nothing had been taken. It had been a great relief to find the baby blanket still rolled up at the bottom of her purse. She'd slept with it tucked under the pillow not only to keep it close, but also as a talisman.

With the morning sun streaming in through the kitchen window and pooling on the floor of the hallway, the night felt far away and not so frightening. Her struggle with Tanner felt like a bad dream and a bit hazy. It was the memory of the tiny coffin that lingered in her mind, like a splinter she couldn't extract.

Grant had dragged the mattress out of the nursery for her to sleep on and had taken over her makeshift bed. It was empty now, and she could hear the shower running behind the closed door of the bathroom.

Sitting with her legs crisscrossed, she combed her fingers through her hair. The tangles weren't too bad and she lamented losing her brush out on the road. She would have to check the drawers in the bathroom to see if there was one in there.

The bathroom door opened, steam billowing out. Grant appeared rubbing his wet hair vigorously with a mustard yellow towel. Grant was still bare-chested and his bruises had set deeper into his skin, turning them purple and green. Though there was slight bruising around one eye, Mackenzie was relieved to see it wasn't turning into a black eye.

“Good morning.”

“How's the water?” she asked. “Any hot water left for me?”

“Maybe in another ten minutes. I had a terrible time getting the wrinkles out of my trousers.”

“Ah, you steamed them?”

“Now they're damp.” He shrugged. “The woes of the dead spots.”

“Why don't you get new clothes?”

“Clothes are hard to acquire here. I learned that right away. We can manipulate dead spots, but once we step into the nightmare world, what we have shaped becomes harder to maintain. That's why cars don't really help us much.”

“So if I found you a nice suit in a dead spot and made it nice again, once you leave the dead spot it … what? Falls apart?”

“Something like that.”

“That suit can't be over fifty years old, can it?” Mackenzie looked doubtful. “Talk about vintage.”

“It cost me a lot of money and has served me well. I've had to mend it over the years. It's easier to sustain the maintenance on it when I'm out of a dead spot than an entire outfit.” He disappeared back into the bathroom, emerging a few moments later buttoning his shirt.

Mackenzie stared at her cell phone lying beneath the wall socket where it was plugged. She knew it wouldn't have any coverage, but she picked it up and checked anyway. No signal. With a sigh, she tucked the phone and the charger into her purse. Thoughtfully, she looked over at Grant. “Do you know about cell phones, computers, DVDs, and all that sort of stuff?”

Fixing his cuffs, Grant arched an amused eyebrow. “Of course. I've met many people from all different eras in here. Plus, some of the dead spots are more recent. I've seen some of your fancy new contraptions.” He winked.

“Where are those people now?”

Grant's smirk vanished. He busied himself with dismantling the bed.

“Well? And why are you picking that up? When we leave, won't it just go back to being all burned up?”

Dropping the bedding into a pile, Grant turned to face her. His face was shadowed by sorrow. “Mackenzie, if you listen to me, you won't end up like the others.”

Climbing to her feet, she gazed into his eyes, searching for her answer. She felt uneasy with the pain she saw in his gaze. “They became wraiths.”

“Or shadows. Or they just kept moving in another direction than I did.”

“Shadows?”

“People who go crazy in here and … they're dangerous, too.”

“I hate this place,” Mackenzie grumbled.

“You just need to accept the way it works and not let it consume you.”

Together they shoved the mattress into the nursery and flung the bedding in after it. They avoided the two rooms at the end of the hall completely. Mackenzie had no desire to see the mockery of the nursery she had painstakingly created for Joshua.

Her clothes were a little damp, but she put them on anyway after taking another shower and washing her hair. She was relieved to find a brush and on impulse tossed it into her purse. The shadows under her eyes looked like bruises and she used concealer to hide them and dotted her lips with tinted lip gloss. It made her reflection in the mirror appear not quite so ghostly.

When she entered the kitchen, she found Grant making pancakes and scrambled eggs. His jacket was neatly hanging on a hanger on the back of the pantry door, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up.

“You look better,” he decided after studying her appearance for a few seconds.

“You know what my grief counselor told me?”

“After your child died?”

“Yes.”

“I can't imagine.”

“She told me that the mind has a great capacity for adapting in a crisis. That even though I felt broken inside, eventually I would get better.”

Grant flipped a pancake and tilted his head, pondering the words. “Did you believe her?”

“No. Because I felt my heart break when Joshua died. Literally. I have never felt a pain so deep. I felt completely broken. I still do.” The tears in her eyes blurred her vision and she dabbed at the corners with her fingers. “But now I wonder if she was right. Maybe not about me getting over Joshua. I don't know if I ever will. But all of this”—Mackenzie waved her hand—“feels real today. I think I actually believe in it. At least to some degree.”

Grant shoveled two pancakes and a heap of scrambled eggs onto a plate and handed it to her. “Maybe the grief counselor was right about some things and wrong about others. I'm not a father, but I was once a son. I saw how my mother suffered when my brother died in Korea. That sort of pain is unbelievable in its power. I could feel the agony radiating out of her very pores. Even when she sat in total silence, not shedding a tear, I could feel it rolling off of her in waves. So though I don't know how you must feel about your son, I understand to some degree.”

“Thank you,” Mackenzie said softly. It was a great relief to hear someone not condemn her for not shrugging off her mourning.

“This place is horrible, Mackenzie, but what you endured before you arrived here is far worse than anything this world will do to you.”

“I don't know. It did a damn good job last night scaring the living hell out of me.” Mackenzie snagged the orange juice out of the refrigerator and slid into a chair at the breakfast table.

Grant served himself some food and followed Mackenzie to the table. “It was using your fears and your pain to hurt you again. It feasts on the terrors of your soul. What already exists within you. Remember that.”

Mackenzie shivered, not wanting to remember the events of the night before. “I don't know how I can fight against it.”

“Don't let it get to you.”

“It's kind of hard when it's re-creating the most painful event of my life.”

Grant pushed the syrup toward her. “Let's just eat and not think about it anymore. We need to get moving soon.”

The food tasted quite good and she managed to eat most of the eggs and half the pancakes. The juice was sweet and she had two glasses. Finishing, she carried her plate and glass to the sink and started to wash them, then stopped.

“When we leave this dead spot, it just goes back to how it was. Like we weren't even here, doesn't it?” The thought made her sad for some strange reason.

“Just like in the real world. All those abandoned places, the ghost towns, falling apart.” Grant set his dishes in the sink. “We're in the world between the living and the dead. Our passage through it leaves no reminders.”

“You really know how to cheer up a girl.”

Grant grinned. “I'm just telling you the truth because you deserve to know.”

Mackenzie gazed at him thoughtfully, her fingers lightly stroking her collarbone. It was far more pronounced than ever before, and she lamented her frailty. At least breakfast and dinner had been filling. She felt a little stronger physically today. Inside her head, she still felt wobbly. With all her heart, she hoped she would wake up in a hospital room, recovering from a car accident, and put this nightmare behind her. Yet, she couldn't afford not to pay attention to what was happening to her in this peculiar world. Being plunged into an open grave and threatened with being buried alive with her dead child and ex-husband had not only terrified her, but also enraged her. The feel of the cold, wet mud sucking her down was something she would never forget though she wished she could. The terror that had filled her had left her drained. She hated that her weakness was her son's death.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “Thank you for last night. You saved me. If not for you, Tanner would have killed me.”

“The dead spot,” Grant quietly corrected. “And you're welcome.”

It was easy to see how everything from the night before was drawn from her fears. Tanner's anger, the baby casket, the open grave, the earth swallowing her up: all were the fears of her anxiety-ridden mind. She visibly shuddered, realizing how close she had come to death.

“If I had died in the grave, I would have come back, right?”

“Yes.” Grant reclaimed his jacket and shrugged it on. He avoided looking directly at her and fussed with his cuffs.

“And I would have remembered all of it, right?”

“Yes. The pain of dying, the agony, all of it.”

“Then I'm not going to die.”

Grant lifted his eyes, peering at her through his lashes. “That's exactly the right attitude to have.”

Mackenzie reclaimed her purse, pulled her hair up into a bun and secured it with a clip, and took a knife from the kitchen while Grant peered out all the doors and windows.

“The birds are gone, but that doesn't mean anything. We keep moving. If I remember correctly, we should reach another dead spot in an hour. Until then we're in the nightmare world,” Grant told her when they entered the foyer and paused before the front door.