Loss, a paranormal thriller (5 page)

Angie was crying--not sobbing, but her tears flowed freely, and her chest was tight and hitching--without realizing it.  "Fine, Macy.  I'm just fine.  Why don't you ask me about the weather next?"

The girl bunched her brow and turned around without another word. 

Nathan received a reproachful look from Macy, but he didn't say anything.  Just shrugged his shoulders.  What could he say?

Angie felt like an ass, using Macy like a punching bag like that.  Her time in the hospital had been hard enough, but upon leaving the isolation and security it provided, stepping into the cool fresh air, anxiety and sadness had taken turns ruling her emotions.  Though she felt like an ass, she remained silent, using the sight of the familiar tree line to distract her from the tensions inside the car.

"We're going to get you settled in and make some dinner.  Stir-fry sound okay?" Nathan asked.  His eyes reluctantly met hers in the rearview mirror.  He looked like a whipped dog approaching its abusive master.  Despite her mood, Angie didn't like seeing his free spirit held in check.  She liked even less that she was the cause. 

"As long as you're not the one who's cooking," she said, leaning forward between the seats.  Nathan scoffed as if hurt.  "I'm sorry, Macy.  My emotions are a little off right now."

Macy smiled.  Angie tried to reciprocate, but the best she could do was to stop crying.  "I can get things rolling in the kitchen, while Natty Bumpo here can get Bizzy from the loft."

"Has she been good for you?"

"The best.  I can see how she got her name."

"It started out Bitsy, but after awhile, with all her energy, it turned into Bizzy."  She purposely held back that Paul was the one to change the name.  He, of course, had also given her the original name, in a way poking fun at the fact Angie had wanted such a little animal.  They'd gotten Bizzy right after her weaning, and with her unformed coat and tiny body, she looked more like a rat than a dog.  He'd wanted a retriever of some sort, or at least a larger mutt, but she'd won out.  They'd agreed that if they were going to be a dog family, the next animal would be his choice, regardless of breed. 

At least Angie would have Bizzy to keep her company in the empty house.

They didn't discuss it ahead of time, but Nathan had taken a slightly circuitous route, she assumed, in order to avoid the scene of the accident.  She would've thanked him, but didn't want to talk about it.  Nathan steered the Volkswagen into the gravel drive.  The trip had taken nearly twice as long as it should have.  "Here we are," Nathan said.

For an instant she was angry at him. 
As if he needs to tell me where I live?
she thought, and thankfully stopped herself from voicing it.

What's wrong with me?  I'm all over the place.
  Annoyance, love, anger, every emotion across the spectrum, all rolling together one after another like spokes on a bicycle wheel.

Nathan parked and turned off the engine.  Nobody moved for several seconds.  Before the stillness could become awkward, Angie opened her door and got out.  Nathan must have come earlier, she thought, since the cobbles were clear of snow and ice along the path to the door.  Besides the shoveled pathway, the place looked desolate and untouched.  No one had been here in quite awhile.  Probably the longest absence since Harvey and Betty Winchell's departure, considering Paul's devotion over the years to restoring the house.  She'd been gone almost three weeks.  Normally, that amount of time went by without much thought to the world around you.  But this was different.  Change accompanied this period of absence, drastic change.  It felt like years had come and gone.  The air even felt warmer than the day of the accident, as if during that short span winter had reached its tipping point and spring lurked just around the corner.  

  She looked back, and Nathan and Macy had just now left the Volkswagen.  "Are you two coming, or what?"

Chapter 5

"Angie, about five minutes until it's ready!" Macy called out from the kitchen.  Brown rice and pea pods sizzled in a wok.  Angie could smell the onions and strip steak, too.  While Nathan had gone off to his loft to retrieve Bizzy, Macy had turned into a whirling dervish--opening and closing drawers and cabinets, seeking the right cooking implements, then slicing and dicing her way through a semi-gourmet supper.

Angie was supposed to be unpacking, at least that's what she said she was going to do.  She'd gotten as far as opening her suitcase on the bed, but for the last ten minutes, all she'd managed to accomplish was to pace the room, staring at the vastness of the queen-sized bed.  It had never seemed so big until now.

"Ang?"

"Thanks, Macy.  I'll be right out."  Angie yanked open her air cast's Velcro straps and flexed her hand.  A dull ache throbbed through her healing wrist.  After clenching her hand into a fist and feeling a much stronger pain, she tossed the cast aside. 

She felt short of breath, though she'd hardly moved since entering the house.  She attempted a deep, calming breath, but came up short because of her healing ribs.  She rubbed the still-tender area, wanting another Vicodin and its welcomed numbness.

She eased onto the edge of the bed as if she were testing a hotel's accommodations.  With reluctance, she turned toward the far corner near the window, knowing what she would find.

On top of her dresser, a framed photo she looked to at the start of every day: Paul's smiling face at the summit of Mount Diablo.  Before their honeymoon in Hawaii, they'd stopped off in California for two days.  They'd just finished lunch at an organic sandwich shop just outside of Berkeley when Paul saw a sign for Mount Diablo State Park.  On a whim they decided to find the park and go for a hike. 

How can we pass on hiking at Devil's mountain?
he'd said.But the hike turned into a bust.  A rare rain broke out as they reached the summit after a two hour hike through switchback trails.  The going got tough, and Angie hadn't enjoyed it at all.  But when they reached the summit, Paul, with mud streaking his legs and water clinging his shirt to his chest, had been all smiles.  Angie had called his name and snapped the picture before he could react.  His unrestrained joy came through crystal clear in that photo.  His slightly squinty eyes, his white teeth gleaming through his smooth auburn beard--that split second represented so much of why she'd fallen in love with Paul.  She hadn't enjoyed their little adventure, but it was all worth it for the chance to capture the essence of her husband's normally reserved spirit.

But that spirit was gone, never to return.  She stood quickly, and ignoring the jolt of pain in her ribs, grabbed the frame, and without giving it a second glance, squirreled it away inside the chest at the foot of the bed.  Her wrist throbbed and her ribs hurt.  She would take another Vicodin at dinner, no make that two, damn the doctor's timetable.

Plates and knives clattered in the dining room as Macy set the table.  The front door opened, and Angie's heart jolted.
Paul!

No,
she chastised herself. 
It's not Paul, will never be Paul.  He's dead
--  

The front door opened and the manic clicking of toenails on hardwood steered her from negativity's pull.

Bizzy!
  Angie's heart ached, but in a good way.  Damn she missed her dog.

Angie hurried from the bedroom in time to see the little Yorkshire Terrier charging through the kitchen, tail wagging so hard she could hardly run a straight line.  When she saw Angie, the dog ran up to her, barking a mile a minute while jumping up against her leg.  Growing impatient, Bizzy jumped down to chase her tail through a half dozen revolutions.

"There's my girl, my busy Bizzy-girl."  Angie scooped the bundle of energy into her arms and allowed a warm but guarded happiness to sweep over her.  The animal swathed her cheek with kisses, and Angie laughed at the animal's undeniable devotion.  "Yes, yes, I missed you too, girl."

"Your dog thinks she's a bear."  Nathan kissed his girlfriend on the cheek.  Macy had almost everything ready, just needing to set the steaming stir fry on the antique trivet at the center of the table.

"Isn't she, though?" Angie asked, still laughing, holding Bizzy and her busy tongue at arms length.

"She may be fearless, but a little fear comes in handy when you're around Herc."  Hercules was Nathan's mastiff--one hundred forty pounds of muscle. 

"She's small, but fast."

"Not that fast."  Nathan opened a bottle of red wine and brought it to the table.  "This food smells incredible."

"Thanks," Macy said, adding, "Cooking's easy with the right equipment."

"Is that a hint?"

"Have you seen your kitchen?"  Macy dried her hands on a dish towel and tossed it aside.

"It's functional."

"I've been to your loft, Nathan," Angie said, putting Bizzy back down on the floor.   "If anything, it's
dys
functional."

Everyone sat down to eat.  The food was delicious.  Either it was the home cooking, or the simple fact that Angie wasn't cooped up at the hospital, but her appetite returned with a vengeance.  Halfway through a second helping she looked up from her plate.  Nathan and Macy gave her identical, amused looks.

"What?"

"Nothing."  From Macy's warm smile, she obviously took pleasure in seeing people enjoy her cooking.

"Really, do I have something in my teeth?"  Angie opened her mouth wide, showing her pearly whites.  It was an obnoxious gesture, but she felt comfortable with her guests.  She was starting to feel the pills she took when she got home.  A hazy blanket was descending on her, warm and thick.  The blanket gathered her many pains in its numbing arms and cast them aside. 

"More wine?" Nathan asked, topping off his own glass.

"None for me, I'm driving," Macy said.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere."  Angie held up her empty glass.   

Chapter 6

With the moon high in the cold night sky, Angie closed the door and leaned her back against it.  She listened to their footsteps trailing away over the frosted ground, then Macy starting the Volkswagen and its tires grating gravel as they pulled away.  Angie's shoulders began to shake.  She faced the door and pressed her forehead against it, gritting her teeth and forcing back the tears that could so easily fall.  Her hand trembled as she set the deadbolt.  She paused before she turned away from the door.

She was alone. 

She hadn't been alone, truly alone, since before her wedding.  Before she met Paul, she had never minded.  But she wasn't the person she was five years ago, and she couldn't lie to herself and pretend she would ever be again. 

She realized how painfully full her bladder was.  Hurrying down the hallway, she made it just in time to clumsily fall onto the toilet, releasing her bladder in one wild rush.  The room spun slowly, distorting as she turned to reach the toilet paper.  She couldn't remember ever being this drunk.  After finishing her business, she stood in the threshold to the bathroom and looked out at the great room that Paul had spent so much time perfecting: the skylights, the mantle and fireplace, the broad windows and French doors overlooking the surrounding forest.

She could almost see Paul walking the length of the room, his warmth mixing with the familiarity and comfort of what he'd created with his restoration.

"Oh, Paul..." she whispered.

She didn't know how she was going to do this; to continue living and to continue living
here
.  Here of all places.  Paul's dream...

"I can't do this, babe.  Not without you..."

She couldn't remember ever speaking to herself aloud.  Only crazy people did that.  It meant she either was speaking to herself, or even worse, that she had sent those words out into the world as if expecting a response.

She peeled herself from the doorframe, feeling even more drunk, no, even more
stoned
, and considered the bedroom.

Such a bad option, the bedroom.  Because now it was no longer
our
bedroom, but
my
bedroom.  Wasn't there a better option?  A less painful one?  Like a hotel room, perhaps? 

When Macy had been prepping dinner, Angie hadn't been able to do anything more than open her suitcase.  Anything more in depth would've brought everything to the surface.  At the time, she didn't think she could do that, not with Macy twenty feet away and feeling responsible for keeping her future sister-in-law in one piece.

And now...?  No, she couldn't face that emptiness now.  An empty space had never felt so loaded with potential sorrow. 

The great room, with its plush sofas and warm quilts, seemed like a better option.  But she was far too awake to fall asleep now.  A nightcap, however, might calm her nerves a bit.

Angie approximated a straight line, only once colliding with the spinning wall along the way, toward the kitchen. 
A nightcap, yes.  What a great idea!

The second bottle of wine stood on the counter near the sink, mostly full.  As she reached for it, she tipped over a wineglass with her knuckles.  The glass shattered, its shards spreading across the counter like ice chips on glass. 

Well, that answers that question,
she thought. 
No glass.  Too dangerous.

She managed to grab hold of the wine bottle and make it back to the sofa without too much trouble.  She sat heavily, but didn't look around, trying to block out her surroundings.

She tipped the bottle and drank deeply.

How could she stay here?  Every stick of furniture, ever panel of wood, every book and photograph--every single damned thing--was a reminder of Paul and that he was no longer with her.  No, she couldn't live here.  Not when every item she might encounter acted as a subtle torture at a given glance.  She would sell this place.  The Winchell's place.  Paul's dream.

A sudden cough snuck up on her and she nearly threw up the wine.  She swallowed hard and held a fist to her lips.  The moment passed, and she took another swig.