Rising Darkness (Game of Shadows #1)(20)

She said, “Makes sense. Thank you, Donny.”

“Uh, it’s Danny.”

“Right. Sorry.” Those damn teeth.

“And you’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Mary sipped at her brandied coffee until she felt the caffeine and sugar add a fresh spike to her bloodstream. She was borrowing energy against an inevitable crash, but there wasn’t any other alternative. Her day had just become thirty times longer after watching Live at Five.

The restaurant manager came over, profuse with brisk concern and platitudes, but Mary didn’t warm to the other woman. She could tell the manager was acting out of professional obligation and would rather be doing other things. Mary killed two birds with one stone and got rid of her by asking if the other woman would call the St. Joe police to tell them she was alive, if somewhat in shock, and she would be in touch with them soon.

Danny came and refilled her coffee. She thanked him, elbows on the bar, head in her hands.

Okay, she thought. She had to get at least a temporary grip.

What did she know?

She knew she was an intelligent woman. Her experiences were interacting with the outside world. Okay, so the incident with the dancing sticks and twigs from early this morning was pretty iffy, but her house really was on fire. She didn’t know what it meant, but things were not just happening inside her head.

Psychic phenomena have been the stuff of myth and legend for millennia. She knew that for the last hundred years people had claimed to have experienced visions and have their prayers answered in the Grotto.

That was why she had gone there today. Even though she was not very religious, she had wanted to throw out a prayer. You know, just in case God did exist and would like to lend her a hand.

She wanted some answers. She couldn’t very well complain when she started to get some, could she?

Maybe she lived in Gretchen’s world after all.

The scientist in her tried to kick that thought out of her head. She frowned and held on to it.

Maybe . . . maybe all those years of med school were why she had started to doubt her own sanity in the first place. Maybe she was quite sane (there’s a thought), and she just hadn’t yet found the right explanation for everything that was happening. The doctor in her wanted clinical proof and scientific explanations, and maybe she wasn’t going to get any.

For the last several years she had been trying to play by someone else’s rules, and she felt more sick and unsure of herself than she had ever felt in her life.

“My dreams are real,” she whispered.

In spite of the fact that she was worried about Justin and had lost everything she had in the world, a corner of her mouth lifted.

Where did she go from here? She should talk to Gretchen again. She needed to ask more questions, about the woman she saw in her vision and how weird she felt afterward, and what the hell was going on with her vision.

Maybe the Lady didn’t say what Mary thought she had said.

Maybe Mary was in danger if she had tried to go home?

Maybe she would have been in danger if she had been home? The house might have caught fire from some bad electrical wiring, or even from vandalism.

In any case there was no reason for her to create a grand pattern out of everything. And Justin was fine. It was broad daylight. He would have been awake and alert, not asleep and in danger of smoke inhalation. He was pissed and he went back to work, so he turned his cell phone off. As for her, she needed to take things one step at a time and chill. Of course her vision had wonked out. She was chronically sleep-deprived.

She would need a week off to sort out her life. No other way around it. Maybe she would need two weeks. She had to deal with the insurance company and find a place to stay, buy clothes and essentials like toiletries. While she was dealing with all of that, she would get a script for Ambien, get some real sleep and reboot.

She started to feel almost cheerful, which was actually not too bad for someone whose life was in complete upheaval and who had lost everything she owned, aside from her car and what money she had in the bank. She waved Danny over. “I’m ready to leave now. Can you give me my check?”

“Forget it,” he said. “You’re good.”

“But I ordered a lot,” she said.

“You ate, what, three bites of your meal?”

“I had the salad, and the Coke and the coffee. . . .”

He leaned toward her. “I cleared it with the manager. Like I said, you’re good. She also told me to tell you that she called the police for you too. They’re waiting to hear from you. Go do what you need to do.”

“Thank you.” She picked up her purse and slipped off the barstool.

As she pushed outside, she passed a group of people going in. She paused to take in a deep breath of fresh air, grateful to be away from the hot, noisy interior. As nice as the staff had been, she didn’t think she’d ever eat at another Friday’s again.

The sun was setting. The sky was lavender and gold, the edges near the horizon deepening to purple. She looked around with care. The Van Gogh effect was still present, but it wasn’t as pronounced as it had been earlier in the afternoon. She lifted her face to a slight cool breeze.

It curled around her neck and kept circling, a jerky agitation of air.

She stopped breathing. She started to raise a hand to her neck and froze, not daring to move. Something was swirling around her upper torso but there was no weight or solidity to it. It felt as though she was wrapped in a puff of wind.