“Good morning,” Clare said. Shanna jumped as if caught doing something embarrassing. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I was just . . .” She motioned to the folder. “It’s so strange to read the words. They don’t—” She struggled for a moment. “They’re not enough.”
Clare knew what she meant. The clinical descriptions and diagrams didn’t encompass the weight of what had happened. The horror. “Are you okay?” she finally asked. Shanna nodded and shut the folder. “Do you remember what happened last night?”
“No. What do you mean?”
“You were dreaming. You said Charon was in the room.”
Shanna’s eyes darted around as if looking for him in the daylight-dappled space. “I did?”
Clare nodded. “You recited one of the old hymns. You said Charon was singing.”
Her sister’s expression tightened. “I don’t remember that.”
“Have you ever dreamed something like that before?”
“No, but I . . .” She struggled, one hand working at the opposite wrist as she looked down at the file folder. “I dream about the fire. About the smell of what was in those cups. All of it . . . it feels like it happened to someone else.” She was quiet for a long time. “I want to see it,” she said finally.
It took Clare a second to realize what she meant. “No, honey. You don’t want to go back there.”
“I have to see it. Otherwise it doesn’t seem real. It was so long ago it feels like a nightmare.”
“Let it be that, then. You already had to bring us back to the place you were being held. There’s nothing for us there.” She hadn’t meant to say us. It had come out on its own. Only then did she register the quickened pace of her heart. Was she pushing back against Shanna’s idea of returning to their old home solely for her sister’s sake? Or because she was afraid of going back to that place? Not afraid, that’s not the right word. It was Lia’s voice in her head now, speaking in her knowing way of someone who was already five steps ahead that drove Clare nuts sometimes. Mostly because her friend was typically right. Terrified is the better term. You’re terrified of going back there. And not just because the place scares you, it’s because of what you’re afraid you might remember.
“If you really think we shouldn’t. I just don’t know how it will ever go away.” Shanna said quietly, looking at the floor. Clare was about to reply when a soft knocking came from Adam’s door, which she noticed was now closed.
“Come in,” she said.
Adam poked his head into the room. “Good morning. Or should I say, nearly noon.”
Clare grabbed her cell phone from the bedside table. It was well past eleven. “Shit, sorry I overslept.” She noticed a missed call from Hughes along with a text message asking to give him a ring when she could.
“Don’t worry, we didn’t miss much at the continental breakfast. Jesus, what happened to your face?”
Clare brought a hand up to her cheek. “I must’ve scratched it in the woods yesterday.” Adam and Shanna studied her for a drawn moment. She could feel them noticing the bug bites that hadn’t been there the evening before and cut Adam off as he started to say something more. “Hughes called, better call him back. Might be something important.”
Adam nodded slowly. “I’ll let you get dressed.” He disappeared into his room and shut the door again. Clare ignored Shanna’s stare and climbed out of bed. As she began dressing in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt the hotel phone rang. She hesitated a moment before picking it up.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Murdock?”
It took Clare half a second to identify the voice on the other end of the line, and as soon as she did a spike of anger drove through her center. “How did you get this number?”
“That’s really not important, is it?” Brynn Johnson said. “What is important is where you were last night.”
Clare faltered, feeling as if the floor had dropped out from under her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do. Let’s stop this charade, shall we? I just want to ask you a few questions for my article. That’s all.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.” She’d already taken the phone away from her ear when the reporter spoke again.
“It’s your sister, isn’t it? The woman who was injured? It’s Shanna, right? She’s not dead.”
Clare hung up the phone, her hand trembling slightly. “Who was that?” Shanna asked.
Clare fixed a smile and shook her head. “Nobody. Nobody important.” She turned and headed for the bathroom before Shanna could say anything else. When the door was closed behind her she leaned against it, weighing out what had just happened. Johnson must’ve followed her to Parson’s camp. Whether or not she knew why was hazy, but God, she’d guessed correctly about Shanna. Hughes had been right about her, she was tenacious. But just how tenacious remained to be seen. Would Johnson go to Hughes with the information regarding Clare’s little nighttime escapade? She didn’t know, and really there was nothing she could do about it now. She’d be damned if she would be blackmailed into giving Johnson what she wanted. Only pain would come of a story being printed concerning Shanna and where she’d been the intervening years. And right now pain was the last thing either of them needed.
When she’d applied a little makeup to the scratches on her face and put her hair up in a bun, she dialed the sheriff’s number, hoping against hope he wouldn’t tell her he had a formal complaint sitting on his desk from the Free Spirit Disciples or a tip from an anonymous source about her trespassing.
“Hughes.”
“Sheriff, this is Clare.”
“Good morning. The county psychologist would like to meet with Shanna again and do a follow-up assessment. Gauge how she’s adjusting to everything. Would you be able to come into the station at some point today?”
She nearly sagged with relief. “Sure. That’d be fine. We’ll grab a bite to eat and head your way. Say one?”
“That’s fine. See you then.”
She hung up, trying to infer from his tone if he’d been withholding anything. Had someone called in a complaint and he was fishing to see if she was nervous or sounded guilty? Maybe he wanted an excuse to see her in person. She couldn’t tell one way or another.
“Did he have any news?” Shanna asked, pulling her out of her reverie.
“No. The doctor who spoke to you in the hospital wanted to meet with you again to see how you’re doing. Is that okay?”
Shanna considered it. “Yes, that’s fine.” She still appeared downtrodden.
“How about we get some food first. Are you hungry?”
The clouds drew away from Shanna’s features and a smile shone through. “Starving.”
They dined at a bistro overlooking the river. The day was gorgeous and humid, such a change from the prior cooler weather Clare instantly regretted wearing pants. The patio was sun-drenched but mostly empty of other diners. Their accompanying deputy sat at an adjacent table, his reflective sunglasses shining so that it looked as if two silver coins covered his eyes.