“I’ll manage.”
“You can’t take care of yourself.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“I won’t allow it.”
Cleo pressed her lips together. There was no use arguing. She would simply leave. And she did.
She called a cab to take her to the bus station. All the while Ruth screamed at her, following her around the house as Cleo gathered up her things, following her out the door to the end of the walk where she went to wait for the cab. But never helping in any way. No, Ruth Tyler would never help her children leave.
The cab pulled up and the driver put Cleo’s suitcase in the trunk, casting nervous glances at both women as he skirted the car’s fender. And then Cleo was sitting in the backseat. Through the closed window, she saw her mother standing on the sidewalk, her face a mask of rage.
Yes, people said they were the perfect family.
Back in Madison, Wisconsin, in the second-floor apartment she’d shared with Jordan, Cleo opened the door to a pile of mail, most of it addressed to Jordan. Not far away was a piece of dried toast with a bite taken out. On the night of the accident, before they’d left to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Cleo had laughingly fed him. He’d taken a bite, then grabbed her and lifted her off her feet, the toast dropping to the floor unnoticed.
One day shortly after her return to Madison, Jordan ’s parents came by to pick up his belongings. They packed, grabbing things that weren’t Jordan ’s while Cleo numbly and silently watched. They asked about school and she said it was okay even though she’d dropped out. She decided not to tell them about the baby. It was too hard to find the right words, and it would just make things more unbearable for them.
Cleo got to the point where she left the apartment only to get her prescription pain pills. One of those times, when she was walking home from the pharmacy, she passed the library, stopped, and went inside.
She walked up and down the aisle, staring blankly at titles until she came across a book on clairvoyance, Talking to the Dead. And another one, Transcending Time and Space.
Cleo checked out both books, along with a few others on similar subjects.
She read the books, absorbing the information like a sponge. When she was done, she went in search of more knowledge. She found everything she could on the subject of speaking to the dead. It was what she needed. It was the reason she’d been drawn to the library, to find the books that would lead her back to Jordan. More than anything, she wanted to talk to him, needed to talk to him. She wanted to tell him she was sorry for the fight they’d had…
After it was over, she could never be completely certain if it had really happened, or if she’d somehow put herself into a sort of dream state and had imagined the entire thing.
The first step was self-hypnosis.
Night after night, she practiced faithfully, carefully following the instructions. She would sit on the floor in the living room of the one-bedroom apartment, light a large white candle, and stare at the flickering flame, going through the hypnotic steps. She reached a point where she could put herself into a trance almost instantly. But that was all she could do. Until one night…
As she felt herself slipping away, she repeated Jordan ’s name, her lips moving silently. In her mind’s eye she pictured his face, willing him to come to her.
She heard a loud roar in her head, like the sound of a million fans. The room spun, and she seemed to tumble through a dark tunnel.
A few moments later, everything stopped.
Quiet, like being inside a movie with no sound.
She found herself standing on a roadside. Cold rain beat down. In the distance stood a two-story house with lighted Halloween decorations. Beyond the house, a car moved toward her, headlight beams cutting through the rain.
Cleo stood rooted to the spot where the road curved sharply into a bridge. She tried to step back, but she couldn’t lift her feet. She couldn’t close her eyes. Suddenly the car was almost upon her, its headlights reflecting off her white shirt. She saw the driver’s face, saw his look of surprise and heard his cry of alarm. In his haste to miss her, he jerked the wheel. The car skidded, the rear coming around. There was a crash, a grinding and squeaking of metal, the sound of shattering glass. The driver’s side had taken most of the impact, hitting the cement footing head-on.
Silence rang in her ears.
This time she was somehow able to move until she was next to the car.
There were two people inside.
Jordan and Cleo.
Cleo came to on the wooden floor of her apartment. Her body ached. The candle had gone out, leaving nothing but a puddle of wax. An acid taste collected in the back of her throat, a familiar sensation. She lurched to her feet. With the floor tilting like the deck of a ship, she staggered to the bathroom, making it just in time. Afterward, she half crawled from the room, and dragged herself into bed. She didn’t wake up until the next day.
Remembering what had happened when she was in the trance was nothing like trying to remember a dream. Dreams were vivid upon awakening, but quickly faded until they often became impossible to recall. This was different. Like remembering something she’d done the day before. Something she’d really done.
My God, she thought. What if I made it happen? What if I killed Jordan and our baby? Had he seen her standing there and swerved to avoid her?
Cleo put a hand to her mouth, letting out a sound that was half cry, half sob. She thought back to the night of the crash, to a scene she’d replayed in her head again and again. They were in the car on their way home. They were arguing about cleaning the apartment. Jordan didn’t do his share. They were both working and going to school, so it was only right that they share the household chores. Jordan always said he would help, but when his turn came, he never seemed to have time, and Cleo always ended up doing his work too.
At one point in the argument, Jordan had glanced over at her, then back at the road. It was the briefest of seconds, but when he looked back up he let out a cry, as if something beyond the car had startled him. Cleo thought she saw a flash of white, then the cement wall was directly in front of them.
Minutes later, Jordan took his final breath.
With the last of her money, Cleo bought a supply of candles and tried the trance again.
Nothing happened.
For two weeks, nothing.
Not a damn thing.
During that time the phone rang until she jerked the cord from the wall. During that time she forgot to shower, and forgot to wash her hair, and forgot to eat.
Then one day someone pounded on her door. It was angry knocking. Furious knocking.
She didn’t answer.
The knocking stopped. Footsteps moved back down the stairs. A short time later she heard a key turning in the lock. The door opened, then caught, stopped by the safety chain. Through that three-inch opening, someone shouted her name.
“ Adrian?” She got to her feet.
“Cleo, unlock the door!”
“What are you doing here?” Seattle was a long way from Madison, Wisconsin.
“I’ve been trying to call you. Open up!”
It took her a while, but she finally got the chain unfastened.
Normally Adrian would have hugged her, especially since they hadn’t seen each other in almost a year. It seemed as if he started to, then stopped. She saw the shock go through him.
“Christ,” he mumbled.
Cleo put a hand to her matted and tangled hair. She looked down at a long-sleeved top that had once been white, but was now smudged with candle smoke. Her jeans hung on her hips, her bare, bony toes poking out under the frayed hem.