Chad looked at Greg.
Greg looked back at Chad.
“Don’t tell me y’all forgot the camera,” Bill said, his cheeks darkening.
Neither Greg nor Chad answered, but their blank faces spoke volumes. Bill extended an arm and pointed in the vague direction of town. “Somebody better get their ass back to town and get that camera, by God.”
James woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep. He was in a real dilemma. He had seen the horse get attacked and Sharon Perrett’s close call, but he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing was real. After lying in bed, staring at the ceiling for an hour, he got up and made a cup of coffee. Ambling like the living dead, he shuffled into the living room and flopped down on the couch. At first he reached for the remote, thinking he could see what was on the late show. But he set the remote back on the coffee table without turning on the TV. He needed to think.
It was time to tell someone about the dreams, whether they were real or not. James knew Angie was already worried about him and he was worried that further stress could complicate her pregnancy, so he counted her out. The only other person he would feel comfortable talking to about this was Greg. He was also the only person other than Angie who knew about James’ visions. James made up his mind he would tell Greg first thing tomorrow afternoon.
His mind now somewhat at ease, James nodded off on the couch. He slept dreamlessly for an hour before Angie got up. She waited until Jimmy was off to school before waking James up and when she did, she found his disposition much better than it had been in years. In stark contrast to the morning before, James thanked her for letting him sleep the extra few minutes, and after he got dressed, he sat down and ate breakfast with her. After eating they sat at the table chatting about everything from local gossip to Jimmy’s grades. James didn’t leave for work until fifteen minutes after eight, thirty minutes after he usually did.
When James got to work he felt better than he had since the dreams first started three weeks ago. He felt that he had made up for the way he had acted toward Angie the morning before, and the extra sleep had certainly helped. Not only that, although he hadn’t told Greg about the dreams yet, the knowledge that he was going to took a great deal of weight off his shoulders.
James and Guy worked until past six o’clock that afternoon, and James didn’t get home until seven. After sitting down and eating supper (steak, mashed potatoes and gravy — he had obviously been quite successful at making up with Angie this morning), James got up and dialed Greg’s number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Sandy; this is James. Is Greg where I can speak to him?”
“He’s asleep right now. He just got switched to the night shift and its got his hours all messed up. He’ll be getting up in about an hour to go to work; can I have him call you then?”
James paused. He considered having Sandy wake Greg, but what would another hour hurt? “Sure, no problem. Just have him call when he gets up.”
“I will. Is Angie there?” Sandy asked.
“Yeah, she’s right here,” James replied, handing the phone to his wife who was standing right beside him waiting for her turn to talk to her gossip buddy. After talking for thirty minutes they got off the phone and Angie started hinting about going to bed a little early (yes, he had definitely been successful at making up). At nine they tucked Jimmy in bed and went to their bedroom where James temporarily forgot all about the visions.
Sandy forgot, too. To give the message to Greg, that is.
Sharon finally did go to the hospital, but she refused to stay. The doctor gave her a prescription to calm her nerves, but she gave it the same treatment she had given a similar prescription when Timmy died; she threw it away.
It was just after midnight. Sharon had quit crying hours ago, but her eyes were still red and swollen and there was a painful, hollow look on her face. She sat at her breakfast table looking at the empty pasture through the same window from which she had watched Chelsea for nine and a half years. Sharon sat there in her robe, with both of her trembling hands wrapped around a cold coffee cup that had earlier held hot chocolate; she had drained the last drop over three hours ago. Every now and then she would get up and slowly walk into the living room with her hands still clasped around the empty cup, and look at the trophies and pictures of her and Chelsea that adorned the walls. After staring at these memories for a few minutes, she would turn and slowly walk back into the kitchen and sit back down. Every now and then her chest would jerk and a hiccup-like hitch would come forth as she teetered on the brink of another bout of crying, but she never quite crossed the threshold.
Sharon had just returned to her chair from yet another trip into the living room when she heard a sound coming from the direction of the barn. It sounded like a horse.
Chelsea? Sharon thought. She strained her eyes and looked through the window, toward the barn. It was hard to make it out from that distance, but past the yellow Police Line — Do Not Cross ribbon, she could swear she saw the shadow of a horse inside the barn.
My mind is playing tricks on me, Sharon thought. Nevertheless, she stood and put her coffee cup down for the first time in four hours. She hurried through the kitchen to the back door, where she turned on the back porch light. There was Chelsea standing in the pen, just outside the barn.
“Chelsea?” Sharon mumbled, tears streaming down her cheeks anew. In the back of her mind she knew something wasn’t right, but she didn’t care. She opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch.
“Chelsea,” Sharon said softly, smiling. Like a ghostly apparition, she descended the steps of the back porch, with her long blond hair blowing out to the side in the cool October wind. Her maroon robe billowed away from her body revealing her slim pale figure, which was naked except for a pair of white panties. Even her smile had a ghostlike quality — it creased across her mouth, but stopped at her eyes, which still looked strangely hollow.
Oblivious to the cold, she walked across her back yard toward the barn. She opened the gate and stepped inside the pen. The haunted smile still on her face, she walked toward Chelsea, who was slowly approaching from the barn.
As they drew close together, Chelsea snorted and shook her head as if in recognition.
“Chelsea,” the apparition said dreamily, reaching out to touch the horse’s velvety nose.
Just before her hand reached Chelsea’s nose, Sharon was struck on the left side of her head by a blow that completely severed her head from her body.
CHAPTER 3
Awake in the Night
James awoke and sat straight up in bed, “Oh my God!”
Angie stirred beside him and asked, “You okay, James?”
“Sure, Honey,” James answered. “Just a cramp in my leg.”
“You sure?” Angie asked sleepily, without raising her head from the pillow. James knew she wasn’t one-hundred percent awake.
“Yeah, it’s better now.”
“M’kay," Angie muttered. She went right back to her deep slumber.
At first, James wanted to call the sheriff’s office and get them to tell Greg to call him, but if he called Greg while he was on duty, James would end up having to tell his story to Sheriff Oates. If Sharon Perrett was dead, how would he answer questions as to how he knew so much about her death? Greg knew about James’ visions, but he was sure that just about anyone else would lock him up in a small padded cell if he told them he was some sort of psychic. Or worse yet, they might try to pin him for Sharon’s murder. James decided to wait until Greg went off duty at six in the morning.