Dead Spots (12 page)

“I can do it myself,” Grant offered.

Mackenzie stared at the frying pan wishing she were tougher, but she was tired, scared, and afraid that she was starting to believe this world was real. She also hated how much she was already depending on Grant and how much she needed to. Tanner was the one who always killed the ugly bugs in the house, or did the heavy lifting. He treated her like a princess and she had felt like one. But he wasn't here now and Grant was. It would be so easy to sit back and let him explore the house alone. If she was in a coma, or losing her mind, or really trapped in a dead spot, she had to find herself again. She had to be strong.

“Lead the way,” Mackenzie said in a firm voice.

“Are you sure? You look very tired,” Grant said sympathetically.

Nodding, Mackenzie lifted the frying pan. “I'm sure. Let's go.”

Returning to the hallway, they trod along the fluffy green carpet, weapons raised. The first door was badly warped by the fire and the subsequent water damage. With the door already ajar, it was easy to see into the room. Tapping the door with his foot, Grant scooted it open farther. Nothing stirred within. The blackened remains of furniture were piled in the center of the room. On the left-hand side of the room, the closet doors had fallen from their hinges, exposing the emptiness within. The glass in the window was long gone and a cool breeze stirred up the smell of rotting wood and mold.

“We'll use this room since it's closer to the kitchen,” Grant decided. “Care to do your magic?”

Stepping into the room, Mackenzie stared at a pile of debris and wondered what types of furniture the pieces had come from. Unsure of how to summon the room into being without knowing exactly what it had been before, she knelt and touched what appeared to have once been a white post.

“What were you?” Mackenzie whispered.

Mackenzie gasped as a dull ache in the back of her head quickly transformed into a flash of pain. Dropping the frying pan, she gripped her head. The discomfort faded almost as suddenly as it had occurred, leaving her slightly dizzy. Raising her eyes, she shuddered.

The room was a nursery. A white crib was tucked against one wall under a pink canopy. The walls were pale blue and someone had painstakingly hand painted clouds, rainbows, and birds. A small twin bed was made up in one corner with a filmy pink comforter over it. A white bookcase was filled with dolls and children's books and a pink ballerina stood on an old-fashioned dresser along with a jewelry box.

“Damn,” Grant muttered. “I didn't realize it was a nursery. I'll take this room.”

Mackenzie's knees were shaking and she felt sick to her stomach. She couldn't even bear to look at the baby crib. “I hate this place,” she grumbled and brushed past Grant into the hallway.

The next room was a long, narrow bathroom with many cabinets and a long counter with a double sink. Mackenzie leaned against the doorframe and touched the counter, waiting for the pain to hit. It came again, faster and harder. The bathroom had an avocado tub and matching toilet. Heavy white shag rugs decorated a green-tiled floor. The counter had splashes of orange, yellow, and avocado in a haphazard design.

“Are you sure I can't use my ‘shaping' powers to redecorate?” Mackenzie asked, wincing.

Grant chuckled.

Mackenzie heaved her frying pan over one shoulder, ready to smack anything coming out of the next room. Grant advanced on the door, knife at the ready. This door was warped badly in the frame, and no matter how hard Grant pushed against it, it wouldn't yield.

“Maybe that's where the roof collapsed,” Mackenzie suggested.

“I think you're right. That leaves us with this one.”

Turning, they faced the final doorway. Grant pushed on the door and it swung open on creaky hinges. It was a large room and in shambles. The roof had fallen and two of the walls had crumbled.

“I really don't want to restore this room.” Mackenzie's head was still throbbing and she felt bone weary all at once.

“You're okay with sleeping in the nursery?”

Mackenzie stepped into the hallway and Grant closed the door to the final room. “No, I'm not. But I'm okay with sleeping in the hallway. There's a linen closet in the bathroom, so I'm sure there is stuff in there I can use to make a bed.”

Grant studied the knife in his hand. “I guess I'll put this back. We're both just jumpy. The banging must have been the wind catching the front door.”

“Grant,” Mackenzie started in a hesitant voice.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for helping me. I do appreciate it. This is all very overwhelming, but I have to ask. Where do we go from here? Tomorrow?”

Grant fidgeted a little, and then sighed. “I think we need to get out of this high-activity area and head south. There's a place we can hole up so I can teach you everything you need to know to survive here.”

“I want to get out, Grant, not just survive,” Mackenzie said, unwilling to give in to the thought of never being able to escape.

“I do, too. But you need to be able to handle this world until you do get out, right?” Grant lifted a wry eyebrow. “I'll teach you everything I know, then you can decide what you want to do next. But we need to get away from this area. It's stirred up because of you entering it. Okay?”

Mackenzie regarded him doubtfully.

“Once you have a handle on how to survive, I'll help you find a way out. I promise.”

“Okay.”

Mackenzie trailed behind Grant to the kitchen. She set the frying pan in the sink while Grant returned the butcher knife to the knife block. Movement beyond the curtains caught her eye.

“Oh,” Mackenzie said. “There they are.”

The black-and-red birds had relocated to the backyard. Crammed close together, they sat upon the leaning fence and filled the trees on the edge of the woods. The many red eyes stared at Mackenzie, unblinking and predatory. A few fluttered their wings, while the hooting among them increased.

“I hate those things,” Mackenzie muttered.

Reaching up, she drew the curtains closed.

 

CHAPTER 7

Mackenzie's makeshift bed wasn't too uncomfortable. The restored linen cabinet in the bathroom had contained two sleeping bags, some pillows, soft cotton sheets, and three lightweight blankets. After a nice hot shower, Mackenzie had wrapped herself in a robe she found hanging on the back of the bathroom door and hand washed her clothing. Now her laundry hung in the kitchen and she was snuggled under the covers, attempting to make a new list. She was stuck after the first entry of “stay calm.”

The door to the nursery where Grant was sleeping was ajar, allowing a fresh breeze from the open window to drift through the hallway. Maybe she was just getting used to the burnt smell, but her nose and throat weren't as irritated as before. She could hear Grant struggling to get comfortable on the twin bed. It creaked under his weight while he grumbled.

The evening had passed without another bizarre incident. Grant had made a simple dinner of sandwiches from the items Mackenzie had restored earlier and they'd washed it down with cold orange sodas. Afterward, she'd nursed her aching head with some herbal tea and aspirin while he kept her company by telling stories about old Hollywood. She'd made it clear to him that she was done talking about the dead spot and needed time to absorb all the information he'd divulged. The fact that she was dependent on a complete stranger to guide her was a bit disconcerting. Safe within the dead spot she'd secured, Grant was much more relaxed and engaging. No longer worried about an impending attack, he was obviously making an effort to befriend her. It was a gesture she appreciated since it was evident that they were now a team of sorts. When they'd retired for the evening, Mackenzie had been too tired to sleep.

Finally giving up, she tucked her journal away and pulled out her laptop. It booted despite the beating it had taken earlier in the day, but without being able to access the Internet, she turned it off. She missed her online support group and wondered if they were worried about her yet. Estelle was probably harassing every law enforcement agency in the country.

Storing away the notebook, she dug out her cell phone. She was surprised when she plugged it into the wall outlet and it immediately started to charge. That bit of normalcy was comforting and though she didn't have 4G, wireless, or bars, being able to play her games and pull up the novel she had been reading on her ebook application was a solace to her fatigued mind.

Ever since Tanner had left, her nightly habit had been to lie on the bed reading until her eyes finally closed. It was the only way she could fall asleep. Sleeping pills made her drowsy, but she'd always awaken just before entering a deep slumber. Thoughts of Tanner and Joshua always seemed to yank her back into consciousness. Reading distracted her mind, allowing her to not think about her losses. It was rather amusing that she was now using the same ritual to ignore the fact she was in another world. Whether that world was one of her imagination she had yet to determine. Just as she had accepted Joshua dying and Tanner leaving her, she had to accept that the surrounding world was her new reality. Even if she was injured in a hospital or locked up in a psych ward, the events she was experiencing were not going to go away just because she wanted them to. For now she was stuck.

The cell phone screen radiance illuminated the length of the hallway, the darkened archway looming at the edge of her vision. It made her nervous, but her head had throbbed after transforming the bathroom. At one point, she had entertained the idea that the pain was from a head injury she'd received by crashing into the deer. That she was truly in a coma and had not avoided the accident after all. She had reluctantly pushed the thought away.

Lying on her bed, she fought the impulse to access the picture gallery on her phone. Her finger hovered over the screen while her thoughts fought an internal war. It would only bring her pain to look at the photos she had uploaded to her phone. Yet, she couldn't help herself. This was the torment she always inflicted upon herself. It was almost as if she couldn't stop picking at the wounds on her soul.

She tapped the icon.

The first photo was of her and Tanner at a rodeo. They looked sunburned under their cowboy hats and a little tipsy, but they made a beautiful couple. The next one was of their wedding. They were running down the path from the chapel, both looking over their shoulders while rose petals showered them. When she'd scrolled through all the photos on the CD the wedding photographer had given her, this had been her favorite image. It looked as if they were rushing together into a bright future.

With a sigh, Mackenzie swiped the screen again.

It was a 3D image of Joshua's little face. He looked so sweet and peaceful, his tiny fists curled up under his chin.

Her finger paused over the screen.

Drawing in a deep breath, she scrolled to the next photo. In the image, Mackenzie was holding Joshua and staring into his still face with a heartbroken expression. Tanner's arm rested around her shoulders, his cheek pressed against hers. It was a black-and-white photo, but Joshua's dark lips in the photo could not be missed. The terrible memory of those tiny lips slowly turning black haunted her. The nurse had warned her and Tanner that babies decomposed much more quickly due to their size and that signs of it would appear as they held him. Mackenzie hadn't cared. She just wanted a few precious hours holding Joshua before she would have to let him go forever. He'd felt so small in her arms, so delicate.

Why did she do this to herself? Why didn't she just delete the photos and forget they existed?

Pressing the phone to her chest, she closed her eyes, feeling her heart thudding beneath her fingers. Tears drizzled from the corners of her eyelids and flowed into her hair.

The answer was simple. She had sworn she would never forget her son's face. No matter what happened in her life, she would remember that he had been conceived out of a great love that simply could not endure past his death. People wanted her to move on by not remembering her tragedy. Their well-meaning advice to forget, not hold on to, the past and embrace a new way of life was like a dagger through her soul. Mackenzie couldn't accept that advice. How could she abandon the memory of her child? She wanted to leave behind her guilt, regrets, and anger, but it was so hard when her mother's voice hissed in her mind over and over again, laying the blame at her feet.

Her heart beating fast in her chest, anxiety rising to the surface, Mackenzie concentrated on her breathing exercises. Maybe she shouldn't have risked looking at the photos while trapped in the nightmare world. The whole harrowing day had been one anxiety-inducing moment after another. The empty house, the Goodwill movers, the cemetery, and her trip out of Shreveport felt like another life. That realization was terrifying. Was she accepting the insanity of the dead spots that easily?

“I can beat this,” Mackenzie whispered, swiping her tongue over her lips. “I can be strong.”

Closing her eyes, she kept her breathing steady. She wondered if the Xanax was still in her system, but it really didn't matter. From this point on she would have to weather the anxiety storms without her pills and find a way to cope on her own.

Surprisingly, sleep came sooner than she expected.

*   *   *

“Mac,” Tanner's voice said, pushing its way insistently through her muddled dreams. “Mac, wake up!”

“I'm so sleepy,” she complained, trying to snuggle deeper under the blankets.

“Mac, the baby won't stop crying. You gotta help me.”

Through the layers of thick fabric, she heard the plaintive wail of a newborn. Pushing aside the covers, she gazed up in confusion at Tanner. He crouched over her, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed tightly together. It was his stressed look.

“The baby?”