Sleep With The Lights On (31 page)

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Wake to Darkness

Maggie Shayne

M
ason had never seen the side of Rachel he saw on that stage. He had read her books—the last three, anyway—and they were pretty much all the same: all about positive thinking and creative visualization and everything happening for a reason. He would probably have read more, because the message was so uplifting and empowering, if he hadn’t known that she didn’t believe it herself. Not a word of it.

It was the one thing he’d never liked about Rachel. God knew he liked everything else about her a little
too
much. But that she was selling this spiel to the masses when she didn’t believe in it herself felt a little too cold, too calculating.

But just now he’d seen a hint of something else. She might
say
she didn’t believe the stuff she wrote about. She might even
think
she didn’t believe it. But she
wanted to.
She had practically glowed on that soundstage when she was spouting her message. He was beginning to think it might not be an act at all.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

She’d kept the mask in place as she’d said her goodbyes to her hostess, and the entire time she’d signed autographs for the group who’d gathered outside on the sidewalk, even though it was cold and starting to snow. Then the crowd fell away as he led her off to find a place for lunch.

“It’s a great time of year to be in the city,” he said.

She nodded. The Rockefeller Center Christmas tree was all lit up, and every store window decked to the nines. “I wish I could stay, but I’ve gotta get home to the kids.”

“Kids? Don’t tell me you got another dog.”

“No, Myrtle’s plenty. My niece Misty is dog-sitting, though.”

“At your place?”

She nodded.

“You’re a brave woman, leaving a sixteen-year-old alone in your home overnight.”

“Amy’s staying over, too.”

He grinned. “I don’t think your assistant is going to be much help, unless it’s to buy the booze for the inevitable party.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” she quipped.

He laughed and meant it. It had been a while since that had happened. “Why is only one twin dog-sitting? Is your other niece a cat person?”

“My sister and Jim took Christy with them for a two-week Christmas vacation in Aspen.”

“And Misty didn’t go?”

“Misty had the flu. Or at least she convinced my gullible sister that’s what it was. Frankly, I think it was more a case of not wanting to leave her latest boyfriend behind. The priorities of love-struck teens never fail to make me gag.” She mimed the finger-in-the-throat thing.

“I’ve missed the hell outta you,” he said, smiling at her gross gesture as if she was a supermodel posing in front of a wind machine. “And your little dog, too.”

“She’s missed you, too.”

But she didn’t say
she
had.

She’d stopped walking, and it took him a beat to realize she was indicating that they should eat at the deli whose wreath-and-bell-bedecked door they were currently blocking. He opened it, and she preceded him in. They moved through the line to the counter, ordered, and then she picked out the quietest table in the crowded, noisy place.

She was sparkling. Her eyes, her smile, told him she was as glad to see him again as he was to see her, whether she was willing to say it out loud or not.

“So how are the nephews? I’ll bet this is a hard time for them.”

“It’s rough. Their first Christmas without their dad. It’s hard on all of us.”

She nodded slowly. “It’s my first holiday without my brother, too. I think that’s probably why Sandra wanted to get away. It’s too hard.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier if they knew the truth about Eric.” He looked at her as he spoke. It was one of about a million things he’d been dying to talk to her about.

“No, Mason,” she whispered. “No one would be better off knowing their father, husband or son was a serial killer. No one. Trust me on this.”

He nodded slowly. “It’s been eating at me. Keeping that secret.”

“You did the right thing.”

God, he’d needed to hear her say that again. He didn’t know why, didn’t need to know why. It was a relief, that was all.

“They must have that new baby sister by now, though, right? Marie was out to
here
last time I—”

“Stillborn,” he said softly.

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Mason. I didn’t know. You should’ve called.”

“What good would that have done?”

She blinked what he thought were real tears from her eyes. “Poor Marie. First her husband and then her baby. I’d ask how she’s doing, but...”

“Yeah, she’s having a hard time of it. Keeps saying she’s being punished.”

“For what, for heaven’s sake?”

“She’s grieving. We can’t expect her to make sense.”

“And the boys?”

“Josh is good. He’s eleven, you know? It’s Christmas. They bounce back at that age. They spend a lot of weekends at my place. I pick them up after school and take ’em to the gym to shoot hoops every Wednesday.”

“But Jeremy, not so much?” she asked, homing in on what he’d left out. She was good at that. Good at reading between the lines, good at sensing the things people didn’t say. He’d never seen anything like the way she could tell when someone was lying or read the emotions behind their words.

“He’s seventeen.” He said it as if that said it all, then reminded himself that Rachel had nieces, not nephews, and it might not be quite the same. “He’s not bouncing back like Josh. He’s brooding. Quiet. Withdrawn. Didn’t even go out for basketball this year. Would’ve been his first year playing varsity, too.”

“Sounds like he’s depressed.”

“Marie thinks he’s been drinking. Said she smelled it on his breath when he came in late one night.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Mason.”

He shrugged. “It is what it is. They’ll come back around—it just takes time.”

Then he lifted his head and tried to bring his mood up a notch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. I should be focusing on the positive, right? That’s what your books say.”

“It’s hard when there’s so little positive to find,” she said. Then she stabbed him with those insightful eyes of hers. “What about you? How are you doing, Mason?”

He lowered his head again. “I don’t know, Rache. I feel like I’m in some kind of limbo. Waiting for something really big and really bad.” He met her eyes again. “Like it’s not finished yet.” He knew that she knew what he was talking about.

“It’s got to be finished,” she said, but she said it really softly. As if she was afraid to press their luck by saying it out loud.

The waitress brought lunch, and as soon as she left he got to the point of their meeting. “So, about this case. The one I contacted you about.”

“Missing person,” she said.

“Yeah. But the name was familiar, and I realized it was one of Eric’s organ recipients.”

She went still, but only for an instant. Then she shrugged and said, “Coincidence.”

“There’s no such thing as coincidence. You wrote that yourself.”

“Every self-help author spews that line. No one even knows who came up with it first. It’s universal. Doesn’t make it true.”

“I kind of think it does.” He paused, then said, “I figured I should at least ask if you’d had any dreams. Like before.”

“Before, when I was riding along inside the head of a killer, you mean?”

“Inside the head of another person who got one of my brother’s organs. If you can see them when they’re
committing
crimes, maybe you can see them when they’re the victims, too.”

She took her time before answering. “It was so traumatic that I think my mind kind of...took over.”

“In what way?”

“Every time I start to dream, I wake up. I have the same startle response you have when you dream you’re falling.”

“So is it any time you dream, or only when it’s one of those...psychic-connection dreams?”

“How the hell would I know? The dreams never play out.”

“
No
dreams ever play out?”

She averted her eyes and her cheeks turned red. “Well, sure. Some do.”

Was it crazy for him to hope that blush was because those dreams were about him? And that they were sexy as hell? Like the ones he’d been having about her ever since he’d seen her last?

“But I
can
say for sure that I haven’t had
any
dreams about
any
harm being done to
any
people. Besides, you said this was a missing person, not a murder victim, right?”

“Right. But to the family, this isn’t someone who would just up and vanish. Housewife. Soccer mom. PTA, all that. You know?” He got an idea and ran with it before his brain told him not to. “It would be like if your sister suddenly just up and vanished. You wouldn’t think Sandra did it voluntarily, right?”

“No, I wouldn’t. Not like when my transient addict brother up and vanished, and I assumed he’d just turn up after a while, like he always did. Until he didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. That was a bad— I’m sorry, Rachel.” He covered her hand with his.

She nodded, then twisted her arm to look at her watch. “I have to go.”

“How are you getting back?” he asked.

“Alone, Mason. I’m getting back alone.” She left half a sandwich on her plate. “Thanks for lunch. I hope things get better for your family soon.”

He nodded. “Thanks. Merry Christmas, Rache.”

“Merry Christmas, Mason.”

And then she was gone.

ISBN: 9781460319468

SLEEP WITH THE LIGHTS ON

Copyright © 2013 by Margaret Benson

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