Vision of Darkness (30 page)

Headlights flashed through the dining room and Pru went silent. Lovie grinned, enjoying the sense of heartbreak and dread mixing with her own delight. A car door slammed shut.

“Uh-oh, we’d better go change, Prudence. Silas is home.”

CHAPTER 32

Alex tried the lighthouse’s landline, but again got an angry busy signal. His hand tightened around the cell phone as he guided his rental up the bumpy driveway. The beacon flashed over the lawn, piercing the first fingers of fog that clawed inland from the ocean. Alex killed the engine. No movement inside, but Pru’s Jeep sat in the drive along with another car he didn’t recognize.

The quiet rap of a knuckle on his window made him jump. A figure peeled away from the shadows of the night to stand beside the door.

“Holy shit, Nick.” Telling his pounding heart to calm the fuck down, he levered himself out of the driver’s seat. “You gotta stop sneaking up on me like that, buddy. I thought you were off researching ghosts or some shit.”

“I was.” He slid a glance toward the silent house. “But I knew you’d come back and you can’t go in there tonight.”

“Why not?” Alex looked at the unrecognized car. “Who’s she with?” Silence. “Goddammit, answer me. Who is in there with her?”

“A man went in a while ago. I don’t know who or why.” But his voice insinuated a shitload of images Alex didn’t want in his mind. Another man’s hands on Pru, mouth on her skin, body filling her.

Jealous anger spilled through him, so hot it burned. He drew a breath to squelch it. “No.” He wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t for his own sanity. “She’s not like that. C’mon, Nick, you know she’s not like that. I gotta talk to her. I fucked up but—”

Nick caught his arm. “Trust me, you can’t go in there.”

“Why the fuck not?”

Nick slapped an eight-by-ten photo into his palm. “It’s the anniversary.”

“What?” Alex turned the photo over and blinked at the man in old-fashioned military dress staring up with intense, dark eyes and a half-smile.

His
eyes.
His
smile. A man with
his
face.

The spit dried in his mouth. “Who is—”

Silas.

It hit him like a blow to the gut and he took a step backward.

“That’s Lovie’s husband,” Nick said. “He had an extramarital relationship with a woman named—”

“Olivia.” The woman from his dreams. He could see it so clearly: Olivia telling Silas she was pregnant that warm, fall night on the beach under the lighthouse. Not a dream any longer, but a far-away memory. “He never saw his baby. He died before she was born.”

“Yeah, he did.” Nick narrowed his eyes. “He died tonight, eighty-nine years ago, and Lovie’s been gettin’ revenge on his illegitimate family ever since. Grandma Mae is his daughter.”

The accidents.

God help him, it all made a sick sort of sense. Pru’s uncle’s car accident. Her father’s fall while painting the lighthouse tower last year. Wade’s fall into that hole in the backyard. John Jr.’s fall down the stairs in the carriage house.  

Alex tried to wrap his mind around the idea and came up against a wall. No. It was ridiculous. He shook his head and started for the house. “Ghosts don’t exist. This is all bull—”

“You stubborn jackass.” Nick grabbed his shoulders and slammed him against the car with enough force to rattle his teeth. He tensed in automatic reaction, adrenaline spilling into his blood, readying for a fight, but Nick expelled a breath and stepped back.

“Even with the proof starin’ you in the face, you still won’t believe. You know how the mirrors keep explodin’? Think about it. It only happens when both you and Pru are reflected in one. And every time you two get intimate, somethin’ happens like those scratches on your back. Sorry, but I’m not lettin’ you go in there, pal. You’re a carbon copy of Silas True and Lovie’s goin’ta want you dead.”

Alex also breathed out, struggling to control the instinct to kick Nick’s ass. It’d feel damn good to go a round with the Sioux man and work out all the frustration and aggression burning a hole in his gut, but it wouldn’t help the current situation any. He sucked in another breath. “Pru—”

“Will be fine as long as you stay away from her tonight.” 

“No, she won’t. Fuck.” Wound up, his nerves as taut as a tightrope with a full-blown trapeze act balancing on top, Alex jerked away from his best friend. “On the phone, she wasn’t acting normal. She called me Silas before she hung up.”

Nick shut his eyes for a second, sorrow flashing over his features before he got control of himself and hardened his jaw. “Lovie’s possessed her.”

“It happened once before for just a few minutes after the séance, but I brushed it off as a hallucination. She asked me why I left her and tried to strangle me.”

Nick muttered a soft oath. “All right. What do you want to do?”

“I have to go in there.”

“Al—”

“I see no other choice. If Lovie’s reliving the past, she’ll reenact her suicide. In
Pru’s body
. I won’t let that happen.”

“Aw, man.” Nick looked pained and rubbed a hand over his shadowed jaw. “Don’t do this, pal. My orders are to keep you safe.”

“Fuck orders. We’re not soldiers anymore. We don’t take orders from Sully or anyone else.”

“True. But I’m not goin’ta let you commit suicide, and that’s what this plan is. Suicide.” He gave Alex’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m not sayin’ we abandon Pru. Let’s just be smart about this.”

In theory, it sounded like a good idea, one that Alex would go for if he had the time. He liked plans, liked to calculate and weigh and choose the best option, but there wasn’t time to be smart. And Nick was only going to stand in his way.

“I’m really sorry for this, buddy.”

Nick opened his mouth to respond. Alex pulled back a fist and issued an uppercut calculated to fall even a man of Nick’s size. The impact jarred every bone up to his shoulder.

“Umph.” Nick staggered back three steps, eyes rolling in his head. “You’re…asshole.” Gravity took over as his legs gave out and he collapsed with the force of two-hundred plus pounds of cement.

“Said I was sorry.” Alex shook out his stinging hand, and crouched to check his friend’s pulse. Strong and steady. He’d wake up in a bit with a nasty headache and a bruised jaw, but none the worse for wear.

Alex grabbed his leather coat from the front seat of his car and draped it over Nick’s wide chest, then straightened and looked at the house.

Goddammit
, his inner cynic said.
Nick’s right. This is suicide.

For once, they were in total agreement.

***

Dark. Quiet. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and the air temperature dropped ten degrees as Alex inched into the foyer. Triton cowered underneath the chiffonier, chestnut eyes wide and darting.

“Hey, bud,” he said in a voice just above whisper. “It’ll be okay. Out. Go to Nick.” He held the door long enough for the terrified pooch to run outside, then shut it, careful to not let it squeak. His always steady hand trembled as he peaked around the corner and saw a man sprawled on the threshold between the dining room and kitchen.

Who the hell was that?

The man’s body twitched, a dark puddle pooling under his head like oil. The kitchen beyond glowed with light and inside, a knife hit a cutting board in staccato rhythm, keeping time with Alex’s heart.

Tap, tap, tap.

His stomach knotted up tight as he slid toward the wounded man and knelt down on one knee to check his pulse. Weak. The guy made a strange sound, somewhere between a moan and a gurgle. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, showing no hint of recognition as his body continued to twitch.

Tap, tap, tap.

A blow had flattened the top of his head, knotted his blond hair with blood. If he lived, he’d be a vegetable. If Alex had any sympathy, he’d shoot him now and put him out of his misery.

Alex climbed to his feet and kept moving. Whatever the man had been doing here at this time of night, it hadn’t been good.

Tap, tap, tap.

Warm, delicious scents floated from inside the kitchen. Pumpkin, spices, fresh bread and stew. A pot bubbled on the stove. Pru stood at the counter chopping carrots, so at ease and in her element that he felt a spurt of hope. Maybe he was wrong about Lovie possessing her. She looked normal enough as she balanced the carrot slices on her blade and dumped them into the pot in one graceful move. No weird 1920’s costume or haircut. In a simple sweater-dress cinched at the waist with a wide brown belt, she looked like—well, like Pru, with her feet and legs bare to the November chill. Her black hair swung in long, loose waves down her back. She was humming and he recognized the tune as the one he’d sang in the shower his first night here. Bad Company’s
Feel Like Making Love
.

Lovie couldn’t possibly know that song, right?

Alex relaxed a little and took a step forward before realization slammed into him. Green. She was wearing green dress. He sucked in a sharp breath and she turned at the sound, knife in hand. Long and thick, it was for slicing meat instead of chopping veggies and he suspected the meat she planned on slicing was his. She smiled and the cold, dark hatred in her blue eyes chilled him to his marrow.

Pru’s body stood before him, but it was not Pru.

“Silas, dear, you’re home early,” she said. “Dinner’s not ready yet, I’m afraid. I had a little trouble finding the flour.” She kicked over the burlap bag of flour by her feet, revealing a tattered suitcase propped against the cupboard. She clucked her tongue. “Were you planning a trip, darling?”

His suitcase. He’d hidden it in the back of the pantry, behind an unopened bag of flour so it’d be easy to grab on his way out the back door. He’d planned to leave his wife tonight, leave his lighthouse, for Olivia and their unborn baby.

Lovie wasn’t going to let him live to see his baby now.

Alex pressed a hand over his eye and staggered back a step. No, not real. Visions of the past. Just visions.

Gritting his teeth against the headache, he raised his gun and leveled it on Pru’s head. He wouldn’t shoot it, couldn’t shoot it even if his life depended on it, but he could damn well fake it.

“Cut the shit, Lovie. You know I’m not Silas.”

She glided forward, the knife still in hand. Alex swallowed. Her feet hovered millimeters from the floor.

“Oh, you cut your hair and got yourself a brand new body.” She pressed the knife tip to his chest, dragging it down to his navel and up to his throat. With a flick of the wrist, she nicked his collarbone through his shirt. “But don’t you tell me I don’t know my own husband when I see him.”

“Silas is dead.”

“Not yet. But give me a minute.”

Ignoring the bite of the knife, he leaned forward, his face inches from hers. His gun dug into the soft flesh of her belly and he clicked off the safety. “You’d better get me directly in the heart or I will shoot you. Ready to die again?”

She tossed her hair back and laughed. “You won’t kill your sweetheart.” 

“You underestimate my self-preservation, lady.”

Her face crumpled. Eyes wide, she gazed down at the gun in her stomach and then back at the knife she held against his chest. She gasped and dropped the knife.

“Alex…”

“Pru?” With his free hand, he touched her face but still kept the gun aimed. She looked like Pru, but dammit, she had all along. “Is that you, baby?”

Her lips trembled. “Don’t hurt me.”

“Oh, babe, I don’t want to. Is she gone?”

She shut her eyes, brow furrowing in concentration. Then she looked up at him and all he saw there was the fear of Pru, not the hatred of Lovie. “I think so. I fought her every step. She wants to kill you. She thinks you’re Silas.”

“I know.” Alex lowered the gun and drew her into his arms. He soothed her hair and kissed the top of her head, hugging her tight. “That’s my girl. You keep on fighting her. Are you all—” He felt a gun’s muzzle press to his side a millisecond before the bullet ripped into him. Then another. Pain tore the air from his lungs.

Pru—no, it wasn’t Pru. Lovie. She grinned at him and held up his own Ruger, the one K.C. had given him, the inscription glinting on the barrel like a taunt.
Always the hero, huh?

Yeah, and his hero complex just got him killed.

Lovie tossed the gun at his feet and was damn lucky the revolver didn’t go off again as it hit the floor. “Did you really think I’d let Prudence come back for good?”

Stunned, he gazed down at the holes in his side bubbling blood and dropped to his knees. He swayed and found himself face-to-face with the pine floor, staring at a petite foot with a small rose tattoo above the ankle. Pru’s foot.

Pru shot him.

No, no, not Pru. Lovie. It was Lovie.

The ankle moved and Pru’s voice sounded from far, far away. Pru’s voice, but not her talking.

Lovie.

Alex struggled to his hands and knees and watched her sashay over to the pot on the stove. With a grin, she dumped the boiling contents on the floor and flicked each burner’s setting to high. Four flames leaped to hungry life. She whipped a dishtowel from the cupboard over the sink and dropped it on the open fire, then walked to the back door. Damp, icy air seeped inside as she yanked the door open.