Whirlwind (13 page)

Liza bellowed, “I said we don't dare be
seen
together! Everybody will think we...that we've been...”

“What?” Cliff sneezed into his tissue and came up with watery eyes. “I can't hear a thing!”

“Oh, never mind,” Liza snapped, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the lodge. “Come inside for a cold tablet. Luckily, I bought a whole bottle.”

Cliff's health went downhill very quickly after that. As Liza predicted, his first illness in several years laid him flat out. He drank two glasses of orange juice and swallowed a tablet and some aspirin, but those medicines had little effect. Liza sent him to bed for the rest of the afternoon, and without arguing he staggered up the steps like a drunken man.

While he rested, Liza spent a couple of hours trying to find her way into the attic. The longer she looked for the narrow staircase she remembered from her youth, the more disgusted she became with herself. How could she have forgotten something as big as a staircase?

“I
know
it's here someplace,” she grumbled to herself. “We used to play dress-up in the attic all the time.”

Amanda would remember, Liza decided. Her older sister had a steel-trap mind—perfectly suited for her chosen profession in law—and could recall nearly any fact she ever heard in school. Where Liza had been a less than sparkling academic student, but a hit on the social scene, Amanda had lived a quieter adolescence and become a successful lawyer.

But paying a call on Amanda to find out the location of the attic staircase meant coming face-to-face with the conflict that had driven Liza from Tyler in the first place. She had no intention of setting foot in her mother's house until she was ready for the confrontation that was sure to take place.

Liza didn't want to talk to Amanda or Alyssa about anything. Especially after being bombarded by the memories of her childhood at Timberlake! Everywhere Liza looked were things that reminded her of the carefree days of her youth—the days when she couldn't even imagine something as terrible as her father's death. That wound still felt fresh to Liza, even though the rest of the family had obviously put the event behind them. Perhaps she'd been closer to her father than anyone else in the family.

“I won't ask any of them for favors, that's all. I'll just keep looking for the staircase on my own,” Liza said to herself.

By nightfall, she hadn't found anything but a lot of dust. She gave up and went to the kitchen to heat some soup. When Cliff awoke, surely he'd be hungry, she thought. He didn't come downstairs, however, and Liza eventually assumed he was still sleeping off his head cold.

Wisely deciding to pamper herself with a good night's sleep that might knock the cold out of her for good, Liza went to bed early.

But at midnight, the strange singsong voice woke her.

“T
HAT DOES IT
!”

Liza flung herself out of bed and snapped on the bedroom light. “That idiot is sick as a dog, but he's got enough energy to try chasing me out of this lodge? Ooh, I'll show him a thing or two!”

She stomped across the floor and threw open her bedroom door. The eerie noise Cliff was making was louder in the hall, but Liza marched undaunted toward his room, snapping on the hall light as she passed the switch.

“There's no polite way to do this,” Liza muttered, lifting her fist to pound on the door. “Get out of there, you coward!” she bellowed.

Beating her hand faster and faster on the door, she shouted, “If you're going to play stupid games, Forrester, you had better have the guts to face me! Come on, open up!”

He shouted something, but Liza didn't understand. She grabbed the doorknob and shoved her way inside. Instantly sensing something was wrong, she stopped dead in the doorway. The room was completely dark, but a jagged triangle of light from the hallway zigzagged across his bed.

Cliff came out of the darkness like a springing tiger. He wore a pair of jeans and nothing else. His chest was bare. His long hair was rumpled, and his eyes were wild—with anger and something more.

“Go away,” he ordered thickly, breathing in ragged gasps.

Too furious to see straight, Liza exploded, “You're damn right I'll go away, but not until I'm good and ready! You can stop this ghost nonsense right now, Forrester, because I—”

“Get the hell out of here!”

“You can't order me—”

Cliff grabbed her arm, his grip so tight Liza cried out. It wasn't until that moment that she saw the sweat glistening on his face, felt his muscles bunched so tightly they could have snapped any moment. His dark eyes were wide and swimming with unfocused anger.

“Go away,” he rasped. “I don't want to hurt you!”

“Forrester—”

“Don't argue, dammit!”

“Let me go!”

But he didn't hear. Her words didn't penetrate the demons that had taken over his brain. Liza struggled against his grip. “That's my arm you're breaking, Forrester!”

He was dreaming—that had to be it. Or having some kind of breakdown.
Flashback,
Liza thought suddenly. Didn't some Vietnam vets suffer from flashbacks? This one was driving him over the brink of sanity.

Liza tried to stay calm and forced her voice to sound reasonable. “Let me go, Cliff.”

But he shoved her against the open door and pinned her there, his face only inches from her own. “Damn you, don't you see how dangerous it is for you? You could be killed, for God's sake!”

Liza wriggled to be free. “Stop it! First that stupid ghost routine and now—”

“Ghost?” he repeated.

“It was a stupid and immature trick, you know.”

He blinked, fighting to regain his composure, his grip slackening. “What are you talking about?”

From the attic above, a weird cry suddenly silenced both of them.

Liza's heart stopped beating and seemed to expand in her chest. All of a sudden she was glad Cliff had grabbed her, and she hugged him hard, listening to the crying song from above. The sound faded almost as quickly as it started, but it left Liza shaken to the bottom of her soul. For a long moment, she strained to listen, and she could feel Cliff listening, too—his every nerve stretched.

At last Liza found her voice and croaked, “What was that?”

Cliff's chest felt warm and solid, but she could feel a shudder go through him before he broke the silence with a ghastly whisper. “You heard it?”

“Of course I heard it! I'm not deaf!”

“It's not...you didn't imagine it or—”

“Imagine it! What kind of idiot do you take me for? Ouch! That hurts, dammit!”

Cliff sucked in a hissing breath. Liza winced as he tightened his grip on her shoulders and twisted her until their faces were only inches apart. His expression scared the daylights out of her.

On a rasp, he said, “Tell me what you heard.”

“For Pete's sake, it was plain as day! Somebody singing or playing music...”

Cliff's eyes narrowed in a way that made Liza wonder if she had spoken in a foreign language. His grip contracted.

“
Ow!
That
hurts!
”

All of Judson's warnings came back to Liza in a rush. At that moment, Cliff
did
look dangerous. With his tangled hair and blazing black eyes, he looked wild—and on the verge of losing his sanity. His whole body had turned to stone, and his face was drawn in a feral tautness. Violence burned in his gaze.

Fighting her instinct to hit him and run, Liza forced herself to say calmly, “It's okay, Cliff.”

“No,” he growled, then began shaking his head as if to rid himself of the devil. “Damn, damn, damn—”

“Cliff, please.”

Suddenly he shouted, “Don't do this to me!”

She flattened her hands on his chest. “I'm not doing anything, Cliff. It's me.”

“I can't—I can't—”

“Cliff, it's only me—Liza!”

Her voice must have penetrated at last, because he focused, and his gaze cleared, searching every inch of her face, seeking answers, looking for the truth.

Gently Liza said, “Let me go. I'll get you a drink of water.”

Cliff didn't move, and Liza put her free hand on his shoulder to give him a little shake. “It's okay,” she said. “I'm Liza, remember?”

“Liza...” he whispered.

“Right. You're scaring me, Cliff.”

He released her so fast Liza fell back against the open door. Sounding almost dazed, he said, “I thought it was a dream.”

“What was a dream? The noise?”

“I heard it, but I never...I couldn't...”

Abruptly he began to shake, as if seized by a feverish chill. Liza had never seen anything so frightening—not in a full-grown man who a minute earlier had looked capable of tearing a whole house apart.

She pulled herself together and rushed across the hall to the small bathroom there. Quickly she filled a drinking glass with water from the tap, grabbed a towel and returned to Cliff's room. He had staggered to the rumpled bed and was sitting on the edge of the mattress, holding his head in his hands.

Liza snapped on the bedside lamp. Taking one of his hands, she pressed the glass into it. “Take a sip,” she commanded.

She had to assist him, holding the glass against his mouth as he drank. He sipped the water, then choked.

“It's okay,” Liza soothed, smoothing his hair back from his temple as if he were a sick child.

Cliff shook his head and gave an odd laugh. “Sorry,” he said, sounding strangled. “Give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need.”

While he worked at composing himself, Liza said, “I guess I woke you too fast. I shouldn't have pounded on the door. It shook you up, huh? You must be a sound sleeper.”

He shook his head. “I hardly ever sleep.”

“What?”

“I can't sleep. That voice. It talks to me every night.”

Liza blinked and tried to understand. “It talks to you?”

He nodded, rubbing one hand across his eyes.

Liza wondered if she had miscalculated where Cliff was concerned. Maybe everybody in Tyler
was
right. Maybe Cliff was off his rocker.

“Uh,” she said tentatively, “what does the voice say when it talks to you?”

“It doesn't
say
anything,” he replied, an edge finally creeping back into his voice. “It just makes me...”

“Crazy,” Liza supplied.

The distant, musical noise suddenly began again, breaking off any sensible thought and sending Liza's heart into a painfully frightened rhythm.

“Oh, God,” she said, leaning close and gripping Cliff's hand for courage.

Cliff raised his head and listened tensely as the sound died away. “If you hear it, too, maybe I'm not...maybe I'm—”

“You're not nuts,” Liza breathed. “Unless I am, too.”

Her knees gave out at that moment, and she sat down on the bed beside him, shivering. Awkwardly, Cliff put his arm around her shoulders and they sat together as the creepy sound diminished into a faraway, mournful note that
wavered and finally died. Silence reigned once more. Then, somewhere else on the big house, a loose shutter slapped the cedar siding.

“Sweet
heaven,
” said Liza, trembling with the urge to run screaming from the lodge and never come back. “People used to say this place was haunted, but I never believed it. How can you stand this every night? My God, Cliff, it's a wonder you're not a raving lunatic!”

Sometimes Cliff
felt
like a raving lunatic. But this time he knew he had weathered the event pretty well. His stomach still fluttered, but he hadn't lost control. He hadn't gone crazy and hurt Liza in a fit of anxiety. The relief that washed over him felt like a rush of soothing water.

Thank heaven he hadn't snapped. Liza was safe.

She stayed snug in the curve of his arm, but half turned toward him. “Cliff.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Talk to me.”

“I can't explain.”

“Try. Tell me what you're feeling.”

Without thinking, he said, “Scared most of the time.”

Liza had a small towel in her hands, and she used it to sponge some of the sweat that had sprung out on his face. “That sound—what is it?”

Cliff couldn't swallow, couldn't find his voice for a moment. “Until tonight, I—I wasn't sure it was real.”

“Are you serious?”

“Nothing's been right,” Cliff said lamely.

She stroked his neck and chest gently with the towel. “What hasn't been right?'

“Everything. Since I got back from Cambodia, everything has been...different.”

“Different?”

“Unreal,” he corrected.

Liza digested that for a moment, then asked softly, “Have you seen a doctor?”

Cliff shook his head, lulled by her ministrations as she
dried his shoulders with the towel. “I used to, but I—I never felt any better. Then I came here, and I was able to handle most of it.”

“Except you don't sleep.”

“It's the dreams,” he said, and suddenly shuddered uncontrollably.

“That was no dream!” Liza cried, holding his shoulder. “It was real—I heard it! Cliff, what
was
that sound?”

“I don't know.” He laughed shortly, marveling at his helplessness. “A ghost, I guess.”

“Don't be silly!”

“I'm not.”

Liza used her fingers, firm and reassuring, to turn his face toward hers. Her quirky brows were gathered tightly over curious blue eyes. “You really think there's a ghost in the lodge?”

“No,” he said at once, but she must have read his expression and known he was lying. He relented and added, “Maybe. It's nonsense, but sometimes I can't help feeling...”

His voice trailed away, and Liza urged, “What do you feel?”

“Like there's someone else here sometimes.”