Dark Whispers. Debra Webb
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were becoming more rare, or they had been until the intruder. Most likely she would be fine without all the notes to remind her. She simply hadn’t found the courage to do away with them yet. Soon, she promised herself. Her real hesitation was the fear of failure. As long as the notes were there, she didn’t have to face her potential inability to work without them.
Though her walk-in closet was quite generously sized, somehow Clint’s broad shoulders and tall, lean frame overwhelmed the intimate space. It was then that his aftershave or cologne teased her senses once more. She had noticed the subtle scent in the car. Something earthy and organically spicy as if it were as natural to his body as his smooth, tanned skin. She was immensely grateful she hadn’t lost her sense of smell. Many who suffered TBIs weren’t so fortunate.
He turned and she jumped. “Sorry.” She took a deep breath and followed him into the en suite. There were more notes here. The ones that told her in what order to do her nightly ritual, those that reminded her of where things were stored. Like the others, she didn’t rely on them as much as she had before. This time when he turned to her she felt the weight of his sympathy.
There was nothing since the injury that hurt her more—not the ongoing healing, not the physical therapy, not even the endless hours of analyzing by the shrinks—than the looks of pity in the eyes of anyone who learned the full scope of her loss.
“The house is clear. I’ll stay until your sister arrives.”
She wanted to argue. Damn it, she really did. She wanted to tell him in no uncertain terms that she was perfectly fine and capable of taking care of herself as she always had been. Except...she wasn’t so sure of that anymore. “Thank you.”
As they descended the stairs, he said, “Coffee would be good.”
With monumental effort she smiled. “I am very good with a coffee machine.”
He paused before taking the next step down. “I have a feeling you’re very good at many things, Natalie.”
Whether he truly meant the words or not, she appreciated the effort. No one had given her a compliment in a very long time.
11:45 p.m.
Natalie woke with a start, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts as the images from her dreams faded. Sweat dampened her skin. She threw back the blanket and shivered as the cool air swept over her damp body.
She tried to make sense of the vivid, broken images. Pages and pages of briefs or reports rifling past...the words flying from the paper, turning to something gray—like ash or smoke. The empty pages fell into a heap and ignited, the flames growing higher and higher, until she could feel the burn.
Natalie sat up on the edge of the bed. She stared at the clock radio on the bedside table, the time mocking her. She hadn’t slept soundly through the night without the aid of medication after the fall. Finally, six months ago she’d managed the feat without the pills. Much to her frustration, the dark whispers that started month before last had taken that accomplishment away from her. As if her subconscious was somehow rutted and the wheels of her mind were destined to slide off into that same rut, she woke at this time every night. A scarce few minutes before the grandfather clock downstairs started the deep, familiar dong of the midnight hour.
Had April come in without waking her? Natalie had intended to stay up to make sure her sister arrived safely, but she’d fallen asleep on her bed still dressed in her work clothes. Surely April was here and Clint had gone home. The idea that he might still be sitting in his car on the street made her cringe. The wood floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she crossed the dark room. If her sister was here and asleep there was no need to wake her. Maybe Natalie would be lucky and this would be one of those nights she was able to get a few more hours of sleep before dawn.
The hall outside her door was as dark as her room. She slipped toward the far end to the room her sister had used as a child. Growing up, Natalie had slept in the one directly across the hall. For reasons she couldn’t explain, after the fall she no longer felt safe in that room. The nurse and April had moved her into their parents’ room. April insisted it was past time they’d stored their parents’ things anyway. From her bed, Natalie remembered watching her sister oversee the packing. At the time, Natalie had to be reminded over and over what April was doing. She hadn’t been able to hang on to a thought for more than a few minutes. Her memory as well as her ability to function had been in pieces—a part here or there worked, but none operated together.
Downstairs the chiming of the hour began, the deep sound echoing all through the silent house. As Natalie reached her sister’s bedroom the sound of voices stopped her. Natalie held her breath and listened. The voices were too low—whispers almost—to understand, but one was definitely April. The tinkling of her soft laugher was unmistakable. The other voice was deeper, definitely male.
Had David decided to stay overnight as well?
Funny, all these weeks she’d been hearing those whispered voices and not once had she been able to identify one of them. Natalie turned and made her way back toward her own room. Though she and David had never really been friends, he had visited Natalie at the hospital and then the rehab facility almost as often as April. Since she’d been home he had ensured the gardener had everything he needed. She supposed she should try and think better of him.
“Not in this lifetime,” she muttered. David’s arrogance and distance were two things she distinctly remembered about the past.
The incessant beep of the alarm warned that someone had opened the front door. Natalie’s pulse stumbled, then started to race. She had locked the door, hadn’t she? Obviously she’d set the alarm. Had April remembered to set it when she arrived? Natalie darted toward her bedroom before she remembered the gun was no longer there. It was missing along with the man she shot. Her cell was downstairs in her purse.
Fear burned through her veins.
Laughter followed by April’s voice echoed up from the entry hall. “I’m here. Night. Night. I’ll be home in the morning.”
The sound of the front door closing and the alarm being reset had Natalie turning to stare toward her sister’s bedroom. If her sister was downstairs just coming in...
Natalie’s heart sank. Heath was right. She was hallucinating again.
Oxmoor Road
Wednesday, September 21, 9:05 a.m.
DR. SADIE MORROW considered the confession long enough without saying anything to have Natalie ready to scream in frustration. Last night was the first time since the voices began that Natalie could unequivocally confirm that she had been dreaming or hallucinating. She had heard April’s voice in her room when April couldn’t possibly have been there. Was she having some sort of breakdown? Had her decision to return to work prompted a downward spiral? She had no real cases of her own. There was no true pressure related to her work at this point. How could it be too much stress?
Was her career over? The doctors, including the one assessing her right now, had assured Natalie that she would be able to return to work. She might never be exactly the same as she was before, but she would be able to have a life and a career. Emotion burned in her eyes and she wanted to scream.
“Perhaps,” Sadie announced, breaking the tension, “you were sleep walking. What you heard may have been a dream.”
This was the assessment Sadie had stood by since the first time Natalie mentioned the voices. “It didn’t feel like a dream,” Natalie argued.
“The vivid ones rarely do. It’s very possible you were asleep and the sound of your sister’s voice when she came in woke you.”
This was the second day this week that Natalie had shown up at Sadie’s office for an emergency consultation. Her friend had other patients. Natalie felt guilty taking up her time like this, but the fear that she was losing her mind overrode all other concerns.