Ontarian Chronicles: Taken by the Storm Page 2

  Taking a quick sip of coffee in between each entry, Charlotte quickly started to fill the page.

  “Pros,” she began. Hearing the entries helped her analyze them. “Large, reputable law firm. Lots of opportunity to advance. Their program to prepare me for the bar.” With a chuckle, she added the word exam. This past year had been more than enough to prepare her for the bar.

  Forcing her attention back to the notepad, she continued the list. “Moving my life in a new direction. Getting away from Victor’s family.”

  The last one made her smile. It should be enough to solidify her decision, but she felt obligated to read the cons.

  “Selling the house in Cherry Creek. Moving to a place where no one knows me.” She paused, tapping her pencil against the edge of the kitchen table. Was that really a con? How would she ever get beyond this hopelessness when everything she did, everything she saw reminded her of Victor and Stephen?

  Her wooden chair vibrated as the low rumble of thunder passed through the cabin. How bizarre. Didn’t it have to be warm for a thunderstorm? Tossing down the pencil, but keeping the coffee mug, she walked to the window and glanced out into the darkness. All she could see through the clear winter night were trees and stars.

  This cabin had always been her sanctuary. Even if she moved to Seattle, she intended to keep it. She returned to the kitchen table and the decision facing her. Picking up the pencil, she focused again on the cons. “Actually moving.” That was always a pain. Even with movers, it could be a nightmare. “Exchanging sunshine for rain.”

  She tapped the pencil against the last entry, unable to speak the words. Not being able to visit their graves.

  Grief slammed into her with physical force, and her coffee mug shattered. Screaming, Charlotte jumped back to avoid the flying shards and splatters of hot liquid.

  What the heck just happened?

  She ran for a dishcloth, quickly sopping up the rivulets of coffee. Stepping back, she surveyed the mess and couldn’t believe her eyes. Pieces of ceramic lay scattered across the tabletop, but her gaze gravitated toward the notepad. Coffee had saturated the paper in a distinct pattern. A nearly perfect oval now accented the words “not being able to visit their graves.”

  Charlotte trembled. What was going on?

  She’d been beyond tears for weeks. Part of her heart had been ripped from her chest with no warning, no anesthesia. Was madness setting in?

  Grabbing the trashcan from under the sink, she swiped the table with the damp dishcloth. Ceramic fragments, notepad, even the pencil, went into the plastic bin.

  Charlotte pulled on her leather jacket and hurried outside. Breathe. Just take slow deep breaths. She stared out across her sloping yard toward the rock formation that marked the edge of her property.

  You’re here to plan the future, not relive the past.

  Moonlight glistened off patches of snow scattered across the hill beside the cabin. Tall pine trees cast long, spiky shadows, creating eerie shapes against the ground.

  Relax. This is your haven. Nothing can hurt you here.

  The crisp scent of pine mixed with chimney smoke. She inhaled again, comforted by the familiar smells. Cold mountain air stung her cheeks and made her nose tingle. She drew up her hood and buried her hands in her pockets.

  It was time. If she didn’t move on soon, the insidious cancer nibbling at her soul would consume her completely.

  A loud explosion jarred Charlotte from her musing. She stumbled to the front of the porch, steadying herself against the railing. The earth shook and lightning branched across the sky.

  “We don’t have thunderstorms in December,” she whispered.

  Three more flashes followed in quick succession. The area glowed with eerie light.

  She stood transfixed by the spectacle. How was this possible?

  A sizzling bolt of lightning slashed in front of her face, driving her back a step. She screamed. The air vibrated with an electrical charge and thunder shook the earth.

  What the hell is going on?

  Smoke curled up into the moonlight beyond the ridge adjacent to her cabin. A moment later, flames leapt into the night sky. She flew into the cabin and searched frantically for her cell phone. Houses were scattered all over this mountain.

  The nine-one-one operator asked the nature of her emergency.

  “A tree was just struck by lightning. There’s a fire.”

  After a long pause, the operator said, “You’re calling from a cell phone. Please give me your exact location.”

  She relayed the information and glanced out the window. The fire had spread. “Hurry! It’s really taking off.”

  “Are you sure it was lightning? It’s much too cold --”

  “For a thunderstorm,” Charlotte finished for her. “I thought the same thing, but I saw it hit and the thunder shook my cabin.”

  The dispatcher insisted Charlotte hold the line until she heard sirens. Ending the call, Charlotte tossed the phone onto the small kitchen table and headed back outside.

  The rock formation separated her cabin from the fire, but flames leapt from tree to tree. The rhythmic flash of strobes assured her that the firefighters were near. They would likely contain the blaze long before her cabin was in danger, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  She turned, intending to scrounge for a hose, when an odd flash caught her eye. Something glinted at the base of the rock formation. Was the underbrush on fire? It hadn’t snowed for several days, but it shouldn’t be that dry.

  Fear tumbled through her abdomen. One quick gust in the right direction, and her property could join this nightmare. Darting back into the cabin, she dumped the firewood out of its metal bucket and filled the bucket with water.

  Smoke stung her eyes and made it difficult to see, but she moved as quickly as her sloppy burden would allow. She reached the rock formation and waved her hand back and forth, trying to disperse the smoke.

  A soft moan emanated from the shadows. Oh, dear God, someone was out there. She set the bucket down, wishing she had grabbed a flashlight. Had someone been struck by lightning?

  Or had they started the fire?

  Suspicion drove her back a step. She couldn’t just abandon someone if they needed help. Taking a deep breath, she started to call out to the firefighters.

  Before the cry could pass her lips, some unseen force pulled her forward and buckled her knees. A strong hand clamped around her wrist and Charlotte screamed. She scuttled backward, but the hand held tightly to her wrist.

  A man pulled himself from the bushes, using her resistance as leverage. She cried out again as more and more of him was revealed. His chest was wide, hairless, and bare to the frigid night air. Moonlight gleamed off his smooth, pale skin. A long, loose garment hung open from his shoulders to tangle about his legs. The sculpted contours of his chest and arms were offered no protection by the garment.

  The man’s other hand found Charlotte’s upper arm, pulling her forward. Long black hair streamed all around him, disappearing into the leafy debris. She couldn’t see his features, but it was obvious he had no intention of letting her go. She tugged against him frantically, her heart hammering in her chest.

  He spoke rapidly, but she couldn’t understand his words, could hardly hear him over the roaring in her ears. His voice snapped with authority and urgency. Trembling uncontrollably, she continued to resist.

  The intensity in his tone suddenly faltered. He collapsed against the ground, dragging Charlotte with him. An exotic, spicy scent filled her nose as she sprawled across his chest. She lay there helplessly for a moment, inhaling the unusual scent; it made her dizzy and weak.

  His hand grasped her hair painfully and pulled her face toward his. Charlotte tried to scream, but his mouth managed to find hers through the tangle of their hair.

  It wasn’t a kiss. She felt the cool pressure of his lips connecting with hers, but the contact wasn’t tender or intimate. It was as if he were merely forming a seal between their bodies. For a lon
g moment, he just held her there, molding his mouth to hers. She couldn’t move. Was he paralyzing her somehow, or had her fear rendered her motionless?

  Her skin tingled. Her muscles vibrated with a subtle pulsation. His mouth moved and the tingling became painful. She arched away from him, struggling to separate their mouths, but his hand tightened in her hair and his arm firmly encircled her back.

  Charlotte panicked, writhing desperately to break his hold. He rolled over, dragging her beneath him and pinning her against the frozen ground. She felt heat gathering in the center of her abdomen, burning and building, until her whole body shook with tension. Then he drew it out of her, like sucking soda through a straw.

  He finally tore his mouth from hers and Charlotte screamed. She shoved against his chest, but he was no longer solid. Her hands passed through him and she screamed again. He shimmered, wavering between substance and spirit for just a second, and then disintegrated entirely.

  Scrambling to her feet, Charlotte searched the shadows in stunned disbelief. What, in the name of God, had just happened? She leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. She gasped and panted, and lights danced before her eyes.

  You’re breathing too fast. Slow it down. Think. You need to think.

  Someone was running toward her. She could hear their heavy footfall crashing and skidding across the uneven ground. Sucking in a shuddering breath, she scrambled for somewhere to hide, but her rescuer appeared too quickly.

  He wore full firefighter regalia, complete with a masked helmet. The beam of his flashlight crossed her face. Charlotte squinted and averted her gaze.

  “Are you all right, miss?” he asked, laying his gloved hand lightly on her arm. “We heard someone screaming.”

  He flipped up the transparent plate protecting his face, but she could barely make out his features in the shadows. He was well over six feet tall. She couldn’t decide if his obvious brawn comforted or intimidated her.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked again. “Are you injured?” The beam of his flashlight made a cursory pass over her body.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a shaky voice. “I didn’t mean to distract you from the fire.”

  He brought the flashlight up again, close to, but not directly in, her face. “What made you scream? Are you sure you’re not injured?”

  His eyes searched her face and Charlotte had to look away. How could she begin to explain what had just happened? “There was this ... I saw ...” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, shaking helplessly.

  “What is it?” He moved closer. “What frightened you? Why are you out here alone?”

  “I’m not sure,” she whispered. “I thought I saw ...” She suddenly realized how insane she would sound if she attempted to explain the truth. She forced herself to smile, but drifted back a step.

  He looked her over more carefully, ending his assessment with a chuckle. “You’re not even wearing shoes.” He shined the light on her wool-lined, leather slippers.

  “I was trying to find my cat, but it got so smoky I couldn’t see.”

  He didn’t seem entirely convinced. “The cat will find its own way home; they always do. And we’re here to deal with the fire. We’ve got a paramedic with our unit. I’d like him to take a look at you.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with me, except a momentary lapse in judgment. You’ve got a fire to fight, and I’m going back to my cabin.”

  “We’ve got the fire contained. Thank God everything is frozen or we could have had a real mess on our hands. Which house is yours? I’ll walk you home.” He grinned, his white teeth a stark contrast to his sooty face. “Just in case you weren’t imagining things.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  He pulled off his glove and extended his hand. “Sanders. Rod Sanders.”

  She shook his hand. “Charlotte Layton.”

  “See, now we’re not strangers, so I can walk you home.”

  Relenting with an anemic smile, Charlotte started down the hill. “It will be a very short walk.”

  “Are you the one who called in the fire?” he asked, striding along beside her.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you live here or did you come up for the ski season?”

  That wasn’t a professional question, but he seemed to be nice enough. If you couldn’t trust a fireman, who could you trust? “The cabin is mine, but I live in Cherry Creek. And I’m not much of a skier.”

  “You up here all alone?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  As they rounded the rock formation, the lights from her cabin made his flashlight unnecessary. He flipped it off with a soft chuckle.

  “You’re right. I apologize.”

  He sounded mostly sincere. She motioned toward the cabin. “Well, that’s it. Thanks for seeing me home.”

  “Would you like me to check out the cabin?”

  His persistent helpfulness had lost its charm. “No, thank you. I know my imagination just ran away with me.”

  “All right. Happy New Year.”

  “Happy New Year.” She forced the words past her dry lips and stepped onto the porch.

  He turned to go, then hesitated. “I’m on duty for the next four days. If you need anything, anything at all, just call the station.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sanders.” Was he flirting with her? It had been so long, she’d forgotten the signs.

  She just wanted him to go away. Between the painful memories and her bizarre hallucination, Valium tempted her more right now than a strapping firefighter.

  He finally left and she rushed into the cabin. With a sigh of relief, she leaned against the door. It hadn’t happened. It couldn’t have happened. How could it have happened?

  As much as Charlotte tried to dismiss the incident as a stress-related hallucination, she knew it was real. She had touched the man, felt him press her into the ground, felt the pull of whatever he drained from her body.

  A simple, rational explanation eluded her, dancing on the fringes of her consciousness like a mischievous sprite. But one thing was certain -- it hadn’t been her imagination.

  Chapter Three

  Charlotte staggered across the room, her legs wobbling beneath her. Had someone gotten their holidays mixed up? This felt like Halloween, not New Year’s Eve.

  “I wanted something to keep my mind off the past,” she whispered to the shadows. “I just didn’t expect the distraction to be so bizarre.”

  She shrugged out of her coat and kicked off her much-abused slippers. Grasping the back of the small sofa, she closed her eyes. A shadowy image of the man formed within her mind. She hadn’t been able to see him clearly, but even the memory sent little shivers through her body. He’d been strong, and yet utterly vulnerable. Whatever he’d drawn from her body left her weak and tired.

  Where had he gone?

  Where had he come from?

  Why was he here?

  Shaking away the useless speculation, she turned toward the bathroom. More than enough excitement for one night. She was going to take a shower and go to bed.

  Warm water cascaded down her body, melting the tension from her muscles, if not her mind. What was happening to her? First the coffee cup and then the man. She couldn’t rationally explain either one, and her analytical mind demanded understanding.

  Ceramic could crack after a period of time, but that mug had spontaneously shattered.

  She turned toward the spray, rubbing her face as the water slicked her hair back.

  This was the anniversary of that horrible night. Everyone had advised Charlotte to stay busy, keep her mind occupied, and not to be alone. She chuckled. She had never been good at taking advice; she was far more adept at giving it.

  Scrubbing her hair with shampoo, she continued to analyze the bizarre events. The thunderstorm was strange, but Colorado was known for rapidly changing weather.

  But the man ... how could she explain the man?
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  With a frustrated jerk, Charlotte turned off the water and snatched back the shower curtain. Steam rolled out, instantly fogging the mirror hanging over the sink. She grabbed a towel and dried off, then donned the terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door.

  She dragged a wide-tooth comb through her hair and wiped the mirror with her towel. Her eyes lifted to the image in the mirror and she dropped the comb. Paralyzed by fear and disbelief, she couldn’t even make a sound. The woman in the mirror had strange, swirling eyes. Her features were the same, but her eyes ...

  Charlotte snapped her eyes shut and a shuddering gasp left her lungs. She was hallucinating! None of this was real. She needed to call her grief counselor or -- ghostbusters?

  She managed a shaky laugh. Okay, that was better. Very slowly, she raised her face and found her own frightened blue gaze reflected back from the mirror. She opened the door and wiped the mirror more thoroughly.

  It had been a trick of the mist. Smoke still clouded her vision. There were any number of explanations for ...

  But how did she explain the man?

  Hurling the towel into the bathtub, she walked from the room less relaxed than she had been before the shower. She stepped into her bedroom and the door slammed shut behind her. A scream caught in her throat, sounding more like a strangled yelp. Tugging and twisting did nothing; the doorknob wouldn’t budge.

  Sparks danced across the floor and encompassed the shapeless mound lying at the foot of her bed. Turning slowly to face it, she pressed her back against the door. The mound undulated and expanded. Small flashes, like arcs of electricity, broke out all over its surface.

  An arm suddenly thrust out, the fist tightly clenched. She screamed, her eyes desperately searching for options.

  Escape?

  A weapon?

  What in God’s name was that thing? The mass lay between her and the window. She was trapped. Other shapes formed and rippled. A head, a leg, a torso, but the shapes soon shifted, becoming part of the mass again.

  A crack of thunder echoed in the room. Charlotte covered her ears with her hands, bracing her feet against the shaking floor. The mound began to glow, illuminated from the inside until the entire room pulsed with light and energy.