“And a woman who called herself Martha Tyler but wasn’t the real woman by that name was at the beach when Winona Hart disappeared,” Caleb said.
He looked as if he was going to say more. When he didn’t, Sarah demanded, “What? Caleb, I’m a part of this. If someone is repeating the past and these disappearances have something to do with my house, then I’m in it as deep as you can get. You have to tell me what you know.”
He paused, then studied her. “She was drained of blood,” he said at last. “The woman I found on the beach—she’d been drained of blood.”
Sarah paled, then pulled herself together and said, “We need to see Mr. Griffin again. His daughter disappeared, too. It was years later, but maybe history just keeps in repeating itself. He wants to help, and it’s possible he knows something, that his memory will trigger something…. Maybe we can even help him by finding out what happened to his daughter.”
They had reached the house and paused to look up at the facade. They had left the lights on, and now the place looked beautiful and inviting.
“You’re sure you want to sleep here?” he asked.
“You do have a gun, right?” she asked him.
“Yes.”
“Then yes, I want to sleep here. I’m not afraid of ghosts, and I have you to protect me from the living.”
They went in, careful to make sure that the door was locked behind them. Caleb wasn’t content with the fact that he’d secured the house earlier. He went back through and checked everything again, including the chair by the basement door, which was still securely in place.
When he was done, she looked at him teasingly, then raced up the stairs. He followed, and after that they gave themselves up to learning about each other, just exploring, savoring their freedom to discover. Clothing went flying, and there was laughter and breathlessness….
It was explosive; it was sweet; it was magic.
Touching his flesh, feeling the flex and fire of his muscles, Sarah thought it was like falling in love again, something she had almost forgotten, almost given up on.
They were fervent, urgent, but not frantic. There was something about being together…. What they shared wasn’t superficial, not something destined to end quickly, and they both felt confident about that.
When Sarah slept, she did so feeling more secure than she had in all her life. She didn’t fear the darkness, didn’t fear ghosts, and in his arms, she also had no fear of the living.
She was awakened suddenly by his abrupt movement. She blinked, then jackknifed into a sitting position, wondering what had happened, fear seeping into her blood.
“Caleb, what is it?” she whispered.
He was sitting up himself, staring toward the foot of the bed.
Suddenly he rose, as if he hadn’t heard her.
As if she didn’t exist at all.
13
“Caleb?”
He heard Sarah call his name, but it seemed to come from a distant place, or maybe he was only hearing it in his mind.
He opened his eyes…
And saw himself.
No, not himself. His double. That other Caleb was standing at the foot of the bed, his hair longer than Caleb’s own, and he was wearing a gaudily plumed hat. He had a moustache and goatee, and long sideburns. He was handsomely dressed in Victorian attire, silk waistcoat, tailored overcoat and white shirt.
And his expression was grave.
Help me.
Caleb stared, sure that he was dreaming, yet he couldn’t shake the dream.
Help me, please. And help yourself. I know what happened to her, and who did it. I loved her, and it wasn’t me.
As he continued to stare, the apparition beckoned to him.
Please.
Caleb rose slowly, still staring at the man who was—and yet was not—himself.
Cato MacTavish. He was staring at Cato MacTavish.
At last, certain that he had Caleb’s attention, Cato turned and walked from the room.
Unable to help himself, Caleb followed.
They left the bedroom and walked along the hallway to the small, narrow staircase that led up to the attic.
There were two small eyebrow windows, and the pale pastel light of the early dawn was just beginning to seep in. The light fell over old trunks, broken chairs and several dressmakers’ dummies, headless sentinels guarding the attic realm. Motes of dust danced in the pastel light.
Cato MacTavish paused in the center of the room, surrounded by the past, and looked at Caleb with great sadness.
I have looked forever, he said. And finally I have found her.
He moved to stand by a huge wooden steamer trunk with tarnished metal strapping.
Brighter light flooded the room as the sun continued its inevitable rise, and Cato began to fade. Caleb realized he was standing naked and alone in the dusty attic in the coming light of day.
“Caleb!”
He started and turned, feeling the warmth of Sarah’s delicate touch on his arm. She was staring at him with deep concern shining from her enormous silver eyes.