beneath my hands. I could feel fabric with muscle and bone beneath. I fisted my fingers and pushed as hard as I could.
Then he was gone.
Adrenaline pumped through my body. I lay for a few seconds, breathing heavily, shaking all over, trying to gather my wits. But when darkness had once more settled all around me, I leapt into action. I climbed quickly back into the front seat and hit the switch to turn on the interior light. Then, without wasting another second, I slammed the shifter into reverse and pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.
After I’d driven several miles and put a safe amount of distance between me and the cemetery, I became aware of something biting into my palm. I held my hand up and saw that a necklace was wrapped around my fingers. And there, pressed between my palm and the steering wheel, was a charm. I stuffed the necklace into my pocket and tried to put it out of my mind.
When I arrived at the house, I saw that it was dark inside. Derek obviously hadn’t come back and I was keenly disappointed.
My body was suffering the after affects of an adrenaline rush. I was shaking from head to toe. Carefully, I pulled the car into the empty garage then got out on unsteady legs to close the door. I left the car’s headlights on and turned on every light I passed as I made my way into the kitchen then on to my bathroom where I turned on the shower and started shedding clothes.
As I peeled my jeans off, the necklace fell out of the pocket. I picked it up, holding it in the bright fluorescent lighting so I could study the charm. I wasn’t all that familiar with the saints and Catholic lore, but I thought it looked like a St. Christopher’s medal. I turned it over and read the engraving.
Safe travels, my son.
I hung the necklace on the edge of the medicine cabinet for safekeeping then got in the shower.
When I take a shower, I like the water nearly scalding. If I don’t look like a lobster when I get out, I don’t feel clean. And, though I’m used to the burn of hot water, this time I flinched when it hit my skin. It stung in an unusual way on my chest.
I looked down and saw four long, deep gashes that traveled the length of my sternum. Each scratch exposed a track of pearly white beneath my skin. I remembered feeling the man’s nails digging into me and realized that, in his struggle to hang on to me, he wounded me.
I cleaned the angry-looking scratches well then finished showering and got out to towel off. The bathroom was steamy, the mirror completely fogged up. Before I wrapped my towel around my head, I used it to wipe the moisture from the mirror so I could see.
With two wide swipes, the glass was clear. Still jumpy, I lowered my towel slowly, thinking of all the scary movies I’d seen where there is another reflection in the mirror.
Scoffing, I gingerly let my arm fall. I was relieved that there was no face other than my own in the mirror. I turned toward the door and bent over to wrap my towel around my wet hair. When I straightened, my breath caught in my throat. There was a shape in the mist.
Though much of the detail was lacking, I knew instantly who the colorless form in the steam was. The question was: what did she want.
Finally, I took a deep breath to calm myself as I backed away from her. When the cool ceramic of the sink hit my butt, I stopped. She didn’t move and, this time, she didn’t speak. She just stared at me with eyes that were still perceptibly empty, even in the mist.
When it became evident she wasn’t going to speak, I asked, “What do you want?” There was fear and reservation in my quiet voice and I hated that. Though I felt weak at that moment, caught off guard, I didn’t want her to know that.
Still, she neither spoke nor moved. An unexpected wave of frustration washed away my fear. “What do you want?” This time my voice was louder and stronger, more demanding. More in control.
This interlude was unlike the others (if my crazy dreams could even be considered as “interludes”). Though her expression was carefully blank as she stared at me, I got the