SYDNEY.
She opened her eyes to night. Rather than coming up out of sleep gently, she was startled awake. Kenneth had been calling her. Heart pounding, she strained to hear. Nothing.
Had she really heard Kenneth’s voice? Now she lay in the dark, pulse quickened, ears strained, but the only sounds were those of wind and ocean drifting through the open doors that led out to the second floor deck.
“Kenneth?” she called out.
No answer.
Her throat closed as she realized she’d been dreaming.
Chilled by the damp night, she rose and closed the outside doors before wandering downstairs where her family had left the lights on. A note on the glass coffee table informed her that Asia had made dinner and all she had to do was throw it in the microwave. Too bad she wasn’t hungry.
What to do?
She could watch television, but she might see one of her ads and start rehashing the burnout that had taken her away from L.A. on the odyssey that ultimately led to tragedy. And listening to music would remind her of her and Kenneth’s favorite pastime. She preferred something that would lift her spirits.
The Tarot cards immediately sprang to mind.
She could ask them if she’d have something to look forward to. Though she’d consciously suppressed her own psychic abilities for years, Sydney hadn’t rejected her interest in cards and crystals. As a source of insight, the Tarot drew her. She rarely did her own readings, but she was compelled to make an exception.
Maybe it would comfort her.
Fetching the deck from her purse, she cleared the coffee table where she began laying out the cards in the traditional Celtic Cross. As usual, she lost herself in concentration and looked for the positive, something she was always able to find.
Until now.
Card after card reinforced her anxiety. Swords and more swords combined with the less positive figures of the Major Arcana made her view the overall layout unfavorably despite her wish to do otherwise.
She fathomed sorrow and separation, which was natural. But treachery and violence? The inability to choose wisely in an important matter? Her immediate past – the Fool reversed – indicated faulty thinking. While the future showed no way out of present difficulties, the Knight of Swords implied an aggressive, dark-haired stranger was about to rush headlong into her life. The Five of Swords realized her greatest fear, that she was a threat to herself.
Was she going out of her mind, then?
Reluctantly, she flipped over the last card, the x-factor. The Lovers. She glanced back at the dark-haired stranger. The Knight must be Kenneth.
But her love was dead, wasn’t he?
Perhaps she was meant to join him.
Sydney told herself she was being ridiculous. The cards were subject to personal interpretation. Her mood was coloring her reading as was natural.
Still, unable to help feeling spooked, she decided to do something physical. Take a walk. Fresh air would clear her head so she could think rationally. She didn’t bother to gather up the Tarot before pulling on a long-sleeved cotton sweater and walking shoes. Leaving the house lit, she locked the door behind her and set off across the grounds.
The ocean called to her, but rather than retrace the path Kenneth had chosen, she headed in the opposite direction, north toward the beach that led to town. The going was easy – no scrambling over rocks. At the far edge of the property, a sloped path led down to the hard-packed sand strip. As she descended, fog rose from the water. Ghostly fingers slithered along the ground and wrapped themselves around her ankles and calves. She glanced back over her shoulder. The lit house was merely a hazy beacon in the distance.
She kept going, increased her pace, tried to separate herself from the tragedy that would be part of her forever. The fog danced around her like a shroud.
When the moon slid behind a bank of clouds, and darkness blanketed her surroundings, Sydney glanced back again. The house had been swallowed by the murky night. She realized her foolishness. She should have taken a flashlight. Unsure of how far she’d gone, of how she would get back without being able to see, she stopped. Waves lapped the shore to her left, the sound deadened by the fog. She had a sense of the hill that rose steeply to her right. Ahead, tiny glimmers pinpointed town buildings and urged her forward. From there, she could follow the paved road back to the house.
A calming thought had her imagination not been hard at work.
A scrabbling noise... footsteps... a soft expulsion of breath.
Did she really hear them or not?
A glance over her shoulder proved nothing. The fog was too dense, the night too dark, her senses too confused. She shoved balled fists into jeans pockets, hunched into her sweater and hurried.
Sydney...
Her name whispered eerily on the wind, sending a chill up her spine. Unable to decide from which direction it came, she turned full circle. No matter how she tried she couldn’t see further than a few feet. She strained to hear. Nothing. Of course, she was imagining things.
Continuing on, however, she wasn’t at ease. She sensed another presence nearby. She rushed forward, tripped over something. Hands flashed out of her pockets. Her palms scraped the rough bark of a log half buried in the sand. Before she could get to her feet, she heard the voice again.
Sydney...
Clearer this time.
Kenneth’s voice.
Hands groping to avoid further obstacles, she rose and stumbled away from the voice, away from the presence. She choked back a sob, told herself she wasn’t going crazy. Wanting contact with a loved one was only natural. She hadn’t yet let go, that was all. There was no presence. No voice. Only her desperate wish to wake up from a living nightmare.
Then why was she so frightened?
Sydney, my love...
A strangled sound escaped her as she ran blindly through the fog. Her feet hit water, splashed, and she knew she was going in the wrong direction. Confused. She slowed down and veered away from the heavy smell of the ocean and headed directly for those pinpoints of light. She didn’t want to join Kenneth in his watery grave. Didn’t want to drown.
Sydney... Her name so soft it might have been the wind sighing.
She couldn’t help herself. She began to sob. Control gusted away. She couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop the rush of her pulse that fluttered through every limb. And still her name echoed faintly through her mind. What was happening to her? She had to get away from the ocean with its smell and noise and terrifying memories.
Get away from the dream.
Glowing lights meant people, civilization, someone to talk to. Sydney shuddered with relief as she got control of herself and slowed down, threw one last look back into the ocean’s shroud. As she sought the lights ahead, she was slammed to a stop by something solid, but she’d hit neither rock nor tree limb. The object was warm. Human. Her hands steadied herself on arms well-muscled. The arms of a man.
Kenneth?
Breath caught in her throat, making her force out the words: “Is that really you?”