Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [78]
“The day, Angela, what day is it?” Noel asked, trying to keep his voice calm. Angela was near hysteria now, but he couldn’t bring her out of the hypnotic state until she gave them the details they needed. “What day is it, Angela?”
Angela squirmed on the sofa as though hot brands were scorching her. “I have to go outside. It’s time. Why are Mr. Summers and Mr. Lassiter running like that? I’m running, too. Fast. Hurry . . . I’m outside in the parking lot . . .” She screamed, pressing her hands against her skull. “Oh my God! Run! Run! Run as fast as you can . . . another one . . . another one . . . everything is black!” Angela went silent.
Noel, watching her, was deeply troubled. Had he gone too far? The emotions Angela was suffering were so intense that he actually began to be afraid that they were too much for her to handle. He grabbed her wrist and checked her pulse. It was racing far too rapidly for comfort. The girl’s lips held a blue tinge, her eyelids fluttered madly, her skin was cold to the touch—all signs of physical shock. Did he dare to continue with this? Noel’s voice was unsteady. “Angela, you may wake up now. Come back to the present, Angela.”
“No! No!” Angela’s voice was a low moan coming from deep within her. “I see a word . . . white letters on black . . . one word . . . ” She trailed off, an anguished sob catching in her throat.
“What is it?”
She shuddered, still in a trance. Then she answered in a whisper. “Hope.”
“Just one word? Do you know what it means, Angela?” Noel fell silent, unsure of what to ask next when she didn’t reply.
Lex was sitting on the edge of his chair, the color gone from his face, leaving a ghostly pallor.
Heather was gripping the door frame, her eyes bright with tears as she watched Angela. “Hope, huh?” she said in a shaky voice. “That’s better than nothing. I wish she could explain.”
“It’s dangerous. I have to bring her out of it, now,” Noel replied. “Angela,” he called softly, “Angela, you are still asleep. You are deeply asleep. You cannot see anything but darkness. You are not frightened any longer; you feel peaceful. When I snap my fingers, you will awaken. Sleep, Angela.”
Noel’s expression was tense and thoughtful. Putting his hand close to Angela’s ear, he snapped his fingers.
Then he moved the switch on the recorder to Off.
Chapter 13
Eric Summers sat down, coffee cup in hand, his long legs stretched out. His dark eyes were brooding as he sipped the bitter leftover brew. “Do you feel it?” he asked. His question hung in the air of the quiet office.
Harold shot him a look. “What?”
“We’re doomed. It’s in the air. I know that sounds crazy, but that’s what I feel. And those damn Christmas carols are about to drive me out of my mind! Canned music has got to be the scourge of mankind.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. But we have to keep going. It ain’t over until it’s over,” Harold said.
“If there was only something we could do. Anything, anything at all. Angela Steinhart is standing outside the mall and telling people not to shop here. I didn’t tell her to go home. If Richards finds out, he’s going to have the police pick her up. Christ, at least she’s doing something. Say, Baumgarten, you don’t want a dog, do you?”
“No. What exactly is she saying?”
“Who the hell knows? The truth of the matter is, I don’t want to know. Mike Wollek called me when the mall opened. I’ve got him stationed at number seven, and she’s doing her thing right there. I told him to leave her alone. People aren’t listening to her, anyway—they’re just rushing past her, calling her crazy if they notice her at all. She must be frozen stiff by now. She’s been out there for three hours and it’s eighteen degrees. She’s trying, though—God, she’s trying. And what the hell am I doing? Nothing! Not a goddamned thing.”
“Well, I know how she feels. I did something this morning, and it got me nowhere.”
Eric’s ears pricked up; Harold had his full attention.
“I called