Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [9]
She needed someone, but who? Heather Andrews had listened with a polite smile, but no more than that. Angela regretted her impulse to confide in her, a stranger when it came right down to it. Fleetingly she thought of her last psychiatrist, then dismissed the idea. Never. Between that shrink and Sylvia they’d have her committed to an asylum. It was a recurring thought that terrified her. There had to be someone who would listen to her, listen and believe. Someone who would try to understand. Angela knew she couldn’t handle this by herself. No way at all.
She desperately needed someone who would take the weight off her shoulders and maybe, just maybe, give her a reason to be hopeful that things would get better. Wasn’t Christmas supposed to be a season of hope? She answered her own question silently.
Not for her.
Angela stayed up until past midnight, looking out the window at the clear, dark sky, watching the tiny flashing lights of a jet high above, heading east. She had no way of knowing if it was the flight her father was on. Exhausted, she realized that she didn’t much care. Her eyes closed and she fell into a troubled sleep in the chilly room.
Hours later, trapped in a dream, she covered her face with her arm, shielding her eyes. The light was so bright. It came suddenly, without warning. Unlike a sudden flash, it didn’t fade. It stayed, blooming brightly toward the center and radiating outward in streaks of red brilliance. The sound rocked her brain—low, booming, lethal. There was fear. A chest-crushing panic stealing her breath, denying her air.
She knew where she was, yet she was lost. She had been here before and never before. She wanted to run but her feet were heavy, stuck in something thick and gluey, something that would not let her escape.
There was fire. Angry yellow fire bursting through doors and eating through the roof. The fire was inside and she was outside in the cold. Something wet fell on her cheeks. Snow. She saw everything; she saw nothing. People, a huddle of humanity. Mothers with open mouths screaming for their children. Men, taken unawares, stricken with confusion, frozen, helpless. Children staggering beneath the impact of an explosion, their little arms reaching, seeking safety. And over it all a pall of red, denying her a clear view, permitting only impressions. And yet she knew she had walked this place before.
There was more, much more, presented to her in rapid-fire succession. Fire. Explosion. Screams. Cries. Red. Always red. Pain. Loneliness. Anger.
Confused, lost, she concentrated on locating herself. Slowly, creeping through her consciousness, realization penetrated her senses. Crazily, a cheery Christmas carol piped through her ears. Glittery holiday decorations swung in erratic rhythms before crashing down, plummeting from great heights into the maelstrom below.
Squeezing her eyes shut and curling herself into a fetal position, she huddled under the bed covers. She was trapped, and nothing could save her if she stayed here in this dream world.
Sobs tore through her chest and tears erupted behind her tightly closed lids. She must wake up, she must. Otherwise she would be imprisoned forever in her own nightmare. Odd words echoed in her mind.
What you can’t see is sometimes right in front of you.
Over and over, the same words. What did they mean? Who was saying them? The voice wasn’t hers. Her body sat upright in the narrow bed.
The haze of red clouded her vision, seeming to steal into the corners of her room, seeping beneath the windowsill and dissolving into the light of day. Shuddering with fright and shackled with a sense of doom, she opened her eyes and screamed.
Chapter 2
Arriving back at Timberwoods Mall from his supper hour, Charlie Roman lifted his large frame from behind the wheel of his dilapidated ’99 Chevy. The wind caught his sandy hair and whipped it into strings resembling shredded wheat. Squinting