Page 118 of I'll Be Waiting

The blow comes from behind. It slams into the side of my head, and I reel, half from the blow and half from the shock of it.

Woozily, I turn to see Shania with the spade, and I somehow don’t make the connection. Shania wouldn’t hit me, not with a spade of all things. It must have been the ghost. It’s here, and it struck me and—

Shania swings the spade into the side of my knee.

I dimly hear myself gasp “Shania?” as I topple.

“There’s rope in the next room,” Shania says. “Grab it. We’re going to need to tie her up. Find something to gag her.”

Silence from Cirillo as I start to rise, still dazed from the blow to the head and the shock of what’s happening.

“She’s not going to let us do this,” Shania snaps at Cirillo. “She’s going to escape. She killed that boy. We both know she did. We need to detain her and contact his spirit.”

I’m on my knees. Cirillo isn’t answering. He’s in shock himself. He’s realized this goes too far, that something is wrong with Shania.

I catch a glimpse of her face, the look on it, and for a moment, I don’t see Shania. I see Patrice in the forest that night, the emptinessin her gaze that had stopped me cold, made my gut scream something was wrong.

Something was wrong with Patrice.

Now something is wrong with Shania.

Something isinsideShania.

I push up, my hands outstretched to ward off another blow, but when it comes, it’s from behind. Cirillo knocks me to the floor, and before I can process that, I’m flat on my stomach with my arm twisted behind my back.

“Get the rope,” Cirillo says. “We’ll do the séance quickly and then call the police to arrest her.”

THIRTY-ONE

When Anton died, I spent the next twelve hours in denial. I completely refused to accept what had happened.

After Heather’s death, I started dreaming about the deaths of people I loved. My mother. My father. My brother. For ten years, anyone who came into my life died in my dreams. That faded until my parentsdiddie, and the dreams returned. Keith died over and over. Libby died. Their kids died. When Anton entered my life, it was his turn.

I would wake from those dreams sweating and shaking and gasping for breath, certain that the one who was really dying was me, that my lungs had finally stopped working. Then my heart would slow, and I could breathe, and whoever had died in my dreams was alive, and the relief of that brought me to tears.

Everyone in my life—from my family to my friends to Anton—got used to those days when the Nicola who routinely forgot birthdays suddenly showered them with gifts and attention and random acts of kindness. To them, it was just a personality quirk. I only ever told Anton the truth, because as the guy sharing my bed, he couldn’t help but notice that my overly attentive days came right after sweating and shaking nightmares.

So when my husband really did go from planning a trip to Iceland to taking a trip to the morgue, I declared it another nightmare. It had to be. Oh, I went through the motions, acting as if he’d died because that was part of the routine. But it was all an act as I waited to wake up.

So now I am in a situation where I should be telling myself it can’t be real. Bound and gagged by Shania? In a basement where a young man has been murdered? While a parapsychologist prepares for a séance to contact the dead man’s ghost and ask what happened?

That’s clearly a nightmare, and part of me should be shaking my head in disbelief while the other part waits to wake up.

But I know I’m awake.

However unreal this is, it’s happening.

Something is wrong with Shania, and Cirillo doesn’t see it because he’s barely seen her. I realize that now. Over the last few days, his focus has been mostly on me. I’m both his client and the nexus of the haunting. I’m also a pain in his ass, a woman who could be his salvation or his downfall, depending on my whim.

He’s noticed Jin, too. Jin is a man, and he’s about the same age and a fellow professional. Jin has been worthy of notice.

But Shania? Quiet and docile Shania hasn’t really crossed his radar. She’s like one of his students, hovering on the periphery. I don’t think they’ve even had a one-on-one conversation.

Cirillo hasn’t noticed her normal behavior, so he doesn’t realize how out of character this is. All he cares about is that she’s on his side. Better yet, she’s suggesting very convenient things he wouldn’t dare, like binding and gagging the person most likely to fuck this up for him.

Can’t accuse a guy of hitting a woman when it was another woman’s idea. That’s how the law works, right?

I don’t bother with Cirillo. It’s Shania I appeal to. Either somewhere inside, she’ll hear me, or Cirillo will realize this isn’t her normal behavior and snap out of it himself.

---