Page 45 of The House Beyond the Dunes

The impression vanishes as quickly as it appeared. But suddenly the house is shrinking again. An invisible rope tightens around my neck. I need fresh air. Space.

Crushing the page in my hand, I grab my coat and hat and head out the front door into the cold. The wind remains strong, biting even, and the sun is trying but failing to breach the clouds.

Hands in my pockets, I walk down the stairs and toward the dirt road that runs west toward the sound and the woodlands and the forest. There are several houses in this area, but they’re all dark with no signs of life. Across the street, the lights are on in Reece’s house. He didn’t mention that he’d grown up with Kyle. It would’ve been nice to have heard that from him, but he has no obligation to share data with a woman who shouldn’t be here anyway.

As I reach the cross street and head west, I spot something from the corner of my eye. I turn and see two black horses. One is a stallion and the other a mare. The stallion snorts and paws at the ground as the mareeyes me. Clearly, they don’t want me here. I wait until they move along. This place is raw, wild, and I best not forget it can strike back hard.

I walk in the direction of the sound, the forest, and the place where Kyle grew up. I’ve no idea where I’m going, but I want to be a little more familiar with the area where Kyle lived as a child.

Kyle left this world far behind, and it’s clear he wasn’t proud of his roots. One brother dead from an overdose and the other an ex-con who suffered the same fate. Those facts are two pearls on what I suspect now is a strand of misery.

Kyle was always aware of how he dressed, the car he drove, and all forms of personal grooming. On our second date, that perfection obsession set its sights on me. He offered to take me shopping, and when I politely refused, he still bought and gifted me several dresses to choose from for our next date. I could’ve paid my rent for two months with the cost of those dresses.

I wanted to please him, but I was also thrilled by the soft satins and silks. I wore the indigo-blue dress the next night when we went out to dinner. I felt pretty. Special. No one had ever taken that much interest in me, and after a lifetime of being invisible, I was flattered by the attention.

At dinner, he leans forward, staring at me as if I were the only person in the world.

“Do you like the dress and the restaurant? Far cry from school and the coffee shop.”

For a few moments I’d distanced myself from my schoolwork and a difficult day with a patient. I’d wanted this night to be about me. Not about anyone else. But he needs to hear he’s swept me away.

“I feel a little like Cinderella. Pretty soon, it’s going to strike midnight, and I’ll be back in my sweats and sneakers.”

He sips his wine, smiles as if sensing I’ve lied. “How did work go this week?”

“The faces of the women I see change, but the problems are remarkably similar. I want to think I’m making a difference, but I’m not so sure I am.”

“It’s frustrating to see someone self-select over and over. A patient can be so close to a breakthrough, and then they do something to ruin it all. All that preprogramming in the subconscious mind gets in the way.”

“You’re right. There are a thousand reasons why many won’t be saved.”

“Good thing you don’t need saving.”

I chuckle, and the tension banding my lower back eases. “I’m not so sure about that. There were times when I could’ve used a rescue.”

His gaze sharpens. “Why did you need saving?”

It’s frightening I’m falling for a man I barely know. “Don’t we all?”

“What’s the worst thing that happened to you?” He’s watching me closely when the waiter arrives at the table with our dinners. I sit back, folding my hands, and I’m grateful I don’t have to answer. I’m hoping he’s distracted by the beef tenderloins and sautéed mushrooms.

However, when we’re alone again, he says, “You didn’t answer.”

“Because nothing terrible has happened to me.”

He raises a glass of wine and smiles. “If I had you in my office, I’d challenge that statement.”

A cold wind teases the edges of my jacket. Now as I look around the desolate land, I shake off my unease. I suppose it makes sense a psychologist would ask a deep question or press for an answer.

“Who are you?”

A man’s voice startles me, and I whirl around. I was so lost in thought I didn’t hear him approach. He’s tall, lean, grizzled. A length of rawhide binds long black hair, accentuating hollow cheeks covered in stubble. His jeans, boots, and old black puffer jacket are worn and dusty.

I clear my throat. “I’m just a tourist. Walking around.”

“We don’t get tourists up here this time of year.” He steps toward me. His eyes narrow as they study me.

It’s just the two of us here. No one to hear me scream. “I’m just here for the day.”

---