Page 58 of Cursed
“Oh God. Oh God.”
The words came out as a sob, and she sat, her right hand pressing against her chest as her vision blurred.
The door flew open, and someone stepped into the room. Through the mist of tears, she saw that it was Andre. His hair was disheveled, and he looked like he’d been tramping through the swamp all night.
“What? What’s wrong?” he asked urgently. He looked around the room. “Is someone here?”
His gaze probed the shadows. Charging toward the bathroom, he threw the door open. When he found it empty, he started searching the closet.
“No,” she managed to gasp out. “No one’s here.”
“Then what is it?”
When she could only answer with a sob, he crossed to her, easing onto the bed, taking her in his arms, stroking his hand over her back and shoulders and into her hair. The spicy aroma of his body was as comforting to her as the physical contact. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
She fought to gain control of her tears because she couldn’t let him think she was really in danger. At least not here. Not now.
“They were caught in a flash flood …”
His body went rigid. “Who? The missing men?”
She knew she wasn’t making sense, and she struggled to make the words make sense. “No. No. Linette and Andre.” She dashed her hand over her face.
“You know that?” he asked in a gritty voice. “How do you know?”
She gripped his shoulders, hoping the physical contact would help her communicate. “I saw it. I felt it! I felt her terror. I felt the water pull her under.”
“No!”
“Yes. I was back there. I was her again. I was afraid something bad was going to happen. Then when he came to get me, I didn’t want to believe we were in danger. Not when it felt so wonderful to be in his arms. But I should have made him wait.”
“Tell me more about your dream. Not just the end. What happened before that?” he whispered, strong emotions gathering in his voice.
She tried to answer and found her own terrible sadness threatening to overcome her again.
He stroked her arms. “It’s okay. Just take your time.”
“It was the night they left. He’d been in New Orleans making arrangements—I guess for them to … to take a boat to San Francisco.”
When he drew in a sharp breath, she looked at him. “What?”
“San Francisco! That’s not in any of the accounts. But you know it.”
“Maybe I made it up,” she murmured.
“I don’t think so. When I dream about that night, he tells her they’re going to San Francisco.”
“You’ve dreamed aboutthatnight?”
“Many times. And after. His despair. His loneliness.”
“Oh Lord, how do you stand it?”
“What choice do I have? The water comes. I feel his terror. He tries to get to her, but she’s out of his reach. Then he has to live fifty more years.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s part of the curse. The one the voodoo priestess put on my grandfather—on me.”
