I Dream of Spiders Page 7

  “It’s perfect,” I say, taking it from him and putting it on. “Fits great. Thanks, Griffin.”

  He nods and says, “Well, let’s see if we can catch some dinner. Trent told me that the lake is swarming with trout and small mouth bass.”

  I’m not sure if I’ve ever gone fishing, but I will give it my best shot. How hard can it be? We make our way to his dock and set our equipment down. “I made us some egg, cheese and bacon sandwiches. Are you hungry?”

  My belly growls, and I grab my stomach. “That would be a yes,” I say, my cheeks flaming.

  He chuckles, which isn’t something he often does, and says, “I’ll bait our hooks and cast our lines if you want to grab the sandwiches from the cooler.” I reach into the cooler, withdraw the sandwiches and see that he has even packed a container of blueberries, a food that according to Dr. Google is recommended for those with a brain injury. It could be a coincidence that he just so happened to have a pint of blueberries in his fridge, but I smile at the possible thoughtful gesture. He sits next to me and we dangle our legs over the edge of the dock. He hands me a rod and I offer him a foil-covered sandwich. With the rod anchored between my thighs, I take a bite of my sandwich and decide bacon is one of my new favorite foods.

  The air is crisp and clean and for a moment I forget my worries. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and allow the breeze to whip through my hair when I feel someone watching me. I look over and catch Griffin eyeing me. His heated gaze goes straight to my core. I have no idea why he affects me so much. Yes, he is gorgeous and built like a brick shit house, but he also can be moody as hell. Something must have happened to him. The man is kind and gentle one minute and grumpy and on the verge of having a tantrum the next. I can make him chuckle, but I can also make him curse and storm out of rooms. I want to figure him out, but I get the feeling that is the last thing he wants…along with a housemate.

  Which means I have to get my memory back, all of it. This bits and pieces bullshit is going to drive me insane. At this rate it will take me years to regain my memory. I take another bite of my sandwich, put it down on the napkin next to me, and reel my line in a little. “So where did you grow up?” I ask, trying desperately to have a normal conversation.

  “South Philadelphia, just a few blocks from the Phillies ballpark,” he says, peeling back the foil from his sandwich.

  Philadelphia.

  My vision blurs and the peaceful lake in front of me mutates into something else entirely…

  “Drink this, Tye. You’re freezing,” the young girl said as she handed him the Styrofoam cup. Despite the visible steam coming from the cup, he drank it down in two gulps. Through her veil of ratty hair, the girl smiled and sat next to him on the stoop.

  Tye wiped his mouth off with the back of his gloved hand and said, “Steer clear of Market Street, girl. It’s swarming with cops. They’re rounding everyone up and forcing us into shelters tonight because of the snow that’s coming.”

  “I’m going to the church. They don’t ask many questions there,” she said. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “Nah, I’ll be fine. I like the cold. It keeps me alert.”

  “That’s bullshit,” she said.

  “Young ladies shouldn’t curse,” Tye scolded.

  The girl snorted and laughed at the old timer. She then looked down, her eyes taking in the miserable sight. Her smile faded and her eyes hardened. “They shouldn’t be covered in flea bites or wear clothes that are full of fucking holes, either,” she spat.

  “Hey, what is it? Talk to me.”

  I blink away the vision and stare into Griffin’s concerned eyes. “I saw a young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen. I didn’t get a good look at her face because her hair was covering most of it. I think she was living on the streets.” And she was pissed. I heard the bite in the young girl’s voice and saw the disgust in her eyes, not when she looked at that man she called Tye, but when she gave herself a once-over. At her tattered clothing, her matted hair, her flea-bitten skin. “Why is my brain spitting out random images of some poor girl?”

  “You’re going to remember. Each memory, each vision is a puzzle piece. They may seem random and useless right now, but you will find the connection.”

  “How do you know I’m going to remember who I am?” I ask, staring into his green eyes.

  “Because you’re too stubborn, too strong-willed not to.”

  His lips curl to form a smart-assed grin, one that I could easily get lost in, when I feel a little tug on my line. My bobber dips beneath the water’s surface. “I think I have a bite.” I fist my rod and stand at the edge of the dock. I am reeling my line in when I feel the rod jolt, and I nearly drop it in the lake.

  Two hands encircle my waist and pull me back from the edge. “Don’t want you to fall in.” With his hands on my hips, his lips just inches from my neck, I forget that I have a fish on the other end of my line. “Pull the line back a little and let him take it out for a bit, to make sure you’ve hooked him.”

  I think I nod my head. I may even be smiling. I’m not sure because I can’t think about anything other than how I feel while in his grasp. As if he knows I am distracted, his hands fall away, allowing me to function, sort of, and follow the directions he was giving me while I was having naughty thoughts. The bobber remains underwater as my line goes out. “Okay, bring him in.” I do as he instructs, and I reel in the line. “You got this. Just keep going,” he says, his voice calm.

  I hear Griffin move behind me and then out of the corner of my eye I see him reach down and retrieve a net. Despite the chilly temperature, I am on the verge of breaking into a sweat. My adrenalin is pumping as I fight to pull up this fish. And then I see something silver flash beneath the surface. “Griffin, there he is!” I say, trying not to shout and scare him off.

  “You’re doing great, just a little more.” Griffin positions himself on the edge of the dock with net in hand. I reel the line in a few more inches and then I see Griffin net my fish and pull it over the dock.

  “We did it!” I yell.

  “No, you did it and this is dinner.” He unhooks it and shows me the enormous small mouth bass. “Want to try for one more?” he asks, while he gently places the fish in a large white bucket.

  “Absolutely. I have to give you a chance to catch up.”

  “One fish and the woman is cocky,” he says, rebaiting my hook. I giggle and watch him cast out my line.

  “That reminds me. Woman…cocky…neither really hit home with me. I think I need a name.”

  He raises a brow. “Have one in mind?” he asks.

  I went through lists of the most popular baby names but none really felt right. “Not really. Any suggestions?” I ask as he hands me back my rod.

  He sits down next to me and tests his own line. We are silent for a while and then he asks, “How about…Clare?”

  I saw that name on a few lists, but it didn’t jump out at me as anything special. But hearing it uttered from those full lips of his…damn. “I like it.” A few moments of silence pass. “Why Clare?”

  “Because…it suits you.” I don’t know what that means. But I am sure as shit looking up the meaning of that name the first chance I get. He pushes the hair away from my face and stares at my mouth. My lips part and I silently beg for him to kiss me. As he leans in his phone rings and vibrates along the dock. I don’t know how I refrain from picking up his cell and throwing it into the lake. But I do look down and see the incoming call.

  Corinne.

  “I…I need to take this,” he says, picking up the phone. I watch him stare at the screen, his gaze never making its way back to me. His eyes narrow and his cheeks are flushed. The woman on the other end of the line could be anyone, a friend, someone from work, but I highly doubt it. The guilty look on his face tells me this woman is important to him, probably a girlfriend or at the very least someone he’s seeing. Which means I have no business wanting to kiss him. I have completely misread him.

  “
Sure. I need to use the bathroom anyway.” Feeling incredibly foolish, I stand and sprint to the house.

  • • •

  Griffin

  “My brother’s alive!” Corinne shouts into the phone. I hold the phone away from my ear and let her rant. I deserve my sister’s wrath. I dismissed her last two calls and let them go straight to voicemail. It isn’t like me to avoid her calls, but I have been a little busy with almost hitting a woman with my truck and hiding a possible fugitive in my cabin. “Mike, cancel our flight. My shithead of a brother is just being an ass!”

  “Hey, sis,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  “You know I hate it when I can’t get a hold of you. Don’t do that. You know where my mind goes.” Corinne is no longer shouting, but her concern is evident. Ever since our parents died my sister had become more sensitive, needing to speak to me on a weekly basis just to make sure I am okay. Then the shooting happened, pushing Corinne over the edge. She lost her oldest brother that night to greed and jealousy and she almost lost me to a bullet.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy moving in and getting ready to start my new job. But you’re right, I should have called.” It isn’t a complete lie. I have moved. And fixed my heater. And went shopping for a woman I just named Clare. There is no way I am telling Corinne about Clare. Not at this point. It would only make my sister more anxious. If she knew that I have a woman with amnesia living under my roof, a woman who may or may not be involved in a violent crime, my sister would probably hop on a plane for real and show up at my doorstep demanding answers. “How’s your new apartment? You and Mike settling in at work?”

  “Trying to distract me, huh?” She sighs. I miss my sister. Our little talks. How she would make me an ice cream sundae every night as I was recuperating in her spare guest room. We would stay up, watch movies, talk about Mom and Dad, about everything under the sun except Colin and Miranda. We never spoke of them. Not even as the trial grew closer. She was the only person I could tolerate. I like her husband, Mike, but I couldn’t bring myself to confide in him. It was just too much. Everything was too much.

  I was really disappointed when Corinne came home one day and told me that her computer company asked her if she wanted to transfer to California. She would have to relocate to their west coast office for two years, but after the two years were up she would be given the option to remain there or return to Philadelphia. The money they offered her was crazy and she couldn’t pass it up. With the jump in salary, my sister could pay off her student loans and some other bills that she wanted to get rid of. It was a no-brainer, especially after Mike told her that he was able to get a transfer to the police department just minutes away from her new job.

  “Well, Mike already has a gazillion friends. Joined a men’s softball team with some guys at the precinct. And I’m loving my new job. I barely have to speak to a soul and the money rocks.”

  Mike and my sister couldn’t be more different. She is a self-diagnosed agoraphobe and my brother-in-law is a social butterfly. Everyone loves him. He also treats my sister like a queen.

  “But I miss my brother. Think you can get away? Maybe for the holidays? I’ll take care of the flight.”

  Christmas is weeks away. I have some time. Time to figure out what the hell I am doing. Who Clare really is. Why I can’t stop thinking about her. I need to see her. It has only been a few minutes, but I already feel Clare’s absence. “I’ll see what I can swing at work.”

  “Okay, I understand. Just miss you…and us pigging out in front of the television.”

  “Miss you, too, sis. I’ll give you a call when I find out how the hospital schedules holiday time-off.” I tell her to give Mike a punch in the arm for me and we end the call.

  Two seconds later an emoji of an ice cream sundae appears on my phone. I smile and am in the process of texting her back when I hear a boat approaching. I watch it draw closer until it pulls within ten yards of my dock. A police emblem brands the side of it.

  “Hey, catch anything?” the driver of the boat asks.

  “A small mouth bass,” I say, eying the man in uniform up and down.

  “I understand you’re new to the area,” he says, smiling. “Small town. Everyone talks. Nothing’s sacred.”

  There goes my fresh start in a new town.

  “Yep. I start working at the hospital next week.”

  “I’m Brady Sullivan, Quarry Hill’s chief of police.”

  This is my chance. All I have to do is open my mouth and tell the man in blue about the woman I found two nights ago, that she has no idea who she is and may be involved in something horrific. But then Clare flashes through my mind, her words specifically.

  No police!

  “It’s good you’re getting your fishing in now because after tonight this lake is going to be a sheet of ice. Don’t let these temperatures fool you. Snow’s moving in. Should arrive by tomorrow night. I’m checking in with those up and down the lake to make sure they have everything they need. That they’re stocked up with food, generator’s working.”

  There’s nothing about this man’s tone or the way he’s looking at me that should make me leery, but that gut of mine is telling me otherwise. I’m probably being paranoid. The woman I’m hiding, the woman I almost kissed a few minutes ago, is scared of the police. This fact alone would naturally put me on high alert and make me suspicious. I also have some residual anti-police feelings left over thanks to Colin. It’s not fair, I realize that. Not all officers are dirty. My father was proof of that and so is my brother-in-law.

  “My heater broke the first night I moved in, but it’s up and running again. I should be ready for whatever Mother Nature hits me with,” I say.

  “Well, considering your background, that you’re a former Navy guy, I’m not too worried about you. It’s the elderly woman who lives across the lake a few miles north of here that I have to keep an eye on. I’m heading there now to make sure she’s prepared for the storm.” I give him a nod. “Well, just holler if you need anything. We look after each other in this town.”

  “Will do,” I say. With that, the chief leaves. I watch the boat until it is just a dot on the horizon and then go to the cabin. Clare and I need to talk. Trent told me that her mind is fragile right now, that pushing her too hard too soon could make her shut down and regress. But I am also feeling like time isn’t on our side. I have to take my chances. I set the rods on the porch and bring the fish Clare caught into the house. I place it in a bowl and set it on the counter. I will filet it later. I quickly wash up and go to see Clare. I find her lying in my bed, showered and drawing in the sketchpad I bought her. I quietly walk into the room and peer over her shoulder. She is in the middle of drawing a spider, although three already adorn the page.

  Without looking at me, she says, “I thought I’d take your advice and see what my mind has to say.” Clare frowns at the paper. “I have no idea what this means. I’ve drawn several of them in the past five minutes.”

  “Two nights ago, you dreamt of spiders. Do you remember?”

  “Yes, I also recall asking you to stay because I was too much of a scaredy-cat to sleep alone after that.” She tosses her pencil across the room and sits up in bed. “Fuck, I’m pathetic.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” she asks. She pulls her knees to her chest and glares at me.

  “Feel sorry for yourself. That isn’t you,” I say. Her eyes blaze and I see her fury mount, which is what is needed. I want her angry and strong, not meek and vulnerable.

  “You don’t know me. I can’t even remember my name!”

  “Come with me.” I grab her hand and pull her off the bed. Her jaw is on the floor, but she follows me as I lead her to the living room. “Sit,” I command. In stunned silence she takes a seat next to me on the couch. “While you were in here the police chief, Brady Sullivan, pulled up alongside my dock.”

  Her face turns white as a ghost. “Did he ask about me? Was he looking for me?” Her eyes
are wide, her breathing quickens. She looks as if she is going to be sick right here in my living room.

  “No. He was just checking to see if I was prepared for the storm that’s coming.” Her lips seal to form a thin line.

  Why is she scared of the police?

  I withdraw my phone from my pocket, Google the Quarry Hill police and wait for the webpage to load. A few seconds later I’m staring at a picture of Chief Brady Sullivan as well as the five other officers who make up the entire department. I hand my phone to Clare. “Do you recognize any of these men?”

  After a few seconds, Clare shakes her head and hands me my phone. “No. I don’t know them. None of them look familiar.”

  I am both relieved and frustrated. But I can’t let my emotions show. I need to keep my shit together for her sake. “Clare, I don’t think you can force your mind to unleash your memories, but I do need you to do something for me,” I say, slipping my phone back into my pocket.

  She blinks several times before asking, “What?”

  “Can you tell me when you have a vision, or a thought, or a need to draw, even if it is just a bunch of spiders? You don’t need to piece all of this together alone. Maybe if we dissect this, the two of us, we’ll make some headway, get some answers quicker if both of us are playing detective.”

  Color is starting to return to her cheeks, which pleases me. I hate seeing her so frightened. “Yes, I can do that,” she says.

  “Good.” I stand and retrieve my laptop and set it on the coffee table. I sit next to her and power on the screen. I am just about to tell her that she can use the computer whenever she wants, to research, to do whatever, when I notice she is in some kind of trance. She is staring at the rotating dots, which signals that the computer is booting up, in the center of the screen. Her eyelashes flutter and she grips my arm. Her other hand touches the screen.

  “Six. Six rooms. And they’re all empty.”