Кей Хупер - Chill Of Fear

Quentin nodded. "That's when you're tapped in, connected to your abilities. When you're centered, balanced. Whole."

"And when I'm here? In the everyday world of the living? Why can't I be centered here? Why can't I be balanced and whole?"

"You can be. You will be. But it takes time, Diana. You might have learned to do it by now, but they cheated you out of that time with the drugs and the therapy. You... have a lot of catching up to do."

"Consciously."

Again, Quentin nodded. "Your subconscious has been learning for years, obviously. Maybe all your life. In dreams. During those blackouts."

"I thought of the dreams and the blackouts as me being... out of control," she murmured, half to herself. "But I was most in control then, wasn't I?"

Quentin sensed danger in that question, though he couldn't have said just why. "Maybe. On some level. But as gifted as you are, that isn't your natural state, Diana."

"Isn't it?"

"No, of course not. We exist in the... everyday world of the living. Physically and emotionally, this is where we belong. What we tap in to in order to use our abilities is a place we visit, not a place we live."

She looked at him as if she would have asked another question, but instead said, "I suppose you're right."

Again, Quentin felt uneasy without knowing why. The little voice he sometimes heard was silent, and yet he had the sense of something being slightly off, even wrong.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm tired." She smiled faintly. "It's... been a long day."

"Yeah. Look, until we know what's going on here, I'd feel better if you didn't spend the night in your cottage. Why don't you take my bed, and I'll bunk down on the sofa bed in the sitting room?"

She didn't exactly protest, but said, "Nate has officers patrolling the grounds."

"I know. Still."

"There are plenty of empty rooms here in the main building."

Steadily, he repeated, "I know."

Diana looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

And it wasn't until a few minutes later, when they were in his suite and she was about to close the door of the bedroom, that Diana went back to a subject they had touched on earlier.

"There is something between us."

At the moment, there was a door between them. A door she was about to close.

He stood there looking down at her, wanting to say more than he knew he should.

Not now. Not yet. She had been through so much, and her own words told him she was too confused and unsettled to be able to handle anything more right now.

So all he said was, "There was always something between us, Diana. Try to get some sleep."

At first it seemed she'd question that, but finally she just nodded, and murmured, "Good night." And closed the door.

Diana didn't know if it would work. Whatever control she sometimes managed to have while in the gray time, the fact was that as far as she knew, she herself had never instigated that... process. She had always been called, summoned really, by one or more of the guides. Dragged from sleep or into one of the scary blackouts without so much as a by-your-leave.

Or, as in the most recent case, by the voice in her mind she thought now had probably always been Missy.

Which meant she hadn't a clue how to, on her own and without prompting, fashion or open a door into that realm.

But she had to try. Because among the countless puzzles and questions of this day, one question stood out from the rest, haunting her.

She had to at least try to find the answer.

Quentin wouldn't approve, she knew that. And she also knew that his likely disapproval was worth paying attention to for the simple reason that he was far more experienced in psychic matters than she was — consciously, at any rate — and very likely knew when something paranormal shouldn't be attempted.

Which was why she hadn't told him she was going to try this.

She made herself comfortable on his bed, lying atop the turned-down covers, propped up with an extra pillow. She turned off all but the lamp on the nightstand, so that the room was only softly lighted.

Even as she closed her eyes and tried to relax, Diana was aware of the nagging notion that attempting this so near in time and place to a vicious murder was probably not the safest thing she could have done.

That didn't stop her either.

Not knowing how else to do it, she breathed steadily, evenly, and concentrated on trying to make herself boneless. Limp. One muscle at a time, limb by limb. Then, when she felt as relaxed as she was likely to become, she tried to visualize a door. Rather to her surprise, it was very easy to do, forming rapidly in her mind's eye as though it stood just before her.

And to her increasing uneasiness, the door was green.

Diana hesitated, but in the end her need to find the answer to the question haunting her was stronger, even, than her instincts for self-preservation. She reached out and grasped the doorknob, surprised to "feel" it as though it were actually real, and turned it.

She opened the door and stepped through into the gray time. A long corridor stretched before her, cold and gray and virtually featureless.

Diana hesitated again, still holding the door open as she half turned to gaze back through it. Eerily, she saw Quentin's bedroom, the lamp on the nightstand glowing warmly, the turned-back covers and banked pillows on the bed.

The empty bed.

"I'm here," she heard herself murmur, her voice as always hollow in the gray time. "I'm here physically."

She hadn't counted on that.

"This is not a good idea."

Startled, Diana turned quickly back toward the corridor, and the doorknob slipped from her hand. She found herself facing the little girl who had guided her down to the stables, Becca.

"You're not supposed to be here, not yet," Becca told her.

Diana glanced back over her shoulder to see the green door closed behind her. "As long as I remember where this door is, I can get back," she said.

Becca shook her head. "That's not the way things work here. The door won't be in the same place. The place won't be in the same place."

"I'm not in the mood for riddles, Becca."

The little girl heaved a sigh. "It's not a riddle, it's just the way things are. You'll remember if you think about it. You made the door, so you carry it with you. Sort of."

"Then I'll be able to find it if I need to leave in a hurry, won't I?"

"I hope so."

Diana tried to pretend to herself that the little chill she felt was entirely due to the usual coldness of the gray time rather than to the child's obvious doubt.

"Where's Missy?" she asked Becca.

Becca cocked her head to one side, as though listening to some distant sound. "You really shouldn't be here, Diana. Killing Ellie was just the start. It knows about you now. And it wants you."

"Why?" Diana asked, as steadily as she could manage.

"Because you're finding the secrets. You found Jeremy's bones. You found the trap door and the caves. You found the picture of you and Missy."

"But those are just — pieces of the puzzle."

"And you have almost all of them now. You'll be able to help us stop it this time." Her certainty wavered. "I think."

That didn't reassure Diana very much. "Look, Becca, I need to talk to Missy."

"Missy isn't here anymore."

Diana felt a deeper chill. "What do you mean?"

"I mean she isn't here. When you opened the door the last time, when she held your hand, she left the gray time and returned with you."

"Why?"

"Something she needs to do, I expect."

Slowly, Diana said, "I didn't see her. When I was back with Quentin, I didn't see her."

"Sometimes, we don't want to be seen, even by mediums. Besides, I expect you were upset. Remembering about your mama and all."