David Morrell - Double Image

“And if I recognize that face…”

Coltrane nodded. “The police will put the bastard in jail and you can sleep peacefully for a change.”

“If only.” Tash’s shoulders slowly relaxed. “I want that to happen so much.” She touched his arm. “Thank you. You’ve given me a reason to hope.”

A bubbling sound made them turn toward the stove.

“Good Lord, the gravy.”

The tension was broken. As ordinary life interrupted, Coltrane took pleasure from mundane chores, carrying bowls from the oven and setting them on heat-resistant pads. Tash arranged place settings.

“Be back in a moment.” She left the kitchen.

Hearing the bathroom door click shut, Coltrane couldn’t keep from glancing toward the flashing red light on his answering machine. He set down a bottle of fumé blanc that he’d been opening and pressed the play button.

“It’s me,” Jennifer’s voice said. “Still at my parents’. Just a little cleanup left. I’ll be heading out in a little while. In case you get back before I talk to you again, don’t make anything for supper. Mom’s put together a ton of leftovers for you. I’ll take a chance that you’ll be home and drive by.”

Water ran in the bathroom. As the door opened, Coltrane pressed the stop button.

“Did I hear someone talking?” Tash asked.

“Just checking my messages.”

“Anything you have to deal with?”

“Not tonight.”

“In that case, are you ready?”

Tash ate heartily, but thinking of Jennifer, Coltrane felt so dispirited, it was all he could do to get through his meal.

DANIEL, Greg, and his grandparents stood before him while Ilkovic’s headless corpse came up behind them. About to scream, Coltrane jerked awake. Sweating, he stared at the shadows of windblown trees rippling across the dark ceiling. Then he jerked a second time, realizing that one of the shadows was from something moving in his bedroom. But before he could roll out of bed and try to defend himself, his sleep-clouded mind cleared enough for him to understand that the shadow at the top of the stairs leading into his bedroom belonged to Tash.

She wore a white robe he had given her, part of it obscured by her dark hair hanging over her shoulders, her face invisible. “Did I scare you?”

“No. Not you.” Coltrane wiped a hand across his clammy forehead. “I was having a nightmare.”

“I know. You were moaning. I heard you all the way in the guest bedroom downstairs. I came to see if you’re okay.”

“Thanks.” Coltrane’s rushing heart rate slowly subsided. “I’ll be fine now. Sorry to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” Tash paused. “I was already awake.” Another pause. “I had a nightmare, too.”

“How bad?”

“ Very bad. Somewhere between fright and terror.”

“Yeah, that definitely qualifies as a nightmare. Lord, I hope this isn’t a pattern for the new year.”

“Why should the new year be any different from the old?”

Coltrane propped himself up on his elbows. “I promise you, my plan’s going to work. The police will catch this guy. The new year will be different.”

“Isn’t it nice to think so.”

“Why don’t I make us some coffee?”

“No,” Tash said, “I’m going to try to get back to sleep.”

“I hope it happens for you.”

“It almost never does.”

“Maybe this time will be different.”

“I’m afraid to sleep alone.”

In the darkness, the white robe moved toward the bed.

Coltrane felt the covers being pulled back, pressure on the side of the bed, Tash’s warmth. Then she pulled the covers over both of them, and they were together.

“So tired,” she said.

“Close your eyes. Try to sleep.”

He touched her shoulder to calm her and was shocked again. Static electricity shot off her, off her bare skin, making him realize that she had dropped the robe. Before he could restrain himself, he kissed her lightly. Not even when Ilkovic had stalked him at the Maynard ranch had he felt so terrified. Dizzy from his hammering heartbeat, he became even dizzier when her mouth opened, her tongue finding his. His mind aswirl, he cupped a hand over a breast, feeling its nipple harden under his palm. She moaned, her arms encircling him. His light-headedness intensified. He had never felt skin so smooth, pubic hair so silken. His sensations whirling, he touched her moistness and groaned as she dug her fingernails into his chest. He flicked his tongue across her nipples. With frightening need, she put her hand on his penis, thrust herself up, and guided him into her, wrapping her legs around his waist. At once, her urgency abated. Gently, she rocked. He whimpered. He had never felt anything so smooth and moist and tight and sweet. Then he couldn’t hold back. His short thrusts became longer. She moaned in unison with him, their hips locked in a frenzy. She screamed as she came, and his own release was so powerful that he felt it go all the way to the top of his head, which seemed to have exploded.

THEY LAY IN SILENCE.

“That static electricity you give off – I saw sparks in the darkness,” Coltrane said.

“I felt sparks.”

“I’ve never experienced anything like…”

“Yes.”

He drew a hand along her smooth thigh, along her flat stomach, over each of her breasts. He had the sensation of worshiping. Now it was his turn to say “Yes.”

“You’ve chased away the nightmares.”

“I’ll always chase them away,” Coltrane said. He suddenly remembered that Randolph Packard and Rebecca Chance had probably made love in this very room on this very bed. So long ago. And now he had made love here with Rebecca Chance’s look-alike, possibly with her granddaughter.

“Not alone,” Tash murmured.

“That’s right,” Coltrane said. “You won’t be alone any longer.”

She sighed, snuggling against him, her weight settling, her body relaxing. Soon she drifted off to sleep, her breathing slow, steady, and faint.

But Coltrane didn’t sleep for a long while. He was unable to adjust to her presence next to him, to the heart-swelling reality of what they had done.

HE AWOKE WITH A RISING FEAR THAT IT HAD ALL BEEN A DREAM, that Tash wouldn’t be lying next to him.

But she was, her eyes flickering slowly open, focusing warmly on him.

“Hi.” Her smile was welcoming.

“Hi.”

She touched his cheek. “Sleep well?”

“When I got myself calmed down.”

She chuckled.

“And you?” Coltrane asked. “How did you sleep?”

“For the first time in a long while, I’m not waking up more exhausted than when I went to bed. Heaven knows, I ought to feel exhausted after the workout we gave ourselves.”

“Maybe we need a massage therapist.”

Tash stretched, her breasts lifting, her naked body shifting next to him. “Oh, I think any aches we’ve got we can make feel better by ourselves.”

Yes, everything is going to be fine, Coltrane thought. He had worried that she would wake up with remorse, telling him that it had all been a mistake, that they had to pretend it had never happened and just be friends, although she regretted that being friends would be almost impossible after what they had done, and maybe it would be better if they didn’t see each other again.

But Tash was so at ease with their being in bed together that he felt joyous.

“What about you?” she asked. “Have you got any aches that need feeling better?”

“One.”

“Show me.”

“Here,” Coltrane said.

“Oh, yes, I can see why that would ache.”