Theresa Weir - Bad Karma

She shoved herself to her feet and grabbed the metal wastebasket. Then, with the wastebasket clutched to her chest, she bolted down a hallway, Jo keeping one arm around her waist, a hand to her elbow, steering her in the direction of the bathroom.

Spotting the toilet, Cleo slipped from Jo’s grasp, slammed the door in the woman’s face, and dropped to her knees. When she was done relieving herself of a partially digested slice of white bread and bottle of soda, she flushed the toilet. Then she pushed herself away to sit with her back against the wall, forehead against her knees, arms wrapped around her legs.

There was something wrong with her. Really, really wrong.

From outside the closed door came the sound of voices-an argument. It seemed Daniel Sinclair wanted to open the door; Jo was trying to stop him.

Cleo heard the door open, then close. She heard the slide of a metal lock.

“Well,” Daniel said from somewhere above her. “It seems like we’re always ending up in bathrooms together.”

What’s wrong with me?

“What was all that about out there? Was it to get back at me?”

The doorknob rattled. “Open this door right now, Daniel Sinclair,” came Jo’s muffled voice.

“You can quit the act,” Daniel said. “There’s nobody here but you and me. Did you hear what I said?” Strong hands wrapped around her arms, pulling them away from her face.

Dazed, unable to make sense of what he was saying, Cleo lifted her head. Through a watery blur she saw him, saw his furrowed brow, saw his startling blue eyes.

He’s mad at me.

It was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it?

He hates me.

Why should she care?

She saw his anger dissolve, replaced by puzzlement, doubt.

She lifted a shaking hand to her face. Her cheek was wet. Tears ran down her face, into her mouth. She’d told him a lot of lies. She felt bad about that. Now, for some reason, she wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted him to be her friend.

She pressed fingers to her lips. Shock waves came from deep inside, shuddering to her extremities. She told him the truth in a hushed whisper, in a rush of words. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

He had only one thing to say to that. “Shit.” But once apparently wasn’t enough. He said it again. “Oh, shit.”

Daniel felt as if someone had slammed a fist into his gut. While he struggled to pull himself back together and figure out what was going on, he continued to stare at Cleo.

Her face was wet, her lips swollen and trembling. Was it a part of her act? No, nobody could look that lost, that miserable. But, just in case, he reached out, wiped a finger across her cheek, then stuck his wet finger in his mouth.

Salt. The tears-they were real.

“What are you doing?”

He tried to think of something brilliant, but a good excuse eluded him.

Meanwhile a transformation took place before his eyes. The misery vanished from her face. “You ass.” She placed both hands on his shoulders and shoved, her strength taking him by surprise. He tumbled backward and hit his head on the porcelain sink. “Ow!”

His cry of pain didn’t bring her any remorse-that was apparent from the look on her face. She slapped his leg. “You were checking to see if my tears were real.”

“Is everything okay in there?” The door rattled. “I thought I heard someone fall. Are you all right, Cleo? Daniel isn’t trying to bully you, is he?”

At the moment, Daniel was wedged half under the sink, the drainpipe poking his spine, one arm raised in case Cleo decided to smack him again.

“Everything’s fine,” Cleo said loudly, keeping her eyes on Daniel. Her hair was slipping from its moorings, a wooden stick-a chopstick kind of thing, only shorter with a point at one end-was creeping down her neck.

“Your hair,” he said, waving a couple of fingers in the direction of the slide, hoping to distract her so he could get to his feet and get the hell out of there.

“What about my hair?” She leaned close. Jabbing a finger into his leg with every syllable, she said, “Other than the fact that I cut it for no reason.”

He pointed again. “It’s doing weird shit.”

Gravity won. The stick clattered to the tiled floor. At the same time, her hair uncoiled to hang on either side of her face in all its ragged, uneven glory.

“There’s a lady in town,” he said, remembering how beautiful her long hair had been, thinking it was none of his business, “who used to cut my mother’s hair-”

“Shut up!” She shoved at his knee, but she didn’t slap him. Instead she reached up and twisted her hair back into place, picked up the stick, and poked it through the bundle she’d made on the back of her head. And it stayed. The whole business stayed. Amazing.

Without moving from under the sink, he reached up, feeling along the cold porcelain until his fingers came in contact with the paper towels he knew were there. He grabbed a couple and handed them to her. He had the feeling she would have thrown them down if she hadn’t needed them so much. She wiped her face and blew her nose. Then she bundled up the used towels and tossed them in his face. So that’s how you do that.

She got to her feet, reached to unlock the door, swung it open, stepped over him, and left the room.

He scrambled to his feet and followed.

Cleo’s appearance was greeted by excitement and questions. Everybody wanted to know what had happened. They especially wanted to know if she’d learned anything about the missing key. While she and Daniel had been ensconced in the bathroom, someone had blown out the incense and picked up the candle.

“What happened?” Jo asked. “Did you see anything?”

Cleo wanted to forget about what had happened, but nobody was going to let her. And why not use the nightmare-because she was convinced that’s what it was-to send them scurrying in quest of the key? A barn-there had to be a lot of barns in the area. She rather liked the thought of Daniel driving around the county, digging in dark, cobwebby barns in this smothering heat.

Now that it was over, now that she could think a little more clearly, she figured out why she’d blacked out. It was easy. Hardly a morsel of food had passed her lips since her arrival in Egypt. And what she’d seen was a continuation of her old nightmare. Once she got out of Egypt, once she got out of that awful motel, things would return to normal.

Everyone was waiting for an answer. Aware of Daniel just behind her, Cleo said, “I did see something.”

Jo let out a gasp. The twins clapped their hands and bounced a little. Harvey let out a snort. Parker said nothing, and Dr. Campbell took her by the elbow. “Sit down and tell us about it.” He led her to a cozy spot in the corner of the room, where she took a seat on a soft, fabric-covered chair, the séance group gathering around her, all but Daniel, who perched a hip on the corner of Parker’s desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“I saw a road,” Cleo began. “A gravel road.”

“Yes?” Jo asked.

Cleo knew she could have made up anything, but she went ahead and stuck to the dream, hoping to convey its eerie mood, thus lending credibility to her story. “The road turned to dirt.” She concentrated, trying to remember. “Dirt with grass growing in the middle, and weeds on either side.” In her mind, Cleo pictured the road. She remembered her red toenails. And something she hadn’t seen in the dream-dry dust from the road sifting over them, covering her feet in a fine powder. Through the tangle of weeds was the peak of a barn.

“A barn,” she said. “I saw a barn.”

Behind her, Daniel let out a low curse. Jo waved her hand at him, irritated by his interruption.