Theresa Weir - Bad Karma

Finally the master thespian sighed and allowed herself to be pulled to a sitting position.

“What did you see?” Jo asked. “Anything different this time?”

Cleo stared blankly ahead, as if looking into a world nobody else in the room could see. “Yes,” she said, reaching blindly for Jo’s hand, finding it, hanging on tightly. “I saw the barn again.”

“The barn?” Jo said, sounding a little disgusted.

“Yes, but so much more. This time-” Cleo’s words broke off. She pulled her gaze back from the mysterious place she’d gone, focusing on Jo. “This time,” she whispered, “I went inside.”

All three women let out a titillated gasp. “What did you see?” they asked in unison.

“At first it was hard to see anything,” Cleo said. “It was so dark and creepy.”

Creepy? You could have used a more descriptive word than that, Daniel thought. You’re getting sloppy, Cleo.

Almost as if she’d read his mind, she shuddered for effect then said, “It smelled like rotten things. Rotten wood. Rotten hay. Rotten ground. There was a feeling of decay about it. It’s a bad place. I know it’s a bad place. But I made myself move.” She got that trancelike look on her face again. “I stepped forward, and I could see my feet in my sandals. And it was weird, because I was wearing a slip. A black slip. I could see the lace edge against my leg.” She kind of gave herself a shake, as if realizing she was getting sidetracked. “Someone handed me a shovel and told me to dig. So I started digging. I kept digging until-” Her words came to an abrupt halt.

“Yes? Yes?” Everyone asked.

“What was in the hole?” Jo asked. “What did you find?”

Cleo ran her tongue across her lips then looked directly at Jo. “The key.”

After the séance, Cleo pleaded a headache and exhaustion. “This kind of thing always leaves me feeling like a limp rag,” she said, smiling weakly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Daniel staring at her, his expression unreadable.

“Can I give you a lift back to your motel?” Dr. Campbell asked.

Cleo jumped at the offer-anything to get out of riding with Daniel. She was pretty sure he’d been watching her throughout the reading and knew she’d faked the whole thing. The last thing she wanted was another interrogation.

“That would be great,” Cleo said, gathering up the incense and candles.

She’d briefly thought about trying to cut a deal with Jo, maybe settling for a thousand dollars if she let her go now, but Cleo no longer wanted anything from the town of Egypt except to leave it.

Outside, Dr. Campbell opened the passenger door for her. Wow, Cleo thought, sliding into the plush, almost decadent seat. Sport utility vehicles were certainly getting luxurious. Campbell took his place behind the wheel. After a few deft maneuvers, they headed in the direction of The Palms.

“You were amazing back there,” he said, keeping his hands in the ten-and-two-o’clock position.

“I can’t take credit,” Cleo said. It was so much easier talking to Campbell than to Daniel. She could make small talk. Not very well, but she could do it. “It just comes to me.”

“It doesn’t matter how it happens. It’s still amazing. I’d like to hear more about it,” he said, pulling up in front of her motel room. “Would you like to get something to eat tonight? So we can talk?”

He didn’t want to talk about her gift . Why was it guys had to pretend? “I’d really like to,” she said, “but I have plans.” That should let him out of a tight spot without damaging his ego.

To her relief, he didn’t argue. “Maybe another time.”

“Yeah,” she said, knowing she would be long gone in a matter of hours. “Maybe another time.” She grabbed her bag and stepped from the vehicle. “Thanks for the ride.”

He nodded and gave her a friendly smile.

Inside the motel room, Cleo packed. In the process, she came across Premonition’s squeaky toys, worm medication, the special shampoo that kept his skin from getting itchy and flaky, and his vaccination papers. The harness she would keep. Maybe she’d get another dog someday.

Done packing, she lay down and waited for dark. She would need to get some rest if she was going to spend the night hitchhiking. Minutes later, she fell asleep and immediately began to dream.

Laughter. Somebody was laughing. It came from somewhere deep inside the wall behind her head.

She forced herself to wake up and found the motel room cast in shadow, the way it had been that morning, so dark it could have been night.

Laughter.

Coming from the next room.

She sat up, her bare feet rubbing against the clammy shag rug. The orange shag rug.

The laughter was still there, just behind the wall. Shrill laughter. A woman’s drunken laughter. Between the bursts of laughter, Cleo heard the rumble of a man’s deep voice.

She stood and moved closer, thinking to press her ear to the wall. She put out her hand and it disappeared into the wall as if dipped in murky water.

I’m not awake, she realized. This is still the dream.

She should have known, because it had the creepy, slanted mood of the old dream, the pumpkin dream. There was a feeling of expectation, of knowing something bad was going to happen.

She stuck her arm deeper into the wall, all the way to her shoulder. Even though she wanted to wake up, even though she didn’t want to do what she was doing, she followed her arm through the wall…until she stood in a mirror-image room of the one she’d just left. In this room, the orange bedspread was still on the bed. The orange curtains still covered the window.

She thought she was alone, but gradually realized she wasn’t. A man stood in the center of the room. His back was to her. He was bent, concentrating on a task. As she watched, he gathered the corners of the orange bedspread and began wrapping something, rolling something.

What is he doing?

Finished, he picked up the bundle. It must have been heavy, because he almost collapsed. He let out a grunt and tried to shift his weight. The bundle slipped from his fingers and slumped to the floor. He mumbled and cursed, stepping over the bedspread, grabbing it by one end. Walking backward, he dragged it toward the door, leaving a dark stain on the rug.

Cleo followed the stain, followed the man out the door to where an open car trunk waited. He looked up at Cleo.

And now she could see it was Harvey.

“Aren’t you going to help me hide the key?” he asked with no surprise or alarm. “Grab that end.”

She didn’t want to touch the orange fabric, but she reached down, gripping it tightly with her fingers.

They lifted. The bundle hardly weighed anything. Why had he needed her help?

“Get in,” he said, motioning for her to get inside the trunk along with the bundle.

She shook her head.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ride.”

She did need a ride. That was right. “Out of town?” she asked.

“Anywhere.”

“You have the key, don’t you?”

“I am the key.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re not supposed to. This is a dream.”

She looked at him more closely and realized it wasn’t Harvey standing there, but Dr. Campbell. It had been Campbell all along.

“I hope you’re flossing,” he told her.

“I am.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said in a calm voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you could read my mind.”

“Get in the trunk.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to get in.”

She turned and tried to run, but her feet were mired in something thick and deep. The rug. The orange shag rug. She couldn’t make any progress. She knew he was right behind her, right behind her, right behind her-