Familiar Spirit

Calmer now, Sarah reflected on what had happened to her. Once again Jade had been victorious. He had chased her out of the house, and she had not been able to oppose him. So much for her strength of will, and her boasts that he could not control her. He knew how to play her. Her fears were all he had, but they were all he needed. He knew what would make her run, and what would make her fight. He could make her see Brian, or a walking corpse, or a rat with glowing eyes; create sights, sounds, voices, and smells out of empty air.

He might as well be inside my mind, she thought with dull horror. She sagged against the car again, feeling weak and helpless. Might as well give up and go away. That was her only chance to save herself—to run like hell. The longer she stayed here, the more he would know of her, the more he would have of her, while she would grow weaker as she saw her plans batted aside and faced more of the things she most feared.

But Jade wanted her to run away. He wanted her to give up, to leave the house and not return. Surely that meant that she posed some threat to him? That she did stand a chance of defeating him? Knowingly or not, she must have the knowledge and the power to destroy him, or he would not expend so much energy in frightening her away. If she were truly powerless, Jade would not have to try to convince her of that.

Sarah stared up at the house, imagining it in flames. Her hands tightened on the diary she still held, and she knew she could not walk away forever. She could not let Jade win. She would not. She was leaving now, but she would return when she had a plan. Just then, that time seemed distant and unimaginable.

But it was only a few minutes later, as she was driving across town on 38th Street, that the idea came to her, and Sarah realized what it was that the diary had told her; what she knew about Jade and the way in which he might be destroyed.

Chapter Twelve

Pete and Beverly looked up from their dinner in surprise as Sarah burst in. The apartment was dimly lit, with candles on the glass-topped table, so as she crossed the room Sarah turned on a lamp, then flung herself into the large chair that faced the dining area.

“I thought you were going to eat out,” Beverly said. She moved in her chair as if uncertain whether to rise.

Sarah waved a hand at her. “Dinner? Sure, I had a hamburger. Don’t worry about it.” She grinned broadly, feeling she was about to burst with her discovery. “You’re not going to believe what I just found out. It’s fantastic—”

“Sarah,” Pete said. “Do you think it could wait until after dinner? We’ve just started eating and Beverly went to some trouble with this meal.”

Sarah looked at him, unperturbed by his coolness. Wait until he heard. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “You guys go ahead and eat, and I’ll do all the talking. You can listen while you chew, can’t you?”

Beverly moved her mouth the way she did when she was nervous, and darted a glance at her husband, then looked at Sarah. “We didn’t expect you until much later,” she said. “You said you’d be out late.”

“God, isn’t it late?” Sarah said. “I’ve lost all track of time. I suppose it is still early, but after what I went through—Jade just tried another of his games on me. Ambulatory corpses. Really horror-movie stuff. Straight out of my own, sick, predictable imagination, and of course I fell for it.” She laughed and got to her feet. She was feeling good, the fear far away and unreal in these familiar surroundings, among friends. “Could I have some of that wine?” She saw Pete and Beverly exchange a look before she went into the kitchen for a glass.

Pete filled her glass in silence, and Sarah looked at the dishes spread out on the table: chicken kiev, wild rice, rolls, artichokes with drawn butter. Beverly was wearing a long, slinky, blue velvet dress Sarah had seen her wear only a few times before. Raising the full glass of wine to her lips, Sarah suddenly understood. Pete and Beverly wanted a quiet, romantic evening alone together. Judy Collins on the stereo. Candles on the table. She took a too-large gulp of wine, wondering if she were blushing, and backed away from the table.

“So what’s this exciting discovery?” Pete asked.

She could excuse herself, go spend a few hours at the library, and talk to them in the morning. She knew she should—they had put up with her moods and intrusions for so long that she owed them at least one evening to themselves.

But she didn’t want to wait; she couldn’t. She wanted to bounce her ideas off them, wanted to have her cleverness applauded. She needed to talk about it, to discover if there were flaws she hadn’t thought of. It was important, damn it. Certainly more important in the long run than the spoiling of one romantic evening. Surely they would see it that way once they knew.