The Power of Love kbaa-2 Read online

  "Stop it!" said Ivy. "Stop it! I don't want to hear any more about it! Save it for when Sammy gets home, okay?"

  "Okay," he said, the corners of his mouth stiff and straight. He slipped past her.

  Ivy began to examine the boards and could hear her brother sweeping the tree house behind her. Then the broom stopped. She glanced over her shoulder. Philip's face was happy and bright again. He still clutched the broom, but he was standing on his tiptoes, stretching upward.

  "Thank you," he mouthed silently.

  Chapter 4

  That evening Ivy wandered from room to room in the house, feeling restless and edgy. She didn't want to go out or call up a friend, but she could find nothing to do at home. Each time she heard the clock chime in the dining room, she couldn't stop her mind from turning back to the night Tristan died.

  When Maggie and Andrew went to bed. Ivy went up to her room to read. She wished that Gregory were home. In the last few weeks they had watched a lot of late-night TV together, sitting quietly side by side, sharing cookies, laughing at the dumb jokes. She wondered where he was now. Maybe he had helped Eric clean up after the party, then the two of them had gone out. Or maybe he had gone to Suzanne's.

  She could call Suzanne and say — Ivy caught herself before that thought went any further. What was she thinking? Call up Suzanne in the middle of a date?

  I depend on Gregory way too much. Ivy thought.

  She crept downstairs and took a flashlight from the kitchen drawer. Maybe a walk would make her sleepy; maybe it would get rid of that prickling feeling in the back of her mind. When Ivy opened the back door, she saw Gregory's BMW parked outside the garage. He must have brought back the car at some point and taken off again. She wished he were there to walk with her, The driveway, a continuous curve down the side of the ridge, was three quarters of a mile long. Ivy walked it to the bottom. After the steep climb back, her body finally felt tired, but her mind was still awake and as restless as the tossing trees. It was as if there was something she had to remember, and she couldn't sleep until she remembered it — but she had no idea what it was.

  When she arrived back at the house, the wind had changed and a sharp, wet smell swept over the ridge.

  In the west, lightning flashed, casting up images of clouds like towering mountains. Ivy longed for a storm with bright lightning and wind to release whatever it was that was pent up inside her.

  At one-thirty she climbed into bed. The storm had skirted their side of the river, but there were more flashes in the west. Maybe they would get the next big gust of rain and wind.

  At two o'clock she was still awake. She heard the long whistle of the late-night train as it crossed the bridge and rushed on through the little station far below the house. "Take me with you," she whispered.

  "Take me with you."

  Her mind drifted after the lonely sound of the whistle, and Ivy felt herself slipping away, rocked by the low rumbling of thunder in the distant hills.

  Then the rumbling became louder, louder and closer. Lightning quivered. The wind gusted up, and the trees that had been slowly swaying from side to side now lashed themselves with soaked branches. Ivy peered out through the storm. She could hardly see, but she knew something was wrong. She opened a door.

  "Who is it?" she cried out. "Who's there?"

  She was outside now, struggling against the wind and moving toward a window, with lightning streaking all around her. The window was alive with reflections and shadows. She could barely make out the figure on the other side, but she knew something or someone was there, and the figure seemed familiar to her.

  "Who is it?" she called out again, moving closer and closer to the window.

  She had done this before, she knew she had, sometime, somewhere, perhaps in a dream, she thought. A feeling of dread washed over her.

  She was in a dream, caught in it, the old nightmare. She wanted out! Out!

  She knew it had a terrible end. She couldn't remember it, only that it was terrible.

  Then Ivy heard a high whining sound. She spun around. The sound increased till it drowned out the storm. A red Harley roared up to her.

  "Stop! Please stop!" Ivy cried. "I need help! I need to get out of this dream!" The motorcyclist hesitated, then gunned his engine and sped off.

  Ivy turned back to the window. The figure was still there. Was it beckoning to her? Who or what could it be? Ivy put her face close to the window. Suddenly the glass exploded. She shrieked and shrieked as the bloody deer came crashing through.

  "Ivy! Ivy, wake up!"

  Gregory was shaking her. "Ivy, it's just a dream. Wake up!" he commanded. He was still fully dressed.

  Philip stood behind him, a little ghost in pale pajamas.

  Ivy looked from one to the other, then sagged against Gregory. He put his arms around her.

  "Was it the deer again?" Philip asked. "The deer coming through the window?"

  Ivy nodded and swallowed hard several times.

  It was good to feel Gregory's arms Strong and steady around her. "I'm sorry I woke you up, Philip."

  "It's okay," he said.

  She tried to still her trembling hands. Gregory's home now, she told herself, everything's okay.

  "I'm sorry this keeps happening, Philip. I didn't mean to scare you."

  "I'm not scared," he replied.

  Ivy glanced up sharply at her brother's face and saw that, in fact, he wasn't.

  "The angels are in my room," he explained.

  "Then why don't you go back to them?" Gregory told him. Ivy felt die tightening muscles in his arms.

  "Why don't you—" "It's all right, Gregory. Let Philip alone," she said with soft resignation. "He's dealing with this the best way he can."

  "But he's making it harder on you," Gregory argued. "Can't you understand, Philip? I've tried a million times to—" He stopped, and Ivy knew that Gregory saw it, too: the brightness in Philip's eyes, the certainty in his face. For a moment the little boy's will seemed stronger than both of theirs put together. It was impossible to argue him out of what he believed. Ivy found herself wishing that she could be so innocent again.

  Gregory sighed and said to Philip, "I can cake care of Ivy. Why don't you get some shut-eye? We've got a big day tomorrow — the Yankees game, remember?"

  Philip glanced at Ivy and she nodded in agreement.

  Then he gazed past her and Gregory in such a way that she instinctively turned around to look. Nothing.

  "You'll be okay," he said confidently, and trotted off to bed.

  Ivy sank back against Gregory. He wrapped his arms around her again. His hands were gentle and comforting. He brushed back her hair, then lifted her face up to his.

  "How are you doing?" he asked.

  "All right, I guess."

  "You can't shake that dream, can you?"

  She saw his concern. She saw how he searched her face for clues about what she was feeling.

  "It was the same dream but different," Ivy told him. "I mean, there were things added to it."

  His frown of worry deepened. "What was added?"

  "A storm. There were all those mixed-up images on the window again, but this time I realized it was a storm I was seeing. The trees were blowing and lightning was flashing and reflecting off the glass. And there was a motorcycle," she said.

  It was hard for her to explain the nightmarish feeling the motorcycle gave her, for that part of the dream was simple and ordinary. The motorcyclist had not harmed her. All he had done was refuse to stop to help her.

  "A red motorcycle came rushing by," she continued. "I called out to the rider, hoping he would help me.

  He slowed down for a moment, then kept on going."

  Gregory held her face against his chest and stroked her cheek. "I think I can explain that. Eric just dropped me off. He has a red Harley— you've seen it before. You must have heard the sound of it while you were sleeping and woven it into your dream."

  Ivy shook her head. "I think there's more to it t
han that, Gregory," she said quietly.

  He stopped stroking her cheek. He held very still, waiting for her to go on.

  "Remember how it was storming the evening your mother ki — died?"

  "Killed herself," he said clearly.

  She nodded. "And I was in the neighborhood then, making a delivery for the store."

  "Yes."

  "I think that's part of the dream. I had completely forgotten about it. I had thought my nightmare was just about Tristan and the accident, with the deer crashing through the glass, crashing through our windshield. But it's not."

  She paused and tried to sort things out in her mind.

  "For some reason I put the two events together. The night your mother died, I couldn't find the right house. When I got out to check a street sign, someone on a red motorcycle came by. He saw me flagging him down and hesitated, but then rushed on past me."

  She could feel Gregory's steady, rapid breathing on her forehead. He held her so close, she could hear the quick beat of his heart.

  "Later I thought I had found the house — I had narrowed it down to two houses. One of them had a big picture window, and someone was standing inside, but I couldn't see who it was. I thought it might be the person who was waiting for my delivery. Then the door to the house next door opened — and that's where I was supposed to be."

  It was strange the way the details of that night were slowly coming back to her.

  "Don't you see, Gregory? That's the window I keep coming up to in the dream and trying to see through.

  I don't know why."

  "Do you know if it was Eric you saw that night?" he asked.

  Ivy shrugged. "It was a red motorcycle, and the rider had a red helmet. But then, I guess a lot of people do. If it had been Eric, wouldn't he have stopped for me?"

  Gregory didn't answer.

  "Maybe not," said Ivy. "I mean, I know he's your friend, but he's never really liked me," she added quickly.

  "As far as I know," Gregory said, "Eric's really liked only one person in his life. He can make things very hard for the people around him."

  Ivy glanced up, surprised. Gregory saw Eric more clearly than she had realized. Still, he had remained a loyal friend to him, just as he was a friend to her now.

  She relaxed against him. She was getting sleepy now, but was reluctant to pull away from die comfort of his arms.

  "Isn't it strange," Ivy mused, "that I should put your mother's death and Tristan's together in one dream?"

  "Not really," Gregory replied. "You and I have been through a lot of pain. Ivy, and we've been through it together, helping each other get by. It seems pretty natural to me that you would link those events in your dream." He lifted her face to his once again, looking deeply into her eyes. "No?"

  "I guess so," she said.

  "You really miss him, don't you? You can't help but keep remembering."

  Ivy dropped her head, men smiled up at him through her tears. "I´ll just have to keep remembering how lucky I am to have found a friend like you, someone who really understands."

  "This is better than any flick coming out of Hollywood this summer," Lacey said.

  "Who invited you in here?" Tristan asked.

  He had been sitting by Ivy's bed watching her sleep-he didn't know for how long. At last Gregory had left him alone with her. At last Ivy looked at peace.

  After Gregory left, Tristan had sorted through what he'd learned, and tried hard to keep himself conscious. The dreamless darkness had not come upon him for a while now. It did not come upon him as swiftly and as often as when he first became an angel, but he knew he could not keep going without rest. Still, as tired as he was, he could not bear to give up these moments alone with Ivy in the quiet of the night. He resented Lacey's intrusion.

  "I was sent by Philip," she told him.

  "By Philip? I don't understand."

  "In Manhattan today I found this funky guardian angel statue, a baseball player with wings." She flapped her arms dramatically. "I got it for him as a little gift."

  "You mean you stole it?"

  "Well, how would you like me to pay for it?" she snapped. "Anyway, I was just dropping it off.

  He saw my glow and pointed, directing me in here. I guess he figured his sister needed all the help she could get."

  "How long have you been here?" Tristan asked. He hadn't noticed Lacey's arrival.

  "Ever since Gregory brushed back her hair and lifted her face up to his," she replied.

  "You saw that?"

  "I tell you, Hollywood could use him," Lacey said. "He's got all the right moves."

  Lacey's view was both welcome and frightening to Tristan. On the one hand, he wanted Gregory to be doing nothing more than playing a romantic game with Ivy; he didn't want anything real to be happening between them. On the other hand, Tristan feared that there could be a darker reason behind such a game.

  "So you heard it all. You've been here all this time."

  "Yep." Lacey climbed up on the headboard of Ivy's bed. Her brown eyes glinted like shiny buttons, and her spikes of purple hair were pale and feathery in the moonlight. She perched above Ivy's head.

  "I didn't want to disturb you. You were so deep in thought," she said. "And I figured you wanted time alone with her."

  Tristan cocked his head. "Why are you suddenly being so thoughtful? Have you finished your mission?

  Are you getting ready to leave?"

  "Finished?" She almost choked on the word. "Uh… no," she said, glancing away from him. "I doubt I'll be shoving off to the next realm anytime soon."

  "Oh," he said. "So, what happened in New York?"

  "Uh… I don't think I should tell you. It'll probably be in the papers tomorrow, anyway."

  Tristan nodded. "So you're earning back a few points now."

  "Take advantage of me while you can," she urged.

  Tristan smiled.

  "I get points for that," she said, just touching his lips with the tip of a long nail, but his smile had already disappeared. "You're really worried."

  "You heard the dream," he said. "It's pretty obvious. There's some connection between Caroline's death and mine."

  "Tell me about Caroline. How'd she croak?" Lacey asked.

  "Shot herself, in the head."

  "And they're sure it was a suicide?"

  "Well," said Tristan, "the police found only her fingerprints on the gun, and her fingers were still twisted around it. She left no note, but she had torn up photographs of Gregory's father and Ivy's mother."

  Lacey sprang off the headboard and began to pace the room in a circle.

  "I suppose someone could have set it up to look like a suicide." Tristan said slowly. "And Ivy was in the neighborhood that night. She could have seen something. Lacey! What if she saw something she shouldn't have—" "Did I ever tell you I was in Perry Mason?" Lacey interrupted.

  "— and what if she didn't even realize it?" Tristan exclaimed.

  "Of course, Raymond Burr is dead now," Lacey continued.

  "I need to check out the address of Gregory's mother," Tristan told her, "and the address where Ivy made the delivery that night."

  "As soon as I read the obit, I looked Raymond up," Lacey said.

  "Listen to me, Lacey."

  "I was sure he would be assigned some kind of mission."

  "Lacey, please," he begged.

  "I thought we could pal around together."

  "Lacey!" he shouted.

  "I mean, Raymond would make an awesome angel."

  Tristan dropped his head in his hands. He needed time to think about what was going on and how he could keep Ivy safe.

  "But he must have whisked right on," Lacey said.

  "Must have," Tristan mumbled. He could feel his mind growing dim. He needed rest before he could figure things out.

  "I can't tell you how disappointed I was!"

  "You just did," Tristan observed wearily.

  "Raymond said he'd never forget the episode I did with him."
>
  There could be a lot of reasons for that, Tristan thought.

  "Raymond always appreciated my talent."

  Ivy was in danger, and he didn't know how to warn her or whom to warn her against, and Lacey was going on and on about a dead actor.

  "So what I am saying is that I can probably help you on this matter," Lacey said.

  Tristan stared at her. "Because you played a supporting role in one episode with another actor who pretended he was a lawyer who somehow ended up solving television crimes?"

  "Well, if you're going to put it that way, don't expect my help!"

  She stalked across the room, then paused theatrically and looked over her shoulder.

  Tristan wished she'd keep right on going. The room was washed in the palest of morning light now, and the first birds were up, their flickering song being passed along from one tree to the next. He wanted the last bit of time he could have alone with Ivy. He turned coward her, longing to touch her.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

  "You don't know what I'm going to do," Tristan replied.

  "Oh, I can guess," she said to his back. "And you're too exhausted."

  "Leave me alone, Lacey."

  "I just thought I'd warn you."

  "Leave me alone!"

  She did.

  As soon as she left he stretched out his hand. Ivy slept quietly beneath it. He wanted so badly to touch her, to feel her warmth, to know her softness just one more time. Gathering all his strength, Tristan focused on the tips of his fingers. He knew he was tired, too tired, but still he concentrated with his last bit of energy. The ends of his fingers stopped shimmering. They were solid now.

  Slowly, gently, he ran his fingers down her cheek, feeling the silk of her, the wonder of her. He traced Ivy's mouth.

  If only he could kiss those lips! If only he could hold Ivy, fold all other in his arms…

  Then he began to lose the sense of her.

  He reached again, but he was losing touch. "No!" he cried out. It felt like he was dying all over again. The pain of losing her was so intense, so unbearable, that when the dreamless darkness came, he gave himself over to it willingly.