Page 5 of The Bride Wore White

Prudence folded the paper and watched the street scene on the other side of the cab window.

Had she actually killed a man with her psychic talent? If so, what did that make her? Was she really the Nightmare Psychic?

“Rising Star in the seventh at Santa Anita, you said?” she asked after a moment.

“Yep.”

“Has that particular jockey given you a lot of tips?”

“A few.”

She turned away from the street scene and surveyed the ripped upholstery in the well-worn cab. “Have you made a lot of money off the jockey’s tips?”

“A few bucks here and there. But I’ve never been in a position to put enough down to make a serious profit until now. This time is different. I’m going in big with my bet on Rising Star. Got a feeling that horse is a winner. How about you?”

She rolled down the window to savor the warm breeze of the city night. Her spirits lifted with anticipation of the bright new future she would create for herself in Southern California.

“I’m going in big with my bet, too,” she said.

“Gotta think positive, right?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Got to think positive.”

Had she killed a man with her talent?

Chapter 3

Jack Wingate’s dream began the way it always did...

... The mesmerizing flames burned in the mirror, summoning him. The answer to his question was waiting for him on the other side of the looking glass. All he had to do was walk through the fire into the unknown.

There was someone or something hiding deep inside the flames. From time to time he caught glimpses of the figure. He was certain that if he could just get a closer look he would be able to recognize who or what was attempting to lure him into the firestorm.

He fought to resist the pull of the flames, but the more he struggled, the harder it was to stay on his side of the mirror. He could not take the risk of exploring the mystery on the other side, because if he went through the flames, he might not be able to return to the real world. He might be lost forever in a nightmare of insanity...

He came awake the way he always did after the dream struck: in a cold sweat, his heart beating as if he had just run a marathon. He took a moment to let the disorientation pass. When he wascertain he was firmly grounded in the waking state—in reality—he shoved the quilt aside and got to his feet.

For a time he stood there in the lavishly decorated bedroom suite, absorbing the echoing silence of the big house. Strictly speaking, the dramatic, ultramodern, two-story residence perched on the cliffs outside Burning Cove was not filled with silence. He could hear the low, muffled rumble of the crashing waves on the beach down in the cove. But the mansion, known locally as House of Shadows, felt silent and still in a way he could not describe. He had lived alone all of his adult life, but he had never been so aware of being alone as he was in this house.

You got a deal on the place,he thought.Stop whining.

Maybe he should get a dog.

After a moment he went into the adjoining bathroom and toggled the light switch on the wall. The fixtures came on, illuminating the gleaming aqua-blue and black tile work. He crossed to the pedestal sink and made himself take a good look in the mirror.

The man who gazed back at him had once had an ordinary face, an unremarkable face. It was a face that would never have landed him a Hollywood contract, but that had been fine with him. Unlike the movie star who had built the house, he had never wanted to be a film legend. He had goals that could be achieved with a face that did not attract second looks.

The Bonner case had changed everything. Most of the left side of his face was now a chaotic road map of scars. There were more scars on his left shoulder and part of the left side of his chest. Those could be hidden with clothing. But the man in the mirror had a face that was guaranteed to attract attention on the street. A well-angled fedora could only conceal so much.

He hadn’t had the guts to try inviting a woman out on a date since he had recovered from his injuries. It wasn’t just that he lacked the fortitude to deal with rejection or, worse yet, pity. It was that heseemed to be missing the desire needed to motivate the risk. This was a depressing realization.

He wanted to focus on his new, cloistered life. He longed to sink into solitude and devote himself to his work. But he no longer slept well, because his nights were interrupted by the damned nightmare.

The burning mirror dream was bad, but what really worried him was the faint music of the invisible chimes. He heard the distant notes at odd moments during the day, and he had learned the hard way that he could not ignore them or pretend he was imagining things. Sometimes the chimes signaled a warning. At other times they told him topay attention. They sounded when he was closing in on the truth; when he was observing something very important. And they forced him to confront the terrifying possibility that he might be delusional.

One thing was clear. He would not be able to move forward with his life until he identified the figure hidden in the flames.

Chapter 4

---