Page 16 of The Shadowed Oracle
“No, that’s not?—”
“We were both thinking it,” Ingrid cut him off.
“I wasn’t hinting at anything,” Dean said after a moment. “That crystal ball moment was weird, and still on my mind if I’m being honest, but I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“How wonderful,” Ingrid scoffed. “Here I was hoping you’d forgotten that entirely.”
A marbled, amused sound came from the other side of the phone. “I don’t think I’lleverforget that little scene.”
Ingrid’s head dropped, as if it had only just occurred to her that she’d never forget it either. Not any of this. It was yet another ugly, monstrous memory wiping its feet on the doormat of her mind. Familiar, but worlds away from anything else she’d endured. In that empathic crevice of her mind, she felt something far darker broiling underneath the messages, the murders. It was like her nightmares had broken the barrier and were now running rampant in the real world.
She rotated herself to look out the window, parting the blinds with her finger. Then she made a concerted effort to slow her breathing, which had shortened considerably in just the last minute.
“You still there?” Dean asked.
“I’m here. Just, you know, peeking out the window for murderers.”
“Not as unbothered as you’d like me to think, huh?” Dean asked. “I knew it.”
Ingrid thumbed the blinds a little further down. “Who said anything about caring what you think of me?”
“It might as well have been written on your forehead.” He clicked his tongue. “You didn’t want me to think you were scared. Or that you needed anyassistance whatsoever.”
“Maybe I don’t,” she said absentmindedly.
“Yes, you do,” Dean returned quickly, pausing a moment before adding, “It’s why I’m parked outside your apartment complex right now.”
Ingrid felt the slightest chill in the air. “What the fuck?”
Dean was silent for another moment, then burst into laughter. “Sorry. I can see how creepy that sounds. But I swear it’s notcreepy. I’m part of the team. Marty, the uniformed guy you met earlier, we’re friends. I told him I was helping him out.”
Ingrid was already scanning up and down the street. She didn’t know what car he drove, but there weren’t many parked on the street at that time of night. The residents of her complex all used a community garage and the sweeping schedule made it impossible for any visitors to park on the north side overnight. Aside from Marty’s police car, there was a red convertible, a black truck, and two silver sedans.
“Let me guess,” Ingrid said. “The flashy red convertible?’
“Oh come on, is that what you think of me?”
“Short answer: yeah.”
“I’m in the black truck.” Dean rolled down the window, stuck his hand out and waved. He was far off in the distance, but Ingrid could make out the distinctive, cream-colored linen button-down shirt he’d been wearing at her bar. She could also see his big grin through his very clean, very see-through windows.
Not exactly inconspicuous.
“Aren’t you supposed to be hiding? Isn’t that the main objective of a stakeout? Be stealthy?”
Sudden muffled sounds wafted in her ear, followed by a smallclunk.
“Shit, hold on, dropped my phone.” Dean recoiled his arm back inside his vehicle. “It’s my first ever stakeout. Give me a break… no, come on. Don’t laugh like that. I’m a very competent officer of the law, I swear.”
Chapter Seven
A familyof three was setting up a picnic under a nearby redwood tree, the large branches casting a wide shadow nearly reaching the playground just behind it. The mother, a tall brunette wearing a yellow sundress, walked in circles for the perfect place to lay the blanket before her attention was caught by a set of carved initials on one of the low branches. She inspected it, running her fingers over the markings softly, then her husband took her by surprise from behind, kissing at her neck.
A moment later, their young son came barreling in to them. The father feigned like he was caught off balance, squeezing the boy’s arm, and the boy flexed, frowning with effort.
Ingrid watched the boy as he burst into a fit of laughter, mirroring his smile. She wondered how old he was and, for the briefest of moments, she thought about a few of those rowdy, pesky boys she’d grown up with. She still hadn’t been able to shake the fog she’d been walking around, and so she fell easily into the memories.
The number of occasions her mind wandered to that place since leaving it could be counted on one hand, yet here she was, thinking about her childhood home, the shy toddlers, the nuns,and then lingering a moment on the girl with the black ribbon in her hair. Ingrid had been forced to call her that since forgetting her name some years back, but she was always there in the deepest parts of her mind, sitting with Ingrid on the floor of her room, drawing pictures or braiding each other’s hair, staying up late to cut out pictures from magazines and read books they’d smuggled in from school.
