Dreams of Shreds and Tatters by Amanda Downum Read Free Book Online Page A

softly. Her voice cracked, and she realized she hadn’t spoken since they left the hospital.
    “I’m not sure.” Alex’s voice was hushed as well. The stillness was nearly palpable. “Clues. Though I don’t know what might be left to find.”
    Storm-wrack littered the road—scattered branches, drifts of pine needles, even a few uprooted trees near the edge of the forest. Snow dusted the cracked and frozen ground. The distant cries of gulls scattered across the water.
    Something sleek and dark surfaced with a splash. Liz jumped, but it was only an otter. Shining black eyes watched them for an instant before it dove again.
    “You’re bloody edgy,” Alex said.
    “Maybe you’re too bloody calm.” The words came out harsher than she intended and she shot him an apologetic glance, crossing her arms against the cold.
    His sigh hung in the air between them. “You were right,” he said slowly. “I admit it. But being a bundle of nerves won’t help either of you. You’ll only wear yourself out.”
    “Easy for you to say.” She kicked a stone, sending it skittering down the road ahead of them. It echoed like a landslide. “Something is wrong. Still wrong. More wrong. Don’t you feel it?”
    “Of course something’s wrong. But I believe in unconscious cues, preconscious perception—I never claimed to be psychic.”
    She never had either. Not out loud. But coincidence and preconsciousness weren’t enough to explain her dreams.
    They both tensed as they passed the first house, waiting for someone to emerge and accuse them of trespassing. The cabin was dark and shuttered, though, and they heard nothing but gulls and their own footsteps.
    A breeze ruffled the surface of the cove. Liz tugged her stocking cap over her ears and Alex wound his scarf tighter. Her lungs burned with every breath—what was the water like? A miracle, the doctor had said, and she couldn’t argue with that.
    They passed more cabins, all dark and empty. Summer cottages, like the ones in Cape Cod. Expensive for starving artists, even in the off season.
    “What was Blake doing out here?” Alex said, voicing her own question. Liz only shrugged.
    Alex frowned, shoulders hunching until his chest was a narrow concavity. “Blake and Alain were just out for a romantic stroll and fell in the water?”
    Liz rubbed the tip of her tongue against her teeth. “That doesn’t make sense, but I’m not sure why.”
    “Because he didn’t have a coat. There wasn’t one at the hospital, at any rate. Unconscious clues, remember?”
    Liz rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop a smile. It felt strange on her face. “So they were in one of the houses. But which one?”
    They followed the path until it ended in a tangle of fern and lichen-green boulders. Beyond that lay the greater water of Indian Arm. Waves glittered like chisel strokes in grey granite. Liz blew on her gloved hands, watching her breath drift away on the breeze. The sky was too heavy—it would crush her if it fell.
    They turned back, but Alex’s frown deepened as they neared the car. She recognized that frown; he wore it when confronted with a puzzle or an elusive bit of research. “How many houses are on this side of the cove?”
    Liz blinked and glanced over her shoulder. “Four.”
    The frown became a scowl. “That’s what I keep thinking too. But there are five.”
    They turned in unison, as if they might surprise the elusive house. One, two, three, four... and yes, five. But as soon as her eyes moved, the certainty evaporated. Alex stalked back down the path, shoulders hunching like a disgruntled heron.
    As they drew closer, Liz blinked against a wave of dizziness. Her temples began to throb. She drew up, but Alex pressed on, and after a moment she stumbled after him. Glass sparkled amid the gravel, crunching under their boots. Something else crunched, too—tar paper. She looked up to see shattered windows, shingles ripped from the roof.
    “How did we not notice this?” Liz asked