Impervious (City of Eldrich Book 1) Page 3

  “Toast? Toast? You want more food?” he said in mock outrage. A moment later, he brought her a plate of heavy brown bread she knew he’d baked himself, toasted and smeared with butter.

  “There’s no place like home,” Meaghan said with a grin before diving back into her breakfast.

  A few minutes later, she leaned back in her chair with a groan. “You don’t do breakfast like that every day, do you?”

  Russ poured her more coffee and finally sat down. “Nah. There’s a little fatted calf killing going on here. I’m glad you’re back, prodigal sister.”

  “Where’s Matthew?”

  “Dad,” Russ answered, “is out on the front porch.”

  She knew it drove Russ nuts when she called their father by his first name.

  Russ continued. “He usually wakes up pretty early, six-thirty, seven.” He sighed and stared at her hard for a long moment. “The thing you gotta understand is it might be a good day, or it might be a bad day. Or it might be both. He may not recognize you today. He may think you’re someone else.”

  He stood up, grabbed Meaghan’s plate before she could protest, and set it in the sink. “You can’t take any of it to heart. It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s the disease clogging up his brain.”

  Again, Meaghan saw the fatigue etched into her brother’s face. And for the first time, she also saw the grief. “Russ, I know I’ve been hard on him over the years. And I know I overreacted a lot.” She traced her finger through a drop of coffee spilled on the table top. “I . . . it’s not . . . I’m not the person I used to be. And he’s not who he used to be, I get that. Last night was . . .” She waved her hand in the air, lost for the words. “Last night. I won’t stomp off in a huff, okay?”

  Russ nodded, but still looked worried. “Okay. But you might hear some weird shit coming out of his mouth. I’m just warning you.” He picked her plate out of the sink, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher.

  “That was an awesome breakfast, by the way,” Meaghan said, trying to lighten the mood. “But please don’t feed me like that every day or I’ll get huge.”

  Russ smiled. “Okay, Gretel. No more gingerbread cottage for you.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go remind him again who you are.”

  It was a good thing Russ was there. Despite her promise not to get upset by anything her father said, if Russ hadn’t been there to calm her down, she would have run for the car and not stopped driving until she hit the Pacific.

  Matthew had come back into the house and now sat in the living room.

  “Dad,” Russ said. “Meaghan’s here to see you.”

  “Meaghan?” The quaver was gone and some of the sharpness had returned to his milky eyes. “What the hell does she want? Here to tell me again what a bastard I am?” He turned his glare from Russ to Meaghan. “Who the hell are you? I don’t need a nurse,” he said, his voice tight with anger.

  Russ gave her a reassuring smile. “Dad, this is Meg. She’s here to see you. She came all the way from Arizona.”

  Skeptical, Matthew squinted at her. “Too old. Meaghan’s a young girl and besides she hates me. Quit lying to me!” he shouted, furious, spittle flecking his chin. He raised a shaking hand and pointed at her. “Your magic won’t work here, witch. Get out of my house. Go!”

  And Meaghan went. Out the front door. No car keys. Barefoot. She sprinted to her car, blinded with tears, feeling like a teenager again.

  She tripped over the low stone border along the front walkway and sat down hard, pain shutting off her tears like a switch. Cradling her right foot, she saw the blood already pooling under the big toenail. “Shit, shit, shit,” she said, rocking back and forth. “Shit.”

  Russ trotted up. “Let me see. Is it broken?” He knelt down next to her. “Can you move it?”

  She wiggled her toes with care and circled her foot. “I’m gonna lose the nail, but I don’t think it’s too bad.” She looked into her brother’s concerned eyes. “He hates me.”

  “No, Meg, no. That’s what I was trying to warn you about. I’m sorry you got such a vivid example of it.” He tried to help her up.

  “Wait, give me a sec.” She took a couple of ragged breaths. “He sure sounded like he hates me. Or at least he used to.”

  “Yeah, once, maybe. For like five minutes.” Russ squeezed her hand. “These fits are like snapshots, random moments that flare in his head and then burn out.”

  Meaghan nodded. “I guess.”

  “It’s like he’s . . .” Russ pondered a moment. “It’s like he’s unstuck in time. He still knows where he is, but he doesn’t know when. Let’s get some ice on that. Ready?”

  She nodded and he helped her up. She put some weight on her injured foot. “Nothing broken, I don’t think. What the hell was that witch and magic stuff?”

  “Don’t know,” Russ answered and for a moment she had the overwhelming sense he was lying. “A book, a movie? There’s no way to tell.”

  With Russ’s assistance, Meaghan limped back to the house. So much for all the running around she planned to do today. She wouldn’t even be able to get a shoe on for a couple of days.

  The front door opened and Matthew stepped out of the house. Meaghan stiffened.

  “Wait,” Russ whispered.

  “Hey, there, young lady. You took quite a tumble,” Matthew said, smiling. “Russ, you bring her into the living room. Let’s get her some ice. And an aspirin.” He held out his hand. “I’m Matthew Keele, dear. And you’d be?”

  Meaghan stared, mouth open. How did Russ keep up with this shit? “Um, I’m Meaghan?” She held out her trembling hand.

  Matthew took her proffered hand in both of his and shook it. “How about that? That’s my daughter’s name.” His smile broadened. “She’s a lawyer, like me.”

  “I . . . I know?” How was she supposed to respond to this?

  Russ rescued her. “Dad, this is Meaghan. She lives with us now.”

  Matthew looked at Russ, surprised. “She does? Well, that’s great!” He seemed thrilled with the news. He turned his attention back to Meaghan. “You’ll like her. She has the same first name as you.” He beamed at Meaghan, with no sign of recognition.

  “You get it now?” Russ muttered out the side of his mouth. “Why I’m so fried?”

  Meaghan, eyes wide, looked back and forth between her father and brother and nodded.

  Chapter 5

  Angry Matthew did not make a return appearance that day. He was cheerful and friendly and utterly without comprehension that the woman on the sofa with the swollen foot was his daughter. He went on and on about how proud he was of Meaghan, how she was a lawyer, how she’d be along any minute, and they could all laugh about her having the same name as the injured passerby.

  It was, in many ways, Meaghan realized, worse than being snarled at and mistaken for a witch.

  Meaghan had spent her whole life certain that she never quite measured up in her father’s eyes. But clearly that wasn’t the case, at least not for this version of Matthew. Either she had been wrong all this time or he had changed his mind.

  Not that it mattered. The past was gone and so was the man she had loved and hated all those many years. She could make peace with the addled old man who dwelt in his place, but he was a mere shadow of her father. Matthew, the man she remembered, was vanishing before her eyes, so much of him now gone that true reconciliation seemed impossible.

  After an hour of amiable chatter about his “little girl,” Matthew began yawning and rubbing his eyes like a child and Russ led him upstairs for a nap.

  “You see?” Russ walked into the living room and flopped into the easy chair by the sofa. “He doesn’t hate you. I told you. For years I’ve been telling you.” He rubbed his hand over his face and grimaced. “I need to shave and take a shower. Dad’s never hated you. Except for a few minutes here and there when you were being a total bitch.”

  Meaghan opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. He had a point. She knew she’d been awful to her
father over the years. Worse than he’d been to her.

  Russ smiled at her, obviously pleased to see her accepting what he had to say instead of fighting it. “Want a cup of tea? You look kind of beat up.”

  “I am kind of beat up.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  “And it’s all self-inflicted, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Russ reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “It is.”

  “You don’t have to be so damn happy about it,” Meaghan said. She could feel her face redden.

  “Sure I do. It’s a long time coming—you finally pulling your head out of your ass.”

  She laughed in spite of herself and threw a pillow at him. “Jerk face.”

  He caught the pillow, laughing too. “How’s your foot?”

  “The ice is all melted. And I have a lot of stuff I should be doing today.”

  Russ nodded. “Which you won’t be doing.”

  “But, I—”

  He cut her off. “God, you’re as stubborn as Dad. Just sit. One day. The world won’t end if you chill out for one day.” He stood up and plucked the ice bag from her foot. “I’ll get you more ice.”

  “And the tea? Anything to go with that?”

  He nodded. “Got some muffins.”

  “Would you get me some ibuprofen?”

  “Sure.” Russ walked out of the room.

  “And my cell phone and laptop?” she called after him. She could almost hear his eyes rolling in response.

  The day grew warmer and right after her tea and muffin, which Russ turned into an early lunch by adding a bowl of chicken soup, she hobbled out to the wide front porch. Matthew still napped upstairs while Russ showered. The house had no Internet connection, so her laptop was useless. She tried to access the net on her phone and it was so slow she finally gave up. No 4G service, or 3G service for that matter, on Holly Lane.

  For years, Matthew had paid a hefty fee to have the New York Times delivered. But now he didn’t care about the news and Russ had let the subscription lapse. Eldrich had a small weekly newspaper, but Russ didn’t subscribe to that either.

  Like all small towns, Eldrich ran on gossip. The important information was disseminated orally, either on the phone or in person. Russ learned all he needed to know gossiping with his organic farmers and artisan cheese makers and anyone else he encountered throughout the day. The newspaper contained sports scores and classified ads, and the community relied on it mostly for lining hamster cages and catching paint drips.

  Meaghan tried to read a couple of the mystery novels Russ brought out to her. But she almost always figured out who did it after reading the first few chapters and then ruined any hope of reading further by jumping to the final chapter to see if she was right, which she almost always was. Years spent working with politicians and the public had given her an ultra-sensitive, finely-calibrated bullshit detector. She could spot liars and schmucks, even fictional ones, from a million miles away.

  With nothing else to do, she fell asleep. And dreamed.

  Meaghan almost never remembered her dreams. What little she could recall was fuzzy and disconnected—random images with a feeble narrative imposed upon them. Her usual dreams were synaptic housecleaning, nothing more.

  But this dream—this was different. Vivid. And she knew she was dreaming, something she’d never experienced before. In her dream, she was in the same place she’d been when she fell asleep. On the porch curled up in the wicker settee with her foot propped on an ottoman. She sat up and looked around. At a glance, things looked normal. But with a longer look, things were not quite right.

  The forbidding forest she had driven through the day before now surrounded her father’s house. The front yard had become a tidy island surrounded by looming trees. She could see movement within the tree line, but couldn’t make out what was moving. The sunlight shimmered, like heat rising from a hot asphalt road. Within the shimmer she could barely make out a distant figure walking towards her.

  But the perspective was all wrong. The trees crowded around the house, but the walker appeared to be miles away, on an open plane.

  And then the shimmer evaporated and in the front yard stood her mother, real and solid.

  Meaghan felt a rush of joy and then a stab of grief, so powerful she gasped. She hadn’t felt grief like this since the day her mother died. For, even in her dream, with her mother standing before her, Meaghan knew, in her bones and in her gut, that her mother was dead.

  The mom figure smiled and waved her hand. “Hi, sweetheart.” She remained standing on the lawn.

  “You’re dead,” Meaghan replied.

  “Well, yes. Have been for a while.” She gave a small nervous laugh.

  “What do you want? How are you here?” In the dream, Meaghan could feel her heart pound.

  “You’re dreaming, Meggy. That’s how I’m here.” The dream Mom sighed. “Why I’m here . . . this is kind of complicated. Mind if I sit down?”

  With a trembling hand, Meaghan pointed at the chair beside her.

  Her dead mother ascended the porch steps and sat down, on the edge of the seat, back straight, smoothing her skirt with her hands. Meaghan recognized the skirt. Blue and green cotton madras plaid, faded, sensible. It had been one of her mother’s favorites. Far more ladylike than her daughter, Elizabeth Keele always wore skirts, even to work in the yard and mow the lawn.

  “This is a dream,” Meaghan said.

  “Well, yes, sweetheart it is. How’s your foot?”

  This was too much, even for this dream. “You aren’t real. You’re a . . . I don’t know. A sign that my brain’s starting to melt like Matthew’s.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t call him by his first name. It hurts him so when you do that.”

  “You. Aren’t. Real.” Meaghan’s voice shook now, along with her hands.

  “Well, I may not be real, but I’m still your mother.” Elizabeth reached over to pluck a strand of hair from Meaghan’s forehead. “This haircut is adorable, by the way.”

  Meaghan pulled away. She wasn’t sure how to accept a compliment from her own subconscious, which was what this had to be.

  “Fine, I’m your subconscious,” Elizabeth said, reading her mind. “Your brain isn’t melting. You’ve merely had a very busy few weeks.” The smile vanished and she leaned forward. “Real or not, I don’t have a lot of time and there are things I need to tell you. Stop analyzing and listen, okay?”

  “You aren’t real. I’m dreaming.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes, like Russ always did. “Exactly like your father. I’m not real, we’ve established that. I’m simply a manifestation of your subconscious mind. Please. Hush and listen to what you’re trying to tell yourself, okay?”

  Elizabeth commenced her skirt smoothing, a nervous habit of hers, Meaghan recalled.

  “The thing is, sweetie,” Elizabeth said, “your dad needs you now in more ways than you know.” She grabbed Meaghan’s hand in both of hers before Meaghan could pull away.

  Her mother’s hands felt warm and lightly calloused—from gardening without gloves, Meaghan remembered. In that moment, it didn’t matter if the figure before her was real or not.

  “Mom,” Meaghan whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Elizabeth leaned forward and put her arms around Meaghan and hugged her tight. Meaghan could smell Dove soap and lavender and that sunny warm smell Mom always had after a day in the garden.

  Elizabeth squeezed in next to her on the settee. “Meggy,” she said, stroking Meaghan’s hair. “I’m so sorry I had to leave you and Russ like that. Without saying goodbye. And I’m so sorry for taking you from your father.”

  “He abandoned us,” Meaghan said, sniffling.

  “No. He didn’t. That’s one of the things I came here to tell you.” Elizabeth pulled back so she could look Meaghan in the eye. “I abandoned him. When he needed me most. Because I couldn’t accept what was happening. I refused to believe what my own eyes showed me and I fled. With you and Russ
.”

  “But, he had a breakdown,” Meaghan said. “I remember —”

  Elizabeth cut her off. “You remember the version I told you and everyone else. He had a breakdown because we left. Because I left. Not the other way around.”

  Meaghan shook her head, refusing to believe this version of events. “But he let you take us. He didn’t fight for custody or come visit or anything.”

  “Because it wasn’t safe around him anymore. The war had started and your father was neck deep in it. He couldn’t risk you and Russ getting hurt.”

  War? What the hell was she talking about? She pulled away from her mother. “You were so mad at him all those years. Now I know you aren’t real. You can’t be.”

  Elizabeth released her hold on Meaghan, and turned away, her face in her hands. Shaking her head, she said, “I didn’t know. I couldn’t see—wouldn’t see—what was happening to him. Because I didn’t want to believe it.” She raised her head and looked over her shoulder and spoke to someone who wasn’t there. “I need a minute more. Please . . . I know . . .” She nodded. “I’ll be quick.”

  She turned back to Meaghan. “Meggy, it’s almost time for you to wake up. Listen now.” She scooped up one of Meaghan’s hands and gripped it so hard it hurt. “Trust your eyes and your ears. Soon you’ll be dealing with some strange things. Your father was supposed to ease you in, but he got sick so fast there was no time.”

  Elizabeth stared at Meaghan with an intensity Meaghan never remembered her mother displaying in life. “Believe what’s in front of you,” Elizabeth said. “Even if you don’t know why and it seems crazy. Trust your gut. And don’t be afraid. You have power you don’t know about yet. And allies.”

  She pulled Meaghan back into a tight embrace, kissed her daughter’s cheek, and whispered, “Remember.” The world dissolved and Meaghan woke up.

  Chapter 6

  Meaghan was lying on her side on the settee, injured foot at an awkward angle on the ottoman. She pushed herself up. Groggy and disoriented, she looked around the yard. The dark forest of her dream was gone.

  She fumbled for her cell phone on the floor boards under the settee. It was almost four. She’d been asleep for over an hour. That dream, what the hell was that? She recognized the hollow grief she hadn’t felt in years. For her mother. Waking felt like losing her all over again.