Across Time Part 4

"Yeah, Dad, what do you need?"

"Would you toss me down a package of rollers? I have the wrong size down here."

"Sure, hold on a sec." Setting all the keys down, Jessie grabbed a package of rollers and dropped them over the side railing, watching as her father caught them.

"Thanks, honey."

As Jessie started back to the storage room, she stopped cold. The numberless door was gone. "What in the h.e.l.l?" Running her hand along the wall, she frowned. Standing back, Jessie saw nothing but wall. For a moment, she felt she were stoned.

"Hey Dad," Jessie called out as she leaned over the railing. "How many rooms are on the third floor?"

"Three bedrooms and the storage room, and the shared bath at the other end of the hall. Why? Aren't you up there?"

26 *27.

"Yeah . . . I just . . . wasn't sure about the keys, that's all." Jessie stood in front of the storage room door for a long time. She knew she had seen another door, but the only answer to her question was a blank wall mocking her. As she stared at the wall, she suddenly made out the light blue eyes of Madame Ceara glaring intensely at her.

"I'm not afraid of you," Jessie whispered. Was this a flashback or something? What on earth was going on? "But I know there was a door here, and if I have to bash the wall in to find it, that's what I'll do."

Grabbing the tape, Jessie didn't look at the wall as she walked past it . . .

but every fiber in her felt as if the wall had somehow looked at her.

Some really weird things are happening here. I thought I saw a door where none exists. This weird house-Daniel thinks it's haunted, but I don't think it is. Then there's Crazy Ceara. She really freaked me out. It was like she could read my mind just by looking in my eyes. She may be crazy, but I think she may have the abilities she professes to have. All in all, and though I am loathe to admit it . . . this sleepy little town has some interesting characters, to say the least. Not nearly the amount of flannel I first expected.

Jessie had been given Sat.u.r.day off so she could go into town and explore on her own. It had taken Rick almost half an hour to convince Reena that it was time to let Jessie go out on her own, but Jessie didn't care . . . as long as she got to go.

Walking briskly down the driveway, Jessie felt free for the first time in a long time. The Money Pit wasn't just draining her parents' savings, it seemed to deplete her energy as well. She had found herself falling asleep every night well before midnight, weird for someone who prided herself on being such a night owl. There were nights when she could barely lift her arms over her head they were so sore from painting. A part of her was glad she was so tired because she had stopped having that bizarre dream about the woman being chased by a Roman soldier.

At last count, she had had that same dream eight times in the last month and it was beginning to bother her.

Daniel had come to her room once more after the first night, *

28 *29.

and had sat at the end of her bed for a very long time before finally whispering, "Can't you hear it?"

Jessie sat up and listened. "Uh uh. What is it you hear? How about if I come into your room?"

Daniel nodded eagerly. "Would you?"

Jessie slipped out of bed and slid her feet into the Ugg slippers Wendy and Jennifer had given her for her sixteenth birthday. "Let's see what we can find out."

Daniel led the way to a room that was typical of just about any boy.

It was filled with car and rocket models, sci-fi posters, tennis shoes, scooters, roller blades, a skateboard, a baseball glove and a lava lamp she had given him last Christmas just to p.i.s.s off her mother. Reena was a pyrophobe, and she was sure that lava lamp was going to be the death of them all. It had been Daniel's favorite gift.

His bed linen was the X-Men, and a huge poster of Cyclops hung over his bed. Because his room was the furthest from the main area of the house, he was able to escape the Victorian designs throughout the rest of the house. For that, Jessie was glad. No little boy should be forced to live in a room that looked like Martha Stewart lived there.

"Just sit on the bed and listen for a few minutes. You'll hear them pretty soon. They're not shy."

Jessie sat on Storm, of the X-Men, and c.o.c.ked her head to listen. It didn't take long.

"You do hear it, don't you?" Daniel whispered. "They don't come out every night, but they're here a lot."

Jessie nodded, trying to figure out a way to explain to ten-year-old Daniel the sounds he was hearing. "Uh . . . Daniel, I think . . ." Then Jessie realized that it was the shape of his ceiling that enabled the sound to carry directly into his room. "I think, if we move your bed over here, the noises from the house wouldn't be funneled into your room so easily. See the shape of your ceiling? It acts like a conduit, and you're hearing . . . well . . . everything that's going on inside the bedrooms."

Jessie had hoped Daniel's intellectual prowess was kicking in. "Do you follow me?"

Daniel frowned as he thought, and the light went on beneath his *

28 *29.

young eyes. Suddenly, his frown melted away. "Oh. That." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Them."

"Yeah. That. Them" Jessie had nodded and plodded off to bed.

She laughed to herself as she made her way down the hill toward Del's for a cup of coffee and a roll.

"Well, h.e.l.lo again," Del said cheerfully. "Becoming a regular, are you?" He poured coffee for her in a faded green mug that read Save Opal Creek.

Taking her coffee and sipping it, Jessie sighed. "That's great coffee, Del."

Del plucked a cinnamon roll, heated it for a second before taking it over to Jessie. "Lotta great things here, Jessie. Get to know New Haven on its own terms, and you might just find yourself liking it here."

Nodding, Jessie bit into the cinnamon roll she didn't order but was glad he brought over. "Can't get rolls this good in the city, that's for sure."

Del grinned. "Exactly. See? Every place has things that are special just unto it. Find those things and you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Returning to his place behind the counter, Del left Jessie staring out the window at the nearly empty streets.

Everything here moved so much slower than in the Bay Area.

When she and Reena had first gone to the store, the clerk actually chatted with them as if she was truly interested in what they had to say. Yes, they were the owners of the inn. No, it wasn't ready. Yes, the project was coming along as planned. No, they weren't hiring. Yes, they were enjoying the coast. And on it went. Jessie couldn't believe it, and was surprised at how Reena just answered the questions patiently.

Jessie wanted to pull the woman's hair out. Back home, the clerks rang you up, grunted the amount, handed your money back and sent you on your way. There was no idle chit-chat, not even a pretense of niceness. Everyone was too busy, too important, or too self-involved to partic.i.p.ate in idle blather.

This place was different, and Del was right . . . comparing was the surest way to alienate herself from the people here. People walked slower, drove slower and even ate slower. Time was different.

30 *31.

Different. Jessie sipped her coffee, remembering what one of her favorite therapists had said to her: Different isn't better or worse. It's just different.

Watching the small town slowly come to life, Jessie couldn't take her eyes off the palm reader's sign. How had she known what was in Jessie's journal? Maybe it was just a coincidence. After all, wouldn't any high school kid feel like they were in h.e.l.l if they'd just moved?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Still, something about that sign kept drawing Jessie's eyes back to it.

What would it hurt to poke her head inside the shop? How crazy could Madame Ceara really be if she was able to keep up a place of business?

Del emerged from behind the counter with a fresh pot of coffee.

"Del, is Tanner really as big a troublemaker as you made him out to be?" Jessie asked, surprising herself that the question came out of her mouth. She hadn't even been thinking about him.

"Tanner? Nah, he's an okay kid. His friends are kind of creepy, and they're mostly banned from the shops and stores, but Tanner's harmless. Truth is, he's a pretty smart kid, well-traveled, good manners, nice parents. The problem is, there isn't much for him to do here, so he hangs out with the likes of Brad and Randy, who are punks."

Jessie nodded slightly. "Then, you wouldn't warn me off him?"

Del leaned against the counter, the pot of coffee still in his hand. "I thought I did that already." He chuckled. "I'd take Tanner any day to the likes of Brad and Randy and some of them other boys in town. You get to know Tanner you'll know what I mean. There's more to him than meets the eye." Del started back around the counter.

"And what about Madame Ceara?"

"I suppose those idiots told you she was crazy."

Jessie looked away.

"Depends on your definition, I guess. Most folks would say it's plum crazy pouring good money into that inn of yours."

"Let me put it another way. Do you think she's crazy?"

Del shook his head. "Ceara's been here longer than anyone can remember and has always worked that shop. Crazy is all about perception, don't you think? Like perceiving Tanner as a bad kid *

30 *31.

because he has a piercing and a leather jacket. I'd say the people doing the judging were the crazy ones."

Jessie looked up at Del and watched him clean the counters. Who'd have thought that the local coffee shop owner was a sage in disguise?

"I appreciate it, Del, thanks." Jessie half-finished her second cup of coffee, set a dollar on the table and started for the door. Oregon, it was turning out, was a strange place with really nice people. If she wasn't careful, she could actually find something to like about the place, and then where would she put all of her misplaced teenage angst?

Walking down the street, deeply inhaling the salt air, Jessie smiled.

There was something freeing about the ocean air, the clanging of bells, and the sounds of the sails flapping against their masts. The fog was thinning enough to allow rays to poke through, and the morning just seemed to get better and better.

There wasn't much to this town, but the seafaring facades were recent additions and were quite quaint, done in royal blue trim with white stucco. Someone had sunk a lot of money into the Main Street shops, she guessed, in order to better attract the tourist dollar.

Strolling down the sidewalk, Jessie noted the different shops. There was a fish food restaurant she could never afford, a five-and-dime filled with all the things beachcombers might want, an art studio with paintings of every sort of sea creature imaginable, an antique shop, a jewelry store, Annie's Ice Cream and Madame Ceara's.

Jessie hadn't realized it, but she had stopped right under the sign and was staring at the front door. "d.a.m.n." Quickly turning around, she waited for the cars to pa.s.s so she could cross the street. How in the h.e.l.l had she ended up here? She'd meant to cross the street earlier, but somehow hadn't managed to do so.

"Nothing really is a coincidence," came a voice from behind her.

Slowly turning around, Jessie was face-to-face with those ice blue eyes that impaled her. "Oh-I-uh-"

Madame Ceara lifted an eyebrow. "You ended up here because here is where you're supposed to be."

A chill ran down Jessie's forearms. "Is this how you get new clients?"

32 *33.

Madame Ceara grinned, revealing nearly perfect teeth. "It is good to have courage. You are a very brave young woman, and that is good because you are going to need it where you're going."

"The only place I'm going is home to California." Jessie checked the street again, but there was a sudden influx of cars through the green light.

"Perhaps, but then, that's the beauty of the future. We never really know what it holds for us until it becomes the present. By then, our plans have changed."

Jessie smiled politely; deciding that getting hit by a car was preferable to talking to this woman who made her feel as if she had just surgically removed Jessie's soul and was studying it under a microscope.

"Look, Madame-"

Madame Ceara peered closely into Jessie's eyes and then nodded.

"You are not alone."

"What are you-"

Madame Ceara held up a heavily braceleted arm that jangled noisily, essentially chopping off Jessie's words. "Trust your own eyes, Jessie. You saw what you saw. Believe in yourself. It just might save her life." Turning so abruptly that her scarves made a swooshing sound, Madame Ceara went back into her shop, leaving Jessie with words still stuck like peanut b.u.t.ter to the roof of her mouth.

By the time she recovered her wits, a customer had followed Madame Ceara into her shop, and the cars miraculously vanished so Jessie could make her way hastily across the street.

Her? Who on earth was she talking about?

"She could not possibly know," Jessie whispered, as she pretended to look at the jewelry in the shop across from the palm reader's shop.

That was twice now that the woman had spoken about something Jessie had been thinking or writing about. Was she trying to make a point? Trying to scare her? Maybe it was all like a horoscope, where one size fits all. Say something generic, like a fortune cookie that says, "Something good will happen to you today," and it would fit ninety- nine percent of the population.

Still . . . the woman had been so exact the first time and d.a.m.n *

32 *33.

near in her mind this time. What was it she wanted? Suddenly, she felt like going back to the inn. This little burg had more nuts than a Planters mixed can, and flannel or no flannel, it was beginning to appear as if New Haven, Oregon, was a tad bit more bizarre than at first appearance.

Half an hour later, Jessie was going back up the stairs of the inn when found a note taped to the banister which read that the three of them had gone into town to rent a movie and get a pizza.

Jessie grabbed the three keys off the hook and started up the stairs.

Had Madame Ceara been talking about the door that was there and then wasn't? Was that what she meant by trust herself? How could she know? If she truly did know, then she was certainly more than the crazy woman everyone believed her to be. And what was it about those eyes?

G.o.d, it felt like the woman could look right through her. The whole thing was spooky, and Jessie wanted to put an end to it right here.

Slowly retracing her steps that had led to her seeing the numberless door the first time, she opened each of the bedroom doors, and, when she got to the storeroom, there it was! The numberless door! Gazing down at the key in her hand, Jessie felt her palms get all clammy and sweaty. The door did exist! But if it did, how come she hadn't been able to see it until now? How come she saw it, it vanished, and now she was seeing it again?