Шарон Сала - When You Call My Name

The fact that the shell of a washing machine and dryer still stood, while a house was gone, seemed obscene, too vivid a reminder of how frail human life truly was. Smoke continued to rise from several locations as cross beams and a stack of something no longer identifiable smoldered. An unnatural heat lingered in the cooler evening air.

Wyatt stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the weight of despair that hung over the area. Last night he’d heard a cry for help and had been unable to respond, and yet when he’d needed help most, she had come. The burden of his guilt was almost more than he could bear.

“Ah, God, Glory Dixon. It was you, wasn’t it? I am so, so sorry. If I had known, I would have helped.”

“Do you swear?”

Wyatt spun. This time the voice he just heard had been behind him, not in his head. And when a young woman walked out of the trees, he thought he was seeing a ghost. It was her! The woman from the street!

He looked over his shoulder at the ruins, and then back at her, unable to believe his own eyes. Suddenly, a puppy darted out of the woods behind her and began pouncing around her feet. Wyatt stared. He’d never heard of a ghost with a dog.

He stood his ground, fighting the urge to run. “Are you real?”

Glory sighed, and Wyatt imagined he felt the air stir from her breath. And then she was standing before him, and he looked down and got lost in a silver-blue gaze. An errant breeze lifted the hair from her neck and shoulders, and for a moment, it seemed to float on the air like wings. Once again, Wyatt was reminded of angels.

“Why did you come?” Glory whispered. “How did you know?”

The sound of her voice broke the spell, and Wyatt blinked, trying to regain a true focus on the world around him. Unable to believe his eyes, he grasped a portion of her hair between his fingers. Although it was silken in texture, there was nothing unearthly about it.

“I heard you call my name,” he muttered, as he watched the hair curl around his finger.

Glory gasped, startled by what he’d revealed, and stepped back. Dear God, did I give him more than my blood? Have I given away part of myself?

Then drawn by the horror she couldn’t ignore, her gaze shifted to the pile of blackened timbers, and without warning, tears pooled and then tracked down her cheeks in silent misery. Wyatt groaned and opened his arms, and to his surprise, she walked into his embrace with no hesitation.

In his mind, holding her was like trying to hold sunshine. She was light, fragile, and seemed to sway within his arms with every beat of his heart. Her shoulders shook with grief, and yet her sobs were silent, as if the agony just wouldn’t let go.

“I’m so sorry about your family,” Wyatt said softly, and closed the gap between his hands until she stood locked firmly within his grasp. “But everyone’s going to be so happy to learn that you survived. As soon as you’re able, I’ll take you back to town.”

She went limp, and for a moment, he thought she was going to faint. Instead, it seemed more of a physical retreat. Sensing her uneasiness, he immediately turned her loose.

“I can’t go back. Not yet,” Glory said quietly.

Wyatt couldn’t hide his surprise. “Why ever not?”

“Because this wasn’t an accident. Because someone tried to kill me, and my daddy and brother suffered for it.”

Before he thought, Wyatt had her by the arms. “What the hell do you mean, ‘someone tried to kill me’? Are you saying that this fire was set?”

“At first it wasn’t a fire, it was an explosion. The fire came afterward.”

Unable to look at him, she turned away. He was bound to doubt. Everyone always did.

“Well, hell,” Wyatt muttered. “Then you need to tell the police chief. He’ll know what to do.”

Glory spun, and for the first time since she’d walked out of the woods, Wyatt saw a light in her eyes and heard fire in her voice.

“No! You don’t understand! They’ll come tomorrow…or the next day…to go through the ruins. When they do, they’re only going to find two bodies, not three. And then whoever it was that did this will try again. I need time to try and figure out what to do.”

Wyatt frowned. “What do you mean, whoever did this? I thought you knew.”

She shook her head.

“Then how do you know it wasn’t an accident?”

Glory lifted her chin, silencing his argument with a piercing look he couldn’t ignore.

“I see things. Sometimes I know things before they happen, sometimes I see them happen. But however my knowledge comes…I know what I know.”

Wyatt took a deep breath. He knew for a fact that he’d been hearing some things of his own. Right now, it wasn’t in him to doubt that she might…just might…be able to do more than hear. What if she could see? What if she was for real?

“Are you telling me that you’re psychic?”

“Some people call it that.”

Wyatt went quiet as he considered the ramifications of her admission.

“Why did you come to the hospital to help me?”

Her chin trembled, but her words were sure. “I saw your accident as it happened. I heard your cry for help…and because I could come, I did.”

Daring the risk of rejection, Wyatt reached out and cupped her face with his hand. To his joy, she withstood his familiarity, in fact, even seemed to take strength from the comfort.

“How can I thank you, Glory Dixon?”

“By not giving me away. By helping me stay alive until I can figure out why…and who…and…”

“It’s done. Tell me what to do first.”

Again, she swayed on her feet. Wyatt reached out, but she pushed him away. Her gaze searched the boundary of trees around the rubble, constantly on the lookout for a hidden menace. Fear that she would be found before it was time was a constant companion.

“You need to hide your car. Maybe drive it around behind the barn, out in the pasture.”

“Where are you…uh…?”

“Hiding?”

He nodded.

“When you’ve parked your car, I’ll show you, but we need to hurry. There’ll be no moon tonight, and the woods are dense and dark.”

Wyatt headed for his car, and as he followed her directions through the narrow lanes, wondered what on earth he’d let himself in for. Yet as the beam of his headlights caught and then held on the beauty of her face and the pain he saw hidden in her eyes, he knew he didn’t give a damn. She’d helped him. The least he could do was repay the debt.

A few minutes later, they walked away from the site, following what was left of a road overgrown with bushes and weeds. The air was already damp. Dew was heavy on the grass, blotching the legs of their jeans and seeping into the soles of their shoes. The bag Wyatt was carrying kept getting caught on low-hanging limbs, but Glory seemed to pass through the brush without leaving a trace. It would seem that her fragile, delicate appearance was deceiving. He suspected that she moved through life as she did through these trees—with purpose.

The pup ran between their legs, barking once from the delight of just being alive. He ran with his nose to the ground and his long, puppy ears flopping, yet a single word from Glory and he hushed.

Something silent and dark came out of a tree overhead and sailed across their line of vision. Instinctively, Glory threw up her hands and gasped. Wyatt caught her as she started to run.

“I think it was an owl,” he said gently, and held her until she had calmed.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m not usually so jumpy. It’s just that…” Tears were thick in her voice as she pushed herself out of his arms and resumed their trek.

Visibility was nearly zero, yet Glory moved with a sure sense of direction and Wyatt followed without question. Night creatures hid as the pair walked past, then scurried back into their holes, suddenly unsure of their world. Wyatt heard the rustling in the deep, thick grass, and even though he knew what it was that he heard, he couldn’t prevent a shiver of anxiety. This was a far cry from the safety and comfort of the Tennessee home where he’d been recuperating. It reminded him too much of secret maneuvers he’d been on in places he’d rather forget.

He clutched at the bag over his shoulder and caught himself wishing it was a gun in his hands, and not a duffel bag. Twice as they walked, Glory paused, listening carefully to the sounds of the woods through which they walked, judging what she heard against what she knew should be there. After a time, she would resume the trek without looking back, trusting that because Wyatt had come, he would still follow.

Just when he was wondering if they would walk all night, they entered a clearing. Again Glory paused, this time clutching the sleeve of his shirt as she stared through the darkness, searching for something that would feel out of place.

The instinct that had carried Wyatt safely through several tours of duty told him that all was well.

“It’s okay,” he said, and this time he took her by the hand and led the way toward the cabin on the other side of the yard.

The night could not disguise the humble quality of the tiny abode. It was no more than four walls and a slanted, shingle roof, a rock chimney that angled up from the corner of the roof, with two narrow windows at the front of the cabin that stared back at them like a pair of dark, accusing eyes.

Glory shivered apprehensively, then slipped the key from her jeans. As her fingers closed around it, she was thankful that her daddy had kept this one hidden at the cabin, or she would have been unable to get inside the night before.

Wyatt listened to the woods around them as she worked the lock, and when the door swung open with a slight, warning squeak, she took his hand and led him through with an odd little welcome.

“We’re home,” she said.

As he followed her inside, he had the oddest sensation that what she said was true.

“Don’t turn on the light.”

Wyatt’s fingers paused on the edge of the switch. The panic in her voice was too real to ignore.

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

Glory nodded, then realized that in the dark, Wyatt Hatfield couldn’t see her face.

“Yes, I’m serious. Please wait here. I have a candle.”

Wyatt did as he was told. He set down his duffel bag and then closed the door behind him, thinking that the dark in here was as thick as the woods through which they’d just walked. Moments later, he heard the rasp of a match to wood, focused on the swift flare of light and watched a wick catch and burn. And then she turned, bathed in the gentle glow of candlelight. Once again, Wyatt was struck by her fragile beauty.

“Will the pup be all right outside?”

“Yes,” Glory said. “Follow me.” Wyatt picked up his bag. “This is where you’ll sleep,” she said, and held the candle above her head, giving him a dim view of the tiny room and the single bed. “I’m just across the hall in Granny’s bed.”

“Granny?”

“My father’s mother. This was her cabin. She’s all the family I have left.” And then her face crumpled as tears shimmered in her eyes. “The only problem is, she’s ninety-one years old and in a nursing home. Half the time she doesn’t remember her name, let alone me.”

As she turned away, Wyatt set his bag inside the room and followed her across the hall, watching as she set the candle on a bedside table, then ran across the room to check the curtains, making sure that no light would be visible from outside.

“Glory?”

She stilled, then slowly turned. “What?”