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The Angel's Key
--by Patricia Little
(Excerpt)ISBN: 0595-33118-1 (copyrighted material)
CHAPTER 3
July 20, 1982
Amanda wandered down the back aisle of the store, between the ceramic washbowls, chamber pots and milk bottles on one side, and a hodge-podge of tables, vanities and bureaus on the other. She could smell the dusty scent of lavender and a trace of moldy wood. A sparkling blue flash of light caught her attention. She could barely see it on top of a huge dresser off to her right. It looked like a bottle.
For some reason, the flash of light reflected from the bottle made her think of the angel. She hadn't thought about him since she was little, back when she believed in angels, when she had seen one with her own eyes. It was the time when her mother had locked her in the closet and told her to be very quiet, or the bad thing would find her. She didn't say what the bad thing was. She never said his name when she was afraid of him, just that it was the bad thing. But Amanda knew. It was Bear, her stepfather.
That was the day her mother had taken off her bracelet and slipped it over Amanda's wrist. She had kissed Amanda hard and made her promise to always wear the bracelet. It would keep her safe and protect her from the bad thing, so it could never find her. Like it found her mother.
That was the first time her mother had locked her in the closet, but not the last.
The angel had come to her there in the dark. He had stroked her hair, his hand warm and gentle, until all her tears were gone. When she looked at him he seemed almost transparent, with a wonderful blue light shining out of the darkness. The cramped closet with its boxes and shoes had faded away as she gazed up at him. He told her that his name was Michael, and he would always watch over her. She had believed him.
But she had been a baby then. She had prayed that the angel would help her mother and keep her safe from the bad thing. Now she was older. She knew that angels weren't real, and nobody cared especially what happened to her. Her own mother didn't care. She had just made up that angel to make herself feel better.
Amanda touched the cool metal of the bracelet that she still wore, that she had never taken off since her mother gave it to her.
She reached up on tiptoe, stretching as far as she could, but she wasn't tall enough to touch the bottle. Disappointed, she lowered her hands and shoved them in the pockets of her jeans. She heard Aunt Hildie talking to a customer in the front, the 'ca-ching' sound as the cash register drawer opened. Amanda sighed and drew a shaky breath, fighting back tears. She wasn't a baby anymore and she wasn't going to cry. She wouldn't have to stay in this dusty old place forever. Her mother would come back for her. She always came back sooner or later.
Amanda wondered if the bottle was really as interesting as it looked from here. She could see the dark blue glass and part of the label, a picture of a girl with curly red hair, a little bit like hers. The most interesting thing about the bottle was the gold knob on top. What if it was real gold? Maybe Aunt Hildie didn't know it was gold. Amanda could surprise her.
She pulled a chair across the aisle. It was heavy and it scratched across the worn carpet as she dragged it to the dresser. She scrambled up on the padded seat of the chair, trying to keep her balance. Now the bottle was very close. It was even more beautiful than she imagined. She could almost see what was inside through the deep blue glass, but she couldn't be sure. And the gold knob on top! It must really be gold, because it was so shiny and beautiful. The girl in the picture must be a princess, even though she didn't wear a crown. Amanda could just tell.
She reached out and put her hands around the bottle, testing its weight. Slowly she lifted it down off the dresser, her arms straining. It was much heavier than she expected. She tottered on the padded seat of the chair. It was too late now to put it back on the dresser. She had to hold on to it so she could set it down-where? It was so heavy!
"Amanda! What are you doing?"
She looked up and the bottle slipped from her hands. She watched in horror as it bounced off the arm of the chair and then-crash! It hit the hard wood floor and exploded into a million pieces.
"Oh, no." Amanda whispered, a sick feeling in her stomach. She looked at her Aunt Hildie, advancing toward her.
Amanda jumped down off the chair. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to break it!" She cowered next to the chair, her arms held up in front of her face.
"Please don't hit me! Please don't."
"Amanda, dear." Hildie kneeled beside her and gently pulled Amanda's hands down. She spoke softly. "We have a rule here at the Curio Shop. No hitting allowed." Hildie's eyes were damp as she gathered Amanda in her arms. "It was just an old bottle, sweetheart. There, there."
Amanda tried not to cry, but the tears came anyway. And then great, gulping sobs as Hildie rocked her back and forth. Her aunt's voice soothed her, and the tinkling of her bracelets was a gentle music. Amanda breathed in the special scent of her aunt, the smell of roses and lavender. Hildie brushed the hair back from Amanda's forehead and kissed her.
"It's okay, honey," she said.
Amanda looked up at Aunt Hildie tentatively.
"It was so pretty. I thought the knob on top was real gold."
"Well," Hildie said. "Let's see, shall we? Careful you don't cut yourself on this glass."
Amanda spotted the gold knob peeking out from behind a box, still attached to the top of the bottle.
"It isn't gold, is it?" Amanda asked in a low voice.
Hildie turned it over in her hands. Amanda could see where the gold paint was worn off.
"No. Doesn't look like it is. But you know what?" She put down the broken bottle and clasped Amanda's hand. "It's always a good idea to check these things out. You never know when you're going to find something wonderful-maybe even better than real gold!
"Now, let's get a broom and dustpan and clean up this broken glass. And after that I have a hankering for a big oatmeal cookie and a glass of milk. How about you, honey?"
Amanda nodded, a tremulous smile growing across her tear-stained face.
* * * * * * *
Amanda walked downstairs to the shop, her knapsack slung over her shoulder. She'd be sorry to leave this place, with its interesting junk piled everywhere. Aunt Hildie was always getting more stuff, piles and piles of it. And it all had to be looked over, and sorted out into the good stuff and the junk. Every once in awhile, Hildie would yelp with delight and show Amanda something precious and valuable. Most times she couldn't see that it was any different from the other stuff that was just junk, but Hildie said she could learn to see it.
Mostly she'd be sorry to leave Aunt Hildie. She set her knapsack down on the bottom stair and sat down, not ready to go out front where Hildie was working at the cash register. Hildie treated her so nice, like her mother used to treat her. And she always smelled so pretty, like lavender. She liked to hug you, too. At first it kind of embarrassed her, all that hugging. But now she was used to it, and it was kind of nice too.
But that didn't matter. Her mother had come back last night late. Amanda had already gone to bed, but she could hear her mother talking to Hildie downstairs. She didn't hear what they said, but she could hear Hildie calling her mother Glory. It was such a pretty name, much prettier than Gloria.
Her mother had stopped calling herself Glory a long time ago. Back about the time when she changed, when she stopped smiling and being gentle. After she had married Richard Brady. Amanda wouldn't call him Daddy, and that used to be okay. He was nice when he first married her mom. But then he wasn't so nice anymore. And Mom turned into this person called Gloria, and she always seemed like she was afraid. She was afraid of Richard, especially if he was drunk. If she wasn't afraid, then she was angry. Usually she was mad at Amanda, because Amanda always did things wrong. She couldn't seem to help it, though she tried hard enough.
But sometimes Glory would come back, and her mother would be like her old self. Then everything would be all right for awhile. Amanda hoped that's how her mother was right now.
She sighed and stood up. Time to go.
* * * * * * *
"There you are, Amanda," Hildie said. "Can you give me a hand with this?"
She was moving a chair from one side of the aisle to the other. Amanda dropped her knapsack and grabbed one side of the chair.
"Here we go," Hildie said. They heaved the big chair over three feet.
"Looks much better over here," Hildie said happily. "Don't you think so?"
"Umm-I guess so."
Hildie flopped down in the big, overstuffed chair. She patted the spot next to her.
"Sit down, sweetie. Tell me what's wrong."
Amanda sat down next to her aunt. The chair had a dusty smell that made her throat tickle. She whacked the arm of the chair with her hand and a little puff of dust came up.
"I'll have to bring out the industrial-strength vacuum for this one," Hildie laughed. "Come on, now. What is it?"
"Where's my mom?"
Hildie sighed and made a tsk-tsk sound. "Oh, dear. You heard Glory last night?"
Amanda nodded.
"She came back for you, Amanda. I want you to know that my sister is a good person and she loves you very much. But she isn't well. I had a long talk with her, and I could see that she's just-well, she's sick."
Amanda sat up straighter in the big chair. "What's wrong with her? Is she in the hospital?"
"No, honey. She isn't in the hospital. It's not that kind of sickness. It's her mind that's sick."
"Oh." Amanda thought for a minute. "Is she crazy?"
"Not crazy, exactly. Just not herself. I told her it would be better if you stay with me until she's well. Is that okay with you, honey?"
Amanda looked at Hildie with dawning hope. She saw the welcoming smile in Hildie's eyes, and a flood of relief washed over her. She could stay! She could stay here with Hildie.
"Yes! Yes! I want to stay with you."
Hildie hugged her quickly, and stood up. "Okay then. Let's have some breakfast. And then we're going to get you enrolled in school."
With all the commotion and excitement that followed, all the shopping for school clothes and the time she spent in the shop with Hildie, Amanda never quite got over one thing, even though she tried not to think of it. She had left her mother all alone with Bear.
CHAPTER 5
Present Day
Amanda turned off the windshield wipers and rolled down her window. Cool, damp air gusted into the warm interior of her car. The service station attendant, a young woman in overalls and a jacket with the collar turned up against the cold, strolled toward Amanda's car. This was one of Amanda's favorite things about Oregon: no schlumping out of your car to pump your own gas. No self-service gas stations of any kind. Another favorite thing was the rain. No dried out, brown landscapes in the Willamette Valley, which was carpeted with lush forests and greenery everywhere you looked.
"Hi," Amanda said. "Fill it with regular, please. And put it on my card." She opened her purse to get her Visa card, and felt a little lurch when she saw the neat compartment with one empty pocket. She looked quickly through the cards and scraps of paper. No gold Visa card. She felt a moment of panic, as if the missing card was an impossible catastrophe.
"You want it on your card?" the girl's voice snapped her out of her momentary paralysis. She immediately regained her composure, a little embarrassed at her over-reaction.
"Um, no. I must have lost it. I just used it a minute ago." She'd probably left it at the store when she bought the ring. Amanda looked briefly at the tarnished silver ring she'd bought at Hildie's. She'd impulsively decided to wear it, though it left a dark smudge around her finger. She'd have to talk to Hildie about the clerk she'd hired. What was his name? Alan something. Alan Trotter, that was it. Selling a ring in this condition was really inexcusable. But it was a pretty, unusual piece, with a delicate etched design surrounding a furled scroll. It had struck a chord in her when she found it hidden in a jumble of old costume jewelry. It would be lovely when it was cleaned up properly.
"Never mind." She smiled at the girl, whose indifference to Amanda's misplaced credit card was evident. "I'll pay cash."
A quick call on her cell phone confirmed that she'd left her card with the clerk when she bought the ring. Now she'd have to backtrack ten miles to retrieve it.
Damn! She'd be late for her first meeting with Leland's parents. That was all she needed today. She'd carefully planned how the meeting would go, even to the extent of taking the afternoon off work so she could get ready. Her plan didn't include walking in late. The only reason she'd stopped at Hildie's in the first place was to kill an hour before she met Leland. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She had also hoped the familiar, welcoming warmth of the shop and its owner would bolster her confidence. But Hildie hadn't been there. Maybe she should just leave the card and get it later.
Amanda looked briefly at her watch in the fading afternoon light, undecided. She really hadn't liked that clerk, and she didn't want to leave her card with him. If she hurried, maybe there'd be enough time.
She thought about Hildie as she drove east on Brandon Road. If only she'd been at the shop. Leland had just proposed to her, and she wanted-needed, Hildie's blessing. Her life was becoming everything she'd hoped for. She had a great job as curator at Pittock Mansion, a wonderful apartment in Northwest Portland, a little money in the bank, and now Leland wanted to marry her! Who would have thought that Leland Worth, whose family had vast real estate holdings as well as two hotel chains prominent in the Northwest, would fall in love with her? Amanda Poole, who grew up in the rooms over Hildie's Curio Shop. She still felt a bit intimidated by his wealth and social status. She should be happy, but instead she was anxious and uncertain. She'd never told Leland about her mother, let alone her stepfather.
Instead, she'd brushed up on Japanese art history in an effort to impress Leland's father, whose art collection had many pieces rivaling those in museums. She hoped her background in art history would give them some common ground, even though Leland had warned her not to expect much. His parents were a tough sell, as he put it.
Heavy thunderclouds filled the sky overhead and matched her dark mood perfectly. She glanced at her watch and squinted to make out the hands on the small, oval face. It was another expensive, impractical gift from Leland.
As she expected, it was almost 4:30. Time hadn't stopped or, better yet, reversed direction in the five minutes since she last checked. Amanda slowed slightly as the road banked into a wide left curve and skirted a verdant, cultivated field under lowering skies. She turned the windshield wipers up a notch as the rain began to obscure her vision. As a child she had loved the rain in all its myriad forms-the cool mist that tingled gently against her skin, or the downpour that took her breath away and made her heart pound with excitement. The Oregon rain had soothed and nourished her through those years, as though she were a tender green plant pulling the moisture up through her roots. And Hildie, of course. Hildie had been her safe harbor through the darkest storms of her childhood.
But that was then. This was now. And now the rain was a damned nuisance. She just wished for dry pavement and a clear view so she could pick up her credit card and still meet Leland's parents on time.
Amanda saw a car coming toward her in the distance, the first car she'd seen since leaving the service station. Thank heavens traffic was so light. She glanced down at the speedometer. She'd put all-weather tires on the Honda and felt them hugging the road solidly. Still, 70 mph was too fast for the slick pavement, much faster than she'd normally drive in this kind of weather.
She looked up at the road again and gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief as a wave of adrenaline slammed through her.
The car she had seen before was coming directly toward her, in her lane of traffic, its headlights shining weakly in the gloom.
She restrained her impulse to slam on the brakes, sure she would lose control if she went into a skid. The Honda raced inexorably forward, toward the other car, though she'd taken her foot off the gas pedal. All her senses came alive in a desperate attempt to make the right choice.
Amanda was suddenly thrust into a horrible reality where time ballooned out grotesquely. Her surroundings, barely noticed an instant before, were now the sum total of her existence: the rain-soaked field on her left; a stand of tall trees to her right; the dark clouds pressing down from above; the slow, impersonal slap of the windshield wipers. The narrow shoulder on her right that dropped off out of sight. How far? She had no idea. And the car looming in front of her, a blue car. Instinctively she turned the steering wheel slightly to the right, hoping to slip past the car without flying off the road. To her horror, the oncoming car drifted further to the right, matching her movement.
He's lost his steering. He's drifting-oh God! I should have turned left!
She slammed on her brakes and felt the car start to slide.
There was no time-
Amanda heard a strangled voice saying, "Oh God, oh God, oh God-"
Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles white, as the moment stretched out endlessly. She made out two terrified faces in the car that was now huge in her vision.
Her last thought was that she was definitely not going to meet Leland's parents today.
* * * * * *
"Amanda."
The voice was rich and low-pitched. The warm, velvety sound filled her with a sense of infinite peace. It was a stranger's voice, coming from somewhere very near. More than anything, she wanted to hear that wonderful sound again. She had barely formulated the thought when the voice came again, as comforting as a loving touch.
"Amanda."
She put her hand to her cheek, as if to catch the hand that caressed her there. If this was a dream, she didn't want to wake up.
She opened her eyes and stared uncomprehendingly at the green meadow before her. The entire expanse of green, luxuriant grass seemed to glow from within, seemed to vibrate with a host of colors that somehow resulted in green, but not a green that she'd ever seen before. Her eyes lifted and she gasped.
The sky!
Limitless, achingly beautiful blue sky, awash in every color, glowing with light. She raised her arms in an unconscious gesture of joy, unaware of the tears streaming down her cheeks.
She was part of the light in some profound way. Amanda looked at her hands, lifted above her head, and slowly lowered them. They glowed with a radiance that shocked her.
For the first time, she looked at her surroundings with doubt. The unearthly meadow, a dark stand of trees caught in shimmering, slanting light, and a road that stretched off in either direction. The road seemed ordinary enough, except-
No. It wasn't ordinary pavement. Like everything else, when she examined it, it glowed as though lit from within.
What is this place? How did she get here?
"Amanda. You must go back."
The same voice again. Not a stranger's voice after all. A voice that resonated in her memory and filled her with longing. She turned, an expectant smile warming her face.
* * * * * * *
Amanda came slowly to herself and shivered at the cool pinpricks of rain on her arms and scalp. Surprisingly, she was alone. She stood on the gravel shoulder of a road. The slanting light of late afternoon barely illuminated the field in front of her. Disappointment coursed through her as she looked at the neatly cultivated field, gray in the fading light. Ordinary light, fading to dusk.
What had happened to her? Who had called her name?
Already the sense of recognition was fading.
The stillness was as eerie and unnerving as her utter confusion. She heard a metallic ticking sound that she couldn't identify. The sound set her on edge. It didn't belong in this peaceful setting. Something wasn't right.
She became aware of a strange odor that competed with the rich smell of damp earth; a sharp, chemical odor that didn't belong here either. It grated on her nerves just as the mechanical creaking noise had, forcing itself into her awareness-
Gasoline!
It came back to her in a rush, a horrific flood of memory. The wet road, the blue car, and-the crash? There must have been a crash, but she didn't remember it. She turned her head slowly to the right, toward the ticking sound.
Her car, or what was left of her car, lay on its side about twenty feet from her. The gravel embankment sloped away gently to a shallow gully and a fence. Her car had taken out about fifteen feet of fencing, the barbed wire and wooden stakes wrapped around it in a grotesque jumble. The entire front end, including the passenger compartment, was twisted and crushed to a fraction of its original size.
But I was wearing my seatbelt, she thought. How did I get out?
She took a few, tentative steps toward the car, unable to comprehend what had happened. What was still happening-a booming explosion shattered the silence as her car burst into flames. The sound hurt her eardrums. She winced and stepped back a few paces, then stood and stared dumbly at the burning wreckage.
I couldn't have gotten out, she thought. Amanda looked down at her body, lit garishly by the billowing flames in front of her. Her neat black slacks and linen blouse, wet now with rain. Her bare forearms were crossed tightly over her chest. There wasn't a scratch on her. Not a tear, or a drop of blood. It couldn't have happened. She couldn't have gotten out of that car alive, let alone-
Her already battered senses careened a notch further as a thought made its way to her conscious mind.
"I'm dead," Amanda thought. "I didn't get out, and this is what it feels like to be dead." She crept forward, closer to the burning car. The heat was intense. She stopped ten feet away, shielded her face with her hand and tried to look inside the car. Despite the light rain, the driver's side was now fully engulfed in flame. Waves of superheated air and smoke from melting plastic and upholstery made it difficult to breathe. She took another step forward, eyes streaming, trying to make out the front seat through the flames. She had to see inside.
A high-pitched laugh escaped her throat as she realized what she was doing. Trying to look inside a burning car to see her own corpse.
It was no use. She couldn't get close enough.
Then she heard the screaming.
A woman's scream, louder than any human being should be able to scream, coming from behind her. The sound was heartbreaking, horrifying-yet it had a steadying effect on Amanda. She forgot her burning car and what it might contain. Her thoughts firmly under control, she turned and ran toward the blue car.
It was upright, at least. At first glance, the shiny SUV seemed almost undamaged. The front left fender was crumpled and the car seemed askew, as though it was a reflection in a carnival mirror. It hadn't rolled over like hers, and thankfully, there was no smell of gasoline. Amanda saw the woman struggling to open the door, her screams weaker now. Amanda rapped on the window.
The woman turned a white face to her, her cries abruptly cut off. Her dark eyes seemed huge against the pallor of her skin. Blood ran down from her hairline across her forehead.
"I'm going to try to open the door," Amanda said.
"You have to help my husband," the woman said quickly. "I can't wake him up."
Amanda looked at the man slumped across the steering wheel. His head was tilted away from the window, and Amanda felt an inward dread. The driver's window was a spider web of cracks, with a dark, viscous substance smeared across it.
She pulled on the door, but nothing happened. Another look at the driver gave her pause.
"Do you have a cell phone?" she asked.
The woman stared at her blankly for a moment. Then her words penetrated. Amanda could see hope flaring in her eyes.
"Yes! Yes, in my purse." She pushed aside a large piece of gray plastic-Amanda realized it was a deflated airbag. The woman bent over and rummaged through debris on the floor of the car. "Thank God!"
Amanda felt a surge of relief as the woman dialed 911. At least they would get help now.
"Push on the door while I try to open it," Amanda said to the woman. The door scraped open with a screeching sound and the woman pulled herself out of the car. She was crying now, talking and sobbing at the same time.
"We've got to help Frank." The woman clutched at Amanda's arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "I don't know what's wrong with him. I don't know why he-"
Sobs shook the woman's small frame. "He just, he just drove right into the other lane!"
Amanda took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Don't worry about that now. Let's see if we can get him out."
The driver's door opened more easily, though the sound of metal grating against metal made Amanda's teeth ache. At the sound, the figure in the car stirred.
"Frank? Honey? Can you hear me?"
The woman knelt inside the opened door and put her hand gently on her husband's knee. He groaned, and she quickly took her hand away.
"Frank?"
Amanda stood behind her, uncertain. The man moved in slow motion. He raised his head slightly, then gripped the steering wheel and pulled himself up a bit. He ignored his wife, who crouched next to him expectantly. His gray eyes were cold, as deep and empty as a vast pit. Yet he seemed strangely composed as he looked directly at Amanda.
"You're not dead," he said. The strange words carried an undercurrent of familiarity and malevolence that she was at a loss to understand. "You should be dead."
"Frank?" his wife asked again, her voice rising. Amanda could see the woman was on the edge of hysteria.
"Sir, are you all right?" Amanda asked. "Can you get out of the car?" She touched him on the shoulder.
At her touch, his scream filled the air with a deafening rush of noise. Amanda jerked back as though he had struck her. Her hand tingled unpleasantly, and she felt dizzy as a series of terrible images flashed through her mind, too fast to make sense of them. She swayed on her feet and steadied herself against the car door. The man fell against the seat back and lay still.
"What did you do to him?" the woman screamed at her.
"Nothing. I-"
"Let me help you," a masculine voice interrupted her. She looked up to see a gray-haired man approaching them, his rumpled raincoat flapping behind him. She saw his car parked nearby, though she hadn't noticed it pull in. "I'm Detective Martin. Just heard the dispatch. An ambulance will be here in a few minutes."
Amanda backed away from the car. The woman stepped aside, but clutched at his arm as he bent over her husband.
Amanda started to shiver as she stood there, momentarily forgotten. Her eyes were riveted to the unconscious man in the car, whom she had never seen before. Why had it seemed as though he knew her?
* * * * * * *
He hovered near the ruined car, a dark presence, seething with anger and frustration. He watched as the paramedics carried the pitiful, whining maggot of a man on a stretcher to the ambulance.
She wasn't dead! How had it happened? He had forgone the infinitely sweet pleasure of the kill, the immense satisfaction he would have derived from crushing her life out with his own hands. Experience had made him wary. Such pleasures had weakened him in the past, so he'd decided to kill from a distance this time. What had gone wrong? All his years of planning, all his effort, all his strength wasted in this failed attempt. It had drained his energy as surely as if he'd plunged a knife into her heart and bathed in her blood.
Now he was as insubstantial as the smoke circling up from the wreckage of her car. Amanda Poole should have been in that car-not standing by the side of the road talking to a policeman. Standing there. Alive.
He had been cheated again. She should be strapped into the driver's seat, her body a charred and blackened thing.
His anger spewed over and he howled with rage, a black, soundless shriek that echoed around him and fell away, harmlessly.
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