River of Dreams Read online

  RIVER OF DREAMS

  By Jenny Massie Lykins

  Previously published 1999 Jenny Lykins by Berkley/Jove

  Copyright 2013 Jenny Massie Lykins Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For Mom and Dad

  CHAPTER ONE

  “A séance? You’re kidding, right?” Brianne Davis eyed her lifelong friend and wondered exactly when he had lost his mind.

  “No! I’m serious. Beats the heck out of going to the movies again.” David Marks gave her his little boy let’s-do-it-because-it-sounds-like-fun smile that creased his cheeks with two quarter-moon dimples.

  She groaned. She’d never been able to turn down that smile. It had led her into trouble more than once.

  “Where are we going to find a séance?” She leaned back against the headrest and looked at him as the scenery sped past in a blur. As he stared straight ahead, his sandy brown hair whipping with the breeze, a sneaking suspicion niggled its way into her mind. “No, don’t tell me.” She knew before asking. “You already know a place, don’t you?”

  He continued to grip the leather-wrapped steering wheel of his sporty foreign convertible, rolled his eyes heavenward and whistled off-key. She punched him in the arm.

  “You turkey! You had this planned all along, didn’t you?”

  There came that smile again. If she had been any other woman, or he had been any other man, she would have fallen for that smile.

  “Okay. I admit it. But it was Heather’s idea. You know how she loves that kind of stuff. She and that guy she calls her psychic, Dufus, invited me to come along.”

  “His name is Dayus, and you know it. Some day you’re going to call him Dufus to his face.”

  “Oooo! And that would be a bad thing?”

  She just laughed and leaned into the leather seat. Heather and Dayus made a good pair. Heather Wilson-Thomas was about as phony as a person could get, and she seemed to think that her hyphenated name made up for Dayus deciding he had no need of a last name at all. He was simply Dayus. One of life’s biggest mysteries, though, was why in the world David Marks was engaged to Heather. It was a topic Brianne had learned to steer clear from, though. David’s friendship meant more to her than voicing her opinion. She had to simply give Heather the benefit of the doubt and assume she wasn’t really as shallow as a gnat’s wading pool.

  “So if you were invited, where do I come in?” she asked.

  He glanced at her, mock horror in his eyes. “You don’t expect me to go do this without someone to crack jokes with, do you?”

  “Oh, heaven forbid that you would take anything serious.”

  “Hey!” He screwed his eyebrows around until he looked sufficiently hurt. “I take lots of things seriously. Just not stupid stuff.”

  She rolled her eyes and dropped the subject. Anyone who did what he did for a living was entitled to be insane in his free time.

  “C’mon,” he said, that trouble-making grin back in place. “Whaddaya say?”

  She let out a huge dramatic sigh and decided she’d make him pay for this, one way or another.

  “Okay, then. I give. But where are we going?”

  David flicked off the radio and did a U-turn in the middle of the road.

  “There’s an old spiritualist camp out in the boondocks near White Castle. Heather said to meet them out there. Remember Bob Madden? His mother goes all the time, trying to contact her dead husband.”

  “You know someone who’s going there to contact someone? David Marks, you’d better be on your best behavior!”

  He just glanced at her, trying his best to look wounded.

  “Promise me!”

  He crossed his fingers on both hands and gave her a wide-eyed look of innocence.

  “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, you know that?”

  David nodded seriously.

  “Yes. You know, of all the things I’ve lost in life, I miss my mind the most.”

  Brianne just shook her head and smiled. How could someone so smart be so insane? Her life would be dull as dirt without David to drive her crazy. Dull as the past two years, since Shaelyn had…disappeared, since David had been in Russia working on that satellite business with the government. Thank God he was home now, even if it was to marry that bubble head, Heather.

  They headed for the country and Brianne sat back to enjoy the ride. It’d been ages since she’d gotten this far out of Baton Rouge.

  Birds squawked in the lacy green branches of the trees, settling down to roost for the night, and the pungent smell of damp earth, humid air, and lush foliage teased her nostrils. The setting sun splashed a watercolor of orange and pink and violet smears across the sky. Brianne watched the colors feather with fading beams of light until David turned down a dirt road and they bumped their way to a huge old plantation house.

  Her mouth dropped open at the sight.

  “This is it? This is a spiritualist camp? I visualized…I don’t know…a rustic lodge or tents or cabins or…anything but this!”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, woman.” David jumped over the door - Brianne was sure he hadn’t opened it since buying that car - unfolded a body too tall for a sports car, then bounded to her side. With a flourish, he flung her door wide and bowed. “Ahfta you, milady.”

  Brianne tossed her head and gave him a snooty once-over as she stepped out of the car.

  “Come along, peasant. Don’t dawdle.”

  They strolled up the walk to the white-columned mansion. The house, well-kept but aged, sat like a little old lady, regal yet ancient, clinging to the days of debutante balls. As Bri marveled at the beautiful old home, a final shaft of golden light from the dying sun arrowed through the alley of trees and lit the many windows with a deep gold blaze. She had the curious sense of being welcomed.

  When they reached the huge cypress door David hesitated, obviously not suffering from the same sense of awe as Brianne.

  “Let’s see. Was it knock twice, wait a second, then knock three times, or was it knock three times, wait, then knock twice?”

  She abused his arm again. He yelped dramatically, rubbed his muscle, then rapped out “Shave and a Haircut” with his knuckles.

  The door swung inward. A soft peach-tinted light poured across the porch and spilled into the yard in the clear violet twilight. Brianne had expected some scarf-bedecked Gypsy with foreign coins dangling from her costume and a crystal ball in her hand to wave them in mysteriously, or even a hoop-skirted Southern belle with an ivory fan to greet them. She did not expect the grandfather type with the cardigan sweater and shock of silver hair.

  “Mr. Conroy?” David’s right hand shot out and grasped the elderly gentleman’s at his nod. “Has Heather and Duf...Dayus gotten here yet?”

  Mr. Conroy glanced at Brianne and gave her a playful wink. “Why, yes. You must be the Marks boy. Heather told me you’d be coming.”

  Brianne slid an accusatory glare at David, who blatantly ignored her, pushing her through the front door into the foyer and tossing out a casual introduction.

  She stopped and gawked at the interior, spellbound by the opulence. Arched doorways, fifteen inches thick, rose nearly to the eighteen foot ceilings. Murals of the four seasons covered the walls of the entry hall. A chandelier dripped soft prisms
of light, the starry pinpoints reflected in floor to ceiling pier glasses.

  “We’re using the ballroom tonight,” Mr. Conroy told them. “It’s this way.”

  Brianne lagged behind David, trying to take in every detail of the magnificent old house. For all its grandeur, the place seemed so…homey. She craned her neck as they passed each doorway, catching glimpses of splendor, snatches of the Old South. She could almost hear the tinkle of a pianoforte, smell the pungent scent of mint juleps and expensive perfumes.

  “David,” she whispered and tugged on his arm, “I didn’t know this place was here. Why isn’t it on the home tour?”

  David glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. “I think it’s still a private residence.”

  “It is,” Mr. Conroy said as he led the way. “My Katherine, God rest her soul, and I raised our four daughters here.” He seemed no more impressed with his home than if it’d been a row house in the low rent district.

  The ballroom left Brianne speechless.

  White. Everything was white. Walls, floors, rich brocade draperies puddling on the floor with silk-fringed tie backs. White Italian marble mantels on the twin fireplaces. The only colors in the room were the bends of light from the crystal chandeliers and the colors in the portraits above the fireplaces. Early 1800s from the look of the subjects’ clothing. A woman on the left, a man on the right. They looked as if they were gazing at each other, yet their eyes seemed to follow Brianne around the room. She’d heard of these kinds of paintings.

  Weird.

  “David Marks! You rascal, you did come! Heather said you would.”

  A gray- haired grandmother in lilac double knit slacks and a flowered blouse separated from the small group in the center of the room and wrapped David in an affectionate bear hug. He squeezed her back, lifting her off the floor until she playfully ordered him to set her down.

  “You’re as big a brat as my Bobby.” She whacked him on the arm, but Brianne could tell the woman loved every minute of it. “Now who’s your little friend? Aren’t you the prettiest thing? Haven’t I seen you on TV?”

  Brianne smiled and mumbled yes. Her modeling job paid the bills while she studied to become a midwife. She’d never gotten used to being recognized from the commercials she shot. Mrs. Madden took her hand and patted it.

  “What lovely hair. Tell me. Are those sun streaks natural?”

  Brianne had to grin at such straightforwardness. “Oh, yes. They’re what naturally happens when you put peroxide on brown hair.”

  The older lady chuckled and whispered, “Never could get mine to do that.” She patted her hand again. “Now come over here and meet the gang.” She herded them toward the middle of the room, singing out, “Yoohoo,” on the way. The group of eight or so turned as one.

  “Gang, I want you to meet…oh dear. David, you didn’t tell me her name.”

  “Brianne Davis,” Brianne supplied on her own.

  Heather separated herself from the others and came to hang on David’s arm. She looked her usual perfect self. Perfect cornsilk hair without a hint of the mousy brown roots showing, perfect capped teeth, perfect silicone cleavage, perfect acrylic nails...none of which would have bothered Brianne in the least if Heather had had anything at all genuine about her personality. But the Heather introduced to people was more fake than the perfect rosy blush staining her cheeks. The only thing genuine that she could claim was the clear, violet shade of her eyes. And it infuriated her when people asked her if she was wearing contacts.

  “I’ll take over from here, Mrs. Madden,” she cooed, then dragged David closer to the group. She turned around and gave Brianne a big, perfect smile. “Well, come on, silly. You want to do this too, don’t you?”

  Brianne stifled the urge to gag. Instead she just blinked, looked behind her, then pointed to herself with a questioning look on her face.

  “You’re so funny, Bri,” Heather declared to the room. “Everyone, this is my fiancé, David, and his little friend, Brianne.” She hesitated only long enough to give her words subtle meaning. “I didn’t realize Brianne was coming.” She turned to the group and named them off, one by one. “This is Stuart, Alonzo, you’ve met William. And this is Martha, Chuck, Deidre, Debbie, and Maria. We won’t bother with last names until you get to know us better.”

  Brianne was surprised at the differences in the group. Some looked like professionals, a couple looked to be retired. At least two of them were younger than she and David.

  “Shall we get started?” one of the men asked. Stuart, if she remembered correctly.

  “We’re neophytes at this,” David offered. “You probably should give us some ground rules.”

  “Oh, it’s not as mysterious as they make it on TV,” Heather said as she pulled David to the table, still hanging on his arm. “Just open your mind, try not to break the circle, and concentrate.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mrs. Madden piped up. “We haven’t lost anyone yet.”

  “What about when Marcus Letterman fell out of his chair?”

  “Oh, you know he’d been tippling that night. He doesn’t count.”

  Brianne and David took seats beside each other while Heather sat on David’s other side. The group joked over who else they might have lost, but the minute they were all seated and joined hands, the mood turned serious and the room fell silent.

  Mr. Conroy, who insisted on being called William, lit several tall, white candles on the shiny mahogany table then turned out the lights of the chandelier. He sat down, took the hands on either side of him, then stared into the candlelight.

  “We are here tonight,” he began, “to make contact with the other side. To speak, once more, to those loved ones who have gone before us. We quiet our thoughts and open our minds to receive the spirit of our loved ones.”

  The room seemed eerily silent. It had to be just her imagination, falling into the “mood” of the evening. In the spirit of the group, she tried to open her mind and experience what it was these people actually felt.

  Everyone remained quiet. Brianne tried to look around without moving her head. They all seemed to be staring at the flickering flames dancing on the candles, so she gave it a try. The orangey-yellow lights undulated in her vision hypnotically. She could almost hear the hiss of the wicks burning.

  “Are there any spirits who can reach us?” Brianne almost jerked at William’s soft voice, but she managed to stifle the movement.

  The candlelight flickered. Brianne slid her eyes from side to side. She could see nothing but darkness past the dimly lit faces surrounding the table.

  “Are there any spirits who want to tell us something?” William prodded.

  The air literally buzzed with silence. Brianne glanced around the table again, then was horrified when a giggle started working its way up her throat.

  Oh, no! Not that! Not now!

  The harder she tried to suppress it, the more the giggle grew. Could she turn it into a cough? Would she break their concentration and make them all mad at her? The snicker rose in her chest like a bubble rising in a champagne flute.

  Oh, no! Oh, no! Think of something sad! Quick! Think sad!

  Against all her efforts, just as her lungs poised to shove the giggle into the silence of the room, someone gasped.

  Amid quickly muffled intakes of breath, all eyes flew to the side of the table where one of the ladies, Martha or Maria, stared over William’s head. Brianne followed her gaze and released a little gasp of her own.

  The room stood in tomblike silence as the image of a dark-haired, handsome man formed in the air behind William. The apparition remained misty in substance, yet fully formed.

  Brianne scanned the room for the flickering light of a projector, but all remained dark except for the candles. The trick couldn’t be done with mirrors. The only ones she’d seen were in the foyer.

  Once the apparition was clearly defined, he seemed to let his gaze fall upon each person at the table, one at a time. When his eyes turned to Brianne, she squeeze
d David’s fingers and tried to stop her knees from knocking together.

  Oh, gosh! This was where the branch of a tree was supposed to scrape against the window. Or a dog howl in the distance, or a trumpet float through the air. She waited but nothing happened. The apparition continued to study her. Chillbumps marched up her arms, across her neck, down her back.

  Why the heck hadn’t they gone to the movies?

  The more she tried to convince herself that the thing was a hoax, the more she realized it was impossible to manage. The spirit seemed illuminated with an inner light. And though he was clearly visible, the light didn’t cast itself any further than his body.

  Just when she’d gotten her trembling under control, the apparition moved closer, standing behind David.

  She feared she might break his fingers if she squeezed any harder, but for the life of her she couldn’t relax the death grip on his hand, even though her fingers had grown numb and her birthstone ring cut into her flesh. David twisted slowly in his seat, leaning as far away as he could from the specter without dragging Brianne with him, shooting a threatening stare at the shape.

  The misty vision stared at her with eyes the color of a summer sky. Eyes that seemed to bore right into her soul. As scared as she was, as much as she had to remind herself to breathe, she also felt a strange, inner affinity with this man. A kindred spirit, she thought, then grimaced at her pun.

  The kindred spirit looked to be in his mid thirties, with wonderful hair that fell in dark careless layers, and a jaw that might have been carved by a sculptor’s knife. If the spirit of the man could command such presence, what had the man been like in real life?

  The specter’s gaze finally left her and moved to David. He looked him up and down, then moved even closer. David glared at the spirit and leaned away into the table edge, then let out a low “Ohhhh” as the specter melted into him.

  Brianne tried to snatch her hand back, but the iron grip of David’s fist held her tight. When the apparition disappeared fully into her friend’s body, David sat back in his chair, his back rigid. Then he turned his gaze to Brianne.