The Multitude, стр. 29

“The camera app is new. I spent half an hour just figuring out how to get it to do this much.”

A little voice in Brewster’s head told him to shut up, play along, and keep the sexiest woman he’d ever met amused, but he couldn’t stop his brain from shooting a bolt of cynicism out his mouth. “So, where’s the proof of what you’re—”

“Look at the bed! I spread the newspaper so you could see the date and location. I’m sleeping in Syracuse, New York at the moment.”

Carla’s doggedness over something this ridiculous made his skin crawl. He grabbed the mouse and zoomed in on the paper. Syracuse Post Standard? “Wait. Last night, you said you walked here from Sanders Road. That’s here in Northbrook.”

“No, I came from Sanders Creek Parkway in East Syracuse, eight hundred miles away.”

Yeah, but the date on the newspaper was from 2012—a year ago. She’d recorded herself then, not now. Ha ha.

Carla shifted from foot to foot, arms hanging limp at her sides, far closer to tears than laughter.

He tapped the date on the paper. “I don’t get it, Carla. You filmed this a year ago.”

“What?”

If she truly believed she was in two places at once, what did that make her? Delusional? Insane? No way. Wildly eccentric maybe, but no worse than that. Just a woman in need of a steadying hand, especially after a couple glasses of surprisingly strong wine. In fact, he was beginning to feel tipsy himself. “Look at the wall calendar over the sink.”

“What are you talking about? I—” She gaped at the calendar for a long moment, then turned and headed out of the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve had too much to drink.”

Bingo.

“The bedroom’s upstairs, right?”

He came after her. “Yeah, but—”

Carla reached the stairs, wobbled, and slumped against the bannister. “We’re not having sex. We just met. I’m not a—”

“Shh… I know.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Easy.”

“It’s called bi-location.” She’d lowered her voice to a whisper, and her eyes took on the reverence of a nun in church.

“What?”

“Being in two places at one time. I looked it up.”

He helped her climb the stairs.

“I’ve done a lot of research lately,” she said. “Bi-location, schizophrenia…maybe I need to add a subject.”

“Sorcery?” With all of this commotion, they’d completely neglected the obvious question. How the hell did she vanish the night before?

“Time travel.”

Huh. What better bow to tie around disappearances, reappearances, and chiming doorbells in the dead of night? For a stomach-churning moment he almost went along with it.

But he shook his head clear of the fuzzies and returned to planet earth.

Carla stopped him at the guest bedroom doorway. “You’re catching me at a bad moment. If you plan on trying to tuck me in, that’s as far as it goes. Treat me like a…” She trailed off and leaned against him.

“I could slip a pea under your mattress and treat you like a princess.”

She kissed his cheek, and he eased her into the room.

Carla climbed into bed fully clothed. She rolled to the wall.

Brewster pulled the sheets over her shoulders. This woman needed protection. From what, he couldn’t guess. But premonition, instinct, a strong hunch, or whatever shouted at him to watch her back.

Keeping watch would have its advantages. Just being in the same room with Carla buzzed him more than a bottle of wine. He crept toward the chair by the window to take his sentry post.

The hardwood floor creaked beneath his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Just over here.”

“Spoon up behind me, and I’ll share my secrets.”

“Now you’re talking.” He came over and climbed in with her, respecting the dress code by keeping his shirt and jeans on. He shaped his body against her backside and settled a protective arm across her shoulders.

They rested together for such a long, quiet moment he thought Carla had drifted off. But she eventually started speaking in a soft voice, first about nothing—the legions of ladybugs appearing out of nowhere every October, the weather, the sharpness of the crescent moon she’d seen in the sky while standing on his porch. “Would mankind have evolved into a savage people if the moon were red instead of white?”

“Are you suggesting we aren’t a savage people?”

She didn’t argue the point, rambling instead about her shop and its scent of strawberries. Carla explained she didn’t sell berries of any kind, but the fragrances of different herbs combined into that singular aroma, and she even noticed the scent in her dreams sometimes.

She shifted around and faced him, eyes gleaming out of the shadows as she spoke about the mystery of dreams and what they might mean. She worked her way up to the description of a specific nightmare she’d been having—her struggle with a mysterious man in a subway station and her inexplicable urge to jump in front of a train.

“The last time I had the dream, I thought it might be from a previous life. But that makes no sense. Everything in the scene is modern.” She shuddered. “Let’s face it. This is my subconscious telling me I’m suicidal.”

He ran his fingers though her hair. “No, you aren’t. We could probably interpret that dream a hundred different ways.”

“I pay good money for a professional to tell me that. You need to come at this thing from a different angle.” She pulled a pillow over her head.

Brewster lifted it away. “You’re seeing a shrink?”

“I was afraid my minister would bring in an exorcist. Anyway, I’m sure you’ve noticed how crazy I am.”

“Not really. You’re eccentric and free-spirited.”

She giggled. “So, you think I’m a modern-day Tinker Bell?”

Good. He’d eased her mood. He ran his fingertips up and down the warm flesh of her arm. “Tinker Bell had a mean streak. I’m thinking more along the lines of a forest nymph.”

Carla went quiet.

“What?”

“You called me a forest nymph.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then listen to this.” She bounded past him, out of bed, and paced the room, describing her passage from