“I don’t have the answers yet,” Rafe insisted gently, his eyes so sharp in the frail morning light, so intent. “I just know that this is where I have to be.”
Gen’s shrill laugh startled even her. She shook her head, as if she could rid herself of the panic that bubbled. She loved him. Dear, sweet God, she loved him so much, and that was impossible. It was all impossible, and yet she couldn’t offer any explanation that would make more sense.
“I have to call Annie,” she said and turned away to get her raincoat.
He followed. “No, Gen. You’re too upset.”
She spun around to face him, wishing she could explain. He had no memory, so he didn’t realize how completely wrong all this was. How Gen knew that only Annie would be able to pin her to the ground, where she could sort all this out again.
“He’s trussed up like a Christmas goose,” Gen insisted with a wild wave of her hand that took in the attic. “He can’t hurt me. Besides, the storm’s easing up.”
“It’s eased,” Rafe retorted, grabbing her arm. “Not over. Why don’t you wait a bit?”
Gen begged for understanding with her eyes, panic escaping into her voice. “I don’t think I can. I need to hear her voice, Rafe. I need her to know I’m all right. Don’t you understand?”
For the longest moment, he simply watched her. Considered her words with frowning eyes. Gen felt his gaze as if it were a caress, slow and warm and familiar. The soft probing of sunlight against closed lids. But, finally, he nodded.
“I’ll come with you.”
Gen was already stuffing breaking-and-entering tools into her pockets. “I’ll be fine.”
Was she afraid that he would carry the unreality of this place with him if he came? She didn’t know. She just knew she needed space right now, and this was the only way.
Rafe was still struggling to get into his boots when Gen walked out the back door. She refused to listen to his protests, couldn’t wait for him to join her.
The surf was still violent. Rain slanted hard against debris-strewn sand. The wind was like a living thing as it tormented plant and water alike, and the station was two miles away. Gen didn’t consider it. She just turned north and walked. She didn’t hear anything but the wind and the crashing of the rain and surf. She didn’t see anything but the next few steps in front of her. She didn’t hear the door slam as Rafe ran out of the house, or his sudden, frantic call to her that he’d remembered.
She had to get to that radio. She had to find the rest of the world—the rest ofherworld. Gen had never felt so panicked, not even that day when she’d searched in vain for her father, when she’d known deep inside that he wasn’t coming back. People had petted her and held her and telephoned her mother. They had sent the police after Jim Carson and found him dead of a heart attack, right there in the parking lot.
It was even worse than Eddie, worse than watching her friend dip under the water and never resurface.
It hadn’t been as bad as this. Gen couldn’t explain it, couldn’t defend it. She just knew that if she didn’t get to that radio, whatever gift she’d been given by a capricious past would be taken back. She knew that if she didn’t make sure it was all real, it wouldn’t have been.
She had to call Annie.
Gen reached what had once been the stream after fifteen minutes of walking. She looked into the torrent the storm had produced, at the deadly whirlpool it created with the raging surf, and turned inland, hoping for a better crossing. Her head down to protect her from the worst of the rain, she didn’t notice that she was walking toward a thick stand of trees. She didn’t see how the wind tortured them, bending and twisting the age-old limbs like string. She didn’t see the danger. She didn’t hear the frantic sound of Rafe’s voice as he ran toward her out of the rain.
“Genevieve, no! Stop! Michael didn’t kill you! You drowned!”
Just then, one of the limbs tore loose and hurtled toward her.
