The Last Handful of Clover - Book 3: The Stone in the Stream

3.01 Nightfall

June 15, 9:20 pm

Panting at the dining room table, Michelle wondered if this was what soldiers felt after a sudden brush with death.

Ever since Richard died, her world, and the world of those she loved, had been spiraling ever further out of control. But that week paled in comparison to the last thirty minutes, which had been nothing less than a complete assault upon everything she thought she knew about the world. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago she had been blissfully unaware of a shadow side of reality—of a world far more complex and terrifying than she had ever dreamed was possible.

She looked now at her three wounded warriors, huddled with her in the dining room, and realized that they all had the same distant, confused, numb look in their eyes. The events of the past half hour had traumatized each of them in different ways. She had lost and then regained her husband. Keith had regained his lover, and then lost him all over again. And Pil had lost and regained his very self. It was a wonder that any of them had summoned the strength and courage required to stumble back into the house and lock the patio door.

And then there was Howard.

Allowing herself to stare at him, she realized that Howard Gunderson was still a mystery. His traumas and his journey began long before the events of the evening. And even though what happened tonight might not have been as much of a shock to him as it was to her, Pil and Keith, what he had been enduring had been much stranger, and more relentless.

He's barely more than a boy, she thought. But he wears burdens on his face that make him seem prematurely old and tired.

Michelle became aware that all three of them were now looking at her, as if she was the one that could tell them what came next. Somehow, they had come to a silent consensus that she would know what to do, and the desperation on their faces was tinted by a heavy shadow of fear.

How did I become the leader of these walking wounded?

Perhaps it was simply because she had been the one that recovered first, out there on the porch. She had gotten them all to their feet. She had hustled them indoors, helping both Pil and Keith to chairs at the kitchen table. Howard Gunderson had moved of his own volition, but he seemed on edge, like a cat in a cage. He'd paced back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room, looking as if he could jump out of his skin at the slightest noise.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, she knew that if she didn't get their minds focused and moving, they could all sink into either denial or inertia.

"Pil, why don't you go check the doors and windows," she suggested. "Make sure everything is locked up."

Howard stopped pacing and looked at her forlornly. "Locking doors isn't going to protect us," he said. "They're ghosts, for Christ's sake. They can walk through doors and walls."

"I understand that," she said, giving him a sharp look. "But I take it they're doing this by possessing living people. They can't walk through walls. So keeping things locked up makes sense."

"Everything's still locked," Pil said, his eyes focused on a distant point in space. "I checked it all about an hour ago. Before..." His voice trailed off.

So much had happened in that hour.

Without a word, Keith sniffed, and then stood up, grabbing a handful of cloth napkins from a stack in the center of the table. Michelle watched him, trying to ascertain how much damage had been done to his heart and his mind by what they had all just gone through. Oddly, he now seemed calmer than she had seen him since that horrible night two weeks ago. She watched his back as he left the dining room. She glanced at Pil, who finally focused his eyes, and she reached across the table for his hand. Together, they followed Keith and found him in the living room, on his hands and knees in front of the couch.