Visions (Cainsville 2)

Saw what?

Saw it. That's all I knew, that the hounds and horses meant it was coming and I had to flee as fast as my legs would take me or--

"Olivia?"

I looked up. A man stood at the hall junction. He was maybe sixty. Fit and trim and handsome in a way that had me taking a second look, even though he was more than twice my age. My gaze went to his face, and it stayed there, as if transfixed

.

I knew him. That's what it was. I recognized him. He was . . .

I had no idea who he was. Just a good-looking older guy in a tux, smiling at me and holding two champagne glasses. But he'd said my name, and something about his face was so familiar . . .

An associate or acquaintance of my dad? That was my guess. He had that look--an older man smiling at me fondly, as if I was the daughter of a friend.

"It's good to see you again," he said as I walked over. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd come."

Someone who knew James, then. I smiled. "James talked me into it. Did you enjoy the dinner? The cheesecake was amazing. I stole most of his."

A smile. Indulgent and a little patronizing, as if to say, Small talk? I thought you were better than that.

"I mean, I wasn't sure if you'd follow me." He lifted the champagne glasses. "But I came prepared."

I felt as if I was standing on a boat, the floor bobbing beneath me, the very walls shimmering, not quite solid. Yet my brain clung to logic.

"Have we met?" I asked. "I'm sorry if I don't recognize--"

"You wouldn't. You were very young. I knew your parents, and I'm so pleased to see how well you've grown. They must be very proud."

"My father passed last year, but my mother is well, thank you."

His eyes glittered as he shook his head. Then he held out the champagne. "Let's enjoy this while we speak. It's quite good."

I stared at the flute, amber liquid popping within.

Don't touch it. Don't drink it. Dear God, whatever you do, do not drink that.

I shook my head. "Thank you, but no. I--"

"Why not?"

I started at his rudeness. "I've had enough, and--"

"That's not it at all." His dark eyes bore into mine. "You sense something."

I opened my mouth with a quick denial, but the words wouldn't come.

He's not some family friend cornering you in a back hall. You know that. So stop pretending. Look at him. What do you see?

I see a man. I hear hounds. I smell horses. I feel--

I feel terror and wonder, and I want to run and I don't want to run. I want to stay here and I want to drink the champagne and I want to say . . .

I want to say what?

"Something is telling you not to take what I offer. Taste the foods. Sip the wine. Never leave. Follow me forever. Is that it, Olivia?"

"I don't know what--"