Lightning Strikes (Hudson 2)

"She says she hopes you feel better quickly," I offered. "Let me speak to that woman as soon as you're finished," she ordered.

"I've got to go, Mrs. Hudson. Please call to let us know how you are doing. Your sister would like a few words with you," I added. "Thank you for calling."

"I don't know if I have the strength to listen to her, but put her on or she'll make your life miserable," Grandmother Hudson said.

I handed my great-aunt the receiver and used the opportunity to slip out of the room before she could question me about my conversation with my grandmother. After I closed her bedroom door behind me, I took a deep breath and started down the stairs. When I had left my father's home and family, I started to hope that I could become part of his life, part of their lives. I even fantasized that I would eventually move in to live with them, continue my training, and eventually become a citizen of England as he had. Grandmother Hudson would come over frequently to see me in major theater productions and I would return to America to star in movies and on the stage. What d

reams.

Are people like me more susceptible to dreams and fantasy? I wondered now. Are they like germs and viruses? Do we have less of an immune system when it comes to illusions? Surely people who are content with themselves, their identities and their lives don't spend as much time imagining another life, another identity. They don't need the avenues of escape. They're not trying to run from themselves.

Would I always be like this? Maybe it would drive me mad and I would lose all sense of what was real and what was not. Yes, Grandmother Hudson was giving me good advice. Brush away the fantasies and concentrate on what you're there to do, she'd advised. She was right. I would not return to my father's home. It was like visiting a dream, but I'm awake now, I thought, awake and ready to deal with cold reality.

Maybe that was a vain hope as well for at the bottom of the stairway, glaring up at me sternly, was Boggs, his hands behind his back.

"Mr. Endfield wants to see you immediately," he announced.

"Everyone wants me immediately today:' I muttered and turned to go to my great-uncle's office.

"No," Boggs said. "Not that way. Follow me:' he commanded and opened the front door.

"Where are we going?"

"Just step lively," he ordered and waited for me to go outside. I did so and he closed the door and led the way around the house toward the cottage. My heart felt as if it was made of ice and was sliding slowly down into my stomach. In daylight the cottage didn't look anywhere near as ominous and mysterious as it did in the evening with candles lit behind the translucent curtains, but I couldn't help thinking of myself as crossing from one world into another, perhaps into someone else's fantasies and dreams.

Boggs stopped at the door and knocked. He gazed at me disdainfully and rocked on his heels, but I refused to let him intimidate me with those cold gray eyes.

My great-uncle opened the door and smiled.

"Oh. Thank you, Boggs. Please come in, Rain," he said stepping back.

He was wearing a pair of dark, silk slacks, black leather slippers, a burgundy smoking jacket and held a white meerschaum pipe. It had either just gone out or hadn't yet been lit.

Boggs started away and I entered the cottage. I hadn't seen it all through the windows at night. The small sitting area had two beige oval rugs over the dark wood floor. There were two settees, a threeseater and a two-seater, a small butler's table and some antique lamps. The fireplace had white marble around it.

"I actually built this little cottage for my daughter. It was going to be her dollhouse," my Greatuncle Richard said sadly. Then he smiled. As you'll see, I've improved it a bit over time."

He led me farther in. From the sitting room, a flagstone hallway led to the small kitchen and dining area with its timbered pine ceiling. The cottage had only the one bedroom with its wrought-iron double bed, a large mirror-fitted wardrobe and some small tables. I saw immediately that the bedroom had been changed. It still had the pink and white wallpaper with the cartoon characters, but gone were the dolls on shelves, the small mauve-colored desk and chair, and the storybook pictures. In their places were a much larger desk and chair, old theater and movie posters on the walls and some young-adult magazines on the desk and shelves. Some of the magazines looked years old, but there were a few that looked recent.

The vanity table had new brushes and combs, bottles of perfume and bath powders. There was also a tray of makeup with a variety of lipsticks, eye shadow and eyeliner. I noticed that the comforter and the pillowcases were different as well. In short, everything looked like it belonged to someone more mature, as if the little girl who had lived here had grown up overnight.

A flutter of panic made my heart skip when I turned and looked back at Great-uncle Richard. He had a strange, twisted smile on his lips and was staring at me madly.

"It's nice, isn't it? Sort of what I imagined her room would be if she was your age," he said in a soft, dreamy voice. "Well," he said, looking around and brushing back his hair, "I guess we can start."

"Start?"

"I thought I'd take advantage of the abrupt change in plans today, especially since everything is ready. I didn't expect Mrs. Endfield to get sick, but since she has why not make good use of the opportunity?" He crossed the bedroom and opened the closet. "I've chosen these dresses carefully," he explained, stepping back so I could see them all. "Each fits a different sort of social occasion, from casual to formal."

I crossed to the closet and looked at the dresses. The first had a faded department store tag and when I held out the dress and looked at it, I realized it was not a very recent purchase. It wasn't really my size, but a size too small.

"Are you saying you bought these dresses for me?" "Of course," he said.

"But these would all be too tight on me," I said. "Why did you buy clothes without knowing my exact size?"

"Oh, don't worry about how it looks, my dear. The only one seeing you in any of this will be me, and yourself of course, but just consider them all to be costumes."

"Costumes?"