Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

zenith, the tin roof rusted, gray siding boards askew and pocked with knotholes. The image tickled the back of her mind. But that wasn't quite right. Her memory of the scene was nearly a negative, of the barn in a colder light. The barn against the darkness.
    "Jeez, you’d think they'd buy a lawn mower," Mitchell said.
    Julia bit her thumbnail.
    "Now that's what I call progress," Mitchell said. He pointed off in the distance, through a gap in the red-leafed maples. Bulldozers and trucks were parked on a large leveled plain of dirt. "The city needs to expand the tax base out this way. They're running sewer and water at a few hundred a foot, but these crappy houses provide zilch for valuation."
    Julia stared into the black throat of the barn. What? What?
    If only Dr. Forrest were here.
    "Well, honey, look on the bright side," Mitchell said, walking away from her to the edge of the lot. "I mean, I know it's terrible what happened to your father, but at least you were lucky enough to be adopted by wealthy people. If you had grown up here, we probably never would have met."
    The barn. Something from that night, the night of the skull ring and altar.
    "Honey?"
    The barn, stone, chanting, hoods. Bad people.
    A hand touched her shoulder, and she yelped and turned.
    Mitchell stood with his hands out, mouth open, as startled as she. "Huh?"
    Julia put her hands over her face.
    "Jeez, honey, why are you so jumpy? I knew we shouldn't have come out here." He stepped toward her. She moved away to the fence.
    "Why can't you leave the goddamned past alone?" he shouted. "It's no good, and it never has been."
    He adjusted his tie below his red face. "Why in the hell do you do this to yourself? Why do you do it to me ?"
    She looked away from him, out across the pasture. The barn's shape blurred with her tears. She felt on the edge of a great rift, her balance thrown, as if one of the earth's plates were breaking off and carrying her away. She gripped the fence, wanting to hang on to this world. Even with all its pain and troubles, it was the world to which she belonged.
    If Mitchell came to her now, hugged her, she would let him. She would hug him back. She would leave this place and its memories, accept the safe life Mitchell offered, give up the senseless fleeing to Elkwood. She would go back to Lance Danner, no, she would get another therapist of Mitchell's choosing. And with the new therapist, she would only work on the present problems, the day-to-day ones that led forward to the future.
    She would never look back. As much as she could avoid it.
    "Maybe someday I'll understand," she said hollowly. "And someday I can make you understand."
    "Someday," Mitchell mocked. "Well, we don't have a lot of 'somedays' left, so you'd better make up your mind."
    She started to turn to him, to let him see the tears, but she knew that would weaken him and make him ashamed. Which Mitchell was real, the one that shouted at her or the one that caressed her tears away?
    She continued staring across the pasture, at the golden-seeded grass that rippled in the breeze. It was a soft sea, a place that drowned memories. For only a moment. Because the barn floated like a dark ship on its surface.
    She heard Mitchell stalk away and slam the door of his Lexus. She gave him a chance to drive away, knowing he wouldn't. She waited until the continents drifted back together, until the ground was stable under her feet. Then, without looking back at Mitchell, she stepped over the fence and headed across the pasture.

 
     
    CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    The interior of the barn was dim, even with the door open and the siding planks warped enough to admit slices of light. The support posts and boards were gray with age, and the hayloft floor sagged overhead. The place smelled of moldy hay and the dust from dried manure. Beneath that lay the odor of animal fur, even though the stalls had stood empty for years.
    As she entered, the shadowy corners crawled toward her like legless things, dragging memories as if they were sacks of dead animals. Her feet moving across the dirt floor made a sound like the slithering of serpents’ tongues. She shivered even though the air was humid and still. Julia hugged her arms to her chest, afraid to go forward but unable to stop herself.
    She had been here before.
    The scars on her stomach throbbed.
    She knelt, light-headed, as if she were going to vomit. Her ears rang with a high, piercing whine. Her heartbeat doubled its pace.
    Panic.
    The