Shadow Train by J. Gabriel Gates Page B

mother’s half-eaten New York strip steak sat on a plate nearby. The steak knife lay discarded on the floor near her feet. Even without picking it up, Maggie could see blood on its edge.
    â€œLet me see,” Maggie commanded, gently taking Violet’s injured arm and pulling her fingers away from it. A thin stream of blood drizzled from the wound, and Maggie felt her stomach turn.
    â€œOh, Mom!” she shouted, and she grabbed the linen napkin off the table and hurried to bind up the cut.
    â€œI wasn’t trying to hurt myself, Maggie. I swear! I fell asleep—I—and when I woke up, I was bleeding.”
    â€œMom . . .” Maggie began, but she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to chastise her mother. In the long progression of Violet’s mental illness, this was a new low. But what was the point in yelling at her? Violet had never understood or cared how her erratic actions affected Maggie, and anyway, the priority now was to get her medical attention.
    â€œWe have to get you to the clinic in Benton,” Maggie sighed. “I’ll get my purse.”
    â€œNo! Just call Master Chin.”
    Maggie rolled her eyes. “He’s an old kung fu teacher, Mom. Not a doctor.”
    â€œHe’s a healer, and he’s better than anybody over in Benton,” Violet said defiantly. “And anyway, I’m not leaving. I have too much work to do.”
    Maggie couldn’t keep the disdain out of her voice. “Work? On what, the tapestry? In case you didn’t notice, Mom, it’s ruined. Just like my night.” She tried to swallow the bitter thought: Just like all my nights, trying to take care of you.
    At the mention of the tapestry, they both glanced at it. This design was huge. It was by far the largest tapestry her mother had ever undertaken, and she had been working on a small section in one corner when the “accident” had happened. As Maggie stared at the bloodstained cloth, a bizarre realization struck her. The scene her mother had been working on was of a young man lying prostrate in an alleyway. Violet’s blood had stained the canvas in such a way that it looked like the blood was seeping from the body, onto the ground beneath it. The design wasn’t ruined, Maggie realized with morbid fascination. Quite the opposite—the blood had completed it.
    She knew from overhearing conversations between her mother and Master Chin that the scenes depicted in the tapestries sometimes seemed to reflect things that were really happening in Middleburg or things that were going to happen. And she didn’t care to imagine what ramifications this image might hold.
    Maggie studied the creepy scene for a moment longer and then blinked and shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the image from her mind. “I’ll call Master Chin,” she said.
    * * *
    Zhai sat in the flickering candlelight in Kate’s train car. They’d finished the dinner she’d prepared on her new electric stove, talked for a while, and then Zhai had shown her how to load the dishes into the dishwasher he’d had installed as a surprise while she was staying at Lily Rose’s. He’d had the whole place decked out while she was away.
    When he’d flipped a switch and the lights had come on (thanks to the gas-powered generator) her sudden, awed intake of breath was captivating. She squealed with delight when he turned on the faucet of the new sink and water flowed through it from a well he’d had drilled. She was thrilled with the stove and the small refrigerator, too. In her little living room section, he’d placed a Bose iPod SoundDock that played romantic music throughout their meal. He’d had a bathroom installed, complete with a shower, and there was even a 3-D HDTV mounted to the back wall of the car connected to a satellite dish affixed to the roof.
    She’d been especially delighted with the television set, but they hadn’t