with the bio on her website, only to have the photographer e-mail her and tell her they’d need to do the pictures again, the images were blurred. Lee hadn’t bothered with it at the time, hadn’t wanted to mess with it, and she probably wouldn’t have if Moira hadn’t kept nagging her about it.
With startling clarity, Lee recalled when she’d finally given in to Moira and agreed to let Jason take some new pictures for her to use on her site. Those pictures had been fine. Perfectly fine. She had loaded them onto her computer right after Jason had taken them. They had been fine. They would still be fine.
Gingerly, she placed the album on the ground and rose, wrapping her arms around her body. She was freezing. She felt so damn cold. Lee stood there in the middle of scattered pictures and albums and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Chilled to the bone, she turned away from the albums and walked to the office, one slow step after another.
The photos were going to be fine.
They were great pictures and everything was fine, she told herself as she walked into her office and crossed to her workstation. She sat down at her desk and opened the drawer.
Rifling through the scattered notes and paper clips, she looked for the envelope where she had put the disk with the picture files. Her hand was shaking as she put it into the disk drive, watching as the computer screen came to life, the flickering lights of her screensaver disappearing as she touched the key.
The sight of those lights touched another memory in her head.
That clouded sky. The lights behind a shield of dust, fumes and smog . . . Closing her eyes, Lee whispered, “Sweet heaven. I’m going nuts.” She had designed the screensaver from those lights, like the northern lights she’d seen when she went to Alaska. They’d amazed her, enthralled her . . . but these lights were different. Muted, almost broken. The lights seemed sad.
“I really have lost my mind,” she murmured. Covering the mouse with her hand, she opened the folder where the pictures were stored. She didn’t have to click on it any more than once before the sob that had been building in her throat tore free.
“No!” she screamed, standing out of her chair so fast it toppled over. With one vicious sweep of her arm, she knocked the keyboard, the mouse pad and the mouse from the under-the-desk platform, jerking the cords out with vicious pulls of her wrist, screaming as she hurled the keyboard across the room.
It landed with a clatter on the floor as she turned to stare back at the computer. All the thumbnail images stared back at her. And every single one was blurred, distorted, out of focus. She couldn’t so much as make out the color of her eyes. No .
Open your eyes . . .
Like a wind in the desert, the echo of the voice seemed to scorch her flesh, echoing all around her, echoing inside her head. She pressed her hands against her eyes and demanded, “What in the hell am I supposed to see?”
The world shifted under her feet. Lee gasped for air, throwing out her arms for balance. Noise assaulted her ears, and when she spun around to stare out the window, colors were so vivid, she felt as though she was staring through a kaleidoscope.
Trees seemed to glow, a golden light emanating from within. She could see each individual blade of grass. Hear the sound of a bird call. The ground still seemed to be trembling, but the leaves outside weren’t even moving on the trees. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. They were trembling, ever so minutely. A fly buzzed by and she whimpered as she realized that the fly was a good forty feet away. She could see it, so incredibly clear, as it landed on one of those minutely trembling leaves on one of the trees that seemed all glowy.
A wild laugh escaped Lee’s lips as she fell to her knees in front of the window, propping her arms on the sill, tensing as the wood seemed to pulse and throb under her arms.
Open your eyes . . .
Lee tried to stand
With startling clarity, Lee recalled when she’d finally given in to Moira and agreed to let Jason take some new pictures for her to use on her site. Those pictures had been fine. Perfectly fine. She had loaded them onto her computer right after Jason had taken them. They had been fine. They would still be fine.
Gingerly, she placed the album on the ground and rose, wrapping her arms around her body. She was freezing. She felt so damn cold. Lee stood there in the middle of scattered pictures and albums and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Chilled to the bone, she turned away from the albums and walked to the office, one slow step after another.
The photos were going to be fine.
They were great pictures and everything was fine, she told herself as she walked into her office and crossed to her workstation. She sat down at her desk and opened the drawer.
Rifling through the scattered notes and paper clips, she looked for the envelope where she had put the disk with the picture files. Her hand was shaking as she put it into the disk drive, watching as the computer screen came to life, the flickering lights of her screensaver disappearing as she touched the key.
The sight of those lights touched another memory in her head.
That clouded sky. The lights behind a shield of dust, fumes and smog . . . Closing her eyes, Lee whispered, “Sweet heaven. I’m going nuts.” She had designed the screensaver from those lights, like the northern lights she’d seen when she went to Alaska. They’d amazed her, enthralled her . . . but these lights were different. Muted, almost broken. The lights seemed sad.
“I really have lost my mind,” she murmured. Covering the mouse with her hand, she opened the folder where the pictures were stored. She didn’t have to click on it any more than once before the sob that had been building in her throat tore free.
“No!” she screamed, standing out of her chair so fast it toppled over. With one vicious sweep of her arm, she knocked the keyboard, the mouse pad and the mouse from the under-the-desk platform, jerking the cords out with vicious pulls of her wrist, screaming as she hurled the keyboard across the room.
It landed with a clatter on the floor as she turned to stare back at the computer. All the thumbnail images stared back at her. And every single one was blurred, distorted, out of focus. She couldn’t so much as make out the color of her eyes. No .
Open your eyes . . .
Like a wind in the desert, the echo of the voice seemed to scorch her flesh, echoing all around her, echoing inside her head. She pressed her hands against her eyes and demanded, “What in the hell am I supposed to see?”
The world shifted under her feet. Lee gasped for air, throwing out her arms for balance. Noise assaulted her ears, and when she spun around to stare out the window, colors were so vivid, she felt as though she was staring through a kaleidoscope.
Trees seemed to glow, a golden light emanating from within. She could see each individual blade of grass. Hear the sound of a bird call. The ground still seemed to be trembling, but the leaves outside weren’t even moving on the trees. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. They were trembling, ever so minutely. A fly buzzed by and she whimpered as she realized that the fly was a good forty feet away. She could see it, so incredibly clear, as it landed on one of those minutely trembling leaves on one of the trees that seemed all glowy.
A wild laugh escaped Lee’s lips as she fell to her knees in front of the window, propping her arms on the sill, tensing as the wood seemed to pulse and throb under her arms.
Open your eyes . . .
Lee tried to stand
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