"Is it far to the cabin?" He asked.
"Not now. We're almost to the turn off."
He lapsed again into silence, the old questions still whirling about in his mind. Who were the men who were after him? What did they want? How much had the FAA learned of the plane? Had they found something to pin it on him? What were these tiny, fleeting thoughts that cropped up in his mind? Was his mind trying to tell him something via the nightmares? And what of his best friend, Nolan Brice. Where has he been? What is he up to? It struck Nick as odd that he had not encountered the detective yet: surely he and Beth had been close the past year. How close? Suppose Brice stumbled upon Andy Hocum. Would the old man talk?
Feeling more helpless than he had ever felt in his life, at least the life he remembered, Nick stared at the road until Beth turned off on another road that was little more than a wagon track beside a small creek. A few minutes of bouncing over ruts and stones, and she turned off again, parking beside a grey, frame cabin.
"Here we are, darling."
They got out, each taking a box from the back seat, and Nick followed her up the stairs to the porch. Beth set her box down and found the key. A moment later the lock clicked and she shoved the door open.
"Wait'll I find the light, Nick," she whispered.
A moment later, the light snapped on and a soft glow filled the front room of the cabin. They took the boxes to the kitchen and set them on the table, then went back into the front room. Nick studied the place.
He liked the room a lot; there was a rugged manliness in the stone fireplace and the knotty pine walls, mingled with just a touch of Beth's femininity to make it neat. All in all, it was a well laid out place. He was attracted to the oil paintings that hung about the walls.
"Like it?" Beth asked.
He nodded.
"But it doesn't bring back any memories?"
"No. Hell, honey, I can't even remember what I did for a living."
She smiled sadly. "Want to see?"
When he nodded, she motioned him to the other side of the front room and opened the door. She flicked on the light and he stepped into a small study filled with the trappings of an artist. Tubes of paint lay on small tables, beside cans of turpentine, lacquer and old paint rags. A half finished nude adorned one of the heavy easels. There were a few water color sketches laying around as well as several oils.
"Want to see some of your favorite models?"
He nodded numbly, and she drew open a drawer in the table and pulled out four fairly large oil paintings done on commercial painting boards.
The first two were of Beth, one a nude and the other a semi-nude, with only her lovely breasts exposed. The second two paintings were of a girl who was not familiar at all. In the first picture, a portrait, she was seated before a table, contemplating a vase of flowers. A rather good looking girl with jet black hair and a soft, warm looking face. The next painting was of the same girl, but this time she had been painted as a Hawaiian dancer and her skin was a trifle darker. She was a pretty girl, but her face and nicely formed body didn't ring a bell.
"Who is she?" He asked.
"Her name is Janet Holman. She lives about four or five miles from here, on her father's farm." Beth nodded toward the green filing cabinet in the corner. "You have her file over there with your records. Doesn't any of this ring a bell, darling?"
"No."
She looked at him sadly, her face mirroring the way she felt. "I hope it'll come back, darling."
He reached out and pulled her to him, holding her tight. "It'll come back," he whispered. "C'mon. I want to build a fire in that fireplace. It's cool in here, even if it is summer."
They went back out into the front room and, while Beth found some kindling, Nick wadded up some newspapers and stuffed them in the fireplace. When she brought it in, he lighted the stuff and after it was going good, he added a couple of logs. He snapped off the light and grinned at her.
"I like firelight," he told her. "It's restful."
She smiled back at him. "Restful? I think it's sexy." She had kicked off her pumps and was lying before the glow of the hearth on the thick rug. He arranged the mesh screen before the fire and laid down beside her.
"Sexy, huh?"
"Uh huh. I don't know, darling ... the warmth of the fire warms me up, I guess."
He grinned and dropped his head to the cushions of her breasts. Her fingers played in his hair.
"I'm glad," he told her.
"You used to be. That used to be our favorite way of spending an evening."
"Laying in front of a fire?" Nick asked.
"Not just _any_ fire, darling. This particular fire, sans clothes."
"Sounds like fun," he mused and rolled over to kiss the ripe redness of her lips. Her tongue stabbed a blade of passion at him and her arms pulled him close; then, after a moment, she shoved him away and stood up.
He propped himself on one elbow and looked at her. Her smile was impish as she unfastened the buttons of the white blouse and pulled it from the waistband of the navy blue skirt. Her fingers unhooked the snaps of the bra and dropped it to the floor beside the blouse. The firelight was golden against the swelling lift of her breasts and the flat expanse of her stomach. Nick felt the thundering beginning again to slam through his veins with the holocaust of a napalm bomb exploding against the ground as she unzipped the skirt and dropped it into a puddle on the thick rug. He watched in pounding fascination as she stepped daintily from the whorl of the skirt, clad only in the pinkish transparency of her panties. Then they too were a thing of the past, and Beth was smiling down at him, passion spearing from her eyes.
"Will I still do?" She asked.
"Do what?" He croaked.
"You know?" She laughed at him, kneeling on the rug. "Will I still do as a model?"
He laid down flat and chuckled. "A model, sweetheart, is a small imitation of the real thing. You don't look imitation to me." He reached up and grabbed her arm to pull her down with him onto the rug, but she jerked away.
"Oh, no, you don't. You have to undress too."
He grinned at her and peeled off his clothes quickly. She came into his arms then and they made love, letting the glowing warmth of the fire caress them hotly. His hands smoothed her breasts while his mouth worked at the fire that was coming to life throughout her body.
"Just like old times?" He asked, softly.
"Better, darling ... much better."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sometime near midnight, Beth took the car and went home. Nick poured a cup of the coffee she had made for him and went back into the study to look at the paintings a second time. It was good, professional work, and he wondered if he could do the same stuff again. Hell, he decided, it'll be a long time until I get back at an easel. He finished the coffee and went up to bed.
It took awhile to get to sleep. Thoughts of the wrecked plane, Beth, the strange men and Nolan Brice kept running around in his head without finding answers to the enigmas they presented to him. Finally he slept.
* * * * *
He was looking at himself, in the dream, but it was not in a mirror. He was standing inside a polished room and the other Nick Danson lay on a bed wrapped in sleep. Nick blinked at the still duplicate of himself on the bed and turned away to look at the room he was in. It wasn't large. It appeared to be some kind of bedroom, and it was well lighted although there were no lights to be seen; the walls seemed to glow, and everything was of a bright metal. The mirror caught his eye and he saw himself in the same blue and yellow uniform that he'd worn before. The Danson who lay asleep on the bed was dressed in blue dress pants and a white shirt. The tie had been loosened at his throat and his clothing was wrinkled badly.
Suddenly the other Danson opened his eyes and looked at Nick. For a moment he appeared to be startled at seeing him, then he smiled. The smile erupted in a chuckle that became a laugh. The other Danson's face grew large and full, roaring out laughter at Nick until the whole scene changed from one of odd curiosity to one of absolute horror, the kind of weird horror that can come only from peals of loud, echoing laughter rolling through the caverns of the mind.
* * * * *
Nick awoke gasping, his fingers knotted in the sheets of the bed and a cold sweat beading out upon his face. His heart hammered in his chest like a drum, threatening to leap to his throat at any moment. He looked around anxiously for Beth, but the silence of the room reminded him that she had gone back to the city and her job. Dawn was breaking and the dim light filtered through the unwashed windows. There was little point in trying to sleep now. Might as well get his clothes on and try to start unraveling a long thread of odd events.
He pulled on his clothes slowly and slid his feet into his shoes, wondering where to begin the climb back to himself. It would be bad enough for an amnesia victim to regain all his memory if given an unlimited length of time - this way, with people closing in on all sides, the whole damned thing seemed impossible.