Mountains of Dawn

By Rene Natan

Why did I write Mountains of Dawn?
When I was a little girl my house was destroyed, causing my parents to take us to live in the countryside; for a while we were short of everything, including toys. The change was paramount. This event inspired my story, many years later. I asked myself, ‘What if I had lost, not only my house and my toys, but also my parents?’ I would have been shuffled around--from foster to foster home. And then, ‘How would a little orphan, raised up to the school age in comfort, react to this tragic situation?’
This is how the persona of Tanya Caldwell was born.

How did I build Tanya’s character?
As a writer of fiction, I had to give Tanya some good qualities and some weakness. Since she was going to be the main character, I also had to give her some latitude. So, Tanya is a talented painter, a fact that opens the door to a scholarship; she also naive and prone to trust people without questioning. When a big sum of money, set up as a trust fund by her late parents, comes to light, the people who were responsible for her parents’ death enter in action. And they are not alone, as their associates are linked in various fashions to other criminal rings, one of which is a cosca mafiosa.
The story starts in Vermeil, Ontario, a fictional town near Toronto, and wanders in Italy and...Brazil! When her life is threatened for the third time, Tanya resorts to the protection of the Invicta, a private company that provides her with a bodyguard and strongly suggests her to relocate. Since she has inherited a very old mansion on the Italian Riviera, Tanya moves there—canvas, brushes and easel with her. Her artistic life continues, but she has to leave her friends behind.
A publisher of art books, Kevin Matwin, and a friend of his, Luigi Amedeo, Count of Monteturro, enter the scene and, at first, they are only good neighbors offering help and empathy. But then...
Now, what Tanya does while living on the Mediterranean shores? Does she stay secluded or dare to go out and make new friends? Will the criminals who took advantage of her parents surface again? How would they find her? Will innocent Tanya trust the worst killer of all? Would she find love in her forced retreat? Would the Invicta help her once again?
I will answer these questions as the plot of Mountains of Dawn unrolls—not one chapter without suspense or a gripping action.

For what audience?
The novel falls into the romantic suspense genre and therefore may attract more women than men, but the plot and the mafia intrigue may interest male readers as well.

Where did I get the information I needed?
A substantial amount of research is always needed to immerse the reader in an environment that is actual and as close to reality as possible. I found information on the customs of the cosche mafiose in the reports of several trials (also in the Italian newspapers of the eighties and nineties); the description of the art of painting goes back to the seminars of one of my teachers; for the information on explosives and assault weapons I relied on a friend of mine and on the Internet.

Now, I have said all I could without giving away the story...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rene Natan
• Release date: Jul 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9780968635261

Rene Natan

I always wanted to be a storyteller. At recess time I would gather some of my schoolmates and entertain them with stories—some of my own, others just summaries of books I read. My life, however, took a different turn, and I ended up following a career in information technology (as Professor Irene Gargantini). This over, I reverted to my old passion: plotting intrigues and mysteries and creating romantic or passionate encounters. I took several e-courses on fiction writing and began jotting down my tales. So far I have written nine novels, several short stories and co-authored a novella. The genre varies from romantic suspense (Mountains of Dawn, The Collage, The Loves and Tribulations of Detective Stephen Carlton, The Woman in Black, The Red Manor) to thriller (The Jungfrau Watch, The Blackpox Threat, The Bricklayer, Fleeting Visions). See www.vermeil.biz As an author, my goal is threefold: having fun in writing, entertaining the readers and offering them an uplifting vision at life. Honors Second place, the 2015 Five Star Dragonfly Book Awards for The Woman in Black Silver Medal, the 2015 Global Ebook Awards for The Loves and Tribulations of Detective Stephen Carlton Honorable Mention, Second place, the 2015 Five Star Dragonfly Award for The Woman in Black, Honorable Mention, 2014 San Francisco Book Festival, for Fleeting Visions First place, 2012 Five Star Dragonfly Award for the Blackpox Threat Finalist in the 2011 National Indie Excellence Award for the Blackpox Threat Honorary Mention, 2012 San Francisco Book Competition for the Bricklayer ---------------------------------------- From the Social Media From the Press: http://newsblaze.com/story/20110320075530zzzz.nb/topstory.html http://www.centralvalleybusinesstimes.com/stories/001/?ID=18849 From the Frankie Boyer BLOG: http://frankieboyer.typepad.com/blog/2011/07/ frankie-boyers-guest-line-up-for-wednesday-7611.html From KEMW-FM radio station Dr. Jim Lee presents Rene Natan: Interview ----------------------------------------- Review of Mountains of Dawn Romancing the Tone: Review of Rene Natan’s Mountain of Dawns By Frank Mundo Mountain of Dawns opens with a bang, literally: an explosion which kills one young woman named Kathy Alcin and injures another named Tanya Caldwell. 22 year-old Tanya Caldwell is an artist, “a dreamer” and a student at the Mackenzie Academy for the Visual Arts in Vermeil, Ontario, 80 miles outside of Toronto. “...Quiet. Well-mannered. Neat,” Tanya’s “a bit strange...like all creative people”. Orphaned as a child, Tanya dreams of dusty roads and the fosters homes she has bounced in and out of throughout her childhood. With no family, no money, and with no apparent connections to the world other than her art, Tanya seems harmless and rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things. So, why in the world would anyone want to kill her? The explosion we learn, however, is not an accident, but a car bomb. A mob-style hit which seems to have been intended for Tanya, who had only loaned her car to her roommate for the day. Oddly enough, we learn that this isn’t the first (and won’t be the last) attempt on Tanya’s life as we follow her through the twists and turns of Rene Natan’s novel billed as a Romance/Thriller. Okay, I know what you’re thinking: Oh no, Romance novel, right? Those cheesy books at the grocery store with a glossy, embossed picture of a pastel, ruffle-bloused Fabio and his big tan man-boobs on the cover. That’s what I was thinking too when I was asked to review it. Thankfully, this is not one of those books (which, depressingly, by the way, are among the most sellable and most sought after manuscripts in all of genre fiction these days). Mountain of Dawns is far more thrilling than romantic in that sense. As Tanya flees to the Riviera (a safe haven for her art as well) she does have a romantic affair with a publisher named Kevin Matwin, and does meet up with an Italian Count with suspicious international connections and serious clout. But the “romantic” element, if anything, is linked more to a type of storytelling made famous by “sentimental” writers of the past, writers such as Harriet Beecher Stowe or the Bronte sisters, and not the modern, escapist bologna that titillated housewives hide under their mattresses. In fact, Tanya Caldwell resembles, as a character, the character Jane Eyre in many ways, from her orphaned childhood to her mysterious ancestry and surprising windfalls. The plot of Mountain of Dawns owes quite a bit to the plot of Charlotte Bronte’s famous feminist romance Jane Eyre as well. Those familiar with Bronte’s story know that I can’t say much more about the plot of Natan’s novel without spoiling the twists and surprising turn of events which link the innocent Tanya Caldwell to the financial motive of her corrupted and desperate would-be killers. Those unfamiliar with Jane Eyre (which I was forced to read in five different lit classes over the years) will just have to take my word for it. Natan’s style, however, does differ from Bronte’s in that it lacks the strong biased tone and the heavy-handed ultra-sentimentalism of the old-fashion Romance novels. At times her prose even seems a bit journalistic and somewhat detached, (void of that tone or bias so apparent in those early romantic works) despite her story’s extremely personal nature and clever plot twists -- a story which closes, as it opens, with another surprising bang. Personally, I think her book might’ve benefited from a first person point-of-view, with a biased Tanya Caldwell at the wheel. After all, there’s nothing wrong with a bias in fiction. Honestly, I prefer it. I’ve even come, in many instances, to expect it. It is what creates the tone of most fiction. But, then again, I’ve always had a bias toward the first person narrative. Mountain of Dawns is Rene Natan’s first novel published in 1999 by Juppiter99 (available both in eBook and paperback versions) at very reasonable prices. Her other novels include Cross of Sapphires and The Collage (reviewed by Adrienne Jones and available in The Swamp’s “Review Archives“). Natan is also the author of shorter works Killing on Mount Yula, A Pair of Wings for Christmas, and Operation: Woman in Black. She is currently at work on a new novel. ---------------------------------------- Review of The Blackpox Threat The Blackpox Threat A Rene Natan Novel An Old Line Publishing Book ISBN-13: 978-0-9845704-5-4 ISBN-10: 0-9845704-5-4 Website: www.oldlinepublishingllc.com It is my belief that not many readers of this review have dreamed of becoming a spy for their country. In reading The Blackpox Threat by Rene Natan, you will meet Tamara Smith of London, Ontario who was challenged to do this very thing. It wasn’t an easy decision as the nightmares of her early youth had finally begun to fade, and she was living a comfortable life. Her parents, political refugees from the USSR, had been murdered because of her father’s covert activities. Endangering her own life was the last thing on her mind when she accepted a job with the Modano Company—Ship Me Safely—as a public relations person. Her boss, Charles Modano, hired her to assist at his antique shop two days a week and also asked that she occasionally accompany him to social functions where many potential buyers of antiques were contacted. The Modano Company had an excellent reputation for shipping valuable items without incurring any damage. At thirty-two years of age, Tamara felt the need for financial security and to have a relaxed, stable life. She loved her job and life was good. However, her new job brought challenges that she could never have anticipated! Vassilli Petrovic and Brad Wilson asked her to become involved in a dangerous covert operation in which she would actually spy on the company where she was now enjoying employment. Vassilli had been a lifetime friend who helped her before and after her parents’ death and she owed him much. But she didn’t owe anything to Brad Wilson, who was ever so determined that she go along with their request. She had been singled out because of her position with the Modano Company whom they suspected of handling the shipment of some very dangerous cargo. But what was this cargo? Tamara learns that it is a deadly virus called “The Blackpox” and that it is on its way to Canada. And so this beautiful woman who hadn’t wanted to leave her comfort zone agrees to participate in this dangerous mission; the operation is called “Bullfrog.” Tamara is giving some special training as well as recording devices and other equipment to help her carry out this undertaking with as much safety as possible. It is, however, her father’s gun—a Smith and Wesson—registered in her name that gives her the most confidence. The characters in this novel are all believable, and their personalities developed skillfully by the author who employs natural sounding dialog to move the exciting plot forward at a fast pace. Along with the excitement and danger, there is a romantic interest that slowly develops between Tamara and a young man named Justin Devry. Although she is obviously attracted to him, she is not eager to get involved because of her connection with “Operation Bullfrog.” Personally, I wasn’t sure I trusted him or even those involved with her in the covert operation. As it turns out, there was a mole in their team—someone they all trusted with their lives. Boris Youkenoff, a man knowledgeable in microbiology and organic chemistry, had worked in a natural, underground cave in Western Ukraine where there were the remains of an old lab that had been established by the Soviet Union for the development of biological weapons. When he meets Frank Milton, who has expertise in Biology, they become a deadly duo focused on coming up with a virus that would make them rich. Then there was Nekton who would go to any lengths to get hold of the virus. Just how many people were involved in this threat? Was there a vaccine? Could they be stopped by “Operation Bullfrog?” Tamara faced many hurdles in her short spying career that included murder, her own kidnapping, betrayal, and other breathtaking twists and turns. This is a mesmerizing novel, and individuals who purchase it will agree with me that it is a “must read.” I give The Blackpox Threat my highest recommendation. Bettie Corbin Tucker For Independent Professional Book Reviewers -------------------------------------- Review of The Red Manor The Red Manor Rene Natan PublishAmerica ISBN: 1-60672-325-1 344 pages In reading The Red Manor by Rene Natan, I found myself totally captivated by the storyline, the characters, and the creativity of the author. With a book of this caliber, we reviewers tend to say, “I just couldn’t put the book down once I started to read it.” Although a cliché, I can honestly say that this is how I felt as I eagerly progressed from chapter to chapter of The Red Manor, anticipating what would follow. Christopher Sandcroft, one of the main characters, is introduced in the first chapter as he agonizes over his decision to move his father Lucio from the Red Manor, a castle in Italy that had been in the family for 600 years. Chris was taking him to Harrisville, Canada to live with him in a magnificent house where he hoped this elderly man in a wheelchair would adjust and find some contentment. The son was very well off, having taken over a company his grandfather had started that built seismographs as well as some other equipment. Living with Christopher on his estate was Kathy, the housekeeper and her husband Gideon who was in charge of maintenance. Before long Chris hired Lillian Carrigan as a caregiver for his father who very slowly seemed to be adjusting to his new surroundings. Lucio liked the staff and the fact that a few paintings from the family collection had also made the trip to his new living quarters; however, in the back of his mind he often thought about the ancient curse that had been cast on his family, one that predicted the extinction of the Red Manor and its occupants. By going with Chris to live in Canada, he hoped to break the curse. When his other son Rick had lost his life at sea as a young child, his wife had left Lucio and taken Chris to Canada to live. Rick and Chris had been identical twins. As the storyline unfolds, readers are introduced to other characters—some friendly and trustworthy while others are sleazy and dishonest. The Howards, friends from England who had stayed at the Red Manor in the past, visit Lucio and his son in Canada. The visit opens a door that leads to danger and romance. The romance is between Vivian, the visiting couple’s daughter and Chris. A spark of an old romance is rekindled and quickly grows into a serious relationship. The danger involves a search for two missing cups of historical value that were once part of a collection of four that had been manufactured for a coronation. Lucio had given the two missing cups to his wife when she moved to Canada. When found, the publicity leads to much more than they had bargained for. Among the twists and turns, readers learn that Lillian Carrigan is raped by a man who looks very much like Chris but, of course, it wasn’t him. If you are thinking that his supposedly-deceased twin brother is the one who attacked Lillian, you would be wrong. DNA cleared Chris, and identical twins have the same DNA. But why did this man look so much like Chris and why did he rape Lillian? Also who later broke into the Sandcroft estate to steal what they believed to be the valuable cups? Chris returns to Italy to take care of a life-threatening situation. As all the pieces of this intriguing puzzle fall together, readers will feel satisfied when they read the final chapter. Although there is a funeral; there is going to be a wedding. This is an exceptionally well-written book by a very creative author who has researched her material and knows how to keep the eyes of readers riveted to the pages. The storyline reflects realism, the description is outstanding, and the dialog flows naturally. I give it my highest recommendation as a “must read.” Bettie Corbin Tucker For Independent Professional Book Reviewers ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Red Manor Reviewed by Reta Ross In the Red Manor Rene Natan has a total grasp of the lifestyles of the affluent as well as that of Romania gypsies. The juxtaposition and polarities are fascinating and the rip-off mentality of the fleece-artists knows no bounds. Lucio Sandcroft, Lord of the Red Manor, is burdened by an ancient family curse, the loss of his son, Rick, and the subsequent abandonment by his wife. To add insult to injury she took the remaining son, Rick’s twin, Chris Sandcroft when she absconded to Canada. Lucio’s wealth, although extensive, can’t compensate for his depression over the family curse and its predicted threats. Wheelchair bound he is almost at his wits end when his, now grown son, Chris, asks him to come to Canada and move in with him, he accepts, hoping to escape the curse. Chris is equally as wealthy as his dad, Lucio, thanks to his success in running his grandfather’s seismographs manufacturing company. Christopher’s estate is managed by Kathy and her husband, Gideon. Leaving no stone unturned in his efforts to ensure the old man is well cared for he hires Lillian Carrigan to tend to his every need. Lucio hoped the move to Canada would somehow dispel the ancient curse which foretells the annihilation of the Red Manor and its occupants. Even if the curse was overturned by this maneuver there was still the pain of losing his other son, Rick, who was washed overboard at sea as a young child. The sons were identical twins. Other characters—thicken the plot, the Howards from England who once, while in Italy, stayed at the Red Manor. Their daughter, Vivian, accompanies them to Canada and she and Chris fall in love. The Howards are keen on tracking down some valuable heirlooms, a couple of coronation cups, Lucio had given to his wife. Discovery of the cups generates publicity which brings undesirables out of the woodwork. The sub-plot focuses on a couple of Gypsies who exploit, use and abuse all and sundry in order to feather their nests. The cast of characters under their thumbs makes for an interesting mix. Lillian Carrigan gets raped by a man who looks like Chris but it is not him. Twins share the same DNA and tests prove the rapist was not Chris or his supposedly-deceased twin brother. So readers are left to ponder over the resemblance, the rape and the break and entry. The story unfolds in an intriguing and fascinating way. It is loaded with plot twists and surprises. Rene Natan is usually one for happy endings but often it seems like this won’t be one of those time. The theme of twins’strong bond woven throughout and the angst over the missing twin is crafty and clever and keeps everyone on their toes. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Review of Fleeting Visions 5.0 out of 5 stars Got me pinned in the book for hours February 18, 2014 By Earl Reylan Sarsuelo Amazon Verified Purchase All puzzles are getting solved in a very sophisticated manner. Detective Stevenson, a remarkable law enforcer tied up his career to a case he's been handling for several months only to end up doing it all over again after a missed operation. I do not want to be spoiling the readers, but I might say some details that you will find interesting in the book. I got seriously pinned down in to reading the early chapters of the book. Every character has its unique issues and personalities, yet all of them are delivered well to the public. Each plot/scene of one's character is simultaneously telling us his personality and life and his role in the entire story. I consider that as an asset in making books like this very intriguing. Jocelyn, is an example of a highly intimidating character but boosting with charm and is seriously attractive. Det. Stevenson even got his first regrets being single(spoiler alert!) after a scene with Jocelyn. One thing I really love most about these kinds of stories is that the continuity and the interconnection of scenes and events are puzzling enough to be interesting but not reaching to a point where readers dont get any idea over it - they dont get BLANK. Rene Natan wrote this book with ease and the concept is somewhat very clear in her mind. I was envisioning everything as I read. That's why I skipped a meal in reading this(not a good example but a good thing). I am commending the author Rene Natan for a well written, highly thought of, careful selection of characters, and intensifying book. A very good read. I recommend this to lovers of Thriller stories. -------------------------------------------------

Book preview

Chapter 1

Vermeil, Ontario

Fall 1999

The blast scattered bits and pieces of debris over Tanya Caldwell and her canvas. She stared at the glitter of glass speckled on the red tile shingles of her unfinished painting, on her brush and palette, on her hand. Her face. She touched her cheek. Blood as red as the painted shingles coated her fingertips.

Kathy? she said. Kathy, what was that? Where are you? Her legs shaking, Tanya looked through her broken window and into the driveway.

* * *

In the hospital, they treated Tanya for shock and stitched the deep laceration on her forehead. They couldn’t treat the wound in her mind. The Emergency Room admitted her overnight for observation.

You met this Tanya Caldwell before? Detective Albert Warner of the Vermeil Police Station asked. He turned toward the front of the hospital elevator and pushed the button for the third floor.

Yes. Once, Constable Joe Halliday replied. She had an accident. Actually, she’s had more than one. She reported each of them right after they happened.

What do you know about her?

She seemed quiet, well-mannered. Neat. Dark hair and eyes, medium build. She’s twenty-two, a student at MacKenzie Academy for the Visual Arts. She’s an artist. Halliday hesitated. A bit strange, maybe? Bottles things up, I think. A dreamer. But aren’t all creative people a little off? He shrugged. Warner frowned.

Warner tapped on the open door to Tanya’s room. Excuse me, Ms. Caldwell? he asked.

Tanya’s closed eyelids fluttered. The white bandage on her forehead accented her pallor, splashes of antiseptic marking her cheeks and chin like war paint. Yes? she said, her voice hoarse, rusty.

The detective introduced himself and his partner. We need to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. I know it’s going to be painful for you, but it will help us find out how it happened.

No. No, it’s all right. Go right ahead. Tanya leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes again. All I can tell you is I lent my car to my roommate, Kathy Alcin. The car blew up. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Kathy’s dead. That’s all, she said, her voice trailing off in a whisper.

When the ambulance arrived, you were sitting on the driveway with Ms. Alcin’s body in your arms, is that correct?

Yes. Tanya’s chin and lower lip trembled. Yes, correct. Her entire right side…the bomb smashed her. It twisted her, tore her apart… Tanya’s eyes were open now. She sat upright, her arms stretched before her as if she still held her friend’s body. Tears ran over the antiseptic on her cheeks and fell, small blood-red drops, to the sheets. Her entire body shook with the memory.

Ms. Caldwell, would you like me to call a nurse?

Tanya sighed and fell back against the pillows again. No. No, I’ll be fine, she said.

Could you please start at the beginning, and tell us exactly what happened?

I’ll try. She shifted in bed, trying to get comfortable, but her discomfort wasn’t entirely physical. Her mind went back to earlier that morning, when life seemed so much simpler.

She had just dipped a brush into the red oil paint, then leaned against the drawing board to support her arm, and sketched a triple row of shingles on the roof of a mansion. The sunlight glowed on the mansion roof and highlighted the vines along the walls. I was working on a painting, a mansion mentioned in a letter. Kathy came in… Tanya could hear Kathy’s voice in her mind, see her standing there, a tall, thin girl in jeans, a jacket, and a baseball cap. Kathy’s long brown hair, bound into a ponytail, poked through the opening in the back of the cap.

She said, ‘The house and terrace look very realistic, Tanya. Are you going to include the glycine?’ We talked about it, discussed the letter’s comment about the delicate glycine rambling over the mansion’s walls.

She paused, took a deep breath. It was all so normal, you know? Just like any other day. But then, she asked to borrow my car. She said her car wouldn’t start, and she had to pick up her parents at the airport. I hesitated, not sure if I should give it to her. Tanya was silent, looking into the past.

And then? Why wouldn’t you loan her your car, if she needed it? Was there something wrong with your car? Detective Warner asked.

Well, it ran, Tanya said. She pushed a strand of damp hair from her cheek. It looked really bad, but it did run. I was concerned about what her parents would think when they saw it. Kathy laughed, said she’d tell them I’d taken up stunt driving.

How was your car damaged?

It had been bumped from the back and the sides. It was hard to open the doors, especially on the passenger side. It looked a bit like a car out of a cartoon. Tanya gave him a tiny smile. Except the way it happened wasn’t funny.

And what was that, Ms. Caldwell?

I think, now, someone tried to push me off the road. Before today, I wasn’t certain. She watched Detective Warner write in his notebook. Constable Halliday stood near the window, his gaze on the street below. I was bumped from behind and into the mountain side. Steep. Rocky. I forced my car between the mountain on the left and a boulder on the right. She chewed on her thumbnail, her expression intent. I didn’t know if the accidents were accidental or not. But now…

Tanya stared at the detective, her eyes huge like the eyes of a frightened child. Tears spilled from the corners and her lower lip quivered. The explosion was meant for me, Detective. Kathy died because of me. Her body shook, her breath came in soft gasps. Her hands covered her face as if to hide her from the memories.

Detective Warner snapped his notebook closed. Ms. Caldwell, I think you’ve had enough for now. We’ll need a few more questions answered when you’re more up to it. Do you have any family in the area? A friend? I don’t think you should be alone.

Kathy’s parents should be at my place by now, she said, her voice low. Kathy’s parents…how could she cope with their grief, grief so much greater than her own? I’ll see them when I leave here tomorrow, then…yes, I’ll give my friend Judith a call and see if I can stay at her place for a while. She paused. I think you know Judith Abramson; she works at headquarters.

Yes, yes. Of course I know Constable Abramson. It’s a good idea to move in with her for the time being, Detective Warner said. He smiled to Tanya. That’s all for today. Turning to Halliday, he added, Find the rest of her file. I think something’s missing.

Tanya refused the hospital dinner and dozed, slightly drugged from pain medication. She accepted a sleeping pill around 9:00 pm, anxious not to lie awake in a strange place. The drug spun her down and into a dark, deep sleep.

She woke to the sound of her own voice, creaming Go away! Away! The dream drifted too far out of reach for her to grasp and left her with no desire to remember it. She sat upright in the hospital bed for the remainder of the night, eager for the light of morning.

* * *

A cab dropped Tanya off at Vermeil’s public park, a large park for such a small city. Approximately 80 miles outside of Toronto, Vermeil boasted a population of only 150,000 people. Tanya had lived there for three years, all of them with her roommate, Kathy, who became her entire family.

She needed to gather her thoughts, to prepare for the emotional bout with Kathy’s parents. Kind, thoughtful people, Kathy had been their only child. Tanya’s heart ached for them. She had no idea what she could say to ease their pain. She remembered holiday visits to their home, the feeling of being part of a family she had when she was with them. Kathy had been like a sister to her. They had shared everything, from laugher to tears, for almost three years.

Guilt and fear wove through her thoughts as well; the explosion was intended for her. Kathy died for her.

She sat on a bench close to the shore of the Murex River’s small lake and watched the ducks battle for scraps of bread tossed by a family near the banks. Across the water, where the shores were protected by heavy undergrowth, she saw two herons. They stood like living statues, silent, watching the water for the flash of a fish.

In the distance, the cries and laughter of children as they rode the swings and slides of the playground came to her. A baseball game sent the crack of a bat hitting the ball across the water to her. A gentle breeze touched her hair and lifted a strand across her face. She thrust it behind her ear and began to walk.

She passed a gazebo, a delicate bit of architecture reminiscent of Victorian times, and stared across the river at the University campus. In the three years she had been attending the Academy for the Visual Arts, she’d seen every inch of the park. She knew the small indoor zoo as well as her own home, the paths, the trees and changing flowers, the bushes and wildlife living within and alongside of them, the ice and snow of winter. Much of the park had been captured in her paintings.

Everything seemed the same, and yet, different. The world without Kathy’s laughter, her impish jokes, her simple joy in living, would never seem as warm. The solace she expected stayed away.

Kathy’s parents waited for her at her apartment. Tanya left the park and entered her condo.

Kathy’s mother sat on the sofa and stared at the broken windows. Glass still glittered on the carpet, still lay in scattered clumps across the floor. Her husband paced the room, his hands clasped behind his back. Several empty cartons lay on the floor near two suitcases.

Mrs. Alcin, Tanya said. Her voice choked, filled with tears. And Mr. Alcin. I don’t know what to say. Her face twisted and she sobbed out her pain for the first time since Kathy died. Mrs. Alcin gathered Tanya in her arms and cried with her while Mr. Alcin patted her back. Pride made his face turn red with held-back tears for a moment, then he joined the women and cried as well.

Tanya hugged the smaller woman, held her close. I don’t know what I’ll do without her, she said. She was my alter-ego, my critic, the laughter in my life.

My Kathy… Mr. Alcin said, his voice muffled in sobs.

Mrs. Alcin drew back from Tanya and wiped her eyes. We won’t stay, she said. I’ve called back home and made arrangements for the funeral. She gasped back a sob and waited a moment until she could go on. We have to ship Kathy home, you see, and deal with everything. She couldn’t continue.

It’s all wrong, Mr. Alcin said. Parents shouldn’t bury their children. A man should walk his daughter down the aisle, not lay her in her grave. He turned and left the house, slamming the door behind him.

He’ll be all right, Mrs. Alcin said. It’s just too soon. That’s one of the reasons we have to go home as soon as possible. I don’t think he’ll be able to stay here, where it happened, where she’s lived, for too long. She squeezed her eyes shut, and seemed to stop breathing for a moment, then drew a deep breath and continued. We stayed in a motel last night, after we picked up the rental car. She looked across the room to the shattered front windows. I don’t think you should stay here either, dear. Anyone could climb in through those windows. In fact, things looked a bit messed when we arrived, but I’m not sure. It might just be from the explosion. She paused again, her thoughts gone back to her daughter in the midst of the explosion, torn and shattered. She shook her head as if to shake away the image. I thought I should pack a few of Kathy’s things, send them on home, too. Would you help me, Tanya? I don’t think I can do it alone.

Tanya nodded, unable to speak. Together, she and Mrs. Alcin packed several cartons and taped them shut. They carried a few cartons, along with the luggage, to the Alcins’ rental car.

Now, Tanya, are you sure you don’t want to come back home with us? I know you need to recover and…it would be a blessing to have you around. Mrs. Alcin smiled Kathy’s sweet smile at Tanya. Tanya felt as if her heart would shatter.

No, Mrs. Alcin, thank you so much. I would love to go home with you, but I have school, and work to do here. The police still want to talk to me. I can’t hide…although I would love to. Tanya wished she could crawl under the bed and never come out, not until life made more sense, not until cars didn’t explode when you drove them, nor strangers try to force you from the roads. I’ll stay with a friend of mine.

I understand, Mrs. Alcin said. She hugged Tanya tight.

After the Alcins left, Tanya made a call to her friend, Judith, who she knew was out of town, and made arrangements to stay at her place for the next few days.

* * *

Tanya was wandering inside her friend’s apartment when the phone rang. Detective Warner here, Ms. Caldwell, the voice said. I wonder if you would mind coming in and answering a few more questions?

No, I wouldn’t mind, Detective. I’m feeling much better.

Good. I spoke to Judith Abramson her this morning. She asked us to keep an eye on you until she can return home.

That’s reassuring. I’ll be there shortly. Tanya hung up the phone and left Judith’s apartment, glad to be outdoors. She drew in a deep breath, smelling the air and feeling the sun’s warmth on her face.

The Vermeil Police Station, located in an old building downtown, had been remodeled so many times, no one could remember its original appearance. The main hall had been cobbled together by breaking down the walls between several small rooms, which left the floor a mosaic of linoleum, hard wood, and battered tiles.

Ms. Caldwell? Tanya? Do you mind if I call you Tanya? Detective Warner said, offering his hand to Tanya. You look great. Your cuts are healing well.

I don’t mind at all, Detective. And they are healing well. I’m down to one bit of gauze now. She smiled. She followed him down the strange-floored hall into a tiny office. Constable Halliday smiled and nodded at her as she entered.

Not much room in here, but please, take a seat, Warner said, gesturing at a straight-back wooden chair. Tell me about the threats you’ve received.

Threats? No one’s threatened me.

No threats? But the record shows you complained of threats when you were here three weeks ago.

No, I don’t think that’s correct. I complained of an accident, my second. I was pushed off the road twice. That’s what I reported three weeks ago. When I came in prior to that, it was to report my first accident.

Detective Warner frowned. Excuse me, please, Tanya. Halliday, come with me. I want to check the records. As they left the room, Tanya heard Warner say, I knew her files were incomplete. Something is very wrong here.

They returned a few moments later, Halliday looking nonplused.

Sorry, Warner said. Seems to be a minor problem. Now. Tell us about your accidents, Tanya.

The first time, I noticed a car too close to my bumper…

Where? What road? Warner asked.

Highway 18a, Tanya replied, looking perplexed. I gave all of that information to the officer in charge when I came in. She glanced at Halliday. You were there, too, I believe.

Continue, please, Tanya, Warner said.

The car just appeared, right on my bumper. I hadn’t seen it before. I felt a push from behind, a tap, then another. Stronger. Tanya paused, took a deep breath.

Did you lose control? Warner asked.

Yes. I ended up in the opposite lane, heading into oncoming traffic. I heard a siren. When I looked up, an ambulance was coming right at me, head-on. Again, she paused and looked back into the terror of the moment. I slammed on the brakes and my car went into a spin on the wet road. I ended up behind the ambulance, and going in the right direction. Thank God. She stopped speaking and ran her hand over her face, then took another deep breath. She shuddered. I still don’t know how I avoided a head-on collision with that ambulance. My little car and I would never have survived it.

What happened to the car that bumped you?

No idea. It was gone, disappeared. Tanya rested her head on her hand, her eyes closed. The stress of the past few weeks rolled over her again, cold memories to chill her. I didn’t believe it was intentional, then. I thought it might have been some kids, messing around, thinking they were funny. I couldn’t imagine anyone would want to hurt me. Not until the explosion.

Coffee, Tanya? Warner asked, still taking notes.

No, thank you. A glass of water or a cola would be great, though.

Halliday left and returned with a cold can of cola. Tanya took it with a smile and rubbed the cold can across her forehead.

Do you feel up to telling us about accident number two now? Warner asked.

Tanya nodded. She sipped at her cola, then shifted forward in her chair, alert and intent on her story.

I was returning from Roger Falls. There’s a short cut I like to take—it winds through the woods. Pretty. It’s narrow and winds left and right, so I try to stay in the middle, if I can. She sat back into the chair and lowered her head. I don’t remember where the other car came from. I never saw it until it smashed into the rear of my car. Her breath came faster, as if she were running. The left side of the road is steep and rocky. I saw a narrow gap between the mountain side and a boulder. My car just squeezed through it, but only just. The other car passed me and disappeared around a turn. She took a deep drink of cola.

Do you have any idea who was driving that car? Warner asked.

No.

Can you describe the car? Or the driver?

The car, yes. It was some kind of sporty thing, low on the road, a shiny, silvery body.

The driver. Male or female?

I have no idea.

No idea? Warner said, looking up at her from his notes.

No, Tanya snapped, annoyed. I was busy trying to stay on the road…trying to stay alive. She drank deep from her cola, her eyes closed.

I guess that’s all for today. Please, let us know if you’re going to be leaving for any reason, and if you need anything, just give us a call. Detective Warner stood and offered Tanya his hand. When she reached for it, he clasped her hand in both of his. Are you doing all right? he asked.

Yes, I guess I am, she replied with a soft smile, pleased he was so considerate of her. Physically, I feel fine, but I still have terrible nightmares. I see Kathy, as she was just a bit before, and then as she was right after the accident. I can’t go back to sleep after one of those.

It’s going to pass with time, Tanya. Time, as the saying goes, will heal all. The image will just be a sad memory.

Yes, I suppose so. She looked deep into his eyes, started to say something more, then stopped. She shook his hand and left the building.

She had just returned to Judith’s apartment when the phone rang.

Hello?

Tanya? Sorry to bother you so soon. Detective Warner here.

Yes, she said, ice filling her chest with dread. What’s wrong, Detective?

We’ve just received information your condo has been burglarized. Do you have any idea what they’re looking for?

God, no. I left most of my belongings behind, but I can’t imagine what anyone would want. I don’t think I own anything of value. I brought with me some clothes, my papers and my drawing supplies.

And you have no idea who would want to harm you? None at all?

No, none. Did the explosives used on my car give you any information? She paced the length of the phone cord and back.

Not much. The traces are similar to those we found in one other instance. We suspect an amateur, someone who is angry with you for a real or imagined slight. Maybe your art work was chosen over his, or the teacher likes you more. Whatever. My advice is to get out of town.

Get out of town? Just leave? Leave my friends, my work…everything? My life is here. Tanya stood, frozen, listening to the words, the terrible words… Leave. Pack your things and go away.

You may not have a life, otherwise. Go away…just for a little while. We’ll keep on looking in the meantime.

I’ll think about it, Tanya said and hung up the telephone. Goodbye, she said as she left the room, dazed. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, frustration grasping at her. Leave…Pack and leave…

* * *

From the depths of sleep, Tanya heard a woman’s terrified scream. She opened her eyes. Go away! Away… The words echoed in her ears, screamed in her own voice. Another nightmare. She sat up in the bed and turned on the bedside lamp.

Her nightdress clung to her, cold and wet, soaked with perspiration. Her heart fluttered in her chest, a small trapped bird, and sent her pulse pounding in her temples. She gasped for breath as if she were running a marathon. A headache raged.

Pack and leave. She thought about those words as she slid from bed and fetched a clean nightdress, slipped the damp one off, and felt the soft, dry folds of the clean garment cover her nude body. Pack and leave. Those damn words, told to her, to pack her things and leave one foster home for another. She left the old farm behind for a new one, her old friends behind for the unknown. Pack. A small amount of clothes, old and new drawings, her paints. Her life in a suitcase, so small and simple.

In her nightmare, she stood at the side of an empty, dusty road. In each direction, she could see nothing but dust and dirt, dead trees and naked bushes. She waited for an unknown car which would take her to another nowhere, a place without a name and people without faces. There was more to the dream, but she could never remember. The nebulous, wispy images refused to be grasped.

But the dreams, of late, always ended in the same way. Kathy. Kathy, staggering down the dusty road toward her, her disfigured body blown to gigantic proportions. She stomped with the pulverized parts of her leg, then thrust her other leg forward. Her arms flailed, one sending showers of blood and flesh into the road, the other reaching for Tanya. One eye, blown out of the socket, hung by a thread of nerves and fiber, the other stared at Tanya as the monstrous Kathy howled her pain.

She sobbed, went into the bathroom and turned on the lights. More light to expose what hid in the shadows, more light to remove fear. Making a cup with her hands, she splashed cold water on her face and neck, then washed down four aspirins. Her reflection in the mirror mocked her with blanched, white skin still patched with gauze. Her eyes stared into the distance, hurt and confused.

I can’t go on like this, she said aloud, her voice a whisper. I can’t work, can’t sleep, can’t rest. I don’t know me. I’m not Tanya. She stared into her own eyes as she intoned the words, informing herself of her problems, then left the room. She didn’t bother to turn off the light.

Chapter 2

The nightmare knocked all thoughts of sleep from Tanya. She wandered into the kitchen and put on a pot of water to boil. Chamomile tea, she thought. Nice and hot with a bit of honey, just like Mom made it when she was small.

She sat at the table and rested her head in her hand. Where did that thought come from? It had been so very long since she remembered her early childhood. In fact, she hardly remembered it at all. But now, with no warning, memories came flooding back—her mother, full of laughter; her father…she had images of a strong man holding her in his lap and reading to her, sharing loving glances with Mother. Her brother, a sleeping baby, lay cradled on her mother’s lap. Mother sipped her tea and listened as Father continued to read.

Autumn, and the beginning of school… Her first year at school, just six and small for her age. Nanny tucking a clean hanky in her pocket, adjusting her coat… Nanny, who died too soon. Mother and Father… Tanya watched them leave, watched them enter the big car to take them to the airport. Her baby brother, wrapped in blankets, rode in Mother’s arms. Gone, never to return.

She saw herself, a lost child, as her home was sold. She listened in her mind’s ear as Uncle Ron, a stranger to her, told her she was an orphan. No one wanted her. No one cared. She was, he told her, a great inconvenience, but he would provide if she behaved.

He sent her to the first farm, and then to the second less than a year later. And many others after that. Rules changed from place to place, but she learned never to question. Questions and objections could lead to pain and punishment.

Tanya found her only solace in school, where she learned how to learn, how to study, how to play. Expectations were clear, rules were simple. She loved everything about school, and did well.

The tea kettle whistled, breaking into her thoughts. Tanya poured hot water into the pot, added a teaspoon of honey on top of the tea, and left it to steep.

Her mind returned to the memories brought back by Detective Warner’s words, and by her dream. Pack and leave… So many times, she had to gather her belongings and leave, an unwanted orphan, worthless…

She shook her head. No, not worthless. Tanya’s angel took her into the future, brought her to where she was now—the angel from her childhood Christmas tree, drawn by eager fingers and entered into the school contest. She could still feel the pencils in her hands, carefully drawing the angel over and over in her every free moment from chores and fifth grade homework. With no colored pastels available, she varied the shades of darkness to contrast each element in her scene. And the angel grew, took form—tall and regal, his wings showed every feather as they partially enfolded his body. His cheeks puffed from the effort to force sound from the long trumpet. His robe flowed to touch the toes of each slender foot.

The angel’s creation took hours of attentive work, but the day before the deadline, he stood every bit complete. His arms stretched high and determined; he held the trumpet high in the sign of jubilation.

And her angel won. Tanya poured her tea, breathed deep of the aroma, and listened to the applause in her mind from the audience of long ago. Her angel won her more than a contest, more than praise. He won her a teacher. Her arts teacher, a young man in a wheelchair, chose to teach her over the entire summer. She learned the rudiments of painting, the secrets and crafts of drawing, and left her loneliness behind in paper, paints, and work.

Tanya sipped her tea, still wandering in the past.

Is there enough for me in there?

Startled, Tanya jumped and nearly dumped the tea pot. Judith! I didn’t expect you until tomorrow. I’m so glad to see you. She hugged the taller, slender woman, and was hugged in return.

Judith poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the table.