Crimson Rain

Gina rose slowly and moved carefully toward her daughter. “Shh. Shh, honey, it’s all right.”

Rachel’s gaze rose from the fallen tree to her mother. For a moment she barely moved. Then her face crumpled and tears filled her eyes. “It’s not all right!” she cried. “Nothing is ever going to be all right again!”

3

The next day, Rachel sat across from the psychiatrist who had treated her from the ages of six to sixteen. Victoria Lessing was older, of course, her hair graying now, but only a bit at the temples. Otherwise it was the same pale blond, pulled back into a twist. She still had that look in her violet eyes, too—the one that said, I know your every thought. You can’t hide a thing from me.

“It’s been a while, Rachel.”

Rachel sighed. “You said it. I thought we were through with all this.”

“Well, your parents are worried.”

Rachel gave a shrug.

“You don’t think they should be?”

“No. I just had some bad memories last night. After all, today is Christmas Eve. I think that’s pretty normal.”

“Normal being a relative term,” the psychiatrist said, smiling.

“I suppose.” Rachel fell silent.

“Have you been thinking more about your sister lately?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “Maybe.”

“Do you know why?”

“No.”

“I think you do,” Victoria said softly.

Rachel shrugged again. “I just thought I saw her, once. At Berkeley.”

Victoria leaned forward, resting her arms on her desk. “Really?”

“Well, I was walking around on the campus, and there was this woman. She had dark hair like Angela’s and mine, and…oh, I don’t know. There was just something about the way she looked at me.”

“Did you think she was following you?”

Rachel narrowed her eyes. “You mean, am I getting paranoid again?”

“No. I didn’t mean that at all.”

“But you were thinking it. Rachel’s imagining things again.”

“No, I was not,” Victoria said firmly. “You were a lot younger when you had nightmares that Angela would come back. Now that you’re older, I’m sure you know the difference between being paranoid and feeling something real.”

“Well, I didn’t think this woman was following me, anyway. I just thought it was odd, the way she looked at me. I thought maybe Angela—” Rachel stopped talking and studied her hands.

“You thought that because she was your twin, she might have ended up at the same college as you,” Victoria guessed. “The way identical twins who are separated seem to do similar things in life?”

“I…yes. I guess the thought crossed my mind.”

“Of course you and Angela aren’t identical.”

“No. But does that matter?”

“I’m not sure. You don’t have the same DNA, of course. As for other possibilities…did you try to find out if she was a student at Berkeley? Through the registrar’s office, for instance?”

“No,” Rachel said abruptly.

“You didn’t really want to know,” Victoria guessed again. “Because if it was Angela, you’d have had to do something about it. You’d have had to look her up and talk to her.”

Rachel frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t read my mind that way.”

“That bothers you?”

“Of course it does! You’ve always done that, and it drives me nuts.” Rachel paused, then laughed. “I guess that’s not the sort of thing to say to a psychiatrist.”

Victoria smiled. “We’ve known each other a long time, Rachel. You should know by now, you can say anything to me.”

Rachel hugged herself with her arms, feeling cold even though the room was warm. “I just think it’s silly, Vicky, my parents getting all worried like this. I warped back into the past for a few minutes when I saw that tree on the floor. Doesn’t everybody do that sometimes?”

“Your mother said you were up pacing all night, and you didn’t eat any breakfast this morning.”

“Well, duh! I was upset, for heaven’s sake. I’m over it now.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, dammit!” Rachel gave the therapist a mutinous glare.

Victoria laughed. “I haven’t seen that look since you were…oh, seven or eight.”

The glare faded into a grin.

Victoria reached behind her chair and took a plate from a low mahogany filing cabinet. “Cookie?’

“Geez. I can’t believe you’re still plying patients with chocolate-chip cookies.”

Victoria smiled. “It seems to work.”

Rachel took a cookie. “This is supposed to make me more willing to open up, right?”

“Right.”

She rolled her eyes. “Does psychiatry still work, even when the patient is smart enough to figure out all the moves?”