Listen to the Shadows by Joan Hall Hovey

she said feebly. “On the night he was to take me to his graduation dinner—the same night I had the accident—his father suffered a stroke. At the suggestion of the doctors here, Drake took him to the clinic in Boston. When he went back to visit him, he uh…“ She gestured to the open case. “… did a little shopping.”
    Jason blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. “I’ll say.”
    “His father is home now, recuperating, and I just didn’t have the heart to insist that Drake drive all the way back to Boston just to return these gifts. It’s a three hundred mile trip.”
    There was a mischievous grin on Jason’s face. “He’s got great taste, I’ll have to say that for him. It’s obvious the man has a real thing for you, Katie, m ’dear. He spent a bundle.”
    Sighing, Katie shut the case. “I know.”
    “But you don’t feel good about keeping these things.”
    She shook her head, returning to sit down. She felt weary. Jason flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the fireplace, and made a careful pyramid of his long fingers, studied them. “Then give them back, regardless of the inconvenience to the gentleman. It was presumptuous of him to buy them, of course. They’ve become a weight, haven’t they, love?”
    “You ever hear of a cement nightgown?”
    He grinned. “Give them back, Katie. The sooner, the better.”
    She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. You always seem to know intuitively what’s best for me.”
    “You already knew what was best. You just wanted confirmation.”
    He was right, of course. She was such a child sometimes.
    “Do you feel up to talking about the accident now? It might help.” He refilled her glass, which she hadn’t realized was empty. The combination of the wine and the warm fire were making her drowsy. “You don’t have to, of course, if you…”
    Again, he was right. She did need to talk about the accident. She knew the moment Jason left and she was alone, the eyes would come back to haunt her. As well as the vision of the boy. She couldn’t really call it a dream, could she? Could she?
    “Jason,” she began tentatively, “would you answer me truthfully about something? I mean, well, don’t worry about my feelings.”
    “Sounds serious.”
    “Yes. It is.”
    His expression at once grew thoughtful, concerned. He settled back in the chair. “All right. Shoot.”
    “Jason, do you think—I’m the sort of person who is easily given to hysterical imaginings—hallucinations?”
    “Dear girl,” he said, looking relieved at the easy question. “I don’t know a single soul with their feet more firmly planted on the earth than you.” He allowed himself a small grin. “Actually, some of my other, less well grounded friends, shall we say, could take lessons.” He leaned forward in the chair. “Maybe you better tell me what this is all about.”
    She did, choosing not to meet his eyes until she’d finished her story. When she did look up, he was staring at her.
    “Well, am I crazy?”
    “Of course you’re not crazy, love,” he replied, just a fraction too quickly. “My God, you’ve been through a ghastly experience. Perhaps you just—I don’t know. It was raining torrents, and dark. Could it have…”
    “I’ve heard all the theories, Jason,” she cut in wearily. “I tried to find the one that made sense. But, no, I know what I saw in that rearview mirror. Eyes dead eyes. And they were staring straight at me.”
    Jason dragged nervously on a new cigarette. “But the police found nothing.”
    “No. I was quite alone in the car.”
    “Eerie,” he muttered. “Damned eerie.”
    Not exactly an answer to the mystery, but what did she expect? It was a crazy story. Even Dr. Miller had thought she needed a psychiatrist, and worse, Dr. Jonathan Shea had implied she was making the whole thing up. Jason finished off the wine in his glass, and she saw him shiver just before he went to get his coat. “Horrible business,” he said, shrugging into his