"Sweet Dreams, Irene" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burke Jan)

11

THE FIRST THING I noticed was an overpowering sweet fragrance; some kind of spice or incense. It made me think of high school, when many of my classmates and I burned patchouli or sandalwood incense in our bedrooms, driving our parents crazy. After some time away from the smell of incense, I could see why it took a little getting used to.

Some sort of underwater bell-and-flute soundtrack was playing in the background. I had to admit it was soothing, but smiled remembering a musician friend of mine who once pooh-poohed all “new-age” music as “hippie noodling.”

Apparently a new shipment of herbs had just arrived. Boxes were piled in stacks here and there in the aisles. The walls were filled with shelves, the shelves filled with jars, the jars filled with all manner of things. I didn’t look around for any fillet of fenny snake; it was clear that all the potions and remedies were from the plant kingdom or the earth itself. Through the middle of the store there was a sort of self-service set of small bins, each holding stones or crystals that were carefully labeled for effect: this one for inner peace, this one for easing menstrual cramps, this for sleeping better at night. A large black cat with bright yellow eyes stared at me from the counter where the cash register was, as if guarding against shoplifting. For an amused moment, I wondered if it was going to transform itself into human form.

“Hecate, it’s not polite to stare.” The voice came from a back room, and I realized that someone had watched me enter from behind a thin curtain. Soon a large woman dressed in a flamboyant purple gown came out to greet me with a warm smile. If this was a witch, I had been needlessly frightened as a child. “Hello,” she said. “Your first time here, isn’t it? Don’t tell me, don’t tell me…”

I had no idea what it was I wasn’t supposed to tell, so I obeyed.

“Capricorn!”

“Ah, no. I’m a-”

“Don’t tell me, don’t tell me!” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Aries!”

She was wrong again, but rather than standing there watching my deadline time get whittled down by the zodiac, I said, “Incredible! How could you know?”

She smiled a little smile of success and shrugged modestly.

“Your ad said you have books,” I said, knowing I couldn’t just ask for a directory of local covens.

“Yes, this way, this way. Anything in particular?”

“Well, a friend of mine is getting involved in learning more about the ancient ways,” I said, getting this last phrase off the spine of a book in the “A” section. “She tells me there is a big difference between witchcraft and Satanism. Is that true?”

“Oh, yes! There most certainly is. Witchcraft is known by many different names in many countries, and has its own varied forms, but it is essentially a spirituality that respects the earth and her creatures. It is not destructive; it is in harmony with the natural world. Satanism is quite different. First of all, to worship a devil, you have to believe in devils. Satanism is a perversion of Christianity, not the paganism of your early ancestors.”

“Yes, but aren’t there people who combine the two?”

She sighed. “You can find people who will do anything, I suppose. There are always going to be people who use whatever power they have of whatever kind it may be to do evil. But there is no evil incarnate or devil in witchcraft. I would think of people who tried to combine them as Satanists trying to abuse witchcraft in the same way they abuse Christianity. I would not call such a person a witch.”

I considered what she had told me, and decided to be straightforward with her. She was watching me, and maybe because of the atmosphere or my own uneasiness, I felt like I wouldn’t get away with a lie. The zodiac business was bad enough.

“Have you seen this?” I handed her the Montgomery flyer.

She groaned. “Sweet Goddess, I’m going to have the Nazarenes picketing me again.”

“My name is Irene Kelly. I’m a reporter for the Express, “I said, and had her full attention. I pulled out a business card.

“Zoe Freespirit,” she said.

“I’m trying to manage some balanced coverage over all of this – and believe me, it’s hard. Do you recognize any of the people in this coven? I think most are kids. I need to talk to them, if at all possible.”

She glanced at the photo. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable just giving out names even if I knew them. If any of these people come in here, maybe I could have one get in touch with you – if he or she wants to.”

I must have looked defeated, because she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Could you at least tell me if you’ve seen the young man whose name is already printed on the flyer? Has he come in here?”

She studied the photo now, and then began laughing. It was a rich, rolling laugh. “I don’t believe it! Yes, he’s been in here. Trying to discourage business.”

“Was it in connection with the young girl next to him – Sammy? I’ve met both of them.”

“Yes, yes. She was in here one day a week or two ago, with some other young people. Jacob came in and threw a fit. Tried to get her to leave with him. She wouldn’t, and he started telling her off. Finally, I had to ask him to leave. Little snot waited right outside the door. Sammy saw him out there and I think she took pity on him – left her friends and went outside with him.”

“You’re certain he’s the one?”

“Believe me, not a doubt in my mind. This kid is no witch. And the kids in this photo are not Satanists. Whoever made up this flyer just doesn’t know what he or she is talking about.”

I looked at my watch. “Look, I’ve got to run if I’m going to make my deadline. But I appreciate your help. Maybe I’ll come back some time and really do some shopping.”

“You’re welcome any time – but you’re not an Aries, are you? You’re a Leo.”

I blushed and nodded. I left wondering if she had just made a lucky guess. I no more believed in astrology than the man in the moon. But there was still something unnerving about it all.

MY SPEED on the computer keyboard that day nearly matched Mark Baker’s. I put together as fair a piece as I could, still raising as many questions about the allegations as possible, and quoting Jacob, Sammy, and Zoe. I wondered to myself if the readers would have any faith in an assertion made by someone named Zoe Freespirit, owner of an occult supply shop.

With the story finished and at the mercy of the editors, I cleared off my desk, then found Stacee and went over a couple of things with her. I was going to let her try to cover some of the political events I knew I wouldn’t make it to – there was just too much to follow up on at this stage.

I said good-bye to Lydia, who was on her way to dinner with Guy St. Germain, a former hockey player who had settled in Las Piernas. They had kept steady company since the summer. I bit back a moment’s envy of them. I walked down to my car. The sense of depression I had fought against all day started to press in on me again. By the time I got home, I felt tired and ill at ease. I hadn’t spent very many nights alone in my house since Frank and I got together. He knew my fears and helped me cope with them, while still letting me work out for myself how I was going to overcome them.

Cody’s warm greeting helped lighten my spirits a little, and I decided that while sleep was needed, a short run would help my mood. It would be dark soon, so I hurried and changed into my running clothes.

I did some stretching and headed out for a tour of the winding streets of my neighborhood. The air was cool and autumn leaves crackled under my feet. With each step, I felt better. By the time I got back home, dusk was turning to darkness. I was on a much more even keel. I opened a can of cat food for Cody and went in and took a shower. I went back to the kitchen and made a bowl of soup from a can. I like making my own soup from scratch, but soup from a can is sometimes just what the doctor ordered. This was one of those times. I indulged myself with lots of crackers, some of which I floated in the bowl, thinking that I was glad Frank wasn’t there to see me eating like a kid.

The phone rang, and when I went to answer it, I noticed the answering machine light flashing, indicating a message. I’d listen to it after the call.

It was Jacob.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m okay. My dad is mad, but I think he believes me. I couldn’t stand it if he thought I was hanging out with a bunch of Satanists or something. He’s worried about the election – oh, I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

“That much I would have guessed, Jacob. By the way, I talked to the woman who runs Rhiannon today.”

“Oh.”

“Cheer up – she supports your story, even said that you’re not in the coven and that she remembers tossing you out of the store when you tried to pull Sammy out of there. It should help.”

“If people believe her.”

I decided a change of subject was in order. “How’s the journalism class?”

“Oh man, I love it! I mean, we don’t do really exciting things like you – you know, it’s just school stuff – but it’s fun. I’ll get my first story in Monday’s school paper! I saw the proof copy. I wrote about this school play; not a review or anything, kind of an announcement – you know, where to buy tickets, that kind of stuff. But it was so cool to see my name on the byline and all.”

I smiled, remembering my first byline – on a story about a game our high school girl’s volleyball team had won. “It’s quite a thrill, isn’t it? When the paper comes out, save a copy for me. And don’t forget to start a string book.”

“A what?”

“A collection of all your published stories. Later on, you use it to show someone samples of your writing – an editor, or someone hiring you for another publication.”

“Okay, I’ll do it. Maybe I’ll be showing it to you someday.”

I laughed. “For my interest – don’t ever look for me to be an editor. I wouldn’t want the headache. I like what I’m doing now.”

We talked for a few minutes more, and when I hung up, I felt good. There was something contagious in his enthusiasm. Given the way the rest of the day had gone, it’s a wonder I didn’t see the rollercoaster heading down.

I pressed the button on the answering machine to hear the message. It was Sammy, her voice sounding small and scared in the warmth of my kitchen. She had called while I was in the shower.

“Miss Kelly? Are you there? It’s Sammy. I’m leaving Las Piernas. Tell Jacob for me, okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t help him. I can’t stay here. I’ve got to go. Bye.”

Frustrated that I had missed a second call from her, I pushed the play button and listened to the message again. I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Something in her voice said the words not spoken: Help me. I’m in danger.

I paced around, unable to think of what I could do to help her. I would just have to pray that I was near a phone the next time she tried to call. It was useless to try to find her.

Her parents didn’t seem to care what became of her, and I thought of how she must be aware of that. The people most children would turn to first had rejected her, thrown her out of the house. Sammy might have been a very difficult child to deal with, but could she have been that hard to live with? I thought of her out on the streets somewhere, possibly turning to the wrong people for comfort and aid.

It was only seven o’clock, but I was beat. John’s suggestion about catching up on my sleep was looking better and better. I crawled into my bed, which seemed far too empty, even with Cody beside me. I both missed Frank and worried about him, but didn’t know what I could do to remedy either feeling. When I wasn’t thinking about him, I was feeling uneasy about being in the house alone or anxious about Sammy. I fell asleep despite my apprehensions.

I dreamt that Sammy was standing on the edge of a ravine. I was on the opposite side, telling her to stay there, that someone would be there soon to rescue her. It wasn’t clear in the dream what she needed rescuing from. But instead of waiting, she reached out to me, and fell. The ravine turned into a bottomless version of the Grand Canyon, and suddenly I was falling down with her, a few feet away from her. As could only happen in a dream, she was talking to me as we fell. “You didn’t catch me,” she said.

I woke up, scared half out of my wits. It took me a moment to realize the phone was ringing. I reached for it clumsily and answered, hoping it was Sammy.

“I woke you up.” It was Frank.

“Thank God you did. I was having a nightmare.”

Silence. I felt a little irritation. Nothing like calling someone up at – I looked at the clock – eleven o’clock at night and then not saying a word. This passed quickly, though. I was remembering what it felt like to hear those gunshots down at the harbor.

“Do you want me to come over?” he finally asked.

“Yes, but only if you want to.”

“I’ll be there in a little while.”

I know, I know, a stronger person would have told him where to get off. Somehow, when it came to Frank, I wasn’t sure I was above begging.

TRUE TO HIS WORD, he arrived on my doorstep not long after. I opened the door to his soft knocking. He looked miserable. He stepped inside, and we held one another in a long hug. I didn’t mind that his hands and clothes were cold with the chill of the night air, that his shoulder holster was jabbing me from under his suit, that he was silent. I was too damn glad he had decided to be with me, too worried over what I had seen in his eyes.

He kissed me.

Cody made his presence felt: he greeted Frank by biting him on the ankle. I wanted to reach down and rid him of his pelt, but Frank picked the rascal up and held him in his arms. “Hello, Cody.”

Cody purred loudly. My sentiments exactly.

“Hungry?” I asked.

Frank shook his head. “Tired.”

He put Cody back down in ankle range and took my hand. I led him back to the bedroom, turning out lights on the way. I took off my robe and got back under the covers. I watched him undress. An incredible sight. If he had known what I was thinking, it might have made him blush.

He stood looking at me for a moment, then crawled in next to me. I could tell he was still feeling – what was it? Hurt? Sad? I didn’t know. But he seemed a little less miserable than he had earlier. He kissed me again. I pulled him close, savoring his touch.

“Frank.”

“Hmmm.”

“I missed you.”

His answer wasn’t verbal, but I didn’t mind. Not at all.

HE FELL ASLEEP holding me. I stayed awake for a while, listening to him breathe, and wondering how I had come to feel such a need for the man. I had been so fiercely independent for so long, it was frightening to realize what a hold he had on me. Not that I was a simpering wimp or anything – I smiled thinking of some of the tests of wills Frank and I had experienced in the last few months. And I knew that if it didn’t work out, I would go on with my life. But I didn’t want to think of what life without Frank would be like.

Still, his behavior since Mrs. Fremont’s death had been odd; I hadn’t seen this side of Frank before now. I knew he could brood at times, but there was an intensity in his current mood that was unsettling. He had come back across some of the distance he had put between us last night, but something in his manner clearly said he didn’t want me asking him a lot of questions. And as much as my curious nature rebelled against that, somehow I knew not to force the issue.

We still had a lot to learn about each other, Frank and I.

Cody jumped up on the bed and situated himself in the curve behind Frank’s knees. I laced my fingers into Frank’s hand, and fell asleep.