Nocturnal Part 30

"Hi, Eva, how are you?"

"Fine as a fiddle. It's been awhile, Sissy, so I have to figure that you're not calling to pa.s.s the idle minutes. Did someone die?"

"Who would die that I would know about first? You're the one living within six blocks of our every known relative."

Eva's laugh was still husky. Boys had been loving that laugh since Eva turned fourteen. "The president, maybe? I don't follow the news much." There was a jingling sound, followed by a click, then an exhalation. I pictured my sister, lifting an armful of gold bangles to light a cigarette.

"Actually, I'm calling for professional reasons."

"Your profession or mine?"

"Both, I suppose. I have a patient...I had had a patient, past tense." a patient, past tense."

"He's pa.s.sed over to the other side?"

"No, he's not dead, he's just not a patient anymore. Now he's a friend. He thinks he's possessed by a ghost."

Eva's exhalation made a hissing noise. "So give him his meds and send him on his way. Isn't that what y'all do up there every day?"

I chewed my lip. "Eva, this one is different."

"Love potions are on the bottom shelf, in the red gla.s.s bottles." Eva was yelling at someone in the store. "Sorry, Maggie. You were saying?"

"This one is really possessed." I had never said those words out loud. I could hardly believe I was saying them now.

Eva whistled. "Well, h.e.l.lfire and tarnation. That must be a kick in the britches for you."

"You could say that."

"Listen, Maggie, if this guy is really possessed you should run the other way as fast as your little legs will carry you. I'm serious." Eva's voice echoed in my ear. She was holding the receiver very close to her mouth, as if to keep anyone from overhearing. "In all my years in this business I've only seen a few real cases, I have to tell you. And they scared the s.h.i.+t out of me."

"I really care about this guy." I pressed my arm against my stomach, which was full of b.u.t.terflies with knife-edged wings.

There was a long pause on Eva's end. The silence was filled with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band's version of "When the Saints Go Marching In." I listened to the melancholy undertone below the rollicking notes and remembered that these bands played at funerals in New Orleans, another reminder that the dividing line between life and death was a lot more amorphous down there.

"I want you to come out here, Eva. I need your help." The words stuck in my throat, but for Derek's sake I spat them out. "Blood is thicker than water," our mother always said, and although I never knew what it meant when I was a child, I understood it now.

"I'll be there by tomorrow," my sister said. "In the meantime, don't be alone with him."

The weather was frigid and overcast, typical for February in Pacifica. Fog from the ocean filled the air with drifting specters, and the wind-beaten trees leaned precariously to the east, waving skeletal black arms. On a day like this Eddie's Folly looked even more sinister. I pressed the doorbell, and when that produced no response I pounded on the door. I didn't know what I would do if he didn't answer. If it had been an ordinary house I would have broken a window to get in, I was that desperate to see Derek, but this house was as impenetrable as the fortresses on which it was modeled. Luckily I didn't have to figure out how to storm the castle, because the door opened with a familiar creak.

I barely recognized Derek, and it wasn't because he was wearing Edward's face. He had a black eye, bruised and b.l.o.o.d.y cheeks, and an upper lip that was so swollen it looked like it might burst.

"What the h.e.l.l happened?" My fingers fluttered over his black eye and scabby cheek, lingering near his lip without quite touching it.

"I'm all right," he said, but he didn't sound convinced.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the foyer. "We need to get some ice on that lip."

The kitchen was small for such a grand residence, appointed with avocado-colored 1970s-era appliances and a breakfast nook with a table covered in checkered oilcloth. Derek leaned against the white tiled counter, cradling his injured face while he watched me rummage through the drawers for a plastic bag. I filled it with ice cubes from the old-fas.h.i.+oned trays in the freezer. We sat next to each other in the nook, our thighs pressed together, while Derek put the ice on his lip.

I held back tears as I examined the blue and purple flesh around Derek's gentle brown eyes. I picked up his hand and examined his raw and sc.r.a.ped knuckles. Had he actually punched himself in the face? Who had he been when he did it-Derek or Edgar?

"What happened?" I whispered.

"He's an evil man, Maggie," Derek said, closing his hand around mine.

"I know that. What he's doing to you is unconscionable."

He shook his head. "He didn't do this to me. I did it to him."

"Why?"

"Because I can't let him get control of my body." He winced as he moved the bag of ice to another tender spot. "He wants to kill people."

"You better read this." I pulled the photocopy of the Chronicle Chronicle article from my purse and let go of his hand so he could read it. article from my purse and let go of his hand so he could read it.

"So there it is," Derek said when he was finished. "He wants the gang that killed him and his wife."

I knitted my eyebrows. "But Templeton was killed in the 1930s. n.o.body involved could still be alive."

An internal struggle was going on inside Derek, I'd seen the look countless times on the faces of my patients. He was trying to decide whether to tell me something terrible.

"They're not," he finally said. "He's going to kill their children."

I jumped like I'd been given an electric shock. Even after what I'd already learned about Templeton, this seemed outrageous. "He can't do that. They're innocent people."

He shrugged. "So was I."

Picking up a dish towel I'd found in one of the drawers, I dabbed at a cut on Derek's lip that had started bleeding again.

"How did this happen?" I asked gently.

He stared at a spot just beyond me, as if he couldn't bear to meet my eyes. "When he's in me, Maggie, it's like I'm trapped in a cage. I can see what he's doing and I can tell what he's thinking, but I can't stop him. Except sometimes, when I get angry enough, I can take back control."

Hot anger rose up in me as I gazed at his battered face, a face that was growing increasingly precious to me. "But you know it's your body. What the h.e.l.l were you doing, punching your own face?"

"I was trying to kill him."

I clutched Derek's hands, squeezing hard in spite of his injuries. "Please, Derek, promise me you won't try to harm yourself again."

Derek eyed me suspiciously. "Is this coming from Dr. Dillon?" he asked. "You don't want to lose a patient?"

I shook my head vehemently. "No, it's coming from my heart. I care about you, Derek. There's a connection between us, and I know you feel it too. I just want time to get to know you better."

His face softened. "I want that too."

"I want to kiss you," I said, "but your lips look like they're going to pop."

He laughed. "I don't give a d.a.m.n about my lips."

Even so, I kissed him as gently as possible. Our tongues met, still with only the lightest of pressure, and then we hugged. My head fit perfectly in the curve of Derek's neck. He stroked my hair gently, causing tears to spring to my eyes. There was some part of myself that I'd been hiding away from people for years, maybe ever since I lost my mother. But with Derek the barrier was falling down, as easily and naturally as a wave pulls sand from the beach. With him I wanted to share every part of myself.

"I'm thirty-two years old," he whispered, his lips pressing against my temple. "I've been writing love songs for twenty years and I've never been in love-can you believe that? I didn't really know what I was talking about." He hesitated, and I felt his chest fill with a deep sigh. "Until now."

Suddenly he pulled away. I looked up to see his expression change from pa.s.sion to bitterness. He stabbed a finger into the bag of ice on the table. "I've finally found someone I think I could love, and I'm not going to live long enough to enjoy it." He looked up and gave me a strange, unhappy smile. "That would make a nice ballad, wouldn't it?"

I put my arms around his neck, sliding my fingers into his thick hair, trying to bring him back to me. "You're alive now," I said. I kissed him gently but insistently, stroking his lips with mine.

He grabbed me, pressing me hard into his body. The breath whooshed out of my lungs, and I couldn't get it back. He returned my kiss so pa.s.sionately that the blood from his cut dripped into my mouth, tasting salty and metallic. I pulled away, staunching his b.l.o.o.d.y lip with my fingers.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," I blurted out.

He made a noise that startled me. Halfway between a groan and a growl, it came from low in his chest. Suddenly afraid, I searched his face for indications that Edgar might be taking over. But all I saw was Derek, gazing at me with what I could only call naked l.u.s.t. Without another word he scooped me up and nestled me against his chest, all the way through the foyer, the living room, and up two flights of stairs.

The bedroom Derek took me to must have originally been a maid's room. It was small and simple, containing little but a double bed, a stool, a rustic desk, and two more guitars on stands. The desk was scattered with papers filled with handwritten musical notes, but I didn't have a chance to look more closely because Derek took me straight to the bed.

Lying side by side with his leg over mine, he kissed me with slow delicacy, starting at my collarbone. He opened my s.h.i.+rt one b.u.t.ton at a time, caressing each inch of skin with his mouth before undoing the next b.u.t.ton. Then he unsnapped my bra and applied his diligent attention to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, building the pleasure bit by bit until I was sure I couldn't stand it anymore. If I sighed with delight at something he was doing, he increased it. If I inclined even slightly away, he moved to a different spot. He was learning me, as if I was a new instrument he had never touched before, and he was going to take all the time in the world to play me perfectly.

When it was over we lay entwined in each other's arms. I pressed my cheek against Derek's heart, which was beating calmly now, his breathing slow and steady. I hoped he would let himself sleep a little while. My gaze wandered around the room. Our clothes had been tossed wildly: My s.h.i.+rt was hanging from the neck of a guitar, and Derek's pants were on the other side of the room, sprawled like an ash corpse at Vesuvius. I was glad that I couldn't see Derek's face right now, handsome as it was.

When we were making love, he'd maneuvered me so that I was on top, riding him with my hips. While I moved faster and faster, increasing his pleasure and mine, I couldn't stop examining his face. Even when the lovemaking reached its height and he clutched me in his final release, I still still couldn't close my eyes, for fear that if I did, I'd open them to see another man inhabiting my lover's body. Edgar couldn't prevent me from making love with Derek, but he had stopped me from truly being present. If I didn't hate him before, I certainly did now. couldn't close my eyes, for fear that if I did, I'd open them to see another man inhabiting my lover's body. Edgar couldn't prevent me from making love with Derek, but he had stopped me from truly being present. If I didn't hate him before, I certainly did now.

"Maggie?" Derek whispered. "Are you awake?"

"Yup."

"I hope you don't mind my asking, but you didn't have an o.r.g.a.s.m, did you?"

I shook my head slightly. "It doesn't matter, though."

He deftly slid out from under me, putting his palm under my head and maneuvering so that we were eye to eye. "It matters to me. Tell me what I need to do better."

I laughed, gazing into his warm brown eyes with their fiery golden ring. The man was a G.o.d. How could he think he'd done anything wrong?

"You did everything just right, Derek. It was me."

"I've heard that women say that when they don't want to hurt your feelings."

I sat up, pulling the sheet with me. "No! That's not it."

He smiled. "So you do do want to hurt my feelings." want to hurt my feelings."

"Okay, here's the truth." I grabbed his cheeks in exasperation. "I couldn't concentrate because I kept looking for him him."

He rolled away, giving me a view of the Celtic cross tattoo on his bicep. "Oh, f.u.c.k me. He really has ruined everything, hasn't he?"

"But listen. I'm going to help you."

"I'm not taking any more drugs, Maggie. I told Dr. Kay that already. You're a doctor, you think you can fix me, but I'm not crazy."

I pulled his shoulders, turning him to face me. "I'm way past all that. I thought you'd realized that when I gave you the Chronicle Chronicle article. I believe you, Derek. G.o.d help me, I believe everything you've told me. I've seen it with my own eyes." article. I believe you, Derek. G.o.d help me, I believe everything you've told me. I've seen it with my own eyes."

He ran a hand through his long, messy hair, a gesture that never failed to touch my heart. "So how can you help?"

"My sister's coming today, and she's going to help us."

He looked skeptical. "What is she? How can she help me?"

I stroked his cheek, avoiding the scabs and bruises as best I could. "She's a, um, well, how can I put this so it won't sound crazy?" I paused and then threw my hands in the air. "I can't. She's a voodoo priestess in New Orleans."

His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot into the stratosphere. "Your sister is a voodoo priestess?" sister is a voodoo priestess?"

"She's done exorcisms before."

He sat up in one fluid movement, swinging his feet to the floor. "Some two-bit huckster from the French Quarter is going to come and light sage over me-that's your solution?"

"Derek! That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You're a scientist. Do you you believe in her?" believe in her?"

Eva had been dabbling in the supernatural since we were teenagers. After school, instead of hanging out with other girls, painting her nails and phoning boys, she holed up with our housekeeper, Nelida, and learned to cast spells. My father and I were constantly finding little cloth bundles-hidden behind books on shelves, tucked under pillows, or dug up from the backyard by the family dog. Every one was a unique combination of herbs, crystals, feathers, hair, twigs, and sometimes malodorous, unsavory-looking substances. My father always shook the contents into the toilet and flushed them away.

The year I was fourteen, Eva announced that she was going to contact our mother. She asked me if I wanted to partic.i.p.ate. How could I say no? The longing to see Mama one more time, to feel her arms around me and tell her that I loved her, was so strong it overpowered every other thought in my head.

At midnight during a full moon, we went to the graveyard where our mother was buried. Eva created an altar on her gravestone and lit some candles. She began chanting, all the while shaking a bundle of dried herbs tied with a piece of red thread that Eva had unraveled from one of our mother's nightgowns. I stared at my mother's name in the gravestone until my eyes burned.

Eva spread her arms wide. "Spirits of the nether world, we are seeking the one who was known in life as Elizabeth Dillon. If she is out there please send her to us now."