Blood Trance

by R. D. Zimmerman

  I got up and stretched and went over to the doors. I leaned against the screen and stared out into the night.

  “What do you see?” asked Maddy from behind.

  “The lake, but it's all dark.”

  “Anything on the water?”

  I opened one of the screens, stepped out, and was embraced with the cool night air. Gentle billows of it. The trees in front rose in tall, broccolilike clumps. And from the beach down the hill I could hear the rhythmic slapping of waves. I took it all in, went to the railing, leaned on the wood. Off to the right, maybe ten miles away, I saw a mass of lights dazzling the dark waters.

  “There's a boat,” I said.

  “Where?”

  “Off to the west, coming from the south.”

  “From Chicago. It'll go up and around the top of Michigan, back the other side, then out the St. Lawrence and probably off to Europe,” said Maddy. “Is it just a few lights or a long string of them?”

  “A long string, from bow to stern. It must be a huge boat, too. God, wouldn't you love to be at that party?”

  “I'm sure that's a freighter. Do the lights sort of gather at the stern, you know, like around a cabin?”

  “Right.”

  “Then it's a freighter, probably carrying coal or grain.”

  I wanted to say, maybe so, maybe not, but I knew she was right. First of all, Maddy was always right; she read that much, studied that much, knew that much; so much that even the wildest-sounding bullshit she spouted always turned out to be, well, somehow the truth. Second, now that she'd said it, the long low shape of the ship did in fact look like a freighter. Besides, if I argued, she'd say something like, listen, do you hear any music? If that were a party boat, then you'd hear a band, because you could hear them, you know, all that raucous jazz and whatnot, for miles and miles across the water. Well, do you hear anything?

  No, I didn't, I thought as I turned around, saw Maddy, lips pursed tightly together as she lifted herself into her wheelchair. I didn't move because I didn't want her to know I was observing. Nor did I move once she was settled and pushing on the wheels, struggling with the door, making her way out here onto the balcony. I only flinched once when one wheel got stuck on the threshold. When she reached my side, though, I was just leaning on the railing, looking down at the lawn, some seventy feet or so below.

  “It's a long way down from up here,” I said.

  “Yes, it is. I hope the railing's safe.”

  “Me, too.” I pulled back slightly. “When's Loretta coming tomorrow?”

  “Midafternoon.”

  “Do you think this helped, my going through it all? Did you pick up anything?”

  Maddy took my hand, said, “Oh, sure. Lots of stuff.”

  “Such as?”

  A knock interrupted our conversation, and Maddy turned and through the screen door called, “Come on in, Solange.”

  The door beneath the Tiffany dome opened, and Solange emerged, her broad, attractive face void of expression. She carried a large silver tray, and I wondered why she hadn't taken the elevator and how, after she'd climbed all the way up here, she wasn't even breathing heavily.

  “Just put it on the table. That'd be great.” My sister added, “I think that'll be it for tonight.”

  “All right.”

  Which meant that Maddy wouldn't require any help getting ready for bed. I understood that. And now I understood what an evening tray was.

  Nodding inside at the tray, Maddy said, “Alex, there's some coffee—decaf, of course. And some vin santo. It's a sweet dessert wine. It goes great with the biscotti. They're the good kind, made with lots of hazelnuts. You know what I mean? I don't like the real eggy biscotti. They taste too much like sweet Styro-foam.”

  An evening tray was obviously a code. It meant a tray with three things on it, coffee, wine, cookies. Nothing more, nothing less. An evening tray meant that Maddy wouldn't have to ask what was being served. And I guessed that the two coffee cups and the two small wineglasses each had a prearranged spot so Maddy wouldn't have to ask where everything was or go groping about. Everything in its place, which Maddy was certain to have memorized.

  Maddy's housekeeper and companion silently retreated. Once Solange had closed the door, I turned back to the sky, stared at the millions and millions of stars.

  “I hope I get to see the Northern Lights sometime,” I said. “They should be spectacular this far north.”

  “You simply have to open yourself to seeing them, that's all,” advised Maddy by my side, looking up as if she could see them but I, the sighted one, could not. “Just like you opened yourself to retelling the trip to Chicago. And just like I opened myself to hearing it all.”

  “Meaning?”

  I watched her, sister of mine, open the door and head back inside. She went directly to the table between the two recliners, and there was only a moment of blind hesitation. But the thermal carafe of coffee was right where she knew it would be, and she took it, poured two cups without spilling a drop.

  “Meaning,” said Maddy, “you revealed a lot in trance, surely more than you realize.”

  “You know,” I began, looking through the screen at her, “it's a good thing you stayed in the Midwest. At least you're still a little bit sane. If you'd moved out to California or the mesas of New Mexico, I think you would have gone over the edge and fallen way down into Groovy Canyon.” I paused. “So, do tell. What jewels did I unearth but fail to notice?”

  “Here.”

  Maddy held out a cup, and I dutifully stepped in, took it, and began sipping. I reached down and grabbed one of the biscotti, then strolled behind the recliners.

  “Well,” said Maddy, “just here, just now, you said a couple of things about the murder that you hadn't mentioned before. I'm not surprised the first didn't come up sooner because in the earlier trances we didn't start that early. At the motel, I mean. It was something Loretta said.”

  I stared at Maddy. Watched as she next poured us each a glass of the vin santo. Loretta, as far as I was concerned, hadn't said anything notable. Or so I thought as I dipped the hard cookie into my coffee and took a bite.

  Maddy bowed her head. “Let me see. What were the words, how did you quote her? Oh, yes. You asked Loretta if she was alone, if she wanted you to come over, and she said she was there by herself. She said, ‘Everyone else has left.’ That, of course, means that more than one person had been there but had departed.”

  “Sure, but when? I mean, Loretta could have meant someone had left hours earlier. Then again, I could have made it up. I could have been imagining that.”

  “Doubtful. Here, try the wine. It's perfect for dipping biscotti.” Maddy dunked one herself, then bit down with a crunch. “Besides, it fits in with what you said about the footprint.”

  “What footprint?” I asked, setting down my coffee and then picking up the small wineglass.

  “You were talking about all the blood. How it was coming out of the body so quickly. You saw it flow across the carpet and swallow up a footprint. That's what you said.”

  I did? I started walking, pacing away from Maddy. Really? I'd said that? But even as I asked myself, I knew that Maddy was right. I could hear my own voice echoing that phrase, that statement. And then I could see it. As I walked, wine in one hand, the hard Italian cookie in the other, I could visualize that print. A track made in a few spots of blood that was then washed out by the deluge of red liquid. Something that was flooded over and out of existence so that the police never even knew it had been there. All that remained was an image in my memory.

  Maddy said, “I want to ask her about that, see what she has to say about it.”

  “Loretta? But she's hardly talking. You don't think you'll open her up that quickly, do you?”

  “I'm sure she'll let me hypnotize her, so I certainly hope she'll loosen up and relax. But that's not who I mean.”

  I was suddenly filled with dread. Another Maddy bomb. That was what she was dropping.

&nbs
p; “What?” I cautiously asked as I stopped in the middle of the expansive room.

  “I want to ask Carol Marie a few questions.”

  I knew what that meant. “Oh, shit, Maddy. You didn't.”

  “You mean invite her? Of course I did. I had to. I posted bail, of course, but Carol Marie wasn't about to let Loretta come here alone.”

  I stared at Maddy, who sat there in her wheelchair next to the recliners, and this throbbing sense of déjà vu whirled through me. I knew at once that Maddy could very well have a plan or some sort of scheme, one that I knew nothing of. Oh, God. And there was no way I was going to get it out of her, not yet, especially not tonight.

  “I can't believe you did that, Maddy. I really can't,” I said, a bolt of tension grabbing me by the neck. “This is something we should have discussed.”

  “Don't be silly. It's not that big of a deal.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Well, you didn't honestly think that Loretta would travel by herself, did you?”

  “I guess I didn't think about it.” I paused, homing in on the crux of my anger. “What else do you have planned? Is there anything else you're scheming up?”

  “Alex, stop,” she nervously laughed as she wheeled herself to the French doors. “Really, you make me sound so devious.”

  “Sometimes you are.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I think… I think you've become rather self-centered.” Okay, I thought as I walked up behind her. Go ahead. Say what you've been thinking. She needs to hear this. “You have this island. You have this fabulous house. And you control it all. This is your little mini-empire. You make all the decisions as if there was no one else around.” I hesitated, then added, “When I came here, I knew I'd be your employee but I thought we'd be working together. I thought it would be more of a joint effort.”

  “Are we having a fight?”

  “Let's just say my pent-up frustrations are erupting, so I might as well get it all off my chest.” I caught my breath, then said, “You've always been like this. Done things as you saw fit, I mean. As a kid you were like that. Only now, out here where you own everything, you're even more so. You have the money to back it up.”

  “Oh, stop,” she sharply demanded over her shoulder. “That's such an ugly thing to say.”

  I pushed on. “Maddy, you need to get off the island every now and then. It'd do you a hell of a lot of good. It'd remind you that other people exist and that you can't always do things your way.”

  “I do just fine here, thank you.”

  I paced toward the Tiffany dome, suddenly seized by a realization that frightened as much as worried me. It was really quite clear, actually. I didn't know why I hadn't seen it earlier.

  I turned, called to her as she sat motionless before the open doors, “You know, you've gotten to be an awful lot like her.”

  “Who?”

  “Loretta.”

  Maddy braced herself on the sides of her chair, twisted around, and demanded, “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Both of you have defined the limits of your world— the physical boundaries, I mean—and you won't go beyond them. Loretta wouldn't leave her yard except to go to the library, where she could escape into fiction. And you—you won't leave this island except via the dreamy state of hypnosis.”

  “That's not true!”

  But I knew it was. Absolutely so. By the way she bit back, I could see I'd hit a sensitive nerve of truth.

  I said, “Then how come every time I suggest taking â trip you ignore me or change the subject? We both think that something traumatic happened to Loretta when she was young and—”

  “Alex, this is nonsense. Stop it.”

  “No, listen. Something probably happened to Loretta when she was young, a teenager or whatever. Something that was quite shocking to her. And after that she withdrew from the world because she felt so vulnerable. Kept withdrawing until she'd hardly go out because the world was this big huge place where anything could happen.” I softened my tone, dared to venture, “And that's what's happening to you, Maddy. Something horrible struck you—literally—out there, and now you've retreated to this island. You say you triumphed over your tragedy because you sued and got all those millions. But you haven't triumphed, Maddy, you're just slowly being defeated. All those dollars have just let you build a glorious prison to keep—”

  “What do you want me to say—you're right?” she snapped. “Don't you get it? I've been blind for almost thirty years and now I'm stuck in a fucking wheelchair, and since the world won't accommodate me, I've made my own world here. One where I know every nook and crevice, one that I can navigate relatively on my own. And one that won't hurt me. So technically, clinically, maybe I am agoraphobic. But how am I supposed not to be?”

  “Maddy, I—”

  “I mean, what good has the great wide world done for me?” She grabbed the wheels of her chair and spun herself in a flash. “I'm going out for some fresh air.”

  Well, I'd certainly stirred things up, that much was obvious, and as she went whooshing past me, I said, “Maddy, wait.”

  “I need to be alone.”

  “But it's late. And it's pitch-black out there.”

  “Alex, you don't understand, do you? My world's always pitch-black,” she said, and laughed condescendingly as she reached the back wall, groped for the door that would lead to the rear of the attic and the elevator.

  There was nothing I could say, of course, for I'd already said it all wrong and Maddy had stuffed it right back in my mouth. I stood there, my anger spent, my head now confused, and watched as my sister found the door and disappeared. I shook my head, knowing I had to let her go, couldn't go after her.

  I went to the tray and poured myself some more wine, and from the back of the house I heard the hum of the elevator. Maddy would descend to the first floor, head outside, and then send herself around her island, whooshing and whizzing along, that wandish cane scraping in front of her. Well, maybe that's what she needed. A little night air. Space and freedom to ponder our heated conversation.

  Perhaps I could have said it better, more simply, but I was right on this one, I knew as I sipped my wine, and she most certainly needed to hear it. Maybe this jolt would be enough to get her out of here, off the island and away from the house, after all this Loretta business was concluded. Still, I didn't feel particularly good about any of it. And stepping out onto the balcony and into the dark night, I didn't like the idea of her being out there. I knew it was supposed to be safe, this private island, but it was just so…so dark. And quiet, too.

  I leaned on the railing, peered over and searched for my sister. Maybe it was my time in Chicago and Minneapolis. A holdover from the big cities. Maybe that was where this paranoid sense was coming from. Perhaps I was sensing something else. I didn't know. But it made me nervous, the idea of a woman, let alone a physically impaired woman, out at night, off in the woods, all by herself.

  Chapter 29

  In hour later I was lying in bed reading, and though I should have been way beyond tired, I was growing more and more awake with each moment. Maddy wasn't back. I'd been listening for the sound of her return, hoping to hear her in the entry downstairs or perhaps closing her bedroom door. But all was absolutely still. It was probably nothing. More than likely she was just off spinning along one of the many paths or perhaps perched on some lookout, her face pointed into the night breeze. But it made me nervous. Her being out there.

  Then again, I thought as I folded shut my book, maybe Maddy had returned and I just hadn't heard her; my hearing was by no means as sharp as hers. I threw back the covers, jumped out, and went to the door in my underwear. Just as I was opening it, a large dark face appeared on the other side, and I jumped back a half step.

  “Jesus, Alfred,” I muttered.

  “Get some clothes on.”

  “What?”

  “Maddy called. There's someone on the island.”

 
It took a moment for it to sink in. I didn't quite grasp his words, the meaning of what he was saying. Someone on the island? I stared into his large, stern face arid was taken aback by the obvious tension I saw. Instinctively, my heart took off in a bolt.

  “Where's my sister?” I demanded.

  He nodded past me and toward the black night beyond the windows. “Out there.”

  Another figure was now entering the second-floor hall, and I saw Solange hurrying around the open staircase, a long knife in hand. Oh, shit. There wasn't a bunch of happy campers out in the woods. Nor a group of boaters who'd landed on the island and were partying madly on one of the far beaches. There was trouble, and my sister was apparently caught up in the midst of it.

  I tore across the room and grabbed a pair of jeans, tugged them on, then pulled a blue T-shirt over my head. Slipping my bare feet into loafers, I was ready and dashed out of the room and into the hall. Not wasting a moment, Alfred led the way around the open stairs and down, with Solange and me right behind him.

  “Did she call from her wheelchair or…or the boathouse or what?” I asked.

  “Her wheelchair.”

  “When?”

  “Not more than a minute or two ago.”

  “Are the dogs with her?” I asked, hoping for once that her humongous wolfhounds would do something more than kill deer.

  “I don't know.”

  “What do you mean? What did she say?”

  Racing after me and clutching the knife, Solange replied, “I answered the phone and—”