by Lisa Jackson
Kristi reached her driver’s door just as Irene was climbing out and scowling at some dead weeds growing at the edge of the crumbling asphalt. “Damned things,” she said, then caught sight of Kristi. “Oh. Hello. I heard you fixed those locks yourself.” She was already shaking her head and reaching inside for a wide-brimmed hat to add to her outfit of brown corduroy slacks, a pink flannel shirt, and a beige cardigan sweater with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. “I told you Hiram would handle it.”
“I couldn’t get hold of him in time.”
She plopped the hat upon her head, covering her curly salt and pepper hair. “Well, then, I’ll need a set of keys to your unit, and if you think you can take the expense of changing the locks off your rent, then you can think—”
“I’ll see that you get a set,” Kristi said, irritated with the money-grubbing landlady. “I heard that Tara Atwater lived in my apartment.”
The older woman reacted and Kristi knew she’d hit a nerve. “Tara? The girl who ran out without paying her last month’s rent? That’s right, she lived upstairs.”
“And she’s missing.”
“All I know is that she took off on me without paying.”
“Or was taken. Some people think she was abducted.”
“That girl?” Irene snorted derisively. “No way. She was a partier and a runaround. My guess is she took a notion to take off and did.”
“And no one’s seen her since.”
“Probably because she was messed up with drugs.” Irene squinted at Kristi. “I know the press gets worked up when girls drop out of college, making something out of nothing. The police don’t seem to think there’s foul play. Those girls who went missing? They’ve done it before. Their families aren’t even concerned and I can vouch for that as far as the Atwater girl goes. I called her mother, and the woman could barely talk to me. Complained of working two jobs with two younger kids to support. As for the dad, now there’s a lost cause. Been in and out of jail. The last I heard he was still serving time. No one wants to ante up the back rent.”
“You’re saying no one really cares about Tara.”
Irene lifted a scrawny shoulder, the pink and brown plaid of her shirt shifting in the sunlight. “She was a party girl. Always with the boys.” She clucked her tongue, then leaned down and picked out one of the weeds daring to grow in the cracks of the parking lot. “That spells trouble to me.”
“Do you know the names of the boys she dated?”
“I keep my nose out of my tenants’ business.”
That, Kristi knew, was a bald-faced lie. Irene Calloway had already told Kristi enough that suggested she loved to gossip, so, Kristi figured, it was only a matter of buttering her up or trading information to learn everything the landlady knew.
“Who collected her things? Someone had to pick up her stuff if she just left it.”
“Not yet they haven’t! And I’m charging ’em rent, too. Space ain’t cheap, even storage compartments.”
“You boxed her things up?”
“Me? Nah.” She shook her head. “That’s a job for the manager.”
Hiram. The do-nothing. Great.
Kristi left the old lady muttering to herself as she yanked a few more weeds from the parking lot. Irene Calloway’s take on things always had a negative spin on it.
Jaywalking across the street, Kristi headed to Adam’s Hall, the vine-clad building that was home to the English Department, where her writing class with Dr. Preston was located.
As she reached the steps of Adam’s Hall, her cell phone jangled with a special tune reserved for her father.
Of course.
“Hey,” she said, making her voice sound cheery, even though she was a little bugged that he’d called. Had there been a day he hadn’t checked in, making up some excuse to talk to her? Well…maybe a couple, but for the most part, Rick Bentz had phoned daily, inventing some lame excuse to talk to her.
“Thought I’d call because you said something about wanting your bike and I thought I could run it up to you this weekend.”
“Give it up, Dad. You’re making an excuse to check in with me,” she said, squinting as she glanced back across the grassy area separating Adam’s Hall from the religious center. The chapel spire rose above the branches of the surrounding live oaks and the brick face of the abbot’s lodge, which was attached to a cloister, all part of the old monastery that was located on the premises.
Her father laughed and Kristi couldn’t help but smile. “Old habits, you know,” he said.
“Yeah, I do, and I would like the bike, but don’t make a special trip up here. I’ll get it my next trip down.”
“And put it in the Honda?”
“I’ve got a bike rack….” Staring at the chapel, she saw two figures emerge: one, a priest, not Father Tony, but the other guy; and two, Ariel O’Toole. So just how many hours did Ariel spend in the chapel or with the priest? Was she having an affair with the guy? Applying to become a nun? Confessing a myriad of sins?
“Look, Dad, I’ve got to run. We’ll talk later…or text me, okay? Bye.”
She clicked off and watched as Father Mathias, ever brooding, hurried into the chapel and Ariel, head down, walked rapidly in Kristi’s direction. Once again, Kristi saw her in shades of gray. Despite the sunlight, a coldness swept through Kristi’s bloodstream. She swallowed hard and knew she couldn’t confront the girl head on. Ariel would think she was a nutcase, for sure. No, Kristi would have to be sneakier about it. She dashed up the remaining steps and slipped into the hallway, then waited until she spied the glass doors open again and a group of five or six students pass through. Ariel lagged a little behind them but didn’t look up or notice Kristi as she turned down the corridor to Dr. Preston’s classroom.
Kristi followed and as soon as the door to the classroom closed behind Ariel, she went inside. Ariel found an empty desk and Kristi snagged one nearby. She didn’t catch the other girl’s attention, just waited and pretended interest in Dr. Preston as he began to lecture on the importance of perspective and clarity in writing.
“So let’s talk about last week’s assignment,” Preston was saying. He dropped his chalk in favor of a stack of printed papers. “The assignment was to write two pages about your darkest fear…right? Most of you used description very well, but, let’s see—” He flipped through the pages until he came to the one he sought. “Mr. Calloway had an interesting take on the subject. He writes: ‘This is supposed to be a creative writing class and I cannot write creatively when forced to write upon a specific subject. My creativity—and that word is in quotes—is stifled.’” Preston looked up and focused on Hiram Calloway, who stared defiantly back at him. “Well, that’s an interesting way to get out of an assignment.” He glanced to the rest of the class, his gaze touching lightly on Kristi’s before moving on. “However I would have been more impressed had Mr. Calloway said something like, ‘I feel chained to my desk, forced to write a paper I loathe.’ He might have gotten an A for that response; as it is, he’ll have to settle for a B as the paper, or lack thereof, was original.” He smiled then, white teeth against suntanned skin, blond hair gleaming under the lights. “Now, I’d like to read something more traditional and worthy of the A she received. This paper is written by Miss Kwan and I would say she has a good understanding of writing viscerally and descriptively.”
Kristi glanced at Mai, who lifted her chin a notch as Preston began to read.
“‘I fear the devil. Yes, Satan. Lucifer. Evil incarnate. Why? Because I think he, or she, if you so believe, lurks in all of us, at least, if I’m honest, he lives in me, deep in the nether regions of my soul. I struggle to keep him trapped and locked away for fear of what he, and I, as his vessel, might do. I cannot imagine the pain and suffering he might inflict should he be unleashed.’”
Preston grinned at Mai, almost as if he knew her intimately. What was that all about? “That was just the first paragraph and yet we feel the writer’s battle, her fear, her worry about her o
wn psychosis. For in that one paragraph we see that she still has the upper hand. She talks not of the devil breaking free but of her unleashing him. She still has control, albeit a very tenuous hold on Satan and her sanity.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself, his blond hair catching the light of the fluorescent bulbs humming over his head. “Well done, Miss Kwan. She received the only A because she was the only one of you who made me believe she was indeed writing from her heart.”
Mai smiled self-consciously, blushed, then looked down at her desk, as if she were slightly embarrassed, but Kristi wasn’t buying it. She knew her neighbor better than to believe the humility act. But the subject matter of Mai’s fears gave her pause.
Satan in her soul? Not spiders or snakes or dark places or airplanes, or falling from bridges or marrying the wrong person, but the devil lurking in her soul? Where did that come from?
“Jesus,” Kristi whispered, and caught a quick, non-approving glance from Ariel. “I just meant that was pretty creepy.” Frowning, Ariel gave a little shrug.
Her attempt at becoming Ariel’s friend was not going well. At this rate it would take eons for Kristi to gain her trust, and she felt as if she were running out of time. Why did she even care? Because Ariel was Lucretia’s friend? So what? And the gray-faced thing, maybe it was all a figment of her imagination.
Leaning back in her desk chair, Kristi forced her full attention to the lecture. Finally, after Preston tossed the chalk a few times, returned their papers and gave the next assignment, Kristi gathered her belongings and walked out of the building, one step behind Ariel. The day was still warmer than usual but the sunlight was now filtered by high, thin clouds, causing dappled shadows on the ground.
Kristi figured she’d blown her chance at cozying up to the girl. No surprise there. Kristi had never been able to fake a friendship or hide her true feelings. She couldn’t count how many times she’d been told she wore her heart on her sleeve. It just wasn’t in her to fake it, so she decided to just flat-out ask Ariel what was going on. “Hey, Ariel,” she called.
Hearing Kristi’s voice, Ariel stopped dead in her tracks. “What?” she asked, and pointedly checked her watch.
“Are you okay?”
“What do you mean?” She started walking again, a little faster. Obviously wanting to get away.
“You seem preoccupied.” Kristi kept up with her, stride for stride and tried not to think that she had to get to work in less than half an hour.
Ariel hazarded a quick glance at Kristi. “You don’t even know me.”
“I can tell that something’s bothering you.”
“And you’re here to help?” She shot Kristi a bewildered look, and in that instant Kristi decided to confide in her.
“Look, I know this sounds weird, but…I…have this thing, okay? Call it ESP, or whatever, but I’ve had it ever since I was in the hospital and nearly died. The deal is that I…can kinda see into the future. Not always, but sometimes, and I can see if someone’s in danger.”
Ariel folded her arms, shrinking into her oversized hoodie. “Either you’re crazy or this is some kind of weird joke.”
“I’m serious.”
“What are you saying? That I’m in trouble?”
“Danger. Possibly life-threatening,” Kristi answered earnestly.
“Oh. My. God. You are nuts! Leave me alone.”
“It’s just that sometimes, when I see you, there’s no color in your skin. It’s like you’re in a black and white movie.”
Ariel shuddered despite her bravado. She backed away from Kristi, her eyes searching around as if for help. “Leave me alone. Don’t ever talk to me again. You must be on something. Or you’re a head-case. This isn’t funny, you know.” Kristi took a step forward and Ariel looked ready to scream. “Get away from me. Now!”
“I’m just concerned.”
Ariel snorted, putting more distance between them. “You’d be the first,” she muttered fiercely as she hesitated at the gate of Wagner House. Her face was so washed out she looked half dead already. “Stay away from me! You hear? Don’t ever come near me again or I’ll call the police and have a restraining order slapped on you.”
Before Kristi could say anything more, Trudie and Grace rounded a corner not far from the library. Ariel saw them and began to wave frantically, like a panicked, drowning woman hoping for a lifeline. Without another word, she met up with her friends and walked through the open gates. They all headed up the steps to the old stone manor. As Kristi understood it, Wagner House had been the home of the original settler of this tract of land. Now it was a museum.
Grace pulled one of the double doors open and the three girls stepped inside. Ariel turned to slip Kristi a final look, her face wan and shadowed. Though they were only yards away from each other, Kristi felt as if there were oceans of distance between them. The thick wooden door shut behind the trio with a distinct thud.
Kristi hesitated. Obviously the girl didn’t want her help. And who was to say that Ariel was caught in some dire, fatal situation? Sure, the elderly woman on the bus had died, but so what? Her father was still alive, wasn’t he? True, the glimpses she’d caught of the ghostly Rick Bentz had been fleeting and spotty, sometimes not being apparent for months, but he didn’t seem on the brink of death.
The knot in her stomach said otherwise, but she wanted desperately to believe she was mistaken about him—that she was wrong about all her visions. However, in the case of Ariel O’Toole, the ghostly appearance was steady. Every time Kristi caught sight of her she was washed out, pale and gray. Ariel had needed to be warned, but Kristi already knew she’d made a mistake in confiding in her. Now Ariel thought she was deranged and should be in a mental hospital, or that she’d been playing a cruel joke on her. Worse yet, the secret Kristi had kept for all the past months was no longer hers alone. That wasn’t good. She shouldn’t have blurted out the truth, but what other choice had she had?
She glanced up at the mullioned windows of Wagner House and thought she saw Ariel’s image, shattered and misshapen, by the beveled panes of glass. Even so, she appeared a ghost.
CHAPTER 11
Officer Esperanza in Missing Persons wasn’t happy. A big bosomed woman, she leaned on the other side of the counter separating the work space from the reception area and glared at Portia. She didn’t like Portia Laurent or anyone else questioning her authority, and it showed in the tightness of her lips and the flare of her nostrils. Portia pressed her lips together waiting for the explosion. Pushing sixty, her hair dyed a Lucille Ball red, Lacey Esperanza was not known for her restraint. Smart, sassy, and sometimes downright ornery, she took her job beyond seriously. Waaay beyond.
“I’m gonna tell you exactly what I tell anyone who calls from the press, Detective, and that is to take it up with the goddamned FBI. They have the resources, the manpower, and the GD know-how to deal with this,” she said in a gravelly voice. “They’ve been notified and are running their own investigation or lack thereof. The way I see it and we all agree here, there is no case. Yes, the girls disappeared from All Saints. Missing? Phooey! Murdered? Then where the hell are the bodies? I don’t know about you, but I got a butt-load of work to do on cases where people are actually”—she made air quotes with her fire-engine red fingernails—“missing. You know, where family members or friends are calling and looking for someone.” She leaned close enough so that Portia could smell the scent of stale cigarette smoke mingling with her perfume. “What’s wrong over there at All Saints that they can’t keep track of their students, huh? LSU is what? Five or six times the size of All Saints and they seem to keep track of theirs.”
Which was exactly the point. What was it about the smaller college that caused it to lose some of its coeds? Portia didn’t say it to Esperanza, but she believed there was a predator at large and his hunting ground was the campus of All Saints College. She’d checked. Lacey was right. Louisiana State, located only thirty minutes from the campus of All Saints, hadn’t reported any missing stud
ents. Nor had Our Lady of the Lake, or Southern University, or the community college, or any of the bible colleges or even the beauty schools. Just All Saints.
So far.
Until this monster that Portia believed was stalking the small college broadened his hunting ground. Dear God, she hoped she was wrong.
“Let me tell you,” Lacey rambled on, “I get nearly a hundred e-mails a day and that’s after the spam has been filtered out. Double that many come in over a weekend. I’m pretty damned busy. Let the Feds figure it out. However”—she turned her palms toward the acoustic tiles of the ceiling—“if you want to look in the files, be my guest. I guess it says something about the Homicide Department if you have time on your hands to go rootin’ through our files.”
Lacey turned to a coworker sitting at a nearby desk so clean it looked as if no one actually worked there. Not a photo, dying plant, or name plate on the desk. The in-basket was as empty as the out. “Mary Alice, if Detective Laurent wants anything, you see that she gets it, y’hear. Me, it’s time for my break.”
Lacey scraped her pack of cigarettes from the top of her cluttered desk, then rained a saccharine smile on Portia as she opened the top of the long counter that served as a gate. Squeezing her way through, she walked briskly between the scattered desks to the staircase leading to the front entrance of the station.
Mary Alice, a thin girl with stringy mouse brown hair, looked up at Portia with huge hazel eyes. “I apologize, Detective. Lacey, she’s got herself a passel of trouble at home what with that daughter of hers. Nearly forty years old and the woman can’t seem to hold down a job or get her act together. Sheeeeit, she’s got three kids of her own, for God’s sake, and that oldest one, Lacey’s grandson, he’s already got hisself into trouble with meth. Nasty stuff, that.”
Portia couldn’t agree more. “That’s too bad.”
“Praise the Lord and amen to that!” The small woman pushed on the edge of her desk and rolled her chair backward far enough so that she could stand, showing off her slight figure, slim skirt, and high heels. “So, tell me again, what is it exactly I can get for you?”
