Jessica could not make a sound.
43
“Hi. You have reached Fernando Reyes with the Miami Police Department homicide division. I’m not at my desk right now—”
Her frame shaking uncontrollably, Jessica slammed the handset back down at the graffiti-marked pay phone. She’d already hyperventilated once, breathing for a full two minutes into a small paper bag she’d found in the van while she was still parked at the newspaper, and she felt the tightness in her lungs returning. Gulping at the air, not breathing. She’d forgotten something so simple as that.
Her van was parked haphazardly across three spaces behind AAA Liquors on Biscayne Boulevard, not even five minutes from her house. It was after four o’clock, so David had picked Kira up from school by now. When she’d left him that morning, she told David she would go to the hospital after work to visit Alex. She might be late, she said. No problem, David assured her, grinning. Kira and I will go ahead and eat early then.
The memory of David’s grin, now, made Jessica shudder. Her fingers shook as she went through her large woven purse searching for the business card she’d taken from the Miami Beach cop that morning. And where was Reyes? She had to call someone.
You see, she would say, my husband is immortal. He also kills people, by the way. He killed his eighty-year-old daughter in Chicago, and when he figured out that my reporter friend and I might discover his crime, he killed the reporter too. You remember Peter Donovitch—the bloody windshield on CNN. Yes, that reporter. And when my husband found out that I gave a sample of his immortal blood to my sister, he tried to kill her. You could say he’s on a roll. It’s all perfectly clear, don’t you think?
With a sob, Jessica gave up her search for the card and closed her purse. She could not say those things. She could not prove those things. And even if the police cordoned off the neighborhood and swooped into the house from SWAT helicopters, would that be something she’d want Kira to witness? Her father in handcuffs?
Jessica had changed her mind a dozen times in less than half an hour. First, she wanted to call the police. Then, she didn’t. Then, she decided the only way to be safe was to call the police. And then she thought she mustn’t.
What the hell should she do?
There was only one thing to do. It was the last thing Jessica had decided, the thought that made her race outside to her van in the moments before she discovered she’d forgotten how to breathe.
She had to have Kira with her. She had to take Kira away from David, far away. And then she could call the police, the National Guard, the Marines, whomever. Kira came first.
Oh, how her lungs hurt. What did a heart attack feel like? Weakly, Jessica climbed back into the van’s driver’s seat and fitted the drugstore’s small paper bag over her nose and mouth. Immediately, the bag puffed with air, then she sucked the carbon dioxide back into her system. Puffed out, then back in. Out, in.
Slowly, the breathing came easier. It was time to go home.
44
Something was troubling the woman. Something new, beyond the hospitalization of her sister. She had been crying, breathing into a paper bag, at times wailing Dawit’s name as she drove. Mahmoud regretted that he had not made an effort to replace the camera Dawit had packed away when he removed the picture frames from his upstairs bedroom. Since then, Mahmoud’s surveillance had been limited to Dawit’s living room, the van, and the telephone wiretap. This was revealing, but perhaps not enough so. Something was happening before him, and yet he could not see it.
Mahmoud had spent a brief thirty years in the House of Mystics, struggling to learn to channel his own psychic energies. He was a failure as a clairvoyant, he decided. He had learned to see his brothers’ auras and read meaning into the subtle color changes that he witnessed as he sat across from them with his palms resting across his kneecaps. But he could not capture others’ thoughts as Khaldun could—or even one so dim-witted as Jima, who lacked the capacity to learn more than six languages, yet who had challenged Mahmoud once because he’d known, at that instant, that Mahmoud was thinking what a tiresome fool he was. Mahmoud did not share this gift. He could not predict when the rains would end, or how many sheep would die, or when a Searcher would return with a Life brother from abroad.
But perhaps Mahmoud had learned a little something in that time, after all. If he had listened to his psychic senses, he would have remained at the Miami Beach apartment building to determine whether or not the mortal woman’s sister had indeed died in her fall. Seven flights down! How could she have survived?
But she had.
And his senses were thrilling now, so much so that the hairs on his arm were erect. He might be treading failure. And this task, the one Khaldun had entrusted to him, was no ordinary challenge. The future of all his Life brothers might be in his hands.
He should have known this! Khaldun had hinted as much when he called Mahmoud to his chamber to describe the mission.
The time has come to bring Dawit back. The time has passed.
Finally! Mahmoud had been eager. He had no way of knowing, then, how lost Dawit had become among the mortals. He had expected his friend to welcome him, to travel with him. He had laughed with joy when Khaldun gave him his instructions.
But Khaldun’s face had remained grim. His colorless irises held Mahmoud’s eyes as he shook his bearded head back and forth.
You will find no reason to celebrate. After this, you and Dawit will be friends no more. He will not heed gentle measures.
Mahmoud had not believed this. How could he? Dawit treated Khaldun like the father he had lost to war as a child. Dawit’s taste for mortals was disagreeable, but harmless. Dawit had chosen to separate himself many times before, and yet remained true to his brothers. He had left his fame and his family in Chicago the very night the Searchers found him. Surely disobedience was foreign to Dawit!
Khaldun, deftly, read Mahmoud’s thoughts.
Your brother has a true heart, Mahmoud. But he has suffered much, and his soul is stricken. Fate uses the very strong and the very weak as its agents for change. Even we are not immune to change. Nor to fate.
His message had been very clear, but Mahmoud had failed to interpret it then; Khaldun had been trying to tell him that Dawit might bring destruction to their centuries of peace. Now, Mahmoud was watching the prophecy unfold. He had watched Dawit break the Covenant and reveal himself to his wife, a journalist; and Mahmoud had discovered that she shared the knowledge with her sister, a physician.
What more did he need to see?
Mahmoud stared at the monitors in front of him. Dawit and the child were in the kitchen, making dinner. They were out of his camera’s scope, but he could hear the girl’s laughter. He had seen Dawit’s wife in the van, but now the van was empty.
Tonight, he decided. He must abandon his plan to visit the hospital in the surgeon’s scrub suit he had found at a medical supply store, coupled with the false identification he had easily printed and laminated himself. The wife’s sister and mother would enjoy one last night of life.
But not so for Dawit’s wife and child. Mahmoud had considered many methods, but in his haste he had succumbed to crudeness. He would let himself into Dawit’s house with the universal key that had worked without trouble at the Miami Beach apartment. He would visit Dawit’s daughter’s room first; a simple gunshot to the head while she slept. A silent gun was quickest.
He would visit Dawit’s room next and shoot the sleeping parents. He would leave the bodies of the woman and child behind. He would carry Dawit with him; when Dawit awoke, he would sedate him long enough to finish the business of the two women at an appropriate time.
Four would be too much killing for one night, since he must act with caution. Two, then. In two nights, at last, he could begin his journey back to his brothers with Dawit and resume his normal life.
And, after this, he would tell Khaldun that he had lost his appetite for the ranks of the Searchers. This was not what he had intended. Khaldun
’s warning was wholly true; there was no satisfaction in this for him.
Khaldun was right in what Mahmoud had heard him say many times: It was pure cowardice, nothing more, for an immortal to kill mortals unnecessarily. What nobility was there in stealing from those already impoverished? Mahmoud had never been a coward.
The monitors gleamed against Mahmoud’s weapon as he loaded the cartridge with the heel of his hand.
45
He was standing behind the screen in the open doorway when she drove up, wrapped in shadows from the tree branches knotted overhead, as though he’d been waiting for her. He was now as much a fixture at this house as the plants around it and the uneven path leading to the door. Jessica didn’t allow herself to sit in the driveway and think about what she was going to say or do. That was when she couldn’t breathe. She climbed out of the van and trudged past the cave toward David, her legs reluctant to move.
“You’re so early. What a great surprise,” he said.
She felt naked standing in front of him. Helplessly exposed. Her awful knowledge was big inside her, glowing from her.
Absurdly, David was in an unusually good mood. He was wearing tattered denim cutoffs and a faded Charlie “Bird” Parker T-shirt she’d bought him for a birthday some years back, clothes that were as painfully familiar as his face. At this moment, he looked so much like a reflection of her that his simple presence felt staggering, nearly making her lose her balance.
She had braced herself to face a maniac. But he wasn’t one. He was only David, even now. He was smiling, squeezing her forearm to gendy lead her inside, closing the door after her. She noticed the sound of the deadbolt clicking into place, and she felt her muscles lock.
Suddenly, she was exhausted inside and out, maybe because of the thrashing in her chest from her overexcited heart. It would be easy to stretch out on the sofa and let him rub her feet.
“Mom-meeee!” Kira cried happily, her voice wavering as she bumped down the stairs.
“Hey, sweetness. Come here,” Jessica whispered, meeting Kira at the bottom of the stairs, kneeling to hug her at eye level. She rocked with her, hanging on. “I missed you today.”
In an instant, Jessica heard a click and saw a flash of light against the wall. Again, her muscles turned rigid. Her head whipped around.
David stood across the room with his Canon camera, smiling. He advanced the film manually with quick flicks of his thumb. “Perfect. That was a priceless shot. Stay just like that.”
“Daddy’s been taking pictures all day,” Kira complained into Jessica’s ear as the camera clicked again. Jessica felt lost in the temporary white blindness.
“You didn’t smile, Jess.”
“Sorry,” she said, and the word sounded comical. What was she apologizing for? How in the world could he expect her to smile? “I think I’m just hungry.”
“Ah. Then you’re ready for our special treat for tonight.”
“Pizza!” Kira announced.
“Kira and I made gluttons of ourselves on my homemade pepperoni specialty. I just need to grate some more mozzarella, and I’ll make you one all to yourself.”
“Great,” Jessica said in the loudest voice she could manage.
Driving home, she’d imagined all sorts of scenarios where she would run upstairs and throw some clothes into a duffel bag, at least enough for her and Kira to stay somewhere overnight. But now that she was inside and saw how small the house was, she knew that was out of the question. Her purse was still on her arm, and that was all she could take. That and her daughter.
She had to do it now. If not, she might not do it at all.
She stood tall, clasping Kira’s hand. “While you’re doing that, I’m going to run with Kira over to that doll store down the street. It’s only five minutes away.”
Kira looked up at her, her face full of puzzled surprise. The doll store, which sold antique dolls as well as porcelain dolls crafted by Nadine, the proprietor, was a rare treat. That was where Peter found the beautiful black doll he’d bought for Kira at Christmas; thinking of Peter made Jessica’s throat swell nearly shut.
David was frozen, confused. “Well … If you want to postpone eating, I’ll go with you.”
One of Jessica’s purse straps nearly slipped from her shoulder, but she quickly yanked it back into place. “No. Please? I just want to be with her a little while.”
David leveled a questioning gaze at her. She hoped the excuse would work; she’d maintained plenty of times that she needed to spend time alone with Kira—a source of contention, since he always wanted to be included too—but never so abruptly. He was going to argue. Then it would be lost, because Jessica could barely control as tartling new quiver at her bottom lip, and she was sure Kira must be able to feel the unsteadiness in her fingers. She was afraid he would use his reliable old tactic, Kira, don’t you want Daddy to go too?
Instead, David raised his camera once more and snapped a picture. For a moment, he was hidden behind the bright flash. “Will you be long?” he asked.
“I just want to show her a new doll I saw in the window today. It looks just like her.” She had no idea where she was pulling the lies from, but she was thankful they were coming.
Kira was gazing at David, waiting. Jessica now saw that it wasn’t enough that Mommy wanted to take her somewhere; Kira had to be certain it was okay with Daddy too. Seeing this, and realizing for the first time how much she had allowed David to win control of their daughter, Jessica felt a wave of near nausea.
“Have fun. Duchess,” David told Kira, winking.
Kira grinned, squeezing Jessica’s hand. “Let’s go. Mommy.”
“Love you, baby,” David said, walking over to kiss Jessica’s lips lightly. Jessica’s stomach rattled. He kissed Kira’s cheek. “You two hurry back.”
As Jessica pulled Kira by the hand up the driveway, she had to use all her self-control to keep from sprinting, or running like someone crazed. She couldn’t. David was probably at the door, still watching them go, probably an impulse away from begging to come too.
Teacake had already sprawled across the warm hood of the parked van, and he meowed as they approached. Kira reached up to try to pet him, but Jessica anxiously pulled her to the passenger’s door. Fumbling for her keys, Jessica glanced back over her shoulder at the house. The door was closed. David wasn’t in sight. Out of habit, she glanced up at Kira’s open bedroom window. She didn’t see him there, either.
“Will you buy the doll for me?” Kira asked.
“I don’t know,” Jessica said, biting her lip hard to keep from sobbing. She couldn’t cry now, not until they were gone. Safely gone. Then she could do anything she wanted and explain everything to Kira any way she chose. “Get in, honey,” Jessica said after she’d opened the door.
“Make Teacake get down,” Kira said, worried, trying to climb up to her seat. The cat was gazing at Jessica benignly from his resting state, with no intention of moving.
“I will, honey.”
After closing the door behind Kira, Jessica lifted her cat, feeling the hairy tufts of his underbelly, and “brushed her nose across his fur. Another so-familiar scent, a comforting smell that reminded her of her bedroom, safe sleep. Teacake mewed, purring. She was about to cry again. Fuck it.
“Teacake’s coming?” Kira cried, delighted, as Jessica tossed the cat into the backseat and slammed the door shut behind her before the cat could scramble back out. Unlike Princess, Teacake loathed automobiles. They reminded him of visits to the vet.
“Yep. We’re all going.”
Somehow, she managed to find the ignition with her trembling hand. She thought of the horror movies where the poor heroine can never get the car to start, but the van started immediately with a roar. Kira’s door wasn’t closed tightly enough, the dashboard display warned with a red light and a soft, whining alarm. She should have closed it harder. Jessica cursed, shaking her head. She wouldn’t worry about that now. Put the van in reverse, she told herself. Go. Not to
o fast. Check your mirror; be sure not to back over anyone. Make sure no one is coming. You can’t have an accident. Just go.
They were moving. The thought filled Jessica with a hysterical disbelief. They were driving. The oak tree posting their street number was trailing behind her in the rearview mirror, and they’d reached the intersection that would take them straight to Biscayne. They would vanish into the busy highway’s rush-hour traffic. Next, the Interstate. After that, the Turnpike.
She’d done it. Sweet Jesus. She’d really done it.
“Mommy, my door isn’t right,” Kira pointed out, fussing with her seat belt. “Won’t I fall out?”
“I’ll fix it at a light, honey,” Jessica whispered, blinking hard. Stay away, tears. They hadn’t traveled far enough yet. Traffic had boxed them in. No one was moving. Brake lights everywhere. Teacake’s clipped, frightened mews from the back pierced Jessica’s brain, making her neck stiff. Like a baby’s cry.
Jessica had hoped to barrel through the stoplight alongside AAA Liquors, but the light turned red too soon and she braked abruptly. Damnit.
“Fix my door now,” Kira said. “Please?”
Jessica’s mind was so dazed that she didn’t even realize until she’d jumped out of the van to run around to Kira’s side that she could have simply reached across her daughter to close the door. Once outside, she immediately felt vulnerable, naked. She’d left the sanctuary of the van in the middle of the road, with everyone noticing her. What if David had followed? Her fingers slipped when she tried to grab Kira’s metal latch, so she had to wipe her hands on her slacks. “Careful, sweetheart,” she said once the door was open, then she closed it with all her weight.
Somewhere, a car honked. She looked at the light, frantic. Still red. What asshole was out there honking?
Then, Jessica gasped. A red Ford Tempo was only three cars behind her in the left lane, and she nearly fell to her knees when she saw it. David’s car! He’d been behind them the whole time.
My Soul to Keep (African Immortals) Page 34
