Trifecta

by Pam Richter

  "Tell me about the interview."

  Suzanne signed and said, "This will bore you, as it's your field of expertise. But okay." She gave another deep sigh, "We were sitting on the couch in his living room. Omar told me that witches are called wiccans. And witchcraft is called the Craft of the Wise. The basic tenants are a love of nature and the sacredness of all life. The word Witchcraft is derived from 'wicce,' which means to bend. They bend reality to their desires—or do magic. It's a series of spiritual and magical systems."

  Vincent nodded. Suzanne was a gifted student and she had a phenomenal memory.

  "Do you really want me to go on?" she asked.

  He nodded.

  "Witches are like the clergy, and the laity are called 'pagans.' They're derived from polytheist beliefs. You know, Alexandrian, Druidic, Danic and Fairy. Beliefs go back to the 'Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.' Vincent, you have to help me...the witch hunting of the 14th through the 18th century was...

  "Stop," Vincent ordered. "You want me to help you?"

  "Do you want his lecture or not?" Suzanne asked smiling.

  "You just asked me to help you."

  "Well, you can if you like. You know all of this anyway."

  "No, no. Go on. I want the whole spiel." Vincent watched Suzanne carefully. Just moments ago she had gone blank again and asked for his help in the middle of her lecture. She didn't seem to realize it consciously when she had those strange staring fits and said odd things totally out of context to the conversation. Vincent was beginning to have the alarming idea that her mind had been tampered with.

  "Yeah, well the witch hunts went on for hundreds of years. Witches were called the 'sinister sisterhood.' The damage a witch is believed to do is called a curse or malediction. It might be caused by the evil influence of merely a look, from an invisible emanation from a witch's eyes, called being 'overlooked' or 'fascinated.' Or its by physical contact if a witch touches her victim. The witches were believed to make an image and stick pins or bristles in it, or write the person's name on a piece of paper and burn it. Or harm someone by burning a piece of clothing or a personal item. Witches believe they can cause injury by manipulation of hair, fingernails parings, sweat or excrement, which are supposed to contain an individual's vital spirits." She stopped, looking blank again.

  "Go on," Vincent urged.

  "The Coven is a band or company of men and women who gather for the practice of religious rites and magical ceremonies. The covens in Great Britain had a fixed number, thirteen; twelve witches and their officer."

  Suzanne paused to sip her drink and watch the Hawaiian dancers. She seemed to go blank again, but didn't say anything. She was pale and looked like she might suddenly begin crying, she appeared so sad.

  "Is something bothering you, Suzanne?"

  She turned and looked at Vincent, nodding yes, "No, of course not."

  "Did Omar say anything about his pets. Anything about 'familiars?'"

  "No. But I know all about them. A witch possesses an imp or devil in the shape of an animal. It's usually a cat or a dog. Sometimes a toad, rat, or even a wasp or butterfly. They perform magical services and are supposed to have been given to the witch by the devil himself. Or they are purchased or inherited from another witch. The 'witch's mark' is a teat, from which the familiar can suck the blood of the witch as a form of nourishment. This vampirish blood sucking was for magical purposes in medieval legend."

  "Do you really think Omar's kitten fits this definition?"

  "I was just kidding, Vincent," Suzanne said, but she was nodding yes again.

  "Do you think Omar is a witch?"

  "He thinks he is. And by definition he is. I mean, he professes belief in the religion. It goes back to whether one can believe in any religion."

  "Don't go all philosophical on me. I just want to know if you think he possesses magical powers?"

  "Vincent! Come on."

  "I shouldn't have let you go alone."

  "He was very nice, Vincent. We have another lesson tomorrow."

  "No," Vincent said shaking his head. "Absolutely not. I'm sorry, but you're going home. Tomorrow. I'll get you a ticket."

  Now she looked like a thwarted little child and Vincent felt guilty and sorry for what he had to do. He had promised Suzanne two weeks in Hawaii. But he had to get her away from the man, and truthfully, he didn't want it known he was associated with her, if this really was the warlock reputed to be so dangerous in the legends. It would be perilous for Suzanne to stay, and risky for him too, if Omar found he had planned that Suzanne entice him.

  "But Vincent, I want to find out more. You said it was important, and that he might be a good research study for my thesis on sociopathic behavior."

  "The guy could be very treacherous. At the very least he's probably living off the women who believe in him. At the worst, well, I don't know. You have to leave Suzanne. Now let's go inside and have dinner."

  Suzanne sighed deeply. "My last night in Hawaii."

  All through dinner Suzanne made excuses to stay, saying she wanted to help him and she would pay for the vacation herself. Vincent was adamant and finally told her a little about what he had heard about the Warlock; the women who became psychotic, those who died in strange accidents who were associated with him. Some of his followers believed he was the God of the Witches, the living incarnation of the leader of the Dianic Cult, who wore all black and was called the 'Black Man;' a man whom the witches adored, addressed prayers to, and even dedicated their children to.

  Vincent thought the disturbing truths might make Suzanne more leery of Omar, but the scary stories just made her more curious. He wished he could lock her in her hotel room to make sure she would be safe, but he walked her to her room and turned to leave, intending to do some research alone in his room.

  At the door Suzanne remembered about the tea. They would have a good-night tea toast, for her last night in Hawaii, in his room. When Suzanne took out the tea bags Vincent could see they were just a commercial brand that one finds regularly in health food stores. He examined the bags carefully before putting them in the pot, but they hadn't been tampered with.

  Vincent remembered just taking a few sips, and that was when things had begun to seem fuzzy. Suzanne kept drinking cup after cup, and she finished telling Vincent about the history of Witchcraft that Omar had related to her earlier that evening.

  "Omar said that witches were still very secretive about their ceremonies because of the fierce witch hunts. The Roman Catholic Church built up a large literature of demonology, outlining the manner in which witches were believed to conduct themselves. The doctrine developed into edicts which cumulated in the Papal Bull; the systematic persecution of witches as devil worshipers. Crystal-gazing was considered heresy. But the tales of mysterious nocturnal revels the witches conducted went on even during this time.

  "In 1608 William Perkins viewed witchcraft as a covenant with Satan and urged the execution of all witches. It was believed that the witch owed her magical powers to having made a deliberate pact with the devil. In return she could wreck supernatural vengeance upon her enemies. So witchcraft became the greatest of all sins, because it involved the renunciation of God."

  Suzanne cited the damage done by witches in medieval times, before 1500. There were reported to be two or three deaths, a broken leg, a withered arm, several destructive tempests and some bewitched genitals. Even the great philosopher, Aristotle, had believed that a glance from a menstruating woman could tarnish a mirror.

  The witches were believed to have physical peculiarities; the witch's mark, hair that could not be cut off, the inability to leave a shadow or to shed tears. A witch's eyes had a special power of fascination. A man believed to be a witch in 1646, Cherrie of Thrapston, died in jail because he wished his neighbor's tongue might rot off. And so it had.

  But in truth, records of old revealed two facts about accused witches. They were poor and usually women. And they were believed to have made a pact with the devil, w
ho promised them riches. There were so many women tortured and killed that the persecution is now called the 'Woman's Holocaust.'

  Vincent didn't remember much about her description of the difference between sorcery and witchcraft, but it was clear that Omar was not a witch. He fit the description of Sorcerer; a person who deliberately uses maleficent magic, the division of destructive black magic.

  Vincent knew that voodoo curses could have a dramatic and even fatal effect, because he had personally witnessed it in Haiti. Actually, the shock of being cursed could cause a decrease in blood pressure and produce dehydration and ultimately death. There were rational explanations for all of the beliefs in black magic. A person might think he had been possessed by an evil spirit. This belief could cause the hysterical fits and the obscene blasphemous ravings they seemed prone to. Vincent believed that the priest simply de-programmed the victim during an exorcism.

  Even while Vincent was providing his own rational explanations for maleficent magic, he found himself induced into a paralytic state while he listened to Suzanne. He felt himself too dulled to care when she began taking off her clothes. Vincent watched her as she stood up to take off the long skirt with the slit up the front. Some part of his mind was saying that he should at least protest. Another part said it did not matter. So he watched with an incurious gaze until she was totally naked.

  Suzanne seemed enormously strong when she led him to the bed and pushed him down on it. The whole situation had a dreamlike quality, as if he was in a state suspended between wakefulness and sleep. He did not seem capable of movement and did not care in the least when she unclothed him rapidly and lay down beside him.

  His trance-like state seemed matched by Suzanne, who was behaving as though she had been programmed to operate like a mechanical creature. She was definitely the aggressor in the improbable scene. She manipulated his body parts until he had the required erection and then she got on top of him. A part of his mind knew she was not aroused, but she enclosed him easily, as though she had been sexually stirred. She made the correct movements until Vincent achieved a release. It was not the least bit erotic or tender.

  Then she got up, put on her cloths and left. He felt like crying in some deep part of his mind as he watched her go, right before he passed out.

  Now Vincent felt something much worse than the blinding headache which had awakened him that morning. It was a pain so deep and traumatic he desired oblivion. Ambushed by severe depression he retreated to the bed, pulling the covers over his head.

  A fetal position with the covers over him induced sleep for a few minutes, and then Vincent had the horrible and alarming thought that if he felt this bad, how might Suzanne be feeling? He had no doubt that she had somehow been induced to perform sexually with him.

  He had been so involved in misery that he hadn't even thought of her. He was extremely worried about his professional reputation, thinking that he didn't even like young women for sex. He had never desired them. He enjoyed them intellectually, and truthfully loved to look at their fresh complexions and taut young bodies, but the thought of bedding one was repugnant. Suzanne was young enough to be his own grown-up daughter. Vincent liked sex with older women who desired him for his intellectual capacity more than his, he had to admit, rather pathetic body.

  During the time it took him to dress, he remembered with shame that he had met Suzanne's parents before the trip. After an evening with him they had been reassured that Suzanne would be safe. Even then Vincent had felt a little ashamed because he knew he would be using Suzanne's sweet appearance and innocence to lure a man whom he had heard was a real devil with women.

  Vincent went out on the balcony. He walked softly to Suzanne's room. Her door was unlatched, but the curtains were drawn so he pushed through them to get into her room. Suzanne was lying on the bed, totally naked, as if she had never awakened from the night before. She was lying on her back with arms and legs flung randomly. He suddenly became alarmed, she was so quiet, and ran over and put his fingers over her carotid artery to make sure she was alive. He had drunk only a little of the tea and it had produced a profound effect. She had drunk many cups. He tried not to look at her body, but recognized that it was her naked parts which he had seen visions of upon awakening. He covered her with a sheet.

  Vincent ran back to his own room and ordered two pots of coffee, drumming his fingers until it arrived.

  The scalding coffee sloshed on his bare feet as he ran back to Suzanne's room, but he hardly noticed the pain. He knew he should call the hotel doctor, but wanted to wake her up and get her dressed first.

  Suzanne lay in the same position. She was breathing steadily and very slowly. He poured the coffee and sat on the edge of the bed. He tapped her lightly on her cheek and murmured her name over and over again. It seemed hours before she frowned irritably and told him to stop it. Then she went back to sleep.

  Vincent made sure she was covered as he pulled her by her shoulders to a sitting position. She opened her eyes, finally, and he held out the cup of coffee. She took the cup and drank it all, murmuring how thirsty she was, so Vincent lowered her to the bed again and ran to get her water. When he returned she was asleep.

  It took over an hour to wake her up and get her dressed, which she did under the covers, as he handed her articles of clothing.

  "What happened? Why am I so tired?" Suzanne kept saying. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, and she was as cold as he remembered being when he had awakened. She shivered and drank a whole pot of coffee. She didn't remember the night before, but Vincent was afraid she would soon.

  By that time it was black outside. Night had fallen over the island. He opened the draperies and saw a moon that was almost full lighting up the beach. The tropical palm trees were etched black against the ocean in front of the window, outlined by moonlight on the sea.

  Vincent took Suzanne outside and they walked along the path behind the hotel to the beach. He wanted to give her some food, neither of them had eaten the entire day, but first he had to get her moving so she wouldn't fall asleep in the restaurant. She kept saying that all she wanted to do was take a little nap.

  As they walked on the empty beach, Vincent told Suzanne that she had done nothing wrong. She had been bewitched, probably hypnotized, and had also been given some powerful drugs. He kept emphasizing that she had done nothing to be ashamed of. She looked at him like he was crazy. They walked rapidly for about fifteen minutes. Then they went into the coffee shop to have a late meal.

  It was when Suzanne was finishing her Mahi-Mahi sandwich that her eyes opened very wide and she looked straight at him, frowning, "Oh, my God. I just had the strangest idea that I did do something horrible, Vincent."

  "No, you didn't."

  "The strangest dream."

  "Tell me."

  "No." Suzanne spoke loudly. It was obvious she was at least partially remembering what had happened. She was also trying to repress it and probably felt too embarrassed to say anything.

  "That man, Omar, tricked you. He gave you drugs. I'm going to have to deprogram you. Hypnotize you myself. Do you trust me?"

  "We just talked."

  "No. Much more went on than talking with Omar. You told me some of it yourself. Do you trust me to hypnotize you?"

  "Of course, Vincent. But nothing happened."

  "You know, deep down, that he did some vile things to you. I'll help you get it in perspective. Then I have to get those tea bags to a lab. Oh my God!"

  "What?"

  "I have to run upstairs. I'll be right back."

  Vincent took off at a fast trot, but when he got to his room he was too late. The room service staff noticed he had finally left the room and had cleaned it. The tea bags were gone.

  CHAPTER 12

  Two continuous years of virginity was much too long. Tonight was the night. Michelle wondered why she had to talk herself into it. She should want to. Then she brushed the thought away. It was too late anyway, Omar expected her at his
apartment right now. She looked in the mirror. The flowered silk pants suit was beautiful. Her hair was up in its usual bun on top of her head. She told herself she looked sophisticated.

  She told herself she was not shaking, although the tremor was perceptible in her mirror. Her light skin seemed whiter than usual and she used lipstick so she wouldn't appear so pale.

  Michelle took a deep breath when she got to his door. This felt like a dentist visit for root canal work. Running back to her apartment and making an excuse not to see him would be cowardly. She had already reneged on their lunch date earlier, calling him from the office, saying she was tied up. She knocked firmly.

  When Omar opened the door a blast of cold air hit her. She was fascinated and vaguely repelled as she stepped inside. There was a fire in a large marble fireplace, but that was the only warmth. The color scheme of his apartment, white and black was starkly modern. The splendidly composed, elegant atmosphere reminded her of a morgue. She shivered because the grandeur was physically cold, even with the warmth from the fire. It was at least twenty degrees cooler than the balmy, tropical temperature outside. The living room was enclosed entirely by windows, which showcased a spectacular panorama of the Waikiki area and the blue ocean beyond.

  "Come in. Come in." Omar had on his devastating. "You'd like a Bloody Mary without the vodka?"

  Michelle forced her frozen face to smile. He had remembered her choice in the bar at the Ilikai Hotel. "Maybe something a little warmer."

  "My choice exactly. How about some herbal tea?" He was rubbing his hands together and smiling. "It is rather chilly. I'll turn up the heat."

  Michelle watched him adjust the thermostat. Omar was debonair in a casual black sweater and dark pants. She wondered what was wrong with her. He was a nice man. He was handsome as hell. Why were her hands clammy cold and her mouth so dry? A panic attack would ruin her plans.

  He had already made the tea, Michelle realized, when he came out of the kitchen almost immediately with the pot and cups on a silver tray.