Blood.
Blood everywhere.
Blood on the walls.
Blood on the floor.
Something stung her arm and she knew she had been penetrated by Dr. Abernathy’s needle. Her wrists were held tight so that she could not swat at the stinging sensation. Her screams muffled by a hand clamped over her mouth. Her body writhed. She fought against them until the drug took effect, her blood sluggish in her veins, her resistance futile.
Elizabeth floated in a state of something very close to suspended animation. She was neither asleep nor awake. She was vaguely aware of new surroundings. A different bed. A different room. Sirens screeched on the periphery of hearing.
“I don’t want to talk to the police,” she gripped the sleeve of the arm that held her. “Promise me I won’t have to talk to the police.”
“They’ll want to question you, Elizabeth.” Dr. Abernathy’s voice spoke from a world away. “You were the one to find Joan. They’ll want to take your statement.”
“You don’t understand. They grilled me relentlessly when Sven died, I can’t go through that again.”
Dr. Abernathy’s voice was calm and soothing, being pulled further and further away to the ends of the universe. The sedative washed like waves through her veins.
Two uniformed men pressed into the room. Too young to be police officers, they might have been extras from central casting. Movie star faces with tans as deep as their starched uniform shirts. Their faces hovered over her as if inspecting a specimen in a laboratory. Insistent voices buzzed from the hall – attendants taking Joan Monaghan away beneath a blood soaked white sheet. The baby-faced officers’ muffled questions sounded like dialogue delivered through cotton stuffed mouths. Scribbling in notebooks, probing inside her mind just like Dr. Abernathy. Just like the cops who drilled her after Sven’s murder, just like the doctors at the hospitals, everyone always and forever digging deep inside her brain.
Drifting in and out of consciousness.
Sometime later someone helped her to lie beneath the covers. Dakota’s voice calmed her.
They’re gone now. They’ve taken her away.
Good, Elizabeth thought. Good.
The light in the room faded to black. At long last, sleep.
Elizabeth awoke. Her body sprang upright in bed. Where was Sven? Why was she alone? The bed was chill, and empty without him. At first she saw nothing. She was surrounded by darkness blacker than pitch. Her mind raced, her heart speeding ahead of it. A vague light crept at the edge of her senses. Dawn. An unfamiliar room: canopied bed, heavy drapes, the pressing sense of antiquity, the smell of wood, and of cool, damp air. And beyond that at the farthest reach of her senses, a gentle, steady hush…hush…like the ebb and flow of waves on a beach.
She remembered and the waking panic began to subside. She was at the Abernathy Clinic, in the old house known as La Casa del Mar, the house by the sea. Joan Monaghan was dead. She had seen the blood, so much blood, but now the red turned to gray in her mind. The gray felt soft and warm, a comforting blanket to wrap around her, relaxing, floating, and drifting down, deep down beneath the blankets of sleep.
When she woke again later, Elizabeth sat up on the side of her bed. She crossed the room and with closed eyes cautiously opened the bathroom door. She opened her eyes. The bathroom was white, clean, and neat. Of course it was. She had spent the night in a new bedroom, with a new bath, and the room on the other side belonged to Dakota.
Time had slowed to a crawl, but she felt more alive after invigorating her skin with warm water and scented soap. Elizabeth dressed and went downstairs to join the others.
Mrs. Valdez was clearing breakfast from the dining room. She offered to fix whatever Elizabeth wished, but Elizabeth found she wasn’t hungry. At Mrs. Valdez’s insistence she took a sliced pear along with her coffee, and after eating the fruit wandered through the public rooms on the main floor.
The front parlor was deserted, as was the drawing room. In the long hallway leading to the back of the house she looked out at the courtyard. Chet marched out to the end of the diving board and dove into the water. She could see Dakota and Jewel on the far side of the courtyard, heads huddled together as though sharing a private joke. A moment later Jewel threw her head back, her husky, smoke stained laughter drifted across the courtyard. Elizabeth wondered how everyone could be so happy and gay after what had happened last night. But, of course, none of them were the ones who found a body in a bathroom drenched with blood. Elizabeth decided to join them, hoping some of their gaiety would rub off on her. She had just placed her hands on the glass door when Dr. Abernathy appeared in the hallway behind her.
“Good morning, Elizabeth. How do you feel today?”
“All right, I suppose. I’m still in shock.”
“I understand. But you mustn’t take Joan’s suicide personally. It was bound to happen sooner or later. I only regret that I was not able to do anything for her that would have kept her from making such a permanent decision.”
“I appreciate that, Doctor.”
“If you wish to talk about your feelings about Joan’s suicide, I shall be holding group therapy after lunch. But now it is time for your Morphenol injection.”
Elizabeth rubbed her upper arm. “Do we have to begin today? I don’t feel up to it.”
“You are here for a reason, Elizabeth. The sooner we begin, the sooner we make progress, and the sooner you’ll be on the road to recovery.” He gestured with his hand toward his office door. “Come.”
Elizabeth refused to look at the needle as it went into her arm. She didn’t know why she still had a fear of needles. She’d spent weeks on the streets watching junkies tie each other’s arms with rubber tubes, rope, belts, anything they could find to use as a makeshift tourniquet to make the veins stand out. She’d seen the silver needle slip inside eager veins countless times and had to learn to simulate the act for her role in Masquerade. She tried to divert her attention by focusing on an image of the waves surging against the seashore, but the sharp stab of Dr. Abernathy’s needle caused the image of a knife blade to flash in her mind, followed by lightning quick edits of Joan’s bleeding wrists and Sven’s gaping wounds. A cry caught in her throat, and there was nothing she could do to quell the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes.
“I didn’t realize you had such a fear of needles,” he said, offering a box of tissues.
“I’m rather embarrassed,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. “After all I shouldn’t be. I’m playing the part of an undercover cop with a heroin addiction in my current film role. I couldn’t count the number of times I’ve stuck needles in my arms in front of the cameras.”
“It must be different for you when you are in character than it is in real life.”
“I guess so,” she said, grateful that the doctor seemed to have an innate understanding of her craft.
After leaving Dr. Abernathy’s office, Elizabeth went to the kitchen where she found that Mrs. Valdez had brewed a percolator of fresh coffee. Pouring herself a new cup she carried it out into the courtyard, eager for the distraction the others might give her.
To her disappointment, no one was there. She strolled around the pool, sipping at her coffee, hoping that perhaps someone would show up. There was no sign that Jewel had even been there, no papers, no books and pens, even the ashtray by her lounge chair was empty and clean.
Elizabeth entered the house through the main doors again. The front parlor and drawing room were also empty. She stepped out through the front door of the house, ambling past the line of cars along the edge of the circular drive. There was a Volkswagen Beetle, no doubt this was Dakota’s car, and Bryce’s Lamborghini. A Mercedes Benz, a Cadillac Seville, and an older Oldsmobile Cutlass completed the line of cars parked closest to the house, which she paired with Jewel, Chet, and Dr. Abernathy.
It seemed only a few days ago that she had squinted against the Southern California sun. Now as she sat on the stone wall at the far end of the drive
with the empty coffee cup in her hand, the sky above the ocean was flat and gray. The wall dropped straight down twenty or thirty feet before it met the edge of the hill in a jumble of jagged and dangerous looking rocks. From there it was several hundred feet down the rocky slope to the beaches far below. It was a breathtaking angle and a good thing she wasn’t afraid of heights.
“Good morning, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth snapped her head around to see Bryce. The breeze tossed his black curls away from his face. He was as handsome as usual, dressed in a blood red silk shirt and tight black pants with a wide leather belt. Dakota was right. Elizabeth was finding herself very attracted to him.
“Oh, Bryce, you startled me.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I still feel groggy from that sedative the doctor gave me.”
“I meant about Joan.”
“Depressed. Angry, I guess. I came here to escape the memories of one brutal death only to be faced with another. I’m having a hard time accepting the fact that it really happened. I want it to have been a bad dream.”
“I wish I could say that’s all it was. That must have been a horrible shock, finding Joan like that.”
“I feel – I’m resentful of Dr. Abernathy for putting me in such a position.”
Bryce frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“He just wanted someone to be baby sit her and I was the lucky one. Like a badly mismatched college roommate.”
“Don’t be too hard on him. It could have been anyone of us. We all knew she was depressed, but I don’t think any of us would have placed bets that she would actually go through with it while she was here. I know Abernathy’s methods are rather unorthodox…okay, maybe they are just plain weird, but I’m into this living group therapy scene. I think it helps us get outside of our own heads and realize that other people have problems as well. It’s sad that Joan was not able to see that and participate in someone else’s recovery.”
“I suppose you’re right. I don’t mean to sound selfish, but I came here to try to recover from my husband’s death. It’s easier for me if I think of it that he simply died. But having to face the sight of all that blood last night, all it did was bring these horrible memories raging to the surface. I’ve seen enough blood for one lifetime.”
“I can’t say as I blame you. You have been through a terrible ordeal, two of them. You are entitled to your feelings. We all are.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. She looked into Bryce’s impenetrable brown eyes. Without realizing what she was doing, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. The gesture caught her off guard and she looked away.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Bryce said, “Don’t be,” and lifted her hand in his. Elizabeth became overwhelmed with a sense of vulnerability. Her small hand felt so fragile in his, yet he held it with tenderness and sensitivity. She turned to face him again. Damn him and his eyes, so beautiful yet so deep and dark and penetrating. She tried to maintain his gaze, and when his face moved toward hers, she closed her eyes and felt his lips slide smoothly against hers. It was not a melodramatic film kiss, but sweet, promising nothing more than a deep friendship between a man and a woman.
“I think it’s time for lunch. Let’s go inside so we can fatten you up.”
“I’m not all that hungry.”
“Look, you’re shaking. You haven’t eaten anything yet today have you?” He grabbed her hand and led her into the house. She tried to protest, but he made her feel like she was in high school and he was the star football player proudly showing her off in the cafeteria.
The sideboard in the dining room was spread with salads and plates of meats and cheeses and freshly baked bread. Bobby turned his nose up at the tuna salad, choosing instead to build a two-fisted sandwich piled high with sliced cold cuts and cheese.
Bryce talked animatedly with Jewel, eyeing Elizabeth with a chastising frown when he saw her picking at her tuna salad and fruit plate. Elizabeth wasn’t surprised that Jewel was a diehard Nixon fan. Poor Bryce still championed Hubert Humphrey while Jewel denounced him as a sorry loser.
Elizabeth didn’t have much of an appetite, but after Bryce shot more darts her way she made a valiant attempt and swallowed several forkfuls of tuna before going back for a second cup of Mrs. Valdez’s coffee. Dakota brewed her own herbal tea as Elizabeth refilled her coffee cup from the percolator on the side table.
“You okay?” Dakota asked.
“I’m just anxious, that’s all. I’m still pretty cut up over Joan’s suicide.”
“Yeah, well, we all are. That’s why we have group therapy, so we can talk about our feelings.” Elizabeth sensed an edge of undisguised sarcasm in Dakota’s words.
The coffee cup trembled in Elizabeth’s hand. She realized she was shaking and put the coffee down without finishing it. Everyone else seemed so relaxed. Jewel and Bryce barbed with each other. Chet helped himself to more vodka and handed Jewel a glass of bourbon. With a glance at his watch he said, “The party’s over, people.”
They filed down the hall and into Abernathy’s study where he had arranged the couches and chairs in a loose semi circle in the center of the room
“Now then,” the doctor said, “who wants to begin?”
Bobby volunteered. “I feel sad. She was a nice lady. I mean, she was square, but cool, you know?”
After Bobby spoke there was an awkward silence. Elizabeth caught Dakota examining the floor with down-cast eyes. Jewel nibbled at the edge of a nail and stared out the window of Abernathy’s office.
“Chet?” the doctor prompted.
Chet cleared his throat. “It’s strange. I don’t feel anything either way. She was closed off. I would have liked the opportunity to get to know her, but she didn’t seem to want to let anyone inside.”
“She was a first class kook,” insisted Jewel.
“Jewel!” Dakota snapped.
Dr. Abernathy said, “Let her say what she feels. Can you tell us more, Jewel?”
“You bet I can, baby. She was an attention getter. That was her whole scene. All the histrionics, her suicide attempts at home and now here. That’s right, Elizabeth, this wasn’t the first time she tried to kill herself. She may have liked to play all moody and withdrawn but she loved attention. Well she got it all right. I mean, look, here we are all still sitting around talking about her problems when we should be discussing our own.”
“She was disturbed about a lot of things,” Dakota said, “It must be sad to have to live that way. I feel sorry for her, you know? I just hope wherever she may have gone that she is able to find the peace she deserves.”
“Stop being so pious,” Jewel said. “If you had so much concern, for her why did you steal her broach?”
Dakota touched the crescent moon that was pinned to her black turtleneck sweater. “She gave it to me.”
“Ha!”
“She said I should have it because my name is Moon.”
Jewel’s eyes blazed. “Liar. When did she give it to you? She wore it at dinner last night. You went into her room and stole it from her. Stole it from a dead woman.”
Dakota tore the broach from her sweater. The moon pin tumbled across the carpet as color flooded her cheeks.
There was a moment of silence in the room. Abernathy said, “Bryce, is there anything you would like to express?”
“I just arrived yesterday. I didn’t have an opportunity to get to know her. But I agree with Chet, she didn’t seem to want to let anyone inside. That’s part of the reason we’re all here, to help each other, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” said Dakota.
Dr. Abernathy turned to Elizabeth. “ Elizabeth, how do you feel about Joan’s death?”
“Well, I’m still in a state of shock. But,” she hesitated, wondering if she could freely speak her mind without repercussion. She blurted out, “I don’t believe she really killed herself.”
Jewel said, “Of cours
e she killed herself. You don’t think somebody went in there and finished the job for her, do you?”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes. There was a dead silence in the room. Jewel cleared her throat.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said.
“You’re kidding, right. Someone tell me she’s joking,” said Jewel.
Elizabeth said, “There was a pentagram.”
“What is she talking about?”
“A pentagram, someone must have seen it.”
Night of the Pentagram Page 10
