Daddy had been one of them.
Her fingers trembled so much she could hardly hold the file steady. She inserted the blade into the crack and pried open the lid. An aroma of aged mold rose from the box. Inside was a tiny piece of rumpled cloth, stained a dark shade of reddish-brown.
She carefully lifted the cloth and placed it on the desk. She sat before her tableau of grit and soiled tissues and old wood spread across the brightly shellacked surface of the desk. She had to look away for a moment, to reaffirm that the sane, sterile hotel room still existed, that order and not chaos still held sway. The telephone, the television set, and the crisply made bed provided a cold comfort.
The cloth tore as she opened it, bits of thread crumbling away from dry rot. At last she reached the final fold, and sat staring incomprehensibly as sunlight bathed the object.
A skull ring.
Just like the ring from her dream and the same one that Whitmore had described, with one difference. The eye sockets of the skull were empty, not set with rubies. Julia studied the silver expanse of forehead, the cruel mockery of a grin. Inside the band were engraved those same two horrifying words. Judas Stone, done in an elegant script.
She knew she shouldn’t touch it, that the police would want to dust it for fingerprints. But the police should have noticed the loose boards in her father’s closet. True, her discovery of it was accidental, but people trained in investigative techniques would have discovered the box in fifteen minutes.
Unless they already knew the box was there. And overlooked it on purpose. Maybe Satan had gotten to the cops….
No, Julia, that is crazy thinking, and Dr. Forrest says you are not crazy. You are NOT going to start spinning conspiracy theories. Who cares if the Bush family plotted 9/11 and if Rick O’Dell says that Satanism reaches into all levels of government, law enforcement, military, and society? I mean, if it were that widespread, it wouldn’t exactly be considered “underground,” now, would it?
Satanists had surrendered, joined other more popular and lucrative movements. As counterculture, devil worship had lost favor and was hardly more provocative than Islam beliefs. So far as she knew, no political candidate had ever successfully run on a Satanic ticket. And it wasn’t the type of thing one put on a job application. In truth, the orthodox were the only ones who even cared that Satanists had unorthodox practices. And Satan had probably sold more Bibles than Jesus ever had, because fear was the world’s greatest sales pitch. Julia knew all about how motivating fear could be. After all, it had pretty much pulled her puppet strings for a couple of decades.
And though her stomach clenched like a hot fist, though electric sweat sluiced from her pores, though she shook so much that her chair squeaked, she reached out and touched the ring.
Nothing.
She didn’t know what she had expected, black clouds rolling in, thunder shaking the building, the earth opening up and swallowing Memphis, or merely a puff of sulfurous smoke from which would step a red-faced, goatish creature complete with pointy pitchfork.
Just as God had failed to appear when summoned, Satan had also missed a chance to shock and awe.
So much for vanity over the worth of my soul.
Almost giggling with relief, she lifted the ring and held it close to her face.
“Hello, ugly,” she said to the engraved skull.
Did talking to a hunk of silver qualify one for the loony bin? People of many religions addressed gods they couldn’t see, and seemed better off for it. Julia figured a good rule of thumb to follow was, “You’re only crazy if the inanimate object in question talks back.”
Or maybe you weren’t crazy, merely one of those privileged few to whom gods deigned to dispense wisdom. Modern prophets were likely misdiagnosed as schizophrenics, and if Jesus really did return to Earth and start spouting messages of eternal rewards and miracles, he’d be strapped to a crash cart, pumped full of Thorazine, and wheeled into a rubber room to wait out the rest of his second coming.
The ring wasn’t evil. It was only a lump of mineral, heated and cast and polished by human hands. Except this ring had been her father’s, if she believed the engraved words.
The ring was the only relic she had left of the man who had helped bring her to life, a man whose face would have faded like an old photograph except for the recovered memories that kept him always on her mind. And though the memories weren’t always comforting, she was grateful to Dr. Forrest, and, before her, Dr. Danner. They had linked her with her own past, shown her how the symptoms of the present came from that bewildering period of her childhood, and now Dr. Forrest was finishing the work of teaching Julia to heal.
Now it was no longer theory. Maybe with this final evidence of the truth, Julia could begin to bury the past.
As Julia held the ring to the light, the twin scars on her stomach tickled and itched. She almost wished the ring had spoken, because she still had too many unanswered questions.
Had her father been one of the bad people?
Was he one of those who had chained her to the stone, who danced around her in robes, who touched her, who drank from that strange silver chalice?
Was her father really one of the Creeps?
Recovered memories were one thing, something she knew could be manufactured and then accepted as fact. But the ring was solid, substantial, real. The ring bore the name of Stone. The ring threaded reality into the weavework of an imagined past sewn from dreams, suggestions, and fear.
Julia knew she would do it. It was almost as if the skull moved itself, guided its silver smirk toward her left hand. Then to the tip of her ring finger, the one that should have worn Mitchell’s engagement diamond. And then the metal band eased itself over her fingernail, past her knuckle, and settled on the flesh above the pad of her palm.
A warm glow expanded out from the ring, radiated up her arm in waves, spread through her body and made her light-headed. The heat turned into electricity and Julia no longer felt weak. She stared into the skull, and it smiled back at her, as if understanding her need to surrender.
“It’s been a long time,” the smile seemed to say. “But you’re finally ready to become Judas Stone.”
No, no, NO.
She yanked off the ring and flung it away. She ran to the far corner of the room as if fleeing a feral animal.
She huddled against the closet, fists over her ears, shrugging off the descending cloak of panic. She forced herself to take deep breaths.
Only a ring, only a ring, only a ring, INHALE….
The air tasted of crypts and incense.
Only a ring, only a ring, only a ring, EXHALE….
Her heart twitched in her chest like a sack of rats.
The panic settled over her, coal black and blood thick.
Her thoughts spun, wheels without tracks, wire unraveling, stones tumbling in an avalanche. The ring on the hand, the hand that held the knife, that brought the knife down to her belly, that made the incision, a slick hot trail on her abdomen, why was the bad man hurting her, why?
And the knife lifting again, blood dripping from the bright blade, the candlelight glinting in its rich redness, the bad people leaning over her, the knife descending again, slicing deftly across the other side of her tummy, and she was aware of the injury, only she didn’t feel any pain.
The smoke from the crucibles hung in the air like wool as the bad man held the bloody knife to the sky. Then he raised his other fist, and the skull ring shone pale in the night. The bad man touched the knife to the ring, as if allowing the skull to drink, and the red ruby eyes glowed, pulsed in rhythm to little Julia’s frantic heartbeat.
And, beneath the hood, the bad man’s eyes glowed with that same red intensity.
He reached into his robe and leaned over her, his breath like old goat cheese, and whispered, “Oh Satan, Master of the World, take as thy bride this whore Judas Stone.”
This whore Judas Stone.
She was Judas Stone, too.
The words rang in her
ears, ripped through her like a death knell, ripped the fabric of her soul, even as that dream-image bad man raised her limp hand and slipped the ring home.
The ring was hers.
Oh, Christ almighty, the ring was hers.
But that made no sense. A ring sized for a four-year-old wouldn’t fit now. Had it expanded as she touched it, had it widened itself to accommodate her finger?
The ring is yours, the ring is yours, INHALE….
Rings didn’t shrink and grow. Satan was not real, and had no power. The only thing that held power over her was panic. She tried to relax the way Dr. Forrest had taught her.
But Dr. Forrest was miles and miles away, and Julia was alone with the ring.
Inhale. INHALE–
She crawled across the floor, and the dark cloak of panic became a noose, clamping tightly around her neck. Tears trailed down her cheeks.
Julia reached the bedside table, her lungs on fire from the lack of air. Her heartbeat was thin and rapid. She found the phone, pulled it to her lap, punched the numbers.
She managed a shallow gasp as the connection was made and the earpiece gave its electronic purr. By the third ring, she had exhaled.
Please be there.
The phone clicked, and the voice spoke on the other end of the line. “Hello?”
Julia could breathe now. The air was sweet again, air-conditioned and cool and relaxing. “Dr. Forrest, it’s me.”
“Julia?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I–I’m having an episode.”
“Where are you?” Dr. Forrest sounded almost angry.
“Memphis. I flew in yesterday.”
“Memphis? Without my approval?” No denying the anger now. “Something like this could set us back months.”
“I had to find out–”
“What could you possibly find out?”
“I went to the old house,” Julia said.
Dr. Forrest said nothing. Julia looked around for the ring as she continued. “I saw the barn behind my house. That’s where it happened. I know that’s where it happened. And my father….”
“Say it, Julia. Say it so that you can make yourself believe it.”
“My father was one of them.”
“One of the bad people. One of the Creeps. You finally believe.”
Julia thought about telling Dr. Forrest about the ring, but she was afraid. If Dr. Forrest was this angry over Julia going to Memphis without permission, the therapist might have a panic attack of her own. Julia needed to make sense of the discovery before she shared it.
“Yes,” Julia said. “I remember it now. He was there at the ceremony. My father wed me to Satan.”
“Just as you dreamed. Just the way you shared while under hypnosis.” Dr. Forrest was slightly calmer.
“It’s all true.”
“I wouldn’t let you lie to yourself, would I, Julia?”
“No, Dr. Forrest.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll schedule you for a Tuesday session.”
“That…that would be good.”
“So, what set off your panic attack?”
Anything besides the ring and the electric power that surged through my skin at its contact. “I was just thinking about it all. How terrible it was. What a monster my father was.”
“I understand, Julia.” She sounded excited now. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
Julia now saw the ring, lying on the floor where the edge of the bedspread brushed the carpet.
“This means that we’re approaching healing,” Dr. Forrest said. “We’ve assessed the damage and we’ve pictured the effects of the ritual abuse. Now it’s time for the final step.”
“The final step?” Julia watched the ring as if expecting it to turn molten and slither across the floor toward her.
“Preparing for change. Now you’re ready to embrace the past, to become whole. To become the whore Judas Stone.”
Julia’s breath leaped away. “WHAT?”
“I said it’s time for you to become the whole Julia Stone.”
Julia shook her head. If she were going to start twisting the words of her therapist, she would lose herself to the oily sea of fear and float adrift. She couldn’t afford to break this last lifeline of trust. “I talked to one of the officers who worked my father’s case.”
“Who was it?” Dr. Forrest asked, sounding angry again. Why should she care which one Julia talked to?
“James Whitmore. He’s retired now.”
“Have they learned anything new?”
“Nothing new,” Julia said. “In fact, the case is pretty much buried.”
Just like the box had been.
Julia felt well enough to drag herself onto the bed. She twirled the phone cord and waited for Dr. Forrest to speak.
“You’re not going to see Dr. Danner while you’re there, are you?” the doctor finally said.
“No. Why should I?”
“Well, some patients develop an addiction to their therapists. I’ve been friends with Lance for many years. But I think you need to sever those ties to Memphis. They’re not doing you any good.”
“I don’t want to go backwards,” Julia said. “I’m grateful for the help he gave me, but I really feel like you understand me better. I believe you’ll help me heal.”
“Of course I will, Julia. You just have to trust me.”
“I trust you.”
“Then listen to me. Practice the visualization exercises we’ve been working on. Take a deep breath, a belly breath.” The doctor’s voice became, soothing and even. “Your hands are inflating. Your fingers are swelling with light, warm heat. They are feathers, they are little clouds, they are fish sunning in a pool.”
“Mmm,” Julia said, the memory of the treatment as effective as her practice of it. Dr. Forrest took her through the rest of the exercise, until she was lying flat on the bed. By that time, the bed was a magic carpet floating high under the sun.
“Are you relaxed now?” Dr. Forrest whispered.
“Mm-hmm.” Julia was so relaxed she wasn’t even aware of her pulse rate. She remembered something had been bothering her, but somehow only the lightness seemed important at the moment.
“I’ll see you on Tuesday. Have a good evening, Julia.”
“Bye, Dr. Forrest,” she said softly. “And thanks.”
She hung up the phone and was very nearly asleep when she remembered the ring.
She rolled out of bed, clinging to the peaceful images that Dr. Forrest had suggested. She took the old stained cloth from the desk and picked up the ring without making skin contact with the metal. She sealed it inside the box and tucked the box back in her purse for safekeeping.
Outside, darkness was falling, and pricks of light appeared in the buildings as the city changed shifts. Julia undressed, slipped into a thin nightgown, and climbed into bed. She fell asleep wondering if Mitchell would call.
She awoke refreshed, unburdened by the lingering images of any dreams. She scarcely thought of the ring in her purse. After a shower, she dressed and went down to the lobby for a cup of coffee. Caffeine was bad for her, made it harder for her to remain calm, but the habit was old. Maybe someday, after Dr. Forrest healed her, she’d be able to give up all her little crutches.
When Julia got back to her room, she dialed the offices of The Commercial Appeal and reached her old friend Sue.
“Well, looky what the cat dragged in,” Sue said in her slow drawl. The sounds of a busy newsroom spilled from the background.
“Did you get my message?” Julia asked.
“Just got it this morning. I figured you’d call me here, and I didn’t want to call back in case Mitchell was with you.”
“There was nothing to interrupt, unfortunately.”
“That’s a shame, girl. Damn, that man is a hunk.” Sue McAllister had never been shy about poking into other people’s bedroom
s or closets. That was why she was such a successful reporter. “Well, if you’re not in Memphis to rumple the sheets with Mitchell Austin, what the heck are you doing here?”
“Just doing a little digging,” Julia said. “And I was hoping you could help.”
“Honey, we’ve been through all the files in the morgue. You’ve got every scrap of information on your father’s case that was ever printed. Hell, you know more about the case than the cops do.”
You can say that again, Julia thought, and almost told Sue about finding the ring. But it was her one little secret, the one thing that provided a solid link to that long-ago night. Julia knew she was being paranoid, but she decided that the secret was worth keeping for now. “I’d like to get a list of the detectives who worked on the disappearance.”
“I thought you already did that.”
“Well, I wasn’t paying attention to the names.”
“Hey, I can tell you’re onto something. You going to let old Susie Q in on the deal?” Sue used Julia’s nickname for her, a reference to the Credence Clearwater Revival song.
“You’ll get the scoop if something turns up. I know solving a twenty-year-old missing-persons case isn’t Page One stuff, but at least you’ll have my gratitude.”
“Great. That and a quarter will let me throw a coin in a street musician’s hat.”
“Is it okay if I come down around eleven? Then I’ll take you out to lunch.”
“Okay. I’ll have to run, though. They’re releasing the autopsy report of a suspected drug dealer. Five bullet holes in him, what do you think was the cause of death?”
“Let me guess. No matter what the medical examiner’s ruling, the D.A.’s office will go, ‘No evidence, no case.’“
“Saves taxpayer money.”
Julia took a cab across town. The Appeal had changed very little in four months, and Julia grew a little wistful seeing her old desk. The newsroom was just as busy as before, her column inches in the first four pages filled by younger, hungrier writers. A few former coworkers seemed glad to see her, but afforded her only a couple of minutes before turning back to the day’s breaking stories.
Mystery Dance: Three Novels Page 43
