by Baxter Clare
Gail watched her, finally muttering, “You are being such an asshole.”
“Then I guess you’ll be happy when I’m gone,” Frank answered, yanking at the door and slamming it shut behind her.
Frank was making love to Gail but Marguerite was in her head. Marguerite, naked and dancing, her huge breasts unbound, pushing into Franks face. Franks desire grew like rage. She felt starved for Gail and bit at her neck. The doc cried out, on one side or the other of the thin line between pain and passion. Frank didn’t care which. She followed the exquisite hunger, steering Gail backwards toward her darkened bedroom. She chewed at Gail’s neck, dragging her lover into the dark, like a lion dragging a gazelle into its lair.
Through the red haze of desire, Frank saw candles burning. Someone was beating a drum. Then she was dancing around a fire with a billion stars in her hair. She was naked and Marguerite was naked and the Mother was there, all of them dancing around the fire. Around and around they paraded, and Frank’s hunger grew and swelled, roiling and crashing like waves pounding a sea. The Aegean sea at midnight. Fire on the shore. Women dancing under an ageless moon. Drums pounding in their heads like blood.
As happens in dreams, Frank was suddenly clothed, and she pulled the 9mm from under her jacket. Its grip was comforting. She trained the sight on the Mother. Fired. Again and again, but the Mother only laughed. She wouldn’t go down. The bullets didn’t even seem to hit her. Frank was a good shot and she was close. She couldn’t have missed. How could she not be killing the Mother?
She trained the gun on herself, staring down the barrel.
“Go ahead,” the Mother laughed. “Pull the trigger.”
Marguerite kept dancing, a thousand secrets smiling from her eyes.
“You always have a choice,” she shrugged.
Frank’s finger was squeezing the trigger. She was afraid she was going to fire but she couldn’t turn the gun around. She couldn’t move it and her finger was getting tighter and tighter on the trigger.
She woke up screaming, “Drop the gun! Drop the gun!”
Frank rolled off the couch. She was up in an instant, looking for the Beretta, waiting to see the Mother holding it on her. There was nothing. Just the familiar reality of her den. Frank’s head pounded and the overhead light hurt her eyes. But she didn’t want to turn it off.
She stumbled to the bathroom, disgusted with the nightmare sweat sticking to her skin. She couldn’t get into the shower fast enough. Not for the first time that night she wondered what the fuck was wrong with her.
She remembered storming out of Gail’s, amazed at the pique she’d gotten into. She’d felt pretty stupid by the time she got home, but still angry. A couple stiff shots brought her down. She paced and drank, trying to figure out if she was just stressed like Gail said, or going postal, or something else. It was the something else that Frank had done a dark tango with all night. While not appealing, going nuts didn’t seem nearly as frightening as Marguerite’s postulation that the Mother was fucking with her head.
Frank stood in the shower, thinking that when you put all the weird events together, it made sense. As much as any of this could make sense. She’d had baby deja vus before—she couldn’t remember where or what about, but Frank had recognized the feeling when it happened at the Mother’s. It had been a little odd and kind of disconcerting, but she’d forgotten about it. Then it happened again, twice, when the dog bit her. The deja vu about the dog attack had been wildly clear. Frank hadn’t been able to dismiss that so lightly, nor the freaky vision of the Mother standing in pools of blood. That had been slightly less real, but just as uncomfortable. Then it had happened again at the church and last night at Gail’s. That last one was the granddaddy of the deja vus, more powerful and absolutely real.
Realizing the visions were getting stronger, she shivered in the hot water. She turned it off, and put on her robe, even though she was still wet. Frank connected the dots, starting with the little deja vu in the Mother’s office, then the dog. No, she corrected, then she’d seen that thing in rags, right after the first deja vu, right after she’d left the Mother’s.
Frank had never seen this bum before, then all of a sudden the fucking thing’s everywhere, even seeming to follow her. But that was impossible, right? As impossible as its being able to see out of those ruined eyes or let itself out of a locked interrogation box. (Frank had subsequently quizzed the entire station house—no one except Darcy had even admitted to seeing the relic).
There was the dream, too, with the relic and the soldier. That hadn’t been as intense as the deja vus, but it had been awfully realistic. Familiar, was the word. Like Frank intimately knew that soldier in the carnage. Then the dog mauled her, a red dog, just like the Mother said. Coincidence? Possibly. As coincidental as anything else. But how coincidental was the timing of the events, and their growing frequency and intensity?
Frank wandered into the kitchen. She made coffee even though she’d rather have a drink. She rationalized that despite it being Saturday and despite that she wasn’t on call, only drunks drank first thing in the morning. She might be going crazy, but she wasn’t a drunk. Throwing away yesterday’s coffee grounds, she saw Marguerite James’s business card lying on top of the garbage like a little white surrender flag.
Frank took it out and put it on the counter. She ignored it until after she got the coffee brewing, then she smoothed the crumpled card against the tiles. It was barely five AM, but Frank grabbed the phone. If she didn’t do it now she never would.
“It’s Lieutenant Franco. Look, I’m sorry to wake you but I have to ask you something.”
Marguerite had answered sleepily, but she sounded fully alert when she answered, “Yes?”
Frank sucked in a deep breath and told Marguerite everything. The deja vus, the thing in rags, the dog, the dreams—everything.
“What the hell does it all mean?”
“I’m not sure,” Marguerite came back. Frank thought Marguerite was hedging until she said, “For want of a better explanation, I’d liken it to a psychic awakening.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Frank asked in another abnormal burst of impatience.
“Lieutenant. It’s five-fifteen in the morning. I don’t care to be sworn at.”
“I’m sorry,” Frank gritted out. “This is a little new to me.”
“Of course it is.”
Marguerite sounded strong and reassuring.
“Basically, whether you believe it or not, Mother Love has awakened an innate psychic ability within you. At an instinctual level, you are aware of the threat she represents to you. Your psyche is trying to defend you, regardless of your lack of belief in her abilities and your ignorance of your own.”
Bullshit, Frank wanted to say and hang up, but she’d made the call and she’d tough it out.
“What am I defending myself against?”
“Her intentions. That’s the black pall I feel around you. Thoughts are energy, Lieutenant. Intentions are energy. Subtle yes, but effective in quantity and over time. And especially damaging when the source is able to focus her will and concentration as effectively as this woman apparently can.”
“But why me?” Frank interrupted. “There are two other cops working this case. Why isn’t she attacking them?”
Or maybe she is, Frank thought and they’re not spilling. Impossible. She knew her cops too well. If this shit was going down on them, Noah would be the first in line to bitch about it and Frank was sure Lewis wouldn’t be far behind.
“You there?”
“Yes. Bear with me.”
Frank held on, wondering what the hell Marguerite was doing.
“I don’t think this is about your work. Maybe inadvertently it is, but this … malice I feel around you, is much older than any case you’re working on. It feels extremely old. It has an archaic form. I can’t explain it more clearly than that. And I’m not sure it matters. What does matter is that you need help.”
Marguerite abruptly s
witched gears.
“Are you a Christian, Lieutenant?”
“No. I’m not anything.”
“Do you believe in any spiritual beings?”
“No.”
“Yet you’re calling me at five o’clock in the morning. Why is that?”
“I thought you could explain this.”
“A Catholic priest could give you an explanation as well. Why didn’t you call one of them?”
Frank almost shuddered, seeing Father Merrin stumbling in the ruins.
“Look, I’m sorry I bothered you. I didn’t—”
“I’m not bothered, Lieutenant. What I’m asking is, why are you seeking an explanation from me when you know the answer I’ll give you?”
Ah, now Frank saw it. Marguerite was good. She’d backed Frank into a corner and blocked the only exit. She should have been a cop.
“All right. You win. Can you help me?”
“I’ve won nothing, Lieutenant. This isn’t about me. This is between you and that woman. I wanted to tell you this earlier, but I knew you’d laugh. I think you’re finally ready to hear it.”
Christ, now what? Switching the phone to her aching right hand, Frank sank her head into the palm of her left. The silence was so long Frank said, “You there?”
“Yes … I think it’s so easy for me to see this because you are completely unaware and make no effort to hide it. I saw this when you walked into my house with Mr. Hernandez. It stunned me actually, but what could I have said? You wouldn’t have believed me.”
Another silence. This time Frank waited. She’d kill for a drink. Great, she thought, Johnnie and I should be going to AA meetings together.
“You have a tremendous power about you. I can see it as easily as I see this other woman’s power. But where hers pulls in energy like a dark star, yours is bright. It pulses a wonderful light. And it seems very old, something you’ve carried for many, many lifetimes.”
Frank rubbed at her eyes, not believing this conversation. Not believing she hadn’t hung up yet.
“It’s more like a shield, really. It envelops you and protects you for the work you do. You see, you’ve always been a warrior. For a very long time. Maybe always.”
Marguerite’s words jarred loose the image of the dream soldier, forever fighting.
“You’re in a battle now,” the mambo went on. “And it’s not the first time. I can’t see all your enemies, but I feel Mother Love so strongly upon you. And just as strongly, I can feel your courage and compassion. You will fight because you have to, not because you want to. You don’t like to fight, but it’s what you must do and you do it well. It appears to be your destiny.”
Just like the soldier’s, Frank thought. He didn’t like it either, but it was what he had to do. He left the dead in the blowing sand and went on. Father Merrin, running after him, out of time. The dogs snarling in the desert. The red dog. “Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war.”
“And Lieutenant?”
Marguerite brought Frank back.
“Make no mistake. This is a battle to the end.”
Sure it was. Frank could see that with the soldier’s eye. Her mind still tripped in puddles of confusion, but her bones knew. They understood what her brain couldn’t. Darcy had said he accepted without understanding. Yeah, she could go that far. It all made sense in a way that couldn’t be made sense of.
“A battle,” Frank repeated.
“Yes.”
And though she was sure of the answer, she had to ask.
“Who’s winning?”
32
Lucian had the gift too. And it had been getting stronger. He hadn’t told his mother that. Though he worshipped her with the awe of a child, like a child, he had come of age.
“You know, that decided it for me when Mama made me lay which you,” he said to Lavinia. “Don’t matter that we was already. She didn’t know about that. That was what decided my mind for me. That she could go against her own children like that. It ain’t right.”
Lavinia snuggled into his ribs. Marcus was out collecting receipts and Mama Love was at the church. She had Lucian all to herself. Her silence helped Lucian justify his decision.
“She gonna bring us all down, she keep goin’ on like this. I tried talkin’ to her, but she just give me that bug-eye stare like she about to pop sense into my head. I love my mama, I do, but she won’t listen to sense no more. Her head’s got too big, n’mean? This seems harsh but it’s the only way I can think of that you and me can be free and that this family can go on, n’mean?”
Lavinia’s head rubbed assent against his chest. He felt himself getting hard again. Lavinia felt it too and her fingers encouraged his erection.
“Girl, what you doin’?” he asked.
“Takin’ your mind off your troubles,” she leered.
He slid down the sheets and took her into his big arms. He’d loved Lavinia from the first time he’d seen her. She knew after meeting Lucian she was dating the wrong brother, but by then it was too late. Marcus was already sweet on her. When she’d suggested breaking up Marcus had tattooed fist marks on her body. She and Lucian had tried to pretend the other didn’t exist, but it had been impossible, living in the same house like they did. Finally they gave in.
Holding her hand against his heart, he said, “Not now, baby. We got to plan this out to the last detail. It all gots to go perfect or we fucked. And it’s gotta go down soon.”
Lucian rolled onto his back and Lavinia followed. Teasing him with her thigh, she asked, “Why’s that? She ain’t got nothing on us. Why it can’t wait?”
“Cause that one-time’s getting stronger. I can feel that, and I think Mama can too. And Mama’s smart. She get her nose in this and I don’t even want to think what could happen. Or if Marcus found out? Shit, girl.”
Lucian shuddered under his brother’s wife, “Uh-uh. It’s gotta be soon. This weekend.”
“Marcus don’t know nothin’. He all about being a hater. He can’t see nothing past his own anger.”
“I know. He always been that way. And I’m countin’ on that anger. We gonna turn it against him. And soon, baby girl. We can’t wait no more.”
“I can’t wait no more,” Lavinia corrected. Moving her hand down Lucian’s broad belly she guided him into her waiting wetness.
33
The next morning Frank showed up at Gail’s with lattes and croissants. It was a cheap bribe but it got her in the door.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I was an asshole.”
Gail didn’t say anything, but Frank thought it was a good sign that she plucked a croissant from the bag. She took a bite and flakes fell on the floor. Crumbs drove Frank nuts, but Gail never saw them. She seemed to be deliberately making a mess, but Frank refused the bait. Gail opened the lid off a coffee, and said, “You know, I’m still peeved. We hardly have any time together and then one of the few nights we do, you fly out of here on a broomstick.”
Frank took due admonition with a small smile.
“I know. I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
“And that’s supposed to make it all okay?”
Instead of asking, Now who’s being the asshole? Frank said, “It’s over, Gail. I can’t take it back. Do we stay mad or do we move on?”
Gail pouted. “I want to stay mad.”
“If you were really mad,” Frank wheedled, “you wouldn’t be eating the food I brought.”
“You’re right.” Gail sulked, dropping the croissant into the bag.
Frank waited a beat.
“You know you want that.”
Gail cast a longing eye over the greasy paper. Plucking the croissant back out, she declared, “Fight’s over. I’m right. You were an asshole. I forgive you.”
Frank smiled. Seeing as she was staying, she opened the other coffee.
“Look,” she sighed. “I gotta tell you something. Might make my reaction last night a little more sensible.”
“Well, in case we start fighting again, can I
get a kiss first?”
Frank was happy to comply, after which they took breakfast out on the balcony.
“This is pretty bizarre, and it’s probably going to sound as strange to you as it does to me, but here goes.”
As she had a few hours ago, Frank admitted the events of the past few weeks. She added the last visit to Marguerite and their phone conversation. When she finished, Gail asked, “Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You were worried enough when I told you about the Mother the first time. I figured this would just worry you more. Besides, I didn’t think it was anything worth mentioning.”
“You didn’t find any of this rather odd?”
“Not really. I mean it is in retrospect, and all put together, but at the time I just thought it was so much coincidence. Weird coincidence, but coincidence nonetheless.”
Gail sat back with her feet on the railing while Frank considered the doc had cornered the market on great legs.
“Are you telling me you’re possessed?”
“No,” Frank laughed. “At least I don’t think so. I mean, from what I can gather, the Mother’s just putting some bad vibes on me. It’s like two phone lines getting crossed. Marguerite says—”
“And don’t you think that’s kind of odd that you just happen to hire a cop who just happens to have a wife that’s a mambo priestess?”
“Ex wife. Again, in retrospect, yeah. That’s one more thing that’s got me thinking this isn’t coincidence. That maybe there really is a pattern to this. A reason I can’t understand or explain, but that it’s happening nonetheless.”
“Gee, you think?”
“Come on, Gay, you’ve got to admit it’s pretty hard to swallow.”
“Oh, I’m the first to admit it’s bizarre. But what I find even more bizarre is that you didn’t tell me about this until now. If somebody took a shot at you or stabbed you with a hunting knife, would you tell me? Am I a part of your life or not?”
