GODDESS OF THE MOON (A Diana Racine Psychic Suspense)

by Polly Iyer

  “All I could think of was that everyone knew I wasn’t a man anymore. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye. I started drinking to avoid facing reality, and before long was heavily into drugs. Heroin, crack, meth, anything I could get my hands on, and I’d do anything to get it. Fortunately, I had money―a nice inheritance from an uncle. I doubt I could have sold my body to pay for my drugs, unless I sold myself as a freak. I don’t think I did,” he said almost apologetically, “but I’m not sure. Some time shifts are vague.

  A shiver spiraled down Diana’s spine. She had wanted to hear this, but now she’d become a reluctant voyeur into Slater’s life.

  “It’s astonishing how many people eagerly help you descend into that dark place called hell. My fall was precipitous. Not even my parents knew what happened, only that I’d disappeared. They searched for me, but I didn’t want to be found. Actually, half the time I had no idea where I was.”

  Diana listened, trying to picture the nightmare Slater related. She couldn’t. “Didn’t you seek help?”

  “For what? I’d lost my manhood. No doctor could restore that, and Isis wasn’t available.”

  “So you tried to kill yourself.”

  He nodded. “In the slowest possible way.”

  She thought she saw dampness in Slater’s eyes, but in the next moment his eyes were clear and cold and steady. “How long did this go on?”

  “Six very messy years, give or take. I weighed one thirty at the time. I’m six-two and weigh one eighty-five now, so you can imagine what I looked like. My total concentration revolved around getting the next fix. I don’t know how I managed to last as long as I did.”

  “Maybe you didn’t want to die as much as you thought.”

  Slater shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking much at all then, but I suppose the natural instinct for survival won out.”

  She couldn’t get her eyes off him. “And God?”

  “What God? God was no longer an option for me. Before my diagnosis, I thought He ruled the universe, and He let me down. At least that’s how I felt when I was lucid enough to feel.”

  “So what happened?”

  “The last I remembered I was in Mexico nursing a major heroin habit. I don’t how, but I wound up outside Tulsa at a shelter run by an old Osage Indian. He treated those from the reservation who suffered from alcoholism. There are a lot of them, you know. George tried to get them back on their feet, give them a place to recover.

  “He’d never seen anyone like me. I hadn’t had a fix in a while and was going through the stages of withdrawal. I’d been rolled, because I had no money left. Don’t think I’d eaten in days, but I managed to get my hands on some liquor to ward off coming down. I’d wet myself, a common occurrence, I might add.”

  Slater showed no embarrassment. He was a man who’d come full circle, from wanting to die to helping others survive.

  “While cleaning me up, George saw what he said caused him to throw up. When he got over the shock, he secured me to the bed and helped me get through the next few weeks. He enlisted the help of what we’d call a medicine man, or faith healer. He didn’t look like an Indian and didn’t live on the reservation. In fact, he was whiter than me, but he said he was of Indian heritage. The two of them took care of me like a baby while I retched and spasmed and screamed till I thought my lungs would burst. I remember begging them to let me die, but they wouldn’t.”

  Slater stopped and drank some water from the plastic bottle. He ran a moistened tongue over his dry lips. For the first time, Diana saw his vulnerability. A twitch in his cheek, a quiver in his chin. She knew on some level this was tearing him apart and wondered why he chose her to confess his tragedy to. Maybe it was nothing more than expediency, someone to listen. Sitting quietly, she waited for him to continue.

  “The healer took me to a place after I recovered enough to know what was going on. He didn’t live there but came often. He applied traditional Indian healing methods along with alternative medicines to aid my recovery. I stayed there with his disciples for four years. I had no idea where he went when he left, and I never asked, but I looked forward to his frequent visits. He and his people taught me respect for the earth, the wind, the trees and,” he pointed, “that table over there.”

  “Animism.”

  Slater kept his eyes on her. He seemed surprised. “You know about Animism?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I came across it during my curious period. The idea that a soul or spirit exists in every object, even an inanimate one, appealed to me.”

  “To me too. Animism is one of man's oldest beliefs, likely dating to the Paleolithic Age. The men taught me that life exists not only in man but in everything, and that all life is sacred, with no distinction between the spiritual and material, sacred and secular.”

  “Mediums claim that Animism may be the unconscious fabrication of a spirit, and that he or she is actually channeling that spirit.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not a medium.”

  “I know, but your gift suggests you’ve reached a higher plane of thought. I’ve never told anyone this. The only ones who know were involved.”

  “And the castration?”

  “I couldn’t control the sexual urges. My transformation as a eunuch was complete.”

  Diana’s skin prickled at his revelation. “You did what you had to do to live without torture.”

  “Only to a point. The desires are gone, but the reality is still torture. Women like Jeannine Highsmith and others have shown interest over the years, and I still find beautiful women desirable, maybe not sexually, but visually and intellectually.

  “You, for instance. Were I so inclined, I would find you a most appealing partner. I feel liberated in saying that because I know you will take it as a compliment, with no ulterior motive.”

  Diana’s heart rate increased to what seemed a dangerous level. “I’m flattered.” But was she? Edward Slater had an unusual effect on her, as if he emitted a mesmerizing pheromone. “But also uncomfortable.”

  “Please accept my apologies.” He bowed his head. “I don’t want to embarrass you in any way. My honesty often gets me in trouble. You see, because of what I’ve gone through, when I quote that hackneyed expression, ‘life is short,’ I mean it as a personal truth. My life may be shorter, because I could face a recurrence of cancer at any time. It’s not unheard of, and I have no illusions. For that reason, sometimes I say what I feel without thinking. Again, I apologize.” Then, his eyes steady on Diana, he said, “But I don’t take it back.”

  Heat surged through her, and her body burned as if she were in a sauna. How could she let him get to her? She sought to change the subject and hoped her voice remained steady. “Did you reunite with your parents?”

  Slater smiled as if he realized Diana’s deliberate shift in conversation. “My mother died during my disappearance. She never knew what happened to me. I regret that more than anything; to have put them both through the uncertainty is unforgivable. My father was happy to see me alive. I told him little of what I’d gone through. He didn’t need to know. He’s since died.”

  Slater drank from his water bottle. “So you see, Diana, I could no more hurt a child or subscribe to evil than I could impregnate a woman. If I’ve been blind to certain things, it’s my failing. Maybe I should have paid more attention to Brigid and Nona and noticed something wasn’t right.”

  “As a student of mythology, didn’t their names ring any bells?”

  “I knew what they meant, and I knew they were phony, but I assumed they chose them because of their history.”

  “Why didn’t someone file charges against their father?”

  “They wouldn’t, nor would they let me. They told me their last name was Fulceri. I searched the internet for their father. Maybe he was molesting others, but I couldn’t find any trace of the name.”

  “A phony?”

  “Probably, but I wouldn’t pry. The sisters ran away because they were afraid of him. I wouldn’t do anything
to put them in harm’s way.”

  “Fulceri,” Diana repeated. “Interesting name.” She was about to elaborate when Silas Compton opened the office door without knocking.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you had company.”

  Slater stood. “Not a problem, Silas. Come in. I believe you know each other.”

  Compton offered his hand to Diana. “A pleasure to see you again, Ms. Racine.”

  Diana took his hand and held her breath. Nothing. “The pleasure’s mine. I won’t keep you two from your business. I was about to leave anyway. It was nice seeing both of you.”

  Compton held on to her hand. “Nonsense. No need to rush off. I just dropped by to give Edward this check. It’s from a client who respects the work you do to help the people in this great city of ours.”

  Slater took the check and peeked at it. He let out a whistle. “This is most generous. I’ll have to call and thank him.”

  “Do that,” Compton said. “Again, sorry to interrupt.” He started for the door and turned to Diana. “By the way, Ms. Racine, are you free right now? I have a few hours off. How about that reading you promised me? My car and driver are right outside.”

  “I drove,” Diana said. “I―“

  “Not a problem. After the reading, my driver will bring you back to your car. I won’t take no for an answer.” He tucked her arm into his. “Ciao, Edward. Call Stanford. He’s worth a bundle and could be a continuing donor.”

  “I will,” Slater said. “I can’t wait to hear all about your reading, Silas.”

  Diana hesitated. “I really shouldn’t. Ernie won’t know where I am.”

  “Call him from the car,” Compton said. “Unless you have to check with him for everything. He does keep you on a short leash, doesn’t he?”

  Diana thought about that. Did Ernie have the same control over her as her father had all those years? No, and she wouldn’t let him.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I guess now’s as good a time as any.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

  God, what is that sound? Diana clamped her hands over her ears, but the noise inside her head pounded like a hammer. She forced her eyes open. At first, she didn’t know where she was. It took a moment to recognize her own bedroom and the insistent buzzing of the doorbell. She checked the read-out on the clock―seven a.m.

  Go away. But the racket continued. Shit.

  She swung her legs off the bed to sit on the edge and realized she was still dressed in last night’s clothes. What the hell? The room spun in circles, and she steadied herself on the footboard. Nausea rose from the pit of her stomach into her throat. She’d suffered hangovers before, but she didn’t remember drinking. This felt different. Worse. She strained to stand, firmly gripping the bedside table.

  “Coming, coming.” She shuffled to the door, dragging sluggish legs and squinted through the peephole. Lucier. He knew where the key was. Why didn’t he use it? Then she realized the door was double bolted and chain latched. She didn’t remember doing that. She unlocked everything and turned the knob. Lucier barged in.

  “I’ve been calling you all morning. Why haven’t you answered? I’ve been out of my mind with worry.” He stopped his rampage and put both hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong? You look terrible. Are you sick?”

  He led her to the sofa and she fell into the cushions, curling up in a fetal ball. He sat down beside her.

  “I’m fine.” She wasn’t, but she didn’t want to tell him that because she didn’t know why she felt so bad. She rubbed her eyes, but it made everything fuzzier so she closed them.

  “I don’t want to seem like an overprotective parent―God, one father like yours is enough―but frankly, if you weren’t here this morning, I would have put out a BOLO. I called you the whole day, then there was an ugly murder in the Quarter last evening, and I didn’t finish up until the wee hours of the morning. By then, it was too late to call or come over.”

  “I’m sorry, Ernie. I went to the Sunrise Mission yesterday, and while I was there Silas Compton came in. He asked if I had time to do his reading. After that everything happened so fast.”

  “Jesus, Diana, what the hell’s wrong with you? Do you always have to tempt fate?”

  “I didn’t think it would turn into a whole day and evening. And please don’t yell at me. I feel like I’ve been in a train wreck.”

  “I’m sorry, but you’ve received two warning notes, and no matter what you think, that mission connects to four people we’re investigating, including Silas Compton, who might very well be the head of a satanic cult. Doesn’t any of that make an impression on you? And don’t even mention Brother Osiris, a man you seem to trust because he fed you some bullshit about his tragic past that you’re determined not to tell me about.”

  Her cheeks burned at Slater’s name. She didn’t know why unless than she had a fever. “Stop. I can’t have this conversation right now.”

  Lucier got up and paced the floor in a short circle. “Well, that’s tough. I need to know what happened. This is serious.”

  She’d never seen Lucier so mad or speak with such force, even when she took off after a serial killer on her own. He’d always been steady and calm.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal at the time. And yes, I do trust Edward. I’m convinced he’s incapable of anything evil. He’s only trying to make his life count.”

  Lucier bristled, his topaz eyes flashed in anger. “So now it’s Edward. Getting chummy, aren’t you?”

  “Stop this, Ernie. You sound like a jealous schoolboy.”

  He looked as if he’d been hit with a foul ball. “Jealous? I’m not jealous. I was worried, and now I’m pissed.” He got up from the sofa. “I’m going back to the station. I don’t like where this is going. I’ll hear all about Compton after we’ve both calmed down.”

  “Fine. Go. I’m tired anyway. You woke me up.”

  “Sorry. That’s what happens when you stay out all night with the big dogs of society. Go back to bed.”

  The sound of the door slamming left Diana wondering what just happened. She really wanted to tell him about Compton’s reading. She wanted to, but she couldn’t remember anything after getting into his limo. Not even how she got home or into bed, which is exactly where she was going now to ease the pounding in her head and soothe a stomach that churned like she’d eaten road kill.

  * * * * *

  The room, bathed in red light, spun around as dozens of dark eyes stared at her naked body. Murky faces, featureless and unrecognizable in the shadows, chanted strange, unintelligible words in an a cappella staccato drumbeat, worshipping as if some divine creature lay supine before them. She understood only one word in a repetitive drone: Diana…Diana…Diana.

  She tried raising her head to protest, but her voice locked in her throat, her numb body the immobilized object of voyeuristic concentration. The slightest sensation tickled her desensitized skin as hands groped from out of the darkness and took turns caressing her breasts and abdomen and hips. She knew their final destination, felt it.

  A naked figure hovered above her on all fours, straddling her body. His face, transformed by either makeup or a mask, darted back and forth, eyes squeezed shut in rapturous ecstasy. The chanting increased, monotonous sounds with no melody.

  Gibberish words.

  Louder and louder.

  She uttered something unrecognizable, then a hand cradled her head and another placed a glass of liquid to her lips. She drank greedily to moisten her dry mouth, then she fell back. Her body disappeared into oblivion. She couldn’t move. Not even her little finger.

  * * * * *

  Diana jerked awake, feverish, sweat oozing from every pore, plastering her clothes to her body. Tendrils of hair clung to her damp face and neck and back. Gasping for air, she struggled to breathe. What was happening to her? She looked around, panic subsiding as she recognized the familiar room and the comfort of her own bed.
>
  Where was Ernie? Why did she drive him away? Her first impulse was to call him, to apologize and tell him what happened. But what had happened? A bad dream. That’s all it was.

  Her body tingled, nerve endings retaining the memory of unwanted touches slithering down her torso. Sweat turned icy on her skin. Uncontrollable shivers. Her head pounded with excruciating pain, pulverizing her thoughts into worthless powder. Then nausea swept over her. She ran to the bathroom and collapsed onto the floor with her head hanging over the toilet while she purged black bile. The foul sight shocked her, but she couldn’t concentrate for the infernal beating inside her head. She needed a shower. Needed hot water pouring down on her to wash away the sickness.

  As she mustered her strength to rise from the floor, the dizziness overwhelmed her, and she slumped back onto the cold tile floor. Her head hit the side of the tub and she slid into unconsciousness, silencing the drumbeat in her brain.

  * * * * *

  Lucier spent the next two hours alternating between being mad and feeling like a shit. He called half a dozen times to apologize. No answer. Guilt took hold and he raced back to her house first chance he was free. He’d acted stupidly, and yes, he was jealous without good reason.

  He knew where she kept a key, but he was unwilling to take that liberty. Not when she’d been so angry. He rang the bell. Again, no answer, so he pounded on the door. Frightened now, he snatched the key from its hiding place and slipped it into the lock.

  “Diana.” The small house answered in deafening silence. He hurried through the living room to the bedroom and found her lying naked on the bathroom floor, vomit in the toilet bowl. Her skin was so pale he thought she was dead. He swore his heart stopped beating.

  No. You can’t be.

  He got down on his knees and touched his finger to her throat, relieved to feel the strong pulse. She was soaked in sweat. He picked her up, laid her on the bed, and covered her with a blanket. Then, hands shaking, picked up the bedside phone to call an ambulance.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Ernie?”

  “Yes,” he said, sitting down by her side. “I’m here.”