by Rita Vetere
"A message has been left with night staff at the embassy on your behalf. The building opens at eight. Someone will likely be in touch with you then."
Khalid poked his head in to announce that the call she had asked him to place to her sister, Dora, had been made, and she could use the telephone in the office. She felt the officer's eyes on her as she walked unsteadily around the desk and quickly picked up the handset. “Dora? Oh, God, Dora,” she said, erupting into tears again. “Something terrible's happened."
* * * *
In the early hours of the morning, back in the suite where Charlie's body had lain until a short time ago, Lilli pulled the bedding closer around her, shivering uncontrollably. She alternated between sweating with fever and freezing every time the breeze from the overhead fan reached her. Each time she snapped awake, her eyes felt swollen and painful. Through the terrace window, she could see a brilliant full moon, sitting high in an unfamiliar sky.
Charlie's dead. The remembrance sent her sinking back into oblivion.
She had taken the first of the antibiotics prescribed by the doctor Khalid had summoned earlier, but knew they wouldn't kick in for a couple of days. A battle raged in her body. Her fevered dreams felt more like hallucinations. Visions of the dark angel who had come to her disturbed her already restless sleep. She glimpsed him in her dreams, prowling the dark night like a panther in search of prey. As she followed him through her confused delirium, he trained his shimmering, gold-ringed eyes on her. An unconscious moan escaped her. Those shadowy eyes aroused her, even in her disconcerted slumber.
In between the haunting visions of the man, her dead husband intruded on her sleeping thoughts, his face a mask of fear, his hand reaching out to her as if in warning. “Charlie,” she whimpered through lips chapped with fever. He was trying to tell her something, but she could not hear him clearly, and could only discern the urgent tone of his far-away dream voice.
She started awake again, shivering with cold and burning with heat. Her bones felt as if they were filled with broken glass. Even the soft cotton sheets caused her skin to hurt. Have to get back home. She had to bring Charlie home, because Charlie was dead, she reminded herself. She had to bury her dead husband.
A vague memory of having spoken to Dora earlier on the telephone to deliver the awful news about Charlie surfaced, but with her fever spiking, she could only recall disjointed snippets of the conversation. Her head throbbed mercilessly, making it hard to think. Even so, she tried to get out of bed. She had to do something. But as she lifted the covers away, blackness seeped into her vision. She fell back onto the bed, unable to get to her feet. Her eyes closed again, and she drifted back into her nightmares.
The next time she opened her eyes, it was dusk. A man was in the room with her, she saw with a start. She stifled a cry, seeing it was Khalid who stood just inside the doorway. He had prepared a dinner tray and encouraged her in broken English to eat something. She shook her head, which still throbbed mightily, and began to ramble, “My husband ... Charlie's dead ... I need to...” It was no use. Her stomach roiled at the sight of the food on the tray Khalid held. Still burning up with fever, she didn't manage to get the rest of the words out before her head sank back down into the pillow. Just before she trailed off into unconsciousness, she saw Khalid leave the room, the untouched dinner tray still in his hand, shutting the door firmly behind him.
On the following morning, she woke with a raging thirst. Her throat was sore and parched, but the splitting headache had eased up. Her fever had broken. She tried to sit up in bed, and succeeded. Just then, a knock sounded at the door and Khalid entered, carrying a large glass of orange juice and a breakfast tray. This time she accepted it gratefully.
"You are feeling better today, yes?” Khalid asked in an anxious voice.
She felt weak and exhausted, but her mind was clear again and her thoughts already racing. She needed to make arrangements to have Charlie's body released and get back home, away from this nightmare. Far too much time had been lost already on account of her strange illness.
"Yes,” she said, “better. Khalid, I need to get in touch with the Embassy. I need to ... My husband ... I need to arrange to bring him home.” The words caught in her throat as she forced back the tears that threatened to erupt.
"There is a man downstairs from the Consulate. He arrived last night, but you were too ill to meet with him. The doctor advised him to return this morning. Your sister contacted him yesterday morning. If you are well enough now, I will tell him."
Relief flooded over her as she mentally blessed Dora. She could only imagine what must have been involved in getting her the help she needed, but Lilli knew well enough how formidable Dora could be when circumstances required.
"Thank you. I'll get dressed and come down right away."
* * * *
On the morning of the following day, she walked on still-weak legs along the dim alley to the waiting taxi. Khalid followed, carrying her luggage. While he loaded the suitcases into the trunk, she got inside the taxi that would take her to the train station for the trip back to Casablanca. From there, she was booked on the next flight out to the States. She felt wretchedly alone, and still weak from the mysterious illness. She kept imagining Charlie, lying in a casket soon to be loaded into the cargo hold of the plane. The trip home would be a nightmare, knowing her husband's body would be in the compartment below, with only the luggage of the other tourists to sit vigil. She could not believe the drastic suddenness with which her life had fallen apart.
Through the rolled-down window, she said a quick good-bye to Khalid. Although grateful for his help, she wanted only to leave this place of death behind.
During the taxi ride to the train station, the events of that night replayed themselves in her mind like a bad movie. What had happened to her? And to Charlie? She'd watched in horror as he'd gone flying across the room, yet nothing visible had propelled him. Hysteria bubbled to the surface every time she pictured the scene, knowing the impossibility of what she had witnessed. The darkly beautiful man who had materialized out of thin air was responsible for Charlie's death, she was positive. She had been visited by something unnatural, but what? A phantom? He had appeared so at first, but his body had been as solid as her own when she ... Oh, God.
Feelings of shame and guilt overwhelmed her again. She had not fought to keep the man, or whatever he was, from her. She had wanted him, lusted for him. God help her, it was true. Only afterward had she even thought about her husband lying dead on the floor. And yet, she knew in her heart the man must have done something to cause her unnatural behavior. She remembered the strange lethargy she'd felt, as if she'd been drugged. No matter which way she viewed what had happened, she was not able to come up with a believable explanation.
Certainly, the police had not believed her disjointed ranting. Yet neither had they suspected her of being involved in her husband's death. In the end, the officer in charge had assured her solemnly that a thorough investigation would be conducted into Charlie's murder and that every effort would be made to find the intruder, and she was permitted to return home.
As the taxi turned onto the street leading to the train station, she fumbled through her purse for her wallet. She found foreign currency confusing and didn't want to take the chance of missing the express train. As she rummaged through her bag, her hand touched something metallic, and she yanked it out, momentarily taken aback. She didn't remember having put the pendant inside her purse, but that wasn't surprising. Her mind was all over the place, she hardly remembered packing.
The old silver gleamed in the morning sunshine. It felt warm, a little too warm, as it rested in the palm of her hand. Her thoughts began to blur. The dizzy spells from her illness hadn't completely left and nausea struck again. She cranked the taxi window lower to gasp in hot but fresh air, big gulps of it, over and over, until her thoughts cleared and her stomach stopped being queasy.
As she looked at the pendant, an eerie sensation rippled thro
ugh her. For some reason, holding the pendant made her feel inexplicably afraid. The thing seemed ... wrong, somehow. She could almost see the bad vibrations coming off it in waves. Suddenly, she knew she didn't want it anymore. Acting purely on impulse, Lilli put her hand out the open window of the moving car and tossed the pendant. She watched it strike the pavement and then disappear as the car sped forward.
A second later, she worried whether she'd done the right thing in throwing it away. It was a gift from Charlie, she told herself, the last thing he had given her. A shadow of guilt passed over her briefly, replaced almost immediately by an overwhelming relief at having rid herself of the pendant. And soon she would rid herself of this country, a place that had filled her with shocking opposites and that had propelled her from joy and awe to a grief she knew would last forever.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 3
Tampa, Florida-1988
Lilli snapped awake, gasping for air. They're back. Fear exploded as she struggled to sit up. Can't breathe! A heavy weight crushed her chest, making it impossible to move. Breathe, goddamnit, just breathe! The thought raced around her mind like a trapped rat. Gasping for air, she scanned the shadowy corners of her bedroom. Mounting panic quickly replaced the certainty that she was going to die.
Time stopped. She focused her entire being on the simple act of taking a breath. Blackness crept into the edges of her vision, the pressure on her chest enormous; she was suffocating.
Suddenly, the weight lifted from her chest and she gasped, taking air into her lungs in ragged bursts that seared her throat. Calm down, she commanded herself. No longer paralyzed, she bolted from her bed and ran to the hallway, where she sat down on the floor, hugging her knees until her racing heart slowed and her breathing returned to normal.
This was not the first time she had awoken this way in the past months. Rarely did a week go by without one of them arriving in the middle of the night to torment her. Still, each episode brought with it fresh terror. Lilli listened carefully, but the taunting voices she often heard during the visitations were silent. When she regained some composure and her breathing returned to normal, she leaned her head back against the wall and rubbed the taught skin of her enormous belly. Her baby. She had to remain calm. Her baby was due to arrive any day now.
Awkwardly, she got to her feet and walked unsteadily to the kitchen, trailing remnants of her fear. With shaking hands, she poured herself a glass of milk and carried it into the living room. They're gone. They're gone, and they're not coming back. She repeated the mantra over and over, until she almost convinced herself it was true.
In the living room of the house she now shared with Dora, Lilli listened for any indication that they had returned. How she wished Dora was home. She was sorry now she had insisted Dora go out when her friend had called. But poor Dora had spent the past seven months fretting over her like a mother hen, ever since she'd learned Lilli was pregnant following her return home from Morocco. Dora deserved a night out after all she had done.
Lilli had accepted Dora's invitation—insistence, really—that she return to live with her in their parents’ old house. It should have been a comfortable haven for her while she waited for the baby to arrive, but Lilli had come to understand that no place was safe for her anymore.
She recalled her dismay at Dora's shocked reaction when she'd confided in her about the unnatural events that had taken place in Marrakesh. Her sister was a practical soul, and Lilli could tell by the look Dora had given her that she did not believe her, even though she had not said so in so many words. Oh, Dora believed Lilli had been raped and her husband murdered, all right. But when she described the phantom-turned-to-flesh being who had appeared, Dora's first question had been the same as the policeman's in Marrakesh—she'd asked if they had been doing drugs at the time. When Lilli reminded her that the last time she'd smoked a joint was in high school, Dora's next reaction had been to press Lilli to seek therapy. Lilli had adamantly refused to do so, and never mentioned the phantom to her sister again. Regardless, Dora had steadfastly stood by her, even after Lilli's behavior became erratic, bordering finally on the bizarre—especially after the voices began.
She'd not told Dora about the voices, knowing her sister would not believe her, and probably think her delusional. Lilli herself had trouble believing she was being visited by dark spirits. There were times, usually after waking up the way she had tonight, when an insidious voice would steal into her thoughts, telling her that oh yes, she was crazy, had to be. She had imagined everything. The baby was Charlie's, and what happened in Morocco last year could not possibly have happened. And the voices were nothing but a by-product of trauma, the trauma of having watched Charlie die. Yet, in her heart, she didn't think so. She didn't feel crazy. Only alone and afraid of what she knew.
"The baby isn't due for another week,” she'd told Dora. “There's no reason you shouldn't enjoy an evening out. I'll be perfectly fine on my own for one night."
But she wasn't fine at all, not by a long shot.
She turned to study her reflection in the dark window, perturbed at the sight of the haggard face peering back. Her long hair, once silky, hung in limp, greasy strands around her pale face. Puffy eyes, underscored with dark circles, stared back at her. She looked like a ghost, a shadow of the woman she'd once been.
Lilli turned away from her reflection and used the remote to turn on the television. Muting it, she sat back, gazing blankly at the moving pictures on the screen. She missed Charlie. Always, she missed Charlie. Yet she knew even Charlie would not have been able to stop what was happening to her, or help her to protect the baby. The baby she was now quite certain was not his. Her heart began to beat double-time in acknowledgment of the dreadful truth.
The clock on the mantle ticked away like a bomb in the silent room. Almost one-thirty in the morning. Dora would be home soon, and they didn't like to make themselves known to others. Usually, they arrived when she was alone, or in the early morning hours when Dora was sound asleep. She'd be safe once Dora got back. She wrapped her arms protectively around her belly and watched the silent screen.
Minutes later, her head snapped up. The soft sound of a whispered voice floated toward her. “No ... please,” she moaned. She placed her hands over her ears and began to slowly rock back and forth. Hot tears spilled onto her cheeks. She felt flushed, fevered. The baby kicked inside her, as if in warning. “Go away,” she whispered into the empty room.
Other menacing voices chimed in, whispering sly words she could not make out. Soon, the subtle, sinister sounds surrounded her. She closed her eyes and tried to will them away, but it did no good. Suddenly, the hushed voices turned loud, making the hair at the nape of her neck stand up. A trickle of sweat rolled down her back. As the angry voices rose in unison, terror engulfed her all over again.
Invisible hands began to prod and poke at her. Phantom fingers brushed against her face and hair. Soon the slapping sensations on her arms and around her head would begin. Lilli sat helplessly on the couch, shielding herself against what she knew was coming. When the first blows struck, she jumped up and tried to fight them off, but her fists encountered only air.
As she tried to defend herself against the phantasms, something she saw on the side table caused her to freeze in shock. She stood perfectly still, the blood in her veins turning to sludge, no longer aware of the unseen hands pushing and slapping at her. “That's impossible,” she whispered to herself. She stared in disbelief. The pendant. The one she had thrown away in Morocco. It can't be. But there it sat anyway, glittering malignantly. A bolt of dread shot through her. Somehow, the awful thing had found its way back to her.
"Charlie, please,” she whispered, “if you can hear me, help me.” She backed away slowly from the table.
At that instant, another voice spoke. It was different from the others, deep and sensuous, but she detected the underlying cruelty, a voice that made her think of velvet over steel.
"You seek h
elp from one who no longer exists,” the voice said. “He could not help you when he was alive, how can he possibly help you now? It is my child who grows within you. Still you refuse to acknowledge me."
Lilli remained silent, but her fear grew huge as the voice continued to speak.
"Submit to me, Lillian, and you will share in the joy of our child's life. Resist, and you will not live to see it take its first breath.” A wispy, silvery mist appeared out of nowhere and drifted through the room.
Lilli's eyes lit up with feral hatred when they latched onto the form taking shape before her, rising out of the mist.
She exploded in anger. “Fuck you!” she cried. “Stay away from me! Stay away from my baby!"
* * * *
Ahriman glanced at his reflection in the mirror over the fireplace mantle as he made his entry. Seeing his image was something he was unable to do in the spiritual realm. As he caught sight of the darkly handsome and imposing form he inhabited in the mortal world, he swelled with pride.
What was the matter with this woman? The stupid mortal seemed unaware of the privilege he'd bestowed on her by impregnating her. He caught the look of disdain on the perfectly chiseled features of his face reflected in the glass and immediately masked it with a more appropriate one as he moved toward the ungrateful woman.
"The baby will live,” he whispered close to her ear, as the spirits yanked Lilli off the ground, suspending her in mid-air. “And what of you? Choose."
The voices of his faithful spirits chanted all around him. “Kill her—kill her, Ahriman."
When the woman said nothing, but only continued to avoid his gaze with her rebellious eyes, Ahriman did not bother to disguise his deadly intent when he uttered his next words. “Do you think I would hesitate to put an end to your life? You are nothing. Less than nothing!"
Still he saw no sign of submission in her, only defiance. “So be it,” he hissed. “Die, then. The child is mine."
