Esperanza (26 page)

“Dad?” Luke sounded worried.

“Do you see him, Luke? The gray-haired guy?” Ian didn’t take his eyes off Charlie.

“Uh, no, Dad. We’re alone here.”

“No, we’re not alone. The nurse, Charlie. Tell me what happened.”

“Dominica seized her, just as you thought, and tried to force her to kill you.”

Outside, the wind whined through the trees, branches slapped the windows. The flames in the fireplace leaped and danced, the logs crackled and
hissed, plumes of smoke drifted upward. His throat felt parched, he was hungry, tired.

“She used Louise once and will use her again,” Charlie continued. “Louise won a reprieve because she was sick. Your son is not fully convinced of your sanity, Ian. And because you need his support, you have to convince him that you’re fine, but changed.”

“Yeah? How the hell do I do that?”

“Uh, Dad, you’re talking to the wall,” Luke said.

Ian ignored Luke, listened to Charlie. “Ask Luke about Casey. About what happened that night they were both in your room, when you were in a coma. Go there, Ian. He’ll never again doubt your sanity.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to
go there.
Wasn’t sure that he needed to
go there.
But because Luke was directly behind Ian, gripping his shoulders, speaking to him as though he were a demented old man—
c’mon, Dad, sit down, it’s warmer by the fire, I’ll fix us something to eat, you’re talking to the fucking wall
—Ian knew that he had to
go there.

“Charlie’s saying I should ask what happened between you and Casey while I was in a coma, Luke.” Ian pulled free of his son’s hands, turned, and saw the truth in Luke’s face—incredulity that his crazy old man had figured it out.

And Luke, God bless him, didn’t deny it, protest, lie, or make excuses. He pressed his fists against his eyes and emitted a single, heartbreaking sob. “We were there, by your bedside, day after day, waiting, hoping, and I don’t know what happened. Our . . . love for you . . . brought us together, Dad. I . . . I can’t explain it in any other terms. I . . . Jesus, I’m so sorry, I’m so ashamed . . . it only happened once, it . . . it . . .”

Ian understood his son’s visceral attraction to Casey and why she would gravitate toward Luke during the time that he himself was in a coma. He got it. He knew he should feel anger, disappointment, indignation, something other than what he actually felt—relief and gratitude that his son and his former lover had discovered something profound in each other.

“I’m pleased for you, Luke. For both of you.”

Luke looked astonished, shocked, and then skeptical, as if he had expected Ian to damn him from one side of the universe to the other. “I . . . Jesus, Dad, I . . .” Luke shook his head and threw up his hands, patting the air and backing away from Ian as if he couldn’t quite understand what had happened.

“I’m happy for you, Luke. For both of you.”

“I . . . need some air.” Luke snatched his jacket off the back of a chair and headed for the door, the woods, the sanctuary of darkness beyond the cabin.

Ian went to the window, staring out into the moonlit woods. Luke sat out there, legs pulled against his chest, head resting against his knees. Ian was still standing there an hour later when Luke’s car peeled away from the cabin.

Dominica was just about to slip into Louise Ritter Bell when Ben joined her.

For him to seek her out in the past meant that the news was very good—or treacherously bad.
It’s bad,
he said, reading her thoughts.
We haven’t been able to track down Tess Livingston. It’s like she slipped into a black hole, Nica.

Or the chasers were protecting her, camouflaging her in some way. But she doubted it. Chasers were powerful, but not omniscient. They weren’t gods. And
brujos
were limited in their ability to find the living across the vast spectrum of physical life, spread through space and time.
Just keep looking.

There’s something else. We believe the liberation group is getting help from churches around Ecuador and that they have spies within the local populace in Ecuador. Pearl and some others slipped into priests in Punta, Guayaquil, Quito, and Puyo and learned they are amassing flamethrowers for some big battle with brujos. But apparently the priests aren’t privy to all the information. We couldn’t find out dates and details.

The church. The goddamn church had more money and resources than the government and its network was vast and intricate.
Put the tribe on alert. Tell them to have bodies picked out that can be seized at a moment’s notice, to locate trucks and supplies that can be moved into a defensive position quickly, and to begin adding to our stash of weapons.

And you’ll stay here to kill Ian?

Yes. Isn’t his ex-wife pretty?

They watched Louise hurry down the sidewalk to her shiny Mercedes, a gift from her new, rich husband.
You’re prettier,
Ben thought, and briefly
melted into her, the only way they could connect outside of Esperanza.
Love you, Nica, see you soon
. Then he was gone and Dominica felt his absence acutely.

She wondered if she should rush back to Esperanza to help prepare the city for an assault by this liberation group. But Ian’s death seemed equally pressing. She quickly slipped into Louise and dispersed herself through the woman’s cells, just like she had done ten days ago, before Louise had gotten sick. Louise gave no indication that she was aware anything unusual had happened.

Louise, the paragon of cluelessness.

The virus that had made her body uninhabitable was still present, although in a much weakened state. But because Dominica had stayed away from Louise precisely because she had been so ill, she went to work on killing the damn virus. Since Louise’s appetite for high drama, revenge, and her turmoil about Ian had lowered her resistance, Dominica also bolstered her immune system, then prompted her pituitary gland and her hypothalamus to release endorphins, so she wouldn’t be in such an agitated state. Dominica understood her anxiety—Ian had escaped from the mental hospital two days ago—but only a cool head would prevail now.

By the time Louise pulled into a parking lot, the virus was dead, her congestion was cleared up, her energy had surged. Dominica also had taken care of some other impending health problems—like the stiffness in Louise’s knees and shoulders, the precursors to arthritis, and the irritations in her digestive system. She figured Louise now owed her a favor.

Louise swung her slender legs out of the car, smoothed her hands over her tight blue skirt and the matching jacket. Apparently her humiliating fall in the hospital corridor had convinced her to shelve the ridiculous spike heels. Today she wore plain black flats. She shut the door and started toward the ugly brick buildings that constituted the Minneapolis Mental Health Care Center.

“Hey, Louise,” someone called.

A tall, Ichabod Crane of a man unfolded himself from a shiny BMW, briefcase in hand. Ray Garthe, Louise’s attorney and financial advisor, was impeccably dressed in a tailored coat and trousers and moved with long, restless strides.

“Ray, I thought you were already inside,” she said.

“Up until five minutes ago I was on the phone with Dr. Parcell, letting him know we’re going to sue their goddamn ass.”

“They had strict orders not to let Luke or Casey in to see him.”

“Yeah, and we’re packing up his stuff and payment stopped yesterday.”

Inside the building, the stink of mold, darkness, and pockets of madness threatened to overpower Dominica. She barely resisted the urge to press her hand over her mouth and nose. They stopped at the front desk, where a bamboo-thin woman fussed with papers. Ray said, “We’re here to see Dr. Parcell.”

“I’m sorry. He’s busy right now and—”

“Busy?”
Dominica slapped her hand down so hard against the counter that the woman wrenched back. “You tell him to get down here now or there will be a lawsuit against this facility in his mailbox by tonight.”

“Uh, yes, ma’am. Your names?”

“Louise Bell and Attorney Ray Garthe.”

The clerk quickly picked up the receiver. Ray nudged Louise’s elbow and his brows shot up.
Impressive,
he mouthed.
You should be a lawyer.

In the Kansas life, Dominica thought, she and Ben had been attorneys.

“He’s on his way down,” the woman announced.

They didn’t have to wait long. Dr. Parcell showed up minutes later, his ruddy cheeks pink with exertion. “So sorry to keep you both waiting.” He extended his hand first toward Ray, who shook it, and then toward Louise, who wanted to, but Dominica prevented it.

“We’re here to pick up my ex-husband’s belongings, Dr. Parcell.”

“Certainly. They’re being brought down now.”

“No. We’ll pick them up from his room,” Ray said. “Immediately.”

Dominica rather liked this Ray. Demanding. Cocky. Sure of himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dr. Parcell said. “Visitors aren’t permitted in the living quarters.”

“Dr. Parcell, I don’t know how to make this any clearer,” Ray said. “Your facility is guilty of a serious infraction. You allowed the professor’s son to come in here against the written instructions of Mrs. Bell, who holds power of attorney. Then Mr. Ritter pulled a knife on his son and forced him to drive to a train station. He’s been missing for forty-eight hours, is now considered armed and dangerous, and is being sought by the state police.”

“Our patients don’t have access to knives.” Parcell’s eyes flicked nervously from Ray to Louise and back to Ray. “And your son, Mrs. Bell. How do you know he’s telling the truth? He could have made up the story about the knife.”

“You’re missing the point, Dr. Parcell.” Ray sounded pissed now. “The
young man wasn’t allowed in here in the first place. Now, shall we proceed upstairs?”

Parcell cleared his throat. He looked embarrassed—and mighty uncomfortable. “It’s a rather long walk. Our elevator broke down this morning.”

The building was massive, deeper than it was wide, and during the long walk through it, Dominica felt compelled to take over Louise completely, but knew that small increments were safer, one organ or limb at a time. Louise seemed oblivious until Dominica claimed her heart and her lungs, possessing her completely. Then she screamed,
Hey, get outta here,
as though Dominica were the hired help, the inconvenient intruder.

Go to sleep,
Dominica told her, sucking at the air that flowed through Louise’s mouth, into her lungs.

But Louise refused to shut up, so Dominica shoved her down inside that metal prison and specifically looked for anything useful on Luke. Where might he have taken his father? Who were Luke’s friends? Did any of them have a house outside the city? Perhaps in the woods, the countryside, in another town? Where did Ian bank? Did he have a passport already? How much money was in his accounts?

Her digging around in Louise’s psyche yielded more information than she needed—how Louise had hired a private detective to follow Ian, to search for something she could use to tarnish his reputation. It gave her insight into Louise’s dysfunctional relationship with her son, the child she never had wanted and hoped to abort.

That’s a goddamn lie,
Louise screamed.
I wanted kids, Ian didn’t.

Dominica muted her voice and she and Ray followed Parcell into a long, dingy hallway that smelled strongly of cleansers. Beneath that odor lurked the stink of urine, unwashed bodies, madness.

“Here we go. Room thirteen,” said Dr. Parcell.

How many thirteens did that make?

A large room, with a bed under the barred window and another against the east wall. Pale gray walls. A single ceiling light. Depressing didn’t begin to describe it. A man sat at the edge of a bed next to the window, staring through the bars with utter dejection and misery. Unshaven jaw, graying hair cropped close to his skull, right hand beating out a monotonous rhythm against his left thigh.

“Hi, Keith,” boomed the doctor, as though Keith were deaf. In a quiet, confidential tone, he added, “Keith is a paranoid schizophrenic. He has
been with us for three years. He used to be a musician. That’s why he moves his hand that way. It’s as if he’s hearing an internal rhythm.”

Yeah, thanks for that insight, Doc
. Dominica went over to the stuff piled on the other bed. Not much here, just a few clothes, a backpack with a pair of running shoes inside, shampoo, Ian’s electric razor, everything Louise had brought from the house the day after his commitment. She shoved the clothes into the pack, zipped it shut, slung it over her shoulder. She opened the nightstand drawer, picked up the Bible, flipped through it.

Some pages were heavily marked, but probably not by Ian. According to what she learned from Louise, Ian wasn’t religious. On other pages, strips had been torn from the top or bottom. For what? Louise opened the drawer all the way, found a soft bristle hairbrush, but no books other than the Bible. Dominica, now in full control of Louise’s body, aimed her toward the bathroom. She didn’t resist.

Dominica looked around slowly, hoping that whatever she sensed would leap out at her. She checked the contents of the medicine cabinet—a container of Band-Aids, squares of gauze, bars of soap, folded washcloths, but nothing that could be used as a weapon. She popped open the lid on the Band-Aid container. It was stuffed with slips of paper. Dominica picked out one of them. Scrawled on it was:
I remember condors.