Shaman, Healer, Heretic (26 page)

He pulled out a placard and placed it on the dash. It had an official city logo on a red background. Then he ran around the outside of the truck to open her door and help her out.

As they climbed the stairs, he supported her with an arm around the waist. It felt nice. When he put the key into the deadbolt, he stopped and looked back at her.

“I’ve already told myself that it’s been a helluva day for you, so I’ve vowed that I’m going to say goodnight right here.”

She looked at him quizzically as he unlocked and opened the door a crack. The dim overhead light of the hallway gave his face a chiseled look and made it hard for her to read his eyes. He placed the keys in her hand but didn’t notice the tiny spark that jumped to them from the palm of her hand as he let them go.

“I just wanted to make sure you were all right and got home safely.”

He gently took her by the shoulders and looked down at her.

“If you need anything, or start to feel strange, or just anything, call me.”

“Okay,” she said, looking up into his face.

He pulled her close and gave her a gentle hug. As she rested her head on his chest, she closed her eyes and instinctively hugged him back. Eventually, he pulled away and reached into his back pocket.

“Here’s my number,” he said.

She looked down at the business card, taking it but not focusing.

“Please…call for anything.”

She looked into his eyes, which were staring into hers.

“I will,” she said quietly.

He nodded, then hesitated and then nodded again, backing up a pace. She watched him head toward the stairs, giving him a little wave before he disappeared, but as soon as she opened the door to the apartment, she wished he hadn’t gone.
 

AS SHE CLOSED the door behind her, she groaned. Her altar had been destroyed, beaten or chopped into small pieces; the paraphernalia scattered everywhere. She recognized some of the fragments but many were tiny. The wall where the couch had been was spray-painted with the same blood red paint as the pentagram.

“Get behind me, Satan,” it read in huge letters, with long red drips that pooled in the carpet.

The furniture had been knocked over and everything from the refrigerator had been dumped on the kitchen floor. Syrup had been squirted everywhere. She moved toward the bedroom, her steps faltering on the debris. There was more spray painting.

“Vengeance is mine.”

Her clothes had been thrown everywhere, covering the bed and floor. She turned at the doorway and looked back at the front room.

Was it the same people who had painted the pentagram? How had they gotten in here? Or was it the thugs from the alley?

Her eyes were drawn to the one icon that was still hanging on the wall–a pulsing glow-in-the-dark wall clock with the Virgin Mary of Guadalupe that she’d picked up at a garage sale. It was the one thing that the perpetrators apparently couldn’t stand to desecrate.

“Catholics,” she muttered.

She picked up a small statue of Kali that was missing its head. Buddhist mala beads were scattered everywhere. Incense sticks were broken and ground into the carpet.

She stood in the center, numb, and looked at the devastation, turning in a slow circle in the middle of the room. As she looked at the door, she realized that when she’d left, it had been with the emergency medical crew. SK had grabbed her bag with keys and phone, but the door must have been left open.

Where was Nacho? Had he been here when the vandals had done this? She hadn’t seen him in the bedroom.

“Nacho?” she called, but there was no answer.

The couch had been dumped on its front, and the cushions had slid out. As she gingerly picked her way around the debris, she lifted the cushions, afraid of what she would find. All that was there were the goggles. She tossed the cushions aside and picked up both pairs, still attached by wires. They looked like they were intact. She set them back down and looked around the room. There was so sign of Nacho. Hopefully he’d gotten out when the paramedics had been here.

She checked the locks on the front door and headed toward the bedroom. She started to shove the clothes off the bed and realized that some of them were wet.

She backed away with disgust. Someone had peed on the clothes and the bed. Scooping out the contents of her medicine cabinet from the bathroom sink with her clean hand, she turned on the water and found the soap.

No sleeping in the bed tonight. Probably not ever.

She went over to the couch and checked the cushions. They seemed all right. With an effort, she pushed the couch back over and set the cushions on it, picturing Min lying there before they’d gone to the Middleworld. In fact, Min’s pillow was on the floor. Livvy picked it up and slowly brought it to her face. She inhaled and the sandalwood scent of Min filled her nose. As she exhaled, she realized finally that she was utterly spent. As she collapsed on the couch, Livvy hugged the little pillow to her chest. The last image before her eyes closed was the goggles on the floor. It would wait until tomorrow, but she knew what had to be done.
 

SK PUSHED OPEN the hospital room door with an effort. He hadn’t been surprised that Livvy was up when he called earlier, but the fact that she was already at the hospital was a surprise–and not a good one. He had hoped she would wait for him. The scene that greeted him when he entered was exactly what he’d feared.

Min’s family was at the bedside along with Livvy. Apparently her parents didn’t speak much English since the brother was doing the translating. Emotions were running high.

Min’s mother pointed at Livvy and yelled something.

“My mother wants to know who’s going to pay for this,” said the boy, who looked to be in his late teens.

Livvy stood at the foot of the bed, looking at Min. She had obviously been crying. In fact, everybody in the room looked like they’d been crying.

“I don’t know,” Livvy sniffled.

The father said something angry to Livvy.

“It’s your fault. You should pay,” translated the boy.

“Hey!” said SK, realizing that Livvy must have been trying to explain what had happened.

The room fell silent.

“It’s not her fault,” he said to the parents.

The mother replied loudly, with an incredulous tone.

“Who are you?” said the boy.

“A friend of Min,” he said. “And of Livvy.”

The boy translated.

The mother made a face like she’d smelled something foul then uttered something guttural. The father burst forth with a loud string of words that the boy was starting to translate when a nurse came in the room.

“What’s going on in here?” she said, surveying the room.

Everyone fell silent.

“What are you doing screaming in here? This girl is very ill.”

She looked around, waiting for an answer.

“All right. There are too many people in here. You and you,” she said pointing at Livvy and SK, “need to leave. Only family right now.”

“Come on, Livvy,” said SK. “We can’t do anything here.”

“I’m sorry,” she said to the family, bursting into tears, covering her face.

SK took her by the arm. “Let’s go,” he said, as the mother muttered something.

The boy was about to translate but SK held up a hand as he ushered Livvy out. At the nurse’s station, he grabbed a couple of tissues.

“Her vitals are dropping,” Livvy whispered. “But the family doesn’t want the feeding tube. They don’t want life support.”

She started to choke up.

He let the conversation die as they entered the elevator, joining a few people who wore scrubs and white lab coats. As they rode down, he passed a tissue to her. The hospital people looked on in sympathy, familiar with these types of scenes. At the lobby, they all exited together. SK guided Livvy toward the parking lot.

“Here, sit down for a second,” he said as they passed a stone bench.

Livvy sank down, keeping the tissue to her nose.

“The first thing is,” said SK, pulling himself onto the bench, “this is not your fault.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“It’s not,” he said. “I’m serious. Look at me.”

A couple of passersby glanced over and finally Livvy did as well, her green eyes looking almost purple from the black circles underneath.

“She was already having trouble waking up, like Indra,” said SK.

“But you were right,” Livvy said. “The rules are there for a reason.” She shook her head. “You should have seen it, SK. The Underworld was so different, and I think it’s because we were together. Nothing was familiar, and I think that made it harder. I think it was harder to come back because we were together.” She shook her head again. “I should have listened. I shouldn’t have asked her to do it.”

“All right now, listen to me on this: she volunteered, you didn’t ask her.”

Livvy wiped her nose again and then took in a long shuddering breath.

“If it hadn’t been for you, she’d be dead,” he said, quietly. “You did everything you could, and then some. You nearly died yourself.”

Livvy looked up at the building, to the floor where Min was staying. “There’s only one way to save her,” she said.

“Forget it,” he said quickly.

“There’s nothing wrong with her body.”

“Forget it.”

“She only has a few days,” Livvy said, still looking at the building.

“Liv, it’d be suicide. You know it would. Is that what you want? To die because Min won’t live?”

She looked down at the bench between them.

“To die because you feel guilty over something that you had no control over?”

He reached up a pudgy hand to her cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. She placed her hand over his, pressing it to her face, closing her eyes.

“Come on,” he said quietly, as she leaned down. She put her head on his shoulder and started to cry. He rubbed her back as far as he could reach.

“Come on, now. It’s gonna be all right.”

After several minutes, she straightened up and wiped at his wet shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, glancing down. “As long as you didn’t drool.”

She laughed a little and blew her nose but left one hand with his, together on the bench. He watched a few people leaving the hospital.

“How is it going to be all right though?” she said finally. “How will it ever be all right with Tiamat?”

“You can’t defeat her,” he said. “Ten shamans together couldn’t defeat her.”

She nodded and sighed. An ancient god of Sumeria, of all things. Why couldn’t it have been one of the nice ones?

Livvy froze.

After several moments, SK said, “Where did you just go?”

“What?” she said surprised.

“You were a million miles away just then. Where did you go?”

“Sumeria, I think.”

SK nodded. “Tiamat,” he said.

“No, not Tiamat. Marduk,” said Livvy.

“What?”

“Marduk,” Livvy said again, more animated. “Marduk. Do you remember?”

She stood up.

“No,” said SK, jumping down off the bench.

“We need Marduk,” she said.

“What? Isn’t one enough?”

“No,” she said, banging a fist lightly on his shoulder. “Find a dog who’ll eat a dog.”

He scowled, still trying to puzzle it out.

“Come on,” she said, tugging him toward the parking lot. “Where’s that book of yours?”
 

IN THE BASEMENT of the hospital, Dr. Clarence Dorsey was finishing breakfast. He sat in a small office outside the swinging double doors that led to the morgue. He crumpled up his fast food bag and tossed it through the air for a free throw. It hit dead center in the garbage can.

“Cause of death,” he read on the computer screen in front of him. “Coronary infarction,” he typed. He hit the tab key and looked down at the chart next to the keyboard.

“Time of death,” he read.

“10:44 a.m.,” he typed and hit the tab key.

As he looked back at the chart, he heard a small sound outside the office. He glanced up but the doorway was empty, as was the hall beyond it. If someone had come down in the elevator, he’d have heard them.

He took a sip of his mocha java and turned his attention back to the clipboard. There was the sound again, like a dull bump, but louder this time. He got up and went into the short hallway. To his left were the double doors that led to the morgue. To the right was a small room with elevator doors–a room just large enough for a gurney to turn around. He heard the sound again much more clearly, but it came from the left, in the morgue.

Had he left some equipment on?

He looked through the windows of the large double doors, but the lights were off. He hit the door button on the wall and they automatically swung open. As he stepped in, he turned on the lights. The autopsy tables gleamed with polished cleanliness, and the surgical tools were all stowed, including the saws. He glanced at the sinks along the wall, but there was no water running. The refrigerated units on the far wall were all closed and clamped shut. It was utterly quiet, as usual.