Sweet Dreams, Irene (10 page)

As if from far away, I heard Frank moving up quickly behind me, felt him grab my shoulders, heard him say, “Oh, for Christsakes …”

The lump was a human heart.

M
Y STOMACH CHURNED
and I ran to the side of the house, where I vomited. I heard Frank come up alongside me and ask if I was okay, but I couldn’t answer. I leaned against the house, shaking. I reached down and turned on the garden hose, and rinsed out my mouth. I splashed some cool water on my face. I felt a little better. Frank held me. “I have to get out of here,” I said, feeling as if I were in a small box instead of outdoors.

He walked me over to my next-door neighbor’s house, carefully steering me away from any view of the porch. He rapped loudly on Mr. Hottlemeyer’s door. Mr. Hottlemeyer and I had a nodding acquaintance—we were pleasant but anonymous to one another. I’m sure it was quite a surprise to have us at his door at midnight. He ran a hand through his rumpled gray hair and asked politely what he could do for us.

I heard Frank explain in his most authoritative voice that this was an emergency and that he needed to use the phone. He also said that I had received quite a shock and asked if Mr. Hottlemeyer would sit and talk to me while he called.

I know we had awakened him, but Mr. Hottlemeyer was as pleasant as he might have been if we had come to pay a Sunday afternoon visit. He brought me a small glass of sherry and sat down next to me. It’s not my favorite drink, but it helped to steady my nerves. Frank came back from using the phone, and asked if I could stay while he waited at my house for investigators to arrive. Mr. Hottlemeyer was agreeable, and Frank left.

He made small talk, asking me questions about anything but what had happened next door. Did I have a garden? What sports did I enjoy? Had I seen the new comedy program on television last Tuesday night? At first I was irritated; invading images from the front porch made his questions seem inane. Soon though, I understood he was trying to distract me, and so I cooperated by forcing myself to concentrate on his voice and what he was asking me. I’m sure his efforts were all that kept me from becoming hysterical.

Soon we saw the flashing lights of squad cars, and I began to feel as if I were back at Frank’s house the night Mrs. Fremont died. But Mr. Hottlemeyer was never out of questions for me. After what seemed like a long time, Frank came back and asked me if I thought I could handle going over to the house.

I felt panic, which had never been far away, rise within me. Frank took my hand. “They’ve taken it away,” he said quietly. I bit my lower lip and nodded my consent to leave this neighbor’s safe haven.

We thanked Mr. Hottlemeyer, who shrugged as if to say, “It was nothing.” I knew better. To his credit, he had kept at bay any curiosity of his own about the events which had frightened me. For that alone I would be grateful for a long time to come. As we left, I wondered why I had not tried to get to know him better before that night.

Outside, before we crossed the yard, Frank held me for a long moment, then asked me if I was sure I was ready. I nodded, and leaving an arm around my shoulders, he led me back to the house.

In my front yard, several people were bending over the front stairs, and I felt bile rising in my throat again. I stopped moving.

“Irene?”

I shook it off. “I’m okay, Frank.” And I started asking him the questions that had been creeping up on my mind. “Is the rest of …”

“No. There wasn’t anything else,” he said firmly. He paused, then added, “It might not be a human heart, Irene.”

I shuddered, but said, “It’s human.” Something told me Frank knew that as well as I did. “Is Cody—is he okay?” Horrible visions crossed my mind.

“I couldn’t find him,” he said. Feeling me freeze up, he added quickly, “I haven’t really had a chance to look. If they had done anything to him, they would have made sure we could see him. All of this activity has probably scared him. I’m sure he’s just hiding. Maybe you shouldn’t do this yet.”

“I want to look for Cody. I’ll be okay.”

Somehow I made it past the front steps. Once I was inside and away from where I could see that porch, I was better off. There were cops everywhere; I noticed Lieutenant Carlson talking to Jake Matsuda, one of Frank’s friends in Homicide. Frank watched them, but didn’t participate or comment. I wondered if it was hard on him, but he seemed to take it in stride. He told me they had found signs of a forced entry at the back door. So much for my new lock.

Matsuda walked over and asked me to look around to see if anything was missing. The first thing I noticed was that Sammy’s clothes and journal were gone from the couch. I casually looked around the rest of the house before glancing over at Frank.

Reading his face, I knew he hadn’t said anything yet about the clothes and journal, that he was waiting for me to give out whatever information I had on my own. He was trusting me. I was grateful.

“As far as I can tell,” I said to Jake, “my cat is missing, and some items I had brought here from Casa de Esperanza earlier today. I went to the shelter to pick up some clothes and a journal belonging to a young girl who had been staying there. They’ve been taken from my couch. She ran off from the shelter a few days ago, but she’s contacted me by phone twice. I wanted to try to find out where she might have gone.”

Before Jake could ask me more, a startled look crossed his face. I turned and saw Captain Bredloe walking toward us. “Hello, Frank, Miss Kelly,” he said easily. Bredloe doesn’t usually get involved in investigations at this level, and so it was surprising to see him there.

I thought there might be animosity between Frank and Bredloe, but if there was, they weren’t letting it show. “Don’t let me interrupt,” he said to Jake, who nervously glanced over to where Carlson stood talking to a forensics man, then back to me.

“You said some clothes and a journal belonging to a young runaway were taken tonight?” Jake asked.

I explained the whole Sammy story to him, starting with Jacob’s contact with me and ending with that evening, leaving out only the fact that Frank had known about my activities for a few hours. He had enough problems with the department.

Bredloe exhaled loudly when I finished. “Why didn’t you contact us about the girl? I suppose you’re aware that what you’ve done isn’t exactly legal?”

“Are you going to press charges?”

“I ought to.”

“Well, go ahead then.”

Bredloe shook his head. “I see what you mean, Frank. And I thought you and Baird were exaggerating.”

Frank smiled until he caught my glare, then quickly tried to compose himself.

Bredloe intervened. “Don’t be insulted, Miss Kelly. I can see you learned at the knee of the late Mr. O’Connor. If you should hear from the girl again, would you please be so generous as to give us a call? We’d like to talk to her.”

“I would be happy to, Captain Bredloe,” I said, my tone as falsely sugary as his own.

He ignored me, and turned to Frank. “Pete let me know you had called this in. I just thought I’d stop by. Everything okay with you?”

Frank nodded. “Thanks, Captain.”

Bredloe seemed relieved, and turned to leave, then hesitated and looked back at me. “Don’t press your luck, Miss Kelly. You had Detective Harriman with you tonight, but that won’t always be the case. You’d be better off keeping us informed.”

“Captain Bredloe—” I started huffily, but Frank was squeezing my elbow in a plea for mercy. “Thank you for your concern,” I finished, although I hadn’t been able to keep the acid out of my voice.

Bredloe looked from Frank to me and back again. He grinned and said, “Good luck, Frank,” then walked away from us.

My anger with him managed to snap me out of the state of fear I had been in since coming home. Carlson left on Bredloe’s heels, not saying a word to either one of us. As the last officer left my house, I turned to Frank and said, “I’ve got to find Cody.”

Most of Cody’s favorite hiding places are in my bedroom, so we walked back there. Frank searched the closets while I got down on the floor. Two almond-shaped eyes blinked back from the far corner under the bed. I started crying. “He’s under here, Frank,” I managed to say. Frank got down on the floor as well, and started to reach for Cody.

“Don’t—he’ll scratch the hell out of you. He’s scared.”

“I suppose I’ve got to get something from the refrigerator for him,” he said, standing up and absently reaching his hand to a place on his face where Cody had once clawed him.

He came back a few minutes later with a piece of steak. “Steak?” I said. “Isn’t there anything cheaper in there?”

Frank ignored me and got down on the floor again, and started coaxing Cody with the meat and cooing to him. For some reason, it amused me. Cody’s stomach will always conquer his fear, and he was out from under the bed after allowing himself the bare minimum amount of proper cat obstinacy.

I held him up to my face for a kiss, and realized he smelled like Sammy’s clothes. Frank was still on the floor, looking under my bed.

“Yes, those are dust bunnies,” I said. “And no, I don’t clean as thoroughly as you do.”

He was trying to reach something under the bed, and I groaned to think of what pair of underwear or old pantyhose I might have tossed there during a look-who-just-dropped-by-to-say-hello rush clean-up operation. He got up and crawled over the top of my mattress and reached down, grunting as he pulled his hand free from the tight space between the wall and the bed.

In that hand was Sammy’s journal.

“Hiding treasures, Cody?” Frank asked with a triumphant grin.

Cody continued his post-steak wash-up without so much as a pause to reply.

“I suppose we should call Carlson or Bredloe and tell them about this,” I said, plopping down next to Frank on the bed.

“Of course,” Frank said, opening it to the first page, and holding it so that I could read it with him.

W
E LAY THERE
reading Sammy’s cramped script, prying into thoughts too personal for a best friend’s ears. The first entry was made on February 14—Valentine’s Day. That fact, taken with the opening sentences, made me acutely aware of how isolated Sammy was.

2/14

RM talked to me all day about how happy he is with JC. It’s killing me, of course. I’ve loved him so much for so long, but I don’t think I’ll ever be more than a “kid sister” to him. I guess I should be happy for him and not wait around for them to break up anymore. I didn’t like her at first, didn’t think it would last. But now I see I was wrong. I must have known this a long time ago to give them those nicknames.

I hate Valentine’s Day.

I can’t blame him for choosing her. She’s pretty and smart and popular. I’m ugly and skinny and I don’t know how to make friends. Besides, no one will want me now. No one good.

The Bastard wanted me tonight. I told him I was on my period. I want to die. It’s Valentine’s Day, he should be with the Bitch. I wonder if they do it anymore.

“Do you know who any of these people are? RM, JC, the Bastard?” Frank asked.

“RM and JC have got to be Jacob and Julie, but I don’t know how she came up with the initials—must be the initials for the nicknames. No clue as to the Bastard or Bitch.”

He looked as if he was going to suggest something, but changed his mind. We read on. Disturbingly, it became clear that the Bastard and the Bitch were her parents. It was obvious that she stayed away from home as often as she could. She wrote of nights hiding out on the streets. No wonder she had left home. Pages venting her anger, fear, and sense of betrayal passed before we reached any mention of the coven.

3/24

I met some kids at school today who seem really cool. After school, they invited me to go to the park with them. They were really nice. They’re into witchcraft. It’s pretty interesting. I think we get along because the other kids think they’re weird, too. I admire them for sticking to what they believe in. Not like my parents, who are the biggest hypocrites on earth.

We read of a gradual bond being forged between Sammy and her new friends. Against the previous passages of isolation, she now wrote of acceptance, the thrill of participating in something forbidden, the feelings of power that came with her act of rebellion. There was the sense of belonging and devotion to other group members that being in this secret society engendered. The allure of magical power was also drawing her closer to the coven. In more than one passage, she wrote of rituals and incantations.

4/15

Learned some really great spells and chants from some books I bought at Rhiannon today. I really like the air spells. You can raise the wind by whistling three times. There’s a spell to get rid of fear. You have to light a candle and let the flame take your fear away from you, then you take the candle outside and when the wind blows out the flame, the fear is gone. So you have to raise the wind before you start the part with the candle. I’m going to try this.

This one book tells about all kinds of things you can use—stones, water, knots, feathers, even mirrors. It’s all natural and from the earth. It doesn’t harm anyone. There is so much power in it, but it’s good power. Well, some people might try to do some black magic, but they’ll be sorry. If you misuse it, it will come back on you. That’s not what my coven is into. We practice an old religion—wicca. It makes me feel as if there is hope after all.

“Romeo and Juliet,” Frank said.

“What?”

“The initials for the nicknames stand for Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet.”

“Have you been thinking about that all of this time?”

“No, I’ve been reading. But I kept trying to figure it out while I waited for you to catch up with me at the end of the page.”

“I read fast,” I said.

He only shrugged and pretended to go back to the journal, but he had a smirk on his face.

“You are most clever, Mr. Speedreader. I don’t know if I would have figured that out.”

The smirk became a smile. “Yes, you would have.”

“Excuse me, I better read. Don’t want you to fall asleep between pages.”

Between tales of learning chants and working magic, the sections on the coven revealed that there were apparently a number of loosely connected groups in the area. The one she was in seemed to be based more on a “feminist spirituality” that had been revived in the 1970s than on anything even remotely satanic. It was nature worship, and if it was alien to my own traditions, it was nevertheless gentle and nonviolent.

9/1

Haven’t had time to write anything in this journal for a few days. Things have been crazy. The Bitch found my altar and ruined it. She was screaming her head off at me, telling me I was possessed by the devil and a bunch of other bullshit. I told her I didn’t believe in her God. I asked her, if her God was real, why didn’t He protect me from my own father? She told me I was lying again and screamed at me to get out. I told her she was the one who was going to burn in hell, and my dad would roast right next to her, then I left.

I spent a couple nights at my friend’s houses, then RM told me about this shelter, so I came here. KS and MB live here. So far, it’s okay. Met Mrs. Fremont. She’s ancient, but nice.

“It’s the only time she’s written out a name,” Frank said.

“Maybe if you’re ancient, you get special privileges.”

He flipped ahead a few pages.

“What are you doing?”

He ignored me, found what he was looking for, and started laughing. He placed a finger on the page he had turned to, right under “Miss Kelly.”

“Speak to me, oh ancient one.”

“Shut up.”

He kissed me lightly on the forehead. “Remarkably well-preserved.”

“So glad you think so. But you know what? This old lady is tired.”

“Want to go to sleep and finish this in the morning?”

I thought about it. “I don’t want to stay here.”

He ran a finger over my eyebrows. “Okay. I’ll pack up Cody while you get your things together.”

“Thanks.”

We went to his house. Both of us were beat, but a couple of cups of coffee and our interest in the journal kept us going. We sat next to each other at the kitchen table, nearing the end of the entries.

9/25

Things are changing. I don’t like it. Two guys who joined our coven are ruining it. DM and RA are just bullies, as far as I’m concerned. They push people around a lot and keep trying to change what we are all about. Things are getting really weird.

Every now and then, they bring this guy who wears a goat’s mask. It covers his whole head and he wears a long robe, so we never see anything but his hands. That’s how I know it’s a man— they’re man’s hands. He never talks. He just gestures, and DM and RA claim to be able to tell us what he means.

I guess some people think he’s really cool. I don’t like it. It doesn’t fit in with what we’ve been doing. I think some people were getting bored. Maybe it’s because we’re all a little afraid of these guys.

I don’t think I want to stay in this coven. I’m going to ask Zoe about getting into another one. Maybe if we all quit this one at the same time it wouldn’t be so bad.

I have a new roommate, SL. She acts tough all the time. Who needs it?

“Sarah? The one who smuggled the journal to you, right?”

“Right.”

“How much do you want to bet that DM and RA are the characters who gave you a hard time?”

“You may be right. I was thinking the same thing.”

I was starting to yawn, but we kept reading.

10/16

The Goat is very strange. Everyone is playing a game with this now, instead of doing what we are supposed to be doing.

I went to Rhiannon to ask Zoe about another coven, but RM showed up and made a scene. I was so humiliated. I mean, it’s great to know he cares about me, but I don’t need him to treat me like a child, especially not in front of my friends.

10/30

Almost sure I know who the Goat is. His sleeve caught on a branch and I saw his arm. He covered it really fast. I pretended I wasn’t looking, but I definitely saw it.

People keep leaving the shelter. I guess it’s normal, but I hardly get to know someone and they leave. SL is the only one of the girls I’ve known very long now. She’s pretty easy to talk to—I’ve told her a lot of things I’ve never told anybody, and she’s told me a lot of stuff, too. But sometimes I’m not sure she really wants to be friends with me. It’s strange.

10/31

Met a friend of RM’s today. She’s a newspaper reporter. Her name is Miss Kelly. At first I thought she was a total bitch, but I think now maybe that was my fault. I’ve been really edgy lately. I wasn’t very nice to her, and she is trying to help RM. He really trusts her. I don’t know if I trust her so much yet.

Tonight is supposed to be a big deal, being Halloween and all, but I feel really down about it. There is some sort of group within our coven. They keep secrets from the rest of us.

Later—

Things are worse than I thought. DM and RA are up to no good. The Goat is the worst one of all. I’m really scared of them. I guess I’m no better than the others.

Maybe Miss Kelly was right. I think I’ll call her. Maybe she’ll know what to do. Maybe I can just hang out with SL and RM and JC. I’ve got to get out of this place. I’m going to get SL to leave, too.

It’s supposed to be safe. It isn’t.

It was the last entry.

“I failed her, Frank. She was looking for one adult she could trust, and I failed her completely.”

“Let me see, now. Not long ago, someone was telling me that no more applications were being accepted for the position of God.”

“It doesn’t stop you from feeling helpless, does it?”

“No,” he said, putting his arms around me. “You were right this afternoon. Neither of us can go back and change what happened Halloween night.”

“Want to take an ancient newspaper reporter to bed?”

“Come along, Granny.”

After I swore to him that I could get ready for the funeral the next morning in half an hour, he set the alarm for ten o’clock. We fell asleep almost as quickly as we lay down.