The Night Visitor (2 page)

“Tonight’s the five-year anniversary of the shootings.”

“Damn. Been that long?”

Danny coughed again, holding the tissues over his mouth. The fit went on. He looked sheepishly at Johnnie, who was frowning.

“You see somebody about that cough?”

Moonlight.

Doves.

White shimmering.

Black.

Eyes soulless.

Wings beating.

The vision powerfully entered Danny’s mind. His eyes became distant as he saw the hospital lobby through a film of white doves in flight. Around and around they flew, circling in moonlight, their feathers glistening, their eyes black and shiny.

“Danny, hey. You all right?”

In his mind, Danny said,
I know, bro. Been a long wait. But it’s gonna reach a conclusion tonight.

“Danny boy?”

“Yeah, yeah. Johnnie, look. Here’s a heads
-
up. There’re gonna be more reporters trying to get in here to see Junior.”

“Okay.” The guard considered Danny’s statement. “Why?”

“No. Really. Listen. You’ve gotta watch out. You’ve gotta be vigilant, man. Always.”

Johnnie looked hard at Danny. Junior Lara’s little brother was just twenty
-
two years old, but the years that had passed since Junior’s gunshot injury had taken a toll on Danny, more than on Junior’s sister or even his mother. Before the shootings, Danny had been a popular high school jock. Now he was gaunt, his skin was sallow, and his behavior had become increasingly strange. Lately Danny nearly lived in Junior’s hospital room. Corliss, the lead nurse in the subacute unit, had confided that Danny believed he could communicate telepathically with his minimally conscious brother. Johnnie had gotten used to Danny’s bizarre but harmless behavior, but tonight Danny was different. Edgy. What Danny was telling him now alarmed him, but he didn’t know where to go with it.

Danny again looked at the wall clock. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, where his fidgeting didn’t stop. “Junior’s not good. He’s…You know, he’s on his way out. I don’t want him bothered with all that mess. I need to know I can count on you. Huh, Johnnie?”

“What’s goin’ on, buddy? You seem kind of…I don’t know. Is something gonna happen or something?”

Danny smiled. His smile was still winning. “Something
always
happens. Just gotta go with the flow. Right, my man? Gotta go.”

He pushed through the swinging doors that led into the hospital.

“Hey, how…?”

Danny turned down the corridor and was gone.

Johnnie watched the doors swing on their springs until they fell still. He finished the question to himself: “How did you know about that reporter taking Junior’s picture? I haven’t seen your mom yet to tell her. Corliss probably called her. Yeah, that’s it.” Satisfied with his explanation, he returned to the newspaper.

3

Danny followed a familiar route to his brother’s room in the subacute unit, turning down a hallway and then another, as he savored the images in his mind.

Doves.

Flying.

Eyes.

Shining.

Blood.

Moonlight.

Gunshot.

Darkness.

“Bro, you’re troubled, but don’t be. Tonight is your night.
Our
night. Tonight, finally, justice for you. Vengeance for you. For our family.”

The nurses and hospital staff didn’t pay much attention to Danny. He was a frequent visitor.

He reached beneath his too large jacket and gingerly touched his lower back, wincing. He stopped walking, opened his eyes wide, and looked around with apprehension, as if he’d just discovered that the building was on fire. His senses were hyperacute. Every sight and sound was exaggerated and surreal.

He scrunched his eyes closed and blindly reached to support himself against a wall. He paused there, massaging his forehead, leaning forward, tipping toward the ground. He abruptly jerked upright, opened his eyes, and vigorously shook his head, trying to shed a feeling of profound disappointment.

Junior, I know what you’re up to. You’ve been trying all week, haven’t you? I was too dense to figure it out until now. You can’t reach her, man. You think the woman’s been spending any of her rich-ass, white-bread life over the past five years thinking ’bout you? She don’t care ’bout you, bro, but you still love her. That’s the part I don’t get. Woman blows away her own sister, shoots you in the head, and you still love her.

Danny said aloud, “If that’s what true love does to you, I’m glad I’m going out without having any part of it.”

4

Aurora “Rory” Langtry was standing in the Napoli Suite of the Villa del Sol d’Oro with her back to an antique mirror. Holding an ebony
-
framed hand mirror in front of her, she examined the rear of her head, grimacing as she tentatively touched her stiff hairstyle, which was held in place with a nest of bobby pins. It had been a mistake to let her hairdresser talk her into fashioning her long blond hair into a vintage updo.

At the sound of soft rapping, Rory dropped the mirror onto a settee, crossed the suite’s sitting room, and opened one of the double doors.

“There she is, the belle of the ball.”

“Aww…Thank you.” Rory leaned forward and gave Tom a peck on the lips, not wanting to get makeup on him or to muss hers.

He took her hand and pulled it to his lips. “I mean it. You look beautiful.”

She lowered her eyelids. “You’re going to make me blush. But, Tom…” She turned her back to him. “Look at my hair. I think I made a mistake.”

“I’d rather look at your ass in that gown.” He took in the way the pink, beaded silk revealed the curves on her tall, slender body, particularly when she leaned over the settee.

She was thirty, he was thirty-two, and they’d just gotten engaged.

She continued studying herself in the two mirrors. “I told Kevin that I wanted something different. I didn’t expect senior prom circa…I don’t know, 1973. I look like an old PR photo of my mom, minus the red hair and false eyelashes.”

“I like your hair like that. It’s sexy. Shows off your neck.”

He walked to her, took the mirror from her hand, slipped his arms around her waist, and nuzzled her neck.

She giggled and staggered backward on her high
-
heeled Manolos until she was stopped by a library table. She slid her hands across his broad shoulders in his tuxedo jacket and up his strong neck, tightening her fingers in his dark brown hair.

He ran his hands around her hips. “What are you wearing under there?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Maybe I will.”

She yelped when the table he had pressed her against skidded on the Asian carpet, jostling the porcelain figurines arranged on top. She twisted in his grasp and attempted to steady the tottering ornaments.

“Isn’t breakage always blamed on the household staff?” While she was facing away, Tom took the opportunity to accost her from behind.

“So, you want my mother to fire a maid because of our silliness?” Laughing, she swatted at him and tried to turn, but he held her immobile. She again cried out when the figurines threatened to topple.

He moved her toward the settee. “I just had a wild thought.”

“Don’t even. My mother would kill me.”

“She doesn’t have to know.” He began hiking up the yards of luxurious fabric.

“She’ll know. Believe me. She knows everything that goes on in this house. She’ll come knocking on the door. Any second. You watch. Or she’ll send up Rosario on some errand.”

“I thought the chance of getting caught turned you on. Remember the Cascade Room?”

“But we didn’t know anybody in Seattle.” Rory held his face between her hands. “I don’t even think I could in this house.”

“You’ve never done the nasty in your mother’s villa?”

She shivered with the thought. “Something about this place has always given me the creeps. When my mom married Richard Tate, I didn’t decide to stay with my aunt and uncle on a whim.”

“There’s always a first time.” Tom kissed her skin around a necklace of pink diamonds and emeralds that she had on loan from a Beverly Hills jeweler.

She softly moaned. “You present an excellent argument, counselor, but I’d rather wait until the gala’s over and we escape to my little beach condo, where there are no porcelain figurines to knock over.”

He grabbed her butt in both hands and gave it a squeeze. “Well, the thought of this will have to sustain me through tonight’s festivities.”

“You’ll have a good time at the party.” She playfully slapped his arm at his dubious expression. “
Really.
It’s our biggest turnout. We’ve taken in a bundle of money for TOV. Even people from the Westside are coming. My mom even invited my biological dad, Mr. A-List Actor whose name we do not speak.” She huffed out a laugh.

“Is he coming?”

“No. I’m sure Mom only invited him to rub it in that now she’s richer than he is.”

Out a window, she spotted a convoy of luxury sedans and SUVs proceeding up the long driveway. They stopped in the circular drive in front of the house.

“Who in…?”

The car doors flew open, and young men and women began spilling out. They were dressed according to the theme of the ball—the women in evening gowns in hues of pink and the men in black tuxedos with pink boutonnieres. Their laughter was loose and lively, suggesting that they’d pre
-
partied elsewhere.

Rory glowered at them. “My stepbrother, Richie, his wife, Paige, and their friends. They were supposed to park in the Rose Bowl lot and take the shuttle like everyone else.”

“Shuttle? Richie and Paige and the junior members of the USC Cardinal and Gold club don’t do shuttles.”

Rory laughed. “Said like a true UCLA Bruin.”

Without warning, her knees buckled. Tom barely grabbed her before she dropped to the floor.

5

“Whoa.” Tom guided Rory to a settee. “Ro, what’s wrong?”

“I just had the strangest feeling. I…” She stared intently across the room, not seeing the lavish furnishings but white doves flying, circling, their feathers shining silver. Around and around they flew. Their feathers churned the air against her face. She smelled their strange yet familiar musky odor. As quickly as the vision had appeared, it faded away.

“Your hands are clammy.”

She turned and looked at Tom as if surprised to find him there.

“Ro?”

She unsteadily got to her feet and walked to the floor mirror. She’d gone pale beneath her professionally applied makeup. She pressed her hand against her throat, the strands of gems cool beneath her fingertips. Her skin tingled with the sensation of hot breath.

“I think I’ve been working too hard. I’ve had hardly anything to eat today.” She coughed. “My chest feels sore all of a sudden.”

“Are you going to be able to go through with this tonight?”

“I have to.” As the event’s cohostess and representing Langtry Cosmetics, she had little choice. She kept gazing in the mirror, examining her image as if it were new.

“Can I bring you something to eat?” He moved to stand behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, talking to her reflection.

“There’s a fruit and cheese plate on the butler’s table over there. You know my mom, thinking of everything.”

“I’ll get you something.” He crossed the room, set crackers and slices of cheese on a small plate, grabbed a bottle of water, and brought the snacks to her.

“Thank you.” She turned from the mirror to nibble a piece of cheese. “Maybe I should close my eyes for a few minutes. I am stressed about the ball. And it is the five-year anniversary of the shootings. It’s strange. For the past five years, I’ve avoided thinking about that night. I’ve hardly even thought about my happy times with Anya and Junior.” She closed her eyes and thought of her only sister and Junior, her former fiancé. “I just blotted them out. But lately I can’t get out of my mind what that horrible night must have been like—the blood, the terror.”

“It’s how you coped with it. There’s no right or wrong way to get through something like that.”

Rory’s color hadn’t returned. “I suppose you’re right. The shootings were enough of a nightmare. What happened after made it all worse.” Junior’s family had turned on Rory, his sister publicly calling her a murderer, saying that Junior and Anya were having an affair and that Rory caught them and snapped.

She shook her head. “Anya just had to have a portrait by noted artist, Junior Lara, with her posed in the nude. Of course, she’d want a nude of herself. She kept throwing more money at Junior to get him to do it. He didn’t want to, even though he was broke from renovating that crumbling building he’d bought. He was afraid it would upset me. I’m the one who convinced him to go ahead and give Anya what she wanted.” Her voice rose with passion.

Tom quietly listened, his eyes sad. She’d never talked so openly to him about this before.

“Junior’s dream was to turn that building into galleries and living spaces for artists. It was a money pit.” Rory narrowed her eyes. “Typical Anya. Finding a way to manipulate a situation to get what she wanted. Creating chaos. But she didn’t care.”

“I only knew her slightly, but she was a force of nature.”

“I’m still mad at her. That’s why I’ve never gone to her grave. Getting my petty revenge. Of course I’ve never gone to see Junior either.”

“I don’t know why you’d want to see Junior. He murdered your sister and then did a bad job of trying to kill himself.”

“That’s the story.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I’ve never wanted to accept that he was capable of something like that. That’s not the Junior I knew.”

Tom took her hands. They were still cold and damp. “In any event, you moved on with your life. You didn’t just move on, you flourished. You’ve honored your sister’s memory. Look at how many people you’ve helped through The Other Victims. Anya would be proud of you for starting that charity. And you’ve kept her alive as the face of Langtry Cosmetics.”