by Vic Kerry
“That tells me it’s related.” Ashe pointed to the note in blood still pinned to the door.
Semmes recoiled from it like a rookie on his first encounter with a decomposing body. He didn’t know how he’d missed it. If it had been the perp, he’d probably have had a bullet in his head. Voodoo stuff freaked him out a bit. Even if the note wasn’t part of that weird religion, it still seemed dangerous. The letters looked normal, but the language perplexed him.
“What is it?” he asked Ashe.
“I believe it’s a note in reverse Latin,” he said.
“Reverse Latin? What does that have to do with anything?” Semmes asked.
“Cybil found an MP3 on Marianne’s computer that had some auditory anomalies on it. I broke it down with some of my equipment and found a message in reverse Latin under the song. A friend of mine who is a parapsychologist and a priest was there. He said that oftentimes reverse Latin phrases are used as incantations in satanic rites,” Ashe said.
“Oh great,” Cybil said. “Now I’ve got Satanists after me.”
“Come on,” Brewster said. “There’s no such thing as satanic cults. Oral Roberts and Pat Robertson made that up to scare kids from listening to heavy metal music.”
“I’m just telling you what Father Smalls said,” Ashe related. “He didn’t seem to believe in that kind of Satanist either.”
“It doesn’t matter if they are in cahoots with the Devil or not. If these guys think they are doing something to please him, they’re likely to do anything,” Semmes said. “But I don’t think there’s enough to put everything together.”
Semmes was disappointed about that. Marianne could have downloaded the song from some pirate site and the whole reverse Latin stuff could just be a coincidence.
“Are we good?” Brewster asked. “I’d like to get back to taking Ms. Fairchild’s statement.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve gotten everything,” Semmes said. He took Ashe aside. “I don’t really see a link right now. I mean it would be nice if a cult was doing this, but I don’t think that’s the case.”
“Would it be okay if I took a picture of the note with my camera so that I can show it to Father Smalls?” Ashe asked. “I think he might have some insight into it.”
“Do it while Brewster is distracted. Otherwise, you might get arrested for tampering with evidence.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll keep you up to date from my end.”
Ashe took his cell phone out of his pocket and aimed it at the note. The machine flashed as he took the picture. “I’ll do the same.”
Voice Mail: Office of Ashley Shrove, PhD, 11:45 p.m. CST
Dr. Shrove, listen to me. You don’t know me, and there is no reason to try and trace this call because you won’t be able to. Let it suffice to say that I am a friend who is looking out for your personal safety.
Quit trying to figure out what happened to your fiancée. You’re going to stir up more trouble than you could ever imagine, not only for yourself, but everyone else you’re around as well. You can already see how it’s affected the life of Ms. Fairchild, and she has very little to do with anything.
There are forces at play here you cannot realize. None of the people you are working with can either. Just let Marianne go. It’s not worth it. I promise that worse things will come if you continue to poke your nose into this.
Dr. Shrove, move on. Resign from Alabama Tech and find another school a long way away. It might be the only thing to save you and everyone around you.
Goodbye.
Chapter Nine
Ashe put his arm around Cybil and pulled her to him. She snuggled in. He was warm and strong enough to offer some relief from the horrible feeling nagging at her. The intruder left little for her to use. All of her clothes were destroyed, as were her books and personal mementoes. When the police told her she couldn’t stay there, it didn’t faze her. Anyplace would be better than there, even the Salvation Army shelter.
“What now?” he asked.
“I guess I need you to take me to a motel or something. It’s too late to call any friends for a place to crash.”
“You can stay the night with me. I’ve got a spare room. If that’s not good enough, I have a horrible lumpy couch.”
“Thank you.”
It didn’t matter where he put her at in his house; she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Ashe walked her to the passenger side of his car and opened the door for her. She sat down. He crossed behind the car and climbed into the driver side. They left her apartment complex.
As they passed through the almost empty streets of Mobile, Cybil thought about everything. She didn’t understand why someone would have broken into her apartment or treated her stuff so horribly.
“They didn’t leave me a single thing to wear,” she said, as if she been speaking her thoughts. “Did you see my panties? He tore the crotch out of every pair.”
Ashe looked over at her as he turned the car into his driveway. “I thought that was just the kind you wore.”
He smiled, and she knew he was trying to cheer her up, but nothing was going to help. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not that kinky.”
“You can wear a pair of Marianne’s. She’d just bought some before she died. I found them still in their packaging,” he said, getting out of his car.
She did the same. His house looked accommodating from the outside. The driveway ended by a small fence. When they walked through the gate, she saw a small patio and an even smaller yard. A door led them into the kitchen. There was nothing extraordinary about it.
“The bathroom is through there.” Ashe pointed through a dark hallway toward a door. “The towels and washcloths are on the rack over the toilet. Soap and shampoo are in the shower. I’ll find you something to wear and leave it outside the door.”
Cybil looked into the darkness. Although the hallway was very short, the idea of walking down it alone frightened her. As Ashe started to walk the other way, she grabbed his arm.
“Please go check it for me,” she said.
He walked through the doorway into the hall and flipped on the light. The shadows disappeared. He started down the hall. She walked right behind him. They entered the bathroom him first and her on his heels. There was nothing there that wasn’t supposed to be. He pushed back the shower curtain to let her see inside.
“You going to be okay?” he asked.
“I think so. Thank you.”
Ashe walked out. Cybil turned on the water and put her hand under the stream. It was warm. She wanted it scalding and adjusted the water until steam rose. She took off her top and tossed it to the floor. Without much thought, she disrobed completely and stepped into the shower. The water felt wonderful. It boiled the chill from her bones. The shower was something that she needed. The ball of emotion inside her let loose, and she cried. Her tears mixed with water running down her face. After a few minutes, she stopped the water and stepped out of the shower. True to his word, Ashe had left a pile of clothes on the floor on the other side of the door. Cybil snatched them up and pulled them into the bathroom.
A wrapped pack of panties lay on top of a pair of green flannel pants. He’d left her a T-shirt from his undergraduate college. It hung long on her body, hiding the fact that she didn’t have on a bra. She knew that her breasts were small enough that it didn’t matter. A wicker basket sat in the corner by the toilet. Cybil wadded up her towel and tossed it into the basket.
She opened the door and stepped into the hall. The entire house glowed with the light from every fixture and lamp in the place. There wasn’t a dark corner anywhere. Ashe stood in the kitchen drinking milk from a fluted glass.
“Fancy for milk, isn’t it?” Cybil asked.
“I always drink milk out of these glasses. It’s a habit I guess,” Ashe said. “You want anything?”
“I’m tired. I
think I’ll just go to bed.”
“You have a choice. The guest room is through the living room. The couch is in the living room across from the television. I’ve got both ready for you.”
“I’m going to take the bedroom if that’s okay with you. I don’t think sleeping on a couch is going to do it for me. Tonight I need the comfort of a warm mattress.”
“I understand that. Do you want me to walk you in there?”
“I’ve got it.” Cybil walked past him and into the living room. She saw the door to the bedroom. “Good night, Dr. Shrove.”
“It’s okay to call me Ashe,” he said from the kitchen.
She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. “Good night, Ashe.”
Cybil slipped into the bedroom. After giving it a once-over glance to make sure nothing hid in the corners, she turned off the lights and crawled under the turned-down sheets. Her limbs felt leaden. The softness of the mattress helped to lighten them. Even though she didn’t think it would, sleep overtook her.
Once Cybil settled into the guest bedroom, Ashe decided that he needed a shower too. The day had been long. Much longer than what he had wished for. The filth of it seemed to weigh him down. Nothing would be better than to wash it down the drain.
He carried his pajamas into the bathroom and laid them on the tank of the toilet. The humidity from Cybil’s shower still hung in the air. Ashe turned on the water. As it cascaded down from the showerhead, he put his hand in the stream. Judging by the steam that fogged the mirrors, Cybil had used a lot of hot water. He hoped it would hold out for him to get finished.
The warmth washed over him as soon as he stepped into the shower. He stuck his head under the water and let it roll down his body. With his eyes closed he reached for his bar of soap. It wasn’t there. Cracking his eyelids just enough to see, he found it on the shelf below where he usually kept it. It had been a long time since he’d shared a shower with someone who didn’t know his routine. He lathered his hands with the soap and rubbed his body over with sudsy hands. The lather rinsed off almost as soon as he applied it. Another rubbing of the soap between his hands and he washed his face. Keeping his eyes squeezed tight, he rinsed. Once his face was free from the soap, he reached around for the shampoo. He grabbed it and started to shake it to the top of the bottle.
Cybil screamed from the guest room. It was ear piercing even muffled by two closed doors, several walls and the sound of the shower. Ashe dropped the shampoo bottle. It thudded on the bottom of the tub. With a fluid movement, he tore open the shower curtain and leapt out. He grabbed a towel off the rack over the toilet as he rushed out the door. By the time he made it to the guest room, it was wrapped around his waist. Water footprints tracked his path through the house.
It had taken only a matter of seconds for him to make it through his house to the guest room. The sound of Cybil’s scream still echoed in his head although she hadn’t made another sound. He pushed the door hard, and it opened with little effort. Ashe almost fell inside.
The bedside lamp lit the room. Cybil sat up in the bed. The sheets bunched up at her waist. Ashe made a quick scan of the room. There was nothing out of place.
“What’s the matter?” The water on his skin and the rush of adrenaline made goose bumps rise.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had a nightmare. I just closed my eyes, and horrible things started to go through my head.”
“You scared me,” he said. “After everything tonight, I thought someone had broken in here too.”
“This is going to seem silly, but could you give me a hug or something?” she asked. “I feel so helpless.”
Ashe walked to the edge of the bed. He bent to embrace Cybil.
“I’m kind of wet and naked.”
“I don’t care.” Her voice was full of emotion.
He bent over farther. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He wrapped his around her and squeezed. The water from his skin soaked through the fabric of her sleep shirt. He tried to pull away, but she kept a tight squeeze on him.
“I need to go shut off the shower and dry off,” he said.
Cybil let go, but before he straightened to a standing position, she kissed him. Her tongue probed his mouth, even as he tried to break the kiss off. Her hands reached down. He felt her fingers brushing down his bare torso, until they touched the top of the towel. Then he felt the cool air surround him as his towel fell away. She quit kissing him, long enough to pull her top off. Ashe stepped away, grabbing his towel to wrap back around him.
“I need to go back and turn the shower off,” he said.
Cybil reached out one hand. “Please.”
He took it, and she pulled him to the bed. Deep inside him every emotion he’d ever experienced tumbled over each other. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, but everything in him kept urging him onward. Did grief make you do such things? How about trauma? He didn’t know.
They kissed again. It was passionate, full of rubbing hands and deep gasps for air. Ashe started to take the lead, although he continued to feel pangs of guilt inside himself. He moved from kissing Cybil on the mouth to her chin, then her neck. As she ran a fingernail down his flank, he took her nipple into his mouth. Ever since she’d flashed at the parade, he’d kept thinking about her breasts, and what it would be like to caress and suck on them. It was what he imagined and far more.
Cybil pushed up on his chest, and Ashe rolled onto his back. She came out from under the sheets and straddled him just above his pelvis. She’d wriggled out of the flannel sleep pants and panties while still under the covers. Now her bare buttocks brushed against his stiffened manhood. She leaned over him and kissed him on the mouth, then followed a similar pattern of love pecks to those that he had made that ended by her flicking her tongue around his nipple.
The guilt that Ashe wrestled with in his psyche was pinned to the mat. Ashe grabbed Cybil just above her hips. He lifted her, at the same time sliding himself up the bed. When he placed her down again, his stiffness slid inside her.
He lifted himself up as she pushed down. She lifted as he let himself down. All the time they kissed and groped and sucked on each other. Her body, which had been tense when he’d entered the room, softened. Ashe noticed that his own stress melted away as they continued to writhe with each other. They rolled over as a unit and continued to give and take from each other until the tense excitement shuddered through Cybil’s body. The same rushed through Ashe shortly after.
They lay beside each other. Ashe had his arm under Cybil’s head. She rested one of her hands on his hipbone. For the first time in many days, he felt nothing bad. All the anxiety and fear was expelled from his body for the moment, an almost orgasmic feeling.
Sunlight peeked through the curtains of the dining room. Ashe stared at the floor while sitting at the table. He’d been in there since Cybil fell asleep. His nerves had driven him into the refrigerator for a beer, but he’d decided to just drink coffee. He’d had two pots over the last four hours. Beer would have done a better job of calming him, but if he wasn’t going to sleep, he needed the caffeine to keep him up and moving.
After the initial absence of bad feelings, ghosts started moving around his house. He felt a lot like Scrooge on Christmas Eve. Different spirits of the past and present and future harassed him as he sat naked underneath his bathrobe, sipping his Maxwell House.
The present visited first. That ghost appeared not long after he and Cybil had finished having sex. The guilt that came over him made him want to run away. He realized the mistake he was in the middle of the whole time it was going on. This ghost drove him out of bed and into the kitchen.
The future spirit slipped in while he drank the first cup of coffee. This one visited like a hallucination playing out before him. His department head sat across the conference table. All the other faculty in the electrical engineering department lined the table between them.
Even though their faces were little more than blurs, he could read every one of them. Having a sexual relationship with a student was frowned upon, so much so it would probably cost him his job.
“Dr. Shrove, you are on leave for the rest of this semester,” he heard the chair say. “You will not be brought back for the next.”
Then the whole thing flashed to an academic board meeting for Cybil. This one was not as nice. They kicked her out of school and rescinded all her credits. The ghost of the future ravaged all and left only scorched, salted earth across its path.
As the sun started to rise, the last ghost visited. Ashe heard Marianne’s voice loud in his ear although it was a whisper. She accused him of many things. Infidelity was the worst. She called him a letch, and Cybil a whore.
He had a conversation with Marianne in his head.
How could you sleep with someone so soon after my death? she asked.
“I didn’t plan it. It just happened,” he said.
Things don’t just happen, Ashley. You wanted it.
Now Marianne had become his conscience. He had wanted it, but still, he would have never acted on those impulses if not compelled by extraordinary circumstances.
“No, I know better than that,” he said. “I’m not some pervert who tries to sleep with all my students. She’s not even my student.”
That makes it worse, Marianne said. She’s your work-study. You can’t even give her a grade or a raise. You’ve ruined her life too.
“You’re not being fair. Stress causes people to do a lot of strange things, things they wouldn’t normally do.”
That’s like going to a prostitute or sleeping with a stripper, not taking advantage of a student. Marianne’s voice was so real. You’re so screwed, Ashley Shrove. I’m glad I’m dead.
“You’re not dead,” he said. “I saw you walk out of that morgue. Who are you out fooling around with?”
Marianne’s voice went silent, but the ghost of the past lingered on. He felt it around him, circling like a predator waiting to pounce. She was thinking of something cutting to say. He expected it to sting.