by Deborah Camp
“A job?” Trudy asked.
Tim shrugged. “Not that she ever told us about. The police said she had been working as a waitress in a burger place and before that she worked at a donut shop. When we asked if she needed money, she said no. When we asked if she was working, she’d ignore us or tell us to quit worrying about her. Like that was going to happen.”
Brigit’s laugh was hollow. “Yeah. Right. As if. We talked to her on Christmas Day three years ago and that was the last I heard her voice. We got five text message replies from her after that. Three in January and two in February and then nothing.” She swiped at her tearing eyes. “I kept telling myself that she was okay. That she had lost the phone or had decided she wasn’t going to answer us anymore.”
“We kept paying the bill.” Tim ran a hand down his face. “The police told us that the phone hadn’t been used since that third week in February, which is about when the coroner put as her time of death.”
“And that’s all they were able to get from the phone use?” Levi asked.
Tim gave another shrug. “All they told us about. I’m sure they haven’t told us everything.”
Levi nodded and set down the cup and saucer. “May I see her room now, please?”
Brigit popped up like she was on a spring. “Yes, sure, but, well the only thing is . . .” She glanced nervously at her husband and then back at Levi. “If you – um, talk to her. Will you ask her why she left? Why she didn’t want to be around us?”
“Brig.” Tim rose slowly to his feet like he had a two-ton weight on his shoulders.
“I need to know, Tim.” Brigit’s tone could have sliced through stone. “You don’t? Fine. I do.”
Levi bent a little at the waist, capturing her full attention again. When he spoke, it was for her and her alone. “I will ask her.”
The tightly coiled spring inside her must have loosened because her whole body seemed to sag a little. “Thank you. Come on. I’ll show you.” She glanced at Trudy. “Are you coming, too?”
“Yes.”
Trudy and Tim brought up the rear as they all trudged up the stairs with Brigit in the lead. With each step, Trudy felt her heartbeats quicken and goosebumps skimmed down her arms. Watching Levi work was both exhilarating and unsettling. The genius of what he could do was thrilling, but the horror of what he went through was often terrible to witness. She always felt helpless and wanted to end his suffering by wrapping her arms around him and breaking through the veil that separated this world from the spirit world. But she knew that would only make him livid. He wanted to be untouched and unencumbered when he was communing with spirits.
“It’s here,” Brigit said, opening the first door at the top of the stairs. She stepped back to let Levi and Trudy go in ahead of her.
A large, framed print of a girl silhouetted in a doorframe staring out at golden fields grabbed the eye. On one wall, Anna had thumbtacked photos, ripped pages from magazines of thigh-high boots, leather pants, and skin-tight tops. A double bed, dresser, desk, and ladder-backed chair furnished the bedroom and every surface was littered with papers, candy wrappers, books, ticket stubs, magazines, and various other bits of a teenager’s life. Shoes lay scattered on the floor. She’d applied a bumper sticker to her headboard. It read: I Brake for Cute Drunks.
“She was messy,” Brigit said. “Someday I’ll come in here and box it up, throw stuff out. Someday.”
Levi walked to the middle of the room and stopped. He tipped his head one way, then the other in a considering gesture as he closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, he turned to look at Trudy.
“What’s your first impression?”
Trudy glanced around the room again. “She identified with outsiders. She wanted to feel stronger and more in control of her life.”
He nodded, strolled to the desk, touched a few items. Still with his back to them, he said, “She experimented with drugs. Pills, mostly. Did you know that?”
“We figured as much,” Tim said, placing an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I asked her once and she laughed and said something smart. Like, ‘Yeah, I’m stoned right now.’ Brigit asked her if she was taking anything or smoking stuff and she went into the bathroom and came out with a cup of her urine for us to test. Very dramatic.”
Levi glanced over his shoulder at them as he ran his fingertips over the items on her desk. “She had someone waiting for her in New Orleans.”
“Who?” Brigit took a jerky step further into the room.
“A girl she met in school. Someone a couple of years older.” He turned to face them. “My process can be . . . upsetting to witness. I don’t mind if you stay, but I need you to be quiet and not interfere once I’ve connected with Anna.”
Brigit reached for her husband’s hand and clutched it tightly. “I’m not sure I should . . .”
“We’ll wait downstairs,” Tim said. His gaze swept the room. “Just don’t . . . that is. If you want to remove something, ask us first.”
Trudy stared at them, shocked and a little ticked off by their insinuation that she and Levi would steal from them. She looked at Levi, thinking he’d be pissed, too, but he was smiling. Well, smirking. He toed a purple and pink tennis shoe.
“Doesn’t appear to be my size.” Then he waited for them to look embarrassed as they backed out of the room and closed the door.
“You really can be a smart ass,” Trudy said.
“Yeah. So can you.” He crossed to the dresser and picked up a tie-dyed headband, then sat in the chair by the desk. “You ready?”
Trudy sat on the bed. “Ready.”
“Then let’s see what I can see.” He closed his eyes.
“Wait.”
He opened his eyes.
“Can I ask you something first?”
He nodded.
“What do you see? I sort of know because you told us a little about it at Quintara’s Roundtable one time. But, how do you find them?”
Although he seemed surprised by her questions, he gave a quick shrug. “I see fog. A thick mist that swirls and there are pinpoints of bright light in it. I say the name of the person I want to connect with – repeatedly, until he or she steps out of the fog. If they don’t come forward, I ask Gregory to look for them and then he brings them to me. Then I ask them if they will take me back and show me what happened.”
“And they’re usually okay to do that?”
“They’re actually reluctant. I have to ask nice. Beg, even. And it’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?”
“That it’s painful and traumatic for them to have to go back to that time. That’s not it. I get the feeling that they’re just not interested in going back. It’s over. Done. And they’re involved in more interesting or important things. They show me because they can tell it’s important to me. But not to them.”
She leaned back on her locked arms. “Somehow that’s soothing. To know that they’ve moved on.” She crossed her legs. “Okay. Thanks. Carry on.”
He closed his eyes again and that little line appeared between them. The line that meant he was concentrating, centering himself on one goal. She was struck once again at the male beauty of him. Dressed in black suit that was tailored for him, a black shirt with gray pinstripes, and a charcoal tie, he personified a successful businessman, rather than a medium. And that’s how he liked it. He wanted to be taken seriously and when he wasn’t – when someone insulted him or laughed at him – then that simmering temper of his exploded. He was a still stream that ran very, very deep.
“It’s showtime,” he whispered, and his shoulders relaxed as he ran his fingers over the headband he held. Barely a minute passed before he said, “I have her.”
Trudy settled more comfortably and watched the kaleidoscope of emotions race across his perfect features. He said little – just sucked in his breath a couple of times, moaned a few times, and shook his head in quick denials. But his face told her more – surprise, shock, fear, worry, and p
ain. So. Much. Pain. She had to look away for a few seconds at a time, unable to bear seeing him like that.
Suddenly, he flung back his head and rocketed to his feet, his eyes snapping open as he stared blindly at the ceiling of Anna’s room. His chest rose and fell with gulping breaths and he lifted one hand to his chest where his heart was probably hammering. His hand shook slightly as he closed his eyes slowly to gather himself.
“You okay?” Trudy asked, mainly to remind him that she was in the room.
He looked at her blankly for a few moments, his eyes so darkly blue they were almost black. “Yes.” He swallowed and sat on the bed beside her. “Jesus, what a messed up girl.”
“Anna?”
“Yes. She was high when he picked her up. She climbed into the truck with him and passed out all on her own. He didn’t even have to knock her out. By the time she came to, he had her tied up. Looked like a basement to me. A drain in the floor. He took his time with her. It seems as if she was there a couple of days. Maybe longer. He didn’t stay the whole time. He came and went.”
“He raped her?”
“No. He tortured her. She was having withdrawal symptoms from the drugs. She was already skin and bones, but he only gave her a thermos of water. He didn’t allow her to clean up after she vomited and defecated. Made her stay in a metal cage in her own waste. And she was really sick. Seizures. Shivering. Feverish. Out of her head a lot.”
“Nothing sexual, then?”
“At the end, he made her do oral and swallow his cum. Then he strangled her. Murdered her.”
“No knifes?”
“He cut her, but not to kill her. To torture her. To hurt her.”
She crossed her arms and blocked out the images that tried to surface of bleeding wounds and a helpless victim. “Did you get a good look at him?”
“Yes.”
Her heart stuttered. “And?”
He swung his gaze to hers. “Desmond Forté. Standing up. Walking around.”
“Oh, my God. Really?” She stared at the beige carpet at her feet. “But he couldn’t have killed the last one . . . or two. Unless he’s faking it? Maybe he can walk!”
“No.” One corner of his mouth curled up. “He was in and out of the hospital and in physical therapy. He couldn’t have faked that. Anna was most likely his last victim before his accident. Someone has obviously picked up where he left off.”
“Well, shoot.” She frowned, realizing it was crazy to think he could actually walk. She’d watched too many movies on the Lifetime channel. “That means I’m tapping into the other guy. You think if we find him, he’ll know Forté? Maybe he’ll rat on him and then they both will be arrested.” She could tell by the way he ran a hand down his face and massaged the back of his neck that he was still recovering from what he’d just gone through with Anna. She patted his leg and leaned her shoulder against his. “Are you going to tell her parents?”
“Ummm . . .” He stared at the bedroom door for a few beats. “I’ll tell them some of it. But, I’m not telling them about Forté. Not yet, anyway.”
“Why not?”
“Because they can’t act on it.” His gaze swiveled around to hers and his eyes were more focused now. “If they were paying clients, then I’d tell them everything. But they’re not, so I’m keeping this between us for now. We’ll tell the detectives after we meet Forté and I have a clearer idea of who he is – what he’s about.”
“Meet him at the séance,” she clarified.
“Right. That should happen in the next few days.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is a jumbled up mess.” He tossed the headband onto the dresser and linked his fingers in hers. “Come on. I’ll tell her parents a little bit about what I experienced and then we’re out of here.”
“And you’re okay with not telling them everything you found out?”
“Look, I don’t want them to do something stupid like go after Forté or tell the media that he’s the one who killed Anna because of what I saw. It’s too early. We don’t know enough yet.”
She nodded. He was right. It was too soon and too much could go horribly wrong. “Okay. I get it. But let them know she’s safe now. That she’s in a good place.”
“Right.” His smile was partly indulgent, partly chastising. “I’ve done this before. I’ll tell them about the girl who lured her to New Orleans. Her name is Rosie and they know her. Or knew her. She is there with Anna now. She was high on something and jumped off an overpass.”
“Oh, good lord. What a waste.”
His brows knitted and he reached into his inside jacket pocket for his phone. Glancing at it, he nodded. “Good news. The séance is on for this Saturday evening at the home of Jewel Forté Chambers. Her brother will be there, too.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket. “That will be a major piece of the puzzle for us. Seeing him in person, getting a bead on him. Maybe you can even slip into his mind.”
“That’s not how it works.” She straightened his tie. “They slip into mine.”
He caught her hand and squeezed it. “But you can summon him, right?”
She worked her hand free as uneasiness and uncertainty swirled through her. Being asked to do more – to reach further inside herself always made her feel wobbly. It was fear mostly, she knew. Fear of the unknown and of what she might release. Yes, she’d been experimenting and had done what he was suggesting, but should she continue testing the boundaries?
“Trudy?” His knuckle under her chin lifted her gaze to his. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Doubt yourself.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“Not everything we can do is good, you know. What if I keep messing around with my head and things get worse instead of better? What if I have no control again and the headaches start and I can’t sleep and—.”
“Hey, hey.” He pulled her into his embrace and she felt the jittery feeling along her nerve-endings instantly subside. “Don’t do this to yourself. You’re strong and smart. You were afraid before because you didn’t understand what was happening. That’s no longer the case.”
“I know, but I could overreach and make mistakes that could be catastrophic! I could even ruin your reputation along with mine if I try to do more than I’m capable of and make the wrong move or assumption.”
He rocked her to and fro in a cocoon of comfort before pushing her back to look deeply into her eyes. “You’re careful and considerate. That won’t change. Trudy, love. Let yourself be remarkable.”
The strength she saw in his blue eyes flowed into her and she straightened her spine and released a long breath. His faith in her was unshakeable and humbling. “We’ll see. Maybe I’ll be able to get a peek inside his demented brain.”
“That’s my girl.” He reached past her for the doorknob. “Now, let’s do this.”
Chapter 9
They’d visited two more homes where victims had lived. One in New Orleans and the other in Bayou Cane, about an hour north of New Orleans on US 90. The sessions had drained Levi and Trudy had taken the wheel on the way home so that he could close his eyes and recover.
What had been learned from the victims added to the confusion, rather than giving many answers. Desmond Forté had been their murderer and the killings had taken place in the same location – a dark, dank place that had a drain in the floor. One of the women, DeeDee Hendrix had been dead for approximately eight years and the other, Lillie Baker, for about six. The way they’d met their ends hadn’t followed any particular protocol. Both had been tortured and strangled. They’d been molested, but not raped. They’d been cut. Lillie had been burned with a cigarette or cigar. DeeDee had been shot and strangled.
Both women had been hitchhiking. DeeDee, an 18-year-old waitress, had been walking home after midnight when Desmond had offered her a ride. She seemed to know him – or know of him. In any case, Levi said that she recognized him, having seen him around or even waited on him where she worked. At
a red light, he produced a hammer from under his seat and used it to knock her unconscious. Later, he’d engaged it again to hit her repeatedly, cracking open her skull in several places.
She and Levi had visited DeeDee’s boyfriend at the time – K-roy – in his dilapidated apartment, which she’d shared with him a couple of months before her death. K-roy’s “old lady” had greeted them. She’d known DeeDee, too. They’d all gone to school together and gotten high together. Now she and K-roy were married, on government assistance because they both had “bad backs,” and still got high together.
In Lillie’s case, Forté had picked her up in broad daylight. She’d been hitching a ride to a friend’s apartment in Slidell where she could sleep on the sofa since it was supposed to be cold that evening. Usually, Lillie had slept beneath overpasses. Lillie had come to New Orleans for adventure, but had been giving blowjobs to make enough money to eat and get high.
Trudy and Levi had gone to Lillie’s mother’s shotgun house in Bayou Cane where Lillie had lived until she’d disappeared one night. Her mother had never heard from her again and had held out hope that she’d run off and got married. The police had showed up on her doorstep a few months ago and dashed that hope.
Forté had offered Lillie a ride, chatted her up, stopped at a convenience store and bought burritos and beer. They’d pulled into a park to eat their impromptu lunch and Forté had simply rammed her head into the dashboard twice, knocking her out.
Trudy’s hatred toward Desmond Forté had grown with each victim’s recollections. He couldn’t be murdering anyone now, but could identify the present assailant. Did they know each other? Had Forté recruited someone to take his place?