Lasher

by Anne Rice

  "He never took advantage of her at all," said Stella. "She was an attic case too. Doubt she'd ever seen another human being before Cortland went up to meet the poor prisoner for himself. And I don't know what happened. I was barely born then, you know. But don't go getting angry at Cortland. Cortland, of all your boys, adores you. And he'll be angry at me, and round it will go. Forget about it."

  "Forget about it! I have a granddaughter locked in an attic fifteen blocks from here? The hell I will forget about it! Her name is Evelyn? She's the daughter of that poor idiot Barbara Ann! This is what you're telling me? And that monster Tobias has her locked away? No wonder Carlotta is beside herself. She's right. It's atrocious, the whole story!"

  Stella leapt up from the chair, clapping her hands. "Mother, Mother," she cried. "Oncle Julien's all recovered. He has no more stroke. He is himself again! We're going to Amelia Street."

  Of course Mary Beth came rushing in. "Did Carlotta tell you about that girl?" she said. "Don't mix in it."

  "Don't mix in it!" I was rabid.

  "Oh, Mother, really, you are worse than Queen Elizabeth," cried Stella, "fearing the power of her poor cousin Mary Queen of Scots. That girl cannot harm us! She is no Mary Queen of Scots."

  "I didn't say that she was, Stella," said Mary Beth, unruffled and very calm as always. "I have no fear of the child, no matter how powerful she is. I have only pity for her." She was towering over me. I sat on the couch, resolved to move but still curious to know more before I did so.

  "Carlotta started it all, visiting up there. The girl hides in the attic."

  "Does not. Is locked in!"

  "Stella, hush up. Be a witch, not a bitch, for the love of heaven."

  "Mother, she's never been out of the house in her whole life, same story as Barbara Ann! Same reason. There are plenty of witches' gifts in that family, Oncle Julien. Barbara Ann was sort of crazy, they say, but this girl has Cortland's blood too, and she sees the future."

  "No one really sees the future," Mary Beth declared, "and no one should want to see it. Julien, the girl is peculiar. She is shy. She hears voices. Sees ghosts. It's nothing new. She is more warped and isolated than most, having been brought up by old people."

  "Cortland, how dare he not tell me this!" I said.

  "He didn't dare," said Mary Beth. "He wouldn't hurt you."

  "He doesn't care," said I. "Damn him, to leave a baby daughter with those cousins! And it was Carlotta who went there, to that house, to be under Tobias's roof, Tobias who has always called me a murderer."

  "Oncle Julien, you are a murderer," said Stella.

  "Hush up once and for all," said Mary Beth.

  Stella sulked, which meant at least a temporary victory.

  "Carlotta went there to ask the girl what she saw, to ask her to predict, the most dangerous of games. I forbade it, but she went. She'd heard tell of how this girl had more power than anyone ever in our family."

  "That's such an easy claim to make," I said with a sigh. "More power than anyone else. There was a time when I made it myself, in a long-ago world of horses and carriages, and slaves and peaceful country. More power."

  "Ah, but you see there's a wrinkle here. This girl has many many Mayfair ancestors. When you mixed Cortland into it, the number became fantastic!"

  "Ah, I see," I said. "Barbara Ann was the daughter of Walker and Sarah, both Mayfairs. Yes, and Sarah was from Aaron and Melissa Mayfair."

  "Yes, and so on it goes back and back. It's hard to find any ancestor for this child who was not a Mayfair."

  "Now, that is a thought," said I. And then I wanted my books, I wanted to write this down, to note it and ponder it, and when I remembered with a dull ache that my books were burnt, I felt such bitterness. I grew quiet, and listened to them chatter over me.

  "The girl doesn't see the future any more than anyone else," declared Mary Beth. She sat down beside me. "Carlotta went there wishing to be upheld, that we were cursed, we were all doomed. It is her song and dance."

  "She sees probabilities as we all do," said Stella with a melodramatic sigh. "She has strong presentiments."

  "And what happened?"

  "Carlotta went up into the attic, to visit Evelyn. She went more than once. She played to the girl, drew her out, and then the girl, who almost never speaks, or does not for years on end, declared some terrible prediction."

  "Which was what?"

  "That we should all perish from the earth," said Stella, "afflicted by him who had raised us and upheld us." I lifted my head. I looked at Mary Beth. "Julien, there is nothing in it."

  "Is this why you burned my books? Is that why you destroyed all the knowledge I had gathered?"

  "Julien, Julien," she said. "You are old and you dream. The girl said what would get her a gift, perhaps, or make Carlotta leave, for all we know. The girl's a mute almost. The girl sits in the window all day and watches the traffic on St. Charles Avenue. The girl sings sometimes, or speaks in rhymes. She cannot lace her own shoes or brush her hair."

  "And that wicked Tobias doesn't let her out," said Stella.

  "Damn it all, I've heard enough. Have my car brought round to the front."

  "You can't go driving," said Mary Beth, "you're too ill. Do you want to die on the front steps of Amelia Street? Have the courtesy to die in your bed with us."

  "I'm not ready for dying yet, my darling daughter," I declared, "and you tell the boys to bring the car around now, or I'll walk up there. Richard, where is Richard! Richard, get me fresh clothes, everything. I will change in the library. I cannot walk upstairs. Hurry."

  "Oh, you are really going to scare them out of their wits," cried Stella. "They'll think you've come to kill her."

  "Why would I do that!" I demanded.

  "Because she's stronger than us, don't you see? Oncle Julien, look to the legacy, as you are always instructing me. Isn't there a case for her claiming everything?"

  "Certainly not," said I. "Not so long as Mary Beth has a daughter, and Stella, the daughter of Mary Beth, has a daughter of her own. Not much of a case."

  "Well, they say there are provisions--having to do with power and such, and the witches' gifts, and all. And they hide that girl so we won't kill her."

  Richard had come with my clothes. I hastily dressed, and to the teeth, for this ceremonial visit. I sent him for my riding coat--my Stutz Bearcat was open and the roads were muddy then--for my goggles, and for my gloves, and told him once more to hurry.

  "You can't go up there," Mary Beth said. "You'll scare him to death and her to death too."

  "If she's my granddaughter I'm going to get her."

  I stormed to the front porch. I was feeling entirely myself, though I alone noticed one tiny deficit. I could not quite control the movement of my left foot. It would not arch and lift properly as I walked, so I had a little to drag it. But they didn't see it, damn them, they didn't know. Death had given a pinch. Death was coming. But I told myself I could live another score of years with this tiny infirmity.

  As I went down the front steps, and had the boys help me up into the car, Stella clambered into my lap, nearly castrating and killing me simultaneously. And then out of the shadows beneath the oaks came Carlotta.

  "Will you help her?"

  "Of course I will," said I. "I will take her out of there. Horrible, horrible thing. Why didn't you come to me sooner?"

  "I don't know," Carlotta said, and her face was stricken and her head was bowed. "The things she said she saw were terrible."

  "You don't listen to the right people. Now, Richard, drive!"

  And off we went, with Richard steering wildly up St. Charles Avenue, splattering mud and gravel, and finally running right up on the curb in his careless, amateurish way, on the corner of St. Charles and Amelia.

  "This I have to see for myself, this child in the attic," I mumbled. I was in a rage. "And I will throttle Cortland when next he dares to come into my presence."

  Stella helped me down from the car and then started jumping
up and down with excitement. This was one of her more endearing or irritating habits, all depending on how one felt at the moment.

  "Look, Julien, darling," she cried. "Up there in the attic window."

  Now you have no doubt seen this house. It stands today as solid as First Street.

  And of course I had seen it too, as I have said, but I never set foot in it. I was not even sure how many Mayfairs lived there. It was, for my money, a pompous Italianate house, very proud yet very beautiful. It was all wood, yet designed to look as if it were stone, like our house. It had columns on the front, Doric down and Corinthian up, and a great alcoved door, and further back octagonal wings jutting out on both sides, and throughout rounded Italian-style windows. It was massive and bulky yet graceful. Not such a bad house, though not pure and old as ours was.

  And immediately I spied, as Stella pointed, the attic window.

  It was a double dormer, in the very center over the porch, and I swear I could feel the pulse of the girl who peered through the glass at me. A wan bit of face up there, a streak of hair. And then nothing but the sun flashing in the glass.

  "Oh, there she is, poor, darling Rapunzel," Stella cried and waved vigorously though the girl had disappeared. "Oh Evie, we have come to save you."

  Then out upon the porch came storming Tobias and his son Oliver, the younger brother of Walker, and a blithering fool if ever there was one. It was almost impossible to tell on sight which was which, and which was more feeble.

  "Why have you locked that child in the attic?" said I. "And is this Cortland's girl, or is that some baseless lie you dreamed up to rattle and disconcert my family?"

  "You miserable scoundrel," Tobias declared, stepping forward and nearly losing his balance at the top of the steps. "Don't you come near my door. Get off my property. You spawn of Satan. Yes, it was Cortland who ruined my Barbara Ann. She died in my arms. And it was Cortland, Cortland who did it. That child is a witch such as you'll never see, and as long as I have breath in my body, she'll make no more witches out of herself and out of you and out of all that went before you."

  That was twice as much as I needed to hear. I went straight up the steps, and both old fools rushed at me. I stopped and raised my voice:

  "Come now, my Lasher," I cried. "Make the way for me."

  Both men fell back in terror. Stella gave a gasp of amazement. But the wind did come, as it always had, when I needed it most, when my wounded old soul and pride needed it most, and when I was most unsure of it. It came gusting over the garden and up the porch, forcing back the door with a powerful clatter.

  "Thank you, spirit," I whispered. "That you have saved face for me."

  I love you, Julien. But it is my wish you leave this house and all those in it.

  "That I cannot do," I said. I entered the house, a long cool dark hallway, lying between rows of doors, with Stella scampering on the boards beside me. The old men came behind, screaming to rouse the women, and out of the long row of doors came numerous Mayfairs--a regular Parliament of Fowls--screeching and screaming. Behind me the wind lashed the oaks. A great scattering of leaves gusted down the hallway before me.

  Some of these faces I had seen; all I knew in one fashion or another. As the others peeped out, Tobias sought again to stop me.

  "Get out of my way," I said and planted myself at the foot of the dark oak stairs and then began to climb them.

  It was a huge staircase, to one side of the hall, and turning midway, with a broad landing and grim stained glass which made me pause for a moment. For as the light came through the glass, as it passed through the yellow and red panes, I thought of the Cathedral and "remembered" it as I had not in years, not since I'd left Scotland.

  I could feel the spirit collected around me. I pushed on, out of breath till I reached the upper hall. "Where is the attic stairs?"

  "There, there," cried Stella, leading me through the double doors to the rear hall, and there was the lesser staircase in a narrow well, and the door at the top of it.

  "Evelyn, come down, my child!" I cried. "Evelyn, come down. I cannot come up this long climb. Come down, my girl, I'm your grandfather come to get you."

  There was silence in the house. All the others crowded in the hallway door, staring, so many white oval faces, mouths agape, eyes large and hollow.

  "She will not listen to you," cried one of the women. "She has never listened to anyone."

  "She cannot hear," cried another.

  "Or speak!"

  "Look, Julien, the door is locked from this side," cried Stella, "and the key is in it."

  "Oh, you evil old fools!" I shouted. And I closed my eyes and collected all my strength and was about to command this door to open. I did not know if I could do such a thing, for something like that is never certain. And I could feel Lasher hovering near, and feel his distress and confusion. He did not like this house, these Mayfairs.

  Aye, they are not mine, these.

  But before I could answer Lasher or persuade him, or make the door move, it opened! The key fell from the lock by some power other than mine, and the door sprang back, letting the sunlight fall into the dusty stairwell.

  I knew it was not my power, and so did Lasher! For he collected around me close as if he too were actually fearful.

  Calm yourself now, spirit, you are most dangerous when you are afraid. Behave. It is all well and good. The girl herself opened the door. Be silent.

  But then he gave me to know the truth. It was the girl who frightened him! Of course. I assured him she was no menace to the likes of us, and please do my bidding.

  The sunlight brightened the swirling dust. And then there came a tall thin shadow--a girl of great beauty, with full glossy hair, and still eyes staring down at me. She seemed frightfully tall and thin, even starved perhaps.

  "Come down to me, my child," said I. "You see yourself you need not be a prisoner of anyone."

  She understood my words and as she came down, silently, step by step with her soft leather shoes, I saw her eyes move above me and to the left and to the right of me, and over Stella, and again as she beheld the invisible thing clustered about us. She saw "the man," as they say, she saw him invisible and made no secret.

  When she reached the foot of the stairs, she turned, beheld the others, and shrank trembling! I have never seen fear so expressed by one without a sound. I snatched up her hand.

  "Come with me, darling. You and you alone shall decide whether you wish to live in an attic."

  I pulled her to me; she gave no resistance, and no cooperation either. How strange she seemed, how pale, how accustomed to the darkness. Her neck was long and thin, and she had small ears with no lobes to them, and then I saw on her hand the mark of the witch! She had on her left hand the sixth finger! Just as they had told me. I was amazed.

  But they had seen me see it. A great squabble broke out. The girl's uncles had come, Ragnar and Felix Mayfair, young men famous about the town, and known to be suspicious of us. They started to block my way.

  But in an instant the wind had gathered. All could feel it stealing along the floor, icy and strong. It whipped those who blocked the way, until they stepped back, and then I took the girl by the hand and led her back into the front hall and down the main staircase. Stella crept at my side.

  "Oh, Oncle Julien," Stella said as breathlessly as some village girl to a great prince. "I adore you."

  And with us walked this pale swan of a girl, with her shimmering hair and her sticks for arms and sticks for legs, and pitiful dress made from a flowered feed sack. I don't know if you have ever seen such clothing, poorest of the poor. Women used this cloth to line their everyday quilts and she had it for a frock, this cheap flowered cotton. And her shoes, they were scarcely shoes at all, rather leather socks of some sort, laced, like booties of a baby!

  I took her through the hall, the wind rattling and swinging the doors, and going before us, stirring the oaks outside, and brushing the many cars and carriages and carts that passed on the Avenue
.

  No one moved to stop me as I handed her up to Richard to be placed in the car. And then, sitting close beside her, with Stella again on my knee, I gave the order for Richard to go, and the girl turned round and stared at the house, and at the high window, and at the collection of people on the porch in astonishment.

  We had not gone five feet when they all began to scream. "Murderer, murderer! He's taken Evelyn!" and to cry to one another to do something about it. Young Ragnar ran out and cried that he would proceed against me in a court of law.

  "By all means do," I cried back over the rumbling car, "ruin yourself in the process. I am father to the finest law firm in the city! Sue! I cannot wait."

  The car made its way awkwardly and noisily up St. Charles, yet faster than any horse-drawn carriage. And the girl sat still between Richard and me, under Stella's curious eye, staring at everything as if she had never been out of doors before.

  Mary Beth waited on the step.

  "And what do you mean to do with her?"

  "Richard," I said, "I can't walk any farther."

  "I'll fetch the boys, Julien," he cried, and off he ran, calling and clapping. Stella and the girl climbed down and Stella lifted both her hands to me.

  "I've got you, darling. I won't let you fall, my hero."

  The girl stood with her hands at her sides, staring at me, and then at Mary Beth, and then at the house, and at the servant boys who came running.

  "What do you mean to do with her?" Mary Beth demanded again.

  "Child, will you come into our house?" I said, looking at this lithe and lovely girl with pale shell-pink tender little mouth protruding beautifully on account of her hollow cheeks, and eyes the color of the gray sky in a rainstorm.

  "Will you come into our house," I said again, "and there safe beneath our roof decide if you want to spend your life a prisoner or not? Stella, if I die on the way upstairs, I charge you to save this girl, you hear me?"

  "You won't die," said Richard, my lover, "come, I'll help you." But I could see the apprehension in his face. He was more worried about me than anyone.

  Stella led the way. The girl followed, and then Richard came, all but carrying me in his exuberantly manly way, with his arm around me, hoisting me step by step so that I might keep what dignity I had.