“You know,” she said. “If you’re so great at your little fortune telling trick, maybe you should have seen this coming.” And with that, she and the other two girls left the bathroom.
I slid to the tile floor and cried. It was too much. Everything was too much. My whole world had been turned upside down since April and I didn’t think I could handle much more. The sobs welled up through my body, building and swelling until the force of them seemed to crush me.
I didn’t know how much time had passed when a light knock sounded at the bathroom door. “Lucy? Are you ok?”
The door opened a crack and Matt came inside and sat down beside me. He touched the ragged edge of my torn blouse and hugged me.
“What happened, babe?”
“I should have stopped it. I should have known what was going to happen to Angie.”
“Did someone tell you that?” he asked.
“Yes, and it’s true. And people think…people think that I killed her.”
“No one thinks that, Lucy.”
“Yeah they do. They think I’m a freak and that I’m so weird that I would have killed her. She was my best friend, she was like my sister,” I sobbed. My shoulders shook under his embrace.
“Well screw those people. I know you wouldn’t hurt someone like that. And since when did you care what people think?”
I didn’t answer, but let Matt help me to my feet. He kissed the top of my head gently and took my arm as we headed back outside, back to a world I didn’t want to see again quite yet.
Chapter 26. Properly Motivated.
I canceled my appointments that week and the next. At night I slept only fitfully, my rest interrupted by gruesome nightmares of Angie and my grandmother. Worse still were the occasional mornings when I’d wake up, intending to call Angie, and would have to remember all over again that she’d been murdered.
Angie’s dad had asked me to gather her clothes. He said she would’ve wanted me to have them, and this was probably true, but it didn’t dull the hurt of seeing outfit after outfit heaped on my bed, or numb the hollow echoing memories of the times she’d worn each. Her clothes were bigger than mine, and bolder, and they seemed to overtake the room in their vividness. Skirts and jeans and box upon box of impossible shoes. All those sublime and ridiculous shoes.
I slipped on the faux-fur yellow jacket that she’d been wearing the first time I read her cards, breathing in the faint fruity smell of her lingering perfume. I wondered if I was destined to live in the husks others had left behind. I’d grown up in the shadow in my dad’s absence, I’d inherited the shell of my grandma’s life, and now here were all these shoes, somehow more intense and terrible than any other the other leavings.
MY DAYS WERE SPENT STARING at the television, the show didn’t matter. It was all background noise. Showering or even dressing seemed like too much work. My mom came over daily.
One afternoon she sailed in with her arms full of travel brochures.
“Let’s take a trip, just you and me,” she said, her voice dripping with forced cheer. “We could go to Greece and see the ruins?”
I grunted noncommittally.
“Ooh, how about this one? A yoga and fitness retreat in Utah.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Or…hmm, Cancun? What do you think honey? We’ve never been to Cancun.”
I snapped. “A trip to Mexico isn’t going to make my friend un-murdered, Mom! Do you think I’m going to drink a margarita and just like forget she’s dead? Just leave me alone for once.”
My mom silently gathered her things and left. I felt guilty for yelling at her, which only made me more miserable. I flopped backwards on the sofa and fell deep asleep yet again. Wakefulness had nothing to offer me.
“Rise and shine, Miss Grumpy Frown.”
I woke suddenly, opening one eye to see Mrs. Nguyen at the foot of my sofa. This must be a dream. I turned over. My mouth felt like a sand dune and tasted like a landfill.
“I know you hear me! Wake up now. And open the windows because, peeyoo, it is stuffy here.”
I reluctantly shifted to a sitting position. Mrs. Nguyen sat beside me. “What are you doing here?” I asked, not caring that my tone was none-too-kind.
“Came to bring you mail. Your mailbox was so stuffed, poor postman could barely fit more,” she said reproachfully.
“Ok, well thanks I guess,” I said, looking at the stack of mail she smacked down on the coffee table. I glanced at the clock to see it was ten o’clock in the morning; I‘d slept straight through the previous afternoon and night.
“Your mom stopped by my house yesterday,” she said. I didn’t reply, so she continued. “I know life is hard, missy. Very hard and I could tell you stories. But it’s no excuse to yell at your mother. You get up now and go be a real woman. Real women keep going, none of this ‘poor me’ stuff.” Her voice was harsh but she patted my knee kindly before she left, leaving behind a casserole dish of her homemade Vietnamese stew.
I waited until I heard the front door close before I wobbled to my feet and opened both windows in the room. I folded the blanket I’d had over me and placed it across the back of the sofa. It was time for a shower.
Twenty minutes later, scrubbed and invigorated, I returned to the front room to comb the tangles from my wet hair as I flipped through the mail. Bills and some advertisements, coupons and junk. I decided I would get ready for the day and then call my mom to invite her to dinner. I knew she’d be at home, worried about me, and I felt terrible.
As I was thinking of restaurant possibilities, my phone beeped with a text message. Probably Matt trying to cheer me up. I hadn’t been a very good friend to him either lately, but I would make it up to him. I grinned as I picked up my phone, looking forward to reading the text.
I checked the phone and was so startled I dropped it on the ground. My eyes were playing tricks on me. Bending over to pick the phone up, I checked it again, but the display was the same.
It said I had one new message. From Angie.
I stared at the display, paralyzed for what seemed like an eternity. Finally I allowed myself to read the rest of the text. The message was brief:
Are you properly motivated now?
I screamed and let the phone fall from my hand. Only one person could have sent me that text. Nathaniel.
How did Nathaniel come to have Angie’s cell phone? There was only one clear possibility: he had had my friend brutally murdered. She was dead, and for what? A tarot card? His evil was beyond reckoning; his heart darker than I could have imagined. I had underestimated him, had thought of him as an irritant, not threat. If he’d had Angie murdered, I now had no doubt he was responsible for killing Gavin’s dad. And who knows who else he’d hurt? My grandma had been right to hate him, why hadn’t I taken everything more seriously. You’ll pay, Nathaniel, I told myself. I want you dead and I’ll make sure it happens even if I have to do it myself.
I picked up my phone and lurched to the fridge, where I’d posted the card for the detective who was working on Angie’s case. I wanted Nathaniel to fry. Before I could dial the number, my cell rang in my hand, causing me to jump. Before I could think, I automatically answered it.
“Hello?”
“Ah, Miss Lucy. I was hoping to reach you, I was.”
I was trembling, my hand unable to hold the phone steady.
“How could you do this, you sick old man?”
“My dear girl, I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about. I have merely called to see if you are ready to deliver the card back here to Savannah, now that I imagine you’re feeling a little more motivated.”
“Burn in hell, Nathaniel.”
“Well, am I to take that to mean that you don’t wish to return to our lovely city? Now, that is a shame, Miss Lucy, a mighty shame. Especially seeing as how your mother is so enjoying her Savannah vacation right now. Of course, I can’t offer any guarantees that she will continue to enjoy her visit, but it might help if you were bring that
card on down here.”
I was silent, sickened. Nathaniel had arranged for my mom to be kidnapped. I had no reason to believe he was joking.
“Cat got your tongue, Miss Lucy? Well now, that’s just fine, but I do hope that you’ll come on down to see us. With the card. Let’s say, oh, within the next forty-eight hours. And we’d best keep this just between us; no more talking to your little detective friend. I’ll surely know if you do. Bye-bye now, dear.”
The line disconnected and I crumpled to the floor. He couldn’t take something else from me. Not my mom. I didn’t know what to do. Should I call the police? Would they even believe me? Should I call my dad or Gavin? I didn’t know how Nathaniel would know if I did, but I didn’t want to make the mistake of underestimating him again.
He’d never believe that I didn’t have the card, but I would confront Nathaniel head on. Alone. I couldn’t allow anyone else to be dragged into the evil mess he had created. I rose to my feet and dug an overnight bag from my closet. I quickly packed and then booked the first flight I could.
Chapter 27. Lucy.
If you have to speak to the devil, you choose your words carefully. And since a short plane ride was all that stood between me and the evil old man who ruined my life, I’d already begun mentally rehearsing my conversation as I took my seat at the front of the cabin.
The only seat left on the plane had been in first class, but I’d booked it without hesitation. Not having to think about money was the sole consolation of my new life. The woman seated next to me was tapping away on her phone, sending those last few emails as the plane began to taxi. Her smile was like her shoes: pointy, glossy and intimidating. She shot a dismissive glance at my concert tee, frayed shorts and paint-spattered canvas sneakers, likely wondering what a scruffy teen girl was doing in this section of the plane.
I stared out the window as I plotted my strategy. If I had ever asked, would I have seen this in the cards? At which fork would I have taken a different direction?
There was only one answer I could see to that question, and that answer was impossible: I would have never turned eighteen. I would have stayed seventeen forever.
Chapter 28. Showdown at the Martus Inn.
The historic Martus Inn of Savannah welcomed visitors with tidy, colorful flower beds and, of course, a deep sunny porch that ran the width of the building. The friendly appearance of the quaint inn did nothing to dispel my anxiety. The hair at the base of my neck was damp with sweat, and my back prickled with angry heat under my jacket. I’d changed into a black suit as soon as I’d landed—it was only outfit I owned that I felt would enable me to be taken seriously. And I’d never felt more dead serious than today.
I’d booked a suite called the Rum Room and had instructed Nathaniel to meet me there at two o’clock. Maybe I was naïve, but somehow I felt that I was less likely to come to harm in the steady light of the afternoon sun. I checked in at the front desk and gathered my key, letting the innkeeper know that I’d be meeting with Nathaniel and asking her to send him back.
The room key was cool against my sweaty hand as I walked down the narrow carpeted hallway to my room. The inn was very quiet. At the end of the hallway, I saw an old-fashioned wood door bearing a gold plaque with the room’s name. Key in hand, I paused as I reached the door.
This was the room where I’d face the Nathaniel again; I could only hope it would be our final encounter. I checked my cell phone: 1:18 p.m. In less than an hour, I would take a stand here. I took a deep breath and inserted the key into the keyhole. I turned the key and twisted the crystal knob as I pushed the door inward, crossing the threshold to find myself in a sitting room. A roll top desk was pushed against the mauve wall to my left, a window in front of me with a view to the outside garden. I looked to my right and froze.
There, at the round mahogany meeting table on the right side of the room, sat Nathaniel himself. He was early. He was leaning back in his chair, hands clasped across his stomach. He fixed his toad-like face on me and smiled as broadly as any mall Santa Claus. I met his gaze and scowled.
“Lucy,” he wheezed. “My girl, so delightful to see you again. So delightful.”
I stepped to the table and sat down. “Cut it out, Nathaniel. I’m not buying it.”
“Now, my girl, there is simply no need, no need, to dispense with the civilities.”
“Oh, hmm, civilities. Like when you murdered my best friend. Or maybe when you captured my mom. Yeah, I’m sure that’s just exactly what they mean when they talk about Southern hospitality.”
Nathaniel coughed in to his handkerchief. “Now, young lady,” he said, “That is a mighty powerful and slanderous accusation you are placing on such an old man as myself. I don’t believe you could ever prove such a thing.”
“Oh I know that,” I replied. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“Fair enough,” he laughed, wheezing again.
“You’re a real bastard, Nathaniel.”
“But you could learn from me, young lady. You could.”
“Yeah, I’m just dying for lessons on how to be a twisted evil old man,” I replied.
“Laugh if you like, Lucy, but I see what you are. What you really are. Stronger than your grandmother, even. You have the true talent. The rare talent. It’s not all just the cards, you know. There’s more. The cards are just a tool, but I could help you be great.”
I picked up a Martus Inn pen from the table, clicking and unclicking it, pointing it at Nathaniel. “If cards are just a tool,” I asked, “why would you be willing to kill for the Oracle Deck?”
“Ah, and here we are--the very crux of the matter,” Nathaniel said, stamping his index finger against the table. “The Oracle Deck is indeed a tool. But there are tools and then there are…tools. Some tools are capable of feats that other tools simply are not. And the Oracle Deck, well, young lady, it is the most powerful tool that I know of. And I need it.”
“Why now? You’ve been without it all these years. What would you need it for?”
“The same thing,” he wheezed, “that anyone would need a tarot deck for. Just answers. Answers such that a regular deck may not be able to provide.”
“Answers to what? What question is that freaking important? Other than the question of what have you done with my mom.”
“I’m certainly willing to rectify that little situation, once you part with that card that you’ve been so stubbornly hoarding, my dear.”
“Well, Nathaniel, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I don’t have the card. I can’t make this any clearer to you. If you killed my mother, my boyfriend—you know what, even if you murdered the whole town of Boulder, it wouldn’t bring you that card.”
“I don’t believe you, my girl.”
“That doesn’t change what’s true. Look at me. Look me dead in the eye as I tell you I do not have the card. It isn’t at my grandmother’s house.”
“Nonsense!” Nathaniel smacked the polished table with his palm. “I have done reading after reading on this, young lady. Every reading points to that card being at your grandmother’s home!”
“Well maybe the stupid cards are wrong this time!” I shouted. “Because I have searched every inch of that property. It isn’t there!”
“You came all the way down to Georgia, just to tell me that tired old story?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, no, I came to make a deal,” I said.
Nathaniel held up both hands, “I’m all ears, Miss Lucy. All ears.”
“You’re still convinced the Empress is at my house, right?”
“I am indeed positive,” Nathaniel replied.
“Then here’s the deal: I trade the house for my mom. I get what I want, you get what you want. Then you can see that I’m not hiding anything from you. Hire a team of thugs to tear the whole house down if you’d like. Frankly, Nathaniel, I don’t give a damn.”
Nathaniel fell silent. He leaned back, lacing his fingers across the buttons of his linen vest.
I could hear the faint ticking of the clock on wall, my mom’s life hanging on each moment. This was all I had to offer. I didn’t have a backup plan.
Finally, Nathaniel broke the silence. “I think your terms might be acceptable after all Miss Lucy.” He reached his gnarled hand toward the beige plastic hotel phone on the table and slowly punched in each number. The ringing on the other end was faintly audible and Nathaniel spoke a few moments later. “It’s me,” he said. “I’ve decided that our guest, the lovely Claire Auburn, should see some more of Savannah. Drop her at the Waving Girl at two o’clock. Alone.” And with that, the call was abruptly finished.
“The Waving Girl is the statue, right?” I said. “I saw it the last time I was here, so I think I can find my way back now.” I stood to leave, but Nathaniel pointed back at my chair.
“Now, that just won’t be necessary. No it won’t. Here’s what we’ll do, my girl. You’ll give our boy Gavin a call and you’ll tell him to pick up your mother. I saw the way he looked at you and I can’t imagine he’ll resist the call of our little damsel Lucy in distress.” Nathaniel chuckled and I fought the urge to jump across the table ninja-style to jab the pen into his carotid artery.
“And then what?” I asked.
“Why, Miss Lucy, then it will be time for you to sign over your house, fulfill your end of the bargain, so to speak. I’ll even let you speak to your mama first, just to show you that I am indeed a man of my word.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a real peach, a gentleman to all,” I said, pulling out my cell phone and dialing Gavin’s number. Gavin answered on the second ring.
“Lucy, how are you?”
“Not good, Gavin. Look, I need your help. Pick my mom up at the Waving Girl statue at two o’clock. Hurry. She was kidnapped and--”
I was interrupted by Nathaniel sliding a slip of paper across the table. I read the note aloud to Gavin.
“No police or she will be killed, and me as well.” My voice cracked.
“Hang up now, Lucy,” Nathaniel said. I ended the call, willing myself not to cry, not to be afraid. Fear is the mind-killer, my dad had said. I mentally recited the words, a forced mantra to calm myself, to clear my thought. Each moment that I let my fear for Nathaniel control me was another moment of victory for him, for every evil act he’d committed in the name of his tarot deck.
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