by Zeller, Jill
Sawyer stopped at one of them; I saw his eyebrow rise. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s where those went.”
A cardboard box near the door held a jumble of knights and queens and bishops, pieces of several chess sets, boards shoved in beside them. Sawyer glanced at me. “I kept asking her for them, but she said she threw them in the Bay.” With a finger he touched his forehead. “I am coming back for these.”
I said, “I’ll help you smash the gate.”
He gave his crooked smile, and it warmed me through. If nothing else, I was going to see to it that Sawyer got something for all his effort. And later I would figure out what that was.
A few more doors down we came to a large service elevator accessed by a heavy metal gate, which stood open. The elevator was there. A crazy thought prodded my mind. What if Dom had laid a trap? As soon as we stepped inside the elevator, it would crash downward. Or what if it was an optical illusion, and the elevator wasn’t there at all?
Sawyer squinted at it. I could almost swear he was thinking the same thing. This is nuts, I thought, and walked straight into the elevator, which was really there and didn’t move. For all I knew Dominique was pumping paranoia gas into her cellar.
Sawyer seemed to know where we were going, as he selected Floor 2. I stared at the buttons, lost in amazement. We were Basement, and above us Floors 1 and 2. But below were twelve more buttons, unlabeled. Unused? I doubted it.
Sawyer saw me noticing. “Maybe this is her private elevator to hell. I don’t know why she had all these buttons installed.”
I didn’t want to tell Sawyer how close to the truth he had to be. A chill roped me round and round. Another portal? I knew there had to be more than just the handful in the Valley. But this, specially designed, particular to one place and one place only, and in a Delphine basement, was Hell’s easy access. Too easy. I wondered if the buttons worked for anyone else but Dominique.
Floor 2 arrived quickly and the door slid open without a sound. Vague odors of coconut, walls neutrally painted, carpet the color of sand. An unremarkable vaguely watery landscape hanging on the wall opposite us. Sawyer stopped in the hall, listening. We could hear nothing at all except for the bleating alarm.
Then, a grunt, followed by a thump. A whispered curse. Forced breaths.
To our left the corridor ended in a round window, screened by the tops of leafy trees. The noises came from this direction. Motioning me to wait, which I had no intention of doing, Sawyer moved noiselessly along the carpet.
Commanding Pepper to wait by the elevator—she would warn us if anyone came, including city police investigating the alarm—I followed Sawyer at a distance. To my left the wall opened into a vaulted space, a staircase spiraling downward into a sun-blazed nothing. Tiles covered the walls, depicting reproduced scenes of healers, taken from old paintings. They looked garish and unpleasant.
Ahead of me, as I stared at the spectacle of bad taste, I heard Sawyer mutter as he disappeared into a room to his right. My heart kicked my ribs as I followed, trying to keep my imagination tightly roped.
A large, bright bedroom, rumpled bed sheets dragged to the floor. The smell of excrement and body odor. Ivy Novak Easton Olds.
Sawyer knelt beside her and I joined him, my chest rattled with fear. Eyes closed, she lay on her left side, left arm flung out, nails in the carpet. Sawyer cursed; I could see she was breathing, and, steadying my hand, I felt for a pulse.
Rapid, but strong and regular. Slowly I eased her onto her back, motioned for Sawyer to get a pillow. The smell of feces was strong, and I saw that she had soiled herself. After the pillow, Sawyer pulled the bedspread over her.
Smoothing Ivy’s forehead, I felt her skin. Clammy, cool. “Ivy. It’s Annie. I’m here.”
Sawyer rose as I looked at him. “I’ll check,” was all he said, and he walked out of the bedroom. But I knew, and maybe he did as well, that no one else had been left in the house but my sister.
When I looked down at Ivy again, after pulling out my cell phone to call 911, Ivy was looking at me. “I tried to stop her. She was going to kill Zoe. I was stupid. I should never have taken her there. But I thought I could bargain. She didn’t want me.”
“Not now. Tell me later. Thank god you’re OK.” It didn’t make sense, but I tried to put together what Ivy was trying to tell me. Fear rose up in me, tempered by reason, sort of. “Zoe?”
“She’s OK. So far.” Ivy licked her cracked lips. When had she drunk any water last? “Dom took them away. Last night. Left me here.”
“It’s OK, Ivy. Try to relax.”
Ivy shook her head. “I couldn’t walk. I tried to get Zoe and me out of here, but my legs went numb and I couldn’t walk.”
“You’ll be fine. I’m going to get you to a hospital.” I gave the dispatcher our location as the intersection of the lane of Dom’s address and another street half a block away. That moment Sawyer returned, breathless from running up the stairs. He shook his head.
I didn’t want to know. My heart dragged at my ankles, but I forced myself to act. I had to make sure Ivy was somewhere safe. Without question Sawyer agreed to my plan, picked Ivy up and carried her back to the elevator. As soon as he and Pepper were inside and the door closing I pushed my way out again, ignoring Sawyer’s sharp “Hey!”
This time I went the other way, following the corridor through the house to the double doors I saw at the opposite end of the corridor. They opened with the merest touch.
Inside was Dom’s room, a master suite large enough to hold Ivy’s entire house. Floor to ceiling windows swept in a view of Oakland, the Bay and beyond, the City. I wanted to pick up a massive vase that looked very expensive and hurl it through one of those windows, but there wasn’t time.
The place was neat as a pin, bedspread wrinkle-free, lace-edged pillows stacked against the headboard failed to bring warmth or feeling to the room. The carpet was an oily white, soft. There was no sound. I couldn’t even hear the alarm any more.
Upholstered chairs that looked uninviting. A glass-topped pedestal table between. More vague, dreadful landscapes on oversized canvases adorned the windowless walls.
I tried to slow my beating heart, order the jumbled mush of my brain, think as Dom would, as I would if I were the nexus of the trade in souls. Where would my storeroom be? My warehouse stocked with phials ready to ship? My stash?
Any self-respecting dope smuggler wouldn’t keep his or her product in his or her bedroom, but if nothing else, Dominique Delphine was a girl, and a girl keeps secrets close to her when she sleeps.
There is little time, I told myself. And who gives a damn about being a tidy thief?
Snatching the bedspread off the bed, I tossed it on the floor, tugged off the sheets, dumped each pillow on the floor. There was nothing under the bed, but while I looked, I scanned the baseboard trim. The big vases revealed nothing, not even dust. I imagined Dom threatening her housekeepers with a whip if they didn’t dust inside them.
Tipping over the chairs, I felt for Velcro openings. I shoved the paintings to one side, lifting, nothing. I spilled the contents of the highboy dresser and the dressing table of enameled pearl. Flouncy fancy underwear, neatly folded sweaters, all in grays, tans and black. I threw them behind me like a digging dog.
Then the bathroom, bigger than a country club lounge. More floor to ceiling windows, mirrors, a glass-enclosed shower. Tile the color of putty. A partition revealed a vanity, with a chair, two glass bowl-sinks. The medicine chest held the usual, and I threw everything onto the floor, satisfied by the tinkle of broken glass. Drawers emptied, rifled. I flung the towels into the spa-tub.
None of this would bring Zoe back to me, but it certainly helped focus my mind. As I worked, I began to formulate a plan, and it grew stronger as I worked, and as I ran from the bathroom and into her clothes closet, I was sure it would work.
Linen and wool suits, dry-cleaned into precision ranks, gray, black, tan, gray, black, tan. Shoes, three-inch heels. Coats, one of which
was real sable in a plastic suiter. Above, more sweaters, and boxes. Boxes and boxes. Red boxes.
I froze, and for the first time since I found Ivy I felt wraiths gather, pressing their cold film close to me. Startling red boxes in all this neutral landscape. On tiptoe, I took one down.
It was solid, heavy. Each box was roughly five inches square and five tall. Perfect little cubes. Obscure marks on the tops in black ink. Initials? Chinese characters? Maker’s marks?
My hands quivered as I held the box. Then I knelt on the floor, placed it before me, and pulled off the top.
Inside, nine phials. Amber, stoppered and waxed closed. I lifted one out, and felt my wraiths swirl passionately around me, listened to their cold breaths.
Who are you? And who will own you? An eccentric billionaire, an amoral narcissist, an ambitious actor? This had to stop, I thought. But as I looked at the liquid gas, or gaseous liquid, whatever unnameable substance this was, its beauty drew me. One, two drops under the tongue to sample vigor and youth. What would be so bad about that? This dead person was helping the living live happier lives.
Against their will and spirit and soul. The awful allure of the thing. I almost dropped the phial as shock ran through me for even considering sampling this myself. Wraiths surrounding me rumbled, as if appalled at me.
Trying to steady myself, I slipped the phial back into its slot, covered the box. Looking at the shelf, I saw dozens and dozens of boxes covering the expanse of the walk-in closet from end to end.
There was no time to gather them all. The police would arrive any minute. But they hadn’t. They should have been here by now.
It was then I understood they weren’t coming. The alarm was only to frighten potential burglars or vandals. Dom wouldn’t want cops here pawing through these boxes. I had all the time I needed before I had to get on the road to my daughter.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Shortcut to Hell
No police at Dom’s, no police as Sawyer broke all speed limits crossing the Bay Bridge. Even though I thought it a waste of time, I allowed Sawyer to stop at Dominique’s offices in a 150 year-old Victorian mansion on Nob Hill. The receptionist remembered Sawyer, gave the hapless ex a smirky smile, and informed him Dr. Delphine was on sabbatical for the next six months.
Wraiths enveloped us in a restless mob. The large waiting room, aquarium, water feature, potted palms and soothing music, was filled with people in various stages of coping with their disease. Wraiths moved among them, and maybe some noticed, maybe some didn’t, but they all watched us as the receptionist made no attempt to keep his voice down.
I lightly touched Sawyer’s arm and he followed me out, but I knew he wanted to run into the back rooms and check every single one for his ex-wife. But she wasn’t here. I knew it. My wraiths knew it.
Now it was Sawyer’s turn to be patient with me as I made him drive to Mission Dolores. “She won’t be there. What the hell would she be there for? Entertaining Aggie and Zoe with stories about lynchings and small pox and murder?”
I didn’t answer. Sawyer nearly ran down a pedestrian at the intersection of 16th and Valencia. I ordered him into the next available parking place.
“Sawyer, I need you to stay calm.” I turned in my seat, faced him, pressed my hand on his knee.
“God, she looked so bad, Annie. I’ve never seen anyone that sick before.” He shook his head, his eyes damp. “Poor Ivy.” The story for the paramedics was that we had been out for a drive and taking a short walk when Ivy collapsed. To my relief the EMTs believed us and whisked Ivy to the Oakland trauma center, strapped to the stretcher with oxygen and an IV. Pale, with deep worry lines on her forehead, Ivy did not protest, and a sharp spear of worry went through me, and thinking about it now, I felt my throat close up.
“She’s going to be all right,” I told him, or was it myself I was trying to convince? I thought of all that Bijou stashed in Dom’s palace. One drop might do it. Would anyone notice if I used just one drop for Ivy? “Oh my god, I should let Bruce know.”
Then Sawyer and I looked at each other. Bruce! He was discharged from the hospital this afternoon. Who would be home to meet him, make sure he was OK. My heart hammered at me. How stupid can you be, Annie Lee?
Quickly I called the hospital. My heart sunk lower and lower as I listened to the floor nurse state that Dr. Delphine had discharged Bruce and would be happy to make certain he got home safely.
Sawyer pounded the wheel. A passerby stared at us in a worried way. A scream crawled into my throat, but luckily died there.
I turned to Sawyer again. “I need your help. Things are going to get very, very weird, but I need you to just go along, OK? No matter what happens?”
Sawyer frowned at me. “Annie, don’t even say another fucking word.”
Getting out of the car, he slammed the door. As I scrambled out, I didn’t know if Sawyer was going or staying. I wouldn’t blame him for leaving me this minute forever.
But he stomped toward the Mission, scrabbling in his pocket for his wallet. Grateful, relieved, tears stinging, I followed. We went inside. And came to the cemetery.
I knew where the portal was. I had known, I think, all the years I had come to this strange, quiet, whispered place, walled by silence and the dead, bordered with bones and memory. A slab, a forgotten City noble entombed beneath. Sawyer had walked straight to it, waited for me.
Above, fog trailed its fingers through a vault of gauzy nothing. We had to do some convincing to allow Pepper through, but the docent accepted my explanation that Pepper was a trained assistance animal, which was, in fact, true.
A chill wafted over me as wraiths bound us. Sawyer rubbed his arms. He wore no jacket, just rolled up sleeves and trousers. Gripping Pepper’s leash, I ordered my mind, sought the arched gateway leading straight to Hell.
A stair appeared next to the tomb, leading downward into green. Quickly we took it, hoping no one had noticed anything. If anyone saw and ran to investigate, they would find nothing but scattered leaves and silence.
In moments we were in the green-sconced passageway. Sawyer glanced at me, nodded, but said nothing. I thought he looked paler, but perhaps the green glow cast a sickly light on both of us.
Standing, listening to our breathing, I told myself I was the mistress of this access, Novak, controller of the portals to the Land of the Dead. And as we were a long way from where we needed to be, I needed a bicycle. Two, actually.
Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. I had no such skill, to summon physical objects out of nothing. Ghosts, yes, especially gray ghosts trapped or touring among the living, but this was beyond my skill, a silly vanity.
“OK.” I breathed in, forcing myself to push my body to its limit to get my daughter. I would walk until I dropped. “Let’s get going.”
Sawyer fell in beside me. “Where, exactly?”
“Well, let’s say it’s a place that you’ve always had a free pass to, but this visit is by special invitation.”
“What’s that?” Sawyer halted. He squinted into the dimness ahead. I saw nothing.
Sawyer blinked. “I thought I saw—there it is again.”
Still nothing. I wondered if he were so tired and stressed he was hallucinating. I certainly could understand how he felt. But something, whether wraiths or exhaustion, clouded my vision.
But there was something. A glint flickered then winked out. Agitated wraiths bounced off me and a chill ran up my spine. Beside me Sawyer raised an arm and swiped at something, as he would a fly. Down here, I thought, those wraiths might become visible to him.
The glint became a shape, a vertical line of light moving back and forth. I rubbed my eyes, tried to make sense of the wavering glows in the gloom. A shock ran through me as the shapes resolved into the recognizable shape of a bicycle. Two bicycles being ridden uneasily by two people unused to them.
“Jesus. Jesus.” Sawyer muttered beside me. I touched his arm.
“Don’t worry. Everything is under control
.” I knew this would not be easy to explain.
Mae and Jonah stopped their bicycles in front of us. Mae nearly toppled off hers, and I grabbed the front wheel to steady her. Leaping from his, Jonah let it fall to the floor with a clatter.
My heart thundered. I did it! Not teleportation or manifestation, but a summoning of some kind. And here were two dear dead friends, eager to help.
“Oh thank you, guys.” I didn’t know what else to say. Tears hovered close and I forced them back.
Jonah came close to me, smelling of leather and tobacco. “Annie, you better hurry. I can’t find her. I’ve tried, but something is blocking me.” His hair stood up wildly, stiff with fear.
I nodded weakly. Mae drifted near me, black hair wavering, lacy sleeves and and skirt flowing like kelp in the tide. “You better help Sawyer. He looks like he’s going to crash.”
One hand against the jade-colored wall, Sawyer stared at Mae, his face a deeper shade of green than the sconce above him. I stood in front of him, took his face in my hands.
“Sawyer. Focus. Yes, it’s Mae. The ghost of Mae. She, and my dead husband Jonah, are going to help us find our kids. You have to go with this, OK?”
He gazed at me, the sclera of his eyes streaked with red. To my relief, he nodded, swallowed.
“Hi, SW. How art thou?” Mae drifted closer to Sawyer, who flinched. I turned my head toward her.
“Mae, go easy. Sawyer is just getting used to all this.”
“All this what, Missy Annie? How your insane sister took Hollis’s soul?”
My hand closed around the Bijou phial in my pocket. A vague scorched tinge floated into my nostrils. Hollis was around here somewhere. I said, “How is it you’re here, Mae? Not the gray lady anymore? The truth about what happened to Justin is out now. You’re free. I kept my part of the bargain.”
“Right you are. I’ll be good.” Mae smiled, a rare and beautiful thing. Sawyer closed his hanging-open mouth, smiled back. “Nice to see you, SW. I’ve missed our talks.”