Paul turned his head and his cheek encountered something sticky. He saw Alina's body lying on the folly floor next to him. Sander crouched over it, muttering words in a language Paul didn't recognize. He painted strange symbols on Alina's naked body. It was like some sensual, teasing game, except Alina lay motionless, and Sander used her own blood as paint.
Paul pulled at his bonds, realizing that he, too, was naked. He growled past the gag. Sander didn't look up from his work. The artist's brush swirled a spiraling symbol between Alina's breasts. Paul saw her chest rise. She was still breathing, but barely.
Sander had taken the candles Paul had laid out to seduce Alina and made a circle around both their bodies. Paul rolled his head, eyes straining. Four of the candles he'd propped up on bricks so they stood higher than the others and marked the points of a cross: one at their feet, one at their head, and to the right and left of their bodies.
Apparently finished with Alina, Sander moved to Paul. He pushed Paul onto his back, resting a knee in Paul's stomach to keep him there. The brush, sticky and wet, tickled Paul's forehead.
Sander drew symbols on his throat, his palms, his stomach. The brush lingered on his penis and balls. Over Paul's heart, Sander drew a spiraling arabesque, muttering under his breath and ignoring Paul's growls and moans and jerks.
The strange ritual completed, Sander grabbed Paul by the hair. He pushed his face into Paul's. “You took everything from me. Now I will take more than everything from you."
Paul jerked at the ropes, felt the twine bite into his skin. Whatever Sander planned, he knew it would hurt badly and end in his death.
Sander let his head fall back again, retreated outside the circle of candles surrounding his bound body and Alina's still one. Taking the shards of the wine glass to the candle he'd elevated at Paul and Alina's feet, he slashed his palm and let his blood drip onto the flickering candle flame.
"Hard earth...” Sander moved counter-clockwise around the circle, pausing at each cardinal point to drip blood onto the ground. “Drowning water. Burning fire. Relentless wind. Come and do my will."
The flames jumped and flared.
Sander muttered again in a language Paul did not recognize. Almost Latin, not quite Greek. The words rocked back and forth, swaying hypnotically through guttural rhyming sounds.
Paul smelled blood in the air, a sudden coppery thickness. A snake of fear crawled down his neck, coiled around his spine. Death was one thing. He didn't know what this was.
Sander's voice rose as he recited faster and faster. He raised his hands, squeezed his slashed palms. Blood dripped down his wrists, his elbows.
The symbols painted on Alina's body began to glow. Her body bucked weakly. Then her face rolled towards Paul, her eyes open and staring. Still beautiful, even lifeless.
This is a hallucination, Paul thought. He's given me drugs.
The symbols on Alina's body caught fire, red flames flaring. Thick black smoke rolled up in a cloud and hung in the air. It began to whirl counter-clockwise over Alina's body, whirling so fast that the burning symbols went out. The force of the motion pushed the smoke into a dense ball that began to take on shape. Two arms. Two legs. A head. The smoke thickened to oil, and a pair of yellow eyes broke the surface. A pulse of light worked through it like a beating heart.
Sander's shouts stopped. His ragged breath was all Paul could hear above the frantic drumming of his own heart. Sander flicked his hands, throwing blood on the thing's inky surface. Paul felt the hot droplets hit his thighs. Lightning flickered deep inside the thing's form as it floated through the air until it hung directly over Paul.
Paul took a deep breath and prepared himself for death.
Sander intoned guttural words.
The thing rushed Paul before he could scream.
A car door slammed. Paul jerked back into the present, found himself slumped against the maple tree, his legs drawn up tight against his chest. As he watched, a tall, silver-haired man dressed in crisply creased Armani walked towards the porch. He rang the bell, and, when no one came to the door, he put his burden down on the welcome mat. It was a yawning crystal vase spilling over with white blooms that spanned the seasons: crisp tulips, ruffled carnations, throaty lilies, pouting gardenias, shy rosebuds. Attached to the basket, striking against the facets of the crystal and the tender white petals, was a small envelope of black linen bond.
The man turned on his heel and started down the porch steps. He noticed Paul then, and made a little half-bow. “Mr. Dumond?"
No one called him that anymore. He'd gone by the name Tristel for twenty years.
The man gestured at the flowers on the porch. “Compliments of Sander Wald."
Chapter Four
Diamond-hard sunshine refracted from the office's frosted windows as Kate pulled into her parking spot, burning her eyes like the tears she refused to let fall.
With one phone call, a year of her life had been rendered meaningless. She'd tiptoed around egos, kissed appropriate asses, made promises she couldn't cover—all to patch together the fragile compromise that would have allowed Shawn Harris to plead guilty to drug charges, while Kate helped her client, Ellie Harris, find the strength to testify to her husband's deeper crimes. Now, just hours before the trial was due to start, the district attorney's office had swung its political stick and shattered it all. Kate leashed the urge to shatter something herself.
Instead of strategizing and improvising a way to salvage the situation, her brain was stuck on a playback loop of breakfast. When she should have been thinking about Ellie's needs and the demands of her profession, her biggest concern was that guilt might actually keep her away from Paul, and all that he promised.
It was just a stupid kiss on the hand. Kate had been kissed on the lips in Times Square on New Year's Eve at midnight. She'd been kissed on her bare shoulder while she skinny-dipped under the moon. She'd been kissed on the tip of her toes by a much older man who'd gifted her with pearls. A kiss on the palm in a coffee shop really shouldn't rate.
The nerves in that palm pulsed like a second heart. The sunlight glared in her eyes and in the bright flash she saw Paul, his head bent just so, his lashes dark against the skin of his cheeks, as he drew her wrist past his lips and placed that one, single kiss in the center of her palm.
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Work. It's time for work. She grabbed her briefcase, pushed open the squeaky driver's door, and tried to leave the kiss behind her. Paul was history. Breakfast was over. She'd let herself slip into personal indulgence and WHAM—the universe sent disaster crashing down like laser-guided meteors.
"Kate!” Her boss, David Dowd, shot out of his office just as Kate passed the reception desk. He took her elbow and steered her toward one of the conference rooms. Kate had a chance to glimpse Ellie's frizzy, bleached hair in Dowd's office.
"Did you tell her?” Kate asked.
Dowd shushed her until they were behind a closed door. “She has to testify, Kate. The DA's office is not going to negotiate this one. They're pulling the plea bargain offer."
Kate slumped into the nearest chair. “She won't testify. She's too scared."
In Kate's opinion, Ellie had every right. She'd witnessed what her husband did to his rival's daughter before killing her. Ellie didn't want anything like that to happen to her, and Kate couldn't blame her one bit.
"Without Ellie's testimony, they have no case. I made that very clear to them."
Dowd shook his grandfatherly head. “ADA Frischler isn't budging."
"Frischler.” Kate said it like a curse. She ran her hands through her hair, feeling the crackle of static around her fingers. Louisa Frischler was tired of having her professional title marred by the prefix ‘Assistant.’ Kate could hear the commercials now: Louisa Frischler, tough on criminals, tough on crime. Tough, too, on battered women witnesses, but she'd keep that out of the advertising copy.
"Frischler wants you and Ellie in a meeting with the DA after court today,” Dowd said. “That's when t
hey plan to take the plea agreement off the table."
"Very theatrical."
Dowd shrugged helplessly. Kate tried to feel sympathy for the man's position. If he didn't keep a good working relationship with the DA and local law enforcement, the agency wouldn't get access to the victims it helped. It wasn't his fault that ADA Frischler was using their system to victimize Ellie again. Still, he hadn't shown any courage standing up to Frischler. He hadn't even told Ellie, leaving the dirty work for Kate.
Kate stood up so suddenly that the chair fell backwards. It thudded against the industrial carpeting. “I'll call you from the city with a report."
"I know it's hard, Kate, but if Frischler is going to end up the next DA...” He left the order unspoken, but Kate heard the meaning clearly: don't blow the agency's future.
Kate nodded, not trusting that any words she spoke would come out in an acceptable, employee-to-employer tone. She retreated, leaving the chair overturned on the floor.
Kate stopped in at the ladies room, gave herself a moment to prepare. She stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. The clothes suddenly didn't matter. She rested her forehead against the cool, silvered glass. How am I going to tell Ellie? I've begged her to trust me, and now I have to betray her. She could only hope that in the time since her husband had been arrested, Ellie had found some new source of strength.
Kate left the ladies room and went to Dowd's office.
"Kate.” Ellie stood up, swinging her red leather shoulder bag. “Big day, right?"
The echo of Paul's words sliced through her. “Big day,” she agreed, putting her hand on Ellie's arm. “But we have to leave early."
"Okay.” Ellie turned around for her coat, not even asking why. She trusted Kate to take care of her. Kate's stomach threatened to eject mocha soy latte.
It was at least an hour's drive into the city, not counting whatever rush hour traffic they might encounter. Kate drove them out of Bonaventure and onto the interstate. The road had been carved right out of rolling hills and green pastureland. Under the kiss of the sun, the trees shouted red, laughed orange, sighed gold. The sky burned an unbearable blue. The last of fall's asters crowded the steep slopes on either side of the four lanes, fuzzy and flirty, purple and white.
"Such a beautiful day.” Ellie tilted her head, looking out the passenger side window. “You know, I was thinking about taking some classes at the community college. Maybe accounting.” She turned and gave Kate a smile. “I like numbers. You can count on them."
Kate forced herself to laugh. The spot on her palm where Paul kissed her tingled. I do not have time for Breakfast Paul. Ellie was counting on her. She couldn't let Ellie down.
Three quarters of the drive done, they crested a hill and were greeted with an eyeful of brake lights. Kate slowed down and took her place in line, began creeping along with the rest of the cars.
Ellie looked from the traffic to the digital clock on the console, then back to the traffic. “Nothing will go wrong if we're late, right?"
Kate glanced over at Ellie. Her eyes were on the brake lights, but she was not actually seeing them. She began twisting the turquoise ring on her left pinky finger, around and around.
When Kate first met Ellie, in an interrogation room at the precinct, she'd been huddled on a wooden chair, folded up impossibly tight and balancing on the narrow seat. Her forehead had been pressed tightly to her bent knees, her hands clasped around her legs, and she had twisted the turquoise ring, around and around, ceaselessly.
For the first three hours, Kate communicated with Ellie entirely through the turning of that ring. Kate asked questions and judged Ellie's answers by the manner of the ring turns. Do you need to go to the hospital? caused no change in the rhythm of the turning. Do you understand you aren't in trouble? Do you understand we're here to help you? caused vicious twisting, Ellie's nails biting into her own skin. Only when the detective arrived to announce that her husband was in custody did Ellie stop twisting her ring.
Kate still woke up at night shivering with the memory of the fear in Ellie's eyes as she whispered, “He's here? He's here now?” And she had flung herself at the detective, her hands scrabbling for the gun in his shoulder holster.
Kate could not comprehend being so afraid of another human being that she wouldn't trust the police to keep her safe. But now Ellie trusted Kate, and she was about to let her down.
"How old are you, Ellie?"
Ellie frowned at the unexpected question. “What?” Her eyes came back to Kate, to the present and out of the past. “Twenty-two. How old are you?"
Kate sighed, and nosed her way into the passing lane. “Older."
The traffic eased closer to the city, as people streamed off towards their different destinations among the city's neighborhoods. Kate aimed for the heart of downtown. By the digital clock on the dash, she pulled into the parking garage at 9:42 a.m.
A little more than two hours ago, Breakfast Paul had kissed her hand. With her thumb, she rubbed the spot on her palm, and felt the warmth of his lips all over again. Two hours to go from the first step of heaven to the edge of hell.
Ellie twisted her ring and stared into a distance Kate couldn't see. “Something's wrong,” Ellie said, not making it a question.
Kate rested her wrists on the steering wheel, resisted the urge to rest her head, too. “Yes."
The parking garage was dark. Ellie's body drank in the shadows, her body shrinking as the force of her will dimmed. It was as if Ellie was at sea, not in the car, and she was receding with the waves. A few miles ago, she was joking about being an accountant.
"The plea agreement isn't going to work, is it?” Ellie's voice sounded flat with fear.
"Do you want to go home?” It was Kate's job to make sure Ellie was safe, Louisa Frischler and her ambitions be damned. “I can make the right calls, have you safe before dinner.” She'd opened the door to the battered women's underground three times for Ellie, even though it would probably cost Kate her job. Each time, Ellie had refused.
Kate saw Ellie roll the idea of running through in her head, and was, for a moment, sure she was going to say yes. But then she shook her head “no” once, as if the muscles in her neck and shoulders were already too tight to move easily. Without a word, without looking at Kate, she got out of the car and started toward the elevator.
Kate caught up with her, marveling at the courage. She sensed Ellie was using everything she had to keep walking forward. She gently nudged Ellie's hand with hers. Ellie's fingers closed around her own, pushing into the spot where Paul kissed her.
At that moment, Kate would have given everything, all her ambitions, all her ethics, all the work she'd done to be who she was, to be anywhere with Paul. All she wanted was to win one, just one. But she kept fighting to win things she had no power over, and she was always going to fail.
Cold from that bitter revelation, Kate held onto Ellie's hand as they stepped across the threshold of the walkway from the parking garage and into the courthouse. The grunge of the garage gave way to that well-worn bureaucratic hum that throbbed beneath the scrubbed tile and echoed in the vaulted ceilings of the old building. They were swept up in the flow toward the elevators. Motion ruled here. People streamed in and out, back and forth, waves and ebbs. And no matter who they were, all the people seemed subdued by the sheer bureaucratic crush of what the building could do to them. The elevator button for “up” already glowed, so Kate did not have to let go of Ellie's hand. An attorney, clinging to his briefcase life preserver, cocked an eyebrow at them. Kate stared him down until he looked away. A tall, skinny woman in black jeans held the hand of a little boy, who rubbed his eyes with his other hand. Kate exchanged a look with her, and they shared a moment of resignation. She and this woman were pushing uphill against a system rushing down the slope too fast to stand against. The little boy and Ellie were both about to be swept away.
The elevator dinged open. Kate put her misgivings inside, Ellie still latched to her hand. The e
levator car had been restored to its art deco origins. The panel was framed in sharp silver angles, a stylized leopard ready to pounce on the lighted buttons.
The woman with the boy clicked the button for the fourth floor. The attorney was headed to three.
"Six, please,” Kate said, and the attorney shot her a speculative look, because the sixth floor was criminal court.
When the woman and child got off at four, she gave Kate a tight, sad smile. Kate gave Ellie's hand a squeeze, but Ellie didn't respond. She just stared front and center, bottom lip caught in her teeth.
The elevator jerked and settled. A hollow ding, and the doors parted to frame the sculptural centerpiece of the rotunda, a marble Lady Justice, her hair perpetually frozen in a stream of unfelt wind, her sculpted gown caught forever against the lines of her stylized body, her molded arms outthrust to carry the weight of the scales.
Kate stepped from the elevator, Ellie still clutching her hand.
Talk. Reassure her. “The ADA's office is down the west hall."
Ellie slowed like a reluctant child.
"It'll be alright.” Kate repeated the words, a promise that might come true if she said it over and over. “It'll be alright, Ellie. It'll be alright."
Ellie's courage rallied, and she kept up with Kate's strides. They moved past the attorneys and workers and defendants milling in the hallway, past the wide double doors of the courtrooms.
"It'll be alright."
One of the double doors opened almost on top of them. Kate skipped backwards a step, felt Ellie stumble. Their hands came loose. Kate turned to see if Ellie was still with her. Ellie's eyes went wide, and she flinched into a defensive crouch.
Kate whirled. Right in front of her, coming out of the courtroom, without handcuffs, without restraints, was Ellie's husband. He didn't seem to see Kate. His narrowed slits of eyes were fixed on Ellie.
Ellie shrieked like a rabbit caught by a cat.
Shawn Harris lunged, and instinctively Kate put her body between him and Ellie. His fist slammed into her cheek. Kate felt a hot slice of pain and she pushed back, bringing her knee up into his soft spots. The man grunted and fell, dragging Kate down with him. Her head hit the floor hard, and the edges of her vision blurred. She felt Harris try to scramble up her body. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and clung tightly, a parody of lust. His knee ground into her side, his elbow caught her temple. Her world tilted and her grasp loosened. But strong hands pulled him from her. Light flooded her eyes and she saw the blue uniforms of bailiffs and sheriffs. Ellie was screaming, screaming. The world shivered with the force of the sound.
Bonds of Darkness Page 4