“What do you think?” Du Lac asked De Roché.
“You mean about the wine?”
“Yes.”
“Magnificent,” De Roché replied before again raising his glass. “It so happens I have something to announce.”
All faces turned to him eagerly.
“Fill your glasses,” De Roché said.
Doug put his fork down, wiped his mouth on a linen napkin and said, “For the occasion, Ed?”
“What was that, Douglas?” said De Roché, a sour smile forming on his mouth.
“A moment ago you mentioned that you had these wines brought in for the occasion. What occasion would that be?”
Annie kicked Doug under the table. Doug acted like he hadn’t noticed although it hurt like hell.
De Roché’s sour smile congealed. “I would think it obvious, Douglas.”
“The occasion of your wife’s murder? Is that what you’re celebrating? Oh, yes, I forgot. Rachael was murdered last night. Let’s all rejoice.” Again Doug lifted his wine glass, this time toasting the entire congregation. No one moved.
De Roché stared at Doug, his eyes livid pinpricks.
A tall, owlish woman of perhaps sixty, who sat just to Greta’s right, and whose name Doug could not recall, conspicuously cleared her throat and said, “The occasion of Rachael’s passing, Mr. McArthur. We are all aware of the fact that she was murdered. There’s nothing any of us can do about that. We are here to celebrate her life. Rachael was a dear friend of mine and I can assure you she would have been moved by this show of affection.”
Doug glanced around the table from guest to guest. There wasn’t a serious griever amongst these phonies. Although they had all seemed initially shocked at Doug’s impertinence, most had renewed the task of attacking food and drink with relish. Doug saw fat business types with over-fed florid faces, grease running down their chins, gorging themselves on the delicious cuisine and draining bottle after bottle of De Roché’s most expensive vintages. These men were all greed and no substance, each with a young trophy on his arm. Doug doubted that any of the women even knew Rachael. The only real woman in attendance other than Annie and Greta was Ms. Owlish I-can’t-remember-her-name and she seemed to have an honest measure of affection for Rachael. Doug wondered what her place was in the scheme of things.
“I see,” said Doug, picking his glass up and discovering it empty.
De Roché snapped his fingers. A waiter came round the table and refilled it.
“The boy needs a little more lubricant for the tongue,” De Roché said, now seeming to relish Doug’s rapidly slipping sobriety.
“Here, here,” Voglar said in his obnoxiously guttural voice. He was holding his glass out as if to propose a toast.
“This wine is good,” Dena, his slouching female companion said, speaking of the wine. She giggled drunkenly before upending her glass and drinking it down like soda pop. De Roché nodded his approval.
“No, daddy,” Annie cried. “Stop this now!”
“Stop what, darling?”
“This . . . insanity.”
“I am merely celebrating your mother’s life, darling, and as usual your husband is making a fool of himself.”
“You haven’t spoken of my mother once during dinner,” Annie said. “Doug’s right. This is all wrong. This isn’t a celebration of mama’s life. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not that.” Annie stood up. “These people don’t care about mama. They’re here to gloat, to eat gourmet food and drink expensive wine. I don’t even know them. I want to know why you’re doing this!”
“I have my reasons,” De Roché said. “Now sit down, please.”
“I will not sit down!” Annie said.
“Think of the baby,” Greta said from her place at the opposite end of the table. Her dark stare seemed to pierce Annie’s abdomen like a knife.
“You go to hell!” Annie snapped. “I’ve had enough of you . . . of this . . . of everything!”
“Annie,” De Roché began but Annie, now in tears was already halfway to the door.
“No, daddy,” Annie sobbed. “I can’t do this.” With that, she was out the door and gone.
Annie’s sudden departure elicited whispers from around the table. Doug sat quietly, taking it all in.
“Annie will come around,” said De Roché. “She’s a good girl. She knows the rules.”
“Yes,” said Du Lac, standing. “I’m sure she will. A toast to Annie then.” He held his wine glass out before him, his ample belly swaying. “To Annie, to the heir and to the future.”
“Wait a minute,” Du Lac’s mistress, the woman named Lilly said, “my glass is empty.” Doug looked along the table and several of the guests were pouring themselves more wine. Du Lac was still standing, holding his glass out in front of his massive belly. A waiter came forward to assist in the pouring but De Roché waved him away. With a sweep of his arm he took in the entire catering staff.
“All of you out,” he said. “We would like to be left alone now. Greta will accompany you to the kitchen. She’ll give you your instructions.” He smiled at Greta. The woman rose obediently and left the room, the workers following.
Doug had taken about all of this he could stand. His mind had latched onto something Du Lac had said a moment ago. Something about the heir and the future. “What the hell did you mean by that?” he said, looking narrowly at the man.
“Douglas . . .” De Roché warned.
Doug stood up so quickly his knee contacted the underside of the table upending several wine glasses. The effort caused his head to spin wildly. “I want to know what that fat son of a bitch meant.”
“I was making a reference to the future, my boy,” Du Lac said.
“The future of the heir will be determined by me and Annie,” Doug said, “not by a bunch of drunken businessmen and their whores.” He turned and looked directly at De Roché. “And certainly not by you.”
De Roché’s hooded eyes were steely with hate. “That’s where you’re wrong, Douglas.”
Doug jabbed a finger in De Roché’s direction. “I should never have brought Annie here,” he said.
“But you did bring her here,” Du Lac said. He spoke as if to an imbecile.
“You shut the fuck up!” Doug said, turning on the man. Fighting back the urge to smash him in the face, Doug leaned forward, and with one sweep of his hand he cleared half a dozen place settings and nearly as many bottles of wine from the table. Lilly screamed as everything shattered to the floor around her and Du Lac’s feet. Doug didn’t wait to see how much damage he’d done. He backed away and stumbled to the door.
By the time he’d reached the top of the back stairway he knew he was going to be sick. He lurched down the stairs, hand outstretched against the wall for support. He reached the back door without falling, threw it open and staggered out into the night, breathing in the warm, thick air. He staggered blindly across the lawn not knowing which direction to take. He thought briefly of the silent Dobermans and the estate’s perimeter. What the hell, his reeling mind said. It seems to be a night for feasts. Let there be another. He saw the outline of the woods in the distance. He ran towards them hoping to find sanctuary in them.
Chapter 25
Doug ran into the forest, the wet undergrowth dragging at his legs until he was so deep in the stand of trees he could see neither house nor lights. There he stopped, bent forward, breathing in vast spasms, his sweaty hands resting on his trembling knees. Bile gurgled at the back of his throat. No longer able to hold it back he let go. His head spun and his ears whined. A sudden and irrational fear crawled up from his belly along with the undigested food and wine. He made no effort to control the spasms, and the fear was something beyond him, all mixed up with his drunkenness, all mixed up with the darkness of his life. For a moment he was certain of nothing, not even his physical existence.
He staggered away wandering aimlessly in the forest. He tried to focus his thoughts on the chaos of the past eighteen hours, but
it was no use. There was no sense to be made of it and Doug realized that he was far too drunk for any sort of rational thought.
Exhausted, he staggered and went down, and as darkness settled over him like a shroud his final thoughts were of the dogs. Where were they? Why weren’t they making a meal of him?
Chapter 26
Doug awoke to a series of screams that, even at a distance, carried a freight of blind panic that made his skin clammy with fear. His first thought was of Annie, but he soon dismissed it. The screams were not coming from her. He knew her voice and this was not it. Besides, no harm would come to her here. Of this he was certain. She had something the old man wanted, and she would be protected until the day she could deliver it.
He sat up straining to make sense of the din. Now there were male voices added to the mix, shouts and commands. The earth was wet where he’d lain and it smelled ripe and hot beneath him. His mind churned with terrible images of death that he could make no logical sense of. He did not know what time it was. He had no idea how long he’d been out. His head thrummed like an abscessed tooth.
Soon the din became intermittent. Struggling to his feet he began to move toward it. Small animals scuttled before him. He could hear them moving through the palmettos. Presently he saw light. He stopped, seeking focus through the stand of trees. Though he could not articulate the light’s source, it was bright and it seemed to be coming from the same direction as the sound. He froze. There was a tall figure several yards ahead of him, first still then moving. Concentrating he tried to fix the figure against the matrix of light and shadow. He could make no sense of it.
It moved like a ghost, so quiet, so casual. Or perhaps it was merely an illusion, conjured by his taxed mind. He watched it as a still deer might watch a hunter. It seemed to glide through the forest unhindered by trees and undergrowth. Impossible, he knew, but still, the illusion persisted. Fear settled in his bowels, not the logical fear of adulthood borne from life’s experience, this was something else, the barbed irrational fear of childhood, elemental fear.
But fear alone was not enough to stem his curiosity. He moved forward following the illusion until he came to a small clearing lit by an open fire. Not far beyond the clearing the dull shadow of the mysterious stone building he’d seen earlier in the day loomed. Now Doug could see several other illusions, or perhaps they were men, he could not be sure, for the figures seemed fluid, backlit by flames. Two of them seemed to be staring down at something on the ground. The tall figure Doug had seen moments ago was no longer visible.
He inched closer trying to make sense of it all.
Was there some sort of ritual afoot?
The screams he’d heard earlier had subsided to whimpers. The voice was that of a woman. Doug chanced a few more tentative steps closer to the illusion straining to see with his eyes what his mind did not want him to see. As the scene became clearer he felt his sanity slipping by degrees.
De Roché and Du Lac stood in the center of the circle, and out beyond them at the very edge of the clearing stood Joe Remy with three leashed Dobermans. The dogs were working against their restraints, their mouths frothing. There was blood in their eyes and on theirs snouts. Beside Remy stood Theo. Theo showed no emotion. Remy’s eyes were bright with terror.
“She ran,” Du Lac was saying to nobody in particular, his eyes fixed on the object at his feet. “I tried to stop her but she was drunk and she just slipped out of my grasp. I tried to warn her but she wouldn’t listen. Oh, dear God, what do we do now?”
“She’s still alive,” De Roché said without emotion. “I don’t know how, but she is.”
“But what do we do, Ed?”
“I’ll take care of it,” De Roché said.
“But how?”
“I have men, and they have shovels.”
“But she’s not dead.”
“She soon will be.”
Doug suddenly realized why the dogs had left him alone. They’d been busy elsewhere.
On the ground at De Roché’s feet lay Lilly, Du Lac’s wife or whore, or whatever the hell she was. It was obvious that she’d been mauled nearly to death by the Dobermans; the ground around her ruined body was covered in something dark and wet. Doug could not see the woman well enough in the dim light to ascertain how much damage had been done to her. He guessed that was a good thing.
“What is this?” asked Du Lac gesturing toward the fire pit.
“Sometimes my men get bored,” De Roché explained. “So they come here and have a fire. Gives them focus, something to do during the long nights.”
“No,” said Du Lac, backing away a careful step. “This is more than a relief from boredom. This is a place of ritual. The firestones are set in the shape of a pentagram. And Lilly ran directly here, as if she was drawn to it.”
“Don’t be silly, Alistair,” De Roché said dismissively.
“No, I’m sure, Ed. I chased her. And I saw something.”
“What did you see?”
“I don’t know. A man, but not a man. Very tall with a black robe and hood. He was with her when I got here. He was bent over her doing something to her. When he saw me he disappeared. Then the dogs arrived. The dogs did not even go near me. They wanted her.”
“Now you listen to me,” De Roché said. “You need to focus on the business at hand.” De Roché turned toward the dogs and their handler. “Remy!” he said. “Take the dogs back to their kennel. I will deal with you later.”
“But he’s right,” Remy said, his eyes bright with fear. “He was here. I saw him. I swear. That’s why I let the dogs go.”
“Remy, shut up!” De Roché barked. “The dogs were not chasing a phantom. They were chasing this stupid woman. Do you understand?”
“But you weren’t here,” Remy insisted. “You didn’t see what I saw.”
“One more word out of you, Remy . . .”
“Joe!” Theo warned.
“Get out of my sight,” De Roché said flapping his hand dismissively.
“Come on, Joe,” Theo said, taking Remy by the arm and leading him away from the carnage.
“Gather up Savage,” De Roché said to his departing security chief. “I need you two back here pronto with shovels.”
“Yes, sir.” In a moment he and Remy and the leashed animals were out beyond the circle of flames moving toward the kennel.
On the ground the woman’s whimpering had ceased.
Du Lac knelt beside her. “I think she’s dead,” he said. “Dear God.”
“Now you listen to me, Alistair,” De Roché said. “We cannot let our emotions cloud our judgment here. There’s too much at stake.”
“But I don’t understand, Ed. What did the dog handler see? What did I see? ”
“Nothing,” said De Roché. “He’s a fool and he saw nothing. Do you understand?”
“But—”
“No buts, Alistair. Do you understand me?”
Evidently De Roché’s tone was enough to silence his subordinate, for he stopped arguing.
“Now,” De Roché said, his tone signaling new business. “Who was this woman?”
“Lilly.”
“Yes, Lilly. I know her name. Who was she?”
“An escort. From one of the Tampa agencies.”
“I hope you were discreet.”
Du Lac stood up. “Yes, Ed. My staff is nothing but discreet. No real names are ever given. Credit cards are untraceable.”
“All right then, I need you to leave now,” De Roché said. “Go home and forget what you saw here. Everything will be taken care of.”
Du Lac stared at De Roché for a long moment before turning and tracing his footsteps back the way he’d come, the sound of rolling thunder seeming to follow him like an omen as he went.
Doug had seen and heard enough. He began backing carefully into the forest, his mind reeling. The Collector had been here tonight. That’s who he’d seen moving through the forest. Remy had seen him too, as well as Du Lac. He’d been doing somethi
ng to Lilly when he was interrupted by the dogs. There could be no doubt.
As Doug began his turn a twig snapped beneath his shoe. Doug stood, rooted to the spot. There was no way to avoid being seen. For a long moment the old man simply stared across the expanse of lit clearing. Then he nodded a short, sharp nod that was plainly acknowledgement. I see you, it said. And I know what you’ve seen and heard here tonight. Then the old man turned and walked toward the row of cypresses that lined the edge of the clearing.
Chapter 27
Sometime later Doug entered the house through the kitchen’s rear entrance. The door was unlocked and there was not a soul about. He stole up the stairs like a thief and slipped into Annie’s room, undressed and sat on the edge of the bed watching her sleep. He’d never felt this hopeless. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her away from this terrible place. But he knew she would not go. He knew that he’d somehow lost her to the power that lived here, and he had to figure out how to get her back.
They slept the remainder of that night on Annie’s childhood bed; arms around each other in a long exhausted sleep. If anything stirred in the mansion, Doug did not hear it. But once during the night he dreamed he heard the distant cacophony of beating wings. Birds, he thought, and then he remembered and he was afraid. The dim residue of a night filled with confusion and death lingered in his dreaming mind, but whenever he forced his thoughts to focus on the chaos inside the dreams the images fragmented and scattered like a thousand spooked and flailing winged creatures.
Through his lace of sleep Doug’s mind picked up a signal from some impossible place. My name is Ariel, the voice said. Doug dreamed that the voice was the voice of his unborn child. He saw her in all her angelic beauty and his heart cried out with a nearly desperate love. How is it that you are my daughter? He asked.
Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) Page 15