The Tao of the Viper: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 2)

by Linda Watkins

  “Okay, and thanks, Katy. This is beginning to scare the bejesus out of me. I’m glad I’ve got you on my side.”

  “I love you and am going to grow old with you, understand? Nothing is going to change that. Now, I’ll unhook your IV and catheter, but I want you to stay here and rest, at least until afternoon. Okay?”

  He grinned. “Yes, Doctor. But are you ever going to feed me?”

  “Yes, I am,” I replied, laughing. “I’ll go make something right now. And, also, I’m going to put your clothes in the wash. They stink real bad from all the fever sweating you did last night.”

  He grinned and kissed me gently. “I love you, too, Doctor. Now, hurry up with that food – and don’t forget the coffee.”

  I quickly gathered up his clothing and left the room. Letting Steve know where I was going, I walked down the hall to Stormview’s laundry room.

  I put Jeremy’s clothing down on a table and stared at it for a moment. I hadn’t been entirely truthful with him. His clothing was soiled from fever sweat and did need a good washing, but I had another more important objective.

  On the way back from the silo, I’d thought long and hard about what Maude had written in her diary. A lot of it was, I was sure, exaggeration and based on superstition, but somewhere in there was a kernel of truth.

  I’d played over in my mind especially how, after confronting Morrison, Maude and her husband had tried to leave the estate with Samuel, but had been prevented from doing so. Eventually, Maude’s husband found a talisman – a flat rock – in his step-son’s pocket – a rock that somehow tied the boy to Ian Morrison. I wondered now if I would find something similar in Jeremy’s clothing – a talisman put there by the modern-day Morrison.

  Oh, it wasn’t that I believed the old man had supernatural powers like those described by Maude. But I did think that maybe he was delusional and dangerous. He might think he had superhuman powers and, through his delusion, was doing something to Jeremy.

  Knowing intellectually that this was probably just another fool’s errand, I began to rifle through Jeremy’s clothing. Finding nothing unusual in his shirt and jacket, I put them in the washer and began to check his jeans. The front pockets were empty except for his keys and a receipt from the boatyard. I put these aside then turned the pants over. His wallet was in one of the back pockets and I put it with the keys. Only one pocket left.

  I reached inside and, to my surprise, my fingers wrapped around a cool, flat object. I pulled it out and stared at it.

  Sitting in the middle of my palm was the perfect skipping stone.

  My mouth fell open. I hadn’t really expected to find anything. But there it was. Just like back in 1698 – a talisman – something that bound my lover to…

  I couldn’t finish that thought. It was too impossible.

  My mind raced back to the words I’d read in Maude’s diary. What was it Micah had said? Something about a skipping stone being returned to where it came from – the ocean.

  I closed my fingers around the stone, grasping it tightly. Then, decided, I put the talisman in my pocket. I tossed the jeans into the washer, set it on regular, and, after gathering up Jeremy’s wallet and other belongings, left the room.

  I went to the kitchen and put two slices of bread in the toaster, then quickly nuked some scrambled eggs. When everything was done, I put the food on a tray and hurried back to the clinic.

  “Your breakfast, mi ‘lord,” I announced as I entered his room. “Nothing fancy, but it is nourishing. You start on this and I’ll bring you some coffee.”

  He thanked me and I quickly left the room, returning a couple minutes later with a steaming cup of java.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I said. “I have something to do. You eat and rest. Okay?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” he replied as he shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

  After exiting the room, I walked to the front desk where Nadia now sat typing away on her computer.

  “Nadia,” I said. “I have to go out for a few minutes. I should be back in plenty of time for my first appointment. If you need me, page me.”

  “Yes, Dr. Pomeroy.”

  Nodding, I grabbed my coat and rushed out the front door.

  The shore was only a ten-minute walk away and I quickened my pace. The pocket that held the skipping stone felt hot, as if the little talisman were trying to burn its way out.

  I put that notion aside. It was just anxiety and foolishness.

  When I reached the beach, I stopped for a moment, gazing at the horizon. Then, taking a deep breath, I walked to the shoreline.

  “Okay,” I said. “This is probably stupid, but here goes nothing.”

  As I spoke, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the stone. Holding it sideways in my hand, I took a breath, then let it go – skipping it like my mother had taught me so long ago.

  One, two, three, four, five times it skipped across the water before sinking quickly beneath the surface.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought I heard a scream of rage as the stone disappeared into the water, but there was no one on the beach but me.

  A sense of dread washed over me as I watched the stone sink into the abyss. I had the distinct feeling that events were suddenly overtaking me and that, somehow, to save Jeremy, I would need to catch up and catch up fast.

  Feeling uneasy, I began to walk back up the beach. If I found out later that that rock was a keepsake or good luck charm from Jeremy’s childhood, I’d have some serious explaining to do.

  I turned and took one last look at the water – at the place where the rock had vanished. It was almost as if I expected it to rise again and fly back to my hand.

  Of course, it did no such thing.

  Smiling, I turned and hurried back to the clinic.

  52

  The Old Man

  Anger

  IAN MORRISON WOKE with a start. The talisman was gone!

  In his mind’s eye, he saw the Pomeroy woman take the stone he had so carefully designed and watched her toss it into the sea.

  Anger raged within him and, unable to contain his ire, he screamed to the heavens.

  “AY-EEEEEEE!”

  How had she known? he asked himself as he tried to control his fury. She has no knowledge of what I am or what I’m planning. And, the talisman was just an ordinary stone – one that anyone living in this place might keep in his pocket. So, how did she know?

  He closed his eyes, thinking, but couldn’t find an answer. Frustrated, he turned his attention back to the lost talisman.

  That stone had been imbued with power. Not the power to bind the subject to this island. No, that would have caused suspicion. Instead, I designed this talisman to manipulate the subject – cause him to regard me as his benefactor – his confidant – almost like his lover. Thus, as a result, whenever I approached him, I wouldn’t be rebuffed. The talisman made the target malleable, like putty in my hand.

  But, now, without the binding power of the stone, the subject will be free to resist and, given the weakness of my powers, that could prove fatal.

  Acknowledging this, Ian Morrison eased himself out of bed and into his wheelchair. There was no more time for hibernation. No matter how long he slept, he would never regain what he had once had.

  Perhaps, he thought, I miscalculated and there will be no more transformations – that trying this last one will ultimately result in my death.

  He wheeled himself to the window and gazed out. The sky looked cold and icy.

  “Damn that woman!” he screamed to the frigid night. “She will pay. For if I am to die, I will take her man with me!”

  Chuckling at the thought of the good Dr. Pomeroy consumed by grief, he wheeled himself back to the bed, where an intercom sat on the side table.

  Pushing a button, he waited for a response.

  “Grandfather?”

  “Get me food and wine! And make it snappy!”

  53

  Kate

  A Plan Form
ulates

  I DISCHARGED JEREMY at noon under the condition that he take a couple days off work and that he show up at my house at seven and plan to spend the night. He balked a bit at the former, but readily agreed to the latter.

  After he left, I saw my last patient, then went to my office. I didn’t have anything else until five-thirty when I needed to sit in on one of Steve’s opioid addiction groups. My attendance was required in case someone needed medical advice.

  As I waited, I turned on my computer and pulled up Jeremy’s latest bloodwork and graphed it.

  It was much like the last CBC, only the abnormalities were more pronounced. I then pulled Ian Morrison’s chart and graphed his bloodwork, too. After reviewing the levels, I utilized a transparency to place Morrison’s results over Jeremy’s.

  I frowned when I looked at the resulting graph. My fiancé’s blood levels mirrored the old man’s, although they were not yet identical.

  I sat back and closed my eyes, remembering that old tale that Maude Prichard had related in her diary about the serpent and the boy. The snake, I recalled, had been a king cobra.

  On a hunch, I searched the Internet until I found an analysis of a cobra’s blood. I took down the levels then charted them in my system.

  Holding my breath, I placed that chart over the one I had made of the old man’s and Jeremy’s.

  I gasped.

  Morrison’s blood levels mirrored the snake’s and Jeremy’s were rapidly approaching a match to both.

  Tears welled in my eyes. What the hell was going on? What was that old man doing to Jeremy?

  I angrily wiped my tears away. The information in the diary was spot-on, but it was unbelievable. How could all this supernatural crap be real?

  Was that old man somehow poisoning Jeremy? Injections? Hypnosis?

  My mind was a mess and I leaned back again in my chair, trying to make sense of it all.

  I need to talk to someone, I thought. Someone who may know what’s really happening. But who?

  My mind raced through the people I knew who had interactions with the old man. The only one who might be sympathetic to my cause was Mary Morrison – the woman whose nose had been broken.

  I thought back to the day she came to the clinic. I never bought her explanation for the injury. I’d thought, at first, that maybe Terrance had popped her a good one. But maybe I was wrong. Could it have been the old man? Could he have taken his rage out on her? And, if so, why? Did she know something about what was happening to Jeremy?

  I pictured Mary in my mind. What did I really know about her? She was in her mid-forties and had been married to Terrance for some twenty-odd years. They had no children. She’d once been an athlete – a long-distance runner. People said she was of Olympic caliber, but she gave everything up to marry into the Morrison family. From what I could see, she loved her husband almost desperately.

  Perhaps because of that, she could be the weak link in the chain. I also had the sense that she hated the old bastard – despised him as much as she loved her husband – hated him as much as I now did.

  I closed down the computer, mulling over what to do. I checked my watch. It was time to join Steve in the opioid group. Afterward, the evening was Jeremy’s and mine. I prayed he was still feeling good and hadn’t had a relapse.

  I got up from my desk and walked to the door.

  Mary Morrison, I thought. You’re going to tell me everything you know.

  54

  Kate

  Night Terrors

  OVER THE NEXT few days, Jeremy continued to do well and I relaxed my guard a bit. The holidays were rapidly approaching and he insisted he needed some time alone to catch up on his near to year-end accounting.

  “Just stay home,” I said. “Don’t go out anywhere. And, if the Morrisons show up on your doorstep, don’t let them in.”

  Jeremy laughed. “What’s this thing you’ve got with Mary and Terry? They’re a little snooty, but basically good people.”

  “It’s not them. I can take ‘em or leave ‘em. It’s that old man – Ian Morrison. I worry that he’s got some kind of sickness that he could be passing on to you.”

  Jeremy frowned. “What do you mean? Like he’s a Typhoid Mary or something?”

  “Yeah, something like that. He certainly doesn’t look well. It seems that every time you’re close to him, you end up with a fever. There has to be some connection, but at this point, I don’t know what it is.”

  Jeremy grinned, obviously humoring me. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be good. And, if the Morrisons come knocking at my door, I’ll show them the business end of my shotgun.”

  I laughed. “Well, you don’t have to go that far. Just politely refuse their company, okay?”

  By the time I got home from work, I was beat. Figuring lack of sleep was beginning to catch up to me, I decided to forego any alcoholic beverages and, instead, nuke myself a cup of tea.

  I searched through the cupboard until I found a box of chamomile tea bags. I put one in a mug with water and added a teaspoon of the loose Splenda that I kept in a bowl on the counter.

  When it was nice and hot, I took the mug and sat down on the couch.

  I worked on my laptop for a few minutes while the tea steeped. When it was ready, I leaned back and took a sip.

  Ah, I thought, that’s just what the doctor ordered.

  I worked a while longer until my eyelids began to feel heavy. I felt a sense of delicious drowsiness wash over me and, too tired to go to bed, I stretched out on the couch and closed my eyes.

  I drifted in and out of sleep as one dream after another wafted through my mind. At one point, I thought Jeremy was with me and I wrapped my arms around myself as if I were holding him close.

  As I slept, however, the dreams began to get darker, more sinister in nature. Everything around me turned from bright colors to shadowy shades of gray and I became aware of a silhouette standing over me. In the darkness, I couldn’t make out who or what it was – everything was losing shape, becoming almost liquid, and I struggled to find something solid to grasp onto.

  “See,” said a disembodied voice. “Just like I said. She takes to it like water.”

  The voice echoed across the room and I couldn’t tell where it was coming from or if it was male or female. I felt a wave of fear pass through me and I struggled to wake up, but my body refused to obey my mind’s commands.

  “Watch,” the voice said.

  A hand appeared out of nowhere. I flinched as the fingers touched my cheek. Frightened, I tried to cry out.

  “Shush,” the voice said as the hand began caressing my face gently.

  Despite my fear, I heard myself moan with delight at the softness of the hand’s touch.

  “Watch,” the voice whispered again.

  The fingers now trailed slowly down to my chin, cupping it, while the thumb lightly brushed my lips.

  The effect was incredibly sensual and, again, I couldn’t help but moan with desire. The thumb continued to slowly stroke my lips and, uncontrollably, my body began to writhe with mounting passion.

  Someone laughed.

  And then the hand was gone and I was alone again.

  I woke with a splitting headache. My mouth felt dry and I stumbled to the bathroom for a glass of water.

  Drinking deeply, I put the cup down and splashed more water on my face to try to clear my head. I felt like I’d had too much to drink the night before, but I hadn’t.

  I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I looked like something the cat had drug in.

  I brushed my teeth then went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. When it was brewed, I sat at the dining room table to try to piece together what had happened the night before.

  Nothing.

  I’d come home, brewed myself a cup of tea, and fallen asleep.

  I shook my head. If that was all that had happened, then why did I feel so strange?

  Had someone been here last night? Someone uninvited?

  I though
t about the book I’d noticed being out of place on the shelf the day I’d gone to the silo. I got up and looked at the bookcase.

  The novel was back where it belonged.

  Had I done that? I thought not.

  I sat back down and sipped my coffee, trying to remember the dreams I’d had the night before. They were hiding at the edge of my consciousness, but I couldn’t catch hold of them.

  Knowing, somehow, that they were important, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and tried to put myself into a meditative state. After sitting quietly for about fifteen minutes, the illusions from the night before began to come clear.

  I remembered dreaming about Jeremy, and that memory made me smile. But what my mind created after that was anything but pleasant.

  Someone had been here!

  I’d heard voices and someone had touched me!

  As that realization sunk in, my stomach turned and I raced to the bathroom.

  When the dry heaves were finally over, I walked back to the kitchen. The sugar bowl and box of tea bags were sitting on the counter.

  That cup of tea was the only thing I’d ingested the night before. Had someone laced my innocent sweetener with drugs? Opioids?

  I examined the box of tea bags. They could have been injected with something, but I doubted it. If I’d been drugged, the sweetener was the most likely culprit. Was someone trying to make me go crazy again?

  I looked down at my coffee cup. The remaining liquid contained a teaspoon of that sweetener. Glad that I’d only taken a couple sips before I’d gotten sick, I poured what was left down the drain.