Dazed, she managed to struggle to her feet and took several steps. There was a quick choking tug as mud oozed in over her shoes, and with a startled cry, she tried to pull one foot free.
It wouldn’t budge.
Determinedly she tried again, but as the water drew her perilously off center, she felt her other foot slip, and mud closed over it like a steel trap.
This is ridiculous … I can get out of here if I just don’t panic. Holding out her arms for balance, Olivia fought desperately to stay calm. She could see the oak tree, the spot where she’d just been standing, but though she twisted and strained, the branches stayed just out of reach. She could see the bank and the marsh grass and beyond that, the formidable stretch of forest, so close, so maddeningly close, and yet so far away …
She tried to fling the upper part of her body toward the tree, groaning as her lower half resisted. Slime sucked at her legs, and the mud was rising to her knees. As her eyes sought desperately along the embankment, she saw the tall weeds moving … bending … as though something were gliding through them, swiftly, toward the water.
“Oh, God—”
She twisted and threw herself in a frenzy, painful images racing through her mind—alligators … water moccasins …
Quicksand …
The full horror of her situation burst upon her at last, and as she felt the water and muck clamp relentlessly around her knees, she began to scream.
“Help me! Somebody! Please!”
Surely someone would hear her—had to hear her—she couldn’t die like this, not like this, so slowly, so close to her one chance at life—
“Screams don’t mean anything here …”
And she heard Skyler’s voice again, his smooth, smug tone, the warning he’d given her—but it’s only in my mind, isn’t it?—her eyes sweeping along the murky bank, suddenly seeing the grasses part, the tall figure stepping out slowly to the very edge of the shore …
For a heart-stopping second his silhouette hung against the shadows, and then, as Olivia’s distrusting eyes traveled upward, he leaned out over the water.
“Well, well.” Skyler smiled. “What have we here?”
Olivia felt weak, giddy with fear and relief. “Oh, thank God … I didn’t think anyone would come.”
“It seems you’re in quite a predicament.” His eyes traveled over her. “All dressed up and no place to go.”
“This is no time for making jokes! Can’t you see I’m stuck out here!”
“Yes. I can see that.” The smile flickered. “And whatever are you doing way out there anyway?”
“Please get me out.”
“Exploring, I’d guess,” he went on, answering his own question. “And I’d also guess that you probably came through the gardens on your way.”
Olivia nodded, reaching out to him.
“And that you probably realized you’d underestimated my … talents.” The green eyes flashed.
She was growing more panicky by the second. “Help me!”
“So did you enjoy them?” He folded his arms across his chest and gazed off into the woods. “The gardens, I mean?”
“Yes! Yes!” Her gaze went helplessly around the water, but there was nothing to grab on to. “What do you want me to say—they were beautiful!”
“Why, thank you.” Skyler gave a sweeping bow, then eased himself down the slope of the embankment. Olivia could see him—only yards away—his movements sure and unhurried. “I have many other talents, you know,” Skyler added. “You might even enjoy them more than my gardening.”
Olivia stopped struggling. Something in his voice cut straight through her, and she stared at him, her pulse racing.
“Take off your blouse,” Skyler said.
Olivia couldn’t move. Her legs sank deeper, and in some remote part of her brain she watched herself being sucked into a bottomless hole.
“Skyler …” she mumbled, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from his eyes, from the look of cool detachment on his face.
“Do you want to die?” he asked patiently. “If you don’t want to die, then do as I say. Take off your blouse. Slowly. Take it off and throw it up here on the bank.”
Take off your dress, Olivia … nice and slow … like a good girl …
No, Mama, please don’t make me …
Take off your dress, Olivia … so he can see … so he can see what a pretty, pretty girl you are …
No, Mama, I’m afraid—
I won’t let him touch you … I won’t let him touch my special, pretty girl … he can look at you but he can never never touch—
“I won’t,” Olivia’s voice was hollow, and it sounded like it came from some other faraway place. “Do you hear me? I won’t.”
“Yes, I hear you, but no one else can.” Skyler sighed. “No one will come. And if I tell them you drowned out here, no one will probably care.”
Take off your dress, Olivia … let him see … you know how to do this … you’ve done it before …
No, Mama, please, you’re hurting me—
I have to hurt you … I have to hurt you if you don’t do what Mama says … take it off now, Olivia.
She felt her arms moving, someone else’s arms, undoing the buttons down the front of her blouse. Her eyes looked deep into Skyler’s. She slipped the blouse down over her shoulders and tossed it to where he was standing.
In one feline movement he stooped and picked it up. He pressed it to his face … held it there a long time, as if absorbing its scent, as if memorizing the empty feel of it. Watching him, Olivia began to tremble.
“Now.” Skyler’s arm dropped to his side, the blouse trailing in the mud. “Keep going.”
Don’t let him look at me … don’t let him, Mama—I’ll be good—I’ll do anything—
“I’ll do anything you want,” Olivia murmured, “if you just get me out of here—”
She could scarcely move at all now, the bayou was sucking her, swallowing her whole, and Skyler was watching and waiting with a slow, satisfied smile.
“The rest of it,” he said. “Then I’ll get you out. And then you’ll still do anything I want.”
And she felt so hot now, so horribly hot, yet her skin was wet and cold, like her soul felt cold—her mind going vague and unfocused, the way she’d taught it to do—shutting out the horror of what was happening, pretending to be someone else in some other place—
“Do it!” he hissed.
She reached for the tiny clasp between her breasts. The straps of her bra slid gently off her shoulders. She could feel her nipples hardening through the thin, see-through material, burning beneath Skyler’s stare.
“Hurry,” he said, leaning back against the tree. “You don’t have much time.”
See what a pretty girl she is? Take a good long look at my Olivia … take a good, long look …
The hook came open, shaking in Olivia’s fingers, pulling slowly, slowly apart.
Her breasts spilled out, full and round and aching.
She threw her bra at Skyler’s feet and tried in vain to shield herself from his eyes.
“Take your hands away,” he ordered.
Obediently she lowered her arms, a roar of silent rage rushing through the darkness of her mind, only she couldn’t seem to do it this time—to get outside herself—even though she was trying so hard, and it had been so easy before … And instead she was burning, burning beneath Skyler’s eyes, her nipples taut, unbearable heat and ice swelling through her breasts—waves of shame and something else—something else—throbbing deep deep inside—helpless and hurting—and he wasn’t saying a word, not doing anything to save her—
Help me, Mama … please … please …
“Give me your hand.”
Olivia saw Skyler gliding down the embankment. He waded out toward her through the reeds and the rushes and the strange, exotic flowers.
“Bend forward,” he said calmly. “Swim to me.”
As if in a dream, she did as she was told. She saw his hands reaching ou
t … she saw his feet anchoring themselves against the slippery bank. With a slow, final pull, she felt her body slide free of the water and into the wet heat of his arms.
His fingers moved slowly down her spine, and she gasped, arching her back, looking up into his clever green eyes. And “I’ll kill you,” she whispered, meeting his stare with a level one of her own—“I’ll kill you, I swear—”
His lips crushed hers, and she felt herself falling, floating, spread upon the soft, soft ground, and all she could see was his shadow towering over her … invincible stone against the sky, the calm, steely strength of him—and then his slow deliberate movement as he bent forward … as he lowered himself on top of her …
“No …” she whispered. “Don’t. Don’t touch me …”
She felt his mouth upon her breast, warm and hungry … surprisingly gentle … and demanding.
I will kill you … I will …
And as his hands began to explore her … taking their time … the trees and the sky and the thick, gray moss all ran together in a merciful blur … all became one with the smothering fog in her mind.
12
“MY GOD, WHAT HAPPENED? Is she—”
“Oh, don’t worry, she’s all right. I haven’t done that to her—yet.”
“I don’t want her hurt, not after what happened to Antoinette.”
“Forget about Antoinette. She’s dead now and not a worry to us anymore. You let things upset you too much. Stop putting feelings before survival—that makes it dangerous for all of us.”
“You were too rough last night, throwing her around like that.”
“Well, if I’d waited for you to do something, it wouldn’t have gotten done. We don’t have much of a choice anymore with Antoinette dead and Helen so sickly and you still refusing to take Mathilde.”
“The poor girl was terrified.”
“That was your fault—if you hadn’t gotten so close to her, I could have stunned her first. I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“I’m … sorry. I’ve never been as good at it as you, we both know that. Not even after all this time …”
“It doesn’t matter anyway about last night. I’m the only one she really saw—not you—and Yoly got her calmed down.”
“But Helen was in her room this morning. She’s bound to wonder about that—”
“Why should she? Anyone who saw Helen would just assume she’s crazy. Which she is.”
“And we’re not supposed to feel responsible about that either, I suppose?”
“Don’t start that again. Are you hungry now or what?”
“Just look at the way she’s lying there … just look at her.”
“I am looking. She looks just as good now as she did last night in front of the mirror—”
“I was right, wasn’t I? About how beautiful she is.”
“Perfect for us, that’s all that matters. Perfect. Alone. And sweet. And so, so ready.”
“I want it done right, do you hear me? I don’t want her to know what’s happening.”
“She won’t know. They never know. Why are you so worried about this one? Why is this one any different from the others?”
“I have … a feeling about her. She is different. Somehow.”
“Well, she’s not as fragile as she looks. Her will is strong. She’s hungry for life. And she’s passionate. She doesn’t even realize how passionate she is. But I do.”
“Don’t hurt her.”
“Why would I hurt her? She has to last us a long … long … time.”
Olivia was having the strangest dream.
She was lying in a vast gray emptiness, completely alone, and yet there were voices very near to her, masculine voices, speaking urgently in loud whispers. One of them seemed unhappy and profoundly upset about something. The other sounded impatient and apathetic. In her dream she tried to listen to what they were saying, but after a hurried exchange that she could barely hear and didn’t understand, both voices faded away. Olivia groaned out loud and woke herself up.
She was lying in tall grass and was soaking wet. Her leg was throbbing with pain, and as she struggled to sit up, reality crashed down on her with a terrible clarity.
Oh my God … Skyler …
Dazed, she looked around—saw the bayou, thick and sluggish off to her left, the huge oak tree leaning to her right. As memory flooded back, she instinctively tried to cover herself, then stared down in dismay. Her blouse was lying damp and crumpled over her bare breasts. Her skirt was wet, hiked up around her hips, and her legs were covered with mud. She’d lost her shoes in the bayou. As she lay there, trying to make sense of it all, another stab of pain shot through her leg, and she propped herself on her elbows to take a look at it.
The bandage was soggy and loose—she was surprised to see it still hanging there. Purplish bruises showed around all four edges of the gauze, and fresh blood had oozed and dried again since she’d been out of the water. Placing her fingertips carefully on the swollen flesh, Olivia winced at the excruciating pain. She carefully peeled the gauze away, then drew her breath in sharply.
The flesh actually looked chewed.
As if something had bitten—hard—and gnawed before letting go.
“Oh, God … what happened to me?”
Still dazed, Olivia slipped into her blouse, noting at once that all the buttons were gone. She tried to hold it closed across her breasts and straighten her skirt at the same time, then gave up and let the blouse hang open. She peered off at the bayou and tried to reconstruct what had happened before she lost consciousness. She remembered falling into the water and realizing she was trapped … she remembered her terror … and Skyler … and what he had done to her. And there had been sensations, too—strange sensations she’d never felt before … and dreams … and voices in a blur …
She shifted her weight cautiously, trying to block out the sharp, disturbing images in her mind. Skyler’s smile … Skyler’s voice … Skyler’s body lowering … burning like fire … Surely if she’d been raped, she would have known it—would have felt something else besides the wound on her thigh—his eyes on me, his hands on me, his mouth …
Another wave of pain throbbed between her legs, and she bent toward the ground, quivering.
“You’re all right. There’s no need to cry.”
Olivia hadn’t heard anyone approaching. She jerked upright, fumbling the front of her blouse shut.
“Don’t be afraid,” the voice said. “I won’t hurt you.”
And even before Olivia lifted her head, she knew she’d heard that soft, kind voice before—only yesterday evening—behind the closed doors of the dining room. He had been talking to Miss Rose, and after Olivia had pretended to faint, he had stood over her anxiously in the hall. Yet somehow she felt that she’d heard him again since then—some vague and cloudy recollection—and as she began to turn around, she tried to recall the voices in her strange dream just now, the solemn whispers that she hadn’t been able to recognize.
He was standing at her back, towering high above her, his face an indistinct outline against the sky. After a moment of hesitation, he seemed to smile, and as he began to lean down toward her, a cry of surprise caught in her throat.
His face was the face in the portraits.
A likeness so precise it was almost frightening.
Olivia stared into his huge, dark eyes, recognizing at once the mixture of emotions she had seen in the paintings: suffering tempered by gentleness; deep, endless wells of melancholy; compassion that almost made her cry; patience … polite curiosity. And weaving through it all, that strange, calm look of resignation.
“You’re shaking.” He spoke for the third time. “Here. Put this on.”
Before she could move, he was kneeling beside her in the grass, taking off his shirt, placing it carefully around her shoulders. Olivia couldn’t help studying him as he bent close to her. His chest was smooth, his jeans low on his slender hips. He was as tall as Skyler and seemed to exude the sa
me sort of watchful strength, though in a totally harmless and unthreatening way. There was a certain softness to his features that Skyler didn’t have, and as he glanced into Olivia’s eyes, she thought he looked almost shy. She felt his shirt against her skin, the sleeves long and loose and soft, and she nodded at him gratefully, drawing its warmth around her.
“Thank you. I’m afraid I had … an accident.”
“Yes … but it’s over now. And it’s good that you slept.”
“How did you know?”
“I’ve been close by.”
Her eyes widened at his remark. She carefully searched his face.
“What do you mean? Who are you?”
“A friend. Don’t worry, you’re really all right. Nothing happened to you. Skyler was here—but now he’s gone.”
Olivia’s glance quickly swept their surroundings. “You know Skyler?”
“I know him well.”
“And how long have you been … close by?”
“Long enough.” He smiled, avoiding her eyes. “I covered you up. I watched you sleep.”
Olivia felt a slow blush creep over her cheeks. She wanted to be angry, to hate him for having seen her like this, but somehow she couldn’t. She started to stand up but immediately felt his steady hand beneath her elbow, holding her back. Her leg still throbbed, yet curiously enough, the pain seemed almost detached from her now. She looked into his face and repeated her question.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Jesse.”
And it sounded so beautiful, the way he said it … like summer and flowers and warm, safe places.
“Jesse,” Olivia murmured. “Then … you live at Devereaux House.”
“I work there, yes. With the others.”
“And those are your pictures, aren’t they? I’ve seen them hanging there on the walls.”
He looked down, his fingers trailing slowly along the ground. The pressure of his hand was so light that the grass barely moved.
“Someone painted them,” he said at last.
“Who? Miss Rose?”
Again he was silent a long moment. “No … someone who used to live here.”
“Used to?” she echoed, and her voice was puzzled. “Then it must have been very recent. They look exactly like you.”
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