The Night Visitor Page 13

  She picked up the champagne flute and threw it against the headstone where it shattered. A sliver of glass flew into the soft part of her arm. She furiously pulled it out, the thread of blood that appeared only inciting her fury.

  Tom gently touched her. She shrugged her shoulders, tossing him off. She grabbed the bouquet she’d brought and tore up the roses, grunting and crying. “Why did you really hire Junior to paint that nude of you? Why did you even bother with him? You said he was low class. A painter with dirty hands. You were always messing with my life, making sure you were on top. Were you pregnant by him?”

  She flew at the grave and pulled off the junk, throwing it every which way. She tore at the grass, threw clumps at the headstone, and smeared dirt onto her face when she wiped her tears. “Junior was mine. He was mine. Did you have to have everything? You had it all already. You had it all, you had it all…”

  Tom was dazed. He gathered himself and again approached her. “Rory, it’s going to be okay. Come on, sweetheart.”

  She stopped ripping up the grass and fell forward, her cheek against the ground, her palms stretched flat over where her sister’s body lay. She shook with each sob.

  She rolled back onto her knees and pressed her soiled hands against her face. After a few minutes, her crying subsided.

  Tom folded his handkerchief so the clean side was out and handed it to her. She blew her nose, laughing at the mud that came off onto the cloth.

  He rubbed her back, hoping it was over. “Feeling better?”

  She looked at the mess and started laughing louder, her laughter bubbling almost hysterically. She leaned back and roared at the sky.

  Tom didn’t know what to do.

  Slowly she calmed down. “I guess I went out of my head.” She folded his handkerchief, taking her time.

  “Seems like you got some things off your chest.”

  She nodded and glanced at him from a corner of her eye. “You know, I loved Junior Lara, but that was a long time ago. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I want you to know that.”

  He took her in his arms. “I know.”

  She gasped when she looked at her watch. She’d lost track of the time. It was an hour and a half past the six-hour mark when she usually had the choking dream. She considered how she was feeling. She was drained, but her mind was quiet. Her thoughts were her own. The scratchy TV playing in the back of her mind was gone. Had she done it? Had she expelled the demon?

  She closed her eyes and snuggled against Tom, savoring the feeling of peace.

  He held her more tightly. “You okay?”

  “I feel great.”

  He smiled at her. “That makes me happy.”

  “I love you, Tom, with all my heart and all my soul. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  They kissed and then sat quietly, looking at each other.

  She said, “You know what? I’m hungry.”

  “I never thought those words would sound so sweet. What do you want to eat?”

  “Everything. And lots of it.”

  35

  “Mother of God.”

  Fermina Lara gave her daughter a scorching look. “Sylvia, you’re cursing now?”

  “Look who’s here. Why am I surprised?”

  Leland Declues was standing in the doorway to Junior’s room. “Good afternoon.” He seemed confused by their gloves, masks, and gowns.

  “You need to cover yourself,” Sylvia said. “Go to the cart by the door.”

  He did so and entered the room, taking in Mr. Patyk and unable to completely hide his shock at the sight of Junior. He quickly looked away from the shrunken human on the bed and extended his gloved hand to Junior’s mother. “Mrs. Lara? I’m Leland Declues. I’m a friend of the Tate family.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Declues.” She warmly shook his hand.

  He held his hand toward Sylvia. “And Mrs. Torres…”

  Sylvia raised her hand, precluding contact. “He’s their lawyer, Mom.”

  Remembering the advice posted on the sign outside the door, Leland turned his attention to Junior. “Hello, Junior. I’m Leland.”

  Fermina ran the backs of her fingers down Junior’s cheek. “He’s sleeping. He hasn’t been well.”

  “Shocking, huh?” Sylvia indicated Junior with a tilt of her head. “While the Tates are having cocktails at their members-only clubs, we’re here.”

  “Mrs. Torres, I sympathize with your pain and everything your family has gone through, but the Langtry and Tate families are not out socializing. They also have much to grieve.”

  Leland examined Junior’s art on the walls, pausing at the nude of Rory.

  “Those are all copies,” Sylvia said.

  “Makes sense.” Leland turned to her. “You don’t want to leave anything of value in a patient’s hospital room.”

  “That’s true, but the real reason the originals are gone is because we had to sell most of them to pay Junior’s hospital bills.”

  “The nude that Junior painted of Anya, was that sold too?” Leland asked.

  “The police are still keeping it as evidence,” Sylvia said. “People still call, wanting to buy it, even though it’s cut up. I’ve always wondered why anyone would think that my brother would knife his own painting. Maybe when Junior’s…gone we can get it back. Probably be worth even more then. Why do you ask? Are you looking to buy a Junior Lara painting?”

  Leland’s cheeks colored. “The reason of my visit—” Leland opened his briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers.

  Sylvia said, “We’re not dropping our lawsuit.”

  “—is to make an offer that hopefully will ease your burden and bring you a bit of comfort. The Langtry and Tate families would be honored to pay for Danny’s funeral—”

  Fermina stepped forward, shielding Junior’s view. “He can hear us. I won’t have this talk in front of him.”

  Leland looked at Junior like one might eye a dog that had just spoken English.

  Fermina took Leland’s arm and led him into the corridor. Sylvia followed.

  Fermina spoke in a low voice. “Junior doesn’t know about Danny. Mr. Declues, Junior is dying.”

  Sylvia looked at her mother with surprise. It was the first time she’d heard her admit that Junior’s days were short.

  Fermina said, “Junior’s heart is troubled. I can tell. He doesn’t want to pass from this earth with this stain upon himself and his family. Our Lord knows the truth, but it’s our job to show the truth here on earth. Danny tried to help Junior, but he did it the wrong way. Will you help us?”

  “I don’t see how I can.”

  “Think a little harder,” Sylvia said. “Just get Rory to do the right thing and admit that she murdered her sister and tried to murder Junior.”

  Leland took off the paper mask and gloves and pulled off the gown, breaking the plastic ties. “Mrs. Torres, I appreciate how you feel, but the district attorney concluded that there was sufficient evidence to charge Junior in Anya’s murder. It’s unfortunate that Junior’s health prevents him from having a trial, but that’s not the Tates’ or Rory Langtry’s fault.”

  “If you get Rory to take a polygraph test, I’ll let it go,” Sylvia said.

  “That would serve no purpose, Mrs. Torres. Polygraphs are unreliable and the results are not admissible in court.”

  “It would prove something to my family and the public. If she has nothing to hide, why doesn’t she do it?”

  “Miss Langtry is not a suspect in the Five Points shootings.”

  “She should be. She’s the one with the motive. Her sister was sleeping with her fiancé.”

  “There’s no proof of that,” Leland said.

  “Junior always slept with the women he painted nude,” Sylvia said.

  “Sylvia,” Fermina said, “that’s not true.”

  “Mom, there was that one girl you know about for sure. And there’s Rory.”

  “That’s different.” Fermina’s brow wrinkled a
bove her mask. “Anya was paying Junior to paint her. It was business.”

  “It was some kind of business, all right. Anya going to Junior’s loft to pose for him in the middle of the night. Remember that time at my house? After dinner we were all watching a movie on TV and Junior had to leave because Anya called him. Said she’d squeezed in some time to pose for him. She called it posing. I call it a booty call.”

  “You’re just making up stories, Sylvia,” Fermina said. “You don’t know the truth.”

  Sylvia turned to Leland. “The point is, Mr. Declues, my brother didn’t try to kill himself. He was outrageously happy with his life. And who tries to commit suicide by shooting himself behind the ear? Junior would never have slashed his own painting. That was all about rage, and so was Anya being shot in the face.”

  “I’m afraid, Mrs. Torres, we’re going to have to agree to disagree on this issue.”

  “I’m afraid, Mr. Declues, that we can’t take Richard Tate’s money for Danny’s funeral. Oh, we’ll take it when we win our lawsuit. So, you can tell Richard Tate right now that he can keep any settlement he’s thinking of offering us. As far as Danny’s funeral goes, everything will be nice and right. You can do us one favor, Mr. Declues. Ask Rory if she’d return the engagement ring Junior gave her. It’s a family heirloom. I’m disgusted that she hasn’t given it back.”

  Keith, the night nurse, walked up and began garbing himself in protective clothing from the cart. “Hi, Sylvia. Mrs. Lara.” He nodded to Leland.

  “Hey, Keith,” Sylvia said. “Where’s Corliss?”

  “She had to leave. One of her kids got hurt at school. Nothing serious. Fell down. Couple of stitches. We’re behind schedule today. I’m going to suction Junior now.”

  Leland asked, “Suction?”

  “Have to suction secretions from his lungs every couple of hours,” Keith explained. “Because of the trach and the patient lying down all the time, the body produces more mucus. Respiratory problems are the leading cause of death for these patients.”

  “A pleasure meeting you,” Leland said.

  “Don’t rush off,” Sylvia said. “You should see this. Keith sticks a catheter down the trach tube into one of Junior’s lungs and vacuums out the junk. Then he does Junior’s other lung. While the suctioning is going on, Junior can’t breathe. The nurses work as quickly as they can, but Junior feels like he’s being strangled. Plus the procedure irritates his lungs and throat and they bleed.” She enjoyed the look of revulsion on Leland’s face.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Torres and Mrs. Lara.”

  Sylvia said after him, “Make sure you tell Rory about the pain she continues to inflict on my brother every single day.”

  36

  Rory spread her arms and leaned back her head to fully take in the sun and sea breeze. She was on the rooftop patio of her Manhattan Beach condominium, which was one block from The Strand.

  Tom stood behind her and slipped his hands around her waist.

  She leaned against him. “I miss the ocean air. It feels and smells so good.”

  Tom kissed the top of her head.

  “How did it go with my mom?”

  “She said she was making a special dinner for you, and there are too many stairs at your condo, and you’re not well enough yet, and so on and so on.”

  “Thanks for fighting my battle.”

  “Anytime.”

  “I just want to stay in my own bed for one night. Tomorrow is Sunday and you can drive me back to the villa.”

  He kissed her neck and slipped his hands beneath her shirt. She turned in his arms and fiercely kissed him. They broke their kiss, both of them breathless, and stood staring into each other’s eyes.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you too. I was gone, but now I’m back. I’m here.”

  He held her tighter.

  She said, “Let’s go inside.”

  They descended a staircase that pierced the condo’s three floors. The building’s design was modern, with corrugated steel, bare wood beams, and lots of glass. They entered the master bedroom on the top level.

  He backed with her toward the bed, kissing her, and pulled her onto the bed with him.

  She pushed herself up. “Be right back.” She went to her lingerie chest and pulled out a flimsy garment.

  “That’s lovely,” he said, “but you don’t need to.”

  “I want to. You’re in such a hurry.” Casting a coy glance over her shoulder at him, she went into the bathroom and closed the door.

  She held up the nightgown, one that Tom had always liked, by its spaghetti straps. She’d grabbed it less for its allure factor than for its length. It would hide the self-inflicted bruises and scratches on her thighs and waist. She didn’t want to explain.

  She took off her clothes and pulled the gown over her head. Before she let it drop over her shoulders, she examined herself in the mirror. She looked terrible. She had always been slender, but now every rib protruded.

  She turned to look at her back. The irritated patches of skin on each shoulder blade and across her lower back were getting worse. She’d soaked in baths of mineral salts and slathered on lotion, but it hadn’t helped. She figured she was allergic to the laundry detergent that Rosario used. She’d take her natural detergent to the villa. She’d also take her organic cotton pajamas. The silk nightwear her mother had bought was beautiful, but maybe it was irritating her skin.

  She caught a whiff of something acrid. Her heart began to pound. She flung open the bathroom window and breathed deeply of the ocean air. The putrid odor disappeared. She relaxed. It wasn’t the onset of a waking dream. The condo had just been closed up too long.

  While searching through the fragrances among the bottles on an antique, glass-topped tray, her eyes were drawn to a hand-painted wooden box she’d bought on a trip to Spain. She opened it. Inside were earrings missing their mates, cheap rings and bracelets she’d bought for fun, barrettes, and other odds and ends. There also was a folded square of velvet. She opened it and took out a gold ring with a large opal surrounded by small diamonds.

  The ring had belonged to Junior’s grandmother, who had passed it to Junior’s father, her eldest son, who had given it to Fermina as an engagement ring. Fermina had given it to her eldest son, Junior, to give to his intended one day. He had done so, surprising Rory with a down-on-one-knee proposal on the beach at sunset on Valentine’s Day. Rory and Junior were engaged. Everyone in the Lara family had been thrilled. That was when they had loved her.

  Evelyn had eyeballed the ring and sniffed. “You can’t be serious.”

  Rory slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand, next to her diamond from Tom. “I loved you, Junior. I wish your life had turned out differently. I am truly sorry about what happened to you and to us.”

  There. It was done. She’d finally made peace with Junior, Anya, and Five Points. She’d finally put to rest the ghosts of her past. She was ready to return the ring to Junior’s family and move on. She exhaled.

  The pain in her chest hit her with enough force to knock her to her knees. She clawed at a throw rug, struggling to breathe. The stringy-haired man with the yellow mask was standing over her, working with his plastic tube. Kaleidoscopic images assaulted her—a mobile hanging from a green ceiling, a television playing, a muddle of paintings, photos, and newspaper clippings—all spinning, turning, the sights and sensations stronger than ever.

  She reached under her nightgown for a fleshy spot on her emaciated thigh, pinched as hard as she could, and mentally counted: One, two, three, four, five, four, three, two, one, two, three…

  The stringy-haired man disappeared. Rory sat cross-legged on the floor and massaged her aching chest, breathing more easily. She could still see the green room, and now she saw Junior’s nude portrait of her. It was so vivid she reached to touch her bathroom walls, to make sure that other room wasn’t real.

  Tom was
outside the bathroom door. She heard him restlessly shuffling on the hardwood floor. She smelled the shampoo and deodorant he’d used that morning and his fresh perspiration. It seemed impossible. All her senses were hyperacute. Her entire being seemed to be functioning at a fever pitch. At the same time, she was in that other world of the green room. It now felt familiar, as if she’d lived there for years.

  “This is no dream,” she whispered. “No hallucination. This is real. I’m in Junior’s head. I’m in his head.”

  Tom rapped on the door. She knew he was too polite to pound, but that’s what it sounded like. She ducked when she heard a flock of seagulls cawing, sounding as if they were flying right at her, but she saw them through the window, sailing past at a distance. She heard people on the beach talking, a couple rehashing an argument, and kids playing.

  “Ro…You okay?”

  She was still on the floor. “I’m fine. Just freshening up.”

  “All right.” He paused. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

  Sex was now the last thing on her mind. “Okay. Maybe I am being a little ambitious.”

  “No worries.”

  “Okay. Give me a minute.”

  She climbed to her feet and pulled off the nightgown. Her mind was still there, in Junior’s world. She again saw the nude Junior had painted of her and somehow felt his eyes on her now, seeing her reflection in the mirror through his eyes.

  “You like that painting of me, huh?” she whispered to her reflection. “You think you can take over my life? Well, you’re not getting me. You’re not robbing me of my life.”

  She steeled herself against Junior’s world, determined to break its hold on her. His hold on her. Never again. She dragged the fingernails of both hands against her waist, rending the skin, relishing the pain, the cleansing pain, the pain that would save her. It blunted the visions slightly. The painting changed, almost as if she had walked into it and was posing for Junior, seeing herself through his eyes.

  “Is that your safe place, Junior? Well, this is my safe place. Away from you.”

  She drew blood as she again scratched her skin.