The Night Visitor Page 9
“Thank you, Henry. That tells me what I want to know. It’s not closed for you either. Not in your heart.” She eagerly looked at him, waiting for him to respond.
Auburn scratched his fingers through his moustache several times. “Sylvia, what can you tell me about Danny believing that he was communicating telepathically with Junior?”
“Who told you that?”
“Doesn’t matter who told me. Did Danny talk to you about it?”
She frowned and pulled her lips to the side. “My mom forced it out of him when Danny started to go downhill. He stopped caring about everything except staying locked up in his room and spending time with Junior. He lost weight. Looked bad. He said that he and Junior had found a pathway where they could communicate, like tuning to a different wavelength on the radio. He said being with Junior like that was the best thing he’d experienced, this total connection to another person. Said it was like living times two. What he saw, heard, felt—it was all twice as intense.”
The dog licked Sylvia’s cheek. She maneuvered him until he was lying across her thighs. “Henry, I want to be clear about one thing. No one in this family knew that Danny was planning to attack Rory.”
“I know.” Auburn studied her. “Did Danny say that Junior gave him information about the Five Points shootings?”
“Junior always showed him the same thing. Junior came home, found his doves loose inside his loft, and tried to get them out. He slipped on blood. He saw Anya dead, and then he was falling. Then darkness.”
After a pause, Auburn asked, “Did Danny say who did the shooting?”
“No. He said that Junior didn’t see who it was. He said it wasn’t always easy to figure out what Junior was trying to tell him.”
Something clicked for Sylvia. “That’s how the shootings really happened, isn’t it? I could tell by the look on your face when I mentioned the doves. Danny knew details that weren’t public, didn’t he? Henry, after all we’ve been through over the past five years, please level with me.”
“Yes, you’ve described things that weren’t released to the public.”
“Oh…I get it. You’re thinking that Danny did it.” She hugged the dog close. “That night Danny went to a party with his buddy. The buddy disappeared with some girl and lost track of Danny. Danny came home late. Said he’d gone to the beach with some people he’d met. But you couldn’t ever find those people. You gave Danny a hard time about that. Henry, I’ll never believe it. Danny idolized Junior. It was Rory. She shot her sister and Junior.”
Auburn reached into his jacket pocket, took out several photos, and handed them to her.
Sylvia brushed the dog onto the ground. Her disgust grew as she looked through the photos. She tossed them onto the table. “You could have told me that you went to see Junior. This family still has some rights, don’t we?”
“I haven’t seen Junior in five years,” Auburn said.
Sylvia snatched back the photos. They showed three large wounds on someone’s back. “Then who took these? Someone at the hospital? The same person who’s been talking about my family to you? If these show up on the news, someone’s gonna—”
“Junior has sores like that?”
“This is Junior’s back, right?”
“That’s Danny’s back. The medical examiner took those shots at Danny’s autopsy. He couldn’t figure out what caused those wounds and wondered if you could provide any insight. The ME speculated that Danny could have done that to himself with acid or maybe he’d contracted some strange flesh-eating bacteria. He took samples to analyze. But he says that if he didn’t know that Danny had been a healthy, twenty-two-year-old man, he would have assumed he had been bedridden, because these wounds are consistent with…” Auburn took a spiral notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped the pages. “Decubitus ulcers or pressure sores. The severity ranges from stage one to stage four, which these appear to be.”
“Bedsores,” Sylvia said. “What did you do to yourself, baby brother?”
Auburn reviewed his notes. “Was Danny weak, feverish, coughing, having trouble breathing?”
Sylvia gaped at him.
“Did Danny complain of lower back pain, blood in his urine, dark urine, headaches?”
“What are you saying now?”
“Danny had pneumonia and his kidneys were inflamed.”
Sylvia covered her face with her hands. “I can’t deal with this right now. Please go.”
“The bloody gauze pads, painkillers, and antibiotics we found in Danny’s room suggest that he was treating himself for something. You weren’t aware that Danny was ill?”
“No. Please go.”
Auburn gathered the photos and began walking down the side yard.
“Henry.”
He turned.
Sylvia looked beaten down. “Did Danny die from the bullet or the fall?”
“Bullet. Straight through his heart.”
27
Rory was sitting up in bed in her private hospital room, intently writing with a pencil on a sheet of pink stationery, turning the pencil lead onto its side and rubbing it against the paper. Other marked-up sheets of stationery were scattered around the bed. Startled when she heard the voices of two of her best friends in the hallway, Rory began grabbing the papers and stashing them beneath the bedcovers.
“Hello, you. Oh my gosh. You look great.” Victoria and Hannah spoke at the same time as they entered the room carrying gift bags, adorned with ribbons and balloons, and a bouquet of flowers. There were hugs and kisses.
Rory beamed. “What a surprise. Thanks for coming by.”
“Are you kidding?” Hannah put the vase of mixed flowers on a table that was covered with bouquets and potted plants. “We could hardly wait until we got the okay to see you.”
“Can I sit here?” Victoria hoisted herself onto the end of the bed and faced Rory. “Open the gifts.”
“You didn’t have to buy me anything.” Rory took chocolate truffles and bottled margaritas from the first bag. “I’m gonna enjoy these. Thank you.” From another bag, she took out lotions, lip balm, and scented hydrating mist. “Thanks! I can use these in this dry hospital air.” She spritzed some of the mist over her face. “Mmm…lavender. Heavenly. Try it.”
The girlfriends leaned in and Rory spritzed them.
“We miss you in spinning class,” Victoria said. “We dedicated a class to you.”
“The music was all girl singers.” Hannah was looking at the dozens of floral arrangements. “Rihanna, Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus…It was super fun.”
“I would kill to go to spinning class,” Rory said. “No exercise for me until the doctor says it’s okay. The only workout I get now is twice a day when an aide helps me walk a few times around the nurses station.”
“You can walk that far?” Victoria asked.
“I’m dizzy as hell, and if I turn my head the wrong way, I’m about to lose my lunch, but I’m walking.”
“That’s great, Ro,” Hannah said. “Are there any other restrictions on what you can do?”
“A laundry list. No bending, lifting, or straining. No overdoing anything. No driving until the doctor releases me. One thing I can do is rest.”
Victoria picked up a cashmere throw and draped it across the foot of the bed. Under it was one of the sheets of stationery Rory had been working on. Victoria frowned at it.
Rory took it from her and put it face down on a nightstand. “Getting caught up on correspondence.”
“Other than feeling dizzy, are you okay?” Hannah asked.
“I’m sensitive to light, but it’s not bad. I have a little trouble concentrating, but it’s getting better.”
Rory tried to steer the conversation away from her. “Vic, don’t you have new pictures of your latest addition?”
“You bet.” Victoria got up from the bed, took a smartphone from her purse, and began swiping through photos.
“She had her third baby a month ago and look at the shape she’s in.” Hannah
ran her hands down her own slender waist. “It took me four months to get my figure back after Luke. And I worked out faithfully six days a week. Look at these exquisite roses. Could you just die?”
“They’re from my mom’s garden,” Rory said. “Her Jack Frosts and her Powder Puffs.”
“Ro, have you thought about letting your mom make your bridal bouquet? She has the best roses in town and she has such an eye for floral design.” Hannah turned and looked with concern at her friend. “Ro…?”
Rory’s exiting the elevator into Junior’s loft. A hot summer wind is blowing through the open windows. The doves are loose, circling crazily. She smells something musky and burnt and sickly sweet. She’s afraid. She senses she’s not alone. The doves are flying wild. She shuts off the lights. Darkness now. Moonlight shines through the arched windows as she moves around the loft, closing them. Behind the orange couch, she slips and stumbles. Anya’s blood. Anya’s body. She tries to get away. She’s falling into darkness.
“Rory, are you okay?” Victoria grabbed her hand.
Rory gasped and sat upright in bed. She blinked and looked around as if she didn’t know where she was.
“Should we get a nurse?” Hannah started for the door.
“No. I’m…I’m fine.” Rory had been dreaming again, dreaming with her eyes open. The visions came without warning, taking over, blotting out reality. They were fragmented, surreal, lacking continuity, like a movie spliced out of sequence. Some were horrifying, but some were wonderful. What was happening to her?
“We should leave,” Victoria said.
“No, stay.” Rory didn’t want to be alone. “How about those baby pictures, Vic?”
Victoria and Hannah exchanged a glance. “Sure.” Victoria leaned against the bed and held her phone screen so Rory could see it. She swiped the screen. “This was at his cousin’s birthday party.”
“Vic, he’s adorable,” Rory said. “Trevor must be thrilled to have a boy.”
“He loves his two girls, but he’s already bought a baby football uniform at the USC student store.”
“Rory, do you remember anything from when you were in a coma?”
“Hannah,” Victoria scolded her friend.
Might as well get it over with, Rory thought. “It’s all right. I remember some things, but they’re kind of dreamy, like when you hear somebody talking when you’re just dropping off to sleep. I was sort of aware of the nurses and the doctors. I remember my mother telling me to wake up and her crying and Tom telling me he loved me.”
Both girlfriends said, “Aww…”
“Do you remember anything about what happened?” Hannah asked.
“What happened when?” Rory frowned. “The night of the ball?”
“Hannah, we’re keeping the conversation upbeat,” Victoria said. “Remember?”
“I know,” Hannah said. “Forget I said anything.”
“I don’t mind,” Rory said. “Truth is, I don’t remember anything about the ball. I vaguely remember having dinner with Tom the night before but nothing after that until I woke up in the hospital. That’s normal after a brain injury. It’ll come back to me.”
“It’s good you don’t remember,” Victoria said. “It was horrible.”
“I’m glad I don’t,” Rory said. “Although that detective, Henry Auburn, wishes I did. He was here this morning, bugging me about it.”
“Why is he bothering you?” Hannah started picking up the tissue paper from the gifts. “Isn’t there video of the whole thing?”
“They can’t hear what Danny and I were saying above the screaming and confusion. I guess Danny and I were talking and he started to cry. That’s when he moved the gun away from me and Richard…” Rory raised an eyebrow.
“You’re lucky you’re alive.” Victoria scowled. “The police should leave you alone.”
Rory felt exhausted. “Let’s go back to talking about cheerful things.”
“Hello, hello.” Rory’s Aunt Donna came in carrying a basket of ferns and blooming plants with a small metallic balloon that said Get Well Soon.
“Aunt Donna.” Rory stretched out her arms. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Victoria took the basket from Donna, who set her large purse on the end of the bed and leaned over to hug her niece with both arms.
“It does me a world of good to see you looking so well, Ro. I hated seeing you in the ICU with all the tubes and machines. It just tore my heart out.”
“My mom told me you stopped by. That was sweet of you.”
“Stopped by? Honey, I was on the graveyard shift. I relieved Tom at ten at night and stayed until your mom got there at eight in the morning. Is that what she said, that I just stopped by?”
Rory looked sheepish.
“Typical Evelyn. I wouldn’t abandon my girl.” Donna stroked Rory’s hair. “Your Uncle Dave came to see you too. He’s coming with me tomorrow. He’s been really busy at the shop.”
“I’m happy the shop is doing well. I’m looking forward to seeing him. Let me introduce you. This is my aunt, Donna Knight. These are two of my closest friends and sorority sisters, Hannah Vorst and Victoria Newell.”
“I’m happy to finally meet you,” Victoria said. “Rory has always spoken fondly of you.”
Donna pulled Rory’s hand to her lips. “I raised this girl and her sister too, from when they were just little ones. My sister was busy with her acting career. Oh, I almost forgot.” Donna went to her purse on the bed and started digging inside it. She took out a bundle wrapped in aluminum foil and handed it to Rory. “I made muffins. There’s banana nut and chocolate chip.”
“Yum.” Rory opened the foil and offered the muffins to her friends, who both declined.
“You enjoy them,” Hannah said.
“My weight is one thing I don’t have to worry about after being on a liquid diet.” Rory bit into a muffin. “Mmm…Best muffins ever, Aunt Donna. Thanks.”
“Look what I found when I was cleaning out a closet.” From her purse, Donna pulled out a purple feather boa.
Rory leaned forward so her aunt could drape it around her neck. “Oh my gosh. You still have this. It was in Anya’s and my dress-up trunk.”
“You and Anya were always up to something when you were kids, playing dress-up in my old clothes. Putting on plays. Dancing and singing. You were like two peas in a pod. Your Uncle Dave used to call you Frick and Frack, remember?”
Rory smiled as she twirled an end of the boa. “We were best friends.”
“Really?” Hannah said. “I had the impression that you and Anya weren’t close.”
“We were when we were little.” Rory’s eyes grew dark. “Then we weren’t.”The unasked follow-up question lingered in the air, but the girlfriends remained silent and Donna didn’t offer an explanation.
Rory wrinkled her nose. “What’s that horrible smell?”
The women sniffed the air, looking at one another.
“It’s like ammonia being used to cover up something putrid,” Rory said.
“I think it smells fresh in here, as hospitals go,” Victoria said.
“And that noise,” Rory said. “Are there kids on this floor?”
“I didn’t see any patients that are kids,” Hannah said. “Maybe some are visiting.”
“What noise, sweetheart?” Donna asked.
“You don’t hear that? Like a high-pitched, electronic singing.”
Rory stopped talking. Of course they didn’t smell or hear anything. It was in her head, a waking dream. A face loomed before her. The eyes and forehead belonged to an African American woman, but the area beneath her nose was swathed in yellow.
Rory couldn’t breathe. Panic surged through her. She gasped. Her eyes bulged and she clutched her throat.
Hannah frowned. “Ro, are you all right?”
28
Rory’s face grew red. She pressed her hand over a searing pain in her chest. Behind her trauma, she was aware of the African American woman’s partially shrouded
face above her and the tinny music that grew louder and louder.
“She can’t breathe.” Hannah looked at the others.
“I’m getting a nurse.” Victoria ran from the room.
Donna remained cool. “Lean forward with your head between your knees. It’ll be okay, honey.”
It stopped. The sights, sounds, and sensations lost their intensity before fading away. Rory was still panting but breathing easier.
“I’m okay.” She put up her hand.
A nurse rushed into the room. “What’s the problem?”
Victoria was on her heels.
“She couldn’t breathe,” Donna said, moving to give the nurse access to the bed.
The nurse examined Rory. “How do you feel now?”
“I’m fine now, thanks. The air’s so dry in here and my allergy to pollen…”
The nurse took out a tongue depressor. “Say ahh…Your throat looks a little irritated. I’ll bring you a bottle of spray that will make you more comfortable.”
“Thank you.”
“We’d better go,” Victoria said. “We’ve stayed too long.”
“Me too,” Donna said. “You need your rest.”
Rory did feel tired, even though she didn’t want them to go. “Thanks for coming.”
They all hugged and kissed Rory and left.
The room was quiet. Rory gathered the sheets of stationery from under the bedcovers and put them into a nightstand drawer. Deciding to take a nap, she slowly turned and plumped the pillows. She again caught a whiff of ammonia and the other, fetid odor behind it. She heard the tinny music.
“Oh no.”
She grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV, turning up the volume, trying to drown out the noises in her head. She found a cooking show and tried to focus on it. Another room was dimly superimposed over the show. It was painted pale green and the walls were covered with pictures.
Rory repeated the chef’s instructions: “Sauté the onions, carrots, and celery until they’re soft.”
Desperate to stop the dream, she reached beneath her pajama top and pinched the flesh on her waist. She pinched as hard as she could, wincing. The pain helped. The images in her head grew transparent. The tinny music and the odors faded. The flesh in her grip grew numb. She released it to try a fresh spot.