Chapter 9
/Run, Daddy! Run!/
The thick hallway carpet muting the sound of my pounding feet, I race towards the last corner before the elevators and stairwell. Skidding around it, I hit a soft body coming in my direction.
It's Monica.
I don't knock her over, but it's a close call. She looks at me as I steady the both of us. When she opens her mouth to say something, I yell at her. "For Christsakes, what are you doing out here? I told you - I don't want you out of my sight!"
I'm still holding her by the shoulders, and she's still recovering from our collision. I let go of her abruptly, resisting the urge to shake her. "Geez, Monica. You could've gotten yourself killed."
"I went to get us a couple cokes," she says, holding them up for me to see. "Kelly never keeps it around, and in this heat, I knew I'd want one."
"Well, thanks for letting me know first."
An angry look crosses her face. She opens her mouth to respond, but stops when a young man turns the corner and walks towards us. He nods, and we nod back. By the look on his face, I know he's heard our angry tones if not the actual words and thinks he's interrupting a marital spat. Once he's on the elevator and the doors start to close, Monica hisses in a low, angry voice, "I'm perfectly capable of getting myself to the vending machine and back without an escort, John."
"Not necessarily. We don't know what we're dealing with here." My heart's still pounding.
She stands there staring at me and I brace myself for another outburst. She surprises me when she lets out a little gust of breath and raises her hands in surrender. "You're right. Okay. I'll tell you the next time I decide to go AWOL. I just didn't think. I'm sorry."
Her sudden capitulation proves how worried she must be. She hasn't said much the last couple of days, but she's looking tired and I know the dreams haven't let up for her any more than they have for me. I regret my angry words. I could have let her know how I felt without yelling at her. My eyes lock with hers and I send her a wordless apology. Mentally bracing myself for an uncomfortable evening with Kelly, I gesture in the direction of our rooms. "Let's go back and get your stuff. We don't want to keep our hostess waiting."
The building Kelly lives in is pretty much what I expected. It's a huge old building probably built in the early to mid-nineteenth century, gracefully aged, with a sense of presence. We enter large wooden doors that open onto a foyer made cool by old stone. Kelly's on the top floor, and since there's no elevator, we walk up a number of wide flights of stairs to her place. I can imagine Monica living here. It's old, has tons of character, and has an air about it I imagine she'd like. As we climb the stairs, she motions in the direction her apartment used to be and smiles. Yeah, she liked living here just fine. I wonder what she was like back then.
Kelly must have been waiting, because she opens the door only seconds after Monica knocks. I walk into the apartment and have my expectations of the interior immediately blown away. I'd expected dark colours and crystal balls and...well, witchy stuff. Instead, the walls of the large living area she ushers us into are painted a colour that makes the room seem light and welcoming, even though the sky is beginning to darken outside. The large, floor to ceiling windows have their white shutters open and the gauzy white curtains that hang on each side of them stir occasionally in the early evening breeze. I sit in the large and very comfortable gray chair she indicates with a wave of her hand and look around. There's a scent in the air I can't identify that makes me feel relaxed and at home. Bookcases jam packed with books, the titles of which are too far away for me to read, line one wall. Flowers sit in vases here and there. I spot a crystal ball on a small table and try not to smile. At least I wasn't completely wrong. The two women settle on the sofa and start to talk. I don't offer to participate. I want to observe Kelly.
Which, as it happens, is probably just as well, since once the photographs are spread out on the coffee table, they seem to forget my presence. I listen with interest as they go over details. Kelly asks good questions, makes good observations, and is a little less pie-in-the-sky than I'd expected. That doesn't reassure me, though. If anything, it makes me a little more worried. She's smart: smarter than she looks or acts. She could be dangerous.
Monica asks her some questions that lead to talk about thoughtforms and lower entities and dark magics and stuff I don't quite follow. Supposition follows supposition as they try to determine just what or who this guy is and what he's up to.
Still listening, I get up and walk over to the bookcase. Skimming the titles, I finally pick up, "Deamons and Magicks Gathering". The title makes no sense to me, but I take it back to my chair and open it up, flipping through it for pictures. There aren't many, so I skim through some of the chapters.
I fall into what I'm reading like a rock into a pond. Realisation of what the women think we're facing forces itself on me. Evil and good, spells and potions and incantations...This is a whole new world. My imagination runs wild.
Then Monica's phone rings.
Monica takes it out of her purse and answers. She listens for a while and with a quick glance at me, says. "I'd love to, Peter. Thanks for thinking of me. I should be finished here in about an hour. I'll need about 30 minutes to change at the hotel, so I'll meet you downstairs there in about an hour and a half."
I frown, not liking that my name hasn't been mentioned. I don't want her out of my sight, and that includes if she goes out with her buddy Peter.
I don't give her the chance to say anything after she hangs up. "I didn't hear you mention that you wouldn't be coming alone," I tell her.
She doesn't say anything for a minute or so, then: "I'll be safe. He's police, after all, and we're not going far. He wants to show me one of the murder sites we've identified."
So she's told him about our dreams and the unsolved murders. I wonder how much more she's told him. And when she had the chance.
"He's taking you there before or after dinner?"
"After, I should think. We won't want to eat too late."
At least she's not pretending this isn't a date. "We agreed you wouldn't be out and about alone."
Kelly pipes up and agrees with me. I don't know that it makes me all that happy to be on the same side as her, but at this point, I'll take whatever support I can get. It does nothing to lessen my suspicions about her, though. My spidey senses are tingling all over the place. There's danger, I just don't know from where, and it's making me paranoid.
"He's right, Monica," Kelly says. "We don't know who's after you or what he plans. We do know he's dangerous, and we know he has a way of abducting and murdering and not getting caught. You don't need to find out how he manages it by being on the receiving end of it."
Monica frowns at her friend. "I thought the point was for me not to be alone. I won't be. "
Kelly can't argue with that, but I can tell she's still uneasy. She darts a blue-eyed look at me as though I should be saying something. I don't know what more I can say: Monica's got a point - whoever's conducting these murders won't be too likely to try anything when she's with someone. I look at Kelly, my suspicions about her still clanging around inside my head. Is she afraid that Monica and Peter might come up with something that would lead to her?
Reluctantly, I nod. "Okay, fine. Go. Just be careful, and don't let him leave you alone anywhere, not even for a minute."
I can tell Monica's first instinct is to argue, but she doesn't. I wonder what form her dreams have been taking and if she's had more warnings, regretting that we seem to have avoided the topic lately. I frown, wondering why. I could have told her about the ones I've had, but...I try to grasp the reason for not talking about them with her, but can't remember it. It's like there's a roadblock in my head. I do know that at the time it made sense not to bring up the subject.
"We've still got a few minutes to talk," I say. "I've got a few questions about what abilities a person gains when they kill someone and perform whatever rituals you ladies think this guy's performing. And why he'd want them."
The two women look at me, surprised. I ask my lead question and Kelly begins to talk. I'm not sure how much time passes before Monica looks at her watch and groans, "I'm late already. I've got to go get changed."
I stand up and start to gather our papers.
"Leave those for Kelly, John. She'll need to go through them."
I don't like the idea of leaving things lying around that belong to the FBI.
Kelly looks at me, her eyes showing the first glimmer of real humour she's ever directed at me. "Don't worry, I won't sell them to the CIA or KGB. You can pick them up first thing in the morning, if you like. Just give me a little while with them."
On the way back to the hotel, I ask Monica what Kelly needs them for. She hesitates, then says, "She wants time to ask-"
She stops, and I know she doesn't want to continue, so I prod her. "Ask who what?"
With her usual 'you're-going-to-hate-this' look, Monica tells me, "Kelly sometimes uses the energies around her to ask for help." When I don't say anything she explains, "Elementals, John. I've explained them to you before. She works with water and air. The spirits who embody those things may be able to help her. Help us."
Tell me a story, Daddy...
"Yeah, I remember," I tell her. "They're like spirit guides or somethin', right? It still sounds kinda far out, even for you guys." It's hard to believe that in this day and age there are still people into that sort of crap.
"Not exactly spirit guides, but whether you like it or not, they exist, and there are people who use their help."
I grunt. "Maybe I should have stuck around and taken lessons, eh?"
Monica laughs abruptly. "You might have learned more than you'd bargained for tonight, John. Rituals that bring the elementals to you are usually held in the nude. For something as important as this, I'm sure that's what she'll do. She'll need to be as close as she can to them."
Okay, that's more than I needed to know. I wait the entire walk down to the main floor before asking her, "What time do you expect to get back tonight?"
Monica smiles, recognising the change of subject, but not ready to let go of it just yet. "John," she says to me, "you can trust her instincts. She's very rarely wrong." Then she relents and answers my question: "I'm not sure when we'll be back. Don't wait up for me; Peter and I have a lot of catching up to do."
"You two were an item when you lived here, or what?"
I regret the question as soon as I ask it. Damn. We don't talk about personal stuff like that. It's not professional. It's none of my business.
But I'm dying to know.
"No," she replies, not looking as though she thinks my question is out of order. "We were close friends, though. Everything about the move here was difficult for me. I was a bit of a mess, and he sort of took me under his wing: he kept me busy to keep my mind off things - showed me around, introduced me to people."
"Like Kelly?"
Monica chuckles. "No. I met Kelly by accident when I was shopping for clothes. Kelly and Peter don't get along."
No kidding. "He doesn't like her wierdness either, eh?"
A shake of her head tells me I'm guessing wrong.
"Peter knows a lot about the occult. That's how we first met - he was the New Orleans police detective on the first case I was called on to investigate. He'd heard about the satanic and cult crimes unit, called the FBI, and asked for me. He and Kelly, though," she said, still smiling, "they're like oil and water. I don't pretend to understand, and I gave up trying to put them in the same room a long time ago."
I don't care too much for either of them. I wonder where that puts me. Then I think back to when she'd left New York. I'd been surprised at how abruptly the transfer had come up, but she'd seemed okay about the move. I guess I'd figured she'd like working in a place famed for its weird stuff. Instead, it had been a time she'd needed someone and I'd been so into my own circumstances I hadn't even noticed.
Pretty poor showing for someone who would have claimed to be her friend.
I push that thought aside, but I know it's gonna come back and haunt me.
By now, we're riding the elevator up to our floor of the hotel. Trying a lighter tone, I ask, "So, do you have a favourite place to eat dinner here?"
Monica smiles. "We used to have a few. I'll let Peter pick. He'll know who's the chef where and what he's cooking at the moment."
So Peter's one of those fine wine and dine guys. I look at Monica. It never struck me that she might be into that sort of thing. I remember bringing her Washington's finest sausage - the kind you eat without a plate - and wince.
At my door, I turn to her. "Let me know when you're going," I say, wondering how she dresses for a date with this guy.
Monica nods and enters her room.
It isn't long before my wonderin's over. I can't believe she packed something like it, but it sure as hell wouldn't have taken up much space, and I suppose she musta known that Peter and she would be going out at some point.
The dress is a short-hemmed strapless thing in a colour I'm not even sure there's a name for. I suppose some people might call it a simple dress 'cause there isn't anything on it to take away from the person wearing it. Which is just as well, 'cause Monica looks fabulous. She's put her hair up somehow and she's tall and slender and elegant and I hardly recognise her as the woman who's my partner by day.
"Wow. Must be some place you're going to."
Monica smiles self-consciously. "I hope so. It's fun to dress up every now and again." She touches her earrings and then her hair. "It feels strange. It's been a while."
Yeah. Probably not since she left New Orleans. Peter's a lucky guy. I can remember dressing up for different things with Barbara. It's fun, with the right person.
"Well, it suits you," I say, wishing I could think of something more original. And yeah, I'm kinda wishing it was me she was going out with. The thought surprises me, and I squelch it quick, before it has the chance to take root. Friends don't date. They don't think thoughts like I'm having right now.
"He's picking you up when?"
She glances at the slender, gold-banded watch she's wearing. "Just about now. I'd better be going."
Once again, that awful wave of foreboding sweeps over me. "Be careful, Monica."
Her eyes raise to meet mine, surprise and curiosity making a strange cocktail in them. "Of course. Do you want me to let you know when I'm back, even if it's late?"
I nod. "Yeah."
She hesitates, her hand on the door lever. "You're really worried aren't you?"
I nod again, not wanting to say anything. I'm being a little nuts about all this, but I can't stop the fear building inside me that something's about to happen I can't do anything about it because I won't be there when it happens if she goes without me.
The thought sends ice down my spine. Why I think something's going to happen while she's out with Peter, I can't say, but suddenly it's all over me, the fear she's walking into danger-
"Call me when you get there, that's all. I'd like to have a rough idea where you are and when. I'm sorry Monica, I don't mean to be your babysitter or anything, but-"
She smiles, her eyes warm. "That's okay, John. I'll phone from the restaurant." A heartbeat, and she adds, "I'll phone from the ladies' washroom, though. I wouldn't want Peter to get the wrong idea."
I don't have much to say to that. Hell, maybe Peter wouldn't be too far from wrong.
/It's okay, Daddy./
Two hours later, she calls and says that she's at some restaurant called Trinity's. She tells me the street it's on, that the food's good, and laughs when I tell her to bring home a doggy bag. I can imagine her eyes flashing with humour and feel a pang of regret that I'm not there in person.
"Don't be afraid to call again, later," I tell her. "And let me know when you think you'll be back."
We say a couple more things, she promises to call when she's on the way back, and we hang up.
When I put the receiver down, the alarm bells are still ringin'.
Out of the blue, I realise that maybe they're goin' off because I not having partnerish thoughts about my partner. I'm not crazy about the idea of Monica out on a date. I feel left behind. Knowing better than to dwell on such things, I pick up a file and open it.
It's past midnight, and she's still not back. I've tried television, the in- room video games, and reading, and I can't concentrate on anything but that she should be back by now. She hasn't called, and I'm more uncomfortable with that than I would ever admit to. When the phone rings, I almost jump on it.
"Doggett, here"
The voice isn't the one I'm hoping to hear. It takes me a while to place the soft, southern tone.
"John? I'm worried about Monica. Have you heard from her? Do you know where she was going after dinner? I have a feeling she's in trouble somewhere."
It's Kelly. Her words are stumbling over themselves, and there's no mistaking the urgency in her voice.
"Kelly?"
"Yes," she says impatiently, as though I should have anticipated her call. "Do you know where she's supposed to be? Listen, she's in trouble."
Her words are quickly spoken, and in response to them, my fear leaps up to crash with hers. "We talked around 10:00," I tell her. "She was at Trinity's for dinner and said as soon as they finished there, they were going to one of the murder sites. She mentioned doing something like that before she left your place, didn't she?"
"I was hoping maybe she'd changed her plans. We've got to go find her, John. She's not answering her cell, and I've had bad feelings about tonight all day. There's something wrong."
I agree. I'd thought that most of my problem was with who she was going out with, though. Carrying things still further, I don't know him from Adam, and how do I know that he's not involved somehow in these murders? How do I know he's not-
I stop myself abruptly. I'm thinking the same thoughts I was thinking about Kelly. I'm suspicious of everyone. Still, Monica's not home, we don't know where she is - but we do know who she's with.
We think.
Maybe Kelly knows how to get reach him. "How well do you know this Peter guy?" I ask.
"Just enough to know I don't like him. He's been good to Monica, though. They've known each other almost since the day she landed in New Orleans, years ago."
"I don't suppose you have his phone number lying around."
"No."
Of course not. That would make things too easy. I realise we could contact the New Orleans Police Department and maybe get it from them, but it'd take time, and time may not be on our side.
Kelly's voice intrudes on my thoughts. "I'm coming over to get you. We've got to go out and find her."
With Monica's voice in my head saying, 'You can trust her instincts', and my gut insisting I follow it, I make a quick decision. Ain't no way I'm going to question this. It's time to go with the flow. At the very least, it allows me to do something other than sit around and wait.
"No," I tell her, "I'll come get you. Bring all the stuff we left at your place. We'll need it to figure out where they might have gone after Trinity's."
Grabbing my coat and keys, I'm out the door before I have a chance to think about what I'm doing.
The run to the elevator gives me some time for that. I'm off looking for someone I'm not even sure wants to be looked for. What if she's at Peter's? What if there's more to the relationship than she let on? And what if there being more to their relationship is what's really got me running out in the middle of the night with rescue on my mind? At this point, though, I don't care. I'm listening to my instinct, and instinct is tellin' me to get a move on. Reaching the elevator doors, I punch the call button, then head for the stairs because I refuse to wait.
I'm at Kelly's in no time. She's just comin' out of the doors of her building when I pull to a stop. She gets in quickly and slams the door shut.
Having had a bit of time to think, I make a last ditch effort to give rationality a chance. Skipping the greetings thing, I suggest, "Maybe we ought to slow down a bit. They've known each other a long time. Maybe-"
She glares at me. "John, she's in trouble. Don't tell me you don't sense that. I haven't felt right about anything in regards to her for a while now, and you've been feeling it too. She's in danger, we're both worried as hell, and deep down, you know we should be. She'd have called you by now if everything was okay, right?"
Yeah, she's right. While she puts her seat belt on, I pull out into traffic. I've got no idea where we're going, but I need to be moving. "Should we try to contact Peter?"
Kelly shakes her head. "He's part of the problem."
I turn my head quickly, another cascade of fear shivering down my spine. God, I hope she's wrong.
"There's gonna be hell to pay if we're mistaken and she and Peter are-" I can't finish the sentence, so I clear my throat and try again, "She'll be real mad if she finds out we were scouring the streets of the city looking for her and she's safe and sound somewhere."
Kelly's impatience is palpable. "She's not and sound anywhere. Turn left up here. We've got to take the out to . I'm sure that's where-"
She stops. After I turn onto the street she's told me to, I look at her. "What are you talking about? How do you know where to go?" The momentary thought that perhaps she's kidnapping ME crosses my mind. Is she preying on my fear to get me away? I wonder if she's armed.
"Will you stop the 'am-I-in-danger-from-a-madwoman' thing and pay attention?" she asks. "Monica's in danger, and it's not from anything we're going to have a lot of power against. Peter's connected. You've been feeling that something's wrong, too. If you spent more time learning to understand what your senses are telling you, you'd be a lot better off."
She stops the lecture, then resumes in a quieter voice, "Look, I'm sorry for scolding. I just hate seeing gifts go to waste because the person given them is too blind, stupid, or bigoted to use them. We've got to get to Monica quickly, so let's call it a truce, okay? I'm not trying to kill you; Monica's my friend, and I'm one of the good guys here. Now shut up and drive where I tell you. I've got to concentrate on Monica."
I shut up and drive where she tells me.
"And you don't like him because...?" Making turns as Kelly directs me, I decide it's time to talk some.
She hesitates. It's nothing new to me - she's done a lot of that since we were introduced. Monica's told her about my feelings about the occult, and she doesn't like to parade it out. "Kelly, just let me have it," I prompt.
"I don't know that it's ever been so much not like as it is I've never trusted him. You know that Monica senses things. I do too, though not exactly the same way. When I met Peter, I saw him for a while before we were introduced. He didn't know me, didn't know he was being observed. I got the impression before we were introduced that there was much power congregated around him. When Monica brought him over to introduce him to me, though, none of it was there. It was as though I'd imagined it, but I knew I hadn't. I always wondered if maybe..."
I jump in. " -If maybe he had occult powers that he was keeping hidden? Can you do that? I mean, hide powers so that people who are sensitive and ought to be able to sense it, can't?" Things are starting to add up, and I don't like it.
"You'd have to be very skilled, but it would be possible," Kelly admits. "But I have to say that he seems okay. I always wondered if he maybe felt more for Monica than she realised."
"But you never sensed anything amiss again?"
"We didn't meet much after that. It seemed that any time there was an opportunity for us all to be in the same place at the same time, something would come up for one of us, and it wouldn't happen. To be honest, I was never eager to be around him. I can't think of any particular reason: just a general aversion. At the time I didn't think an awful lot about it. I don't think I saw him more than 3 times the entire time Monica lived here, though Monica must have seen him a number of times every week."
We lapse into silence, me wondering how close their relationship got in those number of times a week. A small desperate part of me hopes for Monica's sake that they're safely tucked away somewhere renewing their acquaintance. Anything's better'n the other stuff I'm thinking might be happening to her, 'cause it involves Peter being the person behind all the murders that we've been investigating. He's got the perfect cover, the perfect opportunity, and if he's got the kind of 'power' that Kelly seems to think he has...it all makes way too much sense.
Monica is in big trouble.
It's 2am, and we've driven for miles. Turning a sharp corner, I see the red reflector tail lights of a parked car off to the left. I'm lucky I saw them, since the car's parked off the road on a small turnoff, well to the side and half shrouded in bushes.
Overshooting the turnoff, I hit the brakes. "Here. This is it," I don't know how I know this is the car and this is the place, but at this point I don't care.
Kelly, who's been sitting quietly in the seat beside me, leans over, holding her stomach. She's said little the last bit, though a few times I've looked over 'cause she keeps muttering something to herself. I've looked into the rear view mirror a few times, too. I've had the feeling there's someone else with us, right here in the car, but of course there isn't. It'd weird me out if I weren't so worried.
"You okay?"
Kelly nods, but doesn't speak.
I reverse and pull into the turnoff. Parking my rental behind a dark sedan I recognise as Peter's. My heart takes a final plunge. No more false hopes. It's Peter. Monica's his next intended victim, and I can only hope we're here in time. I move to open the door.
"Wait." Kelly's voice and her restraining hand hold me in place. "We can't go unaided," she explains, rummaging through a deep pocket in her coat. Finally finding what she wants, she murmers a few words. She then opens the small cloth sachet, pinches some of the powder in it between two fingers, turns, and blows it at me.
I sneeze.
"What the hell?"
"I'm not finished. Shut up. You don't have any idea what we're going into. It's not going to be anything like you expect. We've got to do what we can to protect ourselves." She's talking fast, and her hands are trembling.
I have my gun. Touching it to reassure myself, I move to open the door again. Kelly grabs my arm. "Will you stop?! You're going to get yourself killed. You still think this is a game? You think Monica and I and anyone else who deals with the occult are just indulging in make believe? Jeezus, John. Smarten up. You've got to have seen enough-"
She's messing with something else she took out of her pocket while she was cussing me. I sit, waiting, my heart pounding and every ounce of me wanting to get out of this damned car. The voice in my head is screaming at me to find Monica, to get away from Kelly as quick as I can.
She passes me a small cloth packet. "Put this in your pocket. It's not much, but it's all I could put together before we left. It'll offer you some protection, maybe buy you some time. If Peter speaks to you, don't answer his questions; answers will bind you to him, no matter what your response is. Concentrate on Monica and what you know her to be, not what you see, not what he tells you. I figure he'll be concentrating on you once he knows we're here - if he doesn't already. I'll do what I can to help, but I don't know what that will be until we see what's happening."
She looks at me, her eyes glittering in the dark. "You first, I'll follow. They're just over the little hill you'll find once you get through the trees over there." She points ahead through the windshield, a little to the right.
She keels over again, clutching her stomach. "Go!" she gasps.
Finally, I throw my door open and jump out the vehicle. The night air is hot and oppressive, and I swear there are things alive in it, brushing up against me, trailing fingers over my skin. I hear Kelly behind me, muttering something. Ignoring her, I head in the direction she pointed, the air clearing a bit as I go.
Once we're in the trees, the going gets harder. My legs don't seem to be working right for some reason, and at times I lose my train of thought or pick up thoughts I don't know why I'm thinking. I imagine Monica with Peter, in his apartment. Smiling, talking. Naked. Something's walking beside me, whispering in my ear, and I see Kelly, her face dark, chanting over a candle; I see people in robes, like pictures from some movie.
I stop, wondering why I'm here.
/Daddy! Hurry! Where are you?/
"John," a whisper from behind. "Move! You've got to concentrate. He's sending you thoughts. Don't pay attention. Focus on where we're going-" She stops abruptly and bends over at the waist. "Let's go," she gasps. "Hurry, he's hurting her."
He's hurting her. I forge ahead, leaving Kelly to trail in my wake as best she can. I can hear her muttering to herself again, but don't stop to figure out what it is she's sayin'. I'm focussed on what's ahead.
There's an energy in the air now that's almost painful. Like electricity, it bites at my skin, crawling along it like worms, irritating, impossible to shake off. Kelly is still behind me, still muttering. I realise now she's chanting something. Whatever it is, a part of me recognises it as beneficial. I halt briefly before cresting the hill that lies behind the copse of trees. Kelly catches up. She's still got her arms folded against her stomach, and she doesn't look too good.
"You okay?"
"He's very powerful. God, John. I don't know if we can do this." Her eyes are streaming tears, and I reach out a hand to steady her. She frowns, her eyes fixed on a distant point. "He's torn: a part of him doesn't want to do this, another part of him insists upon it. He's going to kill her. He needs her somehow. He-"
She stops, gasping as she clutches her stomach. Behind me, I hear a muffled groan.
It's Monica. I turn and head in her direction.
End Part IV
/Run, Daddy! Run!/
The thick hallway carpet muting the sound of my pounding feet, I race towards the last corner before the elevators and stairwell. Skidding around it, I hit a soft body coming in my direction.
It's Monica.
I don't knock her over, but it's a close call. She looks at me as I steady the both of us. When she opens her mouth to say something, I yell at her. "For Christsakes, what are you doing out here? I told you - I don't want you out of my sight!"
I'm still holding her by the shoulders, and she's still recovering from our collision. I let go of her abruptly, resisting the urge to shake her. "Geez, Monica. You could've gotten yourself killed."
"I went to get us a couple cokes," she says, holding them up for me to see. "Kelly never keeps it around, and in this heat, I knew I'd want one."
"Well, thanks for letting me know first."
An angry look crosses her face. She opens her mouth to respond, but stops when a young man turns the corner and walks towards us. He nods, and we nod back. By the look on his face, I know he's heard our angry tones if not the actual words and thinks he's interrupting a marital spat. Once he's on the elevator and the doors start to close, Monica hisses in a low, angry voice, "I'm perfectly capable of getting myself to the vending machine and back without an escort, John."
"Not necessarily. We don't know what we're dealing with here." My heart's still pounding.
She stands there staring at me and I brace myself for another outburst. She surprises me when she lets out a little gust of breath and raises her hands in surrender. "You're right. Okay. I'll tell you the next time I decide to go AWOL. I just didn't think. I'm sorry."
Her sudden capitulation proves how worried she must be. She hasn't said much the last couple of days, but she's looking tired and I know the dreams haven't let up for her any more than they have for me. I regret my angry words. I could have let her know how I felt without yelling at her. My eyes lock with hers and I send her a wordless apology. Mentally bracing myself for an uncomfortable evening with Kelly, I gesture in the direction of our rooms. "Let's go back and get your stuff. We don't want to keep our hostess waiting."
The building Kelly lives in is pretty much what I expected. It's a huge old building probably built in the early to mid-nineteenth century, gracefully aged, with a sense of presence. We enter large wooden doors that open onto a foyer made cool by old stone. Kelly's on the top floor, and since there's no elevator, we walk up a number of wide flights of stairs to her place. I can imagine Monica living here. It's old, has tons of character, and has an air about it I imagine she'd like. As we climb the stairs, she motions in the direction her apartment used to be and smiles. Yeah, she liked living here just fine. I wonder what she was like back then.
Kelly must have been waiting, because she opens the door only seconds after Monica knocks. I walk into the apartment and have my expectations of the interior immediately blown away. I'd expected dark colours and crystal balls and...well, witchy stuff. Instead, the walls of the large living area she ushers us into are painted a colour that makes the room seem light and welcoming, even though the sky is beginning to darken outside. The large, floor to ceiling windows have their white shutters open and the gauzy white curtains that hang on each side of them stir occasionally in the early evening breeze. I sit in the large and very comfortable gray chair she indicates with a wave of her hand and look around. There's a scent in the air I can't identify that makes me feel relaxed and at home. Bookcases jam packed with books, the titles of which are too far away for me to read, line one wall. Flowers sit in vases here and there. I spot a crystal ball on a small table and try not to smile. At least I wasn't completely wrong. The two women settle on the sofa and start to talk. I don't offer to participate. I want to observe Kelly.
Which, as it happens, is probably just as well, since once the photographs are spread out on the coffee table, they seem to forget my presence. I listen with interest as they go over details. Kelly asks good questions, makes good observations, and is a little less pie-in-the-sky than I'd expected. That doesn't reassure me, though. If anything, it makes me a little more worried. She's smart: smarter than she looks or acts. She could be dangerous.
Monica asks her some questions that lead to talk about thoughtforms and lower entities and dark magics and stuff I don't quite follow. Supposition follows supposition as they try to determine just what or who this guy is and what he's up to.
Still listening, I get up and walk over to the bookcase. Skimming the titles, I finally pick up, "Deamons and Magicks Gathering". The title makes no sense to me, but I take it back to my chair and open it up, flipping through it for pictures. There aren't many, so I skim through some of the chapters.
I fall into what I'm reading like a rock into a pond. Realisation of what the women think we're facing forces itself on me. Evil and good, spells and potions and incantations...This is a whole new world. My imagination runs wild.
Then Monica's phone rings.
Monica takes it out of her purse and answers. She listens for a while and with a quick glance at me, says. "I'd love to, Peter. Thanks for thinking of me. I should be finished here in about an hour. I'll need about 30 minutes to change at the hotel, so I'll meet you downstairs there in about an hour and a half."
I frown, not liking that my name hasn't been mentioned. I don't want her out of my sight, and that includes if she goes out with her buddy Peter.
I don't give her the chance to say anything after she hangs up. "I didn't hear you mention that you wouldn't be coming alone," I tell her.
She doesn't say anything for a minute or so, then: "I'll be safe. He's police, after all, and we're not going far. He wants to show me one of the murder sites we've identified."
So she's told him about our dreams and the unsolved murders. I wonder how much more she's told him. And when she had the chance.
"He's taking you there before or after dinner?"
"After, I should think. We won't want to eat too late."
At least she's not pretending this isn't a date. "We agreed you wouldn't be out and about alone."
Kelly pipes up and agrees with me. I don't know that it makes me all that happy to be on the same side as her, but at this point, I'll take whatever support I can get. It does nothing to lessen my suspicions about her, though. My spidey senses are tingling all over the place. There's danger, I just don't know from where, and it's making me paranoid.
"He's right, Monica," Kelly says. "We don't know who's after you or what he plans. We do know he's dangerous, and we know he has a way of abducting and murdering and not getting caught. You don't need to find out how he manages it by being on the receiving end of it."
Monica frowns at her friend. "I thought the point was for me not to be alone. I won't be. "
Kelly can't argue with that, but I can tell she's still uneasy. She darts a blue-eyed look at me as though I should be saying something. I don't know what more I can say: Monica's got a point - whoever's conducting these murders won't be too likely to try anything when she's with someone. I look at Kelly, my suspicions about her still clanging around inside my head. Is she afraid that Monica and Peter might come up with something that would lead to her?
Reluctantly, I nod. "Okay, fine. Go. Just be careful, and don't let him leave you alone anywhere, not even for a minute."
I can tell Monica's first instinct is to argue, but she doesn't. I wonder what form her dreams have been taking and if she's had more warnings, regretting that we seem to have avoided the topic lately. I frown, wondering why. I could have told her about the ones I've had, but...I try to grasp the reason for not talking about them with her, but can't remember it. It's like there's a roadblock in my head. I do know that at the time it made sense not to bring up the subject.
"We've still got a few minutes to talk," I say. "I've got a few questions about what abilities a person gains when they kill someone and perform whatever rituals you ladies think this guy's performing. And why he'd want them."
The two women look at me, surprised. I ask my lead question and Kelly begins to talk. I'm not sure how much time passes before Monica looks at her watch and groans, "I'm late already. I've got to go get changed."
I stand up and start to gather our papers.
"Leave those for Kelly, John. She'll need to go through them."
I don't like the idea of leaving things lying around that belong to the FBI.
Kelly looks at me, her eyes showing the first glimmer of real humour she's ever directed at me. "Don't worry, I won't sell them to the CIA or KGB. You can pick them up first thing in the morning, if you like. Just give me a little while with them."
On the way back to the hotel, I ask Monica what Kelly needs them for. She hesitates, then says, "She wants time to ask-"
She stops, and I know she doesn't want to continue, so I prod her. "Ask who what?"
With her usual 'you're-going-to-hate-this' look, Monica tells me, "Kelly sometimes uses the energies around her to ask for help." When I don't say anything she explains, "Elementals, John. I've explained them to you before. She works with water and air. The spirits who embody those things may be able to help her. Help us."
Tell me a story, Daddy...
"Yeah, I remember," I tell her. "They're like spirit guides or somethin', right? It still sounds kinda far out, even for you guys." It's hard to believe that in this day and age there are still people into that sort of crap.
"Not exactly spirit guides, but whether you like it or not, they exist, and there are people who use their help."
I grunt. "Maybe I should have stuck around and taken lessons, eh?"
Monica laughs abruptly. "You might have learned more than you'd bargained for tonight, John. Rituals that bring the elementals to you are usually held in the nude. For something as important as this, I'm sure that's what she'll do. She'll need to be as close as she can to them."
Okay, that's more than I needed to know. I wait the entire walk down to the main floor before asking her, "What time do you expect to get back tonight?"
Monica smiles, recognising the change of subject, but not ready to let go of it just yet. "John," she says to me, "you can trust her instincts. She's very rarely wrong." Then she relents and answers my question: "I'm not sure when we'll be back. Don't wait up for me; Peter and I have a lot of catching up to do."
"You two were an item when you lived here, or what?"
I regret the question as soon as I ask it. Damn. We don't talk about personal stuff like that. It's not professional. It's none of my business.
But I'm dying to know.
"No," she replies, not looking as though she thinks my question is out of order. "We were close friends, though. Everything about the move here was difficult for me. I was a bit of a mess, and he sort of took me under his wing: he kept me busy to keep my mind off things - showed me around, introduced me to people."
"Like Kelly?"
Monica chuckles. "No. I met Kelly by accident when I was shopping for clothes. Kelly and Peter don't get along."
No kidding. "He doesn't like her wierdness either, eh?"
A shake of her head tells me I'm guessing wrong.
"Peter knows a lot about the occult. That's how we first met - he was the New Orleans police detective on the first case I was called on to investigate. He'd heard about the satanic and cult crimes unit, called the FBI, and asked for me. He and Kelly, though," she said, still smiling, "they're like oil and water. I don't pretend to understand, and I gave up trying to put them in the same room a long time ago."
I don't care too much for either of them. I wonder where that puts me. Then I think back to when she'd left New York. I'd been surprised at how abruptly the transfer had come up, but she'd seemed okay about the move. I guess I'd figured she'd like working in a place famed for its weird stuff. Instead, it had been a time she'd needed someone and I'd been so into my own circumstances I hadn't even noticed.
Pretty poor showing for someone who would have claimed to be her friend.
I push that thought aside, but I know it's gonna come back and haunt me.
By now, we're riding the elevator up to our floor of the hotel. Trying a lighter tone, I ask, "So, do you have a favourite place to eat dinner here?"
Monica smiles. "We used to have a few. I'll let Peter pick. He'll know who's the chef where and what he's cooking at the moment."
So Peter's one of those fine wine and dine guys. I look at Monica. It never struck me that she might be into that sort of thing. I remember bringing her Washington's finest sausage - the kind you eat without a plate - and wince.
At my door, I turn to her. "Let me know when you're going," I say, wondering how she dresses for a date with this guy.
Monica nods and enters her room.
It isn't long before my wonderin's over. I can't believe she packed something like it, but it sure as hell wouldn't have taken up much space, and I suppose she musta known that Peter and she would be going out at some point.
The dress is a short-hemmed strapless thing in a colour I'm not even sure there's a name for. I suppose some people might call it a simple dress 'cause there isn't anything on it to take away from the person wearing it. Which is just as well, 'cause Monica looks fabulous. She's put her hair up somehow and she's tall and slender and elegant and I hardly recognise her as the woman who's my partner by day.
"Wow. Must be some place you're going to."
Monica smiles self-consciously. "I hope so. It's fun to dress up every now and again." She touches her earrings and then her hair. "It feels strange. It's been a while."
Yeah. Probably not since she left New Orleans. Peter's a lucky guy. I can remember dressing up for different things with Barbara. It's fun, with the right person.
"Well, it suits you," I say, wishing I could think of something more original. And yeah, I'm kinda wishing it was me she was going out with. The thought surprises me, and I squelch it quick, before it has the chance to take root. Friends don't date. They don't think thoughts like I'm having right now.
"He's picking you up when?"
She glances at the slender, gold-banded watch she's wearing. "Just about now. I'd better be going."
Once again, that awful wave of foreboding sweeps over me. "Be careful, Monica."
Her eyes raise to meet mine, surprise and curiosity making a strange cocktail in them. "Of course. Do you want me to let you know when I'm back, even if it's late?"
I nod. "Yeah."
She hesitates, her hand on the door lever. "You're really worried aren't you?"
I nod again, not wanting to say anything. I'm being a little nuts about all this, but I can't stop the fear building inside me that something's about to happen I can't do anything about it because I won't be there when it happens if she goes without me.
The thought sends ice down my spine. Why I think something's going to happen while she's out with Peter, I can't say, but suddenly it's all over me, the fear she's walking into danger-
"Call me when you get there, that's all. I'd like to have a rough idea where you are and when. I'm sorry Monica, I don't mean to be your babysitter or anything, but-"
She smiles, her eyes warm. "That's okay, John. I'll phone from the restaurant." A heartbeat, and she adds, "I'll phone from the ladies' washroom, though. I wouldn't want Peter to get the wrong idea."
I don't have much to say to that. Hell, maybe Peter wouldn't be too far from wrong.
/It's okay, Daddy./
Two hours later, she calls and says that she's at some restaurant called Trinity's. She tells me the street it's on, that the food's good, and laughs when I tell her to bring home a doggy bag. I can imagine her eyes flashing with humour and feel a pang of regret that I'm not there in person.
"Don't be afraid to call again, later," I tell her. "And let me know when you think you'll be back."
We say a couple more things, she promises to call when she's on the way back, and we hang up.
When I put the receiver down, the alarm bells are still ringin'.
Out of the blue, I realise that maybe they're goin' off because I not having partnerish thoughts about my partner. I'm not crazy about the idea of Monica out on a date. I feel left behind. Knowing better than to dwell on such things, I pick up a file and open it.
It's past midnight, and she's still not back. I've tried television, the in- room video games, and reading, and I can't concentrate on anything but that she should be back by now. She hasn't called, and I'm more uncomfortable with that than I would ever admit to. When the phone rings, I almost jump on it.
"Doggett, here"
The voice isn't the one I'm hoping to hear. It takes me a while to place the soft, southern tone.
"John? I'm worried about Monica. Have you heard from her? Do you know where she was going after dinner? I have a feeling she's in trouble somewhere."
It's Kelly. Her words are stumbling over themselves, and there's no mistaking the urgency in her voice.
"Kelly?"
"Yes," she says impatiently, as though I should have anticipated her call. "Do you know where she's supposed to be? Listen, she's in trouble."
Her words are quickly spoken, and in response to them, my fear leaps up to crash with hers. "We talked around 10:00," I tell her. "She was at Trinity's for dinner and said as soon as they finished there, they were going to one of the murder sites. She mentioned doing something like that before she left your place, didn't she?"
"I was hoping maybe she'd changed her plans. We've got to go find her, John. She's not answering her cell, and I've had bad feelings about tonight all day. There's something wrong."
I agree. I'd thought that most of my problem was with who she was going out with, though. Carrying things still further, I don't know him from Adam, and how do I know that he's not involved somehow in these murders? How do I know he's not-
I stop myself abruptly. I'm thinking the same thoughts I was thinking about Kelly. I'm suspicious of everyone. Still, Monica's not home, we don't know where she is - but we do know who she's with.
We think.
Maybe Kelly knows how to get reach him. "How well do you know this Peter guy?" I ask.
"Just enough to know I don't like him. He's been good to Monica, though. They've known each other almost since the day she landed in New Orleans, years ago."
"I don't suppose you have his phone number lying around."
"No."
Of course not. That would make things too easy. I realise we could contact the New Orleans Police Department and maybe get it from them, but it'd take time, and time may not be on our side.
Kelly's voice intrudes on my thoughts. "I'm coming over to get you. We've got to go out and find her."
With Monica's voice in my head saying, 'You can trust her instincts', and my gut insisting I follow it, I make a quick decision. Ain't no way I'm going to question this. It's time to go with the flow. At the very least, it allows me to do something other than sit around and wait.
"No," I tell her, "I'll come get you. Bring all the stuff we left at your place. We'll need it to figure out where they might have gone after Trinity's."
Grabbing my coat and keys, I'm out the door before I have a chance to think about what I'm doing.
The run to the elevator gives me some time for that. I'm off looking for someone I'm not even sure wants to be looked for. What if she's at Peter's? What if there's more to the relationship than she let on? And what if there being more to their relationship is what's really got me running out in the middle of the night with rescue on my mind? At this point, though, I don't care. I'm listening to my instinct, and instinct is tellin' me to get a move on. Reaching the elevator doors, I punch the call button, then head for the stairs because I refuse to wait.
I'm at Kelly's in no time. She's just comin' out of the doors of her building when I pull to a stop. She gets in quickly and slams the door shut.
Having had a bit of time to think, I make a last ditch effort to give rationality a chance. Skipping the greetings thing, I suggest, "Maybe we ought to slow down a bit. They've known each other a long time. Maybe-"
She glares at me. "John, she's in trouble. Don't tell me you don't sense that. I haven't felt right about anything in regards to her for a while now, and you've been feeling it too. She's in danger, we're both worried as hell, and deep down, you know we should be. She'd have called you by now if everything was okay, right?"
Yeah, she's right. While she puts her seat belt on, I pull out into traffic. I've got no idea where we're going, but I need to be moving. "Should we try to contact Peter?"
Kelly shakes her head. "He's part of the problem."
I turn my head quickly, another cascade of fear shivering down my spine. God, I hope she's wrong.
"There's gonna be hell to pay if we're mistaken and she and Peter are-" I can't finish the sentence, so I clear my throat and try again, "She'll be real mad if she finds out we were scouring the streets of the city looking for her and she's safe and sound somewhere."
Kelly's impatience is palpable. "She's not and sound anywhere. Turn left up here. We've got to take the out to . I'm sure that's where-"
She stops. After I turn onto the street she's told me to, I look at her. "What are you talking about? How do you know where to go?" The momentary thought that perhaps she's kidnapping ME crosses my mind. Is she preying on my fear to get me away? I wonder if she's armed.
"Will you stop the 'am-I-in-danger-from-a-madwoman' thing and pay attention?" she asks. "Monica's in danger, and it's not from anything we're going to have a lot of power against. Peter's connected. You've been feeling that something's wrong, too. If you spent more time learning to understand what your senses are telling you, you'd be a lot better off."
She stops the lecture, then resumes in a quieter voice, "Look, I'm sorry for scolding. I just hate seeing gifts go to waste because the person given them is too blind, stupid, or bigoted to use them. We've got to get to Monica quickly, so let's call it a truce, okay? I'm not trying to kill you; Monica's my friend, and I'm one of the good guys here. Now shut up and drive where I tell you. I've got to concentrate on Monica."
I shut up and drive where she tells me.
"And you don't like him because...?" Making turns as Kelly directs me, I decide it's time to talk some.
She hesitates. It's nothing new to me - she's done a lot of that since we were introduced. Monica's told her about my feelings about the occult, and she doesn't like to parade it out. "Kelly, just let me have it," I prompt.
"I don't know that it's ever been so much not like as it is I've never trusted him. You know that Monica senses things. I do too, though not exactly the same way. When I met Peter, I saw him for a while before we were introduced. He didn't know me, didn't know he was being observed. I got the impression before we were introduced that there was much power congregated around him. When Monica brought him over to introduce him to me, though, none of it was there. It was as though I'd imagined it, but I knew I hadn't. I always wondered if maybe..."
I jump in. " -If maybe he had occult powers that he was keeping hidden? Can you do that? I mean, hide powers so that people who are sensitive and ought to be able to sense it, can't?" Things are starting to add up, and I don't like it.
"You'd have to be very skilled, but it would be possible," Kelly admits. "But I have to say that he seems okay. I always wondered if he maybe felt more for Monica than she realised."
"But you never sensed anything amiss again?"
"We didn't meet much after that. It seemed that any time there was an opportunity for us all to be in the same place at the same time, something would come up for one of us, and it wouldn't happen. To be honest, I was never eager to be around him. I can't think of any particular reason: just a general aversion. At the time I didn't think an awful lot about it. I don't think I saw him more than 3 times the entire time Monica lived here, though Monica must have seen him a number of times every week."
We lapse into silence, me wondering how close their relationship got in those number of times a week. A small desperate part of me hopes for Monica's sake that they're safely tucked away somewhere renewing their acquaintance. Anything's better'n the other stuff I'm thinking might be happening to her, 'cause it involves Peter being the person behind all the murders that we've been investigating. He's got the perfect cover, the perfect opportunity, and if he's got the kind of 'power' that Kelly seems to think he has...it all makes way too much sense.
Monica is in big trouble.
It's 2am, and we've driven for miles. Turning a sharp corner, I see the red reflector tail lights of a parked car off to the left. I'm lucky I saw them, since the car's parked off the road on a small turnoff, well to the side and half shrouded in bushes.
Overshooting the turnoff, I hit the brakes. "Here. This is it," I don't know how I know this is the car and this is the place, but at this point I don't care.
Kelly, who's been sitting quietly in the seat beside me, leans over, holding her stomach. She's said little the last bit, though a few times I've looked over 'cause she keeps muttering something to herself. I've looked into the rear view mirror a few times, too. I've had the feeling there's someone else with us, right here in the car, but of course there isn't. It'd weird me out if I weren't so worried.
"You okay?"
Kelly nods, but doesn't speak.
I reverse and pull into the turnoff. Parking my rental behind a dark sedan I recognise as Peter's. My heart takes a final plunge. No more false hopes. It's Peter. Monica's his next intended victim, and I can only hope we're here in time. I move to open the door.
"Wait." Kelly's voice and her restraining hand hold me in place. "We can't go unaided," she explains, rummaging through a deep pocket in her coat. Finally finding what she wants, she murmers a few words. She then opens the small cloth sachet, pinches some of the powder in it between two fingers, turns, and blows it at me.
I sneeze.
"What the hell?"
"I'm not finished. Shut up. You don't have any idea what we're going into. It's not going to be anything like you expect. We've got to do what we can to protect ourselves." She's talking fast, and her hands are trembling.
I have my gun. Touching it to reassure myself, I move to open the door again. Kelly grabs my arm. "Will you stop?! You're going to get yourself killed. You still think this is a game? You think Monica and I and anyone else who deals with the occult are just indulging in make believe? Jeezus, John. Smarten up. You've got to have seen enough-"
She's messing with something else she took out of her pocket while she was cussing me. I sit, waiting, my heart pounding and every ounce of me wanting to get out of this damned car. The voice in my head is screaming at me to find Monica, to get away from Kelly as quick as I can.
She passes me a small cloth packet. "Put this in your pocket. It's not much, but it's all I could put together before we left. It'll offer you some protection, maybe buy you some time. If Peter speaks to you, don't answer his questions; answers will bind you to him, no matter what your response is. Concentrate on Monica and what you know her to be, not what you see, not what he tells you. I figure he'll be concentrating on you once he knows we're here - if he doesn't already. I'll do what I can to help, but I don't know what that will be until we see what's happening."
She looks at me, her eyes glittering in the dark. "You first, I'll follow. They're just over the little hill you'll find once you get through the trees over there." She points ahead through the windshield, a little to the right.
She keels over again, clutching her stomach. "Go!" she gasps.
Finally, I throw my door open and jump out the vehicle. The night air is hot and oppressive, and I swear there are things alive in it, brushing up against me, trailing fingers over my skin. I hear Kelly behind me, muttering something. Ignoring her, I head in the direction she pointed, the air clearing a bit as I go.
Once we're in the trees, the going gets harder. My legs don't seem to be working right for some reason, and at times I lose my train of thought or pick up thoughts I don't know why I'm thinking. I imagine Monica with Peter, in his apartment. Smiling, talking. Naked. Something's walking beside me, whispering in my ear, and I see Kelly, her face dark, chanting over a candle; I see people in robes, like pictures from some movie.
I stop, wondering why I'm here.
/Daddy! Hurry! Where are you?/
"John," a whisper from behind. "Move! You've got to concentrate. He's sending you thoughts. Don't pay attention. Focus on where we're going-" She stops abruptly and bends over at the waist. "Let's go," she gasps. "Hurry, he's hurting her."
He's hurting her. I forge ahead, leaving Kelly to trail in my wake as best she can. I can hear her muttering to herself again, but don't stop to figure out what it is she's sayin'. I'm focussed on what's ahead.
There's an energy in the air now that's almost painful. Like electricity, it bites at my skin, crawling along it like worms, irritating, impossible to shake off. Kelly is still behind me, still muttering. I realise now she's chanting something. Whatever it is, a part of me recognises it as beneficial. I halt briefly before cresting the hill that lies behind the copse of trees. Kelly catches up. She's still got her arms folded against her stomach, and she doesn't look too good.
"You okay?"
"He's very powerful. God, John. I don't know if we can do this." Her eyes are streaming tears, and I reach out a hand to steady her. She frowns, her eyes fixed on a distant point. "He's torn: a part of him doesn't want to do this, another part of him insists upon it. He's going to kill her. He needs her somehow. He-"
She stops, gasping as she clutches her stomach. Behind me, I hear a muffled groan.
It's Monica. I turn and head in her direction.
End Part IV