Part 19 (1/2)
He smelled the pungent, cloyingly sweet stink of decay and could see that the body was beginning to bloat slightly, baking in the stuffy, hot confines of the vacant house. He stood for a long moment, gazing down at the man, then turned and knelt beside the hole in the floor in which Tessa had discovered the Morin clan Tome.
The book had been in the secret alcove beneath the floor long enough to leave a faint, musty scent lingering in the narrow opening.
Funny, Rene thought, as he reached down into the hole. I never noticed that smell before. Now it seemed somehow familiar to him-more than this, like something he'd been specifically searching for, a fragrance that had drawn him to that house, that place.
He felt something in the dusty, cobweb-lined opening and picked it up, pulling out an old photograph like one of the daguerreotypes they'd seen inside the Tome. Rene recognized the stern-faced man in the portrait; he'd been the principle subject in other photos.
Michel Morin.
The name whispered through Rene's mind in a voice that was surprisingly unfamiliar to him. The feelings a.s.sociated with those words were equally as surprising-a sudden, unexpected mixture of fondness and sorrow, as if seeing Michel's image had brought his heart both pleasure and pain all at the same time. The only problem was, he couldn't account for either emotion. Because I don't know who in the h.e.l.l Michel Morin was outside of a face in a photograph, a name in a book.
Yet in his mind, as if through memory, as plain as any of his own, he saw a young boy on a bright spring morning, standing beneath a grove of trees so that daylight dappled through the new vernal foliage and against his face in splayed shadows.
Michel.
He saw the glint of suns.h.i.+ne off metal; a short-handled knife in the boy, Michel's hand, and felt the sharp sting as the blade drew against his palm.
Strangely, looking down at his hands in the dim light of the house in Thibodaux, he could see a scar-a thin line bisecting his right palm at a crooked diagonal. Because I was too young to heal, he thought inexplicably, because the scar was part of the dream, nothing he'd ever seen before. Not all of the way, at least. When Michel cut me, it left a scar.
”Now we're like brothers,” he remembered Michel saying as he cut open his own hand and pressed his palm against Rene's, clasping fiercely. ”Nothing will ever come between us. Not ever.”
In the dream, Rene walked slowly toward the light of the bathroom in Thibodaux. He glanced down to find himself in a charcoal- gray sport coat and dress slacks, a b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt and silk tie-clothes he'd never seen before, much less had packed to take with him. He tucked the picture of Michel Morin into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and watched light glint momentarily off a gold cuff link affixed to the juncture of his sleeve; a gold cube with the initials A. S. N. engraved atop.
Inside the bathroom, Rene approached the old porcelain sink, which listed against the crumbling wall, a battered medicine cabinet above it. With the moon's glow all around him, he looked into the cracked surface of the mirror. To his shock, it wasn't his own face reflected at him in the gla.s.s; rather it was someone older, a man who appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, with a heavy sheaf of white hair that spilled down from the crown of his head, past his shoulders in a thick fall. His face was handsome, his features angular and somewhat familiar to Rene; his brows narrowed as he frowned into the mirror.
He sort of looks like Brandon, Rene thought, realizing who it was, what he was dreaming about. The Elders! Saint merde, that's Brandon's grandfather!
And in his mind, a flurry of sudden images struck: Michel Morin in boyhood, smiling as they had clutched their b.l.o.o.d.y hands together. Now we're like brothers...Nothing will ever come between us. Not ever.
A woman who eerily resembled Tessa, with catlike eyes and heavy dark hair...
Eleanor.
I want this forever, she said, her voice haunting and melancholy. I want you forever. I'll die if I marry him. I swear to you, Augustus, if I can't be with you, I'll steal a knife from the supper table and slash my own wrists with it...
Who are you, boy? Augustus n.o.ble seethed inside Rene's skull, his dark eyes spearing out from the reflection in the mirror. His voice was low and resonant, velveteen but menacing.
In his mind, Rene could hear the woman, Eleanor whispering to him, There is only one way. You know what to do. There's only one way to change the will of the Tomes.
Rene saw fire; a bright, furious inferno whipping against the black, icy backdrop of a winter's night. He saw the dim outline of walls, windows and chimneys against the ferocious blaze and realized it was a house burning. He could hear gla.s.s shattering, timbers crumbling, but above all of this, something horrific and shrill.
Screaming, he thought, as he simultaneously realized he could see the silhouetted forms of people through the windows, burning bodies dancing and flailing, throwing themselves past the heat-shattered panes in desperate attempts to escape. Because the doors are all blocked, he thought, even though there was no way he could have known this; no way at all. Jesus Christ, they blocked all the doors, trapped them inside. They're burning them alive!
How did you get inside my head? Augustus snapped, and as the older Brethren sealed off his mind from Rene's prying eyes, it felt like hundreds of doors flying shut all at once right in his face.
”Viens m'enculer!” Rene gasped sharply as he sat up in bed, his eyes flown wide. It took him a long, alarmed moment to realize where he was-who he was-and at last, he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, pus.h.i.+ng it back from his face. ”Jesus,” he whispered, his voice shaky.
Tessa groaned softly. He looked down and stroked his hand against her shoulder to soothe her, hoping she stayed asleep. I'll be hard pressed to explain to her why the h.e.l.l I'm dreaming of her granddaddy otherwise, he thought. Because frankly, I don't even know myself.
Once a.s.sured that Tessa was undisturbed, Rene eased himself out of bed. He drew a gla.s.s of water for himself at the sink and swallowed it in a single gulp. This was followed by another cup and then another, until at last he ran the side of his hand against his bottom lip to catch dribbles creeping down his chin. He looked at himself in the vanity mirror, his reflection in the dim glow of light from the adjacent bathroom.
Who are you, boy? Augustus n.o.ble's voice echoed in his mind, the images the house engulfed in flames, the terrified, agonized shrieks permeating the night replaying simultaneously. How did you get inside my head?
”Juste un reve,” Rene told himself, closing his eyes and again shoving his hand through his hair. Just a dream.
He sat down heavily in an armchair in the corner of the small room. While here, he rolled up the leg of his jeans, fished his portable recharging cables from his bag and plugged his prosthetic knee into the nearest wall outlet. He glanced around the room uneasily, as much to convince himself that he was alone there, no Elders within sight or to be sensed, as to make sure Tessa was asleep. Yes, they'd made love, and yes, she'd seen not only the leg, but him without it, but still, that incessant insecurity remained.
He leaned over the side of the chair and grabbed the TV remote off the bedside table. Thumbing the volume nearly to silence, he turned on the television and channel-surfed until he found CNN. He didn't plan on paying any attention to the persistent drone of the newscaster, but the chatter would fill the vacant silence in the room and soothe the lingering unease he still felt following the dream. However, the news item up for discussion caught his attention immediately.
”...a bizarre incident in which a flock of birds apparently attacked a crowd of patrons in a riverfront nightclub...” the anchorwoman was saying. Rene held out the remote, leaning forward as he turned up the volume. ”Police in that city are still looking for suspects after two men were found dead at the scene following this same incident. The body of local attorney Jude Hannam was discovered mutilated and partially drained of blood...”
”Viens m'enculer,” Rene whispered, the dream of Augustus n.o.ble all but forgotten. He knew who Jude Hannam was-Lina's ex-boyfriend. He'd been murdered by Tessa and Brandon's lunatic older brother, Caine n.o.ble, on the same night that Lina had shot and killed Caine.
”Police are also seeking the public's help in identifying another man dead at the same scene. Described as a white male in his mid- to late twenties, the victim was approximately five feet, nine inches tall and one hundred and ninety pounds. He had been badly beaten and shot four times, including once to the head. While there are currently no suspects in either death, investigators are actively looking for one of their own, a missing officer named Angelina Jones, who apparently visited the club while on duty just prior to the bird attack.”
An image of Lina in uniform flashed on screen. Oh, s.h.i.+t, Rene thought.
”Jones disappeared after entering Apathy, a series of neighboring nightclubs built inside three river barges. She was once romantically linked to Hannam and the two had been seen arguing the day before the incident at a wedding reception. Ballistic tests are ongoing to see if Jones's gun fired the fatal shots in the second Apathy slaying.”
Oh, s.h.i.+t, he thought again.
The broadcast went on to the next news item, something about a mother of four from rural Wisconsin who had been reported missing earlier in the week. Rene thumbed the remote again, switching the television off.
”Oh, my G.o.d,” Tessa said from the bed, and he turned in surprise to find her sitting up, blinking sleepily at the darkened TV. She turned to Rene, her expression stricken. ”It made the news way out here?”
”Sure looks that way, oui, pischouette,” he replied, adding to himself, We might be in big f.u.c.king trouble.
”What are we going to do?” Tessa asked, all wide and frightened eyes as she crawled out of bed, reaching for her nearby socks and shoes. ”We need to go and wake up Brandon and Lina. We need to tell them about this. We should-”
”No, pischouette.” He held up his hand. ”Hold the reins. Let's not panic here.”
”Not panic?” She blinked at him like he'd just pulled off the cap of his skull and flashed her a peek at his gray matter. ”The police are looking for Lina!”
”Police halfway across the country from here are looking for Lina. It's nothing we need to worry about until the morning, I'm telling you. Let them sleep.”
”That was the national news, not something from halfway across the country,” Tessa argued. ”We-”
”Tessa, listen to me. Those cable news outlets pick up s.h.i.+t like that all the time, little bits to fill the dead air in the middle of the night,” Rene said. ”n.o.body saw it besides us night owls and chronic insomniacs and h.e.l.l, even we don't pay much attention to that kind of thing.”
At least here's hoping no one else does, he thought.
”I'm sorry I woke you and got you all upset,” he said. ”Go back to sleep. I'll leave it off.”
”No.” She glanced around the room almost uncertainly, rubbing her hands against her arms as if chilled. ”I had a bad dream, anyway. I think I'll sit up for a while, too, if you don't mind.”
”Not at all.” Looks like bad dreams are going around tonight, he thought, adding aloud, ”You want to talk about it?”