Again (20 page)

C
armen Carvelli vigorously rubbed the rosary beads in quick succession, reciting her morning litany with each one. Her eyes looked heavenward as she broke off and whispered, “Please God, give me the strength to do what must be done.”

Sunlight filtered through the gauze of the blue bedroom curtains, casting a bluish-green haze on the walls. The scent of last night’s rose incense lingered slightly.

She’d looked at the cards last night, and what she’d seen had chilled her. Three successive turns; each time the death card figured prominently. All three times, they seem to point to David.

Since meeting Rhea, she nearly had the full story. Or at least a major part of it. She just didn’t know who the entire cast was. And she didn’t know how this was going to play out, here and now.

Someone was going to die. Either David. Or someone close to David.

The cards said so.

It had taken some convincing to get Rhea to give over custody of one of the letters. But she had convinced the girl to meet her at the library again, convinced her with a mother’s sincerity that she would take care of the cherished item, which would be returned promptly. Still, the girl’s eyes had looked at her suspiciously, even as she handed over the letter during their arranged meeting at the library. Carmen practically had to tug the papers from the girl’s hand.

Then she called Jennifer over for tea. She hadn’t told the psychic what she planned.

Instead, when Jennifer sat down at the kitchen table, the letter was already there to be pushed aside as the cup was placed on the table. Jennifer’s hand had slightly touched one of the sheets, and Carmen held her breath.

The look that froze on the woman’s face morphed from shock to horror. She had drawn back her hand as though it had been singed by fire. Then she looked at Carmen with wounded dignity.

“Was this a test?” Jennifer accused.

Carmen didn’t answer the question, but simply asked, “What did you see?”

At first, the young woman sat there quietly defiant, resentful about being tricked. But the images in her head needed exorcising. To do that, she would have to pick up the pages again, which she did.

“Read it,” Carmen encouraged. Jennifer read over the words, words more suited to a time past, but whose sentiments reverberated to anyone who had loved someone she shouldn’t. And had tried to get away.

With the prolonged contact, Jennifer’s hand visibly shook.

“There’s violence here,” she started, and couldn’t seem to finish her sentence. “And death. A horrible death. It’s—it’s…” she stalled, took a deep breath, her emotions causing her to strain with the effort. “The woman who wrote this…this woman died at someone’s hand. She was horribly murdered.” Her strength petered out. She looked physically exhausted, as though the exertion had crossed from visual to physical empathy. As though she felt the pain the dead woman must have felt.

Carmen felt sad and frightened. Her suspicions were falling into place, settling into jigsawed grooves that were merging into a tableau of pain and violence, two words she never wanted to associate with her son.

“I see the man holding the knife,” Jennifer continued. “His face is familiar, but I don’t…” Recognition morphed into a newer horror. “I’ve seen his face before. It’s the same face that lay over your son’s picture that day, the face I described to you.”

The face that Carmen had seen when she looked at David and saw someone else sitting there. Someone with a handsome face—and an angry soul.

Later, she’d turned to the cards in a desperate act, hoping they would refute everything that the fates seemed to be declaring. David had killed before. He would either die, maybe in some karmic retribution, or he would repeat the actions of a past life. A life that was pulling forward in time, obscuring the present with its hatred, venom, whatever it was that this man had felt for the woman who wrote the letter.

Rachel.

She needed to find the woman who had died. And who must now have been reborn. The woman whose present soul was a siren’s call to the soul of the man she once loved. The man who had killed her. The man who was now her son.

Once she found this woman, she would do whatever was necessary to make sure that past deeds remained unrealized. Even if it meant that she would have to go to the extreme to save her son’s soul.

Tears fell onto the beads. She rubbed them harder until the blood infused her fingers.

T
yne held up the dress, turned it one way, then another, examining the lucent sequins that accentuated the luster of the black silk. Nice, classy, but a little too suggestive for the party. Its length would show more than an appreciative view of thigh. She didn’t want him to get any ideas that this was more than just a get-together between two friends, a celebration for the magazine, or specifically, a launch party hyping the success of
Elan’s
first issue. She might be opening up a can of worms, but she refused to go stag again. She’d had too many of those evenings back at the dull but mandatory
Clarion
parties where the founder was dutifully lauded and sycophants preened for an opportunity to be noticed. Since her brother was off on another one of his photo shoots, this time in the Ivory Coast, steadily collecting a photologue of the changing African topography, he wasn’t available as her fallback date. So in the end, she’d called Lem, which was, in fact, a return call. He’d phoned earlier in the week to say hello and left a message. The timing seemed karmic, so she’d called and invited him to the gala. He had readily said yes, and for a second, she’d hesitated at the fervor of his answer.

Looking through the closet, a green shimmer caught her eye. She reached for it and pulled out the half-hidden dress, one of her former favorites almost forgotten since it started tightening around the midriff a couple of years ago. But in the last weeks, she’d dropped some pounds, not consciously but due more to a consistent neglect to eat. She remembered the excitement she’d felt when she first found the dress in a small boutique near Oak Street, and the immense pleasure she’d also felt when it had slid smoothly over her skin, clinging nicely to her curves.

The pleasure was just as sweet this time around. The silk felt like warm water as it flowed effortlessly down her body, falling against her in just the right places. Its satin caught the diminishing sunrays filtering through the window, contouring the dress in shadows and light, so that some patches of green seemed darker. The asymmetrical bias hemline touched just above her right knee and slanted down her left knee in soft pleats. The V-plunge didn’t expose too much, but gave a suggestive view of cleavage. It looked tasteful but not demure.

She was putting on her small gold hoops when the doorbell rang. He had arrived. She took a deep breath then walked out of the bedroom, unconsciously circumventing the pile of boxes she had never unpacked that rested against the wall in the hallway. When she opened the door, she was greeted with a luminous smile that made his smooth dark skin glow. Handsome and fit in an elegant tux, he temporarily made her rue her “friends only” stipulation. She wondered what it might feel like to rest her head against his chest and be bathed in his scent, which this night was a hint of something earthy. She missed being held, and the thought immediately brought on a remembered impression of hands pressing into her flesh. Strong, supple fingers with neatly buffed nails that had softly traced along her pliant skin, pale flesh reddened with desire that meshed against her own…. She mentally shook the thought away, determined to pay attention to the man standing in front of her.

“You look gorgeous,” Lem said, his eyes moving briefly along her curves before settling on her face again. Tyne suspected that he was fighting to keep his expression neutral, to not let her see how much this evening meant to him. She fought to keep her tone impassive but cheerful as she thanked him. She wanted everything smooth this evening, no snags or entanglements. No expectations. This was part duty, free food and drinks, and hopefully some fun, which she had been missing these last weeks.

There was one snag that she couldn’t avoid though. David would be there. She knew it, felt it in her bones. She had mentally scripted the few words she would say to him if he cornered her. But she was hoping that wouldn’t happen, that beyond a nod of greeting, she wouldn’t have to speak to him at all. She had the strategy mapped out. Dance floor; she would only dance with Lem. Sherry would be another buffer; David wasn’t likely to make a scene in front of his friend. Still, she knew she should explain why she had pulled away, why she hadn’t returned his calls in almost a month.

Yet, she would never, could never have called out another’s name, as he had that night they were in bed.

“Are you ready?” Lem asked.

“Just let me get my coat.”

September had come on with strong gusts and temperatures dipping into the low 50s and high 40s. She wrapped herself in her beige cashmere coat, preparing to deal with the brunt of the cool evening.

But she wasn’t sure she was prepared for the tempest that might await her.

Sherry checked over the salmon mousse baguettes and cold canapé assortment the caterer had just set up on one of the tables. On another table sat hot tureens of sliced turkey and sliced beef immersed in gravies. Another table hosted miniature chicken drumsticks slightly basted with lemon garlic butter. Yet another held chilled bottles of Cristal, while a fifth featured cases holding complimentary silver pens with the name
Elan
embossed on them. These she would pass out to the guests at the end of the evening.

Guests were already trickling into the very popular Terrace Room, one of several private event rooms housed in the Ritz Carlton. Sherry had pulled some strings (and tugged at some unwilling arms) to get this place. Insulated from the chillier Chicago clime, the room offered an illusionary tropical setting with an indoor rock garden surrounding a small, trickling pond. Overhead, the skylight broadcast a cloudless evening sky, with the last amber and golden hues merging into a slate gray which would darken into a rich ebony within a half hour. Already a full moon was taking center stage.

She was expecting nearly two hundred guests tonight, friends and acquaintances lured by the promise of good food and music and a lot of conviviality. She was no stranger to gala events, having grown up in a family where her parents celebrated everything they considered pivotal to their success.

Her invitation to the celebrations stopped after she introduced her then-girlfriend, Gina, to her parents. Her mother had choked out an explanation during one of her awkward visits to the apartment. “It’s just too much on us right now, what with the downturn in the market. You understand, don’t you honey?” Her mother had come as close to perspiring as Sherry had ever seen her. Embarrassed and hurt, Sherry had merely nodded her expected understanding. Later that same year, the hurt was amplified when her parents somehow managed to find funds to purchase a new yacht in which they sailed around the Caribbean.

Her parents would not be here tonight. She had not invited them. Even if she had, she wasn’t certain whether they would have come. For her peace of mind, she didn’t want to know.

Sherry looked up in time to see David coming through the doors. He wore brooding very well. Too well, as a matter of fact. He had settled into gloom like a well-worn but comfortable coat. Despondency had sunken his cheekbones a little, accentuating the angular planes of his face. He had lost weight, but still managed to fill out his tux quite nicely. At that moment, he spotted her, gave her a slight wave and started over. Sherry noticed a few female heads turn to scope him as he made his way across the room.

“You’re the only one I know who can look this good and still look ill at the same time,” she said as he reached her. “You shouldn’t have come…”

“Thanks for the welcome,” he said dryly.

She had been joking, but she could see the shadows beneath his eyes. He wasn’t getting enough sleep.

“Just kidding. You know I want you here.” She grabbed his neck to plant a kiss on his cheek. Then she let him go and looked into those near hazel eyes. At times, the color seemed to shift with his mood. “So how’s the new guy working out?” He had hired a new architect, managing to lure him from a prestigious firm with the promise of a full partnership within a couple of years. The guy was talented and more than made up for the loss of David’s former partners.

“Fine, fine,” he answered distractedly, his eyes wandering the room, looking for something. Or someone.

“She’s not here yet,” Sherry said.

David’s eyes tended to darken whenever he heard Tyne’s name, so Sherry had begun to avoid saying it in his presence. Despite her disdain for disagreeable situations, she was barely managing to stay away from the fray. She had even started maneuvering her time to make certain David never ran into Tyne during his visits to her office. She would have liked to have avoided this altogether, and if Tyne wasn’t such a good journalist and writer (not to mention April’s sister), she might have decided not to keep her on staff. She hated whatever was happening to David, or whatever he was allowing to happen to himself. She couldn’t understand his depth of emotion over this one affair, which was just one of many that he’d had since she’d known him. There was nothing substantial about this particular one. After all, it wasn’t as though they’d been seriously dating. Still, what she thought had been just a momentary fuckfest was obviously something more to her friend.

She tugged at his lapel. “You’re going to be good, right? Don’t let me have to whip you,” she threatened lightly, putting on her mock Mother Superior face.

He laughed. “Yes, ma’am. I’m just here for the booze. Show me the way to the bar.”

“Actually, no bar. But staff is passing out glasses of Cristal over there, so feel free. There’s good food all around, even got those drumsticks you like. So, we’re going to have fun, right?”

He nodded distractedly, eyeing the table with the liquor. “Right. Lots of fun.”

As he walked away, her stomach knotted. Especially when she saw Tyne enter the room on the arm of a stranger. She looked at David’s receding back. He reached the table then looked up. Sherry didn’t have to see his face to know that he had seen Tyne and her date—and that he was throwing knives in her direction.

Sherry felt she might actually get sick at her own party.