Moondance (33 page)

Gregory Brecht died two years before Althea was born. This man wasn’t her father, couldn’t be her father. Althea felt disappointment,
her eyes tearing, then anger. She threw the contents of the box across the dusty, unpainted floor and stood with clenched fists, talking out loud.

“You changed your name to Brecht — why?” she said. “You must have had an affair with him. But to change your name? Years after he died?” It didn’t make sense. She stared at the picture.
Why change your
name? Why put the picture in the box with the books about me?

Becoming.

Althea fought a wave of fatigue. She had been working non-stop for hours and she wasn’t even sure what time it was. She felt faint, she should eat. Instead, she sat at her computer. She searched “Chauncy and voodoo and New Orleans.”

As the list of sites came up, she found herself overheated and off-balance, falling to one side as if she was fainting. Her perception narrowed. Her head bobbed like a dozing commuter and her body was slack. She fell onto the floor, barely feeling it as she landed on her shoulder. He took hold quickly this time.

Althea felt his shape above her, more solid than ever before, his glistening white skin, his hairless body, the way he moved, and she understood that he was transforming himself to whatever she needed him to be. His body was firm and lean, and his legs extended next to hers yet were suspended above her. His perfume mingled with hers, his blue-black hair, shiny and glistening, fanned over his cheeks as he gazed at her. With her eyes shut, she could imagine his eyes, jewel green and unblinking, fixed on her face.

He stayed with her and when she fell

she was leaning against a wall in a large room, with shining stone floors and textured walls, washed with a living patina. It was the place she had glimpsed in her dreams, the place that revealed itself to her at Starfish. The place that wanted her to dance
.

An erect form the color of storm clouds stood in the center of the room. The form walked toward her. Behind it, shadows emerged from the glow of the walls, dark grey silhouettes of different sizes and shapes.
They stopped, standing shoulder to shoulder as if at a high school dance.
The tallest figure stepped forward and extended its hand to her. She turned away from the figure and faced Him, her eyes closed.
Her hands were free, and she touched him as if she was blind, her palms
flat, her fingers over the curve of his brow, thumbs moving over his eyes which were softer.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

“What do you know?” she asked. In this space, touching him felt so normal, yet so completely separate from the life that she knew. In this in-between place, she still had a desire to know who he was, why this was happening to her. His silence was unnerving.

“What can you show me?”

“All that’s underneath.”

Balancing against him, his hands on her hips, she cupped his face, opened her eyes, and saw white skin, black hair and brilliant green, just as she imagined
dry in the rain
and then the pain came, slashing through her, indescribable shame in her heart, like fire, and she fell to the pulsating floor.

“Yes,” he said, dropping to the ground, pulling her head toward him. “Look at me.”

Althea sobbed, her eyes stinging, her heart a searing red mass. She shook her head violently, moving away from him. She wanted to know, wanted him to tell her, but she wouldn’t do that again, wouldn’t look at him. It hurt too much.

“Show me,” she whispered, and her words were harsh and dry.

She waited for his response and received only his touch, his familiarity penetrating her, his fingers in her hair, his mouth on her neck, and his arms linked across her back. She could feel his chest expand as if he was about to speak, until an alarm sounded, violent, jolting her from her stupor.

chapter 51

AS SOPHIE’S TRANCE DEEPENED, she was aware of her surroundings, yet was unaffected by it. With her eyes closed, the rest of her senses came alive — the crisp scent of white sheets, the woman’s sweat, a candle scent, the slight movement of air as her hostess moved around the room.

She felt a flat weight on her chest, like a lead blanket from a dentist’s office and was shown the hours the woman had spent re-creating the design in fabric, the weight of the materials over her knees as she worked, the ancient pattern coming to life, circles within circles, the pattern now complete.

Sophie breathed and felt, sensing a metallic release, the woman’s pause, a light click of metal on wood, alcohol, a small pinch and finally, the weight of the woman’s hand on her heart.

Sophie breathed, the relaxation coming easy to her, even easier now.
She heard the woman’s voice, a low hum, familiar, ancient words, seeking acceptance.

“Yes,” Sophie answered, and the woman continued, the primeval pattern and the words melding together, crafted and agreed upon thirty-five years before, the culmination of Sophie’s desire.
Yes
.

Sophie imagined that the white walls had melted into the earthy-red glow of the setting sun, and as the light faded, the woman’s voice became more resonant, transforming.

Yes.

The woman’s voice slowed and Sophie answered by resting her left hand in the woman’s right, and the desire in her heart combined with their touch in mystical manifestation.

Yes.

One last time and Sophie rose upward, out of her body, through the circles of time, circles upon circles, past the skylight into the face of the blushing sun, the last to hear her request. As she rose higher, the house in which she lay became a spec floating in a massive sea of green, and the sun was replaced with silence.

Sophie thought about Althea and her greatest love, and how she
had done it, how it would all be worth it, and as the light became broader
and more diffuse, she saw the grey
silhouettes standing tall, ready to greet her, just as she had imagined.

Yes.

• • •

IN THE SMALL ROOM, now fading into smudge grey, the woman knelt over Sophie’s lifeless body, one hand on Sophie’s stilled heart, and the other over her own face, to stifle her sobs.

chapter 52

ALTHEA STOOD SWAYING in front of the phone in her bedroom, staring at the number that was calling. It rang twice, three times then a short ring to say that the caller was leaving a message. She picked up the phone and listened to Ivana’s voice asking her if she was okay, asking her for lunch when things settled down. Half way through the message, she unplugged the phone and staggered to her bed. Ivana didn’t matter any more.

Staring at the ceiling with blank, glassy eyes, she realized what she had known for days: Sophie wasn’t coming home. She was alone. With Him. With Sophie’s lies. With her own madness. She wouldn’t fight it any more.

She sank into her mattress, waiting for him, wanting him there, though he had never come to her in the daytime before. She blinked and cool viscous air filled her lungs and like a feather
my love
passed over her cheek, and she turned toward him
knows me
closing her eyes and opening her arms, and there he was, taking shape, solid, his scent warm, moist and rich. Sweet, almost floral, but not like any flower she had ever known.
Her love
.

She wanted him now. She wanted to escape, be absorbed into his reality. This time, her hands searched his face, his body, an urgency rising inside her. This was what she wished for, when she wished upon the moon. This was her new home. Now that she knew, she wanted him to be with her in every way, wanted him inside her, this man who had been haunting her for years, first at a distance and then when she slept. Her hands moved over him, pulling him to life.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear, but she was no longer interested in words, didn’t care about explanations. She had asked to meet a soul mate, she had asked to be happy, for things to be easier in her life, and instead, Sophie disappeared into a fusion of lies, she lost Vince and her job, she felt inside others, she found
Him
and if this was to be her life, then so be it.

As he materialized, he became heavier, and she pulled him to the floor and opened her legs for him, pulling him on top of her, willing his body to take shape so he could slip fully inside her wetness, penetrating her deeply, sliding over her as he thrust and her hips ground against him, rocking them until she orgasmed in pulsating waves.

The harder she tried to make love with him, the more he slipped away. He was inconsistent and ever changing, just out of her reach. She was impatient and her movements became rougher, more insistent, until he pinned her to the mattress and she collapsed, exhausted, crying in his arms, and time slipped away.

• • •

SHE GOT UP FROM bed once in those hours, and it was like leaving a lover to death’s slumber, the pain so severe, she couldn’t wait to return. As the day went on, the more she believed in him, and the more real he became.

When he lay next to her, she could feel him in her pores, the crevices of her body, her sex, joining them together.
Look at me
, he’d say again, but she remembered the pain, and so the times she was with him, when they touched each other, her eyes remained closed. Part of her was afraid of what she’d see. Part of her was afraid of what she’d feel. The truth was simpler. She was afraid that when she opened her eyes, he’d be gone.

Show me
, she said, because if she couldn’t have him inside her, then she wanted to know why
Show yourself
he whispered as his lips trailed over her hair. He hummed softly until she drifted to a place where the grey of night dissolved into shimmering gold, and she felt herself falling, her face tilted up until the pressure on the soles of her feet found herself standing
slipping

into her dream-world

a rip in reality, the row of silhouettes walking toward her on golden, pulsating stairs. The tallest figure took her hand and she looked up at it. The demon had no eyes and as she stepped away, it clutched her hand firmly and pulled her forward. The walls glistened and shimmered and while there was no music, there was a rhythm to it all, and when they approach the center of the room, the demon turned to her, its right arm as quick as a lash, clinging to the center of her back, and his left holding her hand up delicately. A scent rose from its body, hot and metallic, though the touch of its hand was like ice. She was repulsed.

She stared over its shoulder and saw that, emerging from the pulsing wall, the other shadow figures gathered, forming a perfect circle.

The demon’s right leg moved against her left and she stepped back. It pulled her around in a tight curve and she stumbled, until she realized that what it was doing was leading her. Not able to break free, she surrendered to the sea of simple movements,
around and around in endless circles, spinning faster, a sequence of glowing spirals trailing in their wake.

As her dancer held her, she was infused with sadness as if her limbs were filling with liquid. The demon then let her spin out, releasing her hand suddenly so that she felt completely off balance. With its release, her sadness lessened and a new figure stepped in, this one shorter and softer, but with the smell of towels that had been damp for too long. In its presence she felt wracked with a feeling which exploded in a cascade so acute she wished she could disappear. This was
Guilt
.

This dancer was older, she felt, possibly ancient, yet nimble, its power
toxic. Guilt held her still, until another perched on her shoulder, one limb moving down her arm playfully, a request, a flirtation, and when she felt this one, its depth, its menace and power, a scream rose in her throat and she struggled, for this was
Shame
, asking for her hand.

• • •

HER WAKING HOURS BELONGED to Him. Her dreams were of the dance. Time ceased to matter and Althea released her previous world, the facts, the people, the experiences within it, the pain of betrayal, the blackness of death, releasing even Sophie whose body lay lifeless many miles away, a sacrifice to fuel her own desire.

chapter 53

ALTHEA HADN’T SLEPT A full night since the night she wished on a full moon. She stood at her living room window gazing out. Searching, really. He stood behind her, quiet, steady, unwavering. She closed her eyes and then opened them, a slow motion blink. There was a slight chill in the air. The window pane blurred with the touch of her breath.