The Sound of Seas (6 page)

The shadow came right up to her, face-to-face, but it did not advance. It puffed even wider, as though pressed from within, its circumference increasing.

As the dead, flat head of the thing continued to hover before Anita, Ben heard Jacob moaning in his room. Anita heard him too.

“Goddamnit, get him
now
!” she said.

“You go,” Ben said, edging around the serpent and taking her place. If it moved, he intended to walk through it, waving his arms in an attempt to disperse it. But the shape just remained there.

Anita turned and moved quickly down the hall, her footsteps on the hardwood floor the only sound in the apartment. Even the cat, Arfa, was missing, cowed by the serpent.

Staring at the thing just inches away, Ben could swear he saw coil-like shapes moving within it, but they were indistinct, like images only visible from the corner of the eye, vanishing when looked at directly. They were hypnotic, wormlike and writhing. But they were not like maggots feeding on a carcass; they were a dark, tightly coiled network from which the serpent seemed to be made. That must be what the madame had meant by “they.” He saw now that where the coils touched, the sparks appeared.

Ben looked at the featureless head, studied the tiny whorls nearest to him. Each one seemed to grow as the snake inflated and then there were smaller snakes inside those other snakes, on and on, deeper into the black pall—

He heard a thumping sound from behind.

“Anita?”

“Shhh!” she said. “Come.”

Ben backed slowly from the serpent. Jacob's door was the first on his right, Caitlin's room beyond it. The bathroom was across the hall. He edged backward but the serpent didn't advance. He didn't think it
was because his eyes were locked on the thing; it had to be something else.

When he reached the bedroom door, Ben saw Jacob standing on the bed, amid the strewn pages of his Captain Nemo comic book. He was facing the wall between his room and Caitlin's. The boy was sobbing and drumming on the wall with the heel of his palm.

“Mom . . .” he wept softly. “Mom . . .”

Anita shook her head hard, as if to say
don't wake him
. She hovered nearby, her arms open to catch him in case he fell backward. Whether it was a nightmare or night terrors, Ben left that up to the therapist. He turned from Anita back to the serpent.

It filled the entrance to the hallway but did not approach. It undulated slightly, diffusing the sun but not dimming it: the serpent seemed to have a nimbus, an amber glow as ephemeral as the snaking shape itself. It reminded him then of Wadjet, the Egyptian snake goddess whose images he had come across while researching the Galderkhaani language in ancient hieroglyphics.

Ben stole a quick look back into the bedroom, saw Jacob standing very still now. Then he turned back to the hallway—

The snake was gone. Clean, healthy morning light once more filled the room, illuminating the familiar, creating normal, comforting shadows behind the sofa and under the table. It was as though the apparition had never been.

With a small exhalation, Jacob collapsed to the bed. Anita caught him, lowered him to the mattress, and knelt quickly at his side. She took his pulse, listened to his breathing.

“Call for an ambulance,” she said as she felt his forehead.

“Does he have a high fever?”

“No, but you just
saw
what he did—”

“His mother said he does this, knocks on the wall in his sleep,” Ben said.

“His mother's not here and I didn't bring my medical bag,” Anita said. “Call or get my damn phone and I—”

“No!” a voice burst from the hallway.

Madame Langlois was standing at the entrance where the serpent had been. Enok was beside her, holding her elbow. They were silhouetted by the light, but it struck her necklace in a way that made the beads seem uncommonly bright.

“Screw you!” Anita said, still holding Jacob. “You did this!”

“I did not,” the woman replied. “
They
did. And medicine will harm him.”

“They who?” Ben asked.

“I do not know them,” Madame Langlois admitted. “But they have vast power. Greater than yours.”

Ben approached her. Anita moved to the door of the bedroom, a protective eye on Jacob, an angry turn to her mouth.

“We should get him to a hospital where he can be monitored
properly
,” Anita told him.

“I don't disagree,” Ben said. “But I want to make sure we don't do more harm. His mother's in a hospital and they have no idea what to do.” He turned to Madame Langlois. “Why shouldn't we get help?”

“Because help cannot help.”

“Why?”
Ben pressed. “Madame Langlois, please help us here!”

The Haitian woman stayed where she was. She raised her hand again, extending her forearm into the hall, the two fingers once more extended. Anita and Ben both tensed as the single wall-mounted light near the front door threw a dim shadow on the long rug. But the shadow did not grow or move. It stayed, simply, the shadow of a finger.

“The serpent sleeps—they sleep within,” she said. “Nothing happens now.”

Ben was neither reassured nor enlightened. He took a step forward and Enok moved toward him protectively. “It's all right,” Ben assured him. He looked at the man's mother and continued in a conciliatory tone, “Who are ‘they'? At least tell me that. Tell me what you know, even if it's very little.”

She lowered her hand. It flopped at her side. “They tell you when they wish,” the woman said.

“Of course, you charlatan,” Anita said. “You and your ridiculous conjuring, your tricks. What the hell did you
do
to Caitlin in Haiti?”

“Showed her things.”

“You got in her head!” Anita charged.

“Anita, please—” Ben said.

“No, I've had enough,” she said. She went to move around Ben, saw the landline in Caitlin's room, moved toward it. Ben took her wrist, stopped her. She wrested it away. “I'm calling 911. We need an ambulance and we need cops.” She pointed toward the hallway. “They're leaving.”

“They can't,” Ben told her. “We need them.”

“Why? To create more bullshit drama? Shaking, pointing, probably releasing some kind of hallucinogenic—”

“Anita, I'm angry too, but Caitlin helped to create this problem, this dynamic,” Ben said.

Anita looked at him with disbelief. “Are you high, Ben?”

“Dammit, no. Caitlin sought it out, invited it in. She ran headlong into this, ignoring every goddamn stop sign. I know, I was there. I was the one pointing at the flashing exit signs. What we really have to do is learn more before we do anything.”

“How, Ben? I'm listening.”

“And I'm
thinking
. Jacob's breathing normally?”

“For a kid who's unconscious, yeah.” She glared at Ben. “And that crap about Caitlin seeking this? She and I talked about that too. She was trying to provide care for a bunch of kids. She didn't ask for her boy to be endangered.”

“You don't have all the facts,” Ben said.

“Okay, I'll ask again: What am I missing?”

“This ‘thing' Caitlin was dealing with,” Ben said. “It targeted children of trauma. Jacob was caught in the backwash as soon as his mother got involved, that very day. Whatever it was got some kind of
claws in him. She realized the first time she looked at this that there were forces neither of us even remotely grasped. But as you say, there were children at risk so she went ahead. I didn't want her to go to Haiti. I didn't want her to go to Tehran. Things came back with her, Anita. Things we thought—no, things we
hoped
—were gone. But they're not, and doctors—doctors as smart and experienced as you, Anita—can't help her or Jacob.” He moved closer. “Anita, I'm sure that right now Caitlin is trying to fix
something
, again.”

“She's. Unconscious.”

“As far as the doctors know,” Ben said.

Anita made a sound of disgust. “You're just guessing now, and it's a dangerous guess.”

“Actually, I'm praying that's the case. If it is, then we have to let this play out, at least a
little
longer. If Jacob shows even a hint of change, then we do it your way.”

“Define ‘hint,' because he looks pretty pale
right now.
”

“Paler,” Ben said. “If his temperature rises or his breathing slows or he shows symptoms that are something other than the kind of reaction to a bad dream.”

“He was awake, remember?” Anita said. “This—this show may have put him in a reduced metabolic state.”

“And drugs are not the answer,” Ben said. “There is something bad out there, something doctors won't be able to fix.”

Anita exhaled angrily and looked back at Jacob, who was sleeping again. They moved away from the door, into Caitlin's room, and spoke softly.

“I just don't like it,” she said. “And I don't trust those two. Caitlin's in a coma and I think this woman knows why. I want her to tell us.”

“I believe she will, in her own time and in her own way. She helped Caitlin heal the girl in Haiti. And she cared enough to make arrangements to fly up here.”

“ ‘Cared enough,' ” Anita sneered. “About what?”

“What do you mean? She
sensed
there was a problem—”

“She may have already been here,” Anita said.

“What are you, the INS now?” Ben asked. “You want me to check her papers?”

“No, I want you to consider the possibility that she may have
caused
this, all of it. Starting in Haiti and continuing here.”

“Why?”

“I don't know!” Anita said. “A shakedown. She saw a gullible, well-off woman down there, got her bony little talons into her, saw a way to make some money. I mean, she's just over there, waiting. Offer her money, see if she talks.”

“I don't believe that's why she's here,” Ben said. “I think she's being careful. She could be afraid.”

“Yeah, of being found out,” Anita said.

Now Ben was getting frustrated. “I'll say it again, Anita: there are phenomena at work. Genuine get-thee-from-me-Satan stuff. You heard Caitlin last night. You heard her here, in this apartment, when she was physically downtown. Christ, she gave you a message for me!”

“It was a phone, a device, an open line, something,” she said.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do. I have to.”

“You saw the snake—”

“I saw a smoky shape,” Anita said. “Now that I think of it, maybe there was something in that cigar—”

“Which Madame Langlois didn't light.”

“Not all psychoactive drugs are delivered by heating,” Anita replied. “The bark of Virola trees are used to create powdered hallucinogenic snuff—she puffed it our way then led us with her fingers, the simplest kind of hypnosis. You said it yourself: Count Dracula stuff.”

Ben shook his head. “You're not hearing me. I've been with Caitlin when things have happened. Weird things.”

“The
only
weird thing is that I'm not tearing loose on these two and demanding answers,” Anita said. “And I'm not the only one.”

Ben gave her a quizzical look.

“Arfa doesn't like them either,” Anita said.

“Right, where is the cat?”

“Exactly,” Anita said. “He doesn't like other animals in the apartment. If there was a real snake out there, he would've been hissing and spitting.”

“My point exactly,” Ben said. “It was not a ‘real' snake.”

Ben turned away from her. He was typically rational, yet here he was trying to argue against a traditional explanation. He shook his head.

“I have to go to work,” he said. He glanced at the clock on the night table. Caitlin had had it for decades, since they were students at NYU. It was not digital: the numbers flipped over on little plastic cards inside the white case. He missed his friend . . . he missed those days. There were times, like now, when he ached with that longing. “It's six forty-five,” he said. “Caitlin's parents will be here in an hour or so and I have an idea. I think. I will bring Madame Langlois and Enok to my place.”

“You'd trust them?”

“With what—my fridge and flat-screen? We can't leave them with the O'Haras, so it's either that or we turn them out.”

“I still vote for the latter,” Anita said hotly. “People who want to help . . .
help
. That's what Caitlin did.”

She saw Ben's sad eyes, quickly realized her mistake, and corrected herself. “That's what Caitlin
does
. They don't play games like our Vodou lady, they don't talk without listening.” She continued in a softer voice. “Caitlin is a humanitarian. She doesn't deserve what happened.”

“That's a separate topic and there, at least, we agree,” Ben said. “But that doesn't solve the immediate problem.”

Anita's comments had sounded too much like a eulogy and Ben had to get away, not just emotionally and mentally but physically. He went back into the hallway to prepare to get the Langloises over to his East Side apartment near the United Nations. He looked in at Jacob
again, resisted gathering up the boy's drawings. Jacob and his mother shared a strong bond and there might be subtle, subliminal clues as to what happened. But the boy might wake and look for the sketches: in a world made suddenly very unstable, Ben wanted him to have at least that anchor. He left and headed back down the hall. Arriving in the living room, he swore through his teeth.

“What is it?” Anita asked, hurrying in.

“You got your wish,” he said, turning to the front door, pulling it open, and looking out into the empty hallway. “Madame Langlois and her son have left.”