Dark to Mortal Eyes (41 page)

Stahlherz felt his stomach lurch.

“All a question of surrender,” she purred. “Of giving up control.”

Kaww-kontroll!
Stahlherz bit his lip and tried to ignore the screeching in his ears.
Who do you think you are, you putrid beast? Heave-ho … Back in your hole
.

“These creatures always aim to rule,” said Rosie. “From that moment in my father’s laboratory when I locked him in with the boomslangs, from the moment I gave in to the rage and tempted the gods to parcel out justice, I allowed these fiends access. Willingly so. I craved their power. I longed for the chance to bring glory to the Third Reich by bringing down our enemies. Long live der Führer!”

“But, Professor—”

“Heil Hitler! Aha!”

“I don’t understand. Hitler is … no longer with us.”

“
Das ist wahr
. True, he was a man, a mere mortal. He refused to trust in these very forces that had led him to success. As a corporal in the First World War, he suffered a mustard-gas attack that blinded him temporarily, and thereafter he feared the use of such weapons. He began listening to the counsel of fools, spineless generals who turned from the unseen powers and trusted instead in the wisdom of men. Men!” The collection of fangs pulsed, deepening their hold in the Professor’s thoughts. “But I … oh, yes, I saw the true potential. And as a woman, I was less susceptible to the inhibiting logic of the male species. I know men. I know where they attempt to store their strength. They are weak. Their meager thrusts are nothing compared to the creative power of a woman.”

“
In cauda venenum
!” Stahlherz’s salute produced a smile of contentment on the Professor’s powdered face. “I’m still confused though. How did Josee and her friend stumble across the canister? What was it doing out in the woods?”

“Been there for ages, I can only assume. After Chance Addison discovered the danger of this gift, he returned it to me and begged that I leave him and his wife alone. In exchange, he offered me an opportunity to spread the poison much farther. This part you already know. It’s why we tried to steal Josee when she was only minutes old. She alone has access to my father’s stolen
venom vials. She is the key. And yet, without Chance’s journal, none of us knows where this bank-deposit box lies.”

“Marsh will find the journal. He’ll bring it in exchange for his dear wifey.”

“And you are sure he’ll comply?”

“I’ve studied him at the chessboard. He’s predictable. He likes symmetry and order.”

“Chance was much the same,” Rosie said. “Like father, like son.”

The beak pecked and tore at his skull. Stahlherz grimaced, then focused on the strategy before them. “You, too, have noted his predictability. You’re the one who’s provided all the information I could need—mother’s maiden name, Social Security number. If necessary, you could no doubt tell me his brand of briefs and the way he likes them folded. With one toll-free call, I can follow his movements by means of his latest American Express transactions. If he eats out, purchases gas, goes to a ball game, we’ll know where he’s been.”

“A fine plan, Son.”

“I hoped you would think so.”

“But all this … this silliness could’ve been avoided years ago if you had squelched your rage. Instead, you—”

“My rage? You blame me for—”

“Son, do not interrupt.” Rosie slid a hand through her vaporous wreath. “There in Good Samaritan your task was to unleash the canister—nothing more, nothing less. Instead, you allowed your desire for vengeance to supersede your commitment to my plan. You resorted to violence, attacking Marsh and his fiancée there in the hospital stairwell. A gunshot. In close quarters. And yet you managed only to strike Kara in the hip? You might’ve put the bullet to better use and done yourself in, for all the good you accomplished. Our strategies were waylaid by your reckless emotion.”

“And you punish me still for my mistakes. How long, Mother? Don’t you value my productivity in the years since? ICV is my brainchild. My gift of reconciliation.”

“Think as you will.” Rosie smiled from behind the curled tail of a viper.

Stahlherz blinked.

“You’ve been a good son, don’t misunderstand. But your impetuousness polluted the canister. Why do you think it failed to capture newborn Josee
that night? You think the bumbling of some nine-year-old child gave Kara and Josee time to make an escape? That fool, Sergeant Turney! He could no more protect them than he could say no to a chocolate eclair! A worthless boy who got in the way, nothing more.”

“So you blame me for the canister’s disappearance.”

“It vanished from the carnage at the hospital. Yes, Stahli, I believe it took on a mind of its own and went into hiding. Storing up wrath. Waiting.”

“Until Josee stumbled across it a few days ago.”

“A lovely scenario.” The rear-fanged jaws gave another spasm. “When the hospital administrator called with news of Scooter’s unusual symptoms, news which you then passed on to me, I knew I was being beckoned for a final time. The administrator provided the location from the ambulance log, and I hurried to the spot.”

“Where you reacquired the canister.”

“Initially, no. When my search of the brush and fallen logs proved fruitless, I feared the police might’ve taken possession of it. Of course”—her thin lips turned up in amusement as her eyelids drooped—“it’s more probable
it
would’ve taken possession of
them
. But, yes, once again I surrendered myself, and once again the canister showed itself. Imagine. All these years it’s been up the road, dormant, awaiting this moment of destiny. As I opened myself up, it appeared and took control.”

Stahlherz opened his mouth to reply, but a pointed shape clogged his throat.

“Son, why are you moaning? You don’t sound well.”

“Ka-kawwff.”

“You sound hoarse and muffled. Are you fighting something?”

He shook his head. Side to side, side to side.
“Kaa-aaawf!”

“Stahli,” she said, “you really should take something for that cough.”

In the pink lampshade’s glow, Josee leaned against the headboard and let the sounds of U2 wash through the room. The fears of the day and the worries of tomorrow played through her head, giving way to ethereal guitar tones and
soulful vocals. She felt peace settle over her, and her eyelids grew heavy. Tonight she would even take Kris up on her offer and wrap herself within the luxurious blankets.

Josee turned on her side with her back to the lamp. Yep, she was ready to sleep, but there was no way that light was going off.

Twenty-five minutes later her eyes shot open as the room went black.

Marsh shook his head and draped his towel over his shoulder. “Been a long day, Casey. I’m in no mood for company at the moment. Listen, the vine-yard’ll lose money if my name gets smeared, and having you here dressed like that won’t help. I’m under police suspicion, if not actual investigation,
and
my wife is missing. I love her.”

“You don’t know where she is? You’ve considered all the options?”

“Racked my brain, believe me.”

Casey seated herself on the edge of the bed. “There’s a possibility you and I’ve not discussed.
Pardonnez-moi
, but do you have any reason to believe Kara might’ve run out on you?”

“No! None whatsoever.”

“A secret lover perhaps? You’re a busy man with a lot on your plate. Maybe she’s needed more attention, a little more romance in her life.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Marsh said without conviction.

“Has anything happened in the past? Either one of you ever been unfaithful?”

“Hey, what are you, my attorney or my psychiatrist? Back off.”

But, he added, yes, there had been indiscretions. As he stared across the hotel room, things long buried came rushing to the surface, and he found himself delivering a monologue that started with his knowledge of Kara’s pregnancy in early 1981.

Soon after New Year’s, classes had recommenced on the OSU campus, and Marsh Addison and Katherine “Kara” Davies had discovered the news: A baby was on the way. Considering the nuisance of contraceptives, and religious upbringings that had prohibited such methods, the pregnancy was no surprise.
They shoved aside the idea that they had been involved in moral failure and planned an August wedding.

It was the doctor’s grim prognosis that changed everything.

Kara turned inward. Helpless, Marsh watched it happen. Her effervescence faded, and her grades suffered. She drank less, partied less, talked less. His fiancée was a flower folding in on itself.

“I should’ve told you,” she confessed that evening on the sofa. Her tummy had a slight swell, barely noticeable. Marsh had his arm around her, but his eyes were following
Quincy, M.E
. on the television. “It’s my fault, I think. A punishment.”

“Your fault for what?” He grinned in an attempt to lighten her mood. “Have you been a bad girl? You need a spanking?” He realized later that she had been about to divulge her darkest secret, and he was cracking jokes.

“I was drinking. I shouldn’t have drunk that much.”

“When?” he asked.

“At that party a few months back. The one Jerry invited us to.”

“At Phi Beta Upsilon?”

“Why didn’t I just quit and walk away? Now our baby’s being punished for it.” Kara dissolved into tears, and as he stroked her hair that was fresh with the scent of strawberry shampoo, the words locked within her burst forth in confession. “I knew I was getting bombed, and I asked for another one. Another one! What was I thinking? I could hardly talk, much less stay on my feet. It’s my fault. I should’ve known this would happen. I’m the one to blame.”

“Stop it. I doubt one night at a party caused this.”

“I’m being punished. It’s my punishment, and I deserve it.”

“What’re you babbling on about? Nobody deserves it. Tragic things happen, and that’s the way it goes. It’s all part of life. The baby’ll be okay.”

“God’s punishing me.”

“He’s punishing all of us. Look at Ethiopia. You think they deserve what’s happening over there? He gets off on these little power trips, reminding us who’s in charge.”

Kara was shaking her head. “I don’t believe that. He’s not that way.”

“Oh, yeah? But he can punish you personally. He’s that way, huh?”

“Darling, we’re not even married yet.”

“Testing the waters first. Nothing wrong with that. Isn’t God into love?”

“But we’re engaged.”

“Exactly. Practically the same thing. Not like a signature on a piece of paper proves anything. If the Big Guy’s all-knowing, then he knows we’re about to be hitched. He’s cool with that. Shoot, he made us this way. What does he expect?”

“He expects us to be faithful.”

Marsh watched the flicker of the television. “Listen, I know I can be a flirt—a big flirt, I guess—but that’s just my style, the way I am. Doesn’t mean that I’m going to—”

“It was me.”

Marsh’s hair-stroking hand stopped.

Kara pressed her head into his chest as though hoping for absolution from the guilt that weighed upon her. “At the party …” She paused, seeming to brace for a reaction. Her words continued, hot and moist against his shirt. “You were out back, you might remember, on that porch swing with that old girlfriend of yours.”

“Cynthia?”

“What were you two doing? Sharing a joint? I could see you through that round window over the sink, and I was getting jealous. Furious, actually, wondering why my fiancé would be getting so cozy with
her
while engaged to
me
. I grabbed a beer and guzzled it down. Found another one and another one. Hoped you’d come looking for me and take me home, but the next thing I knew there was this guy talking to me, an old friend—well, not really a friend but a friend of my parents—and he was trying to kiss me, and he was nudging me toward the bedroom, and I could hardly even comprehend what was going on, and I felt as though I was making you pay for your escapades on the swing and … Darling, please, I’m so sorry. I never meant for it to happen. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and now our baby’s being punished for it.”