Poe (43 page)

“Ow! For Christ’s sake, Lisa, what the hell was that for?”

She can barely speak but somehow mutters in a raspy voice. “You
lied
to me.”

Holy shit, who’s possessing her now? “When did I lie?”

“You
promised
me. You said if I told you to run, you’d
run
. And you didn’t.”

“I thought we were speaking figuratively, not literally,” I say, rubbing my arm, which will soon sport a bruise—for someone who just had a blood transfusion, she’s got an amazing right hook. “Besides, I think I should get a little cred for saving your life.”

She glares at me and punches me again.

“Okay, I lied! I’m sorry I lied. I’m an evil, lying man unworthy of you. Just stop hitting me, please. You wouldn’t be so abusive if you knew what you just put me through.”

“I’m the one who’s plugged into a heart monitor.”

“Hey, that’s
my
line, you can’t—I distinctly remember saying that when I came to in the hospital. Plagiarism is not attractive.”

“Neither is lying.”

I groan and lean my forehead against one of the railings of the gurney. “I
said
I was sorry,” I mutter in the general direction of the floor.

“Well,
that
sounds a little more sincere.” I feel her fingers brush through my hair. “Just next time…”

“There can’t be a next time,” I say, lifting my head. “I couldn’t take going through something like this again.”

“Me neither,” she says quietly. One of her hands tentatively reaches for her throat, and I can sense her surprise when she doesn’t find a bandage.

“See? I did save your life,” I gloat. “Maybe someone deserves an apology.”

She looks uncertain. “How?”

“Because I’m the
man
, that’s how.”

“Well I’m not going to apologize to someone who refers to themselves as ‘the man.’ By the way, you look like shit.”

“Yeah, well you almost went and
died
on me.”

“Now you know how I felt.”

“Just enjoy the fact you’re not being fitted for a coffin and scooch over. You can thank me later.”

“Hmmph,” grumbles Lisa, but she does make room on her hospital bed, and I climb in, wrapping my arm around her. It feels warm and good. Just as I start to drift off again, she says in a small voice, “Dimitri?”

“Yes,” I mumble, halfway between being awake and asleep.

“You might think I’m crazy…”

“I’d never think you’re crazy.”

“Well… I think I saw him. Not in the greenhouse, I mean. After I passed out.”

I know who she means, but still I ask “Who?”

“Daniel.
My
Daniel.”

My eyes open, and I look into hers.

“It was like I was walking in a gray mist. And I could see someone far off watching me. Not in a creepy way; a good way, like he was waiting for me. And he waved, just like Daniel used to when he was onstage, and he saw me in the crowd.”

I stroke her hair gently.

“He’s still in there, you know.”

“I know,” I say quietly. “I know.”

“Did they find… him?”

“No,” I say. “Not yet.”

“It’s not random, is it? It
is
all connected… Do you think…?” She can’t finish the sentence, but I know what she wants to ask. There is, after all, only one question.

“I don’t know,” I say, gently kissing her on the lips. “Maybe we can get him back. We can try at least.”

She nestles into the crook of my arm then, and as daylight comes, and the morning light spreads across the polished linoleum floor, we fall asleep together, into whatever dreams will come.

EPILOGUE

T
he nurses are shocked when they discover that not only is Lisa conscious, but so is the girl they were about to humanely remove from life support. The confusion is so great that no one even bothers to kick me out of the room. After a cursory check of Lisa’s vitals, a steady stream of doctors and nurses flow through the room periodically all day to check on the Jane Doe, who not only is sitting calmly upright with clear light blue eyes, but can answer their questions intelligently, albeit with a funny accent.

When she tells a doctor her name is Poe, like the writer, I have to turn my head away so that I don’t give away a smile.

“And your first name?” asks the doctor.

“Poe,” she says firmly.

“So your last name is…?”

“No two names; just one. Poe.”

“
Okay
,” says the doctor, scribbling something down anyways—a note for a psychiatric appointment perhaps. “And how old are you?”

“Eighteen,” says Poe firmly. At this the doctor looks confused, because physically Poe looks about fifteen, with a childishly thin body and soft chin, but the clarity and maturity with which she meets the doctor’s gaze is clearly unnerving him.

“Would you like me to schedule an appointment with a social worker?”

“That will not be necessary,” says Poe in a polite yet unmistakably dismissive tone. “Thank you.”

Lisa, though, is not amused in the slightest. As soon as I fill her in about the true identity of her new hospital roommate, she keeps glancing at her with obvious suspicion.

“And you trust her?” she whispers during one of Poe’s interviews.

I shrug. “We’ll see. All I know is that I had to get you back.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you’ve disinvited her from your apartment.”

I smile. “What, you jealous?”

Lisa narrows her eyes at me. “I’m just saying.”

“You don’t have to worry. Nachiel’s on it.”

“Nachiel? Who’s Nachiel?”

I lean over and kiss her lightly on the forehead. There’s so much to explain, and I’m incredibly thankful that I’ll now have the time to do so. “You’re beautiful.”

“Ahh,” says Lisa, “that’s the drugs talking.”

“I’m not taking any drugs.”

“Well, then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Maybe because I love you.”

“Yeah, well after the hell you just put me through, you should.”

“The hell
I
put
you
through…”

But even as we mildly argue, my heart is floating peacefully in my chest, lofty as a child’s balloon.

After the FBI has combed through Aspinwall for any shred of possible evidence, a committee is formed by the local council, and it’s determined that the mansion poses a hazard to the community. Finally the funds are allocated to demolish it. I’m given the story to cover, one of my last before Lisa and I start packing for Hawaii. Nachiel said we should disappear for the next few months, and Hawaii is the farthest away from New Goshen we can get without leaving the United States. I’m looking forward to finally seeing Lisa in that polka dot bikini I’ve been dreaming of.

There are no news vans now, no trailer trucks with generators and reporters from across the country videotaping the bulldozers and wrecking ball, which smashes the remains of the hulking building into a pile of debris. I snap a few pictures but wish someone would give me a chance to try my hand in the cab of one of the bulldozers—I’d like nothing better than to knock over a few walls myself. My brief story is picked up by the AP though, and the
Devonshire Eagle
gets its highest spike in web traffic since the murders, something that immensely displeases the new corporate owners. They bought out Mac and are slowly trying to shut the paper down, because it’s worth more to their balance sheet as a loss. Go figure.

But while the mansion is razed to the ground, no one dares to step into the crumbling greenhouse, not even the thickest-built, testosterone-jawed demolition expert. For some strange reason, even though it’s the dead of winter and a good foot of snow still covers the floor, the long-dead rosebushes in their rusted steel containers have started to bloom—fresh, vibrantly red blossoms that drop the occasional petal, like a droplet of blood on the snow. I picked a bouquet of them for Lisa, and after a month they’re still fresh and soft to the touch.

Daniel—or Sorath—has vanished, and not a single murder has been reported in the past month in New Goshen, nor has there been a similar murder anywhere else. A truck driver did report a hitchhiker matching Daniel’s description on the side of the I-95, trying to get a lift south. But Nachiel is on the trail, and he says Poe has actually been useful helping to map out various places Sorath might want to hide. Still, he keeps her close—he finagled his way into a small motor home with two bunk beds, and he sleeps in the bottom bunk with a gun under the pillow
just in case she gets any ideas
.

What will happen if and when they find him is something I try not to think about. But the ring stays firmly on my finger. I’m learning to read Russian, and I find myself paging through
The Book of Fiends
late at night while Lisa’s asleep, trying to understand as much as I can.

Just in case.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to my family, who tolerated hours of me staring into the screen when I could have been doing something more obviously productive. I especially thank my husband, the earliest champion of my work, who has also been my refuge during the hard times. My son is the light that has kept me moving forward when it would have been easy to fall backward.

Influential and encouraging writing teachers include John Yount, Charles Simic, Carolyn See, and Diane di Prima. Life teachers include Khenpo Gyurmed Trinley Rinpoche, who kept our family in his heart, and the ever-humble Lopsang Sakya.

The journey to publication was a long one for
Poe
. Thanks to Jennifer Escott for reading an earlier version and asking the important questions. Eternal gratitude to all those who had kind words to say about
Poe
as it made its way through the 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest, and the editors who chose it as the winner in the Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror category.

Landing in the expert editorial hands of Kristin Mehus-Roe was an amazing piece of luck. Thanks also to Terry Goodman for giving me my heart’s desire on the cover, and Marcus Trower for his copy-editing wizadry.

Finally I thank my parents, who adopted and raised me with love. They left this world too soon.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. Lincoln Fenn grew up in New England and graduated summa cum laude with a degree in English from the University of New Hampshire. She lives in Hawaii with her family and is at work on her next novel.