The Haunting of the Gemini (11 page)

I pushed everything off my desk and smoothed out his letter. I flexed my hand and then carefully placed my fingers over his outline exactly. Our hands together were almost a perfect match. I braced myself, and then—nothing. I laughed out loud—I won!—and tried to take my hand away.

The lights went out and my hand stayed put. I felt someone approaching from behind. I heard him breathing and felt his hands on my chair. He started to hum, and swiveled my chair slightly from side to side as he stood behind me.

“Jackie,” he whispered in my ear. “You know who I am. Don't lie. I don't like liars or people who take things from me . . . I used to have so much fun. You know something, Jackie? Not every girl did I kill . . . I could think of one or two . . .”

He pushed me in my chair to the door that leads to my garage.

“Look straight ahead now. Look at the door,” he said. I tried to get a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, but he took my chin in his hands and forced my face toward the door.

“Now that I got your attention, let's have fun, okay?”

I did not answer.

“Okay?” He hissed the word forcefully through his teeth.

My voice shook. “Yes . . . okay . . .”

The top half of the door opened. I saw a red light behind it, and a woman appeared a little bit away in the distance. I could see her whole figure, clad in only a G-string and torn silk stockings. Still behind me, he placed his cheek on mine. “Keep your eyes open,” he ordered.

The woman danced slowly and seductively closer to the door, flaunting her bare breasts, feeling herself for his sneaky pleasure. He snickered like a schoolboy and reached toward her but then backed off, like he'd lost his nerve. He got control of himself and then gripped me again, squeezing my face.

“This is what I loved to do. By day, I longed to be inside that filth. By night, I stalked and ate their sins.”

His teeth chattered as he loosened his grip.

“Did you sin, Jackie? Did God cleanse your flesh?” He rubbed my face. “I'm so hungry I could eat you. But not yet. The games have just begun, and patience is a virtue.”

He came around the chair and squatted in front of me, separating my legs with his own. It was the tall man in black. He leaned in and smelled my hair. “I will make love to your decaying body and cradle your bones. Do you know what the Gemini is?”

I said nothing. I did not know if he was going to kill me or just keep going with the torture.

“Well, let me tell you. The Gemini is two. I'm missing one. The Gemini is what we are all made up of. The good and the bad. God and the devil. You and your mother.”

I sat, frozen with fear, with no choice but to keep listening.

“You know, I once met a prostitute in Highland Park. Oh, my days, my glory days when I ruled the streets. That's the Gemini, that other part of me, that thing that controlled me, that gave me—a mere man—such power.

“I was looking for the right one. Something was driving me. Eddie wasn't in the driver's seat. Eddie was just the vessel.

“She came over to me. I was sitting on the top back of a bench. I could have snuffed out her life in a second. She walked her walk, putting her hand up her skirt, touching herself, telling me I could do what I wanted to her. She licked her fingers like candy.

“Do you like candy, Jackie? . . . Anyway, back to the tramp. She was something, swinging her bleached-blond hair. I sat, just watching. I didn't want what was between those legs. I wanted to take that last breath. To hold her soul. To fill my gut. I was going to rule in hell. I still will.

“I touched my fake hard-on, leading her to me. I jumped down from the bench, walking slowly around it, leading her to salvation—in my world!

“I stopped in an isolated area. She gave me a price. Little did she know how high her price was. She dropped to her knees, ready to get to work.

“My body began to twist and shake, contort into something else. I was so ready to eat, the hunger was so painful, so great. I felt my jaw crack and open wide . . . wider. My grip was powerful, my back arched like a beast. The hunt was over, my hands touched her, and I felt faint. My legs gave way.”

Still in front of me, he paused in his story for just a moment and then continued.

“A dark voice inside me said, ‘No, it's not her . . . That's not the one.' This never happened before. I fell backward . . . and yelled, ‘Get away, you damn bitch!'”

He stopped again, and laughed. “I eventually found what I was looking for. And now she's gone, gone as though she found a crack and slid out like a slug. My slug! Jackie, do you know who I mean?”

I shook my head. My tears fell but made no difference to him.

“Well, you will hand her over. We all answer to someone. You have no use for my kill. I don't want to hurt you, but I do enjoy this.”

He pushed my chair away from the door and back to my desk. “Put your hand back on that paper . . . that's right . . . back on my hand. Now you know who I am.”

The room filled with the sounds of banging and knocking. I opened my eyes. My hand was still on the paper. I jerked it away, stuffed the letter back in its envelope, and hid it. I didn't want anyone to find it again. Ever.

* * *

I came up the stairs from my office out of breath and calling for Joanne. I heard a door shut and someone run from my room into hers.

“Jo, come on, I had a bad night,” I called. I had hoped she was out with her boyfriend. I didn't want her at home while I was going through all of this. I walked into my daughter's room and saw not her, but the little girl in the yellow raincoat. It was too much. I slid down to the floor and wrapped my arms around myself. I did not have the strength to stand anymore. The girl ran past me and into Joanne's closet as I sat on the floor, rocking myself and crying.

I don't know how much time passed before I roused myself. I truly couldn't take this anymore. I stomped over to the closet and started shouting for the kid. I told her I'd play with her if she came out. I grabbed everything I could reach, throwing clothes and shoes out of the closet. I stuck my hand in again and something sliced into me. I cried out in pain and yanked my hand back out, covered with blood. Shit. Joanne was going to have a fit, me getting blood all over her stuff. I ran to the bathroom and washed away most of the blood, revealing three thin slices. What the hell? I wrapped my hand in a towel and went back to the closet. More carefully now, I searched that spot again. And pulled out my razor. The one from my bathtub. The one Patricia had taken.

Did
I
put this razor blade in Joanne's closet?

My blood soaked the towel, and my fears soaked my soul. When does your reality become a nightmare? A convicted serial killer was stepping into my life. I was being stalked. I was his victim, sharing his life, becoming his sin.

ELEVEN

Will came home, happily calling, “Jackie, come give me a hug!” How I loved this man. I greeted him and tried to hide my cut hand. I was hiding so much from him now. He noticed anyway and was concerned, even though I made light of it. Then he tried to cheer me up.

“Hey, let's go out to dinner,” he said.

Not tonight, I groaned to myself. I had a huge literal mess to clean up in Joanne's room, and I also didn't feel like taking the metaphorical mess that was me out into the world that night. But then I looked up to see Will's big boyish grin. It reminded me of better times, and a deep melancholy washed over me. I couldn't make his world miserable, too.

“All right,” I said. “But I get to pick the place.”

He laughed and told me to hurry and get ready. I went into our bedroom, and instead of changing clothes, I searched the corners and the closet and under the bed. I found nothing and sat down, whispering, “Where are you?”

There was no answer, and so I got up and moved to the mirror to freshen up. I saw only myself in the reflection, which was a relief. “Okay, if you're in here, please don't come out now.” I was whispering again, and I couldn't believe I had been reduced to begging a ghost of a woman—or worse, my nightmare man-in-black stalker—to leave me alone.

I put my lipstick on, my favorite plum color that goes so well with my black hair and light blue eyes. Still nothing from my intruders. Maybe they had both taken off! I shook my head and told myself, no more. No thoughts of them; let them sleep.

I grabbed my purse and returned to Will, who turned on his courtly charm.

“You sure look beautiful, Miss Jackie,” he said in his smooth Southern accent, just like he'd sounded when we first met in New Orleans all those years ago.

“You sly old dog, Mr. Will. You sure know how to treat a lady,” I said, letting my own natural drawl come out. You can take the girl and boy out of the South, but you can't take the South out of them. And since I was thinking South, how about South of the border? There was a great Mexican restaurant nearby that made the best guacamole, right at your table.

Will agreed, and I texted Joanne.
Will and I are going out to dinner. I'm sorry about your room. I was looking for something. I'll clean it up when I get in. Love you bunches. Mom.
Will pointed out, and I knew, that Joanne was an adult out doing her own thing. But I was still her mother. And we always made a point of saying we loved each other. In my line of work, I hear too many people say “if only” they had said something or another. Plus, I owed her the apology.

We walked the seven blocks to the restaurant, talking easily. How I had missed the simple joy of being next to Will and feeling safe. I saw him look at my injured hand but ignore it—we were both sort of embarrassed by it, like when the wind blows up a girl's skirt in public for a moment and everyone politely averts their gazes.

I quickly changed the topic, and our conversation once again became easy. It was all so real—the cool breeze blowing my hair, the leaves on the ground, autumn upon us. I had no idea where the time had gone, and I meant more than just the seasons.

I remembered when I could reach my hand out and grab life. It wasn't that long ago when it was a race that I was winning. When it felt good to breathe heavily and feel the adrenaline kick in. I could look behind me for my opponents, because I was outrunning everything. Feeling the victory. And then I turned a corner and ran smack into one of them. I never thought it would get ahead of me and lie in wait. The whole time I was looking over my shoulder, it was one step ahead, waiting for me.

I grabbed on to Will's arm, pulling him closer and trying to shake off my gloom. The twinkling lights of the restaurant appeared out of the dusk. It was done up in a Day of the Dead theme. How appropriate.

We walked in and I stopped, just to take it in. Most people came for the margaritas and the cursory feel of a different culture. They didn't know what I did. For instance, the altar with its many offerings, which was placed in the back in order to protect the entire restaurant. Evil would see this Madonna and hightail it out. On my way past the cash register to our table, I saw a protection bag and red candle next to it. These proprietors were fully aware of what lurked beneath the surface.

Next to the cash register sat an old woman, probably the owner's grandmother. Her gray hair was pulled back neatly from a face lined with wrinkles and wisdom. Her gaze followed me, and she started speaking in Spanish. She began to rock slowly as though pushing forward the Holy Ghost. She picked up momentum and made the sign of the cross. That old lady knew.

I sat down at our table with her eyes burning into my back, her chants calling her God. Warning him of an intruder.

I sat across the table from Will and looked around at the fantastical masks on the walls of the restaurant. Will was talking, but I stopped paying attention to him when I saw the mouth slits on the masks move, as though they were talking, too. I shifted uneasily in my seat. A waiter stirred a large barrel of homemade sangria. The fruity scent turned metallic in my nostrils, and it looked thick as blood when he raised his big wooden spoon, the drops splashing loudly back into the barrel.

I turned away and focused on that altar in the back. The eyes of the Madonna came to life and stared right at me. I called out silently to her for mercy and strength. Suddenly, I felt nauseated. I asked Will to order for me as I hauled myself to my feet. He looked concerned as he grabbed my hand. I couldn't let him know. I made a crack about having to use the ladies' room and pulled away. I gave him a shaky smile and walked toward the back, past the altar with its lit candles. The flames rose higher and then began to go out as I walked past.

I felt light-headed as I went down the narrow stairs to the bathrooms. There was a sharp pain in my stomach, as though something was scratching its way out. I could feel it coming.
Please, not here
, I thought.

I pushed open the bathroom door, threw my purse on the counter, and gripped it tightly. My head down, I began to rock with the hope that I could push out the entity, the poison, the chaos, the delusions. I started to pray.

I grabbed a paper cloth off the stack and swiped at the sweat on my forehead. Then the lights dimmed and all of the hand dryers went on one at a time. Water started to seep from the grout between the floor tiles as I heard a woman in one of the stalls. Steam blasted from the old radiator as I slid my feet on the wet floor toward the row of stalls and checked them one by one. All were empty except the last one. That old, familiar voice called to me as I stood directly in front of the door. I backed up against the wall directly opposite as her face appeared in the crack between the stalls. I could see her long, straggly hair and wild eyes.

“Can't a lady take a pee?” Patricia cackled. “That was some good line you used on old Mr. Will. Hey! Pass me some toilet paper. And don't try to wish me away! I think Will likes me better.”

The door swung open, and she stood before me, her body reeking of old death and her shirt covered in knife holes.

“Did you think you could hide me, and I don't deserve to go out?”

I stood still, pressed against the wall as she came closer, demanding that I look at her. Her features were long gone, decayed away. Her mouth opened, exposing a dark hole.

“Come closer to me. Kiss me, Jackie.” Her hot breath caressed my lips. I looked directly into her eyes and saw her fear, saw her begging for help. Cries from the beyond spilled out of me.

* * *

And then I was fine. Finally. I opened my eyes and was back in front of the big bathroom mirror. I looked my fine self over for a minute. Just like a lady, I took the paper cloth I found in my hand and wiped off my lipstick. It was so not my color. And my shirt—I looked like a prude. I undid the top two buttons of my blouse, reached into my bra, and pulled out a tube of pink lipstick I'd hidden there. Pucker up, baby. Around and around my lips it went.
Now
I looked good!

I started to shove the lipstick back in my bra, but stopped. I couldn't take my eyes off my reflection, with my bright lips and smeared mascara. So beautiful. I reached toward the mirror and with my lipstick wrote in big, bold, sticky pink letters.
PATRICIA
.

I stood back and admired everything.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the one wanted by all . . .

The door swung open, and two old women interrupted me. I glared at them, but they didn't notice me. I hated it when people didn't see me, and it happened all the time. They were dressed differently—longer dresses, small hats, shiny heels. Old-fashioned and way too proper for me. I slid to the side so I could listen. I felt a little embarrassed and noticed in the mirror that I was biting my fingernails.

“What a shame. That poor child missing now for over a month. You know, that's all they found. Her little yellow raincoat. I hear it was covered in blood.”

“No! She was only eight years old. What a shame.”

I felt a pull inside me, like someone was responding to their words and trying to get out. I pushed her back and looked at myself again in the mirror. This time, I didn't look pretty. A white, wiggling maggot was slithering out of the corner of my mouth. I pulled it out and threw it away from me, feeling gross and disgusting. I bent over the sink and swished water around my mouth, trying to spit out the remainders of death. The two women ignored me. They turned and walked right through the bathroom door, fading away. I ran after them . . .

* * *

. . . What had happened? I was standing upstairs, on the restaurant's main floor, surrounded by the ordinary sounds of happy conversations and clinking utensils. How much time had gone by? I looked at my cell phone, trying to figure it out.

I finally saw our table and Will as he sat facing away from me. As I walked toward him, people started shooting odd looks my way and whispering to one another. I kept going and rubbed my husband's back as I passed by him and took my place at our table.

“Hey, you. Why didn't you check up on me?” I said, my head down as I placed my napkin neatly in my lap. Then I looked over at him and smiled. He spit out his drink in shock and stared at me, mouth agape. I stared back. What the hell was his problem? I followed his gaze down and noticed that my blouse had several buttons unfastened. I was flaunting much more cleavage than I ever did. I reached up and felt my face. My hands came away covered with sticky pink lipstick and smeared black mascara.

I started to bristle at the look on his face. He took notice, and his expression switched to one of worry. He reached for my hand.

“Let me in, Jackie. I love you.”

“You wouldn't understand. I don't even understand,” I said. “I'm not going to a doctor. There isn't a prescription for this. Maybe a mental institution . . .” I laughed, though it was the furthest thing from funny.

I looked into his eyes and saw all the obstacles we had overcome, all the dangers we had conquered—together. Both of us knew things that most people did not even realize existed.

“Will, did you ever get a splinter, not knowing how or when it happened? But you can see something under your skin—the shape of it making the outer part of the flesh inflamed, raised up. And you begin to pick at it with a sharp pair of tweezers, pulling back the skin to expose this object that's infecting your finger. And you grab it, trying to slide it out. You'll do anything to relieve the throbbing. Well, that is what I'm going through. But it's not a splinter.”

Will slowly leaned back in his chair. “What happened when you went to the bathroom? You come back looking different. Your makeup is running down your face; your lipstick is a color you don't wear and never liked.”

I could feel my occupant becoming furious. Will was criticizing her directly. Her rage built. I tried to keep her down, but it was so hard. She was so powerful.

I told Will I would wait outside while he paid the bill. He protested—he had asked for the dessert tray. Ah, my man. He knew that if anything would get me to stay, it was my sweet tooth.

The waiter approached and placed the platter of Mexican delights in front of me. He leaned in toward my ear and started to tell me which one was best. In seconds, though, his smooth sales pitch became a deep, hollow snarl.

“Keep looking straight ahead into that window of the kitchen door. Do you see who you are now?”

I saw men in white medical-examiner uniforms lifting a woman. Her face passed the glass window in the door, disfigured from the murder and exposure to the elements afterward. The men brought her directly by me, commenting on the countless stab wounds that had to be the work of that serial killer on the loose. Just behind them, I saw myself walking slowly and mechanically in the same direction. The image was solid, and I watched as the vision of me passed by. I was carrying a child in my arms—the little girl in the yellow raincoat.