Waiting For The Moon Part 11

Longing. Selena understood longing. It was what she felt for Ian.

Andrew laughed. "Yes, I rather suppose we are your family."

Selena tried to draw her gaze away from Lara's, but she couldn't. She saw such pain and fear and hope in

90 the child's eyes. For the first time, she understood that here, in this great and lonely house by the sea, she was not the only lost soul.

Chapter Eight.

Evening fell in silken folds of lavender across the sky. In the distance, a tall, white church spire caught the last rays of the setting sun. Newly blossoming trees clung to the sides of the narrow gravel road, their leaf-studded limbs fanned out, wooden fingers tapping on the carriage's roof. Ian sat deep in the squabbed burgundy velvet seat, his knees tucked carefully against the door. A cloudy pane of gla.s.s was his window to the outside world, and through tired eyes, he watched the scenery crawl past. The town was an endless stream of small, well-tended white clapboard houses on squares of spring gra.s.s, their flanks guarded by a battalion of evergreen trees. In the center of it all sat a gla.s.sy blue lake, the type of lake that cried out for ice-skaters in winter and picnics in the hot days of summer. The carriage hit a pothole and quaked to the right. Ian slammed into the wall, and Johann's knees rammed into his in an electric touch. The images. .h.i.t Ian before he had recovered his balance. A pine coffin, bare and unadorned ... a pale, dark-haired woman strapped to a dirty-sheeted bed, writhing, whimpering Johann's name through her tears . .. a door slamming shut, a lock turning with a click. And this time there was more than just the concrete mental pictures. There was a feeling, an emotion so all91 92 consuming and powerful that Ian felt jolted back in his seat. Sadness. Grief that could swallow a man, turn his soul inside out. Ian's head snapped up. He found Johann staring at him. As usual, the younger man wore a sardonic half-smile. "Going to read my future, Herr Doctor?" Ian searched Johann's thin, angular face, stared into his watery green eyes. His heart was pumping so fast, he could hear it, and the familiar headache was a dull thudding behind his eyes. Johann's sarcastic smile faded. He pulled back, swung his legs farther away from Ian's. "You did read my thoughts. I was thinking of my wife." Ian knew he shouldn't say anything, should retreat into the icy silence that had been his world for so long. But he couldn't manage it. He was too shaken by what he had seen and felt. "I had no idea ..." Johann's whole face seemed to soften. For once, there was no cynicism in his eyes, no bitter curve to his lips. "Like everyone else, you heard it was a scandal." He shook his head. "It was a crime." Silence slipped between them, less comfortable than before. "You know." Johann said the words so quietly, Ian wondered if the man had meant to speak at all. "I fell in love with Marie the first moment I saw her." Ian didn't know what to say. "She must have been everything you'd imagined her to be." "No." Johann turned, stared out the cloudy window. His shoulders rounded forward, his head banged tiredly against the cus.h.i.+oned wall. "She was different, my little Marie. People called her a wh.o.r.e-of course, she was one. But to see the truth of her, I had to look deeper. Past the heavy cosmetics and obscene costumes and practiced responses." He turned back to Ian, and there was no mistaking the tears in his eyes. "I had to see her with my heart and tell the world to go to h.e.l.l. When she 93 got sick with the syphilis, I stayed with her, nursed her to the end." "And look what it's cost you." "My death?" Johann laughed quietly, a surprisingly unaffected and honest sound. "If that's all you felt when you touched me, Ian. Touch again. The good memories far outweigh the bad, and loving her was worth any price. I died the moment she did.... My body simply doesn't know it." Ian remembered the pain he'd felt at the simple touch and knew Johann was telling the truth. He looked away, gave Johann what little privacy he could in the intimate confines of the carriage. He stared out the window, saw the last white house disappear from view as the coach hurtled into the shadowy, forbidding woods. The gravelly road twisted through groves of maple and pine, trees so thick in places that a man could lose himself in the darkness. They were going deep into the Maine woods now, into a place uncharted and wild, where night fell early and the sweet smells of moss and mud and mystery were common. A place hidden from "nice" society. The hospital at Pollusk was like all state-run lunatic asylums. Cold, distant, ignored. The seat of fear in a sleepy community, something wanted by all Maine residents, but not in their hometowns, not near their precious children. He knew without asking that stories surrounded this place, ghost tales told and retold at family gatherings, threats offered by exhausted parents to keep rambunctious children quelled. The stories would be about ax murderers and child killers, and they would have some limited basis in fact-enough to keep the good townspeople frightened. Enough to keep this place isolated and forgotten. He'd seen it all before. In the early years, when he'd first returned to Lethe House, Ian had occasionally gone into town. Everywhere he went, he heard the whispers, felt the stares. Old ladies made the sign of the cross as

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he walked past them. One had even fallen into a dead faint when he looked at her.

Yes, he knew what it felt like to be feared and ignored. And these good Mainers were probably no different from the ones at home. They hated what they feared, and they feared anyone different.

Unfortunately, this asylum, like all of them, wasn't filled with murderers. Instead, it warehoused society's lost souls. People suffering from melancholia, dementia, mania, monomania, and idiocy. Sad, lonely people like his mother, more likely to hurt themselves than any hapless pa.s.serby.

But of course, the good people of Pollusk would never believe that.

The carriage lurched to a stop.

Neither man moved. Finally Johann spoke. "I hate this G.o.dforsaken place." He s.h.i.+vered, reached for his cloak. "I was here, you know. When I first fell in love with Marie, I told my father that I wanted to marry her. The great Frederick Stra.s.sborg beat me within an inch of my life and informed me that no son of his would marry a wh.o.r.e." He gave a soft, bitter laugh. "But I never was much good at listening. Marie and I ran off to be wed, and my father found us. He dragged me away from the church and brought me here.

The law's a bit slack on family commitments, as you know. I was inst.i.tutionalized for three years-it took that long to extract an apology from me and a promise never to see Marie again."

Ian didn't want to be drawn into another personal conversation with Johann, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from asking the question. "What happened then?"

He grinned. "I was never too good at keeping promises, either."

The carriage door handle clicked hard, and the vel-veted door swung open. The elderly driver stood in the opening. Behind him, the hospital sat amidst the trees

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like a huge granite bird of prey, silent and watchful. "We're here, Doctor."

For a split second, Ian's fear was so great, he couldn't move, could barely breathe.

"You need the answers, Ian," Johann said quietly.

Ian knew he was right, but it didn't end the fear. He reached for his cloak and slipped it on, suddenly cold. "Don't let anyone touch me, Johann."

Johann gave him a sad, knowing smile. "Isn't that what this little sojourn is about, Herr Doctor?"

Ian pretended not to understand. Without answering, he got out of the carriage and began the long walk to the asylum.

It lay sprawled before him, waiting. A great wooden door, protected by Gothic-scrolled granite walls and an elegant green hedge, scrupulously trimmed, flanked the walkway and hemmed the giant building in. Trees stood guard, swaying quietly in the nightfall's breeze, whispering among themselves of the things they'd seen in this place, the screams they'd heard.

Johann came up beside him. "Ready?"

Ian hadn't realized that he'd stopped walking. He stood on the threshold, staring at the closed door. h.e.l.l no, he wasn't ready, not to enter this place again.

He was a fool to have come here, to have put himself in the lion's path for a woman who couldn't improve.

Ian had a crazy urge to run-back to the carriage, back to the isolated house in the woods where memories lurked but didn't intrude. Even crazier, he wanted to confide in Johann, spill out the whole sordid story of what had once happened in this place, of Ian's singular betrayal.

Time paused, drew a quiet breath.

The moment of weakness pa.s.sed. "I'm fine." Ian started to reach for the door, then paused and looked suddenly at Johann. "Can you go in?"

Johann smiled. "A most un-Ian-like question." His smile faded. "Yes, I can."

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Ian nodded and knocked on the door.

Moments later, it swung open. A scowling, swarthy man with beefy arms towered in the opening.

"Bug-heads get dropped off durin' the day." He gripped the door and started to slam it shut.

Ian shoved the door open so hard, the guard staggered backward. In concerted motion, he and Johann slipped inside.

The stench of unwashed bodies. .h.i.t him in the face. Ian almost staggered at the force of it. For a terrifying moment, he thought he was going to be sick. He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. Voices echoed in the shadowy hallway. A droning, maddening buzz.

The guard surged forward. "Now, wait a d.a.m.n minute-"

Johann stuck out a booted foot and tripped the man, who fell flat on his face. "Oh. Did I do that?" Johann plastered a hand to his throat and clicked his tongue. "So sorry."

The guard clambered to his knees. "You ain't sorry yet, you two-bit b.u.g.g.e.r, but you will be."

Johann held out a hand. "I should introduce my .. . employer. This is Dr. Ian Carrick."

The guard froze in his tracks. Slowly he turned to Ian. His face tightened into a squinty frown. "You're Dr. Carrick?"

Ian had seen that look a thousand times in the old days, a dawning realization that the object of so many rumors had appeared in the flesh. A curiosity, then a slow-building fear.

The guard took a step backward-also a standard response. "Dr. Wellsby said you was comin'. I din't believe it."

"No doubt it was intellect that secured you this job," Johann drawled, making a great show of crossing his arms. "Now, take us to your superintendent."

The guard rushed past them and slammed the door shut, then almost fell over himself in his haste to leave.

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He spun around. "Third door on the right. You can follow me. I'll... hurry ahead and tell Dr. Wellsby you're here." He was gone before the echo of his words had faded. The rapid thudding of his footsteps disappeared in the shadowy corridor.

"Do people always treat you like that?" Johann asked.

Ian felt inexpressibly old and tired. "This is a mistake."

"Then follow my lead, Ian. I make them all the time." Turning, Johann began walking down the hallway.

Ian stood there, in the sprawling, shadowy darkness, feeling utterly alone. Sounds battered his ears: the echoing vibrations of a woman's scream, the dull shuffle of feet going in circles, the magpie chatter of nonsensical conversation.

It was so like before, so sickeningly the same. The same smell, the same incredible roar of voices in pain.

For a second, Ian couldn't move. He stood rooted to the spot.

It smells here, Ian. I'm afraid.

He s.h.i.+vered, drew his cape more tightly across his body. The air was fetid and motionless, thick with the smells of death and dying and disuse.

I'm sorry, Ian. Whatever I did ... I'm sorry. Please don't leave me here. Oh, G.o.d ... please, Ian ...

Somewhere, a door slammed shut, and the noise drew Ian from the mora.s.s of his memories. Up ahead, Johann stopped, turned back to face him.

"This place releases all the demons, doesn't it?" Johann's voice was shaky.

Ian didn't respond. He forced himself to keep walking, through the darkness, into a different hallway where the shadows were invaded by gaslight sconces on the uppermost rim of the wall.

They turned a corner and suddenly there were people everywhere, cl.u.s.tered around the puddles of light.

Des

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perate fireflies hurling themselves against the golden warmth. They spoke to one another and themselves in low, droning voices devoid of emotion.

Ian kept moving, past a man hitting his head on the plaster wall, past a weary-faced woman who sat curled in a shadowy corner, slowly pulling her hair out by the roots, past a man in a straitjacket who chewed his tongue so vigorously that blood eased down his stubble-coated chin and splashed on the dirty gray linen of his pants.

Don't leave me here, Ian. Please .. .

"Jesus .. ." Johann croaked.

Somewhere, a door smacked open. "Ian!" boomed a male voice.

People scattered at the sound. As one, they jerked to their feet and scurried into the hidden corners from which they'd come, like insects sneaking back under cold rocks.

Superintendent Giles Wellsby strode down the hallway, his hand outstretched. "Ian, old boy, what a surprise. d.a.m.n fine to see you. After all the Christmas party invitations you'd declined, I thought you'd died."

Ian stared at the man's hand in rising horror. He tried like h.e.l.l to suppress the childish emotion, but the more he tried to rein it in, the more it consumed him. It was a simple greeting, he told himself, nothing more. Just a G.o.dd.a.m.n way to say h.e.l.lo.

Giles came to a stop. "Ian?" The superintendent's slim, colorless face tightened into a disapproving frown.

Ian knew he had to respond, had to respond now. If he didn't, this whole journey would be for nothing.

Giles would treat Ian as a pariah instead of a colleague. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the onslaught of images and thrust his gloved hand toward the superintendent. "Giles," he said stiffly. "How have you been?"

Their hands locked. Giles's thoughts slammed into Ian's mind in a jumble of pictures and words and feel

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ings. What happened to him? Rumors . .. psychic .. . lost his mind ... looks bad ...

"Good to see you, Ian. You look wonderful," Giles said with a toothy smile. He was too much the old-world gentleman to ask the questions that filled his mind, and Ian was glad of it. "The missus was asking about you just the other month."