“How is he hurting you?”
“Every victim he kills, an invisible knife is stabbed into my heart! Eugene — you must stop!”
A ghostly hand clutching a butcher knife appeared above the séance table and plunged down into the actress’s head, then disappeared. Hardare had not told the other actors about this little touch. Just as he’d hoped, they recoiled in horror.
“Is there anything else?” Hardare asked.
“Tell Eugene that I love him.”
“Even after he’s hurt you.”
“He’s still my son. Goodbye.”
The séance table rose into the air, and the stained glass window banged open. Sophie Nichols invisibly left the room, her seat replaced by the first actress.
The lights came up, and the cameraman panned the faces of everyone at the table, stopping last at Hardare.
“The dead have spoken,” the magician said.
Death lay on the bare floor in a fetal curl, his head buried in his hands, the crotch of his jeans soiled by his own urine. With each pitiful sob, his shoulders gently rocked, the motion reminding Jan of a baby in a cradle.
Jan sat transfixed, watching her abductor teeter on the brink of madness. How had Vince found out who Death’s mother was? And how had he found someone who looked exactly like her, and gotten her to appear at a séance? Being married to a magician had always been full of surprises, and this ranked right up there with the very best.
Death shrieked a primal scream, the sound tearing through the abandoned tenement. Pulling himself to his feet, he walked around the room, his fists pounding holes into the crumbling walls.
“Why did he do that?” he sobbed. “Why couldn’t he leave my mommy alone?”
Jan stared straight ahead. Eugene had snapped, and sounded like a ten-year-old-boy.
“I’m going to make him pay for that. Just you wait.”
From the paper bag he pulled out a string of sausages. He stuck one into his mouth and chewed viciously. Something about him had changed, although Jan wasn’t entirely sure what.
“Can I have one?” she asked.
“What did you say?”
“I’m hungry. Can I have one of your sausages.”
Death tore off a sausage and stuck it in her mouth.
“Your husband is a prick. He could have brought my father back, and wouldn’t have said those bad things about me.”
Jan chewed the uncooked sausage. As it hit her stomach, her gastronomical juices went off like fireworks.
“Can I have something to drink?”
“Only if you say please.”
“Please.”
He put a can of soda to her lips. Jan downed it in one gulp. She’d never tasted anything more delicious in her life.
“That should keep you alive for a little while,” he said. “I’m granting you a temporary reprieve, but the sentence remains the same.”
He made a feeble effort to laugh and instead started to cry again, his shoulders visibly shaking. It was impossible, yet Jan actually found herself feeling sorry for him.
“Let me help you, Eugene.”
“No!”
“Please. Untie me from this chair. You’re a sick man; you need a doctor. I’ll help you find a good one.”
“Nobody can help me. I have a worm in my brain. Now give me your husband’s cell phone number.”
“What? Why?”
“Because he wants me to contact him. I’m not stupid. Now, give it to me.”
Jan recited her husband’s cell number from memory. Death repeated it to her, then gathered up his things and left the apartment. She felt herself shudder as he locked the door behind him.
Chapter 26
Watts
Hardare and his daughter returned to their hotel to find a grim-faced Wondero and his partner waiting in the lobby.
“I guess you saw the news,” Hardare said.
“We sure did,” Wondero said.
The detectives rode upstairs with them to their suite. Crystal hugged her father, then went to her bedroom and shut the door. Wondero jabbed his finger into Hardare’s chest.
“Do you have any idea what kind of harm you’ve caused? I should arrest you for obstructing a homicide investigation.”
“What did I do?” Hardare said.
“Just forget about your wife for a minute, and try to imagine the man who kidnapped her. Eugene Osbourne is certifiably insane. Do you think bringing back his dead mother is going to have a settling effect? What if he goes on a rampage?”
“Remember Son of Sam, the serial killer in New York?” Rittenbaugh chimed in. “When he got arrested, the police found an Uzi submachine gun in his apartment. He was going to drive out to Long Island and shoot up a discotheque filled with people.”
Hardare had already played out those scenarios, and decided it was worth the risk, if it meant saving Jan.
“Are you guys staying?” he asked.
“You’re damn straight we’re staying,” Wondero replied.
“Suit yourself,” he said.
Hardare retreated to his bedroom and shut the door. Taking out his cell phone, he placed it on the dresser and waited for Death to call.
An hour passed. He killed time staring into the hills at the stilt houses with their Chinese restaurant architecture and above ground swimming pools. What did it feel like living in a home that millions of people probably looked at every day? Like a fish in a bowl, or a king on a throne? He supposed it depended on your point of view.
His attention was drawn to an animal prowling on the deck of house. It was a coyote with a mottled brown coat and ears pointing up like a pair of antenna. It was hard to believe that a wild animal could stay alive in such a hostile environment. It said a lot for wits and cunning, and the desire to survive.
His cell phone chirped. He snatched it off the dresser and stared at the face. Caller Unknown.
He took the phone into the bathroom before answering.
“Yes?”
“Hello, Mr. Magico,” Death said.
Hardare felt the flesh rise on his arms.
“You dredged up many bad memories,” Death went on, “but you knew that, didn’t you?”
“You hurt me, I hurt you.”
“I think this little chapter should come to a close. Agreed?”
Death did not sound the same. The séance had affected him.
“That depends upon the terms.”
“Simple enough. I give you back your wife, and you leave town. I think that would make us both happy.”
Hardare’s face burned at the prospect of seeing Jan again. “Let her go, and we’ll leave by tomorrow.”
“Is that a promise?” Death said.
“Yes. My wife is worth everything to me.”
“Promise not to bring the police along?”
“No police.”
“I’ll kill her if you do.”
“No police. Now tell me where she is.”
“Your wife is residing on the top floor of an apartment house in a lovely section of town called Watts. The address is 10943 Carver Street.”
Hardare scribbled the address on a notepad with the hotel’s fancy insignia.
“I’d hurry if I were you. The building is filled with rats.”
The line went dead. Hardare went to the door of his room, and cracked it open. The detectives were parked in the living room. He called Crystal’s cell, heard her pick up.
“I need you to create a diversion so I can leave,” he said.
“Where are you going?” his daughter asked.
“To save Jan.”
“One diversion, coming right up.”
There were times when having an actress in the family was an asset. Moments later, Crystal came out of the bedroom and walked past the detectives. Slapping her hand against her forehead, she let out a moan, and collapsed to the floor.
They rushed to her aid. Hardare slipped out of his bedroom and left the suite without either man being the wiser.