As twilight descended the unconscious Sebastian felt as though someone tenderly lifted from the floor. The slight hint of a hug and his mother’s young voice, “My sweet boy! You can’t stay there on the floor all night. You’ll get a crick in your neck,” relaxed him into the deeper comfort of his parents’ care. Once on the bed he felt his mother’s lips brush his cheek lightly as usual whenever she tucked him in at night. Sebastain reacted as ten year old boys did, by turning away to one side and burrowing deeper into his pillow. “Sweet dreams, son,” his father whispered as the door clicked closed. And so they commenced.
Mrs. Beaupain was the neighbor lady across the street. She was also baby-stitter, confidant, and the best baker in the world next to his mother. Her specialty were lemon tarts which just happened to be Sebastian’s favorite dessert in the world. He now enjoyed one of those tarts while he swayed ever so slightly in her poch swing while a time-lapsed view of his parents’ house began to play. A retrospective of his life? Not this time. After all, he wasn’t dying. Instead he watched successive suns rise and set as the house changed colors over the years and various additions were made to the landscaping. Since it was a dream, he was able to see through the walls to the rear garden as well. The brick patio his mother and father laid themselves, the placement of the antique French wrought iron furniture his mother prized. Suddenly, he saw the lawn between the patio and the garden open with the zig-zaggedness of a lightning bolt. He thought he saw someone, a man fall in just before the fissure closed again. He startled awake.
He decided to remain up for a while. It was only a little after nine, too early to retire for the night. There was work to catch up, plus in spite of his late luncheon he could do with something to eat. He made a tunafish sandwich to eat while he sat in front of his computer to go through his emails. He was scanning the inbox for a response from his friend Cliff in New York. Sebastian had sent him a draft of the first article he had written about the pedophile priest case they had worked on. He wanted his friend’s opinion about how he had treated the story. Sebastian had wondered if he sold down-play his lover’s involvement and focus on the main thrust of the murdered Indian boy and how the story had evolved. In the end, Sebastian decided on full disclosure. He was too much of a professional to let personal feelings get in the way of such an important story. As he scrolled through the postings, he finally found the one from the New York Special Detective:
Hey, Sebastian! Glad to know you’re back at work. The story is perfect. I know it must have been difficult for you to write the things you did about Sean as an abuser as well as a victim. At the same time I’ve never known you to shy away from reporting the entire truth. Congrats on another great job!
At least his best friend backed up his decision. He hoped Sean’s uncle, Monsignor Gallagher, would concur. Privately suspecting a loved one of murdering a young Indian boy was one thing. Reading about the circumstantial evidence in the press was gut-wrencing. Knowing that Sean had been abused by Father Flint for most of his life didn’t make the discovery of the boys Sean had in turn abused any easier to accept. Sebastian’s heart was crushed. Granted he had not lived through what Sean had lived through. Still. Trust was broken. Illusions shattered. Their life together made meaningless.
By the time Sebastian finished responding to emails and also going through his regular mail, he paid a few bills and went to bed. This time in his queen-sized bed in the master bedroom he had shared with Sean; too exhausted to care he was alone. His last conscious thought was about the blonde woman who had appeared in the mirror as he left the house earlier that afternoon. It was through her eyes that he saw his next dream.
♠♥♦♣
A knock at the front door beckoned the teenage blonde out of her bedroom in a hurry. She ran down the stairs calling out, “I’ll answer the door, Papa. It’s jus tthe girls. We’re going to a party tonight.” Breathlessly she pulled open the heavy carved oak door expecting to see her friends. She gasped when she saw she was mistaken.
A man wearing a white three-piece suit and white ankle boots stood on the porch tipping his white fedora with one hand while holding a silver-headed ebony walking stick with the other. “Bonsoir, Madamoiselle. I promised I would find you again.”
The horrified girl quickly slammed the door closed and locked it. Her father came through to greet her friends. When he saw his daughter press her back against the door, he was immediately concerned. “Are you all right, Justine? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“No ghost, Papa.” She turned back to the door and checked the lock as she sucked in a deep breath. “There was no one there, Papa. Must have just been pranksters is all.”
♠♥♦♣
Sebastian woke instantly. He opened his bedside journal and wrote the name Justine followed by a question mark. He had also had the disturbing feeling of someone watching him sleep. Someone with his connections to the other side couldn’t afford to be cavalier about such impressions.
He put on a robe, made the bed and went downstairs. He gazed out the window to the zigzag patch of lawn that was always brown. He recalled seeing the San Andreas fault once when he visited the Palm Desert. It laid on the desert sand linke a giant black snake. Some relation to it was his own snake in the garden. The kitchen clock reflected in the window reminding Sebastian of the time. He had promised to meet CJ at the Athletic Club for a swim. He still had time enough for a cup of coffee and to check out his by-line in the Times-Picayune. He placed his mug on the counter and walked through to the front of the house.
The newspaper awaited him on the veranda. His story made the front page above the fold. The report about The Altered Boys Club was too big for a single article. His editor and he had decided to run it as a series. This was going to have people talking, in New York as well as New Orleans. If there were any pedophiles wearing Roman collars here, Sebastian hoped they would heed the warning and leave. There was no place for them in the pulpit or New Orleans. He wished someone had stood up for Sean the way he was standing up for these boys now. Breaking the shackles of secrecy and threats and exposing the truth. Sean might still be alive if they had.
Still, there was no excuse for Sean becoming one of them. His role as a recruiter was deplorable. There could be no room in Sebastian’s heart for someone who played the Judas Goat to innocent young boys.
A car drove by with the windows down and stopped at the intersection for a turn at the four-way stop. Meatloaf was singing, “If you touch me like this, and I kiss you like that, it was gone with the wind, but it’s all coming back—.” Sebastian watched as the BMW 323i turned the corner, but he wasn’t able to see who was driving. He wondered if the driver lived nearby and was the source of the music he heard last night. The telephone began ringing, so he gave up on his possible neighbor and went inside.
After settling himself on one of the kitchen bar chairs with his coffee mug, he answered the phone. “Sebastian, it’s CJ.”
“I’m not late for our swim date am I? I thought we said nine.” Sebastian immediately scolded himself for using the word date but appointment wouldn’t have been right.
“No, Sebastian, you’re not late. I have to cancel. I’m sorry, but something’s come up. My aunt wanted me to ask you to come over, but I know you said you just came off a difficult case and want to relax. So maybe we can get together in a few days? I hope you understand.”
“CJ, tell me what’s happened that your Ursula thinks I could help. Of course, I’m happy to do whatever I can, but —.”
“It’s her friend, Suzette. She hasn’t been heard from since early last evening. We had just arrived at my aunt’s house when she called to invite her for a girls’ night. Ursula declined of course, since we were all over there. Suzette declined her counter invitation to join us. Later on we got out the ouija board and it spelled out “Suzette dead.”
“I imagine that freaked Ursula out. Listen, Cliff. Give me fifteen minutes to shower and get some clothes on and then come pick me up. You can tell me more about this woman on the way over to your aunt’s place.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Sure, I’m sure. This is the first time I’ve been asked to do anything like this by someone who’s still alive. I’m on the corner of Chestnut and First. I’ll see you in fifteen. I’ll leave the front door open so you can come in in case I’m not downstairs when you arrive. Bye, now.”
“Sebastian?”
“Yeah, CJ?”
“Thanks.”
♠ ♥ ♦ ♣
As Sebastian pulled on a pair of khakis and stepped into a pair of calfskin driving shoes, he heard the doorbell. He ran a brush through his hair, blew into his hand to check his breath and rushed downstairs. When he opened the door, the seriousness of this situation was apparent on CJ’s face.
“Hey, CJ! Right on time. I guess you didn’t have any trouble finding the place. Would you like too come in or should we get right over to Ursula’s place?”
“No trouble at all. I’m familiar with the District. Fire department and all. I’d love to see your home, but maybe another time, Sebastian. If you don’t mind, let’s go to my aunt’s. Are you ready?”
“Yep. Let’s go. Is that your car?”
“Just got it a few weeks ago. Like it?”
“What’s not to like about a Beemer 323i convertible?”
“You know cars, Sebastian?”
“Not really, just a few that I like. Bet this baby has a sweet sound system, right?”
“Yeah. One of the selling features. Check it out. I’ve got Meatloaf’s new CD in.”
And there it was. The same song Sebastian kept running into, coming from the same car he had seen turning the corner. He wondered why CJ didn’t just come out and tell him he had driven by, especially when he hinted he had seen him. Sebastian didn’t want to make it a big deal so he let it drop for the time being.
So tell me about Suzette and why ya’ll are so concerned about her. Y’know it hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet. I assume she’s over the age of consent.”
“Uh, Sebastian, I haven’t been completely honest with you. She’s in the morgue, Sebastian. Her body was discovered around four this morning.”
“God, CJ! I am very sorry! I thought you wanted me to help find her.”
“We need your special talents, my friend. We want you to see if you can get her to tell us what happened to her.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize you know about my gift. I have to tell you, CJ, usually the souls who want my help come to me. I don’t go looking for them. Of course, I will see what I can find out for you, Ursula, and the others. Have you seen the body? Do you know a cause of death?”
“I have. I took Ursula to the morgue soon after we got the call. The police needed someone to identify the body. My aunt was Suzette’s ‘in case of emergency’ contact, so of course they called her.”
“How is she holding up?”
“Ursula? She’s grieving, of course, but she’s determined to find Suzette’s killer and serve him justice, and not through the court system if you get my meaning.”
“I would expect no less from her. So about the cause of death —.”
“Right. You asked that before. Sorry, Sebastian. You’re going to think this weird near the end of the twentieth century, but the medical examiner says Suzette died from exsanguination.”
“Are you saying Doctor Strauss said she was killed by a vampire?”
“She can’t really say a vampire did it, but someone indeed drained every drop of blood out of Suzette’s body.”
“Was there any blood where she was discovered?”
“Not a drop.”
“That doesn’t necessarily point to a vampire, CJ. She could have been killed somewhere else and the body dumped at the site. The M.E. listed no other probable cause? She hadn’t been stabbed or beaten or anything like that? No drug overdose?”
“Sebastian, the only cause of death listed on Suzette’s certificate is exsanguination. Suzette didn’t use drugs.”
“Of course, not. That’s not what I meant. Someone could have slipped something into her drink. You said on the phone she told Ursula she was going out last night. Someone could have given her something that she had a bad reaction to, or he gave her too much, something along those lines. As far as you know did the Strauss run a drug test?”
“I think it stop when he saw her body had been drained. Besides don’t they need blood for those tests? Suzette didn’t have any left.”
“Drugs could show in stomach contents and in tissue samples. Let’s not mention any of this to your aunt. She’s already been hit with enough. After I’ve spoken with Ursula, II would very much like to have a chat with the Examiner and see the body, if you don’t mind.”
“Whatever you need to do. You’re the boss.” CJ paused and smiled slightly. “Let me rephrase that. Ursula is the boss. I suppose you would be the vice boss.”
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