Alexandra Sokoloff - Book of Shadows

Look, Tanith spoke in Garrett’s head, and without knowing how he knew to do it, he turned toward the car.

The license plate was visible in the moonlight: TOR 936

And he knew the make of the car: a dark Camaro, navy blue or black. The car seemed drawn in crystal clarity, hyper-real.

Garrett glanced back toward the figure on the cliff’s edge. It suddenly stiffened… turned slowly… its face all in shadow, hooded by its coat. It was still, staring toward Garrett and Tanith with an intensity Garrett could feel even from the distance.

Then it dropped its bundle and shot forward into the air, a black and ragged and virulent shadow, hurtling straight at them, with a shriek of sheer black madness—

He woke abruptly to his head pounding more violently than any hangover he could ever remember experiencing, and there had been a few. He was on the bare black floor of a dark room, naked and alone in the center of a pentagram within a painted circle, and for a long and paralyzing moment he had no idea who he was.

Then the dream came flooding back to him.

Flying through the clouds, through ice, through steam, through desert… the sensation of flying…

His stomach roiled with the memory of motion, and suddenly another image flashed into his mind.

The landfill… the dark shadow… the blue Camaro and the license plate…

Garrett sat up in the dark velvet-lined room, cringing at the throbbing pain in his head. The air was heavy with the smell of apple musk and sex.

A wave of nausea suddenly doubled him over and he dry-retched, over and over again, his stomach spasming. He sank back on his heels, swallowed, and breathed shallowly, fighting the nausea.

Jesus, what did she give me?

Finally the sickness passed enough for him to straighten. He looked around and saw a wineglass on the floor; red liquid had spilled out in a puddle. He crawled over to it and looked at the glass. There was a thickness to the dregs of sticky liquid left in the bottom.

He reached shakily for his clothes and dressed, wincing at every move, every muscle in his body aching. Then he took out one of the glassine evidence bags he always carried in his coat and stooped to scoop the wineglass into it.

He moved out through the doorway into the dark reading room. The cards were gone from the table, and the room was empty, as was the front of the shop; no sign of Tanith.

Moving gingerly, he walked for the door as quietly as he could… but as he was reaching for the knob, he stopped. He turned and looked toward the shelves of herbs and powders behind the counter. Then he crossed to stand in front of the shelves. The jars were labeled and alphabetized, and it took him no time at all to spot the jar he was looking for:

Belladonna.

The homicide room was mercifully quiet for a Saturday. Garrett headed straight for the crime lab and handed the wineglass and the glassine bag of belladonna over to Warren Tufts. “The wine in the glass. I need to know what’s in it.”

Tufts looked him over with a raised eyebrow, and Garrett knew the criminalist was taking in his pallor and bloodshot eyes, his death-warmed-over appearance. Garrett didn’t try to explain. He had no doubt Tufts had seen worse.

He went back to the detectives’ bureau, ignoring a curious Morelli and Palmer, and slumped in his seat behind his desk, too exhausted to muster even the energy to go to his car and drive home. His thighs ached and he had a sudden memory of Tanith riding him, both of them naked and straining, her black hair spilled over her breasts, her mouth ripe and sweet against his… and he felt himself weak with desire again.

He tilted his head back against the chair, and must have dozed, because he was in the dark and watching a shadow figure creep from a Camaro—when suddenly a female voice spoke from above him and he jolted awake.

“You look like hell.”

He blinked up to focus groggily on Carolyn, who stood in front of his desk, pristine and unsmiling.

She held a file folder in her hand, which she tossed down on the desk in front of him. “Try doing your own homework next time.”

Without a word of explanation about what she meant, she pivoted on one lethally fashionable heel and was striding out of the room.

Garrett didn’t even have the words left to call her back. He reached for the file and opened it.

The name in black type hit him from the top of the page. Teresa Smithfield, a.k.a. Tanith Cabarrus.

He was looking down at a rap sheet.

It took him two mugs of coffee to go over it all, not because of the length of the file but because of how hard his tired mind was trying to fight it.

A September 1999 arrest for five counts of fraud and grand larceny, for which “Smithfield” received three years and was remanded to MCI Framingham, the state women’s prison, where she served nine months before being released on probation.

A June 2000 arrest for disorderly conduct, after which she was institutionalized at McLean State Hospital for four months, then discharged to the care of a Selena Fox.

The file was thick with photocopied official documents. One of them was an intake report from McLean Hospital.

IDENTIFYING DATA: The patient is a 23-year-old white female with no known address, arrested by the police on 24 June and brought into the emergency room, subsequently admitted into the locked psychiatric unit as a Section 12: risk to herself and others. She gave her name as Teresa Smithfield. She carried no ID or identifying papers.

HISTORY OF PRESENT ILLNESS: Arresting officers received a 911 call from Salem resident Althea Carstairs reporting “a young woman going crazy in the park.” Police arriving at Salem Willows Park found Ms. Smithfield in a disheveled condition, covered in blood and brandishing a large knife, which she threatened the officers with, screaming at them to stay away. Officers held their weapons on her and instructed her to drop the knife, at which point she began slashing at her arms and chest, screaming that she had to “cut them out.” Officers subdued and disarmed Smithfield using Tasers. Officers conducted a visual examination and concluded the blood on Smithfield was most likely her own, as she had numerous fresh cuts and stab wounds in various parts of her body.

In the patrol car en route to the psychiatric ward, Smithfield kept up a steady stream of muttering and periodic screaming about being attacked. She claimed there were demons inside her.

On admission the patient continued to repeat her belief that there are demons inside her and that they “tricked her” into letting them in. She begged repeatedly for help and screamed not to be left alone. She would not respond to questions about her perceptions but seemed preoccupied with internal stimuli. It is likely that she is experiencing both auditory and visual hallucinations.

Blood and urine screens for alcohol and illicit drugs are positive for significant amounts of the hallucinogen atropine, which indicates possible drug-related psychosis in addition to an organic condition.

PAST PSYCHIATRIC HISTORY: Patient has an arrest record for fraud, and served nine months in MCI Framingham. During the first months of her sentence she received numerous official write-ups for fighting and “antisocial behavior.” Patient has a series of vertical scars on her left wrist, suggesting at least one past suicide attempt.

ASSESSMENT AND PLAN: Patient clearly suffers from a psychotic condition that may prove to be chronic paranoid schizophrenia, quite possibly exacerbated by the use of hallucinogens. The use of antipsychotic medication is indicated and will be initiated. We will continue to carefully monitor Ms. Smithfield’s safety, given her dangerously self-destructive behavior.