Ed Gorman - Serpent's kiss

"Don't worry. I will. She scares the hell out of me."

Rooney smiled and left, closing the door behind him.

Hastings House was built just before the turn of the century. In the photos from that time, the place looked about a tenth the size of its present form. A couple of stiff looking gents in top hats and long Edwardian coats could be seen, in one photo, turning over shovelfuls of dirt to get the project started-and then a year later standing in the same top hats and long Edwardian coats on the steps of the new building.

In the background, the tower was clear and impressive in the winter sunlight. Constructed of native stone, with a kind of turreted top, it rose against the sky with medieval grace, though the stories from the time quickly noted that the tower could not be used because of faulty construction.

In 1912 patient escapes tied to murders began. The first such incident involved a man named Fogarty. He had managed to walk away from the facility and had, several hours later, accosted a woman in her home. After raping her, he took a knife and began what the paper vaguely described as 'a series of mutilations.' She was found dead, at suppertime, by her two youngest children who had been 'down the road playing.' He had also been suspected of killing a four-year-old girl, but her body was never found.

Reading this, O'Sullivan sighed. Most people like to look back on past times with a patronising nostalgia. People were so much simpler then, they like to think. And life was so much easier, a Currier and Ives world of humble, pleasant people leading humble, pleasant lives. Well, to cure that nonsense, just sit down and read through some old newspapers as O'Sullivan was doing tonight. The Currier and Ives nonsense gets quickly buried. People then were just as petty, mean, and scared as they are now.

After twenty minutes, O'Sullivan went over and dropped a quarter into the change by the coffee-pot. It was like dropping money in the votive candle slot. Not unlike God, Marge demanded her due.

Then O'Sullivan got down to real work. And odd as it sounded, some of the things the Lindstrom woman said didn't sound half as crazy as they had over the phone earlier tonight. Not half as crazy at all.

By the time he was finished, O'Sullivan had deposited more than a dollar in the change box, and emptied his bladder three times.

During her fifth cup of coffee, Emily Lindstrom said, "Sometimes I wonder if it's just my vanity."

"Your vanity?"

"Ummm. With Rob. You know, the family honour and all that. Just not wanting people to think my brother's a killer."

"I'm sure it's more than that."

Emily sighed and looked around Denny's. A nearby sporting event must have let out within the past half-hour because the restaurant had suddenly filled up with what looked like father-and-son night.

Emily sipped her coffee and said, "After we talk to Marie Fane, I want to try and find Dobyns."

"Oh?"

"I told you about the incantation."

"Yes."

"I want to see if it works."

Chris's gaze dropped to her own coffee.

"I appreciate you not smiling."

"Why would I smile?"

"Incantation. It's not a word you hear very often in modem day society."

"I suppose not."

Emily leaned forward with more urgency than she intended. "There really was a cult, Chris. And there really is a serpent. As unlikely as it sounds."

Chris wasn't exactly sure what to say but then the sweaty, overworked waitress leaned in and gave Chris the bill and saved her from saying anything at all.

Five minutes later they were out in the parking lot. The nice spring night was suddenly as cold as early November.

Abbott was saying to Costello, "They ain't gonna cook our goose. They're gonna cook somethin' else." And then he pointed to his rather formidable posterior.

They were standing outside this big metal pot that was boiling over as a group of natives (Africans, supposedly, and cannibals to boot) were licking their chops at the prospect of eating up two white boys dumb enough to give them trouble.

The movie was Africa Screams and it was made long after Bud and Lou were hot and that was pretty obvious because of all the cheap sets and nowhere actors. Kathleen Fane had seen this movie when she was about Marie's age, a time of her life she was resolutely sentimental about (how shiny and fine most things are remembered or anticipated) and God knew she needed something to put up against the horrors of tonight, of her dear sweet precious daughter Marie who'd nearly been murdered a few hours ago.

Murdered. My God! What must that boy's family be going through right now?

The Chief now goosed Lou with a spear.

Lou looked into the big boiling pot and made a face.

Kathleen giggled.

It wasn't all that funny, of course-Bud and Lou were sort of like Jerry Lewis, once you got past fifteen they kind of lost their magic-but the face he made was so clean and childish and wholesome, so redolent of her innocence, that she giggled out loud.

And then immediately felt guilty.

What if she woke Marie up?

Kathleen was in the small room they used as a combination sewing room and den. There was a nice big bookcase filled with all the Doubleday Book Club editions she'd taken over the years (Book of the Month Club and Literary Guild were too expensive) and a wall full of photos of when there'd been three of them. Now, she got up and went to the door and looked out into the living room, at the frosty moonlight that fell through the window onto the couch. Marie was still asleep. Kathleen sighed gratefully.

She went back into the den and turned the sound even lower, pulling the rocking chair even closer to the screen.

As she settled back into the movie, she started thinking again about the anonymous caller. She was glad she'd called 911. Talking to the police officer had made her feel reassured. When she told him what had happened to Marie tonight, he got very sympathetic (even over the phone he had a bedside manner that many doctors would envy) and said that it was better to be safe than sorry (which actually sounded kind of cute coming from him, a manly cop) and that he'd have a car immediately begin cruising past her house and checking for anything untoward. That was the word he'd used. Untoward. It was a nice, strong word and helped reassure her even more.

Lou now started making his famous chittering noises (he only chattered when he was afraid) and shaking his head NO! when the Chief suggested he step into the pot and become the dinner for all these hungry natives.

She set her head back, feeling the blanket she'd knitted cosy and warm against her spine.

Everything had changed tonight. What Marie had witnessed would alter her in some irrevocable way forever. Every other event in her life would be measured-good or bad-against this one.

Thinking this, Kathleen felt a mother's fury pounding through her bloodstream.

She wanted to take the man who'd done this and-

The phone rang, startling her.

For a moment she had to gather herself. It was like coming up through water, the sunlight and sounds almost harsh on the senses.

She'd been so engrossed in imagining what she'd like to do to the man that-

The phone rang again. The fourth time.

She rose from the rocker and went to answer it.

"Hello," she said.

A pause. A hesitation.

My God, it was the same caller who'd earlier-

"Mrs. Fane?"

"Yes."

"It's me. Sergeant Milford. You called me earlier."

A sigh so profound she felt her knees weaken. "Oh, hello, Sergeant."

"I just wanted to check and see how things are going."

"He hasn't called back"

"Good. We're going to have a patrol car posted outside the apartment house the rest of the night."