Reichs, Kathy - Death Du Jour

I rise and see cocoa skin covered with oozing, red sores. I know it is Élisabeth Nicolet.

“Who are you?” I think the question, but she answers.

“All in robe of darkest grain.”

I don’t understand.

“Why are you here?”

“I come a reluctant bride of Christ.”

Then I see another figure. She stands in a recess, the dim snowfall light obscuring her features and turning her hair a lackluster gray. Her eyes meet mine and she speaks, but the words are lost.

“Harry!” I scream, but my voice is thin and weak.

Harry doesn’t hear. She extends both arms and her mouth moves, a black oval in the specter that is her face.

Again I shout, but no sound emerges.

She speaks again and I hear her, though her words are distant, like voices drifting across water.

“Help me. I am dying.”

“No!” I try to run, but my legs won’t move.

Harry enters a passageway I haven’t noticed. Above it I see an inscription. GUARDIAN ANGEL. She becomes shadow, merges with the darkness.

I call but she won’t look back. I try to go to her, but my body is frozen, nothing moves but the tears down my cheeks.

My companion transforms. Dark feathered wings sprout from her back, and her face grows pale and deeply creviced. Her eyes congeal into chunks of stone. As I stare into them the irises go clear and color drains from the brows and lashes. A white streak appears in her hair and races backward, separating a flap of scalp and throwing it high into the air. The tissue flutters to the floor and flies swarm from the window and settle on it.

“The order must not be ignored.” The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere.

The dreamscape shifts to the low country. Long rays of sun slant through Spanish moss, and giant shadows dance between the trees. It is hot and I am digging. I sweat as I scoop mud the color of dried blood and fling it to a mound behind me.

The blade hits something and I scrape the edges, carefully revealing the form. White fur clotted with brick-red clay. I follow the arch of the back. A hand with long, red nails. I work my way up the arm. Cowboy fringe. Everything shimmers in the intense heat.

I see Harry’s face and scream.

* * *

Heart pounding and bathed in sweat, I sat upright. It took me a moment to reconnect.

Montreal. Bedroom. Ice storm.

The light still burned and the room was quiet. I checked the clock. Three forty-two.

Calm down. A dream is just a dream. It reflects fears and anxieties, not reality.

Then another thought. Ryan’s call. Had I slept through it?

I threw back the quilt and moved to the living room. The answering machine was dark.

Back in the bedroom, I took off my damp clothes. As I dropped the sweatpants to the floor I could see fingernail-shaped moons in the flesh of my palms. I dressed in jeans and a heavy sweater.

More sleep did not seem likely, so I went to the kitchen and set water to boil. I felt queasy from the dream. I didn’t want to bring it back, but the vision had knocked something loose in my mind, and I needed to make sense of it. I took my tea to the sofa.

My dreams as a rule are not particularly wondrous nor frightening or grotesque. They are of two types.

Most commonly, I cannot dial the phone, see the road, catch the plane. I must take an exam but have never attended the class. Piece of cake: anxiety.

Less frequently the message is more baffling. My subconscious sifts material that my conscious mind has amassed, and weaves it into surreal tableaux. I am left to interpret what my psyche is saying.

Tonight’s nightmare was clearly of the cryptic type. I closed my eyes to see what I could decode. Images flashed, like glimpses through a picket fence.

Amalie Provencher’s computer face.

The dead babies.

A winged Daisy Jeannotte. I remembered my words to Ryan. Was she truly an angel of death?

The church. It resembled the convent at Lac Memphrémagog. Why was my brain beaming that to me?

Élisabeth Nicolet.

Harry, beckoning for help, then disappearing into a dark tunnel. Harry, dead with Birdie. Was Harry at serious risk?

A reluctant bride. What the hell did that mean? Was Élisabeth held against her will? Was that part of her saintly truth?

I had no time to sort it further, for just then the doorbell sounded. Friend or foe, I wondered as I stumbled to the security panel and picked up the handset.

Ryan’s tall, lanky frame filled the screen. I buzzed him in and watched through the peephole as he trudged up the corridor. He looked like a survivor of the Trail of Tears.

“You look exhausted.”

“It’s been a long one and we’re still in overtime. I’m on my own, thanks to the storm.”

Ryan wiped his boots and unzipped his parka. Ice cascaded to the floor when he pulled off his tuque. He didn’t question why I was dressed at four o’clock in the morning, and I didn’t ask why he was dropping in at that hour.

“Baker’s found Kathryn. She had a last-minute change of mind and bailed on Owens.”

“The baby?” My heart raced.

“He’s there too.”

“Where?”

“Got coffee?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Ryan threw his hat on the hall table and followed me to the kitchen. He talked as I ground beans and measured water.

“She’s been in hiding with some guy named Espinoza. Remember the neighbor who called Social Services about Owens?”

“I thought the neighbor was dead.”

“She is. This is her son. He’s one of the faithful, but he holds a day job and lives down the road in Mama’s house.”

“How did Kathryn get Carlie?”

“He was already there. Ready for this? Someone drove the vans to Charleston while the group went to ground in the Espinoza house. They were all on the island the whole time. Then, when the heat cooled they left.”

“How?”

“They split up and everybody boogied to a different tune. Some were picked up by boat, others were smuggled in pickups and car trunks. Seems Owens has quite an underground. And like schmucks, we just focused on the vans.”

I handed him a steaming mug.

“Kathryn was supposed to go with Espinoza and some other guy, but she talked him into staying put.”

“Where’s the other guy?”

“Espinoza turns into igneous rock on that topic.”

“Where did everyone go?” My throat felt tight. I already knew the answer.

“I think they’re here.”

I said nothing.

“Kathryn isn’t sure where they were heading, but she knows it involved a border crossing. They’re traveling in twos and threes and they’ve got directions for roads that aren’t patrolled.”

“Where?”

“She thinks she heard talk of Vermont. The highway patrol and INS have been alerted, but it’s probably too late. They’ve had almost three days and Canada isn’t exactly Libya when it comes to border security.”

Ryan sipped his coffee.

“Kathryn claims she didn’t pay much attention because she never thought they’d really go. But she is clear on one thing. When they find this guardian angel, everyone will die.”

I began wiping the counter, though it was already clean.

For a long time neither of us spoke. Then,

“Any word from your sister?”

My stomach constricted anew. “No.”

When he spoke again his voice had softened.

“Baker’s boys found something in the Saint Helena compound.”

“What?” Fear shot through me.

“A letter to Owens. In it someone named Daniel is discussing Inner Life Empowerment.” I felt a hand on my shoulder. “It looks like the organization was a front, or else Owens’ followers infiltrated the courses. That part’s not clear, but what is clear is that they used ILE to recruit.”

“Oh, my God.”