She made that up, Conor wrote.
He wanted not to be texting Kate about this. He had to hear her voice, so he called her number. She didn’t answer. It was a gut punch,being accused for something so crazy. Time was spinning, and he needed to hold her. He needed her to listen to him, let him explain the truth. He tried her again, and still no answer.
“Kate can identify the picture,” he said to Joe after he hung up. “It’s from a French film based onBeauty and the Beast.”
“Interesting, because check this out,” Joe said, standing by a tall bookcase.
“What have you got?”
“Someone’s got a fixation going,” Joe said, gesturing at the top shelves. They were full of various editions ofBeauty and the Beast. Some looked very old, with cracked leather spines and flaking gilt titles. Several were foreign, and he recognizedLa Belle et la Bêtefrom the French phrase Kate had just used.
“Maybe the fixation continues,” Conor said, pointing at the black-and-white photograph above the bed.
“Strange,” Joe said. “My daughter liked the Disney movie, she watched it constantly, along with a bunch of others, but I always got them mixed up—Little Mermaid, Esméralda, they all blended together. ExceptBeauty and the Beast. That one always bothered me.”
“Why?” Conor asked.
“Basically, the story is about how someone puts a spell on a prince and turns him into a beast, and this old guy picks a rose outside the Beast’s castle, and the Beast flips out and tells him that he’s got to trade his daughter for his freedom. I mean, what the hell! And Belle—his daughter—gets sucked into wanting to save her father, then feeling sorry for the Beast. What a shit father, incidentally.”
“Yeah, I’d say so,” Conor said.
“Of course, Belle falls in love with the Beast, because even though he’s ugly as shit, she tells herself he’s so kind to her. Right, he’s given her this choice—stay with him, or her father dies? Typical domestic violence scenario, power and control.”
“Dark,” Conor said.
“Hell yeah, it is,” Joe said. “And that’s just the Disney version. Not the French one Kate mentioned. Wait, tell me it’s not all artistic and black and white, like that photo?” He pointed at the picture above the bed.
“It is. It’s black and white.”
“So that’s probably even nastier. Edgy, right? It reminds me of every domestic I’ve ever been called to.”
“Except this one is in a castle,” Conor said.
“Like in Newport,” Joe said.
Conor nodded. Newport, Rhode Island, the Gilded Age summer playground of robber barons and their modern-day counterparts. Lots of castles on Bellevue Avenue and throughout the Ocean Avenue environs.
Conor glanced at the table beside the bed and noticed that it had a lower shelf. On it was a small crystal decanter. There was an inch of amber-colored liquid inside. A white muslin towel was crumpled beside it, stained the same brownish color.
Something had spilled on the table, thickened into a dark, sticky mess, like coagulated blood. In the center of the spill was the image of a rose. It jolted Conor—he had seen it before. At first he thought it was a drawing, scrawled into the fluid, but then he realized it was an imprint, like a seal left in melted wax by a stamp.
Conor took a photo with his iPhone, so he could enlarge and see it more clearly. He moved closer and crouched down to examine the towel, about to tell Joe about the imprint, but the smell brought on a blast of dizziness so strong, he thought he was going to fall over.
“Whoa,” Joe said, catching his arm.
Conor stumbled into the hallway, leaned against the doorjamb. He struggled to keep himself from passing out.
“Take it easy,” Joe said. “Sit down.” Conor stood where he was, still holding on to the wall.
“He’s drugging his victims,” Conor said, shaking his head to get rid of the fog. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Joe said. “I didn’t have my nose in the bottle like you did. What’s that substance?”
“Some kind of sedative,” Conor said, feeling sick and still reeling. “Let’s get out of here.”
They went downstairs and left the house, walking into the fresh air. Conor leaned over, hands on his knees. He breathed in and out, steadying himself until he could stand upright again. They stood looking at the house for a while.
“Do you think our guy is reenacting the story?” Conor asked.
