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“How do we do that?” Molly asks in her whisper-kitten voice, so innocent.
She joins hands with Mark and the baron. I join hands with the baron and Fragonard. Mark closes the circle taking Fragonard’s hand and Molly’s.
The candles are lit and the lights are completely lowered so only our faces are illuminated in the eerie glow of the four pillars.
“Close your eyes and listen to the tone.” He makes an Om sound, holding the single note for a long minute. “Hear the vibration of every vowel. Allow it to clear your mind.”
He does it again, and I do my best to focus on the noise. I don’t believe in communicating with the dead, but I did some therapy after I left New Orleans. I do believe in the power of meditation, notes, and sounds. I know the cycle of confronting painful memories, acknowledging them, giving them space, and then letting them go.
At last Fragonard seems convinced our minds are unified.
“I will now invite the supernatural.” I peek at our leader, and his brows are furrowed. “Come into this place, spirits of the dead. We greet you, supernatural guides. Come to us now as we wait…”
The train lurches suddenly to the left. I lunge forward, and Molly squeals.
“There, there, it’s only the train.” Esterhaus’s tone is fatherly, as if she’s a child. I wonder how he rationalizes that approach when she’s sucking his cock.
“Yes…” Fragonard seizes the interruption. “They are here. They are with us. Open your mind and allow them to show you their faces.”
My eyes pop open, and I don’t care. I’m looking at the human faces in this room lit only by candles. Fragonard’s eyebrows have gone up, and he seems to be straining toward something invisible. With a jolt of electricity, I see Mark is looking straight at me. He doesn’t smile when our eyes lock, but I feel as though I can read his thoughts.
After this is over…
I answer in my mind. I can’t let you make me weak…
I made you a promise…
How long are you willing to wait?
We hold each other’s eyes, and in those supernatural moments, I want to believe he’ll wait until the end.
Then I remember he’s a cop.
A very sexy cop, but nonetheless, he represents the law.
Breaking his spell, my eyes move to Molly. Her eyes are solidly closed, and her eyebrows are raised. Her pale blonde hair curls toward her neck, and when she speaks, it’s all innocence and wonderment.
If I didn’t know better, I would think she were a simple eighteen-year-old girl venturing into the adult world for the first time. The baron holds her hand tightly, his cigar clutched in his teeth. He, by contrast is not innocent. His skin is pink and his neck is fat. I think about his fat neck and his fat belly. I wonder how much hate it would require for me to do what Molly does so well.
She makes it look so easy…
The true sign of a master.
“Look for the faces.” Fragonard’s voice is monotone, as if he’s trying to hypnotize us. “Concentrate on the faces. Listen to them speak. Hear what they want to tell you…”
My eyes flutter down to the red candles clustered together on the table. In unity, they send up a bright orange light.
It wavers and dances.
It dips and lengthens with our breath.
It moves side to side, and as I watch it, I feel as though I’m seeing something in the flames.
The scent of sandalwood intensifies around us, and my eyes grow heavy. Smoke gets in my eyes. They flutter closed, and for a moment, a face darts across my memory. It’s pale and painfully thin. Frizzy strawberry blonde hair frames sunken cheeks. Fear tightens my chest, and I realize it’s Tanya.
She watches me several moments, and my neck grows stiff. Her eyes are black and hollow, void. She’s dead, and her soul is lost. She was lost for so long, but now she’s here watching me, begging.
Tears are in my eyes. That will be me one day.
