My Soul to Keep Part 31

You will find no reason to celebrate. After this, you and Dawit will be friends no more. He will not heed gentle measures.

Mahmoud had not believed this. How could he? Dawit treated Khaldun like the father he had lost to war as a child. Dawit's taste for mortals was disagreeable, but harmless. Dawit had chosen to separate himself many times before, and yet remained true to his brothers. He had left his fame and his family in Chicago the very night the Searchers found him. Surely disobedience was foreign to Dawit!

Khaldun, deftly, read Mahmoud's thoughts.

Your brother has a true heart, Mahmoud. But he has suffered much, and his soul is stricken. Fate uses the very strong and the very weak as its agents for change. Even we are not immune to change. Nor to fate.

His message had been very clear, but Mahmoud had failed to interpret it then; Khaldun had been trying to tell him that Dawit might bring destruction to their centuries of peace. Now, Mahmoud was watching the prophecy unfold. He had watched Dawit break the Covenant and reveal himself to his wife, a journalist; and Mahmoud had discovered that she shared the knowledge with her sister, a physician.

What more did he need to see?

Mahmoud stared at the monitors in front of him. Dawit and the child were in the kitchen, making dinner. They were out of his camera's scope, but he could hear the girl's laughter. He had seen Dawit's wife in the van, but now the van was empty.

Tonight, he decided. He must abandon his plan to visit the hospital in the surgeon's scrub suit he had found at a medical supply store, coupled with the false identification he had easily printed and laminated himself. The wife's sister and mother would enjoy one last night of life.

But not so for Dawit's wife and child. Mahmoud had considered many methods, but in his haste he had succ.u.mbed to crudeness. He would let himself into Dawit's house with the universal key that had worked without trouble at the Miami Beach apartment. He would visit Dawit's daughter's room first; a simple gunshot to the head while she slept. A silent gun was quickest.

He would visit Dawit's room next and shoot the sleeping parents. He would leave the bodies of the woman and child behind. He would carry Dawit with him; when Dawit awoke, he would sedate him long enough to finish the business of the two women at an appropriate time.

Four would be too much killing for one night, since he must act with caution. Two, then. In two nights, at last, he could begin his journey back to his brothers with Dawit and resume his normal life.

And, after this, he would tell Khaldun that he had lost his appet.i.te for the ranks of the Searchers. This was not what he had intended. Khaldun's warning was wholly true; there was no satisfaction in this for him.

Khaldun was right in what Mahmoud had heard him say many times: It was pure cowardice, nothing more, for an immortal to kill mortals unnecessarily. What n.o.bility was there in stealing from those already impoverished? Mahmoud had never been a coward.

The monitors gleamed against Mahmoud's weapon as he loaded the cartridge with the heel of his hand.

45.

He was standing behind the screen in the open doorway when she drove up, wrapped in shadows from the tree branches knotted overhead, as though he'd been waiting for her. He was now as much a fixture at this house as the plants around it and the uneven path leading to the door. Jessica didn't allow herself to sit in the driveway and think about what she was going to say or do. That was when she couldn't breathe. She climbed out of the van and trudged past the cave toward David, her legs reluctant to move.

"You're so early. What a great surprise," he said.

She felt naked standing in front of him. Helplessly exposed. Her awful knowledge was big inside her, glowing from her.

Absurdly, David was in an unusually good mood. He was wearing tattered denim cutoffs and a faded Charlie "Bird" Parker T-shirt she'd bought him for a birthday some years back, clothes that were as painfully familiar as his face. At this moment, he looked so much like a reflection of her that his simple presence felt staggering, nearly making her lose her balance.

She had braced herself to face a maniac. But he wasn't one. He was only David, even now. He was smiling, squeezing her forearm to gendy lead her inside, closing the door after her. She noticed the sound of the deadbolt clicking into place, and she felt her muscles lock.

Suddenly, she was exhausted inside and out, maybe because of the thrashing in her chest from her overexcited heart. It would be easy to stretch out on the sofa and let him rub her feet.

"Mom-meeee!" Kira cried happily, her voice wavering as she b.u.mped down the stairs.

"Hey, sweetness. Come here," Jessica whispered, meeting Kira at the bottom of the stairs, kneeling to hug her at eye level. She rocked with her, hanging on. "I missed you today."

In an instant, Jessica heard a click and saw a flash of light against the wall. Again, her muscles turned rigid. Her head whipped around.

David stood across the room with his Canon camera, smiling. He advanced the film manually with quick flicks of his thumb. "Perfect. That was a priceless shot. Stay just like that."

"Daddy's been taking pictures all day," Kira complained into Jessica's ear as the camera clicked again. Jessica felt lost in the temporary white blindness.

"You didn't smile, Jess."

"Sorry," she said, and the word sounded comical. What was she apologizing for? How in the world could he expect her to smile? "I think I'm just hungry."

"Ah. Then you're ready for our special treat for tonight."

"Pizza!" Kira announced.

"Kira and I made gluttons of ourselves on my homemade pepperoni specialty. I just need to grate some more mozzarella, and I'll make you one all to yourself."

"Great," Jessica said in the loudest voice she could manage.

Driving home, she'd imagined all sorts of scenarios where she would run upstairs and throw some clothes into a duffel bag, at least enough for her and Kira to stay somewhere overnight. But now that she was inside and saw how small the house was, she knew that was out of the question. Her purse was still on her arm, and that was all she could take. That and her daughter.

She had to do it now. If not, she might not do it at all.

She stood tall, clasping Kira's hand. "While you're doing that, I'm going to run with Kira over to that doll store down the street. It's only five minutes away."

Kira looked up at her, her face full of puzzled surprise. The doll store, which sold antique dolls as well as porcelain dolls crafted by Nadine, the proprietor, was a rare treat. That was where Peter found the beautiful black doll he'd bought for Kira at Christmas; thinking of Peter made Jessica's throat swell nearly shut.

David was frozen, confused. "Well ... If you want to postpone eating, I'll go with you."

One of Jessica's purse straps nearly slipped from her shoulder, but she quickly yanked it back into place. "No. Please? I just want to be with her a little while."

David leveled a questioning gaze at her. She hoped the excuse would work; she'd maintained plenty of times that she needed to spend time alone with Kira-a source of contention, since he always wanted to be included too-but never so abruptly. He was going to argue. Then it would be lost, because Jessica could barely control as tartling new quiver at her bottom lip, and she was sure Kira must be able to feel the unsteadiness in her fingers. She was afraid he would use his reliable old tactic, Kira, don't you want Daddy to go too?

Instead, David raised his camera once more and snapped a picture. For a moment, he was hidden behind the bright flash. "Will you be long?" he asked.

"I just want to show her a new doll I saw in the window today. It looks just like her." She had no idea where she was pulling the lies from, but she was thankful they were coming.

Kira was gazing at David, waiting. Jessica now saw that it wasn't enough that Mommy wanted to take her somewhere; Kira had to be certain it was okay with Daddy too. Seeing this, and realizing for the first time how much she had allowed David to win control of their daughter, Jessica felt a wave of near nausea.

"Have fun. d.u.c.h.ess," David told Kira, winking.

Kira grinned, squeezing Jessica's hand. "Let's go. Mommy."

"Love you, baby," David said, walking over to kiss Jessica's lips lightly. Jessica's stomach rattled. He kissed Kira's cheek. "You two hurry back."

As Jessica pulled Kira by the hand up the driveway, she had to use all her self-control to keep from sprinting, or running like someone crazed. She couldn't. David was probably at the door, still watching them go, probably an impulse away from begging to come too.

Teacake had already sprawled across the warm hood of the parked van, and he meowed as they approached. Kira reached up to try to pet him, but Jessica anxiously pulled her to the pa.s.senger's door. Fumbling for her keys, Jessica glanced back over her shoulder at the house. The door was closed. David wasn't in sight. Out of habit, she glanced up at Kira's open bedroom window. She didn't see him there, either.

"Will you buy the doll for me?" Kira asked.

"I don't know," Jessica said, biting her lip hard to keep from sobbing. She couldn't cry now, not until they were gone. Safely gone. Then she could do anything she wanted and explain everything to Kira any way she chose. "Get in, honey," Jessica said after she'd opened the door.

"Make Teacake get down," Kira said, worried, trying to climb up to her seat. The cat was gazing at Jessica benignly from his resting state, with no intention of moving.

"I will, honey."

After closing the door behind Kira, Jessica lifted her cat, feeling the hairy tufts of his underbelly, and "brushed her nose across his fur. Another so-familiar scent, a comforting smell that reminded her of her bedroom, safe sleep. Teacake mewed, purring. She was about to cry again. f.u.c.k it.

"Teacake's coming?" Kira cried, delighted, as Jessica tossed the cat into the backseat and slammed the door shut behind her before the cat could scramble back out. Unlike Princess, Teacake loathed automobiles. They reminded him of visits to the vet.

"Yep. We're all going."

Somehow, she managed to find the ignition with her trembling hand. She thought of the horror movies where the poor heroine can never get the car to start, but the van started immediately with a roar. Kira's door wasn't closed tightly enough, the dashboard display warned with a red light and a soft, whining alarm. She should have closed it harder. Jessica cursed, shaking her head. She wouldn't worry about that now. Put the van in reverse, she told herself. Go. Not too fast. Check your mirror; be sure not to back over anyone. Make sure no one is coming. You can't have an accident. Just go.

They were moving. The thought filled Jessica with a hysterical disbelief. They were driving. The oak tree posting their street number was trailing behind her in the rearview mirror, and they'd reached the intersection that would take them straight to Biscayne. They would vanish into the busy highway's rush-hour traffic. Next, the Interstate. After that, the Turnpike.

She'd done it. Sweet Jesus. She'd really done it.

"Mommy, my door isn't right," Kira pointed out, fussing with her seat belt. "Won't I fall out?"

"I'll fix it at a light, honey," Jessica whispered, blinking hard. Stay away, tears. They hadn't traveled far enough yet. Traffic had boxed them in. No one was moving. Brake lights everywhere. Teacake's clipped, frightened mews from the back pierced Jessica's brain, making her neck stiff. Like a baby's cry.

Jessica had hoped to barrel through the stoplight alongside AAA Liquors, but the light turned red too soon and she braked abruptly. d.a.m.nit.

"Fix my door now," Kira said. "Please?"

Jessica's mind was so dazed that she didn't even realize until she'd jumped out of the van to run around to Kira's side that she could have simply reached across her daughter to close the door. Once outside, she immediately felt vulnerable, naked. She'd left the sanctuary of the van in the middle of the road, with everyone noticing her. What if David had followed? Her fingers slipped when she tried to grab Kira's metal latch, so she had to wipe her hands on her slacks. "Careful, sweetheart," she said once the door was open, then she closed it with all her weight.

Somewhere, a car honked. She looked at the light, frantic. Still red. What a.s.shole was out there honking?

Then, Jessica gasped. A red Ford Tempo was only three cars behind her in the left lane, and she nearly fell to her knees when she saw it. David's car! He'd been behind them the whole time.

For an eternity, Jessica stood frozen in the sun. It barely mattered, after the first few seconds, that she finally realized the Tempo's driver was a stocky Hispanic teenager, not David, after all. And he was honking at the car next to him, gesturing that he wanted to merge into another lane.

By the time Jessica climbed back into the van, only seconds before the light finally turned green, there was nothing she could do about the tears. She was sobbing. For those few seconds, standing in the middle of Biscayne Boulevard, she'd nearly collapsed because she thought she had seen David. Jessica was paralyzed with the realization that the life she had known was over. Simply over. Her rationalizations, her acceptance of David's history just to keep the peace, could not change that.

Kira looked at her with worried tears in her own eyes, but she didn't say anything. Jessica almost never cried in front of Kira, because she remembered how terrified it always made her feel when she saw her own mother cry. If Mommy couldn't make it better, then no one could. To a child, it meant chaos. And lately, all she'd been doing was crying.

"I'm sorry, Kira," she apologized through her sobs.

Through the window, Kira watched as they drove past the doll store's friendly yellow sign. She turned her head and craned her neck to watch it disappear behind them, then her eyes were back on Jessica, hopeful, as though she thought Jessica had made a mistake. Teacake's cries, which were close to Jessica's ears because he had curled up in a corner directly behind her, sounded frantic.

"Are we going away now?" Kira asked.

Still sobbing, Jessica nodded. She'd stopped in a turning lane, waiting for a break in the traffic so she could follow the signs pointing toward 1-95. Almost there.

"What about Daddy?" A whine crept into Kira's voice.

"Daddy's meeting us. We're going to Disney World."

What a pathetic attempt. Even a five-year-old would have to be brain-dead to buy a story like that. But the a.s.surance seemed to relax Kira, and she leaned back thoughtfully in her plush seat. All of a sudden, she looked so remarkably small sitting there.

"Is the monster coming, Mommy?" Kira asked after a silence.

Jessica stared at her daughter. She tried to say "No, honey," and explain they were just taking a surprise vacation. But she couldn't answer or speak at all, not even to tell a happy lie.

46.

Dawit believed he would go mad in the silence.

There was the large silence of the house, which he had so foolishly stripped of the music he'd always insulated it with to disguise the hours of emptiness. As he stood gazing through the window at the still yard, the gentle stirrings of insects echoed his loneliness, magnifying the absence of all other sounds.

In one terrible instant, he knew the silence was something more than what it seemed. He knew before Jessica's mother called from the hospital wondering why she had not heard from Jessica, saying there was news about Alex's upcoming surgery. He knew before he found the telephone number for Gallery of Dolls on Biscayne Boulevard, and the good-natured Bahamian woman who ran the shop said she had not seen Jessica. She was about to close up early because she had not had a customer since two, she said.

"Summertime," the woman complained. "Everything dies here in summer."

Then, Sy called shortly after five, asking Dawit to have Jessica call him immediately about some legal matter pertaining to an important story of hers that the newspaper would not be able to print without her input. She ran out without saying a word to anyone, Sy told Dawit. Was everything all right?

In the House of Mystics, which Dawit had never visited except to attend their ceremonies to predict the world's annual events, the conjurers would call it premonition. Dawit had felt it most strongly that day with Adele, when they stopped by the tree at the river. And now, again. He felt so severe a cramp deep in his belly that the pain alone brought tears to his eyes.

He sat on the windowsill hoping that the van would drive up and shatter his fears. Yet, the longer he sat and waited, the more certain he became. She could have driven to the doll shop and back twice, even three times, by now. For some reason he could not fathom, Jessica had taken Kira and was gone.

At first, he was stricken with worry. Dawit was reasonably certain Mahmoud was the one responsible for Alex's attack, though the failed attempt was so uncharacteristically sloppy. Dawit could not think of what reason Mahmoud might have for striking, except as a warning. He could just as easily harm Jessica and Kira too. Perhaps he'd threatened Jessica, and that was why she'd fled.

Or, perhaps Mahmoud had chosen a different route.

Mahmoud might have reached Jessica and told her stories of Dawit's history: his amus.e.m.e.nt with decapitation as a warrior, or of his unbridled s.e.xual tastes in the brothels. Those things would shock her. Or, more likely, Mahmoud could have revealed to Jessica Dawit's most recent transgressions-his killing her friend and the old man, Uncle Billy. That certainly would have made her flee! Why had he never considered Mahmoud would do such a thing?

Now, Dawit remembered the odd slant of Jessica's eyes when she had walked into the house. He was certain he would see it in her face again once he developed the photographs he had taken of her; consternation, eyes vacant. He'd believed she was still distraught over Alex, and he'd intended to take her in his arms that night and lull her to sleep with gentle kisses to ease that expression away.

But what if, this time, her eyes were so empty because of him?

It could not be. And yet, yes, it was. It was.

Worry gave way to a new, foreign feeling: sweeping rage. He had been betrayed, first by Mahmoud, and now by Jessica. After all he had told Jessica, risking the wrath of his entire brotherhood, she would leave without giving him an opportunity to defend himself, to rea.s.sure her? And take his daughter besides?

Kira was gone. She had been in this house, this very room, not even an hour before. Now, she had been stolen from him.