The 5th Witch (12 page)

It was dawn by the time he arrived back at his apartment, and the morning was so warm and bright that Dan found it almost impossible to believe that the events of the night had actually happened. Annie’s kitten Malkin was sitting outside her door. He bent down as he passed and stroked her, and she mewed.

He left his loafers outside his front door, because they were covered in dark brown blood and he would have to wash them. Inside, he peeled off his coat, switched on his TV, and started his coffeemaker. He was just in time to catch an NBC report that two SWAT teams had stormed Orestes Vasquez’s house. Apart from that, however, the story bore no resemblance to what had really happened.

Dan stood in front of the TV, taking off his bloodstained pants and then his holster, and all he could do was shake his head slowly from side to side and say, “What?
What?
How can you—?
What?
”

“The SWAT teams were called in because Mr. Vasquez and his family were being held hostage by a Colombian drug gang that was under the mistaken impression that Mr. Vasquez was running a rival narcotics racket.

“Two SWAT helicopters were fired on by surface-to-air missiles and were forced to withdraw. But two ground teams successfully entered the house and—after a fierce fire fight with the drug gang—were able to rescue the Vasquez family and bring them out safely.

“There were several casualties among the SWAT teams, but no further details are being released until the next of kin have been informed.

“Mr. Vasquez—seen here arriving back at his home—said he had nothing but praise for the SWAT officers who had saved him.

“‘I understand that, regretfully, some of them were hurt in the line of duty. But this self-sacrifice only serves to remind us of the bravery and dedication of the policemen and women who uphold the law in this great city of ours.’”

Dan called Ernie. It took a long time for Ernie to answer, and when he did, Dan could hear a baby crying in the background. “Did you see the news?” he asked.

“I saw some fairy story, just like you,” Ernie replied.

“Well, what the hell—it was a total fabrication! Total lies from beginning to end. I’m going to call Sara Brennan at the
Times
!”

“No,
muchacho
, you’re not.”

“What? What do you mean, I’m not?”

“You’re not because you want to keep your job, yes? In a minute, you will receive a call from Sergeant Cutler. Every officer who attended the Vasquez bust has to come in to the station for a full debriefing at fifteen hundred hours. Meanwhile we are absolutely forbidden to say one single word to the media. Anybody who does will be instantly canned and could be looking at a jail sentence.”

“A jail sentence? You’re kidding me!”

“Something to do with obstruction of justice. Sergeant Cutler will tell you.”

“So, telling barefaced lies and letting mass killers walk free—that doesn’t obstruct justice in any way?”

“Take it up with Cutler. Meanwhile, I have a very shitty diaper to change. You want my advice? Never have kids. And if you do, never start them on solids.”

Dan made himself a mug of blindingly strong espresso and stood in the middle of the kitchen, devouring three-quarters of a pack of Oreos without even tasting them and gulping down repeated mouthfuls of scalding-hot coffee.

He was on his way to the bathroom when the phone rang. It was Sergeant Cutler, ordering him to attend this afternoon’s debriefing. “And you won’t be making any comments to the media about last night’s operations, Detective—regardless of what you might have been seeing on TV?”

“What I saw on TV, Sergeant, didn’t bear any resemblance to last night’s operations.”

“There’s a reason for that, Detective. Meanwhile, you’re required to keep your lips zipped.”

Dan took a long shower, standing with his face raised to the showerhead, and his eyes tightly shut. But he couldn’t wash the picture of Orestes Vasquez’s library out of his head. And he kept thinking of Deputy Chief Days turning around and around, terrified that something would come up behind him and catch him unawares.

Something larger than a man, something gray, something
with claws and teeth
.

Eventually, he toweled himself dry, drew down the blinds, and collapsed heavily into bed. He lay there for nearly an hour, motionless, staring at the corner of the pillow, telling himself that he badly needed to sleep. He heard traffic outside. He heard somebody singing “It’s
amore
” and doors slamming. He heard Annie
calling out for little Malkin. “Malky! Malky! Where are you, sweetheart?”

But he also heard the soft, insistent scratching of a yucca branch against his window as it was stirred in the morning breeze, and it eventually took him off to sleep.

At first, he dreamed that he was standing on the ocean. It was a fine, breezy day, and he had discovered how easy it was to walk on water. All you had to do was keep your balance and anticipate the waves as they came rippling in to shore. You bent your knees slightly as a wave came toward you and allowed it to lift you a few inches, and then you straightened your legs as you came down again.

He was surprised how far down the coast he could see—at least as far as Redondo Beach. He could see yachts and sailboards and people swimming, and he could see girls Rollerblading along the sidewalk.

He thought,
No wonder Jesus was happy
.

After a few minutes, though, a bloodred bank of clouds began to roll in from the west. The ocean began to turn bloodred, too, and when he looked down, he saw that there were people floating in the water, just below the surface, staring up at him in desperation.

He started to panic and run toward the shore. With each step, however, his feet sank deeper into the water, and by the time he was thirty feet away from the beach, he was splashing through the waves right up to his knees.

He thought:
I have to get out of here. I have to find
Gayle
. He knew that he shouldn’t drive, because Gayle would be killed if he did, but maybe this was his chance to make everything happen differently and save her. Yet the sky was almost black, and the wind was rising, and sheets of newspaper were flying through the air, flapping and screaming like seagulls.
People were running for shelter and shouting out in confusion, and he knew that it would soon be so dark that he wouldn’t be able to find his way home.

His Mustang was waiting for him, in the parking lot next to the sidewalk café. The red-and-white striped awning in front of the café was flapping wildly and threatening to tear loose. Tables were tipping over, and waiters were hurriedly trying to bring in armfuls of chairs.

To his relief, he saw that the Mustang’s passenger seat was empty. He could drive home, even though he was drunk, and this time she wouldn’t be killed.

“Gayle?” he called, just to make sure. “Gayle, are you there?”

A hand touched his cheek. “I’m here, Dan. Don’t worry.”

He opened his eyes. Gayle was sitting next to him on the bed—naked, slender, small-breasted, silhouetted against the blind. He looked up at her, and she was real, her face unblemished. She was smiling at him in that secretive way she always used to smile, as if she knew something about the world and the way in which the world worked that he would never find out.

“Why don’t you go back to sleep?” she suggested. Her fingers stirred through his hair and traced the outline of his ear.

“You’re
here
,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.

“Where else would I be?”

He sat up, blinking at her in fascination and fear. He reached out and touched her shoulder. It was soft and warm and solid and real.

“It is you. You’re here. How can you be here?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes, things can work out differently.”

Dan thought:
Maybe my dream really did change
everything. Maybe the past didn’t happen at all, not the
way it did the first time. Maybe I was driving back from
Gus Webber’s wedding on my own and Gayle was never
killed
.

He ran his hand all the way down her arm and took hold of her hand. She was still smiling, but in a different way now, as if she didn’t understand why he was so amazed to find her there. But she
was
there, perfect in every detail, down to the pattern of tiny moles on her shoulder, like the constellation of Auriga, the charioteer. She was even wearing the choker she always wore, with beads that reminded him of blueberries.

The yucca branch scratched against the window, and her nipples crinkled in the warm draft that blew through the bedroom. She leaned forward and kissed him, first on the tip of the nose, then his eyelids, and then his lips. Her tongue slid into his mouth and explored his teeth, as if she were making sure that it was really him.

His penis uncurled and began to stiffen. Without taking her tongue out of his mouth, she reached down and encircled his shaft with her fingers, gently rubbing it up and down. He stared into her eyes, even though she was so close that he was unable to focus.

“You’re real,” he said, with a catch in his throat. “You’re real, and you’re alive.”

She said nothing, but lay back on the pillow and pulled him after her. She parted her thighs, and her vulva opened like a pale pink fruit, overflowing with juice. She guided him into her, kissing his ears and his hair and nipping at his neck with her teeth.

This can’t be happening
, he thought to himself, as he pushed deep inside her.
She’s dead, and her body was cremated
. But he could feel her as if she were real—her warmth and her wetness, her quick, soft panting against his shoulder. He could hear the traffic outside, and
Wheel of Fortune
on somebody’s TV. He knew that he
had been dreaming about walking on the ocean, but that had been too odd to be real. This was different. He could even see his pale blue bath towel where he had dropped it on the floor.

He tried not to climax too soon, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. He made a snuffling sound, and his spine arched, and then he was shaking and shaking and he couldn’t stop. Gayle lightly ran her fingertips up and down his back, so that his nerve endings tingled even more.

After a while he lifted himself off her and lay beside her. He reached down between her legs, but she took hold of his wrist and said, “Later, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”

“It doesn’t matter. It was lovely.”

He stroked her hair and wound it around his finger. “I need to understand this.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were killed, and I went to your funeral.”

“But here I am.”

“I know. But what I need to understand is, have you come back? Like, are you some kind of a ghost, like that Patrick Swayze picture?”

“I
hated
that movie. It was so sentimental.”

“Yes, but is that what
you
are?” He looked around the bedroom. “Or is this like a parallel universe or something?”

“I don’t know. I feel perfectly normal. Maybe you had a bad dream, that’s all.”

She kissed him again, quickly, dozens of little butterfly kisses all over his face. Eventually he said, “Whoa,
whoa!
” and shielded his face with his hand.

“Don’t you like me kissing you?” she teased.

“I love you kissing me. But I’m still confused. Tell me this: do you remember driving home from Gus Webber’s wedding?”

She frowned at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s important. I just need to know.”

“But that was
so-
o-
o
long ago.”

“Yes, it was. Three years and twenty-six days to be precise.”

“I remember you were very drunk. You were weaving all over the highway.”

“And?”

“I was quite drunk, too. You drove me home, and you had to help me into the elevator because I could hardly stand up.”

“I drove you home?”

“Sure.”

“So what happened the next day?”

“I don’t remember. I expect I stayed in bed with a hangover.”

“You don’t remember any accident?”

“Dan…you’re being very strange.” She climbed out of bed and walked across to the window. He hadn’t forgotten how slim and beautiful she was, how pale and radiant her skin could shine. She pulled up the blind, and she was flooded in sunlight, so bright that she almost vanished.

“Hey,” he protested. “Don’t stand in front of the window. Somebody will see you.”

She turned, and she smiled. “Then you’ll know for sure that I’m real, won’t you?”

They dressed, and went out onto the balcony, taking two frosty bottles of stout with them. Gayle was wearing a plain white blouse with short puffy sleeves, and very tight blue jeans, and Greek sandals. No earrings. She had never worn earrings, for some reason that she couldn’t explain.

He said, “I have to go to the station at three. We
had a pretty disastrous night last night…two SWAT teams got wiped out.”

“That’s terrible. How?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to say anything about it, not yet.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Not even to me?”

“You wouldn’t want to hear about it anyhow. It was too damned grisly. Listen, I won’t be longer than an hour. Do you want to wait for me here, or are you going to go back to your own apartment?” He hesitated, and then he said, “You
do
still live in your old apartment?”

She gave him another of those all-knowing smiles.

“Stay here,” he said. “We can order Szechuan tonight, like we always used to. And you can sing along to the Scissor Sisters.”

“
When I was a child I had a fever
,” she sang, in a high, breathy voice, and laughed.

Dan went to the bathroom, took a leak, then combed his hair. He looked into his own eyes for an answer to what was happening, but he didn’t have an answer, and he decided that he didn’t really want one. Gayle had come back to him somehow—as a ghost or as a reincarnation of her dead self. Or maybe his life had been diverted onto another spur, like a train.