The Dark Farewell (13 page)

Julian made an anguished sound. To the audience, he said, “Theresa is here again tonight. She says

she can’t rest—none of them can rest—until this murderer, this madman, is caught.”

He stopped, biting his lip. The words seemed torn from him. “He is among you even now. You must

trust no one
.”

There were gasps and cries of horror and then, terrifyingly, every light in the theater went out.

An absolute pitch black descended on the Opera Hall.

There was an instant of frozen horror and then pandemonium. The audience rose in a surge, shoved

their way down the rows of seats, crowding into the aisles in panic, pushing their way toward the doors.

Voices cried out for calm, for order.

Flynn rose, also calling for reason, for quiet. People continued to try and push past to get to the

jammed aisles.

The overhead lights went on.

People stopped their hysterical shoving and pushing and looked around, blinking, as though woken

from a nightmare. Flynn looked back at the stage. It was empty.

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Chapter Eight

The house was dark when Flynn let himself inside.

He made his way to the front parlor, turned on a lamp and sat down, resting his head in his hands. If what he had witnessed that night at the Opera House was legitimate, it was the most amazing proof of psychic ability or perhaps supernatural power that he had heard of. And if it was faked, both Julian and Old Man Devereux deserved to be locked up and have the key thrown away. People could have died in that

theater tonight. If the lights had not come back on when they had, people probably would have. As it was, three ladies had fainted and had to be carried from the theater.

Flynn did not believe in spiritualists or ghosts or any of that mumbo-jumbo, but he couldn’t argue that Julian Devereux had seemed on several occasions to tap into the uncanny. It was possible he had guessed from comments Amy had made and his own psychological insights that Flynn had not been back to Herrin to see Gus for years. It was possible he had guessed from Flynn’s behavior that Paul and Flynn had argued the night before Paul died.

He was shrewd and he was clever. It was even possible he had heard rumors of a missing girl named

Theresa Martin and taken a gamble that she was the murderer’s latest victim.

But it was not probable.

Which meant what? That Julian did indeed have contact with the spirit of this murdered girl? That

here was an as-yet-unused tool for finding the killer who had so far eluded the sheriffs? What use were either of those things if Julian refused to utilize this mysterious power he possessed?

Flynn scrubbed his face and sat up. He needed to talk to Julian alone, but there was no telling how

long it might be before he and the old man showed up. He switched off the lamp and went upstairs.

In his own room, he turned on the lamp and the fan and sat on the side of the bed to take his shoes off.

He noticed that a book lay on the bedside table.
The Encyclopedia Americana.
There was an envelope inserted between the pages as though to mark the reader’s place. Curiously, he opened the encyclopedia and began to read.

It has to be born in mind that the disease is a progressive, degenerative malady, and that the object of
treatment does not lie only in an attempt to combat convulsions by sedative medicinal remedies, but to
prevent by every possible means the tendency to mental deterioration which is so important a clinical
feature of the disease as shown in the impairment of intellect and memory, by impulsiveness, mental
irritability, loss of moral sense and partial or complete loss of productiveness. Male patients are often
Josh Lanyon

given over to perverted sexual behavior, a condition that is probably part of the co-existent mental
infirmity. It is also accompanied by periodic disturbances, transitory attacks of anger, dream-states or
automatic phenomena.

Flynn’s heart pounded very hard with a mix of anger and horror. He wanted to throw the book away,

but he couldn’t help continuing to read.

Hallucinations are infrequent, illusions are common during an attack or following a grand mal

seizure, and delusions are transitory, being found usually only in the dream-states. Morbid and sudden
impulses are quite frequent, sometimes approaching distinct nerve-storms, during which suicidal and
homicidal attacks may occur. Not infrequently the afflicted may set fire to their beds or furniture, commit
theft, assaults, homicides, expose their persons and otherwise conduct themselves in an irrelevant and
insane manner. Treatment should be commenced at the earliest possible time, after the onset of convulsive
seizures, and should be continued for long periods, extending for at least two years even in the most
satisfactory cases. For this reason treatment is best conducted in institutions, asylums or under skilled
supervision, by which means the mental and bodily functions can be regulated and submitted to suitable
forms of work, exercise and dietary restriction.

He slapped the book shut, then opened it and read the bookplate on the inside cover:
Casey Lee.

At first he was too angry, too appalled, to think clearly. The message here was stark in its ugliness as a famine victim, and the target only too vulnerable. A wave of grief for Julian overtook him.

The grief was followed by another wave of angry outrage. The book had been left here in warning,

and he did not believe it was kindly meant. Flynn didn’t know much about medicine or this particular illness, but he knew none of this described Julian.

It could not be true.

But he remembered Casey saying the old man had bought bromides and belladonna. He remembered

Amy saying the doctor had been closeted with the elder Devereux. He remembered Julian’s veiled

references to his “illness”.

Was the book meant to frighten him off?

He considered it objectively. It was possible that Casey’s ego had been pricked by the realization that Flynn had chosen Julian’s company over his own the night before. But what if it was more sinister? This passage was meant to discredit Julian, even perhaps throw suspicion on him.

Why?

Was Julian somehow a threat to Casey? Why should he be?

Flynn did not yet dare to truly consider the personal implications of what he’d read. The main thing that Casey would know about Julian was that Julian had supposedly made contact with the spirit of one of the girls murdered in Jackson County—the neighboring county where Casey had been selling his wares

during the period of the murders.

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The Dark Farewell

A light seemed to go on inside Flynn’s mind. Casey was a traveling salesman. He moved all around

the countryside, all around the state, and the nature of his business—cosmetics and medical supplies—

made women his first and best customers. That sample case of his was as good as a pass key to most of the homes he visited. And that sample case itself was a clue.
Queen of Egypt Medical Supply Company
. Hadn’t the women been mutilated in a grisly imitation of Egyptian burial practices? That was certainly the rumor.

And Casey said he’d received medical training, which probably meant he knew enough rudimentary

biology to carve the organs out of his victims.

Yes, it all made terrible sense.

Casey had sat out on the breezeway and listened to the others talk about Julian’s performance and the contact with the spirit of Theresa Martin. If he was guilty, wouldn’t he hear that news with alarm?

Wouldn’t he wonder whether it was true? What if the spirit of the dead girl
could
tell The Magnificent Belloc who her killer was? Didn’t it give Casey the strongest incentive to discredit Julian as quickly and thoroughly as possible?

Of course it did.

And if it was true about Julian’s illness? Flynn swallowed hard. There was no pretending that he

wasn’t stricken at this news. “The Falling Sickness” the ancients had called it. Flynn had witnessed a couple of convulsions. Not a pretty sight. Not something he wanted to think of afflicting someone

he…cared about.

And if it was true, if Julian had the disease, was his supposed clairvoyance simply a manifestation of his illness? He opened the book and read again.
Hallucinations are infrequent, illusions are common during
an attack or following a grand mal seizure, and delusions are transitory, being found usually only in the
dream-states.

He forced himself to consider the statement objectively.

Could Julian’s psychic abilities be the sad proof of his deteriorating mental condition?

But he had been right about Gus, Paul and Theresa. If he was simply mad—granted there was always

the possibility that he was mad
and
clairvoyant.

Flynn raised his head as he heard footsteps down the hallway. Muffled voices. Doors opening and

closing. The Devereuxs had returned to the boarding house, and judging by the brevity of the muted

exchange, not in great sympathy with each other.

He listened to the washroom plumbing rattle into life. He looked down again at the book he held.

Whether Julian was ill or not, it didn’t change the fact that Casey had deliberately sought to discredit him, and there had to be a purpose behind that. In Flynn’s opinion it gave credence to Julian’s clairvoyant declarations if only because Casey was so determined that they not be taken seriously.

And that, in Flynn’s opinion, was because there was a very good chance that Casey himself was the

murderer.

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Josh Lanyon

But how to prove it?

He was now determined to prove it. He couldn’t help Julian, but he could pay Casey back for this, for trying to discredit the younger man, for destroying the delicate connection blossoming between them. He forgot completely his own earlier anger with Julian—he had mostly been over it by the morning, if he was honest. Now Casey had effectively wrenched that tentative emotion out by the roots.

Flynn looked down at the tiny print on the page and his anger rose again.
Male patients are often
given over to perverted sexual behavior, a condition that is probably part of the co-existent mental
infirmity.

No question what that referred to, and Flynn didn’t happen to believe it was true. Didn’t believe the love of man for man was perverted or mental infirmity. Society and doctors were wrong about a lot of things. Why not this?

The washroom door opened, closed, opened again, and the erratic plumbing rumbled into action.

After a suitable interval, the washroom door opened and closed once more. The house fell at long last into silence.

Flynn closed the book, set it aside and turned out the lamp. He undressed in the darkness and lay

down on the bed. The curtains gusted in and out and there was a not-too-distant grumble of thunder.

He rose, went to the window, lowering it halfway. He turned off the fan.

The bedroom door opened a silent foot, and Julian’s tall, pale form slipped inside the room. A flash of lightning illuminated him briefly, highlighting his wide eyes, the elegant, exotic planes of his face, his mouth which whispered, “I’m sorry. I had to see you.”

“It’s all right,” David said automatically.

Without turning, Julian locked the door. Flynn met him in two steps, pulled him into his arms, his lips finding that sweet, eager mouth in a long, hungry kiss.

Julian clung to him and whispered, “I missed you so.”

I missed you too.

Flynn didn’t say it, but it was true. Already, in these few days—four days—Julian had become

important to him. More important now that he knew that anything between them, any real relationship, was impossible.

Because it was, wasn’t it? If it was true that Julian had that dreadful malady?

Flynn buried his face in the silk of Julian’s hair and skin. His own heart was pounding as hard as

Julian’s.

“I’m sorry for what I said last night,” Julian breathed. “I regretted it all day, but—”

“It’s all right.”

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“And then tonight at the Opera House. The message from Paul. It should have been in private. I swear I didn’t know it was going to happen.” Julian’s arms tightened around Flynn’s neck, he leaned his head back and gazed searchingly at Flynn’s face. Flynn kissed his yielding mouth softly.

“I believe you.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, David.” He seemed almost desperate that Flynn should believe

him.

Flynn nodded. “I know. I feel the same. I tried to find you today to tell you.”

Something about Julian made it easy to let go of his anger, to say he was sorry. Paul had been too

much like himself, apologies difficult for both of them. Julian…there was a gentleness there, the kind of sweetness that was unique to the genuinely strong.

Flynn guided them both to the bed. They lay down, freezing at the ping and squeak of old springs and bedframe. Flynn said, “We’ve got to be careful. The washroom is between my room and your

grandfather’s, but even so.”

Julian nodded.

They fell asleep to the music of thunderclaps shaking the old house to its foundations and the

lightning flashes turning the room electric white.

“David.”

He could hear the sound of dripping. Flynn opened his eyes. It was daylight; a silvery, cool daylight.

Glistening rain was still falling from the eaves. He turned his head. Julian was lying next to him, his gaze fastened on Flynn’s.

Flynn blinked a couple of times, cleared his throat. “Hm?”

Julian’s mouth covered his. When he broke the kiss, he whispered, “I’ve got to go.”