The Summerland (28 page)

What I see burning in their eyes is my ultimate goal.

* * * *

As airshows went, it had been a pretty smooth one so far. No plane crashes, only twenty people down with heat-related illnesses, and no major screw-ups on the part of the military. From a PR standpoint it was a stellar event.

Arden couldn’t pinpoint why she was so nervous, so twitchy. She’d come back to L.A. three weeks ago, throwing herself into her job with a fervor that made her peers and supervisors more than a little wary. She accepted any job, no matter how mundane, just to keep busy, to keep from thinking. Her workout regimen was becoming the stuff of legends at the local gym, where she pushed herself further, faster, harder.

If nothing else, she’d learned that you could not run from your own uncertainty. You could tamp it down, shove a few assignments and a good workout on the top of it to keep it from showing it’s ugly head, but it always crept out at the worst possible time, when your defenses were down, your brain quiescent.

It had taken her these three weeks to actually get the courage to call the man, and when she finally had late last night she got his damned answering machine. Still, in taking that first step, she reached a certain level of tranquility. They would just take it as it went and see what happened. She wasn’t sure her heart would survive if she were wrong about him, about them. Then again, nothing risked, nothing gained. She could stay here in her nice, insular world, working her eight-to-five job and dating the occasional nice guy, or she could jump off the top of the cliff and hope like hell the water was deep enough at the bottom.

She flexed her shoulders, a fine trickle of sweat rolling down her spine beneath the short-sleeved blue blouse she wore. The polyester skirt she wore was also uniform, a navy blue that soaked up the heat like a sponge. It was one of those fantastic Los Angeles days, eighty-five sweltering degrees with an ozone alert. Over a hundred thousand people watched the Thunderbirds as they finished their last set of maneuvers, sweeping over the crowd at an appallingly low level as they twisted and turned in an intricate ballet.

Arden turned to gauge the crowd, see if there was anything she could work into her post-show series of articles for the L.A. Times.

There it was again, that peculiar sensation that swept over her like a chill. It had been there, an itch she couldn’t quite scratch, for the last couple of days. Up until today she’d waved it off as her own cowardice in contacting Bill. Now, knowing that wasn’t the case, she wondered what was making her so nervous.

Her eyes swept the masses, trying to pinpoint the source of her disquiet. For just a second she thought she saw a familiar face looking back at her, but it couldn’t be. He was back in Mariposa, and she hadn’t seen or heard from him since his mere presence had changed the course of her life. She looked again, hard, but the crowd had shifted, blending the familiar face into the masses. Shrugging, knowing she must be mistaken, she put it out of her mind, concentrating instead on ferreting out anything that would make a good human interest story.

The Seventh Fold

He will come to me tonight, even though it is only Samhain. I have learned too quickly and too well for him to justify waiting until Midsummer. We will be joined when the barrier between the two worlds is the thinnest, the most fragile. How ironic.

Jesus, he’s huge. For an instant her mind reverted back to Samantha, analyzing the situation and her nemesis as he faced her for the first time across the threshold. He was dressed, or actually undressed, in a pair of soft green shorts, naked at the waist and feet. In one hand he held a green ceremonial robe, similar to the white gown she had worn for the past four months. In the other, a washbasin from which fragrant steam arose, smelling faintly of apples. He stepped over the threshold, closing the invisible door behind him with an audible click. With that sound she became Diana again, ready to set their future into motion.

Her soul mate and partner in this venture was handsome, almost perfectly so. He stood at least 6’3” and moved with the grace and confidence of an athlete. His expressive brown eyes looked out of the face of an angel, framed by sun-streaked golden locks. His voice was rich and familiar and soothing. “Hello Diana. You must be tired of wearing white.” He draped the robe over the footboard and set the washbasin on the floor. “Let me help you prepare.”

She went to him, stepping forward with a surety that gladdened him. She was Diana, there was no question. The Goddess reborn. She allowed him to bathe and oil her in the traditional Samhain female scent of apples and dress her in the proper robes of green, then held out her hand to him like a queen.

He’d taken special steps to make this occasion perfect, from the music to the incense to the peyote-laced papaya juice he’d provided as a late-evening snack. It would be the perfect spiritual experience for both of them.

Then, as he stood there, staring down at her, gazing at the face of the one true Goddess, it hit him. All of the others had been mere pretenders, women to practice upon until She came. Now she was here. Nothing would stand between them and their quest for perfection.

Placing a gentle kiss upon her lovely, artistic hand, he stepped to the door, reaching above his head to the heating and air vent placed over the threshold. He clicked a hidden latch and the door nudged open silently. He turned to face her and saw the approval warming her brilliant blue eyes. He would trust her as he had trusted no other, and in doing so, rise to the level of God.

He stepped to her as the clock down the now visible hallway struck 11:30 and the veil between the living and the dead became gauzy, diaphanous.

Diana glided forward, met him halfway. Only inches separated them, yet neither moved. Sage essence glistened on his muscled chest, the heady, woodsy scent magnifying the air of anticipation, amplifying the sexuality that was building almost visibly, stretching to form an arc between them.

They began to circle each other, maintaining a living wedge of space between them, winding across the floor in intricate, matched moves that, while never spoken of, echoed feverishly in their minds. Still they danced, weaving a tapestry of mystery and spirituality and pure, raw sex. It was as if each had a synchronized clock within their minds, ticking away the seconds to the optimum moment of release and conception, birth and death.

They broke the spell of the dance together, reaching for the other at the same moment, melding their anointed bodies together in a slick mix of sweat and oil and desire. Their mouths met and began an instant, passionate war, tongues and teeth clashing, vying for supremacy. Diana let him win, turning submissive in her kiss only. Her hands sliced down his powerful body, savoring the curves and indentations of the temple he so carefully kept. She grasped and kneaded his buttocks, feeling his instinctive reaction. His hands tightened in her hair, holding her in a powerful vise as his mouth plundered, took utter possession of hers. His erection swelled, throbbed toward her, blindly seeking her femininity.

She broke their embrace, sliding down his body, running her tongue down the center of his well-defined chest, sweat and oil tingling exotically on the tip of her tongue, the scent of sage burning the fine hairs of her nostrils. Peeling off his silken shorts in one swift movement, she stepped back to savor the utter perfection of his form. He was thick, cut, and obviously ready for her. She walked around him, studying him as an Egyptian queen might survey her newest concubine. Approval and arousal lit her eyes, making them an even deeper blue as she finished her circle and stood before him again.

He was barely contained, she could see it in his eyes, yet they still held to an internal timetable as he reached out, caressing her through the green silk of her robe, standing before her as unselfconscious as Adam in the Garden. His lips curved in an appreciative smile as her nipples hardened at his touch, standing out clearly against the soft, sheer fabric of the gown. He plucked, kneaded, and savored the firm flesh of her breasts, watching her face as it flushed and tiny beads of perspiration began to show on her forehead and at her temples. Still, neither of them moved toward the bed. They stood in front of each other, appreciating their own sensuality and the razor-sharp thrum of anticipation while the plaintive chants of Enya changed to the energized beat of a solo African drummer.

The shift in tempo charged the air around them, turning it into a living, breathing being. He reached down roughly, lifting the gown over her head in one sharp tug as she stood unresisting. With her standing naked before him he began his own appraisal, running his smooth, silky fingertips over her as he walked his own slow, assessing circle.

His fingers were here, there, everywhere, turning her whole body to fire. With a groan she awaited the completion of his inspection, knowing that what they were about to consummate was too powerful to simply ascribe to sex or lovemaking. They would shatter the world and create new beings, a modern Adam and Eve.

He completed his leisurely circuit, then stood before her with the world shining in his eyes. “Diana.” He breathed. “I’ve waited so long to find you. Be with me. Let us break the mold. Let us be one with the Goddess.”

Her hand curved up to stroke that firm jaw, that face that had become beloved in such a short amount of time. In her life as Samantha she’d never met another person, man or woman, who could meet her sensuality, her inner demand something beyond sex. Yet through this man, this unnamed man, she not only discovered herself, she discovered someone who could make her every fantasy, both sexual and intellectual, come true. With that in mind she slid her hand down his chest, then clasped his fingers tightly within her own.

“
Let us begin.”

* * * *

Diana left him in the center of the circle of five, a tribute to his foresight. The police would be perplexed and haunted. They would wonder how she had broken their precious cordon, and on this night of all nights. Fools. She’d barely even tapped the Power, already she was a force to be reckoned with. If only he had fully realized his own potential they might have gone forward together to spread The Way. Instead, she would go on alone as the prophet, the new Messiah.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It was an action that Tobey would regret for many years to come. His little cousin Jimmy had begged him to return to the site where he and his best friend had discovered the body that summer. They’d been out trick-or-treating earlier this evening, and all the adults could talk about was the murders. It was almost a Halloween requirement. It was their ghoulish talk which had inspired Jimmy’s whiny request, and Tobey was everything that was right and good in Jimmy’s eyes, so how could he refuse the kid?

They glided out of the house in the wee hours of the morning, just as the full moon was beginning to slide into the western quadrant of the sky. As they padded down the dirt track the hillsides seemed to move and shift around them with a seething animosity.

Tatters of police tape danced and slithered noiselessly, each piece glowing with its own inner light, festooning the wooded hillside like macabre Christmas decorations.

Tobey ducked underneath a low-hanging branch and veered off of the hard-packed clay, venturing into the shoulder-high vegetation. Jimmy followed him closely, throwing wild-eyed glances over his shoulder, wishing now that he hadn’t opened his big fat mouth. It was creepy out here.

Tobey reached a small clearing and turned to Jimmy, bending close to his ear. “Be quiet now. There’s a deputy right up ahead. My dad said they put him out special tonight to keep away the weirdos.” He leaned back, placing a finger over his lips. Jimmy nodded carefully, then looked around, darting glances up ahead and back behind and all around at the same time, trying to see what could be seen. Tobey smiled a little, then turned back into the brush.

It turned out they needn’t have worried. As they carefully skirted the place where the uniformed deputy was supposed to be keeping watch, they could clearly hear his snores ricocheting between the dry leaves and granite of the hillside. They quickly reached the place where Tobey had discovered Jane Doe.

Looky-loos and crime addicts and the just plain curious had come to see and feel and touch death, to fit their bodies into the ghostly chalk outline that had outlined what was left of Kim Ross. After four months, this last testament to her was smudged and faded, but still clearly announced death in a clarion call. It, like the police tape earlier, seemed to pick up the ghostly radiance of the moon, shimmering with an interior light that went beyond spooky. Tobey turned to Jimmy, ready to tell him this was it, they were done, but the kid had already started sidling back into the thick undergrowth, an enthralled expression on his face.

“
Jimmy.” Tobey whispered fiercely. “Jimmy, get back here. We need to go home now.” But Jimmy was gone. Goddamn ten-year olds, he grumbled inwardly, with the wisdom of his own sixteen years.

He started off into the brush, swiftly chasing after Jimmy, but the kid was nowhere to be found.

Winding his way through the tangled thicket, he scanned the shoulder-high vegetation, looking for any sign of his errant cousin. What he saw when he entered the next small clearing he would carry with him the rest of his life.

This was no skeleton, laid bare by the elements and bleached by the sun. This man looked so alive that at first Tobey thought it was a stupid Halloween prank. He could just see his pals conspiring with Jimmy to get him up here, then having Jimmy wander away and putting a “body” at his feet. Then he looked at the figure on the ground again and knew it was no prank.