When Heaven Weeps (40 page)

“A strong infatuation with the woman who made me a star.” He smiled.

They held stares. “A month ago I would've slapped you for saying that.”

Roald had walked in then and effectively ended the conversation.

Now she looked at him from across the table, and smiled, proud of her pet project. Professionally delighted to be with the author of
The Dance of the Dead
if not his fiancée.

“Well, I'm sure you're wondering why we called you all here so suddenly,” Tony said. “We appreciate your understanding.”

The table grew quiet. The Delmont executive glanced around at them and settled his eyes on Jan. “I'm sure Karen has told you there's been a change.” He smiled. “This is how we in the world of entertainment like to introduce changes. We entertain first, and then we discuss business.” A few chuckles. “But let me assure you, you'll be pleased with what I have to say. Your contract with Delmont Pictures allows for the studio to sell the movie rights at our discretion as long as it does not materially affect you. It's something we would do only if it were clear that the sale would make fiscal sense for all parties. We have received and accepted such an offer.”

Meaning what? Jan glanced at Karen.

“You're selling the movie. Why?” she asked.

“Yes, we're selling the movie. The deal both guarantees us a good profit and offers you higher payment. An additional three million upon completion.”

They sat stunned. It was Karen again who pressed for details. “Forgive my ignorance here, Tony. But why?”

“They're an upstart studio, you've heard of them, I'm sure. Dreamscape Pictures?”

She nodded. “They have that kind of money?”

“Yes. Point is, they want full assurances that you will fulfill your contract, so they threw in the three-million incentive. They're obviously extending themselves on this deal and they can't afford any missteps. And, if you want to know, I think it was a smart move on their part. This movie will make a bundle. A new company like Dreamscape could use that.”

“And why not you?” Jan asked.

“Because ten million in the bank is always going to trump a hundred million on the table.” Tony shrugged. “If it means anything to you, I voted against the deal.”

Roald spoke up for the first time. “So bottom line is, we lose nothing. And all things remaining equal, we gain three million dollars. What about production and distribution? These guys know their business?”

“They have solid partners. And with the amount of money they're putting on the deal, you can bet they won't settle for a home movie. You'll get what you want.”

“What kind of contract?” Karen asked.

“Virtually identical to the existing one. Like I said, they're just interested in protecting their investment.”

Karen nodded. “Well. Then I guess congratulations are in order, Tony. You've done us well.”

The executive looked at Jan. “What do you think, Jan?”

“I think Karen's right. If they want to pay us three million dollars for what we would've done anyway, I won't turn down their money. So we're now at an eight-million-dollar deal? Isn't that rather much?”

“That, Jan,” Roald said, “is exceptional. And Karen's right: Tony, you have done us very well. I think this calls for celebration.”

Tony laughed. “We are celebrating, Roald. Can't you tell?”

It did become a celebration then, for another two hours, drinking and laughing and enjoying the benefits of wealth. In many ways the evening was like a mountain peak for Jan. Not only had God given him Helen, he had returned Jan's favor with the world, it seemed. With Karen and Roald and
The Dance of the Dead
. Everything was going to return to normal now. And normal as a millionaire was something he was getting to like. Very much.

HELEN PRIED her eyes open and stared at the clock by the bed. It was 10:00 A.M. Hazy memories from the night drifted through her mind. She'd called Glenn . . .

Helen jerked up. She was in the Palace! And Jan . . . Jan was in New York. She collapsed, flooded with relief. But the sentiment left her within the minute.

She rolled to her back and groaned. Rain still splattered on the window. Jan wasn't scheduled to return until the next day, Sunday, but he would have called, no doubt. She would have to concoct a reasonable story for not answering the phone.

Oh, dear Jan! What have I done? What have I gone and done?
Helen put a hand over her eyes and fought the waves of desperation crashing through her chest. One of these days she would have to end this madness. Or maybe Glenn would do it for her. A notion to call out to God crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. This wasn't some fanciful world filled with visions and martyrs and a God who spoke in the darkness. This was not Jan's
Dance of the Dead
. This was the real world. Glenn's world. Jan had grown up in a different land altogether. Jan and Ivena both—her husband and her mother. Mother Ivena . . .

Ivena.

Ivena!

A chill spiked through her spine. Helen scrambled from the bed, squinting against a throbbing headache. She had imagined seeing the dear woman bound and gagged. Helen threw the closet door open.

It was empty.
Oh, thank you, God! Thank you!
So then she had imagined it all. Drugs could do that easily enough. She wandered into the bathroom, splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. She had to get home—to Jan's home. To her home. It was crazy coming here!
This is the last time.

She stopped her brushing and stared at the mirror, her mouth foaming white.
This is the last time, you understand? You understand that, Helen? Never again.
She suddenly spit at the mirror, spraying it with toothpaste.

“You make me sick!” she muttered and rinsed her mouth.

Helen pulled on a pair of blue jeans and slunk from the apartment, headed for the bar and a cigarette. Maybe a drink. The large room lay in shadows, lightless except for the foreboding gray that made its way through the far windows. The room's pillars stood like ghosts in the silence. She veered to her right and made for the bar.

Helen had reached the counter and was bending over it when she heard the sound. A soft grunt. Or a moan of wind. No, a soft grunt!

She spun around and faced the shadows.

A form sat there, its white eyes staring at her from the gloom.

Helen jumped, terrified. The form was human, bound to a chair, gagged. Helen could not move. She could only stare for the moment while her heart pounded in her ears and the woman drilled her with those white eyes.

It was Ivena. Of course, it was Ivena, and that hadn't been a dream last night. Glenn had taken the woman and . . .

The horror of it brought a sudden nausea to Helen's gut. She brought her hand to her mouth and fought for her composure. The injustice of it, the sickness of it—how could any human do this? And then in that moment Helen knew that she was staring at a mirror. Not a real mirror, because that was Ivena bound to the chair twenty feet off. But a mirror because she was no less bound than Ivena. Helen was looking at herself and the sight was making her nauseous. But unlike Ivena, she came here willingly. With desire, like a dog to its own vomit.

A groan broke from Helen's mouth and she stumbled forward, gripping her stomach with one hand. She couldn't read Ivena's expression because of the gag, but her eyes were wide. The ropes pressed into her flesh—the pink dress she wore was torn, Helen could see that as she neared. And yes, her face was badly bruised.

A knot wedged in Helen's throat, allowing only a soft moan. Tears blurred her vision. She had to get that gag off. Panicked, she rushed right up to Ivena and tore at the strip of sheet wrapped around her mouth. It took some wrenching, and Ivena winced in pain, but the gag came free, exposing Ivena's face. The woman was crying with an open mouth and quivering lips.

Helen grasped for the knots that held Ivena. She found one at her waist and tugged at it, whimpering in panic. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

Of course she was hurt.

“Leave them, Helen,” Ivena said softly. “He'll only hurt me more.”

Helen yanked at the ropes, desperate to free her.

“Helen, please. Please don't.”

Helen grunted in frustration and hit the chair with her palm. She sank to her knees, lowered her head to Ivena's shoulder, and wept bitterly.

For a full minute they did not speak. They shook with sobs and wet their faces with tears, Ivena bound to the chair and Helen kneeling beside her. Ivena was right: she couldn't untie her; Glenn would kill them both.

“Shshshshshsh . . . ,” Ivena whispered, gathering herself. “Be still, child.”

“I'm sorry, Ivena! I'm so sorry.” There were no words for this.

“I know, Helen. It will be all right.”

Helen straightened and looked at the older woman. The gag made of sheet was still in her hand and she gently wiped Ivena's face with it. “He's a monster, Ivena.” Then she was crying again.

“I know. He's a beast.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Yesterday, I was attacked . . .” Ivena turned her face away.

If I had called her to spend the weekend as Jan suggested, she would be safe,
Helen thought.
I've done this to her!

Ivena seemed to gain some resolve. She set her chin and swallowed. “And why are you here, Helen?”

Ivena didn't know? She had not suspected! Helen lifted both hands to her face and hid her face, utterly shamed. She turned away and wept silently.

“Come here, child.”

Helen stood frozen.

“Yes, it's a terrible thing. But it's done. Now you will be forgiven.”

Helen turned to her. “How can you say that? How can anyone say that? Look at you. You're tied to a chair, beaten and bloody, and you're talking to me about forgiveness? That's not right!”

“No dear, you are wrong. Forgiveness is love; love takes us past the death. You must know something, Helen. You must listen to me and remember what I now tell you. Are you listening?”

Helen nodded.

“Blood is at the very center of man's history. The shedding of blood, the giving of blood, the taking of blood. Without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness. Without the shedding of blood there is no
need
for forgiveness. It's all about life and death, but the path to life runs through death. Does this make any sense?”

“I don't know.”

“Whoever will find his life must lose his life. If you want to live, you must die. It was what Christ did. He shed his blood. It sounds absurd, I know. But it's only when you decide to give up yourself—to die—that you yourself will understand love. Hear this, Helen. You will never understand the love of Christ; you will never return Janjic's love until you die.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“No. Trying to love without dying doesn't make sense.”

Helen looked at Ivena's body, still bound like a hog. She fought to hold back the tears.

“I've heard the laughter, Helen.”

The door to their right suddenly thumped open and they stared at it as one. It was Glenn, standing in the light, hands on hips, grinning. He walked toward them, still dressed in those white polyester slacks, now smudged with dirt.

“I see you've found your gift, Helen? You didn't seem too interested last night so I wrapped her for you here.”

Helen fought to contain her rage, but it boiled over. She shrieked and swung her right fist at Glenn. He caught her wrist easily. “Easy, princess.”

“I hate this! I hate this, you pig!”

Glenn twisted her arm until she winced with pain. “You watch your tongue, you filthy slug!”

“She means nothing to you!”

“She means everything to me. She's going to work some magic for me, aren't you, old woman?” He shoved Helen off and she held her arm, still glaring at him.

“Yes, she is,” Glenn said.

“What can you hope to gain by this?” Helen asked.

“I hope to gain a little cooperation, princess.” His upper lip bunched up, revealing his large crooked teeth. “This bag of bones here will provide some motivation for you and your preacher.”

Helen tensed. “Meaning what?”

“It means that since you've had difficulty with your loyalty, I'm going to help you out a little, that's what it means. That's my gift to you. You might even think of it as a wedding present.”

He was headed into dangerous waters with this tone of his, and Helen decided not to push him.

“Don't you want to know how it works, dear? Hmm? Operating instructions? Okay, let me tell you. First, you let this bag of bones free on the street. Let it wander back home or go shopping or whatever it does. Maybe clean it up a little first.” He took a deep breath and paced theatrically.

“The point is to try to keep the bag of bones alive. A game really. If you and your preacher friend agree to separate, the bag of bones lives. If not, she dies. That's the only rule. You like it?”

Separate? Glenn was demanding that she and Jan separate?

“Oh, and one more thing. You've got three days. Sort of like a resurrection thing. If you do the right thing, the tomb will be empty in three days. The tomb being the preacher's house. Empty of you, Helen.”

He couldn't be serious, of course. It was insane! “Come on, Glenn. Don't fool around. She's not—”

“I'm
not
fooling around!” he screamed.

Helen jumped. Glenn's face scowled, red.

“I'm as serious as a heart attack, baby! You have three days, and if you want this bag of bones here to live through our little game, you'd better do some thinking.”

Helen's knees suddenly felt weak. He was insane! She spun her head to Ivena. The woman was looking at Glenn, her eyes still soft, absent of fear. Maybe smiling.

“Now cut her ropes and turn her loose,” Glenn said. He flashed a smile. “Time to play.”