The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,12

remember,” Lightner said, “that I told you I collect ghost stories.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I know of that old house in New Orleans. I’ve seen it. And I’ve recorded other stories of people who have seen the man you described.”

The doctor was speechless. The words had been said with utter conviction. In fact, they had been spoken with such authority and assurance that the doctor believed them without doubt. He studied Lightner in detail for the first time. The man was older than he seemed on first inspection. Perhaps sixty-five, even seventy. The doctor found himself captivated again by Lightner’s expression, so affable and trusting, so inviting of trust in return.

“Others,” the doctor whispered. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve heard other accounts, some very like your own. And I tell you this so you can understand that you didn’t imagine it. And so that it doesn’t continue to prey on your mind. You couldn’t have helped Deirdre Mayfair, by the way. Carlotta Mayfair would never have allowed it. You ought to put the entire incident out of your mind. Don’t ever worry about it again.”

For a moment the doctor felt relief, as if he’d been in the Catholic confessional and the priest had spoken the words “I absolve.” Then the full import of Lightner’s revelations struck him.

“You know these people!” he whispered. He felt his face color. This woman had been his patient. He was suddenly and completely confused.

“No. I know of them,” Lightner answered. “And I shall keep your account entirely confidential. Please be assured. Remember, we did not use names on the tape recording. We did not even use your name or mine.”

“Nevertheless, I must ask you for the tape,” the doctor said, flustered. “I’ve broken confidentiality. I had no idea you knew.”

At once Lightner removed the small cassette and placed it in the doctor’s hand. The man seemed entirely unruffled. “Of course you may have it,” he said. “I understand.”

The doctor murmured his thanks, the confusion intensifying. Yet the relief was not altogether gone. Others had seen that creature. This man knew it. He wasn’t lying. The doctor was not, and had never been, out of his mind. A faint bitterness surfaced inside him, bitterness towards his superiors in New Orleans, towards Carlotta Mayfair, towards that ghastly Miss Nancy …

“The important thing,” said Lightner, “is that you do not worry about it any more.”

“Yes,” said the doctor. “Horrible, all of it. That woman, the drugs.”

No, don’t even … He went quiet, staring at the cassette, and then at his empty coffee cup. “The woman, is she still—”

“The same. I was there last year. Miss Nancy died, the one you disliked so much. Miss Millie went some time ago. And now and then I hear from people in the city, and the report is that Deirdre has not changed.”

The doctor sighed. “Yes, you do indeed know of them … all the names,” he said.

“Then please do believe me,” Lightner said, “when I tell you others have seen that vision. You weren’t mad, not at all. And you mustn’t worry foolishly about such things.”

Slowly the doctor studied Lightner again. The man was fastening his briefcase. He examined his airline ticket, appeared to find it satisfactory, and then slipped it into his coat.

“Let me say one thing further,” said Lightner, “and then I must catch my plane. Don’t tell this story to others. They won’t believe you. Only those who have seen such things believe in them. It’s tragic, but invariably true.”

“Yes, I know it is,” said the doctor. So much he wanted to ask, yet he could not. “Have you … ?” He stopped.

“Yes, I’ve seen him,” said Lightner. “It was frightening, indeed. Just as you described.” He rose to go.

“What is he? A spirit? A ghost?”

“I don’t know, actually, what he is. All the stories are very similar. Things don’t change there. They go on, year after year. But I must go, and again I thank you, and if you should ever wish to talk to me again, you know how to reach me. You have my card.” Lightner extended his hand. “Good-bye.”

“Wait. The daughter, what became of her? The intern out west?”

“Why, she’s a surgeon, now,” Lightner said, glancing at his watch. “Neurosurgeon, I believe. Just passed her examinations. Board-certified, is that what they call it? But then I don’t know her either, you see. I only hear about her now and then. Our paths did cross once.” He broke off, then gave a quick almost formal smile. “Good-bye, Doctor, and thank