The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,140

Christ, she asked me if I thought they were responsible for the accident, you know, for me being washed out to sea like that. God, I tell you I’m going crazy.”

“Those are very good questions,” said the man with a sigh. “Did you say the number thirteen?”

“Did I? Is that what I said? I don’t … I guess I did say that. Yes, it was the number thirteen. Christ, I’ve got that back now. Yes, it was the number thirteen.”

“Now I want you to listen to me. I don’t want you to call Rowan. I want you to get dressed and to come with me.”

“Wait a second, my friend. You’re a very interesting guy. You look better in a smoking jacket than anybody I’ve ever seen in the movies and you have a very persuasive and charming manner. But I’m right here, exactly where I want to be. And I’m going back to that house after I call Rowan … ”

“And what exactly are you going to do there? Ring the bell?”

“Well, I’ll wait till Rowan comes. Rowan wants to come, you know. She wants to see her family. That’s got to be what this is all about.”

“And the man, what do you suppose he has to do with it all?” asked Lightner.

Michael was stopped. He sat there staring at Lightner. “Did you see that man?” he asked.

“No. He didn’t allow time for that. He wanted you to see him. And why is what I would like to know.”

“But you know all about him, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“OK, it’s your turn to talk, and I wish you’d start right now.”

“Yes, that’s our bargain,” said Lightner. “But I find it’s more important than ever that you know everything.” He stood up, and walked slowly over to the table, and began to gather up the papers that were scattered all over it, placing them neatly into a large leather folder. “And everything is in this file.”

Michael followed him. He looked down at the impossibly large mass of materials which the man was cramming into the folder. Mostly typewritten sheets, yet some were in longhand as well.

“Look, Lightner, you owe me some answers,” Michael said.

“This is a compendium of answers, Michael. It’s from our archives. It’s entirely devoted to the Mayfair family. It goes back to the year 1664. But you must hear me out. I cannot give it to you here.”

“Where then?”

“We have a retreat house near here, an old plantation house, quite a lovely place.”

“No!” Michael said impatiently.

Lightner gestured for quiet. “It’s less than an hour and a half away. I must insist that you dress now and you come with me, and that you read the file in peace and quiet at Oak Haven, and that you save all your questions until you’ve done so, and all the aspects of this case are clear. Once you’ve read the records you’ll understand why I’ve begged you to postpone your call to Dr. Mayfair. I think you’ll be glad that you did.”

“Rowan should see this record.”

“Indeed, she should. And if you were willing to place it in her hands for us, we would be eternally grateful indeed.”

Michael studied the man, trying to separate the charm of the man’s manner from the astonishing content of what he said. He felt drawn to the man and reassured by his knowledge on the one hand; yet suspicious on the other. And through it all, he was powerfully fascinated by the pieces of the puzzle which were falling into place.

Something else had come clear to him also. The reason he so disliked this power in his hands was that once he had touched another, or the belongings of another, a certain intimacy was established. In the case of strangers, it was fairly quickly effaced. In the case of Lightner it was gradually increasing.

“I can’t go with you to the country,” Michael said. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re sincere. But I have to call Rowan and I want you to give this material to me here.”

“Michael, there is information here which is pertinent to everything you’ve told me. It concerns a woman with black hair. It concerns a very significant jewel. As for the doorway, I don’t know the meaning. As for the number thirteen, I might. As for the man, the woman with the black hair and jewel are connected to him. But I shall let it out of my hands only on my terms.”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying this is the woman I