The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,349

we were, or understood even that much of our purpose. And then I thought of Stuart. Stuart must have spoken to her. There was the proof of it. This, and a thousand other thoughts were crowding my brain.

“It’s like the spiritualists, Mr. Lightner,” Deirdre said in the same polite sympathetic manner. “They want to speak with the spirits of dead ancestors; and in spite of all their good intentions, they merely strengthen demons about whom they understand nothing … ”

“Yes, I know what you’re saying, believe me I know. I wanted only to give you the information, to let you know that if you … ”

“But you see, I don’t want it. I want to put the past behind me.” Her voice faltered slightly. “I want never to go home again.”

“Very well then,” I said. “I understand perfectly. But will you do this for me? Memorize my name. Take this card from me. Memorize the phone numbers on it. Call me if ever you need me.”

She took the card from me. She studied it for a length of time and then slipped it into her pocket.

I found myself looking at her in silence, looking into her large innocent blue eyes, and trying not to dwell upon the beauty of her young body, her exquisitely molded breasts in the cotton dress. Her face seemed full of sadness to me in the shadows.

“He’s the devil, Mr. Lightner,” she whispered. “He really is.”

“Then why are you wearing the emerald, my dear?” I asked her impulsively.

A smile came over her face. She reached for it. closing her right hand around it, and then pulled hard on it so the chain broke. “For one very definite reason, Mr. Lightner. It was the simplest way to bring it here, and I mean to give it to you.” She reached out and dropped it in my hand.

I looked down at it, scarce believing that I was holding the thing Off the top of my head, I said, “He’ll kill me, you know. He’ll kill me and he’ll take it back.”

“No, he can’t do that!” she said. She stared at me blankly, in shock.

“Of course he can,” I said. But I was ashamed that I’d made such a statement. “Deirdre, let me tell you what I know about this spirit. Let me tell you what I know about others who see such things. You are not alone in this. You needn’t fight it alone.”

“Oh God,” she whispered. She closed her eyes for an instant. “He can’t do that,” she said again, but there was no conviction. “I don’t believe he can do something like that.”

“I’ll take my chances with him,” I said. “I’ll take the emerald. Some people have weapons of their own, so to speak. I can help you understand your weapons. Does your aunt do this? Tell me what you want of me.”

“That you go away,” she said miserably. “That you … that you … never speak to me about these things again.”

“Deirdre, can he make you see him when you don’t want him to come?”

“I want you to stop it, Mr. Lightner. If I don’t think of him, if I don’t speak of him”—she raised her hands to her temples—“if I refuse to look at him, maybe .… ”

“What do you want? For yourself.”

“Life, Mr. Lightner. Normal life. You can’t imagine what the words mean to me! Normal life. Life like they have, the girls over there in the dormitory, life with teddy bears and boyfriends and kissing in the back of cars. Just life!”

She was now so upset that I was fast becoming upset. And all this was so unforgivably dangerous. And yet she’d put this thing in my hand! I felt of it, rubbing my thumb across it. It was so cold, so hard.

“I’m sorry, Deirdre, I’m so sorry I disturbed you. I’m so sorry … ”

“Mr. Lightner, can’t you make him go away! Can’t you people do that? My aunt says no, only the priest can do it, but the priest doesn’t believe in him, Mr. Lightner. And you can’t exorcise a demon when you have no faith.”

“He doesn’t show himself to the priest, does he, Deirdre?”

“No,” she said bitterly with a trace of a smile. “What good would if do if he did? He’s no lowly spirit who can be driven off with holy water and Hail Marys. He makes fools of them.”

She had begun to cry. She reached for the emerald and pulled it by its chain from my fingers,