The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,368

her mother’s house. Michael didn’t know any of this was happening. Michael was gone. And maybe that was all there would ever be, just that one weekend, and forever this unfinished feeling …

I gotta go home, it isn’t just the visions, it’s that I don’t belong out here anymore. I knew it that day I went down to the ocean …

The door opened behind her. Silently she stepped to the side. An older couple passed her as if she were not there, a stately woman with beautiful iron gray hair swept back in a twist, in a perfect silk shirtwaist dress, and a man in a rumpled white suit, thick-necked and soft-voiced as he talked to the woman.

“Beatrice!” Someone spoke a greeting. A handsome young man came to kiss the pretty woman with the iron gray hair. “Darling, come in,” said a female voice. “No, no one’s seen her, she’s due to arrive anytime.” Voices like Michael’s voice, yet different. A pair of men talking in whispers over their wineglasses came between her and the couple as they moved on into the second room. Once again, the front door was opening. Gust of heat, traffic.

She moved over into the far corner, and now she could see the coffin clearly, see that half the lid was closed over the lower portion of the woman’s body, and why that struck her as grotesque she didn’t know. A crucifix was set into the tufted silk above the woman’s head, not that she could see that head, but she knew it was there, she could just see a dash of flesh color against the gleaming white. Go on, Rowan, go up there.

Go up to the coffin. Is this more difficult than going into an Operating Room? Of course they will all see you, but they won’t know who you are. The constriction came again, the tightening in the muscles of her face and her throat. She couldn’t move.

And then someone was speaking to her, and she knew she ought to turn her head and answer, but she did not. The little girl with the ribbon watched her. Why wasn’t she answering, thought the little girl.

“ … Jerry Lonigan, can I help you? You’re not Dr. Mayfair, are you?”

She looked at him stupidly. The beefy man with the heavy jowls and the prettiest china blue eyes. No, like blue marbles, his eyes, just perfectly round and blue.

“Dr. Mayfair?”

She looked down at his hand. Large, heavy, a paw. Take it. Answer that way if you can’t talk. The tightening in her face grew worse. It was affecting her eyes. What was this all about?—her body frozen in alarm though her mind was in this trance, this awful trance. She made a little gesture with her head at the distant coffin. I want to … but no words would come out. Come on, Rowan, you flew two thousand miles for this.

The man slipped his arm around her. Pressure against her back. “You want to see her, Dr. Mayfair?”

See her, talk to her, know her, love her, be loved by her .… Her face felt as if it were carved of ice. And her eyes were unnaturally wide, she knew it.

She glanced up into his small blue eyes, and nodded. It seemed a hush had fallen over everyone. Had she spoken that loud? But she hadn’t said anything at all. Surely they didn’t know what she looked like, yet it seemed they were all turning to look at her as she and this man walked into the first room, and the message traveled by whispers. She looked closely at the red-haired girl with the ribbon as she passed. In fact, she stopped without meaning to, stranded, on the threshold of the second room, with this nice man, Jerry Lonigan, beside her.

Even the children had stopped playing. The room seemed to darken as everyone moved soundlessly and slowly, but only a few steps. Mr. Lonigan said:

“You wanna sit down, Dr. Mayfair?”

She was staring at the carpet. The coffin was twenty feet away. Don’t look up, she thought, don’t look up until you actually reach the coffin. Don’t see something horrible from a distance. But what was so horrible about all this, how could this be worse than the autopsy table, except that this was … this was her mother.

A woman stepped up behind the little girl, placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Rowan? Rowan, I’m Alicia Mayfair, I was Deirdre’s fourth cousin once removed. This is Mona, my