The Showstone Read online

  ‘Well, at least park yourself in the bedroom,’ she told him. ‘It’s not professional for him to see you in here drinking beer.’

  ‘Professional?’ he scoffed. ‘You think you’re a doctor or something?’

  She let the comment pass, transferred her dinner dishes from the sink to the dishwasher, then gave the counter a wipe.

  ‘It’s a him, you say?’ Jason asked.

  ‘Yes, he’s a him.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘I don’t know how old he is,’ she said in exasperation. ‘Would you move your carcass to the other room?’

  ‘There’s no TV in there.’

  ‘Read a book.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  He grunted himself out of his boots and she immediately tossed them into the bedroom.

  ‘How’d you find the guy?’ he asked.

  ‘He found me. Someone gave him my number.’

  ‘You talked to him?’

  ‘Yeah, he was nice.’

  ‘How do you know he’s not a psycho killer?’

  ‘He didn’t sound like one.’

  Jason finished the beer and padded in his socks to the fridge for another one.

  ‘Did you ask Pothnir about him?’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘Don’t make fun of what I do,’ she said. ‘Maybe you should leave.’

  He chugged the second beer and crushed the can. ‘Can’t now. Over the limit. Besides, I’m sorry, okay?’

  ‘He’s a retired professor,’ she said, softening in the wake of the unexpected apology. ‘If he were a solar-panel guy I’d be worried about the psycho-killer thing.’

  Car headlights shone into the living room.

  ‘All right, you need to make yourself scarce,’ she said.

  ‘How much is this guy paying you anyway?’

  ‘Two hundred dollars.’

  ‘I’ll give you two-fifty to send him packing.’

  ‘Jason, I’m not fucking playing around here,’ she shouted.

  ‘All right, all right,’ he said taking the rest of the six-pack with him to the bedroom. ‘But I don’t like playing second fiddle.’

  She answered the door to find a gentleman in his seventies with a goatee, an earnest smile, and a book in his hand.

  ‘You must be Sam,’ she said.

  ‘Sam Benjamin, yes,’ he said pumping her hand. ‘And you must be Eve Riley.’ He held up the book, back cover first, with an author photo of her.

  ‘Come on in,’ she said. ‘Found me okay?’

  ‘Satnav led me right to your door. Getting around is so much easier than the folded-map days.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked.

  ‘If you’re having some.’

  She put the kettle on.

  ‘So, Sam, I’m still not completely sure how you found me.’

  He sank into her sectional. He was slightly tubby with that western-gentleman look that a bolo tie conferred.

  ‘I teach at Arizona State. In the engineering department.’

  ‘You drove all the way from Tempe?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I have a friend in Tucson. Anyway, I was at a conference – you know, one of those academic conferences where the most interesting stuff happens in bars – and late one night, I struck up a conversation with a colleague of mine from Michigan. It wasn’t about engineering. It was about religion, which can be a fraught subject although this time it wasn’t. The two of us were awfully simpatico despite the fact that he’s a Methodist and I’m a Lutheran. There’s plenty of doctrinal differences between the camps as you may well know, but we’re on the same page in that we find Catholics to be on the wrong page.’ He frowned, seemingly at himself. ‘Now, Sam, here you go again. Eve, for all I know you’re Catholic and I’ve offended you.’

  ‘I’m not a Catholic and I’m not. Offended, that is.’

  ‘Well, good. So, this buddy of mine and I are united in the sense that we Protestants are awfully comfortable having direct communion with God without needing all the intercessions and trappings of the Church of Rome to get through to the big guy in the sky. Only I wasn’t having any luck accomplishing that.’

  The kettle whistled and she got up to make the tea. ‘Go on, I’m listening.’

  ‘Are you married, Eve?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Oh dear, I hope you didn’t take that the wrong way. An old, not-wealthy fellow like me isn’t going to be making advances on a young, beautiful woman. I asked because I was married for thirty-five years. No children, mind you, so my wife, Pat and I, well, our relationship was undiluted. Just the two of us. We shared interests. When I traveled, she went too. From the day we got married to the day she died we never spent a single night apart.’

  ‘Milk?’ she asked.

  ‘Lemon if you have it.’

  She squirted some lemon juice in both cups and asked how long it had been since his wife’s death.

  ‘Two years this October. I don’t have to tell you how lonely it’s been for a man like me who had this sort of seminal relationship in my life come to an end. But I’m not the sort who’s at all comfortable with the notion of hanging out at drinking holes or doing online dating to meet women – swiping right, swiping left, whatever the lingo. Hell, I don’t want a new woman. I want my old one! What I’m saying is I really want to talk to her again. To see how she’s doing. Can you understand that?’

  They took their first sips simultaneously, which made her smile. ‘Yes, I understand. Of course.’

  ‘So, at every chance I get – when I’m in bed, when I’m shaving, when I’m driving – I pray to God and ask Him to let me speak with her. But nothing. Not like I was really expecting God to connect a person-to-person call to Heaven. But maybe I’d at least see her in a dream? Not even that. So, I’m telling this Methodist buddy of mine about this and he says to me, why are you so arrogant to think that God, with all that’s on His plate, is going to have the time to deal with a solitary old fart of a mechanical engineer in Arizona? He says I’m aiming too high, that I need to go down lower on the Heavenly organizational chart. That’s when he tells me about your book.’

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘But look, Sam, full disclosure. What I do—’

  There was a thud from the bedroom and an ‘Ow!’

  ‘Oh, is there someone here?’ the man asked.

  ‘It’s just my boyfriend. Don’t mind him.’

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s fine. What I was saying is that what I do takes years of study and practice. It’s not something you can just pick up and do yourself right off the bat.’

  ‘I realize that. I do. I’m willing to start the process. In fact, I’ve already started.’

  He cleared his throat and awkwardly said, ‘Ol sonf vors g, goho Iad Balt, lonsh calz vonpho.’

  Eve smiled and politely nodded.

  ‘Well, how was that?’ he asked. ‘It’s the beginning of the First Call.’

  ‘Yes, so it is. The pronunciation is going to need a lot of work, Sam, but it’s a great start.’

  The engineer slurped his tea then leaned toward her as far as he might without pitching off his chair. ‘Now Eve, I realize I’ve got a long road ahead before I can do what you can do and I’m committed to learning. As a teacher myself, I know the importance of having a good teacher and that’s why I’m here.’ He reached into his coat pocket, took out an envelope, and placed it beside the tea cup on the end table. ‘That’s why I’m more than happy to pay for your time. But what I’d like – and I’ll pay you more for the opportunity – is to be able, through you, to speak to my wife as soon as possible. Actually, I was hoping we could make contact tonight.’

  Eve was only a little surprised. The people who sought her out often had the same goal – to communicate with the dearly departed – but on the phone he had represented himself as someone who intended to invest the time to become a practitioner. When she had asked why, he had told her it was to expand his consciousness, part of his
quest to become a better Christian and a better man. She had liked his answer and his ready acceptance of her fee structure. First session in person, future ones via Skype.

  ‘Sam, I can feel how desperately you want to be able to contact Pat. I think that in time, you might be successful, but this will have to be something that you do yourself when you’ve amassed the skills to make it happen. It’s something that’s best done personally. It’s not what I do. Through my teachings I enable people to act on their own behalf to achieve their personal goals.’

  ‘But could you if you were so inclined? I have money in the bank I have no intention of spending in my lifetime. Eventually, it’s going to go to a nephew I’m not even all that close to. What would it take, money-wise, to get you interested in helping me?’

  She got up to put her cup in the sink and buy herself a slice of time to think how to respond. When she turned to face him again she said, ‘It’s not a matter of money although I admit my own bank account is a bit of a barren landscape. It would be an enormous commitment on my part without any guarantee for you of the result. You can’t dial this stuff in, Sam, it’s highly individualized. But if you do the work on your own, put in your own time and energy, at the end of the day, you’re more likely to have success than me. I’ll teach you the tools, but I can’t be an intermediary. I hope you understand.’

  He got a handkerchief and wiped the disappointment from his eyes. ‘Yes, I understand. Of course I do. When can we start?’

  ‘As soon as you finish your tea,’ she said lightly. ‘We’ll work outside on the patio. I’ll just get my gear from the closet. It’s a beautiful night. The moon can’t get any bigger.’

  His tea was cool enough to chug and he declared his readiness at the very moment Jason threw open the bedroom door. He had a small pink trash bin in his arms and weaved across the living room purposely rattling the empty beer cans he’d tossed into it.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Eve said. ‘I’m in a meeting, Jason.’

  Jason was drunk, that much was obvious. ‘Well, I finished my meeting with my six-pack and I’m fixing to have a new meeting with another six-pack, if you don’t mind.’

  He noisily emptied the bin under the kitchen sink and threw open the refrigerator looking for more beer.

  The engineer stood up and said, ‘I’m sorry, Eve. Maybe I came at a bad time.’

  ‘Damned straight you did,’ Jason fumed. ‘A guy – a guy who works his butt off – comes over to see his girlfriend and she tells him to go fuck off into another room while she has a quote-unquote meeting. With another man? Even if he’s an ancient geezer like you. I mean that’s fucked up, right?’

  ‘Jason, get the hell out of here right now,’ Eve said. ‘You sat in there like a juvenile, shotgunning your beers, and now you’re a full-blown asshole. Congratulations.’

  Sam looked like he wanted the carpet to swallow him whole. ‘I’m not comfortable being in the middle of this, Eve. Maybe some other time, okay?’

  Jason interrupted her response. ‘Yeah, it’s okay, old-timer. See you around.’

  ‘Sam, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting him tonight, honestly.’

  ‘It was lovely meeting you,’ the engineer said making his way to the door while awkwardly avoiding eye contact with either of them.

  ‘Your envelope,’ she said.

  ‘You keep it,’ Sam said. ‘For your time.’

  She stood there crying until she heard the engine start and the car pull away. Then her lit fuse reached the explosives.

  ‘Get the fuck out of my house!’ she raged. ‘Get out! Now! I never want to see you again. Don’t text me. Don’t call me. Don’t come to my house. Don’t come to my office.’

  ‘How’m I supposed to get permits if I don’t come to the permitting department?’

  ‘Hell if I care. Now get out before I call the sheriff.’

  ‘I’m not fit to drive back to Tucson, can’t you see that?’

  ‘Well you’re fit to drive fifty yards down the road, park, and sleep it off in your truck. You’ve got ten seconds to pick up your boots and your stupid hat and get out of my life forever.’

  She couldn’t sleep. Her insomnia bubbled up from a witches’ brew of agitation and anger. Fear, however, didn’t enter into the mix. She wasn’t the least afraid that Jason would try to get back into the house. She didn’t think he was capable of it, especially when he sobered up, and besides, could take care of herself. Her snub-nosed Colt by her bedside was a handy piece of insurance.

  Finally, she got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and went outside into the cool stillness of the desert night. She spent a while gazing at the gigantic orange moon before deciding that she had enough energy to proceed. She went to her closet and made two trips to the patio to get set up. There was a howl so far away she couldn’t be sure it was a coyote’s. What else could it be? Jason, still drunk, wandering the wilderness? There were no further cries from the dark and she lit her candles. Gazing into the shiny orb, she began to chant.

  Ol sonf vors g, goho Iad Balt, lonsh calz vonpho; sobra zol ror i ta nazps od graa ta malprg.

  The starting words were the same as Sam’s effort but in pitch and cadence and pronunciation, they sounded completely different. But this first sentence was only the beginning. By the time she reached the Call of the Thirty Aethyrs several minutes had passed but to her, it felt as if no time had elapsed. It wasn’t that she was in a trance. The altered reality came from the focus brought on by the rhythmical chanting. It divorced her from everything, even a sense of existence. The universe was reduced to only two elements – the sound of the chant and the sight of the shiny crystal.

  Madriaax ds praf paz, chis micaolz saanir caosgo, od fifis balzizras iaida! Nonca gohulim: micma adoian mad, iaod bliorb, soba ooaona chis luciftias piripsol; ds abraasa noncf netaaib caosgi, od tilb adphaht damploz.

  She went on, chanting in the strange tongue, until she stopped, nearly out of breath, air streaming through her nostrils.

  She never knew where the voice came from. The surface of the crystal? The air? The inside of her own brain? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she could hear it and that she could understand the language she had been chanting.

  I was expecting you.

  ‘You were?’ she replied in the same tongue.

  I have a message.

  ‘I’m ready to hear it.’

  A man will reach out to you soon.

  ‘What man?’

  You will have common purpose.

  ‘What purpose?’

  The world as you know it is a world graced by the light of God. But it sits on a knife edge teetering over an infinite abyss. Know this: a great evil is coming. It threatens to tip all you know into a pit of darkness. Is the fate of your world darkness or light? I cannot say. Do you know the reason you became a scryer?

  ‘No.’

  This is why.

  FIVE

  ‘Where is she?’ was the first thing Cal asked.

  The detective was a turbaned Sikh who looked like he was about to extend his hand. That was before Cal tried to blow past him at the entrance to his mother’s apartment. The policeman blocked his way with his stout body. ‘The medical examiner took her. She’s on her way downtown. I’m Detective Atwal. This is still an active crime scene.’

  ‘I can’t go into my own mother’s apartment?’ Cal said, thrusting his jaw.

  ‘Oh yes, I would like you to come in, but you’ll need to put on shoe covers and gloves. Fibers and fingerprints, you know. Here, please.’

  As Cal slipped on the protective gear Atwal extended his condolences. It was the standard thing that policemen said to victims’ families, but it came off sounding awfully heartfelt and authentic.

  ‘I appreciate it,’ Cal said.

  ‘You drove from Connecticut?’

  ‘My girlfriend did. I wasn’t in a state to drive.’

  ‘Your shock, I’m sure,’ Atwal said.

  ‘I was drunk. I’m sober n
ow.’

  ‘I see. All right, let’s go inside, why don’t we?’

  The marble entrance hall gave no hints of the mayhem beyond. Everything was perfectly in place. The outgoing mail was on an ornate table, stamped and addressed, ready to be taken to the lobby in the morning. A vase held fresh flowers.

  ‘She let the intruder in,’ the detective said. ‘See, the door is perfectly fine.’

  ‘It was one man who did this?’

  ‘It seems so from what I’ve seen from the cameras in the lobby and the Park Avenue entrance. He came in at about nine-thirty wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Sunglasses at night. And what looks like a pair of leather gloves. Large man, broad shoulders, race difficult to say. He pulls a gun on the doorman and forces him to disable the internal security cameras then binds the fellow with zip ties in the mail room. He makes his way to the ninth floor and knocks on your mother’s door. The woman in 9F had just come home and was in her entrance hall so she hears the knocking, which she says was unusual because according to her, Mrs Donovan rarely has visitors at night. Your mother must have looked through her peephole and asked who he was. The woman in 9F describes herself as nosy. This woman opens her door a crack and hears him call through the door that he is a friend of her son, Calvin Donovan.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Cal whispered. ‘You mean she was targeted?’

  ‘It seems likely, yes. We’ve talked to every resident and this man approached no one else.’

  Cal followed the detective into the living room, which bore scars of the intrusion. The large park-facing room was in shambles. Every book had been tossed from the shelves, every desk drawer and side board were open, their contents strewn on the floor. A bottle of India Ink had leaked onto a yellow and blue rug, staining it black. The blotch reminded Cal of a Rorschach test. It looked like a camel with two humps.

  ‘He was looking for something,’ Atwal said.

  ‘She has a lot of jewelry.’

  ‘In her bedroom. I saw it.’

  ‘You mean it’s still there?’

  ‘I can’t say that nothing is missing but there are a lot of expensive necklaces, earrings, and the like. This is what I need from you, Mr Donovan. I need to know what you believe might be missing.’