Forever (22 page)

For the moment there was no need. He was strangely silent. Where was he, her demon lover? Was he laughing at her pathetic attempt at freedom? His lips curved in the sardonic smile she had come to know so well? His black eyes glittering mockingly? She shivered. He would not let her go easily. It would be a battle of wills, hers against his. If she won she would be able to pick up the pieces of her life – marry Bradley and be happy as Mae was happy: live uneventfully and joyfully with children and grandchildren. If she lost …

If she lost she would bound throughout eternity to the menacing, overpowering figure that haunted her. There would be no warmth; no children. Only the obsessive uniting of two people who, in life, had never exchanged a kiss in love. There would be only death.

‘We'll stay with you every minute,' Eden was saying. ‘There's nothing to be frightened of, Gussie.'

Mae summed up a shred of bravery. ‘We're lucky really,' she said unconvincingly. ‘If it wasn't Midsummer's Eve we wouldn't be able to do anything.'

Her words did not comfort her listeners. They knew that it was not coincidence that Beau Clay had materialized with such ferocity the previous evening. It had been a preparation for the anniversary of his death; for the night when he intended seizing Gussie's heart and soul and dragging her beyond the grave to his own tortured world.

The blue haze of twilight was clouding the trees of St Michel as they speeded up the drive. Mae fought the impulse to plead for release and scurry to her parents. She had a responsibility towards Gussie; the whole nightmare had been of her doing. Faint-heartedly she stumbled from the car in Eden's wake.

Gussie glanced over her shoulder and across the darkening lawn to the giant oaks.

‘No!' Eden's shout scared Mae nearly out of her wits. ‘Don't look over there, Gussie! Don't give him a chance to enter your mind!'

She seized hold of Gussie and ran with her up the shallow steps between the graceful pillars, fumbling with key and lock. The heavy door slammed shut behind them. The house, previously so warm and friendly, was permeated with silence and sadness.

‘Music,' Eden said briskly. ‘Put on tapes, records, radios, TVs – the lot.'

Mae hurried to do her bidding, glad to be able to blank out the stillness that held the house in thrall.

‘What do we need?' Eden asked.

‘Alcohol,' Mae said as George Benson and Stevie Wonder fought for supremacy against the background commentary of a baseball match.

‘That's one thing we're not going to indulge in,' Eden said grimly. ‘We're going to need our wits about us. Alcohol can wait.'

‘Needles,' Gussie said nervously. ‘Needles and paper.'

‘That's simple enough. It could have been eye of newt and toe of frog.'

‘Stop it, Eden,' Mae said, biting her nails. ‘How can you joke about it?'

‘I'm not joking,' Eden said, leading them into the kitchen and plugging in the percolator. ‘We're going to sit in here and talk about anything and everything. But
not
Beau Clay. And not what has to be done later this evening. I don't want to give him the merest chance of making his presence felt. If he does, Gussie will weaken and the battle will be lost before it's begun.' She delved in the fridge for cream. ‘You can start the ball rolling by telling us about your honeymoon, Mae. Does Austin wear his glasses to make love? I've always wondered.'

“This is the Seven o'Clock Show. Our guests tonight are …” In a distant room the television could be heard at full volume.

‘Augusta.'
It was so faint as to be almost indiscernible.

“Our first guest this evening is …”

‘Augusta.'

Gussie spilt coffee in a long steaming stream across the table.

‘Augusta. Let me in. I'm waiting for you. Augusta …'

‘No!'
Violently she pushed her chair away from the table, covering her ears with her hands, her eyes wild. ‘No! Go away! I won't listen! I won't!'

Eden leapt to her feet, dragging Mae with her.

‘Link hands and sing “The Star-Spangled Banner”,
loud
.'

Through the empty rooms of St Michel their voices rang incongruously. Eden's stridently loud; Mae's terrified but with increasing vigour; Gussie's desperate.

‘Oh! Say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave …'

They paused for breath and Gussie launched frantically into the remaining verses, to be joined rapidly by the others.

‘… and the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave …'

As the last notes died away, Mae and Eden stared tensely at Gussie. She sank back onto her chair with relief. ‘It's all right. He's gone.'

‘Did I ever tell you about the time I went to Florida with Jason Shreve's father?' Eden asked, setting a silver biscuit barrel in the centre of the table.

‘Eden Alexander! You didn't!' Mae exclaimed, shocked.

Eden grinned. ‘I did, and very enjoyable it was. There's a lot to be said in favour of older men.'

On the stereo Stevie Wonder gave way to David Bowie and then Elton John. ‘It's nearly nine o'clock,' Mae said, as Eden made fresh coffee.

‘We're not going upstairs until the last minute,' Eden said decisively. ‘That bedroom is filled with Beau's presence. It would be like walking into the lion's den. Is it true your aunt Tina has her maid iron her stockings? She must burn a dozen pairs a week.'

The hands on the large kitchen clock crept round from nine to nine-thirty and from nine-thirty to ten.

‘… so Dean will be in Los Angeles until the fall and then we'll get married …'

‘Augusta'
There was urgent demand in the whisper. ‘
Augusta! Listen to me
…'

‘Oh God, no! Please leave me!'

She was stumbling to her feet. Eden and Mae grabbed her arms.

‘”Rock of Ages”,' Eden panted, marching Gussie up and down the chrome-and-glass fitted kitchen, singing as fervently as any Salvationist.

At last they stood silent and Gussie began to cry. ‘He's gone, but he'll come back, Eden. He won't be beaten so easily.'

Eden fought the desire for a large brandy. ‘If he can be kept at bay until you sit at the dressing table, then he can be beaten. I never thought I'd sing that wretched thing again. It was my Sunday School teacher's favourite and I
hated
it.'

‘It seems to have worked,' Mae said. She liked the hymn and felt braver for singing it.

‘Let's see how far we can get with Ginsberg's “America”,' Eden said, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. ‘We should be able to recite the whole thing the length of time we spent on it at school. What comes after line six? Is it “I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind” or “until I'm right in my head”?'

They argued and added lines, altering them, forgetting, remembering. From Ginsberg they moved on to Sylvia Plath and Etheridge Knight. Darkness closed in around St Michel. A documentary took over from a quiz show on the television. Mae replaced a Diana Ross tape with a Marti Webb tape and put on an LP of modern jazz.

Gussie was oblivious to the noise, her eyes fixed firmly on the clock. Eleven o'clock; eleven fifteen.

‘Augusta.'
Like waves pounding ceaselessly on a beach his voice permeated her mind. She began to sing loudly and disjointedly, marching up and down the room, determined to drive him away, not to be seduced by the dark timbre of his voice.

At eleven thirty-five Eden said unwillingly, ‘It's time we went upstairs.'

‘Can't we do it down here?' Mae asked pleadingly.

Eden shook her head. ‘No. It must be done just as your grandmother said. Are you ready, Gussie?'

Gussie gazed helplessly around the brightly-lit kitchen. Perhaps if she closed her senses to it, took sleeping tablets, the nightmare would go away.

‘Augusta.'
The voice battered to get in through the door of her mind. There could be no escape. Only confrontation would set her free. With leaden footsteps she followed Eden up the sweeping curve of the stairs and into her bedroom. It was just as it had been a year ago. Her score of dolls sat unblinkingly on the patchwork-covered sofa. The muslin drapes and netting on her four-poster bed were looped and tied with bows of blue ribbon. Candles stood in ornate silver holders on either side of her dressing-table mirror.

‘It's eleven forty-five,' Eden said quietly, her heart beginning to race.

The blood had drained from Gussie's face. ‘I must change. I must wear my wedding gown.'

‘Oh, but …' Mae began.

Eden silenced her. ‘I don't want you to say another word, Mae. I want you to sit in utter silence. If we need help I will yell to you, and whatever I yell, you do,
immediately
. Understand?'

Mae nodded and sank back into the sofa, clutching hold of the crucifix at her throat.

Eden slid the lace wedding dress over Gussie's head and shoulders, fastening the pearl buttons at the wrists, flouncing the skirt out with a trembling hand.

‘What now, Gussie?'

Gussie licked dry lips. ‘The candles. I must light the candles and turn off the lights.'

Mae whimpered protestingly and lapsed into silence. Gussie's eyes held Eden's. ‘Whatever happens tonight, I want to thank you both for caring enough to stay with me.'

Eden's throat tightened. ‘Don't talk as if you're going to die, Gussie. You'll be able to thank us afterwards.'

Gussie's eyes were unconvinced as she turned away from her friends and set needles and writing paper on the polished surface of the dressing table. Unable to do any more, Eden withdrew to the bed and curled up against the pillows, her heart slamming painfully and irregularly.

Slowly Gussie lit the candles and stared at her reflection in the glass. A year ago she had sat thus, happy and carefree, certain of her heart's desire. With a heavy hand she picked up her silver-backed hairbrush and began to brush her hair so that it fell around her shoulders and down her back in a golden sheen.

Eden watched the second hand of her watch creep round once; twice. It was five to midnight.

The air seemed to have been sucked from the room. Gussie continued to brush her hair rhythmically. Waiting. Another minute; and another. The walls of the room seemed to be moving in on her. There were tight bands of steel around her chest, squeezing and tightening.

‘Augusta!'
The voice was loud and clear, menacingly confident. ‘
I'm coming for you, Augusta. We're going to be together forever and forever
…'

Behind her in the mirror she saw Eden nod her head. The fingers of her watch stood at twelve midnight. Mae pressed her hand against her mouth. Eden offered up a silent prayer. Gussie laid down the hairbrush and picked up a long needle. For one brief, terrible moment she hesitated and then she plunged the needle deep into the wedding finger of her left hand. The blood sprang in clear, scarlet droplets, scattering on to the virgin-white of the lace, spreading and staining. Dipping her mother's pen into the blood, she wrote her own name and that of Beau's on the paper in front of her.

The letters were disjointed and uncontrolled, like those of a child learning to write. ‘Augusta Lafayette. Beauregard Clay.' With dark, terrified eyes she raised her head from her task and stared into the candle-lit mirror. The room seemed full of smoke. She could no longer see Eden's shadowy figure; no longer see the sofa and the dolls and Mae; no longer see even the walls. Only her face, white and ravaged, bearing little resemblance to the face that had once been hers.

The soft footfall on the gravel was unmistakeable. It came again, nearer and nearer. Unhesitating and purposeful. For a crucifying moment, an aeon, there was silence and then the knocker fell hard against the wood of the door.

Gussie closed her eyes, fighting the battle that only she could fight. The knocker slammed hard again, reverberating through the now still rooms. She opened her eyes, staring sightlessly into the glass.

‘Please go and open the door, Eden.'

Eden stared at her, paralysed by fear. The knocker fell again.

‘He must be let in, Eden.'

Fearfully Eden swung her legs to the floor and stumbled towards the door and staircase. Through the slanting glass panels of the great front door a shadow loomed. Tall and broad-shouldered, unleashed power emanating from it in waves.

‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,' Eden whispered, her blood turning to ice as she forced herself forward. ‘Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death …'

The knocker fell again. In the darkness of the hall Eden's shaking fingers closed over the latch. He was there, only inches away from her, separated only by glass and wood. Sweat rolled from her forehead and into her eyes. It should have been Gussie at the door; Gussie enduring the horror of opening it to the presence outside. No. Gussie had to remain upstairs. Had to finish the ceremony she had begun. If Gussie opened the door to Beau she would be lost. And, if she herself opened the door …

Her fingers closed around the cold metal of the latch. ‘Oh Jesus, God,' she said, and released the lock. The door handle turned easily and smoothly. Her blood turned to water and then the door was opening and she shielded her face in terror as an ice-cold blast blew in from the hot, sultry night, searing her skin and robbing her of breath. She tried to scream as it passed her by but no sound would come from her frozen throat. Helpless, her heart poised on the edge of death, she slid against the wall and fell in a crumpled heap to the freezing marble floor.

Gussie heard the opening of the door; felt the cold gust of air that snaked up the stairs and into the room. With dark, tragic eyes she reached for the piece of paper and held it high in her hand. This was the moment she had waited for; the moment when Beau Clay would enter her room and claim her as his love forever and eternity.