The TV was on. On the screen a group of ballerinas ran down a staircase and fluttered by a giant devil’s head with a gaping mouth large enough to swallow any of them. They clung to one another in fear. She pressed the channel changer and with a click the TV switched to local news, a picture of a woman in handcuffs being led into the police station. She pressed it again and the channel changed to the opening credits for
Bewitched
.
Fuck me!
thought Heidi, giving a weird laugh.
I was just looking at your statue!
She tried to smile, but it didn’t come off right. There was a dead look in her eyes and her mouth had gone slack. She stared at the screen, hardly seeming to see it. Meanwhile, her hand was feeling around next to her, first on the blankets and then on the bedside table. When it returned, it was holding her lighter and a small piece of tinfoil, and a glass tube.
She shook a little onto the tinfoil, then grabbed the square by one edge. She flicked the lighter on. Her eyes still on the TV she fired up the tinfoil, then sucked in the fumes with the glass tube. God, it felt great. She held the smoke in until she could feel her blood slowing down, beating slower and slower in her ears. Her vision had begun to go dark around the edges, and then she exhaled and fell back against the pillows.
How had she lived without this? Now she felt good again. Now she was sure everything was going to be okay.
From the other room she heard a knocking at her front door. She ignored it, began to drift off. When the knocking came again, she slowly lifted her head and gathered her lighter and the drugs. She felt like she was moving underwater, or in a dream. Thinking about dreams gave her, deep below the blissful surface she was riding on now, a stab of anxiety. Slowly, she slid the drawer of the bedside table open and dropped everything into it. Closing it was a little harder, but she managed.
The knocking came at the door again. Mumbling to herself, she managed to get her legs off the bed and her feet under her and wove her way across the room and into the living room. From there, she could move along the wall of records, dragging her hand over the milk crates to get to the kitchen and from there to the door.
The door turned out to be harder to open than she remembered. It was like they had made it more complicated since the last time she had had to use it. She played with the knob for a bit but nothing was happening. Finally, she remembered she had a peephole and slid her face up to it, found it, managed to get an eye to it. Outside was her landlord Lacy, and to either side of her those weird sisters of hers. What were their names again? The blonde was Sonny. She remembered that because the sun was yellow and Sonny’s hair was, too. The other was named Morgan or Megan or Mona or something like that. Lacy was holding something, a small tray with a teapot and cups on it.
She moved her head back and tried the door again. Oh yeah, locked. She turned the dead bolt and now it opened just fine.
She swung the door open. “Hey,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Lacy gave a big smile. “I might be wrong, but I had a feeling that maybe you could use some company,” she said.
Heidi gave a slow smile back to her.
Wow
, she thought,
she can’t even tell that I’m high. Or maybe she doesn’t care
. “I definitely could,” she said, struggling to keep them in focus.
And then she just stood there. It took Sonny coming forward and pushing her gently to the side for her to understand that she was blocking the door.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the teapot.
“This?” said Lacy. “Oh, just a little something I put together. Calming tea, I guess you could call it.”
“Calming tea,” said Heidi, and nodded.
Sonny suddenly popped into her vision. “But more important,” she said, “there are chocolate chip scones.”
“Nice,” said Heidi. “You ladies know just what I need.”
“Indeed we do,” said the other sister, the one with the name she couldn’t remember. She was the strange one, Heidi remembered, but she couldn’t quite remember what made her strange. She took Heidi by the arm. “Now, let’s see about making you comfortable,” the woman said.
Francis had spent the day wondering about the killing, going through the meager article, looking for clues. He pulled down book after book, trying to find a link between the name Williams and the witch trials, or something to tie Virginia Williams in some way to Maisie Mather. But there didn’t seem to be anything. The two women were different ages, lived in different parts of town, seemed to be from different social classes as well. But the link had to be there; he was sure of it.
Alice at first wouldn’t talk to him about it, and then when he finally got her to listen she wasn’t much help at first.
“It’s not healthy, Francis, getting obsessed over a murder,” she claimed. “You should just leave it alone.”
But he couldn’t leave it alone. That was the problem. There had to be a connection; even the police knew that. And everything about it pointed back to the witch trials.
“Maybe you wouldn’t think that if you weren’t a historian of the witch trials,” suggested Alice.
“Maybe not,” admitted Francis. “But that’s what I am. There’s got to be a historical link between the two women. There’s a captain mentioned named Williams, but he wasn’t involved in the trials as far as I can tell.”
“You’re looking for the name Williams?” said Alice, surprised.
“Yes, of course,” Francis had said. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, honey, isn’t that her married name?” said Alice. “Shouldn’t you be looking at her maiden name?”
Yes, of course, how could he have been so stupid? He must be getting old to have made such a ridiculously dumb mistake. But when he managed to track down her maiden name online in the marriage archives of the
Salem News
, it didn’t tell him anything either.
It was only after poring over dozens of reference books that it occurred to him that her maiden name might not be the right name either. With Alice’s help, he managed to find a website called FIND YOUR FAMILY TREE and after having paid a so-called nominal fee he had Virginia Williams’s family history. He followed the tree back step by step until he came to the name Magnus.
“I’ll be fucked,” he said. “Dean Magnus.”
There was the link. And yes, it was about the witch trials after all. Which meant that Adelheid Hawthorne, as a descendant of Hawthorne’s, was no doubt in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.
“But you don’t believe in witches,” Alice said.
“No,” he said. “No, I don’t.” He pondered. “But it could be something else. There could be a logical explanation for it.”
“What sort of explanation?”
“I don’t know,” he said evasively. He was having a hard time reconciling his satisfaction of having discovered the link with his skepticism about witches. “Somebody setting these women up, maybe. Manipulating them in some way. I’ll know when I see it.”
On the television Elizabeth Montgomery twitched her nose and her husband found himself unable to get off the couch. It was like he’d been glued to it. The studio audience laughed.
They were watching the TV in Heidi’s bedroom. Heidi had tried to suggest that they could sit in the living room, but one of the three women had said, “
Nonsense, dear, we should go where you’ll be most comfortable,”
and they’d ushered her through the apartment and back to her bedroom. Sonny had helped her into the bed and fluffed the pillows behind her, and then had taken a seat beside her. Lacy had served Heidi tea and had put the tea service on the floor next to the bed. Then she’d climbed into the bed on the other side of her. It made her feel cozy. The other sister—Megan, it turned out her name was; why had she thought it was Morgan?—brought in a kitchen chair and sat off to one side.
“Have any of you seen my dog?” asked Heidi. “Steve?”
“I’m sure your dog is okay,” said Lacy, patting her arm.
Yes,
she thought.
He’s probably okay. Good old Steve.
“I just—” she started to say, but Sonny was touching her on the other arm now, lifting her arm up.
“Take a sip of tea, dear,” she said. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“What?” she said, and then said, “Oh.” She let Sonny lift her arm up, and then took over and blew on the top of the mug to cool the tea, and began to sip.
When she looked up, she momentarily had the impression that everyone was staring at her. But no, she thought a moment later, they were all watching the TV—she’d just gotten confused somehow. Why would they be staring at her?
On TV, Samantha’s husband had succeeded in getting off the couch, but only by stepping out of his trousers. He went yelling through the house looking for his wife, but she was already back visiting her more witchy mother.
“God, she was really beautiful,” said Lacy.
Who?
wondered Heidi, and then realized she must be talking about the actress who played Samantha, Elizabeth Montgomery. “Yeah, I guess so,” she said. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded really slow to her, like it was oozing out of her. “I never really noticed before,” she continued, “but she really was.”
“Is she still alive?” asked Sonny.
“No,” said Heidi. “I think she died.”
“Oh right, of course,” said Lacy. “I remember now.”
“More tea?” asked Sonny. “Another sip?” And again she helped Heidi raise the mug to her lips.
Why aren’t they having any?
Heidi wondered. And a moment later she realized her voice was asking that very question aloud.
“No, sweetie,” said Lacy. “None of us are thirsty. Besides, I made it specially for you.”
Specially for me
, she thought, and smiled, her thoughts beginning to drift in a way she had a hard time understanding. It was like Lacy was a mother for her. It was nice to have that. But wait, didn’t she already have a mother?
The drift was interrupted when Megan spoke again. “I wonder, what would Elizabeth Montgomery have thought of that ridiculous statue of her?” she asked.
“I was just looking at that tonight on my way home,” said Heidi. “Or maybe it was yesterday.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Lacy.
“No,” Heidi agreed. “It doesn’t matter.”
“More tea?” asked Sonny.
Heidi shook her head. “I’m calm enough,” she said. “I can barely keep my eyes open.” She yawned. “Wasn’t there some controversy about that statue?”
“Oh, not really,” said Lacy. “Some of the locals thought it was in bad taste. The paper said it ‘was like erecting a statue of Colonel Klink at Auschwitz.’ ”
“Huh,” said Heidi. She yawned again. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
“Don’t mind us. Why don’t you just lay back and get some rest?” said Lacy. “We’ll be right here if you need us.”
“What?” said Heidi, her eyes already half closed. “No. I’m not going to sleep with you guys sitting here.”
Lacy leaned closer, brushed back Heidi’s hair. “Why not?” she said. “Even big girls need to be babied sometimes.”
For a moment, Heidi tried to protest, but she was having a hard time putting sentences together. Eventually, she just shook her head and moved lower in the bed, turning on her side. Almost immediately she fell asleep.
For a time the three sisters just stayed in their places, watching the television, their faces expressionless in the pale blue light. They did not speak, hardly moved.
Finally Lacy prodded Heidi with a finger. When she didn’t move, didn’t respond to the prodding in any way, Lacy got up and went to turn off the television.
She stood there at the foot of the bed, in the light cast through the window. Her face, normally so friendly and relaxed, had taken on a different expression, as if a mask had been stripped away to reveal a true face underneath. Her mouth was tight, her lips pressed. Her gaze was cold. She stayed there, staring intensely at Heidi.
“Sisters,” she said. “It is time.”
“Yes,” said Sonny and Megan in unison. “It is time.”
Heidi slept on.
Lacy had just begun to move toward the door to the living room when the telephone on the bedside table rang. She stopped and waited, then made a swirling gesture with one hand. Megan, the one closest to the phone, reached out and answered it.
“Yes,” Megan said, her voice level and calm.
“Hello,” said the voice on the other end, speaking quietly. “I’m looking for Heidi Hawthorne.”
When Megan said nothing, the voice said again, “Hello?”
“Who did you say you were?” asked Megan.
“I didn’t say,” he said. “I’m Francis Matthias, and it’s urgent that I speak to her.”
“And who were you looking for?” asked Megan.
“Heidi,” said Francis. “Heidi Hawthorne.”
“I’m sorry, darling, but there’s nobody here by that name,” said Megan. “You must have the wrong number. Please, don’t call back.”
She hung the phone back in its cradle and then unplugged it from the wall. Lacy left the room and moved through the living room and kitchen, went out the apartment door. From the room, you could hear the sound of her footsteps moving down the hall. Sonny and Megan had both stood now and were looming over the bed, staring down at Heidi. There was something strange about the room as well, a disturbance in the air that moved slowly about the bed, becoming finally a pale ghostly figure before fading back into nothingness and then becoming tangible again. Both Sonny and Megan noticed it, but showed no sign of anxiety or surprise. It walked toward the bed and then through it, pushing its legs through the mattress without disturbing it until it came out on the other side. Slowly, it made its way toward the corner of the room and then pushed its way through the wall and disappeared.
For a moment they were alone and silent, as if they were the only people in the world. And then came, very quiet at first and at a distance, a metallic squeaking noise. It stopped a moment and the apartment door opened and closed, and then it started again, the noise growing louder until Lacy appeared, pushing an old-fashioned wicker wheelchair.