A Twisted Ladder (64 page)

She fell limp into the mattress, and then he lifted himself up and slid over her. He gripped the now supple muscles of her thighs and entered her. She gasped, struggling against him. He bucked, every muscle in his body taut, thrusting deeper and harder until she was crying out. She pinned his legs with her knees, and squeezed her circle tighter around him, as if seeking more of his skin, his muscle, his sweat, his spirit. She
did
want to own him, to possess him, and he knew it.

He watched as her body rippled with a new wave of sensations, and she shouted and rocked. And he could hold back no longer. He thrust at her, his body uncoiling in release. He threw his head back with a wrenching groan, and he strained his hips at her for a long, stretching moment.

Finally, he slumped. The room grew still.

HE LAY ATOP HER,
listening to her breathing as it gradually smoothed. He could hear sounds beyond the door, the agitated bickering of servants. Jacob ran his fingers along Chloe’s skin, savoring the feeling and the smell of her, and the scent of their sex. His breathing matched hers.

Just beyond the door, the quarrel escalated. Angry voices raised almost to the point of shouting.

“
Qui est là?
” Chloe said, annoyed.

He rolled off onto his back. She reached for a linen.

Jacob smiled. Few servants dared raise her ire. She rose, donned her house robe, and opened the door.

Rémi stood at the stairwell.

NEW ORLEANS, 2010

W
HEN SHE HAD BEGUN
rebuilding the house on Esplanade, Madeleine had pulled the necessary permits through the city of New Orleans. The Historic Preservation Society was pleased to learn that she wished to build a close replica—double-gallery Creole Victorian—of the original house. The only relevant changes to the layout were to add modern-sized bathrooms, closets, and a kitchen. Unfortunately, some of the details that had made the old house such an amazing work of art, such as the carved marble fireplaces and elaborate moldings, were not in the budget. It had taken a coup of bureaucracy to get the permits through, but she’d managed. After that, the crew had laid the foundation and begun framing.

It all required a great deal of money.

Madeleine learned that the estate she’d once shared with her brother and father would indeed be liable for the other burned houses on Esplanade. The financial drain left her short of breath. She considered halting construction, but after assessing the market, she determined the only sensible course would be to finish construction and sell the property.

Between that, the family trust, and the house in Houma, she hoped to break even. Madeleine wished she could return to work and start generating an income, but the idea of returning to a career in psychology now seemed hypocritical.

She strolled Esplanade, observing the swarm of workers as they sawed and nailed, erecting the frame of her home. Severin strolled with her. Madeleine found that so long as she included Severin in what she was doing and kept her occupied, the outbursts were fairly minimal, and Madeleine was able to function without others becoming aware. And yet, there were days when she didn’t dare leave the flat, because she was lost in the bramble.

“Those men have hammers,” Severin observed.

Madeleine nodded. Though she avoided speaking to her openly in public and looking like she was talking to herself, subtle acknowledgments such as nodding or changing facial expression seemed to be enough.

“That one killed another.” Severin pointed to a worker above who was nailing ceiling joists. “No one knows. Another man is in jail because of it, but
he
sent him through, truly.”

Madeleine glanced at her, then looked back up at the worker. “Time to go.”

They got in the truck and pulled into the street.

Severin scowled. “I just thought to tell you something of that man.”

“I know, Severin. I don’t really know what to do about that.”

The girl had revealed many such injustices; things Madeleine wanted desperately to correct. But she felt powerless to do anything. And as the list of Severin’s revelations grew longer each day, Madeleine was feeling more and more overwhelmed.

Severin kicked at the dashboard. “You don’t much listen to me! Listen! Listen! Listen!”

Madeleine continued to drive, hands firmly on the steering wheel, trying to think of something to do to calm her down. Severin kicked, and then she turned and sank her teeth into Madeleine’s arm. Madeleine wrenched away, causing the truck to swerve. Pedestrians leapt and scattered in alarm.

This had to stop.

Madeleine pulled over and removed the keys from the ignition, hands shaking, and turned to Severin.

“Why would you do that?”

Severin gave her a hard smile. “It satisfies.”

Severin swung her legs and kicked the dashboard again.

My God, she is relentless
.

Madeleine remembered Chloe’s advice about lulling, and began to sing.

Ring around the rosie

A pocket full of posies

Ashes, ashes

We all fall down

Severin stopped kicking and looked at Madeleine with interest. “What’s that you sing?”

“It’s called ‘Ring around the Rosie.’ It’s a nursery rhyme. Haven’t you ever heard a nursery rhyme before, Severin?”

She shook her head.

“Well, here, I’ll teach you. Repeat after me. Ring around the rosie . . .”

Severin looked down at her feet, losing interest. “What does it mean, all that?”

“It’s from the Great Plague.” Madeleine emphasized the word
plague
. She started the truck and turned onto Rampart Street. “They called it the Black Death, because the victims’ bodies turned black when they died.”

Severin turned back toward her with eyes full of wonder.

“They would develop sores. Red rings on the skin. That’s why it goes ‘Ring around the Rosie.’ ”

“Ring around the rosie,” Severin repeated. “What about the rest?”

“
A pocket full of posies
, because they thought bad smells caused the disease, bubonic plague. They carried posies to hide odors.
Ashes, ashes
. They used to burn the bodies.”

A shiver tickled Madeleine’s spine. She had gotten the girl’s attention, but it was such a macabre subject. She wondered if she was placating the child by talking to her this way, or taking one more step toward her own madness. The sick, violent kind of madness that Severin craved.

“
We all fall down
,” Madeleine finished. “Dead.”

The child was smiling. “How does it go again, please?”

They repeated the words of the old nursery rhyme together. She wondered
how on earth it had come to be a children’s game
.

“Ring around the rosie,” Severin announced.

“I thought you’d like it.”

ZENON’S TRIAL BEGAN.

Madeleine stayed away from the courtroom, keeping interactions with others to a minimum. She feared she might slip and do or say something that revealed her secret. The case was high profile, and Madeleine glimpsed the highlights as Ethan watched the news at night. When the time approached for her to testify, Ms. Jameson called her back into the U.S. Attorney’s Office at the federal building.

The receptionist led her to a conference room and offered her a refreshment, which she refused. Ms. Jameson appeared, explaining that they would be going over her testimony just as if she were on the stand. She began by telling how she had gone out in the little boat to the place she used to go with her brother.

“A storm was on the way,” Ms. Jameson said. “Why did you go out there in a boat that afternoon, knowing that you’d encounter severe weather conditions?”

“I . . . I . . .” Madeleine had had this answer ready before, but suddenly could not remember what she had said. She couldn’t very well tell her she was running away from Severin. Good God, she thought, and it’s such a simple question.

Severin swung her legs, kicking at the table. Madeleine could feel sweat forming at her hairline.

Ms. Jameson gave her a quizzical look. “Is something wrong?”

Madeleine shook her head.

“Why were you out there?”

“I, er, was depressed. My brother had committed suicide. Out there.” She gulped. “I was selling the house. I suppose I was feeling sorry for myself, and I went to that spot because we used to go there together. I didn’t care about rain. We were raised with it.”

The lawyer’s eyes narrowed, her chin resting on her hand. Madeleine squirmed.

“Dr. LeBlanc,” Jameson said. “What are you looking at?”

Madeleine’s eyes snapped up from the seat next to her, where Ms. Jameson doubtless saw nothing but an empty chair.

“Nothing. I guess I’m a little nervous.”

“Dr. LeBlanc, is there anything you’d like to tell me? Because if there’s any information you left out, now’s the time to let me know.”

Madeleine’s heart thundered, and she was sure the attorney could hear it. Sweat snaked from her brow to her ear.

“I can understand your being nervous,” Jameson said. “But the jury may interpret that as not being truthful. Our case is not as strong as I’d like it to be, and your testimony is the best evidence we’ve got. It is crucial that you appear calm and simply tell the truth.” She paused, and then said, annoyed: “Why are you humming?”

Madeleine strangled off the nursery rhyme—she had not even been aware that she was humming it aloud.
Get it together
.

“Habit.” Madeleine drew herself up and looked directly into the attorney’s eyes. “Ms. Jameson, I think I might help myself to some of that water after all.”

She stood and filled a paper cup from the water dispenser, then settled back down. The lawyer’s eyes continued to drill into her.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Madeleine said. “Because I didn’t even realize I was so nervous about the trial until now. There’ll be reporters in the courtroom, won’t there?”

Jameson nodded. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you have to tell me?”