Night of the Pentagram Read online

  Chet sinking to his knees.

  A silent film: Bryce’s fist colliding with Chet’s face making no sound, Chet’s mouth open in a silent wail of agony.

  Elizabeth instinctively darted into the hall. It was empty! No Bryce. No Chet. No fight.

  What the hell? She blinked her eyes. It was all very bizarre. She sniffed again. The burning smell was gone.

  She went back into her room and sniffed the air. Nothing. She went back into the hall. There was still no sign of Chet or Bryce.

  She stood in the center of her room again, waiting to see if she would experience another…what was this, a hallucination? A fragment of dream recall? Was this the Morphenol beginning to take effect? Was this what people on LSD experienced?

  She pushed the thought from her mind and left the room. The sooner she was around other people the sooner she would be able to forget the bizarre flashes of jagged imagery.

  On the way downstairs she passed Mrs. Valdez and a pair of maids, their arms burdened with fresh linens.

  “Mrs. Valdez, was there a fire last night?”

  Mrs. Valdez eyed her curiously.

  “I thought I smelled something burning,” Elizabeth said.

  “Perhaps there was a bonfire on the beach,” Mrs. Valdez suggested. “The wind could have carried the smell from the beach.”

  So easy to dismiss the fancies of a lunatic, isn’t it? Elizabeth managed a weak smile. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that?” She was beginning to despise Mrs. Valdez with her coldly calculating stares, suggesting that she believed every word from Elizabeth’s mouth was the raving of a lunatic.

  Dr. Abernathy’s waited for her at the bottom of the steps. He gestured for her to accompany him to his office.

  “Sleep well?” Dr. Abernathy asked as he prepared the injection of Morphenol.

  “Not really. I feel like I didn’t get any sleep at all. I felt like I was dreaming all night long.” She turned her head away so that she would not see the needle penetrate her arm. “I thought there was a fire.”

  “Outside?”

  “No, inside the house.”

  Dr. Abernathy showed his teeth. “That’s impossible. I’m sure I would have heard about it by now if there was. What was the commotion in the drawing room last night?”

  “It was nothing. The men were teasing me, that’s all.”

  “You sounded upset.”

  “I was. I’ve been uneasy since I arrived here. My nerves are on edge.”

  “We should talk about these feelings.”

  “Something strange is going on here.”

  “But not now,” the doctor cut her off. “I have an appointment in a few minutes. May we postpone the discussion until this afternoon?”

  “Of course.”

  Leaving Dr. Abernathy’s office, she ran into Bryce in the hallway. Her face broke into an eager smile when she saw him, relieved that now she would have someone to talk to.

  “What’s the hurry?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I’ve got therapy with Dr. A.” he said with a quick smile. His hand paused a moment on the door of the doctor’s study and he turned to her as if there was something he wanted to say, but then he opened the door to Abernathy’s study and disappeared inside.

  She ate breakfast in a daze. Half a grapefruit with sugar was all she could manage. It took several cups of coffee before she was able to shake off the groggy feeling from her restless night’s sleep. She crept through the public rooms, looking for someone to talk to, but no was about. Looking into the courtyard she saw that the pool area was empty as well. How could a house filled with people feel so empty and lonely? When she returned to the dining room the remnants of her meal had been cleared away. She was about to go to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, but thought better of it. She was beginning to feel trapped and couldn’t bear to remain in the house another minute. Collecting a sweater from her room she headed outside.

  It was a relief to be free of the relentless gloom of the house, but even outside she felt disoriented and out of sync. The morning haze was just beginning to burn off. She walked along the perimeter of the driveway. Exasperated, she turned and looked back at La Casa del Mar.

  She turned back to the stone wall, her eye on the opening where the stairs began to lead down to the beach. Without a second thought, she started down the stairs.

  The stairs were steep and many of the stone steps were unstable. They wound precariously down the side of the hill to the cyclone fence which protected the residents of the clinic from the outside world. Elizabeth tilted her face toward the security camera, tapping her foot impatiently. After a moment she heard a soft click as the gate unlocked.

  On the other side of the road was another, newer flight of stairs. Firm wooden planks and an iron railing cut between the tumble of rocks and the scattered growth of gorse and bracken and the faded yellows and purples of summer wild flowers. Elizabeth felt safer now as she completed the final descent to the beach below. The tide was out and there was a wide expanse of spotless sand. There were no sun worshippers out today. There were a dozen or more surfers riding the waves. She was glad she had worn the sweater for the air was somewhat chilly with the winds blowing in from the ocean. Still, Elizabeth could not resist taking off her sandals and walking barefoot in the sand. It felt good to feel the sand beneath her feet, something she missed by living in the city, surrounded by concrete and glass and metal buildings. The beach was idyllic, the whole scene bathed in a salmon colored hue, and she made a mental note to make every attempt to come to the beaches more often in the future, once she had completed therapy at the Abernathy Clinic and returned to normal life.

  Normal life…she wondered if there ever would be such a thing. Would there ever come a day when she didn’t miss Sven with all her heart? Would there ever be an end to the nightmare memory of finding Sven’s mutilated body on their living room floor? God, she hoped so. That was why she was here, wasn’t it? The discovery of Joan’s suicide did very little to help. She pitied the woman, but at the same time she was angry at her for leaving her body to be discovered by Elizabeth. Why couldn’t she have chosen another method of suicide, or killed herself on someone else’s watch?

  She walked along with her eyes closed, allowing her senses to become hyper aware of her surroundings, the dry grit beneath her feet, the rhythmic rush and roar of the waves breaking on the shore, the cry of seagulls circling overhead, the salty smell and feel of the air.

  As always when she was alone, her thoughts drifted back to Sven. She tried to remember happy times together, but she was puzzled that the image that came to mind was that of Clark Abernathy, not Sven Lindstrom. She knew she was attracted to the doctor since the moment they’d met, but it was disconcerting that she couldn’t picture Sven’s face at the moment.

  Now a new question formed in her mind, one that surprised her at first, but she let the idea come and develop as it wished. Would there ever be a time when she fell in love with a different man? She could imagine either Bryce or Dr. Abernathy being a fantasy lover, but she couldn’t picture either one becoming a reality. Bryce was a man of the world, too wild, and Dr. Abernathy was her psychiatrist and that alone nixed any possibility of anything more than a mutual admiration between them.

  She saw a lone figure ahead of her jogging along the sand. As the figure neared she recognized Bobby’s head of shaggy hair bouncing as he ran toward her. He was dressed in a white T shirt and gray sweatpants, running barefoot through the sand.

  “Elizabeth, hi!” he called out as he approached. “I thought that was you. How ya doin’?” His words came out in short breathless bursts.

  “I’m good, Bobby. I thought a morning stroll along the beach would be nice. It’s so gloomy inside that house.”

  “I know what you mean. Mind if I walk with you?”

  “All right. You’re sure it’s not an interruption to your run?”

  “Not at all. I just need to try to stay in shape. I’ll be back on the concert tours be
fore you know it. Got to look good when I tear my shirt off for the ladies,” he said with a grin, miming the movement for her benefit. Elizabeth could imagine the effect it must have on an auditorium full of teenage girls.

  “At your age you have nothing to worry about. How do you stay in shape when you’re on tour?”

  “Calisthenics.” Bobby demonstrated a movement with his arms that Elizabeth recalled from her days on the school playground under the intimidating watch of a gruff female gym teacher. “Joe hired a trainer to travel with me. You know the way Sgt. Carter makes Gomer do all those push ups? That’s Ed, only worse.”

  “You seem well adjusted, Bobby, like any normal teenager. Why are you here?”

  “Over Joe’s dead body, basically,” Bobby laughed. “He didn’t really have any choice in the matter. I’ve been on the go non-stop for the past two years of my life. I know I’m a teenager and I’m supposed to have this endless reserve of energy, but somebody must have cut off my supply. The doctors told him I needed some time off unless he wanted a dead kid on his hands. Said I was headed straight for a heart attack before I turned eighteen. That got his attention. No Bobby Dixon equals no income for Joe Gottlieb.”

  “So you are being treated for…exhaustion?”

  “Pretty much. That, plus I’m afraid of heights.”

  Elizabeth was puzzled.

  “I’ve got, what do they call that, acrophobia? I can’t get on a plane anymore without losing it. I’m not talking sweaty palms. I mean screaming and fighting my way off the plane.”

  “That sounds serious. I just can’t picture you involved in something that dramatic.”

  “Oh it was dramatic all right. I’m sure they thought I was tripping on acid or something. It took four security guards to hold me down while they waited for the life squad to arrive.”

  “But you seem to be better now that you are here. I’m glad.”

  They strolled in silence for a moment. Bobby eyed a surfer riding a wave with what appeared to Elizabeth to be a mixture of jealousy and admiration.

  “Do you surf, Bobby?”

  “I wish. I like it here. I like being able to come down to the beach whenever I want. It’s so peaceful, serene. But sometimes the ocean…do you know what it reminds me of?”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “When I come out on stage, all the chicks in the auditorium let out this huge shriek. It sounds like some kind of monster. I hear it for hours afterwards. Sometimes it’s hard to get to sleep with all that noise lingering in my head. That’s what the ocean sounds like, that endless roar.”

  “It must be hard for you being around people who are so much older than you. Bryce and Chet sure like teasing you.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m used to it, though. Being around adults I mean. Everyone at the TV studio, the recording studios, my backing band, publicists, reporters, photographers…everyone’s an adult. The only time I get to be around kids my age is when I’m on the set, you know the other actors. But in real life, forget it. I don’t have any friends my age. Other guys look at me as some kind of threat. And girls…the best I get from them are nervous giggles.”

  “And the worst?”

  “Oh, man, they scream and jump up and down, acting like they are four instead of fourteen. Chicks are crazy. I mean, really crazy. I found out one girl killed herself because she came to one of my public appearances and it was so crowded she couldn’t get anywhere near me. Can you imagine? Joe tried to keep that from me but I found out about it. Once, in London a bunch of girls overturned the limo I was riding in. That was some hairy stuff. There was a stampede in Rome and several girls were crushed to death. A girl in Paris set fire to the hotel I was staying in just so it would force me to come outside.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “I told you they’re crazy. At first I thought it was pretty cool. But it went right to my head, you know? My mom had died, I was feeling pretty lonely, and here was my step-dad pulling all these strings behind the scenes. Next thing you know I’m in singing in a recording studio, getting photographed for the fan magazines, getting the part on Meet the Morgans. It was nuts.

  “For awhile I was so into it. I loved being a star, loved all the attention. I got over that pretty quick, about the time I realized I wasn’t leading a normal life anymore, not being allowed to do things that normal kids do. I can’t even walk into a store and buy my own Coke. Can’t go to the movies on Friday night. Plus I was constantly on the go, every hour of every day there was something that had to be done. The only time I have for Bobby is on the set between takes, scenes I’m not in. But there’s this tutor there, with a stop watch, can you believe it? She says,” Bobby did a fair imitation of a stern old schoolmarm, “‘Bobby. Algebra. Ten minutes. Now.’

  “So after two solid years of hardly ever being alone, this is my idea of heaven. I guess you know the feeling, always being at someone’s beck and call, people when you wake up, people when you go to sleep.

  “It’s not that bad for me, really,” Elizabeth said. “Right now I’m staying with friends until I buy a new house, but it’s pretty quiet. I’m not constantly on the move the way you are. I did some publicity when Hamlet came out. We went to Cannes. That was so cool. Even when my husband was alive, we were always going somewhere and doing something, but at the end of the day it was just the two of us alone at home.”

  “That must be nice.”

  “Don’t you have a girlfriend, Bobby?”

  “Kind of…Marnie Daniels, you know her?”

  “The name sounds familiar.”

  “She’s the editor of Idol Eyes.”

  “The teen magazine?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re having an affair with an older woman!”

  “Aw, come on, you’re not going to get all high and mighty on me too, are you?”

  “Of course not, it’s just…well, shocking is the first word that comes to mind.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s so much older than you. You’re still a teenager.”

  “Wasn’t your husband older than you?”

  “That’s different.”

  “How is it different? Marnie is eleven years older than me. Sven Lindstrom was in his forties, wasn’t he? Talk about robbing the cradle.”

  “You’re still a minor.”

  “And I can’t wait till I’m eighteen. Get out from under Joe’s thumb. That man controls everything I do, and I mean everything, public appearances, photo shoots, record deals, tours. It’s all about money to him. If there’s another dollar to be made off of Bobbymania it’s great for Joe Gottlieb! You know how much of that money I’ve seen? A big fat zero! You want to talk about things you shouldn’t do to a minor? You shouldn’t give them sleeping pills to knock them out at two in the morning after the fifth night of concerts in a row. You shouldn’t give them uppers in the morning so they can be awake enough to get to the studio on time and say their lines and hit their marks for the cameras. You shouldn’t work them until they collapse on stage and have to be revived by a life squad. You didn’t hear about that one, did you? That’s because Joe Gottlieb has enough influence to keep it from the press. Sometimes I hate being Bobby Dixon, and sometimes I just hate Joe Gottlieb. Sometimes I hate him, and sometimes I could just – ”

  Elizabeth hated to see Bobby this way. The cute teenager was gone and in his place was a bitter man twice his age.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “Sometimes I just want to kill him.”

  “Bobby!”

  “I’m not saying I would do it, but haven’t you ever hated someone that much that you just wish you could?”

  “No, I can’t say I’ve ever felt that much animosity toward anyone. But I know how ruthless people can be in this business. I’m sure Joe thinks he has given you the world on a silver platter.”

  “You bet he does. Not a day has gone by in the past six months when he hasn’t reminded me of that fact. I tried getting emancipated. Joe�
�s lawyers argued against it. Joe’s lawyers won. Things have been rotten between us ever since.”

  “What will happen when you turn eighteen?”

  Bobby perked up. “I’ve got it all planned out. Forget the TV show, forget the movies, forget teeny-boppers. This boy is going to rock and roll!”

  “Seriously?”

  “Heck yeah. Jagger? Morrison? I can do that stuff. I’ve been writing songs for years. Of course, Joe won’t let me record any of them or work them into my sets. Maybe Dakota can fix me up with some musicians in San Francisco. Grow my hair long, drop acid, tune in, turn on, drop out!”

  She hoped he was joking. “Bobby, that’s stuff’s dangerous.”

  “For a twenty-one year old sometimes you are really square. Consciousness expanding is where it’s at, man.”