“Oh, my God, Peter. Are you sure?”
“Max confirmed it. He saw me strangling a mugger the night my parents died. Said the guy deserved it, not that it made me feel any better.”
“Who were the others?”
“Two of them were assassins trying to do away with my parents; the other six came after my parents died. My demon did a ‘Death Wish’ on all the bad guys roaming the city that night.”
“So you only killed bad people. Well, I guess that’s some consolation. Isn’t it?”
When confronted by the forces of evil, most people turned away, or made excuses, or tried to ignore the facts staring them in the face. It was how they coped with evil in its purest form, and Liza was no exception. He fell silent.
“So what are you going to do?” she asked.
He struggled to reply. In the back of his mind he saw himself taking the plunge into the river and emerging a different person, or not. That was one way out.
“I remember the first time you brought me here,” she said. “We had just started dating, and you took me out to dinner, and then brought me here. We stood right in this spot, and you explained to me that there were sixteen bridges that connected the island of Manhattan to the different boroughs, and then you named them. There was the Brooklyn Bridge, the George Washington Bridge, the Triborough Bridge, and I can’t remember the others. Then you told me how you grew up believing the bridges were anchors that kept the city from floating away. Remember?”
He nodded.
“Is that why you came here? Because you feel like you’re floating away?”
It was as good an analogy as Peter could think of, and he nodded again.
“Are you afraid your demon will come out again, and go on a rampage?”
Growing up, his parents and later his parents’ friends had taught him to control his anger, and it allowed him to control the demon as well. So far, he’d been able to keep the monster under control, but who knew what the future held?
“That’s part of it,” he said.
“So tell me the rest. Please, Peter, I want to know. Say what’s on your mind.”
“I lost my dream. I’ve always known I was different. I talked to my mother about it, and she told me not to worry. She told me that one day I’d grow up, and everything would work out. I took that to mean that when I became an adult, I’d meet a special person, get married, have a couple of kids, and lead a normal life. I’d get to shed being a psychic just like a soldier gets out of the army, you know? Sure, I’d still have gifts, but I wouldn’t have to use them unless I wanted to. That was my dream, and I’ve held on to it for all this time. But now I know that isn’t true. This evil inside of me will always be there, and I’ll always need to keep a lid on it. Because if I don’t, it will come out, and there will literally be hell to pay. I won’t get to retire, ever. I’m stuck being who I am.”
“But I love who you are,” Liza said.
“What about the demon? Do you love him as well?”
“I love you, warts and all.”
He laughed silently to himself. He had a lot more than warts to deal with.
“We can deal with this,” Liza said. “We’ll work on it day by day, just like other couples that are having problems. We just have to believe in each other, that’s all. Isn’t that what your parents did?” She glanced at her watch and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my God, look at the time. We’ve got a show in a few hours. Come on!”
Liza grabbed his hand. She was not giving up on him. That was good, because Peter didn’t see how he could deal with this by himself. He stole a final glance at the river, the idea of jumping not far from his thoughts.
Together, they ran across the bridge.
42
Milly was telling fortunes for three wealthy widows in her apartment when her cell phone rang. It had been Holly’s idea to buy her a ringtone, and the recorded cat’s meow sounded like the poor animal was being mutilated.
“So sorry.” Milly muted the phone without bothering to check caller ID. Cell phones were like traffic lights. Necessary, but terribly annoying. “Now, where were we?”
The widows sat at a round table draped in black felt covered in astrological signs in the center of Milly’s living room. Every Tuesday at five o’clock, they assembled in Milly’s apartment, where they drank tea, ate cookies, and had their futures told. The widows paid Milly enough money to maintain a lifestyle that most psychics only dreamed about.
“Who’d like to go first?” Milly asked.
“Let me start,” the widow Miller said. “I want to know what’s going to happen with my oldest son. He’s been causing me all sorts of trouble lately.”
“I see. Please give me your cup of tea and we’ll begin.”
The cup was passed across the table. Milly swirled the remaining liquid so the tea leaves were distributed, drained the liquid onto a paper napkin, then gazed into the cup. The key to reading tea leaves was the ability to interpret the symbols suggested by the leaves, of which there were over a hundred, each with different meanings. If the leaves looked like a stone, it meant there was work to be done. If they resembled a house, it meant that prosperity was in the future, while a mountain meant an arduous journey was ahead.
The symbol in the widow’s cup was a snake, a bad sign. But Milly wasn’t going to tell her guest that. Bad news was bad for business. Instead, she said, “Your son will continue to make questionable choices. He means well, but his decisions do not always reflect this.”
“Will he ever get a real job?” the widow asked.
Snakes did not work. They hung around all day, sleeping, and were the laziest of creatures. The widow’s son was no different.
“I don’t see a job in his immediate future,” Milly replied truthfully.
“Someday?”
“Perhaps.”
“Can you be more specific? He’s thirty years old and I’m still supporting him!”
Milly studied the leaves some more. The snake appeared to be well fed. The widow’s son wasn’t going to leave home until his mother stopped babying him. “Your son has the potential to do many useful things with his life. Whether or not he does is up to you.”
“Up to me? So what do I do?”
“Take a long trip. I hear a cruise to Alaska is nice this time of year.”
“Seriously? What about my son? Should I take him along?”
“Leave him behind.”
“But I’ve never done that before. Will he be all right?”
Milly again consulted the leaves. The snake had sprouted wings and resembled a butterfly, a symbol of growth and change. “He’ll be fine,” she assured her.
A telephone rang in the study down the hall. Milly’s home number was unlisted, and hardly everyone ever called her.
“Did you need to get that?” the widow asked.
“They can leave a message,” Milly replied.
The phone continued to ring. Like most witches, Milly was a private person, and hated intrusions. An annoying telemarketing firm had found out the hard way, and she’d cast a spell over them when they wouldn’t stop harassing her. Only after they’d gone out of business had the company’s operators gotten their voices back.
The phone would not stop ringing.
“Let me get that,” Milly said. “Please, help yourselves to more tea.”
She went to her study to take the call. She’d already decided that her caller would wake up tomorrow with an ugly mole on their nose with black hairs sprouting out of it. That would make them think twice about calling her again. She snatched up the receiver.
“Who is this, and what do you want?” she demanded.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Adams, this is Joe, the building’s head of security,” a man’s deep voice said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but you have a visitor.”
“I’m busy, Joe,” she said icily.
“I know you are, Ms. Adams. I told your visitor that you had guests and were not to be disturbed, but she insisted that I ring you.”