"Deliver me from Evil, O Lord, take me to you, Sacred Heart of Jesus, gather me into your arms . . ."
She did not see or hear me as I drew closer. A soft glow suffused her face, made of the light of the flickering candle, and of the radiance from inside her, the great consuming rapture which held her now, and removed her from all around her, including the dark figure at her side.
I looked at the altar. I saw the giant crucifix high above it, and below, the tiny gleaming tabernacle, and the burning candle deep in its red glass which meant the Blessed Sacrament was there. A gust of breeze moved through the open chapel doors. It caught the bell above and a faint tinny peal broke from it, barely audible above the sound of the breeze itself.
I looked down at her again, at her upturned face with its blind eyes at half mast, and her mouth so slack though the words still came from it.
"Christ, my beloved Christ, gather me into your arms."
And through the haze of my tears, I watched the red blood welling and flowing red and thick and copious from her open palms.
There were hushed voices in the compound. Doors opened and closed. I heard the sound of people running on the packed earth. When I turned I saw that dark shapes had gathered at the entrance-a cluster of anxious female figures. I heard a whispered word in French which meant "stranger." And then the muffled cry:
"Devil!"
Down the aisle I went, right towards them, forcing them perhaps to scatter, though I never touched them or looked at them, and hurried past them and out into the rain.
Then I turned and looked back. I saw her kneeling still, as they gathered around her, and I heard their soft reverent cries of "Miracle!" and "Stigmata!" They were making the Sign of the Cross and dropping to their knees around her, as the prayers continued to fall in that dull trancelike voice from her lips.
"And the Word was with God, and the Word was God, and the Word was made flesh." "Good-bye, Gretchen," I whispered.
And then I was gone, free and alone, into the warm embrace of savage night.
TWENTY-FIVE
I SHOULD have gone on to Miami that night. I knew that David might need me. And of course I had no idea where James might be.
But I had no heart for it-I was far too badly shaken-and I found myself before morning quite far east of the little country of French Guiana, yet still in the hungry sprawling jungles, and thirsting, but with no hope of satisfaction on that account.
About an hour before dawn I came upon an ancient temple- a great rectangle of pitted stone-so overgrown with vines, and other rankled foliage that it was perhaps altogether invisible even to mortals who might pass a few feet away. But as there was no road or even a footpath through this part of the jungle, I sensed that no one had passed here in centuries. It was my secret, this place.
Except for the monkeys, that is, who had waked with the coming light. A veritable tribe of them had laid siege to the crude building, whooping and screeching and swarming all over the long flat roof, and the sloping sides. In a dull listless fashion I watched them, even smiling, as they went about their antics. Indeed, the whole jungle had gone into a rebirth. The chorus of the birds was much louder than it had been in the hours of total darkness, and as the sky paled, I saw myriad shades of green all around me. And with a shock I realized I wasn't going to see the sun.
My stupidity on this count surprised me somewhat. But what creatures of habit we are. Ah, but wasn't this early light enough? It was pure joy to be in my old body . . .
. . unless I remembered the look of pure revulsion on Gretchen's face.
A thick mist rose from the floor of the jungle, catching this precious illumination and diffusing it even to the tiniest nooks and crannies beneath shuddering flowers and leaves.
My sadness deepened as I looked around me; or more truly I felt raw and as if I'd been skinned alive. "Sadness" is too mild and sweet a word. I thought again and again of Gretchen, but only in wordless images. And when I thought of Claudia I felt a numbness, a silent obdurate remembrance of the words I'd spoken to her in my fever dreams.
Like a nightmare the old doctor with the stained whiskers. The doll-child in the chair. No, not there. Not there. Not there.
And what did it matter if they had been? It didn't matter at all.
Beneath these deep enervating emotions, I was not unhappy; and to be aware of this, to know it truly, was perhaps a wondrous thing. Ah, yes, just my old self again.
Had to tell David all about this jungle! David must go to Rio before he returned to England. I would go with him, perhaps.
Perhaps.
I found two doors in the temple. The first was blocked with heavy irregular stones. But the other lay open, for the stones had long ago fallen away into a shapeless heap. Climbing over them, I made my way down a deep staircase, and then through several passages, until I came upon chambers to which no light penetrated at all. It was in one of these, very cool and utterly removed from the noises of the jungle, that I lay down to sleep.
Tiny slithering things dwelt there. As I laid my face against the damp cool floor, I felt these little creatures moving around the tips of my fingers. I heard their rustling. And then the heavy silken weight of a snake moved across my ankle. All this made me smile.
How my old mortal body would have cringed and shaken. But then my mortal eyes could have never seen into this deep place.
I began to tremble suddenly, to cry again softly, thinking of Gretchen. I knew there would never again be a dream of Claudia.
"What did you want of me?" I whispered. "Did you really think I could save my soul?" I saw her as I had in my delirium, in that old New Orleans hospital when I'd taken her by the shoulders. Or had we been in the old hotel? "I told you I would do it again. I told you."
Something had been saved at that moment. The dark damnation of Lestat had been saved, and was now forever intact.
"Good-bye, darlings," I whispered again.
And then I slept.
TWENTY-SIX
MIAMI-ah, my beautiful southern metropolis, lying under the polished sky of the Caribbean, no matter what say the various maps! The air seemed sweeter even than in the islands-sweeping gently over the inevitable crowds of Ocean Drive.
Hurrying through the fancy art deco lobby of the Park Central, and to the rooms I kept there, I stripped off my jungle-worn clothes, and went into my own closets for a white turtleneck shirt, belted khaki jacket and pants, and a pair of smooth brown leather boots.
It felt good to be free of clothing purchased by the Body Thief, well fitted or not.
Then I immediately rang the desk and discovered that David Talbot had been in the hotel since yesterday and was now waiting for me on the porch of Bailey's Restaurant down the street.
I had no spirit for crowded public places. I'd persuade him to come back to my rooms. Surely he was still exhausted from the whole ordeal. The table and chairs here before the front windows would be a much better place for us to talk, as we were surely meant to do.
Out I went and up the busy sidewalk north until I saw Bailey's with the inevitable sign in fancy neon script above its handsome white awnings, and all its little tables draped in pink linen and set with candles, already busy with the first wave of the evening crowd. There was the familiar figure of David in the farthest corner of the porch, very proper in the suit of white linen he'd worn on the ship. He was watching for my approach with the usual quick and curious expression on his face.
In spite of my relief, I deliberately took him by surprise, slipping into the chair opposite so quickly that he gave a little start.
"Ah, you devil," he whispered. I saw a little stiffening about his mouth for a minute as though he were really annoyed, but then he smiled. "Thank God you're all right."