Chapter 46

We had been working for what seemed like hours. I was mentally fried. If I looked at one more indecipherable passage of hieroglyphics, I would go mad. I got up and walked around the room, looking at old, familiar book titles in words that I could at least understand poking out from the shelves that lined the common room.

“I don’t think I can take much more of this, at least not tonight,” I said.

“Sure you can,” said Johnny, not even bothering to look up.

He was in auto mode, which meant he was reading something of interest but wanted to give me the impression he was listening. I tested this assumption by saying, “The part about the murder was particularly boring.”

“Yes, I’m sure it was.”

He continued reading for a full two seconds before he asked, “What was that?”

“Just seeing if you were listening. You weren’t.”

“I was but only partly. There were no murders in what you read. You were just testing me. I know your games.”

“Very clever, but so far nothing of interest on my end. It’s like reading a travelogue, written partly in English and partly in some unfamiliar language. I can’t read another word, but I bet you’re on to something. I’m distracting you, aren’t I?”

“You are, so sit down for a few and let me finish. I need to read this carefully.”

I sat. Robert was asleep again. Occasionally, he would make odd sounds and his legs would twitch, but other than that, it was dead quiet. I closed my eyes.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said Johnny.

I opened them and lit another cigarette instead. The ashtray was getting surprisingly full. Johnny and I had pulled many an all-nighter over the years. One of us would fade, and the other would prod until some semblance of wakefulness returned. We would reverse roles, back and forth, until the sun came up. I was determined to get some sleep tonight, but old stimuli die hard. I sighed. I was awake again.

“Okay,” said Johnny, “I’ve got something.”

“Finally.”

“Not so fast. Such hard-won moments must be savored. Patience is a virtue after all.”

Johnny was looking beatific and thoroughly pleased with himself. Typically, he would keep me in suspense for as long as possible before finally telling me what he had discovered.

“Are you going to tell me or what?”

He smiled. “This was far more difficult than you can imagine, so prepare to be impressed. First, Aunt Alice really did go off the deep end. Stanley was quite right, but interspersed among some rather alarming passages, and some that are completely off the wall, is a story. I’ll read it to you with the extraneous bits left out, for which you should thank me.”

“I thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Dates and time, as you pointed out, seemed to be immaterial to her way of thinking, so I did the best I could in deciphering a sequence that makes sense. I’m not sure I got it right, to tell you the truth, but at least it’s somewhat logical. I’m going to read the relevant bits out. Ready?”

“Absolutely. Fire away.”

Johnny started to read.

“‘I must make a change. Tonight I am going to double my intake of the tincture, a dangerous move, but I have little choice. The dreams are stronger and getting more frequent, and I wake these days out of breath, claustrophobic, and exhausted…

“‘Oh, happy day, I made a connection last night, and I’m hopeful again. One moment I was sitting alone on the couch; the next I felt a presence beside me. I wondered if I was being paranoid, a not unexpected companion considering how much I took. The presence spoke to me in a childlike voice. I remember quite clearly as I am writing this that I could not turn my head. It told me to be still. The child, if it even was a child, told me that it was aware of my situation and had decided to help me. It said, “I must atone, a life for a life.” I asked if I should kill myself, and the answer was “No, you must experience another kind of death: climbing the vine of souls.” I asked what that was, but there was no answer. After a time, I could move again, so I grabbed my papers and wrote it all down. When I awoke this morning, I found that I had filled an entire pad with gibberish, but amongst the pages I found legible words, and then the whole passage in clear block-print capitals…

“‘I have been so frustrated lately. Several times over the last few months, I knew I had experienced something important, only to recall little of any use the next day. No more wondering. I now have a trail to follow which is something I have not had before. I ought to be delighted, but I’m not. Instead, I’m anxious and more than a little afraid. I’m on my own in this. There is no one to guide me…

“‘I remember now where I heard the words: the vine of souls. I was fleeing through the jungles of Ecuador, after I abandoned Arthur to his fate, when I came across a village. I spoke with a woman there who took me to their shaman. Between my guide’s knowledge of indigenous languages and my broken Spanish, we were able to converse. I asked questions about our best route to safety. He told me and our conversation drifted to his practices and the uses of Brugmansia, my potent little friend and savior. The fact that I was a woman did not seem to bother him. He spoke to me quite candidly about the plant. He explained in detail several different ways to prepare it. Once again, I heard about the many dangers and its powerful effects. One particularly potent method was to combine it with two other plants, one of which was called the vine of souls. This was not for the faint of heart and used only as a last resort. It required several days of fasting to prepare the body before it was ingested. He then showed me a ceramic piece in the shape of a small teapot, but it was not used for that purpose. One blew through the spout, creating a peculiar sound made up of two notes, which when played together, created yet a third, a beat frequency that thrummed. He demonstrated it for me. The sound induced a peculiar sensation in my body and seemed to resonate inside my skull. I saw stars. Together with the draft, I imagined the effect would be quite shocking and traumatic. He offered to guide me through the ritual as he said I had a darkness that followed me. I knew this to be true, but I explained to him as best I could that I was being hunted and chased by a physical darkness in the form of bad men. I dared not let them catch me in the jungle. It would be a bitter and fatal meeting, which must not happen. I thanked him for his offer, but I couldn’t afford the days of preparation that the ritual entailed. The men might cross the river at any time. He nodded and thought in silence. In the end, he gave me samples of the plants, which I later identified as Psychotria virdis and Banisteriopsis caapi. I traded most everything I carried, other than the idol, for one of the pipes. The next morning, my guide and I set out again…Perhaps I should have stayed, but being alive was better than cured and dead, or at least that is what I thought at the time. Today the choice is not so clear…

“‘When I arrived at something resembling civilization, I searched my pack, but there was no pipe, only the idol at the bottom looking up at me from a bed of plants. The little pot had been there that morning. Where had it gone? Had someone taken it? Had I dropped it? I even entertained the idea that the idol had eaten it, but of course, the thought was absurd…Reviewing the incident with distant hindsight, perhaps it was not so absurd after all…So much of what I thought I knew has been turned on its head…

“‘I need help. My mind has fractured. It has splintered in peculiar ways, some good, some not good at all. I am not quite right. I know this. Strange things, inexplicable things, have happened to me. They really have. Where could the pipe have gone? Who took it? Someone did. My paranoia, my terrible little sister, is growing. It is becoming more obvious…even to me. I can’t stop it. I trust no one. I am alone, and I need that pipe now — that and the plants. I must make preparations…

“‘I remember how surprised I was when I finally reached relative safety unharmed. I was flushed with a sense of triumph. I had defied impossible odds and survived. The only thing darkening my success was losing that pipe. I had a strong premonition that I would feel its loss most keenly in the future. I was right. That time is upon me. What am I to do? The idol I packaged so carefully and sent has not arrived, so I can’t ask it what happened, nor can I make it give it back! It’s driving me crazy…’”

Johnny paused for a moment in the narrative. “With me so far?”

“Fascinating and troubling,” I answered. “I get the sense from what she wrote that she was close to the edge physically and mentally, like a runner at the end of a marathon who is paying the price for starting out too quickly. She did mention a pipe in her diary in the section about Ecuador and Arthur, but I thought it was just the kind one smoked. I should reread that portion to see if I missed something, given this context. The diary is very sparse in personal details compared to this.”

“I think the diary was more scholarly in nature,” said Johnny. “In the notes, she gave herself free rein, almost too much. I had to sift through numerous tangents to get even this amount of clarity. There is more. It’s a sad read, but she never gave up.”

“Do you think that, in the end, the dark parts of her mind overwhelmed her?”

“Hard to say. When I’m done reading, I’ll give you my thoughts. The story is not over, as you’ll see. There is even some information on the mysterious Marianne Thoreau.”

Johnny continued:

“‘I do love her. She is so rare. She says little and wants less, but she loves me, I think. She is jealous. I hate that. I can do nothing unless I explain everything. I tell her I am a solitary creature. I need time with myself…alone. Being with another is not for me. I’m done with that. Can she not understand? Have I not made myself clear? I need her nonetheless. She takes my mind off my mind. She has connections too. She can get me access to what I need. It must be pre-Columbian and authentic. Too many are just ancient imitations of the real thing. I will know its worth when I hear the sound it makes. I must search…In the meanwhile, I have cut my sessions to zero. I need to regain my strength. I am too strung out. I sound like an addict. Am I? I don’t know. I’m not doing this for kicks. I do it because I have no alternative…

“‘I suppose I’m a bigger fool. She knows him. Is she in league with him? I wonder. Does it matter? He has the real deal, the real thing. It’s so typical. Our paths are linked, his and mine. Whatever am I to do? Perhaps there is a way. I will pay whatever the cost. He knows that too. Money is easy; it’s what else he wants that worries me. I also wonder if this has all been planned out. She got to me so smoothly, so professionally. It boggles my mind that someone could take such pains to exact their vengeance, but I should talk. Revenge can be quite satisfying. I loved every minute of it. He must have too — another thing we have in common. I am such a fool…

“‘I have a deal I think. It is a fine bait, but I sense a hook. I need Stanley. He will know what to do. He always does. Bless him…’”

Johnny paused again. “There may be pages missing. Stanley obviously played a part, and so did Lord Bromley, but what exactly happened, the notes don’t say. She got the pipe she needed, that’s all I know, which you’ll hear about in a moment. We’ll have to visit Stan tomorrow to get the details.”

“Good idea. I do admire that he was always there for her.”

“You trust him now?”

“No. He has parts that are hidden that may bite us — lest we forget, but I respect him immensely. I even like him, in spite of all my reasons not to.”

“Well, that’s a change. Let me read you the last bit. It sounds like an acid trip to me, maybe worse, but it tells us why she was so hooked on obtaining a particular Book of the Dead.

“‘I have all I need. I cannot do it here. I need someone to supervise me as well — not Stanley. I would feel too degraded, and I hold his esteem too highly. He would do it in a heartbeat, but he would see a side of me I would be too embarrassed to reveal. This is a heroic undertaking in both its meanings. I will be purged. M. will have to look after me. It’s a risk I have to take. Do I trust her? I must. Am I strong enough? I hope. I have prepared everything. The Carlyle has many secrets and to them will be added one more, my own. Now I must fast…

“‘It’s done. I am alive, not well at all, but alive. I have hope, and that is something. I’ll take what has been given and be thankful…

“‘We checked into the Carlyle. I took a suite for several days, in fact, the whole floor. I did not want to be disturbed or disturb others — a distinct possibility. I also knew it might take quite some time for the effects to wear off. I brought my own linens and cleaning supplies. I had warm food brought up, but it was not food that I needed. It was the warmers for the chafing dishes, their little blue flames. I mixed the ingredients, followed the procedures I remembered, and prepared the dose. M. and I opened all the windows while the mixture was brewing, giggling at the thought of the management knocking on the door and expressing their concern that guests were becoming violently sick from a smell emanating from this suite that defied any civilized description. I was happy I had the presence of mind to take the entire floor. Once the mixture was prepared, I knew it was time to commit myself fully to the undertaking and cast aside my doubts. I had to drink a cup, at least. The concoction smelled positively awful and tasted even worse. I was so shocked by its foulness that I was able to drink the first few gulps without a problem. The last three-quarters was heavy-going. It tasted like fermented prunes mixed with soil of an organic and excremental nature. I was barely able to keep it down. I slumped on the couch, gagging and swallowing convulsively. I wondered vaguely if I could call a halt, but it was too late for that. I had drunk the potion, and the concoction was staying down. There was no turning back. M. blew the pipe, and everything happened at once. I felt a heat like I have never felt heat. I felt a cold like I never felt cold before. It spread through my body like evil blood. My mind detached. I saw pyramids floating in the sky. They drifted about me, or I drifted about them. There were geometric shapes everywhere, electric and filled with sound. I could not feel my hands. I could not feel my feet. I was numb; then I sensed water. I was near a river. I could hear the sound of water rushing by. Beside me was a dwarf. He was small and obscene looking. He swore at me, spat at me, and threatened me with long dirty nails that appeared sharp as razors. He scared me. I backed away, but he came closer. His eyes were filled with hatred. I can say quite truthfully, I have never been so frightened. There was no escape from him. He threw me down and stood on my chest. He jumped up and down. I hurt so badly, I could not breathe. He kept yelling and jumping. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. I died. I’m sure of it. Eventually, I felt nothing. My body was dead. I was outside in the sky, looking at the city. I rose higher. There were many cities connected by strips of silver. I ran along them. I was a black panther. I was the huntress. I was Bast, not the tame goddess she became, but the warrior, eater of men. But then I knew this was not so. In front of me was Wadjet-Bast, the Eye of the Moon. The real one. She was huge, many times my size. I was overwhelmed. That moment was the closest I have ever come to turning insane. The goddess saved me. She calmed my soul and held me gently. She whispered in my ear the information about the path I now needed to follow. I had to travel one more time to this place to release myself from the curse I carried. She showed it to me. It was a red-black rock I wore around my neck. I had to leave it here with her but only after I had followed a precise ritual that was laid out in a specific Book of the Dead to allow me to pass safely into the afterlife. Whether I could return from there, she could not say. She showed me what the papyrus looked like, so I would recognize it when I was back in my world. “Find the scroll,” the goddess said. I wept with relief, and then my body exploded, my real one. I was staring over the back of the couch, throwing up like I have never thrown up before. M. put my arm over her shoulder and dragged me to the bathroom. I stayed in there for a day, at least. The dwarf kept me company. He sat on the sink. I cursed at it. It cursed at me. After hours of cursing at each other, we started laughing. I couldn’t stop. I laughed so hard, I was in excruciating agony. I curled into a ball on the bathroom floor. I counted the little white tiles that surrounded me, all of them, many times. I slept. I awoke. I had no idea how long I had been out. I felt drained and foul but alive. I remembered everything, every detail…I knew what I had to do…I needed to repeat this whole process at home, probably alone, but first I must find the scroll I need. I don’t want to go down that road, but I must…He has it. Of course he does. I know it.’

“That’s all I have, I’m afraid,” Johnny said to me. “I don’t know whether she passed away before she took that last trip or not. There are no notes describing it. Maybe they exist; maybe they don’t. Perhaps the night she died was that last one, and it killed her.”

“Quite possibly,” I said. “I think we should discuss it with Stanley.”

“I think so. We’re getting closer to wrapping our wits around what happened, and that is progress.”

“You mentioned before you started that you had some thoughts.”

“I have a few. Firstly, the dwarf thing is strange. Perhaps she mistook Marianne for the dwarf, which would mean she was probably close to death and needed to be resuscitated. If that was the case, a second round might have been too much for her system, particularly if she had no one to watch over her. Secondly, she mentioned having to do the ritual at home. Perhaps she didn’t trust Marianne after all.”

“That occurred to me as well,” I said. “In addition, Stanley rarely tells a lie, but he can omit details as he deems appropriate. He says he found her after her breakfast tray had been sitting for some time, which is likely true. What happened the night before was not really mentioned, was it?”

“I don’t recall if he mentioned anything about the previous night. Your suspicious mind again?”

“I suppose, but it bears thinking about. I’m certain that Stanley would have done everything in his power to prevent her death, but with Lord Bromley somehow involved, that may not have been possible. The man had it in for her, and she knew it. Perhaps he did so indirectly, like giving her a false map or one that was correct except for a missing part?”

“I had a similar thought,” said Johnny. “She also mentioned the Eye of the Moon, referencing the goddess. Perhaps, the goddess couldn’t help Alice in the way that Alice wanted? Right now, it’s all speculation. We should go over it tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep while we can. Breakfast will be here before you know it, and tomorrow is ‘gird your loins’ day. Best be prepared.”

With that, we said good night, and I went to my room to sleep as much as possible. We would need our wits about us tomorrow, and so would everyone else.