“No? I hadn’t realized that. But if you do see her, please let me know. I need to speak to her about something and she’s been gone for months, and I can’t seem to find her.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found. At least not by you.” When the bell dinged, Gabriel removed the burrito from the microwave and dropped it on a paper towel.
Alex sounded offended. “I’m her father. We have a good relationship.”
Gabriel didn’t know what constituted a quality relationship between a demon and his half-demon daughter, but Alex and Marguerite did seem to get along. But it had nothing to do with him. “I’ll let her know if I see her, but I can’t imagine I will.”
“You don’t get out much, do you?”
“No.” That was intentional. Gabriel walked into the living room, taking a bite out of his snack, and found Alex sitting on the couch looking at his camera.
“Who’s the blonde?” Alex turned the camera around and Gabriel saw Sara on the viewing screen, standing on the street, in profile.
Damn. The idea that Alex would even know of Sara’s existence made him uncomfortable. Striving to sound casual, not wanting to alert Alex in any way, he just shrugged. “Just a girl who does some research for me.”
“She could be hot if she didn’t look like she’s just come off a three-day bender only to find out her cat died.” Alex made a face at Sara’s image, his lip curling up. “You could do better than this if you’re looking for a little fun.”
Gabriel didn’t agree with Alex’s assessment of Sara at all, but that wasn’t the point. “I’m not looking for fun. It’s a business relationship.” Not that he wouldn’t like to explore other, more intimate possibilities, but it couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t allow it to happen.
Alex set down the camera and gave him a wry look. “I don’t doubt it. You’re not exactly known for being a fun guy. What I have never been able to figure out is why you don’t just embrace what you are. You’re fallen. You’re a demon. Live it up a little, Gabe. Enjoy it.”
Yet Gabriel still had a conscience, where Alex had none. Or at least Alex could rationalize his way through anything. “Your concern is touching, but I’m fine.”
“What you are is in a purgatory of your own making. You don’t seek redemption, but you don’t embrace sin either.” Alex stood up, frowning at him. “It’s like you have no purpose—you exist just to exist.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Take care. I’ll see you around.”
And he was gone, leaving Gabriel with a half-chewed bite of burrito in his mouth and the knowledge that Alex was right. Until he knew if he had killed Anne or not, he could never move on.
To what he didn’t know, but that was a step for another day. First he had to get to the truth before the doubt consumed him and the loneliness eventually drove him back to the comfort of the bottle.
Sara was struggling to stay awake, knowing it would be a disaster to take a nap at five in the afternoon when she was already having trouble sleeping at night. She paced back and forth in her apartment, hating the dingy gray carpet, the purple and gray tweed sofa. It was cheap furniture, but that wasn’t what bothered her—she didn’t need labels or expensive fabrics. What she didn’t like was that it had no character. Nothing in the room reflected her—her likes, dislikes, interests. She loved houseplants and artwork, soft, aging quilts, and flatscreen TVs with TiVo so she could watch all the reality shows she couldn’t get enough of.
It had only been two days, and she was already realizing that she was no transient. It wasn’t her personality. She needed her possessions, her life, surrounding her with familiarity and a sense of comfort, of sturdiness. But her life was all boxed up in a storage unit in Naples.
When the phone rang, she dove for it, grateful for the distraction from her sleepiness. She was afraid if she sat down, she’d be out for the count, and then all possibility of actual REM that night would disappear.
“Hello?”
“Is this Sara Michaels?”
“Yes.” Wishing she had checked the number on the screen, Sara answered cautiously.
“This is Robert Blackman with the Naples Daily News, and I wanted to speak to you about Dr. Marino’s acquittal.”
Shit. Sara sighed. “No comment.”
“Is it true you’ve moved to New Orleans?”
“Who told you that?” she asked, shocked. It sent shivers up her spine to realize they were watching her, tracking her in essence. Then in an attempt at recovery, hoping he would drop the issue, she added, “No, it’s not true.”
“No? But I know you’ve sold your condo and your mother’s house and quit your job. So when Dr. Marino moves to the West Coast, you’ll be going with him then?”
A shudder of disgust rolled over Sara. “No.” She hung up, shaking. It wasn’t over. It had followed her.
But she had known that all along. She could run, but she couldn’t hide.
And the whole truth she had been trying so damn hard to accept and act on was that it was time to turn and face it.
Conquer it.
She picked up the phone with shaking fingers and dialed Gabriel.
“Hi, it’s Sara.”
Gabriel sounded surprised, but maybe, she hoped, pleasantly so. “Hi. How are you feeling?”
“Much better.” Sort of. Sara took a deep breath. “Is the invitation to hit Bourbon Street still open? I think it could be fun after all.”
If she had been worried about his reaction, he gave her a good one. He was definitely surprised. Definitely pleased. He answered without hesitation. “Of course it’s still open. And maybe we can grab some dinner first. The street doesn’t get really interesting until after ten.”
“Great. I’ll be over in about an hour.” Just enough time to get ready. The idea of a drink on Bourbon Street suddenly held a hell of a lot of appeal.
October 9, 1849
Interview with Mr. Thiroux, conducted by William Davidson
Mr. Thiroux willingly agreed to questioning, and refused the right to contact his attorney. Interview was conducted in his suite on Royal Street, at the corner of Orleans. Mr. Thiroux expressed what appeared to me to be sincere remorse and regret over the death of Miss Donovan, and indicated he would be paying for her burial, as there is no family to take care of arrangements and expenses.
When asked to explain what happened on the night in question, Mr. Thiroux gave this account: