WHAT'S PAST IS PROLOGUE

By Sammantha Goode


FOREWARD

This story was something I started a while back as a means of 
dealing with grief - it really helped me, it sounds crazy but it made 
me feel not so alone. What really shaped it was Queri's excellent 
story, "Red Roses for a Dead Lady." Nimbi's story "Push" also 
added to it. The family I have created here are just some ordinary 
residents of Trinity-sort of. They are the Manigault family: Celeste 
(mama); Robinson (the eldest brother); Valentine, who is called 
Val (an older sister); Calder (a younger brother); and Taylor (the 
baby sister who is telling the story).


CHAPTER ONE: "He That Dies Pays All Debts"
-- Shakespeare: The Tempest


The year I turned twenty-seven my mother died. It had been long 
in coming and not unexpected. She was a desperately unhappy 
woman who had given up on living years ago. She had never left 
Trinity, even for one day and I had always thought that odd, but 
now I believe leaving Trinity was a thing beyond her imagining. 
But not me. I got out; I got out as soon as I was handed that high
school diploma. Mama didn't want me to leave, didn't understand 
really. I knew that if I stayed I'd turn out just like her and all the 
other old women too afraid to live. I believe this is what really 
killed my mother: fear. It wasn't her emphysema or the cuts on 
her wrists, it was just the fear of facing yet another day.

These were my thoughts as I drove toward Trinity, not kind 
thoughts or sweet childhood memories. I felt as if I was preparing 
to do battle, and I didn't understand why I felt this way. My sister 
and brother would both be there to meet me at the house, I knew 
we'd all be feeling the shock of loss. I wondered who else might 
be there. Loris would stop by with some wonderful steaming dish 
of food, knowing there would be nothing she could say to make 
anything better_and smart enough not to even try. Perhaps 
Dr. Owen, mama's doc since she was a kid, would be there, 
plus the neighborhood ladies brigade_they wouldn't miss this 
for anything, a peek inside the house and a chance to see grief 
close up. The church auxiliary probably had already been and 
gone, bringing casseroles and pies that were never as good as 
anything Loris made. And one other person. Oh, he may not be 
there when I arrive, but he'll not forget to stop by and offer me 
his . . . condolences.

I turned right down Dogwood Avenue. The houses here were 
old cracker-box Victorians, just like my mama'' house. When I 
was young and would walk home from school down this same 
street I would often think that someday I'd have a house like 
one of these: big and full of stained-glass windows, gables, and 
trim as delicate as spun sugar. And at night when my brother 
Calder and I would sneak out the upstairs window, shinny down 
the tree and run laughing into the dark. We would stop in front of 
different houses and look through the lighted windows. What we 
saw, I realize now, was a world we did not know, but ached to 
be a part. Calder and I were regular little peeping Toms, we 
loved slinking up to a house, hiding in the bushes, and watching 
the people inside. It didn't matter what they did: watching television; 
talking; laughing; eating dinner. We loved it all. I'm sure our 
neighbors must have known, we weren't the quietest or the 
cleverest kids on the block, but no one seemed to care_or if 
they did they never said anything about it.

It made me want to cry, thinking about all of those times with 
Calder. He and I had a special bond. Our older siblings, Robinson 
and Valentine seemed so removed from either Calder or myself. 
Neither of them understood us, I don't know if it was because of 
the age difference or something inherent in ourselves. Robinson 
took his role as the eldest brother quite seriously. No surprise 
really, it's the Southern way, the eldest male in the family became 
the patriarch over the rest. Once daddy had gone Robinson 
stepped right up and filled those shoes with barely a pause to 
catch his breath. My older sister Valentine, or Val as she insists 
on being called, is the typical Southern belle; she had a way of 
being so warm and sweet the butter melted in its dish and the 
honey dripped from the hive. Robinson and Val were storybook 
children who grew up to live familiar lives. They fit in; their looks 
and their likes were the same as all the other kids in Trinity. 
Calder had always been very like me in both appearance and 
actions. Where Robinson and Val had the mousy brown hair 
and freckles like our mother, Calder and I had fine almost white 
hair and our skin was always milky-colored, no matter how much 
baby oil I slathered myself with or how long I baked in the sun. I 
think daddy's was like that, but I was too young when he left to 
remember much about him. I remembered him in dream-like 
memories, as a large man with a resonant voice. Mama did not 
keep any pictures of him out, and I wondered whether I might 
find one when we went through her things. I suspect Robinson
 had one, but if he did he kept it to himself. I do know, because 
mama never ceased to tell me, that Calder and I had our father's 
deep green eyes. Our looks were contradictory to say the least, 
and they served only to alienate us that much more from our peers. 
I was raised knowing that Calder and I somehow belonged to my 
father's people. That's how they refer to it in Trinity; and daddy's 
people had the Manigault bloodline pulsing through it. This made 
us both special and frightening.

I slowed the car as I approached mama's house. All the lights 
were on, every single one. Mama would've had a conniption. I 
pulled up to the curb in front of the house; I noticed my sibling's 
cars in the driveway and realized I really didn't want to see them; 
what could I say that wouldn't come out as being melodramatic 
and maudlin? I got out, unlocked the trunk and began pulling my 
old leather bags out. I heard someone shout "hello" and looked 
up in time to see my brother headed down the walk toward me. 
Other than his hair, which he grown long enough to pull back into 
a ponytail, Calder had not changed. He was as tall and broad-
shouldered as he'd been in high school, and time had not left 
any traces on his face.

"Hey you, little sister."

I let the bags fall to the ground and allowed myself to be 
enveloped in my brother's arms. It felt good to be the baby again, 
to let someone else hold me for a change. In the real world I'm 
a physical therapist, stress on the therapist. I see so many mangled 
people who need to lean on me emotionally as well as physically 
that I often go home at night completely drained. I have many 
opportunities to be the "strong one," I am good at it. Growing 
up in this town and with this mother I had to be. My daddy was 
long gone, only wrote once to let my mama know she could keep 
the house; a fine man. My brother Calder, Lord bless him, is 
nothing like my father. He is totally laid-back but he has a sense 
of loyalty to the family, which is ferocious. I don't think he ever 
got over daddy leaving us like he did. Calder has always been 
my favorite sibling, he understands me like no one else in the 
family does. Maybe it's because we're closer in age; he's only 
thirty-three. And there are a few other "traits" or "secrets" we 
share that no one else knows about or would really understand.

"Hey Bubba, how you doin'?" He may be only thirty-three, but 
he'll always be "Bubba" to me. Before I could say his name, 
before I could even say "brother," I came out with Bubba. Now 
of course it's generally a derogatory name, but not for Calder and 
me.

"Been better, been better . . .Val is here."

"Ah, I thought I saw the `Mail Truck.'" This was a joke between 
and Calder and I alone, because my sister has six children she 
delivers from activity to activity through sun, rain, or hurricane. 
God knows why, but she is always talking about having another. 
"How is she?"

"Well you know Val, falls to pieces. I don't think she's holding 
up very well."

"Hhmm. I was afraid of that. Where is she?"

"Upstairs. Aunt Louise is with her and Mrs. Dobson from next 
door. Richard's up there with her, too. They're huddled in mama's 
room."

We stood apart a bit, looking up at the big white house. Calder 
turned to me with a mischievous smile.

"How `bout you and I take a little walk?" he asked.

"They won't care?" I nodded toward the house.

"Well, I don't think they even know you've arrived. I was kind 
of keeping an eye out." He winked at me and I smiled at him.

"Always the Southern gentleman, taking care of things for your 
poor little sister!"

He grabbed my hand and pulled me along after him. We headed 
down the darkened street; we lived just far enough on the edge 
of town not to have regular streetlights, so the eerie blue from 
television sets up and down the street lighted the sidewalk. We 
walked in silence for a couple of blocks, both of us kicking and 
crunching the dead leaves along the sidewalk. Calder reached 
inside his brown leather jacket bringing out a small hand-rolled 
cigarette and offering it to me.

"How you feeling, girl?" he smiled wickedly at me.

"Calder! You really are too much! Of all days." I said as I took 
it from him.

"Trust me, you're going to need this before the night's over. 
Robbie's on his way over." He said. `Robbie' was actually 
Robinson, our eldest brother. Calder insisted on calling him 
`Robbie' just to piss him off, which was really no challenge. 
Maybe it was the generation gap, Robinson is twenty years my 
senior, or maybe it's more ingrained than that, but none of us 
kids got along with him. He was just too `good ole boy,' and 
Calder could do a perfectly evil impression of him!

He took the joint from my hand and inhaled deeply.

"Mmm." I could feel the muscles in my jaw begin to loosen for 
the first time in twenty-four hours. "Has Robinson been a perfect 
ass?" I asked. Calder nodded, still holding his breath.

"Um. So, where is she? Down at the funeral home?" I asked 
taking the cigarette away from him.

"No . . . Taylor, the death wasn't, um . . . well, natural causes." 
Calder stopped walking and took my hand. "They have to check 
everything out."

"Why?  She was unhappy woman who took advantage of the 
razor blade. It's not that surprising; she'd tried it before. She 
suffered from a chronic case of melancholy, to put it mildly. I 
mean, how many times had she threatened to do it?"

Calder shrugged and looked away. 

"Exactly; too many times to count. I'm not surprised at her death. 
I am a little surprised at how ashamed I feel. I should have known, 
or had a hint something was wrong." I began to cry. Calder put 
his arms around me, holding and shushing me. A big Lincoln town 
car pulled up along side of us. We stepped back and looked at 
the man behind the wheel: Robinson. He opened the car door 
and got out. Standing with his legs wide apart, hands on hips, 
he was like a parody of the southern patriarch.

"So, there you two are. I might've known, off enjoyin' yourselves 
while the rest of us are just tryin' to hold things together." He 
hadn't changed, obviously.

"Well, it's good to see you, too." I said.

"How long have you been in town, Taylor? You could've 
called and let somebody know." He scolded.

"She did let somebody know: me. Lay off, Robbie. I was 
just preparing Taylor for what she's about to walk into." Calder 
said.

"I bet you were. What's that smell?" Robinson looked around 
angrily.

"Probably the joint we've been sharing." I said, just to tick him 
off even more.

"Well, that's just dandy isn't it. My little sister is going to show 
up at her deceased mother's house stoned out of her mind." His 
voice taunted me.

"It's been really nice seeing you again, Robinson. Reminds me of
 why I moved away in the first place." I retorted.

"Has `Mr. Responsibility' over there told you about the inquest?" 
Robinson asked, gesturing toward Calder.

"We were just discussing that. Does this mean there has to be an 
autopsy?" I asked.

"Yes. Things were . . . just not right."

"Yeah, she killed herself." I snapped.

"You don't have to get uppity! Let's just say that there are a few 
things that don't quite add up." He said.

"Like what? Calder and I were just talking about how mama didn't 
seem any more distraught than usual, neither one of us can think of 
anything that's happened recently that would push her over the edge." 
I said.

"Yeah, in fact, she seemed happier than usual. Which in itself should 
have tipped me off." Calder said, squeezing my hand.

"Right. She seemed all right to me, too. And I saw her all the . . . 
you know . . . on a regular basis." Robinson's voice became quiet. 
I felt a sudden twinge of regret and guilt. Maybe I could've stayed 
or visited. Something.

"No, now I know what you're thinking Taylor. You gotta cut that 
out right now." Calder's voice was firm. "You paid most of the 
expenses, you called and kept in touch. You were a good daughter, 
Taylor." Calder put his arm around me and looked defiantly over 
my shoulder at Robinson. I turned my face away from them both 
as I began to cry again.

"Ah, Taylor." Calder turned me around and took hold of my 
shoulders. "You were a good daughter, you were always the best. 
If mama had had sense she would've told you that."

Even Robinson seemed contrite. "I didn't mean that I would've 
had any greater insight into her motives just because I lived in the 
same town." He said.

"Yeah, we know what you meant Robbie." Calder snapped.

"Calder, Robinson, just stop it, the both of you. I can't handle a 
duel between the two of you right now." I said.

"All I meant," Robinson began, staring belligerently at Calder, "Is 
that it just seems, I don't know, like it's wrong. Like there's 
something more here. Look I don't have anything other than a 
gut feeling, but . . . do you think mama might've had a little help 
with that razor?" 

"Jesus, Robinson! That's patently ridiculous. Why would she? 
How would she? She just wouldn't." I was so angry I was shaking 
and very nearly speechless.

"Calm down, now just calm down. I told you, I don't have any 
solid reason to believe she could've been pushed. All's I'm saying 
is . . ." Robinson's voice trailed off.

"All you're saying is that `someone' manipulated mama into killing 
herself, and we all know who the only person in town with the 
capabilities of that is. Why don't you just say it? Lucas killed 
mama. All right mastermind, why would he do that? What could 
he possibly gain?" Mama had nothing he'd want, not enough 
money, just the house, no power. And frankly, I can't see him 
being all that interested in Calder, Val, or even you. None of 
you are really the Trinity movers and shakers." I spat the words 
at him.

"Right. None of us here would interest Lucas." Robinson's 
expression turned solemn as he gazed steadily at me. My mind 
wasn't functioning fast enough. I tried to shake clear of the 
drugged fog that surrounded me. I looked back at him evenly. 
Then it struck me what he was intimating.

"I see. Me.  You think I had something to do with this."

"Not directly, no. Tell me the truth Taylor, have you talked to 
Lucas lately?" Robinson's left eyebrow rose with the question.

"Christ! No!  I swear Robinson, you are like a dog with a bone.
I was eighteen and I was na‹ve." "I had nothing that Lucas found 
anywhere else in Trinity on any given day."

"Okay, you two, that's enough." Calder stepped between us. 
"This is hard enough, let's not start casting stones."

"I'm sorry, Taylor." Robinson said. "I just, well it just seems so 
crazy."

"Well, wake up Robinson, mama was a crazy woman." I said to him 
as he dropped his gaze to the ground.

"I'm sorry Taylor, forgive me?" He was almost whispering. I was 
still too angry to forgive him.

"Look, why don't you and Calder head back to the house and I'll 
be along in a little while." I said without looking at either of them.

"Yeah, okay. Um. You're alright out here by yourself?" Angry or 
not he was still my big brother, my protector.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Y'all go on, don't tell anyone I'm here yet, okay? 
Unless they saw us or something." I said.

Calder gave me a quick hug, sneaking another joint into my hand. 
He whispered into my ear: "I can't believe you're sending me off 
with him." I smiled evilly at him. 

"I really am sorry Taylor." Robinson wasn't going to let it drop.

"I know you are, and I'll probably accept that apology when I 
calm down." I smiled slightly at him. "Off you go, now." I said, 
winking at Calder who was mouthing the words "I'll get you for 
this."

The night had gotten a bit cool; it'd be winter soon. I walked a 
little further on until I reached the schoolyard. I sat on one of the 
old red canvas swings and took the joint out, lit it and inhaled 
deeply. I began to push myself forward then back. I remembered 
this yard, these swings. I'd fallen out of one once and had almost 
broken my arm.

"I could arrest you for that." The voice came suddenly from 
behind me. A voice I'd heard over the last eight years only in 
dreams. Lucas caught the swing from behind and held me 
suspended in the air. "Looks like a full moon." He whispered 
into my ear.

"Yeah, funny that. It says in the tourist brochure that Trinity's 
known for it's full moons and stupid men." I tried to twist 
around to look at him, but he was in shadow. Typical. I heard 
him laugh softly.

"Well, yah gotta have a gimmick if you want to bring in those 
tourist dollars." He rattled the chains of the swing, but continued 
to hold me in mid-air. "I hope you weren't referring to me." I 
could feel his body against my back.

"Oh, no sheriff. I'd never say anything like that about you. I 
just had a run-in with Robinson." I confided to him.

"Ah, how is ole Robbie? Business good?" He asked.

"Why do you ask?" His questions made me suspicious.

"No reason." He said. "I heard about your mama Taylor, I'm 
real sorry."

"Uh huh, duly noted, Lucas. Let me down." I said. He let go 
of the chains and I was suddenly propelled forward in the swing. 
I held my legs out and dragged them along the uneven dirt until 
the movement slowed and I was finally still. Lucas sat in the 
swing next to me. 

"You've no reason to be angry at me." He said without looking 
at me.

"I'm not.  I just . . . It's been a long and difficult day and I think 
it's just the first of many. I'm tired." I said. I put out the joint and 
put the remainder into my pocket. I stood up abruptly, I had an 
urge to get away from him, but before I could move he was 
beside me holding onto my arm.

"What is it that you're thinking, girl?" he asked. "Has someone 
told you something I should know about?" He tightened his grip 
on my arm.

"Lucas, you know every Goddamned thing in this Goddamned 
town, you don't need me as an informant." "Now, let go of my 
arm." I said in the firmest voice possible. He ignored that and 
said instead:

"I did not hurt or cause any harm to your mama. She was a sad 
and bitter woman, but she meant well in most cases. And, 
however she did it she turned out one hell of a daughter." He 
was looking directly at me. I looked into his face. He was telling 
the truth. I don't know how it was, but I have always been able 
to tell when someone's lying to me. Falsity has a smell, it smells 
differently on each person, but the odor is always present. It 
sounds crazy, I know, but even Lucas had a scent when he 
lied. A cloying sweet smell of faded and dying flowers, I did 
not smell it now.

"Taylor, darlin', you know I'm telling you the truth." Lucas 
held my face between his hands and tilted it up to him. I 
searched his face for signs of duplicity; I breathed his smell 
in deeply. Nothing.

"Yes, I know." I said at last. "It's just something Robinson 
said . . ." I began.

"That I'd hurt your mama to get at you. Did he have some 
reason behind this brilliant deduction?" Lucas' tone became 
bitter.

"None. I shouldn't have listened to him. I told him mama had 
nothing to offer you," I said frankly, watching his eyes for a 
flicker of anger.

"Is that what you think of me? That I go around hurtin' people 
to get what I want?" He sounded almost offended.

"Oh, I know that's what you do. You don't thrust that knife in, 
but you tell them where to stick it and how hard to push. You 
ever heard of the Hidden Hand of God theory of the universe, 
Lucas? Well, except for the God part that's you and Trinity. 
Trinity is your little universe. You control things here. I'd be a 
fool not to know it."

"It didn't seem to bother you eight years ago," he smiled wickedly 
at me. "In fact, now correct me if I'm wrong, but that was part 
of my appeal." I realized he was still holding my face in his hands.

"I was eighteen, Lucas. Eighteen and I'd never been out of 
Trinity. Hell yes, that was part of the appeal. You were the 
most interesting man in the whole county. I bet you still are. 
But I'm not fooling myself into think you had any real feelings 
for me, other than arousal, that is."

"Well, that's where you're wrong." He slid his hand along my 
jawline and then up into my hair intertwining his fingers in it. "I 
always knew your worth, even before you knew it yourself. I 
could respect you without condition." He bent his head down 
to mine, kissing my lips gently. Then his kiss turned deeper and 
more insistent. I didn't even try to resist him. I returned his kiss. 
God. After eight years away and half that time in therapy it felt 
as good as it did when I was eighteen. Better. Damnit.

He slowly pulled back, resting his forehead on mine and 
looking me straight in the eye. "Welcome home, darlin'" he 
said.

"Lucas, I have just driven over five hundred miles to put my 
mama in the ground. I have to meet and greet my `fellow' 
mourners, attempt to keep my brothers from killing each other 
and try and keep my sister from losing it altogether. My mama's 
house is probably filled with people I don't even know but still 
have to be friendly to. To top it all off my eldest brother thinks 
I'm some kind of long-distance Dr. Kevorkian, not to mention 
he's going to give me hell for seeing you. Did you really think 
you could give me one good kiss, a "welcome home" and 
everything was going to pick up right where we left it eight 
years ago?  Go away Lucas, you are the last thing I need tonight." 
I pulled away from him and stood looking at him directly.

"I'm not the person you're mad at, Taylor." He said.

"I know," I answered, "But you'll do for now."

He smiled slightly, turned and started to walk away, his long 
black coat making soft rustling sounds as he moved. I'd be 
damned if I was going to stand out here in the cold and watch 
him go. I glanced up at the sky_at the beautiful full moon, 
turning around I headed up the vacant street towards the 
house. 


END OF CHAPTER ONE


CHAPTER TWO: Happy Families

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is 
unhappy in its own way."


I walked slowly back to mama's house, trying to calm myself 
down. I was sorry Robinson and I had fought, but I really hadn't 
expected it to be any different. My short-lived "relationship" with 
Lucas had inexplicably infuriated Robinson; more than even what 
was warranted from a big brother. Calder had never seemed 
upset about it. He told me he assumed I knew what I was doing 
and he left it at that. I appreciated it, when you're eighteen and 
someone assumes you know what you're doing, well; it's a miracle.

All of the lights were still burning at the house. I noticed Calder's 
tan VW bug was gone. Not surprising. You could not have paid 
me enough to ride home with Calder and Robinson in the car. 
I `d rather chew ground glass; it's less irritating. I went up the 
walk and picked up the rolled newspaper that had already been 
delivered; I hadn't realized it was so late, or early. I let myself in, 
the door was not locked, I shut the door behind me and just 
stood looking across my mama's living room. I was struck by 
how little things had changed. Mama hadn't moved a thing in 
eight years. I went through the foyer and into the living room. 
It was empty of people, but I could tell by the rise and fall of 
voices from overhead that there were still several "guests" still 
here. They were probably still hovering around Val. Someone
had brought in my bags, probably Calder, and left them at the 
foot of the stairs. I went to one opened it and got out my blue 
fuzzy slippers, they were really ratty but I just couldn't find a 
pair as comfortable. Balancing first on one leg and then on the 
other I took off my oxfords and slid my feet into the comfort of 
my slippers. I stood and surveyed the room. Cups and saucers 
from mama's best china set were scattered around the tables of 
the room, along with delicate dessert plates and the good silver. 
Mama was giving one hell of a party and she didn't even know it.

I went round the room gathering up the dishes and silver. I carried 
them into the kitchen and set them down by a bottle of Wild Turkey. 
Leave it to the Mannigault family, they really know how to give a 
great send off. After considering it a moment I got down one of 
mama's glass water tumblers from the cupboard. I opened the 
bottle and poured about three fingers of whiskey into the glass. 
I scrutinized it; then I poured two more fingers into the glass. I 
was no longer stoned, my meeting with Lucas had remedied that; 
but I was in no condition for a family reunion Trinity-style. I stood 
staring out at he blackness from the kitchen window, sipping my 
whiskey.

"You made it back." Robinson stood in the doorway.

"Yeah, it started to get cold so I decided to come back," a minor 
half-truth. "Here," I said, tossing him a tea towel. "I'll wash, you 
dry." We stood side by side at the sink. I let the hot water run into 
the sink and poured in pale green liquid soap, the foams billowing 
upwards. I washed some plates rinsed them and handed them to 
Robinson.

"Lucas didn't do anything," I said, not looking at him.

"Baby sister, I don't want to get into this again. I'm sorry I upset 
you, but you've been gone a long time. You don't know what all 
has gone on here." Robinson picked up one of the fragile bone 
china cups and began to dry it with delicate little swipes.

My head was beginning to hurt. Too much; I'd had too long to 
drive; too much drugs; too much drink; and way too much Lucas. 
I was bone-tired and I hadn't even seen my sister yet. "Robinson, 
look," I stopped washing and looked out through the window again. 
"Don't ask me how I can tell, I just can. He's telling the truth."

"You've seen him." It wasn't a question it was an accusation. 
"Taylor I do not want you near him, understand? You think you 
know him or can control him or something, but you don't know 
what you're dealing with. Lucas Buck is evil. People tend to die 
when they get too close to Lucas."


"It didn't kill me eight years ago, and I was certainly a lot more 
na‹ve than I am now. He's not the anti-Christ, Robinson. I know 
he's done bad things in the past, and I know he'll do more bad 
things in the future. Lucas always has a reason; he alone may know 
it, but there is always a reason. You know I can tell what's the truth 
in his words. He's not involved this time." I had plunged my hands 
back into the hot water and was scrubbing vigorously at a dessert 
plate.

"All right. I wasn't going to get into this, but I want to make you 
understand. Lately there seems to be a surprisingly high rate of 
suicides in this town; you might even call it epidemic proportions. 
At least four women besides mama have killed themselves in the 
past month. And there are other things Taylor. Please, promise 
you'll stay away from him." Robinson had grabbed me by my 
arm and had stressed this last request with a small but firm shake. 
I was livid; I did not allow anyone to touch me in that manner, I 
didn't care if it was my big brother out to protect me. I looked 
down at his hand and then glared up into his face.

"I think you best let go of me, Robbie." I said in an even voice. 
Robinson removed his hand and stood looking at it as if startled 
by his own actions. "We've got to set something straight right 
now. I'm not even going to get into the matter of my age with 
you, suffice it to say I have been living on my own for five years 
and I take great pains to look after myself. And as for you 
grabbing me: well, that isn't even going to be an issue, because 
you are never, ever, going to do that again. Finally, I am not 
making any promises one way or the other, I don't know the 
situation yet, and frankly you have no right to tell me who I can 
and cannot see." Robinson stood shaking his head, I wasn't sure 
if he were denying what I was saying or simply amazed at his own 
actions. I pulled the stopper out of the drain and watched as the 
dirty water swirled down the drain.

"It's been a long day, in fact, it's been a hellish couple of days. 
Robinson, let's not fight, especially now, and especially here. 
Okay?" Robinson stood still and only nodded.

"Good." I said. "Now, I'm going to go up to see Valentine."

I picked up my glass and drained it. As I walked past Robinson 
I gave his shoulder a pat, a "let bygones be bygones" gesture. 
Walking through the living room on my way to the stairs I noticed 
the funereal flowers for the first time. I bent down to read some of 
the attached cards: "With Sympathy" from the Moore's next door; 
"Our Thoughts are With You" from mama's church. One seemed 
completely out of place; a single red rose, so red it was almost 
black. "To Taylor, you need only ask." Christ, he's good, and 
persistent, I gotta give Lucas that_when he sets his mind to 
something he is the most tenacious man I have ever known. I 
didn't need this. I'm in my mama's house, ready to go up and 
face my semi-hysterical sister . . . I grabbed the card, wadded 
it into a ball, and stuck it into the pocket of my shirt. I was going 
to leave the rose, but couldn't bring myself to do it. Angry with 
myself for being so weak I grabbed the rose, vase and all and 
headed upstairs. Stopping first at my old room which after eight 
years mama had finally turned into a guestroom. I wondered 
where all my stuff went. I placed the vase on the vanity and 
turned on the antique beaded vanity lamp to the right of the 
mirror. I really, really wasn't looking forward to this. Robinson 
could be bad but Val was nigh on unbearable. I took several 
deep breaths to steel myself, turned and headed once more unto 
the fray.

As soon as I opened the door all heads turned in my direction. 
Valentine let out a sob and flung herself at me. I entered the room 
and braced myself for the collision. Val threw her arms around me 
and clutched me in a death grip. At first I could not understand 
the words she kept repeating. I pulled back from her and held 
her by the shoulders at arm's length so I could look her in the 
face.

"She's gone, Taylor. She's gone." Val chanted again and again.

I held her to me again, smoothing her hair as mama used to do. 
"I know sweetie, I know." I whispered. Richard, Val's husband, 
spoke up from his position at the bed where Val had been sitting. 
"She's been like this since she found out." The strain in his voice 
was noticeable.

"Okay, now Val, you have to pull yourself together. There's a 
lot ahead of us and you're going to make yourself sick if you 
keep at it." As I talked to her I grasped her hands in min and 
walked her back towards the bed. I turned to Richard and my 
Aunt Louise. "Has the doctor been by to see her? I think she 
needs some help here." I whispered to them so Val wouldn't 
hear and start wailing again.

"I called Dr. Matt about an hour ago, he said he'd stop by on 
his way home." Richard glanced at his watch.

"Aunt Louise? Could you maybe give_" I looked at Richard 
questioningly. "Dr. Matt Crower." He said. "Could you maybe 
give Dr. Crower another call?" I spoke directly to Val now,
"Valentine, when was the last time you had something to eat?" 
Her eyes were wild and all she could do in response was shake 
her head. I looked at both Richard and my aunt.

"She's not slept nor ate anything since she got the call, poor little 
thing." Aunt Louise answered.

Wonderful, this is all I need. Maybe the Doc would be so kind 
as to throw some drugs my way. "Well, she can't keep this up, 
she's going to collapse." Only if we're lucky, I thought. Aunt 
Louise was already speaking to someone on the phone. "He 
has? When was that" Uh huh, fifteen minutes, okay. Did he say 
if he'd be stopping by the house?" She stood listening to the 
voice on the other end of the line. "Good, all right, thanks now." 
She hung up the phone and mouthed to me "He's on his way." 
I nodded, then turned toward Val again. "Val, honey? Why 
don't we go into the bathroom and get you a glass of water 
and a cool cloth for your face? Valentine, you got to stay with 
me here, all right? Just hold on a bit longer." I helped her up, 
slipping one arm around her waist. She was still jabbering, 
most of what she said was unintelligible, but from time to time 
I'd make out a few words: "mama;" "gone;" and "blood." I got 
her into the bathroom and sat her down on a wicker chair. I 
ran the water until it was as cold as I could get it, filled a glass 
tumbler full and handed it to her. Val held it in front of her with 
both hands, like a child. 

"Take a sip of water, Val." I told her as I soaked a washcloth 
in cool water and rang it out. I knelt in front of her and began 
to wipe the cloth gently across her forehead and cheeks. She 
seemed to be calming down just a bit, she was no longer wailing 
but every few seconds she would give a loud gulping sob. She 
looked me in the eye, the wildness disappearing from her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Taylor. So sorry. I didn't know she'd do this. 
So much blood, Taylor, on the floor and carpet." Her voice 
was beginning to rise and I was afraid she would lose control 
again.

"It's all right, Val. It's over. It wasn't your fault. Now I need 
you to calm down for me." She nodded and took another sip 
of water. I called for Richard over my shoulder.

"Richard, could you come in here for a moment?" He came to 
the door and looked at me quizzically. "Val needs to get some 
food into her, I'm going to go warm up some broth for her_
would you help get her back to bed?" He nodded and came 
into the bathroom taking Val's arm. "Come on, sweetheart, let's 
go lie down."

I left the bathroom and was about to leave the bedroom when I 
heard the doorbell from downstairs. "That better be the doctor." 
I said as I headed towards the stairs. "I'll get it, you all stay here 
with her and I'll send the doctor up directly."

I hurried down the stairs and opened the front door. I was 
surprised to be greeted by a very handsome young doctor. 
Although I had not recognized the name before I was still 
expecting an elderly man, mama's doctors always seemed to 
be elderly. I realized most of them were probably dead or at 
least retired my now.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Crower, I came to see Valentine?" He stuck his 
hand out to me and I took it. We shook hands, I noticed how 
smooth his hand was and how firm a grip he had

"Hi. I'm Val's sister, Taylor, nice to meet you. Val's upstairs. 
She hasn't eaten so I thought I'd warm some broth for her. 
Would that be okay?"

"Yes." He said as he started up the stairs. "I think that might 
help a lot. I'll come down after I take care of Val, it should 
only be about fifteen or twenty minutes." I nodded at him and 
he started up.

I went into the kitchen got a can of beef broth out of the pantry, 
opened it and put it in a pan on the stove. I stood by the stove 
stirring the broth and listening to the muted voices from upstairs. 
I realized Robinson was gone and I figured he had gone home 
to his family, and to get away from Valentine's hysterics. 
Coward, I thought. I really couldn't blame him for leaving, 
though. About fifteen minutes later Richard and Dr. Crower 
came into the kitchen. I was just pouring the broth into a mug. 
I handed it to Richard.

"Thanks, Taylor. I'll take this on up to her." He turned and 
smiled at the doctor, then left.

"Can I get you a cup of tea or something?" I asked, the 
southern hospitality clicking on automatically.

He smiled. "No thanks, I really have to get home. I gave 
Valentine an injection that should calm her down and help 
her get some sleep."

"Great. I apologize for my sister. Val is a bit high-strung on 
an average day. I'm afraid she doesn't take pressure very well." 
Why the hell was I apologizing?

"It's to be expected." He said. "Losing a parent is one of the 
most painful experiences a person can endure." An expression 
of what I could only describe as despair crossed his face. "I'm 
sorry I didn't fully introduce myself, I'm Matt. You are Val's 
younger sister?" I noticed what lovely kind eyes he had. "Yes. 
Please, call me Taylor."

"You grew up here?" He asked.

"Yep, but I practically ran out of town the minute I was handed 
my diploma. I left to go to college." I answered.

"Oh, what did you get your degree in?"

"Sports medicine." I answered as I walked with him through the
 living room towards the front door. "I'm a physical therapist 
with a sports medicine clinic in Atlanta."

"I thought about pursuing that at one time, but it just didn't 
seem . . . " His voice trailed off and he grinned sheepishly at 
me.

"Exciting?" I asked, smiling at him.

"Well, let's just say it wasn't my calling. It takes a lot of 
patience and discipline. I was not in any way trying to demean 
your field." He smiled and his expression was sincere.


"It's all right, PT was the right choice for me, it's where my 
talents lie. It's very satisfying to help someone walk when they 
thought they wouldn't even stand again. I'm also not very good 
at dealing with blood." I grinned at him and shrugged.

"I'm glad I didn't offend you. Taylor, I don't want to upset you 
any further tonight, but I want you to be prepared for the 
possibility of an investigation into this. That means there may 
well be an autopsy." He looked directly into my eyes.

"Yes. Robinson and I already spoke about it. He said 
something about discrepancies? I would really like to . . . see 
her before anything is done. I can be there early tomorrow 
morning, will that be soon enough or do I need to go in tonight?" 
I asked.

"No, no, tomorrow morning is fine. I don't think anything is 
scheduled yet." A look of concern passed over his face. 
"Taylor, may I ask you something of a personal nature?" He 
seemed upset, as if he did not truly want to hear what I had to 
say.

"I guess." I replied.

"Do you know the condition your mother was found in?"

"Well, I don't know all of the details, but Robinson and Val 
found her on the floor of the downstairs bathroom with both 
wrists slit open lengthwise." I said.

"Did Robinson tell you anything else?" He asked.

"What is it you're getting at doctor?" I was beginning to tire of 
his evasiveness.

"When your mother was found she had two red roses across 
her chest." He said. An involuntary shudder ran through me, I 
thought of the single rose in its vase on the vanity. I thought of 
Lucas. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. She was found with 
roses? Is there some indication she didn't just place them there 
herself before . . ." I let my voice trail off.

"Taylor, there is some evidence that the roses were placed on 
her afterward." He said, wincing. He grew quiet and studied 
my face for a moment. "How well do you know Sheriff Buck?" 
The question surprised me; it also angered me for some reason.

"I think you'd better explain yourself before we continue this 
discussion. I do not see that my personal relationships have any 
bearing whatsoever on my mother's death." I was truly angry 
now. Matt looked uncomfortable; I got the impression that he 
didn't like confrontations.

"I'm afraid it may. Over the last couple months over five women 
have committed suicide. They had all slit their wrists and were 
found with red roses across their chests." He stopped for a 
moment, gauging my response.

"And?" I asked.

"And all five were known to be intimate friends of Sheriff 
Buck's." He finished; his voice had a hard edge to it. I couldn't 
help myself and I began to laugh. It had been just a prize-winning 
day and now this. "I'm sorry, forgive me for laughing, but if you 
are suggesting that my mama and Lucas Buck . . . no, my mother 
was not Lucas's type. Valentine, possibly on an off night when 
everyone else was busy, but mama? Absolutely not."

"And you, are you Lucas's type?" It was more of an accusation 
than a question. This had gone too far and for too long. "I think 
you'd better leave, Dr. Crower." I said through clenched teeth.

"Taylor, it's truly important or I wouldn't have brought it up. 
Robinson has told me that you and Lucas had been . . . friends. 
I was just wondering if you and Lucas were still . . ."

"I think my brother needs to learn to differentiate between my 
personal life and his own. Good night, Dr. Crower." I began to 
close the door.

"Good night, Taylor. If, by chance, you'd like to talk_you can 
reach me at the hospital." He said as he turned and headed down 
the walk. I gently closed the door and leaned against it, one hand 
covering my eyes. I didn't know what was going on, and I was 
too tired to do anything about tonight anyway. Tomorrow I would 
start asking questions, but tonight I needed a couple of aspirin 
and bed.

I climbed the stairs, leaving the lights burning in the living room. 
"If mama doesn't care, neither do I." I thought. Upstairs I listened 
at mama's door, everything was quiet within. Aunt Louise had 
probably taken over the other guestroom. I went to my old 
bedroom and shut the door. I sat on the bed and stretched out 
so most of my body was on the bed, my legs dangling over the 
edge. I closed my eyes. Memories came to me in a flood washing 
over me in waves: mama and the last time I'd seen her; Lucas; 
Lucas in this room with me. It'd been quite a pricey education, 
but I didn't regret my relationship with him. I had been young, 
too young. Not in any moral sense, but because my emotions 
were not developed fully. Being with Lucas was like being high 
on the purest form of heroin_everything was bigger than life, 
clearer and brighter than before. When he brought me to 
orgasm again and again it was as if every nerve in my body 
was overloaded and electrified. I was left disoriented and 
weak. I soon realized that this is what Lucas was like, it was 
his natural state and I revelled in it until I could not withstand 
any more. I knew I had to stop, and in order to do that I had 
to leave. It was either that or be destroyed. I never blamed 
Lucas; Lucas was Lucas, he could not change his basic nature 
or the affect he had on me_I wouldn't have wanted him to. 
So I ran. I packed up one night, said goodbye to mama and 
drove away. I didn't say goodbye to him, I don't think I 
would've been strong enough to face him then walk away. 
Besides, he knew I was leaving, he always knew everything.

I went to Atlanta and stayed with a girlfriend until I got a job 
and got into school. The dreams started that fist night. 
Dreams of Lucas making love to me, so near I could smell 
his hair, but as soon as he entered me I would wake. The 
shock of waking up alone and of realizing it was only a dream 
made me physically ill. I soon dreaded nighttime. I couldn't eat 
and when I did it would not stay down. I grew afraid to fall 
asleep; the thought of the dreams threatened me. Soon I 
could only sleep two or three hours at a time: a few at night; 
a few at mid-day; and a few in the evening. I hallucinated 
because of it. Until one day I fell asleep and had the dream, 
but this time I did not wake up. This time I had no escape and 
I did not try to find one. I spent my days and nights with Lucas. 
It was the happiest I had ever felt. When I finally did wake I was 
in the hospital; I had been unconscious for several weeks. The 
doctors told me my body would fluctuate from a death-like 
state to severe convulsions. My heart stopped beating three 
times. 

After I was well enough I was moved to a "home" to rehabilitate. 
Psychiatrists came and asked me all matter of things to try and 
make sense out of my apparent self-inflicted coma. I was 
watched round the clock, but it was all over. Lucas was out 
of my blood; I no longer had the dream. I'd gone through 
detox. I began to receive counseling while I was at the home 
and did not stop for five years. I spent three months recovering. 
The only member of my family who visited me was Calder, of 
course. Mama didn't know what to say, even less what to do. 
Val was concerned about the affect my mental health might 
have on her; and Robinson preferred to deny I had a problem. 
I was in hospital for almost three weeks and he contended I 
had no problem! Calder told me it was because Robinson 
couldn't face the thought of his being unable to help me. I 
still don't believe that, I think Robinson was punishing me for 
my time with Lucas. In his eyes I'd gotten what I deserved. 
Calder was great though, he came every weekend and brought
 me books and news of home. He never said whether Lucas 
knew I was in the state I was in - I just assumed he would 
know. 

It had been a very rough five years, but for the last three my 
life began to take shape and have meaning again. Now here 
I was, in my old room, in my mama's house, and I would 
never see her again_never feel her touch me again. My 
body ached to remember just how it felt to be held by my 
mother, but I could not - and that was the hardest thing. I 
squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could and wondered 
if the dream was about to begin again, and if so, would I be 
able to survive it this time.


END OF CHAPTER TWO


CHAPTER THREE:  "I Wake To Sleep"
"I wake to sleep and take my waking slow. 
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go"
-- Theodore Roethke


I slept fitfully, never fully asleep and never fully awake.  I did 
not have the same dream, my plague-dream, but Lucas was 
there.  Sometimes just a presence I could feel: a breath on my 
neck; someone brushing the hair back from my face; or the feel 
of his chin resting on the top of my head as he held me.  I did 
not see him and he did not speak but his presence was calming.  
These were not the dreams that sent me to the sanitarium; these 
were gentle reminders.  Lucas was not going anywhere, and I 
had no reason to fear him.  Why did I know this?  How could 
I not be afraid of him when everyone around me was terrified?  
Still, there were other aspects to the dreams that alarmed me; 
there was a presence, a "thing" that was not Lucas, and it 
watched me.  I would dream of walking through the cemetery, 
and I would hear a sound behind me: a step, twigs snapping, 
breath.  When I would turn to look behind me, I would see 
nothing but the gravestones standing mute and grey against the 
sky.  Or it would come to me as a voice in a crowd, a voice 
out of place and out of tune with all surroundings.  The worst 
part was the smell, wrapped all about me like the sheets on a 
summer night: clingy and moist.  It was a sweetish smell that 
reminded me of sickrooms I had visited.  Behind the cloying 
scent was a rancid smell, the fragrance of ruination.  It 
overpowered me, leaving me sick to my stomach and utterly 
confused.  It was not what I call a "lying" smell; this was wholly 
different and absolutely terrifying.

When I finally awoke it was just past 7:00 a.m.  The light was 
pouring in through the windows.  I'd forgotten to draw the 
curtains last night.  Outside I could hear birds singing, while 
downstairs I could hear voices in conversation.  I had been 
so exhausted I had not even undressed.  I unpacked my bag 
and changed into jeans and a T-shirt; I grabbed a sweatshirt 
as an afterthought; it would be cool out this morning with the 
onset of fall.  It was not until I was in the bathroom washing 
my face that I remembered.  I was beginning to realize that 
the worst grief, the part that seemed unbearable, is the grief 
that came unexpectedly.  It was as if my mind was trying to 
protect itself from the intensity of the pain by blotting it out 
entirely.  I woke up the last two mornings without a thought 
of mama, just as I'd done most of my life.  The force of the 
realization of such a loss slammed into me at full force, 
knocking the very air from my lungs.  It had felt as though 
I'd been reliving that day she died over and over, every 
morning; and every morning it was a fresh wound.  I was 
determined not to give into the grief, not yet.  I had some 
business to finish, and the first thing I needed to do was pay 
a friendly visit to the Sheriff's office to ask him what the hell 
was going on.

I went quickly downstairs and into the kitchen.  Richard 
and Aunt Louise were sitting at the kitchen table drinking 
coffee.  The remains of a coffeecake lay on a platter in front 
of them.

"You're up early considering how late it was when you got 
in last night," my Aunt said to me as she poured me a cup of 
coffee from the glass carafe.

"Couldn't sleep."  I answered, reaching for the sugar bowl and 
the creamer.  "Besides, there are a lot of loose ends I need to 
tie up today, and I don't know how long I'll be able to stay in 
Trinity."  How much of Trinity I could stand, is what I should 
have said.

"Well, I'm happy to help you anyway I can," Richard said.

"I might take you up on that, but a few of the things I'm going 
to have to do myself.  Still, thanks Richard."  I didn't look up 
from my coffee as I spoke.  I was hoping they wouldn't want 
any specifics.

"What's first on your agenda?"  My Aunt asked.

"The morgue," I said quietly.  I looked at her and saw her 
distress.  She was my father's sister, but she'd been as close as 
a sister to my mother.  "I want to see mama before they do an 
autopsy," I said.

"Autopsy?  What for?  It's pretty obvious what she died of, 
isn't it?"  Richard asked.  

"Robertson, Calder, and even Dr. Crower said there might be 
some inconsistencies that need to be cleared up before they 
sign-off on the death certificate," I explained.  I stood, drained 
the rest of my coffee and headed for the back door.  As I cut 
across the lawn I could hear my Aunt calling to me to come 
back for some breakfast, but I was not hungry.  Besides, I felt 
like I was running out of time.  I got into my car and headed 
to the Sheriff's office.  I had mixed emotions at seeing Lucas 
so soon.  Maybe I'd get lucky and he wouldn't be there.  Yeah, 
right.

When I arrived I parked and went into the office.  Ben, 
Lucas's deputy and unwilling partner in crime, was sitting at 
his desk.  "Good morning, Ben," I said as I walked in.

"Mornin', " he said without looking up.  I stood in front of his 
desk waiting.  

Finally, Ben put down his pen and looked up at me.  "How 
can I help y . . . Taylor?"  He smiled.

"Hi, Ben, how've you been?" I asked him.

"Taylor Mannigault, I don't believe it!  Look at you!  The last 
time I saw you was the night of your graduation, you and 
Lucas . . . " his voice trailed off.

"Yes," I answered.  "Ancient history, Ben; that was eight 
years ago.  I can hardly believe it's been that long, either," I said.

"I um, didn't mean to suggest anything - so, what are you 
doing now?  Are you still in school?"  He asked.

"No.  I graduated from Emory about three years ago.  I work 
in sports medicine," I told him.

"Huh, how about that!"  Ben exclaimed.  After a brief pause 
he asked,  "So, what exactly do you do with that kind of degree?"

"Well, I work for a sports clinic as a physical therapist." 

"I don't know why, but I always sort of expected you to study 
literature or history.  I didn't realize you had an interest in 
medicine," he said.

"I know; I thought I'd do that too!"  I laughed.  "I kind of 
stumbled into it."

"How do you like it, bet it keeps you busy," Ben asked.

"I'm really happy with it, Ben.  I seem to be good at it, and 
it's certainly satisfying," I said.  

"I'm really glad to hear that, Taylor.  I was always concerned 
about you when you up and left so suddenly.  It's good to 
know things are going so well for you, well, things outside of 
Trinity anyway."  He looked down, embarrassed as he 
remembered why I was back in town; he seemed unsure 
of what to say.  "You know my cousin's boy does the same 
thing at the High School," he said as a means of getting off 
that topic.  "He seems to like it," he continued, "And it's come 
in handy at some of our more rambunctious family get-togethers!"  
He laughed.  "Say, you don't know anything about massage do 
you?  Barry, my cousin's boy, he does that sometimes, works 
wonders," he said.

"Well, I do some therapeutic massage, yes, but I mostly 
design rehabilitative exercise programs for people with injuries."  
I said.

"Maybe you could have a look at my neck; it's so stiff I can 
barely turn my head.  Lucas has me writing up all these reports.  
I've been at this desk for hours."  He demonstrated the stiffness 
as he continued to talk.

"Sure, Ben.   "I can come round this afternoon, but right 
now . . . " I began.

"Right now Mizz Mannigault has an appointment with me."  I 
looked up to see Lucas standing behind Ben's chair; I hadn't 
heard him come in.  "I could help you with that neck, Ben."  
Lucas smiled wickedly at Ben.

Ben paled slightly and decided to ignore this comment, "An 
appointment?  I don't remember making . . ." Ben was flipping 
through the logbook.  Lucas cleared his throat and Ben looked 
up.  "Oh, yeah.  Of course, you want me to hold your calls, 
Sheriff?"  

"I don't think that'll be necessary," I said and winked at him.  
Ben smiled at me, looked at Lucas and suddenly dropped his 
attention to the papers in front of him. 

"Say, Ben?"  Lucas called to him as he headed toward his 
office, "Yeah, sheriff, was there something else you wanted 
me to do?" Ben asked. 

"As a matter a fact there is, I'm kinda hungry," he looked at me 
and asked "how bout you, you hungry?"  I shook my head no.  
He ignored me and told Ben to bring back whatever assortment 
looked good from the bakery.  Ben nodded rolled his eyes and 
gave me a rueful smile, and left.

"Mizz Mannigault, after you."  Lucas swept his arm out in a 
grand gesture toward his office.   I walked over to the scarred 
wooden chair opposite his desk and sat down.  Nothing in the 
office had changed over the last eight years.  That made it 
comfortable, but also very disturbing to me.  Lucas and I 
had often met in his office, before he ever took me to his 
house.  Lucas crossed the room and sat himself down in 
the chair behind his desk and folded his arms behind his 
head.  "You know, Ms. Mannigault, I could use a little 
massage.  I have this pain . . . " He smiled mischievously at 
me, leaning back in his chair he propped first one boot then 
the other onto the edge of the desk.   

"You're lying."  I sniffed dramatically at him.  "You're not in 
the least bit of pain."  I said.  "I could be if you wanted me 
to."  He said in a rather low growl.  I sniffed in his direction 
again and held my nose. He shrugged and smiled.  "It was 
worth a try." He shrugged.  "So, what is it that I can do for 
you this mornin', Ms. Mannigault?"  He smirked at me.

"You can tell me what the hell is going on in this town."  I 
said.  I have always hated when he played these games, and 
right now his attitude was really beginning to irk me.

"I don't know what it is you're lookin' for darlin', but you know 
I'm always happy to help."  Lucas looked over at me with 
hooded eyes, a smile played around the corners of his mouth.  

"Come on Lucas, knock off the `good ole boy' shit and give 
me some answers."  I was truly pissed now.  I was bone-tired 
from my drive back to Trinity last night, and the ensuing 
confrontations with my siblings.  No one seemed to know any 
answers, but it seemed they all had theories. 

Any hint of a smile vanished abruptly from his face and he 
glared at me.  "Maybe you should have `The Good Dr. Crower' 
give you something for those nerves, Mizz Mannigault. You 
certainly seem to have gotten your panties all in a twist `bout 
something," he looked at me, amused by my anger.

"Stop calling me that.  You know how much it pisses me off," 
I seethed.  "Goddamnit Lucas, something funny is going on 
about Mama's death; and I need to know if you're involved."  
I'd had enough.  I felt the desperation in me rising to the surface.  
What I really wanted was to have Mama back, but since that 
wasn't going to happen I wanted answers.  I needed answers, 
and Lucas was playing games.  At this point my voice had risen, 
and I was nearly screeching at him, and tears had begun to run 
down my face.  This only made me angrier, and I rubbed at 
them visciously.  Lucas still sat in his chair but he was no longer 
amused. His smile had completely disappeared.  "Please Lucas, 
I'm begging you, just tell me what happened."

"Darlin', don't you think I'd tell you if I could?  Besides, you'd 
just `sniff' it out of me if I didn't.  I think you're right.  I think 
something is goin' on, but at this point in time I have no idea 
what that something is."  He sat looking at me, nonplussed. 
Shrugging his shoulders as if to say, "Your guess is as good at 
mine," he gave me a studied look.  "Taylor, what got you started 
on this?  Did something happen?"  He asked.  "Whatever it is 
you know you can always come to me for help; all you have to 
do is ask."  Suddenly my skin crawled; those were the same 
words on the card I'd found, the card that went with the single 
blood-red rose.  Before I realized it I found myself backing 
away from him.  Now he knew something was truly wrong.  
No matter what had happened between us, I'd never felt afraid 
of him.  I had never retreated from him.

"Girl, will you just tell me what's goin' on in that head of yours?  
I've already told you I didn't have anything to do with your 
Mama's death."  Lucas got up and strode toward me; as he 
did I could detect a very slight aroma of moldering flowers.  The 
fragrance of lies. 

"Well, Robinson thinks you did, and now I find out that Matt 
Crower does, too."  It was my turn to shrug my shoulders at 
him.  "You tell me.  Who should I believe, Sheriff?"

"You said yourself I wasn't lying the other night, so why do 
you think I am now?"  He drawled.

"Roses," I replied simply.  Then I saw something I'd never 
thought possible; I saw a glimpse of fear on Lucas' face.  I 
had never seen Lucas Buck visibly upset, until now.  Oh, it 
wouldn't be noticeable to a stranger, the eyes widen a bit; the 
pupils contract; his lips are pressed tightly together.  This lasted 
for only a moment until he regained his control and his features 
became even once again, but just witnessing it now made me 
sick to my stomach.  Whatever he knew must be unbelievably 
bad if it scared Lucas, even if it was only for an instant.  Seeing 
him experience such a basic emotion as fear made him seem 
merely human, and that scared me.  He'd been my protector 
and defender all the years I was growing up. I did not want to 
accept any sign of weakness in him.

"Roses make you think I'm lying?"  Lucas asked incredulously.

"Yeah."  I gave him a measured look.

"Not much to go on, is it darlin'?  Why don't you tell me how 
roses remind you of me," he asked with feigned indifference.

"Well," I began, "let's start with the rose you left at Mama's 
house.  The rose that had a card attached that read `To Taylor; 
you only need ask.' Sound familiar?"  

"No. I did not leave anything for you at your Mama's house.  
Hell, I haven't even been near there since you moved away."  
I gave an obvious sniff in his direction, sure I would smell the 
ever-increasing sweet smell, but I didn't.  I didn't smell anything 
at all, and this surprised me.  I had expected some kind of 
flirtatious and flippant remark, or at least a condescending retort.

"Okay then, you tell me who would send me a single long-
stemmed wine-red rose with that message attached?"  I glared 
at him waiting, and wishing, for a logical answer.

"Just the one rose?  There was just the one?" He asked 
suspiciously.

"Yes, just the one.  Jesus, Lucas you're starting to scare me.  
What is it?   The rose, it's connected to the other ones isn't it?"  
I asked.

"You know about the other roses?" He seemed both surprised 
and displeased by this news. "Your Mama was found with roses, 
too?"  His face hardened as he asked the question.  I could see 
the muscles in his jaw jumping from the tension in them.

"How is it connected, huh?  There seems to have been a run at 
the florist's shop for long stemmed roses.  Why would that be 
do you think?"  My voice hardened in anger and frustration.  
"Lucas you have to tell me, why was she killed?  Why did she 
die?"  I was trying hard to keep myself together, but my voice 
was quavering and rising in pitch, belying my lack of composure.

Lucas stood up abruptly, grabbed his coat from its hook and 
headed for the door.

"Lucas, Goddamnit answer me!" I screamed after him.  
Without turning around he said, "Come on, we're goin' for a 
ride."   As he reached the front door Ben came in carrying a 
greasy looking bakery box.  "Ben, if anybody calls make sure 
you take a message, got that?"

"Well sure, Lucas, don't I always?"  Ben looked at me 
questioningly, and I shrugged back at him.  He gave me an 
avuncular look, taking in my tear-streaked face.  I followed 
Lucas outside stopping in front of the station.  He went straight 
to the Crown Vic and got in.  He lowered the window and 
told me to get in the car.

"No," I answered, remembering all too well how our `rides' 
used to end up.  "I don't think so," I said.  "I am in no mood 
to be taken for one of your little `rides'."

He glowered at me.  "Taylor, stop being a pain in the ass 
and get in the car."  He obviously did not have that type of 
ride in mind.

"Look," I said, "You haven't answered even one of my 
questions; I am not going anywhere with you until you at least 
tell me where we're going."  I stood and crossed my arms over 
my chest, unrelenting.

Lucas made a sound of consternation.  "Ms. Mannigault you 
are the most infuriating woman I have yet to meet, and I have 
met more than my share." He said.

"And you've screwed every one of them," I retorted.

Suddenly he got out of the car, leaving the door open, grabbed 
me roughly by the arm and hauled me over to the passenger side.  
He then said calmly, "Yes, the rose means something, but I'll be 
damned if I know what it is.  And for the last time, no I do not 
know who it was who did this to your Mama; as to why it was 
done, I might have an idea."

"You might have an idea?" I jeered at him.  "What exactly does 
that mean, Lucas?  Other than the fact that three or four of 
your intimate female friends have shown up dead with the same 
kind of roses with them.  What I'd like to know from you is why 
it happened to Mama."

"Damn it Taylor!  This is the last time I'm going to tell you; I did 
not hurt her."  His voice was low and modulated.  He was then 
very quiet and looked me unflinchingly in the eye.  "However, I'm 
beginning to believe it's got something to do with me."  His voice 
was subdued and even.  I realized then that he was telling me the 
only truth he knew.

"I can see the connection between the other women, all personal 
friends of yours," I said indignantly.

"Yes, I caught that little correlation myself," he sardonically replied.

"Well then, how does Mama fit into this?  And please, please 
tell me you were not making `house calls' to my mother." 

"Taylor," he sighed, "Give me a little credit; I'm not screwing 
all the women in this town."  

"Not for lack of trying I'm sure."  I looked him fiercely in the eye 
as I said this.  

My vehemence caught him off guard, and he whirled around to 
face me, eyes flashing. He was about to manufacture some sort 
of wounded pride, and then he realized that probably wouldn't 
fly with me.  Instead he said, "Regardless of what you think I do 
have some standards, and one of them is that I would never 
touch your mother.  Believe it or not the thought just seems 
wrong."  

I snorted at this and laughed, "Lucas Buck finds his single shred 
of moral fiber."  

He gave me a withering look.  "Are you through insulting me 
now?"  I saw that I had pushed too far and I nodded sullenly.  
"Good, then get in the Goddamned car. We're going to go see 
your Mama.

This last bit of news took the breath out of me; I was not 
expecting it.  I felt suddenly very exposed, vulnerable, and 
tired.  I slid onto the seat without a word.  Lucas slammed the 
car door, came round to the other side and got in.  I stared at 
him dispiritedly.  He looked at me with apprehension and 
brushed the hair back out of my eyes.  I wondered who he was 
more worried about, him or me?

Lucas started the engine and we pulled out onto the main 
avenue leading to the Fulton County Hospital.  My head had 
begun to hurt and my eyes stung from past tears and lack of 
sleep.  Maybe when this nightmare was over I could go to 
the coast somewhere and just sleep for six or seven days. 
Or maybe I could get my old bed back at the Sanitarium.

It was a short drive to the hospital and we made the trip in 
complete silence, each wrapped up in our own dissentience.  
He turned into the hospital parking lot, swinging the car into 
one of the reserved spaces and cut the engine.    I glanced 
over at him and caught a look of consternation on his face.  
One thing Lucas Buck could not stand was lack of control, 
and he definitely had no clue how to take this problem in 
hand.  He saw me looking at him.  "What?" He asked testily. 
The look on his face made me was so blatantly discomfited; 
he seemed so caught out I had to smile. It was all so surreal; 
Mama dead, possibly murdered, and now me back in Lucas' 
car just like old times.  I felt a rising hysteria and tried to 
control it, but I was unable to hold it in.  I began to giggle.  
Lucas looked at me warily; I couldn't really blame him.  I'd 
just been through a whole year's worth of emotions in the last 
half-hour, add that to my history of `psychological instability', 
and it did give one pause.

I finally stopped giggling, but couldn't help but smile at him.  
Sometimes I think the only reason Lucas has never harmed 
me is because he can't quite figure out the best way to do it.  
However, once I smiled at him the tension between us melted, 
and he smiled back at me.  "You find something funny, girl?"  
He asked.  I think we were both glad to have the chance for 
a break before we had to go face Mama's death.  He gave 
me another slight smile.  Looking at each other, the respite 
over, we both turned quiet.  I was sure we were thinking the 
same thing: Who, of the many possible people, would do 
something like these killings and attempt to make Lucas look 
responsible for them?

"Well, here we are, let's get this over."  I said.  I didn't move.

"I could take you back to the station and we could split an 
‚clair, I know how much you like that nice creamy part in 
the middle," He offered.

"I'm afraid I'll have to miss that very special opportunity."  I 
said, frowning at him.  "Dr. Crower said they wouldn't 
proceed with the autopsy until I'd seen her."  I looked at the 
floorboard of the car, trying my hardest not to cry.  Lucas 
slipped his arm around my shoulders.  Gently he turned me 
around and gathered me to him.  That's what most people 
will never know about him.  Lucas has this side that he never 
shows.  Maybe I'm lucky.  Maybe I'm the only one who sees 
this in him.  Selena had just laughed when I'd mentioned Lucas 
having a softer side.  She said: "Honey, I didn't realize Lucas 
possessed anything that wasn't hard."  I'd chosen not to think 
about what she'd meant by that.  Besides their relationship was 
so twisted I had no idea what it was all about.  I really didn't 
want to know.  All I know is that when Lucas comes at me 
like this I feel closer to him than I've ever felt to anyone, even 
Calder, and that's saying a lot.  It didn't feel like a lover's 
embrace, more like that of a father's; yet it wasn't that either.  
It made me feel as if I was like him, the same type of creature, 
human and yet not human.  I clung to him then.  I would never 
feel my Mama's arms around me like this, and I had to take 
the comfort where I could find it."What are you doin' this 
evening?"  He asked quietly.

"You're not going to try and put a move on me and ruin this 
moment for me, are you?"  

He laughed.  "No," he said, "although I could if you want me 
to.  I was just askin', you know, just being neighborly." As he 
said this he held my head against his chest.  I felt the softness 
of his suede vest on my cheek, and I smelled his wonderfully 
familiar spicy smell, like opening the spice cupboard, all of the 
scents blended together.

"I'm not sure yet."  I answered.  "I think Calder and I are 
going to get together."

"That's a good plan, I've always thought you and Calder 
should get together."  He said.  Surprised, I looked up into 
his face to see if he were joking; he wasn't.

"Uh, Lucas, he's my brother.  I don't think that would go over 
very well, even here in Trinity."

"Maybe not.  That doesn't mean it's not a good idea."

"You've lived here too long if incest is beginning to appeal to 
you."  I said as I pulled away from him.  I looked him straight 
in the eye, "I've always heard the whispers about you and 
Selena; I never gave it any credence.  Should I have?"

"What kind of answer would you like to that very personal 
question you just asked me?  Do you want me to say `yes'?"  
He looked down at me; he was smirking yet I could tell he 
was also being quite serious.

"I really don't want an answer, thanks."  I said, and sat back.  
I grabbed my leather bag from the floor, and started to open 
the door.  Lucas opened his as well, but before we got out he 
said, "Taylor, if I find out anything about who did this to your 
Mama you know I'll tell you."  He'd grabbed my arm and was 
holding me there.

"Yeah, I know Lucas, thanks."  I said.  I needed to get out of 
there, away from him and especially away from what he'd 
been intimating.  He pulled me to him and kissed me hard.  
"You know you'll always be my girl, don't you darlin'?" He 
asked without a smile.  He'd said this in the past, but it never 
sounded like the threat that it did now.

"Yes."  I answered.  "I realize that."

END OF CHAPTER THREE


CHAPTER FOUR:  THUS SHE SPOKE
	
 " . . . And I longed to embrace my dead mother's ghost.
Thrice I tried to clasp her image, and thrice it slipped through 
my hands, like a shadow like a dream"
-- Homer


As we neared the hospital entrance Lucas strode ahead of me 
and held open the door.  I stopped and looked at him and sighed.  
"Why don't you let me do this by myself, Lucas.  Don't you have 
some lead to follow up on?" I asked him.

He glowered at me; "This is a lead I'm following up on."

"I really don't want you with me when I say goodbye to Mama," 
I said.

"I know, darlin', and I'm sorry; but this concerns me, too.  I might 
be able to get some answers from your Mama; if so, I might be 
able to get to the bottom of this whole thing."  He held my hand 
his voice becoming mellifluous and muted; he was trying to calm 
me, but what he'd just said had only made me angry.  He wasn't 
here for me.  He was here to save himself and he wanted to use 
me as a means to this end.  I was so entirely disappointed in him, 
even though it was my own fault for trusting him and assuming 
simple altruistic motivations.

Lucas had allowed the door to swing shut and the two of us 
stood outside the entrance.  The morning was more than a little 
chilly, and I shivered as the cold seeped through my sweatshirt.  
I looked across the parking lot and watched as a young girl pushed 
a wheelchair with an elderly woman seated in it.  My eyes teared 
up and I turned my attention to the cars passing by the hospital.  
I didn't want Lucas to see me cry so I avoided his eyes, although 
he probably already knew.  Blinking away tears I stared down at 
my feet.  I bit the inside of my lips hard to help me maintain my 
control.  Finally I said, "Dr. Crower had wanted to do the autopsy 
last night, but I asked him to wait.  I wanted . . . I needed to . . ." 
My voice broke as I tried to stammer out the words.  "I needed to 
see her one last time before they . . ." I couldn't finish, my throat 
closed up leaving me with the sensation of choking.  I dug my 
fingernails into my free hand as hard as I could; I was not going 
to cry in front of Lucas.  I'd learned not to give Lucas anything 
he might later be able to use against me.

Lucas squeezed my hand.  "It's all right, darlin', that's a perfectly 
natural request from a daughter who's just lost her Mama," he said.  
"I have to tell you though, Taylor, I'm beginning to think that if we 
don't hurry and come up with some answers fast not only will 
there be more deaths but a communal call for my head on a 
platter."  I noticed it then; his words were perfumed with deception.  
I didn't know what he was lying about.  It could be many things: 
Maybe he did not care about my particular grief; perhaps he knew 
more than he was letting on to me, or he might just have an idea 
why my mother died.  I only knew he was betraying me, and I 
needed to be careful.  Lucas had lost his persona of Comforter 
and I saw his obsession with these deaths, deaths he had not 
directly caused and could not stop.  His temporary role as my 
paternal protector had been dropped and forgotten.  Now I saw 
nothing but his frustration and his need for self-preservation.  I'd 
been duped, again.  One thing I thought I'd learned, and learned 
the hard way, was that Lucas is a solely self-absorbed creature; 
he can't help it.  Still, knowing something to be true and accepting 
that fact did not always go hand in hand.  How could I still allow 
myself to be so easily led?

"Why should her death concern you, Lucas?"  I could not hide 
the hostility in my voice or manner.  I was determined to make 
him pay for making me feel so used. "Unexplained deaths have 
rarely concerned you in the past, what makes these women any 
different from any of the others you've watched die?"  I knew I 
should tread lightly here, but in my rage and grief I was unable to 
do so.

Lucas' eyes flashed with anger, but only briefly.  He fixed me with 
an unwavering stare.  "It matters because they were important to 
me, they weren't all what you might call 'friends' exactly, but they 
were all loyal to me."  I noticed his emphasis on 'they', an obvious 
chastisement for my questioning him. I was too tired to rise to the 
bait; I just looked at him vacantly.  Realizing I'd received his 
"message" Lucas' manner once again became ingratiating.  

"That's why your mother's death concerns me, Taylor." He said 
quietly as he reached for my hand once more.  "There must be a 
reason she died, but hell if I know what it is."  This much was true, 
an odorless statement. It's funny, I've never known why I have the 
extra *sense* that I possess.  Over the years I learned that it really 
didn't matter why I had it; the important thing was that I did have it 
and it protected me well from most people.  With Lucas it gave me 
only a slight edge, making it only a little harder to be taken in by him.

We stood together in the unadorned hallway of the hospital, its 
dingy walls casting a greyish-green pallor on us.  Lucas gave my 
hand a squeeze then asked softly, "Are you ready to do this?"

"Not really, no."  I answered frankly.  "But let's get this over with,"  
I said as we headed for the stairway that led down to the morgue.  
The morgue was situated in the basement, where I imagine most 
are located.  Out of sight of the patients who need no reminders 
of the tenuousness of this life.  Once downstairs we walked along 
a dimly lit hallway that was discolored and streaky from the 
moisture seeping in from outside.  At the end of the hallway was 
a set of double doors labeled "Morgue: Hospital Personnel Only."  
The doors had small circular windows paned with frosted nearly 
opaque glass.  The windows glowed a milky white from the 
fluorescent lights in the room beyond.

"I told Dr. Crower I'd be by this morning.  I think I should let him 
know that I'm here to see Mama."  I said.

"Now why should you want to do that?   You sure have become 
fast friends with our 'good doctor.' Is he goin' to come hold your 
hand, or is he a long lost member of the family I don't know about?"  
He sneered as he spoke.  "You just remember who your real friends 
are, darlin.'" 

"What's the matter Lucas?  Is Dr. Matt giving you some competition 
with the females?"  I jeered at him.  In a movement so fast I did not 
even see him move, Lucas stepped in front of me and grabbed me 
hard by the shoulders.

"Since you haven't been around Trinity for a while and seeing that 
you're here only to bury your Mama, I'm goin' to forget you said 
that, this time.  I don't find anything about the "good" doctor 
amusing, and I don't like to think you've been passing time with 
him; people might start to have the wrong idea about you."  I 
laughed bitterly at him.  "I don't see how the could, since my 
reputation was up for public speculation eight years ago when 
I first accepted a ride home with you."  We'd both pulled the 
gloves off now and were about to do some serious damage to 
each other, and I had to wonder why.  I tried to shrug him off, 
but he only tightened his grip.

"You're hurting me," I said.

"And I thought you liked that," he smiled wickedly at me.  Just 
then the door opened behind me and I heard Dr. Crower's voice.  
"Taylor, is everything alright?"  He came forward and stood beside 
me never once taking his eyes off Lucas.

"We're just having a private little conversation here, Harvard," 
Lucas answered curtly.  "I'll call you if you're needed, but I think 
I can handle her without you.  Isn't that right Ms. Mannigault?"  
His fingers dug deeply into my forearms.

"Actually, Matt, we've finished our discussion.  I'd like to see my 
mother now, if that's alright?"  I looked Lucas directly in the eye, 
defying him.

"Certainly," Matt said.  He reached his arm between Lucas and I 
and lightly clasped my arm just above the point where Lucas 
gripped it.  He had successfully brought himself between us, 
separating us and thus putting an end to further discussion.  Lucas 
let go of me and I rubbed my arm where he'd held it; there were 
several gouges where his fingernails had sunk in.  He said, "Sure, 
run along with Dr. Matt, Taylor.  I'll be out in the car, waiting."  
He flashed me a menacing look meant, I'm sure, to wither my 
spirit.  He gave Matt a frosty tight-lipped smile, turned on his heel 
and walked away.  He was whistling that damned Andy Griffith 
theme.

"What was that all about?" Matt asked.

"You, I think," I answered frankly as I walked through the door.  
I found myself in the office of the morgue.  There were two doors 
leading out of the room.  One was marked "Personnel Only," 
and the other was marked "Viewing Room."  I looked at Matt, 
then towards that door and then back at him.  He nodded.

"Before you go in let me tell you what will happen.  The viewing 
room is rather small, but it has a couple of chairs in it.  There is a 
large plate-glass window separating you from the body.  I'm 
afraid I can't let you touch her at this point; there could be 
evidence," he stood and looked questioningly at me.

"Fine," I said.  "I'm ready."  I went through the door and stood 
in front of the viewing window.  Matt came in and stood beside 
me.  He pressed an intercom button.  "Go ahead," he said.  
Behind the glass the curtains parted and there was a gurney 
with a body on it.  It was completely covered with a sheet.  
An attendant came forward and stood behind the gurney; he 
looked at me and I nodded.  He pulled the sheet down to reveal 
my Mama's face.  Her eyes were closed and her skin appeared 
ashen and waxy.  I stood with my face pressed against the 
window, all the thoughts and memories swirling like a maelstrom 
in my mind.  Suddenly I felt very hot, and I began to detect the 
same sickroom smell from my dream.  "This was a mistake," I 
thought to myself as the room swirled around me.  All of a 
sudden Mama's eyes opened wide and she fixed me with a 
wild-eyed and pleading gaze.  I felt bile rise in my throat as she 
opened and shut her mouth attempting to speak.  The cloying 
odor was overpowering; I felt nauseous and disoriented.  I 
glanced over at Matt, but his look was expressionless as he 
stared through the window.  He was oblivious to the nightmare 
unfolding in front of me.  I turned back to her only to find her 
sitting straight up and staring at me.  She said my name.  

"Mama?" I whispered.

"Taylor, not to forget-To die for Lucas-not me."  She said the 
words plainly to me.  She reached her arms out towards me, 
blood dripped from the slits up her arms.  Tears fell from her 
colorless eyes as she placed one hand upon the windowpane, 
and as she did this I saw drops of blood bead up on the window 
and begin rolling slowly down the glass.  That was the last thing I 
saw as the blackness descended over me and I began to choke 
on the sweet death smell filling the small room.

When I awoke I found myself in a strange hospital room.  I was 
lying on top of the bed fully clothed.  Lucas was scowling down 
at me; he had my hand clenched in his own.  As I became more 
aware, I saw Matt standing behind Lucas; he was visibly shaken.

"Hey, darlin,'" Lucas drawled, "You gave Harvard here quite a 
scare."  He squeezed my hand and I returned the pressure.

"You must have hyperventilated and passed out.  I shouldn't have 
allowed this; it was too much for you," Matt said.

"Is that what happened Taylor?" Lucas asked.  I could see he 
suspected something more.  I shook my head slowly.

"What, then?  It's alright to tell me, Taylor."  I knew instinctively 
that Lucas was my protection against whatever had occurred in 
the morgue.  I realized Lucas might lie by omission, he may even 
habitually lie, but when it came to my basic welfare he did not.  
It had always been that way with us; I think that is the reason I 
am able to forgive his actions when others could not.

"The smell, Lucas, it was everywhere; I couldn't stand it."  Tears 
were running down my cheeks now, but I didn't care.

"What did you smell?" He asked insistently.

"It was incense and something else, a rotting thing.  The sweetness 
almost masking the smell of decay, but not quite completely.  
And Lucas," I continued, "She looked at me.  Mama sat up 
and stared right at me.   She tried to reach out for me, but there 
was the window between us.  She was bleeding; oh God Lucas, 
her arms were flayed open."  I began to sob convulsively and 
Lucas took me in his arms and rocked me like a child. "What 
else, Taylor?" He asked.  "She spoke to me," I cried.  Matt 
moved towards the bed.

"Taylor, you've had a bad shock.  I think you should rest now.  
Lucas, I think you'd better leave," he said placing a firm hand on 
Lucas' shoulder.  I saw a look of unbridled anger play across 
Lucas' face.  I saw his eyes narrow and I felt his entire body 
stiffen. I wondered if Matt realized how dangerous it could be 
to touch Lucas without permission.  Surely he must be aware 
of Lucas' dislike for him.  Buck hardly tolerated being handled 
by what he referred disparagingly as 'his public,' but he never 
voluntarily allowed anyone he truly disliked touching him.  Once 
I'd seen Gage Temple grab Lucas by the arm while trying to 
make a point.  Before I realized what had happened Gage was 
across the room lying on the floor.  I never did know whether 
Lucas threw him there or if Gage had simply sprung away from 
his attacker; but the anger that I'd seen possess Lucas enveloped 
him completely.  For whatever reason Lucas was about to turn 
and strike out at Matt.

"Don't!" I yelled.

Lucas' eyes turned on me and I was sure he would hit me 
instead, but he quickly looked back at Matt and narrowed his 
eyes to slits.  "Consider yourself lucky, Harvard," he whispered 
gruffly at him then returned his attention to me.  "What did your 
Mama tell you, Taylor?"

"Sheriff, can't you see Ms. Mannigault needs some rest?  Now 
I think you had better go," Matt stated in a firm tone.

"No," I said again, this time I held onto Lucas' arm.  "Lucas, do it.  
Do whatever it takes with the autopsy or anything else. You just 
have to make it stop," I begged him.

"What is it that she said?  Taylor, I have to know if I'm going to 
do anything about it."  Lucas said as he stroked my cheek gently 
with the back of his hand.  His tone made it clear he needed to 
know everything, that I could not hide anything from him.

"She told me not to forget.  Then she said, 'to die for Lucas.'  
What does that mean?"  I looked beseechingly at him.

"Damnit," he said.  "Well, darlin, it just means I have to go see 
some people and take care of a few things." Lucas stood up.  
"Taylor, I'll be by the house later to see you.  Don't go running 
off by yourself, you hear?  I mean it, Taylor.  If we both aren't 
careful you could easily be down in the basement with your 
mother."

"Gee, Lucas, do you think you could maybe come up with 
some more words of comfort to scare her out of her wits?"  
Matt said harshly, exasperation showing on his face.

"She needs to be afraid. That's the only way I can count on her 
to be careful," Lucas replied.  "Now, doctor you heard the lady; 
she wants the autopsy done right away.  So do it,"  he said as 
he stormed out of the room.

"Jesus," Matt said as he looked at me, his eyes wide.  Just then 
I felt blood running from my nose.  

"Here," he said as he handed me some tissues.  My nose did 
not stop bleeding for an hour.  I had never had a nosebleed in 
my life and I knew it was somehow connected to the odor that 
had permeated the viewing room.  Matt was just as sure it was 
nerves.  I asked him to drive me home so I could rest, so he did.
 
Matt pulled into my mother's driveway behind Robinson's blue 
minivan.  He turned off the engine and we both sat in silence.  
Finally he said, "I'm not going to pretend to understand what 
happened at the hospital.  I just hope you're okay now."

"Matt, I don't even know what happened to me.  I've had 
similar episodes when I've been overwhelmed by a smell or 
sometimes a flash of a picture, but it has never been this strong," 
I told him.  "I'd appreciate it if you would keep this incident to 
yourself as much as possible.  I don't want to upset my siblings."

"Of course," he answered.  "But Taylor, if Lucas is involved 
you could well be in a lot of danger.  He isn't a man to be trusted," 
he said as he turned to look at me.

"Matt, I don't know what has passed between the two of you, 
and frankly I don't care to know.  However, I want you to 
know that Lucas and I are friends.  I don't expect you to 
understand, but I do trust him.  I would know if he lied to me."  
Matt was looking at me cynically.  I opened the car door.  "Like 
I said, I don't expect you to understand.  Thank you for the ride.  
And Matt?" I stopped and looked in at him through the open 
window, "Thanks for your concern; I really do appreciate it."  
I smiled at him and he smiled back at me.

"Taylor, uh, I'll call this evening to see how things are going, 
okay?"

"That would be great, I'll talk to you tonight then," I waved and 
headed for the door to the house.

The door was unlocked so I went inside.  "Hey, Taylor," 
Robinson greeted me.  I could see by his look he was hoping 
for a truce.  "Hey, back," I said.  I went over to him and gave 
him a quick hug, then sat down on the davenport.

"So, where were you off to so early this morning?  Wasn't that 
Matt Crower who dropped you off?  What happened to your 
car?"  He came and sat in a chair across from me.

"Yes," I replied.  "That was Matt; he gave me a ride because 
my battery died.  I'm having it replaced, I'll pick it up later."  I 
was hoping the car story would circumnavigate Robinson away 
from his first question.

"I could've given you a jump-start," he said.

"I'm afraid the battery was too far gone for that.  What's up 
here?  How's Val this morning?"

"She's alright; Doc Crower gave her a prescription for a 
sedative, so she's been pretty quiet today."  He sat back, 
pulled a cheroot out of his jacket pocket and lit it.  We sat 
together in uneasy silence.  I knew he was keeping some sort 
of information from me, and I was sure the only way I would 
help Lucas was to get as much information as possible.  I 
decided to utilize the element of surprise.  

"Robinson, did Mama really seem normal to you; you know, 
before she did what she did?  Did she talk about anyone or 
anything in particular?" I would have to tread very lightly in this 
area.

He inhaled deeply of the cheroot smoke, squinting at me through 
the haze.  Exhaling slowly he scrutinized my face, trying to figure 
out what I was after.  "Not that I can recall she didn't," he said.  
"Did someone tell you differently?"

"No.  I was just wondering what Mama was thinking, what her 
mindset was at the time," I replied.

Robinson relaxed a bit; he must have decided I didn't know 
anything.  "Well," he said, "She seemed truly happy, actually.  
Now, that is kind of odd isn't?" He said.  I could see him mulling 
something over in his mind.  "I guess she wasn't really herself then, 
was she?" He asked bitterly.  I felt a bit of blood at my nose 
and surreptitiously dabbed it away; I didn't want Robinson to 
start asking questions that would lead to what had occurred 
at the hospital.  "Yeah," I answered, "You'd think she would 
seem depressed or down," I said, even though I knew that 
when most people decide to commit suicide they often seem 
happy or relieved.

"Actually," Robinson drawled, "Mama had gone on some sort 
of 'self-forgiveness-inner-child' kick recently."  That's my brother 
to the core, empathetic to a fault.  He never understood what 
had happened to me when I was hospitalized; he seemed to 
think I could've stopped it at any time.  I think he actually 
believed I enjoyed the attention.  It wasn't surprising then that 
Robinson didn't know what Mama had been feeling.  Robinson 
didn't deal with feelings.  I might just as well ask the cat; I'd 
probably get a better answer.  I decided to drop my bombshell 
on him, just to see what I might shake loose.

"Robinson," I said in a steady voice, "Were there roses found 
with Mama?"

Robinson turned red, I was unsure whether he was angry or 
just embarrassed.  He stubbed out the cigar in one of Mama's 
ornamental plates.  "Did your good friend Lucas tell you that?"  
Angry, he was definitely angry.

"No," I started, "Actually, Matt told me about it.  Why would 
you think Lucas would say something to me?" I asked innocently.

"Why else?" He snapped, "To cover his ass as usual."

I was the angry one now.  "What I'd like to know is why you 
didn't say anything about it.  It's not like that's an ordinary little 
detail, is it?"

Robinson's face deepened to a dark crimson, and he was 
gripping the arms of the chair tightly.  "Well, I figured you'd 
just take his side and make up some sort of alibi for him.  He 
probably couldn't wait for you to come back so he could wrap 
you around his pinky again so he'd have another ally."  He was 
yelling at this point, his voice booming and echoing through the 
empty house.  I'd had it with him.  I stood up and headed for 
the door.  Then it dawned on me; Robinson had known all 
about this, all of the circumstances and suspicions, and he'd 
kept it all from me.  I spun around to face him.

"You asshole, Robinson; you knew!  You had all of these 
suspicions and yet you left me alone with Lucas anyway.  
You had to have known he'd come see me.  What if you had 
been right and Lucas had murdered Mama; didn't it occur to 
you that he might actually do me some harm?  I can't believe 
you.  I know you've never liked him, but why are you so angry 
with me?" I shouted at him.

"It's been so easy for you, hasn't it?" He hissed.  "You just 
traipse around this town sleepin' with the sheriff, doing anything 
you please.  Don't you know what everybody was sayin' about 
you?  Don't you care that Lucas made you just one more of his 
whores?" Robinson stood and strode toward me.  I was filled 
with a rage like nothing I'd ever felt.

"Is this the little story you told Matt?  Robbie, I suggest you 
keep your fucking mouth shut about my life.  You have no idea 
what my relationship with Lucas was like, and if you're thinking 
that I came out of it unscathed you are sorely mistaken.  What 
do you think those months in the hospital were for?  Do you 
suppose I've been living some sort of charmed life these last 
eight years?  I hate to burst your bubble here, Robbie, but 
things have not been all that great for me."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to live with all the whispers," he 
retorted.

"What whispers?  Besides the ones you were passing through 
the neighborhood that I was the town tramp?"  I screamed at 
him.

"That you were pregnant with Lucas' bastard!  And that you 
went to 'college' in Atlanta so you could conveniently get rid 
of it," he hurled the words at me as if they were stones.

I was stunned.  "Is that what you believe?  Robinson, truly?  
Christ, you don't know me at all then."  I turned and went out 
the front door, Robinson following close on my heels.

"Well, aren't you goin' to deny it?  Aren't you goin' to tell me 
some sob story?"  He had lost control and seized my arm, 
wheeling me around to face him.

"Would it matter what I said?  You've already written the 
story; your mind is made up.  I very much doubt any denial 
I could make would make a difference," I said through clenched 
teeth.  At that moment I lost total control and bunched up my 
fist and smashed it into his face as hard as I could.  He wasn't 
expecting it so it was a direct hit.  It scared me that something 
so violent could feel so good.

"Ow, shit!  Taylor, I can't believe you did that."  He stood 
back from me, his hands to his face.

"Yeah, well I told you that you didn't know me very well.  
You must've forgotten the discussion we had in the kitchen 
last night, the one in which I told you not to touch me.  Well, 
Robinson, you had better remember this: the next time you 
grab me like that I'm not going to pull the punch."  I knew that 
would get him: the thought that I could've done even more 
damage but had held back.  I stormed down the walkway 
toward the sidewalk.  Robinson followed me into the yard, 
screaming unintelligibly at me.

Although it was morning and the air was still damp and cool, 
I didn't feel it through my anger.  I started to run as hard as I 
could, away from the house, from Robinson and what he had 
said about me and from what I'd just done.  My hand was 
throbbing; I looked down and realized it was bleeding.  I must 
have cut it on his teeth.  I knew he wouldn't follow me.  We'd 
just had a shouting-match and fistfight that ended in the front 
yard in full view of the neighbors.  Robinson would never 
contribute more grist for the rumor mill by running after me.  
It might hurt his precious reputation.

I'd run about four or five blocks before my lungs began to 
burn from the cold and I slowed to a walk.  I'd run south on 
Dogwood away from the school.  Another couple of blocks 
and I'd be at the Trinity cemetery.  Well, why not?  I was 
going to have to go there soon enough anyway.  I could visit 
some relatives and try to make sense of what was going on.


END OF CHAPTER FOUR