“You claim the first victim fell when you were all gathered together,” the reporter said. “Is that right?”
“Yes. As I told you, I thought Susan had fainted. Rose was about five feet in front of us, reading the blessing. So she didn’t have anything to do with the murders—”
“At the very least, not the murder of Susan Symms.”
“Look, Rose saved my life,” Callie said. “This is why I agreed to speak with you. I want people to know that she made sure I was safe; that she hid me and then went back to help. She was a hero, not—”
“Stories develop into legends over time, don’t they?” the reporter cut in.
“Exactly!” Callie said, relieved that he understood. “I visited Rose’s old house and a neighbor spoke with me. She had no idea who I was. She had heard that Rose murdered the Goddesses and then killed me, too. It’s amazing how the story has morphed and rumors have become fact. People in Salem need to learn the truth. I was there. What people have come to believe happened that night is total nonsense.”
“Do you think fear plays a part in the public’s continuing interest in this story?”
“In what way?”
“Well, here’s a homeless mental patient who claimed that a banshee killed three vibrant young women. Now she claims that she, herself, is a banshee. In between, she’s been predicting the deaths of everyone she meets. You can see why people might be a little afraid of her.”
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you who you think you are. Tell me what you fear, and I’ll tell you who you really are.”
The reporter stared.
“Rose used to say that,” Callie said. “I think people are always frightened by the things they don’t understand.”
“You think Rose is misunderstood, Ms. Cahill?”
“I don’t think she’s understood at all,” Callie said.
“Do you understand her?”
“I believe I do. I understand her better than most people. I know for sure she’s not capable of what they’re accusing her of.”
“Does Rose suffer from schizophrenia? She hears voices; she talks to trees. Those are classic symptoms, aren’t they?”
Callie bristled. “I’m not qualified to comment on Rose’s mental health.”
“But clearly she does suffer from mental illness. She’s been in and out of state hospitals, and she’s now in the psychiatric ward at Salem.”
“I’m not qualified to make a diagnosis. And neither are you.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “But would you agree that Rose was severely traumatized by the events of Halloween night 1989?”
“Who wouldn’t be? Rose was our surrogate mother. And then, in one night, she lost everyone. So, yes, I imagine she was traumatized. Wouldn’t you be?”
“Were you?”
“Yes,” Callie shot back. “But we’re not talking about me.”
“There’s a great deal of interest in you,” the reporter said. “And in the Goddesses themselves. Especially now that they are exhuming the bodies. That’s a big story. Would you care to comment on the exhumation? What do you think they’re going to find?”
“I hope they find evidence that will lead to the arrest of the person who murdered my mother and two of her friends,” she said. Without the napkin to shred, she had no idea what to do with her hands and saw him glancing at them. She placed them in her lap.
“Who do you think had motive?”
“I’m not the person to ask. I was five at the time.”
“I hear they had a number of enemies.”
She stared at him. “I don’t know. Like I said, I was just a child.”
“Well, they obviously had one,” he said. “You have no idea who that might be?”
“They should look at Leah Kormos,” Callie said. “She was one of the Goddesses, and she disappeared right after the murders. She’s the main suspect, not Rose.”
“Was this Leah as promiscuous as the rest of them?”
“Excuse me?”
“They had sex with a lot of men. Some say they considered seduction a competitive sport.”
So the reporter had talked to Ann. Callie’s dislike of the woman seemed to grow by the day.
“And I’ve heard their behavior was blamed for the AIDS epidemic that hit the North Shore back in ’eighty-nine.”
“You’re telling me that my mother and the other Goddesses had AIDS?” Callie said, incredulous.
“I’m not saying I believe it.” He shrugged. “But it’s what people are saying.”
A month ago, she would have hurled all the curses and profanities that came to mind. But anything said in anger could be used to question her credibility, and would make Rose, by extension, look even worse.
Instead, Callie stood and walked out of the restaurant.
That night, Callie’s dreams were vivid and disturbing, and then a long forgotten memory was unleashed:
They were all on the floor in the back bedroom; the beautiful mural of the Goddesses decorated the wall.
“How dare she tell?” Susan demanded. “Rose is going to throw us out, that’s what she said!”
Olivia sat on a huge velvet pillow. A half-eaten bag of potato chips was propped up next to her, and the last homemade chocolate chip cookie sat on a plate. She passed a spoon and a pint of H?agen-Dazs rum raisin back to Susan. “She won’t.”
An exotic silk print draped over the ceiling light, forming walls like a tent. The room smelled of patchouli and herbal incense. Except for the junk food, the place could have been a harem room. Like in the stories from The Thousand and One Nights Rose was reading to her.
“You weren’t there. She meant it this time,” Susan said.
Olivia looked regretfully around the room. “We’ll find another place to meet them.”
“No more underage boys,” Susan warned. “News of that has been getting around.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “But that was so much fun.”
“It’s probably what set her off and made her decide to tell Rose,” Susan concluded.
“Anything sets her off lately. Can’t we banish her? Fly her out of town on her broom?” Susan plucked a crystal wand off the dresser and waved it around. “Begone!”
“She’s a petal on the rose,” Olivia said sarcastically. “We need her for the blessing.”
“We don’t need her. Should we start packing?” Susan asked.
“Rose doesn’t mean it,” Olivia insisted. “She’d never make Callie homeless.”
Cheryl sauntered in with a letter. She motioned Callie to the front of the room. “Time for recitation,” she said, exchanging a look with the others. “My sneakiness has paid off. I stole it from her handbag when we were at the center,” she bragged.
Olivia’s eyes went wide.
“Okay, let’s hear it, Callie,” Susan said, clapping in delight.
“I’ll hold the letter,” Cheryl said. The envelope read: To Dagda from Morrigan. “You simply must do the hands for this one.”
Callie was delighted to be the center of attention. She put one hand over the other, and the Goddesses snickered in anticipation.
Cheryl shushed them. “Go ahead,” she said to Callie. “Read.”
Callie tucked a dark curl behind her ear and cleared her throat as Rose had taught her to do to quiet the room.