Return From Darkness

By Steph

"Don Luis!" Inez called.

Luis sat on the stairs, third from the top, in his robe and white cotton pajama bottoms. His cane had fallen to the landing with a clatter. He could hardly catch his breath as he heard Inez running up the stairs in bare feet.

"Someone is humming her song out in the garden," he said as Inez rushed to his side.

Sara came rushing up as Inez sat next to him on the stair. Both women wore robes, tightly tied shut. His lay open, exposing his bare chest.

"Ah, Don Luis," Sara said. "She played that song so often. It no wonder someone don't sing it everyday."

"That's how some songs are," Inez agreed. "Sometimes you start singing a tune without even knowing it."

Luis looked at Inez, her hair flowing over her shoulders. "It is her song. It sounded like her humming. I don't want to hear it."

"Well," said Sara, "we'll find the one who sings it and tell her to stop then."

"Yes," said Inez. "Now, you need your rest." She gripped him under the arms.

He jerked away, grabbed the rail, pulled himself to his feet, and took the cane that Inez offered. Once again, he felt like a fool. Half asleep, he'd heard her ghost singing. It had to stop. When would it stop?

Sara rushed back down the stairs and before he reached the top stair, he saw that she had called John, the gardener and the two were talking seriously with bowed heads.

This time Inez accompanied him to his room, helped him into bed, then sat by the window and waited until he slept.

**

As he ate breakfast on the veranda the next morning, he watched as men searched the grounds surrounding his estate. Most were police.

He looked around, but Inez and Sara had left him alone. He continued eating, thinking about the humming the night before. Maybe he had not imagined it. Maybe someone had come onto his property. He was confused and why didn't someone explain to him, the master of the estate, what was going on?

"Don Luis," Sara said, walking in with fresh linens. "You have a visitor."

"Oh? One of them? Who are they looking for?"

"I think your visitor will explain, Don Luis," she said.

He looked at her and noticed her nervousness. His curiosity rose. Surely they weren't here to arrest him, not after all this time.

Sara helped him into his jacket, then he followed her to the parlor where the guest was waiting with Inez. When Luis entered the room, both Inez and a man stood. Luis felt every muscle tighten and he wondered how Inez knew this tall and handsome blond. He was at least as old as Luis, likely older, and he wore a finely tailored suit.

"Mr. Vargas," began the man in a deep tenor. "I am Reynold Jacobson." He offered his hand and Luis took it. Jacobson had a calloused hand and a strong grip.

"Please sit down, Mr. Jacobson," Luis said, taking a soft seat opposite the guest, with the table between them. Inez remained standing. She wore her uniform, complete with bonnet, and he wished she would change into something more appropriate for accepting visitors. "Would you care for coffee, Mr. Jacobson?"

"That would be fine, sir." He glanced at Inez, who turned out of the room.

"Do you know my nurse?" Luis asked.

"No, sir. We have only met just now. She has shown me that she has a deep concern for your welfare. However, I think a man should be allowed to face the truth. How he handles the truth often determines what type of man he is."

Luis' eyes narrowed. "Are you a reporter?"

"No, sir, I am not."

"Then who are you?"

He cleared his throat and sat straight, gripping his hat before him. Luis forced himself to remain calm, so that when Sara returned with coffee and cakes, and Inez walked in behind her, he gave them a picture of a man in full control.

Jacobson sipped his coffee, set the cup down, glanced at Inez, who did not leave with Sara, then met Luis' dark eyes. "I am the fourth husband of Ellen Montfield, also known as Grace Chisholm, Dalia Honeywell, Iris Fontaine, Julia Russell and Bonnie Castle." He hesitated, staring directly at Luis, then reached into his pocket and pulled out an unframed postcard. "I believe her Christian name is Agnes Dovecote." He handed the postcard to Luis, a photograph of Jacobson and Julia, a wedding picture.

Luis sat still, unable to move except for the shaking of the hand that held the picture. His first reaction was the desire to shout out that the man was a liar and to banish him from his home. But he quelled that desire, this time he mastered it. This time he would listen as Inez begged him to listen with her eyes.

He took a deep breath and said "Go on."

"Miss Wetherby tells me that you are under the impression that, uh, our wife, was killed, executed. She says no one has told you out of fear that you would run after her while you were still too ill."

The noise began to rise in his ears. His breath seemed to stick in his chest. "Go on," he said.

"She escaped prison the morning of her execution, having compromised the padre sent to comfort her. The police do not believe she has left the island. They have had every port watched since that morning and they have searched every boat. I have come to Cuba to find her, to witness her execution either here or in the United States. I have come to see justice done, sir, and I know that you, if you could, would undermine that justice. I have come to you to tell you the truth, so that you will not interfere with what must be done."

Luis could not look at Inez. She had withheld the most important information, that Julia was alive. That somewhere she was hiding. She was probably trying to come to him. Last night. They believed she had come last night. The song was her signal to him. She needed his help.

Luis took another deep breath and said, "you have told your truth, sir. You may leave now." He saw Inez bow her head out of the corner of his eye.

Jacobson nodded slowly and stood. "I would tell you one more thing, sir. She has killed three of her husbands, one died recently in an asylum in New York called Bellevue. He had been poisoned and it affected his mental capabilities. So, knowing you have been poisoned, sir, I will not hold anything against you, nor, I hope, will the good Lord, when your time comes." He turned to walk away.

"And how is it, Mr. Jacobson," said Luis, "that you have not been poisoned?"

"She made an error, sir, and killed the son of my first wife in my stead. It was a simple error. How was she to know that I had given the boy permission to drink wine on that night? He was only twelve. Only twelve, but he knew a liar when he met one. If I had been a better man, I would have listened to him. But if any of us had been better men, would she have chosen us? No. She chose the weak and the wealthy. She killed my only son. I shall see her pay for that crime if none other. Good day, sir."

Luis sat still, listening to the retreating footsteps. Then he heard a horse's gallop. Someone was approaching quickly. Inez remained at his side. He felt numb, unable to move or speak or feel. He still held the picture in his hand. He released it and it dropped to the floor.

Lies, he told himself, yet the thought itself felt as a lie.

"Give the photograph back to Mr. Jacobson," he said, barely a whisper. Inez bent to take it, then walked rapidly out the door.

The guards were there to protect him from her, from Julia, Bonnie, Agnes. Alan must have hired them. They all protected him, a weak unstable fool. She would not have chosen a better man, a man who would have recognized her danger, a man who could see beyond his own lust.

She said she loved him, she said…. Nothing but lies.

Tears ran down his cheeks.

Booted footsteps ran up the stairs and Alan burst into the room.

"Are you all right?" he asked, breathless. "I came as soon as I heard."

Luis could not look at his friend. He stared at the wall, his vision blurred by his tears.

"She chose only fools," he said when Alan sat on the chair next to his.

"She chose only gentle souls," Alan said.

He recognized the footfalls of Inez. She stopped in the doorway.

"I have no strength for revenge," Luis said.

"There is no need for revenge," Alan said. "She will fall, and soon, God willing."

Then the memories rushed over him, not the lustful nights, the sweet caresses. Not the jokes they told or the baths they shared. No, he suddenly remembered the things he had done, the sneaking and lying, the cheating at cards, the spying, seeing Billy caressing her, the dead bird, its cheerful song broken, the joy on her face as she degraded Colonel Worth, and his own part in that degradation. She had intended on killing him, had slipped him over the dock's edge, had pushed him gently under the dock, pretending an attempt to help him out, and then she said she would run for help, but when the fisherman pulled him out, she was no where to be found.

He wept in horror, for himself, for all those he hurt. He felt Alan take his hand, felt Inez stroke his shoulders.

He had been willing to die for her. Was it the same for the others?

"The Captain is here," came a whisper from Sara.

"I'll talk with him," said Alan, standing. Luis's hand passed to Inez, who took Alan's place.

When he was alone with Inez, Luis said, "what do I do?"

"Get well," she said, "and then decide."

He squeezed her hand and wiped his tears with the sleeve of his other arm. "Stop trying to protect me now. It is time I behave like a man with his eyes open."

She smiled and lifted his hand to her lips. She kissed the back of his hand but said nothing.