Empyrion Richard stood with his right arm raised in defiance. He cursed again at Jack in the voice that was not his own.
Landry shouted his name, but the man heard nothing. He was another person in a time long ago.
Empyrion yelled, “Kill him, Prosperine! You’ve suffered enough!”
“Dr. Little!” Landry screamed. “Get Jack out of here now or he’ll die!”
As the psychologist leaned in toward his subject and started the process, Prosperine moved toward Lucas, grabbed his coat and gave him a shove. He toppled over the railing and she screamed, “I have rid my life of those two at last!”
“It’s what they deserved!” Empyrion’s deep voice echoed off the walls.
The scene faded as quickly as the mist had appeared. Empyrion Richard seemed bewildered, looking around as if he’d committed an indiscretion and hoped no one noticed.
Dr. Little shouted, “Jack disappeared! When she pushed him, I looked up at the window. Now he isn’t here!”
Cate cried, “Look! The windows are still open. Jack! Jack, can you hear me?”
Landry grabbed Empyrion. “How do you get to the second floor?”
“Through a door in the entresol’s ceiling.”
“Where? I couldn’t find it.”
“That’s because you didn’t look in the right place. Why on earth do you want to go up there?”
“What? Jack’s up there. We have to go help him!”
The tall man knitted his brows. “Jack? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
You yelled for Prosperine to kill him!”
“Ah, I see,” he muttered. “Jack is her husband, Lucas, of course. It’s really Lucas you’re looking for. Did she kill him?”
“You saw what she did! His body’s not here, so he’s still up there somewhere. Help me, dammit! How do I get to the second floor?”
“There is a wooden staircase in the back corner of the entresol behind the clutter and debris. That’s the only way up now that the outside stairs are gone.”
Accustomed to split-second changes, Jack’s director sent Phil and his camera scurrying down the hallway behind Landry, who tore open the closet door. They scrambled up the ladder and crawled on hands and knees through the dusty, cramped storage area. Behind boxes at the far end he found the stairs leading to a trapdoor.
Landry emerged into a gloomy sitting room filled with ancient furniture. Thick dust covered every surface and dirt caked the windows. He called for Jack but heard nothing.
Rays of light shone through a door that led into a bedroom. The tall windows he’d seen from below were wide open and he could hear the people downstairs. There was a commotion behind him — Jack rushed across the bedroom toward him with Empyrion Richard at his heels.
“I’ll kill you myself this time!” Empyrion’s deep voice resounded as he pushed Jack toward the window. Stumbling, Jack hit Landry and they toppled out the window. As the horrified onlookers watched, they fell.
There was sheer pandemonium. Landry landed squarely on top of his boss Ted Carpenter, sending them both crashing to the ground. Jack was less fortunate; he bounced off Landry, slammed against the stone fountain and lay motionless.
Doc knelt beside Jack. Once he was certain Ted had suffered nothing more than a rough tumble to the pavement, Landry leaned in beside Cate’s father.
“Tell me he’s going to live. This is all my fault. Please tell me he’ll be okay.”
A few minutes later Jack awoke to find his shirt ripped apart and Doc probing his chest. “What happened?” he mumbled, and Landry told him.
“You may have broken some ribs,” Doc said, “but overall, you both were very lucky.”
Wincing in pain, Jack sat up and said, “Did you get everything we needed, Landry? Is it enough?”
He said, “No time to talk now,” and shouted to Detective Young, “Find Empyrion! He threw us out the window!”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Cate showed Young and the other cop the way upstairs. They found the back stairway, drew their weapons, and went through the opening into the living area.
In the courtyard, Jack pleaded to continue the session. “It’s my life at stake. We can’t stop now. It’s the only thing that can save me. If Dr. Little doesn’t take me to 1837, I can’t prove I’m innocent. Please, Landry. Please keep going for my sake. I have nothing to lose. If not for me, do it for Tiffany.” Tears trickled down his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around his aching torso.
The psychotherapist was adamant. “This is unthinkable. The stress he’s been through, the mental issues that could arise if I do this again so soon — I refuse to be a part of it.”
Landry said, “I understand, but it is his only chance. Is there any way —"
His question would go unfinished as another scene erupted at the front door. Four policemen with weapons drawn flew down the corridor and into the courtyard. “Hands in the air, everybody!” a sergeant yelled.
Landry took a step forward. “I can explain —" But in a flash he was staring into four gun barrels.
“Stay where you are!” The cop took his radio and said, “Detective, we’re on the scene. Where are you? Over.”
“I’m up here,” Young called from the window Landry and Jack had tumbled through. He leaned out, scanned the courtyard and said, “The perp’s still up here in the building. Black male, maybe seven feet tall. Mid to late fifties. Landry, how do we get to the attic?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll come help look,” Landry said as he, Phil and the others climbed to the second floor. Having been here only minutes earlier, this was Landry’s first time to take in the LaPieres’ living quarters. It was furnished similarly to their bayou mansion. Rooms filled with dusty old furniture, decaying carpets and grime-encrusted knickknacks proved
