“I cannot, except to say it was a different time when things were dealt with in other ways.”
“Jesus, that makes things simple, doesn’t it? ‘Let’s go upstairs and crush some knuckles. See how loud they can scream. If they die, toss ‘em out with the garbage.’ What a miserable excuse for a human being you are. Caprice’s curse was pretty smart, if you ask me. You have to wallow in your past for hundreds of years.”
A flash of anger crossed the man’s face, but he held his tongue. For a moment he considered that Landry could be right. All he wanted now was for this exhausting cross-examination to end. He asked for a break, returned and the session continued.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
“Long before she hexed Charles, Caprice had cast another spell. Once Charles scorned her, she cursed the child of his she was carrying, dooming the baby to an extraordinarily long, lonely life. I am that child, the son of Charles and Caprice. I age more slowly than anyone else. When one doesn’t grow old alongside his peers and can’t explain why, he must withdraw from humanity.
“Today I appear middle-aged, but so far I have lived for one hundred and eighty-three years. It’s a miserable existence. I am doomed to have no friends or family to share my life with. Because of the curse, I’m not permitted to end my life or aid others in doing it for me. Someday I shall die, and it cannot come soon enough.”
Landry said, “So you claim you are Charles Richard’s son?”
“I am, and our bond transcends that of father and son. The relationship was special while he lived, and it continues to this day. He called me a ‘conduit’ — I feel what my father felt, and I know every thought he ever had. I refuse to allow you to exhume the bodies in the courtyard because...”
He choked and a tear ran down his cheek. It was the first sign of emotion he had shown. He removed a white silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket, dabbed at his eyes, and cleared his throat.
“Despite the age difference, despite the curse and despite their different stations in life, Prosperine and Charles loved each other. I grant you she was cruel on occasion —"
Landry interrupted. “Why do you continue defending her? She was infinitely worse than ‘cruel on occasion.’ She was a monster who enjoyed her work.”
Empyrion displayed no reaction. “As I was saying, they were in love. I know that because I feel my father’s emotions for her. Unearthing the bodies in the courtyard would desecrate her memory. For that reason, Charles won’t allow it.
That’s an interesting way to put it. Her long-dead lover doesn’t want her memory besmirched by showing the world her handiwork — the torturing of people just like him.
“Exhuming them would also serve no purpose today, long after the deaths occurred. They must remain buried, as must the fetuses and stillborn children who are interred under the patio.”
Jack said, “What children?”
“Prosperine’s. There are six of them, each lovingly laid next to his or her siblings. Many tears were shed at the burials, and every tear was a reminder that Caprice was the monster, not Prosperine.”
Landry shook his head. “Caprice retaliated with the only means she had — witchcraft. Prosperine spent a lifetime engaging in a vocation she loved — torture. But I’m sure you and I will never agree on that.”
Empyrion stared at him. “Is there anything more I can enlighten you on?”
“When I first asked about you, the trustee said you died long ago.”
“Those are the instructions my father, Charles, gave the law firm when he chose them as co-trustee over a century ago. Only one man — the current trustee himself — ever knows the truth about me, and he may only reveal what he told you. He manages everything, he never contacts me, and he upholds an oath to keep my family’s secrets inviolate.”
“Explain something else. Prosperine killed Elberta and then her husband —"
“Mr. Drake, if you want to continue this discussion, I must ask you to stop referring to the accidents as murders.”
Since he had more questions, Landry held his tongue this time. “Let me rephrase things. While Caprice spied, Lucas fell from the balcony to his death. We saw that scene unfold in Tiffany’s hypnotic session. According to everything we saw up to yesterday, Lucas is buried in the courtyard. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Yesterday Dr. Little regressed Jack to 1832 so we could watch Elberta’s death again. You warned me earlier that he had to use surgical precision to make sure Jack himself didn’t die.”
“That’s correct.”
Landry said, “Then the role-playing began. You were Charles and Jack was Lucas. You shouted at Prosperine to kill him. She didn’t, and you threw him — and me too — out the window.”
“That’s also correct. Lucas was an unfaithful husband, and it was Charles’s opinion he deserved to die.”
“But it didn’t happen the right way. We know Prosperine pushed him off minutes after Elberta, but yesterday that didn’t happen. You screamed you’d do it yourself, and you did. How was that possible? How did you alter history?”
“My opinion is that we participated in an aberration of nature. I believe your so-called professional hypnotist botched the job of extricating Mr. Blair from the year 1832. That was what I warned you about. The timing had to be precise, and he botched it. He was changing Lucas back into Jack when it came time for Lucas to die. In a way I cannot explain, I think Lucas was caught in a warp that altered history for that brief moment. Once it was over, it was past. Lucas died
