Sleep No More

What possibilities did that leave? Psychotic delusions seemed most likely. He suspected that the background information he’d requested from Cole’s New Orleans connections would support this theory. The idea of demonic possession flashed into his mind and fled just as quickly. That was the stuff of medieval folktales, fodder for Hollywood filmmakers and religious fundamentalists. Besides, what Eve had described sounded more like possession of one person by another rather than some sordid satanic scenario. As best as he could recall, she had spoken of two personalities living inside a single mind: one “sleeping,” the other “awake.” Could she be some sort of schizophrenic? A victim of multiple-personality disorder? Waters knew little of such things, and since Natchez had no practicing psychiatrists, he knew no one to call about it.

As Lily began to snore, his wilder speculations gave way to scientific analysis. If a reasonable man studied what had happened since John Waters saw Eve Sumner at the soccer field, what might he conclude? One: Sumner wanted to initiate a sexual affair. Two: Sumner was using knowledge of Waters’s past to interest him. These conclusions alone were not remarkable. The fact that Eve was trying to persuade him that she was actually a dead lover from his past infinitely complicated matters. Assuming she was sane-and this question was still very much in doubt-what motive could she possibly have to do this?

First principles, he told himself. What has been the result of Eve’s words and actions? She’s thrown a levelheaded man into a state of emotional disarray. How can she benefit from that? Who else might benefit? Waters wasn’t presently involved in business negotiations that would suffer due to a lack of concentration on his part. But perhaps Eve had only begun her campaign to disrupt his life. Maybe her ultimate goal was to draw him into an affair, then blackmail him. It seemed a great deal of trouble to go to, particularly since he stood to lose his fortune if the EPA investigation went against his company. But maybe she knew nothing about that.

And where had Eve gotten the intimate details of his old life? Given all she’d said, he half expected the background investigation to reveal some familial relation to Mallory. If none existed, Eve would almost have to have gotten her information from someone like Cole, or-

Waters blinked in the darkness.

Cole. Cole had known about Soon. He knew other things too. He knew Waters had first slept with Mallory on a camping trip at Sardis Reservoir. They had been roommates at the time. What else had Waters confided in the excitement of college love? And what had Cole confided to Eve? He’d already admitted they’d slept together. She’s a hell of a lay, but too twisted for me…. Watch out…She’s always looking for advantage. Reminds me a little of me…. Waters swallowed and tried to figure out what motive Cole could possibly have to give Eve private information about him. Maybe he was just drunk and answered anything she asked him. But that was unlikely, given the intimate nature of her knowledge. Try as he might, Waters could come up with nothing. Cole’s fortunes depended on his partner remaining sane and healthy enough to keep finding oil-end of story.

Lily’s snores stopped with a gasp, then resumed at a higher decibel level. Waters could stay in bed no longer. He got up and padded into the kitchen in his boxers, more awake than he’d felt in years. His mind and body thrummed as though rushing on the pure cocaine he’d snorted with Sara on the slope of a volcano in Ecuador. His blood was singing. And he knew why. The strange encounters with Eve had stirred his long-suppressed desire, and like a bear waking from hibernation, that desire would not return to sleep. It stretched and breathed, feeling its power, and beneath that power a hunger that had grown steadily through the long night of winter.

Almost before he knew what he was doing, he lifted a phone book from Lily’s alcove and looked up Eve’s number. He found two listed: work and home. The kitchen clock read 3:40 A.M. He looked at the phone but did not touch it. Yet some part of him knew that Eve was waiting at the other end for the connection to be made. Sleeping perhaps, but waiting still. The soft ring would come, and before it faded, the phone would be in her hand, her voice already weaving its spell.

Waters left the alcove and walked to the marble-topped island where Annelise’s schoolbooks awaited her. School, he thought. Where we learn to read and write and add and subtract while learning subtler but more important lessons: how to speak and listen, how to lie and tell the truth, how to honor and betray, how to strive, to whisper, to hold hands, to kiss, to insist and evade, to make love, to marry, to honor and again betray-

“Jesus,” he muttered, feeling his mind slipping off its tracks. He went to the laundry room and pulled a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the wicker basket. He slipped the jeans over his boxers, put on the T-shirt, then laced on the running shoes he kept by the back door. This time of night, Lily slept too soundly to hear him start the Land Cruiser, but just in case, he scribbled a note saying he was going to Wal-Mart for some ice cream. Then he grabbed his keys, wallet, and cell phone and went out the front door.

The streets of Natchez were deserted at this hour. He drove slowly down Main Street, past the Eola Hotel and his office, then turned onto Broadway and coasted down the long precipitous drop of Silver Street to the river. The Under-the-Hill Saloon was shut tight, but the Steamboat Casino threw a garish Las Vegas light over the water, and a few rumpled patrons stumbled along the gangplank toward the shore. Waters accelerated up the sweeping lane that led back up the bluff, then turned right onto Canal and headed toward the bypass.

To honor and betray…Eve Sumner no longer filled his mind; memories of Mallory had driven her out. Waters’s relationship with Mallory had been born from a double betrayal: one of a friend, the other of a lover. During his sophomore year of college, he’d been home for a weekend in mid-October, when the sun still burned down like summer. He was dating a sophomore from Tulane, a Natchez girl who had graduated St. Stephens a year ahead of Cole. They’d been invited to the home-estate, really-of a young local internist, Dr. David Denton, for a Sunday picnic. Through several unusual connections, Waters knew Denton well. Waters’s mother worked as a receptionist for Denton’s older partner, but their real bond had grown through baseball. During Waters’s senior year of high school, when his team made a run for the state championship, Denton went along as an unofficial coach. Fifteen years earlier, David Denton had been the star third baseman for the St. Stephens state championship team, and since Waters played third base, they spent many hours together. Waters missed his father badly, and his association with the young doctor had helped him with a lot more than baseball. Some people thought Denton arrogant, but Waters respected him, and always looked forward to seeing him.

When Waters and his date arrived at Denton’s house that Sunday, they did not find the large party they expected. They found two blankets laid out with food worthy of a five-star restaurant, and no people in sight. As they tried to figure out what was going on, two figures walked out of Denton’s stables. One was the doctor himself, tall and handsome at thirty-six; the other was Mallory Candler, twenty years old and as beautiful as any woman Waters had ever seen. Waters’s date squealed, ran over to Mallory, and gave her an exaggerated hug. Though Mallory attended Ole Miss and she Tulane, they belonged to the same sorority. Waters would later learn that Mallory had no close female friends, but other women were always drawn to her, as though to learn the secrets of her remarkable self-possession.

Hiding his shock at the age difference, Waters shook hands with Denton and sat down to eat. Because of Mallory’s beauty, he expected her to reveal herself as the vapid creature many Ole Miss sorority girls turned out to be, but he was surprised. She did not gossip or squeal; she conversed with erudition on politics, religion, literature, and sex. Denton was clearly enamored with her, and he seemed amused by Mallory’s attempts to draw Waters out during the afternoon. When they went riding, Mallory cantered alongside Waters while Denton lectured on the lineage of his horses, and all the while Waters felt her appraising him: the way he talked, moved, handled his horse.

When they retired to the house for late-afternoon drinks, Waters’s date asked him to play the grand piano in Denton’s living room. With half a bottle of pinot noir in him, Waters agreed. He had never taken formal lessons, but his mother was a fine pianist and he had been blessed to inherit her ear. He ran through a few songs from the period-mostly Elton John and Billy Joel-singing in a voice made confident by wine, and Denton professed amazement that a third baseman could do anything requiring that much talent. Only Mallory did not compliment his playing, but when Waters glanced up from the keyboard, he saw that she had been profoundly affected by his performance.

During one song, the phone rang, and Denton took the call. Holding the phone against his chest, he told them that Mallory’s ride back to Ole Miss was leaving, and would be by to pick her up in fifteen minutes. Clearly unhappy, Denton asked Waters how he was getting back to school. Waters explained he was driving back in his drafty thirdhand Triumph convertible. Would he mind, Denton asked, driving Mallory back so that they could continue their