Devil Eyes

By Prudence Foster

At a luxury resort on a remote key off Florida's Gulf coast, guests, staff and townspeople people are threatened by the spirits of a deranged French au pair and her Seminole lover. . . a conflict brought into focus through the eyes of a child, an albino Indian and an antique toy — a stereopticon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613090022

Book preview

One

Ibid you, mock not Eros; He knows not doubt or shame,

And, unaware of proverbs, The burnt child craves the flame.

Christopher Morley

Of A Child That Had Fever

THE SOUND OF SHATTERING glass caught her attention, and Liliane DuBois lifted her head as rain swept into the bedchamber. She gazed at the hazy shards of glass jutting up inside the window frames. There was no haze. It was her sight. Focus. She must focus! The paddle-shaped leaves of the sea grape tree smashed the dormer windows, striking with the fury of the gusts that twisted the branches into contorted silhouettes. The keening wind invaded the presidential suite and extinguished the lamps.

Curled like a fetus on the canopied bed, Liliane clasped her stomach protectively, but beneath the slashed fingers the shiny pattern of her paisley shawl glistened with her blood. Francois, her husband, lay spread-eagled across the September 10, 1908, edition of the New York Times. He’d been seated in the Morris chair reading when the au pair had struck him from behind with the wood axe from the Inn’s kitchen. His grunt of surprise had awakened Liliane from a nap.

Francois was dead. She was dying. The loss of blood was rending her weak, but her senses were alert, and in the next room she heard the au pair croon her daughter Marguerite’s favorite song, When comrades seek sweet country haunt by twos and twos together, and count like misers hour by hour October’s bright blue weather.

Liliane yearned to see her children one last time, but could she make it? Gingerly, she eased off the bed, and on her knees, she crawled inch by inch to the threshold of the sitting room.

The pain worsened, and she closed her eyes and gathered her strength. With her final surge of energy, she dragged herself into the room. When she opened her eyes, she was overwhelmed by sadness. Marguerite was sprawled on the carpet, a crimson aura around her golden ringlets. Her blue eyes were wide with surprise, but fixed in death’s final stare.

Her son, Henri, lay face down, hand outstretched, reaching toward the door connecting the sitting room with their parents’ bed chamber. Darkening gore formed a ruff encircling his neck, staining his corn silk hair and drenching the wooden stereopticon he’d been holding.

Seated on the carpet next to Marguerite and holding a damp washcloth, the au pair was singing. Her sweet, young voice rose as she sang, O sun and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year October’s bright blue weather. She stroked Marguerite’s face with the washcloth and lovingly ruffled Henri’s golden locks.

Liliane’s legs grew cold, but oddly the chill was not uncomfortable. She slipped gently into her final slumber.

SHORTLY BEFORE DAWN, the storm abated. When rescue workers from the mainland arrived at the hotel two days later, it was deserted except for the four bodies. In the corridor, the would-be rescuers followed crimson footprints to the edge of the Inn’s terrace, where the trail vanished.

Steeling himself, one man re-entered the scene of the carnage. In the far corner of the sitting room, he noticed a clump of gore-stained rags. As he approached warily, a tiny hand pierced the clotting, glutinous tissue. He willed himself not to throw up, for lying amidst the torn placenta and other detritus of human birth was a newborn babe—crying as if its world had not begun, but ended.

Two

Wednesday, August 6

Isla de las Martyres off Florida in the Gulf of Mexico

Quicker than the blink of a gnat’s eye, Marisa fell. One second she was perched confidently on the sturdy pine ladder hanging the moss green draperies in the Tarpon Inn’s dining room. The next second the ladder tilted and she was clutching at empty air.

A few feet away, Hap Forrester stood as if mesmerized, one ineffectual hand stretched forward to prevent her fall. The interior designer groaned as she struck the corner of a table and slid to the floor. The sound broke his spell. He hurried to her side, knelt and lifted the ladder. From her leg’s contorted position, Hap could tell it was broken.

Marns, he ordered the bellman standing just inside the door, bring a pillow and a blanket and tell Alejandro to call Dr. Morse. The black man nodded and hurried away, returning within minutes. He was followed by Anne Hunt, the woman opening the boutique off the lobby.

Got the doctor comin’, Marns said, handing him a pillow and a blanket. Anne sat on the floor next to him and brushed the hair back from Marisa’s forehead. She was wearing a décolleté black chiffon cocktail dress. He tried unsuccessfully to draw his eyes from the tanned breasts barely contained by the ruffled vee of the neckline.

Marisa tried to shove the blanket away, but Hap ignored her protesting hands. Just a precaution. We don’t want you going into shock.

Marisa, Anne said in a calm voice, don’t move. Doc Morse will be here in a few minutes.

Scanning the dining room, Hap mused that the draperies Marisa had been hanging drooped like the folds of a shroud. And the rain banging against the windows sounded like a funeral dirge. Ordinarily this was the slow time since Florida’s high season didn’t begin until late October or even November, but he’d scheduled a soft opening as a dress rehearsal for the Tarpon Inn’s formal reopening. The rain wasn’t helping. Anxiety slammed his gut. This hotel had to make it, or his career was washed up.

Enough of this bullshit thinking. It was the rain. And the opening was so close. And his six-year-old daughter was due to arrive within the hour. Damn his ex anyway. Dropping Felicity in his lap this summer when he was fighting to get his career back on track was typical of Diana.

Marisa grunted with pain as she tried to shift her weight, drawing his attention to the crisis du jour. Anne took her hand. Marisa, she instructed, when it hurts, squeeze my hand. And hang in there, Doc’ll be here any second.

Dragging a ring of keys out of his pocket, he instructed, Marns, get a bottle of brandy out of the liquor locker in the bar and some glasses. Glad you’re here, he said to Anne.

In contrast to the soothing touch she used with Marisa, her expression when she looked at him was grim and angry. He knew what she’d say if Marisa weren’t lying there. She’d call him an SOB for forcing her to open her boutique at the Inn rather than downtown as she wanted.

Three

She was still glaring when Marns bustled in carrying the Courvoisier and glasses on a tray. Hap poured the amber liquid into a snifter for Marisa and supported her head as she sipped. She made a face, but she drank it down.

Hap glanced at his watch. Felicity’s flight would be taking off from Miami International. Then she’d take the commuter flight from Fort Myers into Naples, where his boat captain would be waiting to bring her to the island. His child was six, soon to be seven. Where had the years gone?

Thanks, Hap, Marisa said. Been climbing ladders more than thirty years, and I’ve never fallen before.

Good thing. You did it up right.

She nodded, moving her head carefully.

More? he gestured with the brandy bottle.

She shook Her head.

Pour yourself one, Marns, Hap said. And thanks. You’ve been a big help, but it’s going to be a long night. Anne?

She shook her head. He wasn’t surprised. No way would she drink with the enemy. He looked away, listening to the rain splat against the windowpanes.

They presented an odd tableau. An uptight, unshaven man in rumpled jeans and a tee shirt, a beautiful woman in a party dress, and a black porter of indeterminate age sitting on the floor with an injured woman, surrounded by rows of empty tables and chairs.

He’d read an article about the dining room once in an old issue of Tropic, the Miami Herald’s now defunct Sunday magazine. The writer had waxed fanciful as he’d described the splinters of light bouncing off the chandelier’s hundreds of tiny glass prisms and the captains of industry and their trophy wives who’d dined here. The prism had rotated when the switch was activated. He looked up. It was still beautiful, and the mechanism still worked. Sometimes when he worked in here, he could almost hear the Strauss waltzes and the rustling gowns of the elegant ladies, nearly smell their heady perfumes mingled with the aroma of their husbands’ fine Cuban cigars.

Marisa moaned but seemed to be experiencing a little less pain. He glanced at his watch again. Twenty minutes had passed.

Marns, who was nearer the hall, heard the doctor’s approach first. The bellman looked up at the sound of slamming doors, and his footsteps, followed by Doc Morse’s friendly, Halloo, as he walked into the dining room.

Marns scrambled to his feet.

The tall, take-charge doctor’s lumbering walk and mass of curly, dark brown hair reminded Hap of a bear. Hap said, She took a nasty fall.

The doctor shrugged out of his damp raincoat and knelt beside Marisa in one surprisingly fluid movement for such a large man. He plopped his medical bag on the floor and pulled out his stethoscope.

Morse’s alert brown eyes narrowed as he studied her, taking in the awkward position of her back and the injured leg. Examining her with cautious hands, he said, It looks like a compound fracture. We better get you to Naples Community Hospital on the mainland. I don’t have the facilities to treat you in my clinic.

Marisa took a deep breath and clutched Anne’s hand. This sure screws up my schedule.

The doctor patted her shoulder. I’m going to give you something to make you comfortable, then I’m going to rig a brace to support that leg and put a collar on you to stabilize your neck and back. He glanced over his shoulder at Hap. Is your launch available?

It’s on the mainland. Hap glanced at his watch. About half an hour.

Okay. From his bag, he extracted rubbing alcohol, a cotton ball, a vial of clear liquid, and a shrink-wrapped package containing a disposable hypodermic needle. This will ease that pain, he said to Marisa, rolling up her sleeve and wiping her shoulder with the alcohol-dampened ball. He filled the hypodermic from the vial and gently eased the needle into her upper arm. Mr. Forrester, can you get the stretcher from my Jeep? You’ll also find back braces and a collar lying on the seat. When Marns called and told me the lady had fallen off the ladder, I figured I might need them.

Marns rose quickly. I’ll get them, he responded, and Hap smiled his thanks.

You’re in good hands now, Anne said. I’m just in the way. She patted the woman’s shoulder.

Marisa managed a smile. Thanks, Anne. Next time I’m on the island we’ll do lunch. My treat.

You bet. Anne pushed to her feet.

Hap reached down and took her arm to help her up. Do you need a ride home?

She shrugged away his hand. No thank you.

Just trying to be neighborly. He clipped his words, but he kept his voice as quiet as she had.

Four

Felicity Forrester clutched her kitten’s carrying case as the Tarpon Inn motor launch bumped across Estero Bay. Next to her on the seat were her suitcases, her cheerleader Barbie doll, a backpack with her books, and a tote bag with Mister Bear’s head jutting out. The teddy bear’s wide, bead eyes expressed unblinking astonishment.

The cat meowed, and Felicity lifted the gray port-a-pet into her lap. The feline’s round, golden eyes darted nervously. It’s okay, Mew Mew, she consoled, but she wasn’t sure. The boat ride had started out nice, but wind had turned the bay waters into choppy waves. Her stomach was already upset.

It had been a year and a half since she had seen Daddy...a Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and even her birthday. He’d written, always enclosing a five-dollar bill, and he’d sent her presents and cards. Sometimes she’d get a package containing a teddy bear for her collection. But he didn’t know she’d stopped collecting teddy bears the day her mother had said she was divorced. When she asked her mother if she had divorced Daddy, too, Felicity was glad her mother said that she would always be Daddy’s little girl.

Ahead, the hotel where Daddy worked was a big gray building silhouetted against the gloomy sky. The launch hit a high wave, and she fell back against the leather seat. The kitten yowled and the driver turned back toward her.

You all right, Miss Felicity? he yelled, his voice carrying over the wind. She nodded, poking her finger through the slats of the carrier to touch the kitten. Hold on tight, the driver said. We’re almost there.

Lights on tall poles illuminated the dusk, and in their rays, she could see the Inn’s long wooden dock. It looked bony and reminded her of a Halloween skeleton’s hand. A group of people stood on the pier. Her father was at the end of the dock beneath the lights. He looked just like she remembered. Maybe it would be all right.

As they drew closer, two men carried a stretcher with a lady on it. The driver cut the motor and the boat slammed against the pilings, but before she fell off the seat, her father jumped down and lifted her up onto the solid, secure planks of the dock.

He hugged her so tight she could hardly breathe. How are you, baby? Are you all right? Was the trip okay? Did you get wet? Are you cold? Are you hungry?

She didn’t know which to answer first so she just nodded. Over his shoulder she saw the driver tying the boat. The people on the pier hurried to put the lady on the stretcher in the boat. She could tell the lady was hurting by the look on her face. Daddy wished the lady good luck and told her to let him know if she needed anything.

Good luck, Marisa. Let us know how you’re doing and if you need anything, he said, and then he turned to the bellboy. Only Felicity knew he was really too old to be a boy. Marns, Daddy said, please get Felicity’s bags. Daddy put her down on the pier, but held her hand.

Her bags had barely been unloaded when the boat’s motor roared and the launch swerved in a half circle, heading back toward the mainland carrying as passengers the big man with the doctor’s bag and the lady on the stretcher.

Five

As Daddy led her up the shell-lined walk toward the Inn, he told her he was glad she was there and that they were going to have fun. But she wasn’t sure. It was like he was trying to convince himself, not her. Could Daddy be nervous? She shook her head. No way. Daddies and mommies didn’t get scared.

The lobby was a big room with a high ceiling that made her feel very small. At one end was a high wooden counter where guests registered. Over the desk was a silver fish with shiny, dead eyes. The other wall was a big fireplace made of coral rocks. On another wall a rattlesnake skin was stretched on a board. Next to the snake was a deer’s head. The movements of the paddle-shaped blades of the ceiling fan made the deer’s eyes look as if he was alive. She didn’t like this place. Not one bit. Wet and tired, she wished that she and Mew Mew were home in her own pink and white bedroom.

You must be Miss Felicity. A tall, slim black man who stood behind the registration desk leaned over the counter and smiled. He wore round, gold-rimmed glasses. His white teeth gleamed. He was nice. That was good. Maybe he’d be a friend. My name is Alejandro. We’re all glad you’re going to be with us...

She reached up, but when he touched her hand, his face turned almost gray and he drew back real quick. He looked like he didn’t feel good. Oh, Miss Felicity, the man said softly, oh, Miss Felicity, you can’t...

She wasn’t sure what she wasn’t supposed to do, but was glad when the double glass entrance doors swung open and Daddy came in. He was followed by a pretty black lady.

Felicity, he said, I’d like you to meet Miss Harper.

Felicity put out her hand as her mother had taught, and the black lady bent down and shook it. Call me Aleta, the lady said.

Daddy cleared his throat. Truth is, honey, I’m really busy and I, I didn’t want you to be lonely.

Tell me, Felicity, the lady named Aleta said. Do you like the beach? The Inn has a beautiful beach. And a swimming pool. And pretty shells. But Missy... She smiled. ...you need a tan. You’ve been spending too much time indoors. What grade are you in?

Second grade.

Second grade. The lady looked impressed. Mr. Forrester, you didn’t tell me your daughter was so grown up.

Felicity decided she liked the nice lady.

Behind them the clerk, said, Mr. Forrester, I need to talk to you. Tonight.

Can it wait? Daddy sounded grouchy.

It’s important, the clerk persisted.

All right. Let me get Felicity settled, he responded. Are you hungry, honey?

Before she could answer her stomach growled. A loud growl. She covered her mouth with her hand. I’m sorry, Daddy.

He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. "I’ll have some sandwiches and milk and cookies sent up.

I could take her into the dining room and get Cook to fix something, Aleta volunteered.

He shook his head. It’s late.

Aleta shook her hand. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’re going to have a good time.

Thank you. That sounds nice.

Come on, honey, Daddy said, taking her hand. We’ll get you unpacked and something to eat.

Daddy led her into the elevator next to the desk. Instead of a door, it had a heavy metal gate and reminded her of a horrible old black-and-white movie she’d seen late one night at a slumber party. A woman had gotten trapped and murdered in a spooky old elevator just like this one, but she didn’t say anything. She definitely wasn’t supposed to watch that kind of movie.

You’ll have a wonderful time. You can swim and take tennis lessons and play shuffleboard. And we’ll go on picnics. Daddy pulled the elevator door closed.

Mew Mew, frightened by the elevator’s motion, yowled his displeasure.

What’s wrong with Mew Mew?

I don’t think he likes it here.

"Well, you will, he said and squeezed her hand. It was a few seconds before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was gravelly and sort of choked. I’ll see to that," he said.

Six

The clerk flinched as the elevator doors clanged shut and the motor grumbled into action. Alejandro kept his second sight to himself because most people weren’t receptive. He either scared them off, or they thought he was weird. And Hap Forrester was one touchy dude. He could easily decide he didn’t want a night clerk who saw visions.

But the influence around that little girl was evil and dangerous. Alejandro would never forgive himself if anything happened to her. Especially since she was a child. And children should be protected. His mama had taught him and his sister Aleta that.

Aleta. Unconsciously Alejandro frowned. Their Mama’s death from bone cancer had been a hard one. Long and full of grinding agony. Aleta had taken care of her day after day, night after night, and sometimes he felt the Aleta he knew died with Mama. One minute she was so sweet it was like she’d taken a bath in cane syrup. The next she’d be as mean as a she rattlesnake in heat. Alejandro sighed. Pulling the registration cards from the rack, he began transferring the rate data for each room to the ledger in the computer. It was tedious work, but he’d only have to do it once.

Seven

In the living room of the home she and Alejandro had inherited from their mother, Aleta watched TV while she shuffled papers and workbooks. She’d start teaching second grade at Useppa Elementary in a few weeks, and she wanted to be ready. Since Mama died, she felt closer than ever to Alejandro. They got along so well now. Never a cross word or an argument. Mama would be proud. Evenings they’d have dinner at the Inn, and afterward she would come home to work on lesson plans. Thinking of the meeting with Felicity, she sighed. The money she’d earn as a nanny was a godsend. She and Alejandro were struggling to keep Mama’s house and pay her medical bills. Aleta pushed the fretful thoughts away. It was going to be a good summer. Felicity was a sweet child and...

Aleta heard a wisp of a sound, so small she wasn’t sure what it was. In the shadowy corner, she saw a woman. The visitor had a creamy complexion and long black hair that hung to her waist. She wore a high-necked, floor-length black dress with jet buttons.

As the apparition glided toward her, Aleta realized they were probably the same age. And she knew something else. She and this beautiful woman both loved children. But the expression on the woman’s face was puzzling and frightening. The full mouth was tight with rage. Heat, so intense it was almost physical, surged from the woman’s dark eyes. Closer, closer, the woman moved, drifting across the floor, and belatedly Aleta realized she couldn’t hear the woman’s footsteps. Then the woman was inches away, so near that Aleta felt a searing pain that began in her solar plexus and traveled out through the nerves of her body. She moaned and swayed to escape the fire coursing through her entire being. She was sweating. And nauseous. A horrid bile rose in her throat.

But worse, much worse, she was losing her identity. In some crazy way, she was becoming the woman. But that wasn’t possible. Was it?

In the fog enveloping her mind, Aleta became aware of the voice in her head. It wasn’t her voice. And this voice was speaking of cruel things. Dirty. Nasty. She shouldn’t hear such things. People didn’t do things like that. Not nice people.

Then came the pictures. That was worse. She tried to block the horrible images from her mind, but it was hard because the voice was so loud. She closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears. She bent over to put her head between her knees. She didn’t dare pass out. Her life depended on staying conscious.

Eight

In the background, the wireless was tuned to WIOD, the Wonderful Isle of Dreams station out of Miami. This late at night, it was about all Alejandro could get. The disk jockey was playing I Had the Time of My Life from that old movie Dirty Dancing , and Alejandro was remembering the night of his high school prom when the band played it and he’d danced real close with Lubelle—God, that girl could move. That’s when he’d had that vision of her dying in a car wreck. He’d tried to warn her, but she’d just laughed.

Three days later she died in a three-car collision on Palmetto Expressway. Alejandro looked up from the computer when he realized the music had changed. He paused, pen in hand, as he heard the strains of a chamber orchestra playing The Blue Danube Waltz.

What the heck? WIOD didn’t play this kind of stuff.

The lights in the lobby dimmed and took on a greenish luster, and he braced his hands against the cool marble countertop.

A savage blast of icy wind swirled into the lobby. Icy?

In Florida in August?

Yes. And it blew the door leading onto the terrace open so wide that the small office and the lobby were sprayed with sand and leaves and debris. Alejandro closed his eyes to protect them and wiped the sand off his face.

Heavy on the wind was the scent of gardenias. And over the rhythms of the orchestra, he heard the laughter of children playing.

The wind grew wilder, and he fought to stand erect.

The sound of childish laughter turned into squeals of surprise, then terror.

The fragrance of the flowers was smothered by another smell...the clinging, coppery odor of blood.

Overwhelmed by the sounds, the smells, the fury enveloping him, Alejandro dug desperately in his pants pocket for the key to the cash drawer. He threw it on the counter, where it shimmered in the rays of ethereal illumination that had flooded the office. Then he rushed headlong into the night, leaving the slatted wooden office door banging in the wind.

Within seconds, the wind died down.

The smells faded.

And Jim Croce’s rendition of Time in a Bottle emanated from the radio.

Nine

In the tremulous hour before dawn, the hour when most people decide to die, Aleta stumbled from the northern end of Lost Woman Slough onto the Inn’s golf course. Her head ached so fiercely she could barely see, but she groped her way, led by memory and instinct, across