strange events leading up to Charlie’s death was the truth.
He thinks I’m crazy, I can tell by the way he’s looking at me. Christ, and who wouldn’t? She could hardly believe her own words as they tumbled incoherently out of her mouth. A man, she told him, had appeared to her after Charlie had gone flying across the room. A man who had sexually assaulted her and then disappeared into thin air afterward.
“I know how this must sound, but it’s the truth, I swear,” she insisted stubbornly between bursts of tears.
“With respect, I must ask you,” said the official, “did you or your husband obtain hashish during your stay? Tourists are often approached by the local dealers. If you were under the influence—”
“No” she said, feeling her anger rise. “We don’t use drugs, and we didn’t buy any.”
“I see.” He seemed to be studying her intently. “And did you make any effort to resist this man who ‘appeared’ in your room?”
She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment at the question as she remembered how consumed by lust she’d been in the man’s presence. “I, I think he may have done something to me, hypnotized me somehow,” she stammered. “I didn’t feel like I was in control of myself.” Her head, which had begun to throb dully a half hour ago, exploded into a migraine. She felt hot, feverish, and sick to her stomach.
“Please,” she asked, “I need to speak with the embassy. I want to go home. I want to take my husband home.” She burst into tears again, which only caused the pounding at her temples to increase.
“A message has been left with night staff at the embassy on your behalf. The building opens at eight. Someone will likely be in touch with you then.”
Khalid poked his head in to announce that the call she had asked him to place to her sister, Dora, had been made, and she could use the telephone in the office. She felt the officer’s eyes on her as she walked unsteadily around the desk and quickly picked up the handset. “Dora? Oh, God, Dora,” she said, erupting into tears again. “Something terrible’s happened.”
* * * *
In the early hours of the morning, back in the suite where Charlie’s body had lain until a short time ago, Lilli pulled the bedding closer around her, shivering uncontrollably. She alternated between sweating with fever and freezing every time the breeze from the overhead fan reached her. Each time she snapped awake, her eyes felt swollen and painful. Through the terrace window, she could see a brilliant full moon, sitting high in an unfamiliar sky.
Charlie’s dead. The remembrance sent her sinking back into oblivion.
She had taken the first of the antibiotics prescribed by the doctor Khalid had summoned earlier, but knew they wouldn’t kick in for a couple of days. A battle raged in her body. Her fevered dreams felt more like hallucinations. Visions of the dark angel who had come to her disturbed her already restless sleep. She glimpsed him in her dreams, prowling the dark night like a panther in search of prey. As she followed him through her confused delirium, he trained his shimmering, gold-ringed eyes on her. An unconscious moan escaped her. Those shadowy eyes aroused her, even in her disconcerted slumber.
In between the haunting visions of the man, her dead husband intruded on her sleeping thoughts, his face a mask of fear, his hand reaching out to her as if in warning. “Charlie,” she whimpered through lips chapped with fever. He was trying to tell her something, but she could not hear him clearly, and could only discern the urgent tone of his far-away dream voice.
She started awake again, shivering with cold and burning with heat. Her bones felt as if they were filled with broken glass. Even the soft cotton sheets caused her skin to hurt. Have to get back home. She had to bring Charlie home, because Charlie was dead, she reminded herself. She had to bury her dead husband.
A vague memory of having spoken to Dora earlier on the telephone to deliver the awful news about Charlie surfaced, but with her fever spiking, she could only recall disjointed snippets of the conversation. Her head throbbed mercilessly, making it hard to think. Even so, she tried to get out of bed. She had to do something. But as she lifted the covers away, blackness seeped into her vision. She fell back onto the bed, unable to get to her feet. Her eyes closed again, and she drifted back into her nightmares.
The next time she opened her eyes, it was dusk. A man was in the room with her, she saw with a start. She stifled a cry, seeing it was Khalid who stood just inside the doorway. He had prepared a dinner tray and encouraged her in broken English to eat something. She shook her head, which still throbbed mightily, and began to ramble, “My husband… Charlie’s dead… I need to…” It was no use. Her stomach roiled at the sight of the food on the tray Khalid held. Still burning up with fever, she didn’t manage to get the rest of the words out before her head sank back down into the pillow. Just before she trailed off into unconsciousness, she saw Khalid leave the room, the untouched dinner tray still in his hand, shutting the door firmly behind him.
On the following morning, she woke with a raging thirst. Her throat was sore and parched, but the splitting headache had eased up. Her fever had broken. She tried to sit up in bed, and succeeded. Just then, a knock sounded at the door and Khalid entered, carrying a large glass of orange juice and a breakfast tray. This time she accepted it gratefully.
“You are feeling better today, yes?” Khalid asked in an anxious voice.
She felt weak and exhausted, but her mind was clear again and her thoughts already racing. She needed to make arrangements to have Charlie’s body released and get back home, away from this nightmare. Far too much time had been lost already on account of her strange illness.
“Yes,” she said, “better. Khalid, I need to get in touch with the Embassy. I need to… My husband… I need to arrange to bring him home.” The words caught in her throat as she forced back the tears that threatened to erupt.
“There is a man downstairs from the Consulate. He arrived last night, but you were too ill to meet with him. The doctor advised him to return this morning. Your sister contacted him yesterday morning. If you are well enough now, I will tell him.”
Relief flooded over her as she mentally blessed Dora. She could only imagine what must have been involved in getting her the help she needed, but Lilli knew well enough how formidable Dora could be when circumstances required.
“Thank you. I’ll get dressed and come down right away.”
* * * *
On the morning of the following day, she walked on still-weak legs along the dim alley to the waiting taxi. Khalid followed, carrying her luggage. While he loaded the suitcases into the trunk, she got inside the taxi that would take her to the train station for the trip back to Casablanca. From there, she was booked on the next flight out to the States. She felt wretchedly alone, and still weak from the mysterious illness. She kept imagining Charlie, lying in a casket soon to be loaded into the cargo hold of the plane. The trip home would be a nightmare, knowing her husband’s body would be in the compartment below, with only the luggage of the other tourists to sit vigil. She could not believe the drastic suddenness with which her life had fallen apart.
Through the rolled-down window, she said a quick good-bye to Khalid. Although grateful for his help, she wanted only to leave this place of death behind.
During the taxi ride to the train station, the events of that night replayed themselves in her mind like a bad movie. What had happened to her? And to Charlie? She’d watched in horror as he’d gone flying across the
