“Well, good-bye and good luck with Dr. Beezly,” Marjorie said.
“Bye. Thanks.”
A short while later Tracy phoned to see how she was doing, too.
“I wanted to phone earlier, but I was afraid of disturbing you. Do you have a bad hangover today?”
“Actually, no.”
“Dr. Beezly’s advice was on the money, huh? He’s amazing. The way he just seems to know what’s best for everyone. Even if he can’t help you physically, he’ll offer you good advice. He seems to have a prophet’s wisdom.”
“It surprises me he’s not the mayor of this town,” Jessie said. The words came out a lot harsher than she had intended, but there was something annoying about the way they all praised Dr. Beezly. No man should be thought of in such extravagant terms, she mused. It’s almost sinful.
“What do you mean?” Tracy asked.
“Everyone thinks so highly of him.”
“Oh.” Tracy laughed. “I suppose we do sound like idolaters or something, but it is rare to find someone with all his qualities. Most of the doctors I’ve known were kind of narrow. When they look at you, they see kidneys and glands, not people. Dr. Beezly sees you for what and who you are.”
“I’m not so sure I want someone that perceptive looking into me,” Jessie said thoughtfully. Tracy laughed again.
“Don’t worry. He’s discreet.”
“Sounds more like a clergyman than a physician,” Jessie muttered.
Tracy giggled.
“That’s what Marjorie used to say.”
“Oh? She called earlier,” Jessie said. “She apologized for force-feeding the wine.”
“How nice. I know she felt bad about it.”
“Tracy, why does Henry let her make wine if she has had a problem with alcohol? Or for that matter, why doesn’t Dr. Beezly say something about it?”
“Well…” Tracy said. Jessie sensed her hesitation.
“What?”
“I’m sure it might have been because you had some on a relative empty stomach or something, but it’s not very strong. The only thing it does to me is make me nauseous because it’s too sweet. Of course, I wouldn’t tell Marge that, but—”
“Not very strong? It hit me like a brick.”
Tracy laughed.
“Maybe you’re just allergic to elderberries. Believe me, if Dr. Beezly thought it was dangerous for Marjorie to make it, he would speak up. He’s not one to keep his opinions in a trunk, as you will soon learn,” she added, and laughed again. Only this time Jessie felt as if Tracy knew some secret, some secret Jessie was about to have revealed to her. Tracy, too, wished her luck before ending the conversation.
The groceries were delivered a little before noon. Jessie put them away and prepared the chicken Kiev after she made herself some lunch. By the time she had finished and cleaned up, it was close to two o’clock. Anticipating Dr. Beezly’s arrival, she went to the front of the apartment and listened for his car. Oddly, though, she never heard him drive up.
Suddenly, as if he had materialized out of thin air, he was knocking on her apartment door. The sound took her by such surprise, she literally jumped in her seat. Then, for a moment she couldn’t move. He knocked again. She took a deep breath and rose from the chair. When she opened the door, she was first greeted with a whiff of that now-too-familiar stench. It passed quickly, however.
“Hello, Jessie,” Dr. Beezly said. She smiled and extended her hand. He took it slowly, his fingers curling around hers. Once again she had the sensation that she was shaking hands with a corpse. Her fingers cut through his smokelike flesh and she felt his bones. He held on and then entered the apartment when she said hello and stepped back.
“I didn’t hear you drive up,” she said.
“Really? My Mercedes is a diesel and makes far too much noise for my taste,” he said.
She stood there smiling incredulously. Her hearing was keen. Even if he had driven up with his engine off, she would have heard the crunch of gravel under the tires. Surely she would have heard him step up to the porch. She hadn’t even heard the front door open and that door squeaked so loud, she could hear it when she was in the kitchen. Maybe she had been too deep in thought, she mused.
“This is a roomy apartment,” Dr. Beezly commented as he walked farther in. “But you will be much better off in the new one,” he added quickly. “It’s too isolated out here. You should be around people, activity. I don’t mean noise,” he said, touching her shoulder. “I imagine it’s deadly quiet here. No pun intended,” he said, laughing.
“You’d be surprised how noisy it gets,” she replied. “At least in my mind or my imagination, as Lee puts it.”
“Oh?”
“I hear digging all the time, it seems, and when I ask Mr. Carter about it, he claims he’s not doing any digging. Lee and I are both wondering now if there aren’t some grave robbers.”
“Oh my. Perhaps I should have the police look into it,” Dr. Beezly said. “I’ll see about it.”
She shrugged.
“I don’t know anymore. I’m the only one who seems to hear it happening.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “Why don’t we sit on the sofa here,” he suggested. “I’ve brought my bag along and I’d like to do a few tests quickly. Nothing complicated.”
“All right.” She sat down and folded her hands on her lap as he placed his bag on the coffee table. She heard him unzip it.
“So,” he began, “tell me a little about the accident.”
“I don’t remember it well,” she said quickly.
“Yes, that’s very common with serious accidents.”
“Like what happened to Marjorie,” she said.
“Exactly. The mind blocks out details. It’s too painful to remember, especially if someone you love is killed or seriously hurt. Or someone you love causes the accident,” he added. She felt herself tighten into a fist inside. “Was it a one-car accident?”
“Yes. We went off the road and hit a tree.”
“I see. You and Lee had been coming from a party late at night?”
How did he know that? she wondered. She certainly hadn’t mentioned it to Tracy, or to anyone else in Gardner Town for that matter, and she couldn’t imagine Lee having done so.
“We were going home, yes.”
“People never realize how much they’ve drunk, do they?” he said.
“No.” What did this have to do with the examination of her eyes? she wondered. Is he just trying to make small talk? If so, he’s chosen the wrong subject.
“I’m sure he feels bad about it. Guilty,” he added. For a moment she didn’t respond. “These things are difficult to face up to,” he added.
“I don’t blame him. Accidents happen. It wasn’t something he wanted to happen or something he did deliberately,” she said. She couldn’t help sounding testy, but if he was going to continue on this subject…
“Oh, I know you don’t hold him accountable, but that doesn’t mean he won’t blame himself, I’m sure. I suppose we’re all sinners of one sort or another. It’s in our nature to be so. Drunk driving is what I would call a sin of weakness, as opposed to a sin of passion or a sin of greed. Do you agree?” he inquired.
“It’s not something I enjoy talking about, Doctor. I’m sorry,” she said. She almost snapped at him.
“Of course.” He sat beside her and took her hand into his for a moment. “Now, you just try to relax,” he said, patting her hand softly. “I’m not going to do anything that would cause you any pain.”
“All right.” She took a deep breath. Then she felt his fingers on her forehead and his thumbs pull up on her skin so her eyes opened wider. She heard him snap on a small light and imagined he was pointing the beam directly into her pupil, her dead pupil.
“Uh-huh,” he said. Suddenly there was that putrescent odor again. It seemed to come from his mouth. How could a physician have such halitosis? she wondered. He has to get so close to people all the time.
The
fingers of his right hand moved to her left temple and the fingers of his left hand moved to her right. She sensed him standing directly in front of her now, holding his hands on her and gazing closely at her face as he did so. The odor grew stronger, sharper, more difficult to tolerate. She squirmed.
“Easy,” he whispered.
“I think it’s a little stuffy in here,” she said, trying to be polite about it. “Maybe we should open a window.”
“The windows are open,” he replied. He began to massage her temples slowly, softly. The bony feel of his fingers changed until it was more like something wet. It felt like some cold liquid was emanating from the tips.
“You do see something, don’t you, Jessie?” he suddenly asked, only the question sounded more like an accusation than an inquiry. “You see more than people know. You have a deeper vision, one that penetrates surfaces, passes through words and sounds, a vision that comes to you through your sense of smell and touch and hearing. Even through taste, a vision that is sharper, clearer, and far more accurate. A vision that is prophetic, clairvoyant.”
His voice was soothing, mesmerizing. She felt as if he were hypnotizing her. Her mind began to reel. His words were adrift on her sea of understanding, floating, probing, seeking. She couldn’t resist him.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I do.”
“I think,” he said, “that you are the only person who can see me. If you want to, if you permit yourself to, that is. Go on, Jessie. Do it. Open those inner eyes of yours.”
She shook her head.
“Go on.”
“No,” she said, her voice small. She started to back away, but his fingers were glued to her temples now. Whatever that putrid fluid was, it cemented her to him and it created new paths, new synapses into her mind. Down his arms his identity flowed. Through his wrist and hands, into his fingers and into her mind, where her vision was clear and vivid.
She gasped.
First she saw the beetlelike creature. It had taken the place of Dr. Beezly. Suddenly it metamorphosed into a giant fly, its eyes red, and then it changed into a man with a cadaverous face, sunken eyes, yellow and pale skin. He was naked, which revealed how lean he was. He had a humped back and was covered with coal-black body hair, a trail of it moving down from his chin to his chest, and flowing over his stomach to join with his thick patch of pubic hair, out of which emerged a thick, red, pulsating penis, its opening dilating as it swelled. With her inner vision, she saw that his legs were like the legs of a goat with cloven feet. Hanging down under his crotch and just visible was a thick, hairy tail.
She screamed and backed away with all her strength, breaking his hold on her temples. Even so, the picture that had been sent into her mind remained vivid. She screamed again and lifted her arms protectively over her face, but his hands, with their long, crooked fingers and strands of hair growing out of the palms, caressed her breasts. Some drool fell from his thick, wormy lips. His teeth were black and his tongue writhed like a small, pink snake.
She screamed once more, this time her voice reaching a shrill, high pitch that was painful to her own ears. It didn’t drive him back. It seemed to bring a smile to his raw face, a face that appeared skinless, the blue veins drawing road maps over his cheeks and forehead.
She wanted to push his hands off her bosom, but when she touched his arms, they felt revolting, sticky and wet like flypaper. Her fingers became attached, rendering her helpless. His fingers unfastened her blouse and peeled it away from her breasts. They unclipped her bra and lifted it up and over her bosom, and then he lowered those twisting, squirming lips to her nipples and the snakelike tongue slithered over them, first the right and then the left.
She wasn’t screaming anymore, at least not aloud. Her screams were turned inward and trapped in an echo chamber in her mind. It made her dizzy. She passed out and regained consciousness a number of times while her skirt was being lifted and her panties lowered. She felt herself being shoved and adjusted so that he could bring that thumping phallus to her vaginal lips. There, it rested, throbbed, waited, poised for entry.
Trapped beneath this slime, her arms and hands rendered helpless, her body in a viselike grip, she waited, anticipating a most horrible violation. But he was still. The only movement was the rhythmic nudging of his gross penis against her, an erotic prying, urging her to open and welcome it. She held herself tight, her body locked in firm resistance. The drool that fell from his lips splattered on hers and some of it found its way into her mouth, leaving a sweet and salty taste. She gagged, but she couldn’t prevent it from flowing down her throat.
While his body remained pressed down on her she could feel the black hairs tickling her skin. His breath was so hot, she felt she was on the verge of being burned.
“Jessie,” he finally said. The word echoed in her mind as if it had bypassed her ears, as if it had emerged from someplace within her. “Jessie.”
She shook her head to deny it, but it wouldn’t be denied. It demanded her attention.
“Jessie, I can offer you restored sight. I can heal you. I can make you a whole woman again, beautiful and bright. I can give you health and happiness for as long as you want. All you have to do is want, want me, open to me, welcome me. I’ll bring you to a height you’ve never before reached.”
The pulsating phallus thickened between her thighs. It pressed and pried harder, but she held on.
“NO!” she screamed.
“Jessie, Lee will soon be mine. You don’t want him to leave you behind. Join him; join us. See again. Live a full life. Open to me,” he pleaded. “Open to me.”
“Open to him,” a chorus of voices within her chanted. “Open to him.”
“No,” she said weakly. She was opening. The tip of that thick penis grew warmer and warmer. She felt herself softening. His drool fell faster; the stench of him crawled up her nostrils, making her mind spin. Her legs were starting to part. Her spine was relaxing. He brought his mouth to her breasts again and sucked, that reptilelike tongue extending and lifting. Her head was falling back.
“Surrender and you will see again,” he promised. “Surrender.”
The penis was crawling in like a plump little rodent, twitching from side to side, squirming, thickening…
“NOOOOO!” she cried with one desperate surge of resistance. “JESUS, NO! JESUS, HELP ME! HELP ME!”
The words washed him back. The grotesque phallus shrank rapidly and retreated. His body lifted from hers and her fingers broke free of his sticky and pasty skin. She screamed again and again until all the lights that had been turned on inside her mind went out. Wave after wave of soft, gauzelike light replaced it. It drifted over and over her. It made her feel safe and she relaxed.
All was quiet, still. It had ended.
12
The ringing of the telephone awakened her. She sat up slowly, unsure for a moment where she was. Her groping hands informed her she was in the living room on the sofa. The phone rang on. She leaned over to grasp the receiver and ran her right palm over her forehead at the same time.
“Jess?”
It was Lee. For a moment she couldn’t speak. It was as if the wires running from her mind to her tongue were burned out. The words were stuck somewhere in between. Her lips began to tremble and then finally she made a short, guttural sound.
“Jess? You there?” Lee asked.
“Yes,” she croaked. At least that’s how it sounded to her. She had been turned into a frog. The thought put her into a panic and she dropped the receiver and began running her hands up and down her body, confirming that she still had legs and arms and breasts. She was still a woman, but after what she had just been through, nothing would have surprised her.
Lee’s voice cried out in mechanical tones. For a moment she hallucinated him as tiny and trapped in the receiver. She clutched it quickly and brought it back to her ear and mouth.
“LEE!” she cried.
“What is it, honey? What’s going on?”
“LEE!” She s
tarted to cry.
“Jessie, talk to me, honey. Is Dr. Beezly still there? What’s going on? Jessie?”
“Lee,” she said in tones more recognizable. Her voice was returning. “I was almost raped. Maybe I was. I’m not even sure.” There, she had gotten it out. The horror was put into words.
“What? When? How? I’m hanging up,” he added quickly. “I’ll be right there. Have you phoned the police?”
“The police can’t help,” she said softly, and shook her head. In fact, the thought of the police coming suddenly made her laugh.
“Jessie?”
She laughed again and again. Tears began streaming down her cheeks.
“The police?” she said, and laughed on until she had to drop the phone. Once again Lee’s voice sounded tiny, mechanical. Then her laughter turned to sobs, long, hard sobs that made her draw in air so quickly it brought an ache to her lungs. She embraced herself and crouched over to stop the pain, but it wouldn’t end.
Lee’s voice stopped, and after a few moments there was a monotonous hum coming from the receiver in her lap. She threw it off, the hard plastic implement bouncing on the rug, away from her.
Suddenly it occurred to her that she might not be alone. That he might still be here. He could even be in the room, sitting across from her, smiling and watching. The thought sent a chilling wave of fear through her body. Her limbs grew soft and weak. She listened. Was that the sound of heavy breathing?
“Are you here?” she asked, but there was no reply. Slowly, fearfully, she stood up. Her legs wobbled. Where would she go? What was a safe haven? Surely no place in the apartment was.
She took her first steps, nearly tottering as she did so. She clutched herself tightly and waited for the dizziness to pass, listening keenly. That was definitely the sound of heavy breathing; he was still here, watching her, waiting.
After Life Page 15
