After Life

by Andrew Neiderman

As quietly and as carefully as she could, she found the telephone and dialed the operator.

  “NTE,” the operator sang. The voice was so mechanical, Jessie feared it might be a recording.

  “Operator, I’m a blind person,” Jessie began. “I need to call a taxicab company. It’s an emergency.”

  “Just a moment, please, and I’ll connect you with information,” the operator recited. A moment later an almost identical voice came on.

  “Information. How can I help you?”

  “Operator, I’m a blind person,” she began again. “I need to phone for a taxicab. It’s an emergency.”

  “What town are you calling from, ma’am?”

  “Gardner.”

  “Just one moment. I have a Gardner Town Cab Company. Would that be all right?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said frantically. How can these people stay so calm? she wondered.

  “Just a moment.” A few seconds later a recording played the telephone number. Why didn’t the operator simply dial it for her? She had to listen to the second reciting to get the number memorized. Then she tapped it out slowly to be sure she was accurate.

  “Gardner Town Cabs,” a gruff voice answered.

  “I need a cab right away.”

  “Address?”

  “I want the driver to pick me up in front of the Gardner Town Cemetery,” she said. “I’ll be at the stone arch in front.”

  “You’re kiddin’?”

  “No, sir. Please. It’s very important. Tell the driver I’m blind.”

  “You’re blind and you’ll be standing at the entrance to the cemetery?”

  “Yes, please, please believe me,” she begged. He was silent a moment and then in an increasingly skeptical voice continued.

  “All right. Where are you going?”

  “To the hospital.”

  “What’s your phone number?” he demanded.

  “Please,” she said. “Don’t call me back. My name is Jessie Overstreet. My husband teaches at the high school.”

  “The new coach? Yeah, that’s right. I heard his wife was blind,” the dispatcher said as if he were talking to a third party and not to her.

  “Yes. My husband’s the basketball coach,” she said, finally finding a reason to be grateful they were in a small town.

  “All right, ma’am. I’m sending someone right out.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and hung the phone up quietly. She listened again. The rhythmic murmuring of Tracy and Bob’s voices continued unabated.

  Jessie found her shoes and slipped them on. Then, with her heart pounding so hard it nearly took her breath away, she started out. Almost immediately she had a spell of vertigo and nearly fainted. She hugged the wall and battled desperately to remain conscious. The spell passed and she made her way out of the bedroom and into the corridor. She moved as stealthily and as quickly as she could toward the front door, but every few moments the vertigo threatened to return and she had to pause to take deep breaths.

  At one point she heard Tracy’s laugh and then silence, so she stopped and waited to be sure they weren’t getting up. They began to talk again. There was the clink of dishes. She continued on. She nearly forgot the small table in the hallway by the door and almost bumped into it, which would surely have sent the vase on it crashing to the floor. She stopped just in time, felt for it, and then made her way around. When she reached the door, she hesitated, listened again, and then turned the knob in tiny increments so the click of the lock would be unheard.

  Everything squeaked in this house, she thought as she started to open the door. She had to wait for them to raise their voices. Fortunately Tracy laughed again, and at that moment Jessie opened the door and slipped into the hallway. The moment she did so, terror filled her heart because images from her nightmare returned. Was the creature on the stairway? What about old man Carter?

  She listened and waited in anticipation, half expecting some cold wet hand to seize her by the neck and pull her down. However, the dank stench wasn’t strong. Nothing happened. All was still. Relieved, she moved to the heavy oak door and, just as before, took her time opening it. She no longer could hear Tracy and Bob speaking, so there was nothing she could do at this point but take her chances with the squeaks. They wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway, she realized. Even so, she didn’t open the door an inch more than she had to in order to slip out and onto the porch.

  As soon as she was outside, she hurried to the stairway, took hold of the short railing, and stepped down quickly. A wave of nausea washed over her, nearly bringing her to her knees. Her stomach churned. It felt as if the ground beneath her feet was softening. When she straightened up and began to step forward, she had the sense she was walking over a giant mattress, her feet sinking here and there, each time threatening to topple her anew.

  Reciting the map of the front yard over and over to herself, she moved as quickly as she could down the slate walk. Lee had described the road and the surroundings in detail to her. Now she had to recall it accurately. At the end of the walkway she made a sharp right turn and stood up straight. She inhaled the cool night air, gasping like a person just saved from drowning. The chill felt good, felt refreshing, helped to revive her. More confident now, with her head high, she took firm steps down the side of the road, estimating the distance she was covering. Every once in a while she stopped and groped in the darkness to see if she could feel the stone arch. She was terrified she would overstep it, get lost, and the cabdriver would miss her and leave.

  Finally, realizing she had to be close, she took a chance, stepped off the side of the road, and waved her hands in small circles until her fingers found the rough granite surface of the stone arch. She was standing at the entrance to the cemetery. She breathed relief and turned back toward the road to wait. Almost immediately she heard it.

  The silence of the night was broken by that ghoulish, all-too-familiar sound of the shovel striking the earth, lifting, dumping, and striking the earth again. They’re preparing for Lee, she thought. They’re coming for him. She cowered against the stone arch. Moments later she heard the sound of an automobile and she stepped forward, hoping and praying it was the taxi and not Dr. Beezly or one of the poor souls he had successfully claimed as his own.

  14

  Jessie held her breath as the car pulled to a stop in front of her. For a moment she didn’t move a muscle. She heard a door open and someone get out.

  “You Mrs. Overstreet?” a deep, male voice asked as the man approached.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m Mickey Levine, the cabdriver. You wanted a cab, right?” he asked. She sensed how the setting and situation had confused and unnerved him.

  “Yes, yes,” she said, and held her hand out. Mickey hesitated and then took it and led her to the taxi.

  “Kind of cool out tonight. Don’tcha have a jacket or nothin’?” he asked as he opened the door.

  “I’m fine,” she said, and got in. “Please,” she said, sensing he was standing there and looking around. “Hurry.”

  “Right.” He walked around the cab quickly and got in. “Community General Hospital?”

  “Yes. My husband’s been in a car accident.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Sorry.” Mickey dropped the transmission into drive and shot off. As soon as the car began to move, Jessie sat back in relief. She had made it; she had gotten away. Now she would be able to help Lee, she thought.

  “Was it a bad accident?” Mickey asked.

  “Yes. He’s in a coma.”

  “Oh boy. That’s serious stuff. I know your husband,” he added quickly. “I mean, I don’t know him personally, but I know him. I was to that ball game the other night, the one with all the fights.”

  “So was I,” she said. “It was horrible.”

  “Yeah. So how come you was waitin’ all alone by the cemetery?” Mickey asked.

  “It’s a long story,” she replied. She certainly wasn’t going to start telling it now, and if she did, he might th
ink her crazy and not take her to the hospital.

  “I’ll bet,” he said.

  They were quiet the rest of the way, the only sounds being those that came over the squawk box. Just before they turned up the drive to the hospital, Mickey radioed his location. He brought the cab to a stop in front of the main entrance and hopped out to help her.

  “Please, take me to the receptionist,” she asked. He led her into the hospital and brought her to the circular desk in the lobby, presently manned by one of the volunteers from the service organization known as the Pink Ladies because of the pink cotton coats they wore over their dresses and slacks.

  “This is Mrs. Overstreet,” Mickey announced as they approached an elderly volunteer. A name tag over her left breast read Rose. “Her husband was in an accident,” he added.

  “Oh dear. Let me see…” Rose flipped the pages of her directory.

  “He’s the high-school basketball coach, Rose,” Mickey said as if he expected everyone would know that.

  “Yes, he’s in the intensive-care unit.”

  “Well, someone’s got to help her,” he added before Jessie could speak for herself. She realized Mickey Levine had taken her on as his responsibility. He leaned closer to Rose. “She’s blind.”

  “Oh dear,” Rose repeated. Now completely flustered, she began to push buttons on her intercom, finally coming up with another volunteer, who said she would be right there to help escort Jessie.

  “Okay,” Mickey said, turning back to Jessie. “I hope things go well.”

  “Thank you,” Jessie said.

  “I got a ten-dollar fare to collect,” he added after a moment.

  “Oh…in my haste I forgot to take any money.”

  “You forgot?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll get the money to you as soon as I can.”

  “It don’t bother me, but Tony, he’s a pain in the rear, if you know what I mean. Maybe someone can loan you some money.”

  He looked at Rose, but she still looked overwhelmed.

  “I don’t know anyone here,” Jessie said. “I’ll get it to you. I promise.”

  “I’ll call Tony and see what he wants me to do.” Mickey shook his head and walked off to radio the dispatcher. A moment later a tall, thin black woman in her early thirties arrived to escort Jessie. She took her to the elevator and they went up to intensive care, where she introduced Jessie to Sue Martin, the head nurse.

  “How is he?” Jessie asked frantically.

  “I’m afraid there’s not much of a change. He suffered a serious head injury. You will have to wait for Dr. Beezly to return in order to get more detailed information,” she added. “He’s gone to confer with the radiologist.”

  “NO,” Jessie cried, pulling back.

  “Pardon?”

  Jessie’s sudden outburst caught the otherwise efficient and imposing-looking head nurse by surprise. She was a tall, lean woman with sharp facial features.

  “I don’t want Dr. Beezly near my husband. I don’t want him near him. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” Jessie shouted. She had her hands clenched into fists and pressed them against her bosom.

  “Please, Mrs. Overstreet,” Sue Martin said, regaining her composure quickly. “Keep your voice down. You’re in the intensive-care unit. These patients are critical,” she snapped, her voice hard, cold.

  “I’m sorry,” Jessie said, catching her breath. “I’m sorry. I just want it understood that Dr. Beezly is not to go near my husband.”

  “It was my understanding that he was your family doctor,” Sue replied.

  “That’s not true. Take me to my husband. Please. Take me to him,” she begged.

  “I’ll take you to him, but I must insist you control yourself. You can easily disturb one of our other patients.”

  “I’ll behave. I promise,” Jessie said.

  Sue Martin seemed content with her assertion of authority. She took Jessie’s hand and walked her down to the end of the intensive-care unit and turned her into a room.

  “Please,” Jessie said. “Put my hand on his.”

  Sue did so and then brought her a chair.

  “Thank you.”

  “Isn’t someone here with you, Mrs. Overstreet?” Sue Martin asked.

  “No,” Jessie said, her voice cracking. Lee’s palm still felt warm, but the tips of his fingers felt cold. Death was creeping over him slowly, she thought. And then she thought, This is Dr. Beezly’s doing. Whatever’s happening to Lee now is his design.

  “Lee,” she whispered. She ran her fingers up his arm until she reached his face and touched his lips. They felt so dry and cool. “Fight back, honey. Don’t let them take you from me? Fight them, Lee. Please listen to me, darling, please,” she said.

  Sue Martin, listened for a moment and then smirked before turning away. She walked back to her station, shaking her head. The escort had remained to talk to Janet Paulet, another nurse.

  “How did she get here?” Sue asked her.

  “Taxicab. She didn’t have any money to pay him either and he’s fit to be tied. His boss told him to stay here until he gets paid,” Janet said.

  “This is ridiculous,” Sue Martin said. “A hysterical blind woman wandering about on her own,” she muttered, and went back to her reports. Occasionally she looked up to gaze toward Lee and Jessie. Jessie had her forehead on Lee’s arm now and looked like she was chanting something.

  Sue Martin lifted the phone and dialed radiology.

  “Is Dr. Beezly still there?” she inquired quickly. After a moment she added, “Well, would you please tell him Mrs. Overstreet has arrived and has given me instructions not to let him near her husband. The woman looks like she is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

  Sue hung up the receiver. Jessie was standing now and holding Lee’s hand against her bosom. She had her head back and looked like she was praying. A moment later the door was opened and Tracy and Bob Baker entered. Tracy spotted Jessie first and the two started toward her.

  “Just a minute,” Sue Martin said, coming around her desk. “Can I help you?”

  “We’ve come after Mrs. Overstreet,” Bob said. “We were looking after her and didn’t know she had gone off on her own.”

  “Oh. I was wondering why a blind woman was by herself like this.”

  “She’s not very well,” Tracy said softly. Sue’s eyes grew narrow. “She’s recently suffered a nervous breakdown and now this.”

  “I thought so. She came in here quite hysterical and demanded I keep Dr. Beezly away from her husband,” Sue said.

  “Oh no. Lee Overstreet always had a high degree of respect and admiration for Dr. Beezly. In fact, they’ve become good friends,” Bob said. “I can vouch for that. He teaches with me at the high school.”

  “Well, I was surprised when Mrs. Overstreet was so adamant. I had never heard a complaint about Dr. Beezly before.”

  As if he were waiting in the wings to hear his name mentioned, Dr. Beezly came through the door. He exchanged a quick, icy gaze with Bob before smiling at Tracy and the head nurse.

  “What seems to be the problem?” he asked, approaching.

  “Apparently Jessie called a cab without our knowing and then snuck out of the house and came here. She’s made a bit of a scene already,” Bob explained.

  “I handled it,” Sue Martin assured them, “but if she’s having a nervous breakdown…”

  “We’ve got to get her out of here quickly and quietly,” Dr. Beezly said. “I’ve been treating her for severe depression. Perhaps,” he said, looking at the Bakers, “I ought to have her admitted. At least for a day or so. She needs to be watched. Especially under these circumstances. Her loss of sight is the result of a previous automobile accident,” he explained to the head nurse. “And the trauma of her husband being in another car accident…”

  “There are no other family members?” Sue Martin asked.

  “Not in the community. I have both his and her parents’ phone numbers and will be calling them soon,” Dr. Beezly said.r />
  “What do you want us to do?” Bob asked.

  “Get her out as quickly and as quietly as you can. I’ll have admitting assign her a bed. For the moment,” the doctor said, looking toward Jessie, “it’s probably better that she doesn’t know I’m here. We don’t want her to cause a scene in intensive care.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Sue Martin said. “That’s wise. I’ll help you,” she added, looking at the Bakers. She, Tracy, and Bob walked toward Jessie.

  Just before they arrived, Jessie felt a cold draft on the back of her neck and turned toward them sharply. She did it with such definiteness, it brought a look of surprise to the nurse’s face and a gasp to Tracy’s lips. It was as though Jessie had miraculously regained her sight. Even though her head was directed at them, however, her eyes remained dull, lifeless.

  “Jessie,” Tracy said, reaching her first and taking her hand into hers. “Why did you sneak away like that? You gave Bob and me some fright.”

  “Get away from me. Get away.” Jessie pulled her hand from Tracy’s. “Leave us alone. Leave us alone,” she repeated, raising her voice sufficiently to set the head nurse moving.

  “Mrs. Overstreet, you will have to leave now. This is intensive care. You’re permitted only a short visit,” Sue Martin said.

  “No,” Jessie said, shaking her head. “I must stay with him, protect him. Please.”

  “You can’t do anything for him right now, Mrs. Overstreet, and as I told you before, we have many critically ill patients in here. Please. You can return later.”

  “I won’t make a sound. I won’t do anything. I’ll just sit here and hold his hand. I swear it,” Jessie pleaded.

  “Mrs. Overstreet…”

  “I must stay with him,” Jessie said firmly. “If I don’t, they will take him from me. Don’t you understand?” she insisted, raising her voice again. Sue Martin signaled another nurse, who came across the room quickly.

  “You’re making things much more difficult for everyone, Mrs. Overstreet, including your husband,” Sue Martin said.

  “Really, Jessie, you are,” Tracy added. “Bob and I are here to be with you and—”

  “NOOOOO,” Jessie cried. She stood up and held her hands out to ward them off.