The Evolutionist

by Rena Mason

  One by one, we head over to the cushions in the middle of Cally’s family room floor. She hands everyone a copy of the book. “All right ladies, you’re going to love this. It’s a memoir about a woman who gives up everything, then tours nearly every top luxury spa in the world before finding herself through transcendental enlightenment.

  “Don’t glare at me like that Stacy, it got really good reviews. But maybe the floor pillows weren’t such a good idea.” She rubs her lower back.

  “Sounds good to me,” Jordan says. “Does she list the best spas at the end of the book? I’m definitely going to need one after sitting like this.” She giggles and flips through to the back pages.

  Cally walks over and closes the book in Jordan’s hands. “You’ve got to read it from the beginning.”

  “Whatever,” Jordan snaps. “Now be a dear, and help me up off this tombstone you call a floor.” Cally reaches down and pulls Jordan up. The rest of us stand on our own.

  “Well,” Gail says, “I have to go.”

  “So soon?” Cally says.

  Gail gives Cally a hug and glares over at me. Then she walks toward the foyer.

  “It’s time for me to leave too,” I say.

  “You can’t go yet,” Cally insists. “There’s something important we need to discuss.”

  “We can do it tomorrow. I’m exhausted.” I turn around to walk with Gail, but she’s already made it to the foyer.

  Cally grabs my arm and stops me in the hall. “You really should stay,” she says.

  “Do I look tired to you?”

  “Actually, you do look a little pale. Go on home and get some rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She grins like a little girl with a secret. “We’ll get some coffee in the morning after yoga. Don’t forget.”

  I catch up to Gail before she leaves. Books in hand, we walk out to our cars. “Looks like you got out of it tonight,” Gail says.

  “You’re not being fair. You’ve been friends with Cally since…well, forever.”

  “Exactly,” she says. “Night.” Then she gets in her car and backs down around the driveway.

  * * *

  Reluctant to wake Jon, I tiptoe into the bedroom, but the light of the moon reveals an empty bed. After I’ve been in the shower for several minutes, he steps quietly into the bathroom.

  “How was it?” he says.

  “Oh, you know—the usual—in-depth, comprehensive discussions on Hemingway, symbolism, pointillism, and transcendental meditation.”

  Jon bellows out laughter that reverberates around the thick, glass shower door. He walks up and peeks through a patch that isn’t fogged over. “So, what is it I can expect to see you entrenched in these next few days?”

  “Another chick memoir.”

  He leans in and puts the tip of his nose against the glass. His dark brown eyes striking, even through the steam. “Hmm…sounds riveting. I’m glad guys don’t have book groups.”

  “Maybe you should start one.”

  His sensual smile accentuates his robust lips. “No thanks. I’ll stick with the occasional poker night.”

  “You’re so unoriginal—especially for Vegas.”

  “Unoriginal, yes, but easy—and that’s what guys want—easy.”

  “You coming in for a little easy?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I’ve still got some work in the office.”

  “That’s unfortunate indeed.” I press my soapy breasts against the shower door.

  He leans down and licks the glass in front of each one. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed. Unless I see that you need me to.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I reply. “That was great, let’s do it again soon. And don’t stay up too late.”

  I pause and listen, but he’s already gone.

  * * *

  Two bodies are all I can fit into the shopping cart. Any other day, I could arrange four hundred dollars of bulk food items into a Costco cart without breaking a sweat, but this cart is too small. It must have come from the corner drugstore up the road. I felt fortunate when I found it about a month ago, but now it’s a pestering obsession. It doesn’t matter how many times I rearrange the makeshift body bags—two remains the maximum capacity.

  The day I realized everyone was dead, I forced myself to venture out beyond the cul-de-sac. I went as far as the other gated neighborhood nestled around ours. Amidst the decomposing corpses that lay strewn across the sidewalks and roads, the empty cart stood alone, a glistening Excalibur jutting out of the pavement. I knew I needed it. The epiphany came when I was crouched next to the cart, busy untangling the foul mess of outstretched human limbs still clinging to its wheels—remnants of the last survivors unwilling to let go of their treasure. Little did I know then, the cart would be so essential. And become such a nemesis.

  My neighbor’s wife was a petite woman, and it’s not hard to break and bend her body in half after the incisions. I pull apart one of those black, oversized leaf bags, then slide it over her body, and tie it off, tight. Careful not to tear the plastic, I lift one end onto the lower rack of the cart. With firm, gentle nudges side to side, I maneuver her carcass until it is all the way on.

  My neighbor’s husband; however, will require a little more breaking down. He was a tall man with a thick build. I’ll need the sledge hammer and axe from the garage.

  Walking past Jon’s car, I catch my reflection in the tinted glass and stop to look. I have on the stupid apron Cally gave me for a hostess gift. It used to be white, and read, I only drink on three occasions: breakfast, lunch and dinner. There was a picture of two wine glasses toasting above the words. Something is smeared all over it now; it’s hardly recognizable.

  Peering down at my chest, there is blood in every form imaginable. Layers and layers of bone bits, tufts of hair, and stringy meat are caked to the front. Deep creases traverse the midriff, exposing where I’ve repeatedly bent down or over. Just below that, the blood is brighter, fresher.

  There are bigger, heavier pieces of flesh that slide before they fall off then disappear. Down by my left knee, the iris part of a torn eyeball stares up at me.

  I know you.

  Heinous scenes flash before my eyes, and I gasp, and gasp, and gasp, expanding my lungs until they burn. My mouth opens wide, and I scream a scream that shatters nightmares.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Loud screams launch me up into the darkness. Before I can scream again, Jon coils his arms around me with a python’s embrace. “Stacy! Jesus. This is insane.”

  “So real…so real.” I struggle to break free, but it only makes him constrict more. When I’m too exhausted to fight back and barely able to breathe, my muscles slacken. He loosens his grip. “I’m sorry,” I whimper. The sobs begin and then the babbling. “Oh God…damn nightmare. So real…”

  Mumbling and crying, my face starts to glide around on his forearm. It’s dripping with tears, saliva, and mucus. “You’ll be all right. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He kisses the side of my head. The weight of his arms lifts from my shoulders. Then he scoots back and settles in to his side of the bed. “I’ve got to get up early. I’ve got meetings all day. Please. Lie down. Try to rest.”

  “It is morning,” I mutter. When there’s no response, I snatch the covers up then fall back into my pillow. Jon shifts over to my side, then spoons against me; his body next to mine is everything that is safe.

  The alarm clock goes off too soon. There is something infinitely cruel about waking up to Let It Be. The nightmare images still crisp. Jon gets up, but I can’t yet. I close my eyes and fall back asleep. Before he heads downstairs, he wakes me up.

  After a while, the odor of burnt crumbs from the toaster floats upstairs. When he’s done with his usual quick breakfast of a single toasted bagel, he comes into the bathroom with coffee. He sets one cup down on the counter next to me while I’m on my vanity bench, putting my hair into a ponytail. He leans against the wall behind me, sips coffee from his cup and watches me.

  “Were you able to ge
t a decent amount of sleep?” he says.

  I regard his reflection in the mirror. He looks handsome in the dark gray suit and teal chevron tie. It’s nice he doesn’t ask me what to wear anymore, but I couldn’t have made it any easier—his closet is almost all color-coded.

  “Yeah, eventually,” I tell his mirror image. “Sorry I woke you. Did you get back to sleep?”

  “No, but that’s okay.”

  “You lie.” I twist to face him and grin. “You were snoring again before my head hit the pillow.”

  He rolls his eyes and then swigs some coffee.

  “Jon?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Don’t. You know I hate it when you say that.”

  “What, honey?”

  “Seriously, what am I going to do? It’s been nearly three months. It’s not getting better. It’s worse, and I’m so tired.”

  “You want me to ask around? Maybe some of the other docs’ wives see therapists. They might have some recommendations.”

  “Absolutely not! Are you kidding? Oh my God, please don’t mention what’s been going on with me to people at work. You haven’t already, have you?”

  “Christ, give me a break.”

  “I just don’t want anyone to know.”

  “And I’m not going to tell them.”

  “It’s a small-town-in-a-big-city mentality here, and it’s not the in thing to have a shrink on speed dial like it was in the eighties.”

  “What are you going to do then? You’re losing sleep and so am I. Let’s face it—when you don’t sleep—I don’t sleep.”

  “That’s why I’m asking you what you think I should do. You’re supposed to be the doctor. What about sleeping pills? Cally takes them. Couldn’t you bring home some samples?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. I could lose my license. Falling asleep isn’t your problem anyway. You need to get to the root of the nightmares and why you keep having them. I’ve tried giving you my advice. Why don’t you ask Cally, or one of the other girls?”

  “No way. They’d love to hear something’s wrong. In less than a week, we’d be getting a divorce because you were having an affair with a stripper.”

  “Hmm…” He raises an eyebrow and curls the upper corner of his lip into a sly smile. “You know Dr. Wagoner only dates strippers. Well…and porn stars.”

  “Gross! I shook his hand at last year’s fundraiser.”

  Jon laughs and nearly spills his coffee. “Look, I’ve got to go. Promise me you’ll do something.”

  “Promise. I’ll Google it. If I make an appointment with a shrink, I want to be damn sure it’s someone no one knows.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “Have fun at the gym. Tell Cally I said hello and that we should get together soon for cocktails, dinner, or whatever. I haven’t seen Bill in a while, and I’d like to set up a tee time. I’ll be home late tonight, and don’t forget to name this year’s fundraiser—everybody’s asking.”

  “I won’t.”

  Jon steps up behind me, leans down, and kisses my temple. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  After he leaves, I sit and stare at the spectral reflection in the mirror. I don’t understand what is happening and why now, but I can see that these nightmares are slowly sucking the life out of me. Between them, my friends, and family, I’m amazed I’ve held it together this long.

  * * *

  “Patrick Troy. Get up. What do you want for breakfast?” I barge into his room, walk over to the shutters, and clank them open. Rays of desert sun beam through the slats, making his blanket-wrapped body look like a giant striped burrito. He has the comforter pulled up over his head.

  “I’m not hungry, Mom. I’ll eat something later,” he grumbles.

  “Fine, but you need to get out of bed. Now.”

  I flick one of the toes sticking out of the blanket roll when I walk by. He curls it and pulls both feet in as if a house had just fallen on top of him. I can’t believe he’s a teenager. Walking downstairs, I suddenly feel much older. I finish my coffee then stretch on the family room floor. Patrick gets downstairs, wolfs down several donuts, and then chugs some milk.

  “Mom, I’ve got practice today.”

  “I know. What time’s the game Saturday? I think I’m snack mom.”

  “Eight, but I’ll ask Kyle.”

  “All right, let’s go. I don’t want to be late for yoga.” On my way out, I step into the laundry room and grab my mat, purse, keys, and iPod. In the garage, I get a bottle of water from the other fridge. “You’ve got all your homework and books, right?”

  “Yeah, Mom,” Patrick says in that ohmygod, you’re so annoying tone that all teenagers seem to master so well.

  He attends Trinity Lutheran, which is only five miles from the house, but traffic during drop-off and pick-up is a standoff between the moms. We have all been herding to the same place for years, but it is still important to be the first one in line. Ridiculous, but for the most part I’ve learned to just follow the herd. This is Summerlin—a little Stepford in some ways, but in more ways—not.

  The battle continues for a good parking spot at the gym, but I surrender. The air is cool in the morning, and I don’t mind the walk unless it’s summer. Cars in the lot range from Rolls to Rovers. Fab Freddie’s Carwash even offers a detailing service while you work out, but after tips it ends up costing a hundred dollars. I’ve only done it a handful of times.

  Check-in requires a laser scan of the index finger, which is a little over the top. Then someone on staff says good morning and hands me a clean towel. After several miles on the treadmill, I’m ready. The classrooms are up the stairs, behind the smoothie bar and café.

  “Morning, Jenna,” I say with exuberance, on my way to the other end of the classroom.

  “Namaste,” she whispers softly. Jenna is the instructor, and yoga is her life. Which is good for the rest of us, I guess.

  The girls are all smiles this morning. We four tend to cluster toward the right front corner of the room. We try not to talk during class, but it doesn’t always work out that way.

  “Hey Stacy,” Tara says. “You look pale. Are you sick?”

  “No. I feel fine.” There’s no escaping the reflections of reality in the walls of mirrors, though. I’m a ghost.

  “You’re in need of spa day, that’s all. Let’s do it. Cally, you set it up,” Tara says.

  “Why do I always have to set it up?”

  “Cause you get the best deals,” Tara says.

  “Whatever,” Cally says, “next week after yoga then.”

  “I didn’t mean right now,” Tara whines. “I have to check my planner.”

  Cally looks over at me then rolls her eyes.

  “I saw that,” Tara says.

  “Knock it off, ladies,” Jordan says “Jenna’s fixing to start.”

  “You look better than you did last night,” Cally whispers.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Shush,” Jordan whispers. “I’m tired of getting in trouble for talking.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Tara says.

  Jordan holds up her hand to block any further comment. Jenna watches us giggle with eagle eyes. She doesn’t start the class until we’ve quieted.

  Yoga was another one of Cally’s ideas. Then it was body pump classes, Pilates, and private tennis lessons. There’s no lack of motivation; however, in a city always full of fresh, young bodies made for sin.

  My nose starts to run when I’m Downward-Facing Dog. I sniff hard to keep it in, but it’s flowing like water. When I raise my head and look in the mirror, jagged lines of crimson dissect the lower half of my face. Cally gasps and reaches for her towel. I grab mine from my mat and press it against my nose.

  Jenna stops and comes over. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. It’s just a bloody nose. I’ll clean up in the bathroom.” I straighten myself out and stand up.

 
“Good idea,” Jenna says.

  I look over at Cally, and she nods at me. I know she’ll get my stuff if I don’t come back.

  Half of the towel is soaked with blood by the time I reach the bathroom. I flip it over to the dry side, pull a bunch of tissues out and wet them. I take the towel away and wipe the mess from my face. It has not stopped. Two thin trails of warm blood move over my lips and down my chin. I’m mesmerized by it, watching the drips splatter into little suns in the white porcelain sink. Then I feel dizzy, faint. I grab hold of the sink. Darkness spreads inward from the periphery of my vision. Before it all goes black, I hear the same high-pitched alarm from Cally’s house last night.

  The shadows recede to the corners of my eyes. The squelch intensifies and so does the volume. It’s so loud now, like one of those TV emergency broadcasts, but blaring straight from my head. I let go of the sink and cover my ears, which doesn’t help. The sound must be coming from inside me. A deep breath, about to scream…it stops.

  All I hear now is the muffled sound of running water. I lower my hands and look down into the sink. The drips have stopped, too. “Shit.” I grab a wad of paper towels and clean up again.

  Things might be getting worse, but still, I won’t tell Jon about this. When it comes to me, he takes his doctoring overboard, and the last thing I need right now is to spend hours at a hospital being tested for this, that, and the other. Maybe his suggestion about seeing a shrink isn’t such a bad idea. It would be good to talk to someone about everything that’s been happening.

  Around eleven, the girls come down from class and see me waiting in the lobby. Cally hands me my things.

  “Stacy, honey, you really do look tired. You sure you’re all right?” Jordan says.

  “Yes, everything’s fine. I mean, I’ve been busy planning the surgery center fundraiser, along with the usual daily grind stuff, and then there’s the holiday plans…”