"Can I help you, Megan?"
She looked up to see an attractive older man, not very tall, perhaps five feet six or seven, but his shoulders were broad and he had a confident expression and body language.
"Sorry. Is this your boat?" Megan looked over at the toppled rowboat.
"Yes, and I should say I'm sorry for leaving it where it could be tripped over. However, not many people come this way."
"I know. I've spent the past few days communing with nature ever since Hester left me."
"Hester?" The man looked around.
"She went home. Didn't take to roughing it."
The man turned his gaze back down to Megan and nodded. He seemed to be memorizing what he saw.
"Your house?" she asked, pointing behind him.
He nodded.
"I'm sorry if I disturbed you up there. I wanted to see the garden. The smell of the hyacinths was so strong."
His eyes darkened and the blue pigment turned to an inky hue that froze her. His mouth tightened, the hint of tiny lines creasing the outline of his lips.
Megan's head swiveled toward her backpack.
"Like I said, I'm sorry. I just want to take care of my knee, and then I'm gone."
The man squatted down, and his eyes softened at the sight of the bloodstained gauze. He reached across the distance between them and touched her knee. She winced at his heavy touch. He pulled his hand back.
"You shouldn't be walking on that knee. Why not come back to my place? You'll be able to bathe." Megan thought his nose twitched when he said it. "Also, I have some fresh bandages."
"Bandages I have," she said, whipping out another slab of gauze. However, the bathtub sounded inviting. Megan looked up toward the house. Was it safe to bathe in a stranger's home?
"Thank you, but I'll be all right as soon as I change this."
She scrunched up her face in preparation for pulling off the wet gauze.
"If you do it quickly, it won't hurt so much."
Megan looked into the man's eyes. They had transformed into a light, reflective blue softened by a hint of a smile dancing in his pupils.
"I know." With shoulders drawn up to her ears, she ripped the gauze strip away from the wound. Her whole body relaxed.
"You should really clean that cut," the man said.
Megan looked at him, then at the house. If he had meant any harm, he probably would have done something when she had been in the garden. Remembering the force that had hit the French doors, she turned to the stranger and asked, "Do you live alone? I mean, do you have a wife, kids?"
The man took a deep breath, then moved from a squatting position to sit on the damp grass. She was going to warn him about staining his linen trousers, but it was too late. He crossed his legs in front of him.
"I live alone. Never been blessed with a wife or a daughter like you, Megan." He smiled, and his lush lips invited exploration.
She decided it was better to smear some more of the antiseptic on her knee and cover it with fresh gauze than to soak in his bathtub. Her knee tingled as she applied the brown tincture. She pressed the gauze softly down onto the wound and watched the brown from the ointment spread out under the cloth's edges.
Megan wavered as she started to stand. He quickly stood next to her, offering his hand. It was crusted with scabs. She placed her small, soft hand in his, sensing his strength and the hardness of his life.
"I don't believe you'll make it much farther along the river on foot."
"Actually, I was going to stop here for lunch, but I got curious and . . ." Megan shrugged.
"Come back with me and at least rest for a few hours. I'll even feed you," he offered with a laugh.
Her stomach, which had been silent during her inspection of the garden, started to growl again.
"Haven't eaten in a while, have you?"
Megan shook her head. She watched him laugh as he pulled her closer. One of her hands was in his; the other rested on the cool cotton of his shirt.
"Why don't you sit in the shade while I put the boat in the water?"
"Boat?"
"Yes. You will come back to my place." It wasn't a question or merely a statement. It was a command.
"But don't you live up there?" she asked, pointing at the yellow house with the white trim.
"No!" His voice softened as he explained, "That house I rent out. It's empty now because I have some work I have to do on it. My place is not far from here. You'll enjoy it on the river. It's cooler than being earthbound." He led her to the shade of a tree, then went to right his rowboat and set it adrift in the water.
Megan looked back at the house and thought she saw a jalousie move, but decided it was a trick of the sunlight.
5 - The Hyacinths
Beverly's hand slid across the window slats, sealing herself in and the world out. She had watched the young girl step into Carl's rowboat, had watched him push off, then jump into the boat and row out of sight.
Her decaying body leaned against the frame of the window, resting from its own heaviness. She wondered why Carl had returned that day. It was almost as if he needed to know that she was still here. Where could she have gone? Her body was no longer mobile enough to travel, and the nearest town was miles away.
Beverly stood as straight as she could, but it was becoming difficult. Her spine seemed to waver. Vertebrae seemed to be planted in sludge in which they settled deeper and deeper with time. There was little pain except for the constant nibbling in her gut and the bouts of asphyxiation. Every other breath was deep; if she failed to take the deep breath, she would feel light-headed. She had lost consciousness several times since yesterday.
Naked, she walked toward her bedroom. Beverly had eliminated all clothing when she found that anything binding her skin made deep crevices, which loosened the underlying flesh, causing the surface skin to slough off in sheets. She didn't know why, but she was determined to last as long as possible.
Once inside the bedroom, Beverly moved to the French doors. Carl had stood there earlier, talking about destroying the hyacinths she had planted. She wasn't sure whether he had been talking to her or himself, since his back had been turned toward her. Beverly hadn't seen the girl until he had slammed the doors shut. When she tried to signal the girl, he had dragged Beverly across the room and flung her against the wall in the hallway. Repentant, he had tried to touch her face. She had pulled away, wishing she could scream, but her parched throat could only utter whispers now.
As she opened the French doors, Beverly's lips smiled, cracking the skin and allowing tiny rivulets of blood to trickle down her mouth. The bell-shaped flowers stood a foot tall before her, some white, some blue, but the majority were a deep purple-blue. She had planted them in the fall, a day or two after signing the lease for the house. Beverly panted, trying to take in the scent of her favorite flowers. It was becoming harder to catch their odor. Finally, when their sweetness was caught within her body, she relaxed, savoring the morsel allowed her.
Beverly walked into the garden but stopped when the sun hit her disintegrating flesh. She was afire. The pain singed her soul, and she cried out inaudibly. Her mouth shaped in an O, she turned her face up to the sun, which seared her eyes shut. Beverly threw herself onto the bedroom floor. Splayed across the wooden planks, she wept.
Impulsively, Beverly grabbed the down comforter off the bed and wrapped herself entirely in its quilted folds. Again she attempted to step out into the sun, but the blazing rays reached through the thick coverlet to singe her flesh, forcing her to retreat back into her bedroom.
Her only protection against the sun was the shelter of the house. Nausea flooded through her as she realized the impossibility of walking to town by day. Like the mythical vampire, I am neither living nor dead. Carl hadn't lied.
No one would come for her except Carl, when he thought nothing but bones were left. Her friends knew that she had gone into seclusion to complete her new book. They hadn't even asked her destination, knowing how she liked
to work in solitude. Her brother was out of the country and wouldn't think about her again until the holidays rolled around.
Initially, the concept of Carl's spell had seemed ludicrous to her. But her flesh still steamed from the sun's touch and vermin still spewed from orifices. Yet she hadn't died. Carl hadn't lied. There was no way she could obtain medical help. The sun's scorching burn kept her housebound. Traveling by night, she would either get lost or not make it to town before dawn. Her ash and bone would scatter in a summer breeze before she could ask for help. And Carl would have won. The young girl would be her replacement. Instinct told her to hold tight and wait. Perhaps survival was impossible; however, revenge might come to her through Carl himself.
Beverly reached up to touch her tears and felt the sockets of her eyes bulging out beyond the frame of her face. Lord, what did she look like? All the mirrors must be destroyed. She could not bear to watch this transformation from life to death. Is growing old anything like this? Perhaps she should think of it as accelerated aging, but that was no solace for a 35 year-old woman.
6 - What Smell?
Carl watched Megan as he rowed. She was a pretty girl, a bit too thin, yet he could see the swell of her breasts beneath the denim shirt. Her red hair, curling around her face, was maturing from bright orange into a softer hue. The few freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose detracted only because they made her look childlike. Otherwise, her features were even, cheekbones high, and there was a definite shape to her pouty lips. Heart-shaped, he supposed some would call it. Overall, he decided she was a find.
''The water feels so fresh and cool."
He noticed her right hand slipping through the water, leaving a trail that quickly dissolved.
"So you started out with your friend Hester.
You think she may attempt to join up with you again?"
"Are you kidding? No way. She wouldn't know where to look for me anyhow. We didn't have a very well-laid-out plan to begin with, so Hester wouldn't be able to find me even if she wanted to. No, I'll see her again when I return home in another month and a half."
Carl nodded and smiled.
"How's your knee?"
Megan looked down at the bandaged knee peeking out from her shredded jeans. She winced when she tried to extend the leg a little. He knew the wound was stiffening up. By the time they reached land, she would hardly be able to walk.
"Okay, I guess."
He noted the frown on her face. Twenty, maybe twenty-one, he thought. He liked the frown; it made her look older.
"Have you been living in the area a long time?"
"Past few years. Your parents must be worried about you traveling alone."
"Dad died when I was fifteen, and I don't speak to Mom. I have no siblings, so who's to worry?"
Carl tried to look compassionate, but found it hard to conceal the inner joy he felt.
"It's sad when a parent and child don't communicate."
"It's sad when one has a mother who wants to be as young as you are." Megan paused. "Things changed after Dad died. For a while, neither my mother nor I knew what to do. We managed to keep our house, and there was a generous insurance policy and widow's pension, but then Mom started dating . . . well . . . boys. They were all just a few years older than me. It was dreadful never knowing when my own mother might try to steal my boyfriend. She never did, but a lot of Dad's cash went toward seducing her young bucks. Lucky I had a trust fund for college. I was able to live away from home, and I haven't spoken to my mom since the day I loaded up my old car and headed to school."
"When will you be graduating?"
"I did this past January. Been kind of kicking around ever since. I had waitress jobs, salesclerk, even had a bit part in a play, although it paid hardly anything. I'm an anthropology major-not much call for people like us."
Carl felt the muscles in his arms swell as he rowed. He was becoming stronger every minute. He hoped Beverly would last awhile, because he was enjoying Megan's company.
"You know, I've traveled considerably, Megan, and you may want to examine some of my books and journals. I've visited several tribes in the Amazon basin." Carl made a mental note to conceal the last journal under the back porch of his house.
Megan replied with some enthusiasm, but Carl was able to see that she didn't plan on staying around long. He would have to change her mind.
When they got close to land, Carl jumped out into the water to drag the boat up on the soil. Megan tried to stand, but instead let out a soft squeal.
"Stay seated. I'll help you in a moment."
He felt as if he were bursting with strength as he easily pulled the boat and its occupant onto the landing.
Once the boat was secure, he turned to Megan. He saw the surprise on her face when he picked her up.
"I can walk, really. It's just a little stiff."
Carl ignored her and continued up the path. Midway to the house, he was assaulted by the scent of hyacinths. His stomach roiled under the sweet odor. His arms sagged a bit and he could feel Megan's arms tighten around his neck. Carl forced the strength back into his limbs and walked past the grave.
Inside the house, Carl went straight to his bedroom and placed Megan atop the chenille coverlet. He felt the wetness of her hands as they slipped from his neck, and he smelled her fear, which was an improvement over the damn hyacinths.
"I noticed a couch in the living room. I'd prefer that, if you don't mind." She was going to try to stare him down on this. Her brown eyes looked like black dots, with bursts of fire circling them.
"Relax, Megan. There's an adjoining bathroom. I thought I would run a bath for you. If you don't mind my saying so, you are a little ripe." Actually, he liked her odor. It was a mingling of fear, curiosity, and youthful sensuality.
As Carl walked into the bathroom, the mirror facing him reflected the image of Megan on the bed. He saw her sniff under an armpit and bend her head forward for a general whiff of her body. Carl chuckled while turning on the water taps.
When he returned to the bedroom, Megan extended her hand and said, "I'm Megan."
"I'm sorry, Megan. Carl." He gently took her hand in both of his, then brought it up to his lips. Megan swiftly retrieved her hand. "The bath is ready. Can I help you?" he said while unlacing her hiking boots.
"Carl, I appreciate the bath, but I've been tying and untying my laces since I was two."
"A prodigy."
"No, just independent."
Carl spread his arms wide, then gestured toward the bathroom.
"How about some help in walking to the bathroom?"
Megan slid her legs across the coverlet and dropped each leg down the side of the bed, remembering to keep her right leg straight. When she stood, she reached out for Carl's support.
He walked her to the bathroom and waited there until she closed the door in his face. Carl blew out some air. He decided to wait outside the house, since there was no lock on the bathroom door and the temptation was too great.
Once on the redwood deck, Carl remembered Megan's backpack and began to walk down the path toward his boat, but midway he was again assailed by the hyacinths. He left the path. When he reached the grave, he noticed that even the petunias were dead now. Nothing flowered on or around the grave. Yet there was the odor of the hyacinths.
"Witch," he muttered. Many times he had buried images that prolonged his life, but never had he experienced such an olfactory hallucination before. Maybe he loved Beverly more than he recognized. He sat by the grave and thought about digging the coffin up. What would he find? A shroud of hyacinths?
Carl smoothed over the soil with his hand. He knew Beverly had seen him leave with Megan. Would she be jealous? When he had buried the drawing, he had promised himself that he would make Beverly as comfortable as possible while she was dying, but now Megan was here.
"Sorry, Beverly." He patted the grave. He thought the soil trembled under his hand. Carl arose and buried his hands deep inside his trousers pockets. Befo
re returning to the house, he retrieved Megan's backpack from the boat. On his way back, he planned the meal that he and Megan would share.
He moved through the threshold of the front door, dropped the pack on the living-room floor, then turned left into the kitchen while humming.
"Back already?"
Carl saw Megan seated at the kitchen table, munching some Edam cheese. She was wearing only his navy terry robe. The porcelain skin of her long legs showed through the front opening. She had tied the belt loosely, so the top slid a bit off her shoulder. He could tell that she had recognized his lecherous leer, because she immediately readjusted the garment.
"I borrowed your robe. My clothes were a bit 'ripe,' too, so I also washed them in the tub and hung them over some rocks in the backyard. In this heat, they should dry quickly."
Mary Ann Mitchell - Drawn to the Grave.html Page 4
