Unspeakable

by Graham Masterton

  Doug slapped his thigh and let out a whoop of laughter. But then he realized that neither Holly, Katie, nor Ned was smiling at all, and his laughter petered out into a fit of coughing.

  Ned said, in the flattest of voices, "Sorry, Doug. I know you were only kidding, but we at Hood River have total integrity when it comes to the raw materials we use in our mechanically ground-paper-making system. And what you call 'cardboard' boxes aren't made with cardboard at all; they're made with linerboard and corrugating medium, which is one hundred percent postconsumer recycled fiber."

  Doug lifted both hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I apologize. But when Holly told me about the wood-pulp guy, I have to admit that- Okay, sorry."

  Back at the cabin they changed into warm coats and hiking boots so that they could take a walk up to Seven Arches Falls. Holly was ready first and came into the living room as Doug was poking the fire and building it up with more logs.

  "Doug I want you to know that I'm not angry with you or anything."

  "I'm sorry, Holly. I opened my big yapola and stuck my foot straight into it, didn't I? But I think it's incredible, what you do. I just wanted Ned to know that we're proud of you."

  "Doug, I have to think of my security. I have to think of Daisy as well as myself."

  "I know that. But Ned well, Katie and me, we've known Ned almost as long as we've known each other."

  "Do we ever get to know people, do you think? Like,reallyknow them? I thought I knew David before I married him, and how wrong I was."

  Doug stacked another log onto the hearth. "Let me tell you something: When you first walked into the Children's Welfare Department, my heart practically stopped on the spot. I had the biggest crush on you for months and months, until I realized that you weren't interested in me at all, and that I was never going to be able to summon up the courage to ask you out."

  He turned to her, and there were tiny flames dancing in his eyes, like fireflies. "So well, I accepted my lot, didn't I? I swallowed my disappointment. Katie's a really great girl, and I'm very fond of her. But I still look at you sometimes and wonder what it could have been like, you and me, and my heart still hurts, now and again, when I'm feeling sentimental, or drunk."

  Holly reached out and held both his hands.

  "I'm real sorry about spilling the beans," he said, swallowing hard. "It wasn't funny after all, was it, any of it?"

  Holly said, "It doesn't matter, Doug. You're forgiven. But think about it: Supposing Nedisthe wood-pulp guy?"

  Cabin Fever

  That night, unable to sleep, she stood with her forehead pressed against the chilly glass of her bedroom window, staring up at Mount Hood. The mountain appeared oddly insubstantial, almost fragile, as if it had been modeled out of nothing but crumpled white tissue paper.

  She was very tired. During the afternoon they had climbed right up to the head of the Seven Arches Falls, so that they could see all seven separate cascades gushing down the mountainside into pool after foaming pool, and then down through the trees and the bushes to Mirror Lake. Then they had skirted the woods and descended an awkward rocky track, walking over five miles through the trees before coming back to the cabin.

  Ned had stayed close to her side, offering his hand whenever she needed to climb up a slippery, moss-covered boulder, and even when she didn't. He had talked to her about thinning and sustained harvest and best management practices, and by the time they came through the cabin door she knew so much about forestry and wood products that she could have written a book about it-on recycled paper, of course.

  After a supper of Katie'schuletas veracruzana,which were thick and spicy pork chops, they sat on the rug around the fireplace with glasses of pear brandy from the Clear Creek Distillery and told ghost stories.

  Ned casually hung his arm around Holly's shoulders and made a point of turning to face her directly whenever he spoke, exaggerating his lip movements. He plainly believed that he was being considerate, but Holly could lip-read people who were stammering, and people who were muttering, and people who were talking so fast that even their friends told them to slow up, and after a while she began to find it wearing.

  Katie told a story about when she was five years old and had walked into the yard where her mother's washing was hanging out to dry. She said that she had seen a bas-relief figure appear in one of the sheets, a figure with a horrified face. But when the wind had suddenly flapped the sheet up in the air, she could see that there was nobody standing behind it, and she was alone.

  Doug had glimpsed his dead father in the sporting-goods section of a Fred Meyer store. He had followed him from one aisle to another, trying to catch up with him, but his father had left the store and disappeared across the crowded parking lot. "One minute I could see him . I knew it was him; he was even wearing his old felt hat. Next minute the sun dazzled me and it was just like he melted away."

  Holly was about to tell them about seeing David's Porsche and what the woman in the bookstore had warned her about, but Ned got in first. "I never saw a ghost personally. I guess my upbringing was too rational, ha-ha. But up in the woods of Minnesota they have this story about a shadow that attacks people at night. It comes out of the woods and it grabs you by your hair, and then it drags you back into the forest and nobody ever sees you again, ever."

  She picked up her wristwatch from her night table. Ten after two. She supposed she ought to try to sleep, but for some reason she felt disturbed, as if something were badly wrong. She looked toward the oil painting of the woman in the field and she almost expected the black bird to fly off the post and flap off into the painted sky.

  After a while she returned to bed and pulled the blankets up to her neck. She wished she hadn't come here to Mirror Lake, and that she was back in her apartment, with Daisy and all her Barbies sleeping in the next bedroom. It was not that she particularly disliked Ned. It was just that she didn't find him at all interesting-or wood pulp, for that matter-and yet, he had demanded so much of her attention. Even when she had taken her drink out onto the veranda late that evening, just to smell the pines, he had followed her and stood uncomfortably close to her and given her aReader's Digest-style exposition about the magic of the forest and how his heart was at one with the wilderness. She hadn't even been able to turn her back on him, because he would have known immediately that she wasn't listening.

  She was actually asleep and dreaming about walking in the darkest reaches of the forest when she was woken up by somebody lifting the blankets behind her. Immediately she turned around, and as she did so Ned climbed naked into bed with her and put his arms around her. He was hairy-chested and hairy-thighed, and she felt his erection bump against her hip.

  "Get out!" she shouted at him."What the hell do you think you're doing? Get the hell out of my bed!"

  He tried to pull her even closer, tugging up her nightshirt, but she twisted herself around, kicked at him with her heels, and climbed right out of bed. She switched on the bedside lamp and he was sitting up blinking at her, and he was actuallygrinning.

  "Get out," she told him. She said it more quietly now, because she didn't want her voice to sound shrill and out of control. "I don't know what gave you the idea that I was the slightest bit interested in you, but believe me, I'm not."

  "Well,that'sreal hard to figure," he said, without the slightest trace of embarrassment. "From the way you've been coming on to me all day, I definitely got the impression that you were more than ready for a bit of grown-up playtime."

  "Just get out."

  "Hey, steady, Holly. There's no call to be so unfriendly."

  "Do you want me to call Doug and have him throw you out?"

  "Doug?Doug?I hope you're not serious."

  Holly walked around the bed and threw open the door. Ned said,"Pfff,"and slowly shook his head, as if he couldn't believe that she really wanted him to go. "You know what Doug told me about you? Doug said that you were a real fun girl."

  "I'll tell you how fun I am. I'm fun enough to call the
police and make a complaint of attempted rape."

  "Well, excuse me. Somebody with a disability like yours, I thought they would have jumped at the chance to have a good time with a good-looking guy."

  "I'm deaf, Ned. I'm not a leper. Now go."

  "Okeydokey. Your loss. But don't you try making any trouble."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that Doug and Katie both saw how much you'd taken a shine to me today, and if I was to tell them that you'd come on to me "

  He climbed out of bed and came right up to her. He was reeking of sweat and alcohol, as if he had been drinking and masturbating to work himself up to invading her bedroom, and his penis was slowly sinking. He looked her in the eyes and said, "If I was to say thatyoucame intomyroom, just begging for it, and I'd behaved like a gentleman and sent you away and that you were just trying to be vengeful well, Doug and Katie and me, we've all known each other a very long time. We're likefamily. Who do you think they'd believe?"

  He stood only inches away from her, swaying. "Am I speakings-l-o-wenough for you? You dou-n-d-e-rs-t-a-n-dme, don't you?"

  "Get out," she repeated.

  "Okay have it your way. But I'll tell you this: I never realized that being deaf lowered your sex drive. You learn something every day."

  He lurched out of the room and she turned away so that she wouldn't have to look at his backside. She closed the door behind him and locked it. Her heart was thumping against her ribs as though somebody were knocking a tennis ball against a wall. She sat down on the foot of the bed, her hands clasped tightly together. She felt like crying but she was braver than that, and in any case she couldn't find any tears.

  Holly Tells a Lie

  "Sorry that your daughter's sick," said Ned, smiling, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the morning sunshine. "Hope she gets better real quick."

  Holly stood by while Doug lifted her weekend case into the back of the Voyager. Katie came up and gave her a hug and a kiss and said, "Give Daisy our love, won't you? I'm sure she's going to be okay." Holly climbed into the front passenger seat and Doug shut the door.

  They drove back toward the main highway with the sunshine flickering between the trees like a zoetrope. After a while Doug said, "Everything'sokay,isn't it? I mean, between you and us."

  "Sure, everything's fine. I'm worried about Daisy, that's all."

  "Well, of course you are. What happened to you when you were young-I guess it tends to make you doubly anxious anytime Daisy runs a fever."

  They reached Interstate 84 and headed back toward Portland. "I'm sorry I spoiled your weekend," said Holly.

  "Hey, don't even think about it. I'll be back at the lake by twelve. Plenty of time to get some fishing in.

  He offered her some gum, but she shook her head. He folded a stick into his mouth and said, "Ned's a great guy, isn't he?"

  Holly told a lie.

  A Weekend Alone

  She spent the rest of the weekend alone, reading, watching television, varnishing her nails, eating pasta from the restaurant downstairs.

  Now and then she went to the window and looked down into the street below. Once or twice she thought she could see a black, shadowy figure underneath the awning of the map and antique print shop on the opposite corner, but she was never sure if it was a figure or just a shadow. Sometimes it looked tall and jagged. At other times it flapped, like a dark overcoat blowing in the wind.

  On Sunday afternoon she came across a quotation in the arts section ofThe Oregonian,a poem by P. J. Quint. It read, "Inside my cupboard I heard people talk, and laugh / Were they discussing me? I could not clearly hear / And so I stood, as minutes of my life went by / Listening in indecision, and in fear."For some reason she found this poem deeply disturbing and didn't want to go into the kitchen after that, or open a cupboard door.

  That evening she went to bed early and treated herself to fresh pearl-colored nail polish, a bright green Lancôme face mask, and a bikini-line depilatory cream that smelled like burning carpet. After she had showered, she went to her bedroom window and looked out over the street. The lights of the city glittered in the evening wind. She saw three men arguing on the corner. One of them kept going away and coming back again, jabbing his finger in anger. She saw a woman hurrying along the sidewalk. The woman kept turning to look behind her as if she were being pursued. Her shadow looked like the shadow of a giant bird's wing.

  The Doctor Is In

  Holly had just taken a mouthful of sprinkled doughnut when Emma signaled to her from the switchboard. She went out into the reception area, sucking her fingers.

  "Dr. Ferdinand, from East Portland Memorial," said Emma.

  "Oh, great. You've told him that I can't speak to him in person?"

  Emma nodded and said, "She's right here, Dr. Ferdinand. Yes, she says good morning to you, too, and thank you for calling back."

  Holly said, "Ask him about Casper Beale."

  "Oh, yes," said Emma. "Ms. Summers is interested in a patient of yours, Casper Beale?"

  There was a pause, and then Emma turned back to Holly. "He doesn't have any patients of that name."

  "A boy. An eleven-year-old boy, with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma."

  "No, sorry."

  "Is he sure about that? His parents are separated, so maybe he's registered under another name."

  "He doesn't haveanyeleven-year-old boys with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Nor eleven-year-old girls, either."

  "But tell him I've met Casper Beale myself. He lives with his mother on Southeast Boise. They had an appeal for him in the media. His neighbors raised money last fall to send him to Disneyland."

  "No. Sorry. Positively not."

  When Emma had hung up, Holly stood beside her for two or three minutes, thinking. If Casper Beale wasn't a patient of Dr. Ferdinand's, then whose patient was he?

  "Emma if I make you a list of hospitals with pediatric cancer units, would you call them for me and ask if they have Casper Beale on their lists?"

  "Sure thing. What happens if they don't?"

  "I don't know. I don't even want to think about it."

  Suspicion

  It was foggy when she arrived at the Heilshorn house early that afternoon. It was that dead-cold Portland fog that turns the city's eastern suburbs into a silent community of ghost houses, with ghostly cars rolling along the streets and ghostly children playing on the sidewalks.

  The garage door was open so that she could see a Dodge station wagon parked inside, and there was a black late-model Lincoln Town Car parked in the driveway behind it.

  She rang the bell and almost immediately a middle-aged man opened the front door. He was medium height, almost bald, with a plump, well-fed face and a cast in his eyes, so that his left eye appeared to be looking over Holly's right shoulder. He wore a white business shirt and black pants and checkered argyle socks.

  "Mr. Heilshorn?" asked Holly, producing her ID card. "I expect your wife's told you that we have an appointment."

  "That's the reason I'm here," said Mr. Heilshorn sharply. "I can't say that I'm anything but outraged at what's being implied here, but I wanted to tell you face-to-face that this is a family with nothing to hide."

  "Do you mind if I come in?"

  He stepped back to allow her into the hallway. "Your, uh, footwear, please?" he said, nodding down toward her feet. "New carpet. My wife likes to keep things pretty much immaculate."

  "Yes. She said that before."

  Holly took off her brogues and Mr. Heilshorn led her into the living room. Mrs. Heilshorn was already posed in an armchair next to the fireplace, dressed in a yellow satin catsuit with a deep décolletage, a matching yellow scarf tied around her hair. Beside her, on the arm of the chair, sat a pale, pretty little girl with brown bobbed hair and big brown eyes, wearing a pink sweatshirt and a stonewashed denim skirt.

  "Hello again, Mrs. Heilshorn," said Holly. "So this is Sarah-Jane."

  "Sarah-Jane can confirm that she got her bruises from her bicycle," said Mrs. Heilsh
orn, without waiting to be prompted.

  Holly sat down and propped her notepad on her knees. "Sarah-Jane, my name is Holly and it's my job to take care of children when they get hurt."

  "Sarah-Jane got her bruises from her bicycle, didn't you, Sarah-Jane?"

  "Mrs. Heilshorn, I'm sure that there's no serious problem here, but I'm directed by state legislation to investigate. I'm sure you understand why."

  "Listen," said Mr. Heilshorn, "we're a respectable, law-abiding family. I pay my taxes, I work for Oregon-Pacific Realty. My company donated a fountain to the art museum."

  "All the same, Mr. Heilshorn, we were alerted by Sarah-Jane's school and I'm sure that you can understand why we have to look into the matter."