Modern Magic
Page 8
The cat came over to him and twisted around his legs, purring. “So now I’m your new best friend? What was all that noise about earlier? You don’t fool me.” He reached down and scratched Anubis around the ears, then opened the refrigerator and dished out the second half of the can he’d opened yesterday. “What are we going to do tonight? How about a nice cat box change? And I’ll probably get around to finding the rest of Laura’s stash and getting rid of it all. You’d like your mom to stay sober, wouldn’t you?” Mike chuckled. “Although I doubt you care one way or another as long as the food hits the bowl at meal times.”
Mike rinsed out the cat food can and tossed it in the recycle bin. “I’d like her to stay sober, at least.” He felt sort of silly talking to the cat, but the sound of his own voice was comforting. Laura’s house seemed so empty and dark and cold without her presence. And, although he hated to admit it, even to himself, the place creeped him out. Just a bit. The house was too silent and made him edgy and uncomfortable. Nothing had happened that he could put his finger on; he had no evidence to support the feeling. Mike relied on physical evidence in his life – it was something to hold onto, something he could trust. But regardless of the lack of anything concrete, the feeling persisted: a watchful, waiting atmosphere that had nothing to do with a hungry cat.
“But that’s stupid,” he spoke to the cat, wanting to hear the sound of his voice again. “It’s just an empty house. I miss Laura – that’s all it is.”
His first day feeding the cat, Mike had noticed the bottles she’d lined up on the counters were gone. He knew she couldn’t have drunk them all Sunday night. Since she lived alone, there’d be no reason to hide them, and yes, there they were, neatly stowed away in a kitchen cabinet. He’d left them there, until he had the time to deal with them. And now was the time. Mike removed all of them, rather impressed with the variety: vodka, red and white wine, whiskey, scotch. Tequila, and rum. He opened the bottle of scotch first and began to pour it down the drain. The smell of the alcohol wafted up to him. In one way, the scent repulsed him; in another, the fragrance called to him, beckoned him once more to fall into the bottle. The cravings the scent caused were as sharp as if he’d quit drinking only yesterday; along with them surfaced a small, frighteningly familiar, nagging voice in the back of his mind. Go ahead, do it. Have a drink. Just one little drink. One won’t hurt you.
Jumping back from the sink, he lost his grip on the bottle and it crashed to the floor. “Dammit. I’m my own worst enemy.”
He cleaned up the broken glass, dumping it all into the garbage can. His nostrils burned from the scent of the alcohol and he felt mildly nauseated and dizzy. Still, he glanced over at the cat as it finished off the rest of the food. “Yeah, I know. Cat box time.”
Mike hesitated at the cellar door, slowly opening the locks, shuddering from the rush of frigid air that met him. He flicked on the light and went down the stairs. Recalling Laura’s dislike of the place, he felt himself tense up. As if he were bracing himself for… For what? “What the hell are you expecting?” he said to himself, grimacing. “It’s just a cellar: cold and damp and unpleasant. Like every other cellar in history.” He breathed in a bit, “But at least it doesn’t smell bad.” In fact, he thought that the air smelled slightly sweet, a chocolate-type smell. “Or maybe hot cocoa.” He smiled and inhaled deeper. “Mm mm. With just a touch of almonds.” Mike stood with his eyes closed for just a second and swayed, as if he were falling asleep on his feet. The cold flowed up his legs to his back and he jolted back to himself. “What was I doing?” He looked around, and then nodded. “Cat box,” he said, “that’s what we’re here to do.” He did the job quickly, opened the sliding glass doors, and put the bag of used litter in the garbage can outside on the small concrete patio. He stood there for a moment before going back into the cellar. “Funny. It feels warmer outside than it is inside.”
When he made it back upstairs, the cat seemed to be pacing the hall, waiting for him. Although he’d planned to leave right away, Anubis wove around his feet with mournful cries. “Lonely, bud?” Mike picked the cat up and walked into the living room, sitting on the couch, petting him. Eventually, judging by the not too gentle swat Mike received on his hand, Anubis tired of the attention and wandered off.
Mike checked one last time to make sure the windows were locked and bolted the cellar door shut. Not trusting himself to crack open another of the bottles, he left them still sitting on the kitchen counter.
“I’ll deal with them tomorrow.” He emptied the cat’s water bowl and filled it with fresh. “Maybe I’ll invite my sponsor to come along – just in case.” Although he felt rather odd about inviting someone else into Laura’s house, maybe that wasn’t a bad idea. With another human being around he probably wouldn’t be so spooked.
With that thought, the silence of the house seemed to rise up and surround him. He shivered. A sharp crack behind Mike made him spin around and instinctively reach for his gun, realizing a split second later that he was out of uniform and had left his gun locked up in his apartment. Then he saw a black blur disappear down the stairs. The cat door swung back and forth, making that same clicking noise. Mike chuckled at his jumpiness. “Next time I come, I’ll turn the television on for company.”
Within seconds, though, he was out of the house and into his car. He noticed that he’d left a light on inside, but thinking that was a good idea, anyway, he turned the key. Before he backed out of the driveway he saw the outline of Anubis, sitting in the front window, his eyes eerily reflecting the headlights. Damn cat must be a speed demon, Mike thought, shaking his head as he pulled onto the street. I saw him go downstairs just a minute ago.
Chapter Nine
Laura’s roommate arrived on Friday. Cassandra Grabowski was a large blonde in her mid-twenties; her weight looked appropriate for her, giving an impression of comfort and rest. A Vicodin addict, Cassie’d been arrested for forging prescriptions and, since it was her first offense, she’d been offered and accepted rehabilitation as a substitute for jail. Laura liked her at first sight. Her warm smile and honest eyes made the cold institutional room seem warmer somehow. The shared problem of addiction created an instant bond between them, a fact which Laura embraced. When meeting new people for the first time, Laura had always tried to hide her habit, assuming that when they found out about her drinking, they’d dismiss her as weak and useless. That was how she thought about herself, after all. Why would others be any different? Here, though, the judgment or the fear of that judgment just didn’t exist. Here everyone was an addict of some sort. That leveled the playing ground.
“So,” Cassie said as she finished unpacking her suitcase, “what did they get you for?”
“DUI,” Laura said. “I have the worst luck – I backed into a police car in a bar parking lot.”
Cassie giggled. “That’s pretty bad.”
“Yeah.” Laura paused for a second. “But there are compensations in everything I guess. I’m sort of dating the guy who arrested me.”
Cassie gave a full laugh this time. “A man in uniform? Nothing better.” She grew serious. “Are you sure that’s not a conflict for him?”
“Not sure why it would be. We didn’t actually start seeing each other until after my trial.” Had that little amount of time gone by? Laura thought that it seemed much longer. In a good way, of course, and she ducked her head and smiled to herself.
“And what’s the scoop on this place? Anything I should avoid?”
“Other than being here? Not really. I don’t have anything to compare it to, this being my first stay, but it seems like an okay place. I’ve spend most of my extra time in the gym. The days are pretty full with events and sessions and such. The nights are dreadful, for me, at least. I get itchy, you know?”
Cassie nodded. “Yeah. I know the feeling well. At least we’ll have each other for company.” She walked over and looked out the window at the grounds. “The place seems to have decent vibes. I’m not looking forward to this
, but…”
“It beats jail,” Laura finished. “That’s what everyone says. Me, I’m not so sure.”
“Me either. How’s the food?”
“It’s not half bad. Healthy stuff and large portions. I’ve probably eaten more this week than I’ve ever had since I was a kid.” Laura left out the part where she vomited for the first three days after arriving. She hoped that part was over, now, and there was no need to share the information with a stranger, roommate or not. “Will probably gain some weight while I’m here.”
Cassie gave her an appraising glance. “Not that a little extra weight would hurt you. And as for me,” she gestured to her body, “What possible difference could it make?”
Laura started having the shakes Saturday night. It is hell now, she thought, when she had to stop writing a letter to Amanda and Lizzy because she couldn’t read her own writing.
The nightmares began on Sunday.
“I understand you had a nightmare last night.”
Laura rubbed her hand over her eyes and sighed. “Nothing escapes your notice, does it, John? Yeah, I suppose I did.”
John Bryant seemed a decent enough sort. He didn’t want to be called doctor and he didn’t talk down to people. It was fairly obvious to Laura that he understood the problems of addiction from the inside out – his knowledge of the psychology seemed more than just textbook. “You suppose?”
He did, however, ask too many questions. She sighed again. There’d be no getting around it, she’d have to relate each and every detail. During their first session, he’d asked a question she didn’t want to answer and they’d just sat in silence waiting for her response. “It seemed very real.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
Laura gave him a sly smile. “Not really, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
He had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. She knew the gesture for a ruse, but appreciated his effort.
“I was sleeping, in my bed. Here. Which is what made it seem more real, I guess.”
“Tell you what, Laura, why don’t you try to keep your guesses and suppositions out of this conversation? Tell me the facts, tell me what happened, how it made you feel. Not what you think it’s about. Okay?”
Laura nodded; took a sip of her coffee and set it back down on the table next to her chair. “I could hear Cassie snoring and the rain outside hitting the windows. I’d tossed and turned earlier, thinking I’d never get to sleep. But I must have at some point, since I woke up.”
“In the dream you woke up?”
“Yeah. In the dream, I woke up. And Cassie was still snoring and the rain and wind were roaring outside the windows. I noticed then that the door had been opened a bit. The light from the hallway made a path across the floor and shone in my eyes. I blinked and when I opened them up again, I saw a person standing in the doorway. It seemed like a child, a little girl – I couldn’t see her clearly, just her shadow outlined against the light. I sat up in bed then. ‘Hello?’ I whispered, wondering what sort of addiction this poor little girl might have to be staying here.”
John nodded. “Just so you know, we have no children here. When there’s a need for this sort of treatment for them, they go elsewhere.”
“That’s what I thought. But still, here was this little girl, standing in my doorway. I called out to her again. ‘Hello? Can I help you? Are you lost?’
“‘Mommy?’
“She looked a lot younger than Amanda. Or even Lizzy. So I knew this little girl wasn’t either of mine. That wouldn’t make sense, would it?”
John raised an eyebrow. “Do all your dreams make sense?”
“This one did, or seemed to. And at the time, I didn’t realize it was a dream.” Laura looked away. I’m still not sure it was a dream, she thought, but she wasn’t about to open that particular subject right now. “Anyway, I called out to her again. ‘Lizzy?’ She shook her head and took a further step into the room. I heard a funny sound that wasn’t snoring or rain. Her teeth were chattering. And I saw that her shadowy outline was shivering. ‘I’m not your mommy, sweetheart, but why don’t you come in and get warm?’ I tossed my covers back and patted the side of the bed. The shadow girl nodded and I saw a flash of a smile. She walked quietly across the room to me and crawled into bed next to me. I tucked the covers up under her chin and I could feel the tenseness of her body relax. She still shivered though, so I wrapped my arms around her to warm her. She snuggled up against me, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck.”
Laura took a deep breath, then put her hand up to her mouth and exhaled through her closed fingers. “You know how little kids grip too tightly? They hold on for dear life and you think they’ll never let go? Well, it’s okay for one’s own kids. But for a child who is a stranger, it’s weird. And kind of frightening. ‘Not so tight, sweetie,’ I said to her, ‘it hurts.’
“‘It hurts,’ she whispered back to me. But she wouldn’t let go, she just kept squeezing my neck, her poor little cold body shivering up against mine. I didn’t panic, though, I patted her shoulder and talked to her, soft stuff, little motherly nothings. ‘There, there, it’s okay,’ I said, ‘everything is okay.’
“She sniffled a bit, she’d been crying. ‘It’s not okay, it’ll never be okay. It hurts. It still hurts.’
“‘What hurts, honey?’
“The girl didn’t answer me. She just pulled in closer to me. Then I noticed that the bed seemed damp. Cold and damp, as if the girl had just come in from the rain. Maybe she had, I thought, it’s a nasty night out there. But I pulled the blankets back to see from where the wetness had come.”
Laura paused and got up from her chair, rubbing her arms with her hands. “Cold in here, isn’t it? Since last night I just can’t seem to get warm.”
“Well.” John stared out the window for a second. “It is cold outside. This office is always cold in the winter. Was that the end of the dream?”
Laura looked over at him. “Of course not. Does that sound like a dream which would wake up the entire floor with my screaming?” She chuckled. “Apparently I have a future in the movies with that scream. Just ask anyone on my floor.”
“Finish the dream.”
“The bed had filled up with a dark, sticky liquid. I reached over and flipped on the light. As I’m sure you can guess, it was blood. The little girl lay there, dead, in a pool of her own blood. So I sat up and screamed.”
“And then?”
“All of a sudden the girl disappeared. And everyone else was wide awake.” Laura sighed. “I couldn’t get back to sleep. I’m so tired.”
“I’m sure you are.” John checked over a few pages in her file. “How long have you been on the Valium?”
“What does that have to do with the nightmare?”
“Possibly a lot. How long?”
Laura thought for a moment. “Dad started me on these when Mom died. So that would’ve been almost 20 years ago.”
“And you’ve been taking them daily since then?”
“More or less. I’ve had time periods where I haven’t taken them at all, like during my pregnancies.”
“And did you experience any drastic withdrawal effects when you went off of them?”
Laura yawned, then covered her mouth. “Sorry. I’m beat. I don’t remember anything like that. Why?”
“One of the side effects of Valium withdrawal is hallucinations. I suspect that’s what happened to you last night. Especially since you describe it as very real.”
“Ugh. What can we do about it? Can you prescribe something else to take care of it?” Laura hoped that he might. Maybe then I could get some sleep.
“Not here, Laura. Sorry. This place is designed to get you off drugs; not to prescribe new ones.”
“Damn.”
“How’s the new roommate?”
“She’s very nice. A little new-agey for my tastes, but…”
John laughed. “New-agey?”
“You know. Cassie’s into new age stu
ff. Palm reading, tarot cards, purification rituals.” Laura made a face.
“And you don’t approve?”
Laura shook her head. “My approval has nothing to do with it. Apparently she makes a decent living doing readings and astrological charts, which places her a few rungs higher on the employment ladder than I am. I don’t actually believe in all that nonsense. She’s already read my aura, my palms and my cards and has predicted that I’ll be doing battle in the future with evil influences.” She laughed at that. “Of course I will. I already am.”
“What do you mean?”
Laura rolled her eyes. “Alcoholism. Addiction. All evil influences, don’t you think?”
“That’s one way to think of it, yes. How is your battle going?”
“Not all that well. I’m just trying to get through the next three weeks. After that, I figure it’s all up for grabs. Although, it seems to me, the cards are stacked against me, anyway.”
“Why would you say that?”
Suddenly Laura got very angry. It was all well and good for this man to ask these questions, but how was this helping? She felt about twenty times more useless than when she’d come to rehab. And infinitely more vulnerable. That nightmare last night had left her completely drained, fresh out of hope or resolve. And to know that these sorts of events might reoccur? Why bother?
She got up from her seat again and walked over to the window, tracing a design on the glass, then turned around and folded her arms. “Where’s my incentive to do better? I know no one believes this, but my life was fine before they forced me to be here. Now that I’ve been ‘helped’ I can look forward to what? Hallucinations and cravings for the rest of my life? What good is that? Drinking isn’t all that bad – at least it’s not heroin or anything like that. Drinking is legal, provided I’m not driving. And it’s socially acceptable.” She glared at John, daring him to refute her statements. How dared he sit there all smug in his comfy chair at his big fancy desk and tell her how to live?