by Tristan Vick
There was no denying it though, Jennifer Hurley was ten different kinds of beautiful. Rachael supposed that’s what money and constant pampering could buy you. Her breasts were almost certainly augmented and her body glowed bronze from an upmarket airbrushed tan that was so uniform that it looked like her skin was bathed in real gold. Somehow, Rachael suspected that beneath all the artificial layers, behind those crystal blue eyes, there was something more to Hurley.
Rachael checked her watch again and released an exasperated sigh.
“Sorry to ask again,” Hurley said with a hint of minor annoyance. “But is something the matter?”
“Pardon?” Rachael said, looking back up at her client. “Oh, no. I’m just a little tired is all,” Rachael immediately added. “I didn’t sleep well last night. My son kept having nightmares and waking up. Neither of us got a good night’s sleep, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you had any kids.”
“Just the one,” said Rachael, turning toward the framed picture of Hector that hung on her office wall. The same one which had been hanging there since the first day that Hurley had set foot in her office over two weeks ago.
Mrs. Hurley followed her gaze and looked at Hector. “He’s adorable.”
Rachael smiled. Her smile was as fake as Hurley’s breasts—meant to please but clearly straining credulity. “Thanks,” Rachael said as she looked at the picture of her son. “He’s everything to me.”
Making an attempt to be polite, Hurley asked, “So are you and your husband planning on having any more kids anytime in the near future?”
Rachael’s eyes grew big with shock. She was totally caught off guard by the question. Everyone in her office knew that her husband had died and tip-toed around such personal issues. She hadn’t ever considered the possibility of getting the question from a client before.
“I … um … lost my husband a few years ago.”
“Oh,” Hurley replied. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Rachael just smiled politely as she wasn’t interested in discussing the topic any further.
Hector was too young to remember the events clearly, but the roads were icy that night. The eighteen-wheeler had hit a patch of black ice and skidded through a red light of the four-way intersection they were passing through. What has been a simple trip out to dinner quickly turned into Rachael’s worst nightmare.
Unable to stop or even slow down, the semi-truck slammed into the driver’s side so hard that the family car became wedged halfway up into the engine block of the truck’s diesel engine. Her husband was crushed to death instantly. She would have been killed too, except that she had gotten into the back seat with Hector to sing him to sleep. Hector’s restless crying had been like a bad omen, but it’s also what saved them both. Being in the back seat was what prevented them from getting killed. It was the worst experience of her life.
“Anyway,” Jennifer said, rummaging through her purse and fishing out a stick of gum which she promptly peeled the foil off and popped into her mouth. “It’s getting late and I don’t want to keep you from your son. We can finish this up some other time.”
Jennifer closed her purse and stood up. Rachael stood up at the same time and reached over to shake Jennifer Hurley’s hand. Jennifer added a socially polite smile, even though it seemed rather terse. The ultra-bright whites of her bleached smile only added to the synthetic image. She was like a real life version of one of those photo shopped models on the cover of a fashion magazine. Completely airbrushed to the point of looking surreal, but somehow impossible not to fixate on in spite of the fact that you knew it was all just smoke and mirrors.
Rachael felt obliged to match the blinding, slightly manic, Cheshire grin with a slightly softer one of her own. As her client left Rachael jotted down on a yellow post-it note: Remember to charge Mrs. H for all the extra smiles.
With that out of the way, she put some case files into her briefcase and closed the lid of her laptop. Retrieving her jacket from off the hook next to the door, she headed out of office and rushed to go pick Hector up from school.
Hector sat on the padded bench in the nurse’s office. It smelled like a clinic. As if everything, from the floors to the walls, had been sterilized but the stench of sickness still lingered in the air. It even had a white vinyl curtain that divided two small cots.
Mrs. Jensen was standing nearby talking to the school nurse, Ms. Carlyle. Ms. Carlyle was a short, stout, and sturdily built woman with black curly hair that always seemed to look wet. Her dark eyebrows gave her a stern look, as if she was perpetually angry about something, but Hector knew that she was secretly funny. She could make all the kids laugh, no matter what.
“So what bit you?” Ms. Carlyle asked. Before he could speak, she added, “I bet a little monkey bit you.”
“No, Mike Laurie did,” Hector answered.
Ms. Carlyle raised an eyebrow and shot Hector a slightly devious look.
“As I suspected,” she said in a firm tone of voice, “a monkey did bite you.”
Hector smiled. Mrs. Jensen just rolled her eyes and tried desperately not to grin. Teachers weren’t supposed to have favorites, but secretly they did.
Ms. Carlyle placed the thermometer under Hector’s arm. It felt cold in his armpit.
“Don’t worry,” Ms. Carlyle said. “Your mom will be here soon to pick you up.”
Mrs. Jensen smiled warmly and winked at Hector.
Rachael Ramirez pulled up to her son’s school in her glistening silver Audi Q7. She had always told herself she wouldn’t be one of those lawyers who went out and bought a gas guzzling SUV, but after just one test drive she fell in love. It had leather heated seats. Most of all, its sturdy frame and size made her feel safe. That was the real reason she bought a big ole SUV. It wasn’t to look prestigious. It was because she was desperately terrified of being on the losing end of another car wreck.
Rachael brushed her silky-smooth black hair out of her face and put the car in park. Looking out her window she saw Hector waiting for her on the steps of the school with Mrs. Jensen. Rachael waved, and then leaned over and opened the passenger door for Hector to climb in.
Mrs. Jensen brought Hector over and held the door as he climbed in.
“Thank you for taking care of him,” Rachael said as she rubbed Hector’s head messing up his hair. Without saying anything Hector instantly started fixing it.
“It was my pleasure,” replied Mrs. Jensen, smiling warmly. “It seems he’s come down with a slight fever, but Ms. Carlyle said a bowl of chicken soup would clear it right up.”
“Oh, baby,” Rachael said looking down at Hector. “Do you feel sick?”
“I’m alright,” Hector answered.
“Be good to your mom now, you hear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Jensen,” Hector said blushing a little.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” Hector answered.
“Good,” Mrs. Jensen said. With that, she shut the door, waved goodbye to them both, and then went back inside the school.
“Buckle up,” Rachael told Hector, but like any over protective mother, she found herself leaning over the seat and reaching for Hector’s seat belt for him.
“Ahhh, mom!” Hector protested. “I can do it myself.”
Hector grabbed the seatbelt and defiantly fastened himself in. His mother just looked at him with a big grin which only showed a small fraction of how proud she was. Not only to be his mother, but to be lucky enough to have him in her life.
“Sure you can,” Rachael said with a warm laugh.
“I’m not a little kid anymore, Mom.”
“But you’ll always be my baby,” Rachael retorted.
She started up the V8 engine and the car roared to life. Hector finished fastening his seatbelt and stared out the window at an empty school lot.
“Sorry I was so late. Things ran long with a client,” Rachael said as they drove off.
“Don’t worry, mom,” Hector said, trying to scra
tch under the cuff of his bandage. “I wasn’t worried.”
Arriving safely at Hillside Parks Condominium, Rachael carried her sleeping boy, curled up in her arms, into the lobby of their building and waited for the elevator. The poor kid, she thought, was coming down with something. His complexion looked much paler than usual.
Entering the elevator Rachael leaned against the guard railing and reached down with one arm, smashed the button with her elbow, then balancing Hector on her shoulder, she slipped off her high heels. Pinching them between her thumb and finger, she waited for the doors to close and take them to the sixteenth floor.
Rachael shifted Hector to her other shoulder and then the elevator jerked to a halt. Walking into the hall Rachael took a right and walked down the hallway to the suite doors at the end. She pressed her thumb down on the biometrics scanner next to the door, barely holding onto her heels as she fumbled to keep everything balanced. It lit up with a green laser, scanned her thumb like a barcode, and the deadbolt automatically unhinged. Once inside, Rachael kicked the door shut with the heel of her foot. Taking Hector to his room she gently laid him onto his bed, took his shoes off, then pulled the comforter over him and tucked him in.
Admiring Hector’s boyish face she brushed his dark hair out of his eyes so she could take a mental picture of her beautiful baby boy. He was growing up so fast. As her hand brushed his forehead she noticed that he was burning up with a horrendous fever.
Rachael fetched a cool wet washcloth and gently laid it across her son’s forehead to help bring down his fever. Next she poured out a glass of water and set it on the nightstand by his bed, just in case he needed it later.
“Meow!” a small voice called out. Their cat Trixie, a silky gray Russian Blue, leapt onto the end of the bed and circled a few times before curling up next to Hector’s feet. Rachael scratched behind Trixie’s ear and affectionately rubbed her hand down the cat’s soft back. Trixie immediately began purring softly as she licked her paws and bathed. After a few minutes of self grooming she closed her eyes and dozed off.
“You two sleep tight,” Rachael said, in an almost whisper. She stood up and admired the warm scene of her son and cat curled up on the same bed together. Rachael smiled and turned off the bedroom lights. Closing the door to Hector’s room behind her, she left it open just a crack in case her sleeping boy called out for her in the middle of the night.
Rachael went into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine and checked her messages on the answering machine that sat on the counter. Nothing of interest, except for a strange message from Jennifer Hurley who urgently requested, demanded rather, they bump up their next meeting to nine am tomorrow morning. This woman was insatiable. The stressful phone message prompted Rachael to pour herself a second glass of wine. The wine helped, but she was still wound up. Her neck was tight. Her shoulders stiff. What she wouldn’t give to have a neck massage right about now. Her husband always used to give the greatest neck massages.
Feeling warm and tingly, Rachael pulled up her skirt and reached down between her legs. She poured herself a third glass with one hand as she attended to herself with the other. Finishing her fourth glass of wine, and feeling quite good, Rachael went to pour herself another glass but the bottle had run dry.
With a disappointed sigh she stood up, thinking she ought to at least take a shower before bed, and stumbled forward. Her legs wobbled, partly from being too tipsy but also partly from miniature orgasm she had set off. Brushing her skirt down, she made her way to the bathroom. With a carefree attitude she pulled off her clothes and let them fall where they may, leaving small piles on the floor as she went.
By the time Rachael entered the bathroom the only thing she had on was her black lace lingerie she had bought at Victoria’s Secret. It made her feel both professional and sexy all at the same time. Unhooking her bra she let the straps slide off her shoulders and let the bra slip off and fall to the floor. Using her curled up toes she picked it up and flicked it away with her foot. Sliding her panties down, a wet patch glistening where her moisture had soaked through, she stepped out of them and into the shower.
2
Disturbia
IT ALL BEGAN SOMETIME yesterday afternoon, Alyssa recalled. Without warning, the animal clinic’s phones were ringing off the hooks with reports of dog bites from all over the city. Soon enough reports of other animal bites were coming in as well. Strange ones like bats and cats too. It seemed everyone and their dog was getting bit—literally.
Her boss, Dr. Beckford, had been bitten by an extremely wild-eyed Japanese Ainu dog sometime early yesterday afternoon. Dr. Beckford diagnosed the dog as positive for rabies and, to err on the side of caution, immediately began himself on a post-exposure prophylaxis treatment. But due to the sudden rush of bite cases flooding in, he didn’t want to risk a city-wide epidemic and decided to work late, burn the candle from both ends, as he liked to say. Sending Alyssa home early to get some rest so she would be ready to handle the pile up the next morning, Beckford opted to stay late and personally oversee the animals.
Alyssa arrived at work at five a.m. the next morning and, as per usual, put on a fresh pot of coffee. She spent the next few minutes writing down the events of the past day in her diary, a small purple leather-bound book with flowery stenciling on the cover. She kept it under the front desk where she could jot down thoughts and reflections or just interesting events.
After pouring herself a cup of Joe, she tucked the diary into her back pocket, threw on her white lab coat, and went to the kennels to check on the animals. All the animals seemed to be more than a little restless. Worried as to what this might mean she went to fetch Doctor Beckford. Luckily he was in his office. When she stumbled upon him she found him hunched over his desk. She couldn’t quite make out what he was doing. At first Alyssa had thought Blackford was bent over doing some paperwork on his clipboard instead of the desk top. An old habit from working in the field so much that she teased him about. But it wasn’t that.
Approaching the desk she realized he was attending to one of the smaller animals. Being the loving doctor he was, he would often let his favorite pick of the day out of its kennel to get some fresh air and exercise.
The doctor bent over and Alyssa watched as he put his mouth to it. Oh, no, Alyssa thought. One of the newborn pups must have stopped breathing in the night and he was trying to use resuscitate it using CPR. That’s when she heard the hideous sound of bones crunching.
The pit of Alyssa’s stomach bottomed out. Calling the Dr. Beckford’s name, she took a step closer, trying to get a clearer view of what he was doing. He didn’t reply.
“Dr. Beckford!” she called out, louder than before. But he remained unresponsive. Walking up to him from behind, she placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned over to see what he was doing.
Alyssa let out a shriek and reeled back as she reflexively gagged, covering her mouth as not to let herself vomit. Her horror-filled shriek aroused the doctor’s attention, and looking up with blood stained chops, he stared at her with a morbid gaze from behind awful whitish eyes. Even his pupils had fogged over with the eerie milky white.
The bowels of the puppy he was gnawing on were torn to ribbons and dangled between the doctor’s blood-stained fingers. The doctor growled at her and stood up. Scared for her life, Alyssa reached for the closest object she could find. It was a stapler. She clutched it tight as the doctor moaned and proceeded to limp toward her. Alyssa stepped back to keep a safe distance between them.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, Mr. Beckford, but if this is some kind of a joke … it’s not very funny.”
It was no joke. The doctor growled and bared his blood soaked teeth, as if to prove it to her. In the animal kingdom showing one’s teeth was a sign of aggression. Alyssa stepped back again but the doctor suddenly lurched toward her. Panicking, Alyssa chucked the stapler at him and it pelted him in the head.
“Graaahr!” growled the doctor, stretching out his
arms and fingers to grab her. Moaning and snarling he took rigid steps toward her, closing the distance between them.
Scurrying back she frantically looked around for something else which she might use to defend herself. Picking up the doctor’s umbrella she quickly held it out and used it as a makeshift shield to deflect the growling maniac’s clawing arms and fingers.
“Why? Why are you doing this?” Alyssa asked, tears bleeding from the corners of her eyes. She had never seen a case of rabies act this quickly before—especially not after a dose of treatment. Whatever this contagion was, it was new, and deadly.
Backing up cautiously, Alyssa neglected to see the Internet chord running to the computer behind her and tripped over it. She fell backward and crashed into the glass medicine cabinet which ran along the side of Dr. Beckford’s office wall. The sheer weight of her body fell into the cabinet with a violent force. Her right elbow smashed through the glass of the cabinets and caused the whole thing to wobble uncontrollably. Teetering, the cabinet violently pitched forward and toppled onto her.
Lucky for her, she was spared the crushing weight of the cabinet when it suddenly caught on the doctor’s desk. Stilted upon the desk the cabinet, specimen jars of animal skeletons, sheep eyes, a pickled pig’s head, and a preserved fetus of a calf all came sliding off the shelves and shattered all around her. Pinned underneath the heavy medicine cabinet, in her anxiety ridden state, she looked around at the organic horrors littering the floor about her and gasped. It all looked like the trophy case of a mad witch-doctor.
