by John Tigges
She couldn’t believe this. She was going mad. How could she walk from that park to here and not be aware of it? Was she that wrapped up in her thoughts? Or was the havoc of what Myles had wrought last night stringing her out so completely that she didn’t know what she was doing?
Rooted to the spot, she played for an instant with the idea of going up to Myles’ office on the top floor of the building and telling him what she thought of him. But she knew she couldn’t. She loved him, truly loved him, and there was no way she could run the risk of hurting him. There was simply no way she could treat him in the same manner he had treated her.
Myles formed in her vision and she smiled. She panicked when she realized it really was Myles and not her imagination. He was coming out of the main entrance of the office building with another man—Scott McReady, the sports announcer at the TV station. They were probably going to lunch. She looked at her watch. Two o’clock. A late lunch?
She stepped behind a hot dog vendor’s cart, ducking out of sight, pretending to have lost something. Keeping her eye on Myles and his friend, she stood when they rounded the corner and were gone from sight.
“D’you find it?” a voice said.
“What?” she mumbled, perplexed that someone was talking to her.
“D’you find whatever it was you dropped?” the vendor asked.
“Huh? Oh, sure. Sure. Thanks.” She turned, hurrying away. Just what would a competent psychologist or psychiatrist have to say about her single-mindedness? She smiled inwardly. They’d think she was tenacious to the point of being mentally ill—but she knew better. She knew if she concentrated and worked at something—anything—long enough, she’d be able to master it. And this situation with Myles was certainly no different from anything else that had eluded her in the past.
She remembered the old alarm clock her mother had given her to play with when she was about ten or eleven. She had managed to take it apart and, after much experimenting, made the alarm work again. Her parents had been amazed, her father decrying the fact that his one and only daughter would more than likely grow up to be a chief mechanic in some factory. Then, too, there had been the time in high school when she was a senior and a transfer student. She had tried out for the school play, knowing full well that if she got a part, it would be a minor one at best. Still, she had made up her mind to win the lead role, and with one of the best acting jobs the drama coach had said she’d ever seen, Nicole had come through. The girl who had been slated for the lead had been furious, but Nicole didn’t care about that. She had hung in there and won and that was the most important part of anything. Winning. Succeeding. Getting what she wanted. And the thing she wanted more than anything else in life right now was Myles.
What were books doing in front of her? She looked to the right, to the left, directly in front of her. Books were everywhere. Then she realized she was staring through the window of a book shop—a secondhand book shop. She had been there before with Myles. Books of every description seemed to be lined up on the shelves and laid out on the tables. Inside, she could see a handful of people perusing while the owner, a wizened old lady, sat behind a table peering over her pince-nez glasses, keeping an eye on any indigent who might try to convert her shop into a public lending library.
For no reason that she could think of, Nicole found herself entering the musty shop. It had been at least six months since she had been in there, and she wondered how quickly the merchandise turned over. On the table nearest the door, various best sellers of recent vintage, bright book jackets still intact for the most part, sat upright, attractively displayed. Nicole walked by them. Along one wall, she found hardcover romance stories, but romance —the literary type—was not appealing to her mental palate. She wanted the real thing, that which she had lost.
She found history books, then books concerning hobbies, woodworking, hunting, fishing, collecting, economics, geography and social studies.
Then, she saw it. A little red antique book nestled in among bigger ones, whose titles had been worn smooth over the years. But the red book, its gold lettering faded but still readable, caught her attention. Reaching out with a tentative finger, she pulled it from its place and held it up for examination. The title: A Worthwhile Examination of Fpellf and Consultation Manual for Demoniftf.
Just what she needed, she thought, flipping through the stiff, yellowed pages. She stopped at one page to read an incantation for ensuring the love of a good woman.
If there was one concerning the reclamation of a wandering lover, she’d buy it. That she found on the next page—how to regain the love of a lost mate. Suppressing a grin, Nicole slapped the book shut and walked to the front. She laid it on the table in front of the woman and said, “How much?”
Without looking up from her book, other than to catch a glimpse of the article to be purchased, the old lady said, “Four dollars, sixty-nine cents plus tax.”
“I’ll take it,” Nicole said softly, wondering how the old woman knew such an odd amount without looking at anything other than the book cover itself.
She paid the money and accepted the bag containing the book. Walking to the door, she smiled. She must really be desperate to even consider such a thing. But then, she hadn’t really considered it. She had merely bought it on a whim, when she saw that there was indeed an incantation for regaining lost love.
The door closed behind her, and as she started for home, she thought the paper bag holding the book gave a little jump.
3
Thursday, September 4, 1986 3:50 P.M.
Nicole ignored the other pedestrians on their way to or from work or shopping or home. She too wanted to get home—to be by herself, to commune with herself and no one else. The events of the previous night and her gyrating emotions had worked a peculiar effect on her, and she wanted to get away from people as much as possible. She had to sort out her thoughts, make her plans, and prepare to execute them.
The sea of people coming toward her parted, and one face in particular, framed with frizzy blond hair and a green beret perched at a cocky angle on one side of the head, arrested her attention. As the woman neared her, the featureless face assumed eyes, a nose and a mouth—and Nicole suddenly felt trapped. Stacey Ford. Perhaps, if she kept her head down or turned away, Stacey wouldn’t see her. She doubted if she could handle Stacey at the moment.
While in college, Nicole had had no problem dealing with her. Stacey had decided that since her freshman year represented the first time she was completely on her own, she wanted to live life to the very fullest—experiencing everything as much as possible. By year’s end, she had burned herself out. Lighting up at every opportunity, she had added cocaine to her repertoire of fun things along with beer and whiskey. The men in her life came and went, and Nicole remembered teasing her about putting a revolving door in her dorm room.
Shortly before the end of their second semester as freshmen, Stacey had disappeared and no one had seen her for the next four years. When she came back into Nicole’s life, Stacey told of her experiences with a Far Eastern religious group, the Sun Children, and how she had found their tenets to be just what she was looking for at the time, or so she thought. By the end of six months, she had been completely disillusioned and ready to leave, but they had held her a virtual prisoner. It had only been through the efforts of her parents, a private detective and a Reverend Eddie John Stan-good, that she had been spirited away and eventually brainwashed back to some semblance of normalcy.
Nicole remembered her own personal reaction when Stacey told her of Reverend Eddie John—how good a man he was, how close he was to the real Jesus, how the evil in the world soon would be overcome and men like the Reverend Eddie John would ascend to a position of power in a righteous world and govern everything in the name of Jesus. Nicole had shuddered at the almost frenzied manner in which Stacey had spoken. She recalled having thought that perhaps Stacey had jumped from the frying pan right into the fire of another charlatan’s salvation. But then, Stacey wa
s not the most intelligent person to come into Nicole’s life and she hoped now that Stacey would not see her. All she wanted to do was get home.
“Nicole!” Stacey’s voice cut through Nicole’s revery.
“Hi, Stacey,” Nicole managed weakly. If she were lucky, it would not go much beyond the stage of greeting one another.
“What’s the matter, hon?” Stacey cocked her head as if to get a better, more intimate look at Nicole.
Nicole felt like recoiling but fought the urge when Stacey put a damp, cold hand on hers. “What do you mean?” Nicole asked as indifferently as possible.
“You look like you haven’t a friend in the world. Let me tell you about Jesus!”
“Golly, Stacey, I don’t have time. Besides, there’s really nothing wrong.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re hiding something. I just know you are. When one gets as close to the Saviour as I have, one picks up on many nuances and hints that most others miss.”
Nicole swallowed her anger. The pomposity of such a viewpoint made her blood boil. “Hey, Stacey, would I lie to you?” she asked, shrugging and holding her one free hand out, palm up.
Stacey narrowed her blue eyes until she was peering at Nicole through slits. “Yes. Yes, I think you would. Just to keep from hearing about Jesus. Why don’t you wake up and see Him as the Light, like I have? If you knew how happy I am, you wouldn’t …”
“Stacey, listen to me,” Nicole said sharply. “I don’t want to hear about Jesus right now. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe never. Do you understand?”
As if someone had struck her across her face, Stacey stared for a full minute at Nicole. Then she said in a tiny voice, “I know you don’t mean that. I’ll be patient. You’ll want to hear about Him before long. Jesus has told me to be patient with people like you. In time everyone will come around to him.”
Nicole felt an unfamiliar pang of regret sweeping through her. She had purposely hurt Stacey and that was not at all like her. She believed in God and Jesus to a certain extent, perhaps not to the enthusiastic extremes that Stacey and the followers of evangelists like Reverend Eddie John did. It simply was not like her to be spiteful to anyone—especially over a person’s beliefs in religion.
“I … I’m sorry, Stacey,” Nicole managed. “I didn’t mean that. I’m upset over something, and I shouldn’t be talking to anyone for fear of lashing out like I just did to you.”
“I knew it,” Stacey chirped, a benevolent expression lighting her face along with the look of having just been proven right. “Jesus told me that something was bothering you. What is it?”
“I … I’d just as soon not say. It’s something that I can work out by myself. Don’t worry about it. All right?”
“I think you should meet Reverend Eddie John. I really do. Jesus and I …”
“Maybe sometime, but not right now,” Nicole said, breaking in. The last thing she needed was a bible-thumping, bellowing preacher like the Reverend Eddie John Stangood harping at her. She’d seen him on one of the local television stations, threatening the nonbelievers with hell’s fire and damnation. Anyone not in complete agreement with his interpretation of the bible was a nonbeliever in the Reverend Eddie John’s eyes, and he had gone so far as to scream at the top of his voice that the pope, every minister, every priest and every evangelist in the world would go straight to hell unless they swore allegiance to Jesus, Reverend Eddie John Stangood and the Stangood Foundation of Goodwill.
Nicole pulled away from Stacey’s hand that still held hers. “I really must go, Stacey. I’ll see you around sometime. ‘Bye.”
“I’ll pray for you, Nicole,” she said loudly as Nicole moved away from her. The people passing by on either side ignored the wide-eyed blonde waving at the woman half-running, half-walking away.
Friday, September 5, 1986 to Friday, September 19, 1986
During the next two weeks, Nicole didn’t think about the book she had purchased on a whim but found herself luxuriating in self-pity, mindless of almost everything around her. Other than going to work, where she waited on customers more like an automaton than a warm-blooded human being, she spent most of her time at home, sipping white wine and staring at her television set whether it was on or not. She faithfully watched the news programs, her eyes welling up with tears whenever Myles appeared on the TV screen.
As the days grew into weeks, a black uneveness began filling her world, managing to keep her daily existence out of balance. While walking home, she would make resolutions to clean her apartment, or to work on a piece of needlepoint she had started weeks before, or do her nails, or maybe wash her hair. The promises to herself were endless until she opened the door to her other world. Then, she elected to spend another evening doing nothing.
Her work had not suffered much, and Phil had even promised a raise in the middle of September. Then, one Friday, she hurried toward her apartment, intent on spending another solitary weekend without interruption. She could not imagine herself being sociable with anyone, opting instead to seal herself off. Once inside her domain, she relaxed, reveling in the silence.
She downed more wine than usual before eating half a sandwich and hurrying to turn on the TV set at eleven when she could spend time with Myles’ electronic image. The wine bottle, almost empty, leaned against the couch, and her eyes, heavy with fatigue and the effects of the Chablis, drooped until they closed in sleep.
Images as black as the inside of a darkened theater flitted through her sleeping mind, assuming an almost recognizable shape only to wither and merge into another. She awoke with a start. Befuddled, she tried to put together what time it was and why the TV set was displaying an old Humphrey Bogart movie. The first thing she resolved was the time. Eleven forty-nine. She had missed the news. Oh, God! She had missed the news and Myles. Now she wouldn’t be able to see him until Monday evening when he returned to the news cast.
She stood, chastising herself over and over. Nothing was fair anymore. Myles certainly wasn’t fair. And she wasn’t being fair to herself either by falling asleep. She shouldn’t have had so much wine. She’d have to cut down on it.
Rubbing her eyes, the dim light seemed brighter than usual and something caught her attention. Something red. Something red with pale gold markings on it. The book! The antique book she had bought impulsively several weeks before was sitting on the shelf behind the TV set, where she had thrust it when she had arrived home after her confrontation with Stacey Ford. Nicole had not thought of it once since then, but now it seemed to beckon to her.
Reaching over the set, she pulled it from its resting place, studying it for a long minute before lifting the cover. When she did, it fell open to the place where she had read the incantation for reclaiming a lost love or gaining a man’s love. It seemed as though that had happened eons ago, but when she concentrated, she realized that only a mere two weeks had passed.
Moving back to the couch, she sat down, leaning toward the lamp. “I am possessed by burning love for this man,” she read half aloud. “This love for N comes to me from Apsaras, who is ever victorious in everything. Let this man, N, yearn for me, desire me, let TV’s desire burn for me. Let this love come forth from the spirit of the love-god and enter him.
“By the power and laws of Varuna, I invoke the burning force of love for me in N. This desire, the potent love-spirit created by the love-god which is present in everything, waiting to be recognized, I invoke the use thereof to secure N’s love for me.
“I invoke the magetnized waters of the love-force. Let N desire me as nothing has been desired before. I love him. I want him. He in turn must love me. He in turn must want me. And it is his love for me, by Varuna’s Laws, that I cause to burn. N, thou wilt love me, with a burning desire.
“Oh, Maruts, let him become filled with love for me. Oh, Spirit of the Air, fill him with love for me. Oh, Agni, let him burn with love for me as I burn for him.”
Nicole looked up not quite knowing what she might see. Nothing. A sly grin broke on
her mouth. Did she think Myles would magically appear, burning with lust and love for her? She laughed aloud at her own foolishness.
How strange though that the incantation mirrored so many of her own burning feelings for Myles. She held the book up and examined it. It held a certain fascination now that she had rediscovered it on the shelf. The incantation seemed to ring in her head. Its words were her words. The meaning of it was her meaning —her purpose. Opening it, she thumbed through, stopping at a page displaying crude sketches of two stars. The caption below the drawings explained the difference in the two objects:
“Stars with five points are traditionally weapons of power in the practice of magic. The pentagram with one point projecting upward can be imagined as a man’s body with arms and legs thrust out. When the point is upward, the symbol is one of dominance of the divine spirit (the upward pointing one) over matter (the other four points). An inverted pentagram, with two points extending upward, symbolizes the horns of the goat while the downward point is the face of the goat and the other two the animal’s ears. The inverted pentagram is a sign of the devil and care should be practiced whenever drawing the pentagram to ensure that the upward point is drawn first. Otherwise the symbol of good becomes the symbol of evil, and demons with power unimaginable can be conjured up.”
Nicole flipped the pages until the back cover closed with a soft smack against the last page. Did people really believe in such stuff? Believe enough to practice such nonsense? She nodded. Ever since Myles had left, she had been wondering how she could get him back. Nothing had occurred to her. Nothing until now. She looked at the small book resting in her lap and slowly reopened it.
For the next two hours, Nicole read the thin volume. It seemed to her that it was a calculated risk to go with the spirits of good since they may or may not grant the practitioner’s wish or desire. The darker side, on the other hand, seemed more ready and willing to listen and to help. What would happen if she did try one of the spells? It was only so much foolishness. Wasn’t it? But it was something to do. Maybe the powers of right would see how desperate she really was to have Myles back and would take pity on her and see to it that he did return.
