by John Tigges
“Imagined what? What kind of noise are you talking about?”
“It … it must have been something outside. I just thought I heard a noise before you knocked. That’s all. Haven’t you ever imagined something that turned out to be nothing?”
He grinned. “You bet. In fact, you witnessed it in my office the day you met with the station manager. The pain behind my ear?”
Nicole wrinkled her face in thought. Pain? What pain? Then, she recalled the intense discomfort Myles had suffered shortly after they had gone to his office before her appointment. It had only been for a minute or so. “What about it?” she asked.
“Remember how I had said I might leave town or look for another job someplace else?”
She nodded.
“That’s when the pain struck me. I massaged it and said I probably would stay around, and it left.”
“So? I don’t understand.”
“Every time it seems that I thought of leaving or looking for work someplace else ever since Eunice died, the pain would attack me right behind my ear. When I thought of you and staying, it would leave.”
“What? Are you joking?”
Myles shook his head. “It didn’t make sense until last night. I was finishing the news stories I was going to report last night and kicked around the thought of a vacation or leaving. Wham! The pain hit home. I thought about you and the last time we had seen each other and the pain left. Just like that!” He snapped his fingers. “At any rate, I recalled the other instances when the pain struck and the situation was just about the same each time.”
“That’s unbelievable.” Nicole stared at him. It seemed as if the pain had driven him back to her.
“Not really,” Myles said quietly. “Not when one takes psychosomatic pain and experiences into account. I suppose it was my conscience kicking me in the mental ass for having walked out on you. At any rate, I’m back. And, that’s the most important thing.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said softly. More than likely, he was right. But when she took everything into account that had happened in the past weeks, she wondered.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “I’ll drop you at the clinic. Tonight, I want to hear how you got that job. I was really surprised when you told me why you were at the station. Your work sounds interesting.”
“It is,” she said, feigning excitement. She’d have to do more than fake enthusiasm when she reached the office. There was a meeting scheduled with Doctor Claypool shortly after nine and she would have to make her report about the results of her media contacts.
At least, Myles was interested, and that was more than she had hoped for at this juncture. He seemed changed somehow. When he said something, she felt that it was said with complete honesty and interest and concern. And it was all aimed at her and for that she was grateful. His sincerity and attention thrilled her. “What do you have planned for today?”
“Well, I’m going to do something I should have done long ago. Move in. At least, I will if it’s all right with you. Is it?”
Hugging him with all her strength, she said, “Of course, it is. How many times did I ask you in the past?”
He held her at arm’s length and said, “I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t mention the past.”
“I know, darling. But your moving in is predicated on our having been together so much in the past. It’s not as if we first met last night and are doing something we both might regret in a day or two.”
He kissed her in response and smiled. “Right you are. Where should I put my things?”
“Shove my stuff to one side of the bedroom closet and take whatever space you need.”
By eight fifty-five, he dropped her off at the Cascade Psychiatric Clinic and left. Nicole watched him drive away. She felt so warm, so happy, so fulfilled. After entering the building, she smiled fondly at Rose Tunic who frowned back.
Saturday, November 15, 1986 10:20 P.M.
When they had begun their second week together, Nicole could not help but note how smoothly things had gone since Myles’ return —no unusual incidents. While she sat in the living room, watching a commercial for the new 1987 Fords, she could hear Myles rustling about in the kitchen, making popcorn.
“You’d better hurry. The movie’s about ready to come back on,” she called.
“It won’t be a minute. You want butter?”
“Yes … but hurry.”
The sound of the commercial died and the picture tube darkened for the movie to resume. The picture stayed black for several long seconds—and then she heard the scratching. It was in the wall, directly behind her head. She should have told the manager to call the exterminator. Perhaps if she called him tomorrow and asked nicely he would agree.
The movie came back on, drowning out the irritating noise from the wall, only in turn to be overpowered by a loud crashing followed by cursing coming from the kitchen.
Leaping to her feet, she raced to the small kitchenette to find Myles sitting in the middle of the floor, a look of exasperation on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, failing to smother a laugh.
“The refrigerator door’s stuck. I was trying to get the butter out to melt for the popcorn. It wouldn’t come open and my hand slipped. I guess I was pulling harder than I realized and lost my balance.” He struggled to his feet.
“Are you all right?” she asked, moving to the refrigerator. The door opened easily when she tried.
“Oh, for …” Myles’ face flushed, embarrassed by the ease with which Nicole had opened the door. “What do you suppose …”
“Don’t be concerned,” she said, forcing an air of light-heartedness. “It does that from time to time. Come on. Forget the butter or we’ll miss the rest of the movie.” She picked up the bowl of popcorn, hoping her lie would not be discovered. She had no idea what had happened to the door, hoping that whatever it was wouldn’t fall into the same category of the other strange occurrences that had taken place during Myles’ absence.
A quick-silver thought shot through her head. Did Myles’ absence have anything to do with the water incident or the destruction of her apartment? Or the peculiar smell? She shook her head. That was all silly. Stupid! Turning out the kitchenette light, she joined Myles in the front room.
When the movie finished, they went to bed. Myles did not like the idea of going out every Saturday night when he didn’t have to give the late news, preferring to enjoy an occasional quiet evening with Nicole. They had talked and eaten a sumptuous dinner, then watched a movie on the ARTS channel. As long as Myles was with her, she could not have wished for anything else.
After they fell asleep, the quiet sound of music filtered through the apartment, accompanied by a soft laugh that hovered over the bed. The sliding door to the closet wiggled for a second and then remained motionless.
Sunday, November 16, 1986 7:45 AM.
The next morning, Nicole got up first, and after showering, dressed quickly. When Myles awakened, he smelled the coffee brewing and could hear bacon frying, its woody aroma filling the apartment. After stretching and doing a few push-ups, he showered and went to the closet to get a pair of slacks.
Sliding open the door, he stared wide-eyed before crying out, “Jesus Christ! What the hell’s going on?”
The tone of his voice brought Nicole running to the bedroom. “What is it, darling?” she asked, jerking to a stop, frozen in her tracks.
Most of his clothing—the suits, sports jackets, slacks and shirts—were hanging from the bar, ripped into fine threads of fabric, shredded as if by a razor blade.
“What … ?” she asked, approaching him in a deliberate way. He stared at her, frightening Nicole. “What’s the matter?”
He continued glaring, as if he were trying to bore a hole through her with his eyes. “You ask, ‘What’s the matter?’ How can you ask that, Nicole? Why the hell did you … ?” He stopped, shaking his head. “You didn’t. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t what? Do that?
Rip your clothing to shreds?” she asked, incapable of believing that Myles would have even entertained such a thought for even an instant.
“I’m sorry, Nicole. I really am. You’ve got to admit that it’s a bit of a shock, opening the closet to see all your clothing shredded like’ that.”
She embraced him for a second before pulling away. “What happened? Was it all right last night?”
He nodded. “When I got my robe out, I didn’t look. Why should I? How could someone have gotten in here during the night without waking one of us up? That doesn’t seem possible, does it?”
She shook her head, agreeing with him. What could she say to him? I forgot to tell you, but this place is haunted now. Maybe we should have gone to your apartment instead He wouldn’t buy that. It was too simple. Myles had a penchant for being overly pragmatic at the wrong time. This was bound to be one of them. Should she tell him of the strange things that had happened? If for no other reason than to determine whose insurance company would be on the line for the risk involved. She’d have to tell him about the water incident and how vandals had sacked her home and how her insurance company had paid off both claims.
“I think I should tell you something,” she said by way of broaching the subject to him.
After she finished, he nodded thoughtfully. “I wondered about the new furniture. In time, you would have told me. I guess I’d better tell my company and let them pay off. If yours becomes involved again, they might cancel your coverage.”
When Myles’ insurance agent was told of the previous claims, he agreed to do all he could to help them. The two suits that weren’t torn apart were moved to the front hall closet, and Myles at least had something to go to work in the next day.
Monday, November 17, 1986 8:57 A.M.
When Nicole entered her office building that next morning, the first person she saw was Rose Tunic.
“Well, you certainly must have been partying all weekend,” Rose said, staring at Nicole’s weary face.
She had not slept most of Sunday night, wondering what indeed was going on in her home. Myles had had some difficulty in falling asleep but dropped off around one thirty. But she had lain awake all night, more or less keeping guard for the two of them. Now this fat, frustrated old maid was going to give her a hard time?
“Don’t concern yourself, Chunky!” Nicole snapped, slamming the door to her office behind her as if punctuating the insult.
11:52 P.M.
That night, Myles returned home shortly before midnight to find Nicole sleeping in the easy chair, KSLL-TV still on, showing a late movie. He turned off the set before gently awakening her.
“I … I must have fallen asleep,” she said groggily.
“Did you sleep much last night?” he asked.
“Not as much as I should have. I’ll be all right.”
The telephone rang and Myles quickly answered it. Nicole stretched, wishing for more sleep, and moved toward the short hall leading to the bedroom.
“I’ve gotta go,” Myles said, coming up behind her. “There’s an out-of-control fire at the Riverside Home for the Aged. I guess it’s pretty bad. The camera truck is on its way there now and I’m to meet them. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Don’t worry,” Nicole said, yawning, “I won’t.”
Myles closed the door quietly behind him and she was alone. When the phone rang again, she jumped. It had to be for Myles. They must have forgotten to tell him something. Retracing her steps to the living room, she picked up the receiver on the fourth ring and said, “Hello?”
“Nicole? Is that you?”
“Uh-huh!” she yawned. “Who’s this?”
“Stacey. Stacey Ford. You sound like I woke you up. Did I?”
“Not really, Stacey. I was just going to bed though. What’s up?” She hoped Stacey did not want to talk about something in particular or that she wasn’t out rounding up recruits for the Reverend Eddie John What’s-his-name. When she looked at the time, Nicole silently cursed.
“Nothing much. I was just curious as to how you were doing. I told the Reverend Eddie John about you. He suggested I give you a call.”
Nicole wanted to scream or curse or do something that would give full vent to her feelings. The Reverend Son-of-a-bitch wanted his lady flunky to give her a call? At this hour? Why? To convert her over the phone? Biting her tongue for a moment, she said, “Now why would he have done that?”
“It’s just the way he is. Really, Nicole. He thought I should give you a call and sort of touch bases with you.”
“That’s real nice, Stacey. But not tonight. I’m beat. I really am. I didn’t get much sleep last night and I’ve got to get some sleep now or I’ll have had it with my job.”
“What about coffee tomorrow morning?”
“What time?” She’d agree to almost anything if she would be allowed to go to bed.
“Is ten all right?”
“That’s fine. By then, I’ll be ready for a cup of coffee. By the way, I’m not at the art store anymore.”
“Oh, really? Where are you working now?”
Nicole gave her the address and they said goodbye. When she dropped the phone in its cradle, she sighed heavily. Reaching her bedroom, she dropped her robe to the floor and fell into bed. In seconds, she slipped off to a sound sleep, unmindful of the vacant spot next to her. Her last thought was of Myles and a fervent wish that he get home as soon as possible.
Her mind swirled, spiraling into the depths of sleep, pulling her down to a deep level from where she would not awaken easily.
She stood before huge golden doors with red handles. Stepping forward, she placed a tentative hand on one, pulling gently. The door swung open without making a sound. Inside, candles flared from behind red shades bathing the ballroom in a crimson wash. Around the floor, people stood as if chatting, but there was no sound she could make out. They seemed frozen in position—almost like statuary.
She walked to the center of the floor, turning completely around as she did. The fine silk dress she wore flared out as she pirouetted. Elegant! She felt absolutely magnificent. But where was her partner? She could not recall ever having been in this place before. And she was alone. She felt so alone—as if there were no one else in the world But there was. There were people standing around the periphery of the dance floor—and they all seemed to be staring at her. Music began playing somewhere in the distance. Then a gentle buzzing of voices, locked in earnest conversation, fingered its way toward her. The music grew louder and the people began dancing. She felt foolish. All alone in the middle of the floor and without a partner.
“May I have this dance?” a deep, resonant voice asked from behind her.
She whirled about to face a man wearing a goat mask. Without saying a word, she held out her hand, which he took in one of his, the other snaking around her waist.
In the living room, the red light of the stereo glowed evenly as the soft strains of Roses From The South wafted through the apartment.
9
Tuesday, November 18, 1986 2:45 A.M.
Nicole felt as if she were flying. Whoever it was she danced with—Myles?—twirled her across the wide open expanse, her feet barely touching the floor. The room seemed to expand whenever they neared one of the walls. Forcing her eyes open, she found that she and her masked partner were the only dancers on the floor. When she looked, she found the people who had been facing the dancing area had turned away, their backs squarely to her now. How strange. How—how peculiar. But she couldn’t let something that bizarre interfere with her enjoyment of the dance. The man with whom she glided across the floor seemed to be most adept at moving to music. The music sounded like a waltz but it was distant and soft and she could not really make out what sort of rhythm was being played. Nevertheless, she and her partner moved in three-quarter time. What difference? The mood, the atmosphere, everything exhilarated Nicole until she felt an electric-like charge flowing across the surface of her skin.
A gonging sound pealed
twelve times, echoing through the wide expanse of the hall. She looked up into the immobile, impassive face of her partner’s mask. What did he look like? Handsome? Dark complected? Or light? What sort of nose? Smile? What color eyes? Did she care? She wanted to ask him his name and she tried to form the question in her mind, which didn’t seem to respond. What was wrong? Why couldn’t she get her brain to order her vocal chords and mouth to ask the simple question? The first word What would be the first word of the sentence? What! Of course. The next would be—is. Then—your. And finally—name?
She opened her mouth. The gong sounded once. One o’clock. Not hardly. It had just tolled the hour of midnight. It couldn’t possibly be one in the morning. It was too soon. Forcing her mouth open, she said, “What is …”
The gong sounded twice. Impossible. Time didn’t pass that quickly. It couldn’t. Time was inexorable. It did its own thing its own way. Nothing anyone ever did could alter that fact. Concentrating on the man with his face concealed who held her, she tried again. “What is your …”
Three resounding gongs brought the music to a stop, and her partner stopped dancing, still holding her tightly.
“What is your …” she tried again. He stopped her with a finger to her lips. The digit felt rough, calloused, not at all like the finger of a man who could dance so smoothly. He pulled it away and she flicked her tongue out, over her lips. A peculiar taste invaded her mouth when she drew her tongue back. Something tasted awful Strong. Flavored like—she couldn’t quite place the unpleasant tang.
“Shall we unmask ?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” she said automatically.
Reaching up he took off his mask, only to reveal the second visage of a goat.
Nicole touched her face, surprised to find that she, too, wore a facial covering. It was nothing but an eyemask and she removed it without difficulty.
“Shall we unmask?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she said, reaching up to find her face bare.
He removed his goat mask, revealing a third.
“Shall we unmask?” he repeated for the third time.
