Andrew took another swig. Everyone was getting a little batty this week, cooped up in a house filled with ghosts, getting pulled into a man’s narrated delusions. All for the good, he reminded himself, all for the good. Just grating on the nerves sometimes.
Andrew didn’t like the new arrangement. Didn’t matter that Corey Union wasn’t dangerous. Half the time he was one blink away from vegetation. But this whole affair, this last ditch immersion therapy of Vanessa’s to draw him out—that felt dangerous in a hard-to-pinpoint way. Especially when the man spoke Hank Cowles’ lines, or growled like that stupid dog.
He could change his voice in so many ways, keep them consistent day to day. More than that, sometimes Andrew wondered if Corey might not be in complete control of his strange, imaginary world. Like he was playing a part in someone else’s dream, a puppet whose strings were pulled from off-stage. Stupid thought, of course, but it wasn’t a theory he’d come up with himself.
Vanessa had.
A quietly mumbled statement meant only to vent her frustration. Every time she got close, the scene would change. Corey would become resistant, or disoriented. He’d pull back like a turtle into its shell or, more often, change persona. Sometimes Hank Cowles, more often he'd take on the role he’d created for Vanessa. Bad Vanessa, as Andrew referred to her, only half-joking. Bad Vanessa was, of course, Corey’s way of letting them know he understood what they were up to, if only unconsciously. Trying to destroy a family which had already been ripped away from him two years earlier.
Andrew leaned against the counter, soda can in hand, wondering if they had Tylenol somewhere in the house. Vanessa had probably given Chen the same line she gave Andrew this morning for why she had to see Cowles in person. Understanding the man who had affected Corey so dramatically, glean some insight. Andrew wondered whether the Chen believed her any more than he had. In truth, Vanessa had gone to face Corey’s demon in person, prove to herself that the idea he was in any way involved in what was happening was pure lunacy. She was exhausted, and it was beginning to show in some of her decisions.
Maybe that was why Chen had wanted to see her.
As soon as he stepped outside, Vanessa’s car pulled up the long driveway. As much as he tried to hide his pleasure, Andrew’s heart sped up when he saw her through the windshield. He chided himself for even imagining the possibility. Not that she was a model of beauty. She could be, if she got herself into shape and had a better self-image. Like him. He never once considered the differences in their skin color as having any bearing. Vanessa didn’t have a bigoted bone in her body.
Maybe when this was over. When she was able to let Corey go.
Andrew moved around the corner of the house and waited on the front walkway as Vanessa gathered her bag and travel mug. She smiled, rather sadly it looked to him. The grass around them was mostly dead, long overgrown and collapsed in on itself.
Vanessa dropped any pretense of a smile as she approached. In fact, she looked like she’d been crying.
“You OK, Van?” A nickname he’d come up with recently and had risked using only once before.
She shook her head and walking directly into him, let the bag and mug drop to the dead grass beside the flagstones and pressed her face and hands against his chest. Andrew froze in surprise, arms raised on either side of him. She began sobbing against his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her, unsure what was going on but taking a guess Chen had pulled the plug on her, too. He rubbed her back, whispered that it was OK, not sure if it was, but in a selfish way enjoying how good she felt, how much she trusted him.
Vanessa finally pushed herself away and wiped her eyes, sniffed once. “Sorry. Had a rough day.”
He wanted to keep holding her, touching her. He chose not to press and lowered his arms.
“Chen canning our vacation early, then?”
She looked confused for a second, then understood. “Oh, no. No. Not exactly. Did Betsy call you?”
He nodded. “Pulled the plug on me and Robert.”
“Yes. Sorry. I enjoyed having you around.” She caught his gaze, blushed and looked down quickly. “Both of you.”
He wouldn’t read anything into that, much as he wanted to. “I can come tomorrow anyway, on my off shift.”
“No,” she said, quickly. “No. That would piss him off too much.”
“Chen?”
She nodded.
“He give you a hard time?”
She laughed, covered her mouth, removed her hand and waved the question away. “How’s the patient?” She bent down and retrieved her stuff from the ground.
“He’s fine.” Andrew stared at her sad, puffy face, silently pleading for her to look at him. She fidgeted her bag back over her shoulder, moved the travel mug from one hand to the other. He added, “I wrote the transcript in the book, as close as I could to what I heard. Abby and Sam just had an interesting chat, you should take a look at it as soon as you can. Corey thinks it’s midnight, by the way. Abby and Sam are in the bed with him. Abby was scared by the thunder.”
She looked up. “Thunder?”
In many ways, listening to Corey was like being a storyteller’s audience. Corey spoke to his wife; she spoke back; but always it was Corey talking, changing his inflection enough to distinguish each speaker. He often lapsed into a dreamy narrative to describe the scene, talking of the weather, physical qualities of the characters. Especially the weather. Always hot, sunny and clear; day and night generally following real time, until today. Distant thunder, sometimes, like now.
Sometimes Corey punctuated his story by walking around the house, aware of his surroundings but seeing more than was really there, pantomiming mundane acts like cleaning dishes, or winding the clock. Things got rough when Corey imagined himself alone with his wife. Then, he would do things which Andrew was obligated to observe, detail in the log book while doing his best not to watch too closely the man masturbating in his bed or on the porch. Vanessa had been around for that latter episode, saving Andrew from having to play voyeur.
He pulled the over-laden bag from Vanessa’s shoulder and looped his arm through the strap, reached for the door. She did not object. As they stepped inside, he lowered his voice. “There’s been thunder in the distance, in his world I mean. Hasn’t gotten any closer, though.”
She didn’t reply, but from the way she narrowed her eyes, the storm’s presence bothered her. He added, “Mean anything?”
“I don’t know. The calm before the storm?” Her voice had a tremor when she spoke. He put the bag down beside the chair but before she could step past him, Andrew took her arm.
“Vanessa.”
She stopped, looked back with an expression that almost made him let go. Was that fear?
“What?”
He lightened his grip until only a couple of fingers were hooked under her arm. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
She paled. “Why?”
“Why? Because you look like death on toast, that’s why.”
She smiled. “I think you’re mixing your metaphors.”
“Seriously,” he let her go but stayed close, “you’re not doing yourself or Corey any favors by driving yourself into the ground.”
“I know,” the words coming out as a sigh. “I know. I’ll sleep better tonight, I promise. I did sleep last night, a little but…” She looked as if Andrew believing her was the most important thing in the world. “Just not enough. Miss my own bed, I guess.”
He grunted, nonverbally telling her he thought she was full of shit, and followed her into the living room. She added, “Just leave my bag there by the couch. I’ll take it into the room later.”
She’d been staying in Abby Union’s old room. For the overnight shift, Robert Schard had been using the spare bedroom, a room significantly non-existent in Corey’s world.
Vanessa continued into the kitchen and poured water into a Hot Shot to make tea. She’d brought this from home, a small dispenser that heated a mug’s worth water in less than
a minute. She wanted to avoid any sounds in the house that might interfere, or worse, become indoctrinated into Corey’s fantasy. Muddy the waters, she’d said once, something like that.
Andrew leaned on the wall at the entrance to the kitchen, keeping his voice low. “His sense of time is pretty whacked today. After his little adventure last night, wandering out front.” He looked back into the living room. “Not that I don’t want you comfortable, but maybe you should camp out on the couch tonight in case he decides to sleepwalk again.”
The water was hot already. She poured it into the mug, dropped in a tea bag. Without looking at him, she said, “He wasn’t sleepwalking. It was all part of the play. Leading to some kind of Big Finish, or something.”
“You think something’s going to break?”
She looked up. “What? Oh, no, just repeating something Hank Cowles said.”
Andrew straightened. “Van,” second time in a half hour and she didn’t flinch at the nickname, “I thought you’d be over that once you’d met the guy.”
“I never really believed he had any influence. At least…“
“At least what?”
“Until I met him.”
“And now?”
She dabbed the tea bag a few times, finally let it sink to the bottom of the cup. “No. Honestly. He’s just an ultra-freaky guy.”
Andrew sang out on impulse, “He’s super freakaayy…”
She laughed for real; covered her mouth, looked at him sideways. The gaze between them lingered. It was a very nice look. Andrew would do anything to see that again and again.
“Hey,” he said, “I’m all packed up, but I can swing out and get you some food before I go. Pizza or something.”
“I’m fine. Thanks.” She played with the tea bag string.
It was time to go. Never overstay your welcome, his Pop always said. “OK, well, I’ll go, then. You think any more about my offer this morning? It wouldn’t really be a date, not really, but it might be nice to get around more people who live in this world.”
Her brow furrowed again. Bad sign. He raised his hand, “Hey, I love Corey as much as anyone. I’m just… I’m just worried about you. I’m allowed to care about you, too.”
He thought she was going to cry again. Vanessa let go of the tea bag, walked up and stretched on tip toes then kissed him lightly on the cheek. Touched the other with her fingertips. She was down and back at the counter before he could react.
“OK,” she whispered. She was blushing again.
He thought, OK what? OK what?
“OK, you’ll go?”
“Saturday. Right?”
He nodded, trying to rein in his excitement. Be calm, man; be cool. “Right. Well, great! I’ll see you on Saturday morning, anyway. Betsy knows I want to be one of the guys who brings Corey back. But you will call me, I mean it, if you need anything tonight. Or tomorrow. I wrote my cell number in the book. Promise me you will, if something comes up. Anything.”
“I promise.”
He nodded, looked away so he wouldn’t be tempted to return her kiss. “OK, well, be careful.” He wandered into the spare room, grabbed the backpack loaded with his toothbrush, deodorant and a mystery novel and slung it over his back.
Vanessa was still in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and finally sipping her tea. She wiggled her fingers bye, still blushing (a very good sign, he thought). Andrew waved back, went out the front door. When he closed it, a new emotion, one he hadn’t felt since this week had begun, crept into his chest. Maybe it was that he’d finally gotten a chance for an actual date with Vanessa, but things had been getting weirder with Union.
He touched the door, one last connection to the woman before stepping from the porch and walking, reluctantly, to his motorcycle. He did his best to ignore the fear rooting though his gut.
XVI
Watching Andrew navigating the orange-striped Kawasaki down the driveway and out of sight along the road, Vanessa wanted to run outside and scream for him to come back, tell him everything. The sound of the bike’s engine muffled through the trees, faded, was gone.
She was alone. Vanessa wandered into the hallway and stared at the master bedroom’s closed door. Apparently, Andrew had closed it so they could talk.
Bad day, she’d told him, after breaking down in his arms. Strong arms. He was in love with her. If not love, then a pretty deep crush. Andrew wore it on his sleeve, though he probably thought he’d successfully hidden his feelings. She liked him, more than most men she knew. But today in Chen’s office, Vanessa had decided she could never love anyone. She didn’t deserve it. On her hands and knees in front of the desk, throwing away what was left of her pride to a man who was no less a monster than Cowles. Chen was one of many destroyers of her own, sad little world.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. No sense lying to herself. She could have said no to him. Chen had offered his price, and she paid it. Yes, he’d obviously planned it out carefully, dangling what might be Corey’s last chance over the abyss and asking, in so many words, how much his salvation was worth to her. A couple more days and he would have lost his leverage.
She could have said no, could have reported him. Could have. Should have. Didn’t.
The door at the end of the hall blurred out of focus. Her life was a wasted landscape, but Corey had a chance to be saved from… from himself. Hank Cowles was insane and could do no more than he’d already done.
After he’d finished this afternoon, Jim Chen whispered, wet and satisfied into her ear, Tomorrow’s your last chance, Doctor. If anything is going to come of your little experiment, it has to be by then. We’re taking him back Saturday, no debate.
Leave it to him to have sex with a subordinate then act as if it had been no more than a business meeting. Vanessa pressed her hand across her midsection, pushed, as if forcing out the physical memory of him inside her. At least she’d insisted Chen use protection.
She moved into the kitchen, sat for a time drinking tea from the same oversized mug in which she’d had her morning coffee. Andrew had taken the time to clean the dishes while she was out. Vanessa pictured him over the sink and smiled. It wouldn’t surprise her to find her bed made with a chocolate on the pillow.
She took another sip and stared at the painting of lonely MooMoo hanging above the table. After Corey's older brother Eric found him living in such squalor, peanut butter sandwiches made every day for a daughter who would never eat them, stale and molding, newspapers scattered about, the worst of their stories clipped out and burned in the fireplace, he’d brought his brother to Pine Glen. Eric Union got power of attorney over Corey's affairs and used what was left of the insurance to pay down the mortgage and refinance so he could continue payments on the house. He never took ownership, always assuming Corey would come back someday. That was two years ago. Corey’s condition never improved. Eric’s little brother never came home, until now.
Vanessa finished off her tea, stared blankly out the picture window towards the back woods. Before she left for her visit with Hank Cowles today, Andrew had surprised her by asking her on a date. Saturday night. Quick to point out it wasn’t actually a date. Not really. Singles Night at his church—something they did every week “since forever,” suggesting it would do her good to get around other people for a while.
He was right. She hadn’t been on a real date in years. She’d come to Pine Glen from the Pendergrass Clinic, a small outpatient center in Providence. A small clique of friends would drag her to bars, an occasional movie and even a couple of blind dates. None panned out. You’re too gloomy, Amanda told her once. You’ve got to lighten up if you want to make any sort of impression.
She’d tried, moved to Massachusetts and got her practice up and running under Chen. Literally, as it now turned out.
Don’t think of that.
Instead, she thought of Andrew. Big, sweet Andrew inviting her to a church function as if she wasn’t a morose, self-obsessed slut, but instead someone worthy of
his affection.
Vanessa slowly got up from the chair, lifted the mug, only to realize there was nothing left inside but a shriveled tea bag. She drew the lingering scent of peach tea into her nostrils, laid the cup on the counter and walked down the hall towards the master bedroom.
She’d said yes to Andrew. Fine, that was fine. He’d discover the real Vanessa on Saturday night and realize his mistake. Until that happened, for the first time in a long, long time, she was looking forward to something unrelated to the hospital or her patients. A chance for a normal life.
The inspiration was brief. Vanessa opened the bedroom door and saw Corey thrashing under the sheets. His eyes were closed, mouth moving, saying nothing. He was probably awake, but in his mind he might be sleeping, having another nightmare. She rounded the foot of the bed, slipped onto the sheets and lay next to him, ran her fingertips lightly over his forehead.
“Shhhhhh, it’s ok.” Always a whisper, when she spoke to him this close.
His skin was hot, sweating. She pulled back the sheets a little. Andrew or Robert had dressed him in clean pajamas, still standard hospital grays. Probably Andrew. He was good that way, able to manipulate Corey’s dream-like movements to bathe and dress him without Corey fighting against the intrusion or incorporating it into his fantasy.
Vanessa leaned forward, kissed his forehead twice. Corey calmed. Her stomach ached with shame. “I did it for you,” she said, scooted down and laid her head on his chest. His arm wrapped around her, warm arms, loving like Andrew’s. It felt so good to be like this.
“Sam,” he whispered. She closed her eyes, tried to pretend he’d said her name and not to be jealous of a woman long dead.
She’d insinuated herself into his world, felt an unwanted thrill at how he’d molded her into such a mysterious, strong-willed character. A villain, true, though that made sense considering her objective. Vanessa whispered his name, ran her nails along his belly. She couldn’t stay like this, not now. Maybe later. She had to make her report to Chen. Maybe she could lie and say her cell battery was dead and she couldn’t connect the laptop to the internet. Reception was bad enough out here.
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