Peripheral Vision: A Supernatural Thriller
Page 15
For the next fourteen years, life for the Bayard Family was actually somewhat normal and even prosperous. But early in 1965 things began to change...to slip. Elizabeth, having been away at the State College for four years, had returned to Homewood to take a teaching job at the local elementary school. Michelle, now a senior at Homewood High, had taken up an active role in the anti-war movement. Her vocal diatribes against the war in Vietnam didn't sit well with her veteran father, or with many of the conservative pro-LBJ thinking Homewood residents. Although the opposition group that she rallied with was small, they made a lot of noise, traveling from town to town and organizing peace rallies around the state. But unfortunately, sometimes when noise gets too loud, it leads to someone trying to make it stop. That someone came knocking on the screen door of the Bayard's kitchen the night of October 17, 1965. Her father, Eli, died on the cool tile of the kitchen floor from Matthew Miller’s bullet. Elizabeth in return, put a bullet through the skull of the young man who pulled the trigger. She had found a perverse pleasure in the killing, and quickly made her way to the river to wash her sins away.
Elizabeth was still in the river when the bodies were taken away. It was labeled self defense, and no charges were ever filed against her, but the incident and the gossip that followed made it impossible for her to return to teaching. She moved back in with her mother and began helping with the ranch. She found it refreshing to be outside, and away from people. It was much easier to only have to deal with the animals.
Things had changed since the evening of the murder. Eli had left big shoes to fill and the loss was felt on more than just the ranch. Grace tried to lose herself in the ranch work, but it's hard when you are reminded of the man you love, the man who is no longer living, by everything you see. Every fence post, every bail of hay, every unpaid bill, every cup of coffee, every....
Jason dealt with the loss of his father by becoming his father. There was no more baseball, no more high school games, no more. He decided that his time to be a man had come and when he turned 18, he enlisted in the Marines. There was no waiting around for the draft to come in and scoop him up by the heels. Jason was a man now, and men take it head on. By the spring of 1967, Jason was already taking fire in Kien Hoa and by the spring of '68 his flag was already folded in his mother's arms.
Michelle, who had been out of town on a school trip during her father's murder, predictably took the news the hardest. She blamed herself. “That bullet was meant for me.” She said on more than one occasion. She also stayed and helped out on the ranch, but was livid when her brother enlisted. “Please, Jay, don't do this.” And when the CNO's drove up the driveway that Spring morning to notify Grace of her late son, Michelle could take no more. She packed a small bag, took a framed picture of her twin brother, and hitched it to San Francisco.
When Grace passed away in 1970 from pneumonia, Elizabeth inherited the Bayard land and took over the day to day operations of the ranch. At this point however, the Bayard ranch business was on the down swing, and the unpaid bills were on the up. By 1980, Elizabeth was forced to sell most of the remaining cattle and almost three-fourths of the grazing land that at one time had blessed her father with profit after profit. She was able to keep the river house, however, and began privately tutoring high school students to make extra money.
Occasionally, she would receive a phone call from Michelle. Her younger sister was still living in California, but by this time she had relocated to the South Bay, married, and had a three-year-old daughter, named Sarah. Michelle was good about sending letters, and pictures of her family to Elizabeth. It made Lizzy extremely happy, and also at the same time broke her heart every time she would open a new letter from her sis. At this point in her life, Elizabeth had made the decision that she would not marry and would not have children. Although she had always wanted a child, she forced herself to forget that desire. After she lost her father in the kitchen that October night and then her brother to Vietnam, she promised herself that she would never bring a child into this world.... especially not a boy.
She knew the stories. She had been hearing them since she was a little girl, but had never taken them seriously. Eli had kept the stories pretty hush hush in his house, but the chatter around town and in the schoolyards wasn't something that was easily controlled. Eli was beloved within the community however, and while he was alive the story seemed to be in a state of remission. But after his murder, the diseased legend of the Bayard Curse returned to page one of the gossip circulation. Elizabeth was starting to believe. And after Jason was killed, she was convinced. The curse was real.
Chapter 15
Elizabeth Bayard – The later years
The refrigerator door in Elizabeth's kitchen was covered with pictures of her sister's daughter. It was a photo timeline of sorts, held up by colorful magnets and growing steadily every month or two. Elizabeth liked to keep the pictures in chronological order. She was aware of the strangeness of it all, but she liked being welcomed by the smiling face of the child when she awoke in the morning and before she went to sleep each night. Sometimes she would find herself just standing in front of the fridge, staring at the pictures for no particular reason at all; other than it made her happy. She liked to observe the subtle changes in each photograph of Sarah as her niece got a little bit older and older in each one.
There was, however, one photograph that Elizabeth always liked a little more than the others. In it Sarah, maybe 4 or 5 at the time of the picture, sat atop a red tricycle in front of her parent's house in Redondo Beach. The trike was facing away from the camera, but Sarah, with her long, dark hair- half covering one eye, was looking back over her shoulder at the camera. There was a sparkle in her eye and a smile on her rosy-cheeked face. It was easy to see that the child was well loved. Elizabeth always felt that this photograph spoke to her the most. It was almost as if the little girl in the photograph was smiling directly at her. It made her feel at peace.
In May of 1983, Elizabeth received a letter from her sister, asking if it would be alright if she was to bring her family to visit Elizabeth and the old ranch. Michelle wrote that John was getting some time off from work in August, and they had decided to take a cross country drive to Nebraska. She went on to say that since Lizzy had yet to meet Sarah, and John had yet to see where she'd grown up, that it would be the perfect opportunity for both. Elizabeth could barely contain her excitement. She re-read the letter twice more and then again out loud for good measure. She hadn't see her sister since the wedding in California almost eight years before. Michelle hadn't been back to the ranch since Jason died, and when was that '68? “And Sarah... I'll get to meet little Sarah.” Lizzy thought out loud with a smile. Smiles, unfortunately, never seemed to last very long in the Iktomi River Valley.
August came quickly. Elizabeth, still not expecting her sister's family for another day, was making her usual Sunday night dinner when she got the phone call… head on collision.... Signal Hill.... John, dead… Michelle, dead.... Sarah, in critical condition. The room spun. Everything turned to grey. Elizabeth fell backwards against the butterfly wallpapered kitchen wall. The phone dropped from her hand and hung by its long black cord as she slid down to the floor.
It’s slipping again, she thought. Everything is slippy here. The tears were now streaming down her cheeks, as she tried to wrap her mind around what she had just been told. It can't be true, can it? She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes and began to weep violently. It was uncontrollable. She kept pressing harder and harder, the increasing pain almost giving her a sense of relief, but at the same time scaring her. Finally she pulled her fists away from her eyes and slammed them against the wall. A cry of pain that grew deep in her belly suddenly escaped from her mouth. The sound of which surprised Elizabeth. “Was that me?” She asked to no one in particular, and that's when her eyes refocused. The grey had slipped away, and her eyes came to rest on the photograph of the smiling little girl on a red tricycle. Lizzy knew what she must do.
The smells in the hallway were strong. Too strong, she thought. Hospitals have a way of mixing smells… the shit and sickness, mixed with a touch of medicine, and a pinch of strong lemon cleanser. This hospital was no different and as Elizabeth approached her niece's room, she began to doubt if she should really be there. It was no longer the fear of leaving her home, or going out amongst people, but a fear of putting someone else in danger. A fear that maybe something had followed her up from the valley, waited patiently in the grey shadows, and was now waiting for Lizzy to find the little girl from the photograph. “The curse,” is what kept playing over and over in her mind… the curse. Elizabeth stopped. Sarah's room, 17, was only two more doors away. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. It seemed to thump violently in her ears. She looked around the hallway half expecting that everyone else was hearing it too. They weren't however, and Elizabeth quickly made up her mind. I'll take one quick peek, she thought, one little peek will be okay, and then I'll go.
The doorway to Room 17 was standing open. A low, audible beeping sound lead Elizabeth into the room, and then she was greeted by the mechanical breathing of Sarah's respirator. The little one looked so frail, so fragile, lying on the hospital bed, attached to so many oil sucking machines. The top of her small head was wrapped with a large white bandage. Visible cuts stood out on her once rosy cheeks and her left arm seemed to be in a cast. All at once the air seemed too thin. It made it hard to breathe… to think.
Elizabeth turned quickly and attempted to leave the hospital room, but was startled to see three people blocking the doorway. A young man and woman were standing halfway in the room holding hands and looking in at Elizabeth. Behind them another man, a much older man in a long white coat was busy writing something on a clipboard. He was chewing gum. Really smacking it, back and forth, up and down. Elizabeth blinked hard. Her eyes adjusted again.
“Elizabeth?” The woman asked.
“Yes.” Lizzy answered slowly. Her mind raced. How does she know my name?
“I'm Joan Spence. We spoke on the phone yesterday?” Elizabeth stared blankly back at the woman. “This is David, my husband, and Doctor Tripter.” The older man in the doorway waved. The other half-smiled.
“I'm sorry, I just...” Elizabeth's voice cut out as she felt a new batch of tears begin to flow. The woman… Joan, was now standing in front of Elizabeth with arms outstretched and a stupid look of sympathy on her face. Elizabeth immediately resented the woman.
“I'm so sorry about your sister.” Joan said as she wrapped her arms around Lizzy. Elizabeth let her, it felt good to be held. “It's so unbelievable.” And now Joan was crying too. They stood there for some time, embraced, crying together. It was a good cry, and good cries can be hard to come by.
Later, after going over insurance and medical paperwork and sharing a cup of coffee from a styrofoam cup, Joan and Lizzy became friends. Joan and David Spence were little Sarah's godparents, the late Michelle and John's best friends, and now Sarah's legal guardians. Although Sarah was still unconscious, Dr. Tripter expected her to awake shortly, and barring anything out of the ordinary in her post tests, also expected her to make a full recovery. “We can be thankful she was in a car seat, folks.” He had reminded the room on more than one occasion.
Early the next morning, Sarah opened her eyes. Joan and David were there, sitting next to Sarah on the bed. Dr. Tripter was there, standing next to the read out monitor. And Elizabeth was there as well, standing behind Joan, and smiling. The little girl's eyes sparkled. She was only conscious for about five minutes or so the first time, but it was enough time for Elizabeth to say “hello,” kiss her niece on the cheek, and then to say “goodbye” with her smile. Sarah was going to be okay. Suddenly, Lizzy's fears from before began to resurface and she thought. It's time for me to go. I've risked enough just coming here.
Joan and Elizabeth remained friends over the years as Sarah grew up in California. The two would exchange letters, and Joan would continually send pictures and updates of Lizzy's niece. In many of the early letters, Joan would try repeatedly to convince Elizabeth to come and visit, but it was to no avail, and eventually she stopped. Lizzy had made up her mind about the curse. To her, it was as true as the sun rising in the morning sky, and she didn't want to risk the wellbeing of her little niece all for the selfish needs of an old woman. This, she tried to explain once in a letter to Joan, but Sarah's Godmother just thought it silly and never took the time to understand. Elizabeth still kept and updated her photograph timeline, however, and never took down the one of little Sarah on the red trike. In fact, at some point she had it framed and hung it in her bedroom hallway. It was nice to see the smiling face and the twinkling eye when she got out of bed in the morning.
In 1990, the thirst returned. In the shadowed years immediately following the fatal car wreck, Elizabeth became more and more of a shut-in. She sold the last of the family's remaining cattle and her beloved horses were the next to go. She just no longer had the funds to keep them fed. It broke her heart to say goodbye, but the choices at that point were very limited.
It was the day Lizzy was saying her last goodbyes to Misty, her favorite horse, that a sharp pain arose from her belly. The pain was distantly familiar and so was the feeling that followed. A feeling of being pulled towards the twisting river. Chills ran up and down her spine as she made her way from the old barn, past the chicken coop, and machine shed, to the edge of the Iktomi. The grass and weeds grew tall along the riverbank, some stood even as tall as Elizabeth herself. She felt a strong need to get in the water. To let it run through her hair and over her face. She couldn't remember the last time she'd swam or even waded into the cool river. As she pushed through the tall grass, shooing the annoying gnats away from her face, she heard something and stopped. There was someone out there. Two some ones, from the sound of it and much to her dismay, they were laughing. They sound happy, she thought. She continued to move through the grass, but now she found herself moving slowly, softly, and deliberately. She crouched, which reminded her of the many games of hide-and-go-seek, she and the twins had played along the river so many years ago.
Elizabeth was still well hidden in the tall weeds when she was finally close enough to see the intruders. Yes, intruders is the right word. She peered out from behind the grass, only one eye clearly visible, as a shirtless young man with shoulder length curly hair splashed backwards into the river. A half naked, young blond woman giggled as she watched the young man. Her eyes were smiling. She loves him, Lizzy thought. From her hiding place she watched as the two embraced under the afternoon's warm sun. The cool waters slipped between the wet bodies as they pressed closer and closer together. All at once Lizzy's head began to spin. She was too warm. The pain in her belly had now moved up her body to her temples. It was a throbbing, incessant pain. She brought her left hand up to her head to try and ease some of the pressure and was shocked at what she saw when her hand passed in front of her eyes. There in her hand, beneath her early arthritis suffering fingers and gnarled knuckles was a knife. It sparkled in the sunlight. Looking at the sharp pointed tip made her head throb even harder, but she couldn't look away. She turned the sharp knife in her hand. It flashed as it caught the sunlight
....it’s beautiful, she thought.
It was the laughing that finally brought her back. The damn laughing. The half naked couple was making their way out of the river and onto the grassy bank. The grass seemed to be shorter there or maybe it was just already pushed down, as Elizabeth noticed the two large backpacks and towels that marked the area. Carpetbaggers, she thought. The man lowered the young woman down onto half of one of the towels and positioned himself on top of her. Her arms wrapped around the back of his head and pulled him closer, as their lips passionately locked and they practiced inhaling and exhaling for each other. What happened next seemed more like a dream to Lizzy than anything else. She pushed her way through the grass and slowly, softly walked towards the entangled, naked bodies. The knife again sparkled in the bright afternoon sun. She was surprised at how quick and quiet she was. It was almost as if she was floating. They never saw her coming.
“It's okay,” Elizabeth said as she seamlessly moved the blade across the young man's bare throat. The blood seemed to pour everywhere and he kept making a gasping, gurgling sound that sounded to Lizzy like Donald Duck. The thought made her smile. The young naked woman screamed as the blood poured over her face. Elizabeth was quick to put an end to that noise as well. The sharp point of the knife leapt out and pierced the woman in the side of her neck. Blood erupted from the wound, soaking the towel beneath her. At this point, the man had stopped gasping and gurgling. He lay still on the flattened green grass. The woman, however gasped for quite some time. Elizabeth sat down behind the girl and wrapped her arms around her. It was comforting for them both. A smile was forming on Lizzy's face. A huge, teeth showing smile… it made her laugh out loud.
“Why am I smiling?” she asked the afternoon air, and then her lips were pressed against the woman's neck. The wound continued to pump out the blood, but now it was no longer saturating the towel beneath her, but instead quenching a thirst. Elizabeth drank and drank. The feeling of power was indescribable. The warmth inside of her grew with each drink, each swallow of her medicine. Yes, “medicine,” that's the right word for it, she thought.