Symphony - [Millennium Quartet 01]

by Charles L. Grant

  “You just said you were starving. At least get something to drink before you dehydrate.”

  What he wanted to say was: I don’t want to go in there and have them looking at me like that, thinking I’m something special because of what they think they saw, because of what they think is going on.

  What he did say was, “I’m all right. Just a little tired, that’s all. I told you, I had a bad night.”

  She released his hand and slapped his leg, hard. “Damn, but you’re stubborn.”

  “Pigheaded,” he suggested.

  “That, too.” She stood and offered him a hand up. “Now get off your butt, Reverend, and let’s go. I’m frying out here.”

  He almost did.

  He almost took the hand.

  “Casey.” She was angry, said his name like his mother used to, low and firm, brooking no argument, demanding his obedience because it was her due. Singsong, rising at the end: “Casey.”

  He heard a sob and thought it was her, looked up and saw it wasn’t, looked to his right and saw Enid Balanov stagger past the bar, one hand pawing the air as if hoping to find purchase to keep her from falling. He was on his feet before Helen could move, called Enid’s name, and trotted down to the corner.

  Enid turned and faced him blindly.

  “Enid.”

  “Reverend Chisholm?’’

  “Enid, what’s wrong?”

  She reached for him with a hand smeared with dirt. Her lower lip quivered violently, but she couldn’t say his name again before her knees gave way.

  He caught her, cradled her easily in his arms and told Helen to get to a phone and call Petyr. Then he carried the moaning woman to the clinic, kicked the door, and pushed Farber aside when he answered.

  “Jesus,” Mel said, following Casey down a short hall into an examination room. “What—”

  “I don’t know. She was like this when I saw her, out there on the street.”

  Lying on the paper-sheeted table, moaning, pawing the air, holding her Bible so tightly to her chest neither man could pry it loose from her fingers.

  “Heat prostration,” Farber guessed. “Shock, maybe. You see anything?”

  “No.”

  “She say anything?”

  “No.” He took her hand gently and forced it to stop, winced at the power of her grip when he just as gently forced her arm down at her side. When he released her, and she him, she didn’t move except for the erratic rise and fall of her chest.

  Tessa hurried into the room. “Helen told me. Holy Moses, what happened to her?”

  Farber muttered something, and Casey backed slowly out into the waiting room as Tessa began the task of disrobing the woman while whispering her name, telling her she was all right, she’d be all right in a minute.

  Then Enid screamed, “He locked the goddamn doors!”

  * * * *

  2

  Cora stood in the swimming pool, knees slightly bent, submerged to her shoulders. Sonya lay along the edge, idly paddling. Dimitri floated in a red inner tube, shading his eyes to see the clouds better.

  The morning had been awful, and the afternoon hadn’t been much better. Sonya had turned sullen, whining about everything from the lunch to the water; Dimitri hadn’t said a word, although he had done what he was told.

  Cora felt as though she were living in a bubble, her voice sounding muffled, her brain turned to cotton. She had to force herself to blink hard every once in a while just to clear her vision, and the water that was supposed to cool her off made her feel like she was sweating.

  Reed wasn’t home, Rina was working, Nate was God-only -knew-where.

  “Oh,” Sonya said, surprised, and sat up.

  Cora turned, and held her breath.

  Her father walked around the side of the house, still in his stupid manhunting fatigues, a rifle slung by its strap over his shoulder. Beneath the, water, her hand clutched near her stomach.

  With him was a little girl not much older than Sonya.

  “Found her wandering around,” he said, staring at Cora as if it were her fault. “You know who she is?”

  Dimitri had managed to kick the tube around; Sonya had slipped quickly into the pool.

  “No,” Cora said flatly. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to talk to me.”

  “I just told you.” He gave the girl a shove. “I’m seeing a lawyer today,” he said as he left. “You get your ass back to your own house.”

  Cora dog-paddled to the side and lifted herself up on her forearms.

  The little girl had shining black hair with straight bangs that ended above large black eyes, dusky skin, heavy lips. She wore coveralls over a short-sleeved T-shirt, and red sneakers on her feet.

  “‘Hi,” she said with a white-tooth smile. “My name is Anita. What’s yours?”

  Cora was shocked when she heard Dimitri say, “Go away, we don’t like you.”

  Before she could scold him, however, the girl said, “It’s too late, Dimmy. Do you want to see me swim? I can sing, too. Just like a bird.”

  * * * *

  3

  Casey leaned heavily against the clinic wall, head down, trying to understand what had happened to Enid, almost grateful when Petyr swept down from the Crest and braked hard at the curb in front of him. He entered the building without a word, without a look, returned what seemed a lifetime later, and said, “You did this.”

  Casey straightened. “No, sir, I just found her.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “No, you did it. You did this thing. You made her this way, all this talk, all those things, all your...” He waved a hand in disgust. “You. No one else.”

  “Now look,” Casey began, but Balanov shoved him, one hand to his chest.

  “You made her crazy, Chisholm. You made her see things and hear things, and ...” His face reddened, his jaw trembled. “And you did this, you sanctimonious son of a bitch.” This time the shove was a punch to Casey’s shoulder. “You!” Another punch, lips curled in loathing. “You!”

  Casey grabbed the wrist before the fist reached him a third time, held it just hard enough to keep Balanov from taking it back. “Don’t, Petyr,” he said without raising his voice. “Enid doesn’t need this now.”

  Balanov strained to free himself, a thick vein bulging across his forehead, cheeks sucked in.

  “Petyr.”

  Spittle foamed at the corner of the man’s mouth; he wouldn’t give up, although he didn’t use his other hand.

  “Petyr.”

  “What’s going on?” Helen demanded from the sidewalk.

  “Petyr’s understandably concerned about his wife,” Casey told her without looking away. “He’s worried, and it looks like I’m a pretty good target to get it all out.”

  Petyr’s expression softened, but just a little, as he relaxed his arm and Casey released it.

  “Petyr,” Helen said, false smile, false concern.

  “Oh, shut up, you whore,” he snapped, and stormed inside, slamming the door behind him.

  “Well,” she said with mock indignation, “I guess he sure told me.”

  “He’s upset, as he should be.” A sigh, a shake of his head, and he touched the shoulder where Balanov had struck him. “Man packs a punch.”

  “You’re kidding. You didn’t even flinch.”

  “Righteous armor,” he said wryly. “Now, let’s eat, if you don’t mind. There’s nothing more we can do—”

  The shot interrupted him, and made Helen rush up the walk to hold his arm.

  It was William Bowes, marching with a pronounced limp down from the Crest, slinging his rifle back over his arm. His fatigues were sweat-stained, his face pale, the cap he wore shoved to the back of his head.

  “Chisholm!”

  “Helen, maybe you’d better go inside.”

  “I want my daughter back!”

  Casey stepped away from the building, intending to meet the man at the curb, but Bowes made to grab his weapon again, and Casey froze, hands out.r />
  “Mr. Bowes—”

  Bowes stopped in the middle of the street, legs apart, thumb hooked in the rifle’s sling. “Chisholm, I am not going to argue with you. I don’t care what you heard, what that bitch told you, if she isn’t back in my house before sunset, I’m calling my lawyer, the police, and then I’m coming to see you.”

  Casey did his best not to smile. The man wasn’t quite drunk yet, and he was clearly eager for any excuse to throw a punch or pull a trigger, but Casey couldn’t help being reminded of a man with more liquor than sense trying to call the local gunfighter out.

  “You hear me, boy?”

  “Casey,” Helen warned behind him. “Casey, easy.”

  He realized then that his right hand had become a fist, and he swallowed hard as he opened his fingers and flexed them until the tension was lost.

  “Mr. Bowes,” he said carefully, “you do what you have to do, that’s your right.”

  “Goddamn right.”

  “But if you want Cora back, you’re going to have to get that lawyer and the police. I’m not going to help you.”

  The rifle came off the shoulder.

  “Casey,” Helen stage-whispered.

  Bowes pointed it at the ground, thinking hard, looking first to the clinic, then back at Casey.

  “If you want her back,” Casey said, “you won’t do it.”

  A second passed before Bowes said, “Don’t bet on it,” and march-limped away.

  Casey didn’t move until the man was gone, then let his shoulders sag abruptly, just as the door snapped open and Mel in his clinical whites poked his head out and looked around. “Oh, good, you’re still here.” He jerked a thumb. “You’d better come inside.”

  “Not now, Mel,” Casey protested. “And Petyr—”

  Farber jerked his thumb again, angrily. “Casey, get in here.”

  Casey exchanged puzzled frowns with Helen, and hurried in, past Tessa, who sat with Petyr on one of the waiting room’s two dark leather couches.

  “Moonlighting?” she asked with an impudent grin.

  “Huh?”

  “Good Humor man,” she explained. “You’re moonlighting, right?”

  Again Mel forestalled a response, pushing him urgently into the examination room. Enid still lay on the table, breathing calmly, it appeared, her eyes closed, her hands folded over the Bible resting on her stomach.

  “Enid,” Mel said softly. “Enid, Reverend Chisholm is here.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open, but it took a few seconds for her to focus on Casey, standing at the foot.

  “Exhaustion mostly,” Mel said to his unspoken question. “And the heat. And ...” He rested a hand on Enid’s shoulder. “Enid, you promised me you wouldn’t get excited if I let you do this, right?”

  She nodded.

  “How are you, Enid?” Casey asked, smiling.

  “An angel,” she answered with a tremulous smile. “You look like an angel.”

  “Not likely.” He ducked his head as if blushing. “Too many black marks, you know what I mean?”

  Her eyes closed slowly.

  “On a horse,” she said. “I saw her on a horse.”

  * * * *

  A nice man, young but not well-dressed, had volunteered to take me to see Reverend Chisholm after that awful Gorn had made lewd remarks to me. I didn’t know him, but I wasn’t feeling too well, so I accepted, thinking people would see, people would help if I needed it. But he didn’t take me to Reverend Chisholm. He took me up the street past where Arlo has his bar. He took me to a house just behind Vinia’s place, where a woman stood on a porch. A young woman, an old woman, I couldn’t tell, my eyes were too fuzzy.

  The young man, who told me his name was Stan, said to the woman, “Here’s one, what do you think, is it time yet?”

  I didn’t know what was going on, but I couldn’t get the man to let go of my arm. He didn’t hurt me, but he wouldn’t let go, he just stood there and I felt him shaking. The woman was angry. She came down off the porch and yelled at the man without raising her voice. She called him “fool” and kept coming, kept calling him “fool,” kept telling him to do what she told him and don’t get into trouble.

  He let go of my arm then, and I almost fell. I wanted Petyr so badly, but he wasn’t there, there was no one there, so I tried to move so those two wouldn’t notice.

  She was so angry, Reverend. She was so very, very angry.

  I didn’t stop, though, even though I was sure she would do something terrible if she saw me. I didn’t stop.

  And I saw her.

  I saw her on a horse, a huge white horse, and I saw her reach down and slap this man on his face, and I saw blood, Reverend, I saw so much blood and I heard the man cry and I saw him fall and I saw the woman grab his hair and lift him to his feet and she hit him again, she called him “fool” and hit him again, and the next thing I knew... the next thing I knew ...

  * * * *

  Mel gripped her hand as it fumbled through the air, whispering, calming her.

  Hysterical? Casey mouthed to him.

  No.

  She wasn’t hurt?

  Farber shook his head as he patted Enid’s shoulder until her breathing settled. “I gave her a sedative,” he said. quietly, leaving the woman to her sleep. “Tessa, come in here and watch for a while, will you?”

  The other room was empty except for Helen; Petyr had gone.

  Mel dropped onto a couch, rubbed his face hard with the heels of his hands. “Man, this has been a class-A crappy day.”

  “Is she all right?” Casey said.

  “Yeah.” His hands dropped to his lap. “Exhaustion, like I said. I don’t think she’s had any sleep at all, and she’s been working herself up ever since the other day. Since .. . you know.”

  Casey nodded.

  “You get emotional like that, on top of no rest which is on top of this weather, and ...” He gestured toward the doorway. “Delusions, things get twisted.” He sighed loudly. “Where the hell’s her husband?”

  Helen shook her head. “He said something about taking care of business.”

  “Swell. Enid needs him, and he’s... ah, the hell with him.”

  “So the horse wasn’t real?” Casey said.

  Mel looked at him sharply. “No, of course not. You heard her. It was there and it was gone. The magic of a brain that wants to shut down for a while.” His expression softened. “So what do you make of it, Case?”

  Casey didn’t get it. “What do you mean? You said she’s suffering from exhaustion. What’s to make of it?”

  “Well, let’s put it this way—the last time I saw Bobby, that woman, if it is the same woman Enid saw, was with her, and they were heading for that house, I think.”

  “Bobby?” Helen leaned forward anxiously. “What was she doing here?”

  Farber looked at them both, pulled his lower lip between his teeth, and put a hand over his mouth, stared at the floor for a while.

  Casey waited.

  “Well, hell, you’re going to find out sooner or later, just don’t tell her I was the one,” said Farber.

  “One what?” Helen said.

  “The one who told you she was pregnant.”

  * * * *

  4

  Oh, boy,” Sonya cried. “Hey, Cora, it’s raining! It’s raining!” She scrambled from the pool and began to run around the yard. “Raining, Cora, raining!”

  More a mist than rain, Cora thought from her place at the edge of the pool. But it sure felt good.

  The first good thing to happen today.

  The girl named Anita was next to the sandbox, and she clapped her hands in delight, although her lips formed no smile.

  Dimitri was on the redwood deck, where he had run when Bowes had left, paying no attention to her call to come back. His bathing suit still dripped on the floor. He was hugging himself, and Cora could see him shivering so violently he could barely stand up.

  “Rain, rain, rain, it’s raining!” Sonya sang as she ran.


  Anita applauded.

  Dimitri sank to the floor, still hugging himself, looked at Cora, and wept.

  * * * *

  “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” said Micah from his throne on the dock.