by Peter Ponzo
The saw leaped forward, and he fell back against a twisted limb, but he was thrown forward, against the saw, and the teeth screamed and sliced - to his hand - and the blood leaped out in a scarlet arc and a finger fell away, away from the tree, in a lazy spiral, down, down. His arm was free and he drew back ... and he fell. It seemed that he fell for hours. Then a branch caught him, spiralling about his waist, pulling him high into the air, then a shrill screeching filled his ears and he saw the teeth, spinning, falling, and he drew back against the branch and it broke ... severed by the whining teeth of the falling chain saw.
He landed on the ground, on a heap of branches, gnarled and twisted, and jumped to his feet, running. When he reached the car he tried to open the door and found a bleeding hand pushing against the handle. He cried out and opened the door with his right hand. He placed the bleeding hand under his right arm and squeezed tightly.
The engine roared and the wheels spun on the loose dirt. He leaned forward as though to push the car ahead. The wheels whined, a high pitched howl, but the car stood still. Then, suddenly, the car leaped out onto the road, tires screaming.
Bryan glanced just once in the rear view mirror.
A dark figure was standing on the porch.
CHAPTER 30
General Hospital
"He's still in shock but the bleeding has stopped and his vital signs are normal - except that his heart rate is slightly elevated," said the nurse. The doctor grunted and hung the chart at the foot of the bed then left without looking back. The nurse stood for a moment by Bryan's bed, straightened the pillow, then left.
Bryan stared straight up at the ceiling. His worst fears had been realized. He had failed at every turn. The witch knew him - might be after him - Liz was still in a coma - the tree still stood as it had before ... and - and - he tried to remember.
He had lost a hand. Oh God! Had he lost a hand? He raised his arm and saw that his left hand was bandaged. A finger. He had lost a finger of his left hand.
How could he be so inept? So clumsy? He looked with pain at his gauze-wrapped hand.
He longed for Liz - for his wife to be there, by his side. Together they could ... they would find a way.
He lay for some time, breathing slowly, trying not to move, then he sat up and looked around. He hadn't really seen the room before. He didn't know how he got there. He must have been in a daze. The room was small. There was another bed but it was empty. A tiny TV hung in the air, delicately supported by a thin and shiny metal pole. There was a bedside table with tissues and a phone. There was a closet in the far corner. He didn't want to, but he looked down at his arm again, at the end covered in gauze, slightly streaked with red.
He fell back onto the bed.
Oh God! What am I doing here?
***
Down the hall the nurse on duty had stepped into the lounge, chewing gum. She was frizzy-blond and fat, her uniform vanishing into folds of flesh, in a series of three horizontal creases below her ample breasts.
"Come with me," she said to the young woman. "This lounge is a smoking area."
They sat across a small table with an ashtray and a small lamp and several scattered magazines.
"You'll find it pretty routine," the frizzy-blond was saying. "Just don't forget the vitals. If there's a problem call the doctor on duty." She chewed continuously. "Mrs. Kronecker is the worst ... complains all the time about pains in her groin. Give her a placebo." She stopped chewing, ran her tongue over her lips, then began chewing once more. "The two gents in the end room are incontinent - they wear diapers and that does the trick. Messy, but okay. Laker, he just came in. He's okay too. Lost a finger, so keep the dressings clean."
The blond stopped chewing long enough to take a long drag on her cigarette and lean back, staring at the young woman across the table, staring at her hair, short and black, and at her eyes, almost as black as her hair.
"You'll be fine. Did I hear you worked at Moss Hill Nursing Home? Say ... I don't even know your last name. What did you say it was?"
"Finney. Barbara Finney."
Twins
After he finished the slice of roast beef and mashed potato and drank the coffee, Bryan pushed the tray aside with his good hand and slid out of bed. The throbbing in his left hand had subsided and now he could feel nothing - except a cold draft. He ran his right hand down his side, then his back. The gown was torn. He was completely exposed on his backside. He thought of asking the nurse for a replacement gown, then he saw someone walk by. An old gentleman with his gown torn, right down the back, completely exposed.
Bryan grunted and looked in the closet. His clothes were there. His hand was hurting again and he had some difficulty, but he pulled his sweater from the hanger and put it over his head and tugged until it came down over his buttocks, over the gaping hole in his gown. Then he walked to the desk.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Could you tell me how to get to room four ... uh, four-something."
"I'm sorry sir, but who did you wish to see?"
"Mrs. Laker - Elizabeth Laker."
"Yes ... let's see. Laker, here it is. Just down the hall, there. Room 222."
"No - that's me. I don't want to see me. I'm Laker, Bryan Laker. I want to see my wife. She's in a coma you see and I'm now in the hospital myself and since I'm here I thought -"
"Room 419, sir. Just go up that elevator to the 4th floor, go to C-wing and ask at the desk."
"Okay ... thanks."
Bryan turned and walked to the elevator, holding down his sweater with his good hand. His left hand, wrapped, was concealed carefully under his right arm. The door opened and he stepped in just as the nurse called:
"Mr. Laker! Come back - you should stay in bed until -"
When he reached the 4th floor he saw the arrows indicating A- and B- and C-wings and walked briskly in the direction of C-wing. There was a crowd around Liz's door and he stopped there, conscious of the wind at his back, pulling down his sweater.
"Do you get many cases like this Doctor Fielding?"
"No ... it's unusual but not unheard of."
"Why wouldn't you constrain her - I mean, if she walks in her sleep then one would think that -"
A group of reporters was standing before the doctor, pencils buried between the pages of notebooks.
"Yes, of course ... we could constrain all our patients," the doctor responded, "but we don't. Sleep-walking is highly improbable in cases like this and we certainly wouldn't -"
"But you agree it is possible. It did happen - to this woman."
An excited young reporter looked straight into the doctor's face, pointing into Liz' room. "You should anticipate even the improbable ... sounds like gross incompetence to me," she said.
Doctor Fielding was clearly becoming angry as Bryan joined the group standing at the door. He could see Liz lying on her bed, eyes closed, face ashen.
"Young lady," said the doctor angrily, staring directly into the face of the reporter, "it is highly improbable that a car would lose a wheel and drive onto the sidewalk. Are you suggesting that the city build fences separating sidewalks from roads? Just because it could happen, though improbable. That's ludicrous!"
Bryan leaned forward and asked, "Doctor? Did the ... uh, woman hurt herself?"
Doctor Fielding looked at Bryan, at his sweater and at his gown. Bryan slipped behind another reporter.
"No, she did not hurt herself," replied the doctor matter-of-factly. "She simply left the building, we got a few calls from people who saw her in a hospital gown, walking across a street, stopping traffic. We found her wandering down Main Street - but I've already said that." He stopped abruptly, frowning at Bryan. "I'm afraid that's all the time I have to answer your questions."
With that, Doctor Fielding walked quickly down the hall, the group of reporters following. Bryan entered the room and sat beside his wife. Her hands were slightly soiled and her hair slightly dishevelled but she looked much the same a
s before, eyes closed, hair neatly piled on the pillow about her face.
"Liz? It's Bryan. Can you hear me?"
"Sir. If you will leave I can clean her up. Visiting hours don't start until ..." The nurse looked down at Bryan's gown sticking out from beneath his sweater. "Sir? Is that a hospital gown you're wearing? Are you related to this woman? Why are you - ?"
Bryan left immediately.
His hand was throbbing when he slipped back into his bed. Maybe it was his hand - he didn't have a little finger anymore. Hadn't Brubacher lost a hand? It was his left hand that was missing and Bryan was right-handed. That was fortunate. What would require both hands? Could he get along with just one hand? Opening a door, writing on the blackboard, typing at the keyboard, driving a car ... driving a car would not be so easy. Besides, surely the loss of a single finger, the most insubstantial finger, that would not deny him the use of his left hand, would it? He had got back from Dune Road by himself, hadn't he? Or had he? He couldn't remember.
Dune Road. What had happened there? Sam was there - drugged or under a spell. Cassandra was there. The strange ritual in the living room ... the shapes rising from the floor and Cassandra's chant. What had she said? She was asking some god to release her sister. Bryan remembered the god from that book - the one Liz had been reading. The God of Evil and the God of Good. She was asking the God of Good to release her sister. Cassandra had given an unborn child as some sort of sacrifice to this god and expected to get her sister in return. Why would she ask the God of Good? Maybe he was mistaken. He couldn't remember. Maybe she was asking the God of Evil to accept the sacrifice and return her sister. Yes - that must be it. The soul was tainted by original sin and the struggle between the Gods was one-sided until ... until the child was baptized. The God of Evil held the advantage. Cassandra was bribing the God of Evil. Take another soul - another unborn - and give me back my sister. That must be it. A pact with the devil. He had read that somewhere - a pact with the devil. The God of Evil was the devil and she had made some pact. Wait. Why was she asking the God of Good to - how had she put it? from the evil grasp of one god to the arms of the other. Why would the God of Good accept her sister into his arms? Cassandra was evil. Surely a God of Good would not make an arrangement with someone evil, like Cassandra.
She had seemed uncertain, confused. Was she turning from the God of Evil to the God of Good? Had she made some unholy pact with the devil which she now sought to sever?
Stupid. He had read too many bad books, seen too many bad movies. He rolled his bandaged hand back and forth and stared at the ceiling.
Her twin sister still had a soul tainted with sin. Cassandra shared that soul. An unborn child would provide another soul. Now there would be two souls - one for Cassandra and one for her twin sister. Is that how it went? But they would both be souls in sin. Baptized. Her twin sister must be baptized - Cassandra too. The God of Good must have something to do with that. Cassandra was offering her soul and that of her sister to the God of Good.
Stupid. Do the Gods fight over souls? Bryan closed his eyes.
She had tried this before. Cassandra had failed on previous attempts to complete the transaction with these two Gods. How many unborn children had she used? The newspaper must be full of reports of premature births - mothers who had mysteriously lost their children - abortions - unborn babies stolen by the Friends of Willow.
Hadn't somebody mentioned just that? Hadn't somebody mentioned the loss - the death of babies? Yes, it was Sam. This had happened before, many times. Why hadn't the police done something? Surely they must have found something that would lead them to the evil tree.
Stupid. Of course not. How could any thinking person point an accusing finger at a tree?
Bryan stared at the ceiling. His stump was throbbing again. Think. Was there some clue - some detail that would help in destroying the evil tree, the sister, Cassandra and her twin?
Twin.
Twin?
Bryan sat up.
Twins!
Cassandra had it all wrong! An unborn child was not enough. It must be unborn twins!
Of course! Why hadn't he thought of that before?
He felt like driving to Dune Road and telling Cassandra. Why hadn't she thought of that herself? That was perfectly logical, like a theorem in mathematics. He was a mathematician and trained in the intricacies of logical thought: axioms, lemmas which follow axioms, theorems which follow lemmas. Cassandra was not.
He smiled and lay back again and closed his eyes.
Cassandra would be pleased; he was certain of that.
When he knocked on the door and Sam answered he walked straight past and headed for the living room. Cassandra was there, a dark figure in the tall chair, her black robe flowing onto the floor, her hair falling about her shoulders like water as it slipped past the smooth rocks in a fast and shallow stream.
"You have failed before and you will fail again," Bryan said in a whisper.
Cassandra leaned forward and beckoned him to come to her. He sat at her feet and looked up into her eyes, flashing, bright. She was beautiful. He saw that now. Her skin was like alabaster, her lips carried the blush of roses, relucent eyes like gems.
"Tell me what you know," she said in a low voice. She ran her hand over Bryan's head and he was thrilled.
"You have sacrificed countless of the unborn to the god Ahrimash," he said.
"Ahriman," she corrected.
"You have appealed to Ahura-Musha for acceptance," he said.
"Ahura-Mazda," she corrected.
"You seek the rebirth of your sister from the bowels of the willow. But you have erred."
He paused. Let the statement seep into her awareness. Let her think on it and urge him to continue.
"Continue," she urged, stroking his hair, gently, caressing, lovingly.
"You share a soul - a vitality - a communion with your sister," he whispered. "Your twin sister."
He waited for her to recognize the significance of that statement. He continued. "Twins - a common fabric of being - a shared awareness - a single soul."
He rose to his feet, slowly, raised his good hand, held it out to her. Cassandra took his hand and he pulled her gently from the chair and she rose as a fountain, shining, her eyes beaming in the dimness, her radiance illuminating the room.
"Go on, my lover," she said in a voice that quivered, trembled.
"You have placed at the feet of the devil an unborn child. The devil god wishes something more."
He paused and breathed deeply, pulling her to him, her body warm and vibrant, her soft breath in his ear, her smooth cheek upon his. She began to pant, slowly at first, then more rapidly. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered the words.
"Unborn twins."
She swooned and he held her gently in his arms, letting her slip to the floor, her robe falling from her shoulders, her white breasts heaving, her lips partly open - beckoning.
He lowered himself onto her slim body, pulling away the robe, casting it aside, a robe that moved and rose and hovered in the air above them. Cassandra moaned softly.
"Willow ... my sister ... at last."
He looked up and saw that the robe was filled with light, red, glowing, eyes that shone like rubies, skin like alabaster, lips that carried the blush of roses. He fell back and became afraid. Willow drifted down, enveloping Cassandra, covering her nakedness. The two bodies rose as one, shimmering, luminescent. Bryan couldn't breath. He held his throat and couldn't breath. Cassandra smiled and the smile was echoed in her sister. Cassandra raised her hand and the stance was echoed in her sister.
Bryan gasped ... but no more. He closed his eyes. This was the end.
When Bryan opened his eyes he was staring into the face of Barbara Finney.
Bryan tried to move but couldn't. He was suffocating. The nurse held the pillow tightly over his mouth and nose and he couldn't move. The room began to rotate - slowly, spiralling inward.
He was drugged. He could taste it on his lips. Then the humming. Barbara Finney was humming, softly, pressing the pillow to his face. He began to cry, the tears welling in his eyes, the room becoming blurry. He closed his eyes. This was the end.
When he opened his eyes again he was staring into the face of Elizabeth Anne Laker and she was smiling.
He sat up, gasping for breath and holding his throat with his good hand.
"Liz? Liz! I thought ... I thought ..."
Liz stared down at him, smiling, a blank stare. He took a deep breath and saw the nurse lying on the floor by the bed, the small TV lying broken by her side.
"Liz! She ... she tried to kill me ... she ..."
Excited, he pointed a shaking finger at the floor.
Liz turned and walked slowly out of the room, her gown torn down the back, her hands straight by her sides. Bryan blinked and called out, but she didn't answer.
CHAPTER 31
Hallucination
"Mr. Laker, this won't take long, but I have to ask you some more questions." The officer was standing by his bed, notebook in hand. "You say that you saw the nurse, Miss Finney, only after you woke up. Is that right?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Had you ever seen this nurse before? Had she treated you - changed a dressing - anything?"
"No."
"Have you ever used the small TV, the one that usually sits on that stand?"
"No. I don't watch TV. Dulls the brain - clogs the mind - fills the gray cells with -"
"Yes, quite so. Now Mr. Laker ... Professor Laker isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Well, Professor Laker, that nurse is dead. Did you know that?"
"No ... uh, yes." Bryan sat up and stared at the floor where the nurse had been laying.
"No, she's not there now. Coroner's office. Autopsy. Head injury."
Bryan stared at the officer. Was he speaking in half-sentences?
"We've been looking for that nurse for several days now. She used to work at the Moss Hill Nursing Home."
Good. Regular long sentences.
"She's wanted in connection with the death of ... well, we needn't go into that."
