Body of Immorality

by Brandon Berntson

  Dr. Livesey had performed a miracle, no doubt about it. According to Eric, he hadn’t heard the sounds at all since the hypnosis.

  Annie prayed—because of Dr. Livesey—the haunting in Eric’s brain was over. Their life was headed in a new direction. They didn’t have time for it. It was in the healing, pristine skies of Colorado.

  Just stay perfect, she thought.

  Looking at the house and its beaming white facade—the freshly cut grass—a fantasy transported Annie into thoughts of grace. The contrast was so pleasing, she almost wept. She was glad Eric wasn’t there to witness it. Motherhood was making her emotionally unstable.

  Another nursery. That’s what we’ll do with the empty room across from the nursery we already have. That’s how we’ll fill the space.

  Feeling a jester, Annie wondered what Eric would think.

  She knew exactly what he’d say:

  “Let’s just make it through this baby first, hon.”

  Annie took a deep breath of the Colorado air. Revivifying warmth spread through her chest.

  Contentment?

  “No,” she said, aloud. “Paradise. Just simple, perfect paradise.”

  Beasley issued a single yelp from the lawn. Annie laughed. Whether or not Beasley approved, she couldn’t tell. The dog was barking at everything these days.

  *

  Eric Durgess experienced a similar euphoria driving home from work that April afternoon, welcoming the beginning of their new life. He’d been hesitant of the cold winters of Colorado, however, not used to them since living in Phoenix. Despite his skepticism, he was glad they’d made the move. The business was accelerating. He felt he was engineering a racetrack, and he was making a prodigious name for himself. The marketing was paying off and word was getting around. Eric was not only a good contractor; he was one of the best.

  His dreams had come true in ways he’d never imagined. Instead of working the long hours like before, he drove to each job sight, nodding with approval, making suggestions here and there, listening to what the owners’ expectations were. All the while, trying to bring the white Victorian together.

  Watching Annie, made him equally happy. He saw how excited she was; he would be home more often instead of working the interminable hours, trying to get the job done.

  From the small outfit Eric began in Arizona, E&D was making prodigious strides, a decidedly huge step from the problems he’d faced. If things went well, they might be able to enjoy their time in Colorado for years to come.

  But that’s over now, Eric thought. The noises are gone.

  For the first time, he felt the truth in that statement. The haunting was over. Gone. Finished. Thank God.

  At heart, though, he was skeptical toward their new beginning. “Yeah, it’s going great, but…” “Yeah, we’re making more money, but…”

  It drove Annie crazy. Eric couldn’t let it go, however, enjoying the ride that things were different.

  Simply, he wanted everything to stay perfect. After all, they had a booming business now, a beautiful house, and the expectations of parenthood. How could he not worry? If he was confident about anything, it wasn’t being a skilled worker, but wanting to be the best husband and father he could be. Father, he knew nothing about, but Annie made him feel successful as worker and husband.

  He couldn’t help but smile as he drove the Chevy.

  Boy or girl, he didn’t care. He knew the trials would come, the frustrations. Not all things went smoothly. Blemishes were real.

  You’ll think about it again after that little boy or girl is a teenager. You always think about the teenage years.

  He’d worry about that when the time came.

  As it was, he steered the Chevy into the driveway of their new home, the white Victorian guardian looming over a manicured lawn. Annie, face glowing with the onset of motherhood, sat on the porch-swing drinking lemonade. Beasley raised his head and let out a single bark at his arrival. Eric chuckled.

  Not a bad way to begin the evening, he thought.

  *

  Eric turned on his side and took a deep breath of Annie’s hair, a lingering aroma of blueberries. Annie breathed deep, locked in the confines of—what he hoped—were untroubled dreams.

  How far under is she?

  In the dark, after an eventful day, dishes washed (the two of them yawning enough to go to bed), Eric lay smiling in the dark, not thinking about their monetary problems or the bills they had to pay. Into their life—their new life—he thought about how happy he was. With the weather turning warm, they had more opportunities to work in the yard, Annie’s specialty.

  Eric didn’t think about his troubles then, or past horrors, a rare thing because he had a natural inclination to worry. He did not think about noises or bad dreams. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath of Annie’s hair.

  Blueberries, he thought.

  He loved what Annie was doing to the house. He noticed something different everyday when he came home. They worked together over the weekend: laying tile in the bathroom, staining bookshelves for the living room, rolling out new carpet for the nursery. There was still an empty, unfinished room down the hall. They hadn’t decided what to do with it yet. Annie had joked with when he came home about turning it into another nursery. His heart skipped a beat when she’d told him. “What about the office?” he’d asked. Annie smiled, pattered her belly, and told him she was only joking.

  Worry about it later, Eric thought. Sleep peacefully, dream deep. Remember who’s sharing all this with you.

  Annie had supported him through every sacrifice. Where would he be now if not for that fateful day at the track? He didn’t want to think about it.

  What a lucky man you are, he thought.

  “Annie,” he whispered. “You made my dreams come true.”

  He put his arm around her.

  “Love you, baby,” he said.

  Annie did not move, did not stir.

  “Far away?” he said. “Hope you don’t mind if I join you.”

  Eric pulled Annie close, her head on his chest, and was asleep in seconds.

  *

  The weeks moved rapidly by. Eric was itching to tear into the kitchen. He had an idea for building an island with a deep fryer and an indoor grill. The yard was bright with flowers now, the lawn thick and lush. He’d have to invest in a riding mower. The house—with more order each day—was coming together. They were enjoying the magic of their new life, new house, new town. Things were looking up. Eric and Annie remained optimistic and hopeful. The bids Eric put in for renovations were being accepted. Yes, talk was Eric was one of the best and most reliable contractors in this part of Colorado. They accepted their new life, this new change with happy hearts, and a hopeful beginning.

  *

  Weeks later (again under the covers and staring at the ceiling), Eric pulled the blankets under his chin. Annie was asleep again beside him. She wore the same glow in dreams, he noticed, her belly swelling more each day.

  He couldn’t go away with her tonight, not as he had before. Nagging cymbals tugged at his thoughts, a claw plucking at his brain.

  The room was dusky from the light of the stars, the moon’s luminescence. The drapes were open, revealing a clear, windless night.

  He’d been asleep only minutes ago, but awoke to a terrible sound, one he hoped hadn’t come from the cellars of his brain. That confining space could produce horrors beyond his imagining, he knew. Eric wasn’t sure he’d heard the sound or not. He thought he’d awakened to clamoring bells, but it faded when he opened his eyes. It was hard to tell. The stillness in the room snuffed out the marching band. Beasley, at the foot of the bed, looked up and whined, sensing something awry.

  “Not to worry,” Eric told the dog. “Just my imagination as the song goes. Maybe a fading dream. You pick.”

  The words did not convince him or the dog. The sound was in his head, the same crashing cymbals, the reason he was staring at the ceiling now.

  He was sweat
ing, plastered to the sheets. The nightmare had a way of bringing the most ungainly fears to life.

  For the first time in years, Eric was terrified.

  It’s a familiar nightmare. You ought to know it by now.

  And he did.

  You’re not coming to grips with it. It has you by the throat. It’s always had you by the throat. Soon, you’ll lose your identity. It’s not always good. How many times do I have to tell you? Did you think it was gone for good? Are you really that naïve?

  An onrush of panic surged through his veins. Bells with no melody rattled in his head. Doors banged shut.

  It’s the house. It’s coming to life inside me instead of around me.

  The fact that the sounds made themselves tangible—threatening to bowl him over—made him panic. He was afraid. Eric groaned aloud. They would kill him, loud enough to rip him apart. His brain was a chamber, barring the noises in his head until they forced themselves outside his mind.

  Ripping through—a reverberation of grinding metal—they erupted again, noises that never had an origin, noises that never made any sense. Noises that simply were. Livesey had never found anything in his past to explain them.

  Eric’s eyes welled with tears. They raced down his cheeks. “Please God, say it isn’t so,” he said, sitting up in bed. He put his head in his hands.

  Beasley, sensing trouble, whined again.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Eric said.

  The onrush of clamoring bells bombarded him, metal striking metal. His brain tore itself apart. The sounds were using his head for a basketball.

  Groaning, Eric prayed for mercy, deliverance. He tried, mentally, to will the noises away.

  “I can’t believe I have to go through this again.”

  And this time, buddy, it’s like nothing you’ve ever imagined. This time, it’s a helluva lot worse.

  He wouldn’t tell Annie. He couldn’t bring this nightmare into their happy home. Not now. He’d call Livesey, wait and see how the noises manifested. He’d find a cure before Annie found out.

  *

  Through the remainder of that week, Eric forced a smile, watching Annie bring the yard and garden to life. He pretended he was okay.

  The brisk spring hinted summer. He continued to inspect each job sight as renovated kitchens and bathrooms transformed themselves. Beasley continued to mope, following Annie around the yard like a gloomy shadow.

  After a while, Eric realized he must’ve imagined the noises. He hadn’t suffered from them for over a week now, since that night in bed. Maybe staring at the ceiling had been a dream? He was only imagining what it must be like to hear them again.

  “What sounds?” he said to himself, and forced a smile.

  Throughout the week, Eric ran to the store for his wife’s strange appetites: crab cakes and pineapple, ice cream and sardines. The noises had returned, but for a time—if he tried—he could forget, even will them away. He had enough power of imagination to pretend they weren’t real at all.

  *

  In the night, however, he didn’t know who he was. Maniacal forces slipped into his mind, plucked at his identity, playing him like a puppet. In his dreams, he was changing. He grew claws and fangs, bristled with hair like a werewolf. Eric had no control over it, of course. It happened in seconds. The sound tormented him in sleep and turned him inside out. He’d been plugged into a light socket without knowing why or how. In dreams, he was Mr. Hyde. It didn’t make sense, of course. Why would it when the sounds never had an origin? He wondered when Mr. Hyde would start running the show.

  Eric threw the covers off and got out of bed. He ambled—still somewhat asleep—from the quiet room, and down the hallway. He wore only his boxers, his hair in disarray. His eyes were glued somewhat shut. This, too, felt like a dream.

  Beasley watched him, raising his head, and let out a whine, but Eric was oblivious to the quiet snoring of his wife and Beasley’s vigil.

  He wasn’t cognizant—at least not outside his mind. Eric had never (that he was aware) had a history of sleepwalking.

  The noises in his brain, like cavalry, drove him onward: an entity coming to life in the sleepy hours of morning. If he could locate the sounds’ origin, he could banish it. He did not understand how he knew this, but he did. Finding the sound was the first step in killing it utterly. It became his mission, the marching band driving him out of bed and down the hallway. The bandleader was somewhere ahead, urging him toward the unfinished room down the hallway.

  Nursery, he thought. Study. Does it matter?

  Eric stopped outside the door. He wrapped his fingers around the knob, but did not open it. It wasn’t time yet, the bandleader told him. They’d meet again soon. He tried the knob one more time, but it was locked. That was funny. Why would he lock the door? It didn’t have a slot for a key.

  Now’s not the time to worry about it.

  That wasn’t his voice, either, but he ignored it.

  Locked in the throes of a strange dream, Eric went back to bed, and slipped under the covers with Annie.

  Beasley eyed him, another whine escaping his throat, sounding more like a dreadful plea.

  *

  On the following Saturday morning, the same stentorian roar filled his head. There was no warning.

  BAM! BAM!

  Flintstones, Eric thought. Meet the Flintstones.

  The noise wouldn’t stop. They came to life from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, assaulting him, gaining strength and power after years of being away. Was it the move, the Colorado air, the house itself?

  The sounds’ predictability consumed him. He should’ve known this was going to happen. It was typical not to recognize it.

  Despite it all, Eric, my man, the sounds seemed to say. I’m the one who hold’s dominion over your life. Not you. What can I say? I’ve missed you…Thought I’d pay a little visit…

  Eric groaned, tears coming into his eyes. Pain shot flames through his skull.

  Hello, Doctor. Sorry to have to call again. Yes, it’s me, Eric. How’s the wife and kids?

  He could take care of it without Annie finding out. He had Dr. Livesey’s number somewhere. Maybe the man could recommend a psychiatrist in the Boulder area.

  Do you really think that’ll work?

  Eric rubbed his temples, forcing the tears back. He would not whimper like a dog, like Beasley.

  “It’s yabba dabba doo time,” he said to himself.

  *

  Eric found Livesey’s number in the kitchen drawer downstairs. Maybe Annie would stay out in the yard long enough, he’d be able to make the call in privacy.

  He grabbed the number, Livesey’s business card, and ran upstairs to the bedroom. He dialed Dr. Livesey from the bedroom phone.

  The drapes were open, letting in the light of day. Clouds gathered, threatening rain. Eric thought how appropriate that was.

  On the phone, Eric told the secretary who he was. She put him through with a deep, “Of course, Eric.”

  He hated this already.

  Dr. Livesey was on the phone in seconds. His voice was far away, deep and jovial, somehow under water. It was far from the cartoon-like, pompous voice Eric remembered.

  “Eric?”

  “Dr. Livesey?” he said.

  “How are things? New life in colorful Colorado? I’m envious.”

  “Well, I…yeah, okay, but…I’m not…no. Things are not…except for that again. No… not very well…”

  Livesey paused. “Oh, Eric. You’re kidding? I’m so sorry.”

  The concern he needed was in the man’s voice at least. If it hadn’t been for that—

  “I’m afraid so,” Eric said.

  Livesey paused again. “I was hoping you’d called for my address because you wanted to send me a Christmas card,” Livesey said.

  Eric forced a chuckle. “We have your address,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He clenched his eyes. “And we are sending you a Christmas card.” He paused. “Stupid, I guess.”
He shook his head, laughing at the idea. “Can you say something magical, Doc, over the phone, that’ll bring me back to normal? Maybe someone you can recommend in our area who performs the same miracles?”

  Livesey wasn’t laughing now. “Well,” the doctor said. “I know a handful of psychiatrists, but none in your area. I am puzzled. And sorry. You could always fly back, or…let’s see…I can’t get away for several weeks near June. I hate to think of you suffering those…spells again, Eric. Let me see if I can pull a few strings…I’ll get back with you. Is that okay?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “You’re having no other problems…other than the…episodes?”

  Eric put a hand to his head. Was that a door slamming downstairs, or the band coming to life in his brain?

  “Everything’s going well,” Eric said. “The business is doing better than expected. Just…the noises, you know?”

  “Yes. I’m so sorry. Please keep in touch. Tell me how things are going, especially with your…problem. See who you can find out there. Hypnosis, Eric, is not a dying practice. Don’t be afraid to ask.”

  “Yes,” Eric said, though, Livesey might as well be on the other side of the universe. “Of course. Thank you.”

  A click on the other end announced a dead line.

  Eric turned. Annie leaned against the doorframe. She was wearing one of his long, button-down shirts. She wore a red bandana, tennis shoes, and gardening gloves.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “A guy has to keep some secrets from his wife.”

  “Don’t want to trouble me?”

  “Something like that,” he said. Eric looked at the floor again.

  “We’re gonna have to call someone?” she asked.

  “Sounds like it,” Eric said.

  Annie walked over to him, knelt, and put her arms around his waist. “Thanks for confiding,” she said. She pulled away and smiled. She was only joking, the look said.