After the window closed, Robert glared at the Doctor. “Must you always complicate my life by hiring idiots?” He spat as the car began to quiver to the sounds of “Satisfaction.”
The Doctor shrugged and took one of Robert’s Gauloises.
“What happened?”
“The girl died.”
“So you said. Explain.”
Robert described the scene in the woods the night before. The Doctor nodded and jotted down notes. “Your calculations were wrong. The lineage was incorrect. Are you certain you can trust your sources?”
The Doctor shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” Robert eyed the man suspiciously. “About an hour ago, my associate at The Meadows called to tell me our girl is being released.” Robert smiled. “Her ‘Aunt Eleanor’ will fetch her.”
“Splendid.” The Doctor nodded in agreement. “I assume you will intervene?” asked Robert.
“No.” The Doctor shook his head. “You will.”
“Me?”
The Doctor nodded. “I have a plan. It begins this afternoon before
The Meadows’ visiting hours expire.”
“Fortunately, I am free this afternoon.”
The Doctor tossed his cigarette butt into Robert’s cognac, settled into his seat and spoke.
Robert listened, becoming more irritated by the moment. By the time the Doctor finished outlining his plan, Robert wasn’t sure which he hated more: the Doctor, his plan, or the Stones.
6
“Mr. Chow?” Heather’s chipper voice filtered into Lynn’s consciousness, “Put your penis back in your pants, okay?”
“Damn bitch!” Mr. Chow muttered.
Lynn turned from the group and found herself staring into the face of Mr. Chow, a short, balding, wrinkled man of uncertain Asian descent. He flipped Heather the bird and grabbed his crotch.
“The boys need air.”
Heather sighed. “Please? Come on?”
Lynn forced her eyes to remain on Mr. Chow’s face. What genetic mutation caused the males of the species to be so enamored with their dicks? Women didn’t spend half this much time talking about their vaginas.
Unlike Mr. Stewart who liked to talk about his dick, Mr. Chow’s favorite pastime was showing his, wandering the halls with his fly open sans underwear. His family ‘suggested’ a stay at The Meadows a year ago after a particularly embarrassing encounter with the local Red Hat Ladies. They didn’t care if Lynn discovered why Mr. Chow was so obsessed with airing out his balls; their only goal was to avoid any more attention caused by the public indecency. Theirs was old, old money and old, old money knows how to keep things quiet.
When she was first hired, Lynn spent the first few weeks writing incident reports on Mr. Chow and the boys until Martha barked at her one afternoon, “Mr. Chow’s wang does not require any more documentation.”
“But…but I thought…”
“Mr. Chow’s boys are quite legendary here at The Meadows,” Martha snapped. “I will read no more about them. Understand?” That was the last time she, or Martha, ever talked about Mr. Chow’s private parts.
“Mr. Chow! Good morning!” Lynn said meeting his icy gaze. “Is that your I.Q or your sperm count?” she asked, indicating his middle finger. Mr. Chow lowered his hand. “That’s an old, stupid joke.”
Lynn nodded. “Yeah, I guess it was.” She looked at his flaccid penis and wrinkled testicles. “How are the boys today?”
“Okay.”
“Well, I tell you what,” Lynn said calmly. “How about you send the boys home and join me in group.”
“I can do anything I want,” he sneered. “If my family didn’t own half this county…”
“If your family didn’t own half this county,” Lynn sneered back, “you’d be in jail showing your boys to some inmates who call you ‘bitch.’ Now, it’s time for group.”
The withered man turned and plopped himself into a vacant chair.
Lynn grabbed the remote and switched the TV off. Despite the grumbling, the patients slowly began moving to their places. Lynn scanned the room for Abbey, but the girl was absent.
The obese black woman seated to Lynn’s left said loudly, “I gotta problem.”
“You always gotta problem!” Mr. Stewart snapped.
“Do not!”
“Do too!”
“Mr. Stewart, Mrs. Bailey, please stop bickering.” Lynn tried to sound patient. It was only nine o’clock in the morning for god’s sake! Can’t they put a sock in it until at least ten? By ten she’d be on her sixth cup of coffee and wouldn’t care.
“I gotta tell ya,” the fat woman said, “that Fung Shi doesn’t like it here this morning.” She looked into her cupped hand and began petting her imaginary creature.
“Oh?” Lynn asked, “Why not?”
“Fung Shi doesn’t like Mr. Chow’s cock.”
“You look very nice today, Mr. Rix,” Lynn said to the young man wearing the long black wig, red stilettos, and skin-tight dress.
“Cher,” he replied. “You may address me as Cher. Everyone does.”
“Of course.” Lynn smiled. “You look very nice today, Cher.”
“Thank you.”
“FAGGOT!” screamed Mr. Chow, his hands placed strategically over his crotch. “You…” Suddenly, he fell silent and turned to stare at the space behind Lynn.
Standing in the doorway of the day room was Abbey, dressed handsomely in dark, pleated slacks with so much starch that the crease could cut a glacier. She wore a billowing lace shirt and boots which were better suited to medieval times rather than twenty-first century group therapy. Abbey had pulled her hair back and tucked it up on the nape of her neck, giving her an androgynous quality that Lynn found fascinating.
She commanded silence with her glance. Once all eyes were upon her, she strode purposefully into the room and took her seat beside a lanky black man wearing a beret.
Lynn said, “As you know, Abbey will be leaving us soon.” The room erupted into a cacophony of voices. When she finally regained quiet, she turned to Abbey. “Would you like to say anything?”
Abbey remained mute. Her eyes moved from one person to the next until she made contact with Lynn. “Yes, I would.” She waited. The group held its breath. “Thank you, everyone. You shall all be fine.” She then sat down.
“Why does she get to leave?” Mrs. Bailey squealed. “She heard fucking voices!”
“You calling Abbey a freak?” Cher said, snapping her fingers.
“I’m just sayin’…”
“She hears angels,” the black man sitting next to Abbey whispered.
“What, Mr. Graves?” Lynn asked.
“She hears angels. Not voices. Angels are a good thing to hear.”
Then Lynn asked, sitting on the edge of her seat. “Do you hear angels, Mr. Graves?”
“No,” he muttered. “I wish I did, though.” “I wanna go home, too!” Mrs. Bailey screamed.
“I need to piss!” Mr. Chow spat.
“I am so over this,” Cher exclaimed.
The rest of the circle erupted in chaos. Lynn sighed and laid her head down in her lap.
Across the room, out of sight of Lynn’s resigned sighs, Mr. Graves clutched Abbey’s hand in his. “I know you can’t say about the voices,” he said, “or they say you crazy. But I know about ‘em. The voices be good, right?”
Abbey smiled and squeezed his hand.
7
“You’re going to die.”
“Edna.” Abbey sat down on the bed next to the old woman and hugged her. “I am not going to die.”
“You’re leaving me and never coming back. It’s the same thing.”
A knock on the door interrupted their moment. “Edna? Abbey? Do you need help?” Heather’s voice scratched their ears.
“WE DON’T NEED YOUR DAMNED HELP, YOU SMELLY
WENCH!” Edna wiped her eyes and held Abbey’s hand. “You aren’t supposed to leave me until tomorrow.”
Abbey shrugged. “My aunt is…unpred
ictable.”
“I need more time with you. I need you, Abbey.”
“You don’t,” Abbey smiled, “you have Lynn, and Mr. Stewart.”
“He likes me, I think.”
“I think so, too.”
“Abbey, it’s time to go, right? Lynn’s waiting, isn’t she?” Heather’s voice lilted through the door.
“WE HEAR YOU! WE’RE NOT DEAF YOU STUPID PUNK!”
Then, to Abbey, “I guess your Aunt Eleanor needs you too.” Abbey shrugged. “Yes, she does. I can tell. She loves you, Abbey.” Edna squeezed Abbey’s shoulder. “We all need you.”
“I’ll be back to visit, Edna.”
“No, you won’t.” Edna said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “But it’s okay. They need you more.”
“Edna, you help Abbey get her things together?”
“I AM HELPING HER, YOU MOTHER-FUCKER!” Edna pulled Abbey close one last time. “You’re our guardian angel.”
Abbey winked at the old woman. “No, but thank you for the kind thoughts.”
Edna became serious and gripped the young woman tightly. “Protect us, Abbey. Help us.” Abbey stared at the old woman, mystified by her strength. Another knock broke the silence.
“Abbey? Edna?”
“Edna. Promise me you’ll be nice to Heather.”
Edna nodded. “I will.” Without another word, the old woman shuffled to the door and opened it. “WILL YOU GIVE ABBEY SOME TIME ALONE, YOU INCONSIDERATE TWERP?” She turned, shrugged at Abbey, and closed the door behind her as she left.
Abbey threw the last articles of clothing into her duffle bag, sat down on the bed, and wondered if she could escape Aunt Eleanor and the Aunts. Surely, she, herself, had some power in the final decision to stay at The Meadows, did she not? For the past six months, this facility was the only part of her life that she could vividly remember and the idea of leaving the familiar setting unnerved her. Not only would she be leaving her home, but also the possibility of connecting the dots of what her life before the accident looked like. The frustration of sifting through the fragments of memory that floated around her mind was almost more than she could bear. While she appreciated all the help her aunts gave her, the old photos, family heirlooms and handwritten letters they brought her had not jump started her mind to recall who she was before The Meadows. Right now, the need to unravel the mystery of her past was stronger than the need to reconnect with family.
The closest she came to any substantial cohesion of her life before the accident was in therapy with Lynn. There was a hard edge to the therapist that struck Abbey as both sturdy and fragile. Abbey sensed a gutsy facet to the social worker’s personality that belied the kind, professional exterior. She respected the woman and her motives. If anyone could help her, it would be Lynn.
Abbey lay down on her bed and fiddled with her necklace. She felt guilty about lying to Lynn during her recent session, but despite the social worker’s efforts to build a solid rapport, Abbey knew that keeping mute on the details of her dreams was the right decision. These last two weeks brought dreams that were fiercer and more vivid than she let on. In the latest version of the dream, she was not flying under her own power, as she told Lynn, but inside the cockpit of a small prop airplane. She remembered the plane lurching and then plummeting into the sea. She remembered knowing—in that deep-seated way that only dreams can know things—that her fall into the water was a terrible miscalculation of some kind. She remembered clawing at the water, digging her way to the surface while both fearing the water’s depth and welcoming its embrace. She remembered feeling that someone was supposed to rescue her and that ‘someone’ abandoned her.
Three nights ago, she had her most startling dream to date; this one not about fire or water, but Aunt Eleanor. She dreamed that she and Aunt Eleanor walked the halls of a huge building—like a castle, but more modern—and Aunt Eleanor wanted her to do something. In the dream, they sat together in a beautiful sprawling garden drinking bitter coffee and watching the sunrise. The flowers bloomed and bees buzzed through the air amongst the brilliant reds, whites and yellows. Then, Aunt Eleanor turned to her and faded away, leaving Abbey alone amongst the birches, firs and pines. As Abbey sat watching ladybugs inch along the stems of the flowers, a fire sparked under her and spread throughout the garden. Soon, she was sitting in the middle of a ring of fire and Aunt Eleanor stood outside the circle watching her die.
There were other parts of the dream as well, such as - Damn! The vision was gone. Just when the memories started to flow back to her, they jammed again, like a pile-up on the freeway, leaving the wreckage of disjointed mental pictures. Abbey leapt off the bed and kicked her duffle bag, sending it flying across the room. Damn! Why could she remember some things so clearly and others not? She could remember going to church. She remembered the kindly priest sitting with her on hard, wooden pews discussing angels.
She stopped herself from hyperventilating by collapsing to her knees. Automatically, she folded her hands in prayer and bowed her head. Praying always gave her a sense of calm. Was she always this way? So many questions flooded through her she found it hard to concentrate on the Lord’s Prayer. All she knew for sure was that she didn’t like feeling angry. The anger quickly took control of her and made her violent. She didn’t want violence in her life. She didn’t want to fight. Had she always been a fighter?
No. She had no desire to fight. Her problem was fear. The idea of going back home with the two women who knew more about her than she knew about herself terrified her.
Besides, what kind of people name their home ‘The Bastille’?
A curt knocking on the door and Heather’s melodic voice penetrating the silence. “Abbey? Abbey, your aunt is here? Okay? Let’s go meet her?”
“Hey!” Mr. Stewart bellowed as she followed Heather down the hallway towards the administration wing, “Remember to piss before you leave. Can’t pull over you know. Better go now.”
Abbey smiled warmly. “Thank you, Mr. Stewart. Good advice.”
The old man scowled at her for a moment and grunted. He then continued shuffling his way down the hall.
“Girl, you look great!” Cher said, dabbing her tears with a tissue. “Here.”
Abbey held out her hand and Cher laid a handmade necklace of multicolored plastic beads in it. “How sweet,” she said, donning the ostentatious craft. “You made this for me?”
The sobbing head nodded violently. “That awful crafts class. A girl can never have too much color, you know.” Cher held out her hand and Abbey took it, gave it a quick kiss and looked into the mascara-strewn eyes. “Be safe, sister Abbey.”
Abbey nodded. “You, too. And dear,” she pulled the thin body close to her and whispered, “God has a reason to place you on Earth.”
Cher yanked her hand back and opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and silently turned away.
Abbey almost made it out the door when Mrs. Bailey’s booming voice flooded the hallway. “Hey! You!” Abbey stopped mid-step and turned. The bulky woman stood in the center of the hallway, only one strap of her bib overalls fastened over her shoulder. The other strap dangled uselessly around her leg. Mrs. Bailey’s immense left breast lay trapped within her flimsy T-shirt, while her right breast hung down to her waist where the rotund woman had it tucked neatly inside the overalls.
“This is for you!” the woman screamed maniac-like. In a flash, she had unclasped the strap of her overalls, yanked the bib down and whipped off her T-shirt. Both of her huge breasts sagged and bounced against her flabby ball of belly. She smiled broadly as she offered the T-shirt to Abbey.
“Mrs. Bailey?” Heather scolded. “You’re undressing again? Stop it, okay?”
Abbey smiled and took the shirt.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bailey.” Mrs. Bailey was, perhaps, the only woman Abbey knew who had no body image issues.
As Heather ushered Abbey through the door into the executive wing, Abbey spied Mr. Graves leaning against the wall. He gave a ti
ny wave to Abbey. She waved back as Heather secured the fire door behind her.
8
When Abbey walked into Lynn’s office, the smell hit her like a fist—lilacs with a hint of cinnamon. From somewhere in the back of her mind, another orb of memory floated into consciousness. This was the smell of the kitchen at the Bastille. This was a comfortable smell, sent to comfort her. She had smelled this scent ever since…damn! The orb faded again, leaving her standing in the doorway feeling cheated out of one more piece to her life’s puzzle.
Inside Lynn’s cramped office, Aunt Eleanor sat in the ratty overstuffed chair opposite Lynn’s huge office window while Aunt Ruth rearranged the chocolate chip cookies on the dime store platter. Eleanor’s hands clutched the Louis Vuitton bag and worried the zipper. Her forest green Chanel dress was of simple design, yet flattered her body, still quite curvy after all these years. Upon her head sat a tasteful matching hat with only one telltale sign of tackiness: a diamond studded broach incorporating the letters G. I. and W. By contrast, Aunt Ruth wore a simple brown shift that hung off her shoulders like a gunny sack, worn Birkenstocks, and a tattered brown pill hat clung to her frizzy hair as if hanging on for dear life. The only sign of her wealth was the silver Star of David hanging around her neck and an identical diamond stickpin with the initials G.I.W. She bent over the cookies, restacking them with frenetic, nervous movements as she muttered incoherently to herself.
“My dear!” Eleanor said, rising. She opened her arms widely, motioning for Abbey to embrace her.
Abbey stood frozen then felt a gentle nudge from Lynn. Abbey dropped her duffle bag on the floor and stepped into the woman’s embrace. Eleanor smelled slightly of lilac and jasmine—a floral design rather than floral assault.
“Abbey, I think we should talk about your plans for the future,” Lynn said, taking her place behind the desk.
“Future!” Eleanor gasped. “Why, her future lies within the fold of her family.”
Lynn smiled. “Of course, Mrs…”
“Eleanor. I have requested you not to refer to me as ‘Mrs.’ several times now, I believe.”
Guild Of Immortal Women Page 3
