The Forgotten

by Tamara Thorne

  “Grackle spackle,” Hatch repeated softly.

  A precognizant talking penis. Will rose in slow motion, took a few steps, passing the sofa where Daniel still sat, and looked at the cement pad outside the doors. It might be a precognizant penis, he thought, but it didn’t know birds. On the cement lay a crow, ruby blood rilling between the shiny jet feathers.

  “Daniel?” Will asked. “How did you—”

  “He knew. I didn’t.” Daniel stood and turned to look at the bird from behind the sofa. Visibly, he cringed then turned to Will. “He hopes those doors are shatterproof.”

  “He?”

  “You know.” Hatch peered down at his own crotch. “Don’t make me say it again.”

  Will barely nodded, then turned to look at the bird, and saw two more balls of black streak through the trees. Ripped and tattered leaves rained from the trees even as the birds hit the glass. Hearing ferocious cawing in the distance, Will turned his gaze above the trees to see a large, growing inkblot in the otherwise clear blue sky. It grew and in mere seconds individual birds became visible within the flock, their harsh calls a din even through the thick glass. Will stepped behind the couch and pushed Daniel down onto the carpet, dropping next to him as the first of the main flock struck the building. The room dappled dark as more and more bodies hit the glass, tens, maybe hundreds, then with a crackling crunch, rays of sunlight filtered through breaking panes only to be extinguished by the birds and blood spattering into the room.

  Flashing on a scene from some old war movie, soldiers flattened in trenches as the enemy fired and fired and fired, Will hunkered lower and covered Daniel’s head with one arm, his own with the other.

  He knew only seconds were passing, maybe a minute or two, but time crawled and birds continued to kill themselves. Under his arm Daniel was a stone trembling on a fault line. Will felt a bird hit his back, then it fell beside him, black eyes gleaming, pearls of scarlet dripping from its spasming beak. Throat tight, he stared at the poor broken, bloodied creature until it stilled. His eyes burned. A single hot tear ran down his cheek.

  Michael.

  2

  “Dr. Banning?” Kevin banged on Will’s office door. “Dr. Banning? Are you okay in there?”

  Kevin Bass, snug in his glassed-in reception area where Abba songs softly filled the air, hadn’t heard or seen anything until the patient in the waiting room, who had been quietly having a pleasant conversation with herself, suddenly stood and walked toward the building’s entrance, out of his line of sight. A second passed, then she started screeching “The birds, the birds!” like Rosie O’Donnell aping Tippi Hedrin. Kevin nearly grinned—he couldn’t stand old Marcia. Controlling himself, he noticed a growing cacophony of avian shrieks outside the building, so let himself out of the office—instantly, the shrieks increased in volume—and trotted up front to peer outside. Marcia, jaw gawping between cries of “the birds, the birds,” stayed plastered to the glass.

  He saw very little, but what he saw—black birds apparently going kamakaze at the other side of the building—shocked him. They were headed for the patio side. Will’s office.

  Marcia Gauss continued to blubber, so he made soothing noises and guided her back to a chair out of sight of the doors. Pointing out the coffee pot, he turned on the television, told her the birds did this every mating season, and promised to be right back. As soon as he was out of sight, he had run like hell to Will’s closed door.

  “Doc!” Kevin listened now, heard a tinkle of breaking glass behind raucous caws. Alarmed, he yelled, “I’m coming in!” and turned the knob.

  Something slapped against the door. Three more thumps followed in rapid succession; a second, two, passed, then one more soft thunk came, like a late-blooming kernel of popcorn. He pushed, but the door opened only a crack, the movement accompanied by a few disheartened caws. Looking down, he saw black feathers moving as a wing spread beneath the door. “Holy guacamole,” he murmured, nearly as stunned as the bird.

  “Kevin?” Will Banning’s voice.

  Then mobility returned. “Will? Will? Are you okay?” He refused to think about what was blocking the door as he pushed again. Slowly, excruciatingly, it gave an inch, another. Something squawked. He paused. “Doc? Will?”

  “We’re okay.”

  Will’s voice, though strained, was strong. Kevin put his eye to the opening and saw the doc, his arm protectively around Daniel Hatch, standing by the couch. Behind them, shattered glass was smeared with blood. Beneath them, the beige carpet was invisible beneath wiggling mounds of feathers.

  “Four and twenty blackbirds,” Kevin said.

  “What?” Will looked at him.

  “Baked in a pie.” He pushed the door more and stepped forward. Something crunched under his foot. “Oh. Oh, dear God.” He lifted his foot, shaking it like he’d stepped in dog crap.

  “Kevin, is everything all right out there?”

  “There aren’t any birds, if that’s what you mean.”

  “What about patients?”

  “Just Mrs. Gauss. She’s okay.” The phone began ringing out front.

  “Better get that, Kevin.” Will paused, saying something calming to Daniel Hatch, then looked at the floor and began to push one foot forward through the birds, but stopped after an instant. “Bring me a small broom from the storeroom as soon as you can.”

  “Okay.” Kevin escaped. Entering the reception area, he saw Mrs. Gauss staring at the TV, her lips moving. He wondered what she was talking about as he picked up the phone. “Dr. Banning’s office. May I help you?”

  “Kev? What’s going on over there?” Gabe Rawlins, D.O., usually sounded rumbly and laid back like Barry White, but now his voice was clipped. His office was across the street from Will’s. Will sent his patients to his old friend for medical tests and prescriptions. Gabe had talked Will into giving Kevin his job.

  “You saw the birds?”

  “Hell, yes!” Gabe spoke softly. Probably Nurse Boobies was nearby. Her ears were as big as her Amazonian breasts.

  “Birds just crashed into Will’s office. Everybody’s fine, but the birds. They don’t look too good. And Will’s carpet’s going to need cleaning like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s covered with birds, silly. Why do you think?”

  Gabe was silent a moment. “Why did they crash? Any idea?”

  “Not a clue. Marcia Gauss is in the waiting room talking to herself. Maybe she’s sending out telepathic messages, too. You know, to make sure the previous appointment didn’t run over.”

  “Kevin, what are we going to do with you?” Gabe’s voice resumed its normal ease.

  “You’ll think of something.” He paused then added, “You remember what tonight is?”

  “I remember. About the birds. Shall I call Maggie, let her know?”

  “Well, yes, no, I don’t know. No. Let me see what Will wants to do. I’ll get back to you.” He paused. “What time are you off tonight?”

  “I’ll be home by six.”

  “Good. I’ve got bourbon chicken marinating. Your favorite. We’ll eat at six-thirty, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Happy anniversary. Love you.”

  “Back at’cha. Bye.”

  Nurse Boobies was definitely listening. He hung up and there was Marcia Gauss’s porcine face staring at him through the glass. She held her black handbag tightly against her plump body, which was encased in a pink flower-print dress that looked like a sausage casing.

  “May I help you, Mrs. Gauss?”

  Her little piggy nostrils flared and she narrowed her beady eyes. “My appointment. It’s late. Where’s the doctor? I’m not paying for time another patient is using.”

  Not a word about the birds. Just as well. “Of course you’re not paying for anyone else’s time.” You old bitch. He studied the processed blond hair, big ’80s hair, and the wet-looking lip gloss, clues to her problems, but he couldn’t remember what they were, other than talkin
g to herself. Living in the past? An advanced case of pig-face? “Doctor had a little emergency. Why don’t you sit down and have some coffee while I check on things for you?” He smiled, nearly batted his eyelashes at the broom-butted hag, then caught himself. He let himself out of the glass office and picked up the coffee pot.

  “I want tea.”

  “Fine.” Quickly he switched pots, poured hot water, and inserted a teabag. “Sugar?”

  “Iced tea.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gauss. We only have hot tea. We have cold water though.” He gestured at the water fountain. “Do you want me to put some in a cup for you?”

  She harumphed. “Tea. Two Equals. I have to watch my figure.”

  Watch it do what? He did as ordered then followed her back to her chair near the television and handed the tea to her. “Here you go. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  “Change the station,” she ordered.

  “To what?” All he could think of was Will in that sea of birds, waiting for him.

  “Something interesting.”

  “Be right back.”

  He felt her glare as he sprinted back into his office and reemerged with the remote. He forced a big smile. “There’s no one else here, so why don’t you just surf yourself?”

  “Why don’t I what?”

  “Surf. You know, use the remote and check out what’s on.”

  “Don’t you have a TV Guide?”

  “No. But the TV does.” Practically dancing with impatience, he stood beside her seat and clicked on the menu button. “See? Cable listings for everything. Just use the arrow keys to look up and down.” He handed her the remote. Her fingernail polish was the same pink as her dress. Nice job. Too bad her hands were so puffy. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He started off.

  “Wait. There’s no description.”

  “Hit the info button or just surf, sweetie. Now, you’ll have to excuse me while I go see what’s keeping Doctor.” She oinked something behind him, but he didn’t stop to listen, just headed for the supply closet, where a broom and dustpan waited.

  3

  “Kevin’s still cleaning up,” Will told Gabe Rawlins. “Oh, yeah, that’s the spot.”

  “Relax. Put your head back down,” Gabe ordered. “That rib is out of place again.”

  Will, lying on the table, did as ordered, felt Gabe’s big hands pressing a spot on his back. It took his breath away, but it was good.

  “How’s that?”

  Will wiggled. “Much better.”

  “How much? Tell me where it hurts.” Gabe’s hands moved up his spine, always pausing in the right spots just before Will could tell him to. If only he could fix people as easily as Gabe could.

  “Why’s Kevin picking up the birds? Why not animal control?”

  “More trouble than it’s worth.” The Caledonia shelter was a no-kill and unofficial one, run by an elderly couple a few miles north of town, funded by donations and Maggie’s spare time, but that wasn’t where the crows would go. The crows were dead. That meant a low-on-the-pole cop would come out in an old pickup, armed with a shovel and garbage bags. He could—probably should—call down to San Luis Obispo and do something official like report the incident—but they couldn’t do anything Maggie couldn’t do, except close his entire office down and cause a riot. “I phoned Maggie already. She’ll autopsy a few birds, just to make sure they aren’t sick.”

  “Maybe I ought to run some bloods on you and Kevin. And Mr. Hatch. I took his blood for the Risperdal script anyway. He’s coming for a checkup day after tomorrow, by the way. As you ordered.”

  “Good. He told you about the birds?”

  “Not a word. He was quieter than usual. Pretty pale.”

  Will was relieved, but he wasn’t sure why. “Take some of my blood, you old vampire. Might as well be careful.”

  Gabe pushed something into place in his back. It was wonderful. “Risperdal for Hatch. That’s new.”

  “Yes,” Will said. “Precautionary. Kevin E-mailed you the info?”

  “Yep.” Gabe kept working him over. “You didn’t supply much. Delusions? Auditory hallucinations? You think he’s schizophrenic all of a sudden?”

  “No, I wouldn’t go that far. I’ll watch him for a month. He’s displaying symptoms though. Probably transitory. It came on too suddenly. His penis is talking to him.”

  “What?”

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry. Tell me more.”

  Will filled him in while Gabe manipulated his spine.

  “Wow. Sit up. Slowly. How’s that feel?”

  Will sat up and stretched, rotated his shoulders. He felt like he’d had a workout, all good-sore instead of bad-sore. “Great.”

  “Don’t do any heavy exercising or lifting today. Your spine was a train wreck. Come back next week. We need to do this again, most likely.”

  Will grinned as he put on his shirt. “No problem. You don’t have to twist my arm.”

  Gabe rolled his eyes. “Do you know how many people say that to me?”

  Another grin. “You mean somebody besides me thought of that?” Will felt great. He stood and started to twist his back.

  “Knock it off, Banning. You can do some stretching exercises in twenty-four hours. Nothing strenuous for now.” Gabe led him out of the exam room, into his office, which was nothing like Will’s. Gabe was a traditionalist, with cordovan leather chairs and a mahogany desk topped by an old-fashioned blotter and a turquoise case glass lamp that Will secretly coveted. Small framed photos of his sister’s family and of Kevin punctuated the books in the hutch behind the desk. The usual diplomas were on the walls and his computer and printer were discreetly hidden in a cabinet next to the desk.

  Gabe grunted as he lowered himself into his chair. Will sat opposite. “So, what’s Maggie think about the birds?”

  “I barely spoke to her,” Will admitted. “She’s having a busy day, but she said that sometimes birds can lose their sense of direction. That can drive them buggy. Same with whales, dolphins.”

  “And other migrating species. It’s the magnetite thing.” Gabe folded his hands.

  “Yeah. Something throws it off.” Will paused. “Makes sense to me. Compared with birds, we have almost none of it in our brains, but once in a while, I’ll suddenly lose my sense of direction and it’s a physical thing—I feel nauseous until my bearings come back.”

  “I’ve felt that too. Personally, I think it’s a sense, just like sight and taste and so forth.”

  “The real sixth sense?”

  “Or seventh or eighth.” Gabe smiled. “I can see you getting ready to lecture me about E.S.P.—don’t. Did Maggie say anything else?”

  “Just that she’d have to run tests to rule out illness.”

  “Zoonoses.”

  “What?”

  “Zoonoses. Diseases that pass from animals to humans. Let me have one of those birds, too. Just to be safe. If there’s anything weird, we’ll have to tell the authorities.” He paused. “We really should anyway.”

  Will made a face.

  “Don’t worry. We probably won’t find anything.”

  “What’s interesting to me is what could possibly throw off the flock’s sense of direction so badly that its members would commit mass suicide.”

  “Bird brains.” Gabe shrugged. “Maybe we’re going to have an earthquake.”

  Will felt a little shiver. “Christ, I hope you’re wrong. Maggie was overrun with patients today. Animals know.” He checked his watch. “I need to get home and finish up some paperwork. Can’t really do it in my office, you know?”

  “I know. Are you going to open tomorrow?”

  “Sure. I’ll use the extra office for now. My schedule’s busier than usual, too. I have three first-timers tomorrow and two requests for extra sessions I don’t feel I can refuse.”

  Gabe raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like a twelve-hour day.”

  “I hope not. Kevin did some rescheduling for me, so some of my hour sessions
are half hours. Speaking of Kevin, do you two want to come for dinner tonight? I thought I’d ask Maggie, too.”

  “How about a rain check for Saturday? Tonight’s an anniversary. You know how that is.”

  “It’s August. I thought your commitment ceremony anniversary was in April.”

  Chuckling, Gabe stood. “That’s right. This is a different anniversary. Ten years ago tonight was the first time we . . .” He smiled.

  “Gotcha.” Gabe and Kevin had ten years of romance and lust under their belts. He’d never had more than three anniversaries, and none of those included romance that lasted anywhere near that long. They were just legal dates, nothing more.

  “Let me steal a little blood, and you can be on your way.” Gabe came around the desk and patted Will’s shoulder. “You’ll find your match too, Will. You just have to open your eyes and look for someone who doesn’t treat you like shit.”

  4

  “Last night poor little Poopypie just started making pee-pee everywhere.” Penny Spender scratched the curly white topknot on her coiffed and perfumed teacup poodle’s head, then put her nose to the dog’s. “Poopypie just doesn’t do that, does he? No, he doesn’t! He’s such a good widdle Poopypie, isn’t he?”

  Maggie Maewood’s assistant had already taken the poodle’s temperature and a urine sample. Its eyes were clear, there was no dehydration, vomiting, or other obvious symptoms other than the fact that the poor little thing had been overbred, a likely product of a puppy mill. As usual, Maggie kept that opinion to herself. “It’s probably nothing,” she told Mrs. Spender after listening to the animal’s heartbeat, which was rapid but normal. “These little guys are naturally nervous. He might have some kind of U.T.I., but there’s no fever.”

  “U.T.I.?” Penny’s eyes widened with concern. “What’s that?”

  “Urinary tract infection. Annette’s checking now, we’ll know in a minute. Has anything changed around your house?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Changes in routine can cause nervous reactions like inappropriate urination. Have you introduced a new animal into the house?”