Char put Mo’s favorite sleeping toy next to her, and she rolled over and cradled it. Charlene tenderly kissed Mo on her forehead and said, “Sleep well.” After Moiraine’s nightly ritual, Charlene turned and looked at me, “Nathan, you’re crying. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Not a thing. Moiraine said, ‘I loved you, Daddy.’ Charlene embraced me. Our hug was long and tender. When I thought the embrace was over, Char tilted her head up and kissed me.
Charlene broke off the kiss and embrace, but she still held my hand and rubbed it with her thumb. “Let’s go to bed.”
“I’m not tired, and it is a little early to sleep.”
“Who said anything about sleeping?” Charlene smiled while pulling off her blouse. As she walked toward our bedroom, undoing her bra, she asked, “Are you coming?”
I walked after her and said, “Not yet.”
I guess that qualifies as a happy moment. I would finish the memory, but I don’t want to go to bed all hot and bothered. Besides, those types of memories tend to be messy. Laying there in the bed, I stared at the dark. I stared at the dark of the room and the dark of my life.
Chapter Twenty
Waking up from a strange dream, I said to myself, “That’s a plan!” I knew what I was going to do when it came time to deal with Mr. Squidman if I can get enough help. Today’s agenda for the troop was to perform a small snip-it from the show on the local morning show, What’s Happening San Diego. We were to meet at the theater and dress for the scene.
While my happy family ate breakfast, the doorbell rang. The culprit was none other than my father-in-law, John, with a large package in his arms. I bid him to come in, and he handed me the package. Before John crossed the threshold, he touched the door jam and invoked, “Bless this house and all who dwell here.” I lead him into the house and set down the package.
“Is that what I think it is, John?”
“Yes, Nathan, it sure enough is. Take a look at it. I’m right proud of my work there.” Removing the wrapping, I beheld another masterpiece from the hands of John Richard Gustafson. Sitting on the table was a large block of salt. Carved on all six sides were the strange characters, script, and runes from the necklace of protection Lizzy gave me.
“John, this is beautiful. I wish I didn’t have to put it to use.”
Charlene spoke up, “It is beautiful, Dad. What use, Nathan?”
“I plan to imprison Headache Barbie in it.” I lifted the plug of salt and revealed a cavity in the center of the salt, “See, a cozy little spot for her.”
“Clever, Nathan. I thought you would have cut her to pieces with your sword.”
Scoffing, “I would never consider doing something so lacking in finesse!” Char started smiling at me and shaking her head. Returning my attention to the carved salt, “Did you have any problems?”
“I had a few, Nathan, my boy, but nothing I couldn’t figure out,” John stated with a little pride in his voice. “Carving out the center was a,” John looked at Moiraine, who was engrossed in her Alphabet cereal and speaking out words she saw floating, John coughed and said, “B-witch.” I had to smile.
“All done,” came out of Mo’s mouth as she picked up her bowl and took it into the kitchen.
“Go finish getting ready for school,” Charlene instructed.
“Grandpa, don’t worry about saying bad words in front of me. Mommy says them all the time.”
“Moiraine, I do not!” Char’s mouth said no, but her blushing cheeks said she did, at least more often than she cared to admit. Mo went running to her room, giggling the whole way. “Nathan, I’m going to need the car today. Can you take the bus?”
“Sure thing, but I’ll need to hurry.” I looked to John with an expression that left no doubt as to my question.
“Sorry, Nathan, but I don’t have time to drop you off.”
“No worries. I knew it was a long shot.” Getting dressed quickly was the plan, as I had no time to waste. Rushing to the bus, I almost forgot the salty prison. It was not going to be enjoyable holding the salt in my lap the whole bus ride. As I turned the corner, I saw the bus pulling up to the stop. I tried running to catch it, but I almost dropped the salt, so I had to slow down. Diesel fumes from the rear of the bus filled my face as it pulled away. To add insult to my torment, a man looking out the back window of the bus was laughing his ass off at me.
Pulling out my phone, I began dialing for a cab and grumbling about all the extra money I have been spending without even getting my first paycheck yet, when my favorite ghost taxi arrived. I shrugged my shoulders and climbed in. Instead of holding the block of salt in my lap for the drive, I buckled it in next to me. I told the driver where I was going, and off we went. During the drive, I wondered what the other drivers on the road see. Did they see a regular cab on the street? Or did they see my form floating along? Perhaps, I was cloaked from their view like a Klingon bird of prey? I don’t think I want an answer to my ponderings. At this point, I went with the flow and rode the horse in the direction it’s going.
“There you go, Nathan. I’ll see you later,” with his farewell said, the cab drove off with me holding a butt load of salt. The last time I used the ghost cab, we were trying to move an injured Lar to the sanctuary of my home. For all the good it did!
I walked up to the backdoor, but before I crossed the threshold, I asked the backdoor manager to turn on all the lights leading to my dressing room. He nodded to me and ran and did as I asked; I don’t think he needed convincing. He returned in short order with his task completed. The walk to my dressing room was filled with dread. Was walking through a bright white tunnel only to enter a darken room, a portent of my life to come? Was I starting on a journey leaving a life of relative safety to travel into fear and the unknown? Arriving at my dressing room, I turned on every light in the room and left the door open. Having people see me in my BVD’s while I changed didn’t matter in comparison to the added security I felt.
Theresa stuck her head in the door, “Knock, knock.” I motioned for her to come in. She looked at me through the mirror and said, “I think you’re getting the hang of it. I’m sad. I won’t have an excuse to spend time with you.”
“We’re friends, Theresa, you can hang with me any time.” Putting the final touches on my make-up, I exclaimed, “Ta-da!”
“Nathan, your make up looks great. I’m proud of you.” We were still looking at each other with the help of the mirror. Theresa bent down so our faces were side by side in the reflection. She threw her arms around me and gave a congratulatory hug. Do women understand what it does to healthy straight men when they press their breasts against us? If we men accused them of performing the maneuver on purpose, I am sure they all would feign innocence of their intentions. “The bus to take us to the studio is here. You need to get aboard. Break a leg today! We need to fill those seats!”
“I’m going. I’m going. You don’t have to nag me.” Theresa became quiet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know, Nathan, it was the first time a man ever told me not to nag. It felt comfortable, in an odd sort of way.”
“Okay, so are we good?” Theresa nodded.
The bus ride to the studio had a quiet excitement to it. At the studio, we presented the scene where the character Miguel de Cervantes introduces Don Quixote to his fellow prisoners, and the song “Man of La Mancha” is performed. We killed it! The television crew and the studio audience gave us a hearty round of applause. The sound of applause began to pump endorphins in my brain. I could grow to like this feeling.
On the bus ride back to the theater, the excitement was so boisterous, I could hardly hear myself think with all the chattering going on. Where a handful of demoralized people reciting lines once were, a cast had come together. We were tuned to each other with an almost telepathic link. Every beat of the show is hit to perfection, and on the couple of occasions when a line is flubbed, or a mark is missed, we improvise on the spot, and it looks like it had been r
ehearsed that way all along.
On the ride back, Isabella and I sat together. There was a glove on her hand. “How bad is it?” I asked.
Isabella moved her gloved hand and covered it with the other, “It is doing fine. Thanks for asking.” She turned away from me and looked out the window to the passing scenery. When she first moved the sacrificial hand, I saw the blackness of the rot had started creeping up her arm. How many more performances before you lose your hand, arm, or even your life, Isabella? I do not wish to find out. It ends today, and with luck, it will be in time to save her hand.
With no time to waste, when we arrived back at the theater, I rushed to my dressing room to change. Once my costume was safely put away, I traveled to the bathroom off the green room to remove my make-up. I was relieved of my fear when I arrived. There was a line for the washroom. I won’t be alone. Mr. Squidman had always backed off when a crowd was present. With face freshly washed, I went back to my dressing room and collected the saltbox.
“Isabella, I need to see you,” I yelled through the door. After a moment, the door opened a crack, and I could hear Isabella walk away. I pushed the door open and saw Isabella sitting at her dressing mirror. She was hopelessly trying to remove her make-up with only one hand. She tried to use her other hand once and grimaced in pain. I set the salt down and crossed over to her. “Isabella, would you like help?”
With her eyes welling up, she said, “Please.”
Together we worked to use her make-up remover wipes. She still needs to wash her face to remove the last little bits of makeup off. I asked once again, “Isabella, how is your hand?” In my head, a strange voice answered me.
“Her hand is well enough when needs be. She has no pain or handicap while she performs.” This voice sounded eerily like Isabella’s, but with a sinister undertone.
Looking up at Headache Barbie’s perch, the cursed doll was looking down at me. It had a smile on its face. “It is not! Stop what you are doing to her.”
“But her blood is sweet, and she needs the help to her career.”
“Nathan, this isn’t your concern,” Isabella begged, but her eyes conveyed a different meaning.
“Sorry, Isabella, but I have always been a busybody.” In a swift move, I grabbed her wrist above the gloved hand in an iron vice grip. Pulling off the glove, I forced her to look at her rotting hand. Already the corruption was an inch up her wrist. Isabella howled. Whether her scream came from seeing her hand or the strength of my grip, I wasn’t sure. She pulled away from me. She looked up at the doll and nodded.
Standing, she crossed to her dressing room door and locked it. Turning back around, she said, “I think we are going to need a little privacy.”
The doll’s voice was in my head again, “I see you care for this woman. Maybe we can come to an arrangement. I will release my hold on her if you start paying me in blood.”
“Never!”
“Hear me out. I sense the entity in your mind. You are strong, but it will be free soon. With my help, we can destroy it. Think about it.” It paused for a moment. “Think of all the people you can help with the added strength and power. Think of all the innocent children saved by you, my necromantic friend. Oh, yes, I know your little, not so secret, secret.”
“Big talk for such a little doll.”
“Here, let me give you a token of my good faith.” Isabella gasped.
Focusing my attention on Isabella, I saw the blackness in her hand bleed away. Soon her hand looked normal again. She lifted it to her face and flexed it. Everything looked both okie and dokie. I said, “Thank you.”
“This is a sample of what I can do, but I need blood. I feel your strength and will. With your blood, I will be able to do even more!”
“You’re afraid, aren’t you? I can feel it.” I accused the doll.
“Let me sweeten the deal. I’ve seen you look at Isabella.” Again, this doll paused for dramatic effect. “She can be yours.”
Standing there, speechless, my brain fogged. Thinking was the last thing to come to my mind.
“Look at her. She is curvy, just the way you like them.” Isabella changed her stance. She placed a foot slightly in front of another moving one hip toward me. The look on her face suggested lustful thoughts. “I think maybe we have a deal.”
“I… I… no,” I sounded on the fence even to myself. Isabella is beautiful, and I have had a fantasy or two. Stronger, I declared, “No!”
“Go ahead, Isabella, show the man what he’s giving up.” Slowly, Isabella untied the belt holding her robe closed. She shrugged, and her robe fell to the floor. She was standing there naked and proud. Her body was as delicious to the eyes as I had imagined. Her breasts were firm and round. The curve of her waist looked as if a man’s hand could be cradled there. Her hips were no wider than her breasts. She had a true hourglass figure. The smile on her face grew as she saw the way I was admiring her form. She had a tattoo of a tiny butterfly to the side of the hair guarding her treasure of a man’s delight. My blood was beginning to rise. “Every day, you can have her all for a few drops of your blood. Go ahead, Isabella, turn around and show this man everything.”
Isabella started to turn in place, displaying every glorious curve. When she was almost all the way around, she stopped to give me a long glimpse of side-breast with a hint of its nipple visible. I was starting to shake. A man has only so much strength and will. Isabella completed her circle. Next, she started to walk toward me, seductively and slowly.
“Yes, Isabella,” came from the doll, but its voice sounded different. Within a few steps, she was pressed against me. She looked up at me as she barely shifted her body, rubbing her nipples across my chest. I haven’t felt this intensely horny since I lost my virginity.
I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. My arms were weak, and her skin felt soft and smooth. My head was swimming. A few drops of blood. What could be the harm, and it has been so long. “No… I can’t… my wife.”
The doll, which somehow was now perched on my left shoulder, whispered in my ear, “You can have them both. It is such a little thing for me to arrange.” Its voice was now a sickly sweet dark reflection of my own voice.
“Both?”
“Separately or together. They will be most willing to please.” My hand began to move on its own accord or was I moving it. My fingertips sought to touch her breast. To cup it. My mouth craved to take her nipple in it. I was on the precipice of throwing my vows away.
A voice in my head, a familiar voice, cried, “Don’t betray the woman we both love.” The spell of my lust was broken. Anger grew in me. Anger at the cursed item. Anger at myself. And a flake of anger towards Char and her refusal to take me back to her bed. With viper speed, I plucked that “f-in” doll off my shoulder.
It screamed as I held it. No longer did it resemble Isabella. It looked like ME! It struggled in my grip. It soon stopped its struggle and looked at me straight in the eyes. “You don’t have to do this. We can make a deal! Maybe you’re sly. I can provide you with whatever your heart desires.”
“Promise me money!”
“Yes!”
“Promise me power, too!”
“Yes!”
“Promise me everything my heart desires!”
“Anything you want!”
“I want you to spend eternity locked away in your brand-new Barbie Dream House, you son-of-a-bitch!” Seizing the plug and opening this salty prison, I slammed the cursed doll into it. Hearing a scream and a thud, I turned to where Isabella was lying. Still naked, she clutched her hand. It was still black and oozing. Isabella was sobbing with muffled cries over the pain. Quickly, I threw her robe over her, then unlocked her dressing room door and opened it. Yelling, “Can I get some help?”
Isabella helped as much as she could to put on the robe. There was no sound of help on its way. I stuck my head out the door and yelled again, “Help, we need some help here. Woman down!” There was no answer to my plea. The hallway was dark and qui
et. Did everyone leave already? It hasn’t been that long. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I was shocked at how late it was. Time had contracted. What was only a few minutes by my reckoning was, in fact, hours.
Helping Isabella to her feet, I asked, “Do you think you can make it to the backdoor? We’re not safe here by ourselves. We have to get out of here and you to a hospital.” At some point during my encounter with Headache Barbie, Isabella’s hand had begun bleeding. Grabbing the first piece of clothing in sight, I went to wrap her hand.
“Nathan, don’t use that one. It’s too cute.” Isabella grabbed another blouse. “Here, use this. I’ve never liked the way it fit.”
Shaking my head in disbelief, I gently wrapped her hand. I was afraid to wrap it tight enough to stop the bleeding for two reasons. First, I couldn’t risk her going into shock from the pain. Second, I could damage her hand beyond healing. Besides, we should be on our way to the hospital soon. I took out my cell phone and dialed nine-one-one. “What the…”
“Sorry, Nathan, my dressing room is in a dead zone. I never can get a signal here.”
“Let’s get you outside, and I will call for an ambulance.” With my arm around Isabella to help support her, we walked out of her dressing room and into the hall. Looking down the path to the backdoor, I saw Mr. Squidman in his shadow form, blocking our exit. Its weird laughter filled my mind. We were standing in the small pool of light shed from Isabella’s dressing room. Safe as long as we stay in the light. I would never make it to the control panel to turn on all the lights before the creature from a lower plane nabbed me. I can sprint fast, but not that fast. It would pull me into the astral plane again and finish what it started. What to do? “Come on, we need to go back into your dressing room.”
The Calling Page 21
