Interference

by S. L. LUCK

  Last night, Huxley had woken screaming and Karen had had to shake him to get him to stop. Only, at the time he couldn’t remember what he had dreamed about; he’d just felt a terror that pervaded every part of his body and every part of his mind. Normally, Huxley didn’t have dreams, or if he did, he didn’t remember them. But for the last week he felt traces of illusion when he woke, like a patient waking from surgery, aware that something had happened but unsure what that something was. Chewing his food, Huxley couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d somehow been worked on.

  Karen would suggest therapy, as she was a therapist, after all, or a heaping dose of the Good Book, which she insisted healed whatever therapy couldn’t. He wasn’t averse to either, but Garrett was too small a city for the luxury of secrecy, and he knew that his personal and professional integrity would suffer if he talked about his newfound fear of sleeping, so he kept his concerns to himself.

  He was just finishing his stew when the door swung open and Abe and Adhira walked in. Both doctors were engaged in laughter, and as they drew to Huxley’s table in the corner, Abe said, “We’ve decided we’re moving to Fiji and we’re taking you with us.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Huxley said. “What’s the occasion?”

  Adhira said, “Cliff’s moderating a roundtable group where we can talk about our feelings with him. He sent an email a few minutes ago.”

  “Damn me to hell,” Huxley said. “Just when I thought I’d heard it all.”

  Abe retrieved his and Adhira’s lunch bags from the fridge and both sat across from Huxley, unpacking leafy salads and sandwiches. Adhira’s phone rang and, after peeking at the screen, she silenced the call. She bit into her sandwich while Abe reported on his examination of Anabelle.

  “Unless we move to Fiji, I’ve got—what—ten years left before I retire? In that time, I think I could circle the globe and still not find anything stranger than this patient. She defies logic. She comes in like a lightning rod and now she’s idle as a rubber mat; tell me I’m dreaming, Hux,” Abe said.

  “I think we all are,” Huxley told him.

  Abe pushed his salad around his bowl, eventually forking a cucumber, which he now pointed at Huxley. “I tell you; someone’s playing with us. Maybe God, maybe aliens, but someone’s having a hell of a time shoving us across their gameboard.”

  “You believe in aliens, then?” Huxley asked Abe.

  The doctor shrugged. “Of course. Spirits. Angels. Aliens. It’s preposterous to think we’re the only capable beings in the entire universe. Humans are egocentric, so it fits our mindset to believe that everything that occurs happens only to us. Why couldn’t there be electrified beings six thousand light years away? And what if that’s normal over there? Why can’t the same phenomena happen on some other planet? How long ago did we first think the Earth was round? Something like twenty-five hundred years. That’s a blink when it comes to the universe but eternity to ourselves, no? Centuries from now, maybe a millennia or two, we might have an answer for everything that confounds us now.” He nipped his cucumber off his fork and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “You know they’re sealing her file?”

  Adhira’s phone rang again and without looking at the screen, she pressed a side button to set it to vibrate.

  Huxley frowned. “How can they do that? We have almost a hundred doctors collaborating on it, not to mention the electrical group.”

  Abe said, “Not anymore. Cliff’s orders. From now on, it’s us, him, and whoever is holding his neck.”

  “You’re a big boy, Abe, you can say balls,” Adhira chimed in.

  “Big boys don’t need to say balls, Doctor Tanti.” Abe winked. “They operate on them.”

  “You’re a cardiologist,” Huxley said.

  “Heart, balls, same thing.”

  “Children.” Adhira rolled her eyes, her good humor leaving when her phone vibrated against the table. The other doctors looked at her. She shoved her sandwich aside. “You want to talk to my parents, please be my guest.”

  “You should just make your parents happy and marry whoever they want you to marry. That’s what I tell my daughters, anyway, but it doesn’t seem to work. Abby’s with a painter and Molly’s guy thinks he’s going to get rich playing video games. Deadbeats.” Huxley’s groan was shared by many fathers across the world. “Who are they to think they get to choose, huh?”

  “Just because I’m Indian doesn’t mean my parents are arranging my marriage. They’re very progressive, I told you.”

  “Why the avoidance, then?” Abe cut in. Older than Adhira by little more than a decade, Abe regarded her almost as a daughter and so liked to counsel the younger doctor in matters of life and love, regardless whether she sought his advice.

  “They want me to come to Puja with them.”

  “Puja,” Huxley said, twisting his face. “Remind me what that is again?”

  “It’s one of the ways Hindus worship. Garrett doesn’t have a temple, so we do it at home. We ask for guidance or assistance, express gratitude, ask for protection … like you two do but to our gods and goddesses. I have my own shrine at home.” Her phone rang. She ignored it.

  “And it bothers you that your parents want you to do this?” Abe asked.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Any more complicated than a human battery?” Huxley said.

  “Definitely not that complicated. It’s not Puja I’m avoiding. They want me over because my dad’s been having dreams about me lately. They think I’m in danger or something. He’s got my mom all worked up about it, and now they won’t leave me alone. They’ve been calling me non-stop all morning.” She sighed. “He’s probably just been into the spicy food again. It gives him nightmares.”

  “Prayer never hurt anyone,” Abe said honestly.

  “I’ve been dreaming too,” Huxley admitted openly for the first time. It came out quick, like a breath pushed out of him, and he felt his heart clench as he waited for their judgement.

  There was the sound of metal chairs being dragged across the floor as the group of nurses packed up their things and disbursed. Abe waited until the last one was out the door before he put the lid on his half-eaten salad and leaned closer to the other doctors. “I think they’re premonitions,” he whispered. “I’m going to tell you something and if you ever repeat it, I’ll deny it and I’ll never bring you anything from Mara’s bakery again, understood?” Two nods responded to him, and though the room was empty, Abe Nkosi looked around to be sure. He said, “I’ve been dreaming, too, but it’s not just me; five of my patients are reporting the same thing. You know how they get emotional after surgery? Well, this week I’ve had to send the chaplain to four of them and prescribe anxiety medication for another.”

  “Post-operative anxiety,” Adhira interjected. “It’s common—”

  “I do not need a lesson in medicine,” Abe banged the table with his fist. “Sorry, but I need you to understand. We are all having the same dream, Adhira. And I have to pretend that what they’re telling me is normal, but it’s not. It’s not. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, that maybe I’d said something to my bypass patient, or she to me and that I subconsciously picked it up. But then a second, a third, a fourth … this week I’ve been more psychologist than surgeon and now I’m thinking that I should be the one in the chair. It’s like they are telling me my own dreams, but—”

  “About the fair?” Huxley interrupted. Abe flinched.

  Confused, Adhira asked them to explain.

  Huxley said, “I’m not sure what to tell you. I don’t remember much when I wake up, but I get this feeling that something’s going to happen at the fair. I don’t know why—it’s like, when I try to remember it, it just goes farther away. Weird, right?”

  “What has your father told you about his dreams?” Abe asked Adhira.

  She shrugged. “He won’t give me details; says they’ll scare me too much.”

  Abe packed his containers back into his lunch bag and held it agains
t his body. He said, “We are doctors, so we are supposed to follow evidence, yes?” They nodded. “We are dreaming because our bodies are trying to tell us something, warn us against harm, perhaps, and I believe we should listen to them. After all, it wasn’t just science that kept us alive for two hundred thousand years, but instinct. We don’t write that in our charts or report about it to the boards or discuss it with our patients, but it is always there, embedded in us, inseparable from the human condition. In Africa we have this saying that all you need to know is that you know, and that is enough. It is the first and greatest protection and it’s never wise to dismiss it.” He was talking with his hands now, gesticulating with his fingers to articulate his point. “In all matters, caution is our ally, and I don’t think this is any different. Adhira, go do Puja with your parents. We must protect not only our bodies, but also our minds. I’m going to see my pastor after work and I suggest you do the same, Huxley. No harm in that, and if it protects us, all the better. As for the fair—Abe let out a slow breath— “now, this is just my opinion, but I get the feeling that we won’t have time for that because we are going to be needed here.” He emphasized the last word, and the chill it sent through their bodies made each doctor squirm.

  Adhira whistled and pushed back from the table. “Well, this was a fascinating conversation, but—” At once, all their pagers went off.

  Overhead, the speakers sounded with a tinny female voice on the hospital’s public announcement system. “Code yellow, fifth-floor, female, age nineteen, five feet two inches, shoulder-length red hair. Code yellow, fifth-floor, female, age nineteen…” the voice repeated three times.

  The doctors left their lunches and ran out the door. “We need to split up!” Huxley ordered, directing Abe to the north stairwell and Adhira to the west. He ran to the east stairwell, and then the doctors were climbing, rushing up, up, fast, faster, exploding onto the fifth-floor hallway, Adhira ahead, shouting at the nurse on duty.

  “Where is she?” Adhira yelled.

  The young nurse stuttered at the three panicked doctors. “I—I—”

  “Where is she, dammit?” Huxley slapped the desk.

  The woman, Claire, drew her lips from inside her mouth where she had been biting them. “Stephanie was getting us a coffee; she was only gone a minute and then a call came about Tammy …” Tears welled in the nurse’s eyes.

  Abe removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you see where she went?” Claire shook her head, so Abe used the phone at her desk to call security.

  Meanwhile, Adhira and Huxley rushed to Anabelle’s room. Adhira picked up one of the attachments that had been secured to the girl’s foot. “Looks like she just pulled it off.”

  Huxley dragged both hands through his hair. “She warned me she was going to do it. I should have taken her seriously. This is my fault.”

  “A nineteen-year-old girl like a monkey in an exhibit, being poked and prodded by strangers; it’s definitely not your fault, Greg. I would have done the same thing if I were her.”

  “What do we do now?” Huxley asked.

  “We find her,” Adhira said.

  31

  Morning gloom spread over the gathered parishioners in Holy Redeemer’s fellowship hall so that even with the east wall fashioned entirely of windows and all the lights turned on, the room was dismal and more than a little depressing. An emergency intercession by the ladies’ prayer group, which consistently brought seven or eight dedicated parishioners, now hosted fifty-seven women, many of whom had never before stepped foot inside the church. Father Robert Pauliuk customarily gave the group the freedom of the church and let them tend to their meetings without his interference, though they did welcome his visits and counsel whenever he appeared. There was such an edge of unease in this large group, however, that today he offered his assistance to Julia Fowler, the meeting leader.

  “Either they all know something I don’t, or they think we’re offering a buffet today,” he joked to Julia as they returned to the stacks of chairs along the back wall.

  Julia’s pink cardigan flapped loosely against her hips as they walked. “When Nancy called me last night, I thought we might expect a few more ladies today, but not this many. I’m happy to share the word of the Lord with them, Father, but this is just too many for me. Do you mind staying?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  She was visibly relieved. “Thank God. I was racking my brain trying to figure out what to say to them.”

  Father Pauliuk added his chair to the row being built. “May I ask what has furnished us with this turnout today?” His eyes swept over the fidgety women who were now taking seats. “I’m assuming it’s not good news, by the look of them.”

  Julia placed a chair next to the one the priest set down and together they returned to the back wall. “I don’t know, exactly. A few women contacted Nancy about their husbands, and she suggested we meet. It snowballed into this.” Her gaze fell over the crowd.

  Seeing the tension on her face, Father Pauliuk pulled Julia aside where they wouldn’t be overheard. “There’s something happening with the men in our city?” he asked her quietly.

  The thought came to him that the long-standing application for another strip club license had finally been approved by city council. As it had occurred when the exotic dance club Mounds opened some seventeen years earlier, the church’s women’s auxiliary experienced an uptick in enrollment. By all means, Garrett’s men weren’t immune to transgression, but in Father Pauliuk’s experience the swell he saw today foretold of a collective, pre-emptive strike against future infidelities.

  Julia read into his question, and a blush showed fierce on her pale face. “No. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that, Father. It’s just that some of the ladies were concerned about … you’re just going to think I’m silly saying it … but apparently, they’ve been having dreams; nightmares, or something. I guess one woman got talking to another and they all got talking to Nancy. It’s not just the husbands, Father; some of their daughters and sons are having them, too.” Julia’s white hair rustled as she turned and gestured to a tall black-haired woman clutching an empty bottle in the front row. “Marta is refusing to leave without holy water.”

  The preacher’s eyebrows went up. “That bad, is it?” At Julia’s nod, he added, “Well, let’s not keep them waiting.”

  It was his habit to address the group as one of their own, preferring to keep his involvement as informal as possible to foster an environment likely to engage conversation and garner trust. Today was no different. While last coffees were poured and last seats were filled, Father Pauliuk lifted a chair, brought it to the front of the room and sat with his tumbler of tea. He said, “Can everyone see me all right? It’s a big group for a circle but if you’d rather—”

  “We’re fine like this,” came a woman’s irritated voice from somewhere in one of the middle rows.

  There was a murmur amongst the crowd, with audible shushing and orders for respect, but the Father went on. “Well, that works for me, then. Feel free to move your chairs, if you wish; we’re all family here, so please make yourselves comfortable. First, I’d like to thank our prayer leaders, Julia and Nancy, for arranging this meeting. There are many new faces here today, and we welcome you with our hearts and with the great blessings of God.” The women he knew acknowledged their new counterparts with smiles and hand pats while the others looked on nervously. A handful of new recruits appeared relieved when he spoke, as though the extension of God’s grace was the very thing they had came for.

  “Now, for those of you who are unfamiliar with our church, our service times are posted on the bulletin board in the front vestibule. You do not have to be baptized to attend, and you may participate only as much as you wish. We extend our assistance to you at your leisure. Also, while I am honored to be so kindly received by our ladies’ auxiliary, please note that it is not my intention to intrude or bore you; you’ll get enough of that in my sermons.” The laug
hter he hoped for rang out and he saw the tension slowly ebb from their bodies. Jaws unclenched, fingers loosened, shoulders settled. “Julia asked me to speak today but before we get to that, I’d like us to pray.”

  The sign of the cross was made by most of the assembly, with one confused woman tapping her forehead and then spiraling her finger down her face. They lowered their heads.

  “Dear Heavenly Father, we pray that you lift up our gathering into your merciful care. Bless our friends, old and new, and grant us the wisdom to attend with love our fellowship today.” A chorus of amen finished the prayer. Father Pauliuk clasped his hands together. “Now, ladies, let’s see if I can be of assistance. I understand there are some concerns—”

  The same woman who had interrupted him earlier stood up. She wore an untucked flannel shirt and chewed her gum loudly as she spoke. “We need an exorcism, Father Pollock.” He ignored the mispronunciation of his name, letting the woman say what she’d come to say. She flicked her bleach-damaged hair behind her shoulders. “I saw it on TV. The devil was possessing this girl and they got a priest to take it out of her. She was real crazy-like until they splashed some holy water on her and it sizzled, you know, like bacon in a frying pan.” The woman popped her gum and added, “She was better after they did that.”

  “Ah, I see,” the good priest replied, wondering if he was being put-on by the woman. “You believe the devil has inhabited your … husband?” Father Pauliuk ventured cautiously.

  “You’re goddamn right I do,” she said, and when the woman beside her nudged her leg, she said, “Pardon the language, Father.”

  “And why do you believe this?” he asked.

  “He screams in the middle of the night like I’ve cut off his …” She hesitated. “What I mean to say is that he’s having nightmares, Father. And he’s so scared of them that you’d think the house was burning down.”