Unclean Spirit (3 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

              "What do you mean you sold it?"

              "Watch my lips, Wayne. I... sold...it! Get it?"

              "Jesus Christ, Jenna! How could you be so stupid?"

              "Where do you get off calling me stupid? I haven't noticed you bringing in any money; I got $150 bucks for that piece of crap!"

              "That 'piece of crap,' as you call it, is a genuine antique, unlike the rest of the junk we sell. I was gonna have it authenticated. Shit! That pulpit is probably worth thousands!"                           

              "Yeah, Wayne, you were gonna have it authenticated all right, right along with the rest of the shit in the backroom that's been collecting dust and dead roaches. Well, I'm glad it's gone, Wayne, there was something very strange about it."

              "Don't start up with that horseshit again! If you aren't seeing flying saucers, you're feeling ghosts passing through you. Christ, Jenna, you're as loony as Frankie."

              "Lay off my mom! You didn't think she was so 'loony' when she loaned us the money for this so-called business. And she knows things, Wayne. She warned us that I was gonna lose the baby and two weeks later I miscarried; she refused to use her washing machine because she believed it was cursed...you're the one who found the frayed wires behind it."

              "Oh, man! Give me a break, Jenna! I suppose Frankie convinced you that the pulpit is possessed by some 'dark force.' What? Did she see Dracula sitting on it?"

              "Fine, Wayne, be a smartass, but someday you'll thank me for getting rid of your precious antique...mark my words."

CHAPTER EIGHT

              Charlie had fed the animals then gone into town to pick up supplies. In the house, the Anniversary Clock that sat on the fireplace mantle struck three, then stopped running. The display panels on the VCR and microwave went completely black. The bedroom windows slammed shut. The dog who had been dozing on the front porch awoke, cocked his head briefly, then, with bared teeth and flattened ears, backed far away from the old house.

CHAPTER NINE

The Second Night

              Starr quickly dropped her father's hand as a frigidly cold sensation crept up her arm. The pain Starr experienced was unbearable but short-lived, it ceased as soon as she broke contact with Paul. Starr gasped aloud when she looked down at the hand that she had been holding only moments before, a hand that in mere seconds had become covered with a blanket of tiny pus-filled blisters. As Starr turned to beckon the nurse, a teardrop rolled down the side of Paul's cheek.

              Although not yet fully conscious, Paul's thought processes were once again active. The fear and confusion relative to his situation had not diminished, but he was starting to feel less disconnected from his physical self. His left hand hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and something wet had trickled into his ear. Paul actually felt encouraged by the pain he felt; the dead don't feel pain, do they? And there was more. Paul could hear words being spoken and despite the fact that he couldn't really decipher what was being said, his spirits were buoyed by the realization that he wasn't alone after all. But then Paul heard a different kind of voice, one that seemed to be coming from inside himself, and the words it uttered were clear, yet meaningless, to him:
uoy era sruo tihs namuh eht lufwa eno stiawa uoy.

              By the time Dr. Gomez made his evening rounds, the blisters on Paul's hand had enlarged and pus was seeping from their edges. The nurse had already sent a culture of the drainage to the lab so the physician ordered that the area be cleansed and lightly dressed. His frustration was evident as he spoke with Tamara and Starr.

              "It looks like a Staph infection, but I'll be damned if I can explain how it erupted so quickly, or why. That hand didn't have an intravenous line in it and it wasn't damaged in the fall. As a precaution, I've had blood cultures drawn to rule out septicemia, that's an infection in the bloodstream, but I tend to think that whatever is going on is limited to Mr. Forsythe's hand...at least I hope so. A full-blown..."

              Dr. Gomez was interrupted by one of the ICU nurses.             

              "Excuse me, sir, but could you come back into the unit for a moment? Nothing's wrong, there's just something I want you to see before you leave."  

              Although initially displeased at having been cut-off mid-conversation with Starr and Tamara, Dr. Gomez was soon grateful for both the nurse's prompt summons and discretion. Paul Forsythe's hand was totally clear of blemishes and he was wide awake.

CHAPTER TEN

              "It's the damnedest thing I've ever seen!" Dr. Gomez' incredulity was apparent as he described Paul's change in status to his daughter and wife. "There's not a single blister on Mr. Forsythe's hand and he's alert, oriented and neurologically intact."

              Tamara could not suppress her tears of relief as she hugged her daughter and even though Starr shared her mother's feelings of happiness at the unexpected turn of events; her joy was tainted by the nagging suspicion that Paul's recovery was merely the calm before the storm.

              "Dr. Gomez," Starr inquired, "do you have any explanation for how Dad's hand healed itself so quickly?"

              "No, no I don't. I've heard of cases where physiological stress prompted the appearance of skin eruptions that disappeared as soon as the stress abated, but I'm not aware of such a thing happening as suddenly as it has with your father. I don't know, maybe Mr. Forsythe has some sort of altered immune response. We'll see what the cultures show and in the meantime I'll discuss your father's case with some of my colleagues."

              Tamara, anxious to be with her husband, asked, "Doctor, may I see Paul now?"

              "Yes, certainly. In fact, we'll bend the rules a bit--both of you can go in. If he continues to improve, Mr. Forsythe should be able to be transferred out of the ICU by tomorrow and then there will be no restrictions on your visiting time.

              "I would like to suggest that after you see Mr. Forsythe you both get some rest. I'll be in around nine in the morning and we can talk more then."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

              "Oh, Paul! Thank God you've come back to us, Starr and I have been so worried about you!"

              Paul, though weak and still a bit disoriented, returned his wife's hug as best he could. He realized that he was in a hospital, but he didn't know why. Starr picked up on the confusion in her father's face and attributed the hyperattentive, almost feral, appearance of his eyes to that confusion.

              "Dad, you're in the hospital in El Paso. You apparently fell down the basement steps at home and hit your head. You've had surgery to remove a blood clot beneath your skull. Your doctor says that you will probably be transferred out of the Intensive Care Unit tomorrow.

              "I love you, Dad. Welcome back."

              As Starr gently kissed her father's cheek, a feeling of unmitigated revulsion coursed through Paul's body. The sensation surprised and alarmed Paul--he treasured his daughter, how could he possibly feel anything other than love for her? I was badly injured, Paul reasoned, I'm bound to experience some unusual feelings. Yes, that's all it is.

              "Honey, do you feel like talking? Do you remember what happened?"

              Paul wanted to answer Tamara's questions, but his throat felt so dry and his mouth so parched that he couldn't get the words out. He put a hand to his neck and shook his head.

              "Oh, poor baby, you must be dying of thirst. Starr, please ask the nurse if it's okay to give your Dad some water."

              As Starr left her father's bedside to find the nurse, relief rippled through Paul's body and he was once again dismayed by his reaction to his daughter.

              Cassie Murphy, the nurse caring for Paul, assisted him in taking a few small sips of water. Paul had expected the cool water to soothe his aching throat; instead, it only aggravated his discomfort. Paul pushed Cassie's hand away and managed to croak out, "No more...hurts."

              "Mr. Forsythe, that pain will go away. Your throat is still irritated from the breathing tube that was used during surgery. Here, at least let me put some Vaseline on your dry lips."  As Cassie applied the Vaseline, she addressed Tamara and Starr. "Why don't you two get some rest? I'll be here all night and if you'll leave your number I'll call you if there's any change at all in Mr. Forsythe's condition. I think it best if he gets some healing sleep now."

              As much as they wanted to stay with Paul, Tamara and Starr had to acknowledge that Cassie's suggestion was a good one. Tamara's goodnight kiss didn't impact Paul one way or the other; Starr's, however, reignited feelings of repugnance in her father.

CHAPTER TWELVE

              Lukas Duncan was the type of individual people referred to as a "good man." He had spent the last ten of his fifty-two years ministering to the good, and not so good, citizens of Van Horn. He was a tall and sturdy man, a man who could bale hay as readily as he could preach a sermon. His dark good looks, deep voice, and quick wit charmed the women of his congregation; his ability to down Tequila shooters one right after another impressed the men. 

              Lukas, his wife Lillie, and their two sons, Gabe and Sam, had put down roots in Van Horn, roots that were intertwined with those of the rest of the community. There was little that the Duncans would not do willingly and lovingly to assist their parishioners, whether it be planning a wedding or putting a stillborn child to rest. Even though Paul and Tamara Forsythe were not church-goers, they frequently involved themselves in worthwhile civic projects and it was through such activities that Lukas and Lillie had developed a friendship with them. It was natural then that Lukas' reaction when he heard of Paul's accident was one of heartfelt concern.

              Lukas had run into Charlie at the feed store and Charlie had filled the Pastor in on the little bit that he knew. Since Tamara's note hadn't mentioned either the name of the motel she would be staying at or the hospital where Paul had been taken, Charlie was unable to give Lukas any phone numbers to call. Lukas went immediately to Dr. Feener's office to get the information he needed.

              Saul Feener was one of the few persons in town with whom Lukas had an adversarial relationship, so the fact that the doctor hadn't notified him of Paul's accident came as no surprise to Lukas. No single event had precipitated the animosity between the two men; they simply butted heads on anything and everything. Perhaps the chasm created by the doctor's longstanding atheism and the pastor's abiding belief in a good and caring God was the source of their discord; maybe the physician's pragmatic and scientific approach to life clashed with the minister's more affective view of the world. No one, including the preacher and the practitioner, really knew. At any rate, Lukas was in no mood to do verbal battle with Saul, so he was relieved when Wanda, Dr. Feener's receptionist, was able to give him the name of the hospital where Paul had been taken.

              Lukas returned home, shared his information about Paul with Lillie, and placed a call to the El Paso hospital. As soon as Lukas asked the switchboard operator for Paul's room number, the line went dead. Lukas called back, requested the same information, and received only loud static in response. His third call was stopped short by a very irritating busy signal. Had to be something wrong with the lines, thought Lukas, I'll try again later.

              "You know, Lukas," offered Lillie, "Charlie will be alone at the ranch and I doubt very seriously that he'll fix himself anything decent to eat. I'm going to fry up some chicken for him. Can you take it over to him this evening?"

              "Sure, Lil, but only if you save me a few pieces. You know how I feel about your chicken. I bet ol' Charlie would enjoy some of your biscuits too."

              "Right, Lukas, I know exactly who would enjoy my biscuits! But I'll make some for Charlie as well."

              As Lillie left for the kitchen, Lukas tried the number for the hospital again. This time he heard a hissing on the line that the pastor could have sworn was punctuated by coarse and sinister laughter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

              The sun was just setting as Charlie returned home. Charlie loved Texas sunsets. They were endowed with a sheer natural beauty that touched the old cowboy's heart. He watched as the apricot-colored sun slowly disappeared behind the Eagle mountain range that served as backdrop to the Forsythe ranch. He marveled, as always, at the feeling of peace he felt as the clouds at the mountains' peaks caught the last rays of the sun and momentarily bathed the landscape in vibrant orange and red hues. 

              "Gawddamn, mutherfuckin' skeeters! Cain't a body even enjoy the freakin' sunset?" Charlie's brief moment of tranquility had been cut short by the sting of numerous bites to his arms and neck.

              "Damn pissant bugs," Charlie mumbled as he slapped at the elusive insects, "git the hell 'way from me!"

              But Charlie's invective did no good and by the time he had entered the house he had no less than ten very itchy welts on his skin. And, to make matters worse, since the house was dark and Charlie was flailing about, he jabbed his bony hip on the edge of the hallway table.

              "Fuckshit sumabitch! I'm gonna kill ya mutherfuckin' bugs! Gawd…" Charlie's tirade was interrupted by the shrill of the telephone. "Jesus H. Christ! Gimme a gawddamn break!" Charlie flipped on the light switch--nothing, the house remained dark. And the phone rang. And Charlie scratched until he bled.

              Lukas was growing concerned that Charlie hadn't yet answered the doorbell. Lights had flickered on in the house and Charlie's truck was parked out front, so he must be there. Just as Lukas was about to go around back to the kitchen, the front door opened and there stood Charlie with bright pink splotches all over his neck and arms.

              "Don't even think 'bout laughing, Preachur, this here calamine's surely a gift from God!

              "Musta been a short somewheres 'cause the lights suddenly come on and I could see I'd damn near scratched myself raw. Never did git to the phone in time, but the machine picked up a message from Pu...uh, Marybeth. Said they'd arrive in El Paso late tomorrow night.
It's been some night, Preachur, and to top it all off ol' Cooter is cowering in the barn like someone whooped his ass...won't come in the house for nothin'."

              As Charlie finished relating his experiences, Lukas couldn't help but laugh out loud as he flashed on the old guy scratching, cursing, and twisting around in the dark as he listened to the Sister of Sappho leave her message. No wonder the dog didn't want to come in the house! Lukas knew that Charlie's predicament hadn't been funny at the time, but his telling of it now, especially with his calamine-pocked skin, was more than a little comical. Charlie seemed to think so too because rather than taking offense at Lukas' amusement he joined in with a few chuckles of his own.

              Later, after devouring Lillie's chicken and biscuits, the men decided to visit the basement in an effort to ascertain the reason for Paul's fall. Even though Tamara, Dr. Feener, and the paramedics had used the steps safely enough, it certainly wouldn't hurt to double check their sturdiness. Furthermore, there might be a mess down there that needed cleaning up and sooner was better than later.

              Charlie and Lukas felt cool air envelop them the moment the basement door was opened. Although the change in temperature wasn't radical it was definitely noticeable, especially because of its sharp contrast to the hot July night. The men were surprised but not alarmed; on the contrary, they welcomed the relief from the heat.

              "I'll go down first, Preachur. Don't wancha’ landin' on yer head too. Yer mizzus wouldn't never cook me no chicken again!"    

              Lukas watched as Charlie safely made his way to the bottom of the stairs.

              "Come on down, Preachur, steps seem okay to me."

              Lukas was halfway down the stairs when the house went dark, the basement door slammed shut, and Cooter cringed pitifully in the furthest corner of the barn.

              Charlie's voice cut through the night, "She-it! I knowed it was gonna be a bad day when I woke up this mornin'!"