Unclean Spirit (7 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

              While Tamara was sitting with Paul, Saul Feener was trying very hard to keep his wits about him. He blinked, but Hillie was still there, drifting slowly from right to left, left to right. He rubbed his eyes, but Hillie was still there, floating slowly up, slowly down. It wasn't until Charlie opened the front door that Hillie Perkins disappeared from view.

              A scientific background and an atheistic ideology didn't preclude Saul from having an open mind on the subject of "unexplained phenomena." He believed that while terrestrial creatures have no choice but to function on the physical plane, they do have a connection to something that transcends the tangible world. Saul wasn't sure what that "something" was, but he realized that he had just been exposed to it. Sure, he could have written his vision of Hillie off as a hallucination had it been an isolated incident, but it wasn't. Saul could not help but be reminded of his last visit to the Forsythe home. As he had examined Paul and tended to his most immediate needs, Saul had felt as though he were being watched, and not just by Tamara. Then, when Tamara had gone upstairs to call her daughter, Saul had nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the words: "
GET
OUT
,
SHAMAN
!" And now, as he walked into the house with Charlie, Saul suddenly felt unseen eyes watching him again. He felt something else too--a desire to get away from the Forsythe ranch as soon as possible.

              "Thanks fer comin' over, Doc." Charlie wasn't surprised when the doctor covered his nose and mouth with his hand. "Sorry 'bout the smell. I'm gittin' kinda used to it, but it's bad, ain't it?"

              "What is that stench?"

              "Donno, but the stink ain't the half of it!"

              Once Saul had examined Charlie's nose--which looked pretty much the same as it had when Charlie had left the doctor's office earlier in the day--and initiated his antibiotic, the men settled in at the kitchen table. Charlie was so happy to have company that he talked nonstop about the strange happenings at the ranch.

              "...and I reckon ya think I'm a nutcase or just some ol' drunk, but I ain't makin' this shit up!"

              Saul believed everything Charlie had told him. He was, in fact relieved to be able to validate his own recent experiences at the house.

              "Charlie, you may be a drinker, but you are not a nutcase. I've picked up on something unusual here too and it's not just the smell."

              "Think it could be spooks?"

              Saul flashed on his vision of Hillie. "You mean ghosts? I don't know, Charlie. What do you think?"

              Charlie, surprised that Saul hadn't thought him a lunatic, was flattered when the physician asked his opinion.

              "Well, I don't rightly know. First I figurd that Jose Cuervo was playin' tricks on me, but I ain't never knowed him to be able to operate 'lectricity. And I know ol' Cooter don't drink the stuff so Jose can't be the reason that dog won't come near the house no more. Could be a dead animal somewheres in the wiring, but that ain't likely. So, that leaves spooks."

              "Charlie, do you feel safe out here all alone?"

              "Shit, Doc, ain't everyone can say he lives in a haunted house! I'm more scared of them gawddamn skeeters than I am of some ghosts. The way I look at it, Mr. Cuervo and me might become famous Ghostbusters!"

              Charlie was obviously amused with himself and Saul wasn't sure that such a cavalier attitude was appropriate. 

              "Be that as it may, Charlie, I would feel better if you weren't alone out here. Isn't there someone you could stay with for a few days?"

              "Thanks fer the concern, Doc, but I'll be fine. 'sides, Mr. and Mrs. F. is countin' on me to take care of things 'till they git back."

              Saul could see that Charlie's mind was set. "Well, you know how to reach me, don't hesitate to call if you need to. 

              "Looks like the medicine is all in so I'll be on my way. I want you to come into the office in the morning for another dose."

              Saul disconnected Charlie from the intravenous paraphernalia and gathered up his supplies.              No sooner had the men reached Saul's car than Cooter came running from the barn. The dog made a beeline for the doctor and nearly knocked him over when he stood on his hind legs and pressed his big, dirty paws against Saul's chest. Cooter then proceeded to cover Saul's face in slobbery mongrel kisses.

              "Cooter! Ya crazy hound! Git down off Doc Feener!" Charlie pulled the dog away from Saul and struggled to keep him away from the doctor.

              "Shitfuck! First he sulks in the barn and now he acts like you was his long-lost brother. Sorry 'bout that, Doc."

              "It's okay, Charlie, no harm done."

              As Saul opened the back of the Bronco and loaded his supplies, Cooter broke loose from Charlie, jumped into the back of the vehicle, and plunked himself down on the pile of blankets Saul kept for emergencies.

              "Gawddamnit, Cooter! Stop bein' such a pain-in-the-butt! Git outta there!"

              Cooter looked at Charlie but wasn't about to heed his words. Charlie had to pick the hound up--no easy task seeing as how Cooter weighed almost as much as Charlie did--in order to remove him from the Bronco. Cooter whined pitifully as Charlie put him on the ground. Saul, feeling sorry for the dog, retrieved a blanket and laid it out on the porch.

              "Let him go, Charlie. Let's see what he does."

              Given Cooter's recent aversion to the house, Charlie doubted that he would take the bait Saul offered, but no sooner had he released the dog than Cooter ran straight to the blanket and curled up on it as though it had been his forever.

              "Well, I'll be buggy-whipped!"

              Saul reached down and patted the dog's big, soft head.  

              "Okay, fella, you've got yourself a new place to sleep.

              "See you in the morning, Charlie."

              Charlie stood on the porch scratching his head as Saul drove off. Cooter was a friendly enough mutt but he had never responded to anyone the way he had to the physician. Charlie decided that it might be a good time to try to get Cooter to eat something. The second he put the food in front of Cooter, the pooch noisily devoured his dinner.

              As Saul drove away from the ranch he glanced in the rearview mirror. He saw Charlie and Cooter together on the porch. He saw the shine of the moon as it glinted off the house's upstairs windows. He saw an ebony cat with huge lemon-yellow eyes sitting on the roof.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

              It had been a long day for Paul. Physically, he was better; his throat felt less like sandpaper and the pain in his head was bearable. Emotionally, however, he felt drained, confused, and frightened. Although Tamara had assured him that Cassie was fine, he couldn't stop thinking about his assault on the nurse. Paul had been a pacifist all of his adult life, causing physical harm to another person was anathema to him. Tamara had asked him what he had meant when he had said to Dr. Gomez, "not me, not me," when referencing his attack on the nurse. Paul hadn't known what to tell his wife. Aliens have taken over my brain? The Government is conducting mind-control experiments on me? The devil made me do it? Those explanations weren't any more farfetched than what had really happened. Someone, or something, had invaded his body and was influencing his thoughts and actions. Yeah, right, that was certainly a story Tamara would enjoy! Being labeled as a schizophrenic didn't appeal to Paul one little bit, so he had told Tamara that he had only meant that it wasn't like him to employ physical violence.

              As the day had progressed, Paul had felt himself growing increasingly short-tempered. The ubiquitous beeps and buzzers of the various ICU monitors annoyed him, as did the nurses who didn't seem to have anything else to do other than disturb him on a regular basis. The rotating visits by Tamara and Starr irritated him; Tamara treated him like an invalid and Starr's mere presence disgusted him. There was only one thing that didn't seem to bother Paul, the cries of the patients who were in pain. 

              Paul didn't know what was wrong with the man in the bed next to his, but nurses and doctors were constantly attending to him. The man moaned incessantly and implored his caregivers to give him more pain medicine. Paul was appalled when he heard himself whisper, "Let the fucking bastard suffer."

              Although Paul couldn't deny that he had uttered those despicable words, he knew that the sentiment was not his own. It was as though he had an evil twin who had taken up residence in his body and was trying very hard to evict him from the home he had inhabited for sixty-four years. Paul had a strong impression that this "twin" wasn't about to vacate the premises without one hell of a fight. The question in Paul's mind was: Did he possess the ammunition that was required to protect his homestead?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

              Starr found Penelope waiting for her by the door when she returned to the motel room. "Hey, girl, miss me? Look what your mama brought you for supper."

              Pen's favorite food in life was chicken so she wasted no time in daintily attacking the roasted poultry Starr had cut up for her. Once sated, the cat initiated her ritual post-prandial bath while Starr called the airline to check on Patsy's and Marybeth's arrival time.

              Despite the fact that Patsy Carlton and Marybeth Warriner were not blood relatives, Starr regarded them as such. As far as Starr was concerned, Pats and M.B. were her sisters and that was simply that. The ladies had joined the Forsythe family at a time in their lives when they were searching for their individual and mutual identities. Marybeth had come from very old, very big money. Needless to say, her parents had not been able, or willing, to accept the fact that their daughter was more interested in the other debutantes than she was in the well-heeled beaus who attempted to court her. The Warriners were neither loving nor tolerant parents and when Marybeth brought Patsy home to meet them the proverbial shit hit the fan. Mrs. Warriner reacted with stoicism and grace as she downed her sixth vodka martini of the day; Mr. Warriner flew into a rage that resulted in Marybeth's permanent exile from the family.              

              Patsy's mother hadn't been thrilled to learn about her daughter's lesbianism but she didn't disown her child over the news. Felice Carlton was too busy screwing every man in town to expend any energy condemning her daughter's sexual preferences. She never could understand though why Patsy was giving it away to Marybeth when she could be raking in the dough like she was. Oh well, reasoned Felice, maybe Patsy had finally found someone who could give her the love she deserved. Apparently Felice had been right because the relationship that Pats and M.B. had initiated in 1963 had outlived many conventional partnerships, including Starr's own brief marriage to the quintessential prick. It had been Pats and M.B., perhaps more than anyone else, who had ultimately convinced Starr that she couldn't judge the trattoria by one spoiled cannelloni. Pats and M.B. weren't male bashers and they didn't intend to let Starr become one because her youth and Carlo Fiori's good looks and smooth line had conspired against her.

              Yes, Pats and M.B. were truly Starr's sisters.

              It was well after midnight by the time Starr, Patsy, and Marybeth retrieved Tamara from the hospital and returned to the motel. Although Starr had already briefed M.B. and Pats on her father's condition and the rather odd circumstances associated with it, Pats and M.B. wanted to hear Tamara's slant on things. Tamara held nothing back as she concluded the status report.               "Physically, he seems to be stable but there's something that's different about him. It's nothing I can really put my finger on or even describe but it's as though he's subtly changing right before my eyes."

              "Tam," inquired Marybeth, "what exactly are you telling us?"

              "Christ if I know, M.B.! I'm just so damn tired and confused and worried that I don't know what I'm seeing or feeling anymore. I just want Paul to be okay...I want to take him home...I want this whole mess to be not real!"

              Tamara did not even try to check the sobs that racked her body. She needed to purge herself of the toxic emotions that had been accumulating in her system and the reunion with Patsy and Marybeth acted as the necessary cathartic.

              Once Tamara had finally surrendered herself to sleep, Starr and Penelope walked Marybeth and Patsy to their room.

              "Starr," asked Patsy, "is there anything you're not telling us?"

              "No, you know it all now--the facts and the impressions."

              "About those impressions, what do you think they mean?"

              Starr wasn't sure how to answer Marybeth's question. "I hope that they were only signals of Dad's accident alerting me to the fact that he was hurt."

              "You hope, but you're not convinced? 

              Starr thought about it for a moment and then responded. "No, M.B., I'm not at all convinced and that scares the hell out of me!"

              Tamara slept while Starr, Marybeth, and Patsy talked. She dreamed of shining yellow orbs of light that penetrated the blackness of an otherwise lightless night.

              Paul slept while Starr, Marybeth, and Patsy talked. He dreamed of teetering on the edge of a precipice that overlooked an abyss of unfathomable darkness, punctuated only by two shimmering lemon-yellow lights that moved closer and closer to him.