The image of Lilian and Carson from her dream erupted to the forefront of her mind. She tried to shake it off but her mind took the image and ran away with it. Grace wasn’t wrong in thinking there was something going on, was she? She was right about Lilian’s incompetence, yet Carson had dismissed her misgivings about the hire. In fact, Carson didn’t take anything she said seriously anymore; like the manner in which he had dismissed the clown she’d seen earlier.
Filling the glass with water again, Grace took the stairs down to the clinic. The moon hung behind the house and the lower portion of the house/clinic was pitch black but it didn’t bother Grace. She traced her fingers against the walls and made her way down the small hall that led to a little area for the staff to use during clinic hours.
The waiting area had a faint smell of disinfectant. Grace noticed that Lilian had arranged the magazines and cleared up the toys before leaving. In a fit of annoyance, Grace swept the magazines off the coffee table. It felt good for about a second before common sense prevailed. She bent down and replaced all the magazines.
Inside her own office Grace placed her glass of water on the neat desk and switched on her computer. While the computer loaded Grace looked around, her eyes flittering over the cream and apple-green wallpaper illuminated by the faint light of the monitor, her framed medical certificates, and a small mirror. There were no personal pictures; Grace believed they distracted the patients, arousing curiosity about their doctor that wasn’t the purpose of their visits.
Once the system had started, Grace accessed the surveillance files. They had installed all the security systems and protocols required to run a private clinic even though it had cost them a pretty penny. Grace had been reluctant to install more than a few cameras but now she was grateful that they had. She was now given the option of live feed from the front of the house, the back gardens, and even the small passage beside the house where Grace had placed the laundry machines.
Grace accessed the feed for the surveillance camera in the waiting room then began to rewind the video to the time of her appointment with Mrs. Barret. She sipped her water and watched the patients, waiting for the clown to appear on the screen. Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty. Grace pressed the forward button and the video skipped forward a few minutes. Grace watched an hour’s worth of footage but the clown never appeared.
“Where are you?” Grace muttered, leaning forward in her chair, her eyes squinted.
High pitched giggles suddenly broke the silence. Grace whipped around. The curtains were drawn on the window behind her desk, and the full light of the monitor illuminated each corner. No one was there. The laughter continued, hysterical, insane, raising the hackles on her skin. Grace pushed herself back, her feet kicking at the curtains but hitting only solid wall.
Vaulting out of her chair Grace ran to the door. The laughter stopped. She turned back to the quiet room, her monitor still glowing an eerie blue. She was breathing hard, like she had just run a marathon, her heart racing in her chest.
What had just happened? Grace was still trying to make sense of the laughter when she felt cold air on the back of her neck, as if someone was breathing down her back. Her whole body froze, her eyes widening, her breath locked in her lungs.
“Looking for me?” a voice chortled in her ear, dripping with hysterical malice.
Grace wasn’t sure if she had screamed, but she knew that before she blacked out and hit the floor she saw the most terrifying face she had ever encountered.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
The Chair
It was disconcerting being on the other end of the chair. Carson’s palms were sweaty, and his heartbeat was strangely loud in his ears. He wondered if his patients felt the same when he was giving them the stare like Dr. Sunil Gupta was at this moment.
“She’s in a fragile state of mind.” Dr. Gupta straightened a pencil on his desk. “And you’re not helping.”
“I’ve been as supportive…”
Dr. Gupta raised a hand, cutting Carson off.
“This is not a consultation, Carson. I’m doing you a favour as a friend. I’m not supposed to tell spouses about my patient’s mental health.” His expressions softened. “I’m just trying to convey where Grace is at the moment. She’s paranoid, her dreams are vivid and she has begun to hallucinate.”
“Clowns of all things,” Carson muttered.
“I’m changing her prescription to Doxepin so she won’t have any more incidents of sleepwalking. I would advise keeping her calm. Try not to get into an argument that would antagonize her.”
Carson nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line.
“Carson, I’m your friend and I have to be honest; I’m concerned that Grace’s condition might worsen. I’d recommend a few days in my care centre in the north of the city. Just to keep her out of harm’s way; if you catch my drift.”
Carson understood very well.
He pushed himself off the chair, his palms slipping off the arms. He wasn’t sure how he managed to find his feet. Grace was waiting in the car for him, her face turned away. As hard as Carson tried he still couldn’t forget her face when he had found her last night in her office. Her eyes had been wide with fear, her lips locked in an awful grimace. She had been screaming in mortal terror before fainting dead away.
When he had finally managed to revive her in the waiting room, Grace had muttered about seeing the clown again. Carson, not one to believe in spirits dedicated to a circus act, had been alarmed enough at her mental state to call a favour from his friend, Dr. Gupta.
Now, with the consultation over and a sense of calm prevailing, he didn’t know how he felt about Grace’s increasingly manic episodes. Maybe he had pushed her too soon; maybe he should have let her rest another month before insisting she start the clinic with him.
“I’ve been thinking.” Carson cleared his throat. “Maybe we should cancel your appointments for the meantime. We can refer the urgent cases for now. What do you think?”
Grace was silent. Her pointed chin cupped in her hand, she stared out the window at the passing buildings.
“I just think you need the rest. You’ve been overworked, and it’s not helping your depression.”
Grace continued to look the other way. Carson shifted uncomfortably in his chair but decided not to push matters. Grace would talk when she was ready to talk. It was his job to be supportive; and if Grace wanted silent support, then so be it.
**
Grace sipped her tea, wincing at the heat but enjoying the sharp burn on her tongue. It made her feel alive, like she was still there, not lifeless and dead, swept away on the wave of her despair. She set the cup down, her fingers gripping the china a little too tightly. The tea was doing nothing to sooth her.
She could hear them.
It was twenty minutes past six. The last patient had left forty-five minutes ago.
Her teeth clenched involuntarily as Lilian’s laughter floated up the stairs and into the kitchen. It was a sweet sound, light and airy, without a care in the world. Grace hated it.
“… you’re so droll, Dr. Hayward.”
“I try not to drool, but thank you.”
Another insipid trill of laughter followed her husband’s pathetic attempts at humour. Grace put the cup and saucer back on the table, not giving in to the sudden urge to send the delicate pieces of china hurling down the stairs in hopes they’d hit a certain someone in their pretty face.
“I best get going. See you tomorrow, Dr. Hayward.”
“Goodbye, Lilian.”
The back door clicked shut.
Heavy footsteps crossed the short hall and trudged up the stairs. Grace took a deep breath, resolving not to give into unpleasant assumptions. Then Carson’s face came into view and she saw the faint smile, the faraway eyes, the man still captivated by the memory of the young girl he had just said farewell to, and her resolve was torn to pieces.
“I see you’ve finally got what you want.” Her tone was laced with accusation.
It wiped the stupid look of Carson’s face. Grace’s smile was bitter, but satisfied.
“What?” Carson looked stupefied. It only served to annoy Grace further.
“Don’t act like you don’t know. You finally have the clinic to yourselves with the meddlesome wife out of the way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Lilian!” Grace screamed, jumping out of the chair with enough force to send it crashing to the floor. “You don’t fool me! Giving me these pills, taking me to Dr. Gupta to prove I’m crazy. I know what you two were discussing while I waited in the car. You want grounds to divorce me!”
Carson was gaping at her as if she had sprouted another head.
“Don’t look at me like that! I’m not crazy!”
“Sweetheart, there is nothing between me and Lilian.”
“Lies! I’ve seen the way you look at her. I see the way you look at all the girls. I know what you do to them in your office. I’m not crazy!”
“Darling, I never said you were.” Carson came forward, his arms open, his eyes beseeching.
“No!” Grace cried, backing away into the table, her hands clawing into the wood. “No! Stay away! I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy! I won’t go back to the chair!” She swatted at Carson’s hands, her fingernails racking into his forearms. “No! I won’t go to the chair. You can’t make me! I won’t go! Please. Please!”
Her body began to twitch and spasm, her head lolled on her neck.
“Grace!”
“… won’t go… chair… not the chair…”
Grace grew limp in Carson’s arms.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Conversation with A Friend
Carson nursed his bourbon at the bar. He remembered coming in here about a year agowhen he and Grace had first taken a tour of Rutley Mansion. His friend Ryan Curtis, the estate agent, had shown them the way as another advantage of buying the property.
“It’s only five minutes away!”
Grace and Carson had sat in a booth at one end and looked around at the rich wood panelling, the dim lights and people in suits enjoying a drink. They had fallen in love with it. It was bit more upscale than they were used to but so was everything about Rutley Mansion and their hopes for the future.
Now, a year later, Carson sat alone, waiting for a friend to talk him out of his misery.
“Are you going to drink that?”
Carson didn’t have to turn to see that it was Ryan. Built like a rugby player, with the complexion of a farmer, Ryan Curtis looked at odds in a suit. Carson had been hard pressed to believe that Ryan was any good at his job. But then the man had sold him an entire mansion, so his views on that had changed.
“Get your own.” Carson threw back his drink, liquid fire coursing down his throat.
Ryan slapped his back jovially and ordered a beer.
“So what is it you wanted to see me about? House okay?”
“The house is fine.” Carson put his tumbler down and ordered a beer. “It’s Grace.”
There was a moment of silence.
“She’s still grieving?”
Carson sighed, running his hands through his thinning hair.
“I don’t know man. I can’t tell anymore. She was depressed, that I knew, that I could diagnose, for Christ sake! Now… it’s like she isn’t Grace anymore. She won’t talk to me. She won’t let me touch her. And now she’s experiencing hallucinations, and tonight,” he pulled up his sleeve to show the red tracks left by Grace’s nails. “She clawed at me because she thought I was going to put her in some chair.”
“Jesus!” Ryan whistled.
“I don’t know what to do.” Carson held his head in his hands. “I love her. I do. But she’s become insanely jealous. She’s suspicious of our new receptionist. She won’t sleep. I caught her the other night looking at surveillance videos.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I’m assuming to catch me in the act of cheating.” Carson’s laugh was hollow. “Me; balding, near-sighted, nerdy me.”
“What did the doctor say? You did consult someone, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Sunil actually. She accused me of taking her to Gupta because we were conspiring to declare her insane for some reason.”
“Paranoid, huh?”
“You have no idea. I had to inject her with a sedative to make sure she’d sleep.”
Ryan was shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Man, I hate to see you like this.”
“I just don’t know what I can do. I had such high hopes for the clinic, you know? And now when I need my partner the most she’s… I can’t even move someplace small. I invested everything! We were going to have a baby.”
Carson could feel the tears streaming down his face. But he didn’t care anymore. It was good to finally let his grief out. Sometimes a man just needs to cry into his beer. Even if his buddy is there to witness it.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
A Suit of Red
Grace sat up in bed. The little lamp on Carson’s bedside table was the only source of light in the large room. His side of the bed was empty. Grace frowned, looking at her surroundings. She had no memory of getting into bed. In fact, she had no memory whatsoever of the entire day.
What day is it? Grace wondered scratching her head. And where’s Carson?
It was unlike him to leave her alone at this time of night. Their usual work week, night-time routine involved an early dinner followed by a primetime show, and then a little bit of reading before bed. They never went out on weeknights, unless there was an important dinner party or seminar.
Grace got out of bed, her head spinning slightly. She felt like she had come out of a very deep sleep, as if she had been asleep for days. She had no memory of the past several days. The last concrete memory she had was of getting her period. But how long ago would that have been?
She took a quick trip to the bathroom. The panty liner showed a medium flow so it hadn’t been long since she’d started her menses. Grace washed her hands, looking at herself carefully in the mirror. She had really let herself go. Her skin looked dry, her eyebrows were unkempt, her hair was a nest of split ends.
No wonder Carson isn’t at home if this is what’s on offer.
Her stomach growled and she wondered when she’d last had a proper meal. Armed with an appetite, Grace made her way to the kitchen. A single lamp was burning in the living room; the sunroom windows were covered with the lace blinds she had picked up from a quaint little fabric shop near their previous apartment.
The kitchen was empty. She had hoped to find Carson there, but the house was quiet. Taking tomatoes, lettuce and bacon from the fridge, Grace set about preparing a BLT. She had just begun to chop the crisp lettuce leaves when the hushed murmuring of voices reached her ears.
Knife still in hand, Grace stepped closer to the landing above the large staircase. It was an existing feature of the mansions which they had retained; a work of polished mahogany, it gleamed black in the dim light. Grace tilted her head to hear better. Someone was talking at the foot of the stairs, but in the gloom Grace couldn’t make out who it was.
“What did you ever see in her?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. Compared to you she looks like a washed-out sow.”
Grace couldn’t believe her ears. Why were Lilian and Carson talking about her like this?
“Well, you’ve realized your mistake now. We should get rid of her.”
“I’ve already manipulated Sunil into thinking she’s insane. Pretty soon we’ll commit her.”
“She deserves it. A woman that can’t be bothered to keep her baby needs to put in a madhouse.”
Deeply confused and wounded, Grace stepped towards the stairs, the staircase winding down slightly. The voices stopped, replaced by a strange scurrying sound, as if dry leaves were rolling along wet grass. A shape moved in the shadows, stooped and painfully slow, it climbed one step, then another, coming into clearer focus.
; “Hello?” Grace called, her grip on the knife tightening. “Do you need help?”
The shape was a slash of red in the dark. It was a bent shape, distorted in its movements as it climbed the steps. Half way up, Grace saw that it was a man, crouched on all fours like a baby climbing steps for the first time. He was wearing a baggy tattered suit of red, a tonsure gleaming dully in the centre of raggedy red hair.
Sudden dread flooded Grace. Her breath hitched in her throat and her heart began to race.
“Help?” the man laughed sending a shiver down Grace’s spine. The voice was teasing, malevolent, and needling at the same time. “You don’t want to help. You’re all the same.”
“Who are you?” she whimpered.
“Oh, ho, ho!” The shoulders wiggled, the head rose an inch. Grace wanted to look away; every part of her body was protesting to run, but the sight of the raising head had her frozen to the spot. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”
The face, oh the face.
Swathed in white grease paint the clown face was horrible to behold. Yellow, jaundiced eyes set in sockets as dark as endless pits, like the sight of an impossible sun from the bottom of a well. Long sharp teeth, filed to points emerged in a large smile, painted red from ear to ear, as if it had been slashed with a knife; a pink tongue darting out, slobbering at the wooden boards, reaching for prey.
But the most horrible detail was the stitch marks. All around the face, hedging in the greasepaint were large black stitches as if the face had been sewn on. As if the thing had read her mind, a clawed hand reached up and tore the stiches near the chin, lifting up the flap to reveal a diseased jaw riddled with maggots, the tongue lolling further and further like an eyeless worm seeking food in the carrion.
The trance broke. Grace screamed.
The thing reared back and rushed up the stairs, still crawling on all fours, the limbs lithe and agile, reaching, groping.
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