THE TEMPTING

by D. M. Pratt

  The waiting room was pleasant with pale pink, pastel green and pearl grey swooshes everywhere. The floors carried the same pattern as the walls. The bold design of bright colors shouted be happy at whoever was forced to sit for hours waiting for good news or bad. The room didn’t care; it made the same be happy statement for everyone to see. Across the room, on the far wall, metal windows opened out onto the same quadrangle she’d looked at every day after she came out of her coma. There was grass, flowers, curved concrete walkways lined with smooth river stone, all framed by huge philodendron vines. Their massively wide, waxy leaves grew between the birds of paradise, hyacinths and other colorful, tropical flowers Eve was sure were not indigenous to the Louisiana bayou region.

  Eve studied the grounds, doing her best to shift her mind off the past and into the present. Her eyes stopped at a tall circular tower that climbed five stories into the surrounding oak trees. It sat at the farthest end of the complex, jutting off a long, single-story wing of the hospital that stretched along the grounds, unconnected to anything else. It seemed to crash into the tower, offering only one way in, one way out. A chill ran up her spine. Her head starting hurting worse. Eve was certain she’d been inside, but how and when and why eluded her? Perhaps, she thought, it was during all the months of rehabilitation to strengthen her muscles. Her head pounded again, a pounding that seemed to say … no, Eve, it was something else.

  “I just heard Eve. I’m glad you’re all okay,” a woman’s voice said.

  Eve turned to see her psychotherapist, Dr. Lisette Honoré, looking at the children.

  “They are so adorable. What little angels. How are you?” Dr. Honoré asked.

  “Shaken. A few scratches. Okay, I guess,” Eve said then looked at Delia and Philip. “The kids are obviously unaffected by the whole thing,” Eve added.

  “They’re so young, they probably won’t remember a thing especially if they didn’t get hurt,” Dr. Honoré explained. “Do you remember if they registered extreme fear?”

  “No, not really any emotion at all,” Eve said.

  “Then they will probably have no emotional connections to scar them. How’s Cora?”

  “She’s waiting for bacteria test results from her scratch. Just to make sure she didn’t pick anything up from the gator or the swamp mud.”

  “How about you, Eve?” Dr. Honoré asked.

  “I’m fine. My scratches were negative,” Eve said.

  “Good. Better safe than sorry, right?”

  “Right?”

  Dr. Honoré looked down at the children. Eve saw her brow furrow.

  “How old are they?” she asked.

  “Philip is eighteen months and Delia is fourteen months,” Eve said.

  “Really! I would have thought they were into their terrible twos or threes seeing how tall they both are. Amazing,” she said. “Your son is beautiful as is Cora’s Delia. I would have thought Philip rather than Delia would show more of a resemblance to Mister Le Masters under the circumstances.”

  The words obviously slipped out from the expression of oh shit, I didn’t mean to say that out loud that splashed across Dr. Honoré’s face.

  “Please pretend I didn’t say that, Eve,” Dr. Honoré said.

  “Please, Doctor Honoré, I’ve thought it myself. You’re my shrink, and if you can’t say it, who can?”

  “Well, we’re not in the sanctuary of a session. Forgive me and tell me how you are? I mean, other than this most recent drama.”

  Eve looked at her. She’d fought Dr. Honoré in their sessions, mostly because she was struggling to remember the pieces of her dreams that made no sense. Eve didn’t want to take the medication Dr. Honoré had recommended for her hallucinations. Her life before the coma stopped the night of the party. All of her memories from her past were intact, but the horrible dreams, or pieces of dreams, that caused her the headaches, like the one she was having right now, were disjointed. They came from a time that didn’t seem to fit into her life, yet she knew she had to find out when and where the dreams came from because they were more than dreams, they were real past experiences and somehow she believed she’d lived them. But how? And how the hell do you talk to a shrink about that, especially if you want them to not think you’re crazy, put you on psychotropic drugs and lock you away?

  “Eve,” Dr. Honoré called her from her thoughts.

  “Yes. Sorry. I was just wondering, other than a hospital and a convalescent facility, what else goes on here?” Eve asked.

  “A lot actually and not just for my specialty in brain injuries and studies. I know the hospital does a variety of very different kinds of research. I’ve seen grant proposals for everything from geriatric longevity studies to in vitro fertilization and genetic research. You know how research doctors are. Everyone can be very hush-hush about their work. I understand the hospital has some patients with rare diseases isolated here, but it’s a rather large facility that covers over eighty acres and I can’t tell you where they are held.”

  “Why would rare diseases research be here?” Eve asked.

  “The bayou is semi-tropical and there have been some outbreaks of Hantavirus Pulmonary Syndrome, rare virus and bacteria. You know as these oil and gas companies drill into the land and poison the aquifer, they wake up all kinds of micro-organisms and strange bacteria and viruses, shaking them from their primitive states of suspended hibernation that would otherwise have kept them buried and forgotten deep in the earth’s layers for eternity. If it’s something you’re interested in, I could ask for more information. You and Mr. Le Masters are the kind of private donor sources we welcome to create grants for research.”

  Eve’s eyes turned back to the window and without thinking, she pointed across the back compound.

  “What is that wing and the tower it connects to for?” Eve asked.

  Dr. Honoré’s eyes followed Eve’s pointing finger to the wing and the long corridor that led to the tower.

  “I’ve only been here for eighteen months and have been very focused on my own division so I’m not really sure.” Dr. Honoré explained. “And don’t you have a wedding coming up?”

  “Six weeks,” Eve said and gave a perfunctory smile.

  “Are you excited?”

  “It’s … still a bit overwhelming. I’m so tired and with everything I’m doing, I’m not sleeping very well,” Eve said with a long, deep exasperated sigh.

  “Then the dreams haven’t stopped?”

  “What? Why do you ask?” Eve asked.

  “That’s what you used to say when they were bothering you. Have the headaches and hallucinations come back as well?” Dr. Honoré asked.

  “Dr, Honoré, is it possible to … um … get ‘abilities’ from a head injury?”

  “Abilities?” Dr. Honoré asked.

  “I was thinking that maybe some of the dreams and visions I’m having are kind of … precognitive.”

  “Something you’re getting consistently?”

  “More than once? Yes. Something bad happening to Cora and, well … maybe I knew something,” Eve said, doing her best to explain without sounding the way she felt - like a piece of china cracking apart.

  “Well, there are all kinds of studies about cranial facial injuries opening neurological pathways, some negative and some positive. Do you want me to order some more MRIs?”

  “No. No more MRIs please. Could we just talk about it more?” Eve asked her.

  Eve wanted to trust her, but she worked here and here was the last place she wanted to come back to ever.

  “But the dreams and hallucinations have returned? Yes?” Dr. Honoré asked, this time a little more emphatically.

  “Yes, they have. I want to talk to you, just not here,” Eve confessed.

  “I understand. Look, I just took an office on Wednesdays in Algiers. Call my assistant, Gerry, and ask her to give you an appointment for tomorrow. Maybe talking about things will help get you feeling happier about your life, your family and your wedding,” Dr. Honoré sa
id.

  Eve smiled. “I’d like to feel better, Doctor.”

  God she wanted that—to be happy, to feel safe and enjoy being alive.

  “I promise I’ll call and make an appointment,” Eve said.

  “Good idea. I’ll do some research, look over your charts and see, based on the damaged area of your skull, what you may have knocked loose. I’m sure we can figure it out,” Dr. Honoré smiled. It was a warm and reassuring smile that made Eve feel relaxed. “Call me.”

  Dr. Honoré turned and walked back down the hallway. Just as she disappeared down one corridor, Cora’s housekeeper, Miss Clarisse, walked in from the other corridor. The panic in her eyes said it all. She was very concerned. Miss Clarisse moved with the speed and stamina of a much younger woman. She looked great for her seventy years and her being there added one more needed layer of security for Eve.

  First Miss Clarisse checked the children to make sure they were okay and then she rushed over to throw her arms around Eve.

  “You’re okay? How’s Cora?” Miss Clarisse asked.

  “They’re running some tests. They think she twisted her ankle, but the bigger issue is the bite,” Eve explained.

  “Bite!”

  “Yes, I didn’t want you driving in full panic mode. It was more of a scratch according to Cora,” Eve said.

  Tears welled up in Miss Clarisse’s eyes.

  “If anything were to ever happen I—”

  “It didn’t. She’s fine. We’re all fine,” Eve said as she shifted the embrace to hold Miss Clarisse.

  Miss Clarisse pulled back and wiped her eyes, composing herself as best she could.

  “Oui, bien sur mon belle. Pardon,” Miss Clarisse said.

  “Hey, nothing to be sorry for. You love Cora like a mother and she feels the same way about you. We all love you Miss Clarisse.”

  Miss Clarisse gave a small smile as she smoothed her dress.

  Eve hadn’t heard her speak French patois or full-on French for that matter in a long time. It came out when she was angry or stressed or feeling very, very relaxed. She and Cora used to converse in it all the time. Eve had learned a few words because Cora insisted and then high school and college French had taken her down the more classic path. But she knew some of the words unique to Cajun patois. The derivations were just home grown enough to have subtle differences to make those who spoke it fit in a special club.

  “Miss Clarisse? Can you watch the children for a bit? I want to inquire about Cora and get something for my headache,” Eve asked.

  “Of course,” she said and crossed to them. “You should call Mister Gregoire and give him an update. He was upset you didn’t want him to come down.”

  “I will. It didn’t make sense for us all to be down here. I can drive home just fine. Miss Clarisse, I have always wondered why you call Beau Mister Gregoire and not Le Masters?”

  Miss Clarisse all but sneered in disgust before she nonchalantly answered.

  “He will never be a Le Masters. That boy is a Gregoire, plain and simple, just like his babies. That’s just a fact and if you knew the history, you could understand why I think …” Miss Clarisse stopped herself. “We’ll it doesn’t matter what I think.”

  “Yes it does,” Eve said.

  “You should take the Gregoire name and so should these children. There I said it,” Miss Clarisse said.

  “But … why?” Eve asked.

  “A name carries the weight of its ancestry and Le Masters is … well … you don’t want to burden yourself or these little ones with what and who the Le Masters have buried in their closets. The Gregoires have more than enough history to fill a book. Don’t ask about such stuff anymore, Miss Eve. Alright? Promise me. Now please go and find Miss Cora so we can get out of here. I don’t like this place. Never have. Never will.”

  Eve knew from past experience that Miss Clarisse had spoken her mind and that was the end of the conversation. She walked to Philip and kissed him gently on the forehead and then gave an extra kiss for Delia. From Miss Clarisse’s expression, Eve knew the discussion of the Le Masters name had opened an old and very deep wound.

  “Can I ask you one question, Miss Clarisse?” Eve said.

  “Of course child,” Miss Clarisse responded.

  “Do you know if the Gregoire legacy ever had anything to do with something called Grimoires?” Eve asked.

  Miss Clarisse grabbed her chest. She blessed herself and mumbled a prayer in Patois. Eve couldn’t understand much other than, keep us safe from the dark spirits and the final word Nephilim. A word Eve knew, but like her shadowy dreams, she didn’t know from where.

  Miss Clarisse looked up at her with a cold, even look.

  “What’s a Nephilim?” Eve asked.

  “Shush up! You shouldn’t even be saying their name!” Miss Clarisse said.

  “Please,” Eve begged.

  “The darkest of the demons, old and steeped in Voodoo. The same black magic that was born out of the ancient Grimoires,” Miss Clarisse said.

  “Grimoires? I know that…” Eve stared.

  “Hesh! Never, ever say the Gregoire name in the same breath with that dark practice,” Miss Clarisse said. “Do not even think it, Eve. Promise me.”

  Miss Clarisse’s face flushed and her breathing quickened. A true look of fear fell over her like a dark shadow. “You promise me!”

  “I… I promise,” Eve said. “I promise.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Eve stopped briefly by the nurse’s station to inquire about Cora. The response was that they were still waiting for possible infection test results.

  The nurse added, “It’ll probably be another half hour.”

  Eve sighed, walked down the corridor and stepped outside onto the quadrangle. She lifted her head to feel the last of the afternoon sun on her face as she walked down the lovely, stone-lined path. She breathed the air. The beauty of the trees and hedges, foliage and flowers seemed to ease her headache. Better fresh air than drugs she thought and walked farther down the path. On her right, the bayou lake that centered the lush beauty of the place sparkled, catching the sunlight in tiny ripples and making the light dance with every passing breeze. The tall, narrow tower and its single wing caught her attention. Eve turned and walked closer. She shook her head remembering the “rare disease research” explanation she had received from Dr. Honoré and stopped, thinking germs were not what she needed today or ever for that matter, if indeed this was the disease research wing. She turned left and moved away when she heard children playing to her right. She felt compelled to follow the sound of the children laughing and playing. Odd to put the children’s playground near a rare disease research wing, she thought. As she drew closer she could see a small playground filled with children peeking between the rows of fichus trees. The children, some as old as twelve and others as young as Philip and Delia, seemed normal.

  There were at least twenty that she could count. The older ones helped the younger ones and a few nurses oversaw their play time. One young woman rushed past Eve, carrying a little boy in her arms who reminded her of Philip. He was a little older, but with the same amazing black curls. The child looked at Eve, smiled and dropped a small stuffed tiger he was holding. From the mischievous smile the child flashed her, there was no question the act was intentional. Eve rushed over and gathered up the tiger.

  “Miss? He dropped … he dropped his tiger. Miss?” Eve called out.

  The woman turned. She looked back to see Eve holding the tiger.

  “Thank you,” she said and she crossed back to retrieve it. When she reached Eve, the little boy reached his arms out to Eve.

  Both Eve and the young woman shared a look of surprise.

  “Well, that never happens,” the young woman said.

  “Take me,” said the little boy.

  “Okay, that really never happens,” the young woman said.

  The boy reached harder for Eve and started to get upset.

  “I’ll hold him if you’re comf
ortable?” Eve said to her.

  The little boy squirmed and struggled, fighting to get to Eve. The young girl relented and shifted the little boy into Eve’s arms. The little boy smiled. He touched Eve’s face with such a sense of recognition it baffled both Eve and the girl. Suddenly he threw his arms around her and hugged her as if she was his long lost savior and best friend.

  “Aw, well aren’t you the sweetest,” Eve said and lovingly hugged him back.

  “That’s just it, he isn’t. He won’t let anyone hold him but me,” the young woman said.

  “Well, I am honored …,” Eve said to the little boy, glancing at the young woman as a hint for the child’s name.

  “Robert.”

  Eve stopped and turned her gaze to Robert, “Hi Robert, I’m Eve,” Eve said and then turned to the young woman. “And you are?”

  “Azura. Azura Peete,” Azura said.

  “Azura. What a pretty and very unusual name. I … I seem to remember meeting someone by that name …,” she fumbled for the memory. “Huh … I just can’t remember where or when. You even look familiar, but I don’t remember where.”

  “That is funny. There’s something familiar about you too. What is your name?”

  “Eve Dowling. I was here at the hospital for a long time,” Eve said, feeling the need to explain herself. “I gave birth to my son here. Philip is eighteen months, though you couldn’t tell by looking at him. He’s gotten so big. Robert’s four or five?”

  “He’s two and a half. I thought he was big for his age, but based on the size of the other children here, he’s … average,” Azura said.

  “Well, Philip’s father is tall,” Eve added.

  A strange look clouded Azura’s face as she reached for Robert.

  “I’m sure we met in one of the mother sessions or something. I remember your voice. You have a kind voice,” Azura said to Eve as she reached for her son. “We have to go.”