by Robert Tine
Deftly, Denise inserted a hypodermic needle into one of the shunts in Jillian’s IV tube and shot a dose of sedative into it.
“Rest is the most important thing now,” said Denise. “You have to believe me…” Then there was Nan. She appeared… one morning? Evening? Jillian had no idea. But she was there, standing over her bed with tears in her eyes, looking at her as if Jillian was some kind of basket case. Nonetheless, Jillian was very glad to see her sister. She smiled though her cracked and dry lips and said her name.
“Nanny…” The word came out slurred, but there was no doubting the happiness behind it.
“Oh, Jilly…” Nan snatched one of her hands. “I didn’t want to fight you, Jilly… I didn’t want to.”
As Nan leaned down to hug her sister, Jillian whispered in her ear. “Something’s wrong, Nan. ”
Nan shook her head. “No, there’s nothing wrong. The doctors say you can go home any day now. Everything is going to be okay from now on. ”
Jillian’s heart sank. Nan was another one who wouldn’t listen, or who was determined not to understand. Maybe she didn’t want to understand. “There’s something horrible, Nan. With Spencer. And with the twins, too.”
“No, Jilly,” said Nan. “It’s nothing but this place. It will all look different when you’re out of here.”
But Jillian would not be dissuaded. She was determined that somebody understand what had happened to her. “He did something to me,” Jillian said. “Something horrible. I should have told you about it before.”
“No, no,” said Nan, shaking her head. “You’re just all messed up because you’ve been in the hospital for so long. That’s what makes you feel like this. I know you must hate it here. I know I would. We’re going to take you home soon. We’re all going to take care of you. We’ll take good care of you, Jilly-O.”
Jillian felt a familiar feeling fear. “All of you? Does that mean Spencer, too?”
Nan smiled. “Of course, Jilly.”
“And you, too?”
“Yes, Jilly,” said Nan. “All of us.”
“And Shelley McLaren? What about Shelley?” Jillian watched as a look of sadness sweep across Nan’s face. Nan shrugged and opened her mouth to say something, but did not answer Jillian’s question.
But Jillian understood. “She’s dead, isn’t she?
Nan would not look at her sister. “Now why would you say a thing like that”
Jillian shook her head, unhappy that her sister would not tell her the truth. “Something is wrong. ”
“Why would you say that?” Nan asked.
“Something is wrong… something is wrong with Spencer. Something is wrong with the twins. Something is wrong with the whole thing.”
Nan seemed a little overeager in her questions. “Okay, what’s wrong? Tell me, Jilly. what? What?”
“He’s hiding, Nan…he’s hiding inside.”
Jillian felt herself sinking slowly into unconsciousness. From far away she heard Nan’s voice. “What do you mean, Jilly, hiding inside? What does that mean…?”
But Jillian was gone… When she awoke the next time it was raining hard, the raindrops rattling against the windows like handfuls of gravel. It was a sad, dispiriting sound. Standing at the window, watching the rain, was Spencer. Jillian felt her heart sink when she saw him, but she had to speak to him.
“I saw Reese,” she croaked. “I saw you and Sherman Reese, you were together.”
Spencer’s laugh was obviously forced. “Sherman Reese? I saw him, too. He’s crazy, Jillian. Obsessed. You can’t let thoughts like that in your head. You have to be strong, Jillian. For the babies. For us. And most of all, for yourself…”
Jillian was not going to be put off by his continual platitudes. It was always them, me, us, you…“But Reese…” Jillian said. “Reese said that…”
Spencer marched from the window and leaned down close to her. “Jillian… If the doctors knew what you were thinking… those kinds of dark thoughts. What do you think they would do? They know about your past… They are concerned about you, about the babies, about your health, your well-being. If they thought you were going off the rails about Sherman Reese, tell me, Jillian…do you think you would ever get out of this hospital?”
As if to belie his threat, Spencer kissed her softy and slowly.
She hated his touch. In a walk-in closet in Jillian and Spencer’s apartment, Spencer studied every piece of paper that Sherman Reese had managed to cram into his already overstuffed briefcase. He was amazed at how the man had managed to take a few facts and spin them into a scenario that was dangerously close to the the whole truth.
Nan found Spencer entranced by the document and the tapes. She had no idea what he was looking at, it meant nothing to her. She was more interested in the welfare of her sister.
“Spencer, are you going to the hospital?” she asked. “I am. She’s got so much on her mind…some of it doesn’t make sense, but it’s pretty intense.”
Spencer continued to study the documents. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“She’s pretty pissed at you, for one thing,” said Nan. “She thinks you’re out to get her.”
“She’s wrong,” said Spencer. He still did not look up from the papers.
Nan peered over his shoulder. “What’s so interesting there? What are you reading?”
Spencer stood up and grabbed Nan by the wrist. Immediately she tried to pull away. “Let go of me,” she said.
But Spencer pulled her close. It was gentle. He did not have to threaten her with physical pain. “I said, let go of me.” With her free hand Nan raked her nails along his forearm, pulling away skin and drawing bright blood. He winced in pain but did not let go of her. Instead he drew Nan close, like a lover. Spencer bent at the waist and put his mouth to her ear, whispering something. Immediately, Nan began to scream in pain’ desperately trying to claw at her own ears to keep his voice from her hearing. But her hands were pinned. He would not let her go and continued to speak to her.
Then Nan stopped screaming. Blood broke from her lips and her eyes went blank.
Very slowly, Spencer allowed her broken dead body to slip to the floor of the closet, her blood flooding out on to the dog-eared papers and documents that had once been the property of the hapless, now deceased, Sherman Reese.
As Nan hit the floor, Jillian, in her hospital bed felt… something, something that wakened her. Something grim and awful. She felt as if a part of her had been killed and she sat bolt upright in the bed and screamed. “Nan!” 20
Jillian was determined to get out of the bed. She had to get out of that damn hospital. It took her a while to remove all of the IV tubes from her ann. Then she pushed down the gate on the right side of the bed, swung herself around, and sat there for a moment, her feet poised above the cold hospital floor. Then she pushed herself off, as if launching herself into the void, her toes making contact with the floor. She held herself steady against the bed for a moment or two, then straightened and staggered toward the closet on the far side of the room. She was going to get dressed and get out of there.
There were clothes, fresh, clean clothes, in that closet, clothes that Nan had placed there, put away like a bride’s trousseau, against some happy day in the future. It took a while for her to get dressed— she had never realized what complicated things zippers could be, and how recalcitrant and difficult buttons are, but she managed to get herself dressed and out of the hospital room without being detected.
It was still very early in the morning and Jillian could totter down the hallway undetected. All around her the sick and the insane were sleeping. The nurses were not at their posts and most of the doctors had left the building. Jillian carefully made her way to the elevator bank at the end of the corridor.
Mercifully, the elevator was empty and with a sudden burst of happiness, she stepped into the car. Her happiness did not last long. As the elevator reached the ground floor and the double metal doors swept open Jillian found herself l
ooking out at an-other hospital corridor and two exhausted-looking interns standing there waiting for a ride.
Jillian trembled with fear.
“Ma’am?” said one of the doctors in training. “Ma’am? Are you okay?” She saw the two young men and the hospital hallway behind them, but beyond, the corridor raced off into the blackness of space. This time the stars were gone.
“Are you okay?” he repeated.
Jillian managed to nod and she stepped off the elevator walking with the exaggerated precision of a drunk. The two interns looked at her, then at each other, and shrugged. They were really too tired to care… Outside of the hospital the world appeared to be normal. She walked down the sidewalk, looking for a cab, but there was none in sight. Up ahead was a bus shelter, glowing in the dark from the light of its advertising panel. She walked to it and stopped there a moment, hoping for a bus, then realizing she knew nothing about the New York City bus system. As soon as she decided she would wait there and throw herself on the mercy of the driver of the first bus to come along, she saw something that made her wince with terror. A man was coming down the street, walking fast and purposefully. She had no idea who he was, but she had no doubt that he was coming for her.
Jillian ran, dashed a round a corner, and almost ran into a cab that was just pulling away from the curb, having just dropped a fare. Frantically she waved it down and threw herself into the back seat. The driver could not be seen, hidden as he was behind dark and scratched Plexiglas. She leaned forward and blurted out her address.
“Yes, missus, very good,” the driver replied to her instructions. He had a heavy foreign accent and that reassured her. There was no way it could be Spencer.
Jillian sat back in the seat and looked out at the passing cityscape. Everything appeared as it should. There were a couple of people on the sidewalk, there were cars on the street. She allowed herself to relax for a moment—until the cab rolled to a stop for a red light at an intersection. Jillian felt the fear again and she looked through the back window to see another cab a few hundred yards behind bearing down on her. Jillian pounded on the Plexiglas.
“Go! Go!” she screamed at the driver.
“But it is red, missus,” came the reply.
Jillian was crying now. “Go, please, please go…
“But, missus, I cannot.”
“Oh God,” she gasped. She had to get out of that cab. She grabbed the handle and threw open the door. But New York City had vanished, replaced by the vast blackness of space. Jillian slammed the door and fell back on the cracked vinyl of the seats panting and sobbing, so filled with terror she was paralyzed.
Then from the front seat she heard Spencer’s voice, calm and reasonable.
“You see it too, don’t you?” Spencer said softly. “Don’t you, Jillian?”
“Yes,” she gasped, her voice broken and hoarse. “And it’s just us, all alone… no one else knows,” said Spencer.
Jillian nodded. “Yes,” she said.
“Just us…and now you know.”
“It’s not a dream,” Jillian whispered. She opened the car door and stepped out into the street and ran, But Spencer’s voice followed her, she could hear it in her head, she could hear it all around her, as if he had en over the city.
“Look around,” he said. “These people don’t know you. No one knows you. Only me. It’s just us now, Jillian. You and me. And what’s inside you…we’re connected.”
But even as she heard her husband’s voice she heard the voice of the cab driver, irate and screaming about her running out on her fare…
* * *
The subway train screamed into the station like a demon, its iron wheels shrieking on the track as it came to a stop. The doors swept open and Jillian entered and sat on a bench. There were a few tired-looking night workers in the car, wending their way home after a long, dark shift in the office towers of the city. No one looked at Jillian and she made no eye contact. She gazed out the window, but as the kinescope flash of light and dark in the subway tunnel danced before her eyes, a series of random images thrust themselves into her brain. She saw herself in bed with Spencer, Follow the Fleet on TV, Fred Astaire singing.
Fred Astaire’s voice died away and she saw an-other scene from her life. Jillian and Spencer were in bed again. But this time they were in their bed in New York. Jillian was flat on her back as if drugged, Spencer on top of her, thrusting into her. Somewhere nearby was the insect sound.
Jillian burst into tears, and an old woman across the aisle looked at her. The scream of the subway wheels masked the sounds of her sobs.
Now she was on the examination table in Denise’ s office. On the ultrasound monitor she could see the twins, in utero, more fully formed than she had ever seen them. Their eyes stared out, their mouths open as they floated inside of her.
The twins vanished, replaced by the horrific scene of Natalie Streck standing over that bathroom sink. Jillian could see herself in that mirror, and behind her stood Spencer.
The subway shrieked as it pulled into a station. The doors creaked open and Jillian jumped to her feet and fled. It was so quiet and so still on the street. She was nearly at her apartment building and she was alone. She put one hand on her stomach and wept with relief. Then she heard a whisper behind her.
Spencer said, “Jillian?” His voice sounded heavy with relief. Jillian whipped around and saw him walking quickly toward her. She screamed and ran for the front door of her building.
“Jillian!” Spencer shouted. “Please…” But she didn’t stop. She burst into the foyer of her building, her sudden appearance waking the snoozing night doorman. He sat up behind the desk and blinked at her as she ran for the elevator. She hit the up button hard.
“Everything okay there, Mrs. A?” the night man asked.
The elevator was a long time coming. Jillian looked at the street door, then back at the elevator, willing it to come.
“Hey, look,” said the doorman. “Here comes your husband, Mrs. A.”
Jillian did not answer. The elevator arrived and she jumped into it and vanished. The doorman shrugged. Lovers’ tiff, he figured. He’d seen it a million times before.
Jillian threw open the door of the apartment and locked the door behind her. She put all her weight behind the bench next to the door and dragged it a few feet to barricade the entrance.
A few seconds later the front door opened and thumped against the heavy bench. “Jillian?” Spencer called through the narrow gap. “Jillian, what are you doing?” He threw his weight against the door and the bench moved a few inches.
Jillian knew she had very little time. She ran to the living room and pulled the plug on the radio and then raced to the kitchen and turned on both taps in the sink, water gushing against the basin and slopping onto the floor.
The front door flew open and Spencer stood there, stock-still, listening to the sound of water running. It seemed to be gushing all over the apartment.
“Jillian?” he yelled.
But Jillian did not answer… He found her in the kitchen. She was sitting on a stool, an island in the middle of a flooded room. She was barefoot and in one hand she held one end of an extension cord; the other end was plugged into a wall socket. The radio was on the flooded counter, soaked with water. All she had to do was plug the extension cord into the radio and the entire pool in the kitchen would become electrified. She planted her bare feet in the water and looked at her husband defiantly.
“Stay away from us,” Jillian growled, her voice low and feral. As Spencer watched she brought the two contacts close together, the two points almost touching.
“Jillian, please…” Spencer pleaded.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“For God’s sake, Jillian…” Spencer would not give an inch in this battle of nerves.
“What did you do to me?” Jillian demanded angrily. “What have you done?”
Spencer’s voice dropped to a pleading whisper. “Jillian, please…just take your feet
out of the water. ”
Jillian looked down at her feet and shook her head. “No,” she said.
Spencer advanced a step. “Jillian…let me help you. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
Jillian’s voice was soft but determined. “No…it doesn’t.” She looked at him squarely. “Who are you?”
“I love you, Jilly.”
She shook her head. She was not going to fall for that. “No,” she said. “Tell me who you are. ”
“I’m your husband,” said Spencer simply.
“No!” Jillian yelled. “No you’re not!”
“I know the first time I saw you, you were under that tree, laughing with your friends.”
The memory was correct, but it had been remembered by the wrong person. “That wasn’t you.”
The water was still streaming onto the counter, swamping the radio and pouring on to the floor. The water was washing up against Spencer’s shoes. He took a step back.
“Remember what you said to me, the first time we kissed?”
“That wasn’t you.”
Spencer pushed on. “You laughed and you said ‘What am I going to do with you?’ Do you remember that, Jillian?”
“That wasn’t you,” she snapped. “That was Spencer. ”
“‘What am I going to do with you?’ And we talked, all the time, about our lives, our future-… our family… Remember how I held you, when it was dark, when you were in that…that place. Remember? I held you, Jill, so tight.” That place was the hospital where she had been confined when her’ parents had been killed.
“That was Spencer.”
“Please, Jillian, take your feet out of the water.” Jillian did not. But she tried to be calm nonetheless. “The plane… That signal it’s going to send… What happened to Spencer, up there. It’s going to happen to all of us, isn’t it. To all of us. You’re just the first, just the first…”
“Jillian…”
Jillian held her stomach. “They will never fly it. I won’t let them and you can’t make them.”