The Night Visitor

by Dianne Emley

  Evelyn was transfixed as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing. Many of the drawings were of a sparsely furnished room, done from an odd angle, almost from the perspective of someone who was lying down. There was a side view of a bed with a figure in it, an old man on his back, his arm outstretched.

  The walls were decorated with what looked like two bulletin boards covered with photographs and newspaper clippings. A sign tacked to one said:

  Hello

  I’m Guillermo Lara (Junior)

  Other pages had drawings of people: an African American woman, a man with stringy hair, and two dark-haired women, one younger and one middle-aged. All wore masks over their noses and mouths. A drawing of the African American woman showed a nametag on her smock: Corliss.

  There were drawings of Rory: laughing, pensive, and whimsical. There was one of her nude, stretched out on a couch set against a background of brilliant yellow and blue sun rays. There were renderings of Danny Lara, Sylvia Torres, and Fermina Lara. There were children, angels, and saints. There was one of a purple toucan with a multihued beak.

  Evelyn paused at a drawing of a woman standing, wearing an evening gown. It was rendered with quick strokes, but the outline bore Anya’s unmistakable features.

  Evelyn quickly turned the page and recoiled. There was a series of small drawings, like a comic strip or storyboard, showing a darkened room, the walls lined with arched windows set into brick. Two easels stood in front of the windows, the paintings on them slashed, the ribbons of canvas flying in the wind. White birds soared.

  There was a drawing of Anya, lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Anya’s right eye was a bloodied cavern. Her left eyelid was lowered. Her full lips were seductively parted.

  Evelyn’s hands involuntarily opened and the notebook slid to the floor.

  43

  The hospital’s front door was locked. Through the glass, Rory and Tom saw an older Latino security guard sitting behind a wooden counter. He was chewing the end of a pen, looking down at something. He took the pen from his mouth and started writing before he looked up at the sound of knocking at the door.

  The guard walked to the door. His nametag said: T. Cordero. He looked Tom over, dressed in Brooks Brothers business casual, and Rory, in her silk dress and diamond jewelry.

  “Can I help you?”

  Tom said, “We’re here to see a patient.”

  “Folks, visiting hours are from nine to seven.”

  Rory stepped forward, leaning to speak through the door. “I know it’s late. We’re in town for a short while, and this was the only time we had to see my uncle, Robert Patyk. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back in town before…you know.”

  Cordero frowned. “He’s in the subacute unit, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, okay. They’re not too concerned about visiting hours there. Those patients don’t mind, if you know what I mean.” He unlocked the door.

  Tom pulled it open.

  “You’re not reporters, are you?” Cordero returned to the chair behind the counter. He moved aside the crossword he’d been working on and typed on a computer keyboard. “Mr. Patyk is in subacute room 1.” He turned around a clipboard with a sign-in sheet in front of them.

  “Reporters?” Tom signed them in, using the name of a former boss and his wife. “That’s an odd question.”

  The guard opened a felt-tipped marker and took adhesive-backed labels from a stack. He pulled the clipboard from the counter onto the desk and copied their names onto the tags. “It’s that Junior and Danny Lara business. The brothers. Danny tried to shoot that rich chick in Pasadena and got himself killed. Junior supposedly murdered this chick’s sister, Anya—you know, the supermodel?”

  “I heard about that.” Tom peeled the backing from his tag and stuck it to his jacket.

  Rory held on to Tom’s arm and drank in the hospital’s unpleasant odor, which was now as familiar to her as the aroma of cut grass or brewing coffee. It smelled like home.

  Cordero seemed to welcome having someone to talk to. “Ever since Danny got killed, we’ve had paparazzi and such trying to sneak in, but you look like you’re okay.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Through the double doors, take a right down the long hall, left where it ends, then the first right. Room 1. Just don’t stay too long.”

  “Thank you,” Tom said. “We won’t.”

  “Is she going to be all right?” Cordero asked about Rory. “She don’t look too good.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Tom said. “Just a little too much partying tonight.”

  Rory smiled sheepishly.

  “I know what that’s about.”

  They pushed through the double doors and headed down the hallway.

  Tom asked, “How did you come up with Robert Patyk?”

  “He’s the old man in the other bed in Junior’s room. His name’s on the bulletin board.”

  Tom didn’t comment. He no longer knew what to say.

  They made their way down the brightly lit corridor.At the end, Tom paused, forgetting which way the guard had told him to go. Rory pulled him on, turning left without hesitation.

  They reached a wall at the entrance to the subacute unit where the corridor split into two. The wall was decorated with cardboard palm trees, hula girls, and sand toys on a beach. A banner announced: Beach Party This Friday.

  Rory entered the unit. Her breathing was labored and her legs felt weak. She stopped near the doorway to the first room.

  Tom saw the Quarantined sign by the door and the cart with the protective garments. From the doorway, he saw the signs with the patients’ names. Robert Patyk was in fact Junior’s roommate, just as Rory had said. Then he saw Junior. He looked worse than Tom had imagined. He struggled with his instincts to grab Rory, carry her if necessary, and leave that place. Leave now.

  A man with long, stringy hair and wearing a blue uniform looked over the counter of the nurses station. “Hello. Can I help you?”

  Rory stayed in the doorway, looking at Junior.

  Tom went to the nurses station and saw that the man’s nametag said Keith. “We came to see my fiancée’s uncle, Mr. Patyk.” Hoping that Keith would make them leave, Tom added, “If it’s too late, we’ll come back another time.”

  “No problem. Sometimes we get visitors in the middle of the night. Family members can’t sleep, come down, and sit by the patient’s bed. Always happy to see folks visiting their loved ones in this unit.”

  Keith opened a three-ring binder on the counter. He flipped through pages of filler paper until he found where the signatures had left off. “Sign in, please. We just want to know who’s visiting the unit.”

  Tom scanned the day’s visitors. Sylvia Torres and Fermina Lara had been there early that morning. He also saw the signatures of Henry Auburn and Leland Declues.

  He picked up a ballpoint pen, which was tied with string to one of the binder’s rings, and signed in with his and Rory’s aliases.

  “I’m glad you’re visiting Mr. Patyk. No one’s come to see him in ages.”

  “Really.”

  “That’s usually how it goes. When patients are here for more than a few months, the visitors drop away. Everyone except the moms. They always come.”

  Tom looked toward Junior’s room. He didn’t see Rory. He felt a surge of panic.

  “That’s a quarantined room,” Keith said. “Gloves, masks, and gowns are in the cart. It’s important, especially if you’re going to stay for a while or touch the patient. It’s for your own safety and to keep from spreading infectious bacteria all over the hospital.”

  “I see. Thank you.” He quickly went to Junior’s room. Inside, the yellow privacy curtain was pulled around Junior’s bed. He heard Rory murmuring to her former lover in a way that was both urgent and affectionate. Tom hurriedly put on the protective garments.

  He skirted Mr. Patyk’s bed and slipped past the nylon curtain. What he found made him stop short. Rory was leaning over the bed,
cradling Junior’s face in her hands. Tom saw Junior’s gaze briefly focus on Rory’s before roaming around the room. Rory’s face was streaked with tears. She wasn’t wearing protective clothing.

  Tom wanted to take her far, far away. Instead, he called her name quietly, not wanting to startle her, like one is warned not to startle a sleepwalker. “Rory.”

  She didn’t budge. She seemed to have forgotten about him. Her tears dripped onto Junior’s face.

  Random thoughts flew threw Tom’s mind. He was touched by Rory’s tenderness for Junior, who seemed barely human. He was jealous of the adoration in her eyes. Cold fear blotted out everything else, as Rory’s unmasked face was almost touching Junior’s. She was clasping his cheeks between her bare hands.

  He said more loudly, “Rory.”

  She closed her eyes, slowly exhaled, and tipped back her head. Her lips parted, curving into a small, knowing smile. Her face, which had been troubled and strained since she’d come home from the hospital, was smooth and serene.

  Junior’s eyes again met Rory’s for a second or two, but then moved away from her.

  Tom went to Rory and put his hands on her shoulders, “Rory, it’s time to go.”

  She shrugged him off.

  “Rory, I don’t think he even knows you’re here.”

  “He knows I’m here.” She climbed onto the bed until she was straddling Junior on her knees.

  Tom grabbed her around the waist and started to lift her off.

  Keith yanked back the privacy curtain. “What’s going on? You’re not here to see Mr. Patyk. I’m calling security.”

  Tom pulled Rory from the bed. “That’s not necessary. We’re leaving.” He set Rory on her feet. “See? Everything’s okay.”

  “You better not have taken pictures of him.” Keith went to Junior and checked him over. “You okay, man?”

  Junior became agitated, swimming his arms and legs and bowing his spine, occasionally looking at Rory’s face.

  Keith said, “You guys are upsetting him.”

  “Junior’s in pain,” Rory said.

  “Excuse me?” Keith glared at her. “He’s not in pain. We make him very comfortable.”

  “You need to do more.” Rory pushed back her hair. “His lower back aches. The bedsores hurt him terribly, and his lungs are raw.”

  Keith said, “Just go and don’t come back.”

  Tom squeezed Rory’s hand.

  “Keith, we apologize for sneaking in,” Rory said. “I’m an old friend of Junior’s, and I didn’t know if I could get in to see him. We’re sorry if we caused any trouble.”

  Tom circled his arm around her shoulders. “Sweetheart, let’s go.”

  “Can I say goodbye?” Rory asked.

  Keith wavered and then relented. “Go ahead.”

  Rory went to Junior’s bedside and caressed his face. He became still. The creases between his eyebrows calmed and his expression of distress faded.

  Rory looked at him for what was likely the last time.

  Yes, my love. Two hearts are better than one.

  * * *

  Driving back to the villa, Tom was quiet. Rory knew what that hard line of his jaw meant. “I understand if you’re angry.”

  “We’re lucky they didn’t call the police.” After a pause, he said, “I’m not mad. I’m just worried about you.”

  There was another painful silence.

  Tom said, “Is it resolved? Are you through?”

  “What do you mean by ‘through’?”

  “Is the connection broken? Are you free of him? Will you get well now?”

  She blew out air through her lips.

  “Ro?”

  “I don’t want to lie to you, Tom, but you don’t understand anything I’ve said, so it’s pointless to talk about it.”

  He took the freeway off-ramp to go to the villa, turned onto a residential side street, and pulled to the curb. “Rory, we’re going to be married. We’re going to spend our lives together. You can’t shut me out like this.”

  “I have to.” She met his eyes in the dim light of the car’s instrument panel. “I’m sorry, Tom, but that’s how it has to be.”

  44

  Rory and Tom didn’t say another word until he’d pulled into the villa’s circular driveway. He cut the engine and went around to help her out of the car, but she was already standing on the cobblestones.

  “Rory, let me help you upstairs.” By the way she looked at him, he felt a tightness in the pit of his belly that they were over. He was glad when she took his arm.

  The last dinner party guests had left and the villa was quiet.

  At the doorway to her suite, Rory seemed impatient for Tom to leave, as if he were a tedious first date she was trying to get rid of.

  “Promise me you’ll go straight to bed?” he said.

  “I will. You need to get a good night’s sleep too.”

  Her new businesslike way of speaking to him cut him to the core.

  “Thank you, Tom. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She gave him a peck on the lips and closed the door.

  He returned to his car. Before he climbed inside, he took a moment to reflect while looking at the city lights.

  “Thomas.”

  He turned to see Evelyn on the porch, leaning against the stone balustrade. Her cigarette tip brightened and dimmed in the darkness.

  Tom hesitated, delaying the conversation that he knew was inevitable. He walked from the driveway and climbed the broad stairs to the porch.

  “Hello, Evelyn.”

  “Yes, I’m smoking again.” She smelled of alcohol, cigarettes, and a trace of Anya perfume. She dragged on the cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke. “First cigarette in twelve years. Found these in the kitchen. Virginia Slims. Guess our cook thinks they make her look stylish.” She laughed hoarsely.

  She was drunk.

  “Even when Anya was murdered, I stayed off tobacco. But this, Thomas, this is going to undo me.”

  Evelyn shook a fresh cigarette from the pack and lit it off the spent one, which she dropped to the ground and mashed with her shoe. “My nightingale and my sunflower. How blessed I was to have two exquisite girls as different as night and day.”

  She cupped her fingers around the base of a brandy snifter sitting on the balustrade and sipped the last of a dark spirit. Her eye makeup was smeared. “Tom, there was a time when my life was perfect. When I had everything. I mean every freaking little thing. Now it’s crumbling around me and I don’t know where or how it ends.”

  She wobbled as she reached down and picked up a bottle of B & B from the ground near her feet. He saw a spiral notebook on the balustrade. Loose pages were crammed under the cover.

  Evelyn rambled on as she poured liquor into her glass. “The girls’ father told me to have an abortion. He was and still is a big star. Married. Told me he’d ruin my career if I said the baby was his.

  “An actress having a baby out of wedlock wasn’t accepted then like it is now. Hell, now it’s fashionable. I secretly had the twins and told Mr. Big Actor that he needed to help support them. A subtle threat of blackmail and he helped me get work. I didn’t leave my girls with strangers. They were well taken care of by family. Anya and Rory were always my top priority.”

  Tom knew that Rory had a different take on what had happened. She suspected that her mother had intentionally gotten pregnant by the big star and used her leverage over him to advance her career.

  “I only wanted the best for them. Isn’t that what every mother wants for her kids? Especially her girls. The best. Then it all goes to hell. Just ripped from my hands.” She snapped her fingers. “Poof.”

  Tom picked up the notebook. He flipped through the pages, not believing what he was seeing. He carried the notebook from the shadowy porch to the top of the steps, where there was more light.

  “I found that in Rory’s rooms,” Evelyn said.

  Tom was spellbound looking at Rory’s prescient drawings of Junior’s hospital room, which she
claimed to have just visited for the first time.

  Evelyn walked to look over his shoulder. “Strange drawings, beautifully rendered. But how? Rory can’t draw to save her life.”

  Tom turned the pages. “There has to be a logical explanation. People who suffer brain trauma sometimes have strange things happen to them. Their personalities change, they—”

  “They don’t pull out hunks of their hair, gouge their skin with their fingernails, count obsessively, and suddenly develop artistic talent, do they?” Evelyn yanked the notebook from his hands and flung it off the porch. It landed in a bed of azaleas, the loose sheets of stationery fluttering down.

  “Tom, where did you take her tonight?”

  He took a deep breath and told her everything, starting from the night of the ball, through her hospital stay, her visit to Anya’s home and grave, and what had happened tonight with Junior.

  Afterward, Evelyn said, “Tom, what are we going to do? She’s getting worse every day.”

  “Tonight she told me something even more disturbing than what’s already gone on, if that’s possible.” Tom huffed out a laugh and ran his hand over his face. “I can’t believe I’m talking about this…insanity, like it’s real.”

  “Go on.”

  “She said that Junior knew what Danny was planning the night of the ball and he tried to warn her.”

  “He told her this?”

  “Not told. Communicated. Using the language of the mind, of the heart.”

  “That’s nuts.”

  “Junior is dying. He wants to die with his reputation restored. With the world knowing that he didn’t murder Anya. Rory wants to fulfill his dying wish because…” Tom could barely get out the words. “Because she still loves him.”

  “Did she tell you that she’s still in love with him?”

  “No. She didn’t have to. I can see it in her face and her attitude toward me.”

  “Oh, Tom.” Evelyn reached to stroke his arm.

  He smiled sadly.

  “And we’re supposed to stand by and let this happen?” Evelyn began pacing in the darkness. She returned to face him. “Tom, I think this psychosis of Rory’s—in my opinion, that’s what it is—results from her guilt.”