Tempted by Evil

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  By the time I reached the street, I half expected the little girl to be gone, but there she stood, staring in my direction. As I approached her, I noticed that her delicate blonde curls shielded a cherubic face that boasted rosy cheeks and ice blue eyes with a fringe of thick lashes. She was wearing a blue satin dress trimmed with white lace. A black wool coat and black patent leather shoes topped off the elegant outfit. She was doll-like in her perfection, and I couldn't fathom why anyone would leave her alone in the middle of town. With the morning noises filling the street, I didn't hear her faint humming until I bent down to talk to her.

  It stopped immediately thereafter.

  Her glazed-over eyes snapped to mine instantly with an intensity that nearly knocked me over. A slow, sly smile curved at the edge of her lips. Kneeling before her, I froze at the sight of the doll-come-to-life, except for the trembling of my hands that I could not contain.

  When she spoke, I didn't even breathe.

  “It has been prophesied: The earth will bleed. The stars will fall. The sun retreat and souls shall crawl." She spoke in a small sing-song voice while her crystal eyes stared right through mine, sending chills down my spine. "All things unholy shall plague creation. While still a child, she shall be the one to bring forth damnation."

  With that, she turned and walked down Main Street, leaving me to stare after her in utter disbelief. I wanted to say something or follow after her, but neither my vocal cords nor my feet would comply. Several moments passed before I realized that I was standing in the center of downtown in my nightclothes. Turning slowly, I walked back to my apartment, looking back in the direction of the child as I went. She was nowhere to be seen.

  My feet were loud on the steps to my room as I trudged up them, my mind working overtime trying to make sense of what had just happened. Glancing at the clock as I walked through the door, I was dismayed to realize that my shift at the café was scheduled to begin in less than ten minutes. How long had I been outside with that strange little girl? Was this all just some bizarre dream?

  A sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth from the pain of my self-pinch sleep test snapped me out of that thought process and back to reality. I had a job to do in a matter of mere minutes and that reality overtook every other idea in my head. The nuns had instilled nothing within me if not a considerable work ethic.

  Rummaging through the clothes in my closet, I pulled out the first pair of jeans that I saw, along with a blue cable-knit sweater. My hair was relegated once again to a bun on the back of my head so that I could brush my teeth without fear of getting toothpaste in it and be ready to head downstairs to Holy Grounds. I was just pulling the bow on the back of my apron as I walked through the door, feeling out of breath and more than a little uneasy. Given my most recent encounter, however, I supposed it would have been unusual for me to be anything else. I steeled myself for the day ahead as I grabbed my notepad and pen from behind the counter and shoved them into the pocket of my apron. With a brave face, I headed for the “Open” sign.

  The aroma of coffee was already wafting through the air, along with scent of Marie’s baked goods, or, as the regulars of café refer to them, “heavenly goodness.” A few of my usual customers were in their seats with newspapers open before I even had an opportunity to get back to the counter to start our morning ritual of filling and emptying. Something, however, felt different about that morning.

  After pouring Mrs. Milton’s decaf and serving her scone, I turned back to the counter, but something stopped me cold. I would have sworn I heard a whisper―the faintest of voices―warn me that “the earth will bleed. The stars will fall. The sun retreat and souls shall crawl. My feet refused to let me escape the dwelling message, stalling as though my boots were made of lead. Instead, I stood bewildered in the center of the café.

  Were those not the exact words used by the little girl this morning? Pivoting hesitantly around, I saw Mrs. Milton sitting in her burgundy jogging suit with her scone in one hand and her coffee cup in the other. Shaking my head at my own ridiculous imagination, I strode back to the counter and set the decaf pot back on its dispenser. As I surveyed the early customers spread out at various tables and chairs throughout the room, my eyes informed me that everyone appeared to have received their requested menu items.

  With the initial morning rush completed, I inhaled deeply as I removed the caffeinated pot from the coffeemaker and began to make my refill rounds. Stepping from behind the protective Formica bar, I was besieged by the low voice of a man in my ear, “And it shall come to pass, that the one born of both light and shadow, on whose shoulders rests the fate of mankind, will extinguish the flame of life.” He was so near that his hot breath tickled my ear and sent shivers over my entire body, causing me to drop the pot of hot coffee I was holding. Shards of glass and dark scalding liquid covered the floor, and the owner of the mysterious voice had conveniently disappeared. Moving swiftly to clean up the mess I’d just created, I slipped on a puddle and grasped nothing but air as I fought to stay upright on my way to the floor. It took a moment for me to process that the loud sound I kept hearing was the echo of my skull bouncing off the floor. Convoluted whispers churned in the background and the sound of laughter grew faint, as if in the distance. Attempting to sit up, I glanced around the room from face to face to find that each expression was one of sheer terror, seemingly frozen in time, mirroring my own. The world began to spin like some malevolent carnival ride just before the darkness swallowed me.

  16

  A cacophony of sound erupted in my ears as my consciousness stirred. Metal crashing, shoes scurrying, strange beeping, and too many voices to comprehend. Attempting to open my eyes, I was assaulted by a flood of overwhelmingly bright lights from every direction. My arms flew up automatically to shield my line of sight in response until I was able to adjust to the luminosity of my environment.

  A dull ache permeated my entire head, making it difficult to concentrate. As I peered around the room, it soon became clear that I was in the hospital. I began to panic, little tremors overtaking me, and quickly discovered that an IV had been inserted into my right hand that led straight to a bag of clear liquid, which was connected to a rather complicated-looking machine. All of my clothing had been removed and replaced with only a sparse gown for covering and a few small bandages applied to my arms. The worst part of all was that I was alone with no one to explain why I was there.

  My head pounded like a drum the second I expended any effort focusing on solving that mystery.

  Fighting the urge to flee, I decided to pull myself together enough to speak with someone. From what I remembered of my hospital visits with the sisters, most rooms came equipped with a remote control that could be used to summon assistance from a nurse when necessary. I looked around the bed and nightstands for one, but saw nothing that resembled the object I was searching for. Frustrated, I decided I had no other choice than to venture out of my room to the nurse’s station instead.

  My legs swung begrudgingly over the side of the bed and I grasped the IV pole firmly as I slowly stood and shuffled unsteadily over the cold tile flooring to the door. I heard a familiar voice grow louder as I neared the door, which immediately brought a great sense of comfort. Felice Casey was speaking with someone outside my room and I paused when I heard my name.

  The room was spinning violently, and I struggled to focus on staying upright. It sounded like they were discussing a medical condition―my medical condition. At first, they conversed about the concussion I had, which made sense considering the pain my head was in. Then their voices lowered as the topic switched from my current condition to my medical history. Although I couldn’t recall being on any medications, the man Felice was speaking with informed her that I must have been on a specific drug called an anti-psychotic. According to him, the medication was designed to stabilize children and adults with severe mental instabilities.

  A million questions began to race through my mind while I struggled to listen to the re
st of the conversation taking place in the corridor outside my room. Words like delusions, schizophrenia, hallucinations, and withdrawal were being used by both Mrs. Casey and the man, who I presumed must have been the attending physician. I wanted to hear more or ask what was going on, but was suddenly overcome with a bout of dizziness that left me feeling as though I might pass out. Eyeing both the door and the bed I had just come from, I knew the shorter distance was the latter. I made my way back across the icy floor before collapsing onto the uncomfortable mattress, pulling the thin blanket up to cover myself.

  The relentless throbbing in my head was becoming unmanageable, and I labored in vain to control my breathing. While I tried to steady my state, a strange noise from the other side of the curtain divider to my left alerted me to the fact that I was not alone. Slowly leaning out of my bed, I took a deep breath to calm myself and gently pulled the pale green fabric back several inches until I could see the face of an older man, tubes and wires connected everywhere to various machines. The pallor of his skin was striking and his face was gaunt. His repose appeared peaceful, however, so I rested back onto my pillows, too exhausted from that expended effort to redraw the drape. Not a moment later, I jumped as the once-sleeping man eerily rose up in bed and turned toward me with a mechanical grace. His grave expression stopped my heart cold while his glassy hazel eyes looked right through me.

  The familiarity of his demeanor forced an involuntary shudder from me and I automatically scooted to the farthest edge of the narrow bed, my heart re-awakened and accelerating with every breath. His gravelly voice stopped any further thought I had of inching away to safety.

  “Those who drift off to sleep will be led away like sheep.” The rhythm of his rambling was like a lullaby, and I found it difficult to concentrate on his words.

  As if sensing my inattention, he leaned closer, his tone more lucid than before, though his cadence hadn’t changed. “Darkness will bend your will to its own. Dancing with darkness is dancing alone.”

  When I finally wrapped my brain around his warnings, I realized that not a single word of what he said made sense. Not to me, anyway. I closed my eyes for a brief moment to think and get my mental bearings back. Soon thereafter, I looked back up, only to discover that the old man was lying back down on his bed, as still as a corpse. I stared over at him, lying less than three feet from me, and I wondered if I had just imagined that entire scenario.

  The man talking with Mrs. Casey earlier had said something about hallucinating and delusions. Perhaps that was what had occurred with my roommate. Was it truly possible that my mind had invented the whole thing?

  I groaned aloud and grasped my temples. My eyes felt like two landmines that were being repeatedly triggered to explode throughout the war zone that my skull had inadvertently become.

  My hands were still trembling moments later when Felice strode into the room, looking like she owned the hospital and everyone in it. She came to stand beside my bed and took one of my shaking hands into both of hers as she looked at me fondly.

  “How are you feeling, Aspen, dear?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

  “I’m confused,” I answered tentatively, taking my hand from hers to hug my arms around myself. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “I’m afraid you’re quite exhausted and in great need of rest,” Mrs. Casey explained gently.

  “But I heard you speaking to the doctor in the hallway about medication and schizophrenia and hallucinations and . . .” I trailed off as my anxiety level surged, feeling unable to focus enough to remember the conversation clearly.

  “No, dear.” It was Felice’s turn to look confused. “I only just arrived. I spoke to the doctor, but only momentarily about why you were placed on this floor.”

  “But I thought,” I started before losing my train of thought altogether. “What about him?” Pointing to the old man in the bed next to mine, my mind raced as I tried desperately to recall his words.

  “He spoke to me just before you came in,” I blurted out before I thought about what point I was trying to make. “Did you hear him?”

  “No, Aspen,” Mrs. Casey’s expression was full of sympathy as she looked from the old man back to me. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Mr. McGovern has been in a coma for over twenty-five years. The whole town grieved after his accident. His wife passed last year still hoping he would recover.”

  “He spoke to me, I swear it,” I nearly pleaded under my breath. “Didn’t he speak to me?”

  “The doctor said you needed rest,” she said as she turned for the door. “I’m going to go and discuss getting you something to help you sleep.”

  Myriad thoughts and emotions assailed me the instant Felice was out the door. Did I not overhear the conversation I thought I heard? Had I merely dreamt the interlude with the old man? Was I going insane?

  Before I could formulate an answer to any of my questions, a mass of black stalked through the door.

  “You,” I nearly spat in an accusatory tone. “What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t have time for your questions right now,” he snarled, his green eyes flashing as they came to lock on mine. “You have to come with me.”

  “Come with you?” My voice was filled with equal parts hysteria and incredulity. “Are you kidding? Why would I go with you?”

  “We have to go,” he answered in a low voice, turning his head to look at the door. “I can give you the answers you’re looking for, Aspen . . . answers about the medication.” He gave me an all-knowing look that begged me to get up and follow him.

  “How do you know about that?” I countered defensively, my mind still reeling from the bombs that had been dropping around me and the possibility of being helped by someone who constantly refused to answer questions.

  “I know things,” he stated simply, but the tone of his voice was firm and serious. “A lot of things.”

  “Well, so far you’ve told me nothing,” I rebutted, trying to sound impassive, though my resolve was crumbling. My desire to grasp my situation overrode everything else.

  “Here,” he barked, throwing a plastic bag full of my belongings at me. “Get dressed and come with me now.” He glanced back and forth between the old man and me, eyeing us tightly. “Before the two of you become permanent roommates.”

  “Okay,” I replied without hesitation, fishing out my coffee-stained jeans and wiggling into them under my gown. “I’ll go.”

  The time for bravado was gone. He turned around so I could quickly change, and, as I did, bile rose in my throat at the mere thought of being confined to an institutional-type room again. Once in my life was more than enough, and, while I was grateful for my time with the sisters, personal freedom was a commodity I never intended to be without.

  17

  My breaths came rapid and shallow. My fingernails dug deeply into my own flesh, seeking the safety I felt lacking. I tried to focus my thoughts, but with every effort, they drifted right back to the moments in the hospital just before I raced out of it and climbed into Merrick's filthy, door-less vehicle. I was being driven to an undetermined place with a man whose last name I didn’t even know. It was a far-from-intelligent act, but with my mind playing tricks on me, I had to go with my visceral reactions. They told me to go with him.

  A particularly heinous bump in the road caused my stomach to lurch, and I squeezed my lids even tighter together than they already were, a small groan escaping my lips. Motion sickness had never been a serious cause for concern while living in the convent. There, the opportunity had never presented itself to get in a car with a testosterone-crazed man hell-bent on defying both laws of speed and gravity on a road that closely resembled a hiking trail. I mentally crossed myself for wishing he knew exactly how I felt in that instant; God only knew what that sort of penance would look like.

  The vehicle came to an abrupt stop as did my train of thought, and I slowly cracked one eye open to make sure the abeyance wasn’t temporary. My darkly clad co
mpanion jumped effortlessly from the jeep while I remained still as a statue in a self-bear-hug with one lid still closed tight.

  “Do you intend to stay in the vehicle all evening?” Merrick asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Or are you coming in?”

  “Where are we?” I asked softly.

  “My place,” he replied curtly before muttering to himself, “I had to get you away . . .”

  I opened my other eye to appraise my surroundings and was pleasantly surprised to discover a small cottage, somewhat dilapidated, bordered by rocks on the far side, that overlooked the coast. My excitement grew as I romanticized Hester Prynne’s seaside home in my mind, exhilarated by the thought of meandering around the backdrop of The Scarlet Letter—and so close to the water. There was just something about the ocean that called to and captivated me.

  Merrick cleared his throat, which effectively snapped me out of my internal reverie and brought me back to the neglected old shanty before me. It also brought me back to the dilemma at hand.

  Merrick abruptly stepped into my line of sight, hand extended, and it took me more than a moment of staring into his jade eyes to realize that I was still inside his door-less jeep. Rendered speechless at his unexpected gesture, I took hold of his hand, allowing him to help me out of the beast. Grateful for his kindness, I smiled up at him after both my feet were on solid ground and he had released my hand. He merely turned and headed for the house.

  I followed after him like a lost puppy dog, entered the front door after him, and gently closed it behind me. We had walked into what appeared to be a living room of sorts, although there were few furnishings to speak of. An old leather sofa occupied one wall and a full floor-to-ceiling bookshelf took up the opposite. Part of me wanted to sprint over to his library and begin rummaging through the collection, but another part was curious about the rest of the cottage. Realizing that my train of thought seemed erratic, even to me, I restrained myself and remained semi-close to my host, almost more fearful of my own mind and its abnormal reactions at that point than the strange man in the room with me. Though I did want to know more about him. I decided the best way to learn about Merrick was to study him in his environment.