In her voice was a pleading for reassurance, an appeal for a pillar to lean on, a precedent or clear protocol to guarantee an outcome, a chart that they could sail by.
“I must be honest with you, Nancy… no, nothing like this that I’m aware of. Officially, the church now distances itself from such events. However, I… and, yes, many of my colleagues across the spectrum of all denominations privately do believe that the spiritual world contains many possibilities to explain this kind of phenomena.”
His words weren’t the instruction manual on coping with supernatural calamity she’d hoped for, but they were better than an outright denial.
“There were two other men, colleagues who have recently died?” The priest was asking.
Nancy nodded; not daring to imagine what may follow.
“The man who died last week?”
“Leon?”
“Yes, that’s right, Leon. Ken said that there had been something about Leon’s death that had frightened him. He had only realized the significance when he awoke on Saturday morning, after his last nightmare… and of course this most recent unfortunate… incident.” The Father paused. “…Ken told me that this other late colleague of yours…?”
“Craig?”
“Yes, Craig… Craig had come into Ken’s dream on Friday night. But Ken said that it had not really been Craig… not the Craig that he knew. Everything about the man seemed to be Craig, except for the eyes… they were like an animal.”
“A goat?”
The priest nodded.
“…And the connection…?” She posed the scenario, “Leon hit a goat on the road last Thursday night, Ken would know that the blood and hair are confirmed by the lab.”
“And that’s precisely what Ken said had terrified him when he startled out of his dream.”
“And Ken dreamt of being at Leon’s accident no doubt?” Nancy ventured.
“No. He said nothing of that.”
Nancy was in a state of shock, and it showed.
“It will all be all right, Nancy,” he reassured her. “If you remain strong, then nothing can harm you.”
The words were brave but Nancy needed only to think of the strongest character she’d ever met to see the folly in his words. That mighty character was lying in the next room, fighting for her life.
The discussions were a horrifying epiphany; one single terrifying truth that faced them all, including Ken; they were dealing with something sinister and of immense proportions, something far beyond a simple and established solution. Something that dwindled into insignificance all of those fears that had, up to this instant, seemed so dire. Instead, Ken now suddenly seemed less the villain and more a mere pawn.
Nancy gathered her wits; the sooner she and they all went on the offensive, the more chance they’d have of throwing back this yoke.
The Priest could see that Nancy was ready to hear more;
“Ken mentioned something else he experienced on Saturday night after he’d fallen asleep following his nightmare. He says that he’d lay in the dark, trying to forget the experience, that he’d tried to pretend that it was an ordinary bad dream. But he swears that somebody came to his bedside and offered to help him begin to make amends.”
Sensing that something eerie and macabre was about to be imparted, Nancy braced herself against the worst.
“Ken told me that only today, while I was speaking to him, did the memory become clear. He swears that the visitor was real, he swears that it was the other man… Leon.”
“If I say it myself, ‘if you want to complicate a matter, involve a lawyer’…” David Edelstein admitted.
Within the broader context of all the legal processes in motion, he’d been discussing relaxing of the protection order that Ken was subject to with Nancy. David had just had an hour’s discussion with the good Father.
“…Unfortunately that saying will be twice as true in this case, since the evidence is very weak. Them pushing this to trial will get nowhere.”
Although her emotions pulled in the opposite direction, she was being won over by David’s convincing arguments to persuade Jacky to let the matters lie.
“You’re their friend, David, and it’s their decision… but I can’t disagree with you any longer. It makes me sick in the pit of my stomach, but you are right.”
They were walking slowly down the corridor, on their way to Catherine’s ward. As painful as it was, Nancy drew the ultimate scenario.
“And if Catherine were to… you know…?” she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Then it would automatically become a Capital offense and the state would take on the case… at least an investigation. At that point you wouldn’t be in a position to choose to withdraw the charges. But as things stand my advice is to let it be, Catherine can decide what she wants to do when she wakes up.”
“I hope the ‘when’ is soon,” They reached the door, “Jacky’s just back… keeping vigil. She’s broken, go a little easy on her.”
David pushed the door open and let Nancy go first.
“Hello Jacks… How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Jacky insisted, but the dark rings about her eyes contradicted that assertion.
David bent himself double to accommodate a hug; he held her a moment
“They say that reading to a patient helps,” he’d seen the Economic Review magazine Jacky was clutching.
She was a little embarrassed, “I thought I’d stick to the only thing she reads… I don’t actually have a clue what it is I’m reading to her.”
“Nobody does,” David assured her.
The music tinkled softly in the background as the three pulled chairs into a huddle around Catherine’s bed and began to discuss the situation, talking as if Catherine was just choosing to remain silent.
David set out cautiously to convince Jacky to adopt a course of conciliation. As with Nancy, his first attempts struck directly into a tungsten core of resistance and, even after minutes of his urging and Nancy’s agreement, Jacky remained steadfast, unwavering on the principle of the matter.
David forged ahead.
“I’m not suggesting we lift the injunction totally against Torrington. Limited, supervised, visitation is a choice that we can make among ourselves and the injunction can remain as a trump card,” David argued.
“If I were a man and Catherine were my wife, would this be a group decision…? Would this be a decision at all that anyone would entertain? The man is confessing love for my partner, it’s laughable,” and Jacky laughed to emphasize it.
“Oh Jacks, I get that…” David was apologetic, “…put that way, this request is indefensible. You know how I see you two? The decision is yours and totally yours… we’re only trying to give you another perspective.”
“Sorry to be so hot-headed, David.”
“No need for apology… you’re right.”
“I’m getting sick and tired of pretending to be her sister and I hate not getting the respect of a spouse when for five years I’ve put in as much or more devotion and support than most spouses. Goddamn! How would you feel? How?” Jacky was near tears. “I don’t know whether she’ll live or die but still I must contend with this kind of bigotry…”
Understanding her anguish, both David and Nancy felt ashamed. Jacky slumped with her elbows on her knees, silently brooding on the words, before she continued.
“…It’s been what? Not a week since we became sworn enemies, three… no, four days since that… that… evil fucking TWAT caused Catherine to land here. No! What’s him seeing her going to change or help?”
David felt castigated; “I can’t disagree with that, Jacky…”
After the priest, David had met with Torrington; the man’s realization and capitulation seemed authentic. David appreciated that the power he’d displayed in quashing the investigation and crushing opposition was enough to suggest that, as a truly reformed ally, perhaps he could bring resources to bear that would aid Catherine.
“…Is there any i
mprovement?” He asked Jacky gently.
“Some… They’ve picked up increased brain activity. It’s a positive, but they still can’t… or, I don’t know… they perhaps won’t, hazard a guess when she might surface.”
All the time that they had been speaking, Catherine’s hand had begun to twitch under the blanket, their drifting voices advancing and receding in her mind.
She could hear they were talking about her, about important details, and she wanted her say.
“Iuk…”
It sounded like a frog, like a meaningless embolism… a bubble lightly popping past a membrane, but to Jacky it was the distinct chord of Catherine trying to form a word. She stared at her lover’s mouth, at her throat and, YES…! it was trying to move; disbelieving, she reached for Catherine’s hand under the sheet and felt the minute twitches of muscles trying to re-animate;
“Catherine…!!”
At her name, Catherine’s eyes began to track lazily behind closed lids, and then the miracle unfolded rapidly before them as the trickle of life soaked through into her once more; she added swallowing to her repertoire, then whimpering grunts; each movement a cause for celebration.
The monitor tracking brain activity was transformed from a carpet of uniform hues of blue pile; where only the occasional inclusion of yellow or green lingered; to a suddenly-psychedelic sunscape, a carnival of movement, forests of activity with roiling and shifting hills and valleys of iridescence.
Nancy took off out of the ward and down the corridor, “Doctor…! Nurse…! Heeeellllp…!”
Within a minute the chamber was buzzing with activity, machines were switched off and wheeled aside, and specialists swarmed over Catherine.
The three visitors were an excited group, banished to one corner; “How’s she doing?!” They’d badger whoever came close enough to answer their hopes.
“She’s going to make it,” came the gloriously unanimous reply.
In the wake of the respirator’s pipe’s withdrawal, Catherine was moaning softly between spells of feeble coughing; and nobody noticed her beloved Wagner heralding the triumph with a rousing dampened symphony.
“Will it ever mend?” Catherine’s voice was slurred and slow, her pronunciation hindered by the muscle’s droop.
“These are early days, Catherine, it’s hard to predict,” the surgeon comforted her. “We’re going to have to be patient. I’ll run tests, but the healing process will take its own course. Don’t you worry, you’re remarkably strong; you’re healing magnificently.”
The minor stroke had affected her left side; it seemed superficial and likely to recover. That she was so demanding just eighteen hours after her first stirring, heartened her surgeon. She had fight, and fight was the best kind of medicine.
Handing her a mirror, he’d warned that the damage would appear a lot worse than it was, particularly because of the double bruising, two traumas a week apart. She’d surveyed her reflection, taking the shock surprisingly well, accepting it objectively.
“Such a positive attitude will go a long way to your recovery, Catherine,” he encouraged.
Half her face smiled her thanks.
Nancy and Father Rowles were beaming at the happy news.
I can’t wait to tell Jacky, Catherine thought to herself. Everything’s going to be fine.
Jacky had left the hospital during the early hours of that morning to prepare for a scheduled flight.
The surgeon ran a few elementary procedures before moving onward with his rounds, very pleased indeed.
Chapter 39
Following her revival, Catherine was constantly exhausted and almost paralyzed with pain coming in from multiple sites around her body.
She spent the remainder of Monday afternoon recovering, sleeping the hours away. Waking on Tuesday, Catherine was still wracked by pain, but the sleep had cleared the cobwebs from her mind, allowing her to begin remembering and holding limited conversation.
Nancy had expected to find Catherine timid and jumpy relating those appalling moments upstairs that had led to her calamity. Instead, she seemed to have gained an iron rod of strength, as though she had resoundingly won that battle and crushed all potential for it ever challenging her again.
“I looked at Craig and his eyes were just dreadful… deathly.”
“The eyes of a… a…?” Nancy couldn’t bring herself to repeat Ken’s recollection to Father Rowles.
“You can say it, Nance… a goat, yes. Yes… a ‘goat having its way with me’… those were the words I heard, Fernando’s words, and they gave me the strength. I don’t even know what I did but I was free of their hold and running, running so fast that it felt like I was floating. All that I remember was animated flashes, like a strobe light, flick-flick-flick… the bedroom expanse… the door ahead, the landing, the steps… then I tripped… ceiling-floor-ceiling-wall-floor-ceiling, all going by in slow motion,”
Catherine weakly flopped one hand over the other, miming the actions;
“…It was bizarre, all slow motion, somersaulting down a solid marble staircase thinking crisply; ‘I hope Nancy has the gun,’….”
Nancy took her hand, “That’s when I woke up. I heard… no-no… it was more like I felt the sound… the bashes and knocks of you tumbling down the stairs. I did have the gun… I’m sorry, I knocked some holes in your plaster.”
“I’ll frame them,” Catherine smiled.
“They’re a good grouping.”
“…It was so surreal, Nance. That last cartwheel… such a solid thump, it sounded strange, like it came from far away, as if it was someone else’s head hitting the ground. I tasted and smelled the impact… a stinging coppery sensation.”
She paused a moment, relating the story was costing her precious energy; and then her eyes flickered with the memory;
“… Yes… that’s right, I heard the gunshots. I heard them. Everything so disjointed, like I was in a black cave, the sound of the shots echoing on and on. So peculiar… I remember listening to the echo.”
Her eyes glossed as she transcended into the memory;
“As I listened, the echo became a buzz and the buzz became ano…,” she stuttered, frowning mid-sentence, “…another sound…” she finished dreamily.
And her eyes were no longer in the room, they saw only what they had seen, she heard only what she had heard.
Nancy and Father Rowles sat, waiting in a deathly hush.
As the memory matches linked, Catherine’s eyes darted and re-focused to the present, “…that was it…! Remember Craig’s recording, Nance… that sound?”
Nancy nodded, insects creeping up her spine.
“It was the same… the one that always preceded Ken’s visitations!” She closed her eyes to rest. Very shortly she seemed asleep… perhaps dead, but her chest rose and fell evenly.
Nancy took the interlude to explain the sound’s significance to the Father. He kept nodding knowingly; it wasn’t news.
As though she had been listening all along, Catherine’s eyes opened on cue and she continued where she’d halted;
“Everything was pitch, pitch-pitch black, the drone abated to a light crackling… like maybe a Geiger Counter… it was almost peaceful in a terrifying way. And then the acceleration came on, rushing like a Jumbo at takeoff. I felt myself sliding in response, sliding down the isle of the Jumbo, faster and faster, the floor pithing up and gravity sucking me backward, along the floor, faster and faster, the sound more and more urgent.”
Ice trickled through her veins at the memory of it and she shuddered.
“Suddenly I had the sensation of vision; peculiar vision… not a white light, no angels… sorry, Father, no Jesus or welcoming committee. No. Everything seemed distant, like looking the wrong way through binoculars. I searched for a reference to bring back perspective. I was in the room. I was where I was, not floating at the ceiling… just like I am now, except you were so far away. Tragically far, out of reach. I tried to reach, lifted my arm and it telescoped some of t
he distance toward you—it looked as long as a telegraph pole. There were no proportions to it. You were racing to the phone, checking my pulse, talking to me, praying… I saw you move like a soldier in the movies with this funny wide stance…”
Nancy and the Father were transfixed.
“I’m sorry… this must be boring; like someone telling you their dream—just the garbage of a mind.”
“Oh, no, Catherine… no,” said the good Father. “I’m intrigued.”
“Isolation…” her eyes went rheumy again, drifting to the vision. “I wanted to cry, all lost… I saw you, Nance… panic stricken and emotion seemed so pointless—I pitied you. I was numb to caring… then you took my hand and it jolted me to myself, and with it the agony of my body burst—I wanted out, back to the tranquil place. You talked and it yanked me in a new direction—staying alive again meant everything. I hung on, forcing myself to listen to you… It wasn’t like they say, Father… all choirs and peace—it was tangled, confusing.”
She paused, her voice weak.
“…I don’t remember anything more, until… until the doctors draped me in pipes and cables and dials.”
She gently shook her head at the memory, reliving it, and then lay silently again, searching for strength. The Father and Nancy looking at one another, asking questions with their eyes whether she’d passed into sleep again.
“…I saw movement near the top of the stairs,” she suddenly said, her voice quaking a little, “… No. A moment before I saw it, I felt… felt… well, I felt an ominous sort of presence. It… it was not right,” she sounded delirious, “…not Good. Then when it appeared it was silent and dark… menacing. A really small woman, like the one you’d seen, Nance. And I was thinking… ‘why doesn’t anyone see her?’… she was smiling… so friendly, crooking her finger, beckoning me…”
Nancy shuddered and the Father looked at her—his eyes wide with fright.
“…peculiar… of all the things, I thought of Fernando… ‘standing at my back’ he said, and I hoped…”
She sipped shakily through cracked lips. A trickle ran from the corner of her mouth where her muscles couldn’t maintain the seal.
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