by John Tigges
The clock in the living room chimed the three-quarter hour. She checked the time. Almost eleven? Impossible. How had time slipped away from her so quickly with the priest here? Almost two hours had passed. Myles would be on the air soon and she wanted to watch his newscast. A quick shower and she’d curl up with her favorite newscaster and then wait for him to get home.
Hurrying to the bedroom, she undressed and, after pulling a fresh towel from the small linen closet, adjusted the shower’s temperature. Once she stood under the spraying water, she felt her taut muscles slowly relax. How could a shower undo so fast the physical discomfort which racked her body after the priest had left?
Nicole enjoyed showers and turned the hot water up just a bit. The steam billowed up, swathing her in foggy clouds. It felt so good, so relaxing. The jets of hot water whipped her arms, caressing her, touching her in such a way that inevitably her emotions awakened, thriving on the sensual beating her skin was receiving.
Opening her eyes with a startled cry, she looked about in the shower. The water felt as if it were actually fondling her nakedness. Her nipples stood out firm, but the strangest feeling was in her arms. The water felt like hands—hands that were slightly rough with callouses—the hands of a worker. Not like Myles’ hands. His were soft, gentle hands. The water gently kneaded her skin and muscles, working its way toward her shoulders, her back. Her legs felt as if they might buckle from the state of euphoria in which she found herself. The manipulating sensation moved from her shoulders, down her back and around under her arms toward her breasts. Never before in her life had she experienced anything so relaxing, and at the same time, so arousing.
A scream escaped her lips when she felt the nipples of her breasts react as if they had been pulled—pulled hard. Opening her eyes, she found the water still gushing over her, the steam enveloping her as it had been. Why had her nipples felt like that? The massaging effect of the water continued to increase her pleasure and she heard a moan flowing from her. God, it felt so good.
Again her nipples were tweaked viciously.
This time she didn’t open her eyes, leaning instead against the hot tile wall of the shower. She wanted to scream with delight. Only when she was about to climax with Myles had she over experienced this feeling. The massaging went instantly to her hairy triangle, the calloused touch manipulating her clitoris in a savage, frenzied way.
What was happening to her? Why did she feel this way? How could water do what she was feeling? It didn’t make sense.
Her breasts ached with the pain of being pinched again, and she opened her eyes to see her breasts jerking up and down as if someone were pulling on them.
“Wha … Ho … God help me!” she screamed and the pain stopped.
The shower door flew open and Myles, naked, stepped in.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, once she realized who it was. “What about the newscast?”
“I finished it thirty-five minutes ago. Why?”
Nicole stared at him through the steam. How could she have been in the shower for over an hour? That didn’t make sense. She had just gotten in a few minutes ago. “What time is it?”
“A little after midnight. Why? You in a hurry to go someplace?”
She shook her head.
“How did it go with the priest?”
“Later,” she said, encircling his neck with her arms. Their tongues met in quick jabs as each explored the other’s mouth in turn. She wanted him—wanted him in a desperate way that she had not known since he had returned.
Reaching out, Myles turned off the water, and the sudden quiet of the apartment filtered into the shower as they continued kissing and fondling each other’s wet body. Nicole locked one leg around behind Myles’ backside, offering herself to him in the tiled cubicle. Without hesitating, he plunged into her, and locked together, they rocked back and forth as their animal instincts took control. When they climaxed, it was as if the hot water had been turned on once more and both felt their strength ebb away.
Thursday, November 20, 1986 1:00 A.M.
Later in bed, Myles lay on his back. Nicole had just finished telling him of her appointment with Gorkland.
“Damn,” he muttered. “I was hoping that he’d come up with an idea or solution that would solve everything for us.”
“I don’t think I helped,” she said lamely.
“I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t cooperate with him very well. I didn’t want to tell him about the ritual but I think he guessed everything when he found the book.”
“Oh, oh!” Myles said.
“You didn’t mention it to him, did you?”
Myles shook his head, half-raising himself to look at Nicole. “What did he say?”
“He called me a witch and you my partner in-sin. He said we both were beyond hope. That we’re going straight to hell.”
“Not tonight,” he said quietly. “I’m too tired. G’night.”
Propping herself up on one elbow, Nicole kissed him on the mouth. “Goodnight, you sexy sinner, you.” She turned on one side and in minutes, her steady breathing joined his in a duet of sleep.
Myles rolled over, facing Nicole’s backside, and instinctively slipped his hand across to fall onto her breast. She in turn, snuggled in closer, their breathing the only sound in the room.
Then the duet was joined by a third breath, heavy and labored, that came from nowhere and yet filled the room. Myles’ hand raised, as if someone lifted it from Nicole’s breast, laying it on his hip. The covers worked their way back and down until her upper body lay exposed to the night air. Indentations, where unseen fingers and palms grasped her by one shoulder and hip, appeared and her body was gently rolled onto its back. Impressions on her stomach worked their way downward, past her naval, across the tiny mound toward her hairy nest.
She moaned without awakening, and a dry chuckle broke the quiet of the room.
13
Monday, November 24, 1986 5:30 P.M.
When nothing happened during the four days following Father Gorkland’s visit with Nicole, both she and Myles relaxed, hoping that the strange occurrences were over.
Considering that the holidays were fast approaching, Nicole looked forward to Thanksgiving, which was the following Thursday. It would be fun sharing Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s with Myles. Then, too, his birthday was coming up shortly after Thanksgiving. When she thought of that, a tear formed when she recalled her own birthday’s uneventful passing in October. How could she possibly have been happy with another anniversary of her own birth date? The man who had sired her and the woman who had borne her and given birth to her were both dead. The one man in her life, to whom she would have given her all, had walked out on her and she had been miserable. But now, Myles and she were together and for that she was happy.
The Monday before Thanksgiving went smoothly. Rose Tunic had not been much of a factor in Nicole’s mind since she and Rob had talked. More than likely it had been her own change of attitude toward the woman that had prompted a difference in the relationship. While walking from the bus stop toward the apartment complex, she reflected momentarily on her own sense of inadequacy the first few weeks on the public relations job. She had probably allowed the overweight, almost antisocial woman to dominate her. That was over-finished. If Rose Tunic wanted to play mind games, it would have to be with someone other than Nicole Kilton.
Although it was Monday and Myles should be working, he had arranged to take the night off and she had readied a meal that should have been cooking since three that afternoon, when the automatic timer activated the oven. She anticipated an extra night, other than Saturday or Sunday, when the two of them could enjoy a meal and generally loaf around the apartment if that was what they chose to do. Maybe they’d go to a movie. Or walk through some of the shopping malls, avoiding the onslaught of shoppers after Thanksgiving, getting early ideas for Christmas gifts. Of all the holidays, Christmas was the one she feared the most since the d
eath of her parents. The first such holidays had been most traumatic, and it had only been her sociology teacher, Emma Foxworthy, who had prevented her from bottoming out that first Christmas when she was a senior in high school. The Foxworthy family had been more than gracious, sharing their holiday with her, and for the first time in several months, she had actually laughed and enjoyed herself.
Unlocking the door to her apartment, she stopped and froze. Something was wrong. She smelled something burning. What had she done wrong while preparing the meal that morning before leaving for work? Rushing to the kitchen, she expected to see clouds of smoke billowing from the oven, but the room was clear. She threw open the oven door and gasped. The meal, a pot roast with potatoes, carrots and onions around it, sat in the middle of the cubicle, totally unrecognizable. The meat was cinder black, the potatoes and other vegetables, charred to various shades of deep umber.
Shakily standing, she looked at the controls she had set that morning. They were still in the same position as she had set them. The oven had not gone on. The air inside was cool. The stove’s top, which should have been warm to the touch, was cold. How had the meal burned?
Slipping out of her coat, she turned to hang it over a chair and jumped when the door opened.
“Hi,” Myles called. “I’m home.”
“Wonderful,” Nicole muttered when he entered the kitchen.
“That’s a nice way to greet the man you love. What’s the matter?”
Stepping aside, she gestured toward the open oven. Myles bent down, looking inside.
“I thought I smelled something when I entered the apartment. What happened? Were the controls set incorrectly?”
“I wish it were that simple. Look,” she said pointing to the dials at the back of the stove. “They’re still set the same way. They didn’t activate when they should have.”
“Then how did the stuff burn?” Myles asked, not catching the hint of concerned fear in her voice.
“I … I don’t know,” she said, stepping closer to him. They embraced and Nicole felt more at ease.
Catching her slight trembling, he said, “You don’t mean that … that … whatever has been … has been …”
“Causing all the grief and trouble around here is back at it again?” she said finishing for him. “I think so.”
They looked at each other. Why hadn’t the priest been of more help? Why had they not been able to convince him that something totally uncommon was taking place?
“What do you want to do?” he asked, tipping her chin until their eyes locked.
Shrugging, she said, “Let’s get out of here and go eat someplace. I’m starved, no matter what happened here. We can talk over dinner.”
“Okay.” He picked up her coat, holding it for her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m upset. Damn! I was looking forward to tonight.”
“It’s not a total loss. We can still come back here and enjoy the evening.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Without another word, they left the apartment. Just as they left, and before Myles locked the door, he wrinkled his nose. The fetid smell. It was back. After closing the door, he turned to Nicole. From her expression, he knew she hadn’t detected the odor. For now, he wouldn’t mention it. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin her dinner. She was disturbed enough, and because she was, he felt the same degree of discomfort. First dinner, then they’d have an after dinner drink and talk. Maybe then, if she seemed all right, he would decide if he should tell her.
Taking her arm in his, they walked down the corridor.
8:41 P.M.
Their appetite for food satisfied, Nicole and Myles had chatted about the approaching holidays, agreeing to go to a Thanksgiving buffet that Thursday. When Myles mentioned the burnt dinner, she shook her head, almost violently, saying she didn’t want to talk of it.
After a second drink, they paid their bill and left. Neither talked as they drove back to the apartment. Once they were on the third floor, walking toward their apartment door, Nicole hung back, tugging on Myles’ coat sleeve.
“What is it?” he asked, stopping to face her.
“What if …”
“What if what? Something else is wrong? Something else has gone haywire?”
She nodded.
“Maybe we should think about moving.”
She giggled nervously. “Why haven’t we talked about that before? It’s so simple … so damned simple!”
“Simple and inconvenient,” Myles said, taking her hand in his and starting down the hallway.
“What do you mean, inconvenient?”
“This apartment complex is the closest one to both the clinic and the station.”
She looked at him. “Let’s not let a matter of convenience stand in the way of our peace of mind.”
“What about your lease?”
“I’ll break it.”
“Can you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
“Let’s take a look at it,” he said, thrusting the key into the lock. With one motion, he turned the knob and sent the door swinging in on its hinges. “Oh boy!” he muttered when he flooded the entryway with light.
“What’s the matter?” she said, looking around him. She sucked in her breath.
The furniture stood gathered together, piled in an inverted pyramid in the middle of the living room—not just the furniture from the front of the apartment but from the bedroom and kitchen as well. Everything except the water bed.
“How’s that possible?” Nicole squealed, pointing to the pile. A small footstool was at the bottom. On it, the stereo tuner rested, holding the TV on top of it. The speakers from the stereo balancing outward from the television set were held in place by an inverted occasional chair. Sitting on the legs of that chair was the overstuffed chair that was part of the new living room set. It, in turn, held the couch, tipped at an angle. The kitchen table appeared to be wedged tightly between it and the ceiling. Kitchen chairs hung from protruding chair legs and table legs that had been forced into position here and there.
Myles slowly shook his head. The pile seemed to be defying gravity. How would they get the furniture down without being caught in an avalanche of chairs and tables? “Where’s your copy of the lease?” he asked, stepping inside, closing the door once Nicole followed him.
“In a bureau drawer. The middle one. Where’s the bureau? I don’t see it.”
Shrugging, he took her hand and went to the bedroom. Nothing was there other than the bed. Hurrying to the kitchen, they stopped short once they entered. The heavy chest of drawers stood balanced on one corner of the stove top, slowly spinning on its axis.
“Help me,” Myles said, gingerly reaching out to stop the piece of furniture. Not knowing what to expect, he relaxed, relieved when it stopped. Gently tipping it toward him, he motioned for Nicole to step around and steady the base of it as he lowered it to the floor. Once it sat on its four legs, he slipped off his overcoat. “That’s unbelievable.”
“At least everything looks as if it weren’t damaged in any way. Not like the last time.”
“Find the lease.”
Without a word, she went to the drawer and opened it. Pulling out the brown envelope, she handed it to Myles.
“Now let’s see what we’re up against here, legally speaking.” He opened the envelope and spread the paper out on the kitchen counter before him. His eyes widened, and looking up, he found Nicole studying him.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, moving closer.
He pointed at the paper and the strange wiggly lines covering it. “Are you sure this is it?”
She nodded and stared. “What is that?”
“I have no idea. It almost looks like Chinese or Japanese or some such foreign language. But as to what language, I have no idea.”
Grabbing the envelope, Nicole glanced at the upper left-hand corner and read the return address of the firm that owned the complex Her name was handwritten a
cross the front in the same smooth flowing style that had been there all the time. “It’s the right envelope, and look,” she said, pointing to the letterhead of the top page, “there’s the symbol of the company and the address and … Myles, I can’t stand much more of this.”
Embracing her, he said, “Take it easy. We’ll figure this thing out sooner or later, with or without the help of some clergyman. Do you think you could get a copy of the lease if you called them in the morning?”
“That should be no problem. I can tell them I spilled something on my copy. What language do you think that is, assuming it is a language and not just a bunch of squiggly lines?”
Picking up the paper, he studied it for a moment. “It looks like a herd of worms with a problem crossed the paper. From what little I’ve seen of script from Iran and Iraq, it looks like it could be either or neither of them. I don’t know. Are you that interested?”
“Not really. All I’m interested in is knowing what I have to do to get out of this agreement.”
“Well, right now, we’ve got our work cut out for us. We’ll have to move all of the furniture into place before we can go to sleep. At least, we got some decent rest over the weekend.”
As they worked, Nicole fell silent, barely answering his questions or commenting on his statements.
Rewiring the stereo, he said, “I think we should have called the cops. This should have gone on record.”
Nicole stared at him. “That happened the last time. I don’t want the police involved anymore. After all, when someone begins imagining things it’s a little difficult to make others believe in something one thinks one has seen. Besides …”
“Thinks one has seen? Are you serious?” He stood, spinning about to look at her.
“I’ve been thinking about what Father Gorkland said. He seems to feel that I’ve imagined a lot of the stuff that went on around here. The smells. Contributing normal things such as the water pipes breaking and things like that to some devious entity or person.”