by Sandy DeLuca
And the thought of Alex having dinner with Brenda Andrews plagued me. I figured I’d visit places I’d only read about, and maybe I’d realize Alex’s vision.
So at night, when Joe worked, I’d take a bus to the city, feeling like a kid, doing something against my grandmother’s wishes, frequenting clubs and bars patronized by deviant and offbeat people. I wondered if Alex had been to those places, hanging out, drinking with tattooed and leather-clad individuals. I studied their habits and dress, but kept my distance, at first; dressing in jeans and plain sweatshirts, tying back my long hair, and forsaking makeup.
I’d sit at bars, or dim booths, sketching and drinking seltzer water, ignoring people when they spoke to me. I wasn’t of their world, merely an observer. At least that’s what I told myself. I saw Detective Mansi on occasion, in plain clothes, downing shots of whiskey. He caught my eye once, winked quickly, and then moved into the night with a tattooed woman at his side.
I began to visit a club called The Dark Shepherd—bikers, goths and heavy drug users hung out there.
One night, Andrea showed up—an apparition, pale, haunted, moving like a tortured soul through a throng of people, and then past my booth; dressed in a black, sleeveless mini dress, with a startling image on her right arm, a row of children, holding hands, standing on a precipice. I left my booth, and followed her to a group of women. Most were dressed in leather, some had shaved heads, others wore their hair short and cropped.
I tried to stay close behind Andrea, but she’d disappeared, like a smoky ghost, and I realized it couldn’t have been my friend, because she’d died.
One of the women lingered behind, a pretty girl with short blonde hair. She wore black leather pants and a black leather vest; and beneath, a shirt emblazoned with Mada.
She smiled at me. “My name is Ebonia. They call me Evie. Do you know that girl?”
“She reminds me of my friend Andrea.”
“Her name is Lilith.” She looked to the bar. “Drink?”
“Lilith, huh? Do you hang out with her?” I asked.
“No. She parties too hard. Lives too hard. I’m not into that.”
“What is that?” I asked.
“She shares blood with her friends. They cut each other.”
“Andrea is dead,” I whispered. I wanted to cry—to scream.
Evie looked into my eyes, and then grabbed my arm. “Come. I think you need a drink. Is beer okay?” she asked.
She led me to the bar, ordered two beers. We walked to a small table nearby. She lit a cigarette and began to speak.
Evie was lovely, interesting, but my thoughts went back to Andrea. “Tell me more about that girl. Is she into drugs? Other things besides sharing blood, cutting?”
“Everything.” Another young woman approached us, sliding into our booth, next to Evie. “Girl is bad news. She’s stoned every time I see her, partying with strangers. She’ll end up dead the way she’s going.” She smiled, and then glanced almost lovingly at a tattoo on her arm, a grim reaper. “I’m Pat. Evie and I share a house nearby.” She pursed her lips. “You can’t save that girl.”
“I tried to save somebody like her once…I…”
“They stay lost most times,” whispered Pat.
Her comment struck me as odd, cryptic, but she’d been drinking, probably stoned, and I let it go.
Pat left us alone, weaving into a swarm of leather-clad women. The promise of something brewed, despite the hurt I felt. Evie and I drank and talked for hours. And I sensed nothing harsh or dangerous; I wanted to be with her, so I took her hand when she offered it, and went with her into a world I’d only dreamed of.
Evie and Pat lived in a basement apartment on the edge of the city, a cramped space filled with books and storage boxes, and they told me tales of death and ghosts.
“Lots of stories about Castell Community College,” Evie told me. “My great uncle worked there when it was a hospital, said it’s haunted—ghosts of kids who died there. Of course, Uncle Timothy was close to a hundred when he died.”
“Just don’t know what’s real…” I said, reaching for a beer, feeling high, and somewhat guilty for drinking while on meds.
Pat handed me a joint.
“I saw ghosts,” I said softly.
“Uncle quit his job, because things got to him.” Evie moved closer to me. The heat of her body excited me. “Said tuberculosis doctors were into weird stuff, cementing bones of dead kids into walls, making circles of blood on floors. A man from the city went there, claiming he prayed over dying kids, but my uncle said it wasn’t prayers, just spells to bring the dead back. Like I said, my uncle was out there—poor old guy.”
The room began to spin, and Pat sighed, closing her eyes, falling asleep, and then Evie leaned over and kissed me.
I went to her bed, and it felt like we drifted through timeless space as she loved me. I swore children circled us when our lovemaking intensified, her hands seemingly playing a symphony on my flesh, her lips hot and sensual. I took in her smell, the liquid movement of her body, and for a while I wanted nothing more than to stay with her, but it wasn’t possible, so before dawn Evie drove me home, pleading with me to come back to her place, and that I belonged with her.
We pulled into my drive before Joe got home. I kissed her quickly. “Don’t come by here,” I told her. “I’ll meet you at the club tomorrow night, please understand and know I’ll be back.”
“Do you promise?” Her eyes were shining.
“I promise.”
I went back the following night, and then made a habit of seeing Evie at least twice a week. It wasn’t just for sex, because I loved how her lilting voice drew me, with rich and imaginative stories.
“My cousin Red said he had a friend named Ben—security guard at Castell. They found this Ben in the boiler room, hanging from a rafter.” Evie wrapped her arm around me as she spoke. “Nice guy according to Red.”
“What was Ben’s last name?”
“Red never said. Why?”
“I know a Ben who is a security guard. He’s odd. I just—”
“You think it’s him?” Evie laughed.
“No, just a coincidence,” I told her, thinking of Ben moving through Castell, remembering when I tried to reach him by phone. I thought about Charlie and his strange art store, and about stories Alex told me; and I wanted to be with Evie, moving through the strange and frightening city.
One evening, Evie and I walked down a dimly lit street, past a poster shop displaying larger-than-life images of children, surrounded by smaller prints of a nurse sitting on a throne. Her eyes were like Mada’s—evil, terrifying.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Artist’s rendering of Mada. New pieces are popping up all over the city; seems the nurse had a hand in lots of bad things.” She ushered me away.
Afterward, I had dark, eerie feelings whenever I made love with Evie. I’d be in paradise, her hands brushing against my back. Then I’d look down and see the nurse’s dead, lifeless body impaled with daggerlike nails.
I jumped at the slightest noise; saw Mada on crowded streets, or glaring at me from across a dimly lit gallery. And I dreamed of Alex, kneeling before her stone slab, chanting, “And in the end…I will be with my love when the dead rise…when the children sing…” And sometimes Charlie appeared, drifting above Alex, pointing a bony finger, screaming when children surrounded him.
Despite it all, I realized strange new inspiration, and new ideas filled my head. Maybe I would achieve what Alex wanted. I had to push myself a bit further—go deeper into my soul—and descend deeper into darkness.
* * *
Eventually Dr. Calibri released me back to work, and allowed me to drive again, despite Joe’s protests.
The first day back at work, people merely nodded their heads, staring at me, as though I’d become an oddity. No one offered condolences, or truly welcomed me, but Mrs. Carcieri. A young girl trailed behind her as the older woman spoke quickly, as if lingering too
long would infect her with whatever plagued me.
“Glad you’re back. Theresa Bandelli and I have been filling in for you. Didn’t realize all you do. Management finally agreed you’re overworked. They hired Lilly to help out. Make sure Lilly knows to lock the door behind her.” Mrs. Carcieri turned, stormed off, leaving me with a girl no more than eighteen. I trained that girl, warning her not to go into the file room alone.
She said nothing, probably afraid to question me, most likely needing a job too badly to defy me. I didn’t explain, and ghost children hovered in shadow, watching us from atop cabinets. I told them to go away, and they faded, moving back into gloom.
At night I remained rebellious, joining Evie and Pat; dancing, drinking, and listening to urban ghost tales, but I didn’t expect Evie to fall hard for me, and I didn’t want her to change her life.
Evie held my hand. “Found something in you, Donna. I’d thought of leaving town, going to the West Coast, to live with my sister. I wanted to start over, but now I don’t know.”
“I’m married, Evie. I’m not sure I can leave Joe right now.”
“I’d wait.”
“You need to do what’s right for you.”
She smiled, but I felt her sadness, and the realization our affair would have to end. I still longed for Alex, and still felt the pain of Andrea’s death; sometimes sharing my heartache with Detective Mansi, over coffee, and listening to endless tales of cold cases, and visceral crime scenes, knowing he ached for my dead friend, too. And he often weaved in and out places I’d frequented, nodding slightly to acknowledge me, blending in with deviants, goths and bikers. And I wondered if he sought a killer—or forbidden love?
I spotted Andrea’s face in those crowded bars a few times; always disappearing before I broke through a swarm of dancers, and always gone before I returned to an apartment at the edge of the city with Evie.
I reminded myself I needed to speak to Dr. Calibri, but something told me it might be too late, because evil had already taken hold.
* * *
I entered Dr. Calibri’s waiting room, noting silence and emptiness, and his office door slightly ajar. I knocked, holding my breath, hoping he wouldn’t scold me for coming in without an appointment.
He looked up from a file he’d been reading, didn’t smile, and sounded a bit annoyed. “Donna, I was just wrapping up. What is it? Is something wrong?”
“It’s not about me. It’s about Andrea.”
“I can’t discuss my other patients with you. You know better than that.”
“I just want to tell you what’s been going on.”
He sighed heavily, waving his hand toward a chair. “Sit. Go on.”
“I see her in downtown clubs. She acts as though she doesn’t know me…”
“Andrea is dead. My question is what are you doing in those clubs?” His face remained somber, his eyes mocking.
“I’m doing an art project; researching the dark side of life, and I met someone. That’s all.”
“You need to be honest with Joe, and with me, for that matter. You haven’t been telling me everything, have you?”
I hung my head. “This isn’t about me.”
“They buried Andrea? Don’t you remember? I’ll walk you out. You have an appointment in a couple of days, right?”
I nodded.
“We’ll talk then.” He waved a hand. “That detective came by, asking questions. I reminded him of patient privilege.”
“He asked about me?”
Dr. Calibri nodded. “You’re not guilty of something more sinister than what you’ve told me…are you?”
“No. You know that.”
He didn’t answer, just locked his desk, grabbed a coat from a hanger by the window, and then moved to my side. “Come on. Where are you parked?”
“Third level. Not far from the entrance.”
“I’m on the same level. Only a few rows back. You lucked out.” He offered his hand. I took it, allowing him to guide me into the waiting room. We moved past the receptionist’s desk, empty chairs and walls flanked with abstract paintings—calm and soothing pieces.
We stepped into a narrow lobby, and then we made our way to an elevator. I heard laughter as he pressed the button, soft humming, as we rode down to the garage. “You hear that?” I asked.
“Elevator is old, makes grumbling noises.” He stepped into the parking lot when the elevator door opened, leaving me alone, quickly disappearing between a row of cars. Shadows moved over cement walls, cars and the floor. I walked quickly, listening to voices, and to childlike footsteps behind me. I felt relief once inside my car, and the engine roared to life. I looked in my rearview mirror. They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching me, eyes empty, lifeless.
Dr. Calibri passed me on the highway as I made my way home. Someone sat beside him in the passenger seat—small, hands press against glass, eyes leering at me.
I honked my horn, but Dr. Calibri sped ahead, leaving a trail of smoke, moving into a twilight world, unaware something wicked accompanied him.
20
My visits downtown began to wane, although I went to Evie’s bed on occasion. I returned to her out of guilt—out of a sense of obligation. Eventually the loving ended, yet I went to bars we’d frequented, once a month or so, just to chat—and to drink—with Evie and Pat.
Evie donned the Mada shirt last time I saw her, tight black jeans and silver earrings she’d bought once while walking with me through the city—tiny roses with diamond chips. I’d been drinking whiskey, not my usual, but the night had been cold, and warmth filled me. Evie eased onto a stool beside me, not speaking right away, her eyes seemingly taking in the crowd.
I asked her if she wanted a drink, and she ordered a beer, waiting as the bartender poured it, before speaking. “Hey, Donna, you know it’s…cool things aren’t the same between us.”
My heart broke for her, and I thought about unrequited love, about people who’d drifted through my life, of all the strangers I’d loved. “Evie, I care about you. I just can’t leave my husband. I told you that from the start.”
She waved her hand, as though she wished away my words, and then told me, “I may go away, like I planned, and I might not be here when you come back, so this is probably good-bye.”
“Evie, have another drink.”
She shook her head, and then slid off her stool, scanning the crowd. For a moment Andrea’s face appeared, within a throng of dancers, within smoke and flashing lights, and Evie vanished into that mob, swallowed up by dancers, smoke and lights, away from me, and into another world.
She hadn’t been there last time I visited, only Pat, looking solemn, and worried. “Evie hasn’t been home in days. I’m afraid something’s happened.”
“She talked about a sister on the West Coast. Maybe she decided to split. She seemed set on it last time we talked.” I touched Pat’s hand.
“I called her sister. She hasn’t shown up. Besides, she left all her things.”
“You call the cops?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure they can help.”
“Look, I’ll be in touch. I’m worried, too.”
I called Pat a few times a week. No news. No trace of Evie. After a while, I stopped calling. I figured Evie had taken off, leaving town with nothing but her spirit, taking her time moving across the country, eventually ending up with her sister.
My dreams told other stories, and brought me to a place where a knife blade sliced Evie’s flesh, severing limbs and head; and Andrea’s face appeared for a split second—within a rainstorm of blood—within ruined tissue and bone.
I returned to school, but only for a Saturday afternoon class. Studying anything but painting seemed too much, and going to Castell at night seemed frightening, at first; but as time went on, I convinced myself visions—and ghost children—had manifested from guilt, unhappiness and strong drugs.
In time, I began to frequent Castell in the evenings, exploring its vast interior, daring phantoms to come; coura
geously returning to its belly, only to find bolted doors, no signs of Ben—and no ghostly tormentors. Things seemed to get better—for a while—and Lena’s health returned almost to normal.
Doctors released her from the hospital. Despite her protests, visiting nurses tended to her on a daily basis. Gradually she healed, but remained frail, less talkative, sitting by her window for hours, eyes fastened on the street, as though she waited for something—or someone.
I studied with Alex again, and we spoke about Andrea, about loss and pain. And I made myself subject to Alex’s strange philosophies, and her determination to push me to paint the darkness within me. I’d missed it—missed her—while I’d been away, so I went there, even on nights she didn’t teach, when she sat alone in her office, and then felt regretful pain because she remained unobtainable. I strived to paint emotions, experiences I’d had with Evie, but something remained out of reach, out of alignment with my life.
One evening, after I’d parked my car farther away than usual, I spotted Ben moving through thick brush at the edge of the parking lot. I hadn’t seen him for a long time, and for a while I thought he’d been a ghost, another product of turbulence within me.
I called to him. “Hey, stranger, I haven’t seen you in ages.”
He turned, stopped. “Donna? How are you?”
I moved closer, through tangled branches, to where he stood. I spotted a small graveyard a few feet behind him.
I didn’t want to revisit the past, and didn’t want to talk about my accident. “I’m all right. What are you doing? I didn’t know there was a cemetery back here.”
“A potter’s field of sorts, but not all of them are here. Most went to family plots. I try to keep the graves clean. They were just babies.” He shook his head. “I hadn’t seen you…I’d been away when it happened…I’m sorry about Andrea.”