Listen to the Shadows

by Joan Hall Hovey

  How exquisite the trees at Black Lake would be just about now, in their profusion of golds and scarlets. Oh, how she did love the autumn. She longed now to have her morning coffee in her studio in front of the fire. She would throw open the drapes and gaze out upon the trees in their showy colors, and her beautiful lake, a view of which, no matter what the season, Katie never grew bored. Perhaps, she continued to fancy, if it were warm enough, she would just take her coffee out onto her little balcony. Feeling a pang of homesickness, Katie wondered when she would get out of here.

  “Ready?” Nurse Ring asked brightly, coming into the room, toting a rich burgundy overnight bag Katie had never seen before. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she answered, easing her legs out from beneath the sheet, regarding them as if they belonged to someone else. They were nearly as white as the sheet, her skin translucent, showing a fine tracery of veins beneath. Between working at The Coffee Shop and her painting, there wasn’t a lot of time left for sunbathing, but she couldn’t remember her legs ever looking this pale, or so thin.

  Hoping they would support her, she placed both bare feet on the cool tile floor and stood up. Instantly, the room went into a spin and she had to clutch the edge of the mattress to keep from falling. In a single stride the nurse was beside her, her arm firmly around Katie’s waist. “Easy now. You just moved too quickly is all. Do you feel faint?”

  With the blood drumming in her ears like Niagara Falls, and her body enveloped in a cold sweat, Katie could only nod, feeling as if the strength were slowly being sapped from her body by some unseen force.

  “Place your head between your knees and take nice deep breaths,” the nurse advised. Katie obeyed, and gradually the spinning room slowed, her heartbeat returned to normal. A long shudder of breath escaped her.

  “Okay?” the nurse asked.

  “I—I think so. Can’t say I wasn’t forewarned, can I?”

  She slid her damp palms down the sides of her nightshirt. “Whew. That was awful. I’ve never fainted before. It’s not anything like in the movies, is it?”

  The nurse smiled. “Hardly. But then, few things ever are, right?”

  After a minute or two, she said, “Do you think you can make it over to the chair now? Do you feel up to it?”

  Katie listened closely to her body, then said yes, and began to ease herself off the bed and place her feet again on the floor.

  “Take your time. Just lean on me.”

  She didn’t need any coaxing. Wary now after her sickening experience, she stood slowly. And felt relieved when the room didn’t move. Taking small, careful steps, and with the nurse’s support, at last she was across the mile of floor and settled into the big olive green chair. The vinyl upholstery was cool on her skin, and Katie had to laugh as she tucked the two ends of her nightshirt beneath her bottom. “I feel absolutely naked. You know, it just occurred to me I don’t have a darned thing to wear other than this God-awful hospital gown.”

  The nurse grinned slyly and knelt to the overnight case at her feet. “Oh, I think you do,” she said, beginning to undo the small, gold-plated buckle. “He said everything you need should be in here.” She glanced up at a puzzled Katie. “Shall I open it?”

  “Are you sure it’s for me?”

  “Absolutely. The gentleman was quite anxious that it be delivered to you right away.”

  Pleasantly surprised, assuming that this was her friend Jason’s doing, Katie gestured to the nurse to go ahead and open the case. Jason, knowing where Katie kept an extra key, must have driven out to the house and picked up some of her things. Odd. It wasn’t like Jason to be so practical on his own. Thoughtful, yes. Sweet, yes. But practical…? Well, she mustn’t underestimate him in the future. The bag must be his. It certainly wasn’t hers. “Did my friend leave a name?” Katie asked, fully expecting to hear the name “Jason Belding”.

  Linda Ring unzipped the case and opened it, releasing the scent of new leather which wafted up to Katie.

  “Drake Devlin,” Linda said, as she removed a pair of gold brocade slippers from the case and fit them over Katie’s feet. Then she was holding up a creamy luxurious robe for Katie’s viewing, oblivious to the stunned expression on her patient’s face. “Isn’t this absolutely the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen your entire life?” she breathed, struggling with the yards of skirt.

  There was nothing here of hers. Everything was brand new, and far more expensive than anything Katie could ever have afforded. “It is beautiful,” she agreed, watching in astonishment as the nurse delved back into the case. With all the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning, she held up, one after the other, three peignoir sets, all satin and lace in delicate shades of pastel. Eyes glittering, she handled each with the reverence of a pirate finding treasure. When these were sufficiently admired she returned them and withdrew a teal-blue drawstring bag from the case. “Wow!” she said, peering inside. “French perfume, makeup…he wouldn’t happen to have a brother, by any chance.”

  Katie gave a nervous laugh. “No, I don’t think so. Anyway, I certainly can’t keep any of this.”

  The nurse raised dark, surprised eyes. “Why not?”

  Despite her amazement, which was gradually turning to anger, Katie had to laugh. “Because this stuff must have cost a mint, and I hardly know Drake Devlin. I only dated him one time, for heaven’s sake.”

  The nurse remained kneeling at the case, staring up at Katie. “You’re kidding. Well, you must have made one hell of an impression because he sure wants to make sure he gets a second date.” She grinned and caressed the velvety robe. “I think I’d be willing to give him a chance.”

  “Whoever would have thought you were so materialistic, Linda,” Katie teased. After a shaky start, she and Linda Ring were becoming friends.

  “Neither did I,” Linda replied wistfully, letting the satiny fabric of a soft blue negligee slide sensuously through her fingers and back into the case. Standing abruptly, she held up the robe, her chin tilted in decision. “Well, you’ll have to wear this at least, and the slippers. You’ve nothing else and this is an emergency. You can always return the rest, if you’re sure you really want to.”

  “Linda, you’re not hearing me. I can’t wear any of this,” Katie protested, but the nurse had turned a deaf ear and was already deftly sliding Katie’s arms into the flowing sleeves of the robe, then tying the sash.

  Katie sighed in resignation. “You’re taking advantage of my weakened state, you know,” she said. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to wear the robe, and prayed she didn’t soil it. Glancing down at her feet clad in the gold brocade, she guessed it would be appropriate to keep the slippers as a gift.

  “There,” the nurse said, stepping back so Katie could view herself in the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door. “You look like you just stepped out of a dream.”

  Katie stifled a gasp at the sight of herself in the mirror. A dream, all right. More like a nightmare. Her eyes were dull and hollowed beneath the bandage and there was an ugly bruise on her left cheek that was fast turning a ghastly yellow, still tender to the touch. She looked like the victim of a bad beating. Her new hairdo hung limp and lifeless, some of it matted—with her blood? “The robe looks great,” she said dryly. “I look like I died and came back to life—almost.”

  “Well, you haven’t exactly been on vacation in Acapulco, have you? Not to worry. When you get back I’ll give you a shampoo. That’ll pick you up.” She knelt to sift through the case again. “Shampoo, soap, toothbrush, let’s see—comb, brush…just like he said; everything you need. A shampoo and a little makeup from his lovely case, and you won’t know yourself.”

  “I’ll hold you to your offer, but I’ve got makeup in my purse and that’ll do just fine.” Despite her resolve, Katie couldn’t resist stroking the luxurious velvet that fell in soft, rich folds to the floor. Maybe, she thought, as Linda Ring helped her into the waiting wheelchair, it would be okay to keep a few of the smaller items. It really was t
houghtful of Drake.

  Thoughtful? No, Katie. The flowers were thoughtful. This robe, and what’s in that overnight case, looks more like a carefully planned trousseau for a bride.

  Chapter 7

  Other than the photograph of Katie Summers, which was now thumb-tacked to the A & R Realty calendar just above the red-circled “5” in the month of November, there were no other pictures in the man’s room—nothing to suggest family or friends—to indicate past. He’d had parents, of course, just like everyone else, but he rarely thought of them and when he did it was with the indifference one afforded strangers or, on occasion, contempt. Particularly for his mother, which was ironic since she was the one person in the world who absolutely adored him, for whom he could do no wrong.

  He recalled her hugs, the way her soft, cushiony breasts would mash against him, and felt the same revulsion he had felt then. A silly, simpering woman, his mother. Not that he wasn’t always very careful about hiding his feeling; he wasn’t a fool, after all. She had her uses. He could, for instance, always manage to persuade her to open her purse and fork over a dollar or two from her house money, meager fruits borne from his father’s bookkeeping job in a department store. “Love you, Mommy…beautiful Mommy…love you,” and her face would go all soft with love for him, and he knew he was her “sweet, precious boy” and that she would deny him nothing.

  His father, on the other hand, was a different story. Almost from the beginning he’d sensed in his son, an only child who’d come to them late in life, something not quite so sunny, so innocent. In fact, sensed something dark—something that frightened him over time, causing the small, gray man to withdraw into himself, becoming a silent phantom in the house.

  Until his death when the boy was thirteen. A tragic accident, everyone said. A horrible accident. The small orange plastic radio his father liked to listen to when he was having his bath had fallen into the tub with him—must have caught the cord with his hand, they said— and electrocuted him.

  He had seen the boy in the bathroom doorway—saw the radio perched on the edge of the sink—and knew. Perhaps he’d always known. His scream was short. All the lights in the house went out, but the boy managed easily to slip back to his room before he heard his mother’s panicked footsteps bounding up the stairs.

  “Call an ambulance,” she’d cried hysterically, as he came running to join her. “My God, call an ambulance.”

  His father’s face wavered just beneath a skin of cloudy bath water, his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes on the boy—wide, staring, accusing.

  Tears streaming down his face, the boy ran to obey his mother’s cries. In the beginning, it was his father’s interference in his life that got to him. His father telling him what to do. He couldn’t stand people telling him what to do. After a while the old man gave up and let him be. But it was his eyes that drove the boy nuts—those eyes following him around, watching.

  Winding a length of rope about his hand, the man smiled, remembering the time his father had walked in on him and the little girl next door. What was her name? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. They were in his bedroom, and he was holding a pillow over the girl’s face, taking it away, listening to her gasp air back into her lungs. Over her pleas, he would bring it down again, holding it firm with his strong, thin arms, using all his strength, giggling at her helpless, flailing hands, sitting on her legs so she couldn’t kick. It was fun. A game. Until his father had rushed in and whipped the pillow away, barely able to speak his rage and shame, backhanding him so hard he practically flew off the bed.

  Well, his father would never hit him again. He’d fixed him.

  For good.

  The man jammed the brand new coil of one-quarter inch white nylon rope into his pocket, gave a rare thought to his mother, with whom he had lived for the three years following the demise of his father. Until she fell dead on the kitchen floor of a massive stroke.

  He was sure his mother guessed things about him toward the end. He really didn’t mind her knowing. From time to time, he would catch a fleeting horror in her eyes as certain thoughts took shape, another piece of the puzzle slipped into place.

  Once a neighbor came to the house wailing and complaining that her cat, “poor, dear Fritz,” had been found hanging from a tree behind the school, sweet pink tongue lolling. She’d pointed her fingers straight at him. He stood behind his mother, grinning his mocking grin at the old hag, quickly wiping it off when his mother turned questioning eyes on him.

  Then there was the time the new boy on the block suffered a fractured skull delivered by a wielded baseball bat. The cops had come to the house that time. He was fourteen then, his accuser seven. He denied it, of course. Must have been someone who looked like him. Why would he do it? He didn’t even know the kid.

  He denied all of it. There were never any witnesses. He was always very careful about that. And she believed him. He was once again his mother’s “sweet, precious boy”.

  In the end, she believed what she wanted to believe.

  ***

  The knife lay on the cot with the flashlight. He picked it up, fondled it. Nice and new like the rope. Never used. Virginal. He picked up the flashlight. Everything he would need to accomplish his feat, he had. A crucial part of his plan, of course, waited behind his closet door. He looked there now, and grinned.

  He would drive out to her house tonight, get a feel for the place while she was still in the hospital. Things had worked out sweetly for him, after all. Better than he could have imagined, given the forced changed in plan. Fate was on his side.

  He believed in fate.

  Chapter 8

  It was after one o’clock when Katie arrived back in her room, just in time, as Linda Ring had predicted, to miss lunch. Despite feeling shaky and weak from her ordeal of being tested, probed and prodded, Katie was undoing the robe practically before the wheelchair was through the door, and a moment later, returning it to the case, perfectly folded. She would phone Jason and ask him to drive out to the house and bring her a few needed items.

  As promised, Linda shampooed her hair, styling it with a dryer borrowed from a kindly patient. A little lipstick, blush and mascara, and Katie had to admit she both looked and felt a lot more human. The nurse thoughtfully brought her tea and toast before going off duty. Now, having finished it, Katie lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. It had been a long day, and it was only half over. Still, she knew she was getting stronger all the time.

  Lying there, listening to the blaring television set across the hall, Katie guessed her neighbor, Mrs. Patterson, was indeed a little on the deaf side. A man was passionately raking someone over the coals— probably a woman—a soap. Katie tuned it out.

  Eyes closed, she drifted.

  The scene rode to the front of her mind as if captured by a movie camera on a trolley, a single frame, starting small, becoming swiftly larger in close-up. She saw a boy dressed in ragged clothing running in a field, waving his arms about in joyous greeting. In the act of running, the boy’s body suddenly froze in midair, then it spun, arms and legs flailing in grotesque pantomime. Blood spattered the blades of grass like red rain, dripped from a leaf just above Katie’s head. Behind where the boy lay dead, a chorus of anguished voices rose in terrible mourning, and it reached Katie’s very soul.

  Her eyes shot open, while behind her eyelids the picture continued to play. It was several seconds before it finally faded to let the room shimmer whitely back into focus.

  Across the hall, the television set grew louder.

  A nurse poked her head in the door. “Anything wrong in here?”

  “No, nothing. I didn’t ring.”

  “One of the patients thought she heard someone cry out in here.”

  Katie smiled thinly. “Sorry. Wrong room.”

  Sitting up in the bed, Katie rubbed her eyes, as if to erase any residue of the scene. My God, what was that all about? A dream? Yes, she must have been dreaming. Yet she was sure she hadn’t been as
leep. She put a hand to her cup on the night table; the remaining tea was still hot.

  Frowning, Katie lay back on the pillow to think. It had, in a way, been like seeing in her mind’s eye the eyes in the rearview mirror. And yet, it hadn’t—not exactly. The “ eyes, ” she was certain now, were a memory. Her memory. The boy had seemed more a vision. And there was no sound except at the end when that awful cry, like some primal wail, went up in chorus, leaving her with a heavy, lingering sadness. Had she had a psychic experience? A premonition of some kind? A vision from the past? Katie believed in such things, as had her aunt before her. Not that either were fanatic about it, and Katie knew there were plenty of frauds around only too willing and able to con the gullible and the lonely. There was also no doubt in her mind that there were some things human beings had no answers for—some things that defied scientific explanation.

  Who was the boy? she wondered. She had had no sense of recognition, although admittedly she hadn’t seen his face clearly. Just as she hadn’t seen with any clarity the surroundings, only that there’d been grass and trees.

  Was it Black Lake? It hadn’t felt like Black Lake. And yet she’d been part of the scene.

  “Everything okay?” Nurse Ring asked, coming into the room, wearing her coat and carrying her purse over her arm.

  Clearly, the other nurse must have related to her that her patient had cried out just as Linda was about to leave for the day.

  “Everything’s just fine,” Katie said cheerfully. “The tea and toast really hit the spot. I hope you’re not neglecting your other patients, what with all this fussing over me.”