by Jack Phoenix
She put her palm on her forehead, sliding it down to her cheek. “Can I see him yet?”
* * * *
Elizabeth stood up, intending to embrace her husband, when the ghost of Roderick Whithers entered the meeting room. She was taken aback at the sight of him. He was little more than a shadow and mockery of his former self. He appeared as a corpse delivered from the morgue, his eyes yellowed, his cheeks sunken, and his flesh pale.
He was a rotting man. His robe shuffled against his knees as he took his fragile steps and sat down, the orderly stepping to the corner to keep a close watch.
“Rod” his wife’s voice was soothing, “how are you feeling?”
“Liz?” he rasped. “Is that really you?” His eyes were darting about the room, as if he were lost in some maze, only able to hear her voice through thick walls.
“Yes, it’s me. I’m here for you. How are they treating you?” His eyes still hadn’t focused on her yet. “They won’t help me stop them. They won’t help me stop the demons.”
“They will. They are doing everything they can to help you. They’ll get you better, I promise.”
“They. Won’t. Stop. They. Won’t. Leave. Me…alone.”
“They will stop. You just have to cooperate, okay? You have to do what the doctors tell you. They’re going to send you somewhere where they can better help you.”
“Won’t. Won’t. Help. They’ll…they’ll…follow. They’ll. Follow. Me.”
Elizabeth placed her open hand on the table between them, offering him to take it. “It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”
“Why. Why. Did…why’d you come here?”
“To see you,” she answered simply and consolingly. “Because I want you to be okay. Because I want you to know you’re not alone.”
“No…never…never. Alone. Never alone. They’re always with me,” his body stiffened and he finally looked her in the face.
“Oh, Rod…”
“They’re always with me. Even in the day, when I can’t see them, they’re there. I know they’re there. I can feel them.”
“Rod,” his wife’s hands left the table, the offer of affectionate touch ending, “I have something very important to ask you.”
“They want to take me like Dad. They. Want. To. Take. Me,” his eyes began to dart around the room again.
“Rod, I have something important to ask you,” she repeated, until his eyes finally rested on her. “Did you kill that woman?”
“No,” he whispered.
Elizabeth released a deep breath, but didn’t know how to feel. She wasn’t asking so she could run to the police and report what he’d said. She wasn’t asking so she could sleep better at night knowing that she hadn’t allowed a murderer into her bed. She was asking because she wanted to see if he could be honest with her one last time. The rub was she wasn’t sure if she could believe him.
“You promise me that you didn’t do it?”
She was sure she could see the veins in his eyeballs pulsating as he spoke, “No, no, it wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. It was them.”
“Oh, God,” Elizabeth was afraid to ask and had a suspicion how he’d reply, “who’s them?”
Roderick leaned forward until she could smell the rank of his breath. “The… demons. The demons did it.”
She cleared her throat, forcefully, out of discomfort. “Demons? What kind of demons?”
“Three women. Always three women. But they always look different. They always have red hair.”
Elizabeth didn’t respond to his description. “Why did you attack our daughter?”
“What?”
“You attacked Samantha—your baby girl. How? How could you do that? Why did you do that?”
Roderick didn’t move. He continued leaning forward, his face in hers, his breath fierce. “Because. She…she can stop them. I think she can stop them.”
“Why? How?”
“They’re punishing me. She can stop them. I think she can stop them.”
She rolled her eyes as he stared, nodding, and backed away slowly. She rose from her chair and reached towards him, one last offer for touch. He refused it, shook his head and leaned back in his chair. He squinted, disappointed. The orderly took Roderick by the shoulders to lead him out.
“Liz,” he turned to her, “I still love you.”
“I love you too,” she stated, after he had left the room.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“From what I can tell so far, there are signs of serious sleep deprivation,” Doctor Michaels said to Detective Yost.
She asked her, “So, it’s just a lack of sleep that’s done all of this? He’s not crazy?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t make a diagnosis. That’ll be up to the folks at Twin Creeks. We’re just treating him, trying to get him back to physical health before we transfer him. I have a feeling, once he gets there, it’s going to take time to piece this together.”
“Well, this man is wanted on a murder charge, Doctor, and you’re telling me he’s just tired. I need to question him.”
“I will not be bullied into releasing him to you, Detective,” Doctor Michaels stated firmly, pushing the glasses back up on her nose with a finger. “My job isn’t to worry about what trouble he’s in or why you want him; right now he is my patient and his well-being is my primary concern. He is in no condition to be questioned by you, at this time. I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to wait.”
“I’ll not have my case going cold while you fiddle-fart around. Maybe I’ll get a court order to have him examined by someone else, instead of being sent to Twin Creeks,” Yost asserted.
“You’re more than welcome to. Once he’s out of my hands, he’s no longer my concern. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Roderick could hear the thunderous footsteps of Detective Yost as she exited his wing. As dull as his senses had become, he still picked up on certain things. He rarely responded to external stimuli during the day, but he overheard the conversation and knew from the Detective’s visit that he was wanted for the murder of Chelsea Palmer. He learned from his wife’s visits that Chelsea’s body was found buried in the woods behind their home and the murder weapon had his fingerprints on it.
He didn’t defend himself. He barely could. Being wanted for murder was hardly his greatest concern. He didn’t recognize his own face when he saw his reflection. Roderick focused on finding a solution to rid himself of the demons. There must be a way of defeating the demons he had not considered. He thought about it during daylight hours, ignoring the staff that visited.
This changed after dark, when his nightly visitors arrived. During these hours, the doctors had to deal with his constant yelling and crying. He displayed movement too, running around the room, bashing his head against the wall, pounding on the door, and scratching at the walls with his fingertips. When he was aware of a nurse’s presence, or the doctor’s remarks, he would shout at them until sedatives became a nightly ritual.
The first night of Roderick’s hysterics had lasted nearly an hour, before they finally forced sleep upon him with a needle, a task requiring nearly four people to hold him down. Inexplicably, during his drug-induced slumber he seemed to slip into nightmares so extreme that his panic was able to override the medication, causing him to moan and squirm in panic even when unconscious.
It was the sleep that he hated the most, because that’s when he felt the most helpless. It was in his dreams that he felt much closer to them, like they were a part of him, trapped inside his mind, and soul. He stubbornly refused gentle sedatives in pill form that he could take at dinner, opting to always have them stuck into him the hard way. He knew that no one else could see them, or hear them, but he never gave up hope that perhaps they would slip in their deception and make themselves visible. So, when he did become vocal a
t night, he would always point to them, desperate for someone else to see them.
He was beginning to forget himself and his desires, but there was one lingering thought that kept him focused enough to keep from losing himself completely.
* * * *
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of coffee or anything?” Diana asked politely.
“No, thank you,” said Elizabeth, “I’m fine really.”
Elizabeth had never truly felt welcome in this house. For being Roderick’s only accessible immediate family member, she had only been to Robert Whithers’ home a few times. It was only now that she began to see just what a castle it was, a dark place for a man to go mad.
“Well, how are you holding up?” she asked, placing her hands on her lap.
Diana was packing her belongings, as evidenced by the stack of boxes accumulated by the front door. Elizabeth wanted to tell Diana that she could stay longer, but she had no way of knowing what the future held for the old house. Besides, deep down, Elizabeth envied Diana’s privilege of being able to pack her things and get away from the family. She knew that it would ultimately be better for Diana to do so.
“As well as can be expected. I’ve been getting a lot of phone calls, you know, from people in the community, worried about him. But his pal Bob is handling all of the business stuff, so at least all of that is off my plate.”
Diana waved her hand forward to emphasize her question, “But how are you holding up?”
“I’ll be fine, Diana, I’ll be fine. All that really matters to me is that he is where he needs to be. He’ll get the help he needs.”
“How about this other issue?” the housekeeper asked ominously.
“I don’t like to think about it. If he did it, then I just feel…I feel disgusted. That I brought this into my life.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself, you know that,” Diana urged her, leaning over and placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Look, everyone keeps saying that. Logically, of course, I know that it’s not my fault, I know, but deep down, in my heart, I feel like I should’ve seen this all coming from a mile away.”
“Well, I can certainly relate to that.”
“That’s why I’m here, actually. I want to talk to you about what happened to Robert.”
Diana leaned back in her armchair, closing her eyes. Every time she had to retell the story it reminded her of the night her employer came at her with a knife, and the enraged look in his eyes; the eyes of a madman. How could a human fall so quickly, smashing against the deepest, darkest parts of their soul? The man she lived with for so long, the man she served and took care of, had been willing to end her life.
“I despise telling that story,” Diana said. “I’ve had a knot in my stomach since I told your husband about it, in fact.”
“Well, I know most of the details. Just a few things that I need to know.”
“Like what?”
“I want to know just how similar the events are…you know, what happened to Rod and his father.”
“Okay, ask away.”
Elizabeth stood and began pacing the floor near the fireplace, her arms crossed. There was something missing from this whole situation presented before her, something she nor anyone else could see. It was all too coincidental; her husband becoming utterly insane only weeks after his father. Her intuition told her not to trust her eyes. It told her that there was something more happening, something perhaps invisible to her.
“I know during his final days that Robert was acting…paranoid, that he thought someone was after him. Did he ever say anything about who he thought was after him? Did he ever describe them in any way?”
“Your husband asked me that very same question.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Well, he seemed rather distraught that night, so I honestly didn’t want to say too much. I didn’t think that the poor man should be remembering his father in such a way, so I just told him that it wasn’t anything that made sense, and I didn’t go into too much detail.”
“What was it specifically, Diana. Who did he say was after him?”
“He said there were demons after him. He said there were three demons with red hair that could change shapes.”
Elizabeth shuddered, but tried not to show it. Could it be that Roderick and his father had the same delusions, and, if so, what did it mean? But no, that was preposterous. She told herself to think rationally for a moment, to use her head. Didn’t many people suffering from schizophrenia or other such hereditary ailments see ghosts and demons and government agents? It was completely possible and reasonable that it was all just a coincidence, but even telling herself such things didn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it.
She asked Diana, “Did Robert ever get any strange injuries?”
“Strange injuries?”
“Yeah, like…animal bites? Or scratches?”
“Well, there were scratches across his chest the night he claimed that some animal attacked him, and I did notice a bandage on his hand just before he locked himself in his room. It was still there when he died, but I never found out what for. Why do you ask?”
“Roderick has weird injuries. Bite marks all over him. The doctors said he must’ve been attacked by a dog or something.”
“Well, perhaps in his delirious state he wondered into someone’s yard with a mean old guard dog.”
“Yes, I guess you’re probably right.”
* * * *
“Hello, this is Doctor Suzanne Jones,” said the voice from the other end after Elizabeth answered the house phone, “I work at the university.”
“Oh,” said Elizabeth, her voice raised in puzzlement, “um, hi. Can I help you?”
“Well, first just let me say, Mrs. Whithers…”
“Mrs. O’Dell-Whithers.”
“Oh, my apologies, Mrs. O’Dell-Whithers, but, firstly, I just wanted to say that I heard about your situation, and I’m sorry for what you and your family are going through.”
“Thank you.”
She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, the reason I’m calling is…well, this is sort of awkward…”
Elizabeth grasped the bridge between her eyes with her fingers, “Go on, please. I…we’re getting used to strange around here, trust me.”
“Well, okay, it’s just that your husband came and visited me the other day…”
“Really?”
“Yes, and it was a rather…odd visit, not gonna lie…”
“Okay?”
“But anyway, he was very distraught over something, and in his…state he sort of stole something from me. I was just wondering if I could get it back.”
“He stole something? What’d he steal?”
“A book. A rather expensive book. I thought I could find another one, but it turns out it’s out of print. I was hoping maybe it was there? It’s called Goddesses and Other Female Deities.”
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen anything like that around. If I find it, I will call. Can I reach you at this number?”
“Yes, yes, this is my office number, that’s fine.”
“Okay, great,” and just as she was about to hang up, Elizabeth thought to ask, “just what did my husband visit you for?”
“Well, like I said, he seemed very upset about something. He came seeking my help, in a way, but I was unable to help him.”
“What did he need help with?”
“I suppose I should tell you. He apparently thought that he was being chased by demons, The Furies from Greek mythology, specifically. It was all very strange.”
“I’m sorry, the what?”
Doctor Jones’ voice shifted from its sympathetic tone to a more irritable one, apparently not wishing to be drawn into the drama, “The Furies
. It’s unimportant; anyway, thank you for your time, I’m sorry to have bothered you. You have a good day now.”
Elizabeth shook her head as she disconnected the call. Just how far had Roderick’s madness reached? First, it was his father’s housekeeper, next a priest, and then a college professor? Who else would be calling to announce that her husband had been raving about demons? A bartender, or a postal worker? For a man who had kept his household so private and was so consumed by image, she knew that Roderick’s life would never be the same if and when he recovered. And neither would hers.
Samantha’s life, Elizabeth was determined, would improve. She was on the couch watching cartoons with Wade, but she hadn’t smiled since her father’s intrusion that night, despite her and Wade’s best efforts. No matter how things turned out, whether Roderick ever regained his sanity and whether or not he was innocent of the crimes accused, she would keep her daughter away from him. She now knew that just his very presence, just the thought of him, seemed to drain the life out of her. Elizabeth had considered having Samantha stay at Wade’s house but decided against it. She did not wish to burden the poor man’s life with her family’s problems anymore, so Wade came to them. He had done more than enough.
She joined them on the couch, and put her arm around Samantha’s shoulders, moving the hair away from her eyes as she kissed her on the forehead. What she wouldn’t give to travel into her daughter’s mind, perhaps with a pair of scissors, and cut away whatever it was that kept her from being happy. If she could just touch her skin and absorb the darkness into her, giving Samantha a chance to learn and grow with fresh eyes, allowing her mother to deal with the injustices of the world herself. She pleaded to God to take away her daughter’s affliction, not knowing whether it was a hereditary madness or something worse.
“I think you’re being very brave and very strong about all of this,” Wade said, after Samantha had fallen asleep. Night was approaching, and, unlike other little children, Samantha didn’t normally fight the opportunity for rest.
Elizabeth replied, wiping away a tear, “You would say that. You’re supposed to say that. And thank you.”