Eye Bleach

by Paul E. Creasy

  “First time?” the vendor asked. “Wow! You are in for a real treat. This year, the High Priest is coming. I know everyone is just vibrating in pure excitement. My aura has been pegging all week in anticipation, so, I am sure this year’s Circle will be the most fantastic ever.”

  “Circle?”

  Click…, Click…, Click…

  Sylvia closed her eyes as she wavered on her feet. She was suddenly unsteady. A wave of nausea and dizziness flowed over her body like an icy shower. Mercifully, it passed.

  “Are you OK?” the woman asked. “You look ill.”

  “Yeah…, I, uh, I just got a little light-headed there for a second,” Sylvia said. She lifted her empty glass and added, “perhaps my friend and I made one too many winery stops on the way up here.”

  The woman threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, mercy, it’s easy to do. We are so blessed here in Northern California. So much wine and never enough time.”

  “Amen to that,” Sylvia said. “But…, back to today’s festivities, I am curious. What exactly happens tonight?”

  “Well, usually Melody starts the ball rolling around sunset,” the woman said. She looked down at her watch and added, “just a little over an hour from now.”

  “Who is Melody?”

  “Melody Summers,” the woman said as she pointed up to an enormous house on the side of the mountain. “That’s her place. She owns all of this.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Oh, she is very impressive and quite an amazing woman. Came out here from back east quite a while ago.”

  “Another refugee from the east coast, I suppose,” Sylvia said. “Just like me.”

  “Me too,” the woman said as she nodded.

  “What happens at Circle?” Sylvia asked.

  “Well, Melody starts the procession with Our Lady, and several of the other women dance before it as she takes the icon inside the sacred circle.” The woman pointed and said, “see, they are marking it out right now.”

  Sylvia turned to look. A few women were tracing out a design on the ground with black dust. She squinted and tried to see what they were drawing on the grass but couldn’t make it out. They were too far away.

  “A pentagram, I suppose?” Sylvia asked.

  “Yes. The pentagram is the great symbol of Spirit. The five points of the star pleases him greatly. This year Spirit should be especially delighted since the High Priest will be performing the Feast of Moloch for the first time in many decades.”

  “What exactly goes on during that ceremony?”

  “I really don’t know,” the woman said. “It is an exceptionally rare event, as only the High Priest can officiate. In fact, it is so rare, I have been in the craft for forty years and never been to one myself.” Her eyes sparkled as she added, “and that is why this is such a special treat today. I envy you. To have your first Circle also be the Feast of Moloch is incredible, just incredible.”

  “Who is the High Priest?” Sylvia asked as she glanced around at the crowd. “Can you point him out to me? I would love to ask him a few questions.”

  “I don’t think he is here yet,” the woman answered. “I have never met him, but, I hear he is an old friend of Melody’s from back east. I am very excited to meet him myself, though, and I am probably just as curious about the ceremony as you are. Sorry, I wish I could be more helpful.”

  “You have been quite helpful. Thanks,” Sylvia said.

  “Oh, one thing, I hope you aren’t shy, dear,” the woman said. “I thought it worth mentioning since this is your first time.”

  “Shy? What do you mean?”

  “Melody is quite traditional. She always requires our ceremonies to be skyclad. It is the old way, you know.”

  Sylvia glanced down at herself and gulped. “You mean?”

  “Yes…, everything.”

  Sylvia thanked the woman again and turned to look for Heather. Fun time was over now. It was one thing to hang out at a hippie fair and enjoy some arugula tarts, but quite another to strip down naked in front of a bunch of strangers. There was a limit to her curiosity, and this was it.

  “Hey, you know what I just found out?” Heather said as she walked up the hill toward Sylvia. “In an hour, everyone here gets starkers. Can you believe it?”

  “Yeah, I just heard that too,” Sylvia said. “And…, I think that might be our cue to go.”

  “Oh, come on, Mom,” Heather said. “You’re no fun.” Heather raised her eyebrow and said, “I think I have spied a couple of hottie Devil worshippers I wouldn’t mind seeing flopping their wizard wands around.”

  “Yeah, but, that also means you get to see some dried up old wands too. I don’t think it is worth it.”

  “Mmmmm,” Heather said as she stared over Sylvia’s shoulder. “Now there is someone whose wand I would definitely want to see. Yowzah!”

  Sylvia turned to look at the object of Heather’s desire. She instantly halted, rooting her feet to the ground. There, sauntering down the hill towards them, with a knowing grin on his face, was an extremely attractive man. A hint of recognition flickered across her eyes, sparking her memory like a long dead fire springing to life. She didn’t know how she knew him, but, somewhere deep in her psyche, this handsome face was burned onto the floor of her soul. His smile widened as he stepped forward.

  “Look at little Sylvia all grown up,” Father Ted said. “Shall you help me with our Lady again, tonight? It will be just like old times.”

  “I…, I…, I don’t understand,” Sylvia stuttered as her face flushed and she became dizzy. She lurched backwards and started to turn away to run.

  Click…, Click…, Click…

  Father Ted reached out and grabbed her shoulder. He said, “Still running, Sylvia? Shouldn’t you stop running now?”

  “How! How are you here?” Sylvia asked. “This can’t be real! It can’t! It’s not possible!”

  “You still don’t understand, do you, Sylvia?” His smile curled into a soul-chilling grin as he added, “our Lady won’t wait forever.”

  Sylvia pulled away from him and spun towards Heather. She cried, “we have to go, right now, this instant!”

  “Go? You just got here,” Father Ted said. “If you leave now, you will miss all the fun…, just like last time.”

  “Heather, we have to go NOW!” Sylvia screamed. “We have to call the…” Sylvia froze. Everything went black. Her body convulsed into violent shudders before dropping to the ground in a lifeless heap.

  Heather smiled as she returned the taser to her purse.

  Father Ted cupped Heather’s chin and said, “Well done, Heather. I always knew you were my special girl.”

  *****

  Hours later Sylvia’s eyes fluttered open. In the dark, with her face pressed to the ground, she saw nothing. Her head throbbed as if it had been crushed in a two-ton press. Her gut churned and every one of her muscles ached. To her horror, as she tried to move, she discovered she was not only bound but naked. Her hands and feet were tied behind her back, trussing her up like a turkey. She could hear, though, and her blood chilled as the voices around her became intelligible. She heard Father Ted’s voice, booming through the night, as clear and seductive as it had been forty years earlier.

  “Oh, glorious night above, your pitch-black wraps the sky, the earth awaits your word, wrapped in its dark disguise; arise ye Gods of old, arise ye Prince of lies, arise ye ancient ones, we hunger for words of the wise! Arise! Arise! In glorious triumph, we wait for thee to rip the earth and rise!”

  Countless voices joined in and sang, “Arise! Arise! Arise!”

  Sylvia struggled to lift her head. Sweat poured off her bare back as she thrashed against the ropes. The bonds wouldn’t budge. She continued to flail. She had to see what was happening. She had to face this ultimate terror. Her painful exertions made minutes seemed like hours, but she started to make progress. The ropes started to loosen. With heroic effort, and using up the last of her remaining strength, she managed to raise he
r face a few inches up off the ground.

  Having adjusted to the gloom, her vision was clearer, and she peered into the darkness. She turned towards the voices. They were coming from a circle of torches twenty feet away. A figure was elevated on a table inside the circle. It was a woman. She too was bound and struggling to get loose. Because the woman also was naked, Sylvia could easily see she was pregnant.

  “Oh My God! No! No! NO!” Sylvia shouted as her eyes were drawn to the end of the table. The woman’s feet were gone. They had been hacked off, leaving only two bloody, tourniquet-wrapped stumps behind. Sylvia gasped and collapsed, darkness falling over her like a blanket of ice.

  Click…, Click…, Click…

  Chapter 34

  June 11, 1996 - New York Presbyterian Hospital - 3rd-floor nurses station - New York City - 10:15 AM

  “Excuse me, Miss,” the older man asked as he approached the hectic nursing station. No one looked up. There was no time. The station was only partially covered today. Every available eye was fully engaged in monitoring a floor full of patients and their various charts located along the back wall. A half-dozen phones were ringing and, worst of all, the pharmaceutical cart had just arrived. It was time to dispense all the patients’ medications before lunch. With so many of the staff out today, it was going to be a real ordeal. The din of orders being shouted over the constant ringing phones ensured an atmosphere of pure pandemonium.

  “Excuse me, Miss,” the man asked again. Nothing changed. No one noticed. The reason was not surprising. A lone 86-year-old man, wearing baggy chinos, a loud Hawaiian shirt and sporting a deeply tanned and wrinkled face, was a common enough sight in New York Presbyterian — especially at this time of year. The snowbirds had returned from Florida weeks earlier. Another of their flock wandering the busy halls was not a particularly noteworthy event. So many fly in, and often, never fly back out the hospital doors.

  Today it was especially out of control. There had been a Code Blue earlier in room 301, and room 316 was occupied by an unusually belligerent patient who refused to take his medication. But it was the “special case” in room 314 that was making this unfortunate situation even worse.

  Room 314 was a problem. For weeks, the patient had lingered in her coma and was manageable. Now that she was awake, however, the truth was harder to hide. She did not belong at New York Presbyterian. She belonged at Bellevue. But being close friends with the director has its privileges and one of those included scoring a private room on this floor.

  The old man smiled and shouted at the top of his lungs, “My name is Dr. Thomas Marstens —M-a-r-s-t-e-n-s— and I am here to see Sylvia Delaney — D-e-l-a-n-e-y! She is a patient in room 314 - 3-1-4!”

  That seemed to do the trick as every head turned.

  “Oh…, I’m sorry sir,” Nurse Jones said, “I didn’t see you there.”

  “I gathered that,” Dr. Marstens said. He smiled and added, “It seems just as busy now as it was back when I did my residency here.”

  “Yes…, it is quite busy today,” Nurse Jones said. “Uh…, you said you were here to see Sylvia Delaney?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Marstens said. “The information desk told me she was in room 314.” He paused as he sensed the nurse’s hesitation and added, “has she been moved?”

  “No…, it is just, well, her doctor has strictly limited any visitors. I’m afraid she is unavailable to be seen at this—”

  “—Well, I would think a visit from an old family friend shouldn’t do any harm,” Dr. Marstens interrupted. “And, of course, I was her doctor once. Although, that was many years ago. Perhaps that status could buy me a little professional courtesy?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the order is pretty explicit.”

  Dr. Marstens sighed, and said, “I flew all the way up here from Boca last night to see her and I’m flying back tomorrow. I would hate to have to go back to Florida without at least paying her one visit.”

  “I wish I could help you sir, but, there is no wiggle room here. No visitors, other than immediate family. You aren’t immediate family, are you?”

  “No, but, I was great friends with her late parents as well as her uncle, Milo. I wonder if he can help me? He has been on New York Presbyterian’s Board of Directors for decades now.” Dr. Marstens leaned in to study her name badge and added, “I am certain he will be most interested in learning how helpful the staff is here, Nurse… Jones.”

  Nurse Jones’ face tightened. She said, “Well…, let me see what I can do. Let me make a call.”

  “Wonderful,” Dr. Marstens said as he watched her dial. As she whispered into the phone, her eyes kept darting up to study his face. Putting the receiver to her chest, she said, “Uh…, I know this is inconvenient, but, for security reasons, may I see your ID?”

  “Certainly,” Dr. Marstens said as he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. He handed his ID to Nurse Jones.

  She glanced at it and said into the phone, “Yes, it seems to check out, sir. Sure. It is a Florida driver’s license. Yes, the picture is definitely him. OK, the name on the license is Dr. Thomas Marstens, 3582 West Palmetto Drive, Apt C, Boca Raton, Florida, 33431. Yes… OK.”

  She put the phone down and said, “Our Executive Director would like to speak with you in person.”

  “Certainly,” Dr. Marstens said.

  Nurse Jones picked the phone back up and said, “I’m sending him right down, sir.”

  *****

  Ten minutes later, Dr. Marstens was directed into the administrator’s office. He smiled as he looked around the room before sitting down into an overstuffed chair. It was just like his office back when he still had his practice. All the dark wood and the obligatory bookcase filled with aging leather-bound journals — it was so familiar and comfortable, like an old friend. He breathed in deeply and savored the smell of old medical books, a scent he knew so well. He turned his head to the door just as it opened. The director entered.

  “Dr. Marstens, sorry to keep you waiting,” the man said. “My name is Christopher Perry. I am the Executive Director of the hospital.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir,” Dr. Marstens said as he stood up.

  “Please sit,” Christopher said. “The nurse says you are an old family friend of Sylvia’s?”

  “Yes, we go way back.”

  “How nice…,” Christopher said as he continued to study the man’s face.

  “Is there a problem?” Dr. Marstens said. “I really do want to see Sylvia before I have to go back to Florida.”

  “Well, you see, uh…, well….,” Christopher stammered.

  “Please, I need to know what is going on with Sylvia. I read about the tragedy in the paper.”

  “You get the Times in Florida?”

  “Of course, I do. What else would I read?” Dr. Marstens said. “I was a life-long New Yorker before I retired to Boca. I still subscribe to the Times. I read all about her case in the paper. Tragic. Just tragic. For both her son and husband to go missing without a trace. I am sure it was a horrific blow.” He paused and added, “you may not know this, but, I had Sylvia as a patient when she was just a child.”

  “What kind of medicine do you practice, Dr. Marstens?”

  “I practice Psychiatry, or, I did until a few years ago when I retired,” Dr. Marstens paused as his face dropped. He glanced down at his watch and said, “Look, I don’t mean to be rude here, but, this seems like an awfully extravagant procedure to go through just to visit a patient. What is this really all about?”

  “Well, there is no way to ask this politely.”

  “Ask impolitely, then,” Dr. Marstens said as he smiled.

  “I…, I thought you were dead? Your wife said you—”

  “—You must mean my ex-wife.”

  “Ex-wife?”

  “Yes, Gladys and I divorced a few years ago,” Dr. Marstens said. “Frankly, I’m not terribly surprised she said I passed away. She told me it would have been easier if I had died.” He smirked and added, “I know
we spoke a lot about that before our divorce was finalized. I guess, in her mind, somehow she thinks I did.”

  “Oh, I am sorry,” Christopher said.

  “Yes, divorce is always difficult, especially after so many years together, but, I think Gladys is far happier,” Dr. Marstens said. “Especially now that she has ‘killed’ me off, so to speak. In all honesty, once I retired, things went downhill.” He paused and said, “we got along so much better when I was a workaholic and never home!”

  Christopher laughed. “I know what you mean.”

  “It is a shame, too, but…,” Dr. Marstens said, “it isn’t that uncommon — particularly among members of my profession.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Marstens said. “The divorce rate among psychiatrists is double the national average.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Christopher said. “I would have thought differently.”

  “Oh no, not at all,” Dr. Marstens said. “In fact, having a background in psychiatric therapy, and even conducting marriage seminars, is no guarantee of marital success. In fact, I think the reason the rate is so high is like that old proverb. You know, the one about how the village cobbler’s children never have any shoes.”

  Christopher laughed.

  “But…, I have to ask,” Dr. Marstens said. “Why were you talking to my ex-wife?”

  “It is a complicated story,” Christopher said. “You see, I am very good friends with Sylvia and John.”

  “Is John her husband? Is he the one who is missing?” Dr. Marstens asked.

  “Yes,” Christopher said as he frowned. “I hope the police can find him. It has just been a horrible time for everyone. With so much time passing, however, I am beginning to lose hope.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  “Thanks…, but, did you know your name is on Sylvia’s birth certificate?” Christopher asked. “It came up a few weeks ago when John was trying to figure out what happened to their son.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Marstens said. “I was very close to Sylvia’s father. In fact, we were best friends for many years. I…, I helped him out with Sylvia’s adoption. It was a challenging case.”