Keeping Molly

by Hayes, David C.

  He slid the mirrored closet door open to look for the box that the baby's Noah's Ark mobile came in. When he retrieved the box and closed the door, he studied the window clings on the mirror. There was an elephant holding a number one, two zebras holding a number two and a series of animals holding numbers all the way down to a group of ten ladybugs holding a number ten. He peeled them off, one by one, until they were stuck together in a stack. They were tossed into the bottom of the box below the mobile.

  Lost in his own sadness, Alan thought he heard a sound, but shook it off and continued the clean-up.

  ***

  Molly lay quietly in her bed, half watching whatever infomercial happened to be on at that time. It was some sort of speedy cooker, but she wouldn't have been able to describe it even as she was watching. Her eyes were glazed over. She was on her side with her left arm under the pillow and her blanket resting at her waist. She lifted the remote with her right arm to change the channel. A sudden shot hit her in the gut. She folded in half. Another harsh pain hit deep in her belly. She winced, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to moan. The shockwaves started in her abdomen and went through her whole body. It hit her again, and this time she bellowed. Molly felt as if she were dying.

  ***

  In the nursery, Alan peeled the wallpaper border from the wall. His head jerked toward the door, hearing Molly’s moans from the bedroom. He left the border dangling from the wall as he charged out of the doorway and down the hall, almost tripping over his own feet as he reached the bedroom door.

  As Alan entered the room, even in the gloom, he was shocked to see Molly’s condition. Pale and sweaty, she looked and felt clammy. Her hair was matted with sweat. Veins pulsed and protruded, prominently, and were clearly visible under her hairline. Her skin was so pale she was nearly blue. Around her mouth, where the specks of blood had first hit, she appeared to have severe acne. Terrified, her teeth chattering, Molly looked up at Alan’s entrance and beckoned with her eyes.

  Alan ran to her and placed his hand on her forehead. He jerked backward, shocked at how cold her skin was. He couldn't believe it. Alan quickly pulled the blanket up over Molly and tucked it tightly around her, laying her back down on the bed.

  He moved as fast as he could to the adjacent bathroom and spun the hot water knob to the left as he plugged the drain in the tub. He cranked the cold open just a bit to avoid scalding temperatures. Poking his head back into the bedroom, keeping an eye on his wife, Alan stuck his hand in the stream until it was warm enough to be effective. As the tub filled, Alan returned to Molly.

  “Hang on, baby,” Alan said, unsure exactly what to say at a time like this.

  Alan scooped Molly up from the bed, blanket and all, and shuffled with her toward the bathroom. As they got close, he tried to reassure her. "We're going to have to drop the blanket, okay?"

  She resisted, moaning and weakly clutching onto the blanket.

  "Come on, honey. It has to go. Trust me."

  Molly reluctantly let it go as she gave a weak nod. "I'm so cold," she muttered.

  "I know," replied Alan. "I'm gonna make it better."

  Alan got her into the bathroom and faced her toward the tub. He pulled her underwear down. Molly shivered. He asked her to lift her arms, but she did not respond, so Alan lifted them with a little bit of struggle. He peeled her t-shirt up over her head, not expecting what that would reveal.

  "Whoa," he gasped.

  "What is it?" Molly questioned as she turned her head back.

  Her back was covered with massive, boil-like sores. They looked similar to the small sores on Molly’s cheek, near her mouth. The back sores, though, leaked a yellow, viscous fluid and Alan could not believe they weren’t incredibly painful. They formed an uneven half circle from shoulder to shoulder. A trail of them ran down her spine, from the largest (the size of a CD or DVD) to the smallest (the size of a quarter). Others were scattered.

  "Nothing, really," Alan managed to say. "You're just cold. Get in the water."

  He helped her in and quickly turned the knobs to the off positions. He held her hand while she sat in the warm, soothing bath.

  "That better?" he asked.

  She nodded a bit. "Mmm hmmm."

  Alan grabbed a sponge and dribbled warm water down Molly's back. He noticed a larger sore along the left side of her spine near the middle of her back. He reached over and gently touched it with his index finger. It immediately popped like a fragile soap bubble. Molly winced.

  "Did that hurt?" Alan asked.

  "A little," Molly replied.

  "What was it?"

  "Nothing," he said as he studied the other sores. He soaked the sponge and ran more hot water over Molly's back. Several sores popped, and Molly grimaced with each one. Each sore oozed thick, yellow and red pus. The contents smelled, as well. Alan’s face scrunched as the stench hit and he had to will himself to keep from gagging.

  "What are you doing? What is that smell?" she asked.

  "Just some sores," Alan said, forcing himself to keep the concern from his voice.

  "Sores?" Molly sounded nervous.

  "Probably just bed sores from lying down so much. They'll heal just fine." Alan continued to run water down Molly's back. "Feel any warmer?"

  She nodded and grunted her approval. He continued to rinse the thick, syrupy pus from her back. Cleaner and warmer, Alan helped Molly out of the tub. After getting a towel around Molly, and sending her into the bedroom, he pulled the bathtub plug, watching as chunks of pus, still intact despite the water, circle the drain before being sucked down into the sewer.

  Shaking his head, Alan turned and walked up behind Molly, helping her to the bed. He sat her down, retrieved a clean t-shirt and underwear from the dresser, and helped Molly into the panties, one slow leg at a time. She handed him the towel, and he tossed it over toward the bathroom. He popped the shirt over her head, and she slid her arms through the sleeves. Alan slowly pulled the shirt down, trying to avoid the sensitive open wounds.

  Molly scooted down in the bed and Alan pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. She winced as she lay on her back and immediately rolled to her side.

  "Get some sleep."

  "Okay. Love you," Molly said. She tried to look up, but was too exhausted.

  Alan leaned down and kissed her on her head. He stood up and smiled. “I love you too.” Alan turned toward the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Molly said quietly.

  “I didn’t lose you, we’ll get through this.”

  Molly managed a weak smile. She closed her eyes. “I didn’t lose you either.”

  Alan walked toward the bedroom door but stopped. He turned and stood in the doorway, .looking at Molly. Sighing, he turned off the lights and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

  Alan passed the nursery, lost in thoughts of Molly’s welfare, and shuffled down the hallway toward the bedroom. He plopped down on the couch and, automatically, grabbed the television remote and turned on the local news.

  A fluff piece about a local animal shelter was on. It worked as background noise. Alan stood up and went to the kitchen. He grabbed his cell phone from the counter, quickly scrolled through his contacts, and dialed Dr. Tony Valdez.

  Tony answered after a few rings. “Hey, Alan, everything OK?”

  Alan paced through the kitchen as he explained Molly’s situation to Tony. The doctor suggested that there may be an emotional or psychological related reason for the sores. Like hives, possibly.

  “Are you sure? Jesus, Tony, you didn’t see these things. They are huge.” Alan continued pacing and ended up in front of the calendar. He looked at the date featured with a huge circle and ran his fingers over it. Written in ink was the word “Baby!” Alan was only half listening to Tony until he snapped out of the haze.

  “I just don’t understand, Tony. Stress? No, I understand that.”

  “I’ll call something into the pharmacy,” Tony reassured his friend.

  Alan sighed. “W
hat pharmacy?”

  Alan hung up after speaking with Tony and pocketed the phone. After checking on Molly, who had fallen into a fitful sleep, he grabbed his jacket and walked out, ignoring the fact that the TV was still on.

  A cheesy weatherman smiled out from the large screen, proving that local news people had not benefitted from the move to high definition.

  “Well, we can expect some pretty dry days through Saturday. Sunday brings us a 5% chance of showers, so it looks like these drought conditions will continue. You may think Halloween is coming a bit early since it will be bone dry…” The meteorologist chuckled at his own lame joke as the camera cut to the news desk. Anchor Gayle Summers sat, ready to inform, with the traditional plastic smile.

  “Thank you, Cameron. Very clever.” Gayle’s fake smile dropped into faux concern as the camera panned back and a graphic appeared next to her head, reading New Flu?. Gayle dutifully recited from her teleprompter.

  “Is there a new flu to fear? Some health professionals think so. A particularly nasty flu bug that is resistant to most medication has hit some area hospitals. Isolated reports from Health Centers and one metro hospital have brought the new super flew to our attention. The KVAT action news team will have more in depth coverage during our evening broadcast with Tommy Richards.”

  7

  Molly tossed and turned in a fitful sleep, waking intermittently in pain. She could only lay in bed moaning, shifting uncomfortably and sweating profusely. Uncomfortable in every position, no matter what she did, Molly could not stay still. Alan had not closed the door all the way, and their cat, Mr. Peepers, rubbed up against it, pushing his way in.

  He strolled into the room and casually jumped on the bed, just like any other day. He regarded Molly, unsure of what to do. This was something new. Molly’s eyes snapped open and Mr. Peepers hissed. Molly’s face contorted in agonizing pain. Her eyes were yellow, watery and glazed over and looked as though she was possessed. A deep, rumbling hiss escaped her as she sat up as if responding to the cat. Mr. Peepers panicked and scampered toward the door, desperately trying to gain purchase and traction on the natural wood floors.

  ***

  Alan walked into the pharmacy. A strange greenish-yellow ickiness draped over everything in the store and Alan looked up to see the corporate fluorescent lighting did not do much for the atmosphere.

  As Alan walked toward the back, he passed another customer. The man had a horrible, deathly pallor, and lesions covered his face. They locked eyes. Alan could see something in the man, something dangerous. Alan became instantly nervous and sweat beaded on his forehead. Alan continued to stare at the man as he made his way back to the pharmacy counter, and the man stared at him. Alan didn’t know why, but that guy wasn’t right.

  Making it to the counter, Alan turned to the pharmacist without saying a word.

  “How may I help you?” the pharmacist asked.

  Alan explained that Dr. Valdez should have called in a prescription for his wife, Molly. As the pharmacist looked up the prescription, Alan noticed that the pharmacist wasn’t looking bright and chipper, either. He tried to chalk it up to the poor lighting, but there was something more. For the first time since entering the pharmacy, Alan turned to the waiting area and saw nearly a dozen sick people in various states of disease. Each of them had that deathly pallor, some sporting lesions that resembled the kind that appeared on Molly’s back.

  Alan instinctively put his hand over his mouth. Whatever Molly had was spreading, he was sure of that. He turned back to the pharmacist who was standing before him, eyes rimmed with red. The pharmacist coughed into a tissue and managed to smile before addressing Alan.

  “It’ll be about 45 minutes. Kind of busy tonight.”

  Alan agreed, “I can see that. No problem.” Alan turned and decided to move as far away from these people as he could, and waited.

  ***

  Molly panted and snarled like an animal. Her eyes darted across the room, looking for the cat. She crawled out from under the blanket and stood on all fours, like a feral animal. Mr. Peepers darted across the bedroom entrance toward the small closet near Molly’s vanity.

  Molly leapt off the bed and landed in a three point stance. Her eyes were focused on Mr. Peepers’ last known whereabouts. Molly felt a sharp pain in her stomach and doubled over, grabbing her midsection. She moaned, loudly, feeling hollow. She had never experienced this kind of hunger before, much less accompanied by this kind of pain. Her mind, the Molly part, was awash in a blinding white light. All that remained was the pain and the hunger. Instinct took over and Molly hunted.

  Her tongue was dark and bloated; it looked like a chunk of raw liver and hung from her mouth as though she tasted the air. As she panted, her head slowly move side to side like a wolf on the prowl. She moved toward the bedroom door.

  Outside, Monty slowly crept into his neighbor’s yard. He was unaware of Molly’s situation. Like any nosy neighbor, he was interested in snooping on the pretty, young couple next door. As a certifiable pervert, he was interested in seeing Molly naked and filing that into his personal ‘spank bank’ for later on. He smiled like a child who was getting away with something.

  Monty noticed the French doors that lead to the bedroom and quietly inched toward them. He had only been in their house once or twice, but had memorized the layout as best he could just in case a situation like this came up. Alan had taken off, Molly was sick and, as Monty knew, sick people had fevers! Naked, cold shower fevers!

  As he walked past the outdoor stereo a strange noise caused him to jump. Startled, Monty backed up, accidentally turning the stereo on. The not-so-gentle strains of Iron Butterfly blasted out of the speakers as Monty panicked and quickly fumbled to shut the music off. He froze as if he would be invisible to anyone who heard the noise. Making sure no one had heard, and giving Molly plenty of time to look out of the French doors to see what the problem was, Monty breathed a sigh of relief. Taking a deep breath, he crept toward the bedroom one more time.

  ***

  Alan waited patiently for Molly’s medication. An older man sat on the floor near him. The man was folded over, clutching his stomach and groaning. Alan turned to see a teenage boy and his father. The boy was also holding his stomach and writhing around as if he couldn’t get comfortable. The father did his best to hold his boy still, but the attempts seemed to be of little use. He made eye contact with Alan.

  “I think it’s the flu,” guessed that father. The boy’s movements became more violent, and he growled, shocking not only Alan, but the other patrons. The man held his son even tighter.

  “You’re probably right,” Alan replied, managing to smile and quickly turning away. Alan scanned the room and noticed that each of the customers he had noticed before were in even worse shape. They all looked awful.

  The sounds of moaning, growling and gurgling filled the store. Alan pulled his shirt over his mouth, realizing how stupid he looked and how futile the gesture was, but he just wanted to get out of there and get home to Molly. He wondered if she was becoming as sick as the people that surrounded him.

  He looked up to see a family of four walking through the door of the pharmacy. They were all afflicted. Alan shook his head. The pharmacists called Molly’s name and Alan quickly ran to the counter. He wanted to leave as soon as possible.

  ***

  Molly slinked through her bedroom toward the closet. Mr. Peepers, still unsure of what was going on, had disappeared into folds of the hanging dresses, seemingly safe in the dark. Molly approached, slowly stalking the small area. She tried to see inside but clothing obscured her view. As she inched toward the closet Mr. Peepers let out a deep, throaty howl. Molly was hit with another painful spasm. She crumpled to the floor and screamed.

  Outside, Monty froze in his tracks. He heard that scream and leaned in closer to the door. He was pretty sure that nothing human could have made that sound and a bit of concern burst through the lusty thoughts. He leaned forward, straining to hear anything else
come from the bedroom.

  Inside, Molly fought through the spasm of pain, knowing that only eating something would quench it fully. The corners of her mouth pulled back and saliva dripped. She cocked back like a viper ready to strike and leaped into the closet. Mr. Peepers flew from the closet in a panic, scrabbled along the wood floors, and flew toward the French doors. Molly untangled herself from the garments and, howling, made chase. Mr. Peepers, in his panic, slammed into the French doors.

  Monty jumped backwards, startled. He stumbled and fell on his butt as he watched Mr. Peepers claw at the glass, frantically trying to tear his way through the door. Molly’s hands wrapped around Mr. Peepers midsection and yanked him away from the glass doors and into the darkness.

  As Monty pulled himself to his feet, he heard a loud screech that he could only ascribe to Mr. Peepers. The cat’s dissent was silenced with a crunch. Monty’s eyes narrowed and his mouth dropped open. He didn’t fully understand what he had just heard, but it sounded like… no, that couldn’t be. Concerned for Molly’s well-being now, he slowly approached the bedroom.

  As Monty reached the doors, he peered into the glass to see Molly hunched over on the floor. Large, yellow and red splotches dotted the back of her wet t-shirt and she shook. As Monty’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, the true horror of what he was seeing became apparent.

  Molly’s face was buried in the bloody fur of Mr. Peepers. She tore into him with her teeth, ripping away flesh from bone and tearing into sinewy muscle. Monty watched as Molly nudged fur away with her nose so that she could get to the meat and organs. His eyes grew wide as he watched her tear into a large bloody chunk of meat from the side of the cat, chew it and gulp it down. Monty was horrified but he could not turn away.

  He could only watch as Molly devoured the cat. She took her final bite, jerked her head back and swallowed the meat. As she did, her eyes rolled back into her head, and her body went limp. She dropped the remainder of the cat’s carcass on the floor and it landed with plop. Molly’s body slumped, falling over next to the gooey clump that used to be Mr. Peepers.