by Liz Everly
She smiled into the phone.
"It's good to hear your voice," she said.
They chatted for a while, and she said her appetite was coming back, she even got pizza for herself. He talked while she chewed a slice. She happened to look at the mini-computer screen on the magnetic door lock. It was smashed, a crack running across it, like a witch's pointing finger. She went over and tried it. It still worked.
She listened to him in strained silence a little longer, but her appetite was gone and she shoved the pizza box in the fridge. Then, plucking up her nerve she said, "Turner, I'm nervous." She told him about the cracked computer screen.
"Just three nights before you're here. Hang on and then I can watch over you. At least for a few days."
"I'm looking forward to it. I don't want to be all needy and freak you out, but…"
"No, you're not. Jesus. I don't know how you get to sleep with this kind of thing hanging over you."
"I thought about checking myself into a mental asylum."
"Frankly, I don't think that would stop her. Anyway, I'm here. It's so much better when you let me know what's going on."
"But I'm going to run out of minutes on my phone."
In the end they Skyped on the computer. She set up her laptop on her bed and let him watch her fall asleep. They did the same thing each night and, holding her breath, she got on the plane Friday night. She was walking through JELL-O, the deep exhaustion settling all around her as she walked slowly through the airport, but he was there at the gate to meet her with a bouquet of Black-eyed Susan’s and Queen Anne's Lace. She ran into his arms.
"You made it," he said.
"It can't be this easy," she said.
He had a giant reddish-black mutt in the back of his car.
"That's Rusty," he said. She didn't mind Rusty hanging over her shoulder, his gentle drool spooling onto her thigh every now and then while they drove out to Bellingham. She petted Rusty, who was half Newfie half mutt. With each mile the trouble she felt brewing and building at home backed off. By the time they were rolling into the bay, she could even look around her, eager to see things in daylight the next day.
They didn't even try to have sex after she tripped into his shabby log A frame house. She dropped her things in the living room decorated with cast off dorm furniture, and went into his dark bedroom. Stripping off her clothes she threw one of his t-shirts on, jumping into the middle of his big bed.
"Come here," she called to him. "I want to collapse in your arms."
He stripped down to his boxers, launched himself towards the bed, and soon enough they were snuggled together under the somewhat clammy covers.
"These sheets could be washed," she said, her voice muffled a little against his naked chest. Long waves of relaxation began to overtake her. She felt her body draining stress and found her eyelids wouldn't open.
"Beggars can't be choosers," he said, shoving aside some of her long blonde hair and kissing the side of her neck.
He talked about his week and classes, the chatter so comforting that Jenny felt as if Jennifer and all her problems were far, far away. All her woe drained away, and sleep stole upon her.
"You hid the car keys?" she mumbled.
"I did. Don't worry, we're on a ground floor, and I'm a light sleeper."
"I'm such a bother," she said, feeling a stab of shame through the waves of sleep overwhelming her.
"You're not a bother," he said kissing her head. "I love you."
And then she was out.
When she woke it was still dark. Turner was not in the bed. She got up and padded out into the rather cold open living room and kitchen space. He was kneeling at the woodstove in a flannel shirt and jeans, barefoot, stuffing the stove full of wood. Then he got up and went back to cooking.
"Hey," she croaked rubbing her eyes, and went up to hug him from behind. He felt good, but he kept cooking, and her radar went off. Something was wrong.
"What time is it?" she looked around for a clock. It was over the sink and said four thirty.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked. Trepidation was eating away her mental fogginess. Something was clearly wrong. She looked around for Rusty. He was there lying on the floor near the sliding glass door like a tame black bear, his pink tongue leaving a small pond on the slate floor. She went and knelt next to him and then melted down against him to hug his mane and bury both her hands in his fur. Then, despite the cold slate flooring, she turned to lean up against him like he was the back of a couch.
"How'd you sleep?" she asked, thumping the dog's side with her hand. She wanted to be timid, but was trying to be brave. He glanced at her and there was a look in his eye. A look that said don't ask.
"What happened? What's wrong?"
He finished putting the eggs on two plates at the counter. They steamed on the plates full of red peppers and other yummy bits. She shuffled over and slid onto one of the barstools.
"That bad?" she said, not able to look him in the eye.
"After breakfast," he said.
Smashed mirror? Obscene message written on the wall? Maybe Jennifer erased everything on his laptop. Jenny felt her shoulders creeping up to her neck.
"Was it Jennifer?" she asked. Of course it was. He chewed his food, concentrating, and she joined him. Her eyes filled up with tears, every bite tasteless.
How was he going to be able to sleep with her at night if he had to be on the alert every moment to make sure she didn't harm his things, or him, or Rusty? She suddenly realized the impossibility of carrying on this way. She'd have to be tied up every night. And who would want to give up their normal life to live like that?
He finished his eggs and shoved his plate away. She put her hand out on his big wrist.
"I love you," she said, wanting to melt towards him. He had such a grim look on his face, it was hard to choke out the words. "You can tell me whatever it is. It's okay."
"It's not okay, and I videotaped it…on my phone."
"You what?" Her accusatory tone shot out at him like an arrow.
"Not to share it! Jesus, I wanted you to see it. I didn't think you'd believe it if I just told you."
He brought her the phone and she stood back against his chest, leaning into him as they watched it together.
The screen wobbled and went to Jennifer's torso, then steadied on her face. She was tied up.
"Tell me what you want Jennifer."
The lizard eyes looked at him while the body shifted below, restless. He began stroking her face, her jaw line, and then a little lower. "Come on, I know you can talk," he said, his voice enticing and flirtatious.
Her eyes didn't track well, and her face screwed up three or four times as various expressions morphed and faded before finally a twisted come hither expression settled on her features. "Play with meeee," she mumbled.
"Yeah? How?"
"Put your hands around my neck," she told him. The screen shifted. He was now straddling her body, torso naked, but Jenny noticed he was in his jeans. She looked over to the bedroom, seeing the cuff open on the floor. He must have uncuffed her later.
From within the shelter of Turner's arms, she watched the video screen as one hand came up and around her neck. "Like that? And then?" She rolled her head around as if it felt good.
"Squeeze," she said, her body writhing "Oh—like that—and fuck me."
"You want me to fuck you?"
"Yeah." His pelvis made a back and forth movement and that set her body writhing.
"Then what?" he asked. He was moving his pelvis more, humping her through his jeans.
"Harder, harder," she pouted, commanding.
The movement of his pelvis stopped. His hand came away.
"But if I do it harder, I might hurt you," he said.
She was nodding. Then she blinked hard and started shaking her head. "Noooo. Won't kill meeee." The implication was clear. It would kill Jenny, not Jennifer.
He got off her body entirely and leaned down getting a clearer shot of he
r face, but his own outline shadowed the glaring lights.
She pouted and her fingers curled closed like she wanted to grasp him, but she was all tied up.
"Is that what you want?" he asked. She smiled, stretched, gave him a sideways glance, but didn't answer.
"You're hot," she said finally.
"Jennifer, do you want me to kill Jenny?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"What did she say?" Jenny asked, looking up at him and putting her hair over one shoulder.
"Yes."
She looked at the screen again, riveted. Her arms wrapped around his as he braced himself with one hand on the counter and the other held the phone low so they could both see it.
"Then we can't have sex anymore. You'd miss that."
"No I won't. I'll go inside someone else."
"How would you do that Jennifer?" She didn't answer. "How?"
"You'd help me." By this point, Jenny could tell the conversation was getting to him. The picture was bobbing up and down more as if it was harder for him to hold it still.
The lizard eyes came back though her voice still had that whiney little girl quality. "Anyway, you'll do it, or you'll be gone too." Jenny felt herself turn icy cold with horror hearing those words come out of her own mouth. She leaned forward.
"What do you mean I'll be gone?"
"You just will." The evil face smiled sloppily. "Jenny knows…" The evil face was smiling. "Hee hee."
"Why?"
She could hear the tension in his voice. He wanted to fight the thing but he couldn't, and she could see his other hand clenching and opening, clenching and opening.
"Why would I kill Jenny for you?"
The cold horror filled her, made her want to struggle and thrash and kick to get away from him. Jennifer on screen was starting to struggle as well, and her limbs strained, tendons popping as she struggled with the bindings.
"There's a price to pay," the voice coming from inside Jenny said. It was deepening, getting harsh. He stopped the video.
"This is where she went all exorcist on me," he warned Jenny. They were standing apart now. He started it up again.
"What price?""A blood price. For this." The demon wiggled her hips at him, smiling.
"She means for sex," Jenny said, looking at Turner for confirmation. He nodded.
"I'm not going to kill Jenny," Turner said. The finality of his decision was like the closing of a heavy lid on a truck that would be forever locked.
Jenny's eyebrows went up and on screen she watched her body go berserk. The thing went total demon, the bellowing voice no longer sounding female, or human. The limbs popped against the restraints in grotesque ways.
"Stay with her and die," the voice, octaves deep and harsh, said.
Then the demon's smile came out again. "You won't be the first," it said.
She stood there wiping her eyes. He looked pissed off.
"It's true," she cried. "I should have told you. She killed that other guy. She killed Brett." She found her arms were around his neck. He was holding her off the ground in a fierce hug.
"Oh my god," she said sobbing into his flannel shoulder, "I didn't know. Not for sure. You were getting tired…it was starting with you too. You should leave me."
"Nobody's leaving anybody," he said.
He was stroking her, calming her, setting her on the ground but not letting go. She hiccupped and turned her head to lean it against his right shoulder this time, feeling her hot eyes and the freezing tracks of her tears as they dripped down her face. Her feet were so cold they were numb, but she didn't care. She was not leaving the warm circle of his arms. Not until he pried her out of them. But even as she squeezed her eyes tight with the thought, she felt the knife go deeper into her soul. She would have to leave him. She didn't want him to die, did she?
"What's that?" he asked. He was looking at something, but with her head down, she couldn't see what it was. His thumb stroked over the back of her neck.
"What?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing," he said. "I didn't realize you had gotten a tattoo. It’s cool."
"Where?" She looked, craning her neck around trying to see the skin under the stretched out neck of his green t-shirt.
"Right there," He put his finger smack dab on the back of her neck.
"I don't have a tattoo," she said.
"Course you do. Like a Chinese coin."
Like hundreds of butterflies beating their wings all at once against her skin, she felt her body tingle all over then go numb suddenly. "I need a mirror," she said.
Chapter 10
In the end she needed two mirrors to see the back of her neck, which he didn't have, so he took a picture of it on his phone and showed it to her.
"You don't remember getting it?" he asked.
She gave him a look.
"Okay, well, we know how that happened then." He paced. "But wasn't there a bandage or something? You'd notice that, wouldn't you?"
She shook her head. "No. Sometimes I came home and my neck was sore but—" She hesitated. "There was never a bandage."
"But what?"
"But we know how that can happen. With Jennifer, I mean." She didn't say any more. She watched as he looked at her intently and then the mental picture formed before his eyes. His face became suddenly grim, and she knew if Jennifer were here in another body, he'd be throttling her. A violent speculation, but one that made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside—and a little bloodthirsty. A little horny on top of it all, too.
She looked down at the back of her neck on the phone.
"Look, there's this notch in it, through here," her finger traced it. "Straight up at twelve o'clock. And see there's this kind of maze etched inside the rest of it."
"We need to see it better. Let's blow it up on my computer."
He hauled out some glasses and sat in front of the screen.
"You wear glasses," she said.
"Yup. Okay, well, it looks old."
"I don't think you look old at all." She ruffled his hair and sat on his knee.
"The coin. I think it's old."
"I've seen this before." She bit her lips. Thailand. Shit.
"If it's an image of a real coin, then chances are someone who knows coins might know what it is. You want to tell me how you found it?"
"I didn't find it, someone was wearing it."
His pencil was tapping on the table. "If you're possessed—and we think of possession as similar to a kind of infection, then when were you infected? Who infected you? By what means did it occur?"
"Johannes. He was the one wearing the coin." She gave him a brief sketch about her encounter in Thailand.
"I really don't want to hear about your adventures with other men, okay?"
She looked at eyebrows raised.
"Sorry, I'm jealous as hell, is all."
So sensitive.
Then just like that all the tension went out of his shoulders.
"Okay, sorry. Tell me."
Turner lived in the moment, she realized. When he was bothered, he said so. She played with his hair. Then the clouds blew away and his usual can-do attitude took over.
"We were travelling around Bangkok together, and Johannes wore this coin around his neck on a string. Like a necklace."
"It looked like this."
"Exactly."
He drew her back to his chest and pushing her hair aside, kissed her throat.
"Don't."
"I'm kissing your neck, not the tattoo."
"Whatever."
"So he was wearing this symbol. He wore it when he had sex with you."
She remembered the pinkish exhaustion bruising around his eyes. She scanned Turner's face. The skin around his eyes was clear, completely unsmudged by fatigue. "Then he tried to give it to you. Did you wear it?"
"Just until he left. Not even an hour."
"Did—do you think you had sex with him in your sleep? Do you think Jennifer got into you somehow when you had sex?"
She shook he
r head. "I don't know. I didn't sleep well after that, but I thought it was jetlag." She played with his hair some more. He needed a haircut, but seeing him with groomed hair at this point was going to seem rather strange.
"But if just having sex with someone wearing the symbol—" a symbol now permanently tattooed on her neck, "is enough to infect someone…" She looked at Turner, her heart squeezed tight with concern.
"Think the tattoo might be part of it?"
"It's definitely a part of it," she said. Poor Brett. She didn't want to think about him.
"Look," he said, as Rusty waddled over to them wanting to share the love, "we're smart people. Academics are useless for a lot of things, but we know how to do research." He put his finger down on the phone as she petted Rusty. "If anyone knows anything about this coin, we'll find them."
"How?"
"By playing six degrees of separation."
The rest of the day was spent playing phone tag with fellow academics and hopping on and off internet databases.
She marveled at Turner's connections. He knew biologists all over the world, and they knew other academics. She admired the way he could reach out and connect with total strangers, getting them on the phone even though it was Saturday night. Meanwhile, she didn't even like to call the local pizza place and talk with them long enough to place an order.
He got academic friends going on Facebook by making it a competition, by offering beer for everyone at the next biology conference. He was obviously very popular.
By Saturday afternoon Turner's connections had narrowed down the likelihood that the image was not of a coin, and was not Chinese.
Turner knew someone who knew an art historian who claimed to know something about the design. He was at Heidelberg University. Professor Frey spoke English and specialized in mediaeval monastery artifacts—and he was willing to answer a few questions over Skype.
With a schwooooop! noise, Skype loaded up onto Turner's big screen monitor.
While they waited for the German professor to come onscreen, they talked about the future.
"Clearly we need to stay with each other until this gets resolved," Turner said.
"I've been holding my own."
"Jenny, she wants to kill you. She's got access to your phone. What if she gets some guy to come over and strangle you?"