The Grey Door

by Danna Wilberg

  “Who’s end?” she muttered. Her ears began to ring. She felt faint. Thoughts of Wilde Defoe’s premonition hurt her head. Her client dreamt of being buried alive. She rationalized his fear and reduced it to a diagnosis. She concluded his reoccurring dream unveiled suppressed childhood trauma” Until his car went off the road and the hillside swallowed him whole. She sucked in air with short quick gasps. His dream came true.

  She couldn’t deny the resemblance of the now-daunting scene to that in her dream. Her blood ran cold. Just a dream, years of education argued with practical sense. She fought to breathe normally.

  “Are we going the right way?” Could it have been the tremor in her voice that caused the man to stop? He set her suitcase on the floor and grabbed her arm.

  “Miss Simms? You’re white as a ghost. Let me find you a chair. Should I call for help?”

  “This wasn’t such a good ide—” Grace read the man’s concern on his furrowed brow. This wasn’t his battle. The turmoil she felt belonged to her alone. “A chair would be nice,” she said in a weak voice. The man hurried away, leaving her black overnight bag sitting in the middle of the cement floor like a lost soul. Grace wanted to rescue the bag, wanted to pull it close, be one with it, but she was rooted where she stood, unable to move a muscle. Only her eyes moved as they followed the familiar image. A woman in a plain housedress shooed something from her shoulder, something only she could see.

  Grace willed herself to blink, willed her mind to erase the vision, and tried to replace it with pink ponies or a space ship—a scene that would make more sense than what she was seeing now. I’m losing my mind. The man walking by in tattered clothes and pushing his cart would agree.

  ***

  Marcus Meltz removed his hand from the glass separating him from his granddaughter. He pressed his palm against his daughter’s cheek. “Let’s be grateful our prayers have been answered; a donor has been found.”

  Willa nodded, resting her head on her father’s shoulder. “She has your eyes, Daddy, don’t you think?”

  “I think she looks more like you, sweetheart. Beautiful, like her mommy.” He smiled and kissed the top of his daughter’s head. Willa sniffled.

  “Daddy, it doesn’t matter if she looks like Godzilla as long as she’s healthy.” Just then, Willa’s husband entered the room.

  “Spencer!” Dr. Meltz joked, “We were just talking about you.”

  Spencer gave Marcus a light punch on the shoulder. “Hey man, are you trying to talk Willa into moving up north again?”

  “Nah, just wondering how ugly guys like you make such beautiful babies.”

  “Look who’s talkin’! We’re lucky the kids take after Shirley’s side of the family!”

  Dr. Meltz laughed, but inside, Spencer’s comment cut deep. You have no idea.

  His mind reverted to memories dating back thirty-one years. Times were different then. Men were men before they were doctors. Once he and his friends became doctors, they let their egos deem them gods instead of men, always competing for the highest pedestal. They worked hard and played hard and lived every day as if it were their last.

  Their antics made life challenging for their wives. Marcus knew Shirley was unhappy. Her needs were exhausting, constantly changing. Her frustrations were remedied with booze, exotic vacations, diamonds, or the latest and greatest Sunbeam appliance. She flirted with anyone who looked her way, yet Marcus never imagined she’d stray. He remembered how she cried the day she found out she was pregnant, confessing a one-night stand with Roger. “What if the baby is his?” she cried. Marcus knew Roger; he wasn’t the type to claim his prize.

  Most men would’ve considered divorce, not Marcus. He forgave his wife’s infidelity. “We’re having our baby,” he told her convincingly. From then on, the subject was closed. When Willa was born, their world changed. The air was sweeter; days were filled with ruffles, pink bunnies, potty chairs, and swings. Bottles of booze remained full on the shelf. Marcus was grateful.

  He gave Willa a squeeze. Born with blonde curls, sapphire eyes, small pug nose—Shirley’s clone—Willa would not have her paternity questioned. Before Willa was eight months old, Shirley developed fibroid tumors the size of grapefruits and required a hysterectomy. For him, it all worked out. No more children, his secret safe. No one would ever know he was sterile. Until now.

  ***

  Grace reached in her purse for the Xanax Dr. Meltz had prescribed months ago. She gripped the bottle in her hand, her thumb perched on the tab ready to pop the lid. Can’t—the blood test. Maybe she would be able to take one later. After all she was supposed to take one when necessary, right? Isn’t that what Dr. Meltz said? She needed his help. She returned the bottle to her purse and grabbed her phone.

  ***

  “Has Mom called?” Willa asked, slipping from her father’s embrace.

  Marcus worked through his torment as though he walked through a spider’s web, waving his hand in the air.

  “She’ll be here. You know your mother: always late.” He reached for his phone, remembering he’d turned it off yesterday. Willa gave him an admonishing look. “Hospital rules,” he retaliated.

  He’d no sooner turned the phone back on when it rang in his hand. He moved into the hall for better reception.

  “Hello?” he questioned, startled by the timing of the call. “Dr. Meltz?

  “Gracie?”

  “I know I shouldn’t be calling on your cell, Dr. Metlz, but I…I’m having a meltdown, and I need your help.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The dreams, they’re becoming more real.”

  “Oh Gracie, now isn’t a good—“

  “Please listen! I’ve gotten myself into something,” she began to cry.

  “Let me call you back,” he said quietly, not wanting to call more attention to himself.

  “When?” she insisted. “I need you now!”

  “Grace,” he said evenly. “I’ll call you back.

  “Swear?”

  Dr. Meltz chuckled. He hadn’t heard her use that expression since he caught her sneaking beer when she was twelve. She made him promise not to tell her dad. “Didn’t tell about the beer, did I?”

  Grace felt relieved. Dr. Meltz had her back. The driver hadn’t returned. He’s taking too long. She picked up her bag and left.

  She followed signs to the cafeteria. Just need a few minutes to purge my fears. She sat by the window and waited for Dr. Meltz’s call.

  ***

  “Be back in a few minutes,” Marcus said. “You have my pager.”

  “Did you get a hold of Mom?”

  “She’ll be here, Willa. Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

  Marcus headed for the cafeteria. The change in scenery would clear his head. What could be so urgent? Grace didn’t call his cell phone except by his request. Not like her. She and Willa were so much alike. How could he love his daughter and not feel the same for Grace.

  He followed the sign to his left. He entered the cafeteria, flipped open his phone and pressed the send button. A phone rang at the exact moment across the room.

  Grace stared in disbelief. What is he doing here? She knew there was a problem with the baby. Why here? He acted as if he didn’t see her. She answered the call. “Dr. Meltz! Turn around.

  Dr. Meltz slowly turned. A knot formed in his stomach. He never dreamt…

  She hugged him so hard, he gasped. “I can’t believe you are here!” she said. “Is everything okay?”

  “Let’s go where we can talk.” Beads of perspiration formed on his brow. He ushered her across the room as she rambled on.

  “You know how my mother has always pushed me to join her cause: become a donor, save a life. You know the schpeel. Here I am, an HLA match, whatever that is.” They both sat down, she continued her rant. “I wanted to help, but I can’t. I can’t do it! I’m scared to death!”

  A tear slipped down Dr. Meltz’s cheek.

  “Dr. Meltz? What’s wrong?” She didn’t
understand. “You’re crying.”

  He took her hand in his, his eyes full of remorse.

  “There’s something I need to tell you, Gracie. I’m sorry it has to be like this.”

  “What are you doing here?” Grace’s voice raised a notch, her patience running thin. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re here because of me. Because thirty-one years ago, I—”

  “You’re my father?”

  “No.” His features softened. “But I’m not Willa’s.”

  “Who then?” The color drained from Grace’s face. “My father?”

  Dr. Meltz turned his head in shame. “It shouldn’t have come to this.”

  “What! Come to what? Me finding out the truth? And just when did you plan on telling me?”

  “Never,” he said.

  “Never?”

  “What was the use? Your dad didn’t know about Willa. I never told him. He never asked.”

  “Your best friend slept with your wife, and you’re okay with that?” People began to stare.

  “And what about my mother?” Tears filled Grace’s eyes. Her mother’s words echoed through her brain. Did she make you happy? Did she? Grace stood to leave. Dr. Meltz grabbed her wrist.

  “This isn’t about us.” His eyes pleaded with hers. “It’s about the baby. Please, Grace. Hate me later. Right now, I am begging you. Help my granddaughter.”

  Grace slumped in the chair. Her body ached from the tension built up in her muscles. She wanted to throw herself on the floor and kick her feet. Not fair! Her life was in shambles. Hope extinguished easily by someone else’s greed. Damn her father. Damn the cheaters and liars. Damn the men who controlled the women who loved them, and damn the women for protecting their lies.

  All these years.

  CHAPTER 21

  JENNA BARTELL

  J ess put his feet together and stretched his arms wide. Crucified. He lay on the concrete floor. His mind wouldn’t settle on one image. It was a carousel, spinning out of control. His mother’s laughter filled his ears. Shrill and drunk, she seemed to loom over him, her latest conquest. He had food stuck between his teeth, beer breath, and an unshaven face. Circling and circling, his mind heard the sound of a zipper and felt pain from something hard piercing his insides. It stole his manhood and murdered his inner child. His thoughts went to the chair. Tied up for days. Cheaper than a babysitter. No witnesses…the carousel went round and round…the images…more of the same. He wept into exhaustion.

  Jess’s sobs decreased to mewling, mumbling, intermittent crying, and then snores. Jenna didn’t make a sound as her fingers fumbled for the mirror shard she kept hidden in a shoe under the bed. Once she had a grip, she began slicing the silver tape.

  Her hands free, she mustered strength and courage. Silently, she tip-toed passed his still body, up the stairs leading to the back door. She slid the chain from the latch and turned the knob, anticipating a creaking sound. He oiled the hinges. Freedom only inches away, she hesitated, hearing a small cry. Her downfall? Compassion. I can’t leave the cat alone with a killer.

  Jess stirred. A breeze? He leaped to his feet, feeling dizzy and confused. “Jenna?” No answer. He flipped the light switch and discovered the wad of tape on the bed. “Son-of-a-bitch!” He punched the mattress and screamed, “Jenna!” The realization hit home. The door!

  Jenna moved ninja-like into the living room. Her one hope: the sofa. Three months ago, she wouldn’t have fit. Now, her emaciated body maneuvered easily between the leather back and the hardwood floor. She turned her head sideways and wedged herself as close to the wall as possible. Yellow eyes glowed in the dark.

  Crazed and hunting for blood, Jess raced through the house, flipping on lights. His wife was nowhere to be found. The door remained ajar. “Nah, she wouldn’t leave me,” he said aloud. He went to the door, peeked outside and called softly, “Jen-na.” Still, no answer. He began to panic.

  Jenna held her breath and prayed the cat wouldn’t betray her. As long as they both stayed put, there was a chance of escaping. Her heart threatened to leap from her chest; the cat didn’t seem to care.

  Jess pulled a suitcase from his closet and gathered his things. Jeans, shirts, and underwear fit neatly inside. He returned to the closet. His Brooks Brothers suits would have to stay. He unzipped one of the garment bags and retrieved a pair of blue scrubs. “Just in case,” he said, tossing them on the bed. He unzipped another bag and inspected the police uniform. “Officer Zedlitz,” the name tag read. He smiled to himself. “Now, this one I will definitely need.”

  He yanked the carpet in the corner of the closet, removed a floorboard, and extracted a small tin box. He threw the lid on the floor. He stuffed two passports in one pocket and a wad of cash in the other. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, lifted the dust ruffle, and checked under the bed.

  “Jen-na?” he whispered, “I’m going to find you.”

  Tiny lights swam through Jenna’s peripheral vision. The floor swayed beneath her. Darkness threatened to swallow her whole. The cat began to purr. She dreaded her position, yet she could not move. She heard Jess banging around in the bedroom. She prayed he would leave the house, disappear, and never return, but her prayers were never answered before. What made her think today was any different? Because…you’re still alive.

  She heard Jess rummage through the closet in the master bedroom. She could feel the vibration on the floor. What is he doing? She heard a scraping noise. He’s removing something…

  The noise stopped. She held her breath. She heard him call her name, his voice dangerous. He threatened to find her. If he did? Her bladder spasmed. A warm sensation spread between her legs. A sharp pain shot through her abdomen like a hot poker. He’s capable of anything. What would he do if he found her?

  “Jen-na?” he called again.

  His footsteps drew near.

  Her body trembled.

  When he kicked the sofa, her world went black.

  Jess went from room to room, checking carefully. He checked behind doors, underneath beds, between the clothing hanging in the closets. Where did she go? He went to the window and peeked through the blinds. He could see his neighbors next door watching TV. Not there. He went to the other end of the house, stood beside the glass paneled door and moved the curtain aside. The neighbor across the street carried his trash to the curb. Not there either. Just then, a siren screamed in the background. Shit! She wouldn’t—

  He ran to the bedroom, grabbed his suitcase, and left out the back door. He got in his car, started the engine, and didn’t look back.

  ***

  Jess did a quick sweep past Grace’s house. He had tried to call her earlier. She didn’t answer. He wondered if she’d be up for a road trip. Why not? He rounded the block and pulled to the curb. He jogged to her front door, rang the bell, and listened. At least the fucking dog wouldn’t be welcoming him, he mused. He knocked several times. No answer. He checked the garage. Her car is here. He called her cell again. No answer. He called her work number. The answering service picked up.

  “Hi, yes,” his voice mimicked a pimple-faced teen with a lisp, “This is Alfred Schmitt. I need to talk to Grace Simms. I really need to talk to her bad.”

  “I’m sorry. Miss Simms is out of town, her calls are being taken by—” >click<

  “That fucking bitch!” Jess sprinted to his car, slammed the door, and squealed away.

  “People are disappearing around here,” he laughed, maniacally. “Wonder what lover-boy is up to?”

  Jess drove four miles and parallel parked his car. Quietly he exited his vehicle and walked along the path of flowers leading to Paul’s front door. He started to knock and reconsidered. He could see Paul through the front window carrying a bowl of something in one hand and a paperback in the other. Looks like I’m not the only lonely guy in town. Jess whistled a tune as he got back into his car. I’ll be watching you, lover-boy.

  ***

  Paul told Grace he would stop by the veterinarian
hospital to check on Sneaky when he dropped her at the airport. She said she’d call for an update. Probably busy getting checked in. He’d debated all day whether to call and leave a message. No, she needs her space. He would take care of things until she returned.

  He set his bowl and book on the coffee table and looked out the window. The hair on his arms stood up. The night was overcast and dark. The street lamps provided little lighting. He saw a car drive away, a car like Jess Bartell’s. He reached for his cell to check his messages. Grace still hadn’t called. Could’ve been anyone’s car.

  He sat back down to finish his salad. Between bites, he smiled to himself. Whoa, buddy, you’re not getting hooked on Grace are you? He had to admit he’d never met anyone like her. Probably never will again. Even the thought of her lifted his spirits. He imagined the smell of her hair, her eyes, and the curve of her neck. His thoughts traveled to her breasts, then back to her face. He forced his mind to conjure her smile, sweet and warm. If he focused on her body, he would end up spending the evening in discomfort, and he had reading to catch up on. No, there would be time for making love, when things were right, when he earned her trust. Whatever prevented her from getting close needed time to heal, and he was a very patient man.

  His reading assignment proved tedious and mundane. Before long, he dozed, the book propped open on his chest. The ringtone on his phone jingled him awake.

  “Hello?”

  “Paul? Did I wake you?” Grace sat up. She pushed the cotton coverlet to the edge of the bed with her feet. Her tear-stained face was scrubbed clean, her hair twisted and pinched in a clip. The overhead light cast eerie shadows across the tile floor. “I’m here, at St. Joe’s.”

  “Hey,” he replied in a sleepy voice. “How you getting along?”

  “Just peachy. I walked into the nightmare I’ve been having for the past three months, and I found out my dad had an affair with his best friend’s wife. And guess what? I have a half-sister!”