Bathwater Blues: A Novel

by Abe Moss

  A tall, gaunt shadow stooped in the kitchen entry. Giant and skeletal. Its arms hung to its shins, with very little torso in between. Its shoulders bobbed, breathing. The contours of its silhouette were jagged with feathers. And sitting atop its gently bobbing shoulders was its peculiarly misshapen head, bent forward in a rounded block of feathery gloom, as black and shrouded as the rest of its body… with the exception of a floating pair of white, illuminated eyes. Motionless. Watching her. She trembled against the door, paralyzed. The gears were jammed, grinding against each other, her thoughts pinched in between. She opened her mouth, touched her sandpaper tongue to its sticky roof. There was a scream trapped in her throat, climbing like an insect caught in tree sap. She was lost in its gaze, in its moon-like gateways, wide and bright and full of alien intrigue. As she marveled, it simply studied. There was the smell of something burning in the air, an acrid, melting-plastic odor, and it stung deep inside her nostrils. The figure took a cautionary step into the foyer, out of the arched kitchen doorway, its clawed feet surprisingly light on the carpet, quiet as a cat, and then straightened toward the ceiling.

  Please let this be the pills, Addie thought. Let this be a dream, or a nightmare, or a dozing hallucination. Just let it be over. Let me wake up or let me finally be gone.

  The creature took another step toward her, and its paces—as careful as they were—stretched far enough that just two brought it standing a foot away, its eyes looming down on her, that burning plastic smell twice as pungent. She broke into a coughing fit and the creature cocked its deflated head curiously.

  “Please,” she gasped. “Don’t hurt me.”

  She flinched as the creature dropped to its knees before her. Her keys rattled in their dish. The light in the kitchen briefly flickered. Their eyes were level now, and she felt a gust of sweet, flowery breath on her face, cool and invigorating beneath the burning aroma surrounding them. She wanted nothing more than to look away, to peel her eyes from its penetrating, icy globes, but something about them drew her in. Beacons. Her face fell slack, zombie-like, and she found herself leaning closer rather than pulling away, and was horrified to see the creature doing the same, until their faces were nearly touching. She felt the feathers on its cheeks against her own, dusty and tickling. Up close, its eyes were larger than ever, a swirling in their depths, like static or a snowstorm. The foyer was long gone, lost in darkness. Just the eyes. Expressionless and wide, there was something intimate about them. She sensed a manner of understanding in them. Almost a kindness. Everything else seemed to suggest danger—but its studious, blank eyes, and the fresh, dewy scent of its breath hinted at something different.

  Its hands were upon her. They grasped her biceps, thumbs hooked over her shoulders. She whimpered uselessly. She wanted her mother to come for her then. If she could climb out of the bathtub, drained as a vampire’s last meal, soaked as a prune, and come running down the hall to her rescue, Addie thought she could forgive her for just about everything—no, wait… everything. She’d hug and kiss her like a good little girl does, wrap her arms around her squishy wet flesh and plant the biggest, sweetest smooch on her lifeless cheek.

  But her mother was dead and the dead didn’t come running, and so when the creature pulled her in close, pulled her against its downy chest, its skeletal arms bent around her back, its warm breath down her neck, she only wished it would be quick…

  “Haven’t you been hurt enough?” it whispered in her ear.

  Addie fainted in the creature’s embrace.

  DIAGNOSIS

  PART TWO

  Chapter Seven

  Her bed was harder than she remembered—not terribly uncomfortable, but noticeably stiffer—and upon waking she immediately noticed the changed smell of her bedsheets. They smelled… clean. Like fabric softener. She took a deep, restful breath with her face pressed into her pillow.

  Opening her sleepy eyes, she saw only vague shapes in the dark. It was still night. She closed her eyes and rolled over in bed, inhaled deeply again. Her body ached pleasantly. She was so comfortable she thought she could get another couple hours of sleep if she wanted.

  And so she did.

  ✽✽✽

  Someone screamed. Addie’s eyes flashed open and were instantly flooded by bright, golden daylight. She bolted upright, threw the plain, navy blue blankets off her body—blankets she’d never seen before, dressing a bed which wasn’t hers after all. It was merely a foldup cot, fitted with a firm, four inch mattress. The room in which she found herself couldn’t have been more different than her own. Four bare, cedar-paneled walls, one square window over her bed, and a freshly swept wood floor underneath it. A desk sat in the corner at the foot of her bed. The room, aside from the desk and the bed she lay on, was spotless and barren.

  She climbed onto her knees and stood atop her bed to peer out the window. She placed her hands on either side of it, face nearly pressed against its dirty glass, and squinted through the morning light.

  “Where the hell…”

  Through the small glass portal a wide, open plain of wild grass stretched in all directions, neat and shimmery-yellow under the rising sun, flowing and rolling in and out of view until it came to a thick, dark wall of pines. Sharp, gray, craggy mountains jutted above the green forest in the distance, towering and surreal against a pale blue sky. Addie felt breathless at the sight, though in awe or confusion she wasn’t sure. If not for the cool glass against her nose, she might have mistaken the view for a mounted painting on the wall.

  The scream came again. More like a shout. Addie startled. Still dressed in her pajamas from the night before (or was it the night before? How much time had passed?), she jumped off the bed and crossed to the closed door. She curiously tried the knob and predictably found it locked. The shouting continued, muffled through the wall. When she listened she thought she could hear most of what it said.

  “Let me out! Unlock this door and let me out!”

  A girl’s voice. Deep and hoarse. In the corner by the door, Addie pressed her ear to the wall, listening for her next words. But the girl said nothing more, and Addie could only faintly hear her quick gasps and raspy sobs.

  “Hello?” Addie called through the wall. “Can you hear me?”

  She paused and listened. The sobbing stopped. After a quiet moment, someone brushed against the wall on the other side.

  “Hello?” the girl replied, her words soft but skeptical. “Who are you?”

  Addie paused and considered, wondering if this could somehow be a bizarre game. The previous night was fuzzy but not totally forgotten, and it threatened to come flooding back in an instant. Luckily she managed to let it only glance by, bouncing back into the recesses of her memory. She wasn’t quite yet ready to remember…

  “My name is Addie…” She hesitated, and decided her last name wasn’t important. First names would be enough for now. “You?”

  The voice through the wall paused as well. Addie fidgeted impatiently, sliding her face along the wall searching for a sound. She was about to say hello again when they finally replied, but not with an answer to her question.

  “Where am I?” the girl asked.

  “I don’t know. I know as little as you… What’s your name?”

  There never came an answer or another sound. Perhaps she didn’t trust her. Addie realized she might be smart to feel similarly.

  When she gave up listening through the wall, she crouched on her hands and knees and tried peering through the crack under the door. There was nothing to be seen there; there was only more wood floor on the other side, dark and unhelpful. But she did notice, neatly and discretely crafted, a smaller rectangular door centered in the bottom of the bedroom door. She figured it could be used to pass things to and from the room without allowing full access or an exit. Seeing it caused a swell of fear in her gut.

  She got to her feet and faced her bed. The sun had risen farther in the sky and the light coming through the window turned from gold to simply bright and clear
. Her eyes wandered to a seemingly needless desk in the corner, a short, four-legged slab of faded yellow wood, its surface clawed and its edges covered in small hacks and dents. Its color was so faded—the yellow so bright and plain it was almost white—that she almost didn’t notice the closed envelope placed neatly on its center.

  She immediately went to it, stared down at it, the sides of the desk against her knees, and felt her heart begin to pound as she read the elegant black-ink on its papery face, formally greeting her with a single word:

  Adelaide

  ✽✽✽

  To the lovely Adelaide O’Dell,

  Firstly, welcome to my home. I hope in the coming weeks, or even days, that I may provide you with enough comfort to possibly call it your own. I’m sure as you’re reading this letter now, that you are filled with a great deal of anxiety and confusion. This is perfectly understandable, and even as you read further I’m sure this letter will do little to assuage your fears. Regardless, I must take a moment to make you a promise, as useless as it will surely seem to anyone in your place, that you are in no danger. On the contrary, I have brought you here to give you something else entirely, something invaluable that may seem beyond your current realm of understanding.

  I have brought you here for healing. You find yourself in your current predicament because you believe such a thing to be impossible, and I intend to prove otherwise. Healing is always possible. Sometimes it takes a helping hand, or a compassionate eye to see the potential. I wish to be both for you. All I ask in return is that you be open and honest. Trust will be our greatest tool in unlocking your potential, and while I know it doesn’t come easy, I intend to earn it in the coming days.

  You will find a dotted line at the bottom of this page. Your signature, should you choose to give it, will indicate to me your willingness to try. It will let me know how to begin your treatment, and whether or not I have your initial trust. Should you choose not to sign, I will assume the following: that you do not wish to get better, and that your unwillingness to try is a direct result of a stronger delusion that must be addressed before all else. There is nothing unordinary about such a delusion. It is largely part of why you are here. You see no worth in getting better. That is the delusion. Your treatment will be carried out whether you agree to it or not, I must warn you. But accepting it now and allowing my help will let it progress much more smoothly, and could even expedite your recovery. Remember, you’re here to be healed, and the sooner we achieve that, the sooner you can be safely returned to your life. Perhaps being here in itself is already providing you with a realization of your mistake. You might realize how closely you came to not being anywhere at all, and you might take this second chance as a blessing. I hope that is the case, and I hope you will choose to accept my treatment.

  So make the choice. Sign the dotted line or do not. You will find a soft piece of crayon wax inside the envelope to sign with. When you have decided, replace this letter inside its envelope and slide said envelope under your door. My assistant will be by at midday to pick it up, and also to drop off an adequate lunch. Should you need to relieve yourself, you will find a metal bedpan beneath your bed. This can be passed through the door at the time of my assistant’s visit.

  I look forward to meeting in person, when the time is right. I hope you might feel the same. Until then, make yourself comfortable and rest. I know your mind needs it.

  Sincerely,

  Dr. Edgar Lull

  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

  Your Signature

  ✽✽✽

  Addie placed the unfolded letter back on the desk. Part of her didn’t believe it. Not the letter, not this room, not the gorgeous view outside its window. It didn’t feel real. It was a hyper-realistic dream, one she’d wake up from and wonder how she’d believed a second of it as she dreamt. But then if it was a dream and she eventually did rise out of it, like a piece of shipwreck debris emerging onto a miserable shore, that would mean her attempt was a failed one. She’d wake up on her mother’s bed, probably vomit on its smooth sheets, and be right back where she started.

  Except that it didn’t end on her mother’s bed, she remembered.

  A shiver traced her spine.

  She picked the letter up and read through it once more. When she finished, she read it a third time. And then a fourth.

  “Dr. Lull…” she muttered.

  Was it he who visited her the previous night?

  She didn’t want to think about it. There were images scorched in her mind’s eye, and remembering the previous night caused them to flash in quickly fading snapshots. A dark, towering figure in the kitchen doorway. The smell of an overheated vacuum, and a slight tinge of rose with it. The feel of soft feathers on her face. If any of that had been real, as real as this old, dusty room seemed, then Dr. Lull was obviously connected to it. She’d been brought here by that creature—that seemed more than likely. And how was it possible, she wondered, that Dr. Lull knew about her at all? He had to have known what she planned to do. He’d gotten to her just in time. He’d stopped her from—

  “From killing myself,” she said emptily, eyes wide, staring at a nondescript spot on the wall above the desk with the neatly typed letter still clasped in her hands. “How did you know?”

  She knelt on the hard floor before the desk and picked up the opened envelope. As promised, she found a red chunk of crayon inside, just a small enough nub to messily write one’s name with. She had no intention of writing her name on the dotted line, however. Instead, she carefully pinched the chunk between her fingers and very lightly scrawled a message at the bottom of the page. It was barely legible, and the page was marked by several stray dots and scuffs, and she had little more than a grain of the wax left on the tip of her finger when she finished, but it was enough to get it down.

  “Who are you?” it read, and then, “Where am I?” And finally, “Why me?”

  She folded the letter and stuffed it inside the envelope. She had many other questions besides those, but with her limited materials could only ask the ones she considered most important. Now she would just have to wait for a response. How long did Dr. Lull plan on keeping her restricted to this tiny room? He mentioned meeting in person eventually, so surely that could imply some kind of release later on. Unless he only planned to visit this tiny room, of course.

  She took the envelope and slid it beneath the bedroom door as instructed. His assistant would be by at midday. She wondered how far away that might be. The sun had just been coming up over the distant mountains when she’d awakened…

  She returned to the bed, stood upon it, and peered out the window again, placing her forehead on its pane. A breeze was blowing outside. The wild grass rippled. She watched it somberly, her thoughts scattered like homesick ants. She took a deep breath, held it a moment, teetering between hope and dread, possibility and certainty… and then let it go, forming a warm ghost on the glass.

  As ever, the future was entirely uncertain.

  Chapter Eight

  From a distant place in the house there came the sound of a door opening and shutting. Addie lay on her bed at the time, and she jumped up when she heard. She went to the bedroom door and paused, held her breath.

  An all too familiar sound came waltzing through the house then, vibrating through the old, creaky, dusty floorboards. Footsteps, light and whimsical like dancer’s feet, traveled loudly across the house, coming nearer and nearer to Addie’s door. There was a distinct pattern to them, a double clop in each step. Addie instantly recognized it.

  High heels, she thought.

  The footsteps stopped at her door. The person on the other side bent and swiped up her letter. Then for a moment, only silence. Addie’s belly growled. There came the click of a lock at the base of the door. Addie was half-tempted to drop to her knees and take a peek, but instead she took a cautious step back. Then the little flap popped open, swung outward. She bent to see only a tiny portion of the floor in the corridor through it
s open portal.

  “Are you hungry?” the assistant asked. Her voice was smooth and lovely.

  A foam plate was pushed gently inside, pinched by a delicate hand. On the plate, there appeared to be a helping of buttered mashed potatoes, fluffy and moist, some dark green string beans, two darkly-browned chicken drumsticks, and a chocolate chip cookie. Addie’s mouth not only watered at the sight, but her fingers twitched greedily at her sides. She wanted nothing more than to dive at the plate and begin eating it right off the floor. But the plate sat dangerously close to the open trapdoor still, and she feared what else might be waiting outside.

  “Do you have your bedpan for me?” the assistant asked.

  Addie examined the voice.

  “You’re the woman,” she said. She got down on her knees, still in the center of the room, and with her head against the floor she peered through the trapdoor. Two feet sat prettily in a pair of glossy white heels on the other side. “You’ve been following me these last few days. Did you…”

  “Do you have your bedpan?” she repeated. “If you’ve used it, I’ll take it now and bring it back emptied.”

  Addie continued watching her, tracing her eyes along her ankles until the door blocked view. Then, gathering her thoughts, she turned and grabbed her used bedpan from underneath her bed and pushed it out into the hallway.

  “Can I have some water?” she asked.

  “Oh!” The woman sounded surprised. “I completely forgot! I’ll be back shortly after I’ve given the others their food as well.”

  Others? Addie thought.

  The woman crouched, and Addie glimpsed her knees and the hem of a breezy white sundress around them, and then the wooden flap shut her back in, alone.

  She grabbed her plate of food and took it back to her bed. She set the plate in her lap, letting the warm, buttery aroma waft under her nose. Without utensils, she simply scooped the mashed potatoes on the ends of her fingers and shoveled it into her mouth. They were incredible. She couldn’t tell if she was only starving, but the moment she tasted the first soft cloud on her tongue, her taste buds awakened in a sharp, bright wave of buttery flavor, and she couldn’t seem to shovel more in fast enough.