Death Trance

by R. D. Zimmerman

“This might hurt,” said my sister. “And you might be mad.”

  “No, I won't,” I replied, at the same time thinking, Go ahead, judge me.

  “Okay, if you're sure. Actually, it's something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time.” She put her hands on the edge of the table, turned toward me, and said, “First of all, I don't think you're a sicko. And second, I knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “That Toni was a lesbian.”

  I looked at her, unable to hide my puzzlement. “So what's that make you, a good guesser?”

  “No.” Maddy hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice was lower, softer, calmer. Unmistakably. “That makes me a good friend.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Toni and I were friends. Close friends, actually, and she told me about Laura and her.”

  This didn't make any sense except, of course, they'd both lived in Chicago. I hesitated, then asked, “What are you saying?”

  “I'm saying that a while ago—”

  “How long?”

  “Well, six years maybe.”

  “Six years?” I gasped.

  “Yes, about that long ago we ran into each other. I was at Water Tower Place, tapping along with my cane, when all of a sudden I literally bumped into someone, and who was it but Toni. We knew each other at once, of course. I mean, I used to see a lot of her when you two were together, and so we—”

  Stunned, I said softly, “Oh, shit, Maddy.”

  Maddy's chin started to tremble, and she bit her lower lip. Then she turned away from me, pushed up those big Beverly Hills sunglasses that hid her darkened eyes, took her napkin and blotted her eyes.

  “So… so you see, we went out for coffee,” continued Maddy in her deeper, lower voice, tears now rolling down her cheeks. “Only it wasn't just Toni and me. Laura was there, too. It was obvious they were together. I knew within the first few minutes by the way they were hedging, the way they talked about their lives. So I just went along with it, and when I acknowledged it—I can't remember what I said, something about them living together—Toni acknowledged it, too, openly so.” Maddy broke off, then forced herself on, her voice still low and deep. “And after that we just got to be friends, the three of us. They were really very nice to me—we'd get together maybe five or six times a year. After the accident, while I was still in Chicago, they'd come and get me, take me out to dinner and… oh, God, Alex, I'm sorry.”

  This was just great. “Jesus Christ, why didn't you tell me?”

  “Because she made me promise not to!” Maddy spun toward me, her face wrinkled and red and wet, and she reached out, bumped her bowl, spilled some soup, groped for my hand. “I'm sorry, really I am. I didn't mean to keep it secret, but Toni made me promise. She said she was the one who had to tell you about Laura and her. It was her job, and she was right. It was. So I never said anything to you. Toni went up to the Twin Cities maybe once a year to see Liz, and every time I asked, Did you see Alex? You know, he'd love to see you. You have to call him, I told her, but of course she never did until after Liz's death. Oh, Alex, she cared so much for you, she really did!”

  I clutched my sister's hands, and then I was pulling on the edge of her wheelchair, moving her closer, rolling her right up next to me because I was crying then, too. I hugged Maddy, and she clung to me because I loved Toni as a lover and Maddy loved Toni as a friend, and now she was dead.

  “I understand,” I muttered. “I do.” And I really did.

  “Why would someone want to kill her?” asked my sister. “Why? She was so lovely and so talented and… and so kind.”

  “I don't know,” I mumbled.

  I ran my hand through my hair, thought back to Toni's funeral in Chicago. Toni's mother and father had been white with shock, speechless, too, at having lost both daughters; actually her father looked and acted heavily sedated. There'd been a huge number of people, the church overflowing, but noticeably absent was Laura Cole. I'd searched the crowd, even asked about her, but unless she'd snuck in and out, she hadn't been there.

  “I wonder what ever happened to Laura,” I said. “I wrote her about a month after Toni died, but didn't get a reply. A couple of months ago I wrote her again, and that letter came back unopened.”

  Lost in thought, Maddy was silent, and I understood why she'd been so insistent about my coming here and doing this trance and this age regression. The whole bit. Maddy was just as determined as I to find Toni's killer, find justice, revenge, punishment. All that. And since Laura had disappeared, it was evident that if we didn't pursue this, no one else would.

  “You told Toni again, didn't you?” I asked. “After Liz died you told Toni to come and see me, right?”

  “Not really.” Maddy nodded, pulled away a bit, cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. “Liz was buried in Chicago. I went to the funeral, and I decided that I had to tell you about being friends with Toni and about Liz, too, of course. But then after the funeral there was a small wake or reception—whatever you call those things —and Toni came up to me. She was alone—Laura and she were having some problems—and Toni told me she was going to Minneapolis to clear out her sister's apartment. She promised she was going to look you up. I think she was just afraid to see you because you were the life she could have had.”

  Yes, I was, but it would never have worked.

  “And she did look me up,” I said, recalling that fateful afternoon when the doorbell had screamed wheeeeeee! and she had stood there, the person I'd lost so many years earlier.

  The pantry door swung open just then and Solange stepped in, but stopped upon seeing the two of us there, holding hands, eyes puffy and wet, soup barely touched. She froze in her discomfort, unsure whether to retreat in respect or proceed as if nothing were wrong.

  “I think we're all right, Solange,” said Maddy, her voice higher again, as she blotted away the last of her tears. “Alex, do you need anything? More soup?”

  I'd only had a couple of spoonfuls. “I'm fine, thanks.”

  I'd never noticed, at least not until just then, that Maddy had two voices, the higher, tighter one she'd just used with Solange and the deeper, slower, no-shit one with which she'd spoken about Toni. The first voice was the tenser of the two, one that wanted the world to be a certain way, that was determined to rise above it all and pretend that all was well. The second was her inner voice, her real one, the naked, unprotected voice of her soul that betrayed how she really felt about things. Unfortunately, I knew too well that the first voice was her normal, everyday one, the one she almost always used.

  “Just let me know,” said Solange, quickly slipping away.

  Maddy continued in her high voice, now turning to me, asking, “Alex, would you mind if I gave both Solange and Alfred the day off tomorrow? They never get to go to shore together, you see. One of them is always with me. So since you're here, I'd like to let them spend the night away from here. They could go to Petoskey or up to Mackinac Island, though they're probably wanting land more than anything else, so it'd probably be Petoskey.”

  Of course we'd be fine out here, Maddy and I. What could happen? Now, however, that I'd discovered her high voice, the one that wasn't genuine and grounded, I couldn't help but be irritated by it. Why was she using it with me, her brother, of all people? Maybe the reason was as simple as Maddy having already promised them the day and night off, saying it was fine with me without checking first, so she was nervous.

  “That'd be fine,” I said. “Obviously, I'm not going anywhere.”

  “You're wonderful.”

  Even as Maddy leaned over and smooched me on the cheek, however, I knew from the higher pitch of her voice that dear Sister wasn't leveling with me, that she was holding something back. But what? And why?

  “Did you get enough to eat?” she asked. “Are you finished?”

  “Yes,” I lied, quite easily, knowing that Maddy couldn't see how little I'd eaten. “Shall we go back up? We could still get in another hour or two.” />
  “If you're up for a trance, yes, let's. The sooner we get this over, the better.”

  “Absolutely.”

  So, as we abandoned our meals and headed back to the elevator that would lift us to that magical room and carry me toward another age regression, I could only speculate what Maddy was hiding from me. That's when it struck me, hard and most unpleasantly, like when you hit your head going down some stairs. What more did Maddy know about Toni? Or Liz for that matter? Was there something Maddy knew—perhaps something she'd learned at Liz's funeral—that she was keeping from me and I had yet to discover?

  Yes, quite possibly so.

  Chapter 14

  The trance descended on me quickly, probably because I was so eager to return to the past. As soon as I lay down on that recliner up on the third floor, I took a deep breath, rolled my eyes, and the trance started again. Slid right through me. I was that anxious to slip away from what Maddy had told me, and that keen on getting back to the last few days of Toni's life. Maddy went through her whole hypnotic spiel, her song-and-dance of breathing in and out, getting lighter, counting to ten. But I didn't need any of it. None of that blast-off stuff, the prep work. I was already there, which I finally told her, interrupting her routine, telling her that she had to hush, I had things to tell her and things to discover.

  “Wonderful,” she cooed from back there, from that pitifully small, self-conscious world, while I'd blasted into the dark universe beyond. “Then go on. It was early morning.”

  Yes, I knew. This was my story, and late at night or toward early morning, I slipped away, found a blanket to spread over Toni, then made my way back to my bedroom, where I crawled into bed. I was depressed, even then, in the middle of the night.

  I told Toni that and more the next morning. We were in the kitchen; I was making coffee, my back was to her.

  “I keep coming back to one thing: I just wish you'd told me back then,” I said as I poured water into the machine.

  “I should have, I know, come out back then, but I was having so much trouble handling it that I didn't think you could.”

  I turned around to see her sitting on a stool, that wild hair thrown back, face hopeful, mouth gentle. Just as beautiful and as warm-looking as ever. It was hard to be mad.

  “I might not have been able to,” I began, “not then, not right away. But that would have been my problem.”

  “Yeah, you're right. It's just that…” She glanced away, stared at the white walls, turned back to me. “I was still trying to come to terms with who I was, trying to deal with all my self-loathing, and it's just that it was easier to reject you, Alex, than to tell you and have you reject me.” She added, “It may sound silly, but your love was that important to me.”

  I grabbed a sponge from the sink, started wiping a counter that was perfectly clean. No, there were crumbs by the toaster, a bit of spilled water by the coffeemaker, not to mention a stain that might disappear if only I scrubbed long enough, hard enough.

  Behind me, Toni said, “Look, Alex, I need to get back to my hotel, then go over to Liz's.” There was a pained pause. “It was nice to see you again.”

  “Goddammit, Toni, don't walk out on me a second time. We're not finished.” I spun around, face red, said, “I spent all these years thinking about you, wondering what had happened to us, to you. You've no idea how much I thought about you. No idea. I thought I'd never get over you, that I'd never forget anything about you, and now… now…” I bowed my head and shook it. There was nothing else to be done. Nowhere else to go.

  “Shit, I spent all that time thinking about you and now I don't remember if you drink your coffee black or not.”

  She looked at me, hopeful. “Black, actually.”

  “Right, black.”

  I opened a cupboard, reached for a mug, took a long, deep breath, said, “You can go back to your hotel to get your things, Toni, but I want you to stay here for the rest of your time in Minneapolis. In fact, I'll be pissed if you don't. The guest bedroom is full of my bikes and junk, but you can put your stuff in there and sleep on the living room couch. I think it would be good for both of us to spend time together.” I poured the coffee, handed it to her. “Is it a deal, Dr. Domingo?”

  Touching me on my hand as she accepted the coffee, she said simply, “Deal.”

  That was the beginning of our new friendship, one that was based on how the cards really lay, not on how we wished they did. We had eggs, runny ones, of course, because I did remember Toni liked them that way. All was going fine, getting even cheerful, until I asked about Laura. From the way Toni had talked, I'd just assumed they were still together.

  “How is she?” I asked. “Still as funny?”

  “Actually…” Toni looked at the floor, sighed. “Actually we've had a hard year. Laura has a CD problem she has to work out.”

  “CD?”

  “Chemical dependency. It's pretty common among nurses—at least that's what they say. You know, all the drugs they're around, all the stress. She was working on an AIDS ward for the past couple of years, and it finally got to her.”

  I sensed this was the tip of the iceberg, and asked, “What do you mean? What happened? Are you two still together?”

  “No, not at the moment, anyway.” She frowned, looked at me. “Do you really want to hear this?”

  “Yeah, I do.” All of it, I thought. I wanted to fill in all the blanks.

  “Well…” Toni let out a long breath. “It started getting bad a couple of years ago. Laura has always been a heavy drinker, but then, you know, working with the AIDS patients and everything. All the deaths—she couldn't handle it. Who could? She started sneaking tranquilizers, I'm not sure which, and then she went downhill from there. I think, to be shrinky-dinky about it, the AIDS stuff really made her take a hard look at her own sexuality. Anyway, about a year ago I tried to get her help but she fought it. I started getting pushy about it —she really did get pretty bad, coming home either high or drunk almost every night. I'd only seen bits of it before, but then she developed this awful temper. And then…”

  “Then?”

  “I finished up early at the hospital one day, got home, and there she was sitting in the living room, about to shoot up some heroin. I hit the roof—I grabbed the syringe and smashed it, and she came after me. We had a terrible fight, you know, with fists and everything. It was awful.” Toni hung her head, shook it. “All this anger came flying out of her. This rage. And she hit me. I mean, she knocked me out.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Yeah, what a year, huh? My lipstick-lez girlfriend has a personality split, turns into the dyke from hell, I kick her out, and then my kid sister dies. God.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “That's why it was so wonderful to see you, to feel your arms around me.” She smiled and reached out for my hand. “I've never forgotten you either, Alex. I mean, you were a good friend once.”

  I took her hand, squeezed it, let go. “So you and Laura have split up?”

  “I guess so, for now anyway. I hope it's not permanent. I still really love her, but she's got to get straightened out. Things went really downhill for her—I had to tell the hospital where she worked, of course, and they suspended her immediately. Then she moved back to her folks’. Actually she's here now, in Minnesota, at The North Center. It's about an hour out of town, and a month ago her parents got her into their chemical dependency program.”

  “Minnesota,” I laughed. “Land of ten thousand treatment centers. Hazelden really started something.”

  “Well, you guys are famous for them. I know Laura's not out of the woods yet—I just hope it works.”

  “Have you seen her since you've been up here?”

  “No. She wrote me after Liz died—a short card—but we haven't spoken at all, and she doesn't want to see me. That's her decision. She's really angry at me, both for blowing the whistle on her at work and, I think, because I represent all of her own homophobia. She has a lot of self-hatred, and I'm at t
he vortex of all that right now. I did talk with her counselor the other day, though, and she's going to ask Laura if I can come out to visit. I really want to see her, so I hope she'll agree. I'm supposed to check back tomorrow for the verdict. If Laura says okay, I'll drive out there.”

  “Good luck.”

  “God, life's hard, you know? I mean, Laura's so wonderful. They loved her on the AIDS ward. Let me tell you, she kept them pretty cheery. Actually it got pretty campy in there—I swear to God, one of the patients laughed himself to death last fall.”

  “You're kidding?”

  “Well, the guy had one foot in the grave, but…”

  I shook my head, didn't know what to say, asked, “Did your sister know about you and Laura?”

  “Yeah. She was fine about it. I mean, she was glad I was out. You remember her; she liked things up front.”

  “Right.”

  We finished our coffee pretty much in silence, and before I showered I called into work, told them I was okay but not great, and that I needed to take the rest of the week off to heal from the bike accident I'd never had. I could talk to my boss and the others about the software our company was producing, about garage door openers, too. Even answering machines. But never, I suspected, could I broach a subject like Toni and me and hope for any insights. Then again, perhaps that was where I erred.

  After a while I drove Toni back to her hotel, where she packed up and checked out.

  “Oh,” said Toni to the desk clerk, “and if anyone wants to reach me, be sure to give them this number—that's where I'll be.” She wrote my name and number on a slip of paper, then turned to me and rolled her eyes. “When you're a physician you've always got to be reachable.”

  I laughed. “No escaping, huh?”

  She followed me back to my place in her rental car, and it was a relief having that time apart from each other. I got depressed, glanced at her in my rearview mirror, realized I'd always be attracted to her beauty and assuredness.

  It was kind of funny. After we dropped her things at my place and headed over to Liz's apartment, we just got back on track, like there wasn't anything weird about hanging out together. We stopped talking about us, about sexual preferences. We pushed away from all that, gladly, and started talking about the doctoring biz, my sister who'd been slammed by the bus, the terribly exciting world of technical writing. My bicycle obsession. Just sort of catching up on stuff, as if we'd been around the corner from each other and now it was gossip time.