Bloodchild (21 page)

The neighborhood no longer looked gloomy to him. Shadows were thinner and weaker and not threatening. They hid no unseen horror. The houses looked quaint or attractive or warm. The neighbors he saw working on the lawns or standing around waved as he drove past. There was a friendly, safe atmosphere, a climate of contentment. All would be well.

He pulled into his driveway, parked the car, and entered the house. Already something new and pleasant had been added: he heard music. The stereo in the living room had been turned on, and one of his tapes was playing. Interestingly enough, it was one of his classical pieces, the Carmina Burana. Dana wasn't especially fond of it; she usually complained that it frightened her because it sounded like something used as a sound track for a horror movie, but he loved it, loved the chanting chorus and the heavy, melodic rhythms. It was great music to read by.

There was no one in the living room, however, so he put down his briefcase and rushed upstairs, taking two steps at a time. His bedroom door was closed, but he turned the knob softly and opened the door. He didn't enter. He stood there staring in. Dana was lying back against a couple of pillows, her eyes closed. She was bare-breasted, her hair down, her face as pale as he had ever seen it. But her bosom was tinted pink, the color sweeping up from under the fullness of her breasts and turning into her cleavage in a wide, ribbonlike streak. Her nipples were very dark, the circles the color of dried blood.

He felt drawn to her, stimulated and eager to press his lips to that bosom himself. Rarely before had her neck looked as smooth and as soft. He fantasized his naked body against hers, both of them brought to such heights of sensuality that they were like two matches rubbing against each other, about to ignite, their tiny flames crossing and merging until they consumed each other with their hot passion.

Yet in seconds this sexual imagery gave way to something more frightening. He sensed a threat; he felt himself quiver. There was another presence here, a power that had already claimed Dana's sexuality, a force coming between him and her. These conflicting feelings confused him, and for a moment he couldn't move forward into the room or back out of it.

Suddenly he saw the blanket over her lap and abdomen quiver. Dana didn't open her eyes, but seconds later the baby's head emerged. He watched with fascination as the infant struggled upward, toward her breasts, emerging as if in second birth. It wiggled with snakelike movements, inching closer and closer, until it brought its head up and its lips down around the nipple of her right breast. Dana's eyelids fluttered. Her right hand came up and over the blanket to rest on the baby's back as it fed.

"Mr. Hamilton," the nurse whispered, and Harlan turned around to see her coming out of the baby's room, folding a blanket as she did so. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I just did," he said. He looked back at Dana.

"She's nursing. We just returned from the doctor's office."

"What did he say?"

She smiled. "All's well. Why don't you wash up, shower, change, do whatever you do when you come home from work, and then come downstairs. I'll give you all the details after we have dinner," she added. "I made a roast beef."

"A roast beef? We just had—"

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. It's not important. Sure. Thank you. Fine," he added. "I'll be down right after I shower and change." He looked in at Dana and the baby again. This time she had the child cupped on her arms and her eyes were wide open. "Hi," he said.

"Hi. How's Colleen?"

"Resting comfortably." He walked into their bedroom and began to loosen his tie, watching the baby feed. He could see the muscles in the back of its neck vividly. Once again the baby looked bigger to him. Its head, its shoulders, its back— all looked twice the size. Could he be imagining such a thing?

"Gaining weight fast, huh?" he said, indicating the baby.

"Yes. Dr. Claret says his growth is wonderful. He gave him a perfect bill of health."

"Really? What's he like?" Harlan asked, taking off his shirt and undershirt.

"Very kind and gentle. A fatherly type," she said. "I'd say he's in his early sixties. Patient man, willing to take the time to explain everything. Made me feel very comfortable, very secure."

"Dr. Friedman always did that," Harlan said, slipping out of his pants.

"Yes, but this is different," she said emphatically.

"Oh?"

"I like him, Harlan. He's very thorough."

"Fine. That's what counts the most when you visit a doctor, a sense of confidence in him. What did he say about you?"

"I'm doing all right. A little undernourished, considering," she said, indicating the baby. Nikos didn't seem to let up on nursing for a moment.

"I can understand that. The nurse told you about your mother buying a bus ticket?"

"Yes," she said, grimacing. "I don't want to talk about her right now. It's too upsetting."

"So unlike her," he said, and shook his head. "All right. I'll shower and get dressed for dinner. Seems we have a cook as well as a nurse."

"She's wonderful, Harlan. So professional. You understand why I need her, don't you?"

"Of course."

"She bathes the baby, changes him, cares for me… just for a little while."

"No problem," he said. He bent over to kiss her on the forehead, but the moment his lips touched her skin, the baby pulled back from her nipple and wailed. Harlan stepped back instantly. "What is it? What?"

"It's okay," she said, embracing the child. "It's okay. He lost his hold." When she returned him to her breast, the baby stopped crying immediately.

"Wow. Talk about your heavy eaters. I'm not coming between him and his meal," he quipped. He shook his head and then went into the bathroom to shower. By the time he came out, the baby had been returned to his room and Dana was putting on a robe.

"Now I'm starving," she said. "I'll meet you downstairs."

"Fine."

He dressed quickly and joined her and the nurse in the dining room. Their fine china and best wineglasses had been set out. Two long red candles had been placed in silver candlesticks at the center of the table and lit. The lights had been turned down. Dana sat smiling, the glow of the small flames softening her face and casting a yellowish-white veil over her. There was a sparkle in her eyes. Her lips looked soft and wet, their fullness drawing him to them. He liked the way the light danced over the silver serving trays and dishes and reflected off that part of her smooth, white neck that was exposed. It turned her skin into alabaster. Indeed she looked like a statue come to life, the mythical Galatea brought to life by Pygmalion. At this moment she embodied all his fantasies.

Harlan couldn't remember when he'd last felt this romantic. She sensed it and held her hand out to him. He took it and kissed it, and she giggled. He leaned over and kissed her lips, pulling back just as the nurse brought in a platter of sliced beef floating in a pool of blood.

"When you said you were making dinner, I had no idea you had this in mind. This is fantastic," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Hamilton."

"Please… call me Harlan."

"Harlan." She served Dana, placing piece after piece of beef on her plate. Then she poured the bright red gravy over it. It looked uncooked, as if it had been drained from the meat before it had gone into the oven. Dana didn't seem concerned. Rather she looked more pleased. She was at the food quickly, almost as though she were the only one at the table. He smiled and shook his head at Nurse Patio. She looked at Dana approvingly and then smiled at him in what he thought was a rather warm way.

Harlan took his seat and looked over the table. There were baked potatoes and string beans, bread, cranberry sauce, and a bowl of salad. He reached over to look at the bottle of wine. He had never heard of the brand and was surprised at the vintage.

"Where did we get this?"

"Dana and I picked it up on the way home from Dr. Claret's," Nurse Patio said. She took the seat directly across from him. Dana was on his left, as usual.

"Looks… interesting." He poured a little into his goblet and inhaled its scent. The nurse watched him intently. "Very interesting," he said. She nodded.

"I'm glad you like it. It's one of my favorites."

"What a dinner," he said. "Fantastic." He started to pour some wine into Dana's glass. "Oh, is it all right for her to have this? I seem to remember some prohibition against alcoholic beverages when a woman is breast-feeding. Dana?"

Dana looked up, impatient with the interruption.

"What?"

"It's perfectly all right, Harlan," Nurse Patio said. "As long as she doesn't drink the whole bottle."

"Great." He poured Dana half a glass. Nurse Patio passed her glass to him and he filled it. Then he filled his own. "To everyone's health," he said. Dana stopped eating her meat and raised her glass, tapping his.

"Thank you, Harlan," she said. "Thank you for being a great and wonderful husband. I'm sure you'll be just as great and wonderful as a father."

"Of course he will," the nurse said. It sounded more like a threat. I'm sure he will," she added, and lifted her glass toward him.

"Hope so," he said with a smile, and he drank his wine, quite aware that the nurse was watching him just as intently as she watched Dana.

Colleen's friends began calling her shortly after the school day had ended. Of course, Teddy was the first, promising to visit as soon as practice ended. Hearing his voice ask "So what happened to you?" brought tears to her eyes. She told him it wasn't something she wanted to discuss over the phone. And he couldn't talk long, anyway.

Audra was one of the first of her friends to visit. She had called her mother the moment she found out about Colleen, and her mother picked her up at school and drove her directly to the hospital. The two of them arrived like angels of mercy, never really asking for details about her malady but promising to pray for her. Audra's mother had the same gentle, brown eyes as Audra, set a little too closely in her round, soft face. It was easy to see that Audra eventually would have her mother's chubby figure. They were so physically alike. Audra was one of those children who looked to be the offspring of a single parent. It was as though her father had never really existed.

During Audra's visit, her mother toured the hospital ward, visiting people she knew or people who were related to people she knew.

"It's nice of your mother to bring you up here so quickly," Colleen said.

"My mother and I often come up here," Audra told her. "We visit patients, try to cheer them up, pray for them. Especially during the holidays."

"Really? You never said—"

"I don't like to talk about all the things we do. It's prideful, and pride can be a very bad sin. Anyway," Audra said, reaching behind her neck to unfasten her chain, "you're a special person to us. I want you to have this." She brought the chain around her neck and handed Colleen the large silver cross.

"Oh, no, I couldn't… it's yours. It's special to you."

"I told you: You're special to us. Besides, there would be nothing that would give me more pleasure than seeing you wear it. Hopefully it will bring you the Lord's attention, and He will watch over you as he has watched over me."

Colleen held the cross in her hand for a moment. Although she had gone to Sunday school when she was in grade school, her parents had not been especially religious people and had never bought her any religious jewelry. She never had been one to believe in the miraculous power of icons. In fact, when she first set eyes on Audra, she was a little put off by the ostentatious cross. It was one of the biggest crosses she had seen on anyone other than a priest or minister. Actually, she hadn't realized until now that it was solid silver.

"This is a very expensive piece," she said, looking down at it. It stretched from the tip of her index finger to the top of her wrist. "I can't—"

"There's no good in having things if you can't give them to and share them with people you love," Audra said. She smiled softly and closed Colleen's hand over the cross. "At least wear it for a while. Unless," Audra said, as though she just realized the possibility, "it makes you uncomfortable to do so."

"Oh, no," Colleen said. "It doesn't make me uncomfortable." She looked down at it again. Oddly enough, even though the cross grew heavier the longer she held it in her palm, the weight didn't annoy her; it gave her comfort, a sense of security. It was something substantial. Also, she liked the way the luminescent surface caught the light in the room and then seemed to hold it. Perhaps it was a quirk of sorts, an unusual characteristic of solid silver, but after a moment it appeared more like the light was originating from the cross rather than being reflected by it. It warmed her palm and she nodded, smiling.

"Here, let me help you with it," Audra said, and fastened the chain around Colleen's neck. The cross fell between her breasts, about midway down. That same comforting warmth that she had felt in her palm now settled in her chest. She ran her right forefinger down the cross and then sat back. "It looks good on you."

"Thank you," Colleen said. When Audra's mother returned to her room, she saw the cross on Colleen and smiled as if she had known Audra would give it to her.

"We'd better be on our way, Audra," she said. "We have some other errands yet."

"Okay. Think you'll be going home soon?" Audra asked.

"Oh, tomorrow. My brother promised to check me out so I could go to the game, as long as everything's all right."

"That's wonderful, Colleen," Audra's mother said.

"Maybe you'll come over tomorrow night," Colleen suggested, "and help me catch up on anything I missed today and tomorrow."

"Sure," Audra said. "After dinner."

"Have a good night," Audra's mother said, and they left.

Some of Colleen's other girlfriends arrived. They proved to be quite a contrast to Audra and her mother. These girls rushed in, already out of breath. The hospital scene obviously made them nervous. They all talked loud and fast and giggled a great deal. When they found out Colleen was in the hospital because of emotional problems, they all grew quiet instantly. She didn't want to get into the causes, not with any of them.