For Love of Audrey Rose (11 page)

He drew Janice closer to him. He saw that her eyes now darted over his face, examining him for signs, clues, some symbol of what reality had become.

“Can you just throw me aside?” he whispered heatedly. “Can you?”

“No,” Janice cried weakly, feeling the wet of her own tears on her face.

“Thank you,” Hoover exhaled, grateful.

He stood up, and it seemed now that he possessed the bedroom, the apartment, and all that was in it, as well as the two living beings there. He looked back at Ivy, who turned comfortably in a pleasant sleep.

“We are connected,” he said with finality. “You and I, Mrs. Templeton. All three of us. We have come together by a miracle and now we are inseparable.”

He turned, a dark look suddenly flashing across his eyes.

“Say yes, Mrs. Templeton.
Please!
”

“Yes,” Janice wept, and she felt that she was about to fall.

Early the next morning, drugged from lack of sleep, Janice trudged to the library, selected several Tibetan books, and mailed them to Bill, resolving to think no more about it.

That night Janice found herself working into the wee hours with Elaine, trying to complete two separate sets of layouts before the spring deadline.

Two Tensor lamps cast bright cones onto their adjacent work tables. The rest of the suite was lost in the night, where bits of red and yellow lights gleamed inward from the city skyscrapers.

Together they prepared the outlines and marked out instructions for the staff in the morning. Wearily, Janice stood, rubbed her eyes, and stretched, yawning with a deadly fatigue. It was 2:30 in the morning, but Janice didn’t mind. She was gratified that Elaine depended on her professional collaboration in these all-night sessions.

“It
is
late,” Elaine yawned. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m in no rush to go home to an empty apartment!”

They worked in silence for several minutes.

“But you do have a daughter?”

Janice licked her lips. A nightmarish, queasy sensation invaded her, as though this one moment of perfect friendship, this island of hard work and steady hopes, might also break apart.

“What makes you say that?” Janice asked.

“Do you remember when we worked on that series of sporting outfits for pre-teens? You drew those very well. In fact, I pointed that out, and you made some joke about an artist’s eyes being different from a mother’s. Do you remember?”

Janice said nothing. She turned away from Elaine and listened to the subterranean rumble of the city that never died, not even at 2:30 in the morning.

“Her name was Ivy,” Janice said softly. “She died eight months ago. It was an accident.”

There was a long space of silence. Then Elaine said softly, “I’m so very sorry to know that.”

“I should have told you long ago,” Janice said. “That’s why Bill isn’t home. It was Ivy’s death that caused his breakdown.”

“It’s been difficult for you. I can tell.”

Janice inhaled deeply.

“It was,” Janice said slowly. “I’ve never told anybody just how horrible it really was.”

In a slow, even voice, as though she had rehearsed it for months, Janice began to tell Elaine about what it was like when she first realized that a man was shadowing Ivy. What it was like watching Ivy bend and twist, scream, and suffocate with fear, not once, not twice, but many times, until there was no remembering when it all began. It was so hard to explain what it was like, seeing a presence— Hoover’s—gradually insinuate itself into your apartment, your life, your child—into your own soul.

For hours she spoke, until the dawn spread its frigid, pale glow through the slatted blinds, and Janice, hoarse from the ordeal, groped for her coffee cup.

Elaine, divining her need, pushed it across to her. “Of course. I remember it all. The papers were full of it.” Then, in a small, amazed voice: “So you’re
that
Templeton.”

Janice’s eyes lowered. “Yes, I’m
that
Templeton.”

Elaine looked away, in a seeming quandary.

“All this Buddhist stuff, or Hindu,” she said. “Did you actually believe it?”

“I believed one thing. My daughter was in serious trouble and Elliot Hoover was the only person who could get her out of it.”

“It must have been painful testifying against your own husband, like that.”

Janice smiled bitterly.

“I had no choice. I would have signed a pact with the devil.”

“And now?”

“Now? Now, I try not to think about it. It’s actually a lot of hard work sometimes, not thinking about it.”

“That’s why Bill just stopped thinking at all?”

Janice stood up. She looked out at the gray, cold dawn on the stone streets. For a long time, she just looked out.

“Elaine,” she said slowly, “Bill has started to read Hindu tracts. Buddhist texts.”

Elaine stared at her in surprise. Janice turned to look at her. “I don’t know what to make of it. He’s become so damned obsessive about it. I can’t stand to be with him when he talks about it. But what can I do? Shut him up? Only a few weeks ago, he wasn’t even speaking. I can’t very well reject him now!”

“Maybe he needs to—to understand,” Elaine offered. “Just wants to review what happened.”

Janice raised her voice.

“But I don’t want to hear about it!” she said. “I don’t want to go through it again! It’s like a madhouse, a thousand crooked mirrors screaming at you, each one of them saying Buddha, and Karma, and transmigration, making you hear it all over again, and I don’t want to listen!”

Janice paused and lowered her voice.

“I can’t go through it again, Elaine. To feel myself slipping into it like quicksand—astral planes and holy cycles—getting closer and closer to believing it. It’s like going insane. Slowly, but surely. Just like going insane.”

6

J
anice skipped lunch that day. Instead, she lay down on the couch, closed her eyes, and sank into the oblivion of total fatigue. Just as dream images began to form, Elaine tapped her on the shoulder.

“Telephone,” Elaine said. “Sounds official.”

Janice rose quickly, swayed, caught herself, then walked calmly to her work desk. She picked up the receiver and pressed her exchange button.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Templeton, Dr. Geddes here.”

“Is everything all right?”

“I tried calling you at home, but there was no answer.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Let me say first that Bill’s all right. Just a few scratches. There was a kind of altercation.”

Janice sat down slowly. Elaine came in, saw the look on her face, and discreetly left again, closing the door.

“Altercation? Bill?”

“Yes, with another patient, named Borofsky. Apparently, Bill had inveigled him into doing some kind of research. Borofsky was connected to the bookstore at Gimbels, or something like that. They had a falling out, Borofsky came to his room, and Bill thought he was trying to steal his notes.”

“Notes? What notes?”

Dr. Geddes started over again, more slowly.

“Bill’s been studying. Studying a lot more than we’d guessed. Newspaper clippings. Old lectures he conned out of a library in Albany. Books—you name it. And I guess he was possessive about it, and when Borofsky came down, Bill hit him with an old brass lamp from the library. Borofsky seems to be all right. He’s been X-rayed and there’s no fracture.”

“I can’t believe Bill would do something like that.”

“Mrs. Templeton, can you come to the clinic today?”

“Today? It would be very difficult.”

“It’s quite important. Bill’s a bit delirious. He thinks we sent Borofsky to spy on him. You have to come and help us reestablish his trust. Before his attitude hardens.”

“All right. I’ll try.”

When Janice explained things to Elaine, a visible disappointment surfaced on Elaine’s face.

“You don’t really have a choice, do you?”

“Believe me, I’d rather not, but—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage.”

Janice caught the 12:45 northbound to Ossining. She slept the entire trip.

She stumbled wearily through the cascading rain, caught in the cone of the taxi headlights, entered the clinic, and found Bill in the infirmary. Three long red scratches trailed vividly down his face and he gazed blankly at the door where she stood.

“He’s a bit sedated,” Dr. Geddes whispered behind her, closing the door.

Janice walked quickly to the bed. Bill’s face turned to follow her, but it was not his face. Something had taken over. His forehead was damp with perspiration and he looked warily around the room.

“Bill?” she whispered, “can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you, Janice,” he said quickly. “Do I look dead?”

“But, darling…I don’t understand. What happened?”

Bill laughed derisively. Dr. Geddes sauntered closer to the bed. It was a small infirmary, and the other two beds were still freshly made.

Bill turned away.

“Nobody knew you were taking those notes,” Dr. Geddes said, as kindly as he could, “so how could we be spying on you?”

“The old man told you, of course.”

“You know there’s no covert supervision here, Bill.”

“That’s what you say, Geddes. I saw him in my room. I didn’t invite him.”

“But I don’t understand,” Janice persisted. “Why did you hit him?”

Bill whirled around, glaring at her, his eyes a lurid deep black, pinpoints of brightness flashing in the depths of the pupils.

“Because he had no business there!” he hissed.

“But what’s so important about—”

“That’s for me to say! Not you! Not Geddes! Just me!”

Dr. Geddes exchanged glances with Janice. Bill saw them looking at one another and withdrew into his pillow. One of the long scratches reopened and a thin trail of crim son dripped down onto the collar of his pajamas.

“Is he all right?” Bill asked, softer.

“Just a bad headache. No fracture.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have done it. It’s his own god-damn fault.”

“Bill, I want you to listen to Janice,” Dr. Geddes said. “You know when she lies and when she tells the truth. Will you do that for me? Just listen to somebody besides yourself for two minutes.”

After staring at Bill, who lowered his eyes, Dr. Geddes walked slowly out of the infirmary. A nurse tried to come in, but Dr. Geddes blocked her way with an arm and closed the door firmly behind him. Janice gently tried to touch the bleeding line down Bill’s cheek but he drew her hand away.

“What’s gotten into you, Bill?” she asked heatedly.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? You practically killed an old man last night! Is that normal?”

“I just tapped him.”

“Bill, listen to me. You do that again and they’ll— they’ll start giving you medicine, drugs. They’ll give you electric shock.”

Bill laughed.

“There’s no shock machine here.”

“Then they’ll ship you someplace where there is! What do you think you’re playing around with?”

Worried, Bill raised himself higher against his pillows. Janice leaned closer, her face nearly white with worry.

“Bill, listen to me,” she whispered. “Whatever’s going through your head now, throw it out, because if they transfer you to some other place, some place where they’re used to violent cases—Jesus, Bill, you’ll
never
see the light of day!”

She broke down crying, leaned against his chest. Over and over she said, “Don’t you understand that, Bill? Never… Never… Never…”

Bill swallowed hard, and his hand gently held her around her shoulder. He squeezed softly.

“Okay, Janice,” he whispered hoarsely. “I got the message.”

Clumsily, he moved away from under her, struggled to the other edge of the bed, and sat up. He slipped into his trousers and pulled on a green checkered shirt.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Give me a hand, will you, honey? They shot me full of shit.”

Janice ran to his side, lifted his arm over her shoulder, and eased him to a standing position.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m okay now. I can walk.”

Gradually, he shuffled his way to the door. He paused and, with a gesture of his head, beckoned for her to open it.

“Come on,” he whispered, “I’ve got something to show you.”

Stumbling, Bill led her as quickly as he could, swaying into the side walls, holding his hands out as though feeling for invisible barriers, toward his room. Inside, it looked as though the fight had broken apart the bedroom walls. The edge of the desk tilted at a crazy angle. Books, chairs, pillows, and blankets were strewn violently over the floor, and everywhere were handfuls of paper, note cards, spiralbound notebooks.

Janice stumbled forward, her shoes stepping on the paper. She bent down, picked up several sheets and tried to discern them in the dark. Bill’s tight handwriting was illegible. But at the sides of the sheets were diagrams. The human body with dotted triangles emanating from the head, thorax, and groin.

“Bill, what is all this?”

“I’ve discovered things, Janice,” he said. “It’s time I told you about them.”

“What kind of things?”

“Sit down. I have to go through these things in order. So you understand.”

Janice felt for the bed, sat down slowly, still watching Bill. He was moving restlessly, and outside the rain now turned to sleet, growing so violent that it smashed into splinters around his head behind the glass, like a tortured halo.

“I’ve been studying for a long time, Janice,” he said in that chilling, moody tone that sent shivers into her back. “I played dumb. But I was studying. Now I know too much.”

He rubbed his mouth nervously and jumped at the sound of a truck passing slowly over the hill.

“I have to explain these things,” he said quickly, “because then I have to ask you some things, Janice. So just listen.”

“All right,” she said gently. “I’m listening.”

Bill licked his lips, then removed himself as far from her as he could, to the broken desk near the windows. His voice trailed coldly from him.

“It’s because of Ivy, you know,” he said, “that I started reading. Well, I found that this idea you and Hoover had— you know what I’m talking about—well, it all started before there were any Hindus. All of Hoover’s ideas about the yogis and the river Ganges and reincarnation were half-baked. I know that now. That much is plain. Hoover was right about some things. But he was confused. He didn’t get it
all
right!”