House Infernal by Edward Lee (17 page)

She cranked on the cold faucet and frowned. The water
felt as warm as the floor; a cooler shower would have been
much better. Everything's so hot! The water did cool a little
after the pipes cleared. She sighed and let the water spray
her breasts, between which her house key glittered. Then
she began to soap herself up.

Much better .. .-

She gasped softly as the cool water cascaded over her
body, giving her immediate relief from the heat. She stood
motionless, eyes closed, hanging her head in the jet. She
let the water consume her as she concentrated on relaxing.

For some reason, she thought, Dan.

Then a noise alarmed her. She turned, her eyes shooting
open and her hands flying to cover to her breasts.

A figure stood in the locker area in front of the showers.

"Oh, Betta. You scared me for a sec."

The short but shapely girl-woman, really-seemed
partially startled herself. Instead of a robe, she wore an
oversized white blouse as big as a man's shirt, which
hung down to midthigh. Sorry, she mouthed in silence.
Then Venetia lip-read something like, I'll come back.

"You don't have to wait," Venetia told her. "I'm not
bashful if you're not."

Okay.... Betta had on a shower cap covered with ladybugs, like something a child would wear. In the open
blouse, her own key glimmered in her cleavage.

"The water's not that cool, though, but I guess you already know that."

Betta smiled meekly, nodding. Not enough lights on either, she seemed to mouth. She didn't seem at all discomfited when she hung up the blouse and turned naked into
the long stall.

Venetia subconsciously fingered her own key. "That
was funny how your mother poked fun at Father Driscoll
for being cheap."

Betta nodded again and cranked on the shower.

Can't make much small talk with a girl who doesn't talk,
Venetia realized. When she rinsed the shampoo from her
hair, she stole a few glimpses at Betta and found herself
mildly jealous. She guessed Betta to be about thirty but
her slim, curvy body seemed toned and much more
youthful. Suds sluiced off her chest to reveal smallish
peach-sized breasts. Her nipples poked out like tender
pink cones while Venetia's were large and flat save for
their papillas.

Why am I comparing my body to hers? Venetia asked herself. If she catches me looking at her, she'll think I'm a lesbo....
The notion amused her. But she supposed it was instinctive for women in such situations to compare bodies.

Venetia rinsed off, then slipped out to dry herself. She
put on her robe and combed out her blond hair before one
of the mirrors. She turned her head away from the shower, then noticed she could see Betta's reflection off
another mirror on a perpendicular wall.

perhaps she was mistaken in the brief glimpse but Betta
seemed to be caressing more than washing her small,
tight breasts, and when her fingertips tweaked the nipples, her stomach sucked in as if in a gust of pleasure.

Something's on her mind, Venetia thought. Hope it's not me!

She felt guilty seeing it, as though she'd looked on purpose. But Betta couldn't possibly have known about the
betraying mirror.

Could she?

This is too weird. I need to get out of here.

"See you tomorrow, Betta," she said quickly.

Bye, mouthed the girl, partially obscured by the shower
stream. She waved and pulled her face back into the
spray.

If anything, the slender woman had seemed more distracted than anything else.

Back on the ill-lit stair-hall, Venetia wondered which
rooms the men were staying in. She scanned down each
of the building's long walls and noticed a lot of roomsmostly bedrooms, she presumed. There were just as many
offices and supply rooms downstairs.

She passed her own door and padded to the corner. She
heard a creak at the other end of the stair-hall, and a white
blur caught her eye.

For a fleeting moment she thought, Don't tell me that's
the ghost, but she smiled to herself when she realized who
it actually was.

It was Betta, in her large blouse, going down the stairs.

I wonder why she's in such a hurry.... And where's she
going?

Venetia peered over the rail just in time to glimpse the
tail of Betta's blouse sweep into the kitchen.

"Is it the ghost?"

Venetia twirled, almost shrieking.

Dan chuckled, looking over the rail. His dark hair glistened from his recent shower. His own robe had a Boston Red Sox emblem on it. "I saw it too, a figure floating
down the stairs."

"You scared the ... whatever out of me, Dan," Venetia
snapped.

"My apologies."

"And it wasn't a figure floating down the stairs. It was
Betta."

"Where's she going at this hour?"

"The kitchen, it looked like, probably to get something
to drink before bed."

"Ah." He grinned at her. "Damn. I was hoping it was
the ghost."

"I don't know who's worse, you or Mrs. Newlwyn."

"Don't laugh. Mrs. Newlwyn claims to have seen the
ghost several times herself."

Venetia was finally recomposed after the scare. "It's
baloney, Dan."

The seminarist turned and casually leaned against the
rail. "Come on, Venetia. You believe in ghosts, don't you?
The Holy Bible is chock full of 'em."

"Yeah, I know, but-"

"Oh, you're not a literalist, huh? It's these new theology
professors who're infesting our colleges. The Bible is all
metaphor, right?"

He was already trying to work her into a debate. I'm too
tired. "No, Dan, actually I don't believe that at all."

"Ah, good. Then you do believe in ghosts."

"You're impossible," she conceded. "And where were
you earlier? You missed dinner."

Dan laughed. "Yeah, but I'm sure I didn't miss much.
What was it tonight? Swanson sliced turkey and gravy or
Mrs. Paul's fish sticks?"

"Fried chicken. It wasn't bad."

"You're too kind, Venetia." He casually crossed his
arms, looking at her. "I think Driscoll buys all that cheap
food on purpose, to make us humble."

"Shame on you, Dan," Venetia only half-joked. "Half
the world's malnourished, and twenty-five million starve to death every year. There are people in Africa who'd sell
their souls for those TV dinners."

"I know, but they still taste lousy. So call me a phony,
but when you all were eating that I drove into town and
grabbed a double quarter-pounder with cheese. It was
great." He looked away in what seemed an averting gesture. "And you'd be doing me a big favor by closing the
top of your robe some. I've gone all day without a single
lustful thought but now..."

Venetia looked down at herself. Quite a bit of cleavage
had been showing-she wasn't used to talking to men
while in her robe. The key on her chain felt hot against
her flesh. She tightened the robe. At first she felt embarrassed, then mad, but it passed instantly. "I guess that's
pretty crass for a seminarist to take note of my bosom but
then I'll admit that it was pretty honest to look away and
tell me. Most guys wouldn't do that."

"Of course they wouldn't, and most guys aren't idiotic
enough to want to be priests."

"I suppose the same can be said for women who want
to be nuns," she said and then regretted it. It's none of his
business what I decide to do.

But he went on, "Especially if the nuns are as attractive
as you." He grinned at her in a side-glance. "And don't
worry, that's not a come-on."

"I should hope not!" she laughed. "Not from a seminarist presently standing in a Catholic prior house!" The
brazenness of his remarks didn't make her uncomfortable
at all and she guessed that was because he struck her as
very devout and genuine beneath the jokester veneer.

"Is your room okay?" he asked next, cooling the subject. "I'll have you know that I respackled and painted it
myself."

"Well, you did a fine job. I'm quite happy with the
room." But she was already feeling stifled again. "The
only thing that's a bit much is the lack of air-conditioning.
But we really shouldn't complain, though, right?"

Dan's casual expression hardened. "Why not? It's hot as hell, and Driscoll's never going to get fans unless he
can find them at Salvation Army."

"Mother Teresa didn't have fans in Calcutta," Venetia
said.

"No, she didn't. And she was hot all the time." He nodded cynically. "Trying to make me feel guilty again, huh?"

"Only a little,"she said and smiled. "Where's your
room, by the way?"

He pointed across the atrium to the opposite corner.
"Over there. Mrs. Newlwyn and her daughter share the
room next to yours, and Driscoll sleeps downstairs."

"What about John?"

"Who?" Dan paused. "Oh, the gardener kid. He never
spends the night. He lives with his adoptive parents in
town. He's kind of ..."

"Mrs. Newlwyn told me. An anxiety problem."

"But he's a good kid and he works like a mule."

Venetia looked over the rail. "And you said Father
Driscoll sleeps downstairs?"

"Yeah, in the old prior's quarters, next to the main office. Figures-he's the only one in the joint with his own
bathroom."

"He is the boss."

"Yeah, and that sucks, doesn't it?"

"I heard that!" the voice boomed from downstairs.

"Shit," " Dan muttered under his breath. He and Venetia
looked over the rail and saw Father Driscoll peering up
from the atrium floor. He had a glass of milk in his hand
and wore striped pajamas.

"Hi, Father. I was just joshin'. You know me."

Driscoll grinned, his short blond hair spiky from a recent shower himself. "Indeed I do, Dan. And you're right,
it probably does suck that I'm the boss but it's good to
know that at least Venetia recognizes the significance of
an authority figure during a project like ours. Now if you
want some advice from the boss, you might want to turn
off your ratchet-jaws and get to bed. You'll need your
sleep-you especially, Dan."

"Me especially?"

"Why, sure. Since you're the one who's going to be
clearing out all the attic coves tomorrow. There are twelve
of them, Dan, just for your information. Hope it's not too
hot tomorrow."

Dan's frown seemed to radiate. "I'm looking forward to
it, Father."

Driscoll smiled, mainly at Venetia. "Now, good night to
both of you." He disappeared back to his room.

"Dig those groovy pajamas," Dan sputtered.

"He's right " Venetia said. "It's getting late-see you in
the morning." She rushed toward her bedroom. She wanted
to get away quickly because she was afraid she might laugh
at Dan's embarrassment. "Too funny," she said to herself
once back in her room. A breeze slightly cooler than before
billowed the curtains. That's nice.... I'll sleep like a log tonight. She put her toiletries on the dresser, but

Thunk.

Then, clack!

The room was suddenly dark. She'd accidently bumped
her suitcase with her calf; it tipped over and struck the
ugly metal floor lamp, which then crashed into the corner.
"Oh, what a pain in the ..." She tiptoed to the end of the
dresser, careful of any broken glass, and switched on the
smaller lamp there.

"That's just great."

Not only had the floor lamp's bulb smashed, its metal
shade had gouged some of the freshly painted wall. She
quickly swept up the broken bulb, then righted the cumbersome lamp, and then ...

She was squinting at the gouge.

What is ... She scratched the blemish with her fingernail. Is that writing?

She rapped her knuckles against the wall. That's not
Sheetrock, she realized. Then she tapped the gouge. I guess
they just put plaster over bricks. She scratched a bit more of
the gouge and could even see several layers of plaster or
some equivalent sealant beneath, indicating a number of
re-coverings over the years. But-

There was something else, too.

Some black lines at the deepest part of the gouge. That
is writing, she deduced when she scratched some more.

It appeared to be three-inch-high black letters, either
painted or perhaps inscribed with Magic Marker: Rus

Venetia couldn't imagine what it could be, and by now
she was too tired to care. Deal with it in the morning ... and
repair the damage. She turned off the other lamp, heading
for the bed. As warm as it was she elected to sleep nude,
which she knew would be comfortable with the breeze
coming in. However-

Oh my God! Not again!

Before she could even take off her robe, that nowfamiliar vibration bloomed in her stomach and began to
crawl to her head ...

And the awful voice returned:

"Don't be alarmed! This isn't a dream!" A fuzzed-over
shriek, like a distant voice on an old radio. "Don't go to
sleep or the transmission will be severed! Venetia! I have very
important things to tell you!"

The last line drove that spike back into her brain like
the worst headache of her life. She squealed, biting her
lips; then her knees thunked hard against the bare floor.

"You're just a hallucination!" her throat finally ground
out. Her hands vised her ears but there was no relief from
the pain. "Go away! It hurts so much!"

The voice crackled back. "Listen! Listen! Lie down and
breathe deeply. Do not be afraid! Try to relax and the pain will
subside. You have to trust me, there isn't much time. But don't
go to sleep."

- Venetia flopped on her back and followed the instructions of the impossible voice.

"Breathe. Relax. Calm down."

The head pain as well as that throbbing nausea began
to soften.

"Can you hear me?" the voice asked next in a lower
tenor.

This is a hallucination or a nightmare, her thoughts
warned her. I'm not going to have a conversation with either.

But then the discomfort slipped further away.

The voice wasn't lying.

"Can you hear me, Venetia?"