It's Alive! (18 page)

The ambulance was an old model, kept along with the newer ones because its unusually high undercarriage allowed it to pass over old rutted roads or up into canyon gullies where the more recent, low-slung models would get hung up. It was used on the school call, to transport the dead Trooper to the morgue, because the other ambulances were out on two traffic accidents and a heart attack.

Since it often picked up a hunk of brush or a branch on its chassis during one of its out-back calls, the driver did not think it unusual and did not pay much attention to the fact that, when he parked it in the garage at the hospital, something seemed to be hanging underneath, its shadow protruding slightly at the rear. He would slide under the ambulance tomorrow and pull off the branch or whatever.

He stepped outside and started to pull down the sliding door of the garage when he heard something clump to the floor inside. There was a crash of glass.

He flung the door back up, just as a pale form hurtled through the side window of the garage. “AAAYYAA!” he screamed as he backed away.

Several people ran out of the hospital. “Through the window!” he gasped, pointing. “It went through the window!”

They ran to the window and looked out. Lawn and hedges and street. Nothing else to be seen. They shook their heads.

“How’d you break the window, McGurk?” asked one of the doctors.

“I didn’t break it! The thing! That thing jumped through there!”

“Where’s your bottle, McGurk? Finish it already?”

“Oh, darn it, I ain’t drunk!”

The doctor leaned close to him and sniffed. “You don’t smell too bad. You on vodka now?”

“That thing went through the window.”

“Sure. Why don’t you just stay out here? Maybe it’ll come back.”

“Hey, I don’t get paid for ambulance driving, you know. I’m telling the cops about this.”

“Go ahead. Use the pay phone.”

Detective Lieutenant Perkins got on his knees and stuck his head under the rear bumper of the ambulance. He reached in and felt, then brought out his hand and sniffed it. He got up and looked at the jagged edges of the garage window. Then he walked outside, followed by McGurk. He knelt and studied the shards of glass on the hospital lawn. He picked one piece up and sniffed it.

“Lemme see your hands, McGurk.”

McGurk held out his hands, and Perkins took the fingers and looked at them, tracing the lines like a palm reader. “Hmm. Clean.”

“Of course they’re clean. So what?”

“There’s grease on some of these glass fragments, McGurk, that’s all. What’d you say the thing looked like?”

“Little—a lot smaller than you or me. Just jumped straight through there.”

“What would you say it looked like?”

“I didn’t. And I won’t. I’m not letting you laugh at me.

Detective Perkins leaned slowly toward him until his face was an inch away. “Look close, McGurk. Am I laughing?”

“No sir.” McGurk leaned backward.

“Am I smiling?”

“No sir.”

Perkins grabbed his shoulders, squeezing them hard. “ ‘No sir’ is right, McGurk, I ain’t laughing. I ain’t even smiling. I’m frowning, McGurk. That means I’m
serious,
McGurk!”

McGurk choked. “It looked kind of like a
baby,
officer. But bigger, and with a big head, I think.”

Perkins flung him aside and stomped off to the cruiser. He settled in beside his driver, scowling, his teeth grating around his cigar.

“Well, what do you think, lieutenant?”

“Aaargh!”

The driver gulped. “Sorry.”

“I’ll ask your dumb questions for you. Why would the thing come back to the hospital?”

“Well, yes.”

“How the hell would I know, you bushy-tailed rookie? Maybe it thought it was coming home!”

Frank, in his robe, shuffled out to the kitchen. “Morning.”

“Hi, darling.” Lenore, dressed in slacks, her milk-filled breasts arching under her sweater, hugged him. “You should have waked me up when you came in last night.”

“You knew I was out?”

“I heard you come in. Out for a walk, I assumed, right?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you, you needed the sleep, so I just curled up on the couch.”

She measured some coffee grounds and dumped them into the top of the electric percolator. “You don’t look like you slept a wink. Maybe some of those pills the doctor prescribed for me . . .”

“I’m fine.” He rubbed his chin, his hand rasping over the stubble. “Guess I should shave.”

“Not for my sake.” She broke some eggs into the skillet. “Oh look, double yolk. That means good luck.”

“Yeah. I’ll go get dressed.”

“You don’t have to, you know, you could just take it easy for today.”

“No, I know. But I might as well.”

“Before you go, would you mind bringing in the milk?”

“Okay.” He walked to the front door and gathered up the six bottles, making two trips. “We got a new milkman?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“I thought I left a note yesterday, just two bottles, since Chris isn’t here. Maybe I didn’t.”

“It’ll keep. Chris’ll be home tomorrow maybe, or the day after.”

“Maybe.” He opened the refrigerator door. It was well-stocked. He moved some things to make room for the milk, and put the bottles in. He couldn’t fit the bread in after the milk. The freezer was full too, but he jammed some of the frozen meat back to the rear and stuffed in the bread. “We could feed an army.”

“Makes such a difference when we don’t have regular meals, when Chris is away. Would you like a rib roast tonight, or Chateaubriand?”

He slammed the doors to the refrigerator and freezer. “I don’t care.”

“What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no. I really don’t care, both sound good. It’s just me. I could use some sleep. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I could use a sedative, knock me out for a few hours.”

“They’re upstairs by our bed.” She poured two cups of coffee, then came over and put her arms around him. “You’ve been right too, Frank darling. About how we have to get back to normal, the standard routines that help you get through bleak periods. I’m trying, I really am.”

“I know. Maybe you’re trying too hard. You don’t have to fire around making fancy meals and all that.”

“I want to, makes me feel better. I had the chills last night, but today I feel terrific.”

“Lenore, when were you at the school last?”

“Couple weeks ago, I guess. The other teacher came back—good thing too. Why?”

“Just wondered.”

“If you’re worried about the money, we’ll be all right. You have your month’s salary. And in a couple of days I’ll be able to go back, if they need me.”

“No, it’s nothing. Just small talk.”

“I know. Isn’t it strange how we miss that, just chatting? So much has gone on, so much serious talk, we haven’t had any time to just chat. I think it’s time we brought our son home, don’t you? I miss him.”

“So do I. But not just yet. He’s better off where he is.” He started out of the kitchen.

“Don’t you want your eggs?”

“Not now, thanks. Sorry you wasted them. I’m just dead on my feet.” He dragged himself up the stairs.

“Be careful with those pills,” she called. “You’re not used to them. They’re strong.”

He went to the bathroom and drew a glass of water. On his way to the bedroom, he stopped at the nursery. Opening the door, he looked in, seeing the cozy crib and the toys neatly placed in the corner of the room. He closed his eyes and pulled the door shut.

He found the pill bottle on the nightstand, read the label, tapped one out on his hand, and swallowed it.

He sipped some water, then tapped out another one and swallowed that. He emptied his glass, pulled off his robe and sank onto the bed. He pulled the covers high up around him, and fell into a deep, dizzy sleep.

Lenore took two eggs from the skillet and put them on her plate, next to two pieces of bacon and two slices of toast. She drained a glass of orange juice and poured another. She sat down, inhaling with pleasure the aroma of her food. As she started to eat, the cat jumped up on the table beside her and sniffed at her plate. Lenore cut off some small pieces and put them on a separate plate and set it on the floor at her feet. The cat began eating voraciously.

“Seems like years, right, Biscuit? So hungry.”

She finished her plate, then took it to the stove and reloaded it with Frank’s portions, poured some more orange juice, refilled her coffee cup, and sat back down. She chewed the bacon slowly, savoring it.

“I can just feel the energy flowing back into me, Biscuit. Too bad you don’t like coffee. It’s a marvelous stimulant. I feel like I could move a mountain.”

A drop of coffee dribbled onto her chest. She daubed it with a napkin, and stared down at her breasts, so large and ready to feed a baby.

A tear rolled down her cheek. Brushing it away, she stood up, forced a smile, and broke two more eggs into the skillet.

Frank dreamed savage dreams. He was chasing a tiny crab. Then the crab was chasing him, but now it was huge.

Then he was a doctor, dressed in a surgical gown, ordering nurses around. But every time he spoke sharply, a nurse’s throat began to bleed. Not blood, but milk poured down her neck.

Then he was lying on an operating table. They wanted him to give birth. He tried to tell them he wasn’t the mother. They said it was a large baby, looking just like him.

Then he was making love to somebody, somebody with his secretary’s face. Mary kept saying to him, “Mr. Clayton wants to see you now . . .” But he wasn’t making love to her. He was strangling her. Her face became Lenore’s. And
she
was strangling
him.

Then he was in court. They were charging him with not paying a parking ticket. He wasn’t allowed to say anything. They sentenced him to three weeks in St. Thomas, and handed him a key.

Then he was sitting on the living-room floor next to a large cardboard box. The box was crying like a baby. He opened it. There was a baby inside. A beautiful tiny baby. He picked it up and hugged it. It became a crab. A huge crab. It chased him around the room, calling to him, “Mr. Clayton wants to see you now . . .”

He woke. He stared at the ceiling. The sheets were wet with his perspiration. Turning his head toward the bedside table, he could barely see it. It was night, the room was dark.

The house was quiet. He blinked. He sat up, rubbing his head. He had a headache. His left leg was asleep and he shook it, feeling the needles of returning blood stab into it.

He felt for his slippers, found them with his toes. They were facing toward his feet. He wiggled them around, finally fitting them on, and rose, felt dizzy, sat back down, got up, stood for a moment, and headed for the bathroom.

He picked up his watch from the dressing table. “Jesus, slept all day.”

He doused water on his face, and brushed his teeth. He looked into the mirror. “Shave.” He reached into the medicine cabinet and took out the can of foam, shook it, and sprayed out a glob and rubbed it on his face. He peered into the mirror at his eyes, red-rimmed, baggy. “Headache.” Opening the bottle of Bufferin, he tossed down two tablets.

He heard a door close downstairs.

He walked out of the bathroom to the head of the stairs. “Lenore?” He cupped his hand around his mouth to call again, and felt the foam. He went back to finish shaving.