The Glimpsing (28 page)

What happened next left Jack both stunned and confounded.
 
He saw Portia’s arm lift just a bit, and then balked as the entire bedroom leaned from one side to the other.
 
There was an audible “click” behind his left ear, and then the bedroom fell absolutely level.

“Perfect,” Portia said, following the word with an even broader smile.

He could only look at her stupidly, unable to fathom what she’d just done to him.

She was still grinning when, over her left shoulder, Janice entered the room holding a camel-colored sleeve in her hands.
 
The grin quickly fell away, and she spun around.

“You left this downstairs,” Janice said, gesturing with the sleeve.

“Oh, thank you,” Portia said.

“That’s quite alright.
 
Now, are you sure about this?”

“Yes, of course.
 
You know Jack.
 
He likes things to be a certain way, and if they’re not,” she shrugged, “they’re useless to him.”

“Well, it’s just a little odd, that’s all.”

“He told me he loved everything about it, except the frame.
 
Since it was a gift, I told him I’d gladly take it back and have it redone.”

“I don’t doubt your reason for being here, Portia, just how early you’ve arrived.”

“Oh that, well, Jack told me to get here as early as I could because he needed to be at the office.
 
Apparently I wasn’t early enough.
 
You didn’t happen to see him before he left,
did
you?”

“No, I only arrived a few minutes before you did.”

“I guess I’m very lucky you were here then.”

“Yes.
 
I guess you were…” Janice gestured in Jack’s direction.
 
“Well, would you like me to take it down for you?”

“No, thank you.
 
I think I can manage.”

Jack watched Portia turn and face him once more.
 
Her arms extended to both sides of his head… and then he felt a colossal shift in his equilibrium.
 
Portia disappeared from view, and his body suddenly felt like it was being whirled in circles.
 
Everything before him became a helter-skelter of jerky, fast-moving images, like what might be seen through a video camera when dropped down a flight of steps.
 
He caught a glimpse of the ceiling, Janice’s pants, the bedroom’s hardwood floor… and then the movement abruptly stopped.
 
Dazed and now nauseated, he found himself staring up at Portia from what appeared to be her waist.
 
She looked like a giant.

“Jack will be so disappointed he missed you,” he heard Janice offer from behind him.

“Oh?
 
Why is that?” Portia asked.

“Because of that dress you’re wearing.
 
It’s absolutely stunning.
 
I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you look more beautiful—and that’s saying something.”

Jack watched Portia’s cheeks redden in a blush.
 
She smiled.
 
“Thank you, Janice.
 
I just wish…” She trailed off, becoming somber.

“You just wish what, dear?”

“I just wish it wasn’t always about that, how beautiful I am.
 
I just wish men would realize there’s so much more to me.”

Janice shook her head and sighed.
 
“Unfortunately, you’re not alone.
 
I sometimes wonder if beauty is a blessing or a curse.
 
Sure it’s wonderful to be attractive, to be adored by men.
 
But for certain men, that only makes you a target, something with which to gratify their pleasures.
 
They’ll tell you anything, do anything to get what they want, but in the end, they never truly love you, only what you can do for them.”

Portia stared.
 
“Sometimes I wish…”
 
She paused, her head dropping a little from what looked like shame.
 
“I probably shouldn’t say this, but sometimes I wish I could use it against them.
 
You know what I mean?
 
Take their insatiable desires for sex, and trap them with it.”
 
She slyly glanced down and gave Jack a disingenuous wink.
 
But Jack barely noticed.
 
He was still trying to fathom what was happening to him, how it was possible that Portia was holding him as she was.
 
A macabre image formed in his mind: that of Portia cradling his severed head in both her hands.

“Well, I can’t say I’ve never wanted to take revenge on a man or two,” Janice said reflectively.
 
“But vengeance is the work of God’s hands.
 
He’ll take care of men who behave in such ways.”

“Will He?” Portia blurted,
then
grimaced.
 
“I’m sorry.
 
I shouldn’t have said that.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.
 
Still looking up from Portia’s waist, Jack then saw Janice’s hand extending forward and resting on Portia’s cheek.
 
“I know how badly
he hurt you, Portia.
 
I know that there are days when you’d like to take revenge, claw Jack’s eyes out, make him pay for the way he is.
 
But I’ve always felt that it’s not too late for him, that God will bring someone into his life that will change everything, make him put down his womanizing ways and know the power of love.”

Portia forced a weak smile.

“For a long time I thought that would be you.
 
But obviously, I was wrong.
 
So for now, all I can do is
pray
that he will find love, and that it will make him change—before it is too late.”

Portia only stared.
 
She got the distinct impression that she was listening to a fool.

“Well,” Janice said, “that’s enough rambling for one day, don’t you think?
 
Let me help you put that away.”

At that, Jack once more sensed that shift in his equilibrium.
 
This time, however, the movement was a slow, smooth feeling of rising upward, like he was on an elevator.
 
He then felt like his head was being turned on its side, and watching Portia’s body go from vertical to horizontal in front of him, he was almost certain this was what had happened.
 
He then felt himself begin a gradual descent.

It was then that Jack caught sight of the mirror just over Portia’s shoulder.
 
And in it, a bizarre and unsettling scene was playing itself out.
 
Janice was standing near his bed, holding the sleeve open with her hands, while Portia was gradually easing the painting into it.

“Hold on,” he heard Janice say,
then
felt his movement come to an abrupt stop.

Peering into the mirror, he now saw that Portia had stopped easing the painting into the sleeve.
 
Only then did a violent surge of fear swell within him.
 
Only then did he understand what had really happened to him.

No!
 
Please God, no!
 
That’s impossible!

He watched in horror as Janice adjusted the sleeve so that the painting could more easily slide in, and then felt
himself
start to sink once more.

No.
 
It can’t be!

But as the painting continued its descent into the sleeve, Jack became aware of a wall of darkness easing its way in front of his eyes.
 
It slowly erased all sight of his bedroom, Portia, and the mirror.
 
Wholly seized with terror, he cut his eyes upward as far as possible.
 
He saw the thin slit of an opening surrounded by darkness, and within it, a view of Janice from the waist up.

Please, God.
 
Please, no!

He watched panic-stricken as the sleeve’s flap passed over top… and then gazed wide-eyed into the velvety darkness.

Jack Parke shrieked as if he’d been stabbed with
an
knife, but only Portia was aware of his cries.

Janice folded the flap over, snapped the sleeve shut, and extended it to Portia.
 
Portia took it and held it at her side.

Janice peered at her warmly, a kind grin blooming on her face.
 
“Seeing you again has made me realize just how much I’ve missed you.”

Portia grinned back.
 
“Yes, it’s good to see you again as well.
 
I miss our talks.”

“Well, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.
 
Called, oh… maybe a half dozen times.
 
You’ve been a hard girl to reach these past couple of months.”

Portia sighed remorsefully.
 
“I’m sorry, Janice. It was just such a difficult time.
 
Getting over Jack was much harder than I thought it would be.”

“I suspected as much.”

“The way he ended things, so abruptly, it was,” she sighed again, “really hard to take.
 
I went into a bit of a haze.
 
It seemed impossible to move sometimes, much less return a call.
 
Still, I shouldn’t have treated you that way.
 
I really am sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear.
 
I completely understand.”

Portia stared off, becoming reflective.
 
“You know it’s funny, the way things turn out sometimes.”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“Well, I always thought… well…”

“What?”

She forced a weak, almost ashamed smile.
 
“I always thought Jack was going to be the one.”

Janice gave Portia a long contemplative stare. “Something tells me that
hasn’t
changed.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean you still think he could be the one, don’t you?”

Portia did not.
 
In fact, the entire notion was, at this juncture anyway, patently absurd.
 
However, she was curious to know why Janice would dare suggest such a thing.
 
“What makes you say that?”
“Your dress.”

“My dress?
 
What about it?”

“A bit much for a Monday morning, don’t you think?”

Portia was amused.
 
It was a good observation, even if spawned by Janice’s perpetual nosiness.
 
“I always dress up for special occasions.”

“Special occasions?
 
What would be so special about picking up a painting?”

The truth was that Portia had donned her most elegant black dress in mock mourning of Jack’s demise.

“Oh.
 
Oh, I see,” Janice said.
 
“That kind of special occasion.
 
You came not only to get something from Jack, but to give him something as well.”

Portia stared at the floor in a fraudulent display of guilt.

“You were going to give him,” Janice continued, “the very thing he was never able to get from you.”

“I was just thinking, well…” She struggled, searched for words.
 
“I
 
thought
that… maybe if he got what he wanted, I could finally get what I wanted.”

Janice again put a hand to Portia’s cheek.
 
“Portia, you know I love Jack like a son, but what I’ve always admired about you is that you never gave in to his demands, you never once forgot God or your moral commitments.
 
Do you know how unique that is?
 
How special that makes you?”

Portia looked up.
 
She nodded bashfully.

“I really do hope so.
 
I thank God Jack left before you got here, because if I found out that he ultimately got what he wanted, as special as you are, well… that would have just broken my heart.”

At this, Portia looked up, pretending to be touched.
 
“I’m sorry,” she said, allowing tears to well in her eyes.
 
“I’ve been acting like such a fool.”

Janice placed a hand on Portia’s shoulder and nudged her in for a hug.
 
 
Portia responded, opening up and embracing the woman.

“It’s okay, dear,” Janice said, the both of them rocking back and forth. “No harm done.
 
I’m sure that Jack’s absence this morning was something that was meant to be.”

“Yes,” Portia whispered, closing her eyes and holding Janice even tighter.
 
“I think someone up there is looking out for me.”

They held one another several moments longer, and then let go.
 
As Portia was pulling away, Janice was struck by what at first appeared to be a very strange expression on the woman’s face.
 
As she continued to gaze, however, she saw that it was not Portia’s expression that had changed, but the left side of her face.
 
Her skin had somehow become lightly transparent.
 
And as she watched that transparency grow, what she saw there made her grow solid with fear.
 
It was the diseased eye socket of Portia’s skull.

“Janice?” Portia said.

The vision was now beginning to fade, but Janice continued to gaze, stunned, until it finally disappeared.

“Janice?” Portia repeated gravely.

Janice shot her eyes to Portia’s.
 
“Yes,” she blurted.

“What is it?
 
 
What’s wrong?”

Janice shook her head.
 
“Nothing, I’m… I’m sorry, I just… just feel a little strange, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re as white as a ghost.”

“Yes, I… I think I’m having a hot flash.”

But Portia had begun studying Janice’s face, noting the obvious fear there.
 
She now spoke with a degree of suspicion.
 
“Are you certain that’s what it is?”

Janice forced a chuckle.
 
“Yes…yes, dear.
 
When you get to my age… you know, menopause.”
 
That came out nonsensically, but she was too rattled to do any better.
 
It drew another sustained stare from Portia.

“Well, I hope you feel better,” Portia said.
 
“I don’t mean to hurry off, but I have a busy day ahead.”

Janice nodded, her lips thinning to a smile that looked more like a grimace.
 
“It was so nice to see you again.”

But Portia did not respond.
 
Nor did she depart the bedroom.
 
She only stood there, peering into Janice’s face, knowing that something very peculiar had happened, but not able to decipher just what.

Unsettled by this, Janice carefully wandered away, moving to the wet bar.
 
She could feel Portia’s eyes following her closely.
 
She retrieved the duster from the stool and began
dusting,
hoping Portia would not notice her trembling hands.
 
After several torturous seconds, she finally heard Portia walk out of the bedroom.

Janice stopped dusting, and leaned against the wet bar taking a deep breath, relieved.
 
But it now seemed very quiet.
 
Too quiet.

Guided by a foolish impulse born mostly of frayed nerves, she leaned forward just enough to see down the hallway.
 
Portia was standing in the distance at the top of the staircase, peering down the stairs.
 
She waited, expecting Portia to begin her descent, but instead, very gradually,
very
eerily, Portia began to turn her head in Janice’s direction.
 
And once more Janice could see it coming into view on the far side of Portia’s face, the eye of that putrid skull.

Janice jerked backward.
 
She stood there for several very tense moments, fearing that her mistake might bring Portia back into the bedroom.
 
But after another long stint of silence, she finally heard the woman’s heels tapping down the staircase.

Janice wandered forward dazed, a hand covering her chest.
 
Reaching the bed, she dropped to her knees.
 
The smell of death was everywhere.

She fell to the bed and began to sob.
 
Slowly her hands came together and she began to pray.
 
She would continue to do so for the remainder of the hour, wrestling to understand why she had just glimpsed Portia.