After Life (20 page)

Yes, I'm fine, thank you. I'm sorry about yesterday, about the way the

wine went to my head, but-Oh, don't think anything of that. It was my

fault, really. I shouldn't have pushed so much of it on you.

It's just that I so enjoy watching people enjoy what I make. Aren't you

a little like that?

Sometimes, yes, Jessie admitted, but she couldn't help wondering why

Henry permitted Marjorie to make elderberry wine if she had been having

trouble with alcohol.

Anyway, I wanted to be sure you weren't nervous about Dr. Beezly coming

to see you. You seemed anxious about it, but you won't find a sweeter,

more gentle doctor anywhere, Marjorie insisted.

I'm not nervous; I'm just not very optimistic, Jessie confessed.

Well Dr. Beezly will change that attitude, Marjorie replied quickly.

She sounded like a grade-school teacher reprimanding an insolent child.

I hope so.

He did it for me, Marjorie emphasized. And he did it for Henry and he

did it for Bob, and he will do it for you, she predicted firmly.

Jessie didn't know what to say. If the woman could step physically

through the telephone to drive that conclusion into her, she would,

Jessie thought. One moment she had been apathetic, depressed, even

fearful of everything and everyone, and now she was a major cheerleader.

The way she and some of the others spoke about Dr. Beezly, they sounded

more like disciples than patients.

I'm willing to give him a chance, she finally said.

That's all he asks for, a chance, Marjorie sang. If you need anything,

please don't hesitate to call. We're all a happy little family here.

Thank you, she said. She was tempted to bring up the frightening

comments Marjorie had made to her when they were leaving the Bakers'

dinner party. She just wanted to see what the woman would say now, but

she was also afraid it might do some psychological damage, set Marjorie

back, and then everyone would blame her.

Well, good-bye and good luck with Dr. Beezly, Marjorie said. Bye.

Thanks. A short while later Tracy phoned to see how she was doing, too.

I wanted to phone earlier, but I was afraid of disturbing you. Do you

have a bad hangover today? Actually, no.

Dr. Beezly's advice was on the money, huh. He's amazing. The way he

just seems to know what's best for everyone. Even if he can't help you

physically, he'll offer you good advice. He seem to have a prophet's

wisdom. It surprises me he's not the mayor of this town, Jessie said.

The words came out a lot harsher than she had intended, but there was

something annoying about the way they all praised Dr. Beezly. No man

should be thought of in such extravagant terms, she mused. It's almost

sinful. What do you mean? Tracy asked. Everyone thinks so highly of

him. Oh. Tracy laughed. I suppose we do sound like idolaters or

something, but it is rare to find someone with all his qualities. Most

of the doctors I've known were kind of narrow. When they look at you,

they see kidneys and glands, not people. Dr. Beezly sees you for what

and who you are.

I'm not so sure I want someone that perceptive looking into me, Jessie

said thoughtfully. Tracy laughed again.

Don't worry. He's discreet.

Sounds more like a clergyman than a physician, Jessie muttered.

Tracy giggled.

That's what Marjorie used to say.

Oh? She called earlier, Jessie said. She apologized for force-feeding

the wine.

How nice. I know she felt bad about it.

Tracy, why does Henry let her make wine if she has had a problem with

alcohol? Or for that matter, why doesn't Dr. Beezly say something

about it?

Well . . . Tracy said. Jessie sensed her hesitation. What?

I'm sure it might have been because you had some on a relative empty

stomach or something, but it's not very strong. The only thing it does

to me is make me nauseous because it's too sweet. Of course, I wouldn't

tell Marge that, but Not very strong? It hit me like a brick.

Tracy laughed.

Maybe you're just allergic to elderberries. Believe me, if Dr. Beezly

thought it was dangerous for Marjorie to make it, he would speak up.

He's not one to keep his opinions in a trunk, as you will soon learn,

she added, and laughed again. Only this time Jessie felt as if Tracy

knew some secret, some secret Jessie was about to have revealed to her.

Tracy, too, wished her luck before ending the conversation.

The groceries were delivered a little before noon.

Jessie put them away and prepared the chicken Kiev after she made

herself some lunch. By the time she had finished and cleaned up, it was

close to two o'clock.

Anticipating Dr. Beezly's arrival, she went to the front of the

apartment and listened for his car. Oddly, though, she never heard him

drive up.

Suddenly, as if he had materialized out of thin air, he was knocking on

her apartment door. The sound took her by such surprise, she literally

jumped in her seat.

Then, for a moment she couldn't move. He knocked again. She took a

deep breath and rose from the chair.

When she opened the door, she was first greeted with a whiff of that

now-too-familiar stench. It passed quickly, however.

Hello, Jessie, Dr. Beezly said. She smiled and extended her hand. He

took it slowly, his fingers curling around hers. Once again she had the

sensation that she was shaking hands with a corpse. Her fingers cut

through his smoke like flesh and she felt his bones. He held on and

then entered the apartment when she said hello and stepped back.

I didn't hear you drive up, she said.

Really? My Mercedes is a diesel and makes far too much noise for my

taste, he said.

She stood there smiling incredulously. Her hearing was keen. Even if

he had driven up with his engine off, she would have heard the crunch of

gravel under the tires. Surely she would have heard him step up to the

porch. She hadn't even heard the front door open and-hat door squeaked

so loud, she could hear it when she was in the kitchen. Maybe she had

been too deep in thought, she mused.

This is a roomy apartment, Dr. Beezly commented as he walked farther

in. But you will be much better off in the new one, he added quickly.

It's too isolated out here. You should be around people, activity. I

don't mean noise, he said, touching her shoulder. I imagine it's deadly

quiet here. No pun intended, he said, laughing.

You'd be surprised how noisy it gets, she replied.

At least in my mind or my imagination, as Lee puts it."

"Oh?"

I hear digging all the time, it seems, and when I ask Mr. Carter about

it, he claims he's not doing any digging.

Lee and I are both wondering now if there aren't some grave robbers.

Oh my. Perhaps I should have the police look into it, Dr. Beezly said.

I'll see about it.

She shrugged.

I don't know anymore. I'm the only one who seems to hear it happening.

Uh-huh, he said. Why don't we sit on the sofa here, he suggested. I've

brought my bag along and I'd like to do a few tests quickly. Nothing

complicated.

All right. She sat down and folded her hands on her lap as he placed

his bag on the coffee table. She heard him unzip it.

So, he began, tell me a little about the accident.

I don't remember it well, she said quickly.

Yes, that's very common with serious accidents.

Like what happened to Marjorie, she said.

Exactly. The mind blocks out details. It's too painful to remember,

especially if someone you love is killed or seriously hurt. Or someone

you love causes the accident, he added. She felt herself tighten into a

fist inside. Was it a one-car accident?

Yes. We went off the road and hit a tree.

I see. You and Lee had been coming from a party late at night?

How did he know that? she wondered. She certainly hadn't mentioned it

to Tracy, or to anyone else in Gardner Town for that matter, and she

couldn't imagine Lee having done so.

We were going home, yes.

People never realize how much they've drunk, do they? he said.

No. What did this have to do with the examination of her eyes? she

wondered. Is he just trying to make small talk? If so, he's chosen the

wrong subject.

I'm sure he feels bad about it. Guilty, he added. For a moment she

didn't respond. These things are difficult to face up to, he added.

I don't blame him. Accidents happen. It wasn't some thing he wanted to

happen or something he did deliberately she said. She couldn't help

sounding testy, but if he was going to continue on this subject . . .

Oh, I know you don't hold him accountable, but that doesn't mean he

won't blame himself, I'm sure.

I suppose we're all sinners of one sort of another. It's in our nature

to be so. Drunk driving is what I would call a sin of weakness, as

opposed to a sin of passion or a sin of greed. Do you agree? he

inquired.

It's not something I enjoy talking about, Doctor. I'm sorry, she said.

She almost snapped at him.

Of course. He sat beside her and took her hand into his for a moment.

Now, you just try to relax, he said, patting her hand softly. I'm not

going to do anything that would cause you any pain.

All right. She took a deep breath. Then she felt his fingers on her

forehead and his thumbs pull up on her skin so her eyes opened wider.

She heard him snap on a small light and imagined he was pointing the

beam directly into her pupil, her dead pupil.

Uh-huh, he said. Suddenly there was that putrescent odor again. It

seemed to come from his mouth. How could a physician have such

halitosis? she wondered.

He has to get so close to people all the time.

The fingers of his right hand moved to her left temple and the fingers

of his left hand moved to her right. She sensed him standing directly

in front of her now, holding his hands on her and gazing closely at her

face as he did so. The odor grew stronger, sharper, more difficult to

tolerate. She squirmed.

Easy, he whispered.

I think it's a little stuffy in here, she said, trying to be polite

about it. Maybe we should open a window.

The windows are open, he replied. He began to massage her temples

slowly, softly. The bony feel of his fingers changed until it was more

like something wet. It felt like some cold liquid was emanating from

the tips.

You do see something, don't you, Jessie? he suddenly asked, only the

question sounded more like an accusation than an inquiry. You see more

than people know. You have a deeper vision, one that penetrates

surfaces, passes through words and sounds, a vision that comes to you

through your sense of smell and touch and hearing. Even through taste,

a vision that is sharper, clearer, and far more accurate. A vision that

is prophetic, clairvoyant.

His voice was soothing, mesmerizing. She felt as if he were hypnotizing

her. Her mind began to reel. His words were adrift on her sea of

understanding, floating, probing, seeking. She couldn't resist him.

Yes, she admitted. I do.

I think, he said, that you are the only person who can see me. If you

want to, if you permit yourself to, that is. Go on, Jessie. Do it.

Open those inner eyes of yours.

She shook her head.

Go on.

No, she said, her voice small. She started to back away, but his

fingers were glued to her temples now.

Whatever that putrid fluid was, it cemented her to him and it created

new paths, new synapses into her mind.

Down his arms his identity flowed. Through his wrist and hands, into

his fingers and into her mind, where her vision was clear and vivid.

She gasped.

First she saw the beetle like creature. It had taken the place of Dr.

Beezly. Suddenly it metamorphosed into a giant fly, its eyes red, and

then it changed into a man with a cadaverous face, sunken eyes, yellow

and pale skin. He was naked, which revealed how lean he was.

He had a humped back and was covered with coal-black body hair, a trail

of it moving down from his chin to his chest, and flowing over his

stomach to join with his thick patch of pubic hair, out of which emerged