Deep in the Darkness (2 page)

Nevertheless, it
was
a nice place. An old center-hall colonial with four rooms (including an eat-in kitchen) downstairs and four bedrooms upstairs. Throw in three baths—two up, one down—and you've got yourself one helluva place. And then of course, there was the study and office attached to the house in the rear. Fit for a king! There was a separate entrance along the side of the house where my future patients would enter a small waiting room. On one side of the vestibule was an examination room which at the time of my perusal had still been filled with Dr Farris's equipment; should still be, according to the deal I worked out with the widow. On the other side, flanking the rear, was a study, a grand room with floor-to-ceiling windows, a fireplace, and bookshelves that lined almost every inch of wall. It was a physician's dream-come-true and I imagined myself getting lost in there after dinner, gazing out the windows at the dark expanse of woods in the backyard, courting the fireflies.

The backyard had a nice lie of lawn to it that even now in May possessed a healthy lavish green color. There was a large bird fountain made of cement, and further back at the foot of the woods sat a padlocked shed that I hadn't noticed before. The woods themselves went on as far as the eye could see, and from what I understood from Emily Farris, there'd never really been a line of demarcation between the property and the state's land. I figured the only thing I had to worry about was some developer coming in to build a shopping mall or a parking lot, and the odds of that happening were longer than a subway series between...uh...well, for now I was quite willing to bet against any kind of construction in my backyard. The population didn't warrant it.

After getting out of the minivan, I gave Christine a gentle stare. She was wiping her tears away with a tissue. "Well...here we are." I felt a bit of anxiety, a tremble in my legs. They say that buying a house is one of the more stressful things a person can do in a lifetime, right after getting married and having a baby. I'd breezed through the latter two without a hitch, but for some reason standing in front of our new home in Nowhere, New Hampshire felt even more intimidating than experiencing Jessica's birth. At the moment, it sure seemed that way for Christine too.
 

She walked over and hugged me. I felt her damp cheeks press against my shoulder. "I've never been happier," she said.

Of course she was lying, but I was damn happy to hear her say that. It meant that she was ready to accept this change in lifestyle, and that took a load off my shoulders. Being unhappy myself was a personal issue that I was perfectly capable of handling—I could
learn
to be happy again. But contending with Christine's unhappiness, that was another issue altogether. She was so damn steadfast in her emotional ways. If she decided on traveling the path to unhappiness, then I'd be screwed. For life. There'd be no changing her, no turning back. She was a rock when it came to her emotions.

She ran her eyes over the front of the house, from the front door to the empty windows to the walk that led to the driveway. I could practically hear the wheels in her mind turning, unearthing gardening ideas for the space below the bay window, perhaps charting another hundred or so decorative pursuits.

I heard Page barking in the distance, and for the first time I wondered if he'd be able to find his way back.

Jessica walked over and grabbed Christine's hand. "Mommy, I don't feel well," she said.

I'd heard that line a thousand times on the way here. As usual, Christine was more attentive to our daughter's complaints than I was.

"What is it, honey?" Christine asked, bending at the knees, rubbing a hand through Jessica's blond curls.

"I have a stomach ache. I want to go home."

Christine gave me a sorrowful look. She felt badly for Jessica. Me, I figured our five year old might need a week or two of adjusting to her new surroundings. In a month she'd completely forget about Manhattan. Unlike me.

I walked over to Jessica and kneeled down next to her. At this level the singing birds sounded very loud. I had to admit, it was a nice change of pace from the never-ending wail of sirens filling the streets.

"Sweetheart, this is our new home." I pointed to the house.

She gave the house a quick once over, then gently said, "Cool beans."

I gave Christine a quizzical look then we all broke out in laughter, Jessica included. We had no idea where she picked up that neat little phrase, and figured it was better than
holy shit
or
piss my pants
, the sort of witticisms she'd undoubtedly acquire while attending kindergarten in Manhattan. That's why we moved out here. And cool beans, that was just fine with me.

I put my arms around Christine and Jessica and we all took part in a community hug.

A perfect way to start our new life together.

T
he moment should have lasted forever
, I thought, because everything really went downhill after that. I broke the family clutch to fish out the house keys from my jacket pocket, and as soon as my finger hooked through the loop, Jessica threw up all over me.

Christine yelled my name, then said, "Oh Jess, honey..." She stood up, giving Jessica her space as she heaved again all over the front walkway. Really, though, Christine was thrilled not to have been in the line of fire, and she set herself back a good three feet to avoid getting splattered. Me, I just stood there, utterly mystified, glancing back and forth between my suddenly sick daughter and the mess dripping down the leg of my jeans.

As her heaves died down, her cries grew into wails of dread. She sounded terrified, as if she'd just puked up a baby bird or something.

"Jessica..." I said, not sure what to do about the vomit on my leg. "It's all right, there's no reason to be scared. You've got a little bug in the tummy. That's all."

"But my tummy!"
she cried. Her eyes were red and wet and bulging, like two cherry tomatoes.

I was at a loss for the moment. All I wanted to do was get my pants off. I still had the keys in my hand, but that did me no good because the moving van hadn't arrived with our things yet, and all I'd brought along was a gym bag with a change of clothes for tonight.

"Don't just stand there, Michael," Christine said. "Do something." To Christine, being a doctor meant I had the power to set calm into any situation, medical matter or not.

"What do you suggest?" My temper was rising and I thought again about hightailing it back to New York, this time alone.

"Get your pants off, doc. Then go get your daughter some Pepto from the first aid kit."

Jessica always became
my
daughter when things got a bit unruly. Like now. "Where should I change? I'm not gonna trail puke into the house, or the car."

"Michael...there's not a soul around for miles. We're in the middle of nowhere, remember? Just take them off."

I was about to argue with her, but Jessica produced a few aftershocks—three giant croaking heaves. Tears sprouted from her eyes like rain, and she cried inconsolably when it was over. I staggered to the car and kicked off my sneakers and socks. The first-aid kit was in the glove department. I grabbed a towel from the rear seat and wiped some of the puke off my pants; it made me nauseous. I decided it might be better to take them off after all, which I did. Now, wearing nothing but boxers, I walked back to Christine and Jessica, feeling like a snake who'd just shed its skin, cold and vulnerable.

Christine had picked up Jessica. She was tapping her lightly on the back, trying to ease her hysterics.

"She's sick, Michael. Her skin is warm."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Well...did you know that you're standing in the front yard of your new home with no pants on, doing absolutely nothing?" Her face was stiff, not a shot for a grin showing up. Clearly she wasn't trying to be cute or funny, as I'd hoped. She was being crass, and it made me want to scream and race into the house, to be
away
from the mess outside.

And then I did scream, but not at Christine. There was a sudden excruciating pain in the sole of my foot. It felt as though it had been amputated, sans the anesthesia. I went down on one knee to investigate, throwing down the first aid kit in a huff.

"What's wrong, Michael?" she yelled, placing Jessica down in the grass. Through the lancing pain in my sole, I could hear Jessica's cries start up again, as if someone had pushed her panic button. She clawed at Christine, then at me, looking for support, and I had no choice but to give her a gentle shove as I inspected my foot. Of course, she fell down right in the puddle of vomit. That caused quite a furor of cries, from both daughter and wife.

I couldn't pay them any heed, though. When I twisted my foot around I beheld a gruesome sight. A rusty nail had found its way into the center of my sole. It stuck out crookedly like an old fence post. A vicious red bulge the size of a quarter had risen about the point of entry. Blood came out in a flow. I yelled again, in pain, fear, shock, whatever.

Blood and vomit!
I thought crazily.

Christine had the gall to reprimand me for pushing Jessica, and amidst my own cries I had to practically shove my foot in her face in my defense. That earned me quite a look of disgust. She cringed, and turned away.

"Sure got your hands full, eh?" a deep voice from behind me said. And then I heard barking. Jimmy Page.

I turned and saw a man of about fifty standing five or six feet away. He had on a worn pair of wranglers and a plaid shirt with gray chest hair exploding from the open collar. His skin was pale, and he chewed on the end of an unlit half-smoked cigar. He was holding Jimmy Page like a baby, stomach facing skyward. The dog's tongue lolled from its mouth like a ribbon.

"Rumor has it that you're the new doctor. Looks like you're your own first patient."

I grimaced through the pain. "Yeah, I'd say," wondering what he
really
thought of me, considering I was in my underwear.

"Found your dog," he said, then kneeled down and let Jimmy Page go, who immediately hopped over and sniffed Jessica's vomit.

I looked up at the man, managed a smile, said, "Thanks."

Ain't nothing like a first impression
, I thought.

P
ocketing the spit-soaked cigar in his shirt pocket, the man explained how he'd been sitting on his front porch when Page came sniffing at his feet. After some petting and a slice of turkey for a treat, he escorted the Cocker Spaniel back home. "Being new in these parts, I figured he might have trouble finding his way around." He then added, "Mighty happy fellow, he is."

While Christine changed Jessica's clothes by the minivan, I plucked the nail from my sole in a quick, calculated flick of the wrist. I bellowed just once, and even though I'd removed my share of nails and needles from the feet and hands of patients, I'd never experienced a pain quite like it. Couldn't have imagined anything much worse, actually. Then, amazingly, it was over. At least the
bad
pain was gone. Now I was left with a dull throb, and I doused the wound with antiseptic and covered it with gauze, knowing that it'd be quite a battle just walking around the house for the next week or so. Not a good thing, considering we had a lot of unpacking to do.

"Wonder how it got on your lawn," the man said. He honored me with a witty grin, then held out his hand, which I graciously accepted. "Phillip Deighton, at your service," he said, helping me to my feet.

"Michael Cayle, and yes, I am the new doctor."

"Mommy, who's that man?" I heard Jessica ask. Christine shushed her as they returned from the car, then smiled and introduced herself.

"Our daughter isn't feeling well today," she said. "She's had a bit of an accident." Page was doing circles around everyone, tailing back now and again to investigate Jessica's vomit.

Deighton fished his cigar back out and inserted it back into his wet lips, but didn't light it. "Pleased to meet you," he said. He kneeled down to Jessica's height. "And what is your name, young lady?" Jessica stayed mostly silent. I urged her to be polite and introduce herself. Eventually she mumbled her name beneath her breath, then turned face-in to Christine's thigh.

"Welcome to Ashborough." He stood back up and offered up a most welcoming smile. Then I realized he was grinning because I was standing there in my underwear.

"Uh...yes, as you can tell there's been a bit of an accident. Sorry for the messy scene." I didn't need to point it out on the walkway.

Phillip held both hands out in front of him. "No need to apologize...we all have our days, and you're probably all out of sorts from the move, I'd say."

"Yes, this has been a rather auspicious start."

Deighton smiled then looked at Christine. He was probably getting uncomfortable with my unclothed state. "You folks are more than welcome to come by my house for the time being, at least until your things get here. You can meet my wife, she's anxious to meet you. She'll be one of your regular patients, by default, I suppose. I'm certain you'll learn all about her in Dr Farris's files. And Michael, while you're at the house you can get that wound cleaned up. You're probably gonna want to give yourself a tetanus shot, no?"