Fog Heart (38 page)

*   *   *

‘But you haven't even been told.'

‘Not officially, but it doesn't matter. I know.'

‘You would have heard something,' Charley said.

‘If they knew. If they found her.'

Charley shook his head in mild disbelief. He took a sip of Powers and relit his cigar. Oona was stretched out on the sofa, her head slightly raised on pillows. She was light and scrawny, like a child in his arms when Charley picked her up. He stopped the bleeding easily enough with ice and a damp towel.

‘Another psychic fantasy,' he scoffed.

‘It's true,' Oona said. ‘It was like someone reached in and ripped out half of my heart. You don't know.'

‘Oh?' Angry again. ‘My wife died in my arms. She cut her own throat. Thanks in no small measure to you.'

Oona looked down. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Ah, not at all. Think nothing of it.'

‘I am,' Oona said quietly. ‘We're both alone now.'

‘We will be as soon as you leave.'

‘I can't.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘I can't leave. I have nowhere to go.'

‘You have a whole house of your own.'

‘I can't stay there any more.'

‘Why not?'

A long pause. ‘I'm scared.'

‘Of what?'

A longer pause. ‘I don't know.'

‘Let's go.' Charley put his cigar in the ashtray.

‘Where?' A flash of alarm.

‘I'll drop you off at Connecticut Mental Health. After that you're on your own.'

‘No, no. Charley, please. I've done that scene.'

‘Aha. And what did they tell you?'

‘That there's nothing wrong with me,' Oona said.

‘You need a second opinion, darling.'

Oona laughed. Somehow, things weren't going the way Charley wanted. The spasms of anger he felt were genuine, but they had a way of dissipating as quickly as they came. He didn't like Oona, he wanted to throw her out. But, at the same time, he did sort of enjoy her being there with him. It was the company, and the game she was playing.

‘Charley.'

‘What now?'

‘Can I have a drink?'

‘Are you sure you're twenty-one?'

‘I think so.'

Charley almost laughed. He brought her a glass of sinfully watered-down whiskey. Some colour had returned to her face. Oona smiled as she took it. You wanted to hate her, you wanted to like her, and the cunning little creature knew it. She patted the space beside her on the sofa.

‘Sit here for a minute.'

‘Why?'

‘I have to talk to you.'

‘What else have we been doing?'

‘I mean closer. Eye-to-eye talk.'

Charley sat on the edge of the sofa. ‘So?'

‘You won't make me leave. Please don't.'

‘You can't stay here, if that's what you have in mind.'

‘Just for a day or two,' Oona said quickly. ‘Until I get an idea of where we have to go.'

‘We?'

She looked down again. ‘Yes.'

‘
We
are not going anywhere, and you—'

‘Charley…'

Tears gushing up in her eyes. He hated this kind of stunt. But those eyes had invisible hooks.

‘You can wring your fingers too, for all I care.'

‘I'm alone.'

‘Who isn't.'

‘You need me.'

‘Why on earth do I need you?'

Oona sniffed and brushed away a tear. ‘Because,' Oona said, her voice nervous and waifish, ‘you couldn't save your daughter and you couldn't save your wife.' Now she looked up and gazed at him. ‘I'm your last chance. You can still save me.'

*   *   *

What was he doing? Oona meant trouble, one way or another. She could talk like that, she could say things that got under his skin and worked on him – but they meant nothing. It was more of the same blather. She had a huge capacity for poking around the edges of your life, hoping to draw blood. That was the sort of person Oona was: seductive, sly, canny, manipulative.

Throw her out. She has a place of her own to live, and you can't give her the kind of help she needs anyway. Then drive up to Hamilton, Ontario. Find a nice apartment, get your future in hand. Straight away. Lose her. Now. Yes.

Charley stared at Oona, who was dozing on the couch. He had no idea why she'd come to him. He had had no idea about Roz. But he knew one thing. If you think you're lost and alone, you probably are. Oona was lost and alone.

And him with her.

*   *   *

While in the bathroom, he looked at his face in the mirror. Not much flesh tone in that mug. Grey stubble on the chin, to go with the first silvery strands cropping up on top. You have such tired eyes, a tired face. But who was he to judge? He knew some women who'd told him he had bedroom eyes. Meaning sexy, erotic. Charley preferred to accept their judgement over his own, even if he generally felt more tired than erotic. He splashed cold water on his face, brushed a few stray hairs back in place, sprayed his mouth with mint freshener, and returned to the living room.

‘Charley.'

‘Yes?'

‘I'm very grateful to you.'

He hadn't given her a decision yet. ‘Why?'

‘For letting me stay.'

‘Oona, I—'

‘But I want to tell you straight, so you'll know.'

‘What?'

‘Don't try to put your thing in me.'

‘Oona, it never crossed—'

‘Don't even ask me to touch it.'

*   *   *

‘When did you read Sir Walter Scott?'

‘At the home.'

Oona was running her fingers along the spines on one of his bookshelves. She seemed a little stronger now and was wandering about the room, looking at things.

‘
The
home?'

‘It wasn't, really. They just call it that.'

‘You mean an orphanage?'

‘No. It was the kind of place where they put you when they have nowhere else to put you.'

‘Were you in trouble?'

‘You could say that.'

‘When was this?'

‘Oh, a while back.' Oona was growing restless. ‘It doesn't matter now. But it wasn't all that bad a place. They had plenty of books, so I did a lot of reading. Makes the time pass.'

‘What kind of trouble?'

‘I don't know. Trouble trouble.'

‘Oona, you must know,' Charley said, gently scolding. ‘You might find it helps to talk about it.'

She smiled at him. ‘Know what I like about you, Charley?'

‘What?'

‘You stayed with Jan. You did stay. It might not have been the best thing for either of you but it was the good thing to do. Everybody leaves sooner or later. Even Roz. But you didn't, you stayed with your wife.'

‘Jan was not a strong person.'

‘You are.'

Charley laughed. ‘Oona, I'm probably the weakest man you've ever met, bar none.'

‘You have a blind spot about yourself, but I see you in ways you never can. You're stronger than you think.'

‘Well, good. That's nice to know.'

Charley was growing uncomfortable. This kind of talk was so ensnaring and it led nowhere. Oona was trying to make him feel better and, thus, more willing to do whatever she wanted. When he asked her anything about herself, she would swing it back to him and his life.

‘You joke about it,' Oona said. ‘But I was right about you. I was the first time we met.'

Charley ignored that. ‘Tell me about your trouble.'

Oona gave him a strange look. She turned to the bookshelf again and moved along it, away from him.

‘I saw the worst thing coming at me,' she said quietly. ‘So I did the worst thing I could about it.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘What do you think?'

‘Well, you didn't kill anybody. Did you?'

Oona looked at him for a moment, then turned away.

*   *   *

The drink didn't help. It was a long time before he finally fell asleep that night. She took the sofa in the living room and insisted that he leave his door open. Such a fey creature. Oona was not all there in some ways, but was, too much so, in others. Charley lay awake in his bed, trying to figure out what he should do with her.

No doubt there had been some traumatic event in her past. A childhood of abuse, violence, something like that. Murder, even, witnessed more likely than committed. The usual explanations for a disturbed personality. But whatever had happened to Oona years ago interested him less than who she was now. Fascinating in her own spooky way, appealing but at the same time off-putting, the picture of helplessness and yet subtly dominating – oh, yes, Oona was a little wonder. But not for ever irresistible.

He would let her stay for a day or two, three at most. Let her come to her senses. Then he would push her out, gently but firmly. You will know when the time is right because it'll be when you start to like her too much.

He thought he had it more or less worked out, when he heard the noises. Oona. She was crying in her sleep, whimpering as if in response to a bad dream. It grew louder. Bloody hell, it was going to be a short stay if he had to listen to this every night. Louder, then worse. It sounded as if she were choking or gagging on something.

Charley got out of bed and went to the living room. Now he could hear her thrashing about on the sofa, thumping it blindly with her arms. He slapped his hand against the wall to switch on the light. It looked even worse than it sounded.

She was having some kind of seizure. Her body twitched and jerked, and she was grinding her teeth in a clatter. Her eyes were squeezed tight shut. Saliva beaded in both corners of her mouth and then dribbled down her chin. Her fingers clawed at the upholstery, then smacked it wildly, and her head twisted back and forth in a frenzy. Strangled sobs and groans escaped through her clenched teeth.

Epilepsy? That would explain a lot, the visions and voices, the whole mad scene that Oona went through for the customers. It was so obvious – Charley was amazed that he hadn't thought of it before now. But he didn't know exactly what to do for someone in that state. Keep them from swallowing their tongue, right?

He rushed to the sofa and tried to calm Oona – but she was like a wild animal. Charley held her head and tried to open her mouth, but her teeth wouldn't budge. Her breath was hot on his skin and came in tiny snorts. Panic setting in.

‘Help,' he said half aloud, to himself. ‘Get help.'

Before he could move, however, Oona's hands shot up and took hold of him by the hair. Her strength was shocking. She pulled his head down onto her chest and held it tightly there. His neck was twisted painfully, and Charley turned the rest of his body on the edge of the sofa to ease the angle. He couldn't pull away or free himself from Oona's grip.

As soon as he stopped trying, and relaxed a little, allowing his head to rest on her, Oona slowly began to thrash and struggle less. The sounds she made lost some of their desperate urgency, and her breaths grew longer and steadier. That's it, he thought, that's the girl. Come on now, come on. That's the way. You're all right now, it's ending.

Oona continued to moan faintly for some time, but her breath eased back to normal and her jaw relaxed. A while later, she let go of Charley's hair, and he slipped away. He didn't realize how scared he was until he went out to the kitchen and tried to pour himself a steadying drink of whiskey. He chipped the lip of the glass with the bottle.

*   *   *

‘Too many people.'

‘Where?'

‘Here,' Oona said. ‘All around us in this building, on this street. We're in the middle of a city.'

‘Well, yes,' Charley said. ‘Sorry about that, but this does happen to be where I live.'

‘Too many people. That's what does it to me.'

‘I could ask them to move. Clear the entire area for, say, three square miles all around. Would that do?'

‘Charley, we have to go.'

‘I'm not going anywhere.'

‘You have to take me.'

‘Sorry, darling.'

‘Do you want me to die right here?'

‘You're not going to die.'

‘I know, it only seems that way.'

‘Oona, it's just epilepsy,' he said patiently. ‘I'm sure it can be treated or controlled. I mean, I'm not saying it isn't a serious problem. Of course it is but—'

‘It isn't epilepsy,' Oona told him flatly. ‘They threw that idea out long ago.'

‘Well, something similar. Something – medical.'

She laughed. ‘You still don't believe it, do you?'

‘Believe what?'

‘That it's real.'

‘Oh, it's real enough,' Charley said, ‘but it's not the kind of psychic spiritualism you think it is.'

‘You have to take me,' she repeated. ‘I can't make it on my own. I need you with me.'

‘People bother you, but I don't.'

‘That's right. I always need someone.'

‘Listen, love, I have plenty of things of my own that I have to take care of, arrangements to make and—'

‘No, no,' Oona interrupted. ‘You have a lot of empty space in front of you right now.'

She stared at him, helpless and sad-eyed, so that he would be forced to think about it. And perhaps think that he was being selfish, that whatever he wanted to do could not possibly be more important than Oona's well-being. Save her the trouble, you can convince yourself that you're the one in control. Why bother to argue about it? Go straight to submission.

‘No.'

Oona smiled. ‘Thank you.'

‘I said no, Oona. Look, I'm going up to Ontario,' Charley told her. ‘If you want to come along—'

‘First you're taking me – somewhere else.'

‘Even if I wanted to, I can't afford to take you anywhere,' Charley explained, with a sigh of exasperation. ‘I just paid for a very expensive funeral, you know, and—'