Tempted by Evil (14 page)

The relentless throbbing in my head was becoming unmanageable, and I labored in vain to control my breathing. While I tried to steady my state, a strange noise from the other side of the curtain divider to my left alerted me to the fact that I was not alone. Slowly leaning out of my bed, I took a deep breath to calm myself and gently pulled the pale green fabric back several inches until I could see the face of an older man, tubes and wires connected everywhere to various machines. The pallor of his skin was striking and his face was gaunt. His repose appeared peaceful, however, so I rested back onto my pillows, too exhausted from that expended effort to redraw the drape. Not a moment later, I jumped as the once-sleeping man eerily rose up in bed and turned toward me with a mechanical grace. His grave expression stopped my heart cold while his glassy hazel eyes looked right through me.

The familiarity of his demeanor forced an involuntary shudder from me and I automatically scooted to the farthest edge of the narrow bed, my heart re-awakened and accelerating with every breath. His gravelly voice stopped any further thought I had of inching away to safety.

“Those who drift off to sleep will be led away like sheep.” The rhythm of his rambling was like a lullaby, and I found it difficult to concentrate on his words.

As if sensing my inattention, he leaned closer, his tone more lucid than before, though his cadence hadn’t changed. “Darkness will bend your will to its own. Dancing with darkness is dancing alone.”

When I finally wrapped my brain around his warnings, I realized that not a single word of what he said made sense. Not to me, anyway. I closed my eyes for a brief moment to think and get my mental bearings back. Soon thereafter, I looked back up, only to discover that the old man was lying back down on his bed, as still as a corpse. I stared over at him, lying less than three feet from me, and I wondered if I had just imagined that entire scenario.

The man talking with Mrs. Casey earlier had said something about hallucinating and delusions. Perhaps that was what had occurred with my roommate. Was it truly possible that my mind had invented the whole thing?

I groaned aloud and grasped my temples. My eyes felt like two landmines that were being repeatedly triggered to explode throughout the war zone that my skull had inadvertently become.

My hands were still trembling moments later when Felice strode into the room, looking like she owned the hospital and everyone in it. She came to stand beside my bed and took one of my shaking hands into both of hers as she looked at me fondly.

“How are you feeling, Aspen, dear?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

“I’m confused,” I answered tentatively, taking my hand from hers to hug my arms around myself. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I’m afraid you’re quite exhausted and in great need of rest,” Mrs. Casey explained gently.

“But I heard you speaking to the doctor in the hallway about medication and schizophrenia and hallucinations and . . .” I trailed off as my anxiety level surged, feeling unable to focus enough to remember the conversation clearly.

“No, dear.” It was Felice’s turn to look confused. “I only just arrived. I spoke to the doctor, but only momentarily about why you were placed on this floor.”

“But I thought,” I started before losing my train of thought altogether. “What about him?” Pointing to the old man in the bed next to mine, my mind raced as I tried desperately to recall his words.

“He spoke to me just before you came in,” I blurted out before I thought about what point I was trying to make. “Did you hear him?”

“No, Aspen,” Mrs. Casey’s expression was full of sympathy as she looked from the old man back to me. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Mr. McGovern has been in a coma for over twenty-five years. The whole town grieved after his accident. His wife passed last year still hoping he would recover.”

“He spoke to me, I swear it,” I nearly pleaded under my breath. “Didn’t he speak to me?”

“The doctor said you needed rest,” she said as she turned for the door. “I’m going to go and discuss getting you something to help you sleep.”

Myriad thoughts and emotions assailed me the instant Felice was out the door. Did I not overhear the conversation I thought I heard? Had I merely dreamt the interlude with the old man? Was I going insane?

Before I could formulate an answer to any of my questions, a mass of black stalked through the door.

“
You,
” I nearly spat in an accusatory tone. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I don’t have time for your questions right now,” he snarled, his green eyes flashing as they came to lock on mine. “You have to come with me.”

“Come with you?” My voice was filled with equal parts hysteria and incredulity. “Are you kidding? Why would I go with you?”

“We have to go,” he answered in a low voice, turning his head to look at the door. “I can give you the answers you’re looking for, Aspen . . . answers about the medication.” He gave me an all-knowing look that begged me to get up and follow him.

“How do you know about that?” I countered defensively, my mind still reeling from the bombs that had been dropping around me and the possibility of being helped by someone who constantly refused to answer questions.

“I know things,” he stated simply, but the tone of his voice was firm and serious. “A lot of things.”

“Well, so far you’ve told me nothing,” I rebutted, trying to sound impassive, though my resolve was crumbling. My desire to grasp my situation overrode everything else.

“Here,” he barked, throwing a plastic bag full of my belongings at me. “Get dressed and come with me now.” He glanced back and forth between the old man and me, eyeing us tightly. “Before the two of you become permanent roommates.”

“Okay,” I replied without hesitation, fishing out my coffee-stained jeans and wiggling into them under my gown. “I’ll go.”

The time for bravado was gone. He turned around so I could quickly change, and, as I did, bile rose in my throat at the mere thought of being confined to an institutional-type room again. Once in my life was more than enough, and, while I was grateful for my time with the sisters, personal freedom was a commodity I never intended to be without.

My breaths came rapid and shallow. My fingernails dug deeply into my own flesh, seeking the safety I felt lacking. I tried to focus my thoughts, but with every effort, they drifted right back to the moments in the hospital just before I raced out of it and climbed into Merrick's filthy, door-less vehicle. I was being driven to an undetermined place with a man whose last name I didn’t even know. It was a far-from-intelligent act, but with my mind playing tricks on me, I had to go with my visceral reactions. They told me to go with him.

A particularly heinous bump in the road caused my stomach to lurch, and I squeezed my lids even tighter together than they already were, a small groan escaping my lips. Motion sickness had never been a serious cause for concern while living in the convent. There, the opportunity had never presented itself to get in a car with a testosterone-crazed man hell-bent on defying both laws of speed and gravity on a road that closely resembled a hiking trail. I mentally crossed myself for wishing he knew exactly how I felt in that instant; God only knew what that sort of penance would look like.

The vehicle came to an abrupt stop as did my train of thought, and I slowly cracked one eye open to make sure the abeyance wasn’t temporary. My darkly clad companion jumped effortlessly from the jeep while I remained still as a statue in a self-bear-hug with one lid still closed tight.

“Do you intend to stay in the vehicle all evening?” Merrick asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Or are you coming in?”

“Where are we?” I asked softly.

“My place,” he replied curtly before muttering to himself, “I had to get you away . . .”

I opened my other eye to appraise my surroundings and was pleasantly surprised to discover a small cottage, somewhat dilapidated, bordered by rocks on the far side, that overlooked the coast. My excitement grew as I romanticized Hester Prynne’s seaside home in my mind, exhilarated by the thought of meandering around the backdrop of
The Scarlet Letter
—and so close to the water. There was just something about the ocean that called to and captivated me.

Merrick cleared his throat, which effectively snapped me out of my internal reverie and brought me back to the neglected old shanty before me. It also brought me back to the dilemma at hand.

Merrick abruptly stepped into my line of sight, hand extended, and it took me more than a moment of staring into his jade eyes to realize that I was still inside his door-less jeep. Rendered speechless at his unexpected gesture, I took hold of his hand, allowing him to help me out of the beast. Grateful for his kindness, I smiled up at him after both my feet were on solid ground and he had released my hand. He merely turned and headed for the house.

I followed after him like a lost puppy dog, entered the front door after him, and gently closed it behind me. We had walked into what appeared to be a living room of sorts, although there were few furnishings to speak of. An old leather sofa occupied one wall and a full floor-to-ceiling bookshelf took up the opposite. Part of me wanted to sprint over to his library and begin rummaging through the collection, but another part was curious about the rest of the cottage. Realizing that my train of thought seemed erratic, even to me, I restrained myself and remained semi-close to my host, almost more fearful of my own mind and its abnormal reactions at that point than the strange man in the room with me. Though I did want to know more about
him
. I decided the best way to learn about Merrick was to study him in his environment.

Peering beyond that room, I could see a very minimalist kitchen with appliances that looked nearly obsolete. A short hallway branched off to the left of the kitchen with two doors ajar, presumably a bedroom and a bathroom. The refrigerator door closing brought my eyes back to the antiquated kitchen and Merrick walking toward me with two bottles of water in his hands.

“Drink,” he commanded as he handed me one of the plastic containers.

“I’m really not thirsty,” I protested as I took a seat on the edge of the sofa closest to the door. “Thank you, though.”

“The doctors at the hospital would disagree with you,” he snarled, pointing to the tape on my hand from the IV he had removed before we left the hospital. “Humor me.”

“All right,” I conceded, twisting the sealed cap off. I took a large drink, being a bit dramatic. “Happy now?”

“For now,” he replied, resting against the doorframe between the living room and kitchen, about ten feet away.

Inhaling deeply, I braced myself for the flood of insight that Merrick was about to unleash. So many unfathomable things had happened since I left the convent that my mind simply could not process them all. I had decided that if he had answers, I would hear him out, no matter how unusual I perceived him to be or how little I knew him.

I watched him anxiously, feeling like a child on the first day of school, knowing nothing. He returned my gaze, the calm radiating off him to the point that I quickly became a bit agitated.

“So,” I began a bit more nervously than I’d hoped, practically chewing on my bottom lip. “You said you had some answers for me?”

“Right,” he responded indifferently. “What were your questions again?”

“Don’t play games with me, Merrick.” I forced myself to sound braver than I actually felt, though the quiver in my voice betrayed me. “You said to come with you if I wanted answers. I’m here. It’s time you lived up to your end of the bargain.”

His eyes gave nothing away as they searched mine. I suddenly felt vulnerable sitting before him, as if he were able to read me like a picture book. Feeling the need to shelter myself from his visual examination, I wrapped my arms protectively around my waist and turned my head. Finally, the weight of his stare became too much to bear any longer.

“Look, if you don’t have anything to tell me . . .” I rose to my feet and placed my hands on my hips. “I’ll walk out that door right now.”

“Do what you have to do,” he quipped, leaning casually against the doorjamb.

“Fine,” I snapped back as I turned and headed for the exit. I had my right hand on the knob before he spoke up.

“Aspen, wait,” Merrick grunted from behind me, the frustration evident in his voice. “Don’t go.”

“Why not?” Still facing the door, I wasn’t sure whether or not I had any real intention of going through it; I just had to make him believe I did. “If you have nothing to tell me, we have nothing to talk about.”

“I’ll tell you what you want to know.” He spoke low through gritted teeth as if it pained him not to have the upper hand in the situation.

Turning slowly to face him, I nearly whispered the words, “Tell me about the medication.”

“Sit down.” He motioned toward my former spot on the couch as he walked over and sat on the opposite end.

Nodding my head, I did as he said, positioning myself to face him in my seat. He stared at the bookcase in front of him.

“Aspen, I need for you to stay calm when I tell you this,” he said while he ran his fingers through his dark hair.

“I’m calm,” I replied, feeling anything but.