Unclean Spirit Page 3

  Dr. Gomez was interrupted by one of the ICU nurses.

  "Excuse me, sir, but could you come back into the unit for a moment? Nothing's wrong, there's just something I want you to see before you leave."

  Although initially displeased at having been cut-off mid-conversation with Starr and Tamara, Dr. Gomez was soon grateful for both the nurse's prompt summons and discretion. Paul Forsythe's hand was totally clear of blemishes and he was wide awake.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "It's the damnedest thing I've ever seen!" Dr. Gomez' incredulity was apparent as he described Paul's change in status to his daughter and wife. "There's not a single blister on Mr. Forsythe's hand and he's alert, oriented and neurologically intact."

  Tamara could not suppress her tears of relief as she hugged her daughter and even though Starr shared her mother's feelings of happiness at the unexpected turn of events; her joy was tainted by the nagging suspicion that Paul's recovery was merely the calm before the storm.

  "Dr. Gomez," Starr inquired, "do you have any explanation for how Dad's hand healed itself so quickly?"

  "No, no I don't. I've heard of cases where physiological stress prompted the appearance of skin eruptions that disappeared as soon as the stress abated, but I'm not aware of such a thing happening as suddenly as it has with your father. I don't know, maybe Mr. Forsythe has some sort of altered immune response. We'll see what the cultures show and in the meantime I'll discuss your father's case with some of my colleagues."

  Tamara, anxious to be with her husband, asked, "Doctor, may I see Paul now?"

  "Yes, certainly. In fact, we'll bend the rules a bit--both of you can go in. If he continues to improve, Mr. Forsythe should be able to be transferred out of the ICU by tomorrow and then there will be no restrictions on your visiting time.

  "I would like to suggest that after you see Mr. Forsythe you both get some rest. I'll be in around nine in the morning and we can talk more then."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "Oh, Paul! Thank God you've come back to us, Starr and I have been so worried about you!"

  Paul, though weak and still a bit disoriented, returned his wife's hug as best he could. He realized that he was in a hospital, but he didn't know why. Starr picked up on the confusion in her father's face and attributed the hyperattentive, almost feral, appearance of his eyes to that confusion.

  "Dad, you're in the hospital in El Paso. You apparently fell down the basement steps at home and hit your head. You've had surgery to remove a blood clot beneath your skull. Your doctor says that you will probably be transferred out of the Intensive Care Unit tomorrow.

  "I love you, Dad. Welcome back."

  As Starr gently kissed her father's cheek, a feeling of unmitigated revulsion coursed through Paul's body. The sensation surprised and alarmed Paul--he treasured his daughter, how could he possibly feel anything other than love for her? I was badly injured, Paul reasoned, I'm bound to experience some unusual feelings. Yes, that's all it is.

  "Honey, do you feel like talking? Do you remember what happened?"

  Paul wanted to answer Tamara's questions, but his throat felt so dry and his mouth so parched that he couldn't get the words out. He put a hand to his neck and shook his head.

  "Oh, poor baby, you must be dying of thirst. Starr, please ask the nurse if it's okay to give your Dad some water."

  As Starr left her father's bedside to find the nurse, relief rippled through Paul's body and he was once again dismayed by his reaction to his daughter.

  Cassie Murphy, the nurse caring for Paul, assisted him in taking a few small sips of water. Paul had expected the cool water to soothe his aching throat; instead, it only aggravated his discomfort. Paul pushed Cassie's hand away and managed to croak out, "No more...hurts."

  "Mr. Forsythe, that pain will go away. Your throat is still irritated from the breathing tube that was used during surgery. Here, at least let me put some Vaseline on your dry lips." As Cassie applied the Vaseline, she addressed Tamara and Starr. "Why don't you two get some rest? I'll be here all night and if you'll leave your number I'll call you if there's any change at all in Mr. Forsythe's condition. I think it best if he gets some healing sleep now."

  As much as they wanted to stay with Paul, Tamara and Starr had to acknowledge that Cassie's suggestion was a good one. Tamara's goodnight kiss didn't impact Paul one way or the other; Starr's, however, reignited feelings of repugnance in her father.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lukas Duncan was the type of individual people referred to as a "good man." He had spent the last ten of his fifty-two years ministering to the good, and not so good, citizens of Van Horn. He was a tall and sturdy man, a man who could bale hay as readily as he could preach a sermon. His dark good looks, deep voice, and quick wit charmed the women of his congregation; his ability to down Tequila shooters one right after another impressed the men.

  Lukas, his wife Lillie, and their two sons, Gabe and Sam, had put down roots in Van Horn, roots that were intertwined with those of the rest of the community. There was little that the Duncans would not do willingly and lovingly to assist their parishioners, whether it be planning a wedding or putting a stillborn child to rest. Even though Paul and Tamara Forsythe were not church-goers, they frequently involved themselves in worthwhile civic projects and it was through such activities that Lukas and Lillie had developed a friendship with them. It was natural then that Lukas' reaction when he heard of Paul's accident was one of heartfelt concern.

  Lukas had run into Charlie at the feed store and Charlie had filled the Pastor in on the little bit that he knew. Since Tamara's note hadn't mentioned either the name of the motel she would be staying at or the hospital where Paul had been taken, Charlie was unable to give Lukas any phone numbers to call. Lukas went immediately to Dr. Feener's office to get the information he needed.

  Saul Feener was one of the few persons in town with whom Lukas had an adversarial relationship, so the fact that the doctor hadn't notified him of Paul's accident came as no surprise to Lukas. No single event had precipitated the animosity between the two men; they simply butted heads on anything and everything. Perhaps the chasm created by the doctor's longstanding atheism and the pastor's abiding belief in a good and caring God was the source of their discord; maybe the physician's pragmatic and scientific approach to life clashed with the minister's more affective view of the world. No one, including the preacher and the practitioner, really knew. At any rate, Lukas was in no mood to do verbal battle with Saul, so he was relieved when Wanda, Dr. Feener's receptionist, was able to give him the name of the hospital where Paul had been taken.

  Lukas returned home, shared his information about Paul with Lillie, and placed a call to the El Paso hospital. As soon as Lukas asked the switchboard operator for Paul's room number, the line went dead. Lukas called back, requested the same information, and received only loud static in response. His third call was stopped short by a very irritating busy signal. Had to be something wrong with the lines, thought Lukas, I'll try again later.

  "You know, Lukas," offered Lillie, "Charlie will be alone at the ranch and I doubt very seriously that he'll fix himself anything decent to eat. I'm going to fry up some chicken for him. Can you take it over to him this evening?"

  "Sure, Lil, but only if you save me a few pieces. You know how I feel about your chicken. I bet ol' Charlie would enjoy some of your biscuits too."

  "Right, Lukas, I know exactly who would enjoy my biscuits! But I'll make some for Charlie as well."

  As Lillie left for the kitchen, Lukas tried the number for the hospital again. This time he heard a hissing on the line that the pastor could have sworn was punctuated by coarse and sinister laughter.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The sun was just setting as Charlie returned home. Charlie loved Texas sunsets. They were endowed with a sheer natural beauty that touched the old cowboy's heart. He watched as the apricot-colored sun slowly disappeared behind the Eagle mountain range that served as backdrop to the Forsythe ra
nch. He marveled, as always, at the feeling of peace he felt as the clouds at the mountains' peaks caught the last rays of the sun and momentarily bathed the landscape in vibrant orange and red hues.

  "Gawddamn, mutherfuckin' skeeters! Cain't a body even enjoy the freakin' sunset?" Charlie's brief moment of tranquility had been cut short by the sting of numerous bites to his arms and neck.

  "Damn pissant bugs," Charlie mumbled as he slapped at the elusive insects, "git the hell 'way from me!"

  But Charlie's invective did no good and by the time he had entered the house he had no less than ten very itchy welts on his skin. And, to make matters worse, since the house was dark and Charlie was flailing about, he jabbed his bony hip on the edge of the hallway table.

  "Fuckshit sumabitch! I'm gonna kill ya mutherfuckin' bugs! Gawd…" Charlie's tirade was interrupted by the shrill of the telephone. "Jesus H. Christ! Gimme a gawddamn break!" Charlie flipped on the light switch--nothing, the house remained dark. And the phone rang. And Charlie scratched until he bled.

  Lukas was growing concerned that Charlie hadn't yet answered the doorbell. Lights had flickered on in the house and Charlie's truck was parked out front, so he must be there. Just as Lukas was about to go around back to the kitchen, the front door opened and there stood Charlie with bright pink splotches all over his neck and arms.

  "Don't even think 'bout laughing, Preachur, this here calamine's surely a gift from God!

  "Musta been a short somewheres 'cause the lights suddenly come on and I could see I'd damn near scratched myself raw. Never did git to the phone in time, but the machine picked up a message from Pu...uh, Marybeth. Said they'd arrive in El Paso late tomorrow night. It's been some night, Preachur, and to top it all off ol' Cooter is cowering in the barn like someone whooped his ass...won't come in the house for nothin'."

  As Charlie finished relating his experiences, Lukas couldn't help but laugh out loud as he flashed on the old guy scratching, cursing, and twisting around in the dark as he listened to the Sister of Sappho leave her message. No wonder the dog didn't want to come in the house! Lukas knew that Charlie's predicament hadn't been funny at the time, but his telling of it now, especially with his calamine-pocked skin, was more than a little comical. Charlie seemed to think so too because rather than taking offense at Lukas' amusement he joined in with a few chuckles of his own.

  Later, after devouring Lillie's chicken and biscuits, the men decided to visit the basement in an effort to ascertain the reason for Paul's fall. Even though Tamara, Dr. Feener, and the paramedics had used the steps safely enough, it certainly wouldn't hurt to double check their sturdiness. Furthermore, there might be a mess down there that needed cleaning up and sooner was better than later.

  Charlie and Lukas felt cool air envelop them the moment the basement door was opened. Although the change in temperature wasn't radical it was definitely noticeable, especially because of its sharp contrast to the hot July night. The men were surprised but not alarmed; on the contrary, they welcomed the relief from the heat.

  "I'll go down first, Preachur. Don't wancha’ landin' on yer head too. Yer mizzus wouldn't never cook me no chicken again!"

  Lukas watched as Charlie safely made his way to the bottom of the stairs.

  "Come on down, Preachur, steps seem okay to me."

  Lukas was halfway down the stairs when the house went dark, the basement door slammed shut, and Cooter cringed pitifully in the furthest corner of the barn.

  Charlie's voice cut through the night, "She-it! I knowed it was gonna be a bad day when I woke up this mornin'!"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Penelope greeted Starr and Tamara as they entered the motel room. Tamara scooped the cat up in her arms and nuzzled her fur. "Hi, sweetie, it's so good to see you again." Penelope loved Tamara and returned her affection with deep, low purrs. As soon as she smelled the burgers that Starr had carried in, however, Pen jumped from Tamara's arms and demanded in no uncertain terms that she get her share.

  Mother and daughter were physically and emotionally drained and collapsed into their beds after eating and bathing. Starr had chosen not to apprise Tamara of her spectral connection to Paul and his accident, so she was somewhat startled when from the darkness of the room Tamara commented, "There's more to this than I know, isn't there, Starr? More than I may want to know."

  Paul and Tamara had always known that their child was special, just how special, however, did not begin to dawn on them until that day in 1966 when Starr had announced that Peter was hungry; after that, they paid extra special attention to the things Starr said and did. Tamara would never forget Starr's twelfth birthday. They had all journeyed to Elephant Butte Lake for a celebratory picnic. The weather was gorgeous, the water was calm, the mood was jubilant.

  "Tamara, Paul, come here--quick!" The urgency in Patsy's voice had drawn Paul and Tamara to the water's edge where Patsy, Marybeth, and Starr had been skipping rocks. Starr's parents didn't have to ask what was wrong; they could see it for themselves. Starr, ringlets of hair plastered to her face by sweat, eyes vacant yet transfixed on the water, was sitting on the shore as though in a trance.

  "She won't respond to us at all! What's wrong with her, Paul?" Patsy's distress was evident.

  Paul had rushed to his daughter's side. "Starr, baby, it's Daddy," Paul said as her took hold of his little girl's hand.

  Starr responded immediately to her father's touch and her eyes, no longer vacuous, told him that she was okay.

  "Daddy, Aunt Lucy was there," Starr pointed to the lake, "under the water. I saw her and now I don't. I'm scared, Daddy! Please, can we go home?"

  Starr had rushed into the house calling out for Lucy who, though not actually a relative, was the family's landlady and good friend. She had not gone with them to the lake that day because long car trips made her ill; she was going to stay home and bake Starr the best birthday cake ever. Starr had run into the kitchen, expecting Lucy to be there with an extraordinary cake--the cake was there all right, but Lucy wasn't. As Starr stared at the cake, she began to feel quite dizzy and had to sit down. It was then that she spied the water leaking from beneath the dishwasher. A virtual river snaked its way from under the appliance and into the utility room. It was there that Starr found Lucy lying unconscious on the floor. Her fall on that day in 1971 had resulted in a broken arm and minor concussion; her death in 1995 had resulted from renal failure. They all missed Lucy. They all had a healthy respect for water. They all took Starr's "visions" very seriously.

  "Tell me what you've seen, Starr, what you've felt."

  "Ma, there's nothing for me to tell you. I haven't..."

  "Cut the crap, Starr!" Tamara regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry for snapping at you. It's just that I've been so worried about your father. I need to know if he's really going to be okay now. Please don't keep anything from me. You're my daughter; I can sense your distress. What is it?"

  Starr loved her mother dearly and could not ignore her request so she told her everything, beginning with the events in Dallas and ending with the pain she experienced as she grasped Paul's blistered hand.

  "I don't know what it all means, Mom, but I can't shake the feeling that there's more to Dad's accident than just a fall down some stairs, something ominous."

  Tamara knew that her daughter wasn't holding anything back from her; she also knew that Starr's impression of menace could not be disregarded. "Is Dad going to pull through this?"

  "I don't know, Ma, I just don't know."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Intensive Care Unit was as quiet as such a high tech area gets at night. Cassie was seated at the desk having a well-deserved cup of coffee as she watched the various patient monitors. Mrs. Steagall in Bed A was still in atrial fib; Mr. Watkins in Bed B was still hypertensive; Mr. Forsythe in Bed C was in normal sinus rhythm. Paul Forsythe, now there was an interesting case. Cassie had seen a lot in her twenty years as a critical care nurse and, comparatively speaking, the e
vacuation of a subdural hematoma was no big deal. It wasn't Mr. Forsythe's neurological condition that intrigued Cassie, it was the spontaneous remission of the pustules on his hand that had her mystified--that, and the inexplicable aura of strangeness that surrounded the man. Cassie, like most experienced nurses, had learned to heed her gut reaction to patient situations; her gut was telling her that there was more going on with Mr. Forsythe than his physical assessment revealed.

  An alarm sounded on Mr. Forsythe's monitor. His heart rate had accelerated from sixty-six beats per minute to one hundred and fifty.

  The temperature in the darkened cellar had plummeted to well below fifty degrees. Lukas and Charlie shivered, internally as well as externally.

  "Stay put, Preachur. I donno what’s goin' on here but hold on 'till I find some kinda light."

  Lukas, stranded on the middle of the basement stairs, rubbed his arms and listened as Charlie rummaged around in the room below.

  "Gawddamn sumabitch!!"

  "Charlie! What is it? What happened?"

  "Fuckin' skeeters is down here! Some big muther just bit me on the nose. Shit! Hurts like a sumabitch! Fuck if I'm gonna put up with this shit! Mr. F. keeps a heavy-duty flashlight down here somewheres. Soons I find it, them fuckers is history!"

  Lukas was freezing and, if truth be told, more than a little frightened. Charlie's clamoring about as he searched for the torch was somewhat reassuring in its normalcy, but Lukas sensed that things were far from normal in the Forsythe house. Something was badly amiss here and Lukas wasn't sure he could face it.

  The early portion of Lukas Duncan's life had been far from idyllic. Like so many other unfortunate children in the world, he had been cursed with a father who beat him regularly and whittled away at his self-esteem. Compounding the paternal abuse was a weak and mentally impaired mother whose insecurities and fears prevented her from acting in her children's best interests. Had it not been for Ruby, Lukas' older sister, the young boy would have known nothing of familial love.