Unclean Spirit Page 4

  Ruby, Lukas' senior by four years, was a beautiful and creative girl who took her brother on journeys to lands where unicorns grazed, fairies danced, and orchids and gardenias blanketed the ground. She taught Lukas how to dull the pain of his bruises by mentally projecting himself away from their drab house and into a crystal clear lake where brightly hued koi and golden seahorses emitted sparkling rays of light that forced the pain out of Lukas' body and into the waiting jaws of shimmering purple and yellow angelfish. Ruby, by way of her love and patience and imagination, was Lukas' single reason for living and he would have done anything for her.

  It had never even entered Lukas' mind that Ruby was also abused by their father. His sister never spoke of any mistreatment and her body was free of any telltale signs of same. It came as a total shock to Lukas when, at the age of fourteen, he discovered, quite by accident, that his sister was more a victim of exploitation than he was.

  It was very late at night and Lukas, unable to sleep, was on his way to the kitchen for a snack when he heard deep grunts and pitiful moaning emanating from Ruby's room. Thinking his sister ill, Lukas gently opened the bedroom door; the scene that greeted him was almost more than his young mind could comprehend. Ruby, bent over, nitie shoved up above her naked bottom, was being savagely raped by her father. Lukas, as yet unnoticed, watched as a trickle of blood ran down the back of Ruby's thigh. Just at that moment, the rapist-father caught sight of his son's reflection in the mirror.

  "Nice little piece of ass, ain't she son? It's real tight and warm in your sister's little hole. I'm almost finished here, then you can have a turn."

  Ruby, tears streaming down her face, tried to wrench herself away from her father but the movement only served to excite the man more and his thrusts came harder and faster. Lukas pleaded with his father to stop hurting Ruby, to which his father responded, "Can't you see she likes it, son? They all like it."

  Lukas ran from the room, calling out wildly for his mother's help. Mrs. Duncan, however, had already slipped into her bedroom closet and pulled the door tightly shut.

  "No, Pa, no!!" Something in Ruby's tone stopped Lukas dead in his tracks. He stared at the fireplace tools and, when he returned to Ruby's room, he carried a poker with him.

  Quickly and without reservation, Lukas rammed the poker as far as possible up his father's rectum just as the man was reaching climax. The father's initial screams were deafening in their intensity, but were preferable to the silence that followed as the man's eyes caught hold of the terrified young boy; Lukas realized in those few seconds that he was peering into the face of pure evil. And, as Ruby and Lukas huddled together, their father slowly and painfully bled to death.

  There had never been an investigation into the senior Duncan's death, essentially because no one outside the Duncan home had even an inkling of what had occurred there. Ruby, Lukas and their mother--who was far past understanding what she was doing--had buried the vile man's body beneath mounds of dirt and rocks. The Duncan children then spread the word that their father had run out on them.

  Lukas was not proud of what he had done and he prayed nightly for the Lord's forgiveness. He was to spend the rest of his life trying to atone for the sin of murder.

  A light shot up the stairway and trapped Lukas in its sphere of illumination. Charlie, whose hand shook as he tightly gripped the flashlight, looked up at the mocking and malevolent image that had superimposed itself over Pastor Duncan.

  Cassie, stethoscope in place, was auscultating Paul's heart sounds. He was still tachycardic and the nurse wanted to determine if he had developed a murmur or rub. Cassie glanced up at her patient's face as she listened to the rapid beat of his heart. Paul's eyelids popped open and his hand clamped onto Cassie's throat. The last thing Cassie heard before slumping to the floor was chillingly villainous laughter.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "Charlie! Would you please get that dadblasted light out of my eyes!" As Lukas spoke, the image that had encased him vanished. Charlie rubbed his eyes and muttered to himself, "Gotta lay off the sauce!"

  "Charlie, please!"

  "Oops, sorry, Preachur," Charlie apologized as he aimed the light away from Lukas.

  "Let's get out of here, Charlie. I don't think I'll ever feel warm again!"

  "Yeah, okay."

  As Charlie made his way to the stairs, the overhead lights lit up the cellar and the temperature returned to its normal stifling ninety-two degrees.

  "What the hell?"

  "Charlie, your nose!"

  "Yeah, I know. Feels like that damn skeeter brought company for supper!"

  But what Lukas saw when he looked at Charlie's nose was not a mosquito bite. Lukas didn't know what had attacked the old guy, but whatever it was had left a lump the size of a robin’s egg.

  "Come on, Charlie, let's go upstairs before the lights go out again."

  "Gawddamn!" Charlie exclaimed as he examined his nose in the mirror, "I weren't purty to begin with, but not even Thunder-Thighs Thelma over to the truck stop would have me now, and she'd do near 'bout anybody for a steak dinner and bottle of Jim Beam!"

  Comic relief seemed to be in order, as was evidenced by Lukas' and Charlie's somewhat nervous laughter.

  Once the men had relieved themselves of their pent-up tension, Lukas ministered to Charlie's nose. He really didn't know what to do other than cover it with an antibiotic ointment.

  "You know, Charlie, you best have Doc Feener take a look at that in the morning. Looks like it could get real nasty real fast.

  "Okay if I use the phone? Lillie's probably worried about me."

  As Lukas went to call his wife, Charlie addressed the mirror, "Charlie Toobin, yer one ugly mutherfucker, and you smell bad too!" Charlie was right. A stench, not even perceptible moments earlier, draped itself around him.

  The shrill ring of a telephone in the wee hours of the morning is rarely a welcome sound. Tamara grabbed the phone as Starr switched on a bedside lamp.

  "Hello?"

  "Mrs. Forsythe?" inquired a male voice.

  "Yes, this is Tamara Forsythe. Who's calling?"

  "This is Dr. Gomez. There's been an incident at the hospital. Your husband is fine, physically, but he's very upset and I thought perhaps that you should come on over here. You see, Mrs. Forsythe, your husband assaulted a nurse."

  Tamara nearly dropped the phone. "He did what?"

  As the doctor explained what had occurred, Starr impatiently waited to be filled in. Penelope, angry at being disturbed, jumped off Starr's bed and pranced over to her water bowl. "We'll be there as soon as possible, Doctor...and thank you for notifying me personally."

  Tamara hung up the phone and answered Starr's inquisitive look. "...and Cassie wasn't seriously hurt; she apparently fainted from a lack of oxygen and that was probably a good thing, because her fall to the floor is what caused Paul to release her. Her x-rays were normal, but, just to be on the safe side, Dr. Gomez is keeping her in the hospital for the rest of the night.”

  "Christ, what could have possessed Paul to do such a thing?"

  Starr had a feeling that they would soon find out.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Javier Gomez ran his hands through his thick black hair and wondered what his life would have been like had he chosen architecture or law or even plumbing over medicine. It had been the night from hell! First, he had performed emergency surgery on a teenaged boy who, drunk on his ass, had wrapped his father's car around a cement piling; the kid would live, if you called existing in a persistent vegetative state living. The boy's father had taken the news stoically; his mother's hysteria had triggered an impending myocardial infarction. Then, on his way home, Javier had received a call from his ex-wife, Amalia. As usual, Amalia wanted money. Javier knew that Amalia missed her social position as a physician's wife, and as a result, regretted her decision to divorce the prestigious Dr. Gomez. Since Javier had made it clear that there would never be a reconciliation, Amalia had done her best to replace status with its acco
uterments. Javier always indulged Amalia's financial demands, essentially because signing a check was easier than dealing with the guilt he felt over the dissolution of the marriage.

  Javier had finally crawled into bed when the phone rang--it was the hospital. Could he please come right away? His patient, Paul Forsythe, had injured a nurse.

  As he sat in the doctors' lounge, drinking yet another cup of coffee, Javier contemplated the unique elements of Paul Forsythe's case--the five second cardiac arrest, the prolonged unconsciousness, the now-they're-here-now-they're-not abscesses, the attack on Cassie. Cassie was emotionally shaken, so much so that she actually seemed to believe that something other than Mr. Forsythe had tried to choke her to death. Javier had done his best to convince the nurse of the often bizarre effects of hypoxia. Cassie, however, had said, "A lack of oxygen can't explain what I saw in his eyes before he grabbed me by the neck. Actually, it wasn't so much what I saw as it was what I felt; it was as though I were drowning in a pool of pure malevolence. I've always believed that 'evil' is only an adjective used to describe corrupt and heinous acts; I now know that it is a proper noun. I faced Evil head-on tonight, and it scared the hell out of me!"

  Javier's grandmother, God rest her soul, would have implored him to drop the Forsythe case. She would have insisted that he pray the rosary and solicit the assistance of a curandero, or maybe even a brujo. In short, abuelita Tencha would have told him that El Diablo was at work. As far as Javier was concerned, that was just about as likely as O.J. being innocent of murder! So, he had attributed Cassie's impressions of malice to an overactive imagination.

  Javier had thoroughly examined Paul Forsythe after tending to Cassie and could not discern anything "evil" or even peculiar about the man. On the contrary, Mr. Forsythe appeared to be sincerely concerned about Cassie. As best Javier could ascertain, Mr. Forsythe had no clear recollection of his actions. Although he still couldn't speak very well, Mr. Forsythe had managed, "Remember waking up and seeing nurse...felt angry...felt not self...remember reaching for her...on floor." Although Dr. Gomez believed in being up-front with his patients, he saw no reason to traumatize Mr. Forsythe further by telling him the whole truth so he had only told the man that Cassie had fainted and that she would be fine. The rhythm strips in Mr. Forsythe's chart confirmed the tachycardia that Cassie had told the doctor about and although Mr. Forsythe's cardiac rate was normal now, Javier didn't want to risk taxing his patient's heart by telling him he had attempted to strangle someone. But Paul Forsythe was neither stupid nor insensitive and he had demanded that Javier tell him why Cassie had passed out. Dr. Gomez, against his better judgment, had complied with his patient's request and had been dismayed by the man's reaction. Tears had tumbled down Mr. Forsythe's cheeks and he had repeated over and over, "No, not me...not me...not me." It was then that Javier had called Tamara.

  Javier had left Tamara alone with her husband; Starr was sitting across the table, waiting for him to speak. Javier could not help but notice how truly lovely Starr was. Despite the tousled hair and lack of makeup, maybe because of it, Javier found Starr Forsythe quite captivating and he struggled to find the comforting words of reassurance that would erase the anxiety from her face. Problem was, he could come up with no such words.

  "Starr, I don't know what more to tell you. You and your mother have stressed to me that your father's actions tonight were very atypical and I accept that. As I mentioned earlier, cerebral insult can certainly cause aberrant behavior so maybe that, combined with the psychological stress of the accident and its sequelae, is what prompted your father's attack on Cassie. At any rate, I want to keep him in the ICU a bit longer. Staffing on the regular nursing units is less than adequate and I'd be much more comfortable keeping him in an environment in which he can be closely monitored."

  Javier was touched by the tears that welled up in Starr's eyes as she spoke. "My father is a good man, he doesn't deserve all this. I don't understand what's happening to him, Dr. Gomez, but I just can't shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong, something that has little to do with his physical injuries."

  "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean."

  "No, I don't expect that you do. If I may ask you a personal question, Dr. Gomez, are you strictly a man of the mainstream sciences?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "I guess I want to know if you believe in something other than physicality."

  Javier wasn't sure he liked the direction this conversation was taking. Attractive or not, if Starr was some kind of religious fanatic he wanted as little to do with her as possible.

  "I'm still not sure what you're asking. If you want an explanation of my spiritual beliefs, I have to say that I fail to see what my personal convictions have to do with your father."

  Starr could tell that Dr. Gomez was starting to distance himself from her.

  "Dr. Gomez, I apologize if I've offended you--it certainly wasn't my intention. I can appreciate what you must be thinking, but let me assure you, I'm not a nut case or some off-the-wall zealot. Allow me to share some things with you..."

  Starr rarely discussed her psychic aptitude with anyone, much less with a virtual stranger. But her father's life might depend on Dr. Gomez' approach to his care and she wanted to make damn sure the physician had all the relevant data. So, Starr talked about her clairvoyant impressions, past and present.

  "...and so, Dr. Gomez, that's about it. The last thing I want to do is alienate you, but I love my father too much not to risk it. Frankly, I don't know what I expect you to do with the information I've given you but at least it's on the table for your consideration."

  Javier's initial impression when Starr had first started telling him about her "visions" had been, "Oh, shit!" but then, the longer he listened, the more he realized that the woman was quite sincere. Javier was not unfamiliar with the so-called supernatural aspects of life, his grandmother had done her best to indoctrinate him into both her faith and her beliefs relative to the preternatural. Although Javier had loved abuelita Tencha, he had always regarded her as a brainwashed Catholic whose arcane superstitions ruled her life. If his grandmother had never been able to sway his beliefs, it was highly unlikely that Starr Forsythe would be able to. It was curious though that both Cassie and Starr seemed to have similar interpretations of what was going on with Mr. Forsythe. Curious, yes. Correct, no way.

  "It sounds like you've lead a very interesting life and I appreciate your opening up to me, but I just can't buy into this paranormal ideology. True, your father's case is somewhat baffling but I'm confident that there are logical reasons for everything that has occurred. I believe that the appropriate tests and observations will bear that out."

  Starr was not surprised by the doctor's response. "I hope you're right, Dr. Gomez. God, I hope you're right!"

  Paul had finally fallen asleep, thanks to Tamara's calming presence. Tamara herself felt anything but calm. She was indeed frightened for her husband, but there was another sensation as well, one that affected the core of her being. Tamara shivered as she felt a shock of cold cut through her very soul.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Charlie was relieved when daylight finally broke; he had spent a miserably sleepless night. It had taken over an hour for him to get Cooter to eat something and nothing he had done to coax the old dog out of the barn had worked. Charlie loved that dog and hoped nothing was wrong with him; if he didn't shape up, he'd take Cooter in to see Doc Elmo. As it was, he was going to have to pay a visit to his own doctor. The boil on his nose had pained him all night long and this morning it looked like a miniature cow utter on the verge of bursting. The pain had been only part of the reason Charlie hadn't slept. The odor he had thought originated from his own body had infiltrated the entire house. It was a rotten, nauseating smell that put Charlie in mind of decomposing animal carcasses. Charlie wondered if a skunk or prairie dog had crawled into the house's electrical wiring and died. Charlie knew he would have to check it out later in the day. For now though,
he was going to have some breakfast and then call Doc Feener's office.

  Charlie put bacon in the skillet and leftover biscuits and gravy in the oven. He opened the kitchen door and called for Cooter. The dog stuck his head out of the barn but would come no further. Charlie poured himself a cup of coffee then went to turn the bacon.

  "What the hell?"

  The burner was red hot, but the bacon wasn't frying. Charlie switched burners and opened the stove to check on the biscuits. The warmth in the oven greeted him but he couldn't smell the bread and the gravy was still gelatinous. Charlie increased the oven's temperature and turned his attention to the bacon, which was still raw. Charlie didn't have to touch the range to know that it was operational. Had to be the bacon or maybe even the skillet. Fine, thought Charlie, screw the bacon, I'll make due with biscuits and cream gravy. But ten minutes later, Charlie's breakfast wasn't even lukewarm and the old guy was royally pissed! Charlie slammed the oven door closed just as the phone began to ring.

  "Yeah, what?" Charlie's tone left little to the imagination.

  "Charlie? It's Starr Forsythe."

  "Miz Starr? Shit, sorry for bitin' yer head off...it's just that it's been a shitfuck mornin'!

  "You in El Paso? How's Mr. F.? He gonna be okay?"

  Starr condensed the situation for Charlie, telling him only about the surgery and Paul's return to a conscious state, "...and I really don't know how much longer we'll be here. Dad's still in the Intensive Care Unit, so it might be a while yet before we can bring him home."