Circe (26 page)

Pria began to sing. Her voice was high and sweet, but not pretty. She was singing some old lullaby I had never heard of. My mother had never taught us things like that. The rain drove us away from our quiet place in the shadows. It exploded out of the sky like a bomb, covering the ground with mud and water. We ran, clutching each other’s hands, to the car. Inside we kissed on the moist leather seats.

“We should just stay here,” Pria whispered as she kissed my neck. “It’s safe here. I can’t feel it here.”

“What about our things?”

“We’ll buy new things. It’s only money. That’s why God made credit cards.”

“Pria…”

“Shut-up.”

We made love in the hotel room that night. It was desperate and emotional. It’s funny how stark the difference can be between making love and fucking. The same act, a reproductive act ending in ejaculation, can be an act of violence or the most powerful sacrament in your life. There was no similarity between the moments I shared with Pria that night, covered in the gentlest caresses and the rhythmic motions of love itself and the hateful thrusting I had known with Cassie. I cried in Pria’s arms. I covered her round belly with my kisses and tears and through it all I whispered “I love you” in the dark, over and over again like a metronome.

We slept peacefully. There were no more dreams, and the fear slid off us like our wet clothes. We found solace in the rolling hills and deep forests. In the morning, we ate pancakes smothered with syrup and went to the top of Monte Sano to walk in the woods. It was lovely and serene. The trees were tall, peppering the limestone mountains with a stately grace. The light carved through the trees and decorated the path we walked. We could imagine the light on the ground before us was lace. We talked of everything but Circe. We didn’t mention Cassie or Andy or even John. We pretended that all we had to look forward to was the babies and the house. We were happy, holding each other in the breeze, whispering sweet nothings.

It was unseasonably warm the day we drove home. We turned on the air conditioner and put on our sunglasses. The shadow that passed over us as we drove further and further south was as tangible as Pria’s hand in mine. Gradually, the color melted out of Pria’s face and I could feel something cover my heart like a death shroud. Finally, Pria began complaining of pain in her abdomen, and dizziness. I gently put her to bed. She seemed too tired to move or carry herself out of the bed. She slept for the rest of the day. Late that night, the cold came. She cried out to me and begged me to turn the heat on, but no matter how high it got, she was still cold. She, however, was on fire. I gave her ibuprofen and held her close and, maybe for the first time in my life, I prayed.

I called the doctor for her in the morning and he comforted me with placating words. He reminded me that it was the season for illnesses. In February, everyone is sick with something. I knew I had to be at work. I was the last intern and with Cassie gone, they would be seriously understaffed, but I didn’t care. I went to get Pria’s antibiotics and sat with her until a little color returned to her face. I called Dr. Donalds and asked for yet another day off.

Pria didn’t seem so bad the next day. The color had left her face and she was in considerable pain, but she was hopeful and eager to leave. We finished packing and made all the final preparations for Pria to leave Mobile. I held her while she cried, and stroked her hair. Finally she fell asleep and I was free to pace and worry.

I didn’t leave Pria’s side until Sadaf came the next day. Sadaf gave me a scathing look and embraced her daughter passionately. I could see that the old woman had been crying, but tears had been replaced by anger and a strong facade. Sadaf busied herself loading all of Pria’s things into her car and trying to convince Pria that she had to leave. Pria only looked at me with her shadow-cast eyes and made one final plea, which I heard and obeyed.

“Go to the psychic,” she begged. “The doctors can’t help me. Go to the psychic and ask her what to do.”

My plan was to muddle my way through a half day of work, because it was made clear to me by Donalds that I was greatly needed, and then drive south to meet Cybil. I made an appointment with her and she made time for me without question. I hoped that my day would be mired mostly in mindless administrative work. I thought that in the absence of four staff members there would be a quagmire of incomplete paperwork that desperately needed my attention.

Babcock was eager to tell me differently. She pulled me aside the moment I walked in the door. Dr. Donalds and she cornered me in her office and sat me down.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush with you, Eric,” Dr. Babcock said. “We’ve lost our APA accreditation. I may even lose my job here. Cassie is gone. John quit. He didn’t give me any concrete reasons, but I know what is going on. Cassie scared him away with her hoodoo nonsense. I know you probably want to go now too, but we desperately need staff now and I think you’re the only one that can calm things down on the chronic ward.”

“Me? I’m only an intern and let me tell you, the patients didn’t love me,” I answered. “Not to mention the fact that I haven’t exactly been at the top of my game lately.”

“You’re mistaken. Mr. Nicca and Roy have been asking for you daily. We don’t have a psychologist over there right now and although we are recruiting eagerly, it may be a month or more before we can replace Cassie. Look, I’ve talked to the board and they say I can give you full credit for your internship if you stay until I replace Cassie. I had to pull some serious strings to accomplish this. I have connections. They want to pull you and make you apply and start over again with a new internship next year, like John. I know neither of us want this.”

“You’re right with that.”

“I’m just trying to hold this department together. Since the Cassie incident, we’ve lost all the psych technicians on the chronic ward as well. We are floundering and everything over there seems to have escalated.”

“How did you lose five people on the chronic ward?”

“One died, three quit, and Kate was admitted to the hospital after she was sexually assaulted on the third floor.”

“Kate was raped?” I asked, incredulous. “Who did it?”

“One of the mental health workers.”

“Who?”

“I can’t say right now. This is yet another legal nightmare.”

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t think so. She’s on paid leave now and I’m pretty sure she’ll get workman’s comp, but she won’t come back here, not even to clean out her office.”

“I’m sorry about that. Kate was a strong therapist. She worked hard.”

“It’s been a terrible month.” Dr. Babcock seemed on the brink of tears. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair was frizzy and askew. She seemed to be hovering on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

“Are you a superstitious woman, Dr. Babcock?” I asked as I looked at the runs in her pantyhose. “You don’t strike me as one. I think you and I have a lot in common, theoretically. I’ve never believed in anything I couldn’t measure, but I have to admit my faith in reality is melting here. This place is being torn apart by something.”

“It’s being torn apart by Cassie!” Babcock’s professionalism vanished in a wave of anger. “Don’t mistake one woman’s corruption for the devil. Kurt hanged himself because he had sex with Cassie. The three that quit got some sort of voodoo symbols on their desks and Kate was assaulted by a mental health worker Cassie had been toying with. She’s a poison and she’s done everything to undermine this hospital out of spite. Quit if you want to, Dr. Black, but don’t tell me you’re quitting because the devil is chasing you, because I’m here to tell you he doesn’t exist!”

“I’m not quitting.”

“Good. You can take Cassie’s place in the chronic ward and you’ll meet with me weekly for supervision.”

Dr. Donalds pulled me aside after the meeting. He grabbed my shoulder and yanked me with him. I followed him.

“I’m not a superstitious man,” Dr. Donalds said with a heavy drawl. “But I am a caring man and I trust what I see. I’ve been here for twenty years. I’m going to tell you a story just so you know, because I worry about you. When you came to us you were a man in his prime. You were fit and, well, cocky as hell. Now you’re thin and you walk around talkin’ to yourself. Nobody can miss it. So here’s my story and maybe it will affect your decision. Before Babcock, we had a wonderful director. His name was Brown. He’d been with us for goin’ on twenty years himself. He hired Cassie on and there were some disagreements between them that quickly came to a head. He killed himself a week after the disagreements. Thought you should know that this lady, she’s got a long reach and she knows revenge.”

“Thank you, Dr. Donalds.”

“You take care, son, you hear?”

“I’ll do my best.”

It was strange walking back onto the chronic ward. The patients swarmed me with requests and everyone seemed glad to hand me some chore that needed to be done immediately. Everyone was trying to pull me aside and talk to me. I ran up to my new office and closed the door, placing the stack of urgent files on the desk before me. Cassie’s office seemed like a tomb. The large bookshelves were empty and her smell was gone. There was no trace left of the witch that had decorated her office with occult books and Jungian archetypes. There was only the hint of urine in the air and the smell of cold tile.

I went up to see Roy first. Since John had left, he had been cutting himself fairly badly. He had at least twenty stitches. No one knew how he had done it, but the injuries were there.

Roy smiled when I walked in the room. “You finally came,” he whispered.

“Of course,” I said. “I told you I wouldn’t abandon you.”

“Thank you.” Roy hugged me passionately. I let him cry onto my shoulder. I couldn’t think of a reason to stop him. The boy was broken and lost.

“I’m going to die tonight,” he said.

“You’re planning suicide?”

“No. My sins are great enough without that on my soul.”

“Then what makes you think you’re going to die tonight?”

“She told me she’s coming for me.”

“Cassie?”

Roy shook his head.

“Circe?”

“She did this,” he said pointing to his arms. “I’m crazy, so who would believe me, but what weapon could I possibly use to cut this deep? The plastic butter knives in the cafeteria? Or maybe my electric razor? But I’m crazy so why believe me? She told me she’s coming for me tonight.” He began to cry again, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I don’t want to die. I want to see my sisters again. I want to say I’m sorry. When she takes me tonight, I’ll go to hell and I’ll never see them again.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Don’t say what? That I’m going to hell? I killed my parents with the blunt end of an axe! Do you think there is any redemption for me? Do you think there is any way God will forgive me? Is there salvation for a boy who beats a four-year-old's skull in? I called Caal and he came. I gave him my soul and she is coming for me tonight.”

“What can I do?”

“Take your wife and leave. Run away. Don’t go to hospitals. Don’t go to doctors. Run away! Save your babies.”

“She’s leaving. Her mother is taking her tonight. Just tell me what I can do for you?”

“It’s too late for us, Dr. Black. Some sins can never be forgiven.”

Roy cried again and he prayed. I sat with him for a while and then I left him to his tears. I spoke with the mental health workers and had him put on a 24-hour suicide watch, but I knew that wouldn’t save him. Every crazy man and woman in the hospital had the same delusions that day. Even the catatonics who could only rock back and forth muttered the same words. They moved in their stereotyped rhythms and mumbled
Circe
under their breaths.

I heard it over and over again that day. She walks. She was with them all at night. She slept with them in their beds and told them of horrible, unstoppable futures. The madmen sang in a symphonic coordination and no one heard them. How long had Mr. Nicca claimed the devil was hunting him? What difference did it make if the devil had changed names? How long had Mr. Fat said that the devil made him eat? Who would notice if the devil now made him cut his own arm? They all came to me. They all knew me by name and they told me the same thing. Run away, they said. Run away.

I left early. I had only worked four hours. I could feel the frowns of the stressed and angry staff as I walked out. They were tired and overworked, and whether they knew it or not she was whispering in their ears and poisoning their minds. Everyone in the chronic ward seemed flat and dead. They had become living ghosts. They needed someone to make things better and they wanted me to be that person, but I couldn’t put my mask back on. I couldn’t pretend to be a workaholic. I couldn’t be the good doctor. I knew they were grumbling beneath their breaths. I didn’t care.

I had to see Cybil. I drove quickly, ignoring all the traffic signs. I blasted music and tried to reach her as soon as I could. I had to do what my wife said, but more than that, I needed some kind of explanation for what was happening. I had seen enough horror movies to guess. I tried to imagine ancient Indian burial grounds or some woman tortured at the fort. I imagined that she had come back to haunt us, but I couldn’t see anything human in Circe’s eyes. I couldn’t imagine the human being that had dwelt beneath her wretched form.

I needed to understand, so I could fight what I had awakened. I needed a spell or a book or a prayer. I was looking for anything. Every monster had a weakness, so I drove desperately to Cybil searching for my monster’s Achilles’ heal.

Cybil was sitting on her front porch in a rocking chair waiting for me. She smiled at me briefly and pulled me into her house. The children were gone and everything was in boxes. All the life that had flourished there upon our first visit was gone. There was no pretty room to sit in; all the furniture had been taken away. There wasn’t even a sofa, so we sat on the floor.

She wasn’t as pretty as I remembered her. Her hair was messy and she was wearing sweats. She had put on a little weight and her skin seemed sallow and blemished. Maybe it was only because she had stopped wearing makeup, it was hard to tell.