Dead Voices (42 page)

“Even thinking about, you know — what happened out at Bristol Pond that night,” he went on. “I don’t want you to think I’m just out to have sex with you. But that was ... it was beautiful. Let’s just —” He gasped with frustration and, cocking his head to one side, glanced angrily back at the waiting cruiser. “It sounds like something right out of high school, but can we at least be friends? We could go out to eat every now and then, maybe catch a movie or whatever. Just have a good time. Maybe we just have to give ourselves some space, some time to find out how we feel. Look, I’ve got to get out to Burnham Road, but how about tomorrow night? It’s my day off. We could — I don’t know, just go out for a drink and talk.”

“Frank —”

“Just say yes,” he said, beaming her a wide smile. “What’s the Goddamned harm in that? I can pick you up at your house right after supper, say — eight o’clock?”

And I can tell you all about hearing the voice of my dead daughter on a tape recorder
, she thought, fighting back a dark rush of fear. After considering for a moment and telling herself she could always cancel — over the phone, when she wouldn’t have to look at the pleading pain on his face — she said, “Yeah — okay, I guess.”

“Great,” Frank said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them as he straightened up. “I’ll see you then.”

He ran back to the cruiser, got in, and turned around quickly, his lights strobing as he disappeared down the road. Sighing, Elizabeth shifted her car into drive and started back on the road to town, telling herself she had probably just made the worst mistake of her life by allowing Frank even the possibility of hoping.

2.

The phone in the living room rang late that night, about an hour after Elizabeth’s parents had gone to bed. Elizabeth was sitting on the couch, flipping through old issues of
Reader’s Digest
. Her first thought as she snatched up the receiver in the middle of its second ring was that it was Doug, calling to harass her with questions about where she planned to live and what she planned to do ... or, worse, to talk about their getting a divorce. She couldn’t disguise her surprise when she heard Dr. Graydon’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” Graydon said. His voice sounded smooth and calm, but there was also a hard edge to it that she didn’t like. “You missed your appointment today, and since I hadn’t heard from you, I thought I’d call. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yeah — sure,” she stammered. ‘‘I’m fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call to cancel, but I was — well —” She considered telling him she had to cover for a co-worker who had to go home sick, but she let that impulse pass. “The truth of it is, I skipped work today, too, and just spent the day out at the beach by myself.”

“It was a nice day for doing that,” Graydon said. “But you must realize that was a quite irresponsible thing to do. “

“Well, I —”

“I can’t very well fill my day with appointments and then not have people show up, now, can I?” He paused, but before Elizabeth could stammer her defense, he went on, “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but, of course, you will pay for the missed session.”

“Oh, yeah — sure,” Elizabeth said. “I planned to. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I —”

“And in the future, I expect you to notify me if you’re going to miss an appointment,” Graydon said. “If you’re serious about working with me, it’s imperative that we proceed
my
way. Agreed?”

“I’m really sorry,” Elizabeth said, even though she felt more anger at Graydon than any twinge of guilt. “It’s just that, after everything that’s been happening these past few days, I needed some time alone.”

“Oh? What’s been
happening
these past few days?”

“Actually, not much,” Elizabeth said haltingly, even as a chill raced up her spine with the memory of hearing that voice on Eldon’s tape recorder. “It’s just that I — I’ve been busy.”

“I hope you realize how important it is to keep things going now that you’ve begun this therapy,” Graydon said. “It isn’t something you should approach lightly. The point of therapy is not to do it when you feel comfortable, or when it’s convenient. The point is to confront those things that are bothering you and deal with them head on, as painful as that may be at times.”

“Oh, no, I realize that,” Elizabeth said. She could feel her defenses going up, but right now she wanted to unburden herself to Graydon least of all. “But I —” An idea of what to say came to mind, and before she had fully considered it, she said it out loud.

“You see, Dr. Graydon, 1 finally got up the nerve to go out to Caroline’s grave.” The lie tasted like thick phlegm in the back of her throat.

“What happened?”

Elizabeth swallowed and glanced nervously around the living room. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, from somewhere in the dark corners of the living room, someone was watching her. Glancing over her shoulder, she half-expected to see two baleful, red eyes, glowing in the darkness like angry coals.

“Well ... although it wasn’t easy, I’m glad I did it.”

“And did you speak to her as we discussed?” Graydon asked.

His voice had an eagerness to it that bothered Elizabeth. A tingle of chills raced up her back, and the feeling of being watched from behind intensified.

“Uh, no ... not really. I didn’t actually spend much time there — you know, at the grave,” she said softly. “I just wanted to prove to myself that I could ... go out there and not freak out or anything.”

“Was this before or after your picnic out at the beach?” Graydon asked, with a measure of controlled anger in his voice again.

Elizabeth jumped at his question, as though his voice had given her an electrical shock. She knew she had mentioned taking the day off, and may have said something about going to the beach, but she was positive she hadn’t said anything about having a picnic there. Was this just a perfectly natural assumption on Graydon’s part, or had he found out somehow, from someone, what she had done? A cold, coiling tension tightened in her stomach, and she started wondering frantically why this conversation with Graydon — someone she was supposed to trust — was making her feel so uneasy.

“It was, ahh — before,” she said. “Actually, a couple of days ago.”

She was lying, but now that she had started talking about visiting Caroline’s grave, she remembered the night she had driven out to the accident site. Shivers ran up her back when she recalled seeing that bony, white hand reaching, clawing up over the side of the road. She tried to push aside the frightening mental image, but it seemed only to get stronger, sharper.

“This is exactly why you should have kept our appointment,” Graydon said sharply. “I would think you’d want to talk to me about it. Perhaps we should reschedule.”

There was such a long pause that, finally, just to end the silence, Elizabeth said, “I don’t really think that’s necessary. Next Monday will be soon enough.”

She was trying hard to fight back the rush of fear that was mounting up inside her. She didn’t know if it was from talking to Graydon, from what they were talking about, or from other things that were stirring in her memory; right now it didn’t matter. All she wanted was to hang up the phone and be alone with her thoughts. She didn’t want to feel as though she had to spill her guts to Graydon or to Frank or to
anyone
!

“Actually, it might not be wise to wait that long,” Graydon said.

“What — ? What do you mean?” Elizabeth stammered, as the fear inside her intensified like the rush of an incoming tide.

“Exactly what I said,” Graydon replied. “Next Monday might not be soon enough. We have to talk.”

“About what?” Elizabeth said, keenly aware of the trembling in her voice. She could tell, just by the hard tone of his voice, that this could very easily lead to trouble .

“About a matter of great importance — to both you
and
me,” Graydon replied. “I don’t want to discuss it over the phone. I really think we should discuss this in person.”

“Well ... I don’t know,” Elizabeth replied. “I have to work tomorrow morning, and I —”

“The sooner the better-really! Look, Elizabeth, I mean it when I say I can’t discuss it over the phone. Can we meet sometime tomorrow?”

The near-desperate tone in his voice bothered Elizabeth. She took a deep breath and said, “Like I said, I have to work tomorrow —”

“After work then. What time do you get off?”

For a moment, Elizabeth considered lying and telling him she had to work until closing, at nine o’clock, but instead she said, “Five o’clock. But really I have to —

“Then could you meet me — say, at five-thirty somewhere? We can pick a place halfway between your house and mine. I promise I won’t take any more than a half an hour of your time.”

What she wanted to say was,
No way! Not a snowball’s chance in Hell
! She should hang up on him right now and, first thing tomorrow, start looking around for a new therapist.
She
was the patient after all. No — make that
client
, and no matter what he had to tell her, he should be completely up front about it, if only so she would feel total confidence in him. This hinting and pleading was bullshit.

“Button,” Graydon said, in the lengthening pause. He uttered the word so quickly, so quietly, Elizabeth had the fleeting impression he hadn’t really said it. Like a message “
Help! Mommy
!” the word seemed to drift up from deep within her subconscious mind. She only
thought
she had heard him say it.

“Wha-what did you say?” she asked, a tremor shaking her voice.

“I said
button
. I think you know what that means?”

Elizabeth looked down at her hand not holding the phone. She had squeezed it into such a hard, tight fist that the veins and tendons stood out in sharp definition. Her body shook as though she were sitting on a vibrating machine.

“Why did you ... did you say that?” she stammered.

“I think you know why,” Graydon said mildly, tauntingly.

“No, I ... I don’t.” Elizabeth said, surprised that she could thing, much less speak.

“You most certainly
do
,” Graydon said. “And I think just the fact that I know what that word — that
name
— means to you should be enough to convince you to meet me tomorrow.”

“Mother of Christ,” Elizabeth muttered, blinking back tears as she stared up at the ceiling. She brought her fist up to her mouth and bit down hard on the knuckles. She had to do something to keep from screaming because, as far as she knew, there was no Goddamned way in Hell Graydon could have guessed that word — and what it meant to her! Not unless he could read her mind or ...

Doug
! She thought in a flash.
That son of a bitch! What if all along Doug’s been talking to Graydon? What if they’re working together to drive me out of my mind?

“How does five-thirty tomorrow sound? Where shall it be?” Graydon asked. His voice rose temptingly at the end of each question.

“There’s — uh ... I don’t know. I haven’t been back long enough to figure out where anything is.”

“You know where the Maine Mall is, right?” Graydon said.

Elizabeth grunted.

“Okay, then — right across the street, heading to Portland, is a restaurant called the Ground Round. Maybe you’ve seen it. Meet me there, in the bar, tomorrow afternoon around five-thirty, all right?”

“Yeah —” Elizabeth gasped.

“I’ll see you then.” Graydon said.

He hung up the phone. leaving her sitting there with the steady buzz of the disconnected line drilling into her ear. For long seconds, she didn’t move. didn’t even blink! Her entire body felt as though it were being compressed, squeezed inward, by some immense, surrounding pressure. Her head was an overinflated balloon, ready to pop. Finally, though, shaking herself, she leaned over and replaced the phone. Still, she couldn’t force herself to stand up. All she could do was sit there on the couch ... sit and wonder ...

How in the helI did Graydon know that long ago, in another lifetime, “button” had been the first word, other than “mama” and “dada,” that Caroline had learned when she was about a year old? And how in the name of God did Graydon know that, for a short time, no more than a year or so, “Button” had also been Elizabeth’s private nickname for her daughter, Caroline?

3.

Elizabeth was standing erect and stiff, looking down at Roland Graydon, who was kneeling in front of her, naked. He had his hands around her waist, and was pulling her to him with a strength that was irresistible. She could feel the pressure of his face, the stubble of his beard as he rubbed back and forth against her belly.

“I have you ... now,” he said, his voice deadened by the thick fabric of her skirt.

The effort to speak was too much for Elizabeth ... just as difficult, just as
impossible
as resisting Graydon’s rough embrace. Looking downward, though, she saw her hands, resting on the top of his head. She wasn’t able to tell if she was trying to push him away or pull him closer. A dizzying, weightless sensation bubbled up inside her like a gush of warm water.

She heard Graydon say something else, but his voice was muffled; it sounded as if his mouth was filled with the cotton of her skirt. His clamplike hold on her hips tightened; his steely fingers kneaded the backs of her thighs. She could feel saliva flowing from his mouth, saturating the fabric of her dress.

“No ... I —”

She could say no more as Graydon’s hands slid up to the waistband of her skirt and started pulling it down.

How do I even know it’s Graydon
? she wondered.
I haven’t seen his face
.

The grip tightened, drawing her hips forward. The nub of his nose moved in tight, lowering circles over her stomach. She looked down at his naked shoulders, at the thick bunches of muscles moving with supple strength beneath his smooth skin.

“Don’t do this to me,” she heard herself say distantly. “You shouldn’t be doing ... “

The circular motion of Graydon’s head continued, increasing in its intensity. From down by her hips, she could hear the soft, animal-like chuffing sounds he was making. As much as she commanded herself not to, she clasped the back of his head and directed his face closer, tighter ... and lower into her crotch.