Dreams from the Witch House: Female Voices of Lovecraftian Horror (35 page)

"It's not so bad. I mean, he gives me a shot of something right away, to calm me down, and that really helps. It's as if I daydream and only wake up at the end. I never even feel the needles. The fills, well, I don't feel them in his office, but later I do, for a day or so."

"Yeah, it's a little like having rubber under the skin," Marti agreed. "I always feel as if I'm wearing a mask on the inside of my face."

"Ugh!"

"You look great, though. I mean, twenty years younger! More. My god, I should go to him myself!"

"I wouldn't say twenty. Maybe ten."

"No, at least twenty."

"Well, I've gained a little weight. Maybe ten pounds. Can you tell?"

"Yes. Looks more like twenty."

"Marti, can you be other than honest for once? Jeez. Maybe closer to twenty. Okay, maybe twenty-five!"

"Well, it doesn't look bad on you."

"You told me a year ago to
lose
ten pounds!"

"That was then. The face makes all the difference. So moon-like, vibrant. Your skin looks so… healthy! You're like a different person. You know, I hardly recognize you at times. It really is as if you've got an entirely new face."

They paused as the waiter brought their coffees.

"But you're more comfortable with him?" Marti said, opening a packet of sugar substitute and stirring it into her single-shot espresso.

"Yes, I am. He's not really friendly, but I appreciate his professionalism."

"You should marry him!"

Liz burned her lip on her latte. "What? Are you out of your mind?"

"He's a doctor. You'd have everything you've ever dreamed of. A husband, kids, a house. Financial security."

"But I'm not attracted to him!"

"You just said you're comfy with him."

"
Comfortable
. In a patient/doctor sense."

"Well, you've spent more time with him than any other man this last year."

Liz knew that was true. Despite all the treatments—and she did look much younger—she hadn't had a date since beginning with Dr. Tod. Of course, she hadn't had a date for half a decade before that either.

To get her friend off the subject, Liz said dismissively, "Marti, I'm sure he's married, so that's that."

"Don't be silly, Liz. Besides, I looked him up in
The American Academy of Dermatology
. There's not a lot of info, but he's single, and from meeting him, I didn't see any indications he's gay. You're pushing forty. Go after him!"

Liz was appalled. The idea of a romance with Dr. Doom was absurd. But she put an end to it by saying, "Well, I wouldn't know how, even if I was interested, which I'm not."

"Liz, you're so funny! Just be your sweet self. I'm certain he's noticed you by now."

Liz wasn't so sure of that. He was the most aloof man she'd ever encountered. If she'd seen him disembark from a space ship, she wouldn't be surprised."

"Look, here's what you do…" Marti rattled off a list of ways to flirt: "Smile. Make eye contact and hold it. Flip your hair around and play with your jewelry—"

"Oh, that's ridiculous!"

"Trust me, Liz, men like that, they really do. And it's a signal. And you've got to make sure you run into him outside the office."

"How would I do that?"

"Hide outside and follow him."

"Liz, that's stalking!"

"That's planning. And while we're at it, make sure you dress well. You should
always
look good."

Liz groaned. "This is
sooooo
wrong—"

"Smile a lot. Talk to him—"

"He doesn't say much, you know that, just that weirdness that comes out of his mouth and—"

"And make sure you touch him."

"What? That's assault!"

"Oh, Liz, I mean just touch his arm or something as you say 'Thank you!' Men read that as
she wants me
! And don't forget to smile. It's all pheromones. You put them out, he reacts."

"I'm getting a headache," Liz said. Now she was even more appalled. Had women always done this to get a man? No wonder she was single! What had the world come to?

As if reading her mind, Marti said, "Women have always used tricks like this. Once he's interested, well, marriage is right around the corner."

She paused and looked seriously at Liz. "You, my friend, would be a great candidate for an arranged marriage. Maybe you should visit a professional matchmaker?" Without missing a beat, Marti grinned, "In fact,
I'm
going to arrange things."

A little of the latte Liz held spilled onto the table. "What? No. No! Don't do that, I—"

"I'll have a small dinner party, you and Dr. Toddy, Tiffany and Jim, me and… well, I'll find someone."

"Marti, please, don't—"

Marti grabbed her free hand and said, "Lizzy, give it a chance, okay? See the man in a social setting, outside work. He's probably a very nice guy when he drops the professionalism. Cut him some slack."

A week later Liz reluctantly showed up at Marti's apartment, tightly clutching the neck of a bottle of Chardonnay. Tiffany and Jim had already arrived, and Marti's gay friend Andy was there, but no Dr. Tod.

Fear knotting her stomach, Liz rushed to the kitchen to chill the wine in the refrigerator and try to calm down, but Marti followed her.

"Don't worry, he'll be here," Marti whispered, hugging Liz.

"I'm not worried, I'm
relieved
he's not here."

Suddenly the doorbell rang. "See?" Marti said, giving her another small hug and a wink, and went to answer.

Liz hugged herself and chewed the lipstick off her lower lip. This was such a
very
bad idea. Dr. Tod was not her type at all, although Marti, Tiffany and Phyllis—even her mother when Liz had petitioned her—had all assured her she
had
no type. "Bottom line," Phyllis said, "you can grow to love any man. At least for a while." But Liz didn't think she could ever love Dr. Tod—what the hell was his first name?

She heard Marti introducing him to everyone, then she heard her say, "Oh, come with me. Liz is in the kitchen."

Good God!
Liz thought. Panicked, she glanced around, even though she knew there was only one door, no other exit.

Dr. Tod appeared in that doorway behind Marti, at least a head shorter than her friend, who was the same height as Liz. He stood as if frozen to the spot and just stared at her while Marti chatted away.
Maybe he didn't know I'd be here
, Liz thought,
and this is as awkward and embarrassing and such an obvious setup to him as it is to me.

"Hello, Dr. Tod," she finally stammered, trying to be gracious.

He gave a perfunctory nod.

"I'll be right back, you two!" Marti chirped, leaving them alone in the kitchen.

Panic rose tsunami-like within her, and Liz side-stepped it and plunged into pseudo-hostess mode. She convinced herself that he was uncomfortable. Even if he wasn't,
she
was.

"It was nice of you to accept Marti's invitation."

His eyes examined her face as they did in the treatment room, the look a bit more pleasant than any she'd seen him provide before.
He's assessing his work
, she thought, disappointed. Even though she wasn't interested in him, still, she had feelings and wanted to be seen as an attractive woman, a desirable person, not as a clinical study. It made her a bit gruff.

"Would you like some wine?" she asked, turning abruptly to the fridge and retrieving the still-warm white wine.

When he didn't answer, she found a corkscrew in the kitchen-implement's drawer and opened the bottle, reached for a glass and then, on impulse, took a second glass and poured wine into both. She picked up the glasses, turned and handed one to him. At first he didn't take it, as if he didn't know what to do with it, but then he reached out and their fingers brushed. His were cool. She sipped the wine from her glass and he watched her as if she were enacting a ritual, which he then imitated.

Liz took a very large swallow of wine and he imitated that as well. Then she finished off the glass, and, after he's done the same, she burst out laughing.

"Dr. Tod, you're a strange man," she said, pouring them both more wine.

"There you are!" Tiffany chirped, entering the kitchen. "Just grabbing the Riesling," she sang, squiggling her way between them to the fridge. "Jim's favorite. Then I'll leave you two alone."

"We're just heading in to the living room," Liz said, moving past Tiffany and, maybe the wine was getting to her, grabbing Dr. Tod by the hand and pulling him along.

They sat on one of the two couches across from Marti and Andy. Tiffany and Jim had the loveseat. The cream-colored seating surrounded the large glass-and-brass coffee table. The rest of the evening was sometimes pleasant, sometimes awkward chit-chat but, other than that, uneventful. Everyone talked and laughed and joked and ate, everyone but Dr. Tod. He barely responded to the questions they asked, trying to draw him out. He did, though, drink more wine. Liz realized that he was still imitating her, at least with drinking, and she made sure to ply herself with enough
vin
to feel no pain, and hoped Dr. Toddy, as Marti called him, was doing the same.

Tiffany and Jim escaped after dinner with the excuse to “see about the kids”. Marti's friend Andy departed. Marti gave Liz a look, yawned and finally said, "I should get my beauty sleep. Tomorrow's a big day at the office."

Liz stood immediately and again Dr. Tod imitated her. He followed her to the door and after Liz and Marti said goodbye and Marti thanked Dr. Tod for coming and he only nodded, Liz led him downstairs.

There were only two cars left in the visitors' parking lot. The green Toyota was hers, the metallic brown Lexus must be his. They got to the Lexus first.

"Well, it's been a pleasure seeing you outside your office," she said with a smile, flipping her hair, wondering if using the word
pleasure
was laying it on too thick. A small moan and click escaped his lips. He scanned her face again and she imagined he was looking for imperfections. As she turned toward her car, slightly off balance from all the wine, suddenly Liz felt something pinch her neck. Instantly, she became dizzy and stumbled. "What the…?" The parking lot came up to meet her.

§

When Liz woke, she had no idea where she was. Not her apartment, that was for sure. Not even a house. More like a medical clinic, a white-walled, stainless steel room devoid of color. She lay on a gurney and soon pulled herself to a seated position, too fast; her head swam.

Once she'd gained control of her brain, she glanced around. This looked like an operating room! Many pieces of equipment were familiar and replicated those in Dr. Tod's office. She was dressed in only a hospital gown the color of dirt.

One wall held a windowless door and gradually she eased off the gurney and stood, holding on for support. The room was cool, the stainless steel cold on her fingers, the floor icy against the soles of her feet. She grabbed the thin brown blanket at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. Despite feeling empty-headed, Liz forced herself to move to the door, expecting it to be locked, but it was not.

She felt weak but not about to faint. If anything, she was confused, not sure how she'd gotten to what was apparently a medical facility of some sort, not knowing what was the matter with her.

She wandered down a short hallway and headed toward a door at the far end. Halfway there, she came to a window and gasped at her reflection. Fear surged and a hand flew to her forehead. Only her eyes, nostrils and lips were visible; the rest of her head was bandaged. "What happened to me?" she whispered. Could she have been in an accident? Many questions, no answers, no memory of how she'd gotten here and into this state.

As the panic cranked down a notch, her eyes refocused and she saw the room within. It was a nursery, full of incubators, three of which formed a circle in the center of the room. Each held a newborn wrapped in a pink baby blanket, hooked up with many tubes to various equipment some of which she could identify, like the blood pressure monitors and the respirators. She had no idea what was going on but instinctively opened the door next to the window and went in.

She moved into the middle of the circle, surrounded by the three incubators; each of these infants was extremely tiny, more so than the newborns she'd seen, like Tiffany's four. These babies were easily one quarter their size, and swaddled completely so that even their faces were covered, as if they needed exceptional warmth in this dimly-lit room. She guessed these were preemies, hooked up by many tubes and wires to the machinery keeping them alive until they could mature enough to survive on their own.
Whose babies are these?
she wondered. She glanced around but there didn't seem to be any cameras monitoring these little ones, as if they'd been left to their own devices, as she had been.

She reached through the incubator's sleeve to one of the babies and her hand slid into the latex glove at the other end. For some reason, she just had to see what they looked like. Gingerly, she unwrapped the blanket from the face.

And jerked her hand away with a gasp! "No! This can't be!"

Quickly she unwrapped the faces of the other two infants. They were identical, their features distinct even at what must be just days, maybe only hours of life. Every one resembled Dr. Tod! Except for one thing: the antennae. The mechanoreceptors at the tips were all turned toward
her
!

This is insane!
she thought. Her mind couldn't grasp it.
What were these insectoid creatures?
She found a chair by the door and sat trembling, struggling to get her bearings. And suddenly realized that her body was different. She was much lighter, as if she had lost a lot of weight. She pressed the gown against her stomach—it flattened! The thirty pounds she'd gained over the last year were gone!

Realization of the more than possible, the
probable
crashed over her. She worked with insects and knew quite a bit about them.
Viviparous
roaches grow their eggs within the
ootheca
sac inside the uterus of the mother, surrounded by fluid. Just like mammals! And they recognize their mother. These were
her
babies and they had recognized her! And now she knew why she had never been conscious during the treatments with Dr. Tod. He'd given her a knock-out drug and raped her. Probably many times.