Faerie Tale (18 page)

Before Jack could answer, one of the boys shouted from below, “Doctor’s here!” The downstairs door could be heard opening, then slamming, as Sean or Patrick provided a loud welcome. A moment later Dr. John Latham entered and chased Jack from the room while he checked on his patient. Jack went downstairs and found Phil and Gloria talking to a man in the living room.

The man looked up as Jack entered and Phil said, “Jack, this is Detective Mathews.” The police detective had arrived on the heels of the doctor and returned to what he had been saying when Jack had entered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hastings, but if she can’t remember details, there’s little we can do.”

Phil looked incensed. “My daughter was raped and you can’t do anything?”

The detective held up his hands. “Mr. Hastings, I know you’re upset, but we won’t know if she was raped until the doctor says she was. From what you say of her condition, we can pretty well rule out that the girl beat and bit herself black and blue, so there is ample evidence of an assault. But unless we have a physical description of a suspect, we’re stuck at a dead end. We’ll have a car make additional patrols out here for a few days, and we’ll keep an eye out for any strange characters who might come through town, but we don’t have a lead. Hell, if it’s a transient, he could be halfway to anywhere by now.” He paused, and added, “I’m no lawyer, but even if we found someone, we still might not have a case for assault. Without a positive identification, we couldn’t tie him to this crime.”

Phil said, “Look, I don’t care what you charge the bastard with. I just want him caught.”

“We’ll do what we can. Now, as soon as your daughter’s able, I’d like a few words with her.” He turned to Jack. “You’re the one who found her?” Jack nodded and the detective took him aside to ask some questions.

A while later Dr. Latham came down the stairs. He said, “She’s fine. Just keep an eye on her for a day or two, and let me know if that fever comes back.” He looked disapprovingly at Phil and Gloria. “I wish you’d brought her in to the emergency room last night.”

Gloria looked self-conscious. “I … it didn’t look especially bad, I mean the swelling of those bites and scratches didn’t start until this morning, or during the night.” Her voice trailed off as she added, “I have this thing about hospitals.…”

“Well, I’ve given her a tetanus booster, and a shot of tetracycline, so those scratches won’t do much, but … look, I’m not going to lecture you. Just don’t be so quick to make a diagnosis in the future, all right?”

Phil said, “We won’t,” and cast a sidelong glance at his wife. Last night Phil had been beside himself, and Gloria had appeared an island of calm, reassuring her
husband that Gabbie was only a little bruised. He had been forced to agree, as he had helped put the feverish girl to bed, that the scratches on her breasts and stomach had looked minor. Gloria had judged Gabbie’s temperature to be little more than a hundred degrees, so he had grudgingly agreed not to rush her off to the hospital. This morning, when Gloria had looked in on her, the fever was still there and she had tossed off her covers in the night. Gloria had seen the welts that had come up during sleep and had rushed to the phone, getting Dr. Latham’s name from Aggie. It had taken all Gloria’s persuasiveness and dropping Aggie’s name to get him to agree to the house call.

Phil said, “Doctor, what’s the story? Was Gabbie raped?”

Dr. Latham said, “My best guess is not. There’re no physical signs of penetration.”

“Are you sure?” asked Phil.

The doctor understood Phil’s concern. “One hundred percent? No, anything is possible, but I’d bet thirty years of practice she wasn’t entered. No, your daughter was roughed up a good deal—those teeth marks are a symptom of a pretty sick mind at work.” He looked thoughtful a moment. “The marks are odd, more like burns than abrasions. And I swear there are tiny blisters on the skin below her pubic hair.” He regarded the puzzled expressions of Gloria and Phil, and said, “No, I don’t think she was raped.” After a short silence he said, “But, to all intents and purposes, it’s pretty much the same thing. She was violated and she needs to have some help dealing with that. I can recommend someone if you’d like.”

“A psychiatrist?” said Phil.

“Or a psychologist. Or someone from the rape assistance center up in Buffalo, maybe. Sign of emotional difficulty may not surface for a while, so keep an eye out. If she’s troubled, or has difficulty sleeping, or shows any unusual behavior, like becoming suddenly agitated or manic, or going quiet for long periods, just let me know. I’ll give you a referral.”

Phil thanked the doctor, and the detective went up to
question Gabbie briefly. When they had both left, Gloria went upstairs to sit with Gabbie. Phil and Jack stood in the living room and exchanged a look that revealed they both felt the same things: outrage and helplessness.

“Hey!” Gabbie shouted. As usual, her protests were ignored and the twins continued their battle. Pulling aside the covers of her bed, she got up and stormed down the hall to their room. Sean and Patrick were rolling on the floor, their tussle approaching the point where play verged on battle. “Hey!” Gabbie shouted again.

The boys halted their struggle. Looking up, Sean said, “What?”

“Take it outside,” ordered Gabbie.

“Take what outside?” said Patrick with that evil expression only little brothers are capable of.

“Your noise, your brother, and yourself,” she said, her patience at an end. “Or when Gloria and Dad get back, your little fannies’ll be in a sling.” She turned on her heel, not staying to hear their rebuttal. Then a shout caused her to look back. “What!”

Patrick stood there, trying to pick up Sean. “You said to take him outside.” Both boys collapsed to the floor with uncontained mirth.

“Oh!” said Gabbie as she retreated to her bedroom. She had gotten exactly twenty-four hours’ consideration from the boys since Jack had carried her home. All day yesterday the boys had practically tiptoed around and spoke in whispers, so as not to disturb Gabbie’s rest. Now it was business as usual. She gave up on the convalescing and took off the big T-shirt she used as night clothing. She paused a moment to regard her nude body in the full-length mirror hung on the door and shuddered. The welts had gone down, but now angry marks, like tiny sunburn blisters, had formed, puffy reminders of some terrible en
counter she could not remember. Sighing, she pulled a pair of panties out of the dresser and stepped into them. Dressing in a shirt and jeans, she pulled on her boots, determined to put all this strangeness behind her. Besides, she needed to work the horses.

Back in the hall, she found that the boys had left, and assumed they were heading out for the afternoon baseball game at the park. Phil and Gloria were up in Buffalo for the day. Phil had been asked to speak at a library luncheon, and Gabbie had almost had to throw a temper tantrum to get him to go. He’d wanted to stay close despite her assurances she was all right. Phil consented to go when Mark agreed to baby-sit the place, so he and Gloria had decided to make a day of it, staying for some shopping, then dinner at the Cloister, which was reputed to be one of the best restaurants in the state.

Passing the library, she spied Mark sitting behind her dad’s computer and stuck her head through the door. “Hi. How’s it going?”

Mark looked up and smiled at her, and Gabbie was suddenly struck by the thought that he was a very nice man. She’d spent only a little time with Mark and Gary, more with Gary, for Jack and she would play tennis with Gary and his girlfriend, Ellen. But when she was around Mark, she found him pleasant company.

He said, “Pretty good. Just about done here, and getting ready to brave the basement tomorrow. How’s it with you?”

She shrugged. “I’m still bruised. But I’ll live.”

“That’s good.”

“What’s with Dad’s computer?”

“I’m using it to catalog the library. I’ll dump a hard copy for myself, and your dad’ll have these discs to keep. He can update them when he buys or sells something.”

She shook her head. “I doubt he’ll remember. He likes the word processor, but all the other stuff is from another planet as far as he’s concerned.”

Mark laughed. “I know. I wrote the program for the catalog.”

Gabbie lingered at the door, seemingly unable to speak
for a while. After a bit, Mark said, “Want to talk about it?”

“It’s pretty weird.”

“Weird is my business.” He looked hard at her. “Gabbie, if you don’t want to talk, my feelings won’t be hurt. But if you need an ear, I’ll be more than happy to listen.” He smiled. “And I am a psychologist.”

“I didn’t know that.” She seemed surprised.

“Most people don’t. I don’t practice, but I have my Ph.D. in abnormal psychology and a license from the state of New York which says I’m a shrink. That’s how I got into the occult in the first place, investigating weird psychological phenomena. The first book I wrote was on paranormal psychology, and that led to other things in the occult field. I’m sort of distant from when I did my clinical internship, but I still know how to listen.”

She paused, as if considering what he said. Then at last she said, “Confidentially?”

“Absolutely.” He punched some keys, saving whatever he was working on, while she went over to a chair. He sat back, the desk separating them, and said nothing.

After a while she began, “What has me worried is that I don’t remember much. I mean, I’ve heard of people having blocks and the like from trauma, but I don’t feel especially … traumatized, you know?” He nodded. “But it’s like a … dream. Like when you wake up and almost remember what you dreamed, maybe an image or something, but you can’t remember most of it.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember … hearing something. And I remember … smelling something.”

“What?”

“Wildflowers, I think. At least, it smelled like flowers. And it had to be pretty strong for me to smell it in the barn.” She laughed, looking a little embarrassed. “This is pretty stupid, huh?”

“No, not at all. Smells are pretty basic, stronger than you’d imagine. You can look at a picture of your grandmother, for example, and not remember her, then smell
her favorite cologne and trigger vivid memories. It’s common.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve smelled anything like this before. It was spicy. I’d have remembered.…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened.

“What?” Mark asked softly.

Color drained from Gabbie’s face. “I
did
smell that flower smell before. I … I’m surprised I didn’t remember right away, ’cause that was pretty weird, too.”

“When?” said Mark, obviously interested.

“When My Dandelion threw her shoe, on the Fourth of July.” She told him about her encounter with the blacksmith. Mark moved forward, so that his elbows rested upon the desk as she spoke. “That’s so strange. I didn’t remember anything about that until just now. Must have been the flu.”

“What flu?”

“I got a bug on the Fourth. Jack found me. He thinks this blacksmith was a hallucination. I don’t. I think he was one of those Amish guys from Cattaraugus. He looked like one, wide hat, suspenders, heavy boots. And he had an accent. He had this old wagon, with a portable forge in back. But it looked … you know, really old, not like the modern ones in the back of trucks. I don’t know how to describe it, really.”

Mark didn’t say anything; at last Gabbie said, “You know, I was pretty upset with Jack, and I thought that smith was pretty nice. I sort of thought I might like to meet him again, but I guess an Amish guy wouldn’t … I don’t know, date outside his faith? Whatever.”

Mark smiled and spoke softly. “No, I don’t think so. Look, Gabbie. There may have been a blacksmith. I don’t know much about the Amish, but I could check it out for you. Did he tell you his name?”

She wrinkled her brow, then her eyes widened. “Smith. That was it. His name was Wayland Smith.”

The only change of expression on Mark’s face was a slight tightening around the eyes. “Wayland Smith,” he repeated in flat tones.

“Yes.” She seemed to be struggling to remember some
thing. “He said he was from someplace called White Horse. I guess it’s his hometown. That’s about all, except.…” She lowered her eyes.

After a long silence, Mark softly said, “What?”

“Well, he sort of … got me turned on, you know.”

Mark was silent, absently tapping a pencil against his cheek. Then he said, “Did this disturb you?”

Gabbie’s eyes met his, and she looked embarrassed. “Yes, sort of. It’s like there’s two different people, see”—she tapped her chest with a finger—“inside.” Gabbie paused, fighting for words. “Me, the real me is, you know, normal.” Her voice lowered, showing discomfort. “I’ve got urges, you know. I get … excited, by Jack, you know.”

Mark smiled. It was reassuring and warm, not mocking. “Yes, I know.”

Gabbie grinned self-consciously. “I do that when I get nervous. You know, you know, you know.” She shook her head. “Grandmother used to really get on my case about ending every sentence with ‘you know.’” The mood seemed to lighten, and Gabbie began to relax. “Look, when I’m with Jack, I get pretty turned on, but it’s sort of a normal thing.…” She began to say something, then halted and changed it to, “See?”

The both laughed. Mark said, “I do.”

“But with this blacksmith.… Well, he was nice and all, but while he was working, all I thought of was his body.” She sighed loudly. “I mean, he was something else, but.…” She thought for a long time and finally said, “… but I don’t normally think a lot about a guy’s body. I mean, Jack’s got a terrific body, and I’d have trouble with somebody who repulsed me, but what a guy says and thinks, how he feels, those are the things, I guess, that make me take notice.” She seemed again to be fighting for words.

“And this Wayland was different?”

Gabbie said, “God, yes!” She fell silent once more while she remembered. “I watched him work, and I was sweating all over, and all I could think of was getting my hands on his body.” She laughed self-consciously as she
made a grasping gesture, and shook her head in amazement. “He lifted me to the saddle, after he’d finished the shoeing, and when he put his hands on me, I just about came in my jeans.” Gabbie’s tone shifted from embarrassment to distress. “Mark, it scares me. I’d have balled his brains out right there on the ground. I mean, I wasn’t thinking about love or loyalty to Jack or my virginity or anything. I just wanted to pull his pants off and screw.” Her voice lowered. “It was like he had this power over me. Am I crazy, or what?”