The Night Visitor Page 8

  In the room was a reproduction of a nude Junior had done. The model’s pose was openly sexual, her legs crossed at the ankles, her arms stretched above her head. Her skin was luminous. Her long yellow hair was smooth. Her light blue eyes were sleepy and sensual. She waited for her lover wearing only heeled bedroom slippers. The model was Rory Langtry.

  Rory had been Junior’s favorite subject during the two years they’d been together. Sylvia didn’t like this painting here. Danny had brought it to Junior’s room a few weeks ago. She’d asked him where he was going with it when she saw him taking it from the house. He’d told her that Junior had asked for it.

  “Junior, Sylvie finally came to see you.”

  Sylvia grimaced behind the mask as she approached Junior’s bed.

  Fermina Lara was nuzzling Junior with a plush purple toy toucan that had a plastic beak striped in a rainbow of colors. She set it beside Junior’s pillow, the fingers of her small-size gloves flopping on her tiny hands.

  “Hey, Junior. How you doin’, bro?” Sylvia ran her hand across his buzz-cut hair.

  Junior seemed to writhe with delight. He twisted beneath the sheet and rolled his head against the pillow. His eyes were big in his skull-like face.

  Sylvia’s hopes rose when she thought that he recognized her. When he focused the same attention on a mobile hanging over his bed, she felt silly. He hadn’t been looking at her. It was just a coincidence mixed with wishful thinking. A doctor had told her that Junior’s reactions were instinctive. Brain stem functions. Primal reactions to stimuli.

  For Sylvia, Junior was a blank canvas on which his family projected their needs and desires. Junior was gone. He’d left them that night five years ago in Five Points. All that remained was this grotesque shell.

  Sylvia held Junior’s hand around the rubber bar that was frozen in his grasp. She ran her thumb across a blue mark on the back of his hand between his thumb and forefinger. It had been a tattoo of an angel, her wings extended. Junior had done it himself when he was a teenager, using blue ink from a ballpoint pen. His skin was now so withered the angel’s wings and her once delicate face were nothing but a blob.

  Sylvia shook her head. “It’s nuts, Danny thinking that he and Junior communicated. Look at him. I came to tell him about Danny, and it’s ridiculous.”

  Fermina put up her hand to shield Junior’s face and made a shushing noise. She walked to the doorway, crooking her finger for Sylvia to follow, her eyebrows knitted above her paper mask.

  Outside the room, Fermina whispered, “He doesn’t need to know about that. I told him Danny took a trip. I don’t want to set Junior back. The doctor talked to me about dialysis for his kidneys.”

  “Dialysis? Mom, you can’t be serious.”

  “We have to do it, mija. He’s better today. Don’t you see how alert he is? He’s never looked at me like that before, straight at me. He’s really seeing me.”

  Sylvia made a face. The mask partially concealed it. “Hasn’t Junior been through enough?”

  “There’s a reason he’s still here. I will not play God.”

  “But you are playing God.”

  She gave her daughter a scornful look. “Enough.” She went back into the room. Sylvia followed her.

  Corliss entered carrying a pile of fresh linens. “Hi, Bob,” she said in a robust voice, dropping a stack of linens on the end of his bed. “Hey, Junior. Whassup, my man? I love it when your mom is here to help me change your sheets. Fermina gets those hospital corners tighter than anyone I know.”

  She grabbed a yellow nylon privacy curtain and yanked it around the bed. Fermina pulled off Junior’s blanket and top sheet and removed his gown.

  Sylvia hated this. It was bad enough seeing Junior under covers. Here was her big brother, once tall and strong, handsome and funny, who used to hold her by her leg and arm and spin her around in the front yard until she was dizzy, who could have any woman he wanted, and did, and here was her tiny mother, moving him like a rag doll.

  Fermina and Corliss rolled Junior onto his side. Sylvia grimaced at the pressure sores on his back. The ones on each shoulder blade were saucer-size. A crater extended across his lower back.

  Corliss went into the bathroom and returned carrying a tub of soapy water.

  “Is that his bone?” Sylvia asked.

  Corliss began soaping Junior. “Yep. We do all we can. Take off the dead skin to encourage new growth. Change Junior’s position every two hours. He’s on a floatation mattress.” She pushed the mattress to demonstrate.

  “I’m not criticizing, Corliss. I know Junior’s getting great care. It’s just that…I’m gonna step outside for a second.” Sylvia fled the room.

  Behind her, she heard her mother, “Does that feel good, mijo? Nice warm water…”

  * * *

  When Sylvia returned, Junior’s bath was over and he was again covered up.

  “Look, Sylvia.” Her mom was playing with the purple toucan. “I bought it at the swap meet. He loves it. Look at him.” She nuzzled the toy against her son’s neck, bobbing her head with its neat puff of short black hair. Her eyes were bright above the yellow mask. “Yes, Mommy. I love it.”

  Junior scrunched his shoulder where she was tickling him and made awkward brushing movements with his contorted arms. His eyes grew even wider.

  “Say ‘Yes, Mommy. Yes, Mommy.’ ” Fermina pulled out a string on the toy bird. “Look, Sylvie. Watch.” She released the string and the bird started whistling and singing in a high-pitched electronic voice the Disney tune “It’s a Small World.”

  Junior swam his legs. His jaw gyrated as he twisted his head from side to side. He moved his bent arms, as if he were trying to grab the toy.

  Sylvia tried to blot out the memory of the bedsores on Junior’s back. She thought about Detective Auburn showing her the bloody gauze squares and the antibiotics and the first-aid supplies in Danny’s room.

  Her mother again pulled the toy’s string and the song again played.

  Sylvia frowned at Junior and wondered about him and Danny as her mother sang, “It’s a small world…”

  24

  Evelyn was settled in the recliner in Rory’s hospital room with a stack of brochures, magazines, and her laptop as she perused floral arrangements. The Dinosaur Ball, the benefit for the Museum of Natural History, was around the corner. She had been behind schedule even before Rory’s accident. She also wanted to start planning flowers for Rory and Tom’s wedding. There would be a wedding next June. She refused to think otherwise.

  Rory stirred and mumbled. Evelyn looked up from her work. After a moment, she set the brochures aside and rose, not believing what she thought she’d heard. When she approached Rory’s bed, she saw it was true. Rory was laughing.

  Evelyn took her hand. “Rory, darling? Mommy’s here.”

  Rory pulled her hand away and reached both arms into the air, giggling. Her eyes were open and focused.

  “Oh my goodness.” Evelyn ran from the room. “Someone come here, please. She’s back. Rory’s come back. She’s laughing.”

  Joy, the nurse, poked her head out from the next room. “Be right there, Mrs. Tate.”

  Evelyn huffed and returned to Rory’s side.

  Rory’s hands were still raised above her head, palms open, as if she were holding something between them. She scrunched her shoulders as if being tickled. She began humming.

  “Rory, honey. Look at me.”

  “Look.” Rory didn’t seem to know that her mother was there.

  “Baby, it’s Mommy.” Evelyn grabbed Rory’s hands.

  With surprising strength, Rory twisted from her grasp and cried out. She again raised her hands above her head, laughing and singing broken syllables.

  Joy came in and leaned over the bed. “Well, Rory. What do you have to say to us today?”

  Rory didn’t acknowledge her.

  Joy tried again. “What’s your name?”

  Rory kept humming.

  Joy persisted. “Is yo
ur name Rory?”

  “Yes. Lookit. Look.” She laughed, still holding the invisible object.

  Evelyn let out a yelp.

  “Mrs. Tate, you try. Ask if she knows you.”

  “Rory, do you know who I am?” Evelyn leaned into Rory’s field of vision.

  Rory pushed her mother away. “No.”

  Evelyn’s voice choked. With both hands, she turned Rory’s face toward her. “Rory, who am I?”

  “Go away.”

  Evelyn released her.

  Rory again raised her hands and hummed.

  “She seems more alert,” Joy said.

  “But it’s so random. It’s like she’s sleepwalking.”

  Joy patted Evelyn’s shoulder. “Stay positive. Keep talking to her. She’s coming around.” She stopped at the open sliding glass door. “Strange, but I swear she’s humming ‘It’s a Small World.’ ”

  25

  It was night in the subacute unit. The same dim lights burned in the patient rooms as were on during the day. The nursing activities proceeded according to the same schedule. The unit was just as quiet.

  Keith, the night nurse, was suctioning Mr. Patyk’s tracheostomy. Mr. Patyk’s blue eyes grew wide and his arm waved frantically while he was temporarily unable to breathe.

  The procedure was quickly over. Keith looped a lock of stringy, long hair behind his ear and was reattaching the respirator when a noise made him turn. Junior was squirming on the bed, his hips on his stiff body gyrating.

  “What’s up, buddy?” Keith approached him.

  On the monitor, Keith saw Junior’s blood pressure rise. He followed Junior’s gaze, which seemed to be intently focused on the nude portrait of the slender blonde with pale skin and small breasts. Keith knew the painting well and was glad when the unit administrator had allowed it to stay after Danny had brought it. Keith couldn’t see a photograph of Rory Langtry now without imagining those perky breasts beneath her clothes.

  He again looked at Junior, surprised. Junior’s writhing escalated as the heart monitor blipped faster and his blood pressure went higher.

  “No way.” He raised Junior’s bed coverings and took a peek under the gown. “Didn’t think so. Couldn’t happen with that catheter.”

  Junior’s physical state achieved an intensity that was unmistakable. After, the tension left his body. He closed his eyes. A rosy hue flooded his cheeks.

  “Who knows? They say sex takes place mostly in the mind.” He patted Junior’s shoulder. “You the man.”

  Keith left the room, smiling.

  * * *

  Tom was in the recliner in Rory’s hospital room, absorbed in the biography he was reading. It was nighttime and quiet in the ICU, where it was quiet regardless of the hour. Few visitors were allowed. The whirring and blipping of the medical equipment provided soothing background noise.

  The remnants of the dinner a nurse had brought Tom were on a rolling table. Tom had clamped a battery-operated reading lamp onto the table’s edge. He was planning on reading until Rory’s Aunt Donna spelled him at ten p.m., but he could hardly keep his eyes open. He stood and got the cashmere throw and goose down pillow that Evelyn had brought, glancing at Rory.

  Her breathing was deep and regular, and she was snoring slightly. He didn’t try to wake her. She seemed the most normal this way. She was disturbing when she was awake. Tom had been dutiful about talking and reading to her and touching her, all the things the nurses and doctors had told him to do, while pushing away the feeling that this wasn’t his Rory.

  He’d again settled into the chair when Rory stirred slightly and moaned. Tom looked up at her.

  She moaned again in a way that was nearly a sigh, like when she would awaken late on a Saturday morning and see the sun streaming through the windows.

  Tom got up and took her hand. Her fingers closed around his. They felt cool. Her lips were slightly parted and a smile teased the corners. She moaned again, more loudly, and again. She began turning her head back and forth on the pillow. Her dreamy expression changed to something resembling pain. She hadn’t opened her eyes. Her body writhed under the sheets and her moans turned into bleats. Tom knew these cries. This was not pain she was experiencing.

  “Rory, wake up,” he said in a loud whisper, turning toward the open door, afraid someone would come in.

  Her eyes were pressed tightly closed, and she was panting and whimpering. She squeezed his hand fiercely, her skin no longer cool. She inhaled sharply, followed by a long wail.

  Tom kept an eye on the door as he felt his face grow flushed.

  She let out a sharp cry and relaxed. She released her grip on his hand and exhaled slowly. A pink flush rose in her cheeks and moved down her neck. Her face and body relaxed.

  The afterglow was unmistakable. Tom could not deny what had happened. He looked at her with wonder and fear.

  She ran her tongue across her lips. Tom looked around for the lip balm a nurse had given him. When he finally found it and turned back to her, her eyes were open.

  She blinked at him. Her gaze was focused and her eyes wide.

  His heart beat faster. Was she really awake?

  “Tom?” She took in her surroundings. “Where am I?”

  He was speechless.

  “What happened?” She tried to sit up, only to moan and fall back against the pillow, pressing her hand against her head.

  He blinked back tears. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.”

  “Tom…” Panic entered her voice.

  He fumbled to find the nurse call button. He pressed it repeatedly then ran to the door and called, “Nurse…nurse!”

  26

  “Can I come in for a few minutes?”

  Sylvia unlocked and opened the screen door for Detective Auburn. He stepped inside.

  “Mom! Georgie took my—” Upon seeing Auburn, Vanessa forgot the crisis that had sent her to her mother. She hovered in the doorway that led from the hall to the living room.

  Auburn smiled at the girl. “You must be Vanessa. You’re almost grown up.”

  Sylvia gestured for her daughter to approach. She did, hooking her hand onto the back waistband of her mother’s jeans.

  “Say hello to Detective Auburn.”

  “Hello.”

  “How old are you now, Vanessa?”

  “Twelve.” Vanessa blushed and looked at the ground.

  Sylvia said to her, “Go set the table for dinner.”

  The girl didn’t move.

  “Vanessa, go. Daddy’s gonna be home soon.”

  When she had left, Sylvia moved to close the front door. She peered through the screen and shouted across the lawn to the reporters on the sidewalk, “Hey! Get off my fence.” She closed and locked the door. “Jackasses.”

  In the next breath, she changed the subject. “You have any kids, Detective?”

  He hesitated before saying “Yep” and immediately followed with “Rory Langtry’s awake. Fully awake.”

  “Really? She going to be okay?”

  “Her prognosis is good.” Standing in the living room, Auburn shifted his feet.

  “Well. That’s lucky for them.” Sylvia exhaled and looked down. “It’s good they don’t have to go through what we’re going through with Junior. I don’t wish that on anyone. Even them.”

  Auburn looked into the kitchen at Vanessa setting the table. “Can we talk someplace private?”

  “Let’s go in the backyard.”

  Sylvia led him through the kitchen and out the back door, with the terrier Chiclets trotting behind them, and they crossed a side yard lined with pots of herbs. In the backyard, they sat at a table and chairs beneath a lattice patio cover. Nearby was a large avocado tree, its branches heavy with fruit.

  Sylvia waited for Auburn to speak.

  “I just came from a meeting with the assistant DA.” He took a breath before continuing. “They’re not filing charges against Richard Tate. The DA reviewed the case herself. I wanted to tell you personally before you heard
it someplace else.”

  “Shit.” Sylvia hit the table with her fist.

  “They consider it justifiable homicide. Danny came to the party with a loaded weapon, took Rory hostage, and made it clear that he intended to murder her. Richard Tate had the right to protect the life of his stepdaughter and his guests and to protect his home. No jury would convict him. The DA won’t file charges in a case that she knows she’ll never win.”

  “That’s it? They say no go and it’s over?” Sylvia reached down to pet Chiclets, who’d put his paws against her leg. “It’s not right, Henry.”

  “You can fight it out in civil court.”

  “Damn straight I am. I’m suing Richard Tate for everything he’s got.”

  “Let your conscience be your guide.”

  “You’ve got nerve, telling me to listen to my conscience.” Sylvia darted a finger at him. “Go tell the Tates that. Tell that to Rory Langtry. Ask her why she won’t take a lie detector test and answer questions about who really murdered her sister and shot Junior.”

  “That happened five years ago, Sylvia. Right now, we’re dealing with what happened last Saturday night between Richard Tate and Danny.”

  Sylvia patted her lap and the dog leaped onto it. “It’s all tied together, Henry. Danny tried to get Rory to tell the truth about what happened at Five Points. Now he’s dead. Rory’s always claimed that she was home alone that night. The only other person who knows she was actually at Five Points is Junior and he’ll never have a chance to tell his side of the story.”

  Auburn turned up his palm. “Sometimes life sucks.”

  She looked hard at him. “Henry, don’t tell me that you absolutely believe the official story about Five Points. That Junior killed Anya and shot himself.”

  He blinked his tired eyes. “Officially the case is closed.”