Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
Nat blew air through puffed-up cheeks.
"
Christ, what brought that on?
"
"
I expect she
'
s frustrated,
"
Helen said mildly.
Frustrated himself, he said,
"
You
'
re the expert; how do you deal with tantrums like that? They
'
re happening more and more.
"
"
The way Peaches handled it wasn
'
t bad,
"
Helen admitted.
"
It works with some children. So does distraction. Or silliness. Or even ignoring it, although I think Katie needs comforting more than anything.
"
She added,
"
Stickers and other bribes generally aren
'
t such a hot idea.
"
He gave her a rueful smile.
"
I don
'
t know—they worked on Linda.
"
Helen smiled back, but she was thinking,
You know they didn
'
t. You know she went off and found someone else.
"
Shouldn
'
t we maybe vacate the nursery?
"
she suggested.
"
Peaches may want to bring Katie back for a nap. Suppose we put away the tea things—so Katie
'
s not reminded,
"
Helen said, bending over the low table to gather up the toy plates.
That
'
s when it hit with the force of a baseball bat: the headache.
It was back: sudden, violent, and—Helen knew in her soul—there to stay. It was a cruel, vicious blow; she thought she
'
d got over the headache once and for all, months ago. It had left without warning. And now it was back. Without warning.
In agony, she thought of her purse downstairs. Did it have any aspirin? Not anymore.
"
Oh, damn,
"
she muttered, straightening up and pressing her hand to her forehead.
Nat, who
'
d returned the spoonback chair to the reading room, came back, saw her face and said,
"
Are you all right?
"
"
Sure,
"
Helen said faintly.
"
Just a sudden
...
headache.
"
The word seemed so inadequate. Crippling seizure was more like it.
"
Katie
'
s tantrums can do that to you,
"
he said lightly. But he looked concerned.
"
Do you want something for that? God, Helen, you
'
re white as a sheet. You
'
d better sit down,
"
he said.
"
No, no
.
Katie will be
—
no. I
'
ll be all right.
"
They left the nursery quickly. In the hall, a new and more terrifying sensation seized Helen: nausea.
"
I think I
'
m going to be
sick,
"
she said in a ghastly voice.
"
Where can I
—
?
"
"
In here—my room,
"
he said, taking her by the arm. He rushed her through a spacious bedroom furnished in elegant period antiques and into the adjoining bath, then retreated.
Helen closed the door and fell to her knees, poised over the bowl. A wave of ignominy washed over her, hard on the heels of the nausea. She waited, dreading the retching sounds he
'
d be able to hear.
But nothing happened. The nausea passed. After a while, she stood up. The headache came roaring back. Reeling, she held on to the sink. What on earth could she do? Not drive home, not like this. With rubbery hands she filled a glass with water, then downed it slowly. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to give them color.
Then she forced herself to open the door. As she thought, he was waiting: sitting in a big hobnailed wing chair of cream-colored leather. He jumped up from it at the sound of the door latch and said in a voice that sounded taut with concern,
"
How
'
re you doing?
"
It occurred to Helen that he
'
d witnessed her kind of pain before.
"
Oh—it passed,
"
she forced herself to say lightly.
"
I probably should be going. But I wonder—would you have any aspirin or anything?
"
"
Oh, yeah, sure,
"
he said, continuing to stare.
"
In the medicine cabinet. There
'
s Advil, Tylenol—everything.
"
She turned on her heel and closed the door behind her again. When she opened the beveled mirror of the walnut
-
framed medicine cabinet, she was startled—and yet not surprised—to see a vast array of pain relievers.
She thought, with almost tearful sympathy, of Linda
'
s headaches.
There has to be something extra
-
strength in here.
She rummaged through the bottles. Capsules, caplets, gelcaps, tablets, time-release, fast-acting—there seemed to be one of every over-the-counter pain reliever in existence. There was also, among the clutter of pills, a single bottle of prescription medication.
Ergotamine. A brand-name version of ergotamine.
She read the label on the brown plastic bottle. Dated nine months earlier, it had Linda Byrne
'
s name and address on it. Without knowing why, Helen took the container down from the shelf and stared at it. Her hand began to shake violently, too violently to read the recommended dosage or cautionary label.
Ergotamine.
The mention of the drug by Dr. Jervis had once sent Helen into a paroxysm of anger. She
'
d called him a monster for even thinking of prescribing it for her. And then she
'
d fled from his office in what she now realized had been sheer hysteria.
Because of this drug. Seized by a compulsion to flush it down the toilet, she pressed down on the childproof cap in an attempt to twist it off. But her hands were shaking too much; Katie had a better chance of opening it then Helen did.
With a sense of shame and disgust, she stuck the brown bottle back on the shelf and shut the cabinet door so hard she thought the mirror would shatter.
She had to get a grip on herself. Closing her eyes, she made herself take a deep, long breath and let it go. Another. Another.
There is nothing involved here except a logical coincidence. Headaches are often treated with ergotamine. She had a headache.
Now y
ou have a headache. What
'
s the big deal about this drug?
Calmer now, and determined to make no more a spectacle of herself than she had already, Helen opened her eyes. She had intended to splash her face with water, make her apologies, and call it a day. Instead, her plan—her life—got knocked completely off track in the brief reflection of an instant.
Instead, came the vision.
H
elen started violently. In the mirror, hovering over her left shoulder, was a shadowy
form
.
More shimmer than substance, more shadow than fact, one thing was undeniable. It was the form of a woman, and the woman was in pain.
Helen felt her chest collapse, as if she
'
d been punched there with a fist. Though her gaze was fixed on the phantom shape, she was aware in the mirror that her own eyes were wide open in shock.
It
'
s only me; I
'
m seeing double,
she tried to tell herself.
My God in heaven. Please. Let that be so.
The form drew nearer and then wavered, like a mirage on hot sand. Then the head seemed to fall back, as if in extreme suffering. Helen saw, or thought she saw, a mouth—open, dark, bottomless—crying out. Trying to cry out. In silence.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
Hands gripping the sink, Helen stood paralyzed by the sustained horror of the vision. It would not go away. It held her in its appalling grasp, crushing her, drawing down her energy, supplanting it with languid terror.
She tried to cry out but—as in the vision—no sound came forth. Woozy with fear, she didn
'
t dare take her gaze from the mirror. Whatever instincts she had were directed at keeping the thing at bay.
The standoff lasted for a long eternity, and then the quivering shape began to surge and recede in place, until finally, slowly, it broke up altogether.
It was over.
Helen stumbled backward from the mirror, still without taking her eyes from her own reflection, and fumbled with the doorknob behind her. She backed out of the bathroom, heedless of how she must appear to Nat, and turned to him to say something. Anything.
As it turned out, the speech wasn
'
t very long.
"
I—
"
she began to say, and then she felt comforting blackness overtake her as she dropped, in slow motion, to the floor. Whether Nat was still in the master bedroom, she didn
'
t really know. All she remembered afterward—all that was able to penetrate the thick filter of her oblivion—was Katie
'
s excited voice crying,
"
Mommy!
"
****
When Helen came to, she was on Nat
'
s bed. Nat was standing at the foot of it, his arms folded across the chest-high footboard, staring at her with a grave look on his face. How long he
'
d been there—how long she
'
d been there—she had no idea.
The heirloom coverlet had not been pulled back and she was fully clothed, so apparently she wasn
'
t dreaming. If she were, the sheets would be rumpled and she
'
d be naked. So would he.
She gave him a forlorn smile and said,
"
Why do you remind me of Papa Bear?
"
"'
Someone
'
s been sleeping in my bed,
'"
he quoted in a strained voice.
"
And I know who it is,
"
Helen said groggily as she made herself sit up.
"
The real question is, what the hell is she doing there?
"
"
You fainted,
"
he said, coming around to the side of the bed and sitting on it.
"
Feel better?
"
In fact the headache had retreated. It was still around, but it was bearable, enough so that she could make it home.
"
I don
'
t suppose there
'
s much point in telling you how embarrassed I am,
"
she said, brushing back the half of her hair that had come out of the barrette. She stared at her feet. Her shoes were gone.
"
You don
'
t have to feel embarrassed,
"
he said, taking her hand in his. She thought he was going to pat her wrist like some kindly country priest, but instead he turned it over and put three fingers to her pulse—like some kindly country doctor.
She must look like hell. She felt exhausted. Even her throat hurt. If she could see herself in a mirror she
'
d—
The mirror.
The horror.
Her amnesia had been total, but it had been temporary.
"
Yow,
"
Nat murmured without taking his fingertips from her wrist.
"
You feel like galloping horses.
"
He looked truly alarmed now.
"
I
'
m going to call our doctor,
"
he said, standing up.
"
No, no, no,
"
she begged.
"
I
'
m fine.
"
She staggered unconvincingly to her feet, then promptly swayed headfirst into him. Her forearms were braced against his chest; his hands were locked under her elbows. He was near enough to kiss. She lifted her face to his—and saw piercing blue eyes filled solely with apprehension.