Deficiency (19 page)

"Just look at that," he said. "Breathtaking."

She looked at it as if for the first time, too.

"Yes," she said.

He sat there so still and so unmoving that for a few minutes she thought this was going to be it. He wasn't even going to try to kiss her.

Finally, he turned to her.

"I can't help it," he said. "I get so stirred up by beauty. Forgive me," he added.

She raised her eyebrows.

"For what?"

"For wanting you so intensely," he said and leaned toward her to kiss her, softly at first and then harder.

She pulled back as if she was angry. "I'm sorry, he said. "I…"

She put her finger on his lips and smiled.

"Wouldn't it be better in the rear seat?" she suggested.

How wonderful it was to have one so eager, he thought. It filled him with new confidence, not that he needed any boost in that department.

"You took the words right out of my mouth," he said, only he said it as if she literally had, as if when their tongues met, the words that were in his brain and transmitted to his tongue, were then conveyed to her.

They got out of the car and opened the rear doors and met on the wide leather bench seat. In moments, his lips were on her neck and his hands were moving over her breasts.

This is just like high school days, she thought and moaned with pleasure. Despite the darkness, she could see his eyes, luminous above her. She let him undo her belt buckle. He undressed her slowly, never moving much without kissing her somewhere. She was contented to just lie there and let him do all the work, serve her as it were, deliver the ecstasy. When she was totally naked, he lifted her breasts with his palms as if he was weighing them.

"Magnificent," he said and lowered himself to her.

He entered her with the same gracefulness he had with his every move, the same assurance and confidence. She accepted him as she would accept any necessity of life itself, as if sex were nourishment and could ensure her own well-being. Every part of her was full of warning and welcoming. Vaguely, she felt he was drawing new strength from her compliance. He was moving deeper and deeper into her. He seemed to have no limit, to grow to enormous length, like some kind of a snake, moving through her very organs, into her intestines and on to her very heart where he wrapped himself and squeezed until she found it harder and harder to breathe. It wasn't a dream; it was literally true. She started to gag, to plead for an easing, a moment or two of respite, but he was relentless and soon she felt her eyes go back. Moments later, she blacked out.

Terri had just pulled Curt fully into the house when the sheriff's patrol car turned into her driveway. She saw the head trauma immediately. Whatever had been used as a weapon, had split open the front of his skull just under the hairline and the flow of blood down his temples and over the bridge of his nose made it look horrible. She turned him on his back and leaped up to get her doctor's bag. When she returned, the patrolman was already there, kneeling at Curt's side.

"What happened?" he asked.

She shook her head and went to work, checking his pulse, cleaning the wound, and evaluating what had to be done. As she spoke, she cut away some of his hair.

"I heard a knocking at the door, but I was in the tub," she began. "I had no idea he would be at my door, of course."

"Who is he?" the patrolman asked.

"My fiancé, Curt Levitt. By the time I got downstairs, this had all obviously happened. I opened the door because I saw his car in the driveway and this is how I found him," she continued, deciding he needed stitches immediately. "I want to stop this bleeding and then we'll need to get an ambulance and get him to the hospital to see what sort of injury he's obtained."

The patrolman nodded and returned to his vehicle to make the call for the ambulance.

"They're on the way," he told her coming back.

"Thanks."

"Do you have any idea how this happened?"

She shook her head.

"I didn't see anyone else or even hear another car," she said.

Curt was still unconscious. She felt her heart tighten, and her breath quicken. Suddenly, she was not the doctor anymore; she was a very concerned loved one.

"I'll look around," the police officer said. She barely heard or acknowledged him.

"Curt," she said. "C'mon honey."

His eyelids fluttered. When he opened them, she could see immediately that the pupils were enlarged. He had been hit very hard. All the complications paraded before her.

"Whaaa," he said.

"Don't move. What happened, Curt? If you can, tell me. There's a policeman here."

The patrolman returned.

"Nothing," he said and noticed Curt's eyes were opened. "What's he say?"

"Curt, can you tell us what happened?"

"Hit me," he said. "He was… at your… door… hit me," he finished and closed his eyes again.

"Try to stay awake, Curt. Who hit you? Did you recognize him? Curt?" She shook him gently.

"Man… at the hospital," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up at the patrolman.

"Get in touch with District Attorney Dennis. Tell him to meet us at the hospital," she said. "Stay with Curt. I'm running upstairs to throw something on. Stay with him."

"What should I do first?" the patrolman asked, confused by her list of commands.

She looked at Curt, his eyes closed again.

"Call Dennis first," she screamed and ran up the stairs.

The ambulance was there moments after she returned, and the paramedics had Curt on a stretcher in seconds. They kept track of his vitals all the way to the hospital. Terri followed in her own car, the sheriff's deputy leading the way.

She knew the doctor on duty at the emergency room, of course, Steve Battie, who was only a few years older than she was and working out of his cousin's practice in Liberty. The protocol for Curt's situation was cut and dried. They immediately determined he had a concussion, slight, but significant enough to hospitalize him and keep him under observation.

Will Dennis appeared at the hospital only twenty minutes after she had. She described as much of what happened as she could and then, after Curt had been through X-ray, they both went to his bedside.

"Curt, Will Dennis is here," she said and Curt opened his eyes slowly.

"She did it," he said. "Book her."

Everyone laughed.

"What really happened, Curt?" Will asked.

Curt turned to look at Terri before speaking.

"Terri and I had a lovers' spat earlier in the evening. I was feeling miserable about it and decided to go to her house to apologize. I wouldn't have gotten much sleep anyway. When I pulled into the driveway, there was a man at the door. He was kneeling down and obviously doing something to trigger the lock and open it.

"He stood up quickly when I drove in and I guess I was a little too much Mr. Superman. I wasn't thinking sensibly. I charged out of the car toward him, yelling, 'What the hell are you doing? Who are you?' As I drew closer, I recognized him. He was the same man Terri had been talking to in the hospital parking lot. She said he was a state policeman," he added looking accusingly at her. He turned back to Will Dennis. "He stood his ground, but when I stepped up to him, he lashed out with the handle of a pistol… looked like a .45-caliber pistol to me, and caught me in the head so sharply, my lights went out.

"The rest," he said after a deep breath, "you guys know."

Will Dennis nodded, looked at Terri and then turned back to Curt.

"Did you notice a car in front of the house? I imagine you would have seen one in the driveway," he said.

"There wasn't any in the driveway, but I vaguely recall passing a car parked on the side of the road, right by the house."

"Anything you remember about the car?"

Curt started to shake his head and closed his eyes. He was still having some pain.

"Sorry. All I can tell you is it was probably black and probably a full sedan."

"Okay," Will Dennis said turning to Terri. "I'll be in touch."

"Who was that guy? What's going on?" Curt asked, showing more agitation.

"I'll tell you, Curt. Just relax. Let me just see Will out," she said and followed the district attorney into the hallway. "What should I tell him?" she asked when they were beyond Curt's hearing.

"It doesn't look like he's going anywhere for a while. You can tell him all you know, if you like. Ask him to keep it to himself. He's earned it," Will Dennis said. "Not that it's anything he would want to earn, I'm sure," he added.

"Do you want me to meet with the police sketch artist? I'm no law enforcement officer, but I think it's about time."

"Yes, probably. We'll talk about it tomorrow," he said.

"Okay, but as a physician, I'm advising you to go home and get some sleep. One of us has to be fresh in the morning and I know it's not going to be me," she said.

"Should I alert your patients?" he asked jokingly.

"Hey, this won't be the first time I go to work on a few hours of sleep, if any. You should try interning."

"Thanks, but I have my own internship going at the moment," he replied, wished Curt well and left.

She returned to Curt's room. For a few moments, she thought he would doze off now and she could put off telling him anything, but as if he could sense her decision, his eyes popped open.

"Hey," he said. "What the hell am I doing here?"

"You said it yourself, big shot. You decided to be Superman."

"Okay," he said reaching for her hand. "I don't have the strength for cross-examination, so just give me your testimony straight."

She smiled.

"Where do I begin?" she asked rhetorically, and then proceeded to tell him all she knew. His reactions moved from incredulity to abject terror.

"No one knows how he's doing these terrible crimes?"

"Nor can they say with certainty apparently that he is doing them at all. It's a mystery that just grows deeper and now, more complicated for me," she said examining his wound again.

"You're not going home now, are you?"

"I don't know. I didn't think about it."

"I'd feel a lot better if you would go to my house instead, Terri, or to your parents."

"Right. Go to my parents and we'll have panic in the streets," she said.

"Then go to my house. Our house," he added. She nodded. "Promise?"

"On my Hippocratic oath."

Two hours later, after Curt was resting comfortably, she got into the elevator and walked down the corridor to exit the hospital through the emergency room.

That was when she knew not only wouldn't she go to Curt's house; she wouldn't get even an hour's sleep.

Darlene Stone finished cleaning up and shut down the lights behind the bar. Griffy asked the last two hangers-on to leave, telling them as he usually did, to get a life. She and he had no doubt they would stay until morning if Griffy didn't shove them off. He was the current owner of the Inn and lived with his wife in a small apartment above the bar and restaurant. She did most, if not all, of the cooking, not that they had that much of a food crowd here. Burgers, fries, meatloaf twice a week, and roast beef sandwiches were the heart of their small menu.

"All and all a pretty good night," Griffy told her after quickly reviewing their receipts. "I guess we'll keep the Outlaws on another month for sure."

"Sometimes I think you could have my grandparents up there howling and it wouldn't matter," she said.

"And they probably wouldn't charge as much," Griffy said laughing.

She gave him a hug, said goodnight, and left the Inn. She was halfway to her car in the rear parking lot where the help parked when she noticed Paula Gilbert's automobile still in the lot. It gave her pause. She smirked and nodded to herself, imagining the handsome stranger had been waiting for her and taken her off to some rendezvous. Envy boiled in her heart. It could have been me, she thought. It should have been me.

She continued to walk, gazing back at Paula's car. Suddenly something caught her eye and she stopped again. The clouds had shifted and some starlight moved a shadow just enough to reveal what looked like someone silhouetted in the front seat behind the steering wheel.

Who was that? Paula? Why would she be just sitting there in her automobile this late in the evening?

Curious, Darlene changed direction and headed toward the car. As she drew closer, the sight before her became clearer and clearer and stopped her in her steps, practically gluing the soles of her feet to the tarred surface. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? She actually wiped them with her balled fists and looked again.

Paula Gilbert was naked. Her bare bosom could not be mistaken. The two mounds of white flesh capped by those large areolas were too impressive. She hurried over to the car and then, just before she reached out to knock on the window, gasped, and stepped back quickly. The sight brought up the little she had eaten and the small amount of beer she had drunk to wash it down. She shook her head to deny what she had seen and then she turned and ran back to the Inn.

Griffy had already locked the door behind her and put out the lights. She shook the handle and then pounded the door and shouted for him. Almost three full minutes later the light went on in the kitchen, and he appeared, moving cautiously with surprise toward the rear entrance. He was in just his pants.

"What's wrong, Darlene?" he asked opening the door.

She started to speak, but turned instead and pointed at Paula Gilbert's car.

"What is it?"

"Go… look," she said.

"I ain't got my shoes on," he complained.

"Go look!" she screamed and he jumped and then started out and across the lot to Paula Gilbert's car. Darlene followed slowly but remained back a good twenty or so yards. Griffy slowed down as he approached the car, stopped, and then slowly opened the door.

"Jesus!" he shouted. "Get in there and call for an ambulance."

"Yes," she said, realizing that should have been the first thing she had done.