Authors: Eric Leitten
Rick couldn’t discern
where hell ended and the woman began, but he managed to get The Jane
into the tub in the attached bathroom. Aghast by her figure, he could
barely hide it from his face. Most of her uncovered body was
festooned with growths similar to the ones on her face. The nodes
around her genitalia were the most disturbing. Overlapping scales
folded over where the woman’s sex should be. He was surprised her
urinary tract wasn’t obstructed.
He picked her up and
set her in the shower chair, latching the restraint around her waist.
When he picked up the towel to dry her off, she tilted her head and
looked directly at him. “He knows what you did. He knows what you
are,” a voice said; it screeched with the accompaniment of audible
interference that sounded like an old radio.
Her stare fell as soon
as the voice cut away. Rick didn’t think that she would be able to
speak at all through her ruined mouth.
It
has been a long day, perhaps the noise was a radio in another room,
Rick thought to himself, and dried her as quickly as
possible, and then put a new adult diaper on her while looking away.
Rick put her in a fresh
gown and carried the woman over to the bed. When he began to stretch
her limbs, he felt the awful presence from yesterday, but more
intense. Something peering through him, peeling him apart with soiled
fingertips. Rick had an indescribable sensation, a wave of regret and
embarrassment overcame him, dredged down feelings pulled inside out.
The babble of familiar voices spoke in unison, their collective
tongue impossible to comprehend. His energy abruptly exhausted, his
knees buckled, and the room began to teeter. Rick thought that he
could be having a nervous breakdown. He steadied himself on the
footboard of the Jane’s bed and went for the door.
On the way to the
employee restroom in the main foyer, Rick barely averted bulling over
a man dressed in a suit on crutches. “Rick Soblinski, can I have a
few words with you concerning the new patient here at Oak Leaf?”
The limping man asked, as Rick bolted past him.
The man was shorter
than Rick by almost a half a foot, but dapper in an off kilter way.
He would almost look sophisticated if he wasn’t hobbling around on
crutches. In his early fifties with salt-and-pepper hair; he wore a 3
piece suit, minus the jacket. His face looked somewhat familiar, but
Rick couldn’t figure out why. “I’m Russell Levy; as you
probably know, I’m here to audit the condition and care required
for the new female patient that recently took residence here.”
Rick was taken off
guard, but couldn’t just dismiss him. He took the man’s extended
hand and gently shook it. “Hey Russell, my name is Rick Soblinski.
I have been taking care of the Jane Doe since she appeared here at
Oak Leaf. Just to warn you, our Jane is severely dis—”
“I am completely up
to speed on the appearance of your new resident,” Russell cut in.
“The State of New York has taken a special interest in this case, I
will be accompanying you as you care for your new patient for the
rest of the week.”
“The rest of the
week—that seems a little extreme to me. Why would the state be so
concerned with an abandoned elderly woman?” asked Rick.
“Cases of elderly
neglect have been increasing over the past five years. Some see the
need to pass stricter laws that will deter this sort of negligence,
and this extreme case will serve as fodder to get the push the
proposed legislation needs,” Russell adjusted himself precariously
on his crutches, but managed to keep his composure. “This study
will help change things for the better, and you can play a part in
it.”
“I see . . . I
apologize if I came off as rude. All this is just very much out of
the ordinary for me. I appreciate what you are doing, and you are
welcome to any assistance I can provide.”
This injured man seemed
to share the same sentiment for elders as Rick, wanted to take action
for their widespread abuse. Rick came from a traditional Polish
household. His parents taught him that the level of respect that was
given to a person was directly proportionate to their age, especially
if they were family. Rick saw that many middle aged adults viewed
their parents as a cruel mirror to their own mortality, and that they
thought the best course of action to put them up in a nursing home,
out of sight-out of mind.
“How about you run
down all the treatments that have been administered so far to the
patient,”
Rick presented the
chronological order of The Jane’s daily schedule: from the suck
cart to the daily sponge baths, simply retelling it made his skin
crawl. He asked subtle questions in between Russell’s, slowly
uncovering that the research on this case was being applied to a
joint research project involving New York State Adult Protective
Services and NYU’s department of medicine.
He wanted to tell
Russell about the strange presence in the Jane’s room, but he was
talking to a New York State social worker. The audit would be
substantially complicated, if he affected an air of mental
instability.
Where
the hell is he?
Allie awoke to an empty bed. On the desk
in the corner, the light was blinking on her Blackberry, indicating
she had a new voice message. She leapt out of bed, expecting the
worst.
“Hey, hun,” Rick
said in the message. “I’m with an auditor from upstate. He’s
here to check on the new patient I was telling you about. He’s
never been to Buffalo—can you believe that? I’m gonna show him
around town tonight. Sorry for the late notice.” Rick’s
inflection was monotone, uncharacteristic of the jokester. The
message was recorded at 12:03 am.
Am
I over reacting? He hasn’t had a guy’s night out in ages
.
But knowing that Rick had run into trouble in the past, a part of her
always worried when he was out drinking. She never had to deal with
him staying out all night before. Something didn’t bode well: his
voice sounded strange, not drunk, but that was only one flavor of
poison.
Allie attempted to dial
Rick, but the call cut straight to his voicemail. In the full body
mirror in the corner of the bedroom, her reflection showed
sleep-lines woven in obscure patterns on the left of her face. She
wore a wrinkled black tee and high-cut, lace panties, not ideal to
sleep in; the red draw string that tied in the small of her back
squeezed her butt in an uncomfortable fashion. However, these panties
made her ass look spectacular, and Rick obliged, in fact they were
his favorite.
Yesterday, she had
braved the discomfort of her special panties the entire day at work
and had planned to seduce Rick with dinner in bed. But when returning
home, he was nowhere to be found, so she poured two glasses of
Coppola Red Zinfandel and waited. The Rochester deal had exhausted
her. Struggling to keep her eyes open after settling in with her
glass of red, she sprawled across the bed. Breathing deep and heavy,
she was unaware that anything was amiss until awaking, almost 11
hours later.
Pulling the panties
off, she noticed that they left a crisscross imprint on her rear end.
She put on her workout clothes.
He
could be on the couch or one of the guest rooms, perhaps he didn’t
want to be bothersome.
Downstairs, the couch
was empty; the half empty bottle of Red Zin sat on the coffee table,
in the same spot Allie left it. In the kitchen, Rick’s keys weren’t
on the wooden key holder, his shoes not their usual spot next to the
side entrance, and his pea coat missing from its hook. The basement
was empty and cold. Rick was gone.
I
should call the police department, the hospital.
But it
was too soon. She returned to the bedroom and rolled out the fold
away treadmill from underneath the bed, in hopes to run off the
anxiety and not feel not so helpless.
She set an uphill
program, for 30 minutes, skipping the usual warm up. She attempted to
push out the worrisome thoughts, but was inundated once her body
settled into a rhythm, uneasiness resonating from past experience.
She thought of her ex, Kevin.
* * *
After ten years of
marriage and having the girls, Allie had felt immobile from the
inertia of her life. She struggled balancing her finishing her last
classes, for her bachelor’s in marketing, and caring for the
children. Kevin’s career as a defense attorney meant working over
70 hours a week, allotting little time for the family. Allie began
resorting to food for comfort. Over time, the dependency caused her
to become 50 pounds overweight at thirty.
The first time Allie
awoke to an empty bed she had panicked:
He’s
not working this late. Maybe he was in an accident.
She
called Kevin’s office phone, called the hospital, and even the
police department, all dead ends. The phone remained silent until
around noon the next day.
“Allie, I was out
with a client last night, and we got a little carried away at the
bar. I crashed at a friend’s,” Kevin said.
“I was worried sick
about you, calling all over the place. I thought you got into some
kind of accident,”
“I’m a grown man,
and I don’t need you talking to me like a child.” Kevin’s voice
carried a frustrated tone. “You know what kind of stress I’m
under at this job. I just needed to blow off some steam is all. I’ll
see you for dinner.” He hung up the phone.
Over the following
months, Kevin was absent from his side of the bed more often. And
Allie knew something was wrong, but couldn’t grasp what. She didn’t
want to. The evidence of Kevin’s infidelity manifested in a visit
from a soft-spoken high school English teacher.
The doorbell rang on a
Saturday morning, Allie had just finished feeding her youngest, LuLu.
She rarely answered the door when Kevin was out, but the unassuming
man at the doorstep seemed harmless enough, unaware that his words
would wound.
“Hi, you must be
Allie.” The man wore heavy framed glasses and held a folder. “My
name is Greg Reich. I’m here to talk to you about your husband . .
. I think it would be best if you sat down.”
Allie invited the
hawkish man in. He had a way about him that was strangely graceful.
He sat at the kitchen table opening his folder to show Allie three
photographs of Kevin with an older woman: one sitting in a car
together, one entering a hotel, and the last one showed them kissing.
“The woman in this
picture is my wife, Elizabeth Reich; she’s a senior partner at the
law firm where your husband works,” Greg said. “I had private
investigator following her for over a year. She cheated before . . .
swore up and down that it was over, but I knew better. She does lie
for a living.”
Allie had felt so
stupid. She knew something was wrong with Kevin, but she did nothing,
waiting for the obvious to smack her in the face; here it was in
black and white photographs.
“I’m not trying to
be cruel. I just thought that you deserve to know about the affair.”
Greg said, getting up from the table. He glanced at Lulu who peered
at him from around the archway off the kitchen. He tried to smile,
but it looked more like a painful wince. “I should be on my way.
Keep those pictures for Kevin; I have plenty more.”
When Greg left, all
Allie had thought about was how the girls would handle the divorce.
* * *
The treadmill lowered
and slowed for the two minute cool down. Allie continued to walk
briskly, covered in sweat. The run, penance for letting herself fall
apart back then. History had proved to repeat its cruel jokes. Allie
wondered how she managed to remain so naive after all she endured.
She thought she could start fresh with Rick: a man with a past that
seemed to be bleeding into the present.
Allie got ready as she
did every morning, but without her usual quick stepped assuredness.
Showering, finding clothes to wear, and putting on makeup all took
much longer than usual. She was withdrawn from reality, and by the
time she was presentable there was little time to eat her usual
breakfast: scrambled egg whites and half of a grapefruit sprinkled
with a teaspoon of turbinado. She had no choice but to grab something
less healthy from the vending machine at work. She snatched her keys
and briefcase and headed out the door.
When settling in at the
office, Allie noticed Payton, one of the interns, kept looking at her
and looking away when noticed. Allie decided to approach her.
“Good morning Payton,
how are you today?” Allie asked.
“Oh h-hi Allie,”
Payton said as she looked up from her phone. Allie caught glimpse of
two words of the text message on the girl’s phone: “Tell her.”
“I hate to take away
time from your work,” Allie nodded at Payton’s cell. “But I
kept noticing you noticing me. Is something on your mind?” She
would not show her weakness to the intern.
“I really don’t
want to make things awkward here at work, but it’s your boyfriend
Rick, I saw him out last night, at the Milk Bar.”
“And?”
“I saw him talking
with another woman,” Payton shifted in her chair uneasily and
looked away for a moment. “He left with her.”
Allie’s insides
twisted. She abandoned the conversation and b-lined it for the
nearest bathroom. Once inside, she hurried into the stall. She fell
to her knees, wept and wretched. Marooned on a planet of blue tile
and porcelain, the mixing tang of sickness and bleach choked out her
air. The taste of bile lingered in her mouth and her head hurt, but,
at least the dizzy, nauseous feeling subsided. It took another minute
for Allie to collect herself off the floor and clean up at the sink.
As she exited the stall, the young intern poked her head in the door.
“Are you ok?”
Payton asked.
Allie dabbed water on
her face. “I’m fighting a bug is all, and your little bombshell
caught me off guard.”