Authors: Tamara Thorne
"Just finish it, please!"
He studied her a moment longer, favoring her with a smile.
Despite herself, she relaxed a little more.
He disappeared; she felt the pinch; then a few minutes later,
the speculum was removed. "All done," he told her, reassurance
in his eyes.
She felt warmer now, especially inside; an effect of the
anesthetic, no doubt
.
''Can I get up now?"
''Let me do the breast exam, then you can get up."
"All right."
As he lowered her gown from her shoulders, holding he
gaze, she vaguely realized her legs were still up, but she didn't
really care. His hands palpating first one breast, then the other,
actually felt good, like a massage. Better than a massage
.
"You have an incredible bedside manner," she murmured
.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She wanted to scream at him
to get his hands off her, but she couldn't. She was mortifi
e
d
by her growing excitement. Her body was betraying her; it
seemed to have a mind of its own
.
How can this be happening?
''Thank you." He kept kneading, fingers pinching her nipple
now. "Very good. You're an excellent patient."
The warmth in her belly grew into heat that spread through
her. She felt a violent sexual ache
,
could count her pulse through
the steady beat in her groin. She heard herself moan.
What am
I doing? What is he doing?
"Stop!" she cried
.
"We're all done," he told her, one hand still resting a
g
ainst
a breast. Her panic melted as suddenly as it had formed
.
"We are?"
I can't believe I said that
.
The thought was
dreamy and she tried to lower her legs, but it was too much
effort. She heard herself giggle, was horrified in a very detached
way, as if she were watching herself from a distance. Dashwood's
eyes were gorgeous
.
Dimly, she heard a knock on the door, then heard the Mother
Superior's voice. "Well, Doctor? How's our patient?"
"She's fine," he said
.
"Quite ready
.
"
She could barely keep her eyes open. and she saw Mother
Lucy, her cowl off to reveal long black hair, peering into her
face. "Miss Hawthorne? Are you unwell?"
"I'm fine," she mumbled. She could barely keep her eyes
open. Her ears had begun to ring and she couldn't concentrate
at all. The headmistress's face went out of focus.
“
'I thought I might give her a trial run," she thought Dashwood
said
.
"No, Richard, you mustn't soil the merchandise. I'll take
care of your needs personally." Was that really Mother Lucy
talking? She must be imagining things, dreaming. Maybe the
anesthetic Dashwood had given her had a relaxant in it.
He
drugged you!
insisted a little voice, but she did
n
't listen, instead
collapsing into an erotic dream in which she
e
avesdropped on
two people making love.
This return to St. Gruesome's wasn't nearly so terrible as
that first visit last month, and in fact, in the several times
he'd been there in August and early September, John Lawson's
phobic reaction had lessened considerably.
Letting himself in the school building, be crossed quickly
to the stairs leading down to
Dashwood
's basement offices and
the infirmary and started down, relieved he hadn't run into any
of the nuns.
When he reached the office door, he rapped twice, then
opened it No one was there, so he moved on to the next door,
the one to the waiting room, and went inside
.
The nurse wasn't
at her desk, but two students, both attractive blondes, one with
a mane of hair, the other with shorter loose curls, sat on chairs
along the wall. They looked at him and almost
s
uppressed their
giggles.
"Is Dr. Dashwood in today?" he asked.
Curly Locks nodded. "We've got appointments to see him,
so I hope so." A fresh giggle escaped.
"Buffy," said the other one, "control yourself." She looked
at John, gave him a smile way too knowing for a high school
kid. ''Dr. Dashwood will be here pretty soon." The bare tip of
her tongue darted out and she wet her lips, keeping her eyes
on his. "I'm Marcia Crowley, and this is Buffy Bullock. We're
seniors."
"I see," John said uncomfortably, as Marcia slowly
uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way,
a
la
Sharon
Stone. He pointedly kept his eyes on a grotesque painting
hanging on the wall above the students. "Is the nurse here?"
Both girls giggled; then the long-haired one said, "She'll be
right back. She's helping the doctor with a patient."
John walked up to the desk and peered at the closed door
behind it. His discomfort was growing by the moment.
''Are you a deputy?" one of the girls asked, behind him
.
"I'm the sheriff," he replied, without turning around. At that
moment, the door behind the desk creaked; then Sister Regina
appeared and held the door open.
''All right," she said to someone within, then turned her
head and saw John. Her eyes blinked slowly. "Sheriff, I trust
you haven't been waiting long
.
"
"Not at all," he said, as Dashwood and the headmistress
came out, Sara Hawthorne between them, leaning on Dashwood's
arm. She appeared pale and dazed.
''Ms. Hawthorne," he said, ''are you all right?"
She looked at him, red spots on her cheeks stark against the
too
-
white skin
.
Her pupils were dilated, her gaze drifting past
him. "I'm fine, Sheriff Lawson," she said in a soft, vague,
drowsy voice.
''Miss Hawthorne will be perfectly all right, she's just had
a little too much excitement for one day," Dashwood said. ''It
happens sometimes. Sister Regina, please see her to her room
.
"
''Certainly, Doctor."
“
Miss Hawthorne," Dashwood said, ''stay in bed until dinnertime.
Doctor's orders."
Sara nodded slowly; then Regina took her arm. The young
woman placidly let herself be guided past John.
"Ms. Hawthorne?" he asked.
She hesitated, almost looking at him.
"Are you sure you're all right?" He'd been about to say
something about Jennifer Blaine, then remembered that Sara
hadn't wanted him to contact her at the abbey.
“
Fine," she said faintly, and let Regina lead her out the door.
"I take it you know Miss Hawthorne?" Lucy demanded in
her clipped tone.
"No, not really. She stopped in and asked for directions to
St. Gertrude's the other day."
"That's odd," Dashwood said, "since she used to be a student
here."
"Not at all, if you think about it," John countered smoothly.
“
'We never see your students in town. I'd guess that these young
ladies here," he gestured at the oversexed blondes, ''would have
no more idea how to get back to St. Gertrude's if they suddenly
found themselves in downtown Moonfall than Ms. Hawthorne
did
.
Isn't that right?"
The pair giggled and nodded.
Lucy gave John a hard look, then turned to Dashwood and
smiled. It changed her face completely. "Doctor, I have an
appointment with a student in a few minutes. I'll see you at
six in the private dining room for our meeting."
''Of course."
Lucy exited the room is a flurry of black; then Dashwood
turned to John
.
''May
I be of assistance to you, Sheriff?"
"Yes. I'm hoping you might be able to clear up something
for me, Doctor. Can you spare ten minutes?"
"I think that can be arranged," Dashwood said, smiling at
the two girls. "I'll be with you young ladies shortly. When
Sister Regina returns, tell her that I said to prepare you for
your appointments."
Another flurry of giggles. "Yes, Doctor," the blondes said
simultaneously. They looked at each other and giggled harder.
"Now, Sheriff, how can I help you?"
"I'd rather talk in private, if you don't mind."
''Of course. Come with me."
Dashwood led John from the waiting room, down the hall
to his private office. They settled in leather chairs, before and
behind the physician's massive mahogany desk. John knew
h
e
had to be careful about what
h
e said. ''I was reviewing the
recent suicide at the Falls, and I have a couple more questions."
Dashwood sat back, relaxed. "I thought Miss T
y
nan's case
was closed."
"For all intents and purposes, but something still doesn't set
right with me. Call it a hunch."
The doctor smiled and locked his disturbing eyes on John's.
"I understand, and I agree that the circumstances were certainly
rather unusual. How can I help you?"
"Our records at the sheriff's department weren't kept as well
as they should have been unti
l the last few years. You know h
ow
it is. Moonfall is a small, quiet town and people occasionally get
a little sloppy
.
"
''Of course."
"I found a reference to
a suicide similar to Lenore Ty
nan's,
but it's little more than a note. We're currently inputting our
records into a computer system." He chuckled, hoping it
sounded convincing. ''As I said, Moonfall is rather behind the
times."
"Another suicide?" Dashwood's eyebrows underscored the
question. "Here? At St. Gertrude's?"
"In 1984. As I said, there was little reference to it, and I
don't remember anything about it except that it happened; I
was a rookie at the time and not involved in any investigation
into the incident that might have been undertaken."
''I see." Dashwood sat forward now, showing interest. ''Like
you, I was new to my job. My father had just retired and
gone home to London, and I was very new here. I'd certainly
remember an incident like that." He paused. "Do you have a
name? Perhaps there was an attempted suicide. I could check
my records."
''Yes. Jennifer Blaine."
If Dashwood recognized the name, he didn't betray the fact.
Instead, he rose and went to his file cabinets, rich mahogany
ones that matched his desk. "Blaine. 'B' as in boy?"
"That's correct."
The doctor opened a drawer and began
rifl
ing through the
files. "Blaine, Margaret," he read. "Blaine, Emily. Aha, here
it is. Blaine, Jennifer." He brought the folder to the desk and
opened it. "Jennifer Blaine was a student here from 1981
through 1985. A few allergies, a tendency toward bronchitis,
slightly nearsighted. She scored high intellectually and very
normally on the psychological tests we administered." He
looked at another page. ''The only times I ever saw her were
for bronchitis, allergy shots, annual checkups, and a few stitches
when she cut her arm on a broken glass. She graduated in '85.
She had some scholarship money and was going to college up
north. That's the last contact I had with her."
“A
re you sure there was only one Jennifer Blaine?"
Dashwood nodded. "I have only one file
.
You said this note
you found concerning her led you to believe that her alleged
suicide was similar to Lenore Tynan's?"
"Yes."
“
Perhaps the incident with the broken glass and the stitches
turned into something it wasn't. Our students don't venture
into town, though our teachers occasionally do, and maybe one
said something that was misinterpreted." He smiled, turning
his long-fingered hands palms-upward in helplessness. ''As
you are probably aware, St. Gertrude's has quite a reputation
among the people in town, what with all the stories about our
ghosts and gargoyles. These things are blown out of proportion
sometimes."
"May I see the file?''
"Certainly." Dashwood handed it across the desk and John
leafed through it, saw everything the physician had said, but
no more. There was a photo of the girl. She was very pretty,
with long, dark hair and a sweet smile. "May I borrow this,
or get a copy from you?"
"If you wish, of course. Do you have any other questions I
might help you with?"
''To your knowledge, have there been any other suicides
here? Or suspicious deaths?"
Dashwood appeared to think about it. "Not in the years I've
been here. I believe there has
been a suicide or two and a
few accidental deaths over the years, but none of them occurred
during my tenure. The only reason I'm even aware of them is
because of the ghost stories which probably stem from them."
''Would this be the same ghost that Lenore Tynan spoke to
you about?"
“
One
of them, I would imagine. There are several ladies in
white said to roam the main building, and there is one sometimes
reported in the dormitory. But as I told you before, I believe
Lenore Tynan had a potential substance abuse problem and she
used the ghost story as an excuse to try to get me to prescribe
tranquilizers."
"How long ago did these deaths occur?" John asked.
"The headless monk dates from St. Gertrude's days as a
monastery, long before the sisters took over the abbey. Legend
has it he was beheaded by his own order for being in league
with the devil." Dashwood smiled and shook his head. "The
good old days, yes, Sheriff?"
John nodded. "What about the female ghosts?"
"Well, there's one who's supposed to be a nun who was
raped and murdered shortly after the abbey was reopened as
St. Gertrude's in the later 1800s. As you might know, the place
had been abandoned for many years, and legends grew during
that time. As far as we know, that's when the gargoyle tales
began. Between the imposing architecture of the abbey, its
remoteness, and the fact that owls and other raucous night birds
are indigenous to the area, it's not too surprising, I suppose."
''Seems reasonable. Can you tell me about any more recent
deaths that might spawn the stories?"
"Very little. The nun is said to roam this building, as are
two or three others. I believe those were all students who met
early ends. One hanged herself in one of the classrooms, in the
1920s; another fell from a third
-
floor classroom window about
ten years later."