“I can’t be touched,” she said in her first lucid moment.
“Neither could Beatrice.”
He understood. He embraced the idea of becoming Dante, making Camille his Beatrice, the adored one he would follow forever and never quite attain. He couldn’t believe his luck. He wanted to guard Camille, do battle with her devils, and rescue her.
But the relationship made Milicia furious. Milicia told Camille that Bouck was about as bad for her health as anything could be. She was sure Bouck drugged Camille and did sick things to her, touched her where no one should touch her, and hurt her so bad she might never recover.
Camille thought of Milicia and tried to function. She had to comb her hair, put on her clothes because Milicia said she had to. Until Bouck, Camille always did exactly what Milicia told her. Now she was stuck in the middle. Every day she felt more stressed as Milicia tried harder to separate her from Bouck.
Camille did not want to listen to the sounds Bouck made when he watched her. Even though she couldn’t see Bouck in the mirror, and he promised he wouldn’t ever get up and do those things to her, Camille was terrified by the sounds he made. Sometimes she got so upset and crazed, he had to give her a pill to calm her down.
Camille never knew what happened after the pill put her to sleep. But when she woke up, sometimes more than twenty-four hours later, there were many bruises on her body. She was sore in strange places and couldn’t speak for a long time. Sometimes it was a full week before she could speak again.
Her brain broke down at the thought of touch. Bouck promised he would never, never touch her. If she asked about the bruises, he always told her she’d tried to hurt herself again. She’d gotten out of control, and he had to save her. Bouck said only he could save her, and she wanted to believe him. He was the one who gave her money to go shopping, and he was the one with the guns.
But even with his protections and his promise not ever to let Milicia take her back, Camille was afraid nearly all the time. She felt crushed between heavy weights like the stones that killed the Salem witches. Bouck and Milicia were fighting for her. Bouck told Camille the only way she’d really be safe from Milicia would be to marry him.
And that sent Milicia up the wall. The idea of Camille married to Bouck, at his mercy, unable to stop him from doing whatever he wanted with her, was more than Milicia could take.
“Bouck is a predator, like a shark or a lion. He’ll eat you alive, Cammy,” Milicia told her. “Is that what you want?” Milicia got so upset, she cried real tears.
The tears made Camille feel guilty. All Camille wanted was to keep the furies back and hold on to what was left of her mind. She heard the doorbell ring. Bouck’s sounds stopped. He hadn’t finished. Camille’s terror receded, even though she knew he’d make her do it again later. Trembling, she reached for her dress.
15
Camille had the dress on but couldn’t manage the buttons. The front was open. Her hair was tangled and wild. The doorbell rang again. She touched the dress fabric, trying to find a name for it. It was very thin, transparent, turquoise in color, printed with a pattern. Camille felt as if she were under water, was drowning a lot of the time. She liked to cover herself with sea colors, seaweed. This dress had shells on it. She tried to button a button.
Bouck sat in the dark and wouldn’t go open the door. He said Milicia was Camille’s devil, the cause of all her troubles.
She heard a raspy noise. Her breath was coming too fast. The doorbell rang over and over even though she talked on the intercom, said she was coming. She couldn’t make the sound stop. The sound caused the panic to rise again.
“I’m coming,” she cried. She was panting heavily now as she negotiated the stairs from their bedroom. If she moved too fast, she got dizzy and fell down. Bouck told her he found her at the bottom of the stairs once. He said she’d fallen and hit her head.
Now she stepped carefully, moving one heavy foot in front of the other, stepping over the bugs she thought were in the way as she painfully choreographed her path down the stairs and finally crossed the green living room with its collection of ill-matched furniture. She headed toward the door, dodging a table and a chair.
Bouck owned the whole building. They lived on the second and third floors. The shop was on the first floor, the workshop in the basement. Camille had been buying antique furniture for Bouck. He said she knew more about antiques than anybody.
She liked to buy good pieces and then cram them in so that they formed an obstacle course, hard to get through. She liked how Bouck let her do whatever she wanted. She hadn’t finished the place. It was still in the colors of green Bouck had it painted years earlier. She couldn’t have the walls glazed the way she liked them because she couldn’t stand men working in the apartment. The kitchen was still primitive, always would be. She never went in there.
The bell rang again. It was a harsh, grating sound, not like a bell at all. Camille didn’t know why Milicia kept buzzing. All it did was make Puppy dash down the stairs and paw at the door, barking wildly.
“Shh, Puppy,” Camille cajoled. She got to the door and rested her head against it, forgetting for a moment why she was there.
“Camille.” Milicia’s voice came at her through the door. “Open up. It’s me.”
Slowly Camille’s breath began to even out. She opened the door. Milicia rushed in before she could close it again.
“Are you all right? What took you so long? I got scared.” Milicia’s red skirt and blouse clashed with her hair. Her makeup looked to Camille as if it had been spread on her face with a trowel. She reached out, but Camille backed away. The dog was at Milicia’s feet, jumping all over her and nipping at her ankles.
“Hi, cutie.” Milicia hunkered down to pet her.
“Don’t—” Camille screamed. “Don’t touch my baby.”
Milicia stood up, frowning. “You kept me waiting out there for twenty minutes. You scare me to death, Camille. I almost never get to see you. I worry about you all the time, living with that”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—”madman. I call you. No one answers the phone. When he answers the phone, I know he doesn’t tell you I called.” She paused. “I didn’t touch your damn dog.”
Her face changed again when she registered what Camille was wearing. Camille’s see-through dress hung open all the way down, revealing the black lace bra and panties, the black garter belt and white stockings. No shoes on her feet.
“Oh, God, Camille, what are you into now?” Milicia looked around. “Where is he?”
Camille shook her head. She was feeling tired. Milicia’s voice came from a long way away.
“Where is he?”
Camille shrugged. Who was she talking about?
“Oh, baby—it’s so dark in here.” Milicia reached for the light. “Can I turn on the light?”
Camille shrugged again. Milicia hit the light switch with her palm. The chandelier in the center of the ceiling blazed into a fireworks of glittering light. Camille flinched.
“What’s the matter?” Milicia moved toward her, making a gesture toward the dress. “Let me button you up.”
Camille shook her head. “No.” She and her sister were almost the same size, but Milicia still seemed huge to her. She’d start screaming if Milicia touched her.
“Camille.” Milicia studied her. “What did you take?”
Camille shook her head back and forth. Forth and back.
“I want to help you.”
Back and forth, forth and back.
“What’s going on? Can you speak?” Milicia moved another step forward. “This is not the place for you. You’re getting worse, can’t you tell? Can’t you feel it?”