“Destroy” he managed to say. “Destroy everything.”
The book of shadows dropped to the grate and I grabbed for Daniel. His hood slipped off, revealing a head covered with blood.
The ceremonial magician Daniel was bleeding from every pore in his body: Blood poured from his nose, his mouth, his ears. His eyes.
And then he was gone, dropping silently into the darkness to be crushed on the pavement below.
Totally devoid of rational thought, a series of primitive screams bubbling in my throat, I picked up the book of shadows and half fell, half ran down the fire escape. I dropped the last few feet and raced to the black shrouded body. It didn’t take me more than a moment to confirm that the hospital would be of no use to Daniel.
I was the one who needed help.
I vaguely remembered a pay telephone booth across the street from the hospital. I raced down the alleyway toward the street, pausing only long enough to hurl the knapsack into one of the hospital’s huge garbage disposal bins. It was only as I neared the street that I realized I was still holding the book of shadows.
I wouldn’t remember telephoning my brother, or passing out.
I got up from the chair and pretended to stretch. “Okay, Garth, it’s over. And if that’s it, I’m going to throw you out. I’ve got a long drive to Pennsylvania tomorrow. I’ve traced some of Kathy’s relatives.”
“Witches?”
“Sure. But I wouldn’t worry about it. The coven leader also happens to be mayor of the town. His brother is chief of police. A nice, typical, American family.”
Garth’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not kidding.”
Garth rose and walked to the door where he turned and looked at me. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Garth, get the hell out.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you.”
“I’ll see you.”
I closed the door behind Garth, then went into the bedroom and sat down on the bed. I took a deep breath, then opened the drawer in the night stand and brought out the book of shadows. It was still covered with Daniel’s bloody prints.
I brushed dirt off one corner and opened it to the pages Daniel had read from. The writing was still totally incomprehensible to me. But Daniel had been able to read it. Undoubtedly, there were others.
I wondered what some of my colleagues at the university would think of the book of shadows, of Baliel. Summoning up a demon would make an interesting research project.
I glanced at the night stand and the small pile of change there. Fifty-seven cents.
I ripped the pages out of the book, tossed them in a metal wastebasket and threw a lighted match after them. There was nothing unusual about the flame.
Lack of Communication
by Merle Ahern
Most fatal accidents occur in the home. Sometimes they need a slight helpful push.
“Is she dying, Doctor? Isn’t there anything you can do?”
I’m not dying! I just can’t move… anything. Help me! No means of communication. Without communication I am still me. I’m not a thing. I’m something to you, aren’t I, Doctor? Can’t you hear my heart beat?
“Her heartbeat is very strong. However, I must caution you against expecting too much, Mr. Adams. We are doing everything possible.”
Please, whatever is possible. I don’t care what you do to my body, just let me live.
“My mother seems barely alive. Doctor. She hasn’t moved since they brought her home. Not since the… er… accident.”
Accident! Oh God, Krishna, Buddha, Anyone who will hear! Help me to speak. I must tell my son it was no accident. Paul tried to murder me! I must live.
“It’s a wonder your mother lived through the accident. She sustained multiple injuries from the fall. This catatonic state — although that is not quite the precise term — is often brought on by the accompanying shock.”
Shock! Wouldn’t anyone be shocked if their husband tried to kill them? I must tell Jimmy his stepfather…
“My stepfather is in a state of shock, also, Doctor. Of course, I don’t mean like hers. He keeps dragging in here, cast and all, just to see if she is still alive. He blames himself, says he yelled at her to jump when the car went out of control. Could you give him something to calm him? I can’t seem to get him to lie down and get off his broken leg.”
Broken leg? You didn’t time it quite right, did you, Paul? So your leg’s in a cast. That’s the thumping sound I hear near my bed at times. My God, keep him away from me!
“Yes, he needs to keep off that leg. We should keep him away from here. Tell him we’ll call him if there is any change in his wife’s condition. You should get some rest also, Mr. Adams. We’ll call you.”
I wish I could call, talk, scream, anything. Jimmy. Jimmy. Listen. Listen! I’m trying…
“I thought my mother was trying to speak, Doctor. I guess it was just her breath through her poor, broken mouth. It’s so terrible… her lying there… not even a moan… not a sound.”
Without sound am I still a person? Meditate on one hand clapping, son. That is the sound I make. I am going crazy! Inside I scream! I shall lose my mind.
“Her mind, Doctor? If she lives, will there be damage to her brain? Lying so long like this. I’ve heard something about the brain, after so much time, brain damage?”
My brain is not broken, Jimmy, just my body. But what good is my brain if I can’t let you know I am here… inside this soft yet rigid casing?
“Oh, no. The rigidity, you see, is muscular. What you have heard is that the brain is damaged if it goes too long without oxygen. Her brain is receiving blood and with it — oxygen. Maybe it would be easier to understand if you can think of her as in a fainting spell, except that she is not limp but rigid.”
Rigid. Paralyzed. If I could only move something, even my eyes. I could blink once for yes and twice for no. One if by land. Two if by sea. I am going crazy! Doctor, you have to do something!
“God, Doctor can’t you do something? I can’t stand to see her this way. My mother…”
Mother is not a name. It’s a verb, an action verb, and I have no action I can make. To mother is to comfort, to praise, to scold. Oh, my son, if I could just hold you, comfort you. If a mother can not mother, she is not a mother. I sound like Gertrude Stein. Sound like. I don’t sound. My God, I am crazy! I’ve forgotten how to pray. Help me, Lord!
“With the Lord’s help, we are doing all we can for your mother, Mr. Adams. I suggest you get some rest.”
Yes, rest, my son. I am no good to you this way. I can’t mother. I can’t reach you. Is life, then, communication? I am dead. I am lying in my own, rigid coffin of flesh, buried above the ground. No! No! I will not give up! I must tell Jimmy that his stepfather…
“Your stepfather is at the door again, Mr. Adams. I will be in a minute to see him. I suggest you help him back to his room.”
You warned me, didn’t you, Jimmy? Keep Paul in his room. Away from me. I thought Paul loved me. You said all he wanted was my money.
“Money is no object, as you know, Doctor. You’ll call us immediately if there is any change?”