Frank De Felitta: For Love of Audrey Rose

Jennie recovered on Christmas day, spoke numbers on the telephone, which Bill heard with delight. By New Year’s, she and Bill tramped long circles in the snow behind the dormant rose garden. Jennie recognized him now by the scent of his after-shave lotion, and gravitated toward it.

The birthday party was scheduled for the afternoon of February third.

Janice accompanied Jennie from the elevator. The girl knew the way to Bill’s room, but she always hesitated, walking in big circles, before she entered. As usual, a bored orderly sat in a chair outside the door. Janice marveled at the brilliance of the room, festooned with flowers, small wooden carvings, and bright aluminum shapes.

“Come on in, darling,” Bill said, smiling, extending his arms to Jennie. “Happy Birthday!”

Janice watched Bill seat the girl on his knee. On the bed were gaily wrapped presents. Somehow it always hurt her to see Bill reduce himself to win the affection of a child who, by definition, could not love. Bill noted her pitying expression.

“You can leave,” Bill whispered. “If it disgusts you.”

“It doesn’t disgust me, darling.”

“Well, why don’t you just let us get on in private for a while?”

Janice sighed, watched for a while, and then went outside. The orderly looked up, smiled, then turned the page of his magazine.

Janice walked down the hall. At a small alcove at the end of the corridor was a large window, two dilapidated chairs, and a cigarette machine. She sat down. Generations of nervous relatives had scraped the floor, and no amount of wax and polish had covered it completely.

The warmth of a radiator made her remove her coat. The winter light was steady and even, a blank absence of color. It soothed the limbs, emptied the mind. Janice found herself observing the whitish mass of clouds through the window, a symbol of peaceful oblivion that she cherished.

February third, she thought. The day Ivy had died. Janice stirred uneasily. Birth and death were the same. The deity of creation was also the deity of destruction. Janice felt herself tighten up inside. The orderly was gone. The door to Bill’s room was closed. Janice stood, paced the floor, sat down, then stood up again.

Screams shook the building.

From Jennie!

Horror swept through Janice. She ran down toward Bill’s room at the far end of the corridor. The door was shut. The orderly was nowhere to be seen.

“Bill!” Janice shouted as she ran.

Inside, Jennie screamed. Hysterical, as though her arms and legs were being twisted off. Glass shattered. Pieces of metal smashed against the door.

“Bill!” Janice bellowed, arriving at the door just as the orderly appeared and, twisting the knob, burst into the room. Bill stood by a broken window, in the freezing wind sweeping from the icy marshes. Janice stared down at the debris of the room.

Broken toys, creamed cakes, and incense sticks lay mutilated over the floor. In the center of the floor, Jennie sat, red-faced in terror, head held back, mouth open in a demented scream.

Then Bill reached down, shook the child, and yelled, “Ivy! It’s Daddy!”

But the girl’s arms and legs banged up and down in a manic tantrum. The small face was unrecognizable. It was as though an electric current was being shot into her mouth. Her nostrils quivered, her eyes nearly rolled back, and she struggled for breath.

“She just went crazy, started throwing things,” Bill panted. “It was her birthday party.”

He turned to Jennie again. The orderly had bent down to the screaming child. Bill spun on one heel and threw the ball of his fist square into the meaty face.

“Leave her alone, bastard!” Bill roared.

The orderly, smashed against the remnants of the pine boughs, slid down onto fragments of glass.

“She’s mine! Mine!”

The orderly tasted the trickle of blood from his nose, shook his head and bellowed, “Mrs. Templeton! Find Dr. Geddes!”

Janice backed away, but Bill raised the desk lamp over his head and staggered forward.

“Don’t take her from me!”

The orderly walked bearlike to grapple with Bill. Bill kicked, spat, and punched, but the orderly absorbed it with stifled grunts.

“Hurry, Mrs. Templeton!”

Janice ran to the elevator, rode it down, and burst upon Dr. Geddes in the annex to Dr. Boltin’s room. Together they ran back to the elevator. As the door slid open, they heard Jennie’s screams.

In the room, the orderly had Bill pinned onto the bed, one wrist strapped to the rail, but the blood flowed freely from the orderly’s nose and ear. Bill’s shoes kicked viciously, and an inarticulate howl mingled with Jennie’s.

“Give me a hand, will you?” the orderly wheezed.

Mechanically the orderly sat on Bill’s legs, holding a handkerchief to his nose. Dr. Geddes, trembling, looking at Bill’s face, then at Jennie, strapped the ankles down.

“Christ, this guy packs a wallop,” the orderly mumbled.

Bill felt his other wrist confined by inflexible leather. His body arched, then spasmodically writhed. Slowly a high-pitched whine came from his lungs, and his back fell to the bed, as though he had died there in front of them.

Dr. Geddes stared at Bill, then picked Jennie from the floor.

“What — what the hell happened?” Dr. Geddes stammered.

“It was all going so well,” Janice said. “Then Jennie started screaming.”

Dr. Geddes loosened the girl’s blouse. “She’s burning up!” He rocked her, but she did not stop screaming. “I’m taking her to the infirmary.”

He began to leave.

“Ivy!” Bill howled, a long, drawn-out wail that sent shivers up their backs.

Mucus ran from Bill’s nose. His head thrashed back and forth. Suddenly Janice burst into tears, lowered her head, and sobbed. Bill moaned, arched his back, and the long wail began again.

Janice ran into the corridor, caught up with Dr. Geddes just as the elevator doors opened. Under the bleak light inside, Jennie was shaking uncontrollably.

“Is she epileptic?” Dr. Geddes asked.

“I — don’t think so.”

In the infirmary, a quick injection stopped the convulsion. The frail body lay on a white cot. A nurse daubed the limbs and forehead with rubbing alcohol. Cold water filled a small basin, and Dr. Geddes undressed and lowered Jennie into it. The brilliant lights overhead threw wrinkled shadows, like goldfish, around the girl’s legs.

“Might just be a return of the fever,” Dr. Geddes said, bathing her gently.

“Oh, God, Dr. Geddes! He just blew apart!”

“Forget Bill, Mrs. Templeton. We thought we had him cured, but—”

“Please don’t say that….”

“It’s over. There’s no chance. I’m sorry. Just pray to whatever gods you and Mr. Hoover believe in that he didn’t harm the girl.”

A nurse gently toweled Jennie dry. Jennie’s cheek twitched occasionally, but the color had returned. Her eyes remained closed. Janice stared at the small, soft face, and it seemed as though the child merely slept soundly. The nurse carried Jennie off to the examining room.

Dr. Geddes slumped down in an overstuffed chair next to a cabinet of gauze bandages, steel scissors, and vials of clear liquid. His hands trembled.

He leaned back, closed his eyes so tight the lids tremored. Janice saw the tears emerge from the ravaged face.

“Why?” he whispered. “We were so close….So damn, damn close…”

Janice leaned against the white cot. She bit her lip in anguish, but there was nothing to say. The sight of Dr. Geddes in despair removed her last support. For a long moment they waited. Dr. Geddes kept his eyes closed, his head immobile. Then he stared uselessly at the ceiling.