Frank De Felitta - Audrey Rose

A voice suddenly descended to her ear, gently advising, “The ambulance’ll be here soon, ma’am.” Why these words filled her with dread, she couldn’t define. She would have to think about it, in a methodical, orderly way, organizing each piece of information as Bill would, step by step.

She began with: The ambulance must not come. Which led to: Why must it not come? Because.…

And here she faltered.

Backtrack!

She had been … where ?

With whom?

Bypass it!

She had been in an accident. Of that she was sure.

She had been sitting in a cab, going … somewhere.… A wire screen separating the driver from the passenger had impeded her vision somewhat. Even so, she could see what was going to happen fully a minute before it did. The corridor between the traffic on the left and the Number 5 bus on the right was much too narrow to slip through. Certainly, the cabdriver must have realized it. If he attempted it, the cab would be sandwiched between them and crushed. It was inevitable. Janice reenacted the scene in her mind, reprising the same shock of terror she had previously felt as the cab lunged madly forward at full speed, plowing ahead in total disregard of the consequences. She recalled the metal scraping against metal sounds as the cab skidded bouncingly off traffic from left to right, the crunching collision against immovable forces, and the sudden, jarring halt that sent her hurtling forward into the wire screen … into blackness.

There was a fraction of a second, just before she fell into the soft cushion of darkness, when Janice experienced a fear, no, it was more a terror, so overwhelming that she thought her heart would stop beating.

Sitting on the curb, sorting about the hazy corridors of her memory, Janice had the distinct feeling that the terror she had felt in the minuscule moment of time related to something quite apart from the accident. Some other issue, not the accident, was involved. Some issue or duty that the accident was preventing her from completing. Duty. Yes, it was a duty.

“Keep it movin’,” a policeman was saying. “Give her some air.”

A gauzy parade of faces milled sluggishly past her in double images, a grotesque montage of mixed genders; painted eyes; scarlet lips, pursed, smiling; the head of a man, bristling with red facial hair; a child, a girl, gawking wide-eyed down at her—The girl! Janice’s eyes widened in alarm. The girl!

“Oh, my God!” Janice stammered aloud and struggled to her feet, clinging to the litter bin for support. Ivy! She’d be out of school! She’d be waiting! Alone! With the man! What was his name? Oh, God!

“Take it easy, ma’am,” the policeman was saying to her. “The ambulance’ll be here soon.…”

Janice clutched her shaking hand to still it as she strove to focus her vision on the small, numberless Lucite wristwatch, trying to decide whether the hands were pointing at the two fifteen nubs or the three fifteen.

“Please, what time is it?” Janice sobbed, grasping the policeman’s jacket and spinning him around.

“Easy, ma’am,” the officer urged. “Its just a little past three o’clock.”

“Oh, my God! I’ve got to go!”

“Now, now, you just take it easy—”

“But I must go, Officer!” Janice was shouting into the young Irish face. “It’s an emergency!”

“Oh? What kind of emergency?”

“It’s my daughter. Ivy. She’s been let out of school. She’s alone, waiting for me!”

“She’ll be all right, ma’am,” the policeman soothed. “They’ll keep her in the office till you get there.”

“No!” Janice shook her head at him in a crazy, wild way. “I must go now! Please!”

Her tears and hysteria were beginning to score points with the policeman. After a moment’s thoughtful consideration, he asked, “Don’t you think you should have a doctor look you over, ma’am?”

“No.” Janice wept. “I’m all right, really. Absolutely all right. Please, help me find a cab! Please!”

“Well—If you think you’ll be all right—”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

Janice swayed only slightly as the policeman led her through the circle of faces, clearing their path with shouts and threats. He halted a cab with his whistle and opened the rear door. A man was seated in the back.

“Please leave this cab, sir,” the policeman ordered, using the proper Delahanty-approved words. “I am a police officer, and under Section One Hundred and Fifty of the Penal Code of New York, it is necessary for me to use this vehicle.”

The flabbergasted occupant of the cab quickly emerged, and Janice climbed in.

“Remember the name Donovan, Twenty-eighth Precinct, in case you need me,” the policeman shouted as the cab pulled away. Janice heard him, but her mind did not record the information.

A strange and invigorating feeling of buoyancy was working itself through the various levels of Janice’s body as the cab skittered and swerved through the maze of slippery streets, selecting the least encumbered route to their destination. She found her dizziness a distinct comfort as it mitigated orientation and reduced awareness of the terrors that lay in wait at the end of their journey.

The time was three thirty when Janice, maintaining a frail hold on consciousness, counted out four dollar bills, which included the ejected passenger’s fare as well, and shakily turned them over to the cabdriver. He had plotted his course so that Janice would be discharged directly in front of the school building, which, she noted with a sinking heart as they approached it, was totally deserted.

A few flakes of new snow were falling on the cleanly swept sidewalk as Janice left the cab. She started toward the school entrance, but the moment she did, she saw the sidewalk slide away from her and felt as if consciousness might depart at any moment. A nearby fire hydrant became her support, and she stood, stooping over it, clinging hard for several minutes, commanding her vision to cease whirling and her heart to stop pounding.

A sharp, rapping voice emanating from somewhere within the precincts of the school building guided Janice’s eyes back to the red stone façade and up to a tall window, behind which a woman, wearing horn-rimmed glasses, stood watching her with concern. Janice recognized the face but could not think of her name.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Templeton?” The woman had opened the window slightly and was shouting down at her. “Do you need help?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I do.” Janice laughed helplessly.

The woman vanished instantly and in the very next moment was clambering down the icy steps, her hands extended toward Janice in a helping gesture.

“I suddenly felt faint,” Janice explained, allowing the woman to take her arm and cautiously walk her across the pavement and up the concrete steps.

“I came to pick up Ivy; a bit late, I’m afraid.” Janice dreaded asking the next question. “I hope she waited for me in the office?”

“No,” the woman said. “There’s no child in the office.”

She sat Janice down on a hard oaken bench just inside the registrar’s office and went to fetch aspirin and water.

The room was deserted. The copper nameplate on the desk said Mrs. Elsie Stanton. The wall clock read three forty-one. Janice saw a telephone on a nearby table and lunged at it, swaying slightly as she dialed her home number. There was no answer. She let it ring ten times, then hung up and dialed the desk number in the lobby of Des Artistes. Dominick answered.

“This is Mrs. Templeton, Dominick. Is Ivy in the lobby by any chance?” Janice made the words sound light and casual.

“Just a minute, Miz Templeton.”

Janice felt the cold sweats and the feelings of dread encroaching subtly as the seconds swept by on the Western Union clock above her.