Frank De Felitta - Audrey Rose

His voice held a hypnotic power, lulling, gently tugging at Janice’s defenses.

“How?” she heard herself softly inquire. “How will you help her? You say she’s trying to kill Ivy. How can you or anyone stop her?”

“I must try,” Hoover asserted. “I must be with her, close to her, to pray and do good for her soul. Audrey was only five when she died. In her brief time on earth she was just coming to an awareness of the beauties of life.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I must return her soul to that awareness of God’s manifestations, the beauty and oneness of the earth life she knew and loved before the fire seared her soul with its destructive force.”

Janice felt his hands tighten on her arms and herself being drawn closer to him. He was crying openly, without shame.

“Not for me and for the fact that I miss her, but to quiet her spirit, which is the right of every one of us. Please, please allow me to help her!”

Janice began to weep, holding her face away from him, avoiding the sting of his passion.

“Don’t shut the door on me, Mrs. Templeton,” he cried breathlessly. “Please allow me to come into your life. Allow me to serve you, and Ivy, and Audrey Rose.” The tears overflowed his eyes and were coursing down his smooth cheeks. “This is why I’m here tonight. This has been the meaning of my journey. All those years of seeking and searching, of questioning and doubting have been a prelude to this one moment in time and space.”

Pausing for emphasis, he drew Janice closer to him.

“Can you now just push me aside, Mrs. Templeton? Can you do this now? Reasonably?”

“No,” Janice cried weakly, feeling the wet of her own tears on her face.

“Thank you.” Hoover exhaled, grateful for her understanding. “Forgive me. I’m not an evil man. I’m not a saint. What I am is a man who now knows that God sent him on a journey of absolute necessity. And there must be no further talk of separation between us. For we are so connected. You. Your husband. Your child. Audrey Rose. And I. We have come together by a miracle and are now inseparable.” He paused, for emphasis, then went on in a stronger, more urgent voice. “Say yes , Mrs. Templeton. Please! ”

“Yes.” Janice wept, feeling her breath commingling with his, as his hands continued to grip her tightly.

His face softened, and she thought he would kiss her, would not have found it extraordinary, nor would she have resisted, but he did not.

His hands relaxed and slowly withdrew.

Unsupported, Janice took hold of the bedstead as she felt she might fall. Her legs were like water.

Hoover’s eyes remained fixed on her, but the tension had left them. He smiled in a kindly way and said, “Get some rest, now. I’ll let myself out. We’ll talk again in the morning.”

At the door, he turned and again smiled. “Good night, Janice,” he said, pronouncing her given name with all the confidence and assurance of a conqueror.

She heard his footsteps trailing off through the apartment, then the distant click of the front door closing. Still, she remained standing, listening to all the old familiar noises of night reassert themselves: the clock, a distant siren, a car horn, and, added to them, another sound—unexpected, intrusive, demanding.

Janice groped about the room, tracking the wildly buzzing sound to its source, and discovered the telephone, still off its hook, on the floor where it had fallen. Her head reeled as she bent down and replaced the phone on its cradle. The moment she did, it rang, causing her to jump.

“Mrs. Templeton—” It was Dr. Kaplan’s voice. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the last hour, but your line’s been disconnected.”

“It’s all right, Doctor,” Janice stammered. “Everything’s all right, now.”

“Is the child all right?”

“Yes, Doctor, she’s fine. She’s sleeping quietly now.”

“Good. Keep her on aspirin and plenty of liquids. I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The rain, buoyed and driven by ocean winds, lashed against the long row of windows overlooking the night city. From where Janice sat in the rocker, the beads of water glistening in the foreground of a thousand lights appeared like diamond pendants tracing their mysterious paths down the glass panes. The tumbler of scotch in her hand was freshly filled from the half-empty bottle of J & B on the sewing table beside her. Liquor, fortunately, had an energizing effect on Janice, heightening her perceptions even as it dulled her senses and quieted her alarms.

The time was one ten. Two hours earlier Elliot Hoover had left, and now Janice sat in the nearly dark living room beneath the cavorting nudes, waiting for morning to come.

She had decided to consider five o’clock as heralding dawn, at which time she would awaken Ivy. She had ordered the VIP limousine for five thirty. The sharp chill in the room had forced her to slip into her fur-lined raincoat, so that now she sat in the rocker fully dressed, with two packed suitcases on the floor beside her, sipping scotch and waiting.

There had been a jungle of decisions to pick her way through, and Janice prided herself on having been able to thrust emotion aside and channel her thoughts down a fairly straight and practical path.

Her first move had been to the telephone, to call Bill and throw the whole thing at him. She had actually placed the call and was waiting to be connected to the Reef Hotel when she changed her mind and canceled it. Bill would simply tell them to come to Hawaii and might even convince her, but Janice knew that it was too late for Hawaii—too much had happened that night to be remedied by a Hawaiian tranquilizer.

It was then that Westport came into her mind, and the dreamy month they spent on the Sound the summer when Ivy was six years old. They had rented a cottage right on the water. Sound-Side Cottages, the colony was called. They’d probably be closed this time of year, but remembering that their cottage was equipped with a fireplace and wall heaters, Janice placed a call to the Stuarts, in Westport.

Mrs. Stuart, the owner’s wife, answered after the fourteenth ring and was less angry at being disturbed than Janice expected she’d be. Although the cottages were indeed closed until late spring and there was some hesitation, arrangements were finally made with Mr. Stuart to let Janice have one of the cottages the following day, but only after twelve noon, since it would require a full airing and cleaning.

In less than an hour she had packed two bags with a week’s worth of clothing for both of them, plus Ivy’s schoolbooks, Clue, Scrabble, WordKing, and medicinals; checked the balance in her checkbook; and counted her cash, fifty-eight dollars and ninety cents—enough to pay for the VIP limousine and lunch in Westport. She’d decided to splurge on the cab ride to Westport in deference to Ivy’s fever, which persisted even though she was sleeping soundly. She packed her electric blanket and would pack Ivy’s when she awakened.

The idea was to vanish for a time without trace, clue, or scent. Janice needed time to think, away from the pressure and hysteria of Elliot Hoover. If, as he insisted, Ivy’s life was in danger, and past history could be trusted, the danger was more acute with Hoover nearby than when he was far away. There had been no nightmares in his absence.

“We are so connected. You. Your husband. Your child. Audrey Rose. And I. We have come together by a miracle and are now inseparable.”

He had invaded their home, planted his stake, and established his right to be there.

Janice shook her head dazedly and wondered which was the more incredible: that it could all be true, or that she was willing to accept it as being true? She was not a gullible person, had never been a believer in the occult or the supernatural. But this was different. She was directly involved, an eyewitness, a participant in Audrey Rose’s little game of spiritual hide-and-seek.