Lori, p.2
Lori, page 2
Lori glanced at his shadowed profile and smiled. Not the handsomest hunk in the world; not the richest, though he did seem to be doing well with his job. The trouble with investigative reporting and article-writing was that it interfered with regular routine; she couldn't expect a normal living pattern of eight o'clock breakfasts and dinner at six sharp. But what she could expect had nothing to do with time-
"Seven fifty-seven," the anonymous voice proclaimed. "And now we return you to the music of-"
A crackle of static drowned out the rest of the announcer's message as Russ fiddled with the car radio's controls.
"Turn it down," she said. Russ lowered the volume and the static submerged into soft melody. Lori leaned back, eyes closed.
Glancing at her, Russ turned on the heater. "Better?"
Warmth flooded forth and Lori nodded. And nodded. And nodded. The faint music sounded a faraway lullaby. Sleep, baby, sleep-
But then it changed, buzzing with a savage beat, and the words were different too. "Give it to me, baby, all night long." Just the command, endlessly and relentlessly repeated. Give it to me, baby, all night long-
The sexual connotation was obvious, but there was something else, something underneath, which made Lori stir uneasily in her seat. An image rose unbidden-the image of a real baby, threatened by a demand in night-long darkness.
Who was calling? What did it want? And why should it disturb her at a time like this?
Lori willed the voice to go away, or willed herself to go away from the voice. Now she could sleep, her right hand curled around the diploma beside her and her left hand resting on Russ's thigh for added reassurance. Never mind about all night long; in a little while she'd be home, no longer a baby but an adult in an adult world, ready to give comfort to those whom she needed and who needed her now. Rest. Rest in peace.
It seemed to Lori that the car was turning onto a crossroad, leaving the heavy traffic behind. They were entering Sunnydale, but there was no sun. No rain, either, for the pavement was dry; the storm hadn't reached here, even in her dream.
Hold the thought. Hold the diploma. Hold Russ. You're home free.
Then the dream changed.
It seemed to Lori that thunder sounded, but its source was not the storm, and the glare on the road ahead wasn't lightning. Now they were approaching the house-but there was no house. There was only thunder as the fire truck wheeled into the driveway from the far end of the street, joining another already standing there. The glare came from its headlights and search beams from the ambulance, the black-and-white; a white glare mingling with the red flames rising from the blur of smoke.
It seemed to Lori that frantic figures milled across the lawn, playing hoses on the collapsing roof, the sidewalls that crashed inward as they burned. Demons were dancing in her dream, dancing around the fires of hell.
It seemed to Lori that the car jammed to a halt on the edge of the driveway, scattering the dark silhouettes of spectators. It seemed her left hand fell away from Russ as he opened the door and jumped out, and that a blue shadow loomed to block his way. Words rose above the roaring. "Move it, buddy! You can't park here!"
"But officer-my fiancee, this is her house-"
Her house?
It seemed to Lori that her right hand was crumpling the diploma, but no matter because there was no one left to see it now. No Mom, no Dad.
The only way to save them was to awaken. She could quench the flames, dispel the demons, banish the fear- just by opening her eyes.
But her eyes were open. They'd been open all along.
THREE
It was a lovely funeral. Everybody said so, over and over again. They told Lori how lovely the chapel was, and the flowers, and Reverend Peabody's service was lovely too.
Then there was a lovely ride in a lovely limousine, moving through lovely afternoon sunshine to the cemetery. It was lovely to see a few of Mom and Dad's friends- elderly people from her church congregation and his old salesmen from the realty office-but aside from the cleaning lady, she hadn't met any of them before.
Of course Russ was always at her side, and it was he who introduced her to Dad's attorney, Ben Rupert, the one responsible for taking over the funeral arrangements. And Dr. Justin had come too; it was he who'd given her those lovely tranquilizers.
They were all gathered at the grave site now, listening to the birds singing their lovely song as the matching caskets poised over the opening where Mom and Dad would find their lovely eternal rest. That was when the loveliness ended. Seeing the caskets was bad enough; they'd been closed, of course, and for good reason, but Lori knew what they contained. Russ had tried to shield it from her, but one of the fire marshals dropped the remark she'd overheard. "It's going to be a rough one for the coroner. Nothing but bones and ashes."
So why had they even bothered with caskets? Maybe the cemetery people insisted, but an urn was just as good for preserving their remains.
Reverend Peabody said death is man's illusion and the soul is God's reality. But illusion or no, Mom and Dad were being lowered into the grave. What if their souls went with them and they knew what was happening? What was it like to be trapped down there in the darkness of that yawning hole, buried for all eternity yet still eternally aware?
"Lori!"
Russ's voice was urgent but she couldn't answer because she was with Mom and Dad, going down-down into the deep damp dark where the worms waited.
It wasn't death. She was all right, and not to worry-at least that's what Dr. Justin said when she came out of it and he gave her another injection. People do faint at funerals, and this had all been a strain.
Now she was back in the furnished apartment Ben Rupert had rented for her the day after the fire. Russ was with her, holding a glass to her lips, telling her to relax, get some rest. Rest in peace-
Lori slept straight through until the following morning and when she was awakened she was alone. The effects of the medication hadn't worn off completely, and everything seemed difficult to deal with-getting out of bed, putting on her robe, going out to the kitchen and putting on the coffee. It seemed to take forever and the coffee kept spilling off the spoon.
Somehow she managed, and the coffee did help. Lori drank three cups, welcoming the warmth, the caffeine high. Caffeine is bad for you, she knew that, but then what isn't bad for you nowadays? Don't use salt, shun sugar, avoid alcohol, stay away from soft drinks, never take aspirin, white bread is out, eggs contain cholesterol, red meat is a no-no, pork is risky, poultry may harbor steroids, fruit and vegetables might be sprayed with dangerous pesticides, fish can be contaminated by toxic waste from polluted waters, tap water itself can be hazardous to your health, bottled water is sometimes threateningly high in mineral content, smoking causes cancer, breathing tobacco fumes could be even worse, and just inhaling ordinary air fills your lungs with deadly smog.
So much for modern science and its wonderful discoveries that just about everything can kill you. Life is only a bedtime story before a long, long sleep.
But do you sleep?
Once again Lori remembered the funeral and her fears that death may be merely the beginning of torment, not the end.
Enough already! Forcing herself to rise, she went into the bathroom to fight back with the weapons at hand-an arsenal of eye shadow, lipstick, powder, mascara. Gradually the drawn look disappeared, the haggard reflection in the mirror was replaced by a more satisfactory image. Then, slowly, carefully, she dressed, selecting her newest outfit from the closet's contents. Satisfied, she confronted the full-length mirror set into the closet door.
Surveying the results of her efforts, satisfaction faded. Close inspection still revealed telltale lines at the corners of her eyes and a puffness below. Beneath their crimson cover her lips stretched taut with tension. And her suit didn't fit properly; she must have lost some weight, because the jacket was too loose.
The doorbell rang.
When Lori answered the summons and saw Russ standing there a surge of relief sent her into his arms, and for a moment she felt whole again. Russ had what she lacked- the strength, the confidence. In his embrace she was safe, complete and unafraid. But embraces end, and as she stepped back the sense of security ebbed. "Coffee?"
She led him into the kitchen, got a cup from the cupboard, filled it along with her own. And all the while she did her best to concentrate on what he was saying.
"I've been talking to Ben Rupert," he told her. "Sounds like he's got it all together."
Lori nodded. "Dad used to say so. He had him on retainer, to keep an eye on the business after he retired."
"Well, he seems to be on the ball. Told me he didn't expect there'd be any problems getting through probate. As soon as you feel up to it he'll have you sign the papers and push for a settlement from the insurance people. He's pretty sure you can take advantage of the double-indemnity provision for accidental death. And he thinks there's a way to help get around the tax problem."
Lori put down her coffee cup before its contents sloshed over. Why did Russ have to say the words, force confrontation with the grim realities? Nothing's sure but death and taxes-
He was watching her. "What's the matter?"
She shrugged. "I was just thinking how silly I was to spend half the morning on dressing up. Life doesn't come with a Gucci label."
"You look fine to me." But Russ was still staring. "Trouble is you don't sound that way."
"It's nothing. Guess I'm still tired."
"Weren't you supposed to see Dr. Justin today?"
"Yes, he asked me to come in. But there really isn't any reason-"
"It won't hurt to be on the safe side. When's your appointment?"
"One o'clock."
Russ glanced at his watch. "I'll drive you there."
"Aren't you on an assignment?"
"Turned the piece in this morning. I'm free all day."
Lori nodded. "Tell you what. Drive me over to the service station first, the one on Westmead. Dad left the car for repairs last week and I could pick it up now."
"Any idea what the bill comes to?"
"I'll use a card. Ben Rupert paid first and last month rent on this apartment, so I imagine he can advance me money for expenses until the estate is settled. I'm counting on it, anyway."
"Good enough. But after you pick up the car, we'll bring it back here. I still want to drive you to Dr. Justin's office, okay?"
And that's the way it worked out; no problem getting the car, no problem driving back and parking at the apartment. Except when Lori tensed for an uneasy moment as she slid behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. Dad's hands had gripped that wheel, turned that key.
And the moment prolonged itself after she switched to the passenger seat of Russ's car; during most of the journey she sat in silence, grateful that the radio's blare served as an excuse for not speaking.
The air was fresh and the day was beautiful; at least Lori conceded that much. And being with Russ helped reassure her that she was alive, not down there in the grave with Mom and Dad.
"Lori?" As he spoke she realized they were already pulling into the parking garage under the medical complex where Justin had his office.
"Here I am," she said.
Russ frowned. "You're a million miles away. Something bugging you?"
"I'm fine."
Lies are lies, and you tell them when you must. Silence itself could be a lie, but right now it was better than babbling about worms and maggots.
So Lori kept silent as they sat in Dr. Justin's waiting room, staring at the faces-the sad, anxious faces of other patients and the happy, eager faces of Sly Stallone and Madonna grinning up from the tattered covers of old magazines.
The people in People seemed to be creatures from another planet where life was just one long joke. Even the politicians who went on trial and were found guilty kept right on grinning into the camera.
But the people who read People-these poor suffering specimens sitting here awaiting the doctor's verdict- never grinned. They knew that once accused of arteriosclerosis, charged and convicted with cancer, the sentence was death and there'd be no appeal.
When at last her name rasped out over the receptionist's intercom and the nurse led her down the corridor, Lori faced the dapper physician in his private office. No copies of magazines here; only medical books on spotless, carefully dusted shelves, and silver-framed family photographs on a spotless, carefully dusted desk. She recognized the picture of the doctor's wife, who was also spotless and dusted; obviously fresh from the beauty parlor yet still unmistakably matronly and a bit on the dowdy side. Lori glanced at the spotless, dusted faces of the obligatory two children, the boy who was too thin and the girl who was too fat. Just one big happy upwardly mobile family.
And Dr. Justin, with his fashionably oversize designer-label eyeglass frames, his eighty-dollar blow-dry haircut, and his nine-hundred-dollar-plus-tax suit, was the very embodiment of yuppiedom.
But he was no fool. She was the fool-sitting in judgment on Justin's family, whom she'd never met, and condemning him for fancied flaws in his appearance.
When he greeted her she became acutely aware that behind the silly glasses keen eyes were appraising all she had tried to conceal. Seated across the desk from him she steeled herself for the inevitable question-and-answer routine.
How do you feel?
Fine, Doctor. Just a little tired.
Did you take those pills I gave you?
Yes, thank you, they helped me get a good night's sleep.
Any headaches?
No, Doctor, I told you, I'm coming along fine-
But all the while he kept looking, noting her rigid posture in the low-backed chair, her tightly clenched hands, the way her lip quivered. It was almost as though he'd anticipated what would happen-and did happen, now, as she began to cry.
Lori could control the sounds, but her tears streamed silently, even when grief was replaced with a surge of anger at her own weakness. "Sorry," she murmured. "I really blew it, didn't I?"
But she couldn't stop, and in the end there was nothing left to blow but her nose.
It wasn't until Lori dropped the wadded handkerchief back into her purse that she realized Dr. Justin was nodding in approval.
"That's better," he said. "You had me a little worried for a while."
"Because I broke down?"
"Because you didn't break down. Instead of crying at the funeral, you passed out."
"You said it was natural-"
"Under the circumstances, yes. But expressing emotion is natural too. Keeping it bottled up inside isn't dealing with the problem. You're under stress right now, so when you feel like crying, go ahead." He rose. "Believe me, Lori, the worst is over. It's just a matter of time. Time and patience."
"Thanks."
Justin scribbled something on a prescription blank and handed it to her as she stood up. "You can get this filled at the pharmacy downstairs."
Lori squinted at the squiggles but couldn't decipher them. "More medication?"
"Just a refill for the sedative. I'd like you to keep using it." He smiled. "And there's something else I want you to buy but you won't need a prescription."
"What's that?"
"A box of cleansing tissues."
Lori sighed ruefully as she moved to the door. "Maybe I'd better get a carton."
"That won't be necessary, believe me. Just don't be ashamed to cry." Dr. Justin glanced down at his desk calendar. "I want to see you again in two weeks."
"Right." Lori smiled at him as she left the office but as she started down the corridor her lips tightened.
Justin was right, of course. Getting rid of grief was nothing to be ashamed about, and crying could help.
But it wouldn't help her to get rid of fear.
She halted before the door leading back into the waiting room and the memory of the doctor's words came to her rescue. You're under stress right now. That was the answer; the whole experience had been traumatic and it was no wonder she was afraid. But if grief passes in time, trauma would pass too, and the fear would go with it.
Meanwhile she had the pills to see her through. The pills, and Russ. As long as he was there she could deal with the problem. And he was there for her, right now.
Taking a deep breath, Lori opened the door, welcoming the reassuring presence of the other patients seated there with Russ.
Then her breath expelled as she saw the empty chair. Russ was gone.
FOUR
For a moment Lori panicked. Then the outer door of the waiting room swung open and Russ came in from the hall, moving quickly toward her. "Where were you?" she murmured. "Tell you later." Taking her by the arm, he led her to the door and along the corridor beyond.
There was no privacy in the crowded elevator and none in the pharmacy downstairs where they waited for the prescription refill. And when Lori repeated her question in the car Russ shook his head, his attention focused on the logistics of escaping from the underground parking area.
As they emerged into street-level traffic he turned to her with a tardy smile. "Let's stop somewhere and eat," he said. "We can talk then."
And they did, but not before Russ insisted on ordering drinks at the little French restaurant on Sunset. Come to think about it, there didn't seem to be such a thing as a big French restaurant.
"Two Bloody Marys," he told the waitress, as Lori hesitated.
"Really, I shouldn't have anything."
"Do you good." Russ waved the waitress on her way. "You must have had quite a session with Justin. What did he say?"
"Nothing important. Just to get some rest and come back in two weeks." Lori leaned forward. "Stop trying to stall me, Russ. Where were you when I came out?"
"There's a pay phone downstairs. Thought I'd be back before you finished with Justin." Russ reached for her hand. "Sorry I upset you."
