The vicar vortex, p.17
The Vicar Vortex, page 17
With that, something caught Vicar’s eye. It was a group drifting through the Knickers, having entered from the lobby door — or so he presumed, as they looked very out of place. He toggled off the taps, looked up and saw, as plain as day, the late Frankie Hall flanked by what appeared to be Valentine, the hotel’s famous ghost, with his short, tousled hair and checked work shirt, and minus one argyle sock. The spectres waltzed past the long bar, surrounded by numerous forest creatures great and small, with, of all things, a damn giraffe taking up the rear.
He stopped dead and stared, open mouthed. Dazedly, he wondered how the giraffe was going to negotiate the light fixtures hanging down from the high ceiling. It passed through them like a shaft of sunlight. The ghostly Frankie Hall looked Vicar directly in the eye as she slid past. There were no sounds, and no one else appeared to see the apparitions. Mrs. Hall’s eyes began to get bigger and bigger, and finally enlarged until they were bigger than her body, obscuring her form. Vicar saw within them an image of Jacquie sobbing, baby Frankie limp in her arms. Valentine had turned his ghostly attention to the vision she projected, staring at it with concern, and then locked eyes with Vicar.
Vicar felt a tidal surge of anxiety overtake him, his blood pressure launching upward, his lower back suddenly aching.
Glancing around for a moment, he barked huskily at Chief Wheat, “Hank, take over … I gotta go.”
He ran at full speed back to the office to call home.
Unfazed but curious, Wheat stood up and said, “Aye, sir,” and saluted Vicar’s departing back, feeling delighted to be deputized as barman. He chuckled delightedly: another dream coming true. He drew a small tumbler of beer for himself and drank it — just to be sure it is safe for human consumption, you know — and let out a satisfied, raspy “Ahhh” as he thunked the now-empty glass onto the bar. He shouted over to Hotchy-Coochie, “There’s nothing more delicious than free beer!”
Hotchy’s eyes lit up as he made a beeline for the bar.
Twenty-Seven / Serena’s Ladder
A cry erupted from upstairs — the sound of Frankie, who had been asleep in her crib, frightened badly. Jacquie furrowed her brow and hurried toward the steps, climbing them with more urgency than usual. She must have had a bad dream.
Then she heard a voice — a woman’s voice — coming from Frankie’s room. “Mommy’s here, shush, shush …”
With that, Jacquie broke into a full run. The telephone in the kitchen began to ring, sounding like a klaxon. Quickly switching off the stove, Beulah ignored the phone and trailed behind Jacquie, looking confused and spooked.
Storming up the short steps from the master bedroom to the little loft where Frankie slept, Jacquie saw her child’s arm held by someone — a kidnapper! — who was trying to back down a ladder perched outside the window. She then recognized Serena, grinning at Frankie with all the motherly comfort of a clown peering out from a sewer grate. Oh, little girl, would you like a balloon?
The horror Jacquie felt at that moment was as tangible as a knife to the heart.
* * *
No answer. But Jacquie and Beulah had to be at home, he was sure of it. Frankie was stuffed up and cranky, so tonight was going to be shirtless Brad Pitt, fresh baguette, and Beulah’s chicken soup. Vicar called Jacquie’s cellphone number, pounding his fist on the desk as he waited for the interminable connection. She didn’t pick up.
His apron flapping wildly in the breeze, Vicar grabbed his car keys and fled out the back door toward his ancient, beat-up Peugeot, listed as “rust” coloured on the registration form for good reason. Briefly caught up on the antlers of the moose head mounted to Beaner’s Bottles (& Cans) truck, parked beside him, Vicar’s now torn apron was discarded carelessly. His car door still hanging open, he cranked up the exhausted Cuisinart of a motor and wound it up to a hellish speed toward the house. Vicar was driving so fast that the tiniest error would leave him looking like a Sloppy Joe splashed on the dashboard, but he was responding to a situation he knew was the real thing.
Blowing a shift while turning at a hundred kilometres an hour onto a side street, he managed somehow to call Jacquie’s cellphone. No joy. He thought of his front tires, which his mechanic had ruefully called Lieutenant Kojak and Captain Picard, and hoped they’d get him there without a blowout. He kept pounding toward the house at top speed. He knew that Frankie Hall never came to him unless things were going to get bad. Yeah, it was hocus-pocus, but he’d rather be laughed at than cried with.
* * *
Jacquie’s butt was vibrating — someone was trying to call, but she took no notice. Frankie was bawling loudly, and Jacquie lunged toward her. Serena tried to yank Frankie away as Jacquie’s fear and anger mixed into a terrifying rocket fuel.
“Let go of my baby!” she shrieked.
“It’s my baby,” Serena screamed back.
“Let go! Let go! Let go!” Jacquie screeched ferociously.
“It’s my baby.”
Even in the furious tug-of-war, Jacquie was aware that Serena was referring to Frankie as “it.” This pissed her off.
Serena had nabbed Frankie and set her on her feet as she tried to exit feet first and back down the ladder. She was half-in and half-out of the bedroom now, balanced on her stomach like a see-saw, the ladder buffeting back and forth dangerously. If she could just get her feet on one rung, she could at least make a break.
Jacquie saw her grabbing for a huge, frightening knife sticking out of her jacket.
Urgently, she got her body between little Frankie and the escaping Serena. For the moment Frankie was protected, but Jacquie was determined to keep Serena from fleeing. She snaked out her arm and tried to grab Serena’s hair, to haul her back inside. The move failed as a clip-on hair extension came off in her hand, briefly surprising her. Serena flailed on the rickety ladder and failed to get hold of the knife, which fell to the ground. The ridiculous thing was so long she couldn’t even get it out properly.
Incongruously, the cellphone in Jacquie’s back pocket began to ring again.
“Give the child to me, dear. She’s safe with me. It’s all right …”
Jacquie, her emotions ratcheted as high as they ever had been, was certain she was hearing the voice of the late Frankie Hall.
Serena had reached back inside with one arm, managed to grab little Frankie by the sleeve with the fingertips of her left hand, and was roughly dragging her closer in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to snag her firmly and flee. Jacquie, in turn, grabbed Frankie by the collar of her pyjama top and felt the snaps pop open. The babe was suddenly shirtless and free, and so Jacquie pushed her to the side, out of danger, toward the voice she had heard, to ensure she was out of Serena’s grasp. She briefly glanced over to see Frankie Hall, arms open, ready to accept her namesake in an embrace. Jacquie was shocked but could not afford the time to stare at the impossible sight before her.
Off balance now and in a panic, Serena kicked the ladder over with a loud clatter as she flailed her legs frantically. She had hold of the flat, wide window frame with both hands, hanging on for dear life, but was no longer able to fight.
Beulah had followed up the stairs to investigate the alarming sounds of combat. Above her, at the top of the steps, she saw a young man in a checked shirt. He scintillated and flashed slightly as he held little Frankie’s hand.
Beulah was terrified but raced into the fray with every milligram of courage she could muster. She had certainly imbibed enough of it. She intended to body-check this invader. She lowered her head to use as a ram, preparing herself to be repulsed and thrown back down the stairs to her death. Beulah glanced upward to stay on target, but the man had suddenly disappeared — just vanished. Baby Frankie stood stock still, shirtless and alone near the banister, looking on with confusion and fright. Thank God she didn’t fall down the stairs! Beulah scooped her up and watched the action with alarm, not sure what else to do.
Jacquie could now see that Serena was barely hanging on and might fall at any second. She grabbed one forearm and tried to pull her up. Serena was making sounds of deep, animal-like fear now, as she faced imminent death. She looked up into Jacquie’s eyes pleadingly, unable to even speak.
Jacquie held on with as much strength as she could, but she was running out of steam. She could not manage to haul Serena up far enough to manage a rescue, nor hold on to her much longer. The fingers of Serena’s other hand began to slip off the window frame, so Jacquie grabbed on. She was now holding both Serena’s hands in hers, one by the wrist, the other precariously by the fingers. Jacquie was losing it — she could feel her back giving way.
She rasped through gritted teeth, “Mom … Mom … The ladder …”
Beulah hesitated for one second and then raced down the stairs as fast as she could, Frankie in her arms, toward the door that would get her to the life-saving ladder the fastest, all the while terrified that the mystery man from the top of the stairs might reappear.
Twenty-Eight / A Fall from Gracelessness
Vicar skidded onto Sloop Road, toward the most dangerous driveway entrance in town, right there on the sharp corner that was almost a switchback. He could see the roofline of his house now; he was seconds out.
Serena was cogitating at a million miles an hour, trying to find a way to survive. She just hoped Jacquie could hold on for a few moments more.
Beulah had plopped a wailing Frankie down where she could see her through the window and ran as fast as she could to the ladder that lay on the lawn. It was so heavy, so long … She could barely move it.
At that moment, Vicar stormed in through the gate, looking up in utter horror at the scene that greeted him.
“Jack! Hold on!” Vicar grabbed the ladder from Beulah and tried frantically to hoist it up.
Serena heard the voice of Vicar and her fear transformed into a rush of victory. He’d save her, once again. It was happening.
She awkwardly twisted her neck enough to see Vicar below, wrestling the ladder, and then looked back up at Jacquie, her crazy eyes spinning, and growled, “I knew he’d come for me … Thanks for babysitting.” She spat the last through tensely clenched teeth.
Jacquie felt Serena’s words splatter like a spray of hydrochloric acid. Something about the way she had delivered them felt true. There was no longer a shred of doubt: her taunting words had snapped the situation into crystal clarity. Jacquie flashed on the memory of Mrs. Hall’s warning in the dream and connected it to her presence here, now. Beware the mother, she had said.
Jacquie was certain now. Oh God … She is Frankie’s birth mother. That loathsome freak was willing to put everyone through hell — even her own child. It would never end. This loveless monster is evil incarnate. Serena was a succubus that had to be exorcised.
It all cascaded through her mind in an instant, a kaleidoscope of the worst things in the world combined: torture, slavery, war, brutality, Farley’s checked Dacron pants, mother’s liver and onions soaking in milk before frying, and then Serena’s somehow beautiful yet murderous face in front of her. Everything. It was all just a malevolent ball of bilge and cruelty that must be chopped out to protect Frankie.
At that moment, Jacquie made the biggest decision of her life. It was a statement, a protest, and a solution, demonstrated by one simple act.
She released her grip and let Serena fall.
* * *
Serena screamed in terror. Vicar perceived her fall in slow motion. He darted to safety as he shoved Beulah back out of danger, fixating on the colour of the Low Top Converse sneakers Serena wore, in an ironic Safety Orange.
The entire fall couldn’t have taken more than a second, but it was an event that everyone present would remember for the rest of their lives. Most particularly, Vicar would remember the sickening, flat “pock” that resounded as Serena’s skull hit the concrete sidewalk like an exploding melon.
For a few moments, Vicar, Jacquie, and Beulah just stood there, mouths agape, staring frozen at the grisly scene as if in tharn.
Jacquie was the first to come to life. From her emanated a moan of distress so intense it sounded non-human. Vicar looked up at the window to see her withdrawing indoors.
He embraced Beulah and put his body between Serena’s remains and her line of sight. “Are you all right?” He was hiding her head in his shoulder.
Beulah pulled away from him, saying, “I’m, okay, I’m okay …” It was clear from her pallor that she was not; it was also obvious that Serena was dead.
* * *
Jacquie couldn’t remember how she’d gotten down the stairs to the scene of Serena’s messy landing. The sight of a crushed skull and snapped neck was deeply shocking. Although physically numb, she could still feel fear and regret boiling inside her like a hot storm.
Face in her hands, she wept, “Oh my God, I’ve killed her, I’ve killed her …”
Vicar looked on, stunned, swaying trancelike from foot to foot, attempting to gather his resources.
Beulah grabbed Jacquie gently by the shoulders, herself in deep shock, and tried to look directly into her eyes.
Jacquie, in a panic, was repeating, “Mom, it’s my fault … I dropped her … I killed her.”
Beulah thought of Marv, dead on the rug in Saskatoon, little Jacquie above watching in utter horror. She responded firmly but quietly, “No you didn’t, honey. Honey, look at me. No, you didn’t.”
Their circle had closed.
Twenty-Nine/ A Quintet of Trios
Cosmic Ray, a man who believed himself deeply connected to the universe, was blissfully unaware of the drama happening at Vicar’s house only a couple of miles away. He was dealing with his own challenges. Downcast, he muttered, “I knew it … I could feel this coming.”
He looked down and away from Ronnie, who had just dropped the bad news that she didn’t think they should see each other anymore.
“I like you, Ray, but our lives couldn’t possibly be more different. All we have in common is sex.”
“I know.” Ray was glum. “But you would understand if you were just a little more open minded.”
Ronnie paused and quickly thought about it. “Ray, honey, you live in a world that is totally foreign to me. The source of your whole way of thinking is, is …” She shrugged and trailed off.
“Uh, that’s, that’s the, uh, idea. We aren’t going to grow up until we can see things from other viewpoints.”
Ronnie felt a tug at her heart. When he said we, he meant the entire human species. Surely that was beyond the purview of a basement-suite-renting, reiki-enthusiast-slash-rock drummer. He was honestly trying to explain the deep feelings of his heart, but it was wasted breath. She had made up her mind and seldom changed it after a firm decision. She was just too cut and dried.
Cosmic Ray got up out of the wicker lawn chair and stepped out a short distance under the open sky, where he stood staring at the view for a while. Ronnie just sat quietly, feeling relieved but unkind.
Ray put his hands up toward the sky as if silently beseeching the heavens. He hummed a low, sustained note for a long time. The sun was sinking into the water and the colours were warm and inviting.
Ronnie didn’t want to interrupt his moment of grief, or prayer, or whatever in the hell ceremony he was observing at that moment, but she really had to pee. She quietly rose to her feet and padded into the house.
Ray turned toward the east, his back toward the setting sun, and faced the darkening sky.
When Ronnie returned, she followed Ray’s gaze. She seldom took notice of the stars, but tonight a handful of them sparkled diamond-like in the dusk. She remained quiet. To her surprise, three lights in rapidly shifting triangular formation glowed brighter than the rest of the pinpricks of light and emerged from the background. They appeared to be coming toward them. She stifled a gasp. Ronnie was aware that formations of moving stars were highly unusual. Impossible, in fact.
Closer and closer the lights approached for what might have been a minute, until they had a shape. Her stomach jumped — Jesus Christ, they look exactly like flying saucers! Flattish on the bottom and a curved lid on top, like the fancy paella pan Mom had.
She stayed silent with difficulty, but her curiosity trumped her anxiety.
The objects stopped just above the treeline to the east, inside the split-rail fence that marked the border of Ronnie’s property, right over a stand of tall Douglas fir trees. They hovered. Other than bugs and some distant animal noises, there was absolutely no sound.
Ray finally lowered his arms, turned to face Ronnie. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows as if to say I told you so.
Ronnie just stood rooted to the patio, wordless. Did he slip me a roofie? Her voice failed her. What manner of wizard was this strange man?
Ray wore a look of vindication as he approached and wrapped Ronnie in a gentle bear hug. He pecked her on the cheek. Strong, independent, pragmatic, and clear-headed Ronnie Balthazar went limp as a noodle.
* * *
Con-Con got the call to respond to Vicar and Jacquie’s house and felt her gut lurch. She knew — she could feel it; this had something to do with Serena.
Lights on but no siren, she took Sloop Road at a clip and looked as far ahead on her route as she could to provide maximum time to deal with elderly, meandering motorists certain to be in her path, desperate to get home before sundown. It was as if they were afraid of vampires emerging from the shadows.
There had been one instance, early on in her career, where she’d had to muck in to get some seniors home, after having helped them locate their parked car — which had only been around the corner of the ice rink. The pair were so flapped that the husband couldn’t muster the jam to drive afterward.
