“I’ve got to go,” said Peter Maylon.
“No” she complained.
“Really.” He struggled to pull free of Leanne Kruger’s surprisingly strong grasp.
“Why do you have to go so soon? You’ve only just come.”
“Please.”
“That’s a play on words, doctor.” She was taunting him now. “Don’t you think it’s funny?”
“I don’t think any of this is funny. Please let go of me.”
“Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just squeeze and squeeze until I pull it off.” She tightened her grip around his limp organ. “I could keep it with me to fill me up while you’re not here. What about that, doctor?”
“I don’t like it when you talk that way.”
“Oh? Do I bruise your little sensibilities? All right, then, darling, I won’t talk naughty anymore if you don’t want me to. Okay?”
She held on a moment longer, then released him. He climbed hurriedly out of the bed, reaching for his scattered clothes. The cloying smell of her perfume was heavy in the still air.
Leanne lay with the sheet over her lower body, watching him. Her pale skin was luminous in the dim light of the bedroom.
“You don’t seem as … enthusiastic as you were at first,” she said. “I’m beginning to wonder if you really like me.”
Maylon buckled his pants and sat on a chair to put on his shoes. He said, “I’m trying to think of some way to say this that doesn’t sound like a cliché, but there doesn’t seem to be any. We’ve got to stop doing this, Leanne. It’s wrong.”
“Oh? And I was so sure we were doing it right.”
“Stop playing. You know what I mean.”
“How very moral you’ve become, doctor,” she said.
“I suppose that’s the way it sounds, but this has bothered me from the beginning. It goes against everything I believe in — my oath as a doctor, my religion, my marriage vows. I know how it sounds, bringing all that up right after we’ve … we’ve …”
“Fucked,” she prompted.
“We should never have started, but I was weak. Now it’s got to end. I love my wife, Leanne. I love my little girl. I can’t look either of them in the eye.”
“Your wife doesn’t suspect, does she?”
“No, but she knows something is troubling me. God, she’d have to be blind not to know.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it unless she finds out for sure. And there’s no way she could do that, is there? Not unless somebody tells her.”
Maylon stopped with his shirt buttoned up halfway. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“Me? Darling, why on earth would I do a thing like that? I mean, it would finish everthing you and I have together, wouldn’t it. And I certainly don’t intend to let that happen.”
He made a little moaning sound deep in his throat. She reached out for him, but he moved out of her grasp.
“Poor Peter,” she said with exaggerated sympathy.
“That’s not all that worries me,” he said.
“Tell me about it, darling.”
“There’s something wrong with you, Leanne.”
She snapped to a sitting position in the bed. Her eyes flashed. “That’s not true! I’m all right!”
“You’re not all right,” he said, his voice calmer now. “At first I wasn’t sure, but it becomes more evident every day. It’s in your eyes, your skin texture.” He reached over and snapped on a lamp on the bedside table. “Look at you.”
“Turn that off!” she snapped, and lashed out with her hand, knocking the lamp to the floor.
The light from the naked bulb, shining up at them, gave their faces a satanic cast. Maylon reached down and picked up the lamp, snapping it off as he replaced it on the table.
“You see,” he said.
“The light startled me, that’s all,” she said, but her voice still held the edge of hysteria.
“No,” he said. “You’re not a well woman. I think it’s connected with the time you were …”
“Dead? Is that what you’re trying to say? Well, I wasn’t dead. I was in a state of cryogenic suspension. There was no tissue damage afterward. No internal problems. You should know; you examined me yourself.”
“You seemed all right at the time,” he said, “but I wasn’t allowed to do all the tests I wanted to. There has been a deterioration in your condition. I think it’s accelerating.”
“I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
“I’ll have to tell your husband.”
“You’ll tell him nothing,” she snapped. “There is nothing wrong with me.”
“Leanne, it’s no good denying it. All you have to do is turn on the lights and take a good look at yourself in the mirror.”
She got out of bed and stood naked in front of him. Her body was smooth and pale in the dusk. The triangle of black pubic hair glistened with the juices of their coupling.
“Look at me,” she said. “Just look and tell me if you see anything wrong.” He reached for the lamp.
“No!” She slapped his hand away. “You don’t need that.”
“You can’t keep it a secret,” he said.
“Peter, if you say anything to Elliot, I’ll tell him you have been forcing your way into my bed and into my body.”
“But it was you who — ”
“Do you think he’ll believe that? I’ll tell him you gave me some kind of pill and climbed on top of me while I was unable to resist. I can make him believe me, Peter; you know I can.”
“Yes, I suppose you can,” he said wearily.
“And do you know what Elliot Kruger would do to you then, Dr. Peter Maylon? He would make you suffer in ways you’ve never imagined. And believe me, he has the resources to do it.”
Maylon turned away from her. He knotted his tie without worrying about making the ends even and shrugged into his coat.
Leanne came up behind him and ran a fingernail down the line of his backbone, making him shudder. “Same time tomorrow, doctor?” she said.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to see.”
“You’ve already seen, Peter. You’ll be here.”
Maylon started out the door, then turned back. He said, “Why me, Leanne?”
She smiled, her teeth glistening in the dusk. “Because you’re here, Peter, darling. Because you’re here.”
He left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He could smell the woman on him. Moving swiftly, he descended the broad staircase and headed for the front door, hoping to be out and away without having to confront Elliot Kruger.
“Doctor.”
Too late.
Maylon turned to face Elliot Kruger, who came toward him across the tile floor of the hallway. He needed a shave and seemed to walk more slowly than he had a week before.
“I was expecting a report from you,” the old man said.
“Your wife seems … a little undernourished, maybe, but all in all she’s doing well.” The words were like bile in his mouth.
“I’m worried about her,” Kruger said.
“Oh?” Maylon looked at his watch, edging toward the door.
“Why don’t we go into my study.”
Unable to think of a way out, Maylon nodded and followed Kruger into the book-lined room. He perched on the edge of a leather couch while Kruger took a chair facing him.
“She’s been acting strange.” When Maylon did not respond, he went on. “She stays in the bedroom most of the time with the blinds drawn and the lights dim. She isn’t eating. She says things that aren’t like her at all.”
“Your wife has been through a unique experience,” Maylon said.
“I know that,” Kruger said impatiently. “But it doesn’t account for everything. My wife has spoken harshly to her maid, Rosalia. That girl loves her, and Leanne never before raised her voice. Also, not once has she asked what happened to her dog. That isn’t her. It simply is not like my wife.”
“Mr. Kruger, we have to expect aftereffects. Unfortunately, there is no way of predicting what form they will take.”
“But she seemed so … normal at first. But as the days pass, she seems to be getting worse.”
Dr. Maylon took off his glasses and cleaned them. “In what way, specifically?”
“Well, our — ” Kruger cleared his throat and started over. “Our sex life, for one thing. At first it was wonderful. Even better than before. But now it’s erratic. Sometimes she seems insatiable. Other times she won’t even let me in the bed.”
Maylon felt his face burning. He thought surely Elliot Kruger must see his guilt, but the old man was focused within himself.
“And there’s something else.” Kruger hesitated. “I know it’s old-fashioned of me, but I find it hard to talk about these personal details.”
Maylon nodded, not trusting his voice.
“The thing is … Leanne has an odor about her.”
“An odor?”
“Yes. An unpleasant smell. She bathes several times a day and tries to cover it with perfume, but it’s there, and it’s getting worse.”
Dr. Maylon leaned forward. “Mr. Kruger, at the time you called me in, I recommended that your wife check into the hospital for more extensive tests. I still think that’s what you ought to do.”
“No.” Kruger shook his head vigorously. “I don’t want a lot of people involved. The press would love to get at her. Ever since the business with McAllister Fain and that boy in East Los Angeles, they’ve been all over me. I will protect my wife’s privacy at all costs.”
“There is only so much I can do, Mr. Kruger. I want you to feel free to call in another doctor anytime.”
“No, no, I don’t mean to imply I’m not satisfied with you. Things are piling up on me, that’s all. Not only do I have Leanne on my mind, but my son is behaving oddly, too.”
“Your son?”
“Richard. He suddenly stopped coming around the house. And just when I thought he and Leanne were starting to like each other. But don’t let me burden you with my personal problems, doctor. You’ll see my wife tomorrow?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Maylon. “Same time tomorrow.” He rose and walked to the door like a man carrying a load too heavy for him.
• • •
On the other side of the city, Alberto Ledo came home from work to find his wife sitting in their living room crying.
“What is it, Maria?” he said, dropping his lunch pail on a table near the door.
“You’re home early,” she said.
“The planer jammed again; it will take the rest of the day to fix it. But what is wrong here?”
She got up and started for the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I will make you a sandwich.”
“I still have the sandwich you made for my lunch.” He took hold of her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Maria, I want you to tell me right now why you were crying.”
She dropped her eyes away from his. “It’s Miguel.”
“What happened? He isn’t painting the wall again?”
“No. He hurt little Juan Ramirez.”
“His friend next door?”
“Yes.”
Alberto gently squeezed his wife’s plump shoulders. “That is not so serious. Little boys fight all the time. Then they make up.”
“It was no fight,” said Maria. “Miguel cut him.”
Alberto’s face darkened. “Cut him? With a knife?
“Yes.”
“Where did he get a knife?”
“From the kitchen. He took the butcher knife.”
“Dios! Is the other boy badly hurt?”
“They took him to the doctor. He will be all right.”
“Where is Miguel?”
“In his room. What are you going to do, Berto?”
“I am going to punish him; what do you think?”
“Berto, he is not the way he was. Not since he was … hurt and brought back.”
“That is no excuse for using a knife on his friend.”
“Please,” she said.
“All right. But I will talk to him.”
He walked past her to the small second bedroom at the rear of the house. The door was closed. Alberto opened it and walked in.
The room was unnaturally dim for the time of day. Alberto saw that a blanket had been hung crookedly over the window. He walked over and took hold of the blanket.
“What’s this for?”
Miguel was sitting on the narrow bed, his head against the wall, his feet straight out in front of him. He said, “To make it dark.”
“I can see that. What I’m asking you is why.”
The boy shrugged and went on fiddling with a robot that could be folded into a star fighter.
Alberto ripped the blanket away from the window. The boy flinched from the light.
“When I talk to you, you answer me,” Alberto said. “You understand?”
The boy nodded.
“I hear you been using a knife. I hear you cut the boy next door. Little Juan Ramirez. What do you say about that?”
“He wouldn’t let me ride his bike.”
Alberto stared at his son. “He wouldn’t let you ride his bike, so you used a blade on him? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“It was my turn. He said I could ride next, and then he didn’t let me.”
“You have your own bike.”
“Juan’s is better.”
Alberto clenched his fists and breathed deeply. With an effort, he relaxed the taut muscles in his back and shoulders. He went over and sat on the bed with his son. “Miguelito, are you feeling all right?” He took the boy’s hand and examined the healed burn mark across the palm. “Since you were hurt the other night, do you have any pain? Something you haven’t told us?”
“No, I’m okay.”
Alberto released the boy’s hand and ruffled the thick black hair. “Miguel, using a knife on another person is a bad thing. They put people into prison for that, and they keep them there a long time. I know, because when I was a boy I came very close to going to prison myself. I want you to promise me that you will never take a knife from our kitchen again. And that you will never cut anybody.”
Miguel looked away and did not speak.
Alberto felt the anger rising again. He took hold of the boy’s chin and turned his head so that they were facing each other. “I want you to answer me.”
“I won’t do it anymore,” the boy said. “I won’t take the knife.”
“And you won’t cut anybody.”
“An’ I won’t cut nobody.”
A long moment went by as father and son faced each other. Then Alberto said, “Okay, then, it’s finished. But if you do anything like this again, I’ll whip you. Do you understand?”
A nod.
The father waited for the boy to say more. When he did not speak, Alberto finally stood up.
“This room stinks,” he said. “Open your window.”
He went out with a feeling in his gut that there was more wrong here than he could understand.