By Michelle David
The day was blank, rainy. Sheets of rain fell over all of New York, soaking the hurried passers by to the bone as they either ran to their destinations (newspapers serving as primitive umbrellas), or walked sleekly, holding their custom umbrellas, bought from Saks Fifth or Gucci's.
Adrienne Delaney looked out the window of the elegant townhouse, studying the people and the traffic with interest. She examined a young woman as she looked both ways across a heavily used street before crossing, nearly getting run over by a Lexus. She yelled a profanity and continued, her only shelter a cheap umbrella from Woolworth's.
This continued with Adrienne for about five minutes or so, as she idly twirled a single lock of golden hair around a finger. Finally, she stood and looked around the living room as though seeing the familiar place for the first time.
The cream coloured carpet... where was that from? The black velvet drapes? Sleek, modern home theatre, a contrast to a worn antique sofa?
Adrienne closed her eyes briefly and put and hand to her forehead. She was having another one of her headaches. Hurriedly, she lay down on the sofa, lay her head down on the beaded pillow.
Assorted colours, randomly chosen, flashed over her eyes. Her doctor had told her that they might give a clue to her repressed memories, and she concentrated on what she saw.
A definite dominance of red. Red splatters were all over the place in her little headaches, and she always thought she say the very vaguest shadow... a shadow in bluish green, large and hulking.
The pain got worse, like a sort of inccubi attempting to split her skull open. It seemed to be very close to succeeding when all of the sudden, with an unnerving burst of bright white light, it was gone.
Adrienne slowly opened her eyes, and smiled at the face grinning down at her.
"Hi, honey," she greeted her husband, sitting up.
He kissed her. "Hey, Adri," he said. His face became concerned. "Did you have another..."
"Seizure?" she asked with a look.
"Yeah," Eric said.
Adrienne sighed. "I'm not sure... I suppose so." She involuntarily shivered. "It was a bit clearer this time... still mostly red, but I think I saw... this big, blue-green thing." Her psychiatrist had declared her seizures to be clues as to what traumas she had endured, and recommended she relax when they overtook her, until she got a clear grasp of what they were.
Eric nodded. "Interesting."
*************
She had been found at a local general store in Nipawomsett, Massachusetts, collapsed as soon as she stumbled in. Her orange shirt, her black jeans were tattered, dirty, her blonde hair almost brown with dirt and debris.
"God... oh, come back..." she had whispered hoarsely, according to the man who had been tending the store at the time.
She was suffering from surprisingly little - a sprained ankle from her fall at the store, but several cuts and bruises from her trauma.
What trauma? Lieutenant Detective Eric Larson had wanted to know.
Her house had been found normal-looking on the outside, but a mess on the inside. The entry hall's main pillar had been collapsed, plaster littering the floor. In the professional theatre, a corpse of a homeless woman, Harriet. Scalped, her face bashed in with a boot. More plaster, dust, and a destroyed prop lay on the other side of a huge chasm in the middle of the stage.
Upstairs, even more. A secret passage was discovered; unfortunately, it was caved in. A worker for TelMass had been reported missing; his corpse was found, axed to death. More shattered passages; it was impossible to continue.
The chasm was excavated, and the corpse of Adrienne's husband, Don Gordon, a rather famous photographer, was recovered. He suffered from incredible cuts, wounds, and most notably, a severe caustic burn on his face, scarring him for what would have been the rest of his life.
The night after the corpse was recovered, a gas main exploded. The house burned down.
Adrienne stayed in a deep coma for exactly one week, awakening the exact same time that the house burned. Her face was pale, shrunken, from her week in the depths. Shakily, she attempted to recount what happened that fateful night, Eric taking notes.
"Ms. Delaney..." Eric began gently.
"Oh, yes, thanks for remembering," she said softly. "After me and Don got married, I'm keeping my own name. He's always been so great about that." She smiled at the thought of her husband.
The thought of her dead husband must not have registered with her, Eric thought. Slowly, he asked, "Do you know what happened the night... the night you collapsed in the store?"
Adrienne thought intensely. "Well... I was putting away clothes in the bedroom, when Don called me. He... he was in his darkroom. He wanted me to help him, help him develop some pictures." Softly, she gasped. "Oh!" she exclaimed.
"What is it?" Eric asked urgently.
Adrienne blinked. "I... he..." she had had a strange vision. Of Don, but he had a big scar on his face, and was laughing. As suddenly as it had come, the image faded. "Nothing," she muttered. "Well, I was helping him, when I found this book... and he took it from me..." She closed her eyes. "I...I don't remember what happened. All I remember after that is waking up here, today. That's all."
The woman was obviously traumatized, Eric realized. Carefully he continued his inquest. "Ms. Delaney, your husband is dead." Cruel words.
She stared at him through her tired eyes with a kind of cold dullness, almost uncomprehending of his words. "Wha... what?"
"His body was recovered from the remains of your house yesterday," he went on. "Do you know what happened to him?"
Abject horror. "My god... no, not..." Her eyes hardened suddenly. "Get out of here. I don't give a damn who you are. Just... please, leave this room." Venom dripped from her words, and she fought to be an nonbeliever. "Dammit, why are you saying this? Get OUT of here! Don't say that!" She was beginning to cry now, and her voice was steadily rising. "Don is NOT dead! GET OUT!" A high pitched shriek, and a nurse hurried in.
"Detective, I must ask you to leave now," the nurse said apologetically, straining to be heard above the hysterical cries. "Please," she said, emphasizing the word.
"Yeah, okay," Eric said, standing hurriedly and gathering his stuff, looking curiously at the woman. Her face was red from tears. She had stopped crying, but was glaring at him angrily. Turning on his heel, Eric left the room.
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