The Noonday Demon
Part Two
Because of all the commotion caused by the dean’s sudden demise, it was quite awhile before Aidra met Caitlin Douglas. Mrs. Winters, the Dean’s secretary, called the police as well as an ambulance, and one of the two cops started to question her about Mr. Benedict’s death. Aidra burst into tears. “It was horrible! He was right in the middle of telling me about Saybrook, and all of a sudden he just collapsed!” Her sobs got louder, and Mrs. Winters, an ample woman in her fifties, put her arms around the girl. “There, there, my dear,” she crooned, “I know this was awful for you, but it’s over now. I’m going to take you to the infirmary – Doctor Isham will give you something to make you feel better, and you can rest overnight.”
“Thank you,” said Aidra shakily.
“In the morning you can decide if you want to go home for a few days.”
“I can’t go home. My parents went to Buh…Barbados for Christmas and New Year’s, and they won’t be back until the tenth.”
“Well, I’ll call them and tell them what happened. I’m sure they’ll come back sooner.”
“I don’t know the number of their hotel,” said Aidra.
“Don’t they have cell phones?”
“I guh… guess so, but I don’t know those numbers either.”
“My goodness. There must be some way to reach them. Is there anyone else in your home?”
“Just Melba. She’s the muh…maid. But she probably went back to Jamaica for the holidays,” Aidra said. “I don’t like her, anyway. She’s a thief. And she’s scary.”
“What?”
“Once, when I was eight, I caught her taking my muh…mother’s pearl necklace out of her jewelry case. She put it back, but she said if I told on her, she’d cast an obeah spell on me, and I’d duh…die.”
“What in the world is obeah?”
“It’s a kind of voodoo? Usually people use it for good things. But you can use it to put a hex on someone. A death-spell?”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Winters. “You really are in a state.”
“I’m just answering your questions,” said Aidra, in a much steadier voice. “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies. Aren’t we going to the infirmary?”
“Yes, yes, of course, dear. Let me just get my coat.” She rose and took a coat from the rack near the door.
“Is that real fur?” Aidra asked.
“It’s mink,” Mrs. Winters said. “I know I shouldn’t wear fur, but it was a thirteenth wedding anniversary gift from my husband.”
“Unlucky number. Unlucky minks, too,” said Aidra, and smirked.
Mrs. Winters was stung. The comment wasn’t merely tactless, it was cruel. “My husband was also unlucky,” she said sharply. “He died of a stroke four days later. He was only thirty-nine.”
“Maybe someone from PETA put a hex on him for giving you the fur coat. And maybe I’ll put a hex on you for wearing it.” Aidra said in a high, eerie tone. Mrs. Winters’s eyes widened with fear. She dropped the coat and backed away from the girl. “Don’t!” she cried out. “Please don’t!
“Don’t what? Do you believe in obeah?”
“No, but you’re frightening me.”
“How can that be? You said that I’m a child. Are you frightened of children? How can you work at this place? It’s crawling with them.” She scrabbled her fingers in the air and curled her lips away from her teeth.
“Stop that! You look horrible!”
Aidra lowered her hands and closed her mouth. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Winters,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just feeling all weird? Like, everything’s going wrong?” She sounded younger than she was, and her voice trembled. Mrs. Winters took a long breath, gathering herself. The girl looked convincingly contrite, but that didn’t mean anything. Over her years as the Dean’s secretary, she had encountered some very devious students, boys as well as girls, and although she believed that there was no such thing as a bad child – at least not at Saybrook Academy, which turned down applicants with obvious behavior issues – she had certainly met some odd kids. She picked up the mink coat and put it on. Then she called the infirmary to say that she was bringing in a student. She hung up the phone and said, “Aidra, we’ve wasted enough time. I need to take you to Doctor Isham.”
The girl ran her eyes over the fur and frowned, as if she wanted to say something else about it. But she put on her green overcoat without saying anything. “Off we go, then,” said Mrs. Winters, and offered her right hand. After a moment, Aidra took it.
It was windy outside, and sleet was spitting almost sideways. The walkways were already getting slick, and Mrs. Winters regretted that she hadn’t put on her galoshes. Audra wore tennis sneakers, but they had rubber soles. She lengthened her stride, pulling Mrs. Winters after her.
“Heavens, Aidra, slow down!” said Mrs. Winters. “You’ll slip and fall!”
“No I won’t,” Aidra said. “You will.” And Mrs. Winters felt one foot sliding out from under her. But Aidra laughed and steadied her with her free hand. “Told you so,” she said.
The laugh and the girl’s sudden cheerfulness made Mrs. Winters uneasy, and her uneasiness edged into fear when Aidra’s grip on her arm tightened painfully. “You’re hurting me!” she said.
“Oh, sorry,” Aidra said, loosening her grip, but not letting go. “I don’t know my own strength. That’s what my father said when I broke his wrist.”
“Why in heaven’s name did you break your father’s wrist?” “He put his hand on my mouse.”
“Your what?”
“You know, my girl part. Some people call it a pussy, but I think it looks more like a little mouse. Without a tail, of course.”
Mrs. Winters stopped short. “Your father touched you… down there?”
“That’s what I just said. Are you deaf?”
“No, of course not. Aidra, that’s terrible! Why didn’t you tell him to stop?”
“Oh, sometimes I liked it when he did that.” Her smile was sly. “But this time he stuck his finger in my slit. That hurt, so I broke his wrist.” The secretary started to ask a question, but Aidra said, “Hush, now, come on! We have to get going! The storm’s getting worse.” She pulled hard on Mrs. Winters’s wrist, and the secretary almost fell again. But the girl used her other hand to steady her, and the pair proceeded, Aidra hauling Mrs. Winters along as if she were the reluctant child. The girl began to sing, quietly at first, then louder:
“Deum de Deo, lumen de lumine,
Gestant puellae viscera.
Deum verum, genitum non factum.
Venite adoremus,
Venite adoremus,
Venite adoremus,
Dominum.”
It was the third verse of Adeste Fidelis, the one that was usually left out because of the line referring to the virgin’s viscera, which meant all the organs in her abdomen including her womb and the vagina leading to it. Aidra sang it lustily, in quick march time, and Mrs. Winters found herself falling in step. By the time the girl reached the last verse, Mrs. Winters was singing, too. A small part of her objected to being forced to march and sing by a monster, but the protest didn’t last long. By the time they reached the infirmary, her mind was no longer her own.
The noonday demon savored the flood of memories and thoughts it had swallowed. The woman’s inner life was delicious, particularly the bitter, tangy, sweet-and-sour part having to do with her two miscarriages.
It summoned up tears again, and told the nurse behind the desk who Mrs. Winters was. “Sh… she was bringing me here to see Doctor Isham buh…because I saw Duh…Dean Benedict die all of a sudden and I guh… got a bad shock. And then something happened to Muh… Mrs. Winters. I don’t know whuh…what’s wrong with her. She was saying something to muh… me, and then she juh…just stopped talking. Is she dying?”
The nurse, Millie Parsons, knew about the Dean’s stroke, of course, but she was dismayed to see that the same thing seemed to have happened to his secretary.
“What’s your name, dear?” she asked the girl.
“Audra Dawkins. I transferred from Rosemary Hall. My name might not be in your registry yet.” The tears still glistened on the girl’s cheeks, but her voice was calm and steady, without a trace of emotion. The startling mood shift made Millie wonder if she had multiple identity disorder. Dr. Isham was a psychologist, and as his nurse, Millie was familiar with most types of mental illness.
“Don’t worry, Audra,” she said. “I’m sure Mrs. Winters will be fine. It was very good of you to help her.”
“It’s Audrey.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Audrey. Audrey York.”
“But you just told me it was Audra Dawkins.”
“Are you sure, Miss Larson? Are you ab-so-lute-ly sure?”
“My name isn’t Larson. It’s… “ She couldn’t think of it. It rhymed with Larson. Carson? Garson? Barston? Marston? Hartston? Startsman? Shortston? Sharkskin? Shortstop? The absurd names kept coming, filling her head with gibberish. She clapped her hands over her ears and whined like a dog. Audrey Hepburn said something, but Millie couldn’t understand her. She was speaking a foreign language, Fronch, Spunklish, Rauskin, Gerble… Her whine choked off, and she began to foam at the mouth.
The noonday demon leaned over the nurse’s desk and flicked out its tongue, catching a few drops of spittle as they fell from the nurse’s frothy lips. They tasted salty, as if tears were coming out of the silly woman’s mouth. Just the kind of seasoning the demon needed to enhance its meal of Silly Millie’s memories: dysfunctional parents, broken promises, frustrated ambition, and a cruel lover who left her pregnant. The botched abortion made a scrumptious dessert. Audrey Hepburn pushed Millie’s shoulder, and the nurse fell stiffly sideways out of her chair and onto the floor behind her desk.
A man in a white coat came out of the inner office. “Millie, has that girl gotten here yet?” he began. “Oh, hello. Aidra Dorcas, isn’t it?”
“Do you want it to be?” the demon said. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I beg your pardon! What kind of language is that, young lady?”
“It’s the Anguish Languish, dummy. And I’m not a young lady. I’m a slut.” She lifted her skirt and flashed her white panties. “You want some nookie?”
Doctor Isham stared at her. The girl’s smile was more gleeful than seductive, as if she were proud of breaking the rules of social conduct. He was intrigued: multiple personality disorder was extremely rare, but Aidra Dorcas might be presenting a case of it. Anti-anxiety drugs like Zoloft and Prozac were effective, but they treated the symptoms of the disorder, not the mental illness itself. Still, they could stabilize the patient, and he could begin a talking cure when she stopped switching selves.
“Of course not,” he said. “I want to make you feel better about yourself.”
“But I feel wonderful about myself!” said the girl. “I love me, I think I’m grand! I sit in the movies and I hold my hand! I put my arm around my waist! When I get fresh, I slap my face!”
Doctor Isham laughed. “My lord, I haven’t heard that since I was your age! Where on earth did you learn it?”
“Nowhere on earth, you quack. You will never be my age. Eras in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum, infernum sine fine, damnatio.”
“Your Latin’s excellent. Did you study it at your last school? Or are you Roman Catholic?”
She hissed like an angry cat. “Don’t condescend to me, medicine man. Sum qui sum. Sum legione.”
“O.K. fine, you’re Popeye the Sailor Man, and there are a lot of you. But I only see one unhappy girl. My nurse is going to put you to bed and give you something to help you sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning. Millie? Where are you? Aidra, is my nurse in the bathroom?”
“Miwwie faw down and go boom! Lookie, lookie! Wight here!” the demon lisped in a babyish voice, and pointed to the left.
Dr. Isham came behind the desk and saw Miss Parsons lying on her back with her eyes wide open. She was breathing, barely. He knelt down and put two fingers under her jaw, searching for a pulse. It was there, but thready. Her pupils were dilated, but her eyes moved from side to side as if she were watching something move back and forth above her. Her mouth was open in a silent scream.
He stood up and reached for the phone on her desk, but before he could pick it up, the demon screamed. “Help! Please help! The doctor’s gone crazy! He killed Nurse Millie!”
Dr. Isham heard footsteps coming down the corridor, and an orderly ran into the room. He was a strapping young black man, and he grabbed the psychologist by both arms. “Whoa, take it easy, doc,” he said. “What’s the trouble here?”
“Miss Parsons has had a seizure of some kind,” Isham said. “And this girl is traumatized. She needs to be sedated! Let go of me, god damn it!” He tried to free himself from the orderly’s grip, and the two men began to scuffle violently.
Aura Lee filled her mouth with the orderly’s suppressed hatred of white people, and the doctor’s unacknowledged contempt for African-Americans. She opened her nostrils, rolled the bite against her palate like a wine connoisseur evaluating the quality of a grand cru, and swallowed. “Magnifique! Nonpareille!” she cried, and kissed the fingertips of her right hand. The men stopped struggling and lay still, Doctor Isham on top of the orderly. If they hadn’t been fully clothed, it would have looked as if they had been having sex. But they were as lifeless as mannequins. Like a spider sucking all the juices out of her prey, the demon had drained them dry.
It went outside. The sleet had turned to snow, but the footing on the walkway was still treacherous. It stopped to watch an ambulance, red and blue lights flashing, siren keening like a banshee, race down the road that bisected the campus, and come to a halt in front of the infirmary. Part of a song sprang up in its head, and it let it out, softly:
“Too late to make a change,
Too late to stay.
No time to save the day,
All gone away.”
The school must have been between class periods, because there were students scurrying from building to building, wearing backpacks and staring at their cell phone. It was like a migrating herd: food on the hoof. Bovine boys. Nannygoat girls. Sheeple.
An older man wearing a parka and carrying a satchel, stopped next to her. “You look lost,” he said. “Can I help you?” The demon thought of devouring his mind, but it had just fed. “Oh, thank you,” it said in a flustered voice. “I’m new here, and I don’t know my way around.”
“Weren’t you given a map of the campus when you first arrived?”
“Well, I met the Dean, and maybe he was supposed to give me one, but he had a stroke and died right in front of me! It was awful!”
“Oh, I heard about that. Terrible thing. Man was in the prime of life. But we know not the time nor the hour of our deaths, as the Scripture says, so we should live each day to the fullest. Sorry, I’m preaching, but that’s my job. I’m Bill Grevin, the school chaplain.”“How do you do, sir,” said the demon. “My name is Aidra.” It held out its hand and the chaplain took it. “No need to be so formal, Aidra. Call me Rev Grev. All the kids do. They think I don’t know, but not much escapes me.” He chuckled, and shook her hand. Smug bastard. But at least he didn’t leer.
“I am very happy to meet you, Rev Grev,” the demon said. “Can you tell me where Thomas Paine Hall is?”
“Tom Paine? Of course. In fact I’ll take you there.”
“I don’t want to take you out of your way.”
“Not to worry. I’m headed in that direction.” His smile was grandfatherly. Of course there were some foxy grandpas who got up to all manner of dirty pig things, but Rev Grev seemed genial and sincere.
“Thank you,” the demon said, and smiled seraphically.
It heard the sound of a bell coming from inside the closest building, and students began to come out, moving quickly.
“It’s the between-classes rush,” Rev Grev said. “It always makes me think of a grand migration, with everyone heading for different destinations, guided by their thirst for knowledge.”
“You mean like lemmings? Don’t lemmings just follow each other over cliffs?”
The preacher laughed. “That’s pretty cynical, Aidra. Do you really think learning new things is dangerous?”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“Yes, but satisfaction brought him back.”
“But Jesus didn’t rise from the dead because he was satisfied,” the demon said. “He had to prove to his disciples that he was the Messiah, genitum, non factu, consubstantialum Patri per quem omnia facta sunt.”
Rev Grev stopped short. “My heavens, Aidra, how did you learn the Nicene Creed in Latin? Even the Roman Catholic Church teaches the English translation nowadays.”
“Quod scriptum dicit vulgo diaboli,” said the demon, and made the sign of the horns with its left hand. Its toothy smile was savage. “Fuck me, Billy boy. Fuck me right here in front of God and everybody. I need a stiff cock! Give it to me!”
My lord, Grevin thought, this is right out of that old movie about an exorcist! The girl’s acting as if she’s possessed! He had studied supposed cases of possession at the Union Theological Seminary, but all of them could be attributed to forms of mental illness. The girl needed to be taken back to the Infirmary and kept there, under restraints, if necessary, until an EMT arrived in an ambulance and took her to Mass General’s psychiatric ward.
He reached for her hand, but she threw both arms around him, pulled him close, and began humping her crotch against his. He jerked backward, trying to free himself, slipped on a patch of ice, and fell flat on his back. His skull struck the pavement with an audible crunch, his eyeballs rolled up, and blood began to pool around his head.
“Oopsa-daisy!” said the demon. “Didn’t mean to kill you. My bad!”