Excerpt from Close You Eyes Chapter Four

Excerpt from

Close Your Eyes

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

Excerpt from Close Your Eyes Chapter Three

          It took them thirty minutes trying to make sense of the lanes and rows in the cemetery.  Finally, they decided to just go right to left, south to north until they found the correct section.  The gravestones were gray marble, with blackened engraving; a large one for Hugh spanning two plots, and a small one with an angel carved into the head of it.  There was a bouquet of faded silk flowers between the two, and a tattered American flag on the military foot marker.

“Where’s Nancy Drew when you need her?”  Beverly stared at the tiny grave marker.

“Who?”

Beverly’s mouth fell open.  She was about to snarl at him when he burst out laughing. 

“You’re a little upset about this age thing, aren’t you.”

          “Not at all.”  Beverly knelt down and held herself steady on the marble stone.  “Nothing wrong with my doctor being an entire decade younger than me.  You’re a lot younger than most of your patients.” 

“You are upset about it.”

“Nonsense.  Once you’ve given me a physical, you can mow my yard and deliver the morning papers on your schwinn bicycle.”

“Ouch!  I’m going to go tell my mommy!”

“Can I help you?”  The sound of the old man’s voice startled them both.  It was the man from the café.

Beverly and Patrick looked up at him, speechless.  The man pointed at the marker, “Did you know the family?”

Beverly recovered quickly, “I’m fascinated by cemeteries.  I know that sounds weird, but each gravestone represents an entire life, lived to the fullest, or snuffed out in infancy.  Like this one.  This little girl was only nine when she died.  I can’t help wonder what she might have become, had she lived.  And I assume this was her father?  The military foot stone lists some very impressive medals.  Do you think he died during Viet Nam?”

Patrick blinked at her and closed his mouth.

“God in His wisdom meets out only a certain number of days to each of us.  The days should be used for His purpose alone.  Little Beverly was perfect, and it only took a few years on Earth for her to redeem her soul and be whisked off to heaven.”

Patrick put his arm around Beverly’s waist, drawing her protectively close to him.

“Now, this one here,” the old man pointed to Hugh’s grave.  “I figure God finally decided that no matter how many years Hugh spent on Earth, he would never come close to being saved, so God let Satan have him.”

“We didn’t mean any disrespect.”  Patrick tugged Beverly off the grave area.  “You obviously knew this family.”

He nodded, “My sister’s husband and child.” 

“Your sister?”  Beverly realized her voice was too high, but she felt she had to say something – anything.  This man was her uncle and she had no idea he existed before today. “Did she ever remarry –I mean, she was widowed very young.” 

“I don’t know.  I went to prison in 1970.  Never heard from her.  By the time I got out in 95, she’d disappeared.  Can’t say I blame her.”  The old man smiled sweetly.  “Going to prison was the best thing that ever happened to me.  I was a carpenter by trade before my arrest.  In prison, I found Jesus and was saved.  I took courses and got my college degree.  I came out of prison a new man; a real carpenter.  I’m Reverend Roman Ross.  Quite a mouthful, I know.”  He smiled again and stuck out his right hand.

“Dr. Patrick Eoghan,” he took the old man’s hand.  “And this is – my friend, Wanda.”

Beverly cringed at the obvious lie, but took the man’s hand, too.  “I was raised to believe that all are able to be saved.  Why do you have such a harsh opinion of your brother-in-law?”

“He was a killer.  He liked to kill.  He was good at it.” Roman looked down at his leather shoes and continued.  “He was the perfect soldier for any army.  He used to think Viet Nam was created solely for his pleasure.  He joined up at eighteen, at the end of the Korean Conflict, and they recognized his potential.  Teddy always thought that having their little girl would domesticate him.  Teddy’s my sister.  But it didn’t.  The day little Beverly died was –“ he shook his head.  “Satan couldn’t have created a worse punishment for Hugh.  That was the end of any hope of salvation for him.”

“I had no idea,” Beverly’s voice shook with repressed tears.  She glanced up at Roman.  “I mean, you look at these head stones, and you wonder about the lives they lived, but you never really know.”

“Just names carved in stone,” he agreed.  “I guess we both know that names are meaningless.”

Beverly stared up at him, but he didn’t drop his eyes.  Patrick stepped between them and stuck out his hand.  “Nice to meet you, Reverend.  We’ll leave you alone now.”

Patrick took Beverly by the hand and turned them away.

“Why were you here?  Really?”

Beverly turned back and blushed.  “We’re rose rustlers.”  She reached into her purse and pulled out a pair of snips.  “I collect tea-roses, which used to be popular in the late 1800’s, but are hard to find now because the hybrids have become so easy to sell.  So I stop at old cemeteries and take cuttings from any rose bushes I might find.  I take them home and I propagate them.”

Roman reached out and took the clippers.  Studying them, he repeated, “Rose rustlers?  Doesn’t sound legal.”

“I’m very careful.  Trimming the bushes is actually good for them.  Most old cemeteries are abandoned now-a-days.  I hate that the old tea-roses are dying off from neglect.”  She held out her hand to retrieve the clippers.  Roman hesitated, but then placed them in her palm.

“You ever feel like visiting a church, I’m the pastor at Beulah Pines Missionary Baptist.  Right down the street, past the post office and next to the fire station.”  His eyes seemed to plead with Beverly.  “Door’s always open.”

She nodded, afraid to try to speak.

Excerpt from

Close Your Eyes

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

Excerpt from Close Your Eyes Chapter Two

          Bills paid, spam shredded, Beverly held the cemetery envelop in her hands.  Jolene had planned to take Teddy to lunch after the hairdressers, so Bev had about one more hour.  She sliced the letter open and peeled out the thick paper.

          Dear Ms. Theodora Knightly,

          This letter is to inform you that the management of Beulah Pines Cemetery has changed from the City of Beulah Pines to that of Haberno, Ltd, but rest assured your loved ones’ places of internment will continue to be cared for.

          According to our records, you hold the title to a four plot section:  Chrysanthemum Lane, Matthew Row, numbered 17, 18, 19, and 20.  Plots 19 and 20 are still empty.  Plot 17 holds the remains of your late husband Corporal Hugh Knightly born June 2, 1936, died Oct. 8, 1969.  Plot 18 holds the remains of your late daughter Beverly Knightly born Jan. 29, 1960, died March 10, 1967.

 

          The rest of the letter blurred.  Beverly blinked and tears rolled down her cheeks.  She read it again.  Plot 17 holds the remains of your late husband Corporal Hugh Knightly born . . .  Plot 18 holds the remains of your late daughter Beverly Knightly born Jan. 29, 1960, died March 10, 1967.

          Beverly was born Jan. 29, 1960.  She wasn’t dead.  Why would a tombstone in the middle of a town she’d never heard of have a date for her death when she wasn’t dead!

          ‘Your adopted mother’ Dr. Eoghan’s voice whispered down the hall.

          Beverly stood up and the desk chair clattered to the floor behind her.

          Jolene’s car pulled into the drive.  Bev panicked and shoved the letter into her purse.  She plunged her fingers into the zippered compartment that used to hide her smokes, hoping against hope that just one remained.

          She trembled and took a deep breath.  The door flung open as Beverly righted the chair.

 

          Beverly finished the last lap of her two miles well ahead of the man running on the bleachers.  Anger and fear had driven her beyond the pace she knew was best.  She waited for him at the bottom step, gasping for breath and bent over.

          “You look like you could use a doctor,” he began tentatively.  “Or a cigarette.”

          “I quit smoking,” she straightened.

          “No, people like you and me don’t quit smoking.  We just choose to not smoke for a while.  We could start up again tomorrow, or not have a cigarette for years.  Me?  It’s been seven years.”

          “You’d still smoke again after seven years?”

          “In a heartbeat.  But every step I run up and down those bleachers is a way of – I don’t know, pacifying the demon?  What about you?”

          “I quit smoking,” she assured him firmly, “four months ago.”

          “And how long have you been running?”

          Here she had to drop her eyes, “Ten years.”

          “Since your husband died.”

          Beverly opened her mouth to say something sharp, but then realized he’d just confirmed her suspicions.  “You really have done your homework on my mother and myself.”

          “That’s my job.”

          “What made you think I was not my mother’s child?”

          “When you and your mother were admitted to the hospital after the car accident, ten years ago, you both were given to Dr. Figaro as patients.  Since you admitted you’d never been to a doctor before, he had the lab run all the usual tests, including blood type.  You have type Z, your mother is type X.”

          “Maybe my father’s blood was type Z.”

          “No.  No matter what type the father had, if the mother has type x, each and every resulting child will also have type X or C.  Always.”

          Beverly stared into the space between them, unfocussed, trying to catch her breath.

          “I am very sorry to have been the one to tell you.  It was incredibly –“ he paused as she speared him with her blue eyes.  “She’s your mother, no matter what eggs and sperm started your life.”

          Beverly sat down and smirked, “You know, you might tell those medical universities that the general public just isn’t that stupid and they need to change their ‘heartfelt platitudes.’”

          “You know,” he sat beside her. “”You have a very wry sense of humor that could almost be described as vicious.”

          Her lips fought the urge to grin as she met his gaze.  He didn’t resist and bestowed a magnificent grin on her.

          “I want you to be my doctor.”

          He blinked.  “Are you feeling ill?”

          “I’m fine.  Really.  I don’t want you as my doctor for medical reasons.  I need a confidant.  You’re not allowed to divulge patient-doctor information, right?”

          “As long as there is no danger of injury to yourself or others.”

          “Present or future tense?  Not that I know of.”

          “Past tense?”

          Beverly gulped and tried to calm her racing heart.  “Will you be my doctor?”

          He nodded.

          “I’ve never had a doctor before.  Not even when I was married.  As a child, my mother refused to take me to a doctor – she said it was for religious reasons, and other than getting immunizations at the local clinic, that was it.  No major illnesses, breaks, surgeries, nothing until the car accident.”  Her eyes filled with long-borne grief.  “And none since then.”

          “But your mother uses a doctor now.”

          Beverly rocked forward and back, fighting tears.

          “What is it, Beverly?  You look terrified.  Let me help.”

          She nodded. “I was going through my mother’s mail, paying her overdue bills.  I found a letter from a cemetery in Beaulah Pines,” she said.

“Beaulah Pines?” he seemed startled.

“Yes, you know it?”

He shrugged.  “Sorry for the interruption.  Continue.”

“Keeping me away from doctors had nothing to do with religion.  She didn’t want anyone to know that I’m not Beverly Knightly.  Maybe a doctor would have a way to track something like that.  Ways that lost children can be identified.  Ways that fake birth certificates can be challenged.”

          Eoghan tilted his head.  “I don’t understand.  How did the letter from a cemetery tell you about not being who you thought you were?”

Excerpt from

Close Your Eyes

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

Excerpt from Close Your Eyes Chapter One

          She was in the dark place.  She was drowning in the scents around her – beer-tinged piss, wood smoke, exhaust fumes, and the stench of something very sweet.

          Wake up, wake up!  But she never could; not until each scene unfolded, again and again.  She’d had this same dream for as long as she could remember: same dark place, same evil people, same cloying stench.  Same ending.

          Wake up, damn you, she groaned in her sleep.

          The man had the woman on the ground and was hitting her.  The little girl – she was the little girl in the dream – kicked and bit and screamed, but boney fingers clenched her arms.  She was just a child; she couldn’t escape.

          Another man – she called him the snake man --  walked up and kicked the first man savagely.  The woman crawled to the newcomer’s feet and grabbed the ankles of his boots.  The little girl knew they were speaking, but couldn’t understand the words.  The man in the boots touched the woman’s cheek, caressing her face gently with his left hand.  The snake tattoo wound its way up his arm, slithering as his muscles tightened.

          Wake up, wake up, please.

          His right hand rose above his head.  He held something that was long, thin, black, and caught the flicker of the firelight.   To a child, it looked like a very long nail.

          The woman looked at the little girl and spoke the same words every time, “Close your eyes, Baby.”

          The phone was ringing.  The phone.  There’d never been a phone in the dark dream before.  Beverly sat up, switched on the bedside lamp, picked up the phone with one hand and with the other, opened the table’s drawer and patted the empty spot where she used to keep a pack of Misty’s.

          “Beverly,” her mother’s voice was shaky.  Bev glanced at the alarm clock.

          “Mom, it’s 2:30, what’s wrong?”

          “I can’t find the cat.”

          Beverly took a calming breath and glanced into the empty drawer.  “Mom, you don’t have a cat.”

          “Of course I have a cat.  What’s wrong with you?”

          Beverly firmly shut the drawer.  “Mom, you don’t have a cat.”

          “I certainly do.  Serious hasn’t eaten the tuna I put down for him in three days.  I haven’t let him out.  But I can’t find him.”

          Beverly wiped her sweaty face and stood up.  “I’ll be right there, Mom.”

          Her mother Theodora, called Teddy for short, had forgotten that Serious Cat, a part tuxedo, part Persian had succumbed to kidney failure three years ago.  As Beverly slipped on old jeans, a T shirt and her well-worn grasshoppers, she debated the best way to break the news to her mother – again.

 

          “Mrs. Knightly, I’m Dr. Eoghan.”  The young man entered the room reading a chart, and stuck out his hand without looking up.

          Beverly stood, a barrier between the intruder and her mother.  “Where’s Dr. Figaro?”

          Eoghan looked up and pursed his lips.  “Dr. Figaro is at surgery.  I’m one of his partners.”

          “No offense, Doctor, but we’ll come back when Dr. Figaro is available.”  Bev turned and touched her mother’s shoulder.  “Time to go, Mom.”

          “The nurse said you were very concerned about your mother.”  Eoghan stepped in front of the door.

          “The nurse also said Dr. Figaro would see her.”  Beverly bristled.  “He’s the only doctor my mother’s ever known.  I’m sure you’re a wonderful doctor, I just want to speak with someone who knows my mom.”

          “Give me a chance.”  He shrugged and grinned.  “Why don’t you tell me what the problem is, and if you’re not happy with my suggestions, I’ll tell Dr. Figaro everything when he gets back this afternoon.  He can call you.”

          Bev hesitated.

          “I have her entire folder here.  It goes back ten years.  It will save you a trip.”  He pointed at the examining table.  “Mrs. Knightly, why don’t you hop up here for a minute?”

          While Eoghan examined Teddy, he asked Beverly questions.  “What’s happened?”

          “She called me last night about something.  When I went over to her house, I found out she’s not been taking her medication.”

          “Tacrine or synthroid?”

          “The one for mental confusion: tacrine.”  Bev smoothed her skirt.  “It looks like she’s missed four day’s worth.”

          “Anything else?”

          Bev glanced down to her right, frowning.  “She’s not been paying her bills.  I got a phone call from a friend at the city and had to rush a check to them to keep them from turning off her lights.”

          Teddy snapped, “Of course I pay my bills.  They must have lost it!  You know how they are!”

          Eoghan felt her pulse and spoke softly.  “Mrs. Knightly, how do you feel?”

          “My cat died.”

          “I’m sorry to hear that.  I love cats.  When did it happen?”

          Teddy looked to Beverly for help.

          “Three years ago.  But because she hadn’t been taking her medication, she was concerned last night that she couldn’t find him.”

          “His name was Serious.”

          “I like that name.  My cat’s name is Peabody.”

          Teddy giggled.

          Eoghan held a cell phone to his ear.  “Janet, come to room five please.”

          “Hello Mrs. Knightly, Mrs. Birch.”  Janet was huge and always smelled of cedar.  Both mother and daughter brightened at her greeting.

          “Janet, would you take Mrs. Knightly’s vitals?  Mrs. Birch and I will go to my office to get out of your way.”

          The diplomas on the walls were from American universities.  He watched as she scrutinized them and didn’t sit until she had.

          “So, how are you holding up?

          “I’m fine.”  She looked at his white coat and noticed a red lighter resting in the front pocket.

          “You look tired.”

          “Doctor, you don’t know me, so you have nothing to compare my present looks with.  Maybe I always look this way.”  Beverly hoped the wry twist of her lips helped her words come across as humor.

Excerpt from

Close Your Eyes

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.