I fled Vermillion and the weirdness which I had seen in that hospital room as quickly as my car would take me.
I wish there was more to the story than that, I honestly do.
There I was, a hip free spirited young woman looking for the west coast vibe, and it is no point of pride that I abandoned the whole thought at the first instance of strange occurrence. I mean, what else was I looking for in California? I'd gone west to be a hippie, to be an open minded and free spirited woman, unconstrained by the conventions, yet there I was, running scared at the first sign of the unaccountably strange.
I'd always thought there was more to me than that.
Of course I never imagined that I would find myself in a situation like the one which confronted me in that hospital room. No amount of open mindedness could encompass that scene, that awful incident between the woman I had rescued and the visitor who had called upon her.
Even as I fled west along the seemingly endless highway my mind was full of images of what had occurred, the grotesque image of Ginny Bellow's body, the piercings and the bell and the silver chains that adorned her. The wide spread thighs of Violet Dawes. The dripping and expectant pussy between them and Ginny's tongue snaking out to flick upon her distended clitoris...
But even as I drove it was not the sights I had been privy to which caused me the most unease, nor the odd circumstances that had brought me to that room as witness. No, it was something else and something deeper.
It was the words which the women had spoken, the strange narrative they had sketched between them. Strange names...Arshinov and Eseme and whispers of obscure dark fates. I know I could have ignored all that, could have pushed it altogether from my mind as the babble of a mad woman were it not for Ginny Bellow's words before I fled.
"Run. It will not matter you poor silly bitch...It's too late already."
That didn't seem to me like madness or confusion. It didn't seem to me like it had been a mistake. It sounded like a promise or an oath, and I had no intention of sticking around to discover just what was implied.
And even as those words echoed time and again in my mind as I raced through the darkened hours, I was troubled by my response to them. Not the fear or discomfort which what had happened provoked in me, but rather the physical and unwanted effect that it had upon my body.
I had grown wet between my thighs at the sight of Ginny Bellow's body, at the terrible moment when I knew that she would place her lips upon Violet's offered pussy. Somehow my body had been turned on by the events within that room, even as my mind rebelled against them. I would have liked to pretend that it was not the case, to have denied that it ever happened at all, but even as a drove I could feel the damp heat spreading beneath my jeans, could smell the fragrance of my own sex filling the whole of the Pontiac, until I had to drive with the windows down, until I had to chain smoke cigarettes just to keep the fragrant truth at bay.
There was no explanation for it, no excuse that I could offer to myself, other than the simple fact that part of me had been aroused by what I had witnessed.
As I look back upon it now, I wonder what I might have done differently. I wonder if there was some exit off that highway that I missed, some turn I could have made that would have led from one story and into another. A road which would have led me to the shores of California and the life which I had imagined for myself. I scour my memories and I search for that second when I could have gone another way...Even now I cannot say for sure.
I still debate inside myself, if I had just pushed the car a little harder, if I had just pushed myself a little further...But I didn't. I couldn't.
I had been awake by then for more than twenty four hours, and I was exhausted, frightened and confused. The adrenaline of my flight from terror was beginning to fade as the sun came up over the horizon and I found myself speeding through the red rock landscape of the South Dakota bad lands.
Maybe it was the first rays of the light, that childhood assumption that nothing awful can happen in daylight. Or maybe it was the knowledge that I was only a few miles from the border of Wyoming. Whatever the reason, as the sun rose in the badlands I took a breath and decided it was safe enough.
There was no sign of anyone on the highway behind me, I had not seen a set of headlights all night, but even so I was rattled enough to turn onto a small dirt road and follow it until a dead end among the rock formations before I stopped the car. Even as I was willing myself to be brave I was still rattled enough to want to be out of sight of the road. I think I intended to get out of the car for a couple of minutes, to stretch my legs and see if movement could shake off some of the strangeness that had enveloped me. I didn't make it. No sooner had I pulled the keys from the ignition than I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
I knew at once that I was dreaming. There was no uncertainty about that.
I found myself sitting on a stone bench, shivering in the icy wind of a city which I did not know. I looked around at the dark tenement houses that loomed all around me, but I saw no light in any window, there were no cars upon the empty boulevard. I took a deep breath then. I closed my eyes and willed myself to dream of someplace warm. Some place where I would not be alone.
When I opened my eyes I was still there on the stone bench, in the same cold and darkened city, but I was no longer there alone. A woman stood in the center of the empty street, watching me and saying nothing. Even though she was only ten yards from me, there was something about the light or the drifting snow which prevented me from making out the features of her face.
I could hear my own voice carrying out into the silence, telling the woman that it was alright, that I was not really there.
"I'm somewhere else." I heard myself say. "It''s ok...I won't stay long."
And at once I heard her voice drifting all around me, "There may come a time when you will wish that you had stayed...It is cold here, yes, but at least it is lonely...Sometimes there is great comfort in being alone."
In the dream I shrugged my shoulders, searched my pockets for a cigarette, for matches. "I like people. I'm going to a place where there are lots of them...so I won't have to be alone."
"That is certainly true." I heard the woman say. "But even so you may not love it as much as you thought you would. Or worse, you may love it far too much Rebecca Marsh."
"What's wrong with that? In loving the place you find yourself?"
I think the woman began to laugh then, a strange sound that reverberated through the snow and the silence of empty buildings, refracted on the panes of dark and vacant windows. All at once there was a cigarette between my fingers, and a match was burning in my other hand.
"Take your pleasure where you can." The woman said as I placed the cigarette between my lips. "I think you will miss this place in time. The place you are going...it is not the place that you think."
"So where am I going?" I asked, distracted watching the blue smoke of my cigarette drifting into the pale white sky.
"Many places." Came the answer. "They are looking for you now."
"Who?"