fatman

This particular story idea took hold of me years ago when a family I know became upset that one of their daughters had gotten involved with witchcraft. Being fairly anti-Christian at the time I asked the young woman about her new found religious beliefs. She explained to me that she had never been comfortable with what little Christianity she had grown up in. The Wicca religion she had discovered suited her nature fairly well. I asked if she had any books on this new religion that I might borrow. She reluctantly lent me a dozen or so. I read several books that I later learned might be called Pagan Lite and I skimmed the rest. What I ended up with was some small understanding of Wicca and a good deal of confusion about Paganism in general.

I was inspired to write a short story about the goddess who is depicted in three aspects; innocent maiden, mature woman and wise crone. That original effort is lost, but the basic idea has nagged me for years. It wasn’t until I thought of writing “Emmitsburg, the story” as a series of short stories I could weave into a whole that I found a reason to rewrite “The Fatman”.

Enough! The first tale.

 The house where the story takes place

“The Fatman”

Doctor Melissa Birger smiled at the fatman and his bodyguard as she welcomed them into her Emmitsburg office. She had met them at the Baltimore City Teaching Hospital where she had resident privileges and often worked in the ER. As she occasionally found necessary, she had requested the fatman visit her office in Emmitsburg for a radical treatment she couldn’t offer at BCTH. The fatman had tried every diet currently on the market, had even had his stomach stapled. He still weighed in excess of 400 pounds. Dr. Birger was his last hope, or so he had convinced himself.

Having wheezed his way up the hall stairs the fatman collapsed onto a wooden kitchen chair that squeaked alarmingly. Dr. Birger gave him time to catch his breath. She wasn’t particularly pleased to have the man as a patient. She knew him to be a slumlord as well as a minor crack cocaine dealer. She had also heard rumors of his running a stable of prostitutes, whore bitches, he called them. Birger was wondering how such a man would respond to the treatment she was about to minister to him. Her smile broadened slightly at the possibilities.

“So, you’ve dragged me out to this shithole.” The fatman wheezed. His eyes scanning the room, a tiny dining area off an even smaller kitchen. “Not much of a doctor’s treatment room.” loading his voice with sarcasm. “Even for such a redneck, jerk water burg like this.”

The bodyguard snorted, never taking his eyes off Birger. She wondered how the guard was going to react to what she did to his boss. Her smile grew wider.

“As I explained the last we met, I couldn’t treat you at the hospital. I regret bringing you here, but had no choice. You haven’t responded to any of the measures other doctors have attempted and were willing to try something… radical. I guarantee you will lose all the weight you need to be rid of.” She dropped the smile, staring coolly at the man, “Provided you’ve the nerve.”

“Shit woman. You think I’d come out here to this.” He swung his arm to encompass everything not a part of his Baltimore City. “Let’s get on with it.”

With a nod, Birger stepped quickly into the tiny kitchen. Both men followed her with greedy eyes. The bodyguard had suggested they turn the attractive young doctor into one of the fatman’s whores if her treatment failed to produce the hoped for results. The fatman offered he had such in mind even if the treatment worked. They shared a quick smirk before the woman stepped back to the table with a mug of steaming tea.

“I’ve been on liquid diets.” The fatman snarled as she set the mug before him.

Birger shrugged. “This isn’t a soup. It’s a potent herbal drug. A gateway drug you might say.” Her smile was sudden, her voice dripping sarcasm.

Before the fatman could speak, she went on. “The drug is used to open your mind so the real weight loss program can begin. Fortunately there aren’t magic pills to cure all our ills.” Gesturing at the mug, “It should be cool enough to drink. I suggest you down it as it has a nasty flavor.”

A thick fingered hand grasped the mug, lifted it and after a moment’s hesitation the fatman gulped the contents. He gasped and shuddered.

“Shit! That’s awful. What the hell is in it?”

Birger chuckled. “An old recipe the woman who used to live here taught me. She grew the herbs in the backyard. I’ve kept them going as I occasionally have need of them.”

“So what does this gateway drug do?” The fatman hesitated. “How do I know when it’s working?”

Birger pointed to the wall with its recessed shelving behind him. “When the shelves become a door the drug is at its peak. You have to pass through the door to begin- your diet.”

The fatman struggled to his feet. His face was red more from anger than the effort. “Doctor Birger. So the day isn’t a total waste of my time-”

He stood slack jawed seeing the doctor with one eye and the wall shelf with the other. The doctor was still smiling; the wall was now a door. Jerking his head to face the door he snapped his mouth shut.

The guard, not taking his eyes from Birger, growled, “Boss?”

“Look at the wall.” Commanded the fatman. “What do you see?”

The guard jerked his eyes to the wall, saw the shelves, and returned his attention the woman. “A wall, boss.”

Staring at the door the fatman growled. “Doctor, do you see the door?”

“Yes, I walked through it… long ago.” She let a note of wistfulness into her voice.

Snorting the fatman wrapped his thick fingers about the door’s plain knob of a handle. Glaring at his guard, he muttered, “If I make a fool of myself…” He jerked the door open.

For several heartbeats, he merely stood with a dumbfounded expression sagging his doughy face. Regaining his normal attitude, he said with a gleeful laugh, “A fat assed Alice down the rabbit hole.” And stepped through the doorway.

The guard lunged for the wall. The fatman was gone. Just gone. Checking his motion, he whirled on the doctor who stood quietly, still smiling.

“Where the fuck did he go?” Panic rising in the man’s eyes. He stepped toward the doctor and found himself being pulled backward into the living room. Icy fingers, fingers he could not see, were burning his flesh, sucking the strength from his arms. His chest was being compressed, his breath swooshing out, his lungs unable to draw fresh air. He slammed against a wall.

A soft voice, no, not a voice. A thought, a female thought? Was filling his head. He knew, knew as certainly as he had ever known anything that harming the woman calmly staring at him would bring a fate truly worse than death.

Being a practical man, if of a criminal bent, he accepted that he couldn’t harm the doctor. Relaxing he felt the pressure diminish, the ice fingers loosen their grip. Sucking in a great gulp of air, he managed a soft growl, “What the hell was that?”

Stepping into the living room with him Dr. Birger asked, “Your boss vanishing or your meeting Hildegard?”

“Who the fu…” The man’s eyes darted about the room. “Who is Hildegard?”

Glancing at the watch on her wrist Birger nodded. “We have time for a story. You can get the fatman’s tale from him when he gets back.”

Before the guard could ask where the fatman was the doctor added, “He is in another… place. Not quite Alice’s rabbit hole, but not far from it I suppose. Maybe everyone who opens that door sees what they need to see?” The wistfulness was back in her voice.

“Come out on the porch. Hildegard’s story is interesting enough to pass the time until the fatman returns to us-” Her smile was almost wicked in its good cheer, “the thinman.”

The porch was an outdoor extension of the second floor living room, complete with comfortably cushioned wrought iron chairs, a table, a small refrigerator and a wall mounted weatherproof radio. There were also wall mounted stereo speakers wired to the hi-fi in the living room proper. The porch over-looked the building’s double lot with its towering  pine trees, the diminutive magnolia, and various shrubs and flowerbeds. A formal herb garden in the shape of a Celtic cross grew in the center of the yard, beyond that the alley. Then a Catholic church, immense in its gray stucco and soaring stained glass windows, surrounded by markers of its dead parishioners.

Leaning with her back against the porch rail Dr. Birger waved a hand to encompass the property. “Hildegard was born in this house sometime in 1880. She never left the property in the 93 years she had lived before I met her.”

The guard wasn’t really listening. He was calculating his chances of rushing the woman, hurling her over the rail and escaping the ghost of Hildegard by hurling himself down the steps to the doctor’s right. A frigid tickle, just the barest wisp ran along the side of his neck. The knowledge that a horrid fate could reach him even outside the haunted house drove the last remnants of violence from his mind.

Thank you, a thin reedy voice whispered in his left ear. He felt the cold of some other world frost the fine hairs about his ear. I do so dislike hurting people.

The guard, noticing that the doctor was standing silent, grunted to clear his throat. “I’m listening.”

A not quite wicked smile curled the doctor’s lips. “Hildegard’s parents were devout Roman Catholics. Descendents of German immigrants, the first generation born in America. They were fairly well to do, middle class, thrifty, hard working people who took life seriously. They also had 10 children. Hildegard was the youngest and named after Saint Hildegard who was offered to the Church as one tenth of her family’s wealth. Which was, in her day, a good Christian’s offering to their god.”

“Hildegard’s parents planned to offer her to the Church as the historic Hildegard had been offered. I suppose such a life would have been better for our Hildegard than it was for the original, but still- Turning ones child over to an institution is beyond my comprehension.”

She paused as a shiver ran through her. “But our Hildegard wasn’t meant for a cloistered life. Well, not a Catholic cloister at any rate. The local nunnery would never see her, though the Sisters were often in this house to pray over her during her sickly childhood. Later, the priests came too and the combined prayers of this town could not drive out the devils they believed swarmed in this place- and maybe possessed the child.”

Now the guard shivered at the memory of the icy fingers. Were there devils here? Did he even believe in devils? Hell, he hadn’t believed in ghosts until a few minutes ago!

As if reading his mind the doctor laughed. “There are devils, I guess you can call them devils. But Hildegard isn’t one of them, nor do they frequent this house anymore than they do most houses. Possibly less. There isn’t much here they want.”

“Hildegard thinks she came in contact with… spirits, during one of her childhood fevers. She told me that sometime in her early years she began to hear voices no one else could hear.” The doctor gave the guard a piercing look. “Can you imagine what she must have been put through by her parents and the Church?"

Shifting uneasily the man remained silent.

The doctor sighed. “Of course you can’t.”

“By the time Hildegard was 6 years old she had stopped talking about the voices she alone heard. She still heard them and even spoke with them when she thought she had privacy. But her parents occasionally heard her talking to herself and they were afraid their child was possessed by a devil. They were also embarrassed by their strange child and set about keeping her from the public eye. This house became Hildegard’s cloister.”

The guard shook his head. “They made her a prisoner in this house?” He was thinking of some of the women he and the fatman were currently holding prisoner in one of the fatman’s buildings.

The doctor smiled. “Not such a bad deal compared to a nunnery. She had the garden. The property was fenced in by high wooden walls then. And people visited regularly while her parents were alive. After they died, she simply stayed put. She had a reputation by then as an herbal witch, or a healer, depending on one’s point of view. Her “voices” had told her many things about herbs and illnesses. They told her how to mix a tea that would open the door the fatman walked through.”

A few seconds passed as the guard considered his boss and the invisible door. The man grunted as he made up his mind to wait for more information. “So how’d you end up owning this house? How’d you meet this Hildegard?”

“Sit down.” The doctor said as she pulled a chair from the patio table and sat herself. She felt her expression go blank as she brought back memories of her childhood. Nasty memories she had long ignored. Reaching her thirteenth year, she found herself walking east along the dimly lit main street of Emmitsburg Maryland on the evening of October 2^nd, 1973. It was raining, her skin was slightly blue in her wet clothes.

“I had just about reached the town’s single traffic light when the police chief took notice of me and pulled his cruiser in to the curb beside me. I know he was just doing his job, but at the time I was afraid of the police."

Melissa shivered in the chill drizzle. She stood in the rectangle of light streaming from a door several steps above the sidewalk. Faint voices and music escaped the warmly lighted room behind that door. All of the child’s attention was focused on the car window softly hissing down to reveal a large man with a police shield on his chest.

“Hey girl.” His voice was gruff. “Who are you? Where are you going?”

Fear shot through Melissa’s thin frame. This cop would take her home, or send her home. She couldn’t let him do that. She had to get to Baltimore. She had too!

“Get in the car.” The cop said after he’d waited a moment for her answer.

Melissa watched him lean across the seat to unlock the door. Before her legs could start their frantic dash for safety the door behind and above her opened into the night releasing light, warmth, the nearly painful fragrance of food, and a big voice that startled her into standing still.

“G’ night. See you all tomorrow.” The voice boomed over the music, the clatter of dinnerware and talk.

She felt the man descend to the sidewalk as the door closed reducing the light surrounding her. The fragrance of home cooked food wrapped about her as he neared. A radiant warmth grew as he stepped close. His voice snapped her out of her daze.

“So here you are.”

She didn’t dare take her eyes from those of the cop who was frowning suspiciously now.

“Is she with you Chuck?”

A heavy Army field jacket suddenly engulfed her shivering body. It hung below her knees, its warmth added to its surprising weight nearly caused her to collapse. The smells of food, sweat, flowers, spices… earth… filled her head as the jacket’s warmth weakened her limbs.

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for her all day. We’re going up to Miss Cool’s before we head out to my place tomorrow.”

“What’s her name Chuck?”

Melissa didn’t even think. She spoke just loud enough for both men to catch it. “Melissa.”

The cop frowned. “Got a last name?” He was looking at Chuck. His voice wasn’t quite friendly.

“Birger.” Melissa said. She didn’t know where the name had come from. It wasn’t hers. It just popped into her head, but she knew the instant before she spoke that it was the name she would use from that day on.

“Birger huh?” The cop snorted. “One of your kin?”

The car window hissed softly closed as the cruiser moved off along the street.

The man called Chuck stepped in front of her. He dropped onto one knee so his face was at a level with hers. The light from the restaurant door fell so she could see him well enough. They studied each other for several beats. Melissa thought he was a ruggedly handsome man, maybe in his late 20s. Long dark hair turning black in the rain. His eyes might have been a pale blue, but in that light she wasn’t sure. He had an air of sadness about him. She felt as if they had that in common at least. He raised a large callused hand to touch her cheek. Even his hand gave off a heat.

Chuck studied the child for signs of a mistake. He knew he was to meet a woman/child today. The Lady had given him that much understanding. Whether it would be “the woman”, he wasn’t sure. Not that “the woman” would ever fulfill her part of their destiny. Not after he had…

He jerked his thoughts back to the kid. He saw the pain she had suffered, was suffering. Pain that threatened to ignite the anger he had caged after years of being out of control. He also saw courage and hope in her sad black eyes.

“Let’s see about a hot tub of water and some hotter food. You can sleep in a bed tonight and we’ll talk in the morning about what you want to do.” He continued to search her face for a hint of her thoughts. “Is that all right with you? Miss Cool is just a few houses across the square.” He jerked his head toward the east.

Melissa nodded slightly and found herself scooped off her feet. Chuck was yards down the sidewalk before she could think to protest. His strong arms, steady stride and warmth overwhelmed her. She rested her head against his chest and let herself be carried to house 21 and Hildegard Cool’s front door.

Three steps up from the sidewalk and Melissa found herself back on her feet. Somehow this strange man knew she would rather enter this house under her own command. She nodded her head in acknowledgement of his setting her down and gained her balance as he turned a knobbed handle in the left panel of a large white double door. The triple ring of a doorbell sang out into the night. Chuck immediately twisted a glass doorknob and pushed the right panel open.

No one had answered the bell, the door hadn’t been locked. Melissa stepped into the hall of the two storied brick house and waited at the foot of stairs leading up. She caught the comforting odors of furniture wax, herbal teas and baking spices. Chuck stepped into the hall beside her closing the door.

“Hildegard! You have a guest.” His voice filled the hall and brought creaking of wooden boards, the soft shuffle of elderly feet from above. “Can we come up?” He called again as a petite woman stepped into the light at the top of the stairs.

“Chuck Birger” a reedy voice drifted down to them. “I don’t know if you are a blessing or a curse.” The woman gestured with her hands for them to join her in the upper hall. “All my life I wanted children and now that I’m all but dead you bring them to me faster than I can feed them!” A cheerful laugh accompanied her chiding.

When Melissa reached the hall the elder woman gave her a quick up and down glance. She cocked her gray/white head to one side as if listening to someone Melissa couldn’t hear. With a startling cry the woman began a bouncing motion as excitement over came her.

“Chuck, oh Chuck you’ve brought me a daughter.” She grasped Melissa’s slim soft hands in her gnarled callused ones. Gently she drew Melissa’s hands to her dry lips and barely touched the backs of each youthful finger. “Daughter.” She said triumphantly, as if in defiance of some old dictate that she had long lived under.

“Come, let’s get you some hot food and drink. I’ll run water in the bath and make a room ready for you.”

Hildegard was actually giggling, as if she were a schoolgirl with friends over for the night. Chuck cleared his throat, almost commenting on this.  Hildegard whirled on him and shouted. “Out man! Back to your cave! This is a women’s night and we’ve no need of the likes of you.”

Laughing at Chuck’s startled expression the old woman leaned closer and added softly, “You know someone has hurt her.” Anger was in her eyes. “Men are suspect because they always manage to hurt us. Though a woman has betrayed her too, more deeply hurt her.”

Chuck nodded, having thought much the same. “I’ll be welcome in the light?” He asked as he began backing down the steps.

A dry chuckle followed him. “When the sun is risen she can follow your path. If she chooses.”

Doctor Birger blinked herself into the present. “Hildegard bathed me, fed me and gave me a cup of the same tea your boss drank. She told me later I walked through that same door that you can’t see and spent one night beyond it.”

The doctor cast a sad glance at the house. “I was… healed beyond that door, just as the fatman is being healed.”

The ghost of Hildegard didn’t speak, but somehow conveyed it was time to bring the fatman to their side of the door.

As they stood to go back into the house the doctor turned to the guard. “Understand something. He is NOT going to be the man you worked for. I don’t mean just his physical appearance, though that will be startling enough. He is going to be different up here.” She tapped the side of her head. “And here.” She touched her breast above her heart.

“He’s going to need you as he’s never needed you before. He’s going to be like a baby just born into a world he’s already made a mess of.” She locked her eyes onto the guard’s. “If you’ve even a hint of fucking decency in you you’ll not betray him. If you do take advantage of him…” Her voice grew very cold and the ghost’s fingers tickled about his throat. “Hildegard’s ‘friends’ can find you where ever you try to hide.”

The doctor’s black eyes were cold pits. “If you don’t think you can help him, get in his car and leave. I’ll find some other to get him through what’s coming.”

She didn’t wait for a response, just walked back into the house, through the living room and into the tiny dining area. Without taking her eyes from the wall shelf she called to the guard. “Boil some water and put a spoonful of the herbs in the jar on the counter in the cup that’s beside them. Your boss is going to need some calming when he comes back. You’ll hold him and I’ll get some tea into him.”

She waited until she sensed the essence of the brewing tea then reaching for the doorknob the guard still couldn’t see. She commanded, “Get ready to hold him.”

The door had opened under the fatman’s hand revealing a room of wood; peeled log walls, an unfinished plank floor, exposed roof beams festooned with bundles of dried plants. Plank shutters covered windows showing cracks of gray as if the sun had yet to rise, but was near. A simple board table stood in the center of the room, a primitive bed against the right wall, a stoked hearth against the opposite wall. The fatman stepped into the room. The door vanished, not a trace of it remaining.

Chuckling self-consciously he noted shelves against the wall he’d just walked through. Various root vegetables were ordered on the shelves along with bowls of nuts, dried fruits, and numerous grains. The fragrance of simmering stew came from the hearth where a small black pot hung from an iron arm above the fire. His stomach growled. Whatever drug-induced hallucination he was in the grips of hadn’t effected his appetite!

He started toward the pot of stew just as the newly risen sun set the window cracks blazing with its light. A shrill, tormented wailing nearly stopped his heart. He stood rooted to the floor as the wail undulated through the dawn. The sound was cut off abruptly, leaving a silence nearly as unnerving as the previous moment’s pain.

The fatman’s heart lurched back into a wild beat as a door opposite the one he’d entered swung open. A blaze of dawn sun entered the dim cabin, blinding the fatman to all but a vague silhouette of some child-sized figure in the doorway.

Entering the cabin the figure closed the heavy plank door then turned to face the fatman. As his eyes recovered from the sun’s haloing of the child, for he could see it was a child, the child smiled as if happy to see him in her cabin. A girl? A pubescent girl the fatman noted. A naked child/woman. He felt his blood begin to rise.

The child/woman turned from him to quickly open the cabin’s shutters letting in light and the fragrances of a spring morning. Birds sang. The fatman began tearing his clothes off.  He didn’t care if he were making a spectacle of himself before the doctor and his guard. He was letting the hallucination take him where it would. He wanted this child, this soon to be woman.

Opening the last shutter the child turned to find her guest as naked as she. Her smile of welcome turned to a puzzled frown as he bore down on her. His fat fist struck her pretty face. She fell to the floor, his oppressive body following her down. He had already decided that arrogant bitch of a doctor would also sate his lust. Then he’d take her, the real woman- not this drug created child, back to Baltimore and add her to his stable of whores. He’d teach the bitch to mock him, to laugh at him in his drug-induced fit of want and need.

He was brutal in his child rape. While rape was not new to him he had never raped a child. He savored the experience even as he was aware it was only a hallucination. After the doctor’s “training” in his stable he would have to find a suitable child so he could compare a real rape with what was happening in his head.

He left the girl sobbing on the floor. His stomach was grumbling after all the exercise. He began searching the cabin for something to eat. The pot over the fire proved to contain a stew of various root vegetables in a thin broth. He carefully tasted it, noted its lack of meat or meat flavor. Snorting his disgust he ladled a bowl from it and looked about for anything else to eat. He found a loaf of coarse bread, some dried fruit- apples he thought.

Sitting at the table he studied the room again. The quietly sobbing child was as he’d left her. He noted his clothes had disappeared. He wasn’t surprised, the drug was having its way. He did ponder the drug’s effects though. He did not feel “high”, nor was the hallucination in any way unreal. In fact he couldn’t recall any “trip” he ever taken as “real” as this one was.

Stuffing the last bit of dried fruit into his mouth he glanced at the child. He considered having her again. An over-whelming tiredness seized him as he swallowed the last bit of fruit. He made his way to the bed. Eyeing it suspiciously he tested it’s durability as he slowly eased his bulk onto it. Not even a squeak of protest from the structure. Smiling, he sprawled on it and was soon snoring.

A trilling vocal tune woke him. He lay for a few beats of his heart trying to get a grip on where he was and who was signing. As memory placed him, he realized he’d had the most restful sleep of his life. He felt full of energy, vital, potent. He all but leaped out of the bed. He wasn’t as heavy as he’d been when he’d lain down!

Looking down at his body he could see some of the rolls of fat were smaller, some maybe even gone? The thought that this was only a dream, only the drug’s power controlling his mind pissed him off. He looked about the room noting some sort of flowers in clay jars on the table, the shelf, and the windowsills. The trilling voice led him to the open door.

The girl, no not the girl. There was a young woman, maybe  a late teen or twenty something, walking toward him from the garden. She certainly looked like the girl, but she was older, taller. He noted her hips swelling below the cord she had belted about her waist to control her simple garment. His eyes moved to her chest where he eagerly took in the swell of her breasts. He didn’t note her happy smile, or the basket of spring vegetables she had tucked under one arm.

He didn’t wait for her to enter the cabin. He hit her hard. She went down, but scrambled to her feet, her face swelling, bruises darkening. She looked more surprised than angry and jumped quickly away from him as he lunged for her. She avoided his efforts to garb her until he was gasping for breath. His early feelings of energy were now gone. He trembled with frustrated lust and lost stamina. Food was more prominent in his mind now than rape.

He shakily made his way into the cabin and sat at the table. He had eaten everything available in the room before his sleep. He’d let the woman feed him now. Then he’d punish her for her treatment of him.

She cautiously peeked into the room. Her face was returning quickly to its natural condition. She looked at him quizzically, waiting for some sign before she entered or fled.

“Come in,” he gruffed. “I’m hungry.”

She moved slowly to the table, careful to keep its solidness between them. She quickly set slim green onions, various lettuces, carrots, peas in their pods, dew touched strawberries and shoots of plants he didn’t recognize before him.

He looked the offering over and waved it away with a trembling arm. “I need meat. Real food. This shit is for cows and pigs. Don’t you have any beef? Any pork? Hell, I’d take a roasted chicken- shit- I’d eat boiled chicken!”

The woman gave him a puzzled frown. She took up some of the lettuce leaves and an onion, which she wrapped with the lettuce. She began eating it with her eye brows arched and her head titled to one side. She motioned with her free hand for him to help himself.

With a sigh of resignation he selected a strawberry and popped it into his maw. The explosion of flavors nearly caused him to spit the fruit from his mouth. Giggling at his expression she motioned for him to try something else. He carefully sampled all the variety that was laid before him. To his surprise he liked all of the strange flavors and textures. He even experimented with combining different vegetables as the woman had done.

After a few companionable minutes of quiet munching, during which the drug induced hallucination offered the fatman several select combinations of foods he’d never heard of, the table was finally bare but for the basket. Belching softly the fatman felt full, but surprising not thick and tired as he often did from his usual meals of fatty meats and starchy side dishes smothered in greasy gravies. He was full of energy. And his lust was even more insistent.

This time when he attacked the woman she sidestepped his lunge then stepped in quickly as he turned toward her again. Her knee smashed upward into his groin. She watched impassively as the blood drained from his face  and an anguished cry, mixed with part of his breakfast, fell from his mouth. The cabin shook with the impact of his body with the floor.

He awoke to a gentle crooning and the light, damp, cool touch of a cloth to his face. He opened an eye to see the woman kneeling beside him as he lay upon the bed. He couldn’t imagine how she had gotten him onto the bed by herself until he noticed she had changed in appearance once more. Her skin was no longer white, but tanned from exposure to a late spring, early summer sun. He felt the calluses on her hand through the cloth, saw the muscle definition through her smooth skin as she dipped the cloth in a bowl and squeezed the excess water from it before patting his face with it. The woman had matured, grown stronger. He was getting tired of this drugged state and wondered how much longer he would be in its grip.

He mumbled a half hearted “thank you” and closed his eyes. Her soft croon lulled him almost back into sleep, but an unexpected giggle from the woman caused his eyes to snap open. He saw the woman pulling her robe off over her head. Before he could do more than gasp she was as naked as himself and crawling into the bed- no, sliding on top of him!

As his libido kicked in, much to his surprise, she mounted him and began pleasuring herself without so much as a kiss. For the first time in his life he was feeling used!

He felt the orgasms shake her several times before she collapsed on him with a guttural moan of pleasure. He was somewhat less than pleased and attempted to shift her off of him. The movement brought her attention to his presence and her mouth found his as her hands reached for his groin. Before he could get his mind around what was happening she was mounting him again.

How long she used him he could not tell. He whimpered when she at last kissed him, laughed at his cringing and lithely jumped from the bed. She giggled at his limp member and tossed a sheet over him. With a saucy wiggle of her rump she blew him a kiss and walked out of the cabin into the bright light of full noon.

With a shuddering moan he rolled onto his side and slept. The hunger he felt was nothing next to his humiliation and exhaustion.

He found her still in the garden, naked among beans and squash. They went to the ground locked together in a long and urgent embrace. When they were sated he helped her gather the vegetables and carry them into the cabin. He barely noticed the sun was nearing the horizon as they ate and made love after.

Another sleep and back into the garden they went. Pumpkins, dried beans that rattled as they were uprooted. Corn no longer soft and sweet, but dry and hard. Everything was collected as the sun dropped below the horizon.

She was much older than the fatman now. Her hair was streaked with silver, her breasts sagging, wrinkles- from laughing- worked themselves about her eyes. They made love slowly now. Sure of what each wanted, careful to fulfill those wants in each other.

The moon was high in the dark sky. A fire roared in its place as cold wind shook the door and window shutters. She taught him to store various roots and to use them to make stews. He helped her shell the beans and shuck the corn. They strung peppers to dry. She grew older, slower in her movements. She made salves to ease the pain growing in her bones. He gently massaged it into her wrinkling, mottled skin. He felt a horror growing inside as he realized she was going to die. Old, very old she had become as the long night storm howled about the tiny cabin.

They lay closely in the bed as the fire shrank to bare flickers among the embers. He watched her as best he could in the failing glow. Her ancient face was still able to smile at his deep concern. Her gnarled hand caressed his cheek. She gently closed each of his eyelids with a soft fingertip.

He awoke with a jerk. She was gone! Was it the cabin door closing that had brought him out of a tender dream? He saw the gray light of predawn through the shutter cracks. Leaping from the bed he crossed to the door to pull it open just as the first ray of sun light struck the garden.

He saw her bent, withered form crouched in the dark. Icy wind tore at her frail shape as the sun touched her. A shrieking wail filled the garden as the ancient woman heaved herself erect to meet the dawn. Smoke hissed about her as the sun’s rays grew and her skin ignited in flames.

The fatman was screaming with every ounce of his being as the woman burned to ashes before him. He was still screaming when Doctor Birger violently jerked him into her Emmitsburg dinning room. The cabin vanished, as gone as his only love. He screamed and screamed.

His bodyguard held him tightly as they fell to the floor. The fatman raged. He cursed and kicked, bit and roared. He gagged when the doctor poured some liquid in his mouth. He spat. She poured more. He swallowed. His body relaxed even though his mind raged. He finally began sobbing. The guard sat holding him gently, muttering nonsense in an attempt to calm the stranger who might have been his boss- the fatman. The fatman who had vanished from this room weighing more than 400 pounds an hour ago, but was now cradled, sobbing in his arms weighing not more than 150 pounds. The guard helped the doctor wrap the fatman in a blanket and seat him on the living room sofa. The doctor sat next to the still sobbing man. She placed an arm around his shoulders and gently held him.

“You’ll have to drive over to Gettysburg for some clothes. I don’t have anything here for him to wear.” Glancing at the man shivering against her she shrugged.

“I’d say he takes a large shirt and probably wears a thirty-four inch waist with-“

“His inseam is thirty-four. Always has been since I’ve known him.” The guard said giving the doctor a sidelong glance. “You think you can manage him while I’m gone? Isn’t Gettysburg a few miles north of here?”

“About fifteen miles before you find a clothing shop. I believe there is a men’s store on the square. We’ll be fine.” She waved him away. “I need to explain some things to him while he is calm. If he wants you to know what I say to him he can tell you himself. He’s been to heaven and thinks he’s in hell now. I need to help him understand his place in all this.”

As the guard left the house the doctor hugged the fatman closer and began crooning softly. His tears finally dried on his ashen face. He rested his head on the doctor’s shoulder.

“Can you hear me?” she asked, shaking the man gently.

He nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Do you understand what has happened to you?” she asked, shaking him again.

“N-nooooo.” He nearly sobbed.

She wrapped her free arm about him and hugged him close. “Listen to me.” She said as he began to sob. “Listen.”

He hic-upped and stifled himself.

“Whatever happened to you in that room was real. As real as this sofa we’re sitting on. As real as this building around us. As real as this hand.” She lifted his hand so he could see it.

“You have really lost all the weight you went into that room with. I promised you that. But I didn’t warn you of what else might happen. What did happen. I couldn’t warn you because I didn’t truly know. Everyone that walks through that door lives a day unique to themselves. Do you understand me?”

His head nodded against her shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked cautiously.

He coughed and pulled away from her embrace. His eyes had a haunted look about them. She knew very well what he was seeing in his mind. The crone burning to ashes in the morning sun. She suppressed a shudder of her own.

“I- I loved her.” He whispered. “I’ve never loved anyone, but I loved her.” He began rocking forward and back with the agony he felt welling up inside.

The doctor’s hand touched his back stopping his motion.

“She- she- she’s dead?” he asked quietly.

“Yes and no.” The doctor sighed. “She died as you saw, but you also saw her newly risen from her ashes not long after you entered the cabin.”

He leaned forward and clasped his arms about his knees then released them and jerked himself into an upright position. “I can hug my knees?”

The doctor smiled. “Has it been a while?”

The fatman frowned. “I want to go back.”

A long sigh escaped the doctor. “So do I, sometimes.”

The fatman turned to face her. “You have the drug, you own this house. What stops you from going back?”

“It’s a one time deal for us mortals. I can’t enter the room though I can see the door without the drug and I can see into the room. But I can’t enter it.”

“Ever? You mean I can’t get back to her?”

The expression of anguish that twisted his face was heart wrenching. The doctor took his head in both her hands and demanded he look her in the eyes.

“What do you see? Look hard at me. What do you see? Listen to my voice, to my words. What do you hear? Feel my hands on you skin, the scent of my perfume. What am I?”

His eyes widening with surprise he realized he was sensing the presence of his lover. “You’re her?” He muttered in confusion.

The doctor chuckled. “Not even close dear man. But she is in every woman, don’t you see? She is a daughter, a lover, a mother, a nurse and eventually a death to mourn. But she always rises to begin again. She always will. She lives in every woman.”

The fatman nodded a slow agreement. “I can see that. Dear God the things I did to her-” He shook with sudden anger as the thought of what he had done to women all his life. “Oh dear God, oh God.”

The doctor got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen to return with yet another cup of some tea. She held it out to the shaken man.

“This will help you sleep until your clothes get here.”

He took the cup and sipped its contents warily. For once she had given him something pleasant to drink. “What do I do now?” he asked as he set the empty cup on the coffee table.

“Same choices you’ve always had. You can do as you were doing before you came to me.”

“I can’t go back to that now!” He protested.

“You can become worse than you were.” She paused as his face paled at the thought. “Or you can begin making things right. Right for the people you’ve hurt, right for the people you’ll meet during the rest of your life.”

“Can I make everything right?” His pleading voice merely firmed the doctor’s resolve.

“Of course not. How could you bring back the women who’ve died because of you? How can you make their families whole again? Those people you cannot help. But you can help those you’re hurting today. You can avoid hurting anyone else. You can start making lives better.”

He nodded his head. “Will I ever find her in another woman? I mean will I find a woman enough like her that I can… I mean…”

“Will you find a woman you can love?” The doctor chuckled. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t spend my life looking for her.  Women who don’t live and die in a day are soooo much more interesting to spend your life with.”

She leaned over him, kissing his forehead. “Now sleep. You’ll be going back to Baltimore in a couple of hours.”