Short Story: 2029 -- Betty's Tale

[Rough draft]
 

“This could be interesting.”

Betty sat on the edge of the bed and checked her cell phone again. Nothing. There wasn’t anything earlier either but she kept checking anyway.

He’d gone into the bathroom but left the door half open. He was young, well, young looking. Betty knew better but she was curious. It was, after all, on her bucket list.

Harold was fading. He didn’t even know here anymore and all Betty could do was watch. She sat alongside the bed and held his hand. The cancer had spread all over now. It was only a matter of time.

“You’ll never know.” 

It was the last thing he said, before he quit saying anything. You’ll never know. Betty remembered watching him try to swallow with strep throat. She remembered his deep cough when he had pneumonia, the way his body shook, how he grabbed his ribs and winced with pain. She remembered taking his temperature, feeling how warm his body got when he ran a fever. She’d lie in bed at night and dream about what it must be like, how it must feel, to be sick.

“It won’t be the same, you know that, right?”

Francisco smiled. “Isn’t that the appeal?”

“Maybe.”

It was a quiet bar and grill, one of those chain places. It was Thursday night and too late for the on their way home crowd. Night had fallen, just as Francisco had preferred not that he couldn’t have done it earlier if he wanted to it’s just he preferred it, after dark.

Betty looked him over as he came in. Six feet plus. Well built. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Strong jawline. He didn’t need to be what he was to get a woman’s juices flowing, or a man’s for that matter. But in addition to being an Incubus, he was stunningly handsome. He seemed to sense her right away and worked his way across the bar.

“You smell amazing,” he said.

Betty wanted to say something back but all she could think to so say was, “You too.”

When she was 12, Betty remembered her mother taking her to see Dr. Rosenthal, her pediatrician. She was sure something was wrong with her middle daughter and wanted her to get a full physical exam. When the doctor asked her why, she said simply, “Elizabeth has never ever been sick.”

Dr. Rosenthal was sure this was a motherly exaggeration. He searched his files, certain that he’d seen Betty for the croup or for an earache or some such normal childhood malady. The records showed nothing.

The physical exam was unremarkable. There was nothing that stood out about Betty Mars, everything was as it should be, as normal as normal could be.

She was 16, she remembered, it was that party that Sue Wellington was throwing at her house while her parents enjoyed a second honeymoon in Thailand. Her parents had long ago been convinced of Sue’s reliability, her maturity, the good strong, sensible head on her shoulders. They clearly didn’t know her the way her classmates did. Betty was hesitant to go at first but decided to be daring, to go and experience the adventure. She changed outfits nearly a dozen times before she settled on something that she thought was pretty enough not but not too slutty.

The party was crowded, music thumping voices, laughs, screams, cries, everywhere. Marijuana wafted through the air mixing and spreading with regular cigarette smoke. Little Lucy Darling was over in the bushes puking. Betty went in and weaved through the crowd, making it to the kitchen to get herself a drink.

She’d tried sneaking her mother’s wine before. Poured herself a big tall milk glass of pinot noir. She drank it and sat waiting for something to happen. After an hour, nothing did, so she poured another glass and tried it again. After the fourth try, with nothing happening, she decided that there wasn’t anything special about wine.

Betty grabbed a beer at the party, to fit in mostly. She didn’t like the taste and it didn’t do anything for her. She drifted about saying hellos, talking to some friends. sipping the beer every once in a while to look normal.

Ricky Campbell came and started to chat her up. He was moderately handsome but not especially. He ws more than a little annoying but Betty let him chat her up anyway. He offered to get her another drink. She agreed. He went and was gone a while. He brought back a tall something or other, he told her what it was but it was loud and she didn’t hear him but she took it anyway. It didn’t taste bad. It didn’t taste good. It was just okay.

He kept watching her, expectantly, talking about a lot of nothing. Once in a while he’d try to touch her but she’d brush him off. As time passed he became more annoyed, as if he’d been expecting something to happen and it wasn’t. Finally he just turned and left her with a brusque “Fuck this shit.”

Betty finished her drink and watched him walk off. She wondered what he’d been waiting for. She took a breath and checked to see how she was feeling. Everything felt fine. She felt normal. Nothing wrong. Nothing different. Just the same. She headed to the backyard to get away from all the smoke and get some air.

The night was cool but not cold. There was music out there too and people though more spread out, gathered in little groups here and little groups there. Something caught her eye, out at the far end of the yard, behind the shed. A nervous skinny kid seemed to be playing the part of look-out.

Betty headed over to investigate and as she got closer she saw shadows being thrown up against the concrete wall, behind the shed, shadows created by sudden bursts of light.

“Hey, yeah, you can’t, you can’t come back here. Stop! Stop right there!”

Betty passed him by without any trouble. She looked behind the shed, three boys were there, one of which was producing fire out of the air.

She watched, as entranced as the other two boys as he snapped his fingers and flames appeared from out of nothing. Spinning his finger around he created a mini vortex full of fire. His eyes gleamed in the dark as kept the wisp of flame standing upright with one hand and spun it ‘round and ‘round with his his other. Betty watched and she knew, she knew then what she’d always known but never was able to accept. She wasn’t like other kids.

He saw her, it broke his concentration. His eyes grew wide with surprise, the surprise shifted. suddenly to anger, from his small wisp of flame a fireball erupted and it exploded right amongst Betty and the two other boys standing there. She could feel the heat as it engulfed her, encircled her, her skin felt warm and she could smell her clothes burning, melting off of her body. The two boys, they screamed, screams she’d hear off and on the rest of her life. They rushed about, twisting, turning, jerking, one fell on the ground and tried to roll around, the fire consuming him. Betty could hear the sizzling and popping of flesh, she could smell the burning of human hair, the other boy ran into the cinder block wall and knocked himself out. falling to the ground where the flames set his body to twitching at first and then shriveling up.

None of the sounds, none of the smells were hers. Betty knew this instinctively. She stood there and let the flames blast around her. She knew she was naked, she was standing there, clothes burned off but she was otherwise unaffected.

As the flames subsided she stared into the eyes of the boy, the fire boy, he stared back at her. He looked at her like she was an alien from another world. He ignored the burning boys that lay on the ground around him. He just stared at her, naked there, unburned, staring right back at him.

“I’ll be damned.”

Francisco finished brushing his teeth and fixing his hair. He splashed some cologne on and came back out in the room. He smelled amazing but Betty didn’t feel anything, not particularly. She loved his abs, the cleanness and tautness of his look. She waited for something extra to happen, the way she read about where the Incubae were concerned.

“At this point I usually have a woman drooling, unable to even move. Putty in my hands, as they say.” Francisco eyed her suspiciously. “But you, you’re aroused but, it’s nothing like I’m used to.”

“Sorry.” Betty gathered her bag. “I’m just not ready yet.”

“Ready?” Francisco looked confused. “You’re turning me down?”

“Yeah, I think I am.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It won’t be the same.”

“How’s that?”

“I always wanted to be with an Incubus. I won’t lie. But nothing can happen. And since nothing can happen, it can’t be the same.”

“I thought you said this was something you always wanted?”

Betty paused for a moment as she opened the door, “It was.”

Virginia sat by her window and watched as the hummingbirds came to visit her feeder. It was a sunny day. She listened to Luis Russell’s band on the stereo. He hair was falling out in the back but what was remaining was white, whiter than the sheets the facility used on her bed.

Betty came as she did every other Sunday. She brought a book. They talked, she offered to read some if Virginia wanted, but Virginia was more interested in talking and recollecting so she set the book aside and listened,asking a question every now and then.

“One day, everything will just stop. It’s how it is with us.”

“Unless something happens first.”

“Yes. A car accident, maybe. Maybe you’ll get shot, or stabbed. Maybe you’ll do something to yourself. Otherwise, you just wait.”

“Wait. As long as it takes.”

“Wait until it all stops. One day.”

“It’s our way. It’s how it is.”

“Yes. It’s how it is.”

Every Saturday Betty went and volunteered at the children’s cancer ward. She held hands. She looked at drawings. She read stories. She laughed. She cried. She looked at the tired eyes and watched as parents hugged each other and cried. She talked to the nurses. She went home when she was done. She went back to her fish, to her cats, to her books and to her movies. The occasional email and phone call from her kids. She went home to wait. 

Copyright 2012, M.R. McCaffery. All rights reserved.