Weed

  Chapter 10

  It was in the Sunday Edition that Charles first saw the article. Earlier in the week, the Times-Gazette had reported several strange deaths, but now there was a full page devoted to the cases. According to the city coroner, the bodies were smooth and hairless, covered in a white membrane. The situation was not that unusual, Dr. B. Bernside had said. It was not the first time he had run across such corpses. Indeed, he was quite familiar with the disease. There was a small photo of Barney, grinning from ear to ear, his hand shoved into the front of his frock, like some absurd Napoleon.

  Charles had folded the paper and placed it next to my coffee cup. When I came down for breakfast, I'd read the article.

  When the clock struck ten and I hadn't come to breakfast, Charles came to my room. He knocked gently on the door.

  "Miss Fleetsmith? Are you awake?" A pause. "Are you decent?"

  "Come in Chuck. I'm as decent as I'll ever be."

  Charles entered to find me lying on the bed, in my nightgown, staring at the ceiling.

  "What's up?" I asked, still staring at the ceiling.

  "There's an article in the Sunday Times-Gazette. An interview with Dr. Barney Bernside. He says he is familiar with the disease which causes skin to go white, and hairless. Perhaps you would be wise to discuss these things with Dr.—"

  "Hah! That fraud. I showed Barney the white skin when I visited poor old Hans in the morgue. Before that, BB didn't have a clue." I sat up in bed. "Barney's a fraud. Chuck, did I ever tell you about the time BB and I spent the weekend at Pop's cabin, in Muskoka? Barney had spent weeks describing his prowess in bed."

  "Miss Fleetsmith, I really think—"

  "So I took him up to the cabin. I can tell you, his bark is infinitely bigger than his—"

  "Miss Fleetsmith!" Charles straightened to his full height. "There have been other cases. Bodies covered in white. The Dermafix skin, I believe."

  I jumped out of bed.

  "What! Where?" I ran from the room, down the stairs, yelling back over my shoulder: "Where's the bloody Gazette?" Yet, I knew exactly where it would be. I slid into the kitchen chair and pulled the paper across my plate. It was most upsetting. Most upsetting? Shit! It was horrifying. When Charles arrived, I was silent for some time. He said nothing.

  "I don't even know these people," I said, finally. "They aren't technicians at the lab. They're just ... people. No connection with Oerschott Medicals." I looked up at Charles. "It's out. The stuff is out, in the city. But how? The lab is locked."

  "Mr. von Oerschott. Did he not have a vial of—"

  "Yes, yes, that must be it." I paused. "But how did it get to these ... these people?" I was a bit ashamed of how I said people, as though they were lower forms of life.

  "The shower," Charles said.

  "But why these particular people? What connection do they have to ...?" I stopped and stared hard at Charles. "Shower? What shower?"

  "You may recall that we washed Miss Josey in the shower. The Dermafix skin had turned to froth. You collected some froth in a towel, to bring to the lab for analysis. The rest of the froth went down—"

  "The drain!" I cried. "Shit! Does that mean it's in the sewers of the city? Will it get into our water supply?" For all I knew, they recycle that shit. I placed my chin carefully in my hands. That didn't help. "No. Impossible. The water's treated. Besides, there'd be hundreds of fatalities, not just a few."

  Josey walked in.

  "What's the fuss?" she asked.

  "Josey, what happened to the vial that Hans had, that you used to rub down his body?"

  Josey looked at Charles, then at me.

  "His body?" she asked demurely.

  "C'mon, Josey," I said. "Don't be coy. You know exactly—"

  "I used it up. There ain't that much in the little glass tube. I emptied every last drop onto Ohshit's ... uh, onto his ..."

  "And the empty vial? Where's that?"

  "I threw it in the garbage. Why? Did I do wrong?"

  "No, no. It's okay. I just thought ...shit, I don't know what I think."

  Josey was looking at the table, at the article in the Sunday Gazette. "Oh, lordy," she cried. "They died. I could have died, just like that! Oh lordy. Oh lordy."

  Charles placed his arm around her waist, to comfort her.