Rapture

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

At lunchtime the next day, Jeff went out and bought a jogging suit. It was gray, with maroon trim. He also picked up an expensive pair of running shoes. He had no intention of taking up jogging, but when he got home that evening and tried on the outfit, he was surprised by how comfortable it felt. He could picture himself lounging around the house in it.

Jeff went nowhere that weekend. He stayed indoors, smoking, drinking, and staring vacantly at the television. Occasionally he nibbled a piece of fruit or a raw vegetable. He slept in his underwear and didn't bother to shave. He never turned on a light, and he kept the drapes drawn. Because he'd switched the air conditioner off, his rooms were not merely hot, but stifling. He stayed away from the bath and shower, didn't brush his teeth or even splash cold water on his face. He sat in the dark or wandered from one room to another. He seemed to be sweating all the time, but it wasn't just from the heat and it certainly wasn't due to anxiety. He thought of it as a kind of purification, as if his body were literally and physically exorcising a deadness within itself. This ritual was a rebirth, and if he'd been able to shed his skin, he would have done so proudly.

All he'd have had to do to make a plane reservation was pick up the telephone and dial one of the airlines, but as early as Friday night Jeff knew he wasn't going anywhere. Not that weekend. It wasn't hesitation born of fear. He knew the difference now. He was a man who had come a long way over a great period of time, and this was nothing more than a final pause, a last check, to be sure he knew what he wanted to do. Once it began, there would be no going back.

And he was right, as it turned out. Over the course of the weekend, he gradually came to the conclusion that July was too early. He'd have to wait a little longer, at least until sometime in August, before he went back to Connecticut to see Georgianne again. Yes, he decided, the first half of August would be right.

Jeff woke early on Monday morning. He drew back the drapes, opened every window, and cleaned the rooms. After a long shower, a shave, and scrubbing his teeth, he put on his favorite shirt, tie, and suit, and his best pair of shoes. He felt terrific. At the office, when Ted and Callie asked him how the hike had gone, he smiled and answered ambiguously, and they smiled back at him but didn't press for details. He looked dapper and perky, and that was good enough for them.

The days ticked by with an almost sensual rhythm that gave Jeff great pleasure. He was a sleepwalker who had finally been awakened, a zombie restored miraculously to life, and now that he was learning how to live again, the simplest things were astonishingly delicious to him-the morning air, the play of light at dusk, the buzz of an insect, or the sensation of speed when he accelerated sharply on the freeway. Even if none of his plans worked out, he had gained this much, thanks to Georgianne.

He blocked out the second weekend in August. It might not be necessary, but he felt he should cover his bases with Ted and Callie. It would be a long weekend. He finished work on Thursday evening and flew out of Los Angeles early Friday morning, paying cash for his ticket and traveling as Philip Headley. At La Guardia he had to show the phony driver's license for the first time, when he hired a car-from a different rental agency than the one he had used on his trip in May. He felt a slight tingle of nervousness, but there was no trouble with the license.

He drove to Bridgeport and parked the car in a downtown municipal lot, telling the attendant it would be there for one or two nights. Carrying one light suitcase, he walked around the center of the city until he found another car-hire outfit, from which he rented another vehicle, which had Connecticut plates.

It's like a game, he thought as he drove out of Bridgeport-the secret transcontinental mission, the false identity, paying cash all the way-all slightly unreal, but with nothing less than real love at stake. If he failed, would it be Philip Headley's failure? Would he be able to return home and go back to living as Jeff Lisker? Well, yes, but never again as the old Jeff Lisker. He was dead, for sure. No matter what happened, the new life would not be aborted. Besides, he had various fall-back positions....

The run from Bridgeport to Danbury was not a great distance, but it was all country road. Jeff reached the outskirts of the city sometime after six in the evening. He got a room at the first motel he came across, the Brook Green, apparently named after the trickle of water out back and the golf course beyond it.

He couldn't eat or drink anything, he felt so excited and nervous. He thought about calling Georgianne, but he wasn't quite ready for that, and he was afraid Sean might answer. Oh yeah, Sean. Jeff seldom wasted mental energy on the subject of Georgianne's husband, but obviously he would be around. He was the problem, after all.

Jeff waited until darkness before he left the motel and drove to Foxrock. This was the crucial test, on which the rest of the weekend depended. He had not been able to figure out any way of determining in advance whether the Corcorans would be home. In another month, Bonnie would be at Harvard, and Sean would be back teaching kids at the middle school, but they could all be on vacation now, out on Cape Cod or somewhere up in Maine. He could have called from California and carefully steered the conversation around to the question of summer vacation, but he had ruled out the idea of any advance contact. The three-month gap had come to seem too important to interrupt, as if even a postcard would somehow di minish the advantage of surprise he wanted for the coming encounter. But he was prepared for their absence: he'd be back next weekend, and the one after, if need be, until he found the Corcorans at home.

By the time he reached Indian Hill Road, a warm, happy feeling had begun to come over him, and he knew his luck had held. He could sense the proximity of Georgianne even before he saw the lights on in the house. One car in the open garage, the other in the driveway. Oh yes, oh yes ... Jeff eased up the road, turned the car around, and drove back slowly. Should he stop and see them now?

Say: Hello, yeah, it's me ... back on business ... thought I'd drop in and surprise you ... listen, one thing, rather important ... Georgianne, can I talk to you ... alone ... you see, I was in love with you twenty years ago ... all this time ... I never knew how to tell you ... afraid ... and I still am, yes, I do love you now ... more than ever ... I don't know what to do about it ... there's Sean ... this fucking house ...

Or: Hello, etcetera ... Sean, I have to talk to you ... just you for now ... look here, I'm sorry but I'm afraid there's been a terrible mistake ... well, I'm glad you see it that way too ... I didn't think you'd be so reasonable ... oh, you could tell the first day ... love ... I do ... she does ...

To hell with it. Jeff had never especially liked that part of the plan, and now he decided it wouldn't work. It was getting on toward ten, and they went to bed early. Wrong time, wrong approach. But that was okay, because he had something better in mind. This little bit of reconnaissance had achieved its purpose. Tomorrow was the day.

Before he left Indian Hill Road, Jeff took his foot off the gas pedal and let the car slow to a crawl. He was tempted to park and sneak up to the Corcoran house. The notion of peeking in on Georgianne had an undeniable charm. It would be a playful adolescent thrill, innocent really. He thought she would understand, and would probably find it amusing. But he quickly came to his senses. The bedrooms were on the upper floor. It would be no fun to see the three of them just sitting around watching television. Besides, there were bound to be dogs in a neighborhood like this, ready to bark up a storm at any intruder. Sadly, he abandoned the idea and drove back to the Brook Green Motel.

He was tired from flying and driving all day, but he was still on California time and felt too tense to sleep. He wanted a drink, but alcohol was out of the question; he had to be sharp tomorrow. He would drink all the way back to Los Angeles. Finally, he dozed off for a few hours and awoke at five in the morning.

He had to talk to Sean. He was ready to talk to Sean. That was the next step. The Gorge. The man would be caught off guard, surprised. He would make him walk, not run, and talk. There was a great deal to talk about. And if that didn't work, there were other moves to be played. It was like a chess game, which would be over as soon as Jeff won his opponent's queen.

He put on his new jogging suit and shoes, and drove through the gray light to Foxrock. It was an overcast morning, warm and muggy already. The town was asleep, the streets empty. He parked about a quarter of a mile from the entrance to the Gorge, well away from any houses, and took the path he and Sean had followed in May. When he judged that he had gone far enough in from the street, he left the trail. Several yards into the woods, he perched on a low, flat rock, and waited. It was a good spot. Not much chance he'd be noticed where he was, but he could see anyone passing on the path. He looked at his watch. Be early, he commanded, and be alone.

Look here, I know this is going to be hard for you to take, even to grasp, all at once, but, well, the fact is, a mistake has been made....

Jeffs feet felt as if they were baking in his new running shoes. Ridiculous, especially at that price. And the running duds felt like glorified pajamas, okay for lazing around the house but not to wear out on the street. He couldn't help but feel a certain contempt for people who dressed like this and ran so obsessively. It seemed to indicate that there was something wrong with their lives. They were like Shiite flagellants, suburban American style. Doing penance for their prosperity and lifestyle.

Sean probably thinks of me every day, Jeff realized. A dodging step, a smile, a chuckle, a moment of smug pleasure as he passes the spot-here's where that Lisker guy barfed. Not after today, though.

Now that he was here and waiting, Jeff felt remarkably calm. He had come so far, he knew he would see it through. A lunatic mission, doomed to failure? No. He saw it as a pilgrimage that proved the validity of his feelings for Georgianne. Their time was at hand. He had put in twenty years or more of unrequited, half-realized, platonic love. He'd paid his dues.

Things happen because they have to. It was extraordinary, when he thought about it. His father had picked the right time to die. Georgianne was at a turning point in her life. Bonnie, a year early, was about to go off to college. Sean and Georgianne would be entering a new stage in their married life, alone in that house, child-rearing finished, for the most part. It was the best possible time for something like this. Georgianne would now be more receptive, both to Jeff and to a change in her life. She would no longer have to fear the disruptive effect it might have on her daughter, who was now a young adult. And it would be an attractive alternative to the impending boredom and loneliness she faced-husband working, no Bonnie coming home from school every afternoon.

It would be a big change for Jeff, too. He would have to alter his work habits dramatically. But he could afford to do that now. With Georgianne, it would be easy. They had a lot of time to make up together. There were all kinds of possibilities. Jeff was beginning to see Lisker-Benedictus Future Systems in a fresh light.

He checked his watch again. Jesus, man, come on. Maybe he had missed Sean already. Maybe he had taken another path, or wasn't even coming this morning. It would mean a trip back to the motel and a phone call to Georgianne to arrange a meeting with her alone. They would have a serious, heart-to-heart talk. That was inevitable sooner or later anyhow.

But a moment after Jeff had worked out his next move, Sean came bouncing along the rough path. Jeff followed him at once, his whole body charged with the sudden shock of fear and excitement. He stumbled out of the woods onto the trail. Sean was already ten yards ahead. Jeff ran to catch up. When he had gained some ground, he stopped and called out.

"Sean. Hey, Sean."

Georgianne's husband halted and wheeled around with athletic grace. He started to walk back toward Jeff, at first unsure, but soon registering surprised recognition.

"Jeff? I'll be damned, it is you."

He came forward to shake hands, but Jeff ignored the gesture.

"Hello, Sean."

"What are you doing here? Back to see Union Carbide again?"

"Yeah, I'm back," Jeff replied coolly. "Got in last night and thought I'd surprise you."

"Well, you sure did," Sean said. "I never thought I'd see you at this place again." Now he looked Jeff over. "I see you've got yourself a new running outfit. Very nice."

He's smirking, Jeff thought. He's actually smirking at me in these clothes. How fucking typical of the man!

"You must come back to the house for breakfast," Sean was saying. "Want to run a bit? I have to do my laps. Boy, will the girls be surprised to see you!"

Not happy to see me? No, you wouldn't want to say that, admit that, would you, Mr. Corcoran.

"I don't want to run," Jeff said. We ran the last time. This time we'll walk. There's something I have to talk to you about, if you don't mind."

"Okay, sure."

They walked deeper into the Gorge. Jeff was pleased with himself. Right from the first he had dictated the tempo, set the correct tone.

"What's up?" Sean asked when they had gone a short distance. "Is there some problem?"

Look here, I'm sorry, but-no, that sort of approach just wouldn't work. The lines Jeff had run through his head many times earlier now seemed too stiff and cumbersome. He couldn't get them out; it was as if his throat and vocal cords were giving him a message by refusing to function. Okay, this wasn't the kind of thing you could rehearse. You had to let it out the way it wanted to come.

"Anything I can help you with?" Sean asked. "If I can do anything, I will."

You can, you will, Jeff thought. The words were brimming up within him now.

"Yeah, yeah. It's about Georgianne and me," he said harshly. "I have to be honest with you-that's the way I am. You have to know."

"Oh?"

Sean blinked and appeared to be confused. But the situation transformed and clarified itself for him quickly as he absorbed Jeffs words and tone of voice. Then he was almost amused, and it showed on his face.

He must think I'm a fool, Jeff decided, some silly twerp who feels compelled to confess that he and Georgianne had misbehaved twenty years ago. Yes, that would be how Sean Corcoran's mind worked. He should only be so lucky. Hold on, pal, the best is yet to come.

"Yeah, you see, the thing is," Jeff continued in a rush, "I know this will be a shock to you, but the fact is I'm very serious about Georgianne. And she's just as serious about me. That's the reality of it."

"What?" A surprised, half-laugh of exclamation.

"I'm telling you the truth," Jeff followed up promptly. "There's really nothing you can do about it, except make it a little more painful and messy, and I hope you won't go in for that. I don't care about myself, it wouldn't bother me, but it would hurt Georgian,, and she doesn't deserve that kind of treatment after all she's given you."

Jeff stood there, rigid as a stone gargoyle out of the Middle Ages, but his heart thundered, and he thought he could feel the blood surging through every part of his body.

Sean put his hands on his hips. "Are you kidding?"

Jeff snapped back, "Not at all."

"This isn't a joke," Sean stated calmly. "You're really serious about this."

"Of course I am," Jeff said angrily. "I didn't have to come here at this time of day and talk to you reasonably like this. We could have taken another route, but no, I've made this effort. I want you to understand. I want you to see the whole picture."

"You do mean it," Sean said quietly, almost to himself. "All right, what is the picture? Go ahead, tell me."

"Ha, that's good. What the fuck do you think it is, for Chrissake? You're finished, Sean, you're through. It's all over. It was a mistake in the first place. It never should have happened. But you've had your time, you've had her, and for way too long. Now I'm telling you it's over, finished, done. Ended." Jeff felt serene, steady as a pure white flame, and it was the best feeling he'd ever known.

"Jeff, you're..." Sean made an effort to suppress the anger he was beginning to feel. "Look," he said gently, "you've got a problem and-"

"Don't talk to me like that," Jeff responded hotly. "You're the one with the problem, man, and there's nothing you can do about it. Listen to what I'm telling you."

"Jeff, what did Georgianne say to you?"

"That's between her and me."

"Jeff, I don't know ..." Sean looked embarrassed as well as disconcerted now. "You must have misunderstood." Then, hesitantly, he added, "Georgianne doesn't care about you-I mean, not that way."

"You're full of shit," Jeff answered, his voice low and furious. "It's a waste of time even trying to talk sense to you."

"1 mean, she cares about you, of course," Sean went on soothingly. "Very much. You're a very dear friend to her. But, really, Jeff, she doesn't love you, if that's what you think." His manner was soft and patient, like a parent's trying to explain to one child why he couldn't have another child's toy.

"She doesn't love me? That's funny coming from you. What would you know about it? All you've done is bury her here for twenty years. Let me tell you something, Sean. You don't understand your own wife. You don't even come close. And you treat her like a piece of shit."

"She's my wife, and I know her far better than you do." Sean's face tightened as he spoke, and his cheeks burned. "You're imagining all this. It's just some-"

"You'd be funny if you weren't so pathetic," Jeff cut in. "You insult her all the time. I couldn't believe it. You know, I wanted to like you, because you were married to Georgianne, and I hoped she had a good life, a good husband. I tried to like you, but it isn't possible. You're a weak, sarcastic little man, and you don't have the slightest idea how to treat a woman like Georgianne. And if I were wrong about all this, she wouldn't have responded to me the way she did." His smile became a sneer.

"I don't believe you," Sean said flatly. He was fed up now. There was no point in arguing like this.

.You don't want to believe me. That's what it is," Jeff taunted insistently. "You're afraid of the truth."

One short, sharp punch to the temple would put an end to this nonsense, Sean thought. He could do it, But he knew he would regret it later, and so would Georgianne. Besides, Lisker wasn't worth the risk of a broken finger. Better to treat him like a disturbed person, which he obviously was, someone who was unbalanced rather than merely mean and nasty.

"Jeff, I don't know what to say. Maybe you need professional help. I think you're off the deep end. But if you're sure you're right, let's go back to the house and see what Georgianne has to say about it. If she tells me that she does love you ... well, all right, then I'll know there's something to it and I'll have to deal with it. That's more than reasonable. We're not going to settle anything here."

"Have to deal with it? Ha, I like that." Jeff shook his head slightly, as if amused, but his eyes remained fixed on Sean with cold fury. "No, no, no. I don't want you to create a scene, upsetting Georgianne and putting her on the spot like that."

Sean returned his gaze. Jeff didn't want to confront Georgianne because he was afraid to hear the truth from her. He had reached a dead end: he had come here and aired his warped fantasy, but now he had nowhere to go. Sean felt sorry for him, but it was time for a change of scene. Standing here and arguing was too bizarre, and probably only made matters worse.

"Okay, Jeff. You don't want to discuss it at home with Georgianne, and I can understand that. But I don't see what I can do for you. We're wasting each other's time here. I'm going to try to forget all about this, and I hope you will too. But whether you do or not, I don't want to see you again. Stay away from my house, stay away from Georgianne, don't even try to get through on the phone-and I'll let it go. But do yourself a favor, Jeff, and get some help. You need it."

Jeff was amazed. Sean positively demanded to be hated. It wasn't just the irrelevant ultimatum, but the way his tiny mind worked.

"Oh, you put your house first, then Georgianne," Jeff said. "Is that the way it is? I might have known. You're a dumb fuck, Sean. You think you can tell me-"

"You heard me," Sean interrupted, jabbing a finger at Jeffs heart with enough force to push him back on his heels. "You heard me."

He turned and began to walk away, back toward the street. It was too much for Jeff, who rushed after him, grabbed a handful of his hair, and yanked his head back violently. At the same time, he reached behind his back, up under his sweatshirt, and pulled out the .22, which finally seemed to have a use. He put the gun barrel right up to Sean's eye, so that he could see the weapon clearly. It worked. Sean stopped resisting immediately. Jeff drove him off the path, into the woods, until they came to a dark, heavily shaded spot.

"Jeff," Sean said carefully, "think what you're doing. That gun won't solve anything. You can hurt me, if that's what you want to do, but you'll only end up making a mess of your own life."

"Shut up." Jeff loved the way his voice edged lower as his rage increased. It seemed to prove that he was fully in control of himself and the situation. "Just shut up, do you understand?" he added, almost intoxicated by the way he sounded. For the first time he was hearing, witnessing, the new and real Jeff Lisker. "You're so incredibly smug and arrogant. You think I'd just let you walk away from me while I'm talking to you, let you go back and take it out on Georgianne? That's your way, isn't it? Walk away from me, don't face me, then abuse Georgianne. Jesus, you make me sick, Sean, you really do. And I tried to like you. I tried to talk to you. Man to man. Let's be reasonable. Waste of fucking time."

"Jeff, they'll pick you up before the day's over," Sean said, afraid now but still trying to speak sensibly. He should have clipped Jeff when he had the chance. His only hope was in talk. He couldn't try anything else now, not with the end of that gun barrel kissing his right eyeball. "Think, man, think," he urged delicately. "Is this going to make Georgianne feel any-"

"Shut up," Jeff snarled in Sean's ear. Then he hit him in the face with the gun, and a second time, drawing blood from a couple of small cuts. It felt good-this whole course of violent action-astonishingly good. It was like a miraculous cure for blindness. The truth was dazzling, and Jeff loved it. This was what he had been trying to find for so long, a clarity of vision and purpose and self that could only be achieved by doing something. It was right and natural, and above all it was the one thing that succeeded in making sense of the past. Twenty, no, twenty-four years of Jeffs life came into sharp focus, like the smallest print on an eye chart seen through new lenses. "You're the problem, Sean. Maybe if you'd been more realistic about this, if you'd accepted the situation ... but it's too late for that now. You're my problem, you're Georgianne's problem."

"It's not too late," Sean gasped anxiously. "I want to accept the situation. Just tell me what to do."

"What to do?" Jeff laughed. Sean had shriveled into something less than human. He was like a worm, cringing beneath the radiance of the noonday sun. "Sean, I want you to do the only thing you can do. I want you to go away."

He put the gun to the side of Sean's head and eased the trigger. The .22 made a noise like one hand lightly slapping another. There wasn't much blood at all, just a neat round hole in Sean's temple. Again. Again. Three holes, forming a nice tight triangle. No shuddering. No spastic, jerking movements. Sean died neatly, and Jeff appreciated it.

He let the body slide to the ground, and he stood over it for a few moments. All the anger was gone, as if it had been scorched and vaporized out of every cell in his body. He felt as clean and light and free as the spirit of the wind. Then he began to sing very softly but happily. "Heaven, I'm in Heaven ... Heaven, I'm in Heaven ..." He didn't know any of the other words to the song, but they weren't necessary.

He unzipped the back hip pocket of his running pants and took out the plastic bag. He tucked the gun away and then sprinkled the mixture of flour and cocaine all over Sean's face, covering it with the fine white powder. That'll give them something to think about.... Jeff shoved the empty plastic bag back into his pocket and studied the scene until he was satisfied he'd left nothing, not even a footprint.

What hurt was that he wouldn't be able to see Georgianne on this trip. Not even a glimpse of her from a distance. He'd give anything to see her, if only for a minute, but it was out of the question. Later, he told himself, later there would be plenty of time.

"Heaven ... I'm in Heaven ..."

Jeff's luck held again, and he didn't encounter anyone as he left the Gorge. He jogged all the way back to the car. It seemed appropriate.

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