Monday: The Night No One Is Happy
Just as Vicky reads the badge through the door peephole, a second, more insistent knock sounds, and a voice yells through the door with authority, demanding she open up for the sheriff’s office. Assuming a madman is loose or some other crisis is unfolding, Vicky opens the door.
A sheriff’s deputy stands there, the same one whose badge she had seen. He tells her he is looking for a Karl Terry Simmons and asks if he is present. Staring at the tall young officer, Vicky replies that he is and says she will get him. She walks through the den into the bedroom, where Karli is sorting clothes and shoes.
Karli asks who it was. Looking a little pale, Vicky says it is the sheriff’s office and they are asking for Karl. Crinkling her nose in confusion, Karli wonders aloud what they could possibly want.
She walks into the den toward the officer, her stilettos a sharp reminder of everything that has happened in the last thirty-six hours, and realizes this might be a stressful and confusing encounter for everyone. She introduces herself as Karl Simmons and asks what she can do for him.
The deputy looks hard at Karli and identifies himself as Deputy Wilkins, then pauses and asks if she is really Karl Terry Simmons. Now a little more nervous, Karli confirms that she is. He opens his police-issue tablet computer, pulls up Karl’s driver’s license photo, glances at Karli, then back at the photo, and mutters that he guesses it is her.
In a very businesslike tone, the officer announces that Karl Terry Simmons has a warrant for arrest on the charge of grand larceny. Karli jumps back as if she has been shot, protesting that she does not know what he is talking about and has never stolen anything in her life. She demands to know what this is about.
The deputy holds up a hand to stop her, addressing her with a fumbled miss before correcting himself. He tells her that before she says anything further, he needs to read her her rights. He pulls a card from his breast pocket and begins reciting the right to remain silent.
After he finishes reading the Miranda rights, he replaces the card and reaches to his belt for a pair of handcuffs. He asks if she understands these rights as he has explained them. At first Karli does not answer, struggling to wrap her head around what is happening. He repeats himself. Numbly and meekly, she says yes, sir, feeling as though she is having an out-of-body experience. She cannot fathom what is happening.
Meanwhile, Vicky has regained some composure and insists there must be some kind of mistake. She explains she works with Karli, or Karl, and that he would never steal anything. The deputy asks if she is related to Mr. Simmons. Vicky shakes her head no. He tells her firmly to step back out of the way.
A second deputy, a young female, steps through the door wearing blue examination gloves. Deputy Wilkins pulls out a folded piece of paper and announces they also have a warrant to search the home and vehicles for evidence. The female deputy begins looking around the apartment. Before Karli can even finish reading the search warrant, the female deputy yells out that she has found them.
Karli and Vicky look over to see her holding two pairs of earrings still on their velvet-covered cardboard holders. Karli remembers seeing them that morning while piecing together her timeline, but she had ignored them as she looked through receipts. She realizes now there was no receipt in the pocketbook for jewelry. But I don’t steal, she thinks, trying to reassure herself. Even if drunk, I would never take something that is not mine.
Vicky repeats that it must be a mistake. The deputy, gently pushing her back toward the den, says there is no mistake. She tells them they have clear video evidence that Karli, correcting herself mid-sentence, stole those earrings the previous night from the Fortis Fine Jewelry and Estate Auctions store on Coastal Drive. They also have an eyewitness who saw Mr. Simmons in the store again today. By the time officers were called, Simmons had already left, but luckily the witness caught the license plate.
Karli stands there looking totally blank. With almost no memory of the previous day, she has no answer, no way to refute the charge. For all she knows, she did steal them, however unlike her that might be.
Raising the handcuffs, Deputy Wilkins instructs her to turn around and place her hands behind her back. Karli slowly complies, her head still swimming in a daze. After snapping the handcuffs on, the officer points to a kitchen chair and tells her to sit there until they complete their search.
Another fifteen minutes of searching, including Karli’s Cadillac, a few photos snapped, and ten minutes more of paperwork pass. Officer Wilkins steps over to Karli and says it is time to go, miss. This time he does not even correct himself. Vicky looks at Karli, still dressed in her stilettos, short skirt, and sheer top from work, and asks if she, catching herself, can at least change clothes before they take him. The officer replies coldly that she cannot.
Taking Karli by the elbow, they start out the door. The second deputy, who seems a little more sympathetic, turns to Vicky and hands her a page from her police notebook. She explains the suspect will be taken to the Fortis County Detention Center for processing and, given the time of day, will likely spend the night there with a bail setting in the morning at the magistrate’s office downtown. She points to the address on the page.
Through this exchange, Karli is silent but begins trembling uncontrollably as she is escorted out the door. She looks back at Vicky with a helpless please-do-something expression. They head down the steps to the deputy’s police cruiser.
Arriving in silence at the county jail, Karli’s mind has gone nearly blank. This day has been such a cascade of highs and lows at home and at work that she is already mentally exhausted. Now the arrest has thrown her into a complete tailspin. Repeating her own thoughts, she acknowledges she does not remember yesterday at all, so if asked, she cannot even say she did not steal the earrings. If they have video evidence, then it seems clear she did take those things. But why, and how?
Once inside the jail, Karli is placed in a holding cell with female detainees. There are three other women in the large square cell: one appears homeless based on dress and mental state, another is a frightened young teenager, and the third could be a prostitute. After about fifteen minutes, another deputy comes back, unlocks the door, and motions for Karli to follow. She is taken across the jail and shoved into another holding cell. The deputy laughs and says they had her in the wrong cell, buddy.
Looking around this holding cell, it is all men, about ten in total, a casting straight out of a bad TV cop show lineup. Karli is too frightened to make eye contact and tries to sit in a corner on the long bench as far from anyone as possible, head down.
At one point, a greasy, big-bellied man with his beer gut exposed between a dingy gray T-shirt and jeans walks over and remarks what a cute little thing she is. He says he knows some folks inside who are going to love having her around. Another detainee yells at him to shut up, that he does not know anyone there and is just being mean. The man, Clete, smiles a half-toothless grin and says as he walks back to his bench that he knows her and will be seeing her later.
Over the next hour, a couple more prisoners are brought in, and those already there are taken out one by one. Around eight p.m., yet another deputy opens the cell and motions for Karli to follow. Her heels echo loudly on the bare concrete, and the few remaining prisoners, including Clete, whistle and catcall as she walks away with the deputy holding her elbow.
In a plain, institutional green concrete cell, Karli is instructed to remove all her clothes. The male deputy has been around the block and seen it all, but he cannot help watching as she shyly removes her shoes, then her blouse, then her camisole and bra, and finally her skirt, garter belt, and stockings. She stands there in only panties and a gaff, one arm covering her breasts, looking up at him. He says the two words she dreads: remove everything. Looking totally cowed, Karli hesitates before slowly taking off the lacy panties and gaff, standing naked in the middle of the room, feeling like a vulnerable newborn.
The deputy hands her a manila envelope and tells her to remove all her jewelry and place it inside. Karli takes off her watch, pendant necklace, and ring and slips them in. As she starts to close the envelope, he adds, piercings, too. Karli has never had a piercing before and has never had to remove one. Her thoughts briefly flash to warnings about removing jewelry from piercings too soon, but she knows she has no choice. The earrings come out fairly easily, but the nose stud is difficult and painful. Eventually all piercings are out, and a small trickle of blood oozes from her nose. She hands the envelope back. He takes it and her clothes and puts them into a larger bag labeled with her last name and case number in marker.
The deputy points to a small alcove she had not noticed and says one word: shower. One hand covering her genitals and the other arm across her small breasts, Karli slowly walks to the open shower. Turning on the water, the guard hands her a bar of disinfecting soap and instructs her to wash everywhere. The soap is harsh and smells of strong chemicals, but Karli obediently washes. A rough cotton towel is next, and she dries herself as gently as she can, still trying to cover herself. Mascara has run down her cheek, but she cannot see it, and the deputy does not mention it.
Next, the guard hands her a pair of cotton Y-front briefs, a bright orange one-piece jumpsuit with FCDC printed in large black letters on the back, and a pair of cheap flip-flop sandals. Karli pulls on the underwear; they are a little tight through the hips but not uncomfortable. She steps into the jumpsuit and zips it up, glad to be covered again. The jumpsuit is far too large for her small frame and feels like industrial sandpaper, but at least she is not naked anymore. She looks like a little girl wearing her father’s work clothes.
The deputy motions for her to stand, and out they go. The next stop is the processing room. Her fingerprints are roughly taken, and she is instructed to stand in front of the mugshot wall. Two photos are snapped, and the deputy hands her a moist towelette to clean the fingerprint ink from her fingers. He clips the fingerprint sheet and mugshot composite to the front of a folder and points with it toward the next door. Karli notices the photos. In her oversized jumpsuit, she looks like a small child fearing for her life, especially as the background height grid shows she stands only five foot four.
Down another section of the jail, they approach a guard station. The deputy asks the on-duty corrections officer where he should put this one. The guard looks Karli over appraisingly, winks at the deputy, and with a leer in his voice suggests cell number three, saying there are a couple of really nice guys in that one. Karli, already resembling a frightened deer, tries to shrink even smaller as this nightmare keeps worsening. Arriving at cell number three, she finds it empty; the guard was only joking with the deputy and messing with her. After the cell closes, she looks around the dimly lit room. There is a seatless stainless toilet bowl with a pushbutton flush on the side, a small stainless sink, a stacked bunk on one side, and a single cot on the other. Karli has a flash of that mind-detached-from-her-body feeling as she looks around, wondering how she ever landed here. Throughout the entire process since leaving her apartment, Karli has not uttered a single word.
At Jeannie and Lisa’s apartment, things are not going great for Jeannie, either. She has just gotten out of her bath and is repulsed by what she sees in her reflection. Her skin looks, if not leathery, at least far less youthful. Her toenails are yellow, and she has multiple sores on her legs, stomach, and back. Her knuckles look a little swollen, and her arms and legs look bony. It seems with each spell cast, she ages five years.
Looking at her face, her beautiful skin is no more. Blotches of red dot her cheeks and neck, and the crow’s feet around her eyes are craggy and deep. On her chin, a persistent coarse black hair that she has plucked numerous times always returns the next day. Her formerly pearly white teeth are still mostly white but can no longer be described as pearly. And then there is her nose: the bump that broke out a few days ago seems untreatable and also has a dark hair emerging from its point.
Jeannie has consulted several books on magic regarding what she is experiencing and has decided it is one of two things. First, in very rare cases, a witch casting numerous powerful spells in succession can experience fatigue and side effects. Some of the side effects mentioned, like the sunken eyes and graying hair, match what she is seeing. In this case, once the series of spells is complete, the process will reverse, taking the same number of days to return to normal as it took to cast the spells. The second possible cause is something called Alter Fluch, where the nature of evil-intended spells can reflect back on the caster and cause a host of maladies. Some conditions on that long list match her symptoms, but Jeannie does not believe this is the reason for her problems and is sure that once Saturday’s last spell is cast, all will be fine.
Knowing her appearance has changed so drastically, Jeannie asked the bookstore owner if she can work from home the rest of the week. She explained she is updating the used book website, which is true, and the owner agreed to let her work remotely with the stipulation she would come in if anyone called out sick.
That leaves Lisa and Granny to deal with. Lisa had started teaching a few aerobic classes at the local gym again between spring and summer terms and is gone most mornings. Jeannie just has to time things so they do not see each other, especially during daylight. This was mostly working except for yesterday, when Lisa came in from the gym while Jeannie was making lunch and all but physically forced her to go to the doctor. Jeannie had to pull a cruel trick by asking about Karl, which sent Lisa off on an errand and saved Jeannie from having to argue. Jeannie was not proud of this misdirection, but she just did not have the energy to fight.
Lisa knows Jeannie is working from home and has so far respected her request not to bother her during the day while she is holed up in her bedroom on the computer. Jeannie’s mantra has become it will be over Saturday, and she is prepared to do anything to keep the spells going. Despite the toll it is taking, or maybe even because of it, she is more determined than ever to complete her version of Karl’s transformation.
As for dealing with Granny Ingrid, things are more difficult. Jeannie knows Granny suspects something is off and has just about exhausted her excuses for not seeing her. She is waiting for the threatened knock on the door from Granny and worries it will come at the worst possible time. While doing the research on the effects the spells were having on her, Jeannie did find a possible solution to Granny’s threatened intrusion into the plan.
Tonight is a spell Jeannie has been especially looking forward to casting. It will be the biggest alteration to one of Granny’s benign spells so far and will take longer to adapt and longer to cast. She suspects the drain on her energy and the effects on her will both be greater than any spell yet. She is buoyed by the fact that last night’s spell used so little of her precious energy reserve that she trusts she will be able to cast tonight’s spell without being debilitated.
Jeannie plans to go over to Karl’s apartment even earlier than usual tonight. She will wait outside the door for the lights to go off and enter as soon as she can to give herself the extra time that might be needed. The sanctification ritual will be completed at sunset, and the spell can be retrieved from the urn as soon as Haggy and the rest of the sisters leave the coven. Jeannie has a fresh piece of parchment ready in case her changes are too much to fit on the one Granny used for her version. Up till now, Jeannie has been able to write her changes in the margins and between the lines of Granny’s spell parchment, but tonight might require a second scroll page.
Looking at the time, Jeannie has about an hour till sunset. She sits down in her bedroom in front of her makeup mirror. She hates facing her reflection but knows it is necessary. First, she painfully plucks the thick stiff hairs from her chin and nose, then begins caking on makeup almost like spackling to cover her blemishes and give the appearance of healthy skin. At night, she can mostly get away with this ruse. Only her graying hair gives away the major effects of the spell-casting, as long as she avoids bright lighting.
Karli had stood in the small, dank, stinky jail cell for almost half an hour without moving. Slowly the lights in her brain flicker back on, and the truth and its unfathomable implications start to enter her mind. She is in jail, in fucking jail, for a crime she might have committed but has no memory of. After a day beginning with dread and fear that blossomed into a pampered and fun afternoon only to end in the lowest of low places, Karli wonders just which god, or goddess, she has so offended.
She has lost all sense of time, with no windows or clocks visible to indicate the hour. She has no phone, tablet, or television as a distraction. All she has are these ill-fitting men’s clothes and a bare, ugly cell. Karli smells of disinfectant, and her skin itches from the harsh chemicals and rough clothing that touches her formerly butter-soft skin.
Looking at her options, her limited options for the moment, she can sit on the cot or take one of the bunk beds. Such wonderful choices, Karli thinks to herself. She takes the bottom bunk, sits down on its side, and not for the first time recently puts her head in her hands. She thought she would cry but finds no tears will come; she is too bewildered to even weep.
You do not realize how much we rely on our devices and other inputs for mental survival. A mind left without anything or anyone to distract it can go off into weird places. Prisoners in solitary confinement have to deal with this daily, but those are mostly men with already disturbed psyches. Karli is something of an innocent and lacks the ability to shut off the invading worry and terror she sees coming the next day. Grand larceny sounded so serious, and she goes to the worst-case thinking of years in jail for herself. She could lose her job, her home, her car, and other possessions. Her father might disown her. She would have a police record, a rap sheet. These disturbing thoughts and many others related to incarceration itself, physically disgusting to consider, fly at her like bullets, all closing in as she sits there breathing through her disinfected hands.
Eventually, she decides to lie down on the lumpy, springy bunk and places her head on the foam rubber pillow covered in a rough cotton pillowcase. Unlike in her bed at home, sleep does not come quickly tonight, and she lies there for who knows how long, eyes fixed on the bottom of the top bunk above her.
Hearing a clank, she notices the cell door opening again and a familiar voice. Well, look who is in my cell. It is Clete, the cretin who had spoken to her in the holding cell. The guard tells Clete to shut up and go to bed, but he ignores the demand and slowly approaches as Karli cowers as far back into the corner of the bunk as she can, with the rough wool military-style blanket pulled up to her neck.
Karli can only see the shine of Clete’s beady eyes as he says not to worry, that old Clete will not hurt her. He claims it is going to be freezing in there tonight and he just wants to be sure she does not catch a cold. He thanks her for sliding over and making room for him, declaring they are going to be good friends.
Karli begins to pant desperately, telling him to stay away, that she does not want him in her bed. Clete, creeping closer, puts out a hand to pull the wool blanket away, saying he wants to get under it with her, little missy, so they can wrap up all cocoon-like and be snug as bugs.
Karli’s breathing escalates until she is hyperventilating, her breath short as she tries to cry out for the guard, pleading that he is attacking her. In a low, menacing voice, Clete tells her not to be afraid, that he will not hurt her and the guard does not need to come. Climbing into bed in his matching orange jumpsuit, his breath reaches her, a combination of cigarettes, alcohol, and rotting teeth.
Karli screams, but the screams are muted because she cannot fill her lungs. Clete puts one rough hand over her mouth, shushing her, while his other stubby, calloused paw reaches up to the neck of her jumpsuit and pulls down the zipper. He tells her to relax, that it will be okay. Reaching inside her now open front, Clete speaks through yellow chicklet teeth, his mouth closing in on her full lips, whispering.
Wake up, prisoners! A voice announces they are being transported to the court in fifteen minutes and must be dressed and by their cell door in five minutes.
When Jeannie arrives at Karl’s apartment, she is relieved to see his pink Cadillac SUV parked in its assigned spot. He is home. Thank goodness. Now, if he would just go to bed, she could get on with this. The lights are still on, but it is still early, barely eight thirty p.m. Watching the door, Jeannie sees it open and Vicky steps out carrying a small suitcase, turning the apartment lights off as she exits. What is that bitch doing here? Again, this does not fit into the spells Jeannie had cast. Karl was supposed to be becoming isolated from his co-workers, especially his female co-workers, as his femininity progressed and his attitudes changed.
Looking at Vicky in the apartment complex street lighting as she nears her car, Jeannie thinks she looks upset. Maybe Karl and Vicky had an argument. Maybe that is why she is leaving this way. But why would she have turned off the lights? Vicky gets into her green Audi coupe and drives off, not noticing Jeannie in the next parking space scrunched down low in her seat.
Now Jeannie wonders if he is in bed or not. She would not think Vicky would tuck him in like a child and then leave, right? A thought enters Jeannie’s mind that makes her flinch. Did they have sex? Wouldn’t that be something? After all of this, wouldn’t it be ironic if Karl actually did cheat on Lisa with little Miss Cheerleader? The suitcase would indicate she came over with some intent, so maybe. Jeannie is not sure about the likelihood of this or how she feels about it but sets it aside. There is too much work to be done.
She waits another hour, sees no lights turn on or any other activity in Karl’s windows, then gets out of her car, bones creaking from sitting so long, her trusty doctor’s bag in hand, and walks up to Karl’s apartment. Peering through the kitchen window, she sees no lights except the distant glow of the Tinkerbell night light by the door to Karl’s bedroom. He must be in bed.
Quietly opening the apartment door, Jeannie tiptoes through the kitchen and across the den. In the low light, she looks at the bed and sees not Karl but a pile of clothes filling it. What the fuck? Where is he? She notices the light is on in the bathroom. Worrying he might be in there, she turns off the lamp again and once more hides in the closet. After fifteen minutes of hearing nothing, she slowly opens the closet and peers out. Though she cannot tell for sure, she is certain he is not there. Listening for breathing or snoring, she hears nothing and, resigned, turns on the lamp again.
What am I going to do? She tries to figure out why Karl’s car is here but not him, and what is up with Vicky and that suitcase. Is Karl in the hospital? That would kind of make sense but would mess everything up. Should she hang around or go home? She has to cast this spell tonight.
Deciding, since she is already here, to wait it out, she gets back into her tiny car and reclines the seat, trying to relax her achy joints. Midnight comes, then one a.m., two a.m., three a.m. Around four a.m., she sees car lights and, peering out the window, sees it is a police car doing a patrol through the complex, its spotlight moving between the parked cars. A thought occurs to her: No, it couldn’t be.
Well, this is a bust, Jeannie finally thinks, tired and defeated, looking at the doctor’s bag. What am I going to do? Adjusting her car seat, back killing her, she decides to give up and go home. She needs to be back in bed before Lisa gets up.
Tuesday: The Day with No Changes
Karli sits up in the cot. It was a nightmare, she realizes, still keyed up and nervous. Her jumpsuit, soaked with sweat, clings to her heavily. The impression of the nipples of her B-cup breasts is visible through the thick damp cotton.
Getting to her feet, she stretches. The bunk was not comfortable, and she must have lain there without moving for hours. The nightmare of Clete is still fresh in her mind; unlike most dreams, this one just will not fade away. Her underwear is itchy, and her clown shoes are hard to keep on her feet as she paces back and forth across the narrow cell waiting for the door to open. The rough cotton irritates her erect nipples, and she is getting chilled in her damp prison uniform. She sees other prisoners go by two by two with the guards. Finally, a husky female jailer steps up to her cell door and says she has heard about her, sweet cheeks. She remarks it looks like the boys did her a solid last night giving her a private room, and if she is back here tonight, she should not expect the same luxury.
The cell door opens and Karli shuffles out, her jumpsuit pant legs dragging the ground, her head lowered, looking still like a frightened fawn. She joins the line of men as they are marched outside into the cool morning toward the waiting prison van. As the breeze hits her, the still-damp jumpsuit blows against her skin giving her a chill. Her nipples react to the fresh coolness and jump to attention. This reaction does not go unnoticed as she sits on the long bench on one side of the county van. It is Clete, of course, who speaks to her from directly across, saying he is sorry they did not find each other in the dark last night but notes she looks excited to see him.
Karli shudders at the words; it is the same disgusting tone from her dream. Tears of fear and sadness again roll out of her eyes.
Before closing the doors to the van, a deputy sets a large bag down at the end and announces breakfast, telling them to eat up because it is all they will get until they return to the jail later. He also sets down a case of bottled water and then closes the heavy reinforced door with a loud slam.
Jeannie arrives back at her apartment and enters quietly, scanning the den area. Luckily, it is still very early and Lisa is not awake. Jeannie had worried that Lisa might have a dream about Karl and suddenly decide to wake up and paint the bedroom or something similar. With that unfounded fear unrealized, Jeannie slips into her bedroom and closes the door.
Though she does not have to go into work today, she knows she needs to at least appear to be online and working by the time the owner gets to the bookstore at eight a.m. Setting her phone alarm for seven forty-five a.m., she falls into her bed, fully clothed and still in her thick makeup. This time it is Jeannie who is fast asleep before hitting the pillow.
Jeannie hears the phone beep and thinks it cannot be seven forty-five. Looking over at the phone display, she is right: it is only six thirty a.m. The beep is a text from her grandmother. The message says she came by the house last night after supper and Jeannie was not at home. She spoke to Lisa, who is worried about her, too, and even she has barely seen Jeannie these past few days.
Another beep from the phone brings another text from Granny, announcing she is going to be at the apartment at six p.m. tonight and Jeannie better be there. If she is not, then there will be no more spells for Karl. Granny insists she has to know Jeannie is okay before this magic can continue.
I can’t catch a break, Jeannie says dejectedly. She texts Granny back telling her she cannot meet her tonight. Granny responds with the same time: six p.m. Every plea, every excuse Jeannie texts to Granny is answered with six p.m.
This is bad, very bad. They are so close, Jeannie is so close, but if Granny sees her, it will all be over. Rather than the twenty-two-year-old she is, she looks close to forty, with all the sagging and wrinkles of someone that age who smokes and does not take care of herself. The wart, she realized lying there in her car at Karl’s apartment that it is not a pimple, is even more prominent on her nose, and other blemishes are dotting her sallow, graying skin. Her hair is limp and more gray than black.
There is a solution, though, but Jeannie has to be very careful. From the moment she knew casting the spells was having an effect on her physically, she had been researching counter-spells. She found two that might help her with Granny: one an incantation and the other a potion. The incantation is beyond her abilities to compose, but the potion she could just manage if she can get the ingredients. The potion would be necessary for Saturday anyway, but if she has to, she could use it today, too.