Unclean Spirit by Julieana Toth Page B

of the static; it was oddly comforting and captivating. Starr began to feel pleasantly lightheaded and warm and totally at peace. And then, without warning, the static and sensation of serenity were abruptly replaced with an offensively odious voice: Gotcha, Bitch!
                  Starr squeezed the receiver so tightly that her fingers became numb.
                  "Who's there?"...dead silence..."Answer me, damn it!"...heavy silence..."I know you're there, you bastard and you better..."
                  "Miz Starr?"
                  Starr nearly peed on herself when Charlie's voice came across the line.
                  "Jesus, Charlie, you scared the shit out of me!"
                  "Didn't mean to. Who was ya talkin' to?"
                  Starr knew that she had not imagined the strange static and contemptible voice, but she didn't want to go into it with Charlie.
                  "I guess I'm just on edge, Charlie. I expect that the wires got crossed and I heard someone else's conversation. 
                  "So, what's that flight info?"             
                  After leaving the phone numbers for the motel and hospital, Starr ended the conversation with a promise that she would forward Charlie's regards to her folks. Starr was relieved to put the receiver back on its hook. Who, or what, had lulled her into a state of tranquility and then snatched her out of it so crudely? Maybe the wires had gotten crossed after all; maybe she was just so exhausted that she was imagining feelings and voices; maybe rationalization was her forte.             
                  Charlie put the phone down and walked into the kitchen.             
                  "Where'd you come from?"
                  Sitting in front of the basement door was a jet-black cat whose eyes, seemingly devoid of pupils, were a blazing lemon yellow. Plenty of stray animals had taken up residence on the ranch, but Charlie couldn't recall ever seeing a cat with such striking eyes. 
                  "Hungry, ol' son? How 'bout some milk?"
                  After first closing the kitchen door so the cat wouldn't wander into the main house, Charlie poured milk into a small bowl and turned to put it on the floor. The cat, who had been present in the enclosed kitchen only moments before, was nowhere to be found.
                  "Well, ain't this just fuckin' fine? Now we got ourselves gawddamn disappearin' black cats!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN
     
     
                  Saul Feener rubbed his temples. He had one hell of a headache and his telephone conversation with Dr. Gomez hadn't done anything to diminish it. Although not especially close to the Forsythes, Saul had been distressed by Dr. Gomez' report. Saul Feener took his role as town physician very seriously and tended to question his abilities when his patients experienced difficulties. Had he missed something significant in his examination of Paul Forsythe? Had he acted quickly enough in getting Paul to El Paso? Had he overlooked some relevant piece of datum in the man's medical history? Saul hated his propensity for second-guessing himself but, try as he might, he was unable to break his compulsion for doing so.
     
                  Saul had spent the first five years of his medical career in the Emergency Department of a very busy County Hospital in East Texas. What a zoo that place had been! The strangest assortment of persons and maladies had wandered in through the Emergency Room doors: The young gay man whose butt had apparently mistaken a coke bottle for a penis; the old bag lady who didn't seem to realize there were just so many times a person could attempt to push a prolapsed bladder back into its natural position before it was scraping the ground; the retarded wino who