A New York Haunting: Pt. 11

The inside. Unbidden, the thought rose in his mind of stripping off his clothes in her presence. Distracted by the wayward image, he did not respond immediately. They skated face to face for several moments, blade strokes coordinating as if by instinct. Although no part of their bodies touched, so close together were they that their clouds of breath intermingled. The desire to take her in his arms swelled again full force.

Anders could not look away --- he stared down at her face until her blushing cheeks and downturned lashes reminded him of his manners. Inhaling and putting another decorous foot of distance between them, he searched for an innocent reply. At last, he was rescued by the memory of her mentioning knitting during the hypnosis session. "Did you knit your hat and mittens?" he asked.

She nodded.

"They are very --- erm --- becoming. I like the yarn balls." He began reddening himself at the word balls.

"Pom-poms. Thank you, Mr. Røkke."

"Pom-poms --- an apt name. But they are first rate no matter what they're called. To use your words, they are clearly an innovation worthy of notice."

"Absolutely. I concur wholeheartedly," she said in a dead serious tone. "But they are not my innovation. I believe the credit goes to your ancestors."

They both managed to keep a straight face as they regarded each other. Anders' eyes drifted to her pink lips where the hint of a smile quivered at the corners.

Ondine motioned with her chin. "May I hold your stick?"

His heart skipped a beat before realizing she meant the hockey stick. When she accepted it from him, his longing eyes observed her mittened hands wrapping around the handle, and he was obliged to smother the rush of recalled sensations of her warm little hand similarly grasping his cock.

A brief sly expression was the only warning before the girl lunged forward. An exaggerated impression of a hockey player ensued. Anders stood watching her, impressed by the series of nimble, obviously corset-free dodges, spins, and sudden accelerations as she wielded the stick. The two spruce-colored pompoms on her hat ties bounced upon her jacket front. Several other men in the vicinity also swiveled their heads to observe her.

Soon she sprinted towards him, only to stop short at the last second, spraying his boots with ice particles. "Ha!" she cried. Eyes alight with a challenging gleam, she took off again, fast disappearing among the sea of skaters.

Anders launched himself after her, grinning at the echo of the merry bicycle chase that had unfolded the autumn day they had first spoken in the park. Even as fast as she was, Ondine was no match for his speed on skates. Soon he drew even with her, prompting a determined burst of acceleration from her. He adjusted his long gliding strides to match hers, and they raced over the frozen lake, swerving around slower skaters.

From nowhere, a pair of rowdy juvenile males darted into her path, forcing the girl to veer sideways so sharply she lurched off balance and dropped the hockey stick. She would have careened to the ice save for Anders' quick hands seizing her waist and swinging her towards him. The continued momentum sent them spinning --- his arms about her back, her hands gripping his shoulders. For a fleeting, magical interlude, all sight and sound blurred about them --- all save for Ondine's bright eyes and squeals of laughter.

Too soon did the spin come to an end, and it was all he could do not to kiss her.

A rush of apprehension broke the spell; he relinquished his hold on her and scanned the nearby skaters for her family members. Composing himself, he reminded his too eager heart that they were not star-crossed lovers enjoying a stolen moment together. Their acquaintance was predicated upon the specific quest to exorcise Peter's ghost.

Peter's ghost! Yes, there was one other essential question he had not yet asked.

He regarded her keenly. "Mrs. Van der Veen, you must tell me, did the ghost's visits stop after what happened on the tower?"

At once her gaze became hooded. "No."

Stunned, he could only stare at her. At last, he found his tongue. "Are you certain?"

"Quite certain." She skated away from him.

Hastily he picked up the hockey stick and caught up to her. Now with a steady, somber cadence, they skated side-by-side, frozen breaths streaming behind them. His mind churned as he absorbed the unhappy news. Why the devil was Van der Veen's ghost not satisfied?! The unpunished wrong had been fully punished --- Schuller had admitted to the crime and was now dead.

A man and woman skated past holding hands. Anders blinked.

Duo! Two!

A pair of all-seeing, blind white eyes flashed in his mind. What was it Sophia Occhi had said? His brows drew together. Piece by piece, it came back to him: she had said there were two forces responsible for the haunting. Two forces --- the man's, the woman's.

Christ! He had forgotten that part! Frowning, he mulled over the words.

Dr. Schuller must have been the man's force --- yes of course. So, what and who was the woman's? It must be responsible for the ghost's continued presence. Anders' eyes were insensible to the surroundings as he scoured his memory. Damn! If only he had his notebook! The medium had alluded to a bird ... driven by a discontent so powerful it summons. That was it! In retrospect, these words could only refer to the woman. Certainly, Dr. Schuller would not have wanted to summon Peter's ghost.

He glanced at the restless, haunted-eyed girl beside him, then looked away again. For several minutes, he racked his brain, a chaos of images fighting for the forefront: Ondine's distressed paintings --- storms, an overflowing vase, a hot air balloon straining in its tethers, a steam locomotive. Ondine's helpless body tormented by the ghost's relentless fucking. Ondine's hypnotized eyelids trembling as she confessed to the unseemly events of her courtship by Peter Van der Veen.

With deep breaths of the cold air, Anders tempered his own disquiet at the onslaught of agitated and salacious images.

Ondine's gasp startled him from his reverie. A boy had fallen directly in her path, too close to shift course. Flinging herself into the air, she jumped over the scrambling child, clearing him easily, but landing askew upon her blade. She flailed then sprawled onto the ice.

Anders leapt forward, sliding on his knees to her side. "Mrs. Van der Veen! Are you okay?"

She sat up with a laugh. "I believe so, but I felt something give on my skate." Bending her left leg, she crossed the ankle over her other knee and cocked her boot sole up.

Smiling to himself at the trousers she wore under her skirt, he pulled off his gloves and bent his head to examine the blade. Quickly he determined one screw on the heel attachment was missing, and the other was about to fall out. He rescued it and slipped it into his pocket.

"A screw fell out. Let's try to find it."

The next several minutes were spent crawling on their hands and knees, searching the ice in deliberate, widening circles from the site of the accident. At length, thank God, Ondine located it.

Anders marked the unending stream of skaters maneuvering around them. "Let's go to a bench on the side and I'll fix it." Standing, he offered his hand and pulled her up.

The girl balanced on one skate. "If I take your arm, I can skate on one foot."

"Here, hold this." He handed her the hockey stick and in one swift motion, scooped her off her feet, lifting her with one arm under her knees and one under her back.

"Mr. Røkke!" She sounded scandalized.

Grinning, Anders set off, his strong stroking gait unhampered by her weight. His heart was swimming at the sensation of her lithe body in his arms. Ondine's free arm looped around his neck and her big greenish eyes studied him --- that darling face was so close he need only tilt his head to kiss her.

As if in concordance with his thoughts, her plump lips separated. "Your arm does indeed appear to be restored to full vigor, Mr. Røkke," she murmured. Her long, dark lashes suddenly dipped, and her head rotated in a seeming nervous scan of the nearby people. The soft wool pom-pom atop her hat brushed against his cheek.

In too short order, he reached the edge of the lake and reluctantly set her down on an unoccupied bench. Squatting before her, he lifted the foot with the compromised skate.

"Why don't I simply remove it?" said she. "There's no need for you to kneel on the cold ground."

Anders glanced at the people on benches to either side. Around the lake, a myriad of park goers sat on benches donning and removing skates. It was only his amorous infatuation that made her suggestion seem provocative. He shrugged. "Ya, sure." Before she could bend forward, he slipped the bow of her boot lace and began unfastening the long row of eyelets.

At last, he cupped the heel and slid the boot off. A gray woolen stocking encased the dainty foot and ankle visible below the rolled cuff of the trousers. How he wanted to cradle it in his big hands and hug it against his heart! But he controlled himself, mumbling, "Your foot will get cold."

Ondine shook her head, rising momentarily to bend her leg under her skirts and sit on her foot. He took a seat next to her and braced the boot, sole up, between his knees. As she watched, he retrieved his pocketknife and sorted through its various gadgets for the screwdriver.

Glancing about to assure himself they were out of earshot of others, he ventured, "Mrs. Van der Veen, I have a theory about the ghost's continued presence."

"Indeed? Do share. I'm at my wit's end attempting to account for it." She shifted on the bench towards him, resting her elbow on the wood-slatted back. A grim smile twisted her lips. "I'm beginning to think it might be worth jumping off the tower if it would give me relief from him. But I suppose with my luck, I would only end up bedeviled by him in purgatory for all eternity."

Anders searched her face --- the dark humor did not fully disguise her true disquiet. The urge to reach for her hand was overwhelming --- his fingers had to tighten their grip upon the pocketknife and skate to resist it. He attempted to reply with a like droll tone: "I beg you to hear me out before you make the leap." At her nod, he proceeded. "Do you recall what Sophia Occhi said about the haunting? She said there was an unpunished wrong. She also said there were two forces responsible --- a man's and a woman's."

"I remember."

"It seems clear that the unpunished wrong was the murder, and thus, the so-called man's force was Dr. Schuller's guilt."

"Yes, that follows," she said, her restless knee shaking under the gray wool skirt.

"So, now that the man's force is resolved, the ghost's vexing persistence must be attributed to the woman's force."

She nodded. "So it would seem. I have for the past two months been agonizing over that very point."

"I confess I had temporarily forgotten about it after the events on the tower." Anders tightened the first screw. "I'm not certain how this came loose. The wood does not appear to be stripped. You might have a cobbler examine it to be sure."

"I will." Ondine rested her chin on her hand as she watched him. "I speculated that Marjorie Montrose might be the woman to whom Sophia referred."

"I did as well," he said. "But now I'm beginning to wonder if the woman's force refers to you."

She looked puzzled. "To me? How so? You've lost me."

As he had the evening when he had first told her about the ghost, Anders struggled for a gentlemanly way to voice his thoughts. How to begin? He cleared his throat and said in a low voice, "Erm --- while you were hypnotized, you described the awakening of certain feelings --- erm --- certain sensual feelings elicited by Peter Van der Veen's improper attentions to you."

The girl sat frozen, wide eyes fixed upon him.

"Mrs. Van der Veen, please forgive me. I do not wish to embarrass or offend you. Indeed, there is no cause for embarrassment at all, despite the foolish strictures of society. The curiosity and disquiet you felt upon seeing the pictures in ... that book, and touching Peter's --- erm --- touching Peter were entirely natural."

Ondine's face grew bright red as she gaped at him. "I told you about that?" she whispered.

Anders nodded.

Her mittened hands rose to cup her burning cheeks, and she turned away.

Tactfully averting his gaze, he bent over the skate between his knees and began to check the other screws along the blade. "Please believe me that you have no reason to feel ashamed. The feelings you reported are a fully normal manifestation of being a human creature." He chuckled wryly. "If it's any consolation to you, I feel them all the time."

He thought he heard a smothered giggle behind her hands before she said in a stern voice, "Perhaps you'd best proceed with your theory, Mr. Røkke."

"My understanding from what you said in the trance state was that you did not love Peter and were not certain you even liked him. But you several times alluded to an intense curiosity about ---" he surveyed the immediate vicinity and lowered his voice even further, "--- marital relations and were eagerly looking forward to your wedding night for that reason."

A groan rose from behind her mittens.

"I'm sorry. I'm distressing you. I'll stop now."

Ondine shook her head. "Go on."

He studied the backs of the spruce wool mitts covering her face, and said in a soft voice, "I'm wondering if --- well, it seems you had your mind firmly fixed upon experiencing this event and were robbed of it by Peter's untimely death before the wedding night. Perhaps the disappointed yearning in your unconscious was powerful enough to draw your husband's already unrestful spirit to you. After all, he had an unfulfilled contract with you, as it were."

Ondine's mittens slid down as her face lifted.

"Sophia described a bird flying repeatedly against a windowpane with a discontent so powerful it summons. I believe that bird is you."

She blinked.

Anders waited until a trio of women skated past before taking a deep breath and continuing. "I don't wish to repeat the details that alarmed you previously, but from my observations in your bedchamber those two nights, it was evident the ghost's actions were producing in you a state of ---" he faltered, "--- a state of acute arousal. Even if your mind was insensible to his activities, your body was not." He forced down the persistent image of her swollen, wet vulva. "But here's the key point: at least while I was present, every symptom of --- erm --- pleasure manifested itself save one: the climactic release. Both episodes ended with you seemingly in a state of frustration and despondency."

She regarded him with a side eye. "I beg your pardon?"

He murmured, "What we talked about before by the fountain. Erm --- spending, climax, orgasm."

Her flushed face turned fully towards him. "I thought you said that was something males did to deposit seed."

He nodded. "It is, but apart from the emission of seed, females can experience the same crisis of bliss. Have you ever felt it?"

"A crisis? Well, when you describe it so, it certainly sounds like something I would have noticed." As she had last time, she turned to levity to cover her discomposure.

They both fell silent as a pair of men paused before them, extracting cigarettes from a carton. While one searched his pockets for matches, the other smiled at Ondine and tipped his hat. A moment later, they skated off, cigarettes aglow.

Anders turned back to her. "If you haven't experienced it, then it tends to support my theory." His eyes dropped to the gray fabric over her lap. "Under hypnosis, you mentioned --- erm --- examining your privates in a mirror and a pleasurable sensation evoked by touching yourself there." He had hoped to be able to present his hypothesis dispassionately but found himself grateful for the sweater covering his expanding trouser front. Turning his eyes from her skirt, he hunched a little further over the skate. "Perhaps if you further explored ---"

The girl sat bolt upright with a mortified expression. "Are there any secrets I did not blurt out that day?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "I do hope I didn't commit any other indiscretions while in that trance."

Feeling the heat rise in his own face, Anders fixed his attention on diligently tightening the screws. His ejaculating in her hand was something he would take to the grave. After several moments of silence, he folded the screwdriver back into the pocketknife and said, "The screws are all tight now. It feels sound." Sliding off the bench, he knelt before her with the skate.

Ondine shifted to produce her stockinged foot and slide it into the boot. Silently, she watched him re-lace it.

He looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers. "I will never betray your confidences, Mrs. Van der Veen. Nor hold them against you. To my way of thinking, Nature has gifted us these feelings and the concept of shame has no relevance." Standing and pulling on his gloves, he offered his hand.

She hesitated before accepting it. Once back on the ice, they glided a few feet apart, the faint grind of the blades the only sound between them. Anders sought out a spot of relative privacy before halting and gazing down at her with all earnestness. Ondine's nose was fetchingly reddened by the cold.

"Mrs. Van der Veen, my theory is that the woman's force refers to you --- trapped in a state of chronic unresolved arousal, as it were. Maybe until your body finds release, your unconscious will continue to summon your husband from purgatory." He lifted his shoulders awkwardly. "It's speculation, of course. I would be very keen to hear your opinion --- you're the one experiencing it after all."

Arms crossed and metal blade tapping on the ice, Ondine stared up at him with an impassive expression. "My opinion is that the hour is growing late, and I must find my cousins. Thank you for sharing that colorful hypothesis, Mr. Røkke. I will take it under advisement." She glanced southward over the lake, then back at him. "Good day, sir." With a tight nod, she skated away, soon disappearing among the throngs of skaters.

Chapter 45. AN EXPERIMENT PROPOSED

G od damn it! He had done it again! Crudely bungled his way through a conversation requiring the utmost finesse and had again offended her. How else could he have explained his hypothesis? Vague euphemisms would not have sufficed for an essentially innocent girl. No doubt, his giddiness at seeing her again had sorely compromised his judgment.

The only consoling counterpoint he could make to his self-reproach was that it was impossible to jeopardize something that was nonexistent. Whether Ondine liked him or scorned him had no bearing on the respective fates that society had dictated for them.

He reminded himself of the repeated promises he had made over the two months since the events on the tower --- promises that he would be content with the mere opportunity to address her on two points: to thank her for her role in saving his arm, and to ask if Schuller's death had ended the haunting.

Most unexpectedly, he had been presented with that very opportunity and had broached both topics. But contrary to his promise to himself, he was not the least bit content. How could he be content seeing her in such a state of unrelenting torment? In this circumstance, discretion had not been the better part of valor. Even if she now despised him, offering any ideas on how to terminate the haunting had been the proper thing to do.

Over the next week in lectures, clinic, and on the wards, Anders brooded thus over the encounter in the park.