The Perfect Woman

The Perfect Woman

 

by The Merry Farmer

“Uh huh, Jack Mac Lanohan speaking,” I said into the receiver.  Listening, the little tic at my temple began to quaver.  “Is he hurt?” I asked in alarm.  “Thank you for calling.  Please tell him we’ll be there right away,” I said hanging up.  In near shock I sat with my face in my hands and wept with relief.

“My God, Jack, what is it?” asked my wife, Margaret.

Controlling my emotion long enough to speak I blurted, "Dad’s house burned.  Dad's in the hospital but not badly hurt.  The only thing they salvaged was the rat-trap laboratory he has in the basement."

“Jack, I’m so sorry,” she said as she rose and putting her arms around my neck, brushing her lips against the side of my face in sympathy.  “Let me get my coat, I’ll only be a moment.”

Not sure I’d be in control, I let Margaret drive.  I guess I always suspected something like this would happen.  Dad had been tinkering in his ‘laboratory’ for years, one gimmick or project after another searching for the discovery of a lifetime.  He was going to hit it big one day.  Oh, right.

The drive to the hospital took us past dad’s house.  The smoldering shell blackened by the fire reminded me of war photos.  Shards left of what was once my childhood home.  I realized now we should have insisted dad live with us or at least arrange some kind of assisted living but he wouldn’t stand for it.  The loss gripped me, my shoulders drooping in despair.  Not knowing what to expect when we got to the hospital, my fears danced before me like the flames that sucked the life out of dad’s house. 

Hooked up to oxygen, tubes and machines, I wondered how much anyone had told my father about the fire.  His eyes open and staring, I prayed he wasn’t in a coma.

He suddenly focused on me, “Jack’o my boy!  You’ve come to see yer old pa have ya?” he said, a chuckle mingling with a cough.  “How much is left, boy?” he asked, his lip trembled slightly.

“Da, I’m sorry.  The only thing that might be salvaged is the basement laboratory,” I repeated what the fireman said, turning away.  I didn’t know if I could handle his grief on top of my own.

“Aha!  I’ll be damned!” he remarked with a whoop, slapping his side.  “I was sure I had it this time!”  He waved his arm about, “Soon as they get me out of these contraptions, I’ll show you.  I’ve never been so close,” strangled by another cough it was all he could manage.

The Dr. entered. “You’re a lucky man, Darby Mac Lanohan.  From what I hear, those firemen pulled you free just before the main timbers collapsed.  Otherwise you’d have a lot more than a bit ‘o smoke inhalation to deal with,” he smiled genuinely.  Turning to me, “Jack, is it?  He’ll need some care for a week or so.  Check his oxygen levels and blood pressure, can you manage? he asked. If not, we’ll keep an eye on him here,” he added, steely eyes meeting mine.

I had the solid feeling he blamed me.  Gazing at Margaret, my dad and then back at the Dr. I shrugged my shoulders, weakly nodding ascent. 

“Good, good,” the Dr. chimed in.  “You can come back in the morning.  We want a look see for oh, twenty-four hours,” he said, patting dad’s hand, he winked and left.

****

In the afternoon light the remains of the house looked bleak against the skyline.  Jagged timbers askew while smoldering wisps rose from piles of trash.  Descending the stairs to the basement I flipped on a flashlight, highlighting the blackened enamel counter tops and sagging cupboards.  Glass cases that once held specimens were reduced to popcorn size nodules littering the lab. 

Margaret close behind me whistled, “My, this could have been Frankenstein’s laboratory,” clasping my hand in apprehension.

A sudden noise clanked somewhere in the recesses of the lab.  Frozen, we stood still. “No doubt a rat, come for the pickings,” I said without much confidence.  The noise grew a little louder and nearer.  Turning towards what sounded like grating metal, we held our breath.  After a moment I called out, “Hello.  Who’s there?”

Before our eyes appeared a figure shimmering in the weak light of the baton I held.  Ethereal, stumbling a bit, apparently dazed she looked about but said nothing.  Her gown was made of something shiny, moving with her as mercury ripples and pools.  Skin glowing as if air brushed onto to a frame but shifting slightly like it wasn’t really attached to the body.

Margaret pulled closer to me, her eyes wide and mouth open but no sound escaped.

“Ahem,” I said.  My voice drew attention to me.

“Are you Da?” she asked, working her mouth stiffly, her words not quite matching the movement. “He told me he would be here when I woke up,” she mewed.  A tear flowed down her polished cheek, leaving a slight acid sizzle in its wake.

“Where did you come from,” I asked. 

She pointed to a tiny corridor, leading the way. 

We entered a small room, outfitted with a bed, a supply of 9 volt batteries and schematic drawings, cords and lines looping to and from the bed.  At the head of the bed was a photo of a dream like, pinup girl. 

“Whoa!” I spewed, slowly.  Although I could scarcely believe my eyes, “Looks like dad really did it!” I lamented.  I had no idea exactly what dad had done.  On the surface it seemed quite remarkable.

I couldn’t leave her/it here with press, fireman and onlookers still apt to be nosing around.  Disguised in Margaret's coat and throwing an old hat on her, we beat it for home.

*****

When dad comes home from the hospital, he’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

Thank you for Reading,
- TMF-

[WC: 988]