Free Apprehensions and Other Delusions by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page A

stepfather preferred she keep her visits to a minimum.
    “Call a friend. You must know someone who can let you have a spare room for a few days.” He was unconcerned. “Leave me a number where I can reach you.”
    That night the noise was endless, a crooning, moaning, wordless scream over steady banging and deep sobs. Fanchon went to bed at two, trying to recall everything she had read about sleep deprivation and hallucinations. It was disappointing to see the windows lighten with approaching dawn. She dragged herself into the bathroom and dressed for running, selecting her warmest sweats against the gelid fog.
    By the time she got back, the sound was less oppressive. While Fanchon showered and dressed, the noise was no more distressing than recess in a schoolyard might be. She gathered her materials and hiked to campus, doing her best to convince herself that in a day or so her ordeal would be over.
    The plight of working-class women a century ago seemed as remote as the extinction of the dinosaurs. She could not concentrate on her lecture, and when she opened the class to questions, she gave arbitrary answers that left her students more puzzled than before.
    When she got back to her flat she found Eric Muir waiting for her. “How was last night?”
    “Terrible. What about you?”
    “Bearable but not pleasant. If you don’t mind, I want to change tapes.” He let her open the door, then hesitated as a series of deep, clashing chords shook her entry hall. “Nothing that bad, certainly.”
    “Want to trade flats?” she inquired weakly.
    “No,” he answered. He checked the microphone to be certain it was functioning properly, then switched one cassette for another. “I’ll talk to you later.”
    The noise was not as ferocious as it had been, but Fanchon could hardly bear it. She felt as if her skin had been made tender by the noise. When four aspirin made no dent in her headache, she picked up the phone and did what she had vowed not to do.
    “Hello?” she said when Naomi answered the phone.
    “What’s the matter?” Naomi asked, her tone distant.
    “It’s Fanchon. I wondered if I could sleep on your couch a couple of nights?”
    “Your neighbor’s being a prick about the music?”
    “It’s not him. At least, it doesn’t seem to be. He wants to check it out for me.” She let her breath out slowly, hearing Naomi’s hesitation.
    “Does he have to do it now?” Naomi asked.
    “Well, something has to be done, and he’s the only person who’s interested in finding out what it is.” She wanted to bite her tongue.
    “You mean you don’t know if he’s doing it, after all? That sounds a little ooo-eeee-ooooo-eeeeee to me. Maybe we’d better send over some of those flakes from the parapsych division to have a look around.” She tried to laugh. “They really like poltergeists, and this one sure has the polter part down.”
    “Naomi, please,” said Fanchon, doing her best not to beg.
    “Oh, Fanchon, I don’t want to let you down. I know I’m being a pain about this but, it’s just that ... well, the way things are right now with Bill and me, it would be ... touchy to have someone else in the house. You know how it is. Maybe Gail or Phyllis would have room if you asked them.” She paused. “Any other time, I’d love to have you here. I don’t like to say no, but ... Fanchon, it’s important to me not to fuck this up. I’m sorry.”
    Fanchon sighed. “Never mind. I’ll buy some earplugs.”
    “Call Phyllis,” Naomi urged her again.
    “Phyllis doesn’t like history, and we’re not close enough to make up for that.” What was the point in feeling sorry for herself, she wondered. It wouldn’t do her any good.
    “Then take a couple days off. Go somewhere. Tell Bassinton that you have a family emergency, and get away.” Now that she was off the hook, Naomi was doing her best to provide an alternative. “What about your sister?”
    “No chance there. She’s moving to Boston next month.