After Death (27 page)

He looked at what he’d written so far and felt a distant note of embarrassment through his malaise. Were anyone to read this, they would surely think him mad — it clearly read like the half-baked ramblings of a lunatic.

The words resounded on the screen in all capital letters:

CAN’T TELL HER — CAN’T TELL HER — SHE’S BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH — CAN’T TELL ANYONE — BUT WHAT I KNOW IS TRUE — BUT I HAVE NO PROOF — AND WITHOUT PROOF — NOTHING — IF THE WOLF WENT THROUGH THE MIRROR — THE REST IS TRUE ALSO — LIDIA MURDERED — NO SUICIDE — THE FINGERNAIL IN MY STOMACH — THE RING — THE ARTICLES — NOW THE CHILD MURDERS — BURT’S STORIES — IT ALL ADDS UP TO ONLY ONE THING — IT MUST BE — IT HAS TO BE — THE APPARITION I SAW AT THE HOSPITAL — NO ONE BELIEVES ME — GOD HELP ME — NO ONE BELIEVES ME — BUT IT CAN ONLY BE — THERE IS ONLY ONE THING IT CAN BE — IT HAS TO MEAN — IT HAS TO BE —

The words on the screen stopped. It was all he’d been able to write. The final implication was too horrible to put into words — words that would be indelible proof that he could even have such thoughts!

He put his shaking hands on the keyboard and tried to finish what he’d started. The three little letters were so hard to type — as though doing so would make matters more real — more
defined
. He pulled his hands away — He could not do it — He must not!

But it was inevitable. It was all he could think about now. He needed to face it.
Get it out — out!
He lifted his hands, set them on the keys again. As outlandish as it seemed, he first needed to admit it to himself. It had to be done. But it was so hard. It was as if he was confirming his own insanity in writing. With one finger he moved from key to key and pressed softly.

E… L….I

It was done — Now he could look at it on the screen. It was the culmination of what he had thought ever since the accursed promise — The promise that had wrought havoc with his life in the same way he had intended it to do to the main character in his fictional novel. The promise that had begun all this and that couldn’t be undone.

The promise that was now causing him to conceal things from his wife — Things that he knew she would never believe. Things that if he told her, would ruin their relationship forever.

***

For the next several days, Frank went through the motions of his daily life without joy. He did all the things he was obligated to do — but nothing more. He barely slept. He ate only because he knew he had to. His time with Jackie felt mechanical and forced. Outwardly, they were as they had always been — their routine was unchanged. But inwardly he felt a schism — a breach in their connection. The weight of private knowledge was taking its toll. He was becoming irritable and prone to white-hot bursts of anger. And yet, if she sensed this change and his new remoteness, she said nothing.

Was she not addressing his obvious mood change because she didn’t want to deal with it?
He thought
. Or is she so oblivious to him, that she actually doesn’t notice? Either way — this is bullshit! Bullshit!

At work, he did his best not to show his new temperament — and he reminded himself frequently that his current state was his own fault and not that of “his kids”. He had started this thing, unleashed this creature, and he alone was responsible.

At recess, his wariness always increased ten-fold. It was here he felt that his kids were most vulnerable and here that the monster would most likely strike.

There had been no more headlines about additional missing children — but instead of giving him peace, he found his uneasiness growing — There was an ominous stillness to this lack of news — like the calm before a horrific storm.

By the end of the week, his agitation had been ratcheted up to the breaking point. There was still no news — It was too calm — Too peaceful.

His kids were playing in the sand lot that was bordered by a thick tree line. As his eyes scanned the periphery back and forth, the thought occurred to him that the setting was somehow familiar — and then the connection was made — It was the same as in Burt’s story!

Why hadn’t he realized this before? This was the same school that Eli had poached children from as a young man!

The thought sent that all-too-familiar chilling current down Frank’s neck and spine and he shuddered in his overcoat.
It was the same — just the same!

His eyes narrowed — adrenalin pumping.
It would make sense for the monster to strike here — He knew this place. He was a creature of habit —
Frank smiled wryly to himself.
Yes, it lent an all new meaning to the phrase; “creature of habit”.

He began to scan for all his kids — make sure they were accounted for. A small pale boy trying to brace himself upside down in a section of concrete tunnel caught his eye. The boy was wedged against the curving walls so that he was turned to the side, his form mostly masked by the crescent shadow of the hollow. He swiveled and looked directly at Frank, his dark eyes shining as he beckoned to him with a small white hand. Frank’s pulse leapt. It was Billy Wasau — The boy who was listed in the recent newspaper as missing!

Frank felt the blood drain from his face and his mouth go limp. He stumbled towards the boy without thinking, then stopped short —

How could Billy be here? Wasn’t he the one who’s body was found mutilated and —

Billy turned and darted out of the back of the section of tunnel — amazingly fast — almost seeming to flit from place to place like a film missing. He reached the short retaining wall on the outskirts of the playground and disappeared behind it in an instant. Frank waded through the other playing children, none of them paying any attention to him as he passed.

How could it be? Could the papers be wrong?

Frank arrived at the spot where he had last seen the child and looked around. There was no sign of Billy. Then — a blur of movement to his right — He spun — There was Billy again, ducking down behind a distant bush in the middle of a grassy knoll.

How did he get there without Frank seeing? The knoll was twenty feet off and there was no hidden route between it and the wall..?

Frank stumbled after him.

Something was definitely wrong here — Something was wrong but…

It became an obvious game of cat and mouse. Billy would vanish then reappear — and Frank would follow relentlessly — He had to. He had to know what was going on with Billy...

Billy’s face poked out from behind a tall Douglas fir — and Frank continued to follow, now entering the woods that bordered the school. A distant voice called out to him from behind:

“Frank?”

Frank paused, momentarily disoriented.
Where did that voice come from?
Then it came again, louder this time, insistent.

“Frank!”

He turned.

Keith was standing in the middle of the sandlot waving him back. Frank glanced again in the direction of the tree where Billy had last been seen. He wasn’t there. There was nothing but the soft rustle of the wind through the high branches.

Keith yelled to him again — even more insistently this time.

Frank looked around one last time —

But he had seen him — He knew he had.

There were just trees and wind, nothing more. He had no choice but to return.

Keith waited, seething, his arms crossed. The corners of his mouth were pulled down even lower than usual, the jowls drooping in dismay. His chastising words burst out the moment Frank came within range.

“Frank, you can’t leave the children unattended — What’s going on? What are you doing?”

Frank searched for a reply and could only stammer back:

“I… thought I saw one of the children run into the woods…. I… was trying to make sure he didn’t… get… lost…”

Keith didn’t buy any of this weak explanation. Not for one second.

“I did a head count, Frank. They’re all here and accounted for.”

Frank hung his head, eyes downcast.

More things he couldn’t explain. More things he couldn’t talk about.

“Then I must’ve been mistaken…” He said meekly, still staring at his shoes.

Keith glared at him, waiting for the eye contact that Frank had no intention of making.

“Yes, Frank.” he said finally, still smoldering before turning away. “You most certainly were.”

***

Frank made the drive back home, again without remembering the journey by the time he reached his destination. He was beyond exhausted — His thoughts now had no continuity — He started to think about the ghostly form of Billy he’d seen and that if a dog could go through a mirror, anything was possible. Then he couldn’t remember the thread of reasoning and ended up thinking of the roses outside the front door — They looked ill — maybe they had some disease and he should do something about it… By the time he flopped down on the couch, he couldn’t remember that thread either… How many days had he been barely sleeping? Five… Six..? Eight..? He was still trying to work it out when a warm dark blanket seemed to enshroud him and he fell into its folds willingly… He was so tired… so… incomplete… he dissolved into the enveloping space until it seemed his cohesiveness departed entirely… He was no longer anything… It was as if he had ceased to be…

***

When he awoke, he had no idea how long he’d slept or even if he were indeed awake. Everything around him was black — there were no details to guide him and it took several minutes for his consciousness to flow back into what seemed moments before an empty vessel — until he was gradually able to recall where he was and how he had gotten there.

Night had fallen outside and that accounted for the disorienting blackness. He clicked on the lamp on the side table and tried to blink the remainders of sleep away. He’d always heard the expression “slept like a rock” but could never remember it applying to him until now. He’d been out — totally gone. No dreams that he could remember or nightmares or… anything at all — just like the inanimate object in the expression.

He glanced at his watch — 8:15 PM — Where was Jackie? She was normally home by 7:00 PM… With all the recent events in his life, his first reaction was concern. She was nothing if not responsible and reliable — not the type to forget to call if she got pulled into a meeting or —

He felt a slight sense of relief — The light on the answering machine on the kitchen counter was blinking red — There were messages — She’d probably gotten tied up and had left word for him. Somehow he’d slept through the phone ringing, the message being left… Incredible for such a typically light sleeper like himself…

He stepped over to it, pausing to shake out his arms and legs from the stiffness of a prolonged awkward position on the couch. He pressed the “Play” button and calmed immediately — it was Jackie’s voice.

“Hi Sweetie, it’s me. Sorry but I’ll be home a little late. A client from the detergent company wanted to talk over some more concepts. I’ll be at the Pasadena Casa Maria if you need to reach me. Otherwise — I should be home around eleven… Miss you… Bye.”

Slight relief was replaced by a surge of full relief, and then, as it subsided, it was replaced by pangs of hunger. His stomach growled noisily and he went to the kitchen. How long since he’d last eaten? Had he forgotten to have breakfast? Lunch? He couldn’t remember. He opened the refrigerator and began searching for food. The machine beeped and the messages continued, now playing a man’s voice:

“Mr. Davis, my name is Harold Wavers, of the Children’s Abuse Foundation. Mr. Davis, we don’t like to disturb people at home but this is such a terrible time for so many children that —”

In two giant steps Frank reached the answering machine and hit the “Delete” button with a vengeance.

Solicitors, fucking solicitors. There was no getting any peace any more.

There was a beep and the next message played as he scooped up the TV remote and clicked on the living room TV before returning to the refrigerator.

“Hi, Mr. Davis — This is John Belman at Hamilton advertising… There seems to have been some mix-up with your wife…”

Frank turned back to the answering machine, immediately on edge once again. The voice continued.

“There was a client meeting at six and she didn’t show… If you can have her call me when she turns up, I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”

Frank’s internal alarms were sounding again. It was totally unlike her to miss a meeting.

Something was wrong — Something was wrong!

The answering machine beeped, played the next message — A familiar child’s voice filled the room:

“We gonna go in there? Looks kinda creepy.”

There was a brief pause and the child’s voice continued, now agreeable, answering something said by someone unheard.

“Okay.”

Frank froze. He knew that voice and those words. It was Ricky from Burt’s story. He was hearing exactly what he’d already experienced when he was under Burt’s dominion. It was unmistakable. A cold sweat instantly covered his body. He wiped his brow and his hand came away dripping wet.

A dead child’s voice was speaking on his answering machine..! A dead child from more than fifty years ago!