Bottled Abyss (18 page)

“Are you finished with your sketches?” she asked the children. Different responses abounded and she added, “Just leave them on your desks. Go have your free play. Ten minutes.”

Horrace sat awkwardly on the stool next to Janet. The children piled out of the room, some shouting wildly in the pre-ecstasy of play.

“So Jan-Jan, I think of Melody so often. I still speak to her in my prayers. I can still hear her little voice. What a wonderful child, so bright. She was thriving here. Absolutely thriving. A point of brightness went out of the world for me on that day. It really did. I just try not to think about it too much anymore.”

“Yes, I see kids still play in the front yard.”

Horrace moved some errant hairs from her narrowing eyes. “And what would be your point, dear?”

“I’d think that’s very obvious.”

Horrace’s bald eyebrow lifted and a snort escaped her nose. “Sorry Jan-Jan, but here at the childcare, life goes on.”

“For the living, sure it does.”

“Wait—did you actually come to pick a fight with me? A year later?”

“Of course not.”

Horrace twisted her mouth in thought for a second. “Well then I apologize for asking, but what brings you here today?”

Closure,
thought Janet.

“I just wanted to visit. To remember Melody.”

Tell her, let it out, let it
all
out…

The severity in Horrace’s face softened. “We provide the safest environment we can for the children. What happened to Melody was a freak mishap, and I incidentally fired the helper, Ms. Kramer, who had been assigned supervision duty that day. And it wasn’t entirely her fault either. The rules here are no feet on the pavement. Only grass. Melody wasn’t following instructions—”

Janet wanted to slap her across her lardy face. She thought of some choice words but held them in.

“You’re not… thinking of get litigious on me, are you Jan-Jan?”

“I told you I just wanted to visit,” Janet reminded her.

Horrace looked away, flustered.

“And to ask…”

How you sleep at night, you miserable bitch?

“… if you know anything about coins?”

Mrs. Horrace put a plump hand on the tile counter and swiveled herself to face Janet completely. “Why would you think I do?”

“Well,” said Janet, her mind screaming, asking what the hell she was doing, that this wasn’t what she’d come for, but nevertheless, she took out the coin purse and let the coin strike the counter with a clang of bronze. “It looks like something out of one of your fairy tales or myths. See, I found it with some heirlooms and wondered if you could tell me if you recognized it.”

The woman’s lips went thin and colorless. It was a purposefully aristocratic expression, something Janet imagined Horrace practiced in the mirror when trying to appear vastly more intelligent than the rest of the planet.

“Greek coinage is not my expertise, but it appears to be some sort of fake drachmae. The impressions don’t look to be of the Classical or Hellenistic. It’s probably archaic.” She leaned over the coin with giant, fascinated eyes.

“Sounds like you know quite a bit about coins.”

“I know a lot of things, but my expertise is only in the art of sharpening minds.” Mrs. Horrace clucked with consideration. “I wonder what this little dot is in the center? It almost looks like a tiny picture.”

Janet shrugged, not about to tell her about the fly. “The pawn shop couldn’t determine its origin… How much do you think a coin like this is worth?”

“Nothing dear. It’s not real,” Mrs. Horrace concluded. “So it’s probably worth just a little over the cost of the metal itself. Ten dollars maybe?”

“Not even worth trying to sell then I guess.”

“This design reminds me too… one of the boys here loves the Greek tale of the Ferryman who accepts coins for the passage of souls into the Underworld.”

“Maybe that’s what this is.”

Ms. Horrace snickered. “Yeah, may-
be
.”

“Sounds kind of a creepy story for kids though.”

“It’s included in Classic curriculum,” she said irritably. “It isn’t my fault that children find stories of ghosts the most entertaining.”

A gathering of children migrated into the room, trailed by the helper, who with great zeal still cradled the newborn.

“There he is,” said Horrace, pointing to an anemic looking boy with curly blond hair. “Jerry, you’re the one who enjoyed the Ferryman tale. You drew a picture last year, remember.”

Jerry’s head tilted a bit. “That’s with the boat and the guy in the robe with the skeleton face?”

“Yes, yes, the coins, remember?”

The boy nodded. “People used to put them on their tongue when they died.”

“I have an idea! You should give the coin to Jerry,” Mrs. Horrace said. “He’s our best behaved and I told him he would get a reward today. I think he would like that. Wouldn’t you Jerry?”

The boy’s face colored with joy. “You’re giving me money?”

“It’s not mine to give,” replied Janet, sitting up straighter. “I would have to talk to my family.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Horrace snorted petulantly. “Sorry about that, Jerry.”

“Well I guess it doesn’t matter. I mean, if it really isn’t worth much.”

“It’s not.”

“He can have it then, if he wants it.”

Though it needed doing, you didn’t come here to get rid of the coin, you came to give this woman an earful of shit. Does she even know what day it is? Fuck no, she doesn’t know. Say something you friggin’ idiot!

Jerry walked up to the counter and slid the coin off the side in his small hand. “Smells nasty in here,” he mumbled, before heading to a desk. A couple other children protested his gift, but the adults ignored their whines.

“Thanks for doing that,” said Mrs. Horrace to Janet, “you’ve always been so kind. I know Melody got her good nature from you. Always finished her projects and she never had to sit out of free play. Ever. She always got to go outside.”

“Yeah…”

“Do you want anymore lemonade?”

“I’m good.”

“Have any other trinkets for analysis?” she chortled obnoxiously. “I promise I won’t make you give it away!”

“No, no, that’s it.” Janet semi-laughed politely. “I’ll just be going. Nice to catch up with you.”

With great effort, Mrs. Horrace slid off the stool and staggered at her momentum. “Come back and visit whenever you like, and who knows, maybe you’ll bring another child to us someday.”

“Who knows?” Janet agreed.

She left for the front door, not waiting for Mrs. Horrace to walk her out.

Since Herman had gone missing, there was a particular memory that kept swimming to the surface of Janet’s mind. One morning, not long ago, she caught her daughter wandering into the bathroom while Herman showered. Melody’s eyes got wide and she shouted belligerently. “Daddy! What’s
that
?”

She remembered Herman had shampoo running down half of his face, so he could hardly see. “Melody, why aren’t you eating breakfast?”

“Daddy! What’s that?”

He laughed. “I use it to go pee-pee. Now get out, little girl.”

“Pee-pee?”

“Yep. Go on now, go out to your mother.”

What a funny thing to recall
, thought Janet. She supposed it made sense though. Her heart had felt so warm watching them interact: the man who had just begun to take steps as a father, the baby who had just begun to take steps as a person. They were both so alive in the recollection. God, she just wanted to hold them both, feel their skin, smell their hair. She even longed to hold that person she used to be. The Janet back then, good god, she just had so many mountaintops still to climb. She had no idea the mountain was short and ended in a sheer cliff.

As a child Janet had once tried to hang herself in her closet with an old bungee cord. The cord stretched and the knot always came undone, and then there was the problem of her feet touching the ground. So that never took. Later that same afternoon, the perfume she drank was promptly all vomited up.

She couldn’t bring herself to go for it again.

A week after her secret attempt at taking her life, her father left the house, taking all of his rage and sorrow with him. There was no more need to “sleep forever,” as she liked to think about it, but Janet was pretty sure if she ever had to try it again, passing out from drugs or hanging yourself was the only way to go—you black out and your body remains whole. Guns and knives were more violence than she’d ever intended to do to herself.

Now her thoughts returned to what needed to happen. Taking pills might be a similar experience to her drinking episode, so that didn’t appeal anymore. A nice clean jump from the rafters in the garage with some braided nylon rope though—that would suit her. Maybe even put Herman’s ankle weights on, to get more velocity,
more snap
.

It would be disturbing for her friends to find her body hanging there, but did they really expect more from Janet Erikson at this point? This was cowardly and selfish, and she was at peace with that. Perhaps leaving Faye and Evan this mysterious bottle would readdress their sorrow? She would have to write a detailed note about what she’d discovered so far. It would have been nice to leave the coin for them too, but she’d failed to have a spine on that matter as well.

Enjoy your Ferryman coin, little boy
.

She came to stop at a red light. Speaking of the bottle, she hadn’t checked on it since getting back into the car. She popped open the glove box and glanced inside.

Her throat tightened.

Scattered over the Dodge owner’s manual, brown and saturated and crumbling, were pieces of cork. It had rotted out.

The light turned green and she pulled through the intersection, glancing from the road to the glove box in disbelief. She felt inside for dampness. Nothing. Hand tight on the steering wheel, she leaned over and touched the floor. Nothing.

Thankfully, another red light came and she stopped the car. She took the bottle out. It felt empty, but then, it had always felt empty…

The light turned green and she absently stepped on the gas.