Michael R Collings (29 page)

“Okay, what the hell is this about? Who are you?”

“Orinda Washington. Hospital liaison with County Child Services.”

“Child… I don’t have to talk to you.” Jack turned and began opening the door to Mark’s room.

“Yes, I’m afraid you do, Mr. Merrick. Here and alone with me, or in my office with a security officer.”

Jack stared.

“What do you mean. Mark
fell
! A dozen kids saw it!”

“That’s what the boy said. Before you came in. It’s what we expected him to say, that he fell from something. Of course, we’ll have an officer at your home shortly to verify what happened.”

“Then what…!”

She held up a hand, not to placate him but to stop him.

“Your son’s file was flagged, Mr. Merrick. Both your sons’ files, as a matter of fact. And your wife’s. In fact, you are the only member of your family whose file in the ER is
not
flagged.”

“This was an
accident
! How many times do I have to tell you people that. Mark is clumsy, he climbed too high, and he fell. End of story.”

“This time, perhaps. But we’ve established a…what shall we call it…a cut-off point, where the signals become too obvious to be missed. This time might have been an accident. The last time also. But so many times in less than three years? That worries us.”

“Worries
you
? What the hell have you got to be worried about?”

“Actually, Mr. Merrick, perhaps
you
are the one that should be worried.”

“Are you threatening me? Because if you are, I’ll sic my lawyer on you—and this dipshit hospital—so fast that….”

“Not a threat, Mr. Merrick. Not even a warning. Just a word of advice. We are worried about Mark and Clark…and Ariel, as well. We just wanted to know that their files are flagged.”

“Yeah, well you’re not the only hospital that….”

“There are only two hospitals in Tamarind Valley. Oak Glen and County. We share information about certain cases.
All
of our information. It would be wise if we never saw….”

Jack turned his back on the woman and slammed through the door.

“When can he go home, doc?”

4.

When Jack stomped into the house a few hours after he left with Mark, Ariel knew the look on his face. She had seen it before. Her heart fell.
Not again.

She started to ask about Mark.

“Not a word,” Jack growled. “Not a word from you.”

He strode down the hall and disappeared around the corner. An instant later Ariel heard the door to his den smash against the jamb.

Clark looked up from where he was half-laying on the floor, doing his homework while stealing glances at the TV screen.

“Is Mark all right?”

“He’s still at the hospital. They will probably keep him there for a day or two.”

“Like last time?”

“Yes. Like last time. But I’m sure he will be all right.”

“Mom, are we going to move again?”

Ariel swallowed. She knew the signs. There had been sufficient…episodes…in the sixteen years their marriage had endured. She knew the sequence—move to get a fresh start, stagger along as if they were a normal family for a while, then the excuses and the yelling would begin again. She could almost write out a time-table. But somehow, she felt that this time things were different. Frightening. Moving at a much faster pace than ever before. Deteriorating almost day by day. Jack seemed…different here, in this house. Sometimes when he emerged from his den after a…difficult evening, she almost didn’t recognize him.

She smiled wanly at her younger son. She couldn’t find it in her heart to answer him.

5.

“Slick, this is Jack.”

Jack winced at the undercurrent of static coming through his cell phone. The thing was the newest model, only a couple of weeks old. The interference only happened back here in his den, and that sure as hell made him mad. Every other place in the house, clear as crystal—back here in his den,
hisssss buzzzzz sssssssh.

“Jack,” the voice answered. “Good to hear from you, buddy. How they hangin’?”

“Not so good. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Well, you know, nothing too good for an old roomie. What can I do you for?”

“It’s…well…I’ve been thinking of selling this place and moving.”

“Going upscale on us, huh?”

“Not exactly. More like moving away. Out of state.”

Hissss, buzzzz, ssssssh.
The static surged more loudly as the voice on the other end momentarily fell silent.

“Like that, huh?”

“Yeah, afraid so. Anyway, you know how much I appreciate your getting us into this place. Bargain-basement price and all.”

“No problemo. After the old fart that used to live there died, his two kids couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. Funny, though, the deal almost fell through there at the end. I couldn’t even get them together in the same town long enough to sign the papers. Not a family I’d like to know better. They didn’t so much as speak to each other the whole time. But that’s neither here nor there. How can I help?”

“I know the market’s pretty soft right now….”

“That’s the understatement of the year!”

“Yeah, but it’s…I…can you help me dump this place? Fast?”

“Sounds serious.”

“It kinda is. Look, you and I know the condition the house is in. Will that make it too hard to get rid of?”

“You made any improvements.”

“Just the room conversion. The old garage is the family room now, and I had them build an adjoining garage. The property was just wide enough between the house and the fence to fit.”

“Umm. That will add a good bit to the square footage. Any more…uh…complications?”

“Not really. Just what you know about. Cracks along the foundation. Cracks on the inside walls. Seems to have slowed, though. Not much new recently.”

“Okay, Jack. I think we can work with this. It’ll take a little of money, though, not as much as a major re-build but a bit.”

“Whatever.”

“Okay, buddy, here’s what we’re going to do….”

6.

Jack had a bitch of a headache. It started at his temples and shot across his forehead,
throb throb throb throb.
His eyes watered from the pain.

He settled deeper into his armchair, grateful once more that his den had turned out to be the quietest room in the house. Ariel and the kids were probably in the family room watching TV. From back here he could hear nothing.

Except the
throb
of blood rushing through his veins and pounding against his temples.

He took a long pull on his beer.

Cold. Thank god for the mini-fridge back here. He didn’t think he could stand to walk as far as the kitchen right now.

The headache had begun during the drive home. That had happened more than once in the five months since he had placed the call to Maxwell. The call for help.

Five months.

An eternity.

There had been a few nibbles on the house almost as soon as it was ready to show. Two prospects had even tendered offers, but for some reason they had been withdrawn shortly after the marks had made a careful walkthrough. Slick hadn’t been too concerned.

“That’s the way the market is right now. Mostly lookie-loos. Don’t worry. Things will probably pick up after school opens.”

Easy enough for him to say, Jack thought bitterly. He didn’t have to come home to Ariel and the kids and these damned headaches.

He rolled the cold can against his forehead.

He knew that he sometimes had…problems. He tried to keep control, and most of the time he could. But every once in a while, situations arose and he just…let go.

But for the last few months, it had been worse. Much worse. Much harder to manage…things.

He knew from past experience what the red rages felt like, the need to lash out and
hurt
someone. He was careful, though. Never too much. Never too often. And usually he didn’t have to make an ER run.

But now.

He shuddered.

Hurting didn’t seem to be enough. A slap across the cheek. A punch to the shoulder. A good solid whack on a naked rear end. A belt on the back of the legs—high, where it wouldn’t show. Those didn’t work.

Now he wanted,
needed
more. When the mood was on him, he could close his eyes and easily—oh, so very easily—envision smashing his fist into Clark’s face, breaking a jaw and spilling teeth all over the floor like kernels of bright-red rice. Or crushing Mark’s nose with his elbow, feeling the sudden, almost orgasmic heat of blood flowing across the flesh of his arm. Shattering Ariel’s arm the next time she tried to restrain him, feeling the bones crumble into fragments, like the slab beneath his chair. Beating them all…all of them at once. Pounding them bloody.
Destroying them.

When he was in control, that seemed bad enough. But it wasn’t the worst.

He took another long drink.

He probably should get up and turn on the light. It was already dark, even though daylight-savings time wouldn’t end for a week or two. His den was shrouded in shadows…and sometimes the shadows seemed to flicker, to
move.

Sometimes they whispered to him to…to
do
things…horrible, terrifying things…not to Ariel or the boys but to
himself.

It was the memory of
those
urges that utterly froze him. His headache geared up a notch or two.

Shit. How much more of this could he take.

Rap. Rap.

Small, tentative knocks sounded on his closed—and carefully locked—door. Anger flooded through him.

The
knew
that the weren’t supposed to disturb him when he was in here.

Rap. Rap.

“What!”

There was a short pause, then a faint voice. It was Clark. Jack could almost see the brat’s face, pale and drawn at the prospect of what he knew must be coming.

“Dad?”

“I told you not to…!”

“There’s a man here to see you.”

Jack sat bolt upright. The movement sent spikes through his brain.

“Cops?”

Another pause.

“No. Just a man. He says his name is Maxwell.”

Jack released his breath explosively and settled back into the chair. He upended his beer and drank the rest in a single long swallow.

He rose, thumbed the lock, and pulled the door open.

What the hell!

He jerked back convulsively, almost slammed the door closed, then blinked.

A phantom
something
seemed to be floating chest-high in the dimness of the hallway. Green glowing eyes, green glowing teeth, splotches of red glowing like baleful, fevered eruptions on dead skin. Everything else black, dead black. Black so deep it seemed to swallow what little light there was.

“Dad?” Clark sounded worried…and terrified.

“What are you…?” Jack hit the switch beside the door and the den light flared, casting stark shadows everywhere but emitting enough light into the hall to illuminate the figure that stood before him.

It was a fifteen-year-old vampire, Dracula-cape and all, its hair blackened for the occasion and slicked back.

Clark in costume.

Clark must have figured out what was going on in his father’s mind. “It’s my costume,” he said hurriedly. He backed a step toward the wall behind him. “For the Halloween party at school day after tomorrow. Mom was finishing it for me when the doorbell….”

Jack swept past his son, unaware of brushing the boy’s shoulder hard enough to force Clark further back into the wall. Clark groaned, but only a bit and mostly under his breath. He knew better.

Jack nearly ran down the hall. Now that the shock of seeing that damned costume was receding, excitement flooding through him in its place.

Slick was here. It
had
to be good news.

Five minutes later, the two of them were seated comfortably in the armchairs in Jack’s den. The overhead lights were on, as were the desk lamp on the top of the liquor cabinet and another on the small table he used as a make-shift desk. The room was harsh, stark, uncompromising in its brightness. Right now, Jack needed it that way.

“Yeah, this time the deal’s going through. No problemo,” Slick said, chuckling softly. “I gave them a sob story about how you had bid on a custom-built place in Newton Park and if you didn’t close on this house soon, you would lose it. They’re first-time buyers, excited by the prospect, eager, and above all gullible.”

“But you’re sure.”

“Positive. I took them through last weekend while you were in Palm Springs, and they burbled all the way about how perfect it was, what they were going to do with this room, who was going to sleep in that room. You could see her running up curtains in her mind and planning on ordering throw pillows to match the color of the living room walls.”

“They didn’t notice anything?”

“Nah. Oh, they tried to look nonchalant, even slightly disinterested, but you can’t kid a kidder. They’re hooked and they didn’t bother to check out anything too closely.”

“What happens if they find out about, you know, the
real
problems.”

Maxwell leaned over and slapped his old roommate’s knee. “Come on, Jack, have some faith in me. I’ve handled enough of these places, here and in Sunset Hills, to know how to protect myself…and, of course, you as well.

“I recommended an ‘outside inspector’ when they first got interested, even said I’d pay his fee. They took me up on the deal. Fred’s a good friend…and a good
silent
partner, emphasis on ‘silent.’” He chuckled. “He knows exactly how to word the reports. After all these years, and all the lawsuits, he’s a past master at saying things without actually saying them at all. Don’t worry about that.”

Jack relaxed into his chair. He grabbed another beer out of the fridge next to the chair, then grabbed a second and tossed it to Chuck Maxwell.

It wasn’t for nothing that his old friend had earned his nickname as far back as college.

“Slick,” indeed!

The two men clicked rims of their beers in a toast and laughed together.