The Forgotten (7 page)
Ah, isn't that sweet?
He remembered the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Locke, cooing those words as her big gray tabby, Bruiser, batted around a hapless gopher he'd caught. Will had watched, fascinated, while Bruiser tormented the creature for a good twenty minutes before administering a death bite and trotting off with the dead thing, maybe to eat, probably to show off his hunting prowess to Mrs. Locke or maybe some other cat. Back then, he'd been too young to understand what the cat was putting the rodent through, no matter how well-deserved the torment, but now he did understand. He looked at his own fluffy little killing machines. “Sorry, guys, you're civilized.”
He remembered the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Locke, cooing those words as her big gray tabby, Bruiser, batted around a hapless gopher he'd caught. Will had watched, fascinated, while Bruiser tormented the creature for a good twenty minutes before administering a death bite and trotting off with the dead thing, maybe to eat, probably to show off his hunting prowess to Mrs. Locke or maybe some other cat. Back then, he'd been too young to understand what the cat was putting the rodent through, no matter how well-deserved the torment, but now he did understand. He looked at his own fluffy little killing machines. “Sorry, guys, you're civilized.”
He continued to watch the birds. One flew away successfully after several false starts. Meanwhile, another sat up and more birds began moving. The screen had evidently been far less deadly to the mockingbirds than the glass to the crows. After a few more birds took off, Will decided to let nature take its twisted course and used his foot to push all the cats out of the doorway long enough to close the main door before he turned off the porch light. “I'm going back to bed,” he told them. “What about you guys?”
They didn't even look at him. All three had already moved in and flattened themselves against the marble tile and were trying to see beneath the door, very much like they did when an auto race was on TV and they tried to figure out how to get at those little cars.
12
“Hey, baby brother.”
I knew I should've let the machine pick up
. “Hello, Pete. What's up?” Will hit save on the computer then stared out the window. As usual, the Crescent was spectacular. Out to sea, whitecaps rode the choppy waves.
. “Hello, Pete. What's up?” Will hit save on the computer then stared out the window. As usual, the Crescent was spectacular. Out to sea, whitecaps rode the choppy waves.
“Business is what's up, bro.” A patented hearty chuckle followed. “I just wondered how the new cable's working? Like it? Have you checked out those adult stations I tossed in?”
Oh good, porn from my brother. What'll he give me next? Electronic VD?
“I haven't had time to watch anything yet,” he said in the friendliest tone he could muster.
“I haven't had time to watch anything yet,” he said in the friendliest tone he could muster.
“So you don't know if it's hooked up correctly?”
“The local news came in fine.”
“Good. The hook-up's probably correct, then. Give me a call if it isn't.”
“Will do. I'll talk to you laterâ”
“Hang on there, pardner. You sure don't like talking on the phone, do you?”
“I'm just busy.”
“Maybe I should make an appointment so we can talk for an hour sometime.”
“Fifty minutes,” Will said dryly. “I'm booked a month in advance.”
“Willy boy, you have no sense of humor,” said the man who didn't realize Will had just made a joke. “Sounds like business is booming.”
“It's busy.”
“Busier than usual?”
“Why?”
“Just wondered. I've heard people get crazier when it's hot out.”
“Tempers are shortened,” Will replied. “But my patients all live on the coast. Even when it's hot, we still have the ocean breeze.”
“Then why are you so busy?”
“I don't know.” Will hid his irritation. “Sunspots?”
“Hey, is that a joke?”
“I don't know. It might be.”
“Sunspots, solar flares, all that stuff, can affect satellite transmissions. Why not people?”
“Why not?” Will paused, an idea coming to him. “Is there a lot of activity right now?”
“Seriously?” Pete sounded astounded that Will would ask him a real question. With good reason; Will was amazed he had, but maybe something like that could explain the deviant bird behavior, so it was worth asking. “You want to know about solar storms and so forth?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. Things are pretty active right now. Magnetic storms produce solar flares. Those can interfere with radio waves. We'll be running warnings about digital breakup during especially high activity.”
“I don't understand.”
“Digital images will briefly break up, sort of pixilate, sometimes. It's not a big deal; in fact, it's a lot less annoying than traditional interference. But that's not what you're asking about. You're asking about people acting crazy and sunspots, right?”
“Well, no, not seriously.”
“Don't people get nuttier during a full moon?” Pete persisted. “That's a fact, right? It's the same kind of thing.”
Why did I get myself into this conversation?
“That's supposed to be an old wives' tale. It's perpetuated because people expect it to happen. An especially bad accident that happens during the full moon is going to be remembered for that reason. Odds are that there are just as many accidents on other nights.” Though he wasn't about to tell Pete, Will wasn't all that sure there was nothing to those old tales.
“That's supposed to be an old wives' tale. It's perpetuated because people expect it to happen. An especially bad accident that happens during the full moon is going to be remembered for that reason. Odds are that there are just as many accidents on other nights.” Though he wasn't about to tell Pete, Will wasn't all that sure there was nothing to those old tales.
“Oh. Do you get crazier patients when the moon is full?”
“Not that I've noticed.”
“What about that cat of yours? Does it get the full-moon crazies?”
“My cat? How did you know I have a cat?”
The chuckle. “Well to hear poor old Mickey Elfbones tell it, it was more of a mountain lion. It about scared the piss out of him.”
“Mickey's a big phobic, then. My cat is normal and harmless. Even during a full moon.”
More chuckling. “Don't go on the defense, Willy. Will, sorry. I know Mickey's scared of cats. He's afraid of dogs, too. In fact, he's damn near terrified of anything that has fur and walks on four legs. Doesn't mind reptiles, though. Isn't that weird? He has a horned toad for a pet.”
“It's unusual, but not unheard of. He must've had a bad experience with something furry and generalized the fear.”
“You're smart, baby brother. Do you remember Shagrat and Gorbag?”
“The names are familiar. Names from a book.”
“Well, yeah, the names were from Tolkien's Ring books, but what I'm talking about were a pair of bull mastiffs that belonged to Mickey's dad. Big ugly bastards. Remember now?”
A scarecrow man with red hair throwing a ball down the beach.
Will saw him suddenly in his mind's eye as if it happened yesterday. It was low tide and he and Maggie had just walked around an outcropping that would flood later. They came right up behind the man, who had just thrown a ball. Giant pale dogs chased after it, but sensing the kids, suddenly turned and started back toward their masterâand themâsnarling and barking, drool flying. The man glanced back and told them to leave unless they wanted to be eaten. Will and Maggie ran like hell and the dogs didn't follow. That had to be Mickey's father. “I vaguely remember,” he told Pete.
Will saw him suddenly in his mind's eye as if it happened yesterday. It was low tide and he and Maggie had just walked around an outcropping that would flood later. They came right up behind the man, who had just thrown a ball. Giant pale dogs chased after it, but sensing the kids, suddenly turned and started back toward their masterâand themâsnarling and barking, drool flying. The man glanced back and told them to leave unless they wanted to be eaten. Will and Maggie ran like hell and the dogs didn't follow. That had to be Mickey's father. “I vaguely remember,” he told Pete.
“Daddy Elfbones trained the dogs to knock people down and hold them. He used to sic them on Mickey.”
“That's unforgivable.”
The old Pete emerged in unabashed laughter. “It was hysterical. Poor old Mickey never got over it. The old man had those dogs guard his room so he couldn't come out when he was supposed to be doing homework. Those dogs were always up his ass.”
“You think that's funny?” Will said it before he could stop himself. Engaging Pete any further was not what he wanted to do.
“Of course it's funny. It's hilarious.” A pause. “You're just too sensitive. You always were. I mean, that's what makes you a good shrink, right?”
Will didn't reply.
“Sorry, bro. Didn't mean to step on any toes. But you know what's really weird about Mickey? He's scared of birds, too. Why would he be scared of birds?”
“I don't know,” Will said slowly. “Maybe he was attacked.”
“By birds?” Pete sounded incredulous. “Birds don't attack except in the movies.”
“They sometimes swoop people to protect their nests. They can get pretty aggressive under the right circumstances. Or he might have been walking through a flock of gulls milling around on the beach when they decided to take flight. That's not aggressive, but it can feel that way, especially to a kid.”
“Have you ever seen birds go crazy, Will?”
“I remember watching
The Birds
on TV then feeling a little nervous walking among the gulls.”
The Birds
on TV then feeling a little nervous walking among the gulls.”
“So you've never actually seen them attack?”
What is he doing? Does he know about the crows? Or last night? How could he?
“I've been swooped by a mockingbird a few times. It had a nest in the yard at my other house.”
“I've been swooped by a mockingbird a few times. It had a nest in the yard at my other house.”
“Did it scare you?”
“It surprised me. It didn't frighten me. Why?”
“You just really sounded like you knew what you were talking about.”
“I'm a shrink,” Will said, dry as dust. “I've heard firsthand accounts of attacks on patients by all sorts of creatures.”
That damned chuckle. “I'm an idiot. Of course you have. Tell me, bro, what kind of animal attacks the most?”
“The human kind.” Will waited a beat. Hot damn, he'd actually scored one on Pete. “I have to go now, Pete. Say hello to your wife for me.”
He hung up before Pete could speak, sat back, pleased with himself.
I finally got the last word on him, Michael.
He smiled and stood up, ready now to make his pilgrimage to Michael's grave. The Orange Boys, draped on his desk and the post next to it, blinked sleepily at him. “No wild parties while I'm gone, guys.”
I finally got the last word on him, Michael.
He smiled and stood up, ready now to make his pilgrimage to Michael's grave. The Orange Boys, draped on his desk and the post next to it, blinked sleepily at him. “No wild parties while I'm gone, guys.”
13
Most mornings Mickey Elfbones dragged his sorry ass out of bed sometime after 8
A.M.
, but today was Sunday, so he did the dragging at noon. Sleeping in didn't help; no matter what time it was, or how much sleep he'd had, getting up was always torture and had been as far back as he could remember.
A.M.
, but today was Sunday, so he did the dragging at noon. Sleeping in didn't help; no matter what time it was, or how much sleep he'd had, getting up was always torture and had been as far back as he could remember.
More than anything, he wanted to go flop back down on his soft, inviting bed, but he had to be at work at 2
P.M.
, so he turned off his thought processes and let his body autopilot itself to the can, where he took a whiz and brushed his teeth, before going on to the kitchen to make coffee. Sometime later, Mickey became vaguely aware of his immediate world as the anesthetic of sleep finally surrendered to hot black coffee, strong and sublimely bitter.
P.M.
, so he turned off his thought processes and let his body autopilot itself to the can, where he took a whiz and brushed his teeth, before going on to the kitchen to make coffee. Sometime later, Mickey became vaguely aware of his immediate world as the anesthetic of sleep finally surrendered to hot black coffee, strong and sublimely bitter.
After the first cup, he plodded back to the bathroom to brush his teeth againâjust a thing he did, a habit, a routineâthen returned to the cluttered kitchen and opened a big bag of Hostess Donuts, the little mouth-sized jobs smothered in powdered sugar. Taking as many as his hand would holdâsixâhe twisted the bag shut with a slingshot twirl then flung it onto the counter.
He dropped the donuts, sugar flying like sweet cocaine, onto a hardly-used paper plate left on the counter, poured more coffee, and carried them both into the living room, where he placed them on the coffee table and himself on the couch. It was a shitty little room in a shitty little apartment, but it was good enough, he guessed. The furniture, bought cheap at estate sales from money-grubbing relatives of dead people, was a wildly mismatched collection of high-quality, comfortable stuff. A sky blue and pine green plaid recliner was separated from an olive green velvety couch by a delicate dark wood Frenchy-curly legged end table. The other end table, at the far end of the couch, was chrome and glass, and the coffee table was oversized honey oak traditional stuff. Across from the sofa, the entertainment center, with its showpiece thirty-five-inch television, spanned the entire wall. Unlike anything else in the place, except maybe for Mickey's teeth, the massive center gleamed. Behind cabinet doors were his CD, video, and DVD collections, his books about movies and trivia. Behind the upper, glass-fronted shelves stood state of the art peripherals, VCRs, a DVD player, stereo equipment, a TiVo. He was currently shopping for a good DVD burner to add to the collection.
He picked up the remote and brought the equipment to life, quickly surfing until he landed on Sunset
Boulevard.
It had an hour left to run, which was just right. He settled back with his coffee and donuts to watch Nora Desmond go batty.
Boulevard.
It had an hour left to run, which was just right. He settled back with his coffee and donuts to watch Nora Desmond go batty.
Three donuts in, he thought he heard something. Somebody talking, and it wasn't Nora. He heard the voice again. A male voice, though he wasn't sure what it said. Annoyed, he got up and opened the apartment door. Nobody was around.
There it was again, louder.
He's aware of the situation.
He's aware of the situation.
That's what it said. Mickey checked outside again then cruised all the windows in the little apartment. Nothing. Nobody.
He returned to the couch, to his donuts and coffee and Nora.
He's aware of the situation. We have to control him.
“Holy shit, who's there?” Mickey cried, spraying donut crumbs. He slopped coffee as he jumped up and went to check the door, the windows, the closets, under the fucking bed. Nothing. Zip.
Heart racing, he returned to the living room. Maybe something was interfering with reception. He wasn't quite sure how that would work, but it was possible, right? How many times had he heard truckers' radio babble before he ever had cable? Plenty, that's how many times. Maybe somebody's cell phone was bouncing a signal off the satellite, or maybe somebody was hacking the system. Or just the movie. That was probably it.
We must control him by any means possible.
You mean?
Another voice, male, a little higher pitched.
You know what I mean. Begin the process.
“Shit!” The voices sounded like they were in the room with him. Hell, they sounded like they were in his head. Quickly, he changed stations, found an old
Twilight Zone
rerun. No, not that. He moved on to
Bringing
Up
Baby.
Katharine Hepburn was cooing to her leopard.
Good.
Twilight Zone
rerun. No, not that. He moved on to
Bringing
Up
Baby.
Katharine Hepburn was cooing to her leopard.
Good.
His name is Mickey Elfbones. He must be controlled.
The mug dropped from his fingers, splashing coffee across the table and threadbare carpet. The mug rolled halfway across the room. “Shit!” Mickey cried. “Who the hell are you? Where are you? What do you want?”
No reply came.
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