The Lurking Man (18 page)

She snickered. “I'd like to see them try and keep him from me.”

“Cailean, we need to go.”

“They're all lucky you decided to come with me or I'd turn this place upside down.”

“Did you hear what I said? Now is not the time for this. Your son needs you.”

“And how the hell do you know what he needs? I want to know, are you a doctor or something?”

“No, I'm not. I'm a struggling father with a boatload of my own problems. But I saw your son fall and I saw how bad it was.”

“Yeah, well,” she whispered. “I just fell and I'm fine.”

“You sat down. I assure you that you didn't fall like he did.”

The hallways cleared of the people.

“Why are you even here?” she said.

“I'm here because you asked me,” he said. “You told me you needed me here and I sympathized.”

“Maybe one day we can talk about the problems you say you have and we'll see how they compare to mine,” she said. “I'll bet you they don't even come close to the things I've gone through.”

Reproachable thoughts filled her head and threatened to come out, but then she remembered: this big, fat, ugly man with his pockmarked face and constant sweat was the perfect crutch for her. It was obvious she could manipulate him in anyway she wanted and that was exactly what she needed.

“I've been crapped on since I was a kid,” she said.

“I'm sorry.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, what does it matter? It's really not your problem.”

She stood, neatened her clothing and recounted all the things he had done for her so far. He had seen her at her worst and yet here he was, still by her side.

“I can only imagine what your story is,” she said.

“I think it's like you said. It pales in comparison to yours.”

She smiled as if that admission was somehow an advantage.

“Maybe I should have gotten him some flowers or something,” she said.

Wilson emerged from the room, rigid and pale. His eyes were like two glowing taillights and his sullen expression looked as though it had been carved from a slab of granite.

“He's in a coma,” he said, his composure fragile.

Those words stopped her cold and diluted her buzz.

“They said he has a broken neck and they're going to need to operate on him once the swelling goes down. The doctor told me there is a possibility he may never walk again. They really don't know. They're saying it's too soon to tell, but they want to prepare us for the worst.”

“No,” she said and shook her head hysterically. “He only fell. He always gets up after he falls.”

Tears leaked from Wilson's reddened eyes and he stepped towards her with his arms extended, looking to hold her.

“No!” she shouted, and turned her back on Wilson. She reached for Emerson. “I don't want you near me.”

Wilson stopped and sniffed the air. The granite look of despair fell away and was replaced with discontent. “You've been drinking again, Cailean, I can smell it from here.”

“What difference does that make?”

She hid her face.

“Our son needs you—I need you, and this is how you come here?”

“He's not even awake, Wilson. He doesn't know whether I'm here or not. So what does it matter if I stopped and had a few beers? You know how my nerves are.”

“You're irresponsible and insensitive to the people around you, Cailean!”

“And you're a judgmental passive aggressive shit and I've had it with you.”

“Why did you make him ride in the ambulance alone?”

“I wanted to make sure I wasn't in their way!”

“Why didn't you give him Rafi? You know that is the only thing that comforts him.”

“It was sent along with him in the ambulance.”

Wilson shook his head. “No it wasn't. They said he didn't arrive with anyone or anything. We should have that for him when he wakes. He'll be asking for him.”

“They're lying! They've lost it!” she said, her face twisted and grotesque. She looked at Emerson. “It was sent on the ambulance with him, isn't that what you said?”

“Yes, I made sure of it.”

“You see?”

“Who is he?” Wilson said.

“He is none of your damn business, that's who he is.”

Wilson eyed Emerson. “Who are you and what are you doing here with my wife? This is a private matter.”

She grabbed Emerson's hand. “You don't have to answer him!” She looked at Wilson. “What does it matter to you anyway? You don't give a damn about me when I'm around.”

“Because you're like this all too often. I suppose it doesn't matter,” Wilson said. “I guess it hasn't mattered for a long time now.”

“Ma'am?”

Cailean looked at a faceless nurse.

“We allowed you your outburst earlier, but now we're going to have to ask you to lower your voice and conduct yourself properly or I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

Cailean scowled. “How dare you be so cold to me? My son has been in a terrible accident and this is the way you treat his grieving parent?”

“I understand—”

“You understand? You think you do because you've been trained to deal with tragedy while you wear a plastic smile, but you don't! You probably don't even have children.”

“Cailean, that's enough,” Wilson said.

“Screw off, Wilson!”

“Come on,” Emerson said and led her away by the hand. “Come with me. Let me get you out of here so you can cool down.”

“Gladly,” she said. “You should be thanking this man, Wilson; not accusing him of any wrongdoing. He was the man that went to Beau's side when he fell from the playground.”

“He is?”

“Yes, he is!”

Wilson swallowed hard. “I'm sorry, mister, I didn't know. I'm not thinking right. Thank you for helping my son.”

“You owe him more than that,” she said and walked away. 

Chapter 21

 

 

MY ANGEL DIED

 

 

Present day.

 

Rafi looked back at Cailean from her numb hand, worn and sad. But it had a relentless stare that challenged her distaste for him when all he did was comfort her son in his time of need.

“I'm sorry,” she said, but it continued to watch her and work on her defenses.

“If you could speak, I'm sure you would have plenty to say to me,” she said.

The realization that a stuffed animal had been a better parent than she had been nearly brought her to tears.

“I don't know what else to say to you,” she said, as the smell that emanated from it got stronger and sickened her. A look of displeasure took over her face and she held Rafi away.

“What do you expect?” Sariel said.

She lowered Rafi by her side and waited for him to finish his point.

“When you don't care for something it withers. And the thing you are holding is merely made of cotton.” He sighed. “Imagine how spoiled things are on the inside of Beau after all the longing and desire to be loved has gone unfulfilled.”

She opposed the thought and brought Rafi to her nose and squeezed him, searching for something specific. Drawing a deep breath, she searched for the slightest hint of Beau's scent. Dirty water oozed from his body and with it, an indescribable smell of wet, rancid decay filled her nostrils and made her gag.

“There is nothing left of him in there,” he said. “It has been spoiled by your self-regard and poor parenting skills.”

“I didn't know what I was doing. That thing inside of me made me do things I wouldn't have normally done.”

Laughter that was light and genuine echoed all around her. Rafi fell out of her hand and landed in the snow with a weighty plop.

“How could you laugh at such a horrible thing?”

She waited for an explanation but none was offered.

“I saw what it was and it was vile—evil personified—and I can't believe it lived inside of me. My skin is crawling and I still feel sick to my stomach over what I have seen here.”

“I laughed because you chose to embrace it. Even as you slipped further and further into moral corruption, something else inside screamed for your attention. It told you that what you were doing was wrong. But you chose to ignore her. You always decided to listen after it was too late.”

Faint crying interrupted their conversation. She turned and listened. Strangely, the sound came from within the light and its location was very specific.

Crouching and looking beneath the table, she saw a little girl curled in the fetal position, whimpering and mumbling incoherently.

“Are you OK?” Cailean said, and everything else was immediately replaced by her concern for her.

Thin and weak, the child could barely lift her head. Sunken eyes that carried a profound sadness were difficult to look at. They told of horrible abuse and the absence of any self-worth. It broke Cailean's heart to see her like this and she needed to offer her assistance.

“Who is this and why is she like this?” Cailean said.

“You don't recognize her?”

Unkempt hair hid most of her face, and Cailean sat and looked at the pall where Sariel had killed the imp. “No, I don't know her,” she said.

“Has it really been that long for you?”

Cailean turned her attention back to the girl. Moving with caution, she went to brush the hair out of her eyes but the little girl flinched and tried to move away.

“It's OK, I won't hurt you,” she said gently.

The girl watched Cailean with fear and distrust.

“I won't hurt you,” she said again.

“But you already have,” Sariel said.

The young girl submitted to Cailean's touch. She brushed her hair aside.

Cailean gasped.

“Yes,” Sariel said. “She's the cute little girl with the freckles. This was you as a child.”

“What happened to her?”

“She hasn't seen anything but the demon,” Sariel said. “She was trapped inside of you with it, suffering its torment, unable to grow or escape its wrath since you chose to embrace it.”

The thought of having to allow the demon to mature while she endured such abuse for so long compelled Cailean to reach her hand out in a willing gesture to offer comfort.

“I am so sorry,” she said, unsure of what else she could say or do to change this.

“She is the one who tried to gain your attention, but you chose to ignore her,” he said. “Your angel inside has paid the ultimate price. She's been devoured by your demon.”

The child extended a frail, trembling hand to meet Cailean's in an expression of acceptance. Through the numbness that consumed Cailean, she could feel the cold that gripped the little girl.

Gently, she extracted the girl out from underneath the table. Her frail, skeletal frame barely weighed anything.

“You're OK now,” Cailean said, and the little girl moaned and tried to shield her eyes from the bright overhead light. But she didn't have the strength to hold her hand up.

“That is what is left of the goodness within you,” he said. “Starved of all attention and left to die because you chose to feed the wicked thing instead.”

“I will nurture her and bring her back to health,” Cailean said, and stroked her long auburn hair. “I can change.”

“No, it is too late for her now.”

“Just give me one more chance before you take her, please!”

The little girl choked and convulsed. Frightened, Cailean pulled her close and held her tight.

“Your decisions have killed her,” he said. “And you are left with nothing but the reality of your cruelness and the regret that has now come to fill those voids.”

An unseen force came like a strong blow of air and took the body away. Cailean stared at her empty hands and cried for all the things she had lost in her life.

Chapter 22

 

 

I CHOOSE THE BOTTLE

 

 

The past.

 

Cailean leaned on the counter and twirled the near empty bottle of wine in her hands. She listened to the liquid slosh around and watched the label appear, disappear, and reappear again as it went around and around.

You're in over your head.

“Mom, you told me to remind you when I needed to go to the bathroom and I don't know if you're hearing me!” Beau shouted from the television room.

How can you just stand there and listen to that?

“Mommy?”

She gritted her teeth and whispered, “This kid does not give up.”

You can bend so far before you break.

“Mom, can you hear me calling you?”

She took another drink.

“Mom!”

Her composure broke.

I told you.

“Beau, shut your mouth! You've called my name a hundred times. How do you think it is even possible I didn't hear you?”

“I'm sorry, Mom, I don't want to have an accident.”

She sighed.

“Just give me a minute, will you!”

You know he's going to keep pushing.

“Can't you come now?” he said.

I told you.

An unpredictable surge of anger made her slam the bottle down.

“I hope you crap yourself,” she shouted. “Maybe you'd give up this pointless fight of not trying to dirty yourself.”

The ordeal of having to lift Beau out of his chair, onto the floor, and then back into his chair again infuriated her. Wilson allowed Beau to do whatever he pleased because he felt bad for him and it had turned him into this demanding spoiled brat that she really wasn't fond of.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

A horrible situation I see no way out of.

“I shouldn't have believed I could do this.”

Wilson set you up for failure.

“How so?”

He's the one who kept you away from Beau for so long. No wonder you've forgotten the basic skills you need to make this successful.