The Lurking Man (20 page)

“Yes, I did it to teach you a lesson.”

“I don't understand the lesson, Mom.”

“That you can't expect me to be around for you like I'm an alarm clock that can be set.”

“I had to use the bathroom and you won't let me go without you,” he said.

Cailean lunged forward, slow and sloppy in her execution, and slapped him in the face. He reared and fell from the toilet. Clinging to the vanity and the rim of the toilet with arms that trembled from the strain, he grunted and bared his teeth as he tried to hold on.

“Mom?”

His hands were slowly slipping and a look of desperation widened his eyes.

“Please, help me!”

Cailean saw the impression of her fingers on his cheek and the panic on his face registered. In that instant, the seriousness of the situation sobered her and she thrust
into action. She lifted Beau back onto the bowl and he felt heavier than when she first helped him out of his chair and placed him on the floor.
 

Beau rubbed his tired arms and panted. “You hit me,” he said.

“And you continue to push me. What do you expect me to do?

“You tried to knock me down,” he said and rubbed his face.

She stood upright, his accusation hurtful and untrue.

“I hit you because you have a fresh mouth,” she said. “If I wanted to knock you off of the damn toilet, I would have. You can thank me for my help. I could have left you there and watched you fall.”

He looked away. “Can you get me into my chair now?”

She nodded. “I suppose, but first, I would like an apology from you for the way you talk back to me. I didn't invite you over so you could bark orders at me and turn me into your servant. You're very foolish. You may be able to talk to your father that way, but you can't talk to me like that.”

“I told you I could do it myself.”

“You see? You're a smart ass, Beau.”

“I want to call Dad,” he said. “I don't want to be here anymore.”

“I'm fine with that. In fact, I was thinking exactly the same thing. I may be your mother, but now I know that we have nothing in common.”

She wanted to lash out and smack him again and again for being so disrespectful but she knew it wouldn't do any good. It would be better if she called Wilson and told him to get Beau out of here.

She reached an arm underneath his legs and placed the other behind his back. She lifted him and teetered. Unable to identify the shift in weight and compensate, she fell forward and tore Beau off of the toilet. Her forehead crashed into the side of the bathtub and filled her head with stars. Landing on top of Beau and unable to feel her body, she pinned him beneath her dead weight and he was trapped, both of them wedged precariously between the bathtub and toilet.

“Mom,” he said, his voice dull.

She could hear him but couldn't respond. The blackness was closing in around her and she tried to fight it.

“Please, get off of me . . . I can't breathe,” he said.

And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't move; her body felt like a million pounds and her head throbbed. She could feel his breathing becoming more and more restricted and he started to panic. Pulling at her clothes he fought with desperation, but they were firmly locked.

Blood trickled from the gash on her forehead, rolled down her nose and dripped on his face, going into his eyes, nose and mouth.

The phone rang and the answering machine picked up after several long, drawn out rings. Cailean could hear Wilson instructing her to pick up the phone, and she tried to answer, but the darkness pulled her in. 

Chapter 25

 

 

THE PROPOSAL

 

 

Present day.

 

“That is why you threw me down to the ground and had that weight press down on me,” Cailean said. “You did it so I would know what it felt like.”

“Yes,” Sariel said, his voice no longer awful or threatening in any way, but compassionate.

“You're not any of those horrible things I called you,” she said.

The meaning behind the messages Sariel had sent were profound. The complexity in which he used to present them brought her to tears. Finally the cry had come and it was real and long overdue.

For the first time she saw things clearly. Everything that happened to Beau, the hell Wilson had to endure, and the emotional rollercoaster ride she brought Emerson on was her fault. The tears she shed were for them and so many others that had fallen victim to her evil.

She felt liberated because she was finally free from what plagued her for so long. And yet the responsibility she felt for the things she had done soured the moment.

“Now that you know what you've done the time has come for you to choose a door,” he said.

“The doors,” she whispered. “I almost forgot about them.”

The distant look in Beau's eyes continued to shame her. Years of abuse and neglect had deprived him of a childhood and any sense of normalcy. Wilson fought the good fight by keeping her at bay and she resented him for it. She wanted the opportunity to tell him she was wrong. That he was a good father and he should be proud.

“I am tired and no longer wish to serve the people,” Sariel said. “I have been feared and blamed since the first death and my desire to serve the people no longer burns.”

Cailean tried to imagine how it would feel if everyone in the world feared and blamed you for their fast approaching, inevitable demise. The idea of having to face them all and to feel their abhorrence was unthinkable.

“I have grown tired of my endless task and seek nothing more than a reprieve,” Sariel said. “I would be pardoned of my duties by your acceptance of my offer.”

“How would my acceptance pardon you of your duty?”

“I've had since the creation of sin to think of ways to get myself out of here,” he said. “The schemes I have considered would amaze you. But when you came along, you offered me something good, and it was something no one in the entire world ever offered me before.”

“What have I offered you?” she said, surprised. “What use could my life give anyone?”

“A way out,” he said. “My existence, like the angel that was trapped inside of you, has become torturous. And although your angel died, she left behind so much unshared love that I thought you would be compelled to right your wrongs. Wouldn't you like a chance to have your final message in life to be one of profound love?”

“Yes,” she said.

“In exchange for your taking my place, I will give you twenty-four hours of life so you can try and right some of your wrongs. If you agree to this, I will give Beau his life back.”

She whimpered. “Beau would get his life back?”

“He would get it back.”

“And I get a day to say my peace?”

“I will keep you alive for twenty-four hours.”

She nodded. “OK, I'll do it.”

“Do you understand what you are accepting?”

She looked at Beau. “Yes, I do.”

“It cannot be undone.”

“I accept your offer without hesitation or regret. Either way, my life is over, and I now know that this is the only way I'll be able to prove my love for him.”

“Very well,” Sariel said and stepped into the light.

Cailean looked at him and he towered over her. A long black silk robe covered his body, and a deep, loose fitting hood revealed no part of his face.

“I shall usher your son back to his body and then come back for you. And when your life expires on the other side, you will be thrust into my role, adored by few and feared by many. You will change into what I am with hardly a memory of who you were and what you did. Your only purpose will be to serve the dead.”

She looked at Beau and saw him playing with Rafi. He was an innocent victim and deserved her sympathy and sacrifice.

“That doesn't change my decision,” she said. “I am ready.”

“Then our time is done here,” Sariel said.

“What was behind the other door?”

“For you? Hell, I presume. I've never seen inside it and have never had anyone return from it. I believe you have made a great sacrifice and you've redeemed yourself. It appears as though my assessment of you and your angel were correct, and for that I am grateful. But, as I said in the beginning, I have no sympathy for you and I believe you deserve what you will experience in your final hours.”

He reached inside his robe and pulled out another black box and set it on the table, this one about half the size of the others.

“There is no reason for you to open this one now,” he said. “But you will need to open it once you return here.”

Chapter 26

 

 

STACKED CHAOS

 

 

The Past.

 

Wilson's car hit a patch of ice and slid. The vehicle turned sideways and he tried to compensate by steering into the skid. Momentum had turned the car around, and it continued to drift down the road backwards.

Colliding with a hardened pile of snow left behind by the street plows, the car came to a sudden halt and stalled. He started the car again and tried to free it from the frozen trap, but the wheels spun.

He got out of the car and looked to see the rear-end was lodged in the snow; the engine threatened to stall again and dark smoke bellowed out of the hidden tailpipe.

Something inside Wilson nudged him, told him to leave the car and move fast, that Beau needed his help. Three houses away from Cailean's condo, he could see her car was parked in the driveway and already covered by a thick layer of snow.

When he arrived at the front door, he pounded his ungloved fist on the hard wooden door. His lungs burned from the sprint and the cold had a bite that had already numbed his face and hands.

“Cailean,” he said and pounded the door again, this time with much more force. “Open the door now or I'm coming in!”

A few seconds felt like forever and the consequences if he might be wrong didn't matter. He rammed his shoulder into the door several times, but his footing slipped and took away much of his power. Backing up a step, he planted a foot on the door just below the doorknob.

Crunch
.
 

The door buckled inwards slightly but still held on. Running into it one last time, it gave way and Wilson fell into the house and onto the floor. Splintered wood debris was scattered all around and when he stood, the silence
that he encountered filled him with dread. The sound of his forced entry had unquestionably gained the attention of
the neighbors, and yet neither Cailean nor Beau attempted to make contact with him.
 

“Cailean!”

He listened to the whistle of the wind forcing its way into the house.

“Beau!”

He moved through the living room with wide eyes looking for any sign of what might have happened. The empty wine bottles that were left on the counter brought out an instant, explosive anger.

“Damn it, Cailean, what have you done?”

He hurried his search through the house and glanced over the bare walls and around the plain rooms.

“Cailean?”

He saw the partially closed bathroom door and tried to push it open. Cailean's limp legs acted as a barricade and Wilson forced them out of the way with a hefty push. Cailean was face down on top of Beau, pinning him perilously between the toilet and tub and they both appeared devoid of life.

“Cailean,” Wilson said, and grabbed her ankles and pulled. She didn't budge and felt so incredibly heavy. “You need to get off of him.”

“What happened?” a voice from somewhere behind Wilson said.

Wilson looked at Emerson standing at the end of the hallway. He was bundled in winter garb and he kept his distance.

“Cailean has fallen on top of Beau! Please, come and help me get her off of him!”

“I can't,” Emerson said. “There's not enough room in there for the both of us.”

“Then call 9-1-1 and tell them that we need an ambulance,” Wilson said.

“Is anyone hurt?”

“I don't know . . . I think so . . . I can't tell, but I need you to call an ambulance. This is bad.”

Emerson took his phone out of his pocket and moved out of Wilson's sight.

“I need you to wake up, Cailean,” Wilson said. He grabbed her by the ankles again and pulled, but she didn't dislodge. He looked between the toilet and bathtub to see if he could identify what kept her so firmly in place.

The smell of alcohol was overpowering and there was blood pooling on the floor around the bodies. Unsure who it was coming from, Wilson struggled to formulate a plan that would untangle the bodies.

Desperate, he placed a foot on the toilet and grabbed Cailean's shoulders. He pulled up with all of his might and her body bent awkwardly as she lifted off of Beau. The blood made it slippery and she fell from his grasp, tipping to the side and hitting her head on the tile floor. A new gash hidden underneath her hair started to gush.

“Beau,” Wilson said and hovered over him, afraid to touch. Blood that painted his face and pooled around his head didn't appear as though it had come from him. His lips were purple and his face a ghostly white, frozen in the final moments of his struggle to break free.

“I don't want to move you, son. Help is on the way,” Wilson said. “Just hang on.”

“The ambulance,” Emerson said. “They're on their way.”

Wilson found it curious that Emerson kept a certain distance, but Beau and Cailean's conditions were more pressing. He examined the lump across her forehead and it looked bad. Streams of blood that had poured from the gaping slit in the center of the bump had run down her face and dripped off of her chin. Swelling bloated her face and the rise and fall of her chest was subtle.

“If you're not going to help me,” Wilson shouted, “then I want you to leave!”