The Lurking Man (8 page)

“But you were nothing more than a virus.”

“I was a product of my environment.”

“So what was Wilson to do with you?”

“He should have helped me.”

“He tried so many times, but you refused to listen. Should he have allowed you to continue to disrupt the household and contaminate his son?”

“You are talking as if I were some kind of incurable disease.”

“I told you that you were a virus.”

Cailean scrunched her brows. “Beau was my child, too.”

“Yes, he was. Maybe you should have recognized it then.”

Those words dug deep but she refused to show it.

“I tried, but Wilson wouldn't let me.”

“Oh yes, he did. Maybe he shouldn't have let you, but he did.”

“He took everything away from me. He told me to leave. I was discarded like a piece of trash.”

Sariel remained in the same spot he had been in before she descended into her memory. His skinny, crooked legs appeared as if they would break underneath his large upper body. His gnarled hands and long, wiry fingernails hung by his side like the tangle of a small bush.

“Yes, you were told to go and deservingly so.”

“I was hurting and needed support and understanding—not the cold shoulder. I don't know. There is a part of me that wished Wilson would have told me everything that happened to our marriage and Beau was my fault.”

“Even though it was, you know he never would have done that.”

“I know he wouldn't and you couldn't imagine how annoying that was. Maybe if he did, maybe it would have made things easier.”

“For whom?”

“For me!” She threw her hands up and shook her head in disgust. “Having the world hate me in return might have justified the way I felt inside.”

“You know that his verbal charge would have done nothing for you. The way you were is the way you have been since you were a child. You thrive off of negativity and you are cunning, devious, and manipulative. Search within and you might catch a glimpse.”

She didn't want to look for it. She wanted to leave it alone and get as far away from it as she could.

“I could never imagine that death would be like this,” she said. “Being locked inside of a prison constructed of
light and dark, forced to face the terrible choices of my life in interrupted sequences. It is infuriating.”
 

“You are yet to reach your breaking point, Cailean. But I assure you, it will come.”

“And you are a bastard like the rest of them!”

She watched the smear of gray with wide, expecting eyes. Ready for his penalizing words or even physical contact, she waited. But instead, he bent down and picked up the thing that was the stain on the black and lifted it over his head. And in an instant, Sariel's light was gone.

“No, don't leave me,” she said, and became desperate. “That's what my father, Wilson, Beau, and Emerson did to me. Please, not you, too. I didn't mean what I said.”

An overpowering aroma of flowers filled Cailean's nose and visions of trumpet lilies—pink, white, yellow, and orange—occupied her head. Suddenly, she was a young girl at the age of nine. She ran through a field with her arms outstretched, holding firmly onto something unknown in either hand, and she batted the four-foot tall flower stems with focused anger and private joy.

“Cailean!”

The sound of the angry man's voice frightened her. It had come from behind and she ducked down to elude it. She discarded the things she was holding in the thicket off to the right and crawled on the ground for several feet. She turned left into the heavy foliage and quickly settled. The sound of her own pounding heart and heavy breathing brought her hands to her mouth to try to stifle the gasps.

“Cailean?”

The sudden nearness of heavy footsteps filled her with a growing fear and she regretted her decision to hide.

“You know I'm going to find you sooner or later so you might as well come out now and save me the trouble,” he said. “Things are too thick down there so you won't get very far. Now, I'm going to give you to the count of three to come out on your own and face me.”

Mr. Hagen was a mean old man who drove an old truck and grunted at everyone around him.

“One,” he said.

She hadn't noticed the rust bucket in the driveway when she decided to trespass and execute her crazy idea.

“Two.”

He farmed like her father did, but he always did it better. The product her father put out was inferior to Mr. Hagen's. They grew half as tall and never popped with color like his did. This had somehow created hardships for her family that she didn't fully comprehend, but she had an idea on how she could fix it.

“Last chance.”

Maybe he was bluffing and would give up his search, thinking she was long gone.

“Three.”

Mr. Hagen dropped to his knees and grinned at her. “Get over here,” he said and reached for her. He grabbed her ankles.

She screamed and kicked and tried to back away, but the brush was too thick and held her in place. Something touched her feet and she looked at the black box that teetered on the tips of her shoes. She was back beneath the circle of light with Sariel lurking somewhere close.

“Those lilies,” she said. “And that man! I want to know what that was about!”

“The box at your feet. I want you to pick it up and place it on the table beneath the light,” he said.

She looked at the box but ignored it. “I want to know what I was doing there and why he was after me!”

“Pick up the box and place it on the table.”

She kicked the box away.

“No! I said I want to know what that was about. I'm tired of doing things your way all the time. I'm not your toy and I deserve some answers!”

Flung high into the air, Cailean hit the canopy and it had no give. Plunging to the floor face first, an unseen force pressed down on her with tremendous pressure and rendered her immobile. The oxygen was slowly being forced from her lungs and her body sunk into the ground.

The slush filled her open mouth and she tried to scream out in pain but could only manage a gurgle. Desperate for air, the thick liquid forced its way down her throat and she gasped. She flailed and clawed with every ounce of strength she had, but soon submitted to the might of her attacker.

“Do as you are instructed,” he said. “This is your last chance to follow my direction or I will send you away to experience this for an eternity. Imagine what it will be like for you to always desire a breath and to never get it while constantly being tormented about the missing details of your miserable life.”

She tried to respond but gurgled again. In an instant the pressure was relieved and the ground released her. She sat up and choked, belched, and vomited what filled her throat. Sucking in a painful lungful of oxygen she was dazed.

“Take the box to the table,” he said.

She struggled to stand, unsure if she was hurt. When she picked up the box she found that it was light and it slipped out of her wet hands. The tingling sensation had overtaken both arms now and had begun its slow climb into her feet and the back of her calves. When she bent to retrieve the box, she lifted her pant leg and saw the white that had moved up her arms had also begun to bleach the skin on her legs.

“Your health is quickly deteriorating on the other side and your time is running short here.”

She readjusted her clothes.

“I suggest you move faster,” he said.

She obeyed with a subtle nod and hurried to place the box on the table.

“You wouldn't believe the things people have confessed to me,” he said. “Some beg for a moment of their life back to try and complete the things they feel have been left undone. Others are happy to see me and express their appreciation for relieving their pain. And most of the people are truly angry, lost souls with no chance at redemption. But you?”

She held her chin up and kept her focus on the sound of his voice.

“You needed me so badly, and as badly as I wanted you, I just couldn't take you. It was not yet your time. The sadness in your eyes has stayed with me for so long and I have thought about you often . . .”

The rattle and the wheeze drew near and surrounded her completely.

“Come closer,” he said. “Step to the edge so I can have a better look at you.”

She walked straight ahead and looked at the black smear. The way it moved and swirled played tricks on her eyes and she looked at her feet to escape the confusion. She rubbed her eyes with balled fists and wanted to cry about so many things.

An extended finger with a long, knotty fingernail pierced the bright and settled underneath her chin. With the split tip of the nail coming to rest on her chin, he encouraged her focus up. And when she lifted her gaze, his wrinkled, hairless face with a displeased grimace descended upon her. His fleshy earlobes dangled past his chin and his bleached, blank eyes were impossible to understand. White cracked lips parted ever so slightly as he spoke.

“Oh yes,” he said, his teeth were discolored and broken and his breath was like a waft of stale air that escaped a sealed tomb. “It is still there and hidden deep, I can see it. It doesn't want to come out, but it will, and it knows it has to. It has made you hollow and it is a big part of the reason why you are here.”

Paralyzed by his touch, all she could do was listen and watch.

“Do not fear what you see looking at you right now, because what dwells within you is surely uglier than I.”

Sariel curled his finger into his hand and pulled it into the shadow. He shook his head and withdrew his face. A sudden prevailing push of air howled ominously.

Cailean stumbled backwards and felt the sting his touch had left behind. She rubbed her chin. The feeling turned to a burn and started a slow crawl up her face. It moved past her lips and into her cheeks and nose.

“What did you do to me?”

It began to snow again, violently.

She continued to swipe at the sensation that now moved around her eyes and traced her hairline. Her fingers tried to brush away the feeling but her touch discovered a lump on the center of her forehead.

“What is this? Did this happen when you pushed me to the ground?”

She explored the sensitive, swollen area. Long and thin, it stretched almost the entire length of her forehead.

“You arrived here with that,” he said. “I am merely making obvious what you need to know next.”

She wondered how she could continue on with this insanity.

“I want you to stop toying with me!” she said, and lashed out against the darkness, intending to reach into the black and pull Sariel into the light. But it bit back like the jolt from an electrical outlet and it sent her down to the floor. She hit the back of her head, and the explosive pain invited the darkness inside her mind.

Chapter 9

 

 

MAKING AMENDS

 

 

The past.

 

Cailean's eyelids felt like lead weights. She gagged hard and tried to combat the dizziness. The room she occupied was dark and silent and she didn't know what had awoken her.

She sat up fast, retched, and the taste of cheap wine and stomach acids filled her mouth. She swallowed it and made a face of displeasure. The time of day remained unannounced by a blinking digital clock on the nightstand.

The constant pulse of pain that occupied the inside of her head grew stronger with her emerging awareness, and her limbs trembled in response. She carefully positioned herself on the edge of the bed, placed her feet on the floor, and grabbed the sheets on either side of her hips. The room continued to undulate.

A deep, rolling pain that started in the pit of her stomach and crawled up her esophagus carried wine and undigested food. It flew out of her mouth with a violent heave. The thick, brown liquid and small chunks of solids splashed on the floor between her feet and splattered the nightstand, bed skirt, walls, and the pillow she had tossed off of the bed before she passed out. The strong, overpowering stench of stomach acids forced her to pinch her nose and breathe out of her mouth. Her belly wrenched with a second wave of pain and she vomited again.

She wiped her mouth and stood. “Beau,” she said and teetered as she navigated around the mess on the floor. Using the walls and furniture to guide herself out of the bedroom, she sat down on the top step before she started downstairs. She descended on her backside.

When she reached the landing, she clamped her eyes shut, fought the urge to vomit again, and squeezed her quivering hands into tight fists. Drawing a deep breath, she took another moment to assess the remaining distance
between herself and the blinking answering machine on the end table next to the couch.
 

“Damn it,” she said. The twenty or so steps to the machine seemed like an impossible mile.

The shade she had flicked aside earlier in the day had gotten hung up on the back of the couch. The dull light that shined through made her believe it was around dinnertime or maybe a little bit later.

Winded, she stood over the answering machine and steadied her finger enough to press the playback button.

“Mom, are you there?”

Pause.

“It's Beau. I'm waiting for you and I can't wait to see you. I love you. Bye.”

The machine beeped; end of message. Her hangover was joined with severe regret and extreme guilt.

“Cailean, I told him you would call him back like you said you would and he's waiting for you. I hope you're on the way and that you don't let him down again. I really do.”

The machine beeped again.

“Where the hell are you? He's been waiting all day for you. This isn't fair to him. You're selfish and could give a crap how badly you hurt him. You are unbelievable, do you know that?”

The machine gave a long, final beep that signaled the end of the messages. She tightened her lips and pressed her tongue into her teeth. She erased the messages and picked the phone up off of the couch and began to run through her catalog of excuses.