WhiteSpace: Season One (Episodes 1-6 of the sci-fi horror serial) (20 page)

Alex pulled away, eyes red, and jaw clenched.

“Who did this?”

“I don’t know. I was at the library, and when I came out, someone had painted the window,” she said.

Alex turned to the black SUV parked in the road outside their house, and the Paladin guard assigned to them sitting inside. He stormed over.

“Wait!” Liz called, but Alex kept walking.

“Why didn’t you follow her?” Alex shouted, though the guard’s tinted window was still closed.
 

The window rolled down and the guard, the same man that had saved Alex from getting beaten with a baseball bat, said, “We were watching the house, sir. Your mother didn’t ask us to follow her.”

Liz apologized for Alex’s outburst. “It’s okay, I’d rather you watch my son and daughter. I don’t need an escort, thank you.”

She pulled Alex away from the guard and back toward the house.

“It’ll be okay,” she said, thinking it odd that she almost believed her verbal band-aid.
 

“This is bullshit!” Alex said, pointing to the car. “We didn’t do anything! It’s not our fault what Dad did!”

Liz was surprised that Alex was now admitting what Roger had done. He’d seemed to be in denial for so long. She wondered what her son would say if he saw the list or flash drive. But no, she couldn’t show him. Couldn’t destroy the love Alex had for his father. Not when she was no longer certain whether something bigger was at play, or what Roger had stumbled onto.
 

Alex picked up the hose and began spraying the windshield.
 

Having no success with the water, Alex tore off his shirt, wadded it in his fist and started scrubbing the windshield.
 

“Fuck!” he screamed as the paint remained on the window.

Alex threw the hose aside, went to the garden, picked up a large gray stone and heaved it with two hands above his head.

Liz screamed, “Put that down!” but it was too late.
 

The rock flew from his hands and through the windshield, safety glass raining beneath the weight of the stone as the entire window collapsed inward.

“All gone,” Alex said, disappearing into the house. “I’ll call the insurance company.”

**

Dinner was a quiet affair, with both Alex and Katie seemingly lost in their own thoughts, perhaps thinking about the fact that school was starting tomorrow. Liz was no longer certain that she wanted Alex to go back so soon. Particularly after what happened to her car.

Katie made spaghetti and meatballs, and while Liz didn’t think she’d be hungry, her appetite surprised her. The past few days had been a diet of microwave meals and stuff poured from bags. Pasta was a welcome and delicious change. As they ate, Liz kept staring at Katie, wondering why Roger placed a bullseye on the girl, along with the other kids. Liz couldn’t imagine the aftermath if Roger
had killed
Katie. Alex would have been devastated even more than he already was.
 

And while Sarah Hughes, someone Liz had been close to for years, wasn’t a target, but rather an accidental victim of Roger’s shootings, a small part of Liz hated him for having killed her. For taking away little Emma’s mother. If Roger had killed Katie, she imagined that her son would also feel that hate
— i
f he didn’t already.

Even as Liz stewed in guilt for her husband’s plans and actions, some small part of her kept returning to the video on the flash drive.
 

What had he seen in the caves?
 

What was it about the bodies that prompted the madness to follow?
 

And what in the hell could Katie, or any of the other students, have had to do with it?
 

Liz felt another twinge of guilt as she saw Katie smile at Alex. This guilt was new, tinged with suspicion.
 

Was there something about Katie Liz should be worried about?
 

Liz had to stop her thoughts before they plunged down the same rabbit hole of crazy Roger had fallen. She looked over at Aubrey, sucking on one hand while playing with the mess of sweet potato painting her highchair tray.

“I’m going to school tomorrow,” Alex said, as if he’d been waiting forever to make the declaration, and was waiting for her objection.

“Let’s talk about it later,” Liz said, not wanting to get into a heated argument in front of Katie, especially when both Liz and her son were already on edge.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Alex said. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I have no reason to hide my face or take any bullshit.”

“Alex! Not in front of Aubrey,” Liz said. “I
said
we’ll talk about this later.”

“And
I
said there’s nothing to talk about. It’s not your choice to make. It’s mine. I’m not gonna hide in my house like I’m guilty while some security guard stands outside our house. It’s like
we’re
the ones being arrested for what Dad did!”

Liz didn’t know what to say. She looked at Katie, who looked down before Alex took her hand and held it, rubbing his thumb across her palm. Alex raised his eyes to meet Liz’s.
 

“I’m not afraid of these people,” he said. “Let me go back. And prove we’re not the monsters they think we are.”

There was no point in arguing. The more Liz resisted, the more Alex would push back. And now, more than ever, she needed him to communicate, to come to her with his thoughts. Something he wouldn’t do if she took a stand here.

“Fine,” she said. “Tomorrow, you’ll go back.”

* * * *

CHAPTER 3 — Cassidy Hughes Part 1

Friday morning

September 8

Cassidy looked at her mom, dipping a spoon into her soggy oatmeal, fishing for craisins from the bottom, then skimming off the top and leaving soggy lumps of semi-solid lumps down below.
 

Cassidy could tell her mom’s ears were ringing from the usual migraine, the migraines that had grown alarmingly regular. Like the alcohol in her pores, the blood in Vivian’s eyes was impossible to hide. She would’ve been wearing the deep bags anyway
—
a bottle of Yellowtail usually made sure of that
—
but her eyes always looked worse with the migraines.
 

And the migraines were always worse after the Yellowtail.
 

Fucking drunk.
 

Not like the apple fell too far from the tree.
 

Cassidy smiled good morning at her mom, opened the fridge, then pulled a full carton of Donald Duck Orange Juice from the cold. She went to the cabinet, pulled out a tall glass, filled it to the rim, then started sipping, her mouth lapping at the liquid, her lips keeping busy until she figured out what she was going to say.

Cassidy wanted to ask her mom about the night before, wanted to know what in the hell she meant by “they always bring her back,” and “the people in the sky.” Cassidy didn’t even care that she’d been mistaken for Sarah
—
she was used to that shit
—
but her mom had been so definitive, it was more than unsettling. It was an open cut in her mind she wanted to close.
 

Not like Cassidy put much (if any) stock in the crap her mom spewed from her mouth. She wasn’t half as cracky as Mrs. Lindley, but she was cracky enough. Last night’s rambling was more than cracky, though, it seemed almost . . . candid, like she was telling Cassidy there was something black between her teeth.
 

Vivian was snoring a few seconds after she said it, so Cassidy went to sleep wondering what in the hell she meant, and had risen the same. Cassidy would’ve blurted her question immediately, but the lingering weirdness she was feeling from her nightmares was holding her back.
 

The last few nights had haunted Cassidy with dreams she couldn’t remember, no matter how hard she tried. As soon as sunlight streamed through the blinds, her mind went blank, even though chaos from the evening’s dreaming was still buzzing.

Last night’s seemed especially important. Cassidy wanted to remember, felt hungry to know, somehow convinced it had something to do with Emma.
 

Like the dream about Sarah.
 

Or all the dreams from before.
 

Cassidy had even gone to bed with a small spiral notebook on the nightstand, so she could scribble the first thing she remembered once she opened her eyes. Cassidy had the ball of her pen on the flat of her paper, just seconds after she opened her eyes, but five minutes of staring had left just two blue smears to mar the white of the page.
 

Cassidy pulled a chair from the table, and set her half-empty glass of orange juice beside her mom’s bowl of oatmeal. She sat, then said, “So what were you trying to say last night?”
 

Cassidy’s mom looked up from her oatmeal, curling four fingers around the handle of her spoon, the whites of her eyes trying to focus on Cassidy as they swam through the red of her hangover. Vivian’s nose twitched and her eyes narrowed, trying to center on Cassidy. She went bright, then dim, and for a few seconds seemed to skate along the lip of memory. Finally, the look faded, leaving her with an expression of someone who had lost their keys.
 

“What?” she finally said, shaking her head. “Was I talking in my sleep again?”

“Not exactly. At least it didn’t seem like that at all. It wasn’t like when your eyes shoot open in the middle of a snore and you’re yelling at me or Sarah to take out the garbage.” Cassidy took another sip of orange juice, swallowing it quickly. “Even though you were snoring by the end of the sentence, you were wide awake when you started taking about Emma. Since I seem to be the only one in the house worrying about our nine-year old girl gone missing, you were trying to convince me I was crazy for caring.”
 

Cassidy looked at Vivian, holding her eyes to make sure she was listening. “You said the ‘people in the sky’ took her, and that I didn’t have to worry since they would bring her back, like they always do. Like they brought me back. Except you thought I was Sarah.”

Vivian stared at Cassidy, the blank look back on her face, her nose twitching and eyes narrowing in an echo from a moment before, again skating at the edge of memory. Finally she laughed, with enough of a cackle to qualify as a bark. “You’re fucking with me, right?” she said, putting a craisin-heavy spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. “I believe I called you Sarah.” She laughed, “I mean really, Cassidy. But the rest, I don’t think so.”

“No Mom, I’m not kidding.” Cassidy shook her head. “And not only did you say it, you seemed pretty goddamn sure about what you were saying.” She took another small sip of orange juice, just enough to keep her lips busy.
 

“Well hell, Cass, I’m
always
certain around midnight with a belly full of two-buck chuck,” she cackled again. “Must’ve been dreaming. What was on last night?” Vivian dropped her spoon long enough to scratch her head, then turned to Cassidy, “Must’ve been watching
The X-Files
or something if I was talking about people in the sky.” She patted the table, coming nowhere near Cassidy’s hand. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m sure it was nothing.”
 

The craisins were gone from the oatmeal, and the conversation excused itself from the table. Vivian filled her mouth with nothing but oatmeal, then turned her eyes toward the window, settling the pair into several minutes of silence. Just as Cassidy was about to excuse herself for a quick shower, before she left to look for Emma, Vivian said, “Hey Cass, would you mind getting me my pain meds from the bathroom? My back feels like there’s a buffalo back there trying to mount me.”
 

Before Cassidy could argue that she didn’t really feel like playing house servant, she saw the visible pain etching lines onto her mom’s face in misery.
 

“Sure Mom.” Cassidy rose from the table, dumped the rest of her orange juice into the sink, then set the glass in the dishwasher and went to the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and scanning the four rows of the chest, seeing nothing.
 

Cassidy called, “I don’t see anything, Ma!”

Vivian yelled back, “They’re in the third drawer of the wicker cabinet.”
 

Cassidy snarled.

Fuck her.
 

There was only one reason for Vivian to stuff her pills inside the wicker cabinet, and that was to keep them from Cassidy, like she couldn't be trusted. Just like Cassidy imagined, the small bottle was wrapped inside a scarf, and pushed to the back of the drawer.
 

Cassidy pulled the bottle from the drawer and looked at the label, shocked to see it was Ourocettes.

Fucking A, why’d I pay for the shit when I could’a just scored some from Mom?

Her Addict whispered:

The bottle is full, Cassidy. Filled six months ago. Obviously, your mom doesn’t use them, or even need them. At least not that often. Not like you do. One at a time will take all of your pain away, Cassidy.