Chapter 10
The next day we sleep until late afternoon and spend our remaining time together in preparation for his return to work. He seems worried to leave me alone. Like he's a little afraid I'll burn the house down while he’s away. It offends me a little- and he makes me promise I'll phone him if I need anything. I assure him I'll be fine as I walk him to the car. He rolls down his window and gives me a charming smile. "OK kiddo. No wild parties." I lean through the driver’s window and kiss him and wave as he backs out of the driveway.
Despite my assurances that I'll be fine; I find myself feeling a little lonely and out of place when he does leave. I go into the den and watch a little TV but nothing interests me. I watch the weather channel and then find a news broadcast. The first segment contains a story on a homeless man found killed in Red Bank. They say they think he’s been responsible for several muggings around the tourist center of town. I stop and watch it, concerned that this could have been the man that mugged Doyle and I. They say his throat was cut and he was drained of blood and they think some sort of cult is to blame. I mentally calculate the distance between Ross’ Landing and Red Bank. No way could it be the same guy. If it was then at least Doyle didn’t kill him. I shiver and change the channel. I know I've spent two hours flipping channels but when I look at the clock over the mantle it’s been 15 minutes.
Then I decide to do some laundry. I turn on the radio in the main room and search for a channel I can listen to through the intercom system. I flip through several stations before I hear a song that pleases me. I know I have heard it before but I don't remember the words. It is comforting so I leave it and trek to the laundry. I half expect a mountain of clothing but I find that there are relatively few clothes and all of them are mine.
I shuffle through the clothes and realize that there are none belonging to my husband. No dirty underwear, no sweaty socks, not even a crumpled tee shirt hiding in the bottom of the hamper. He’s not human. If I needed more proof here it is. I shake my head and wonder if Doyle does his own laundry. How could I have ended up with the only man on the planet who does his own laundry? It seems too good to be true. Perhaps he was accustomed to doing his own while I was in the hospital. I don't know.
The song ends while I am pushing my clothes into the washer and I am surprised to learn that the song I recognized was on a Christian station. I listen to the blurb about spreading the good news. Another starts up and I stop to listen to it. It feels so familiar- like a well-loved blanket. I have heard this before! Not just that... I open my mouth and the words come out seemingly of their own volition. It gives me chills because I know I’ve sung this before. I get a fleeting impression of having my head thrown back singing with all my heart. I know that Doyle claims to be an atheist but I know - I'm not.
I leave the laundry and head to the kitchen where I rinse a few plates and cups and place them in the dishwasher and meander aimlessly around the empty house. Its only midnight and I wonder what I will do to keep myself busy tonight.
I decide on the Internet. I am sure this is a wonderful way to waste a couple hours. I don't know how I end up there but I find myself on a webpage about albinism. I look at the pictures on the screen in front of me and a creepy, strange feeling washes over me when I realize that not one of these people look like Doyle.
Not in the least.
I read a heartbreaking article on the plight of albinos in Africa. I am shocked to discover that they are hunted and killed because witch doctors believe their bones hold magic properties. I am so moved that I donate to that charity using my credit card. Good deed done for the day!
I hear a familiar strain. "Amazing Grace how sweet the sound ...that saved a wretch like me...I once was lost but now I'm found...was blind but now I see..." I find myself humming along. This is a strange song to have on the radio. I think to myself. There is no music. Just the wavering voice of what I assume is an elderly lady.
I stop and listen. It’s strangely compelling and comforting to me. I like it so much that I walk to the console to see if it displays the performer who recorded it. My smile drops away when I discover that the display is turned off. I turn it on and only hear static. My face crumples and I try to understand. I hear the last few strains of the song even though the radio is switched off.
I stare at the controls for several seconds and the logical part of my brain says it’s some sort of interference or something... like when people used to claim that they could get radio programs through their dental work. Nothing to be concerned about.
Right?
The not logical part wants to run. The shadows. The voices. The demon possessed dog. The lack of Doyle’s laundry. Things are not what they seem in this house; what more proof do I need? My house is haunted and I am married to the undead! I need to leave NOW!
I listen; straining my ears for the music. It has disappeared as quickly as it occurred.
Later I hear the same voice- though far away. I can’t make out any of the words; only a jumble of sounds and tones. It reminds me of that cartoon... I don’t remember what it was called but it was the one where the adult’s voices were only "wonk wonk wonk wonk".
It sends shivers throughout my body and a part of me wants to run.
But where?
No. I’m just over reacting. I tell myself. First night alone and your imagination is working overtime. Just chill, Andrea.
Surely our neighbors are having a party and I can hear the voices. I step onto the patio and listen. The night is dark and cold and the house lights are out next door. I shiver and step back inside. I hear the voice again and my breath catches in my throat. I pull a knife form the cutting block as I suck in a wavering breath and follow the sound downstairs.
"Wonk wonk wonk-wonk -wonk." The voice continues from somewhere in front of me. My heart knocks against my chest. It seems louder in the living room. My knuckles turn white from holding the knife so tightly. I slip my arm inside the room and slide it along the wall until I feel the switch. I flick the light on and hold the knife out in a defensive stance.
I'm not surprised but overwhelmingly relieved to find the room is empty.
I can breathe again and I try to calm my heart rate before I have a heart attack. There is no one here. I tell myself.
Except…
My eyes are drawn to an end table. On it sits a small white Teddy bear holding a rose. I tremble as I reach for it; knowing full well it wasn't here a few hours ago when I was watching TV. There is a tag. I can see it was bought at the hospital gift shop. It reads: "Love you. Get well soon." I don't recognize the handwriting. I've seen Doyle's enough to know it is not his. Where did it come from? Fear sweeps over my body - it’s a sensation like somewhat like being shocked by a faulty plug. Someone has been in this room! I swallow hard just as I hear "wonk wonk wonk" and footsteps in the hall above my head.
There is someone in my house! I am ready to run for the hills but I look over at Lucifer and notice that he hasn't even lifted his head. I had heard sometime or other that dogs can hear for like- a mile or something- but he hasn't even rolled over. This leads me to believe that A) he’s the worst dog ever (a distinct possibility) or B) he’s deaf (which could explain a lot) or C) I really didn’t hear what I thought I just heard.
"Hey you." I say to him and he rolls his eyes around so he can look up at me without lifting his head.
Not deaf. I decide. There goes that theory.
"Devil-dog. You hear anything?" He raises his head as if to contemplate my question but then flops to his side facing the opposite direction and sighs loudly as if to express his annoyance with me for interrupting his nap.
I wonder what to do. I could call the police. Hello officer, I think there’s someone in my house… I heard an old lady singing and someone wonk wonk wonking in the hall… I can imagine them going through this monster of a house only to find it’s an alarm radio that has bee
n left on somewhere. There will be lights and sirens and the neighbors will think I'm crazy.
Or… I can call Doyle on his first night back- possibly while he's up to his elbows in a gunshot wound to tell him that I'm hearing disembodied voices and I’m scared to stay by myself. I'll be on my way to a mental institution then. No thanks. I'll handle this on my own. I decide to screw up my courage and figure out what’s going on by myself. I search the house from top to bottom and find nothing.
Why am I not surprised?
The Life I Left Behind Page 11
