“Remember the other night,” he began, “when I told you about my dreams.”
“Dreams?”
“You know, about Mr. Hoffman…”
“Oh. Yeah, so?”
David looked at Mr. Jones. The intensity in Diane’s father’s face chilled him.
“I had one about Diane. I had it last night.”
“Huh?” the state policeman said. He looked at Charlie Williams. Mr. Jones grimaced. Fred said nothing. He put his hand on David’s shoulder. “He asked us to bring him up here to talk about a dream?” the state policeman asked Fred.
“I couldn’t stop him from going out to the station,” he said quickly.
“What are you talking about, David? Don’t you know how serious all this is?” Mr. Jones asked.
“I do. That’s why I had to come.”
“For what? To tell us you had a dream?” the state policeman said. “What’s with this kid? Is this a joke?”
“Charlie, remember what I told you,” David repeated. He wanted to direct himself to Charlie and ignore everyone else for the moment. Charlie looked at the others who waited expectantly.
“Naw, it’s not a joke. The kid’s got delusions,” Charlie said. “He thinks he can see things happening before they do. He can sense them,” Charlie said in a tone of ridicule. “Look, David—”
“I was right the other night, wasn’t I? I was right.”
“What other night?” Mr. Jones asked.
“He was up at your house, studying with your daughter,” Charlie began.
“He was?”
“And he came down to the station to tell me he sensed someone there, watching the house. He thought it was the same guy who attacked the other kid. Finally, I went up there to satisfy him. That’s when I found those footprints and went up to see Gerry Porter.”
“It’s not Gerry Porter,” David insisted.
“Now how the hell do you know that? You admitted you didn’t see him, and the footprints are about Gerry’s size.”
“It’s not Gerry Porter,” David repeated.
“Jesus,” Charlie said.
“All right, all right,” the state policeman said. “Look, we’re wasting time here.”
“No,” David said. “You’ve got to listen to me.”
“What exactly did you dream, David?” Mr. Jones asked. He stepped forward when he saw that David didn’t want to reply. Then he straightened up and repeated the question, holding himself like a man preparing to be struck in the face.
“I dreamt she was attacked coming home from studying.”
“Who attacked her?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t make that out in my dream.”
“Where? On this road?”
“Just around the turn there,” David said.
“I don’t think we should go on with this,” Charlie Williams said. Frank Jones ignored him.
“What happened after that?” he asked.
“Hey, this kid’s—”
“What happened after that?” Mr. Jones repeated.
“He forced her into the woods and…and did things to her.”
“Oh God.”
“Easy, Mr. Jones. The kid’s talking about a dream,” Charlie said. He looked to the others for reinforcement, but no one said anything. All eyes were on David because of the manner in which he spoke: he didn’t flinch, he didn’t avoid their eyes, and his voice was characterized by a tone of certainty that impressed them.
“I think I know where he took her into the woods,” David said.
“Get this kid out of here,” Charlie said, turning to the state policeman.
“No,” Mr. Jones said. “David, can you show us?”
“Yes sir.”
“Before you do. How did the dream end?”
David hesitated.
“You might as well tell him the rest of it, kid. You’ve destroyed him with what you said already,” Charlie said.
“He beat her with a thick branch and…and he dragged her body to the pond.”
“In your dream?” the state policeman said.
“Yes sir.”
“How old are you, kid?”
“Almost fifteen.”
“You’re not going to listen to this, are you?” Charlie asked.
“What’s the difference now?” Mr. Jones said. “We’ve been going around in circles anyway. Go on, David. Show us what you dreamt,” he said, his voice devoid of feeling. He looked like a man whose senses and emotions had been sucked out of his body. All that remained was a hollow shell.
David started down the street.
“Jesus,” Charlie said. “I don’t—”
“Let’s just get it over with,” Mr. Jones said. David didn’t look back. As he walked, their presence, their voices, their footsteps faded anyway. He was moving into his own world, reentering the dream. He shuddered and almost stopped before he reached that point on the road at which the shadow had forced Diane into the woods. The image of that bag being dropped over her head flashed before him. He saw her books drop and then he thought—her books—what happened to her books? The shadow had obviously come back out this way and discovered them.
“Get some light over here,” the state policeman ordered, and the volunteer firemen turned their high beams on, directing them into the forest ahead of David. One man came up beside him. He knew him. It was Gary Stackhouse, a plumber who had served as fire chief in the past.
David pulled back some brush and stepped into the forest. Of course, the path was there. The flashlight drove back the shadows, holding them at bay. David moved down the path, recalling the way Diane was forced to walk, hearing her sobbing, seeing her arms twisted back. When they reached the clearing, he stopped, and all the men gathered around him.
“It happened here,” he said looking down at the matted grass. The state policeman stepped forward.
“Give me that light,” he demanded and brought the beam closer. He washed the ground with it and moved it to the right, stopping when the light uncovered Diane’s crumpled panties. David imagined they had slipped off her body after the shadowy figure had tied it and the rest of her clothing to her before dragging her to the pond.
The moment the state policeman’s light hit the panties, all the lights were turned on the garment.
“Oh God, no,” Mr. Jones said. Charlie Williams stepped forward and picked up the panties.
“Jesus,” he said.
“What else did you dream, kid?” Gary Stackhouse asked, obviously impressed.
“You heard the rest of what he said,” Fred responded. He was beside David again, his hand on his shoulder.
Everyone’s attention went to the pond. The group walked slowly to it. The state policeman squatted down close to it and commented about the marks in the dirt. They all looked into the inky water and then brought their lights to it. At first no one saw anything, and then the image of Diane’s body, seemingly magnified by the liquid, came into view.
Frank Jones screamed, brought his hands to his ears as though to block out the sound of his own pain, and then fell to his knees.
David spun around, broke free of the group, and ran back through the woods, down the dark path and onto the road, fleeing from the truth of his vision and the power he had, almost as much as he was fleeing from the sight of Diane’s corpse—strands of her beautiful hair floating upward, straining to break free and reach the air. Of course, he thought that when they brought her body up, it would be the way he had seen it in his dream.
He shot out onto the road and ran and ran and ran, down to the end of her avenue and into the village proper. He kept running until he reached his own street.
Fred found him squatting under a streetlight, well illuminated and unable to stop himself from crying. He was hysterical and thought that his tears were drops of blood. When Fred tried to lead him away from the streetlight to home, he screamed.
Never in his life was he more afraid of the darkness. Finally, Fred had to get his mother, and together, the
y brought him back into the house.
He would close his eyes only if she left the light on in his room and sat by his side until he fell asleep.
11
David slept late into the morning. His mother didn’t have the heart to wake him for school. She called Mr. Rosenblatt down at the drugstore and told him she would be late for work. She knew what had happened. The story of the rape and murder of Diane Jones had quickly woven its way in and out of most every store and home in the village. What wasn’t clearly explained was David’s role. People knew he had led the police to the scene of the crime, but how and why he was able to do that wasn’t understood.
David’s mother had to finally wake him when Donald Sacks, the county district attorney, Charlie Williams, and a man from that state bureau of criminal investigation, Lt. Brad Comfort, came to the door.
Donald Sacks was a fifty-two-year-old, six foot five inch man with a Lincolnesque, almost gaunt appearance. He had been elected to the office of district attorney six straight times, mainly because of his wry sense of humor, his witty mind, and his down-to-earth manner of politics. He had an uncanny memory for faces and names, and was highly visible in the hamlets and villages of the county throughout the year, and not just during the campaign periods. He had met David’s mother a few times in Rosenblatt’s drugstore and remembered her name was Roselyn.
Charlie introduced him and Lieutenant Comfort, who was a five foot ten inch, stout man with a short, but thick neck. He had a round face with large facial features: blue-gray eyes with pupils that looked as big as marbles, a nose with wide nostrils, and a mouth with so heavy a bottom lip it looked habitually swollen. He wrapped his large right hand around David’s mother’s, surprising her with the intensity of pressure in the greeting. Lieutenant Comfort was a man who wanted to make an impression.
“I called the school,” Charlie said, “and the principal told me David hadn’t come in.”
“I couldn’t wake him,” Roselyn said. “He was up so late.”
“Sure. That’s understandable,” Donald Sacks said. “After a night like he had, he’s probably sleeping like a snake in winter. But, I’m sure you realize, Roselyn, that we have to talk with him.”
“Of course. I’ll get him up. Why don’t you all come into the kitchen, and I’ll make some coffee.”
“Oh, no need for that,” Sacks said.
“It’s no problem. I was about to make a fresh pot for myself anyway to keep myself awake. What a horror,” she added. “I didn’t sleep an hour.”
“Few of us did,” Charlie said.
“Please, come in and sit down,” she said and led them into the kitchen. They sat around the table, and she went in to wake David.
His sleep had been remarkably void of dreams, or if there had been any, they weren’t vivid and dramatic enough to linger in his consciousness when he awoke. He was groggy and confused for a few moments, but then all of the events of the night before came rushing back at him when his mother told him the police and the district attorney were here to talk to him.
He sat up in bed and watched her get out his underwear, socks, pants, and shirt. She chose the garments as though she were preparing him for a party or a major school event.
“I’ll make you some breakfast,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve got to eat something. I’ll make a soft-boiled egg and some toast,” she insisted and left. He felt like he was still in a daze while he put on his clothing.
When he was finished, he came out, and the three men looked up at him as though they had been waiting for hours. Charlie Williams had a tired, disinterested look on his face. Donald Sacks smiled, but Lieutenant Comfort studied him as though he could be a suspect himself.
It suddenly occurred to David that he could be. The thought of his being under suspicion for such a heinous crime frightened him. How could he prove that what he had known, he had known through the wonder of his dreams and clairvoyance?
“What’dya say, David?” Charlie said. At this moment David was grateful for Charlie’s informality. He found relief in confronting a familiar face.
“Hello,” he said.
Everyone was introduced, and David sat at the table. The way the three men had arranged themselves, he was facing them all directly and did feel like someone who had been brought into the police station for questioning. Only Donald Sacks looked relaxed. He slumped some in the chair, his long legs having to be turned outward from the table. David’s mother went to make the coffee, but kept her attention glued to the discussion at the table.
“David,” Sacks began, “we all heard about the way you led the search party to the…the scene of the crime last night, but Lieutenant Comfort and I would like to hear it from the horse’s mouth. You know what that means, don’tcha, son?”
“Yes.” He eyed Charlie, whose initial expression of nonchalance had turned to skepticism again.
“Just start at the beginning,” Sacks said.
David nodded and leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table.
“I don’t know exactly when it started, but when I was much younger, I could sometimes see things happening before they did.”
“Who’s they, son?” Sacks asked.
“I meant the things. I could see the things happen before they happened.”
“You mean like you could see the future?”
“Yes sir.”
“I know a lot of weather forecasters who’d like to meet you. So you thought you could see the future?” he repeated, speaking much more slowly, as though to confirm that what had been said was really meant.
“Yes sir.”
“When you were much younger, huh?” Sacks said. He smiled, but Lieutenant Comfort didn’t break expression. Charlie pressed his lips together so hard it inflated his cheeks.
“Yes sir. Then I started having dreams. Sometimes the dreams were about people. One time I dreamt about Mr. Hoffman.”
“Mr. Hoffman?”
“He was a baker in town,” Charlie explained. “David claims he dreamt about his death the night before it happened.”
“That so? Did you know about your son’s abilities, Roselyn?” Donald Sacks asked. David’s mother shook her head, her eyes wide with fear.
“No, he never really told me all this.”
“Never told your mother you could do these things,” Lieutenant Comfort asked quickly. It was more like he pounced.
“He was closer to his grandmother,” Roselyn said. She smiled and shrugged. “I had a bad marriage and then went to work and left him with her most of the time. She passed away just recently.”
“So you told your grandmother?” Comfort said.
“Yes.”
“Anybody else?”
“He told me,” Charlie said.
“Let the boy answer for himself,” Comfort said with a definite tone of chastisement. Charlie blanched. “Anybody else besides Charlie?”
“I told Ted Davis.”
“Ted Davis?”
“That’s Diane’s boyfriend,” David said. “He and I used to do things together.”
“What things?”
“Tricks, I suppose. I could guess where people hid things, guess cards before they were shown, things like that. We won some money. I found a lost key for him once,” David added. The memory of that scene seemed so distant now, almost as if the event had occurred in another life. He couldn’t help visualizing Diane, seeing her expression of amazement when he brought the key out from under the front seat of Ted’s car. He could almost smell the scent of her hair as he recalled sitting beside her in the car that first afternoon.
“Ever tell any other adults?” Donald Sacks asked.
“Not really,” David said.
“Uh-huh. So tell us again how you came to know what happened to Diane Jones and exactly where it happened,” Lieutenant Comfort demanded.
“She wanted me to help her study the other night.”
“You help her? I thought she was a s
enior,” Comfort said, directing himself to Charlie.
“Yes, she was,” Charlie said.
“So why would she want you to help her?” Comfort asked. David saw how intently they all watched him whenever the state investigator asked a question. It was obvious that his questions were going to be the hard and important ones.
“I once told her about the way I studied for a test,” David said. And then he explained the magical way he located all the material that would be on the math exam. “She wanted me to do the same thing for her,” he concluded. For a moment none of the three men said anything. They all gazed at him as though he had escaped from some terror film. He could almost hear them ask, “Is this kid for real?”
“That was the night you thought you saw someone watching Diane’s house?” Sacks asked.
“Yes. I didn’t see him exactly…” He looked at Charlie. “I sensed him out there, and I saw the shadow.”
“Shadow?”
“The same shadow that was in the dream,” he said, and then he described the dream. He even added the grotesque appearance of Diane’s corpse at the end. His mother moaned and held her stomach.
“My God,” she said. The three men looked at her. She was pouring their coffee.
“This is the first time you heard this?” Lieutenant Comfort asked.
“Thank God, yes,” she said.
“David,” Donald Sacks began, softening his voice even more, “are you certain you didn’t witness this crime. Maybe you saw it and think you dreamt it. It was horrible enough to want to avoid remembering.”
“No sir. I dreamt it.”
“Was your boy home all last night?” Lieutenant Comfort asked David’s mother as she brought them each a cup of coffee. She looked at David.
“No, I wasn’t,” he said. “I went out for awhile because I wanted to be sure Diane didn’t go walking on her road alone.”
No one said anything for a moment. The three men sipped their coffee, and David’s mother checked on his eggs.
“You were on her road last night?” Sacks asked.
“Yes.”
“Anyone see you there or see you leave the road?” Comfort asked.
Sight Unseen Page 18
