She patted his shoulder. "Alan?" she said. "It's time to go home."
"Where's Daddy?" the boy said.
"I'm right here, kiddo," Trey said.
Alan turned to him, a sad smile on his face. "You look hurt. But you look better than you did." Alan's smile turned into a frown. "I'm sorry I didn't wait for you, Daddy. I didn't mean--"
"No," Trey said, "you did what you were supposed to do--you went home." Trey grimaced as a bolt of pain lashed up his broken arm. "If I had come the other way, I'd have seen you. It's my fault, kiddo, not yours."
"I'm sorry--"
"Hey," Trey said, "it's not your fault, okay?"
Alan nodded, sniffling. "Okay, Daddy." Alan loosened his arms from around Carolyn's shoulder and went around to the left side of Trey's bed. His blue eyes locked with Trey's. "Come home soon, Daddy. Get better." The boy hugged him.
Trey squeezed Alan, managing to hold his emotions in check. "I will." The boy let go of him, smiling. "Now go home and sleep."
Alan nodded to him. "You sleep too." Alan tousled Trey's hair. Trey chuckled. Alan squeezed his father's shoulder and then made his way to the door.
Carolyn kissed Trey on the forehead. "You call me. I'll keep my mobile on. You call," she whispered and kissed him again, "if you need me. I'll be here." Trey smiled at her but said nothing. She wiped a tear from her eye and turned toward Alan. "Let's go, kiddo." Alan looked back at Trey from the doorway, a tired smile on his face. He waved to Trey and Trey waved back with his left hand.
Then they were gone.
Closing his eyes, Trey shifted to try and find a comfortable position. His arm itched and ached. When Kinkaid arrived, maybe they'd finally get him some meds that worked.
Kinkaid.
As Carolyn had driven him to the ER, he'd called Kinkaid through gritted teeth. He told her he'd hurt himself and Carolyn was taking him to the hospital. "I want to come in," he'd told her.
After a moment of silence, she'd asked if Trey was committing himself.
Eyes scrunched together through the pain, Trey had told her "Yes."
He wanted to sleep, wanted to wake up and find himself back on the couch. The alarm would wake him from his nap, and he'd walk to meet Alan as always. No ice cream man; no bells shattering the silence of the winter afternoon. Just he and his son walking the path back home, and Carolyn joining them for dinner; everything as it should be.
He let out a hiss through his teeth. The arm hurt, dammit. His face burned from where they removed bits of gravel and glass.
"Scooby-dooby-doo" a voice sang.
Trey opened his eyes and scanned the room. No one was there. "Fuck you, Scooby," he whispered.
As he closed his eyes once more, he realized he was afraid to fall asleep.
Chapter 21
Alan slept on the ride home. Carolyn cast nervous glances at him as she drove through the evening rain. The boy had been frantic on the way to pick up Trey, asking a million questions about his father. She'd calmed him as best she could, but he was still a nervous wreck when they finally put Trey in the car and headed to the hospital.
But, she marveled, Alan was always a different boy in Trey's presence. Whenever he saw his father, no matter how weak or muddled he was, Alan became less prone to panic. She smiled at him in the rearview mirror, all buckled up in the seat belt and snoring. Alan became an adult when Trey had his "bad times."
They had spent a long time explaining to Alan his father's condition. Alan didn't seem to understand it all--he only knew that sometimes Daddy needed help. That had brought something very protective out of the boy.
She made her way into the neighborhood, cursing the rain in silence. The pit pat of the drops against the windshield was the only sound in the car, apart from Alan's soft snores. She'd have to put him into bed and she had no doubt he'd fall asleep again immediately. She hoped he wouldn't wake up until morning.
The questions would come, and then worry, and concern. She wasn't sure she had the strength to deal with that.
Carolyn wiped a single tear from her cheek. She wound through the streets and turned onto Moss. The cold, light rain had barely puddled against the old concrete curb. She parked the car beneath the stripped oak canopies and the overgrown green pines and turned off the ignition.
"Mom?" Alan's sleep addled voice said from the back seat.
"Yes, Alan?" She glanced back at him in the rearview mirror.
He frowned at her. "Daddy's going to be gone for a little while?"
She nodded. The pain in Alan's voice was enough to force her to choke back a sob. "Yes, Daddy's going to be gone for a little while. But I'll take you to see him tomorrow if he's well enough, okay?"
"You mean today?" he asked with a sideways smile.
The sigh that escaped her was frustrated and relieved at the same time. Alan always knew when to be a smart-ass to make her smile. "Yes, hon. Today. We'll go see Daddy today. After I get home from work."
Alan nodded. "I walk home from school by myself?"
"No, I think I'll be able to pick you up. I'll drop you off at school and come get you if I can."
"Okay, Mommy."
"Is that okay?"
"Yes, Mommy," he said, his smile widening. "I'm a big boy. I'm not afraid to walk home if I have to. But," he said, his face stern, "don't tell Daddy I said that. I like that he walks me to and from school."
She nodded, a genuine smile on her face. "He loves you, Alan. He's very protective of you."
"I know." Alan's smile faltered. "Mommy?" he asked, unbuckling his seat belt.
"Yes?"
Alan reached for the door handle, his hand clasping it, but not pull- ing. "Daddy's going to come back to us, right?"
The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach returned, as did the sob threatening to choke off her air. "Yes. Daddy'll be back."
"Good," Alan said. "I like my Daddy."
"I know you do," she said, casting her face downward to hide another tear.
"Mommy?" Alan asked.
"Yes?"
"Can you unlock the door? I'm very sleepy."
She looked up at him in the rearview mirror, wiping away another tear. "Yes, baby," she said. She opened the door and climbed out into the rain. The canopy of pines and skeletal oaks blocked most of the drops, but she still felt the cold sting of water against her bare skin. She walked to Alan's door and opened it. Alan climbed out from the car and shivered.
"Let's go inside, Mommy."
She was glad for the rain as they walked to the front door. She didn't want Alan to see her tears.
Chapter 22
"Trey?" a female voice asked from the doorway. "Trey, you awake?"
He opened his eyes. The room was dark. At some point, he'd fallen asleep. He guessed one of the nurses had clicked off the lights. The figure at his open door was backlit by the bright hallway fluorescents. "Who are you?" he croaked.
"It's Kinkaid, you idiot."
"Oh," Trey said. "Should have known by your bedside manner," he chuckled. "Come on in, the lithium's fine."
She clucked her tongue, walking into the darkened room. He could barely make out her features, but saw she was wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans. The jacket was still zipped up. With night in full swing, he'd no doubt it had become very cold outside. "There's no lithium here," she said. "Nothing but cuckoo juice."
"Yeah," he whispered. "I can tell."
Folding her hands, Kinkaid leaned forward. "How's your arm?"
"Hurts like fucking hell," he said. "But I guess that's to be expected."
She nodded. "I'm trying to figure out some pain meds for you, but right now, I think it's best if we keep your system clean. Can you deal?"
"I can deal," he responded and yawned. "What fucking time is it anyway?"
"It's two a.m., slugger. Afraid I couldn't get here any sooner."
He harrumphed. "Again with the beside manner."
She shrugged. "Had to sober up."
"I'll bet," Trey said. "U
s crazy people driving you to drink?"
"Something like that," she laughed. "Now. You want to talk about it?"
He told her everything, about waking up and finding Alan gone. The panic, the visions of the fiend in the van, running to catch it, and then falling to the concrete. As the words poured from his mouth, he realized she looked strange without a notebook in front of her and a pen scratching marks into the sheets of paper.
When Trey finished, they sat in silence. He looked down at the bedsheets, and then drew the covers around himself. He'd begun to shiver during the retelling, goose pimples prickling his skin.
The silence was broken only by soft footsteps in the hall, the occasional monotone of some words over the hospital intercom, and muffled voices from the nurses' station.
Kinkaid clucked her tongue. "Why'd you nap?" she asked in flat, toneless voice.
Trey blinked at her. The dim light cast from the hallway barely illuminated one side of her face. He saw the frown on her face and smiled in the dark. "I don't know," he said. "Felt tired. Thought I'd just lay down."
"But you slept through the alarm?"
"Yeah, it was still going off when I woke up."
She nodded. "Did you dream?"
He opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it. Did he dream?Something about "Scooby-Doo?" The vision was murky, just random images without cohesion. He shook his head. "I think so, but I don't remember anything. Something about childhood. But--" He paused, frowning in the near darkness. "But I don't really remember it."
She nodded again. "What do you think about the ice cream man?" she asked.
The ice cream man. The fiend. The ghoul. The man in the gore covered, offal dripping jumpsuit. He shook the image away from his mind.
"He's not real," Trey said.
She blinked at him.
"I mean, he's real. He was there. And he called Alan. But he's not some...thing. He's a person."
"That's a good start," she whispered. "I want you to sleep now, if you can. I'm going to have the nurses wake you every couple of hours and check on you." She reached out a hand and patted his left arm. "I think you need to stay here a couple of days for observation, okay?"
Trey smiled. "No rubber room?"
"Not this time, mister." She rose from her chair. "The delusion has passed and I don't think you should be pissing in the corner if you know that." She leaned over and pulled the covers around him, readjusting the blanket on the bed. "Now, you looney," she said, "get some sleep. I'll come back later today and we'll talk again, okay?"
"Yeah," he whispered. She nodded to him and turned toward the door. "Thanks, doc."
"Have to keep you healthy," she said walking to the door. "You're my next paper in psychotics monthly."
Trey snorted as she disappeared into the hallway. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 23
As she turned off the bathroom light, Carolyn stared into the bedroom's blackness. She heaved a sigh, pulled off the robe, and walked to the bed. She slipped beneath the sheets naked, shivering a little as she wrapped herself in the cold fabric. Trey was usually in bed before her, and the sheets were always warm with his heat.
She rolled onto her side, sniffing in the scent of his body still on his pillow. Another night with him gone. Another night without a partner.
This was the fourth time since they'd been married that he'd committed himself. The first two times were medication changes that backfired. But the last time was the scary one.
Carolyn still didn't quite understand what happened. She'd come home from work one day and found Alan inside the house, laying in the middle of the floor and surrounded by his toys. Scooby-Doo was playing on the television. Alan was four years old. "Where's Daddy?" she asked Alan.
"Hi, Mommy. Daddy's outside." He smiled up at her and giggled. "Daddy's pretending."
"Pretending?" she asked.
Alan nodded and giggled again.
She felt a cold stab of fear in the pit of her stomach. "What do you mean he's pretending?"
"He's pretending there's someone to talk to."
A shiver raced up her spine. "Okay, champ," she said in a broken voice. "Can you stay out of trouble for a few minutes?"
He nodded. "I've been a good boy. I want a popsicle."
"When I get back, we'll talk about it, okay?"
He went back to playing with his toys.
Carolyn took a deep breath and slipped out into the sunroom. She stopped as soon as she slid the glass door closed. Voices. Two distinct voices. She froze in the middle of the room. Trey and whomever he was talking to were around the corner and in the middle of the deck. She couldn't see them, and suddenly she didn't want to.
"I don't understand why you're so angry," Trey's voice said.
Without a pause, another voice spoke, sending chills down her spine. "You don't understand?" the alien voice growled. It's timbre was so unlike Trey's, deep beyond measure, somehow a mix of a growl and a scream. "You broke the rules"
Trey let out a sob. "No, I haven't broken--"
"You forfeit the boy."
"No, goddammit!" Trey screamed. "You leave him the fuck alone."
She shivered as the other voice, the thing that wasn't Trey, loosed a low chuckle. "You brought him here, Trey. You made him. And you didn't ask permission."
"Fuck you," Trey whispered. "I'm not giving him to you."
"It doesn't matter," the other whispered. "I'll take him anyway."
"Fuck you!" Trey yelled.
Carolyn took a step backward. There was the sound of flesh against metal and the tinkle of shattering glass.
Carolyn threw open the screen door with a single sharp palm to the latch. The pneumatic piston broke from the impact, but she didn't notice. She turned through the threshold and stopped, her mouth open.
Trey stood before the patio table, his hand pounding the metal frame. Shattered glass covered the deck in front of him, slivers of it caught in his hair. His right hand streamed blood from several open wounds. But it was the expression on his face that chilled her. His teeth were bared, saliva spitting from his mouth, as he let loose punch after punch into the twisted metal.
"Trey!"
"Die, you fucker!" he screamed at the table, smashing his fist again into the beige frame.
The metal bent further, screeching under the assault. The table wobbled and slid backwards until it rested against the house wall.
"Don't you dare fucking touch him!" he screamed again.
Carolyn ran forward, putting her arm around Trey's waist. Trey screamed again and turned, his elbow connecting with her chin and knocking her off balance.
The world went grey and she found herself falling, her ass hitting the unforgiving deck surface. The crash of pain knocked the breath from her lungs. She went down, head colliding with the deck, and for a moment, the world went away.
"Carolyn!" Trey's voice said in the distance. The blackness slowly receded. Her husband's face was inches from her own. His voice was choked with tears, droplets falling from the end of his nose and landing on her neck. "Carolyn, Goddammit, wake up," he whispered.
"Trey?" she asked, her voice groggy and broken.
A wan smile filled his face. "Goddammit, Carolyn. Goddammit," he whispered. He hugged her. "I called 9-1-1. They'll be here soon."
She wiped at her nose with a lazy hand, felt it come away wet. She turned slightly, staring at the bright crimson smear staining her fingers. "Trey?" she asked again.
"Yes, baby?" he sniffed back more tears.
"You called 9-1-1?"
"Yes, baby. I did."
"Help me up," she said softly.
"Baby, I don't think--"
"Help me up," she said in a low growl.
Trey stiffened, but said nothing. He stood from his kneeling position and bent at the waist. Bright red blood still dripped down his right hand.
As she put her hands in his, she felt the shards of glass caked in his skin, but he didn't wince when she
pressed against him. She rose as he pulled her to her feet. Carolyn struggled to remain standing, her balance wavering. Trey tried to put his hands on her waist. She slapped at them, glaring into his eyes. The hurt and confused expression on his face increased her anger. She leaned forward and slapped his cheek. His right hand flew up to his face and he backed up a few steps.
"Carolyn?" he asked. "What--"
"You. Stay. The. Fuck. Away. From. Alan," she said, her finger punching into his stomach with each word. "And you stay the fuck away from me."
A fresh run of tears filled his eyes.
The furnace of anger within her made her feel as though she'd explode at any second. "You wait right fucking here and don't fucking move, or I'm sending you to fucking jail."
Trey sobbed, his legs wobbling. He moved to the deck banister, leaning hard against it.
She slowly backed away from him, heading toward the screen door. "Stay," she said, as though talking to a bad dog.
Trey said nothing and didn't move.
The ambulance and the cops arrived soon after. When the paramed- ics reached Trey, he was slumped in one of the deck chairs in shock. The blood loss from the open artery in his hand was too extreme for them to do anything besides rush him to the hospital.
She watched as they took him away on a stretcher, an oxygen mask on his face. As they put him in the ambulance, he reached out his left hand toward her. "Carolyn," he said through the mask. "What happened?"
She burst into tears as the doors closed and the ambulance left the street. When the cops tried to take her statement, she waved them off, telling them to meet her at the hospital. They left her there, still covered in Trey's blood. Alan had started crying the moment Carolyn had come in. She cooed at him, carrying him to the couch. They sat there, Alan in her arms, face buried in her shoulder, her head resting against his.
"Where's my Daddy?" Alan had asked. Carolyn started to answer him, but he cut her off. "I want my Daddy back," Alan sobbed.
The vision of Trey's horrified expression when she slapped him, his ashen face as he called to her through the oxygen mask, and the broken, lost, hurt sound of his voice, flashed through her mind. That was Trey. Not the man who'd been smashing the table, the man who'd elbowed her in the face, the screaming madman on the deck.
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