by Dawn Napier
Jenna turned back to the window. "I wish he'd bring her back."
"Me too." Megan squeezed her daughter's shoulder. It was stiff.
So now what? Megan's rational self was yammering incoherently, and she couldn't think straight. She had to get out of this house and go somewhere quiet where she could think. As far as she could remember, she had never told Jenna about Jack Benimble. It was possible that she'd picked up one of Megan's old journals or notebooks, but the timing was odd as hell. What were the actual odds of two people sharing a dream on the exact same night?
She went back to the living room just in time to see Brian walking in the front door. "Anything new?" she asked.
"No sign of her. They've been knocking on doors and nobody's seen any strange vehicles or anything, either."
"I need to get out of here for a little bit. Will you and Jenna be okay for a little while if I go to Sacred Grounds for a half an hour to get some coffee?"
Brian gave her an odd look, but finally nodded. "Sure, we'll be all right. Don't be gone long, though. The cops said to stick close to home in case they have more questions."
"In case they get enough evidence to arrest us, they mean." Megan found her keys sitting on a bookshelf next to a fantasy novel about a sexy unicorn.
"Whatever. Don't be gone long."
"I'm just getting a coffee. I'll be right back. You want one?"
"No thanks." Brian wandered toward the kitchen where no doubt he would make short work of the leftover pancakes and cold bacon. The power of comfort food.
Megan decided to walk to Sacred Grounds instead of driving. It was a bit of a hike, and she would be gone longer than the half hour she'd promised, but she didn’t want to scare the cops into thinking she was making a run for it. There was still a cruiser parked in her driveway, and another slipped quietly past as Megan turned right on Lesley and headed toward the little strip mall in what passed for downtown Hillcrest.
The walk gave her a chance to think over the events of the last twenty-four hours, and without the presence of other people she felt more clear-headed. Her sister had died on Wednesday, supposedly of suicide. The night after the funeral, she'd dreamed about her old imaginary friend. The same night, her daughter had also dreamed of him, although she shouldn't be aware of his existence. And the next day, Paige was missing and Jenna was acting like something out of a scary sci-fi movie.
Coincidence, coincidence, coincidence. It all had to be a coincidence. Maybe there was no rational explanation for a shared dream, but surely two people from the same family, both experiencing deep emotional stress, could share a dream. It wasn't that unlikely, was it?
Unlikely or not, it had happened and there it was. But maybe Megan was too focused on that part of it. Paige was gone; that was a real-life horror that she ought to be thinking about. But it was hard. The fear hurt too much. It was like a live thing, like a hot knife twisting in her guts. If she thought about it, she'd start screaming again. Better to think about dreams and ghosts.
Megan's thoughts went round and round like psychotic horses on the carousel from hell. She was mentally exhausted from chasing her own tail when she finally reached Sacred Grounds.
Chapter Four
Sacred Grounds smelled divine, as always. Megan took a moment to absorb the atmosphere: the wood-paneled walls, the shelves full of old books next to huge puffy chairs, the dark, rich aroma of brewing coffee. The Cawleys weren't working today, she saw; the barista was a young woman with dyed red hair and strong but attractive features. Megan admired her sculpted jawline and reflected that if she was still into art, she'd love to draw that face, especially with its frame of cherry-red hair.
"Hey, good to see you, Mrs. C," the barista said. Her name tag read LISA. Now Megan remembered her. She was pretty new, but she'd made an effort to get to know the names and usual orders of the regular customers. "What'll you have?"
"Not sure yet." Megan's stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten breakfast. She didn't want food, though. She never felt like eating when she was upset, but today she was downright angry at food. She wanted to punish her body for being weak and needing food. She scanned the menu. "Large caramel latte. Extra caramel and chocolate sprinkles on top. And whipped cream, of course," she added. She would drink her calories today. That was a fair compromise.
"No problem." Lisa rang up her purchase and told her that it would be four dollars and eighty-three cents. Megan could have gotten a burger at a nearby hot dog stand for that, and probably fries and a drink, too. Her stomach rumbled at the thought, but she told it to shut up.
She wandered around the coffee shop while she waited for her drink. They had recently re-arranged the book shelves, Megan saw. They were now divided into two sections on the wall. One was labeled "In-Store Library;" those were the books the customers were allowed to handle and read while they drank their coffee. Mass-market paperbacks and cheap graphic novels, mostly. They were the books that would cost almost nothing to replace if something spilled on them. The other shelf had the more valuable books: rare prints and so forth. Megan approved of the new setup. One of the owners had told her that it was the idea of her daughter's boyfriend, who worked part-time in the shop. She picked up a Grisham and flipped through it.
Should she hire a lawyer? They had not been charged with a crime yet, but it could happen at any time. Would hiring a lawyer pre-emptively give the impression of guilt? Or was it just good sense? Megan felt sickened by the idea that she might be accused of kidnapping or killing her child, but such things did happen. Victims of violent crimes were usually very close to their attackers, and that went double for children.
"Large caramel latte, dragged through the candy shop," Lisa announced as she set the mug down on the counter. Megan wrapped her hands around the thick porcelain and inhaled the sweet steam. She loved the coffee mugs they used here: sturdy and comforting, not like the flimsy Styrofoam cups they used for to-go orders. She carried her coffee and the paperback to one of the poofy recliners and settled down.
She put the book down on the table next to her and never read a word. Her hands were full of her coffee, and her mind was full of her daughter. She stared out the front window, sipped her latte, and thought about Paige.
"Jack Benimble, Jack be quick. Answer my questions, you little prick," she whispered.
"What are your questions, oh my mistress?"
Megan spun around and nearly dumped her half-drunk coffee all over her lap. Jack Benimble sat in a swami pose next to her chair, his hands folded and his eyes closed reverently. He sat, she noticed, on a cushion of air about three feet off the floor. His outfit was back to the traditional motley she remembered: an eye-searing pattern of reds and yellows and blues that scrambled the brain and was pure heaven for an overstimulated child. But his bells, she saw, were still black. As though they'd been dipped in paint.
Jack opened his eyes and grinned at her. When Megan only stared, he said, "Oh come on. You used to love the goofy visual gags."
"That was when they stayed inside my head where they belonged," Megan whispered. She glanced around, and as expected, nobody else seemed to see the man in the jester's outfit hovering in the middle of the shop. Lisa was scrubbing down the counter and humming.
She picked up the Grisham and opened it in front of her face. She hissed, "Did you kidnap Paige?"
"Certainly not." Jack sounded haughty. "I've never kidnapped anyone. I didn't kidnap you, did I? And you were the one I came for."
"But you lured her away. You took her away from me, away from her family."
"That's hardly fair. Didn't you take her away from someone who loved her?"
Megan swallowed the twinge of guilt. "That's not the same. Sarah was on drugs and selling herself. She would have gotten both girls killed if they'd stayed with her."
"And Paige will die of old age if she stays here. Just like you and your precious family. In my world, she'll never die."
"And never grow up and never go to college or fall
in love—"
"Oh, shut up! You're so tiresome these days. Do you have any more questions, or are you going to yammer at me until we both die of old age?"
"How can I get Paige back?"
"What makes you think she wants to come back?"
"Megan lowered the book and stared at him. Jack's face was a charming mask. "Just answer the question. I'll tackle that problem when I get there."
Jack Benimble shrugged. "Simple enough. You have to become a child again."
"What does that mean?"
"You have to re-trace your steps and follow the yellow brick road. You have to fall back down the rabbit hole. You have to climb inside the giant peach and sail across the sea. You have to go fishing for stars in a trundle bed. You have to unlearn adulthood. Good luck with that."
Jack's tone was mocking, but as he spoke the last few words, Megan heard a tense desperation in his voice. As though he truly did wish her well.
She asked, "But what does that mean? What do I have to actually do?"
"Sorry, kiddo. I'm only obligated to answer three questions. See you on the other side. Maybe."
Jack's black bells rattled like bones, and the man-child was gone.
Megan drank her cold coffee down in a single gulp. She needed to get back to her family.
In the living room, Brian was playing some sort of first person shooter that involved zombies and half-naked women carrying machine guns. Jenna sat on the couch, sucked her thumb, and watched the mayhem.
"Should she be watching that?" Megan asked.
"Probably not," Brian said without looking away from the screen.
Megan exhaled through her nose. "Jenna, go upstairs and play, baby."
Jenna shook her head with her thumb still planted in her mouth. She hadn't sucked her thumb for two years.
Fuck it. The kid's sister was missing. Nothing could be more traumatizing than that. Megan sat on the couch next to her and put her arm around the girl's stiff shoulders. "Anything new from the cops?"
"Not really." Brian still hadn't look at her. Was he mad about something? Megan amended her thought. Of course he was mad; someone had stolen his child. But his blank expression seemed to imply that Megan herself had done something wrong.
"They've told the local media, and Paige's picture is already all over the Internet. But they don't have any leads. They got one call, but it turned out to be a crank. Some kid thought it would be funny to implicate his cousin. He said it was a joke. You believe that shit?"
"I hope they threw his ass in jail." Megan squeezed Jenna, who leaned in slightly. That was encouraging.
"He might get obstruction of justice."
Megan nodded. She watched her husband obliterate the undead with the help of a bikini-clad redhead. "How is your girlfriend there not getting infected? She doesn't have much in the way of body armor."
"I'm getting pretty sick of you picking apart the stuff I like, Megan." Brian's voice was suddenly cold. He still didn't look at her.
"Jeez, excuse the fuck out of me for making a stupid joke."
"Well, maybe this isn't the time to be joking."
This didn't seem to be a good time for gory video games either, but Megan bit her tongue. He was angry and afraid and lashing out. It was what he did. "Sorry," she said. "Did the cops say if there's anything we can do to help?"
"I think you've done quite enough."
This was completely out of left field, and now Megan was angry. She let go of Jenna and leaned forward. "Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Finally Brian paused the game and turned around to look at her. "Just that you're acting pretty weird for someone who just lost her sister and her daughter. You left the bedroom window open last night—"
"No I didn't! Jenna—"
"Megan, I checked the window myself last night before I went to bed. It was closed and locked, and you know Jenna can't reach that latch."
"Maybe she stood on a chair."
"Oh, just stop it! You opened the window last night, and then you closed it again this morning, before you called the cops. And you slept on the couch all night last night. Why were you sleeping on the couch?"
"I had a bad dream."
"About leaving the window open?"
Megan was silent, lest she release the tears she clutched close to her. Brian would see tears as a victory. Her eyes burned, and her throat felt choked.
"Then you went out for coffee and stayed gone for three hours. The cops are asking a lot of questions about you."
"Three hours?" Megan looked at the grandfather clock in the corner, adjacent to the television. It was ten minutes to five. "I didn't know I was gone that long."
"Where were you, really?"
"I was at the café! You can go down there and ask if you don't believe me. I must have fallen asleep in the chair. I told you I had a bad dream. I didn't sleep well."
She'd fallen asleep holding a cup of coffee, slept for almost three hours, and woke up still holding it. That was damned odd, but now was not the time.
"Why don't you be straight with me, Brian? Tell me what you think I did."
"I don't know." Brian picked up the controller and started playing again. The edges of his ears were red. "But I had to tell them about that thing you said last year."
"What thing?" Megan knew what he meant, but she wanted to hear him say it. She wanted him to throw her parenting mistake in her face so that she could go from being angry to truly hating him. Even now, almost a year later, he was still angry at her for one moment of weakness. For telling him that she thought they’d made a mistake by adopting children from the foster care system.
Plenty of birth mothers have doubts too, but that doesn’t make them all murderers! Megan thought furiously.
Brian turned up the sound on the TV and refused to answer. The room filled with dying screams and the sound of gunshots.
Someone passing by outside will think we're killing each other in here, she thought. Oh well. Let them call the cops. It will give them something new to talk about.
"Jenna, let's go upstairs," Megan said to her daughter. "I'll read you a book, or we can play fantasy farm."
Finally Jenna took her thumb out of her mouth. "Okay." She led her mother up to her room.
Chapter Five
Jenna's room was pale, pink, and soothing. Megan sat down on the floor next to the bed and sighed. There were stuffed animals and dolls everywhere, and if she ignored the perfect white smiles of the pop stars on the walls (who had not even been born thirty years ago) Megan could almost feel like she was back home in her own childhood bedroom.
The bedroom window was closed, as it should always be. "Jenna, did you open the window last night?" she asked.
"No." Jenna sat down on her bed and picked up a ragged yellow bunny. That bunny was one of the few possessions that had come with her from what she called "old home." "Jack did." She poked the bunny in its solitary black eye and dropped it on the bed again.
"Jenna, can you tell me what happened last night?"
"Jack said it's a secret, and anyway I don't remember. I think I was asleep when he came." Jenna stuck her thumb into her mouth.
Megan didn't have to be a shrink to know that that was all she was going to get out of the girl using the direct approach. Time for some child psychology. "All right," she said. "Let's play fantasy farm now."
"Okay!" Jenna crawled under her bed and dragged out the enormous wooden barn. The animals were on a low shelf in her closet. She dumped the bin of animals out onto the floor next to the barn, and Megan helped her straighten and line them up.
They were a little creepy in Megan's opinion. Lined up in rows like bizarre soldiers, they looked like some sort of Orwellian nightmare. The huge eyes and fixed grins only made them scarier. Megan supposed that she had watched too many horror movies. As a child she probably would have found them enchanting.
"Who do you want to be?" Jenna asked.
"I'll be this guy." Megan chose a black bunny with a
mischievous smirk that reminded her of Jack Benimble. "And also her." The farmer girl had red-brown hair just like Paige.
"And I'll be these guys." Jenna picked up the horse, the cow, and the chicken. "Professor Chicken is the boss. He makes all the decisions and makes the other animals carry out his evil deeds."
"Okay then." Megan wondered if she should have been monitoring the girls' games of fantasy farm more closely. She'd never given the game much thought, since it kept them quiet and happy for hours at a stretch. Megan tried never to look a gift horse in the mouth. But was this how they had always played? Professor Chicken and evil deeds—like some kind of James Bond villain.
"So what are we going to do today?" Jenna asked, bobbing the horse up and down to indicate speech.
"Gee, I don't know," Megan said in what she hoped was a bunny-like voice. "Should we ask Professor Chicken?"
"Nah, don't ask him," the cow dissented. "Professor Chicken will make us do chores or homework or blow up the capital. He never wants to do anything fun."
"You want to go outside and play on the swing set?" the farmer girl asked.
"Nah, that's where Professor Chicken is," the horse said. "He's no fun."
"Why is he no fun?" the bunny asked.
"He took us away from our real mommy."
Megan's hands trembled, but she stayed in character. She'd get nothing else out of Jenna if she turned back into Mom now.
"Where is the real mommy now?" the farmer girl asked.
The cow said, "She was sick all the time from DRUGS, and the DRUGS killed her. She took too much DRUGS because she missed her babies so much, and then she put a rope around her neck and she died."
Megan choked back horror at her daughter’s language. "That's so sad," the bunny said.
The cow tilted sideways in a way that indicated a shrug. "But the DRUGS don't hurt her anymore, and now she's not sad anymore."
"Who told you all this?" the farmer girl asked. "Was it Jack?"
"Can we stop talking now?" The horse slammed its hooves against the floor. "I wanna do something!"
"Okay," the bunny said hastily. "How about hide and seek?"
