“What did you do?”
“I called Aaron in, and we decided he might have had a dizzy spell for some reason or another. He didn’t want to go to a doctor. He just wanted to lay there for a while.”
“She brought his breakfast to him,” Aaron said. “He seemed to get better, so we forgot about it. But not long afterward it began.”
“It began?”
“He means it started happening more often,” Blossom said. “I called the agency and took him to a doctor. The doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with him, so I brought him home, and he was fine for a few days. Then, one day, he claimed he couldn’t get up again. I brought him his breakfast, and when he did get up that day, he hobbled about like Aaron used to do when he could still move about on his own.”
“To tell you the truth,” Aaron said, “I began to think the kid was just making fun of me. I have another wheelchair, you see, and one day . . .” He shook his head and smiled. “One day the kid was in it, wheeling himself about the house. I blasted him for mocking me, but he acted like I insulted him.”
“Couldn’t get him to stop imitating Aaron,” Blossom said. “And when I tried, he became belligerent.”
“He wanted her to treat him the way she treats me,” Aaron said. “He was always making comparisons.”
“He wouldn’t go to the doctor again or to any other doctor. If I threatened to call the agency, he would be all right, and then some days he would be a worse invalid than Aaron. I’d be bringing him breakfast, lunch, and supper. I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe he does have a problem, and if so, I was being cruel threatening him like that, so I guess I put up with it longer than I should have.”
“Incredible,” Joe said.
“He was wearing her out,” Aaron said. “We both felt he was getting very strange.”
“I became frightened of him,” Blossom said. “If I didn’t believe him when he told me he was unable to get about, he would take on this look of vicious anger . . .” She looked at Aaron. “And with Aaron in a wheelchair, I just felt in danger. After he started doing other kinds of things, we made up our minds we were going to have to get rid of him.”
“What other kinds of things did he do?”
“Of course, he denied it, but I know he did them. He stole Aaron’s medicine. I couldn’t find it when he needed it, and I had to go out and get replacements. He loosened the wheel on his chair. He denied it, but one day Aaron was wheeling himself along, and the wheel came right off. He took a spill. Could have been serious. It got so I didn’t like leaving Aaron here alone with him. During the last week or so that he was with us, I’d lock our bedroom door at night.”
“I understand,” Joe said.
“Do you? We don’t,” Aaron said. “But we were happy when they came to take him away. I really thought he’d be going to some hospital for mentally ill kids.”
“But you know what he did when they came?” Blossom asked.
“Yes, I think I do,” Joe said.
“Oh, yeah, what?” Aaron said. He leaned forward in the wheelchair.
“He walked out of here like nothing was wrong with him and you people were the crazy ones.”
“That’s it,” Blossom said. She sat back. “But I didn’t care. At least we had gotten rid of him before something else happened. With someone as weird as that . . . you never know. I couldn’t sleep, and when he got into that wheelchair, he’d come up behind me so quietly . . .”
“Good riddance is what I said,” Aaron said.
“I’d like to do the same thing,” Joe replied.
“What’s stopping you?”
“My wife. She thinks he’s wonderful. She doesn’t see what a conniver he is, and how dangerous he could be. Do you think it might be possible for me to bring her around one day? I’ll call first, and you can tell her your experiences. Maybe then—”
“Sure,” Aaron said. “Be glad to.”
“They should have told you more about it,” Blossom said.
“Maybe they believed him,” Joe said. The Porters were silent. “Maybe he told them you didn’t know how to get out of the obligation once you had started, and he was too much for you. He’s very bright and can be very charming.”
“I know,” Aaron said. “As I said, in the beginning I really liked the kid. He was very helpful around the house. Fixed a few things and learned fast.”
“Aaron would spend time explaining this or that, and Jonathan would master it.”
“Like a garage door opener?” Joe said.
“He told you, huh?”
“He fixed mine.”
“How someone could be so wonderful at one time and then so weird at another . . .” Blossom mused, and shook her head. “Do you know I think he got to the point where he was even taking some of Aaron’s medicine when he stole it.”
“I believe it,” Joe said. He looked at the glass of cider and then finished it quickly. “Well, I thank you for being honest and willing to talk to me.”
“No problem,” Aaron said. “And bring your missus around if you want.”
“I will. I definitely will.” Joe stood up. “I gotta get back to work. Thanks again.” He started for the door. Blossom walked behind him, and Aaron wheeled himself to the living room entrance.
“One thing I came to believe after a while,” Blossom offered as Joe opened the door.
“What’s that?”
“He would do anything . . . anything to convince you he was who and what he thought he was. That was the weirdest part: He believed it himself!”
“I understand,” Joe said. He looked back at Aaron. “Thank you.”
“Get rid of him and fast,” Aaron called out as Joe left the house.
He got into his car quickly. Despite the fact that he had located what he now considered valuable allies in his battle to turn Martha against Jonathan, he couldn’t help feeling nervous. His hands were actually shaking, so he clutched the steering wheel tightly to steady them.
What had he and Martha done?
They were like flies inviting a spider into their nest.
Martha wanted a boy who resembled and reminded her of Solomon. And here they had unknowingly found a schizophrenic who fed off other identities, who, with the hunger of a vampire, sought another personality, sucked out all of its characteristics, and absorbed them smoothly into himself until for some people he became nearly indistinguishable. Adding insult to injury, Martha encouraged it; but she didn’t understand the dangers.
He cheered himself with the belief that he could now convince Martha of the dangers and the problems. She would understand, and they would send Jonathan away before it was too late. The Porters would help, and it would all come to an end. It would be like waking up before the nightmare really began.
Perhaps it was a premonition and not just a sense of déjà vu, but on the way home from work at the end of the day, Joe felt the same way he had felt that first day Jonathan had arrived and he was returning home. He was just as nervous, just as reluctant to make the turns and increase speed. He was not eager to get home quickly. He knew what awaited him and what he had to do. Conflicts with people had never been something he enjoyed.
If only this were a matter of fixing a part in a machine, he thought. But it wasn’t, and no delay, not matter what its length, would make it any easier. As soon as he drove into his driveway, he pressed the button on his garage door opener, watched it go up, and drove in. When he entered the house, he was surprised at how quiet it was. There were some delicious aromas coming from the kitchen. Martha had a roast in the oven. She was baking sweet potatoes, and she had made a chocolate cake. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“Hi, Joe,” she said when he stepped into the kitchen doorway.
“Where’s Jonathan?” he asked. He might as well get right to it, he thought.
“He’s over at Arthur Griff’s going over homework. He’s much, much better. He should be home any moment. Why don’t you go up and clean up for dinner? You look so f
unny. Your hair is a mess.”
He thought for a moment. This wasn’t the time to tell her about the Porters, and besides, he had an opportunity to do something else.
“You’re right,” he said. “Be right down.”
He went upstairs quickly and entered Jonathan’s room. The computer looked more threatening than ever. He couldn’t believe how something he dealt with nearly every day had suddenly become a terrifying thing. For a moment, he had the impression it would do something to prevent him from shutting the door to the dead. Perhaps it would electrify him the moment he touched it.
He approached it slowly and turned it on, watching anxiously as the monitor lit up. The screen glowed like a giant pupilless eye. He hesitated and then called for the menu. The commands at the bottom of the screen provided the courses of action. He entered the password and then, without hesitation, he ordered the computer to delete the files. As it was programmed to do, it asked him if deletion was indeed what he wanted. He tapped the Y key, and the files disappeared.
It was as if his son had been sucked back into his grave. Joe’s heart was beating so hard, he thought it would thump through his chest. He took a deep breath. The computer returned to what it always was. Perhaps it was a marvel of science, but every part of it was easily understood. For him, there was no more. Solomon could no longer reach Jonathan, and Jonathan no longer had a script to follow. Perhaps without it, he would fall back on his real personality.
In any case, Joe was happy he had taken the first step. The rest would follow easily, he thought. Martha would soon be made to understand the boy would go, and the nightmares would come to an end.
He heard the front door open and recognized Jonathan’s voice. Quickly he shut down the computer and left the room. He went to the bathroom and washed up and brushed his hair. He heard Jonathan go into his room and then go back downstairs. Not long afterward Martha sent Jonathan to call up to him.
“HEY,” Jonathan called from the bottom of the stairway. “HOW MUCH LONGER UNTIL YOU’RE COMING DOWN? I CAN’T TAKE THE TEMPTING ODORS.”
Joe heard Martha laugh.
“COMING.”
He walked down the stairs, pausing at Jonathan’s open doorway to contemplate the computer once again. It looked so innocuous to him now that he chastised himself for ever having those weird thoughts. How could the dead come to the living or the living go to the dead through such a mechanical thing? What was he thinking of—a high-tech séance? The idea made him smile.
Sure, he told himself as he walked on, you smile now but you should have seen yourself before you deleted those files. And what about those late nights when you awoke and heard the computer keyboard going? Maybe every night the resurrected spirit of Solomon sat there and tapped out new information, new commands, new madness, for Jonathan to follow. And Jonathan, schizophrenic and eager, followed it all . . . right down to the murder of that Pedersen boy.
Who would believe these things? he asked himself. Certainly not Martha and certainly not anyone on the outside. It was better to talk only about the concrete facts—what the Porters told him. Stick to that. It was his only hope for winning Martha over and getting her to see the truth.
Jonathan was already seated at the dinner table and eating his salad. He was wearing Solomon’s dark blue wool robe. For a moment, Joe was unable to speak. He looked so much like his dead son.
“Martha says you feel a lot better,” he said, taking his seat.
“Yeah. The pills help.” He looked up at Martha after he replied, and she smiled.
“Oh.”
“How was your day?”
“It was a typical day,” he said.
“Don’t be afraid to talk about your work, Joe,” Martha said.
“There’s nothing special to talk about. It was a typical day,” he repeated. He caught the look between her and Jonathan. It was almost as if they knew where he had gone. He decided he would concentrate on eating.
Martha and Jonathan excluded him from their conversation anyway. Neither directed any questions or comments at him. They talked about the food; they talked about Jonathan’s homework. They even talked about an afternoon soap opera Joe gathered they had watched together.
As soon as the dinner ended, Jonathan excused himself to go up and finish his homework.
“No sense falling behind just because I was sick one day,” he said. “Most kids use sickness as a crutch or a way to avoid responsibilities,” he added, and left. Martha smiled and shook her head after him.
“Solomon, almost word for word. Remember? He had the same viewpoint.”
“I remember, only I don’t think it’s such a coincidence,” Joe said.
“What do you mean?” Martha said. Joe saw the way the skin tightened at the sides of her eyes. Her shoulders came back as she straightened her posture defensively.
“Martha, I did more than just work today. I visited some people.”
“What people?”
“The Porters.”
“The Porters?” She blinked rapidly. “What Porters? We don’t know any Porters.”
“You know what Porters. The people who were Jonathan’s former foster parents.”
“Those people?” She grimaced. “You visited them? Whatever for?”
“I wanted to hear their side of it . . . why, for instance, Mrs. Porter felt she had to lock her bedroom door at night.”
“A neurotic. Jonathan’s told me all about them.”
“No, she’s not a neurotic. She had good reason to lock that door, Martha.”
“What are you saying? They made up things about Jonathan, and you believed them?” Her voice started to take on a shrill note. Joe bit his lower lip and looked down. He wanted to keep things calm and logical. It was the only way.
“I thought we should know all we can about the boy,” he said softly. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there, Martha?”
“We learned all we had to from Mrs. Posner at the agency.”
“They didn’t tell us everything. Perhaps they don’t know everything.”
“Oh, but the Porters do. I see.”
“Listen, listen,” he said. He reached across the table to take her hand, but she pulled away quickly. “All I’m asking is you have an open mind and listen. Will you do that?”
“Listen to what?”
“To what I have to tell you.”
“If it’s what they told you, I don’t want to hear it,” she said, and got up abruptly. She started to take the dishes to the sink.
“Martha, you’ve got to listen,” Joe said. She turned her back on him. “Martha. If you don’t listen, then I’ll have to go to the agency myself.”
She spun around.
“You wouldn’t dare. Why would you do that?”
“It has to be done. Things have to be clarified, and questions have to be answered.”
“What questions? What are you talking about? From where did you get these ideas?”
“Martha, I think Jonathan’s . . . unstable.”
“What?” She smiled widely. Then she threw her head back and laughed. “That boy is unstable? An A average ever since he entered the school. Making friends so fast it can spin your head. All kinds of girls after him . . . a help around the house, polite, eager, clean . . . he’s unstable?”
“Martha, you don’t understand. You’re blind to some things. You’ve got to—”
“I don’t want to hear anymore, Joe. And God help you if you go the agency and lead them to believe we are unhappy with Jonathan.”
“I won’t if you come with me to the Porters tomorrow and hear what they’ve got to say,” he said.
“I don’t need to talk to other people to know what kind of a boy Jonathan is, and I’m disappointed in you, Joe, that you went there. It’s a betrayal. You’ve betrayed both of us.”
“How have I betrayed us?”
“Not you and me,” she said. “Jonathan and me.”
He didn’t speak. He stared at her, his face reddening quickly
.
“You’re not seeing clearly anymore,” he whispered.
“I see very clearly. Actually, I’m disappointed at what you’ve done, but I’m not surprised. I should have expected it,” she added, and looked around the kitchen. She nodded as she did so. “I should have expected it,” she repeated, and returned to her dishes. He watched her work for a few minutes and then got up and walked out with his head lowered, his shoulders drawn up.
He went into the living room, but he didn’t turn on the television set, nor did he start to read any of his trade magazines. He simply sat in his chair thinking. Not long afterward Martha came by. She stopped in the doorway and looked in at him.
“You gave me a headache, you know that,” she said. “I was feeling so good, and you gave me a headache.”
“Martha, you’ve got to listen to me. You’ve got to come with me to the Porters.”
“I can’t believe you’re still saying that.”
“If you’d heard what they told me, you’d understand why.”
“Don’t talk to me,” she said. “Don’t talk to me until you apologize for what you’ve done.” She turned away.
“Martha.”
She didn’t answer. She went upstairs and left him alone. He didn’t feel like watching television, and he didn’t want to go up and argue with her in the bedroom. Instead he went out to the garage to straighten up some things and try to think of a solution.
He decided that maybe he would go to see Mrs. Posner at the agency and tell her everything. He would demand she have the boy examined psychiatrically, and that would bring it to an end. He had to do this now, even though it could create a great deal of animosity between him and Martha.
Buoyed by his decision to take a serious action regardless of the consequences, he went back into the house. He watched television until he got tired and then decided he would go to bed and do some reading. He expected Martha would either pretend to be asleep or simply sulk.
Before heading upstairs, however, he realized that he hadn’t closed the garage door and went back out to do it. Just as he hit the button that lowered the door, the garage light came on automatically as it always did, only this time something caught his eye.
Surrogate Child Page 26
