by John Saul
“Thank you,” June murmured. Cal made no response at all.
They were waiting when he got back, June sitting nervously in the chair Michelle had occupied a few minutes earlier, Cal standing at the window, his back stiff. Even though his back was to him, Tim could sense Cal glaring. He sat down in his chair and fingered Michelle’s file.
“What happened?” June asked.
“We had quite a conversation.”
“And do you agree with my wife? Do you think Michelle’s crazy?”
“Cal, I never said that,” June protested.
“But it’s what you think.” He faced Tim. “My wife thinks both Michelle and I are crazy.”
The expression on June’s face, a combination of exasperation and pity, told Tim everything he needed to know.
“Mr. Hartwick—” June began. Then she floundered.
Tim came to her rescue. “Why don’t you call me Tim? It makes things easier. Dr. Pendleton? Can I offer you a chair?”
“I’ll stand,” Cal said stiffly, maintaining his position at the window. June shrugged, her face lifted to his, and Tim understood the gesture immediately. He decided, for the moment, not to press Cal.
“We talked about this friend of hers—Amanda,” he told June.
“And?”
“Well, as far as I can tell, she seems to think Amanda is real. Not necessarily physically real, but definitely a person other than herself. A person who exists independently of her.”
“Is that—is that normal?”
“In a small child, say a three-year-old, it’s not that unusual.”
“I see …” June said. “But not for Michelle. Am I right?”
“It may not be all that serious,” Tim began, but Cal had turned away from the window and interrupted him.
“It isn’t serious at all!” he said sharply. “All she’s done is dream up a friend to get her through a rough time. Frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
“I wish I could agree with you, Dr. Pendleton,” Tim said quietly. “But I’m afraid I can’t. Your daughter is in the midst of some very serious problems, and unless you’re willing to face them, I don’t really see how you can help her.”
“Problems” June repeated. “You said problems. You mean more than her adjusting to her—her condition?”
Tim nodded. “I’m not even sure her leg is the main problem. In fact, I’m almost sure it’s not. It’s her sister.”
“Jenny?” Cal asked.
“Oh, God, I was afraid of that,” June moaned. She turned on Cal. “I told you. I’ve been telling you for weeks, but you wouldn’t believe me!”
“Dr. Pendleton, Michelle doesn’t think you love her anymore. She thinks that, because she’s adopted, you stopped loving her when you had a baby of your own.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Cal said.
“Is it?” June asked, her voice hollow. “Is it really?”
“It seems her friend Amanda told her so,” Tim said.
June stared at him blankly. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Tim leaned back in his chair. “Well, it’s not really all that difficult to put together. Michelle is having some thoughts and feelings right now that are totally foreign to her. She doesn’t like them. In fact, they’re tearing her apart. So she’s invented Amanda. Amanda, essentially, is the dark side of Michelle’s personality, and Michelle simply transfers all her—how shall I say it? Uglier? I guess that’s a good enough word—she transfers all her uglier thoughts and impulses—the ones she can’t even bear to take responsibility for—onto Amanda.”
“Isn’t that what they call projecting?” Cal asked, his voice filled with a hostility that Tim chose to ignore.
“As a matter of fact, yes, it is. Except that this is a particularly extreme form. The term projecting usually implies the projection of one’s own problems onto someone else, but the someone else is usually quite real, A good example would be the faithless husband who constantly feels that his wife is cheating on him.”
“I’m aware of the definition,” Cal said.
Tim decided he’d had enough. “Dr. Pendleton, I get the feeling you’d rather not be hearing any of this. Am I right?”
“I’m here because my wife demanded it of me. But I think we’re wasting our time.”
“Maybe we are,” Tim agreed. He folded his hands placidly and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.
“You see?” Cal asked June. “Even he says we may be wasting our time. If you want to go on with this, you’ll have to do it alone. I’ve heard enough.” He started toward the door, then turned back. “Are you coming?”
June met his gaze, and when she spoke, her voice was calm. “No, Cal, I’m not. I can’t make you listen, but I’m going to. If you want, you can wait for me. Otherwise, you can take Michelle, and I can walk home.”
Tim, who had been watching Cal carefully, was sure he saw Cal flinch slightly at the mention of Michelle, but he said nothing, waiting to see what Cal would do.
“I’ll wait,” Cal said. He left the office, closing the door behind him. When he was gone, June turned back to Tim.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “He—well, he just can’t seem to face any of this. It’s been terrible.”
Tim was silent for a moment, allowing her her anguish. Then he said, very softly, “I think I can help Michelle. She’s under a lot of pressure—her physical condition, for one thing. It isn’t easy for a child suddenly to become a cripple. On top of that, there’s the whole thing with Jennifer. And, of course, the whipped cream on the cake is her father’s attitude. All together, it’s putting Michelle under a lot of pressure, and things are coming loose.”
“Then I was right,” June breathed. It was as if a weight was being lifted from her shoulders. “Why does that make me feel so much better?”
“It’s always better,” Tim assured her, “to understand a problem. It’s when you don’t know what’s going on that you feel completely lost. And at least, with Michelle, we know what’s going on.”
Michelle sat in the teachers’ lounge for a few minutes, sipping at her Coke. She liked Mr. Hartwick—he listened to her, and believed her when she told him about Amanda. He didn’t tell her Amanda was a ghost, or not real, or anything like that. Idly, she wondered what he was telling her parents. Not that it would make any difference. No matter what he said to them, they wouldn’t love her anymore.
She wandered out of the teachers’ lounge and onto the back stairs of the school. Billy Evans was sitting on a swing, kicking at the ground, trying to get the swing going. He was all alone, and when he saw Michelle, he waved to her, beckoning to her. She threw away the empty Coke cup and started down the stairs, leaning heavily on her cane.
“Hi,” Billy said. “Will you push me?”
“Okay.”
She began pushing him. He laughed happily and began begging her to push him harder.
“It’s too high,” Michelle said. “You shouldn’t even be on these swings. You should be on the little ones.”
“I’m big enough,” Billy replied. “I can even walk the backstop.”
Michelle glanced out to the baseball diamond, where a makeshift backstop had been constructed from two-by-fours and some wire mesh. It stood about eight feet tall and was some twenty feet long. Michelle had seen some of the older boys, the boys her age, scrambling up it, then walking its length. But the younger boys, the boys Billy’s age, never dared.
“I never saw you,” Michelle said.
“You never looked. Let the swing die down, and I’ll show you.”
Michelle stopped pushing, and Billy let the swing go through its arc once. Then, as it reached its forward peak, he jumped off, landing on his feet and running out toward the baseball field.
“Come on!” he called over his shoulder. Michelle started after him, moving as fast as she could, but by the time she reached him, he was already scrambling up the wire.
“Be careful,” she warned him.
�
��It’s easy,” Billy scoffed. He reached the top and straddled the two-by-four, grinning down at her.
“Come on up,” he said.
“I can’t,” Michelle said. “You know that.”
Billy pulled one foot up, then the other. Slowly, balancing himself with his hands, he managed a crouching position. Then, wobbling all the way, he rose carefully until he was standing upright, his arms held straight out.
“See?”
Michelle could see him swaying. She was sure he was going to fall.
“Billy, you come down from there. You’ll fall and hurt yourself, and I won’t be able to help you.”
“I won’t fall! Watch me!”
He took a tentative step, nearly lost his footing, then regained his balance and took another.
“Please, Billy?” Michelle pleaded.
Billy was moving steadily away from her, inching carefully along the two-by-four, his balance improving with each step.
“I won’t fall,” he insisted. Then, realizing that Michelle was about to insist that he come down, he decided to tease her. “You’re just mad, because you can’t do it. If you weren’t a cripple, you could. But you are, so you can’t!”
And he began to laugh.
Michelle stared at him for a second, his laughter echoing in her ears.
He sounded like Susan Peterson, and all the rest of them.
The fog started closing around her, the cold mists that she knew would bring Amanda with them. Billy Evans, his face grinning at her, faded from her vision, but his voice, still laughing, cut through the fog like a knife.
And then Amanda was there, standing behind her, whispering to her.
“Don’t let him do that, Michelle,” Mandy said softly. “He’s laughing at you. Don’t let him laugh at you. Don’t ever let any of them laugh at you again.”
Michelle hesitated. Once more, she heard Billy’s mocking laugh, and his taunt.
“You could do it! If you weren’t crippled!”
“Make him stop!” Mandy hissed in her ear.
“I don’t know how,” Michelle wailed. She looked around desperately, searching for Amanda.
“I’ll show you,” Mandy whispered. “Let me show you …”
The laughter, the mocking laughter, suddenly stopped, and was replaced by a scream of terror.
Billy tried to jump, but it was too late—beneath his feet, the backstop was moving.
He lost his balance, tried to regain it, failed. Then his arms were flailing in the air. He was falling.
A second later there was a silence in the schoolyard, a silence broken for Michelle only by the sound of Amanda’s voice.
“You see? See how easy it is? Now you can make them all stop laughing …”
Her voice trailed off, and she was gone. The fog began to disperse. Michelle waited for a moment, waited for it all to be gone, then she looked.
Billy Evans, his head twisted around so that his empty eyes were staring at her, lay on the ground a few feet away.
Michelle knew he would never laugh at her again.
CHAPTER 23
Michelle stared at Billy Evans’s tiny body, lying still on the ground, his face pale and lifeless. Tentatively, reluctantly, she took a step toward him.
“Billy?” Her voice was unsteady, questioning. “Billy? Are you all right?”
But even as she asked the question, she knew he was dead. She took one more step toward him, then changed her mind.
Help. She had to get help.
She braced herself against the backstop and leaned carefully over to pick up her cane. Then, after one more quick look at Billy, she started toward the school building. There was no one left in the yard—no one to come to her aid, no one to do something for Billy Evans.
No one to tell her what had happened.
For Michelle could not remember.
She could remember Billy climbing up the mesh, balancing himself on top.
She could remember him starting to walk, and she could remember telling him to be careful.
And he had laughed.
Then the fog had closed in on her, and Amanda had come.
But then what happened? Her mind was blank.
She started up the back steps of the school.
“Help!” she called. “Oh, please, can’t anyone hear me?”
She was very close to the top when she saw the door open, and her father appeared.
“Michelle? What’s happened? Are you all right?”
“It’s Billy!” Michelle cried. “Billy Evans! He fell, Daddy! He was trying to walk the backstop, and he fell!”
“Oh, my God.” The words were barely audible, strangling in his throat. The visions came back to him, children’s faces flashing in his mind, their eyes accusing him. He began to feel dizzy, but forced himself to look at the playground. Even from here he could see the little boy, motionless, lying in a crumpled heap next to the backstop.
By then, Michelle had reached the top of the steps, and was holding on to him, clinging to him, her eyes brimming with tears.
“He fell, Daddy. I think—I think he’s dead.”
He had to think. He had to act. But it was nearly impossible. “Come inside,” he mumbled. “Come inside, and your mother will take care of you.” He disentangled himself from Michelle and led her inside to the office, where June and Tim Hartwick were still talking. Both of them looked at him in surprise, then, by the expression on his face, knew that something was wrong.
“Call an ambulance,” he said. “There’s been an accident. A little boy fell off the backstop. I—I’ve got to take care of him.” His voice faded. “I’ve got to.…” He turned and shambled out of the office.
As Tim picked up the phone and began dialing, Michelle suddenly spoke.
“Mom?” Her voice sounded dazed, and June took her in her arms.
“It’s all right, honey,” June whispered to her. “Daddy’s taking care of it, and an ambulance will be here soon. What happened?”
Michelle buried her face against her mother and sobbed uncontrollably. As June listened to Tim talking on the phone, she tried to soothe her daughter. Slowly, Michelle regained herself.
Tim Hartwick hung up the phone as Michelle started to recite the tale. He listened intently, observing Michelle as she talked, trying to read the truth of her words in her face. When she was done, June took her once more in her arms.
“How terrible,” she said softly. “But don’t worry—he’ll probably be fine.”
“No, he won’t,” Michelle said hollowly. “He’s dead. I know he’s dead.”
It was like a recurring nightmare.
Cal crossed the schoolyard in a daze, as though his feet were dragging him back, even as he tried to run. The seconds it took him to reach Billy Evans seemed like hours, and his mind was flooded with the sure foreknowledge of what he would find.
He reached Billy at last and knelt by the boy’s limp body. He glanced at Billy’s face, noted the broken neck, then automatically took the child’s wrist between his fingers.
There was a pulse.
Cal thought he was imagining it at first, but a moment later he knew: Billy Evans was still alive.
Why can’t he be dead? Cal silently asked. Why does he have to depend on me?
He leaned over Billy reluctantly, forcing himself to examine him.
He was going to have to move the boy.
He hesitated. Only a few weeks earlier he had gathered up his own child. Now she was crippled. Panic rose in him, and for a split second he felt paralyzed. Then, slowly, his mind began to reason.
When the ambulance arrived, the attendants would move Billy. Perhaps he should wait.
But he was a doctor. He had to do something.
Besides, if he didn’t, he was sure that Billy would be dead by the time the ambulance arrived—he could see the constriction in the boy’s neck, see him slowly strangling. If Billy was to survive, Cal had to straighten out his neck.
He began to move Billy’s head.
As the flow of air passed more freely into his lungs, Billy’s complexion began to change. The blueness faded. Then, as Cal watched, the child began to breathe more easily.
Cal began to let himself relax.
Billy Evans was going to live.
In the distance, the wail of the ambulance started up. To Cal, the sound was a symphony of hope.
As the sound of the ambulance grew louder, June stood up and went to the window. From where she stood, she could see nothing—only one corner of the backstop, ominously visible, the rest of it blocked from her view by the building.
“I can’t stand it,” she said. Tim, go see what’s happening. Please?”
Tim Hartwick nodded. He started out of the office, then paused at the door.
“I told Mrs. Evans to come here. You’re sure you don’t want me to wait with you?” He glanced pointedly at Michelle, who was sitting on a straight-backed chair, her gaze fixed in midair, her face frozen in an expression of shock.
“If she gets here before you get back, I’ll handle it,” June insisted. “Just find out—find out if he’s alive.”
Half an hour later, only Michelle, June, and Tim were left at the school. The ambulance, with Billy and Cal in the rear, had departed for the clinic, and Billy’s mother had followed, insisting she could drive herself once she was assured that her son was still alive. The small crowd that had gathered in the schoolyard had quickly dispersed, the people leaving in small groups, whispering among themselves, and occasionally glancing back toward the school, where they knew Michelle Pendleton was still sitting in Tim Hartwick’s office.
Tim signaled June to join him in the hall for a moment. When they were alone, he told her that he would like to talk to Michelle.
“So soon?” June asked. “But—she’s too upset!”
“We have to find out what happened. I think if I talk to her now, before she’s had much of a chance to really think about it, I’ll get the closest thing to the truth.”
June’s maternal instincts leaped to her daughter’s defense. “You mean before she’s had a chance to make up a story?”
“That’s not what I said, and it’s not what I meant,” Tim said quickly. “I want to talk to her before her mind has had a chance to make whatever happened seem logical to her. And I want to find out why she was so sure Billy was dead.”
