by John Saul
Bronski returned the grin, though he didn’t feel amused. “Maybe a little of both. But if the chief asks, tell him I’m working on the A&P thing, okay?”
“Sure.”
As he headed toward Lucy Corliss’s house, Bronski made a special point of driving down Brockton Street, past Charlie Hyer’s A&P. And just as he passed it, he noted with a certain amount of pleasure, it turned four o’clock.
He was off duty.
Chapter 20
JASON MONTGOMERY WRIGGLED uncomfortably in his chair and began counting the raisins in his cereal. Usually it was no more than a game. First he’d try to guess the number, then see if he was right. But this morning it was more: He was concentrating on his cereal in a vain attempt to shut out the sound of his parents’ voices.
It seemed to Jason as if the fighting was getting worse. Last week, when he had first become aware that his mother and father were mad at each other, they’d at least waited until he’d gone to bed before they started arguing.
This morning they didn’t even seem to know he was there. It was as if he were invisible. He looked up at his parents, who were sitting at either end of the dining-room table. Neither of them seemed aware of him. They were staring at each other, his mother’s face stony and his father’s red with anger.
“All I want you to do is go see Wiseman this afternoon,” he heard his father say. “Is that going to be so horrible? For God’s sake, he’s been your doctor for years. How can it hurt to go see him?”
“I already saw him,” Sally replied. “And I don’t trust him anymore.”
“But you do trust a woman you hardly know who’s not exactly in good shape herself?”
Sally’s eyes narrowed as she glared down the length of the table. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”
Steve sighed. Even though it was only 7:30, he already felt exhausted. “It just means that maybe Lucy Corliss could use some counseling herself.”
“How would you know?” Sally flared, the pitch of her voice rising dangerously. “You’ve never even talked to Lucy! How could you know what her mental condition is? Sometimes you talk like a damned fool!”
Putting down his spoon, Jason slid off his chair and left the dining room. But as he went upstairs to get his schoolbooks, his parents’ voices drifted after him, fighting about things he didn’t understand.
Was something wrong with Randy’s mother?
And why did his father want his mother to talk to Dr. Wiseman. Was something wrong with her?
He gathered up his books, stuffed them into his green bookbag, then went back downstairs. He looked through the living room into the dining room, and though he couldn’t see his father, he could see the tears on his mother’s cheeks.
Should he go in and kiss her good-bye? But if he did, and she didn’t stop crying, he’d probably start crying himself.
He hated to cry.
Silently, speaking to neither his father nor his mother, Jason slipped out the front door into the warmth of the spring morning. The sounds of his parents’ fight faded away as he started along the sidewalk toward school.
Half a block ahead, he saw Joey Connors. Even though he and Joey had never been best friends, Jason decided to catch up with him. He broke into a trot, and in a few seconds was right behind the other boy.
“Hi,” he said, falling into step with Joey.
Joey looked at him, made a face, and said nothing.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. What do you want?”
Jason shrugged. “Nothing.” What was wrong with Joey? Was he mad too? The two boys walked along in silence for a few minutes, then Joey spoke again.
“Why don’t you walk by yourself?”
“Why should I?” Jason demanded. He hadn’t done anything to Joey. Besides, what was he supposed to do, just stand there while Joey walked ahead of him? What if someone was watching? He’d look stupid.
“My mom doesn’t want me to hang around with you,” Joey replied, facing Jason for the first time.
Now Jason stopped, and Joey did too.
“Why not? What did I ever do to you?”
Joey, stared at the sidewalk. “My mom says there’s something wrong with your mom, and I shouldn’t hang around with you.”
Anger welled up in Jason. “You take that back.”
“Why should I? Ever since your sister died, your mom’s been acting funny, and besides, my mom says something must have happened to your sister.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” But even as he asked the question, Jason wondered if Joey’s mother knew what he’d done to Julie that night “She just died.”
“Bull!” Joey grinned maliciously. “I bet you did something to her. I bet you and Randy Corliss did something to her, and that’s why he ran away.”
Suddenly all the tension and confusion that had been churning in Jason fused together. His right hand clenched into a fist, and almost before he realized what he was doing, he swung at Joey.
Joey, too surprised to duck, stood gaping while Jason’s fist crashed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, then hurled himself on Jason. Jason buckled under Joey’s weight, falling to the ground with the other boy on top of him. He struggled under Joey, ignoring the fists that were punching at his sides, but when Joey began beating him in the face, he screamed, and heaved himself over, rolling Joey under him. He sat astride Joey, returning the pounding he had just taken, while Joey thrashed on the ground, kicking out and flailing at Jason with his fists.
Suddenly Jason heard sounds, and looked up to see two other children running toward them. Joey used the distraction to wriggle free, but he was bleeding from the mouth, and his left eye was already swelling. He was crying, partly from pain and partly from anger, and as Jason lay on the ground, Joey began kicking at him. Jason grabbed at Joey’s foot, caught it, and jerked the other boy off balance.
Again, they became a tangle of churning arms and legs, but suddenly Joey, realizing he was getting the worst of it despite his larger size, sank his teeth into Jason’s arm.
Jason screamed at the sudden pain, jerked free, and stood up. “You chickenshit!” he yelled. “You bit me!” Then he leaped onto Joey and held a threatening fist over the bigger boy’s face. “Give up,” he said. “Give up or I’ll bust your nose.”
Joey stared up at him, his eyes wide as he watched the fist. His arms were pinned to his sides by Jason’s legs, and he realized that if he tried to move, Jason’s fist would crash down into his face.
“I give,” he said. Jason hesitated, then climbed off Joey. He waited while Joey got to his feet, then took a step toward the other boy.
Joey hesitated, tears streaming down his face. “I’m gonna tell,” he yelled. “I’m gonna tell my mother, and you’re gonna be in trouble.” Then he turned and began running back down the street toward his house.
Jason watched him go, then faced the other children who were watching him uneasily. Jason sensed that they, too, had heard things about him.
“Whatcha gonna do?” someone asked.
Jason glared at his questioner. “Well, I’m not gonna run home to Momma like some people,” he said. Turning his back on the others, he started down the street. No one tried to follow him.
He walked another block, then stopped, wondering if maybe he should go home after all. His clothes were torn and covered with grass stains, and his face was bloody.
But what if his parents were still fighting? Wouldn’t they get mad at him too?
He stood indecisively for a minute, then made up his mind.
He wouldn’t go home, but he wouldn’t go to school either.
Instead, he’d play hookey for the day, and go off by himself.
At least if he was by himself, no one would be mad at him.…
“You’ve decided I’m crazy, haven’t you?” Sally’s voice reflected the fear that lay like a caged beast within her. As she spoke, she could feel the beast begin to stir, begin to wake into pania �
�The two of you have decided I’m crazy.”
“Sally, it’s not that at all. We just think you’ve had too many problems bearing down on you, and you need someone to talk to. It won’t even be Wiseman. He said himself that he’s not qualified, but he thinks he can find someone who can help you.”
“Someone who can help me to do what? Help me find out what happened to Julie, or help me try to pretend that nothing happened to her at all?”
Before Steve could answer, there was a loud knock at the back door. Steve threw down his napkin, disappeared into the kitchen, and was back a moment later, followed by a furious Kay Connors clutching her son by her hand. When Sally saw Joey’s bruised and swollen face, and the bloodstains on Ins clothes, she gasped.
“Joey, what hap—”
“Your son happened,” Kay interrupted, her eyes blazing with indignation. “Look at him. One eye’s black, his cheek is cut, he’s bruised all over his body, and his knee is bleeding.”
Sally dabbed at her own eyes with her napkin. What was Kay talking about? What did Jason have to do with all this? “But Jason’s here,” she said. “He hasn’t left for school yet.” She glanced around, sure that Jason would be standing in the door to the living room.
He wasn’t.
Her gaze shifted uncertainly to Steve. “Isn’t he here? He must be. He didn’t say good-bye.”
“He must be upstairs.” Steve crossed the living room and went into the foyer to stand at the foot of the stairs. “Jason? Jason!”
Upstairs, the house was silent.
“If he’s there, he’s in the bathroom cleaning himself up,” Kay Connors said angrily.
“Kay, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sally protested.
“I’m talking about Jason. He picked a fight with Joey, and then proceeded to do this to him.”
Steve came back into the dining room, looking puzzled. “He’s not here. I checked his room, and his books are gone. He must have left without saying goodbye.”
Sally sat quietly for a moment, digesting what her husband had said. It made a sad kind of sense, really. Why would Jason say good-bye that morning? Neither of them had really spoken to him. They’d been too involved in their own struggle.
And what must he have thought of that? She tried to remember him sitting at the table, listening to them. Had she even seen him?
Not really.
Vaguely, she remembered him leaving the table, but that was all. What must he have been feeling, watching her cry, watching his father’s angry face, hearing the bitter words that had flowed so freely. Of course he hadn’t said good-bye. He must have wanted nothing more than to be out of the house, away from the anger. Sally tried to speak, but her throat constricted, and as her tears began to flow once more she clutched the damp napkin to her mouth and hurried from the room. Steve watched her go, then turned to face Kay Connors.
“What happened, Kay?”
Kay’s fury had been dissipated by Sally’s tears. She drew Joey closer. “I don’t know, really,” she admitted. “Joey left for school, and about ten minutes later he was back. He said Jason picked a fight with him.”
“But you’re a lot bigger than Jason,” Steve said to Joey.
“He hit me first,” Joey replied sullenly.
“But why did he hit you?”
Joey’s gaze shifted guiltily away from Steve. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Joey. There must have been a reason. I can’t believe Jason just walked up to you and hit you.”
“Well, that’s what he did. I was just walking along, and Jason came up behind me and yelled at me. When I turned around, he slugged me.”
“Had they had a fight before?” Steve asked Kay.
“I don’t see how they could have,” Kay said. “I—well, I’ve tried to keep Joey away from Jason. First there was that Corliss boy—”
“Randy?”
“Randy, yes. He’s always been troublesome. And then the last week or so—well, I know Sally’s been … upset, and it just seemed to me that Joey should stay away.”
“I see,” Steve said softly. He could see in Kay’s eyes the discomfort she was feeling, and wondered just what she’d said to Joey, and what Joey might have said to Jason. But the long hesitation before she’d said the word upset told him all he needed to know. “I’ll talk to Jason about this, Kay, and try to find out what happened. And if what Joey says turns out to be true, I can assure you that Jason will be punished.”
“He’s already been punished,” Joey said. “I bet he’s got two black eyes, and I bit him.”
Kay Connors stared down at her son. “You what?”
“I bit him,” Joey said. “He was on top of me, hitting me in the face, so I grabbed his arm and bit it. It was bleeding.”
“Oh, God, Joey,” Kay groaned. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“You didn’t ask.”
Feeling suddenly foolish, Kay wondered what to say. But when she looked at Steve Montgomery, there was a trace of a smile playing around his lips. “Maybe I overreacted a bit,” she said.
“And maybe the fight wasn’t quite as one-sided as we thought.”
Kay nodded. “And maybe someday I’ll learn to understand little boys.” She took Joey by the hand. “As for you, young man, the next time you get into a fight, don’t come crying to me unless the boy was twice your age and four times your size. Now let’s get you cleaned up and off to school.”
“Aw, Mom, do I have to?”
“Yes, you do. You’re going to be late, but that’s going to have to be your problem too. The next time you think about fighting, maybe you’ll think twice.”
Their voices were suddenly cut off as Kay pulled the back door closed behind her. Steve sank back into his chair and poured himself another cup of coffee. But instead of drinking it, he left it sitting on the table while he went upstairs to Sally.
He found her lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She made no move when he came into the room, nor did she speak to him. He crossed to the bed, sat gingerly on its edge, and took her hand.
“Sally?”
Her eyes, large and pleading, suddenly met his, and what he saw frightened him. There was terror there, and confusion, but most of all, sadness.
“What’s happening to us?” she asked in a whisper. “Oh, God, Steve, I’m so frightened. Everything’s closing in, and I have the most awful feeling.”
Steve gathered her up and cradled her against himself. “It’s all right, honey,” he crooned. “You’ll see, everything’s going to be all right. Well go see Dr. Wiseman together and see what he has to say. You’re just worn out. Don’t you see? There’s nothing wrong except that you’re worn out from worrying. You can’t do this to yourself, Sally. You have to let go of it.”
Sally was too exhausted, and too frightened, to argue further, but even as she agreed to see Arthur Wiseman that afternoon, she made up her mind that no matter what happened, she would remain calm and rational.
After all, she reminded herself, I’m not irrational, I’m not paranoid. I am not insane.
She would give Wiseman no reason to suspect otherwise.
Mark Malone was sipping on his coffee and leafing through a copy of the AMA journal when the intercom on his desk suddenly came to life.
“Dr. Malone, this is Suzy. In the emergency room?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve got a patient coming in, and since it’s one of yours, I thought you might want to handle it.”
“Who?”
“Tony Phelps.”
Tony Phelps was two years old and one of Malone’s favorite patients, since all he ever had to do for the boy was agree with his mother’s assessment that he was certainly “the world’s most perfect child.” And even privately, Malone wasn’t sure the assessment wasn’t too far off the mark.
“Tony? What’s happened to him?”
“I’m not sure,” Suzy replied. “Mrs. Phelps wasn’t really too coherent. You know how she is about Ton
y—it was all she could do to tell me who she was. She was crying, and all she said was ‘my baby … my baby …’ I sent an ambulance. They should be back in about ten minutes.”
“Okay.” Malone shoved the magazine to one side, and switched on his CRT. When the screen began to glow, he quickly entered his access codes, then tapped out the instructions that would retrieve Tony Phelps’s medical records from the computer’s memory banks. Except for the usual vaccinations and inoculations, Tony’s chart was unremarkable except in its brevity. Malone unconsciously nodded an acknowledgment to the machine, and was about to turn it off again when he noticed the small notation on the chart that identified Tony Phelps as another of the children being studied by CHILD. Malone’s brows arched slightly.
Then he heard the faint wailing of a siren in the distance. He shut off the console and started toward the emergency room.
Three minutes later, two paramedics burst into the emergency room. One of them carried a screaming child; the other followed, supporting a trembling Arla Phelps. Her face was pale and tear-streaked, but she seemed calmer than she had been when she’d called a few minutes earlier. She glanced around the room, recognized Malone, and hurried over to him.
“Dr. Malone, he drank some Lysol. I don’t know how it happened. I was only out of the kitchen a minute, and when I came back—”
But Mark Malone was already gone, following the medics into a treatment room, snapping out orders to the nurse. Aria Phelps, left suddenly alone, sank onto a sagging plastic-covered sofa, and shakily lit a cigarette.
In the treatment room one of the medics restrained Tony Phelps, who had by now stopped screaming but was doing his best to struggle out of the strong hands that held him. Malone began the unpleasant task of forcing a Levin tube through the child’s nose, down his throat, and into his stomach. A moment later, the lavage began.
“Will he be all right?” the nurse asked.
“I don’t know,” Malone replied, his voice grim. “It depends on how much he drank, how strong it was, and how long ago it happened.”
Tony began vomiting, and the nurse tried futilely to catch the orangish mess in a bowl. Malone ignored the fact that most of it wound up on his coat.
