Child’s Play 2

by Matthew J. Costello

  He finally stopped hacking and stood watching her. “Then why do you do it?”

  She went back to the clothesline, grabbing another shirt, a silky item, out of the sink. “Grown-ups are allowed to do things that are bad for them.” She puffed on her cigarette, but it didn’t taste all that great anymore. Not with Andy watching.

  “But you’re not a grown-up.”

  She stared at him. “You know, you’re really starting to get on my nerves, Andy. Really . . . now the way you hang the clothes is like—”

  She heard a sound. The door opening upstairs. Joanne or Big Phil. Coming down to inspect the prisoners.

  She flicked the half-done cigarette into the sink, with her shirts and the gray, soapy water.

  The door opened farther. She heard Joanne’s voice. Kyle waved at the air, trying to fan away the smoke. Andy saw what she was doing and then helped, his arms windmilling. Kyle gave him a smile. Maybe he’s not such a bad runt after all.

  She heard Joanne’s voice closer, at the top of the stairs, and then the door shut again. She must have picked up something from one of the shelves that were on the way down to the cellar.

  “Thanks,” Kyle said.

  Andy came closer. She saw him look up the stairs. “Mr. Simpson . . . Phil is kind of grouchy, isn’t he?”

  “Grouchy? I don’t know. I’ve had worse foster parents. Much worse. I could tell you some horror stories . . . Hey, and you’d be grouchy too if you sold insurance five days a week.”

  “What’s insurance?”

  Kyle shrugged. “You pay money, you see, so if something bad happens to you, someone else gets a lot of money.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  Kyle stepped back from the clothesline.

  “Beats me, kid. But he’s not so bad. Believe me. There are some foster parents who would kill you for just looking cross-eyed at them.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I mean, they figure that you’re not really theirs. You’re just passing through. And the minute you screw up, they let you have it.” She leaned closer to Andy. “And I’ve gotten it real bad from some foster parents. That’s why I’m getting out of here. That’s why I’m saving money.”

  Andy nodded. And she saw that he was scared, standing in the dull light of the cellar, listening to the muffled voices of Joanne and Phil.

  “Hey, why don’t you go on up. Go outside and play. I’ll finish up this stuff.”

  Andy smiled. He was a cute kid. If only he weren’t a liar.

  But then, she thought, maybe he’s telling the truth.

  And if he was telling the truth, how the hell did the statue fall?

  She patted Andy’s shoulder. “Go ahead. Before the spiders start jumping off the ceiling at you.”

  Andy quickly looked around the gloomy basement and Kyle laughed. “Go ahead . . .”

  Andy turned and went upstairs . . .

  Maybe Kyle isn’t so bad, Andy thought, walking up the stairs. Maybe we could even be friends, he thought as he neared the door leading to the kitchen.

  But as he got closer he heard Phil and Joanne talking in the kitchen. Talking about him.

  He stopped, just a few steps from the door, and listened.

  “How late were you up with him?”

  It was Phil. He was talking loudly. As if he doesn’t care if I hear, Andy thought.

  “I’m fine,” Joanne said. Her voice was quiet.

  Then Phil, even louder, said, “No, you’re not. You’re exhausted.”

  Andy knew what that meant. Mom used that word when she came home from work. “I’m exhausted, Andy. I was on my feet all day and I’m . . .”

  “Having second thoughts?” Joanne said. But Andy was having a hard time hearing her. He looked down to see if Kyle noticed him stopped on the stairs, listening. But she was at the clothesline. He took another step closer to the door.

  “Well, hell . . . After last night you have to admit that he’s one very troubled little boy. He might be more than we can handle.”

  Andy licked his lips. He thought of the center again, the kids with their bruises, the crying, the sound of heavy shoes moving in the hallway at night.

  “He obviously hasn’t come to terms with this doll thing. That’s for sure.”

  It’s the doll again, thought Andy. It’s the Good Guy doll. It’s not Chucky this time, but still it’s getting me in trouble.

  Chucky’s gone. Destroyed.

  Burned like a piece of bacon.

  But this new doll . . .

  Just a doll, that’s all.

  Tommy.

  He’s getting me in trouble, Andy thought, because I’m scared of him.

  Phil’s voice got low, and Andy could imagine Joanne’s face looking sad. She likes me, he thought. Maybe she’s my friend too.

  “All I’m saying is . . . he may need more attention than we can give him. Professional attention. It’s more than we can handle.”

  Andy felt frozen on the steps. He couldn’t just walk into the kitchen now, smile at them, go outside and play on the swing.

  And he couldn’t go back downstairs.

  “Look,” he heard Joanne say. “He’s been through hell, Phil. Just think about what he’s seen. Can’t we just give him some time? I know he’ll settle down. It’s a new house, and new people. Tomorrow there’s school. He’ll be busy and . . .”

  Andy waited. Holding his breath.

  “Besides, I like him.”

  And then there was silence. Maybe they were holding hands. Maybe they were even kissing.

  Andy let his breath out.

  “I like him,” she had said. “I like him.”

  And Andy turned the doorknob and went into the kitchen.

  13

  Andy opened the basement door quickly, trying to act as if he had just hurried up the stairs.

  Joanne and Phil both turned and smiled at him.

  And Andy smiled back.

  “All done, champ?” Phil asked.

  Andy nodded. “Kyle, er, she’s just finishing a few of her shirts.”

  Joanne stood up, pulling her robe tight. “Well then, you can go outside and play.”

  Andy nodded. He forced a big smile and said, “I thought I’d play with Tommy, the Good Guy doll. I’ll take him on the swing.”

  He saw Phil’s smile broaden even more.

  “Good idea!” Joanne said.

  Andy moved past them, out to the foyer, and on into the living room.

  Now the room was drenched in sunlight, the morning light bouncing off the polished wood, reflecting from all the other statues.

  He went right to the chair to get Tommy.

  But the doll wasn’t there.

  He stopped, frozen in his tracks. He thought of backing away, just running outside by himself.

  The doll wasn’t there.

  But they would wonder why he had changed his mind. Phil would wonder. Andy licked his lips and looked around the room. Finally he saw the doll sitting on the floor by the TV. He walked over to it slowly. Someone must have moved it. Maybe Joanne, maybe Kyle. Someone.

  Still, an idea haunted him: Chucky moved. Sure. Chucky could get around and do stuff. Lots of stuff. Chucky could talk and run and . . .

  Kill.

  So why not this doll?

  He walked up to it slowly. The wood floor creaked under the carpet with each step he took. He was in front of the doll. He knelt down. Close to it. And he whispered, “I hate you.”

  The doll blinked. Its head swiveled, zeroing in right on Andy’s face. “Hi!” it sung out. “I’m . . .”

  The next word didn’t come right out. It hung there, inside the doll. Just for a second. Then:

  “. . . Tommy, and I’m your friend to the end. Hidey-ho, ha-ha-ha!”

  Andy took a step backward. The doll went silent. He knew there was something to check. He heard sounds coming from outside the room, the sounds of Phil and Joanne cleaning up the kitchen. They’d come in here soon, and Andy didn’t want t
hem to see him standing there frozen, looking at the doll. He knelt down, quickly now, hurrying. He grabbed the doll by its midsection, roughly, squeezing it. He picked it up and turned it around. Then he pushed up the Good Guy T-shirt.

  It felt damp. Just a bit. Just like when his mom put too many clothes in the dryer and they didn’t quite completely dry. He flipped open the battery compartment and saw two batteries there. Everready.

  Andy took a deep breath. There, he thought, this one has batteries. This one’s just a toy.

  He grabbed the doll by one ankle and started dragging it out of the living room. The doll’s head banged against the floor, but Andy didn’t worry that it bumped against the chairs and the legs of the end tables.

  It’s just a doll, he thought. A dumb old doll.

  He saw Joanne and Phil coming out of the kitchen, arm in arm.

  Perfect, he thought.

  “Hi,” he said as cheerily as he could.

  “Hi,” they said back, both smiling.

  Phil can see me with the doll, Andy thought. He can see me playing with it.

  “I’m going out to play,” Andy said. “With Tommy!”

  He opened the front door and dragged the doll outside, then down the steps and around to the backyard.

  Chucky felt each bang, just as if he were in his own body and some wiseguy gorilla was putting the moves on him, hustling him for a late payment on his last big loan.

  Bang! His head slapped against the floor. And bang! His plastic cheek smacked the coffee table leg.

  The kid is doing this on purpose, he thought. Smacking me around. All on purpose.

  And then Andy ran down the front porch stairs as fast as he could, letting Chucky’s head trail behind. His head smacked each wooden step just a bit harder.

  But that’s okay, he thought. I don’t mind the pain.

  No. Time is getting short. Already I’m changing—too fast. But things are going along according to plan . . . just beautifully. Here I am, right next to Andy.

  Christ! He’s gotta keep me with him. Or old Phil and Joanne will get nervous. And we don’t want that, Andy boy, now do we?

  So what if he bangs me around? Soon he’ll be in this stupid doll’s body. And I’ll be the real boy. It’s a regular little Pinocchio story. And don’t worry, Andy Barclay, after the change is all done, don’t worry at all.

  You can be my friend to the end.

  I guarantee it.

  Kyle played with the dirt, making small holes in the garden. Then she stuck in one of the bulbs that Joyce had given her.

  “Grow!” she ordered it, grinning. “I can’t believe this! Me, gardening?” She had as much interest in gardening as reading the books assigned in English class. Which is to say none.

  But Joanne and Phil were big on gardening. Yeah, they probably think it’s therapeutic, Kyle thought. Bending down, crouching near the dirt. Real therapeutic.

  The only fun part, as far as she could see, was cutting the worms in half and watching the two halves wriggle away, in opposite directions. That was pretty neat.

  She had always hated worms, ever since the cat food incident.

  She didn’t know how old she had been when it happened. Probably around three, she guessed. It was just before her mother had left. Old Mom had had a habit of disappearing for a long time, leaving Kyle all alone in their dark apartment.

  She dug the spade into the dirt, carving out another irregular hole.

  Mom left, and after Kyle stopped crying, after she knew that her mother wasn’t coming back, she started exploring the apartment. During the day, the cartoons were all gone, and she had to find something else for fun. She turned the taps on in the bathroom sink. She remembered the sound of the water. And she played with her toys in there: a legless Barbie, a pudgy doll with a scuffed face.

  Her mother was always gone for a long time.

  The kitchen was always good, even if there wasn’t much food in the refrigerator. Certainly nothing like cookies or ice cream. Just some milk, some cans, nothing that was fun to eat.

  One day she saw the cat food.

  The cat didn’t stay around the apartment much. It went in and out with Kyle’s mom. Kyle looked at the plate of cat food. She remembered leaning down and getting close to it because, because . . .

  Well, it looked weird. It was all dried brown and rusty. It had come out of the can all wet and gloppy, and now it was almost solid.

  Kyle stuck a tulip bulb in a hole. She heard the side door open. Probably Joanne, she thought, or maybe Big Phil checking up on her.

  She remembered touching the dried cat food. I guess it’s what kids do, she thought. Touch things, even taste them . . .

  Not that she tasted the cat food. She just stuck her finger against the crust, just a bit. I wanted to know what it felt like, she remembered.

  The crust broke. She remembered giggling. And then her finger plunged into the dish, past the crusty covering, to a warm, wet mess below.

  She had been laughing, but she pulled her finger out and saw things moving in the hole. She looked at her finger, and these things, these white things, were on her finger, wriggling, moving around.

  She screamed. Though there was no one to hear her. She screamed as loud as she could.

  She ran to the bathroom and turned on the tap, washing these . . . things off her finger. They’re going to get me, she thought. They’re going to crawl right under my fingernail. They’ll get me. And turn me into cat food.

  She grinned. At least, that’s how she remembered it.

  Kyle took a breath. Yeah, gardening’s real therapeutic. She made a new hole and saw a baby worm try to wriggle away. She brought the small spade down and cut the tiny sucker in two.

  Then she felt someone watching her.

  She turned around to find Andy sitting on the swing, his feet dangling, not quite touching the ground. She also saw the doll that had freaked him out so much. It was sitting on a bit of wood that Phil kept saying he was going to cut up.

  Andy was watching her, and she wondered, Hey, what am I? The morning’s entertainment? She turned back to the small garden.

  “Kyle?” Andy said. She looked back. “Kyle, do you ever miss your mom and dad?”

  Now there’s a dumb question, she thought. Maybe the absolute dumbest. I mean, really . . .

  “Do you?” he repeated.

  She took a breath and then stood up. She had big muddy stains at her knees. She looked up at the clear blue sky. After such a nasty night, it certainly looked nice out. She decided that there was no way she’d let herself be grounded tonight.

  She knew there were ways around that little problem. Phil and Joanne aren’t the most aware couple that ever had my fate in their hands, she thought.

  “You can’t miss someone you never knew, Andy.”

  Andy kicked at the air with his feet. Kyle saw the worn dirt below him, looking sort of broken up.

  “Where are they?” he asked. “How come you never knew them?”

  She took some steps away from the garden. “I have no idea where they are now. And frankly,” she tossed the spade back to the garden, “I couldn’t care less. My old man left before I was born. And my mother—she put me up for adoption when I was three. She was having some ‘troubles.’ ”

  Andy nodded. “Do you remember her?”

  “I make a point of trying to forget.” She walked up to the swing and grabbed the ropes. “It’s easier that way. Trust me. You’ll be better off forgetting too.”

  Andy shook his head. “My mom’s going to come and get me . . . just as soon . . .”

  She looked at his face. He believed that, she guessed. And for all she knew it might be true. Anyway, she thought, it’s not my job to trash his fantasy.

  “Break time,” she announced. “Move your butt over.”

  She tried to squeeze on the seat next to him, but instead Andy popped off, jumping down onto the dirt.

  And again Kyle noticed how chewed up it was, as if the rain had ripped it up
, or maybe an animal.

  “I’ll push you!” Andy squealed, running around to the back of the swing, laughing.

  “No thanks,” Kyle said. But she felt Andy grab the back of the seat and begin to shove it, just a bit forward, then back, and then a bit more.

  She dragged her foot against the ground, slowing him. “Come on,” he said. “It’s fun.”

  Kyle let her foot dangle as he pushed harder and harder. She heard him suck at the air, grunting, getting her moving. The tips of her sneakers scratched against the bare dirt below the swing, back and forth.

  And as Kyle swung, she thought of her date that night.

  She noticed nothing . . . else.

  Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

  He heard the girl’s foot, the toe gliding back and forth over the dirt. Back and forth, moving some of the dirt away, some of the freshly dug dirt.

  Slowly Chucky turned his head, just a bit, just enough to see her sitting on the swing.

  Another push from Andy, the little brat, and her toe gouged out a big chunk of dirt. It went flying into the air.

  It looks like the brat is trying to dig it up, Chucky thought. As if she knows the doll is there. The doll with the smashed head. Tommy. The doll that would make everyone wonder . . . If this is Tommy, who’s this other doll?

  “Andy, stop!” the girl squealed, laughing. She’s enjoying her ride, Chucky thought. Isn’t that nice. The boy pushed her harder, sending her higher and higher.

  Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

  Oh the damn brat, Chucky thought. I’ll take care of you too. Don’t you worry about it.

  On the off-chance they’d notice the change in his appearance, Chucky moved his head back, looking straight ahead again, a big smile on his wide-eyed face, listening to the sound of the swing . . . and Kyle’s shoe chewing at Tommy’s grave.

  14

  Joanne leaned closer to Andy so he could see the picture in the book. It felt wonderful to be reading a bedtime story.

  Humpty Dumpty was on the ground surrounded by a bunch of confused onlookers who clearly didn’t know what to do with a broken egg.

  “And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”