The Dark Beneath the Ice

by Amelinda Bérubé

  I have to tell them. I have to tell them what she saw was real. If she has a witness, they’ll have to believe it.

  Or maybe they’ll just assume it’s something that runs in the family.

  I shouldn’t go with Aunt Jen either. I’ll be putting her in danger. Sooner or later it will set its sights on her too. But where else am I going to go?

  This is what it meant. I will make it not worth having. I remember the darkness stretching out into forever, a tunnel studded with streetlights, utterly empty. Just now, the real world doesn’t seem so different.

  Carefully, carefully, I put the phone back on the hook. Ron is sitting on the curb, smoking. She looks up as I step out of the phone booth hugging my elbows in close, holding myself together. Her eyebrows quirk sympathetically as she takes in my expression, and then the sympathy shades into alarm.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s my mom,” I say tonelessly. I can’t look at her. I speak to the empty street. “She’s in the hospital again.” It sounds melodramatic and false in my ears. “She tried to tell my aunt what happened. And my aunt called the police.”

  Ron gapes at me. “Oh my God.”

  I shake my head, sinking down onto the curb beside her, resting my head on my knees. She crushes out her cigarette and scooches a little closer to me.

  “I can’t really blame my aunt. I mean, how would it sound? They must have found the knives, they were stuck right through the cupboard doors. And there was broken glass everywhere. Nobody’s going to believe it wasn’t her. And my aunt said she was…talking about me. About how I was in danger. That’s why she went to the hospital in the first place, because she was afraid she might hurt me.”

  Ron waits for me to continue, her knuckles pressed to her lips.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. “I should run away. Somewhere far away from everybody, so it can’t get to any of them. But Aunt Jen is coming to get me. She said she’d send the police after me otherwise. And I can’t go with her. I can’t. I can’t even…”

  Hesitantly, Ron puts her arms around my shoulders. A stupid, ugly sound escapes me before I can choke it back. She hugs me closer, gathering my tangled, dripping hair away from my face with one hand. Her fingers brush my cheek.

  “Listen,” she says by my ear, her voice urgent and gentle. “It’s up to you. I’ll come with you either way, okay? I’m not leaving you alone with it. All right?”

  I press my hand to my mouth, fighting for my voice, fighting to keep it together. Ron’s hands slide over my cheeks, turning my face toward hers. Our foreheads almost touch. Her lips are a breath away from mine.

  “I’m not leaving you,” she repeats. “I promise.”

  I don’t know what it is that warns me, but by the time I hear the deafening sound of smashing glass I’m already on my feet, stumbling forward, my hands knotted in Ron’s sweatshirt, pulling her with me. Little glittering cubes pelt down all around us, and a chorus of car alarms shrills into the air. Ron scrambles to a stop, staring at me, the glass crunching under her boots.

  Behind us the glass panes of the bus shelter are scattered in a sparkling spray over the sidewalk, over the road. Through the metal frame I can see the line of cars behind it, their windshields gaping, jagged holes, the edges of the fractured glass curving out toward us like reaching hands.

  “God damn it!” Ron yells into the empty air. “Back off already!”

  “Ron,” I plead. I’m still clutching her, can’t seem to let go. “Don’t.”

  “Come on.” Gently, she pulls my grip loose from her clothes. Keeps one of my hands in hers. “We have to go. They’ll think it was us otherwise.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, okay. This way.” I refuse to look over my shoulder as we hurry back the way we came, but the wail of the car alarms follows us, cutting through the night like a searchlight.

  20

  An eternity later, Aunt Jen’s little car comes to a halt beside us where we’re perched together on the curb. I turn my face away from the glare of the headlights. Defeat and relief and shame and fear spin through me, blurring into each other. I wish I could just lie down and sleep for a million years.

  I hear the door slam; hurried footsteps. And then Aunt Jen is hugging me tight.

  “I’ve never been happier to see anybody in my life,” she whispers into my shoulder, and then pulls away to look at me anxiously.

  “Are you okay?” she pleads. I can’t meet her eyes. “Look at you, you’re soaked.” She notices Ron and manages a wavery smile. “Hello again. I almost didn’t recognize you.” Ron smiles back a little, looking awkward. “Would you like a ride home? It’s the middle of the night; I can’t just leave you to wander the streets by yourself.”

  “Actually, I’d like to come with you. Please.” Aunt Jen looks a little taken aback and opens her mouth to reply, but Ron hurries on. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to impose or anything. Really.” Her gaze meets mine for a second. “It’s just that I promised her I’d stay.”

  Aunt Jen looks up at Ron in silence for a moment, then wipes her eyes quickly with one hand.

  “I see,” she says and sniffles a bit. “Okay. Sure. Thank you. Get in, then, girls, let’s go home.”

  The night slides by the windows, streetlights whipping past. I put a hand up to my face to block the view, keep my eyes down. I don’t want to see the water. I don’t look up until I hear the building’s ancient garage door growling as it closes behind us.

  I’m peeling my feet out of my wet, icy shoes, wincing at the blisters they’ve left on my heels, when I hear the living room couch creak, making me jump.

  “Marianne?”

  Dad? I stumble back against Ron as he steps into the foyer, but he gathers me into a hug anyway. He smells different than he did before, like different laundry soap or something. He smells like a stranger.

  “Thank God you’re okay!”

  “What are you doing here?” I breathe. He lets me go, looking hurt.

  “Jen called me,” he says. “When she couldn’t find you at home. We were so worried. Jesus, bun, there was glass everywhere. There were knives stuck in the floor! And the downstairs bathroom’s all smashed up. What happened?”

  I sag in place, holding my head in my hands. I should never have agreed to this. I should have run, I should have left them all behind. I can almost feel the ghost’s satisfaction crackling through the air: all the rest of the people I love, all right here, all at once. Hostages it can pick from. And I can’t explain. They won’t believe me.

  “You have to go.” I try for stern, but it comes out broken, desperate.

  “I know you’re mad at me, but—”

  “You don’t understand!” I wheel to face Aunt Jen, who’s stepping through the door. “You called him? Why did you call him?”

  “He’s your dad, Mare-bear,” she replies helplessly.

  “Listen to me. The knives—that wasn’t Mom. Okay? You have to leave before—”

  Dad and Jen just exchange a look.

  “What?” I demand. Ron’s hand steals around my shoulder, a reassuring weight.

  “Mare-bear, your mom’s not well,” Aunt Jen says gently.

  “She’d be perfectly fine if it wasn’t for what’s been happening to me!”

  “You can’t blame yourself for this, bunny. Your mom’s a grown-up. She has to take responsibility for her own issues.” Dad sighs, then casts a look at Ron standing behind me. “I’m sorry, maybe you should go; we’ve got kind of a family emergency on our hands here.”

  Ron doesn’t budge. “I know,” she says evenly. “That’s why I promised I’d stay.”

  “I appreciate that,” Dad says, unmoved. “I do. But this really isn’t a good time. One of us can give you a ride. I have to take Marianne home.”

  “I’m not going!” I cry.

  Dad heaves a sigh and rubs
his forehead. I take a deep breath. He won’t listen unless I’m reasonable. I have to stay reasonable.

  “Listen,” I try again. “I know you don’t believe me, but you have to—”

  “I understand if you don’t want to be at home,” he interrupts, and his voice is getting that implacably patient sound that means he’s digging in for a fight. “But I think you need to stay with me for a while. I’m really concerned about all this. I need to know you’re safe. I brought your things, you’re all set.” Sure enough, there’s my backpack and my suitcase sitting next to the stairs. I didn’t even get to unpack them at home.

  “You don’t understand,” I cry. “Please, please just listen! It’s not safe to be around me, there’s something following me, something dangerous!”

  But they’ve stopped paying attention; they’re trading that see-what-did-I-tell-you look again.

  “I should never have sent her home,” Aunt Jen says to him tearfully.

  “Don’t worry,” he tells her, and then turns to me, his face grave. “Have you been taking your pills, bunny?”

  “That’s not my name!” They think I’m off the meds. Of course they do. I can’t back away from them; there’s nowhere to go.

  “Come on, Marianne, let’s go home.” Dad holds out a hand. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate and we can work this out. Okay?”

  I stare at him. He crooks his eyebrows, waiting for a response. Waiting for me to give in.

  That’s all being reasonable has ever meant.

  Silence rushes in as I inhale. Rising all around me. No. Oh no. Not with all of them here!

  “Marianne.” Ron takes a step back. “Marianne, your hair—”

  “No! Not here!” It turns into a scream. “Go away!”

  There’s a sudden flare of light, a volley of sharp pops; the apartment plunges into darkness. Aunt Jen cries out. But I can still hear my breath rasping in my ears, stumbling footsteps as Dad backs away. Their silhouettes are still there in the dark as my eyes adjust.

  “Marianne?” Ron’s voice is shrill. “Marianne, say something!”

  “It’s me,” I gasp. “It’s still me.” And I burst into tears.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Aunt Jen says unsteadily. “Hang on, let me get the flashlight.”

  The closet door scrapes open. Dad’s hand brushes my arm, reaching for me, but I shrink away.

  “What was that?” he says to Jen. “Is the power out?”

  “Looks like.” Aunt Jen clicks her flashlight on, spilling a wide cone of warm light. “There we go. It’s okay, see, nothing to cry about. Everything’s all right.” She turns the light on my dad. “Look, she’s obviously at the end of her rope. Let’s just let her stay here for tonight, okay? They have to let her see Laura soon, I’m sure of it. I’ll take her for a visit, and then she can go with you.”

  Is it just the light, or is Dad’s face pale? He turns out his hands in defeat.

  “All right. All right. If that’s what you want, bunny.”

  “Please go,” I whisper. He bends over to kiss my forehead and obeys without another word. The door falls closed behind him.

  My room is in pieces, Aunt Jen explains as I trudge after her up the stairs. Drywall is ruined when it gets wet, so half the walls have been ripped apart. She’s not really sure where to put Ron, but assures me we’ll figure something out. She pulls out a pair of jogging pants and a threadbare T-shirt from her dresser, collects a fluffy robe from a laundry basket and a colorful quilt from the storage closet, and pushes the bundle at me. And then she stops talking, turns away.

  “I just don’t understand,” Aunt Jen whispers, and when she looks back to me her eyes are swimming with tears. “I don’t understand what happened. She’s never fallen apart like this before. Never like this.”

  I clutch the clothes to my chest and can’t think of a word to say.

  Downstairs, Aunt Jen lights a couple of candles and sets them on top of the piano as Ron and I take turns in the bathroom getting changed. When Aunt Jen eventually emerges from the storage closet with a musty-smelling air mattress, Ron drags the coffee table out of the way while I pump it up next to the couch.

  “It’s like we’re setting up for a scary movie night,” Ron muses, watching me. “We should order a pizza.”

  “I’m so not hungry.”

  “Yeah. Me neither.” She collapses onto the couch with a sigh. “We should, though, sometime. When this is all over. Just hang out. Like normal people.”

  I can’t imagine a time when this might be over. There was a time before it started, and it seems unreal, hopeless, lost.

  “Yeah,” I manage. “Normal would be good.”

  “Marianne.” I jump a little at a touch on my hand, but it’s just Ron; her fingers have closed around mine. They burn against my skin, warm and dry. In the candlelight her face is half in shadow.

  “I’m okay.” My voice breaks, betrays me. “Really. I just have to—”

  “Seriously. We will figure this out.”

  I don’t trust myself to speak. We. It hangs in the air between us. She doesn’t let go of my hand.

  I sink down onto the couch beside her. Our knees are touching, her body a line of warmth alongside mine. I rest my forehead on her shoulder. I can smell her hair. Smoke and roses.

  “Your hands are freezing,” she murmurs, and she folds the one she’s holding against her cheek. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

  Knock knock knock. Knock knock knock.

  Ron’s grip tightens on my hand. And with a long, shuddering scrape of wood on wood, a jangling thrum, the piano inches over the floor toward us. The candles topple onto their sides, then roll off entirely; the fern sitting on top of it jitters, dances toward the edge, and falls to the floor, its green ceramic pot breaking like an eggshell, startling me into a strangled shriek.

  The piano comes to rest a couple of feet from the wall it’s usually pushed up against. There’s another volley of knocks, and then silence descends again. Colder than before. Ron and I scramble to our feet, diving for the candles on the floor. They’ve left puddles of wax and black scorch marks on the parquet.

  Aunt Jen comes flying down the stairs, looking wildly around the room, taking in me standing and Ron still crouched on the floor. Her gaze finally comes to rest on the plant lying smashed beside her.

  “Good lord, Mare-bear, is that all that was about?”

  But she stops short, frowning, as she notices the piano.

  “Now, what on—how did—” She looks from me, standing there with the candle in my hand, to the piano. Back to me again. I can see the gears turning in her head. Because we couldn’t have moved it, obviously. How many hundreds of pounds does it weigh?

  “Aunt Jen.” Maybe it’s worth a shot. I have to try. “You have to believe me.”

  “What are you talking about?” Her voice is sharp, a little frantic, reminding me of my mom’s. “Are you trying to tell me—”

  “I’m trying to tell you that Mom didn’t throw those knives. It was something else.”

  She stares at me, then turns toward Ron. Ron shrinks down a little bit, looking back and forth between the two of us. I can practically hear what she’s thinking; it’s written all over her face: oh, shit.

  “It’s been happening ever since Dad left.” Her expression doesn’t change. I plow on. “You heard the maintenance guys, the water didn’t make any sense. There’s something after me. It’s been after me this whole time. That’s what Mom saw, that night. That’s what happens when it gets control.”

  “Oh, come on,” Aunt Jen says weakly, but stops there.

  “I have to get out of here,” I cry. “Before it does anything worse. Don’t you get it? It’s still here!”

  Aunt Jen draws herself up, lifts her chin.

  “Marianne. I don’t know what your mom said t
o you. But there’s no such thing as…whatever it is you’re talking about. Ghosts.”

  “But—”

  “There’s no such thing!”

  “But the piano!” I fling my hand out toward it.

  “I don’t quite know what happened there, that’s true,” Aunt Jen says resolutely, “but that’s no reason to fly off the handle and—”

  “Are you kidding me?” She flinches, but I can’t moderate my voice anymore. “What’s it going to take?” I turn around and around, looking for some sign of the other presence I can feel in the room, in the guttering of the candles, in the hissing silence underneath. “Well, come on! Do something already! Do something!”

  Aunt Jen starts forward, making a soothing shhh sound, her hands out, beseeching. Behind her, Ron is shaking her head frantically, mouthing something, making emphatic negative gestures. I turn away from them both, twisting around again, scanning the room. In the patio door I catch a glimpse of a pale shadow, its features awash in fury.

  It only takes a step to reach the armchair. I snatch an empty teacup from beside the radio. Before I can hurl it, Aunt Jen makes a clumsy snatch at my sleeve, pulls my arm back, and the teacup crashes to the floor instead.

  “Marianne!” Aunt Jen cries. “Stop it!”

  The figure in the glass is still there, staring at me, wild-eyed, arm half-raised. Next to a phantom Aunt Jen. Shaking, I pull my hand back to my side, and watch it mirror me.

  It’s just my reflection. Of course it is.

  “I thought—” But I can’t come up with any sane way to finish that sentence and close my mouth on silence instead.

  “Listen,” Aunt Jen says, with careful, heavy precision, “do I need to call your dad?”

  I bury my face in my hands and shake my head, mute, defeat washing over me. Because it doesn’t matter what I say. She’ll call him anyway. She’ll tell him all about this. They’ll tell Dr. Fortin. How long before they decide that the medicine isn’t working, that I’m dangerous? Just like Mom?

  If they stick me in the hospital, it won’t be any kind of break. I’d be more trapped than ever. At the mercy of something they don’t think is real.