The Waiting

by Joe Hart

  Slowly, methodically, the sound went on, perfectly measured in tempo. Evan found the strength to move to the door, and placed his ear against it.

  The ticking stopped.

  All at once it was gone. Silence returned.

  It heard you listening.

  Another wave of goose bumps rolled across his skin, and he forced the voice away. With determination, he pulled the door open and started down the stairs. The darkness waited, liquid and pure, just as the night before. Evan backtracked to the kitchen, his resolve unbroken. He found a flashlight in a junk drawer near the bottom of the cabinets. When he flicked his thumb against the switch, a solid beam of yellow light lanced from the lens. Not waiting for his resolve to crumble, he stepped to the basement door and shone the light down.

  The doll stood on the landing.

  Evan dropped the light, his mouth opening to cry out, but the need to pick up the flashlight was too great. He bent and fumbled with the smooth barrel, his fingers fat and unwieldy. The whole time his eyes were locked on the darkness, ready to run if he saw movement coming toward him. He picked up the light and pointed downward.

  The landing was empty.

  The bare boards stared back. Silence roared in his ears. He leaned against the doorway, all the strength going out of his legs. He rubbed his eyes.

  “You’re fucking losing it,” he said to himself.

  Speaking out loud didn’t have the calming effect he hoped for. Evan stepped down onto the first stair, his light illuminating less of the darkness than he liked. Another step. Another. Down. Finally he stood on the landing, and as he turned, he couldn’t help but shine the beam in the direction of the doll. It still stood where he’d placed it, its eyes two glinting sapphires, the duct tape over its mouth.

  Evan shook his head. He needed a drink. What was he even doing down here? Making sure an ancient clock with missing pieces wasn’t ticking? He should turn around and go back upstairs simply to prove he wasn’t insane right now. Giving in to your fears only led to more paranoia. He nodded—

  —and took another step down. Reaching out, he snapped the switch on, illuminating the basement. Everything looked in place. The table before the clock was the same as he’d left it.

  He descended the last few stairs and crossed the room, stopping before the clock. Black. Eerie. Stoic. He stepped closer to it, gathering the nerve to actually touch it, waiting for it to tick again. Reaching out, he ran a hand up its closest pendulum encasement. The wood was cool beneath his palm, the ridges and grooves carved in its trim, almost like braille. An odd thought occurred to him. If he stood there long enough and closed his eyes, the pattern under his fingers would begin to mean something. Perhaps a long-forgotten language waiting for the right person to come along and listen. To hear. To see.

  He stepped back, watching the clock’s twisted hands for movement. Nothing happened. Why the hell was this thing here? Who built it? Why didn’t it have numbers on its face?

  His eyes fell to the table beside him, and he scanned the stacks of paper. Upon closer examination, he realized that many of the sheets were handwritten. A hazy scrawl covered the paper with lines of text, written in pencil, pen, and what looked like charcoal. Again he glanced at the clock, its glass doors reflecting three dark images of himself.

  “That’s enough fun for one night,” he said.

  With as much composure as he could muster, he walked to the stairway and flipped off the light. He treaded upward until he reached the safety of the kitchen, and let out a held breath like a man rising from beneath water. Evan shut the door and sat at the table, then pulled up his blank document once again. After a moment he tapped at the keyboard.

  Clock’s origin, purpose, and history.

  He stared at the dark words against the white background, then shut the computer down. As he left the kitchen, he paused by the light switch near the doorway, listening. After a minute, he shook his head and turned the light off, then headed toward his room.

  9

  He cries with a vehemence he didn’t know he possessed.

  The agony pours out of him through his eyes as he sits at her bedside, her hand, so warm before, cool now. Everything is cold here, this hospital, the people. But he knows it would be no different going outside, going home; there is no place that would make him feel unlike he does now.

  “Evan, I love you.”

  He blinks through the tears and swallows his sobs long enough to look at her. “I love you too.”

  “I’ll always love you both.”

  He shakes his head, re-grips her hand. “There’s still a few tests to run, the doctor said there was this new treatment in Texas, radio waves or something.”

  She smiles, so sad. A longing there for life just out of reach, a chance, a hope. “Yes, we’ll have to be patient and strong for Shaun.”

  Shaun.

  Shaun.

  Shaun.

  Evan awoke to Shaun’s soft crying. The monitor’s lights jumped with life. He threw off the covers and crossed the hall before sleep completely left him, the dream receding into what he recognized as relief—relief it wasn’t reality, it wasn’t actually happening again. When he flipped the light on, he saw that Shaun had kicked his blankets off and rolled close to one edge of the bed. Dark, clumpy stains surrounded his legs and feet.

  Blood.

  Evan rushed forward and grabbed Shaun’s shoulders, ready to run to the pontoon and rush him to the emergency room, but then he smelled it.

  Shit. Shaun had soiled the sheets.

  “Oh, buddy. You had an accident, that’s all,” Evan said, his muscles relaxing. “We’ll get you in the tub.”

  “T-t-t-tub,” Shaun sobbed.

  Evan picked him up and, trying not to get the sticky waste on him in the process, carried him into the bathroom. Stripping off the pull-up, he saw that the diaper hadn’t held near the leg holes, overflowing and subsequently waking Shaun. Evan got the water flowing in the tub, and wiped his son’s legs and backside as well as he could with a nearby towel, then placed him in the warm water.

  “There, we’ll get you all cleaned up,” Evan said, pouring several dollops of bath soap into the water.

  Shaun continued to cry and look up every few seconds, his eyes reddened and ashamed.

  “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay, you had an accident, you’re fine.” He stroked Shaun’s hair and smiled at him, then wiped sleep from the corners of his eyes. “Everyone has accidents. Uncle Jason had an accident once at college, except he wasn’t wearing a pull-up, but he probably should have, seeing as how much he drank that night.” Evan shook his head at the memory and laughed a little. “He had to clean himself up the next morning, I wouldn’t go near him.”

  As the water crept higher, Shaun’s crying diminished, until he sat still while Evan washed him. He tried to remember the last time Shaun had had an accident, and couldn’t. It had been at least a year.

  Evan drained the water, scrubbing Shaun down one more time before toweling him off and placing him on the couch. He then undertook cleaning the bedroom, balling up the sheets in a garbage bag and scouring the mattress with hot, soapy water. When he was satisfied, he flipped the mattress, but failed to find another set of sheets anywhere in the house. So he covered the bed with an old blanket from the master bedroom’s closet. It smelled musty but looked clean, and after unfurling it, he saw it was hand-sewn. Evan finished putting away the cleaning supplies, and finally glanced at the clock: 2:17.

  “You want to watch something?” he asked, as he entered the living room.

  “Somfing?” Shaun echoed.

  Evan flipped through the TV channels and found a documentary on dinosaurs.

  “This okay, buddy?”

  Shaun didn’t reply. He glanced at his son and saw the entranced look on his face as the ancient creatures trundled across the screen. Evan smiled and yawned. As he watched a brontosaurus roam across a lonely, windswept plain, his mind traveled back to the dream, like a tongue prodding at a sore to
oth. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, but Elle’s worn face, still beautiful through the pain, kept floating across his vision.

  When Shaun fell asleep an hour later, the anxiety hadn’t receded, and instead of returning to bed, he opted to sit on the screened-in porch. The night air felt good against his warm skin, and the sound of the lake all around gradually lulled him into calmness.

  When the bed called to him, he went and fell into a dreamless slumber without broken clocks or hospital rooms.

  ~

  The next morning dawned bright and hard, a cold wind sweeping in from the north, chopping Long Lake into a rolling bed of saw teeth. After a light breakfast, they stood on the shore, Evan helping balance Shaun with hands on his shoulders. They watched the waves move past the island, toward the southern end of the lake. Cars streamed by on Main Street in Mill River, only gliding dots of different colors to them.

  When Shaun began to shiver, they returned to the house. Evan grabbed his phone and walked into the kitchen, while Shaun watched Thomas the Train again. Jason picked up on the second ring.

  “How goes life in paradise?” Jason asked, in a breathless voice.

  “Pretty good, how about down there?”

  “It’s god-awful, just got off the treadmill. When the hell did we get so old?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t get the memo,” Evan said, sinking into a kitchen chair. Exhaustion pulled at him, and he promised himself he would nap when Shaun went down later in the day.

  “So what’s happening up there? No more surprises, I hope.”

  Evan glanced at the basement door and then looked away. “No, nothing to speak of.”

  “Good, I was worried about you guys.”

  “We’re fine. I was actually calling to see what you wanted me to do around here for upkeep. The place looks really good.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, do some cleaning, make sure the fucking shingles aren’t falling off, that sort of thing,” Jason said.

  “So I was going to ask you,” Evan said, feeling a strange amount of trepidation, “what’s with the clock in the basement?”

  Jason didn’t say anything for moment, and Evan wondered if Jason hadn’t meant for them to go into the basement.

  “Why do you ask?” he finally said.

  “I don’t know. I was down there the other day and saw it. Looks like someone was working on it.”

  “Yeah, I think grandpa tinkered with it for a while.”

  “Kinda strange looking,” Evan said, jokingly. When Jason didn’t respond, he continued. “I mean, with it all torn apart, it looks a little weird.”

  “I think it was the last thing he worked on before he passed away, he never got to finish it. I didn’t have the heart to throw it out or sell it, so it got left. Even now, I don’t know why I didn’t get rid of it.”

  “Sentimentality.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you know where it came from?” Evan asked, sitting forward in his chair.

  Jason’s voice sounded funny. Light and airy, like he was talking in his sleep. “If I remember right, he got it at an auction in town. Carted it home. Grandma hated it.”

  Evan grabbed a notebook and pen from the table, writing in town at the top of the page. “Do you remember where?”

  “Not off the top of my head. Ev, what’s this about?”

  “You won’t think I’m crazy?”

  “I already think that.”

  “Good.” Evan squinted at the backyard. “Do you think Justin would print a story about the clock if I did a write-up?”

  A pause on Jason’s end. “What kind of write-up?”

  “I don’t know yet, but with the way that clock looks, there’s got to be a history, you know? I thought I could do a little research while Shaun’s at his treatments in town, uncover where it came from, that type of thing.”

  “Sure, man, I can throw it at him if you want, but I don’t know how much you’ll find out about it. I think it’s older than the hills, and the locals might not appreciate an outsider poking around.”

  Evan’s eyebrows drew down. “I thought you said this was the friendliest town in the state?”

  “Yeah, well, you know how small towns can be. Somebody from the outside comes around asking questions ...”

  “There’s got to be someone around that would be willing to talk, who knows about it, right? You said he got it from a local auction?”

  “Yeah, you could definitely check it out anyway.”

  Jason’s voice sounded more normal again, and Evan heard the rasp of wind against the receiver.

  “Keep me posted, buddy. I’ll shoot an email to Justin this afternoon, see if he’d be willing to run a piece on something like that.”

  “That would be great, man, really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. Any other questions about the place while you’ve got me? Didn’t dig up a cannibal graveyard down by the lake, did you?”

  Evan huffed laughter. “No, not yet, but if your relatives were cannibals, that’s one hell of a story.”

  Jason laughed without humor, and Evan decided to change the subject. “I met a woman.” He regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.

  “What? Really? Who?”

  Evan smiled in spite of himself. “Her name’s Selena Belgaurd, ever heard of her?”

  “No, she live in town?”

  “No, other side of the lake, but she’s a psychologist.”

  “Oooo, a shrink. Is she hot?”

  Evan frowned. “She’s kinda pretty.”

  “She’s hot. Where’d you meet her?”

  “She lost her canoe paddle.”

  “Is that a euphemism?”

  “No, she dropped it in the lake when she was passing the island. I helped her out.”

  “I bet you did.”

  Evan frowned. “I can’t tell you anything.”

  “I’m kidding—that’s great! Are you going to see her again?”

  “I don’t know, maybe.”

  “Ev, it would be good for you.”

  Evan stood and went to check on Shaun, a familiar agitation rising inside him. “Listen, I don’t even know if I’m ready to go down that road yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

  “Hey, I’m not saying marry her, just get to know her.”

  Evan watched the TV for a few seconds without seeing it. “Yeah, I gotta get going, Shaun’s appointment’s in an hour.”

  “Ev, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I gotta go.”

  Evan hung up without saying goodbye. He spun his wedding band around and around his finger, and then began to get them ready for the trip into town.

  ~

  When he left Shaun at the hospital, the occupational therapist they met earlier in the week told Evan that it would be about two hours before they would finish. Shaun’s head kept swiveling to inspect all of the colorful drawings attached to the walls of the OT room, and Evan had to lean into his view to tell him he’d be right back.

  The day hadn’t warmed, but the town held a certain chilly beauty as Evan drove, a scalding coffee clutched in one hand. After buying new sheets, he sat in the store’s parking lot, sipping his coffee and thinking about where to go next. This was the part he liked about writing articles: the research. So much could be gleaned from merely asking questions and visiting places. It was almost like he absorbed the feeling of a piece through osmosis. Justin at Dachlund magazine had raved over his first article on special education, and had demanded him to write more. But then Elle got sick, and ...

  He didn’t want to think about that right now. He’d trodden that path too many times, had gotten lost on it. It was unsteady and dangerous. He could cut himself on memories like that. He couldn’t control his dreams, but he could make an effort to keep his mind his own while awake.

  He put the van in drive and made his way toward the docks. Jacob hadn’t been at the shop when they came through earlier; perhaps he would be in now. It would be the simplest place to
begin.

  When he parked the van in the lot, he saw that the elderly twins were again at their posts outside the front door, beneath the building’s awning. Both wore identical jeans and woolen sweaters against the brisk morning air.

  “Does their mother dress them like that?” Evan mumbled before getting out of the van.

  He smiled at them as he approached, nodding once before beginning to walk past them.

  “You the feller out at the Fin?”

  Evan stopped before pulling open the door. The twin on the left had his bald head tilted, and he could see just how polished the dome was.

  “Yes, Evan Tormer,” he said, holding his hand out for the elderly man to shake.

  “Arnold Benson, and this is my brother, Wendal.”

  Evan stepped forward to the other man and shook hands. Wendal smiled, his mouth open slightly, revealing a small stub of grizzled muscle where his tongue should be. Revulsion tried to make him yank his hand away, but he steeled himself and pretended that he hadn’t seen it.

  “Wendal can’t speak, bit his tongue clean off when he was ten falling down a set of stairs to our basement. He does the thinkin’, and I do the talkin’,” Arnold said.

  Evan didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and gestured toward the store. “Is Jacob in?”

  “No, that old mick brought his wife over to Wilson Springs this morning. They’ll be shoppin’ and carryin’-on until afternoon, for sure.”

  Evan nodded again, noting the irony of Arnold calling Jacob “old.”

  “Okay, maybe you can tell him I stopped in? He can give me a call if he’d like.”

  “Will do,” Arnold said.

  Wendal’s head bobbed.

  Evan took a step toward his van, then stopped and turned back to the twins. “You guys wouldn’t know anything about an old grandfather clock that the Prices used to own, would you?”

  Wendal’s brow furrowed, crinkling his scalp in a multitude of lines, before he glanced at his brother. Arnold sat back in his chair and took a slow sip of coffee.

  “What makes you ask such a question?” he said after swallowing.