The evening carried on, Betty’s smile proving infectious as even the patients responded and became calmer, easier to handle. Jackie smiled knowingly at Betty and Betty gave back a pleased smile. Neither would say anything but they knew what had put that smile on Betty’s face.
Betty was getting patients settled into bed, her last patient settling under their covers, when her world started to unravel. She heard screams coming from the same room as the night before. Betty felt as though she had been doused in a bucket of ice water as a feeling of déjà vu washed over her. Not again, please not again, she thought as she ran down the hall.
The man was there in his bed, screaming as he thrashed around, his wrists bloody once more. He was thrashing in the bed so much he had torn his stitches. Betty tried to calm him above the screaming but could not. She could not make out what his screams were but she knew it was something about the Shadow Man. Betty’s own fear grew as the man continued to thrash and scream. Then the fear ended as she felt a pain in the back of her head and the world went dark.
* * *
Betty awoke to a dragging sensation, and the sound of water dripping in the total darkness. It was not just the sound of water dripping from a spout though; the sound she heard was that sound that told you your location was dark, deep, cold, and probably concrete or rock. This was the sound of being underground.
Before the world faded away once more Betty heard a laugh. The maniacal laugh of the Lurking Spectre. She knew she was lost in that moment. Nobody could save her now. Throughout the next few hours, Betty awoke to pains, to burning sensations, and to the overwhelming urge to scream in mortal terror. Her mouth would open to unleash the scream but every time something would hit her in the head and the world would disappear once more.
She opened her eyes once and thought she heard Adam screaming her name. But she heard a scuffle in the darkness before she could call out to him and then the world went dark once more. She did not know if Adam had truly been there or if it was all just a part of the nightmare world that did not go away whether she was awake or unconscious; she was trapped in both, unable to escape.
Finally, much later, she heard very loud sounds, the sounds of scuffling in the impenetrable darkness she was surrounded by, and then the sounds of a gun being fired. Then, finally, out of the darkness came a piercing light. Betty fought hard to see the light, to open her eyes but when she did she wished she had gone blind. There before her was Adam.
Along his neck, a red line was oozing blood, and his eyes were staring and dead. The scream that had been building all night in Betty’s throat finally tore free. As the scream tore her throat, leaving it flayed, the world went dark again. There in the new darkness what had happened was not real, the death, the pain, the terror was just something she had dreamed and Betty fought hard to stay in that place but people kept dragging at her, calling to her from the dark depths of her solitude, and finally she could not fight to stay away anymore.
Betty let her eyes flicker open and looked calmly over at Jackie for a moment. Her friend sat there quietly, reading a book aloud in a very soothing voice. The soothing, calm words did not have their desired effect though as Betty started screaming as soon as she woke up. She remembered it all.
She later learned three things after they finally got her to stop screaming. After a month of being in a coma, Adam’s funeral had come and gone and she had missed it. Poor Adam had died trying to save her and she hadn’t even been able to make it to his funeral. Travis Brown had been shot and killed in the act of raping her for a second time, at least. Nobody was sure how many times he had raped her, not even Betty. And, just because her world hadn’t crumbled enough already, just to make sure she fully understood how totally screwed up it all was, the doctor let her know she was pregnant. He said the words as though they’d cheer her up. She wanted to strangle him. Or herself. Instead she rolled over in the bed and tried to make it all go away.
Chapter Ten
The Present Day
Charlotte, North Carolina
I tried to tell Clara about the Lurking Spectre, the Shadow Man as the girls, and that patient oh so long ago, had called him. I wanted to but I knew she would not believe me, she would just dismiss it as part of the disease or as my imagination. She had shocked me this morning with her demands for answers and my response hadn’t been the best.
I still had nightmares, all these years later. I could still see Adam’s dead and staring eyes when I closed my own. And Travis Brown still haunted me. He still wanted me, even in death. I could never escape him.
My now aged hands trembled as I tried to remember how to make toast, such a simple task but one that escaped me for the moment. I wanted to make some toast before I took my pills but could not remember how. I finally gave up and took my pills, hoping the nausea that usually came when I took them on an empty stomach, would stay away.
I tottered off into my room and spread out on the bed. I turned on the television and found the channel that played old television shows. These new programs with all of their sex and violence, the foul language and crude jokes, just did not belong in my world. I sighed as I settled into the mattress, pleased that my daughter had ensured I had a comfortable bed. My old bones ached now and the pressure from the springs could be painful. This pillow top creation was heavenly to lie on!
I twitched as I heard a noise coming from the living room and got up to close the door. Sometimes if I put a barrier between us he would leave me be. His presence was one of the hardest things to get used to after I finally recovered enough to get out of the hospital. He was not really able to touch me, not that I had seen anyway, but he could knock things over, pull things down, move things you know? If I shut the door he might let me have some peace tonight.
I had tried everything under the sun over the years to get rid of him. Praying, exorcisms, spells, psychics, mediums, psychology, all of it but he would not go away. It had been hard enough not knowing who Clara’s father was without his constant presence but with him always lurking, his shadow there, laughing, I had been terrified. And then she came along and I learned to ignore him for the most part as I looked into the precious face of my child.
No matter who her father was I had raised my daughter, I had made sure she had a good childhood, and I had loved her with all of my heart. I never told her who her father was because I simply did not know. The memory upset me, it hurt me, and she had finally stopped asking but some of that hurt was for her, some of my concern had been for her own thoughts and emotions. How do you tell your child her father was a rapist, that she is a product of rape, possibly? It can be hard enough on parents explaining the birds and the bees. Telling a child she could be the result of a rape was impossible for me.
However, she could be Adam’s child, my angel’s child. I tried to see some of either in Clara but she was my spitting image. As though my own biology had wanted to play a cruel trick on me, or perhaps spare me, my genetics proved the strongest and Clara was my double. I simply could not tell who had been her father so I hid the truth away and never told anyone.
I had left Florida after a quiet settlement with my employer and moved back to Charlotte. Florida had been a dream that turned into a nightmare. I would never go back. People knew the truth there, people I had worked with, the police, the doctors and staff at the hospital I had been taken to. Then there were the reporters, those vicious hounds that had plagued me upon my release, begging for my story as the last victim of Travis Brown. When they’d discovered I was pregnant, the reporters went insane, trying to crawl into my windows as I waited for the settlement to go through.
Jackie had finally come one night and packed me off to her house until the settlement was done. We waited until the money arrived in my bank so I could escape Florida and the reporters. I kept in touch with her through letters but I never saw her again and she died five years ago, her children grown and doctors now. Jackie had died peacefully and happy, just as she had deserved. I sometimes wish I could be tha
t lucky.
When Clara finally came along and she was in my arms I finally felt a moment of peace, tranquility, and love like no other I had ever felt before. I did not care who her father was, this tiny human life was my child, and that is all that mattered to me. Clara’s presence dimmed the Lurking Spectre for a long time and I thought he was finally going to disappear into the ether. That would be too much like letting me die in peace, however, and now the laughing, trick-playing Lurker was back. What fresh bit of hell did he have in store for us?
He’d moved things in the house, knocked them over, and Clara had blamed me. I had ignored it at first, trying to discourage it. When he started playing with the girls I became terrified of what he wanted, of whether he could do more than he had let on. Those precious children, my own precious child did not deserve these problems. Then my ailment had come into play and I had lost quite a bit of time, lost in the fog of my memory.
It is odd how we sometimes regress to our earliest years with this disease. It is as though our brains forgot how to reset themselves each day and are going back to the last save point our mental computer has saved on file. Isn’t that what people call it now, save points? That is how I imagine this disease, as a worm. Or is it a virus, perhaps? Is that what the computer bugs are called? Yes, I believe it is called a virus. Anyway, our data becomes corrupted, filled with these holes, until our brains can only reset to those early points and we are left with only our spotty memories and confusion as we try to place the people we are seeing.
I know what’s happening to me and I dread the day I forget who my daughter is but I would not mind forgetting who her father was. I know she wants to know now but I still think she would be better off not knowing. I was hoping I would forget before she would think to ask again but it seemed not. Turning over in the bed, I decided I would tell her tomorrow. She wanted to know and maybe now she would be old enough to seek help from a professional when she learned the answer. I would try to be there for her but I was no longer able to make such promises.
I wanted to tell her now but it was late and the poor woman was sleeping. I would try to hang on. The girls were going to a slumber party tomorrow and they would have the weekend for Clara to get through the initial shock without having to look after them and me. I just needed to hang onto those memories for a few more hours. The memories could buzz off forever after I told her the truth, but only after I had told her.
* * *
I had a few spells this morning, moments of forgetting where I was, where the bathroom was, and it is becoming frustrating. I feel the urgency to tell Clara the truth pressing down on me even more now as the sunlight fades. I am not always aware of it but the disease gets worse in the evenings, as the sun goes down and my memory starts to fade with the light.
Soon enough Wes came home and Clara put dinner on the table. We ate quietly, Clara or Wes occasionally breaking the silence by asking about the other’s day. It was a tense dinner and I was not the only one feeling that tension. I could see it in how tight Clara’s jaw was and the way Wes kept picking up his knife only to put it back down again. I finally could not take anymore and set down my knife.
“Right then, the girls are gone for the weekend and instead of being relaxed you two are like two cats tied together that hate each other. I guess I know what it is all about so if you are finished let’s leave the dishes for later and go into the living room.”
My daughter and her husband looked at me guiltily and stood up. Clara helped me into the living room and we all sat on the long sofa, Clara holding my hand. This was not going to be an easy story to tell.
“So you want to know who your father is.” I say with a big breath. I was sitting on the edge of the couch, nervous, afraid, and uncertain. Either way this was not going to go well.
“I would like to know, yes. If it is this bad maybe I do not want to know?” Clara offered, her hands trembling over mine.
“Well, you have asked me long enough, it is time to tell the secret. It was not that I was ashamed of you dear, or that I was ashamed of myself. It was solely that I wanted to protect you.” I let my words trails off as Clara’s face filled with anxiety. She wanted to know. “The truth is I do not actually know who your father is. The men responsible died the same night and I did not know about DNA then. It could be either of them.”
Clara looked confused and I spent an hour explaining the gory details to her.
“So I am the product of rape?” Clara’s voice shook as she spoke.
“I do not know, my love. You could be the product of the only love I have ever experienced with a man. Or you could be from Travis.” I could only stare at my hands as I spoke. “When I woke up the bruises had healed, the cuts were healing, and my body was beaten but starting to recover. I could barely remember the little bit that I saw, it was very dark down in that basement but Adam came, he found me after hours of looking."
It took a long time for the searchers to find me and the hospital administration insisted on not calling the police for the first few hours. I was down there for six hours when Adam finally found me. I was not in good shape; I was unconscious through most of it. He tried to help me and Travis cut his throat for it. I have had a lot to live with over the years.”
Clara sobbed as my story finished, her shoulders shaking as she leaned down into her own lap. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close as Wes moved to encircle her from the other side. I knew it would hurt her, but I did not realize just how much her hurt would cut deep into me. My baby was shattered.
“I want you to know something else, Clara. From the moment I saw you I had no doubts about loving you. I have loved you your whole life and never stopped for a moment. I would not give you back, even if you were from that man. You are mine and always will be mine. No matter how you came to be you are a beautiful person that deserves the life you have. The life you are going to have.” My words trailed off as she sat up and looked at me.
“I just do not know what to say to you Momma. You are the bravest, strongest person I know.” She immediately started to sob again and Wes took her this time, holding her close.
“I am going to take her up to bed, Betty. I think she needs a rest. Will you be alright? I know that was a very tough story to share.” Wes looked at me with sympathy but I could see he wanted to take care of his wife.
“You take care of my baby, Wes. I am going to have a bath and go to sleep myself. That took a lot out of me.” I sighed once more as they left, Clara held close to her husband, and then went into the bathroom. My poor child was devastated.
I had done my best to provide Clara with a wonderful life, to guide her into the right decisions, and to help ease her way. Now I had torn all of that down and my heart ached. I could not fix this.
Chapter Eleven
“Clara…Clara wake up, something is wrong with your mother.” Wes shook me awake gently before he got out of bed. I threw on a robe and followed him down.
I could hear heavy objects being thrown against the walls as my mother wailed from her bedroom below us. I ran down the stairs, my heart already pounding, wondering what the heck was going on in her room.
I opened the door and stood back as a wind blew through the window so powerful it almost knocked me off my feet.
“Clara!” I heard Wes call out as I stumbled.
I stumbled but picked myself up, clawing my way to where my mother huddled in a corner, her hands over her head as she screamed.
Mom tore at my face as I tried to pull her out of the destroyed room, furniture broken and lamps busted all around us. She fought against me hard, her screams never stopping as I tried to get her to come out with me. Finally, I gave up and called out to Wes over the roar of the wind.
“Get her out of here and I will get this window shut. When did this storm blow up?” I hunched over to force my way into the wind and almost fell flat on my face as the wind suddenly stopped.
I looked up to see that I was alone and the window was closed. I stoo
d in the devastation of my mother’s bedroom and gaped at the window. It was shut, the scene outside calm and subdued. Where had that wind come from then?
I blanked the incident out as I ran out of the room once more. Wes had Momma in the hallway and was trying to keep her calm. She had clawed three long scratches down his face and his arms were covered in welts from her nails. I ran to the phone and dialed 999.
When they arrived we had to answer questions about what happened. Had anyone been abusing my mother? What happened in her room?
“I do not know what happened. I have to assume she did it all herself. Our girls are at a slumber party and we were asleep upstairs. My mother has Alzheimer’s, apparently these things can happen.” I watched as realization dawned on the paramedic and went upstairs to dress to follow Mom to the hospital.
I stayed with her until they decided to admit her, every time the medicines would wear off she would start screaming, then Wes made me go home with him. Wes took me home and made me a cup of hot cocoa before we went to bed. I cupped the hot ceramic cup in my hands, cold despite the summer heat outside.
“What was she screaming, Wes? I could not make it all out.” I looked over at him and saw my own exhaustion reflected in his face.
“I am not sure. It was something about the Lurking Man and how he wanted her girl now.”
“She did not say the Lurking Spectre?” I asked, wondering if she had become confused.
“Yes, maybe she has incorporated the girls’ imaginary friend into this Lurking Spectre?” Wes wondered aloud.
“Perhaps so. There are parts of that story she told I am not sure about. Maybe some of it was her Alzheimer’s?”
“I do not know Clara. There are certainly things in her story that can’t be explained but I think she thought she was telling the truth. And no matter what, there has to be proof about this man, Travis Brown, somewhere. I do not think she made any of that up.”
Thriller: Horror: Serial Killer (Mystery Suspense Thrillers) (Haunted Paranormal Short Story) Page 19
