by Rick Hautala
“Whatever,” Edward muttered as he walked out into the hallway and started up the stairs, moving quietly on tiptoes. He was about halfway up and just taking a breath to call out again when he heard something that made him stop short. For a fleeting second, he wasn’t sure he had really heard what he thought he had heard. The pounding in his head got steadily stronger. He wanted to convince himself that he might have imagined it all, but then the sound came again, wavering high and low, like some bizarre musical instrument sliding up and down the scale.
Jesus Christ, someone’s crying!
His body tingled with a sudden rush of panic. He took the rest of the steps two at a time, then paused at the top of the stairs and, holding his breath, cocked his head from side to side as he listened. For several heartbeats the sound wasn’t there, but then, very faintly, he heard it again—a high, wispy cry coming from the far end of the hall, from Brian’s bedroom.
Oh, Jesus, what’s happened?
He took a few steps in that direction, then stopped short in his tracks as a ripple of chills raced up his back. His mind filled with a rush of scary thoughts that echoed hollowly in his mind.
He listened as the crying rose even louder, sounding clearly through the closed bedroom door. It came in short, ragged bursts that were punctuated by raw, sniffling sobs.
“Hey … Brian …” Edward called out.
A coldness gripped his chest as he forced himself to take another few steps forward.
What if he’s been hurt? Or what if he and Dianne had another argument, and he finally completely lost control of himself and … and did something maybe something to hurt her? Or what if she finally flipped out and attacked him?
The shadowy hallway seemed to stretch outward like warm taffy. The closer he got to the room, the deeper the crying cut into his nerves; it sounded so lonely, so distraught he couldn’t bring himself to believe that it might actually be Brian or Dianne. He shivered wildly, thinking that the sound reminded him of something else—something he had heard once before.
Where? … When?
He searched his memory but came up with nothing. His pulse was slamming hard in his ears when he finally made it to the closed door. His hand was trembling as he gripped the doorknob and, licking his lips, prepared to call out to whomever was inside the room.
What if I open it, and there’s no one in there?
The thought, crazy as it seemed, sent another cold jolt through him. At last, unable to stand the winding tension any longer, he spun the doorknob and pushed open the door. It creaked on old hinges, setting his teeth on edge. No matter what he had thought, he wasn’t ready for what he saw. Sitting cross-legged on the middle of the single bed, his hands cupping his face as he cried, was his brother, Michael. His shoulders bounced up and down, keeping time with his gut-wrenching sobs.
“Jesus Christ, Mikie!” Edward was staggered. “What the hell are you—?”
His brother looked up at him, his face glistening with tears.
“Our mommy’s dead!” Michael wailed before snorting loudly and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “She’s dead, Eddie! Dead! … Dead! … Dead!”
“What time was it when you came out here?”
“Huh …?”
Dianne’s head hurt like hell, but she shook herself, trying to clear away the cobwebs. It seemed as though Brian had been talking to her for a long time as she slowly clawed her way back to consciousness.
“I—I don’t know … for sure.”
A sudden sinking feeling filled her stomach when she opened her eyes and saw that things hadn’t changed: she was still tied up beside Brian in the mill cellar, still leaning against the cold, stone wall. The small lantern was still blazing away, illuminating the room with a cold, unwelcoming light. But there was one thing different.
“He’s gone! Where’d Michael go?”
Brian glanced over at her and shrugged. “Out for food … out for a nature walk. How should I know?” That same old, hateful tone he used with her was back in his voice.
Dianne almost said something but held herself back, wondering what possible good it would do. After her eyes had adjusted to the light, she looked around at the small room. It was no more than ten or fifteen feet mortared together with crumbling cement. Lime streaked the rocks where moisture had seeped in. The floor was hard-packed dirt, marred with numerous scuffs and footprints. Other than the lantern and a dilapidated wooden table, the room was bare except for a threadbare mattress on the ground by the opposite wall. It was stained and covered with dirt, and seemed like a perfect haven for lice and maybe a family of rats.
“So what time was it?” Brian repeated, sounding exasperated, as if he’d had to ask for the hundredth time.
“I—I’m not sure. It was getting late.” Dianne squinted, trying hard to focus her mind. “I’d just gotten back from the—my appointment, so I guess it was—I’d say around four o’clock, maybe four-thirty.”
“So it’s gotta be dark by now,” Brian said.
His voice sounded deeper than usual, more mature. Dianne looked at him again and was suddenly struck by the realization that she had never really seen him before; he looked—different, somehow. The lantern light cast sharp shadows across his face that made him look older, and his eyes reflected the light, shimmering brightly, looking intense and piercing. Even though he was trussed up, his arms, chest, and shoulders looked more muscular, as though he had matured in the last few days—or hours. Brian seemed, in ways, like an entirely different person, and Dianne realized with a deep stirring of regret that she had never really known him as a person—not in the least.
“How can you tell? I—I must’ve passed out or something. How long was I out?”
“Not long,” Brian replied. “Five, maybe ten minutes tops.”
“Seems a lot longer,” Dianne said, wishing to hell she could touch the injury on the side of her head. Whenever she turned, even slightly, dried blood crinkled and pulled at her hair. “But hey! If it’s dark now, and we’re not home yet, then your dad’s gonna have to know something’s happened, right?”
“Yeah, but will he know to come looking out here?”
Brian’s voice was edgy with repressed fear, but Dianne had to give him credit for trying to hang in there. She felt a sudden almost overwhelming fondness for the boy and was filled with regret for how horribly they had treated each other over the summer.
“Brian …”
“Yeah, what?”
Words of apology and affection cascaded through her mind, but as hard as she tried to phrase what she knew she had to say, everything she thought of sounded phony and inadequate. She couldn’t very well say, You know, it’s too bad we hate each other so much, but now that we’re both probably going to die soon, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am!
No, she was the adult here; she was going to have to stay in control, and they were going to have to work together to get themselves out of this … or else they were both going to be screwed. Hell, maybe they were screwed anyway, but they had to think of something to try.
Dianne heaved herself away from the wall and started pushing herself across the floor, her back toward Brian. “Come on,” she said, her voice firm with command. “Turn around and slide your butt over here so we can start working free of these ropes.”
“Christ All-mighty, Mikie,” Edward said.
He was rooted to the spot, standing in the doorway and staring slack-jawed at his brother, who sat on the bed, rocking back and forth and crying away, rubbing his eyes and sniffing like a baby.
“You were … shit, well, I knew you’d left the hospital. The authorities told me, but I didn’t think—well, because I hadn’t heard from you, and the police still hadn’t found you, I thought you were probably …” He ended with a shrug.
“Dead!” Michael shouted. Spit flew from his mouth. “You can say it. You thought I was dead? Or maybe you wished I was dead!” He balled his hands into fists and started pounding the sides of his head as he rocked ba
ck and forth. The bedsprings creaked loudly. “No! No! No, Eddie! I’m not the one who’s dead! Mommy is! Mommy’s dead!”
“I know, I know,” Edward said softly. He had a strong impulse to go to his brother and comfort him, but something held him back. “I went to her funeral. I was here all along, you know, taking care of her—”
“Oh, yeah! Sure!” Michael yelled. His face flushed bright red, and his eyes bugged out of his head, bloodshot and staring. “But you didn’t take good enough care of her, did you? Oh, no! No fucking way! She wouldn’t be dead if you had! She wouldn’t be dead!” His voice rose higher and higher, winding up like a siren.
“Hey, everybody dies, you know … eventually,” Edward said mildly.
Tangled thoughts and emotions warred inside him as he stood in the doorway silently regarding his brother.
His resentment boiled when he thought about all the misery and pain Michael had caused the family over the years, all the worry and distress his mother had to endure, trying to cope with raising two boys, especially after her husband died. He wanted to throttle his brother for all the spoiled holidays and wasted weekends they’d had to drive down to Massachusetts to visit him in the mental hospital. He had been in the car driving to the mental hospital when the news came over the radio that President Kennedy had been shot.
But then, it was so painfully obvious that his brother wasn’t a fully matured man and never would be. Even after forty years, he was still no more than a shattered, lost little boy, crying his heart out in his old bedroom, perhaps the only safe haven he had ever known. It was pathetic.
And it was then that Edward recognized the sound that had seemed so familiar when he had started up the stairs: it was the same tormented cry Michael had made when his mother had found him hiding in the bedroom closet later that same day after Ray Saunders had fallen—been pushed—through the trapdoor and broken his back … the last day Michael had ever lived in the family home before being sent off to the mental institution in Massachusetts.
Edward’s vision misted over with tears, and his heart twisted with pity and guilt: pity for the mental anguish he knew Michael had had to live with inside his head every single day of his life, and guilt that he—for whatever reason of God or nature or luck—had been the one who had gotten to lead a “normal” life outside of an institution.
Edward took a single step closer to the bed, cleared his throat, and said, “You know, Mikie, that you’re going to have to go back … to the hospital, I mean.”
“Oh, really?” Michael said.
He looked up at Edward. His face was a mask of suffering and pain. His lower lip trembled wildly, and his chest hitched as he took sharp, panting breaths. Tears were running freely from his eyes, shimmering like jewels on his cheeks. Edward found himself actually envying his brother’s ability to let go so completely of his emotions. He hated that all his life he had to keep himself so bottled up, so tightly wrapped and had never dared let his emotions go. Even when he found out that his mother had died, and when Dianne had been hurt so badly in that fall off the cliff, he had choked off letting the true depth of his feelings show.
He had to!
What would people find out—about him—if he ever dropped his guard? Christ, everything would unravel if he did that! No wonder Sally had left him after three years of marriage, and no wonder his relationship with Dianne was heading toward ruin. He had never and he could never let himself be reduced to such total emotional vulnerability!
“I don’t want to go,” Michael said evenly, his voice rumbling deep inside his chest. “And you can’t make me go.”
Edward cleared his throat, crossed his arms over his chest, and took a solid stance. “Of course I can, Mikie. And you know that it’s all for the best if you do.”
“Why, so you can go on pretending?”
“Pretending?” Edward was taken aback. “Pretending what?”
Michael sniffed with laughter. “You think I don’t know, is that it?” His voice now had a calm, almost rational edge to it, but just below the surface, Edward could hear the fuse hissing away; he cringed, waiting for the explosion.
“Know … what?”
“What do you think I am, stupid or something? I know damned right well you were the one who pushed Ray Saunders—when he fell and broke his goddamned back! I was standing right there! You knew that! I fucking saw you do it!”
“Jesus Christ, you’re—“
Almost automatically, Edward had been about to say you’re crazy, but he stopped himself and looked at his brother, wondering just how crazy and just how calculating he really was. At least for the moment, Michael’s gaze was clear and direct, and he seemed to be actually relishing this opportunity—finally—of letting his brother know, after all these years, that it wasn’t his private secret. It never had been!
“You knew … all along … and you never said anything.”
Edward shook his head in amazement.
“Why?”
“Why? In all this time?” Michael made an obvious effort to keep his voice low and steady. “Why even after they hauled my ass off to the nuthouse? Why did I keep my mouth shut and never tell anyone?” His voice broke and then started to rise again. “Jesus Christ, Eddie! I don’t know why! I was the one who had to suffer for it, not you! I had to pay because you wouldn’t admit what you’d done!”
“Mikie, I … shit.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Eddie, but you don’t have to worry, either. Your secret’s safe with me as long as I’m alive.” He let loose a snorting burst of laughter. “No, not as long as I’m alive. Even after I’m dead! You’re not the only one out there who has a secret, you know. There are plenty of others whose secrets I’ve kept, too. Plenty of hidden things that people think are buried for good out there!”
“Out … where?” Edward said. Michael was talking too fast, and Edward’s mind was too numbed to process everything his brother was saying. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Out at the mill, for God’s sake!” Michael shouted. “You know that! They can say whatever the hell they want to say, but I’m not gonna hide it anymore! They can’t make me do it! None of it! Not if I don’t want to!” He leaned his head back and rolled his eyes up in his head, exposing all white. “No-sir-ee, bobcat! Not anymore!” he screamed; then he let fly another roaring laugh that drilled Edward’s ears, making him cringe.
“Mommy’s dead, and I don’t have to keep any of those secrets to myself anymore! None of them! And I don’t have to let you send me away again, either, and ruin what’s left of my life! No way! Because it’s all gone. It’s all over with! All of it! Mommy’s dead, Eddie! She’s dead, dead, dead! She was the last one to know! And when she died, everything else that means jack-shit to me died, too! Can you understand that?”
“Yeah … Sure I can,” Edward said, forcing a calmness into his voice which he didn’t feel at all.
“Jesus! Stop them! Stop them!” Michael suddenly screamed. He started banging the sides of his head again. “Make them stop telling me what to do! Jesus God, make them stop it!”
“I—shit, Mikie, I don’t know what to do. I know they can help you … at the hospital,” Edward’s voice cracked with worry. He watched, horrified, as Michael doubled over in a ripping gale of laughter and started kicking his feet and punching the mattress with both fists, raising puffs of dust as he rocked back and forth. The bedsprings squeaked horribly loud, like more insane laughter, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the winding spiral of Michael’s insane babbling.
“Make them stop it! Make them stop telling me what to do, Eddie! Please, Eddie! Please!”
“Look, Mikie,” Edward said.
He moved close enough to reach out and place a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We don’t have to decide anything right now, all right? You’ve got to calm yourself down. Maybe we can work out something that —”
Be
fore he could say anything more, Michael suddenly reached up and took hold of his brother’s hand. Gripping the wrist tightly, he bent Edward’s arm back and squeezed. Pain shot like fire up Edward’s arm.
“Ahh! Stop it,” Edward cried out, but before he could react, Michael propelled himself up off the bed and spun him around, gripping his shoulder with one hand and pulling Edward’s hand up hard between his shoulder blades with the other. Pain slammed him like a lightning strike as Michael forced him down onto his knees, too stunned to resist as Michael shifted around, grabbed a loop of rope off the bed where he’d been sitting, and wrapped it quickly around his neck.
“Do you like the fit?” Michael said. He snickered and yanked back hard on the rope, as if Edward were a dog on a training leash.
Edward tried to say something but could only make a gagging sound. Michael pulled back even harder. The rope sliced into the flesh of Edward’s neck, effectively cutting off whatever he had been trying to say. His vision was swimming with exploding light. He felt himself passing out as the rope cut off what little air he could sip through his mouth.
“I meant what I said, Eddie,” Michael whispered heatedly close to his ear. “No one—not even you—is gonna fuck up the rest of my life! Not anymore!”
Edward was too dazed to resist as his brother took the end of the rope, tied it around his wrists, and tugged the knots tightly. He was close to passing out, but his mind was clear enough to recognize the knife blade when Michael reached around and flashed it in front of his face.
“And this is my insurance policy, to make sure you cooperate,” he said as he twisted the blade so the light from the hallway reflected off it. He touched the tip to his brother’s throat and pressed down lightly. A biting pain, like a bee sting, zinged along Edward’s nerves.
“Com’on! Get up!” Michael commanded. “We gotta get a move on.”
With one hand still holding the knife at Edward’s throat, he pulled his brother to his feet. Edward was forced to keep his hands held up high behind his back; otherwise the downward pressure would have strangled him.
