"That's fine," Liz said. "I'm sure they're not going anywhere."
"Unfortunately."
He kissed Liz and Joey, then left.
Liz sat on the couch. Joey was on the floor, watching cartoons.
I can't sit here all day, she thought. I've got to go up there some time.
It was nearly noon before she did.
Joey ate a sandwich in front of the television. Liz crept up the stairs, watching her feet, wondering where the footfalls she'd heard last night had landed. The landing was bright with sunlight. Dust motes floated by. Liz blew them away. She rounded the landing and looked up to the second floor, expecting . . . she wasn't sure what. Part of her didn't expect to see anything at all. The other half wasn't so confident. She climbed higher and breathed a very small sigh of relief to find the second floor empty.
The morning's chill was gone, replaced by early afternoon warmth and the sunlight shining into the room threw big squares of yellow onto the floor. Crossing through one of them, she was instantly comforted. She stood at one of the side windows and looked down at the empty lot next door. While she stared down, she listened, waiting for footsteps, pounding, a voice.
With her back to the room, Liz knew that any second she’d feel that tiny hand pressed against her again. But in the brilliance of day, she was able to hold off the terror.
The house was silent around her, but she didn’t trust that silence.
It's waiting, she thought. Waiting for my guard to be down. Then it'll do something.
As if in answer, something thumped overhead. She looked at the ceiling. Yes, right above her, in one of the bedrooms.
There's no way I'm going up there, she thought.
Then Jack's voice came into her head. It's squirrels.
"That's a big fucking squirrel," she said. When the sound didn't repeat, she relaxed a little and was able to make herself think maybe it really had been a squirrel. Maybe it had gnawed a hole in the ceiling and had fallen out. That might have caused a bigger thump than normal.
Would it, really?
"I don't know," she admitted.
She found herself going to the stairs, but instead of descending, Liz stepped up. Her hand gripped the rail, sliding along as she climbed to the second landing. As she passed under the rail where the third floor looked down onto the stairs, a chill went through her. She looked around and up to the third floor looming over her. The ceiling was high and the room was grey; the middle room had only one window, high over the stairs, on the north side of the house. Very little sunlight ever found this room. She reached the top of the stairs and found the room empty.
No, the sound came from one of the bedrooms, not from out here.
She stood, frozen but trying to work up her courage.
It's just a house, she told herself. All houses make noises. This house is just a little bigger than usual, so the noises here might be bigger.
"That's just stupid," she said.
She moved to take a step and froze again. There was a voice.
"Forgive me," it said. It panted twice, then said it again, "Forgive me." It kept repeating these two words over and over between pants, "Forgive me,"--pant, pant--"Forgive me,"--pant, pant--"Forgive me."
Liz was at the bottom of the steps before she realized she'd even started moving.
She snatched up the phone and dialed 911. The operator took her sweet time answering. When she did, Liz blurted, "I need the police there's someone in my house hurry--"
The operator asked Liz to slow down.
"I said, there's someone in my house. Upstairs. I heard them up there talking, so there might even be two people. My husband's at work and it's just me and my son, so I need them here right now."
"And what's the address, ma'am?"
Liz gave her the address, "On Fourth Street," she added. "Between Roland and Pacific."
"Okay, ma'am, two units are on their way. Do you want to stay on the line until they get there? Or do you have a neighbor whose house you can go to?"
"No," Liz said. "I'll wait for them outside."
The operator said they should be there within minutes, then she let Liz get off the phone.
Liz grabbed Joey and headed out the back door. She took him around the house, down to the sidewalk and led him down to the lot next door. She sat with him on the sidewalk, staring down the street, expecting screaming police cruisers to charge up the street any second, lights flashing, and sirens blaring. She threw glances back to the house, half-hoping, half-dreading to see someone darting out the front door.
"What are we doing outside?" Joey asked.
"We're just waiting for some people," she answered.
"Is Dad coming home?"
"Not yet. But I wish he was, believe me."
Finally the police arrived and Liz pointed to the house.
"There's two doors," she told them. "The front door should be locked, but I haven't seen anyone come out that way. The back door's unlocked."
The officers split up and one went in through the back while the other waited at the front door. The back door man came up to open the front and both disappeared inside the house.
Liz stood and waited.
"How come the policemen are here?" Joey asked. "Did a criminal get in our house?"
"I don't know," she answered. "But don't worry about it, Joe. Whatever it is, they can handle it. That's what they're for."
"When I grow up," he said, "I'm going to be a super-hero so if any criminals get in you and Dad's house when I'm grown up and live in my own house, you can call me and I'll get them for you. But don't tell Dad 'cause I don't want him to know my secret identity."
Liz didn't know if she should laugh or not. She knew he thought he was serious, but the whole idea was so cute, she couldn't help it.
"That will be our secret," she said.
She kept watching the house, wondering what the hell was taking so long.
It's a big house. There's a lot of ground to cover up there.
After a while, Liz was sure they'd been in there for half an hour already and still they hadn't emerged with a pair of handcuffed trespassers stumbling ahead of them. She looked up at one of the third floor windows and thought she saw movement.
That's where they were, she thought.
Then she heard the voice again, repeating its plea in her head.
Forgive me--(pant, pant)--forgive me--(pant, pant)--forgive me.
She shivered and looked away.
"So what's your super-hero name going to be?" she asked Joey.
He looked thoughtful for a second, then answered, "Um, I think maybe, um . . . can you guys buy me a motorcycle? I can be Motorcycle Man."
Liz smiled and said, "A motorcycle, huh? We'll see about that one."
"No," Joey decided, "I don't want to be Motorcycle Man. I think I'll be, um . . . I don't know. I'll wait until I get older and then I'll think of a name. But I'll have to start training soon, so I might need one of those, um, big things, you know? That you hang and you punch it?"
"Punching bag?"
"Yeah, that's it, I'll probably need a punching bag so I can train."
"We might be able to do that," she said.
Finally she saw the officers coming down the porch steps. They were alone.
She ran up to meet them.
"Where is he?" she asked, searching behind them, hoping the creep was coming out after them.
"Ma'am," the first cop said, "we searched the entire house and there's no one in there. Now, whoever was in there, if there was anyone, could have gone out the back door while you were waiting out here."
"Yes," the second cop chimed in, "it wouldn't have been anything at all to slip down the back alley and, from up here, you wouldn't have seen a thing."
"The best we can do is advise you to keep your doors locked all the time, the windows, too. Is your husband in the home?"
"You just said there was no one in there," Liz said. She was beginning to think these cops were morons.
"No, I me
an, does he live in the home with you and your son?"
"Of course," she replied. Yes, she decided, they were morons.
"Then, Ma'am, you and your husband may want to look into a security system."
"Especially with a house this size," said the other cop.
"And you're positive there's no one in there?" Liz asked. "You went through all three floors and the basement? Both levels?"
The cops glanced at each other, then said, "Yes, Ma'am, we did." She knew they hadn't. She'd bet they'd missed the basement door just like she had the first day.
"Well," she said, "I guess then, I'm . . . sorry . . . for getting you all the way here for nothing."
"That's no problem," said the first cop. "It is a big house. I'm sure you get all kinds of noises you don't recognize. But I doubt there's anything in there that could hurt you."
The cops exchanged another look and Liz wondered what they were thinking.
"It's always better safe than sorry, anyway," the second cop added.
"I guess," she said. "Thanks. And again, I'm sorry I got you here for nothing."
"It's no problem," he repeated, then climbed into his cruiser. The second cop got into his and they both had pulled away by the time Liz and Joey reached the front door.
Liz carried Joey on her back down the stairs, then slid him to the floor. He ran into the living room and collapsed on the floor, his chin in his hands, staring up at the television. It was still on.
"No running in the house," Liz said. "Besides, come on, it's naptime."
"But we just came inside," Joey said.
"I know we did, and look at the clock. What time does it say?"
"But I haven't even had lunch yet."
"Yes, you did," Liz said. "Now come on, it's naptime. Go pee first."
"Are you going to take a nap?"
"I don't know. I just might take one after my bath."
Joey dragged his feet into the bathroom, then across the hall to his bedroom, making whining noises in his throat. He climbed onto his bed and turned toward the wall, still making noises.
"That's enough, Joe," Liz said.
She filled the tub, then sank into warm water, dunking herself under, closing off the world. She came up, breathed, and wiped water from her face. She rested her head against the back of the tub and let the water surround her.
She was trying to relax and not think about the house or the noises or anything else.
But the voice she'd heard upstairs wouldn't leave her head.
(Forgive me--pant, pant--Forgive me--pant, pant--Forgive me)
She'd heard it so clearly, she knew she hadn't imagined it. Had she? Was this the onset of schizophrenia? She couldn't believe that. So who the fuck was in her house? How did they get in? That was something else to consider. They kept the front door locked. She'd been in the living room all day. The living room was next to the kitchen, so she knew no one had come in the back door. How did they get up there?
She remembered Joey's reaction their first day in the house.
"Who lives up there?" he had asked.
No one. But something was very wrong. Liz's mind began to work the equation, adding in the footsteps last night--they'd walked right past her, she heard them going up the stairs. And that look the cops had exchanged. What was that about?
And there were other things. The phone calls Jack got. And he said he’d heard something thump upstairs.
She lay in the tub, her eyes open, but glazed, as she drifted off into her memory. The room dissolved around her. The yellow walls darkened to stale peach and the ceiling crawled with a billion specks of blurred motion. Liz didn't see any of it.
What she did see was herself on the third floor their first day in the house. Like Jack, Liz had explained the happenings in the house rationally, if not convincingly. Hadn't she heard a scream up there that day? And when she'd fallen asleep while Jack went to the store. Someone had sat on the edge of the bed.
Later, while she was unpacking the bedroom stuff, the front door had opened and closed. Twice.
What else?
The hands that touched her last night, calling her name, asking if they could get into bed with her and Jack. And on the second floor, someone had called her name at least half a dozen times.
All of these things she’d told herself were dreams, because that’s what Jack would have done. But she was a horrible liar, especially to herself.
Liz bolted up and climbed out of the tub, wrapping herself in her towel and putting her hand to her face, cradling her chin while she rested the elbow on the other arm. She paced the bathroom, trying to sort out all these memories. How could she not have admitted it before?
Because one of the things she’d fallen in love with Jack for was his mind. He could explain anything and it always made sense, even if the memory of your senses told you otherwise. She loved his rationale and had been trying to emulate that.
But her eyes were open now. The question was how to convince Jack?
He'll rationalize everything you tell him.
She knew that was the truth. Jack's world consisted of facts and right angles and a place for everything.
She stood over the sink, staring into the mirror, trying to figure out what to say to make Jack see what had been happening. Telling him what she'd seen and heard wouldn't do it. But he'd heard things, too. That wouldn't matter, though. Unless it punched him in the balls, Jack wouldn't accept it. And even then he'd give some other explanation for it.
I just pulled a groin muscle, he'd say.
Liz chuckled, knowing that's probably exactly what he'd say.
She suddenly had an idea. Whether it would do the job or not, she wasn't sure. But it would be a first step, and she wouldn't have to tell Jack a thing.
She smiled at her reflection, proud of herself, but the reflection made her wince back, heart thumping, a lump in her throat.
As soon as possible, she told herself. Do it today if you can.
She turned away and stopped, staring into the tub. She hadn't drained the water when she got out. And though it wasn't making a sound, the water inside was . . . moving, as if with the weight of a body. Someone was in the tub, but Liz couldn’t see them. She imagined them seeing her and she shivered again. She looked around at the walls and thought, What the hell did we wake up when we came here?
The water stopped moving. She stared at it. A shimmer ran through it, then it stilled again.
Liz stormed out of the bathroom, not bothering to shut off the light, and went into the bedroom. She put on different clothes--the ones she'd been wearing were still in the bathroom, and she wasn't going in after them. It wasn't the water that had made her abandon them. It was that reflection of hers. When she'd smiled at it, she was almost positive it had sneered back. Like it knew something she didn't.
Jack came home a few minutes late that evening, complaining about reed relays and they were supposed to receive eight hundred, but could only find two hundred and that would barely be enough for the day.
Liz had no idea what a reed relay was, nor what it did, but she listened, as she always had when Jack came home. She knew his complaining was a way to get it off his chest. That done, he could come back to reality and live.
"So how was your day?" he asked. "You work on the house?"
"Not much," she said.
"We had policemen here, Dad," Joey chimed in from the floor. Then he made a crashing noise as his Spider-Man action figure pounded Green Goblin in the face.
Jack looked at Liz. "The police were here? What for?"
Liz waved it away. "I was upstairs," she explained, "and I thought I heard talking. I mean, I literally heard the voices, loud and clear. I ran downstairs and called the police."
"And?"
"Well, there was no one here, obviously."
"Then how did you hear voices if no one was in the house?"
"I don't know," she said. "Maybe the television was up louder than I thought and that's what I was hearing."
"Hmm," he said. "Maybe it came up through the vents."
"Could be," she said. "It doesn't really matter. After they came back out and said there was no one in the house, I felt like such a moron."
He chuckled, then said, "You're not a moron."
She kissed him, then went into the kitchen to finish supper.
Jack kissed his son, then disappeared into the bedroom. He was kicking off his shoes and lying down for a few minutes, messing with his guitar. Liz knew his routine as well as he did. She checked the spaghetti. It would be done in a few minutes.
She stirred the pasta and watched the water swirl. She thought of the bathtub and made another mental note to finish calling around tomorrow.
She wanted to get the house blessed and had called a couple churches earlier today, but so far hadn't found anyone who could do it. One church she'd called, the pastor said he'd never even heard of house blessing. She wanted to get it done with no one knowing about it. Jack wouldn't understand her plan and Joey, she knew, would spill it as soon as Jack was in the door.
Liz stirred the sauce, then jumped and flung hot tomato sauce onto the wall. The pressure on her neck had scared her. And the arms around her waist hadn't helped. But Jack was just kissing her.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to give you a heart attack."
"That's okay. We can just lick the walls for dinner tonight."
"It smells good."
"How come you’re not in the bedroom?"
"I broke a string last night, remember? I didn't get off early enough to pick up another."
"I see."
"Don't forget," he said, "the guy's coming tomorrow to check out the third floor. I told him it's probably squirrels, but I wanted him to check for mice, too. Or anything else that might have gotten in."
"I'll be here," she said. "Did you tell him to come to the back door?"
"Uh-huh."
She'd forgotten about that. She'd have to remember to call after the exterminator left. She didn't want to be in the middle of making arrangements and have to stop to explain the noises coming from upstairs. Noises Liz wasn't even a hundred percent sure were from an animal anymore.
Slow down, she thought. You don't know what's causing the noises. It just might be animals.
The Third Floor Page 5
