by Amy Cross
“What happened?” I ask.
“That girl needs to remember her place,” he says firmly, turning and heading through to the hallway.
As I follow, I hear him grabbing his car keys from the bowl.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“Just out.”
“But -”
“I need to clear my head.” He's already slipping into his shoes and jacket. A moment later his phone buzzes to indicate another message, but once again he doesn't check immediately. “That girl has got a real attitude,” he continues, clearly furious about something. “I don't know why, but ever since she got back to so-called normal the other day, she's been acting like she's...” He pauses for a moment, as if he's not sure what word to use. “You know what I mean, right? You must have noticed.”
“Not really,” I reply. “She just seems to be herself again.”
“She's a fantasist,” he continues, opening the front door. I've never seen him so wiry and jumpy before. “She manipulates you. She needs to learn that she's still a kid, and that there are things kids keep their noses out of.” He sighs. “I told her to stay in her room for the rest of the evening, so for God's sake don't let her out while I'm gone. She needs a little discipline and sometimes I think you're too soft on her.”
“I don't -”
“You're just seeing what you want to see,” he adds. “That's always been your problem!”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means you care more about how things look than about how they are!” he continues, warming to his theme. “It means that you tie yourself up in all these excuses, just to keep from having to face the truth. You're willing to perform insane mental gymnastics in order to make sure that things look peachy on the surface.” He pauses again. “And that's why I never really feel like you're in the room with me at all. Your head's always in the clouds, while you try to convince yourself that everything's fine. And if it's not fine, you just tell yourself everything'll sort itself out soon enough.”
With that, he slams the door shut and I'm left standing alone in the hallway. I never expected Rob to explode like that, and I honestly didn't see the criticism coming. I honestly thought that we were going to get back to normal now that Addie's started to act more like herself, but clearly it's going to take a little longer for everything to settle.
We'll be fine, though.
I know we will.
After a moment, I realize that the entire house is strangely quiet. There's not even any noise coming from Addie's room, so I wander along and knock gently before easing the door open, only to find that she's flat on her back in bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Daddy has a temper,” she replies, turning to me.
“What did you say to him?”
She pauses. “I don't even remember anymore. I just... I'm worried about him, Mama. I mean, Mommy.”
“In what way?”
“I think there are people who don't like him. People who might even want to hurt him. I wish he wouldn't do things that make them angry.”
“What kind of people?” I ask.
She opens her mouth to reply, but then she seems to hold back. “Never mind. I shouldn't speak out of turn. Daddy says I stick my nose in where it isn't wanted, and he might be right. I'm grounded to my room for the rest of the evening. Daddy says I'll learn my lesson, and I suppose I should respect what he says. After all, he might be right, although he reminds me of...” Her voice trails off for a moment. “Well, he reminds me of someone I remember from the past, that's all. I hope I didn't get you into trouble, though.”
“Of course not,” I reply, surprised by her calm, mature tone.
“You're scratching the back of your neck a lot,” she points out.
Realizing that I was doing it again, I force myself to stop. I can hear the scratching sound, too, although it's fainter than before.
“Why do you do it?” she asks.
“I don't know. Habit, I guess.”
“Huh.”
“I'll bring you something to eat soon.”
“That'd sure be nice. Thanks, Mama.”
I stare at her for a moment longer, before smiling and pulling the door shut. Left alone in the corridor, I can't help wondering whether Addie is really happy just staring at the ceiling. And did she really just call me Mama? It's always been Mommy, or Mom. Never Mama.
Not until the last few days.
Suddenly hearing a knock at the door, I head over and pull it open. To my surprise, I find two delivery men outside with a set of large boxes.
“Gray?” one of them asks, squinting as he looks at his clipboard. “You ordered a set of patio furniture, right?”
***
A sound wakes me and I immediately turn over, looking at the bed's empty side. My heart is racing but I don't know why – maybe a dream – and the house is silent again.
Checking my phone, I see that it's a little after 3am.
I wait.
Silence.
Still, I know I heard something. I was half-asleep, but there was a faint bumping sound elsewhere in the house. Figuring that Rob must have finally come home, I climb out of bed and wander to the door. When I lean out into the corridor, I stop again and listen, but it's as if the entire world has become completely silent. The only sound is my own breath, and then my footsteps as I wander cautiously toward the kitchen. Even the scratching sound in my head has stopped.
Rob's probably drunk.
That's my best bet, anyway. It wouldn't be the first time, either. Sometimes he comes home so wasted, he passes out at the kitchen table, although I figured that kind of behavior might stop once Addie woke up.
He's not an alcoholic, but he definitely drinks too much.
I already stayed up until shortly after midnight, in the hope that he might come home. I told myself that we needed to talk after his outburst earlier, and that it was time for me to confront him about my suspicions. I figure he'll just lie to me some more, but I at least need to know that I've made him aware of my concerns. When I reach the kitchen, however, there's no sign of him, and the front room is empty too. I make my way to the window and look out, and to my surprise I see that the car is back in the driveway, which means he's definitely home.
I head to the hallway, but his keys aren't in the bowl, and there's no sign of his coat or shoes.
“Rob?” I say cautiously, although it's clear he isn't in the house after all.
Not wanting to wake Addie, I wander to the kitchen and stop at the patio door. Looking out at the back yard, I'm barely able to see anything at all, but there's certainly no sign of movement other than the swaying of trees over by the picket fence. After a moment I spot the new patio furniture, which looks so much better than the old set. Once again, I tell myself that when summer finally comes, we'll be able to have fun out there as a family. Grabbing my phone, I bring up Rob's number. As I'd half-expected, he doesn't answer, and I'm pretty sure by now that he's probably spent the evening at some crumby bar, which means he'll be drunk. Maybe even passed out at the wheel of his car in a parking lot.
Turning away from the patio door, I try his number again, and this time I decide to wait for voice-mail.
“Hey, it's me,” I say as soon as I hear the beep. “Um... I'm not quite sure where you are right now, but it's pretty cold out there, so you should come inside.”
I stare at the framed family photo on the far wall, showing us in happier times just over a year ago. We're all smiling, even Addie. After a moment, I realize I'm scratching the back of my neck again, and I force myself to stop.
“You don't have to worry about being drunk,” I continue, staring at Rob in the photo. “I get that you're drunk. Come on, let's just be smart here. Maybe we... Maybe we need to talk. Not just about Addie, either. Maybe we need to talk about us.” I feel a sense of fear in my chest, but I know I can't hide from the
truth anymore. “I think I know what you've been doing,” I tell him, “and we need to see if we can work through it, or if it's a sign of something really wrong. I want to fix things, but I can't do it if you're not willing to try. So we need to talk about the future, and whether you still want to be here. You were right earlier. I need to face the world as it really is, not as I want it to be.”
I leave a gap, as if I'm waiting for him to reply. After a moment, I see my face reflected in the photo, and I can't help noticing how tired I look.
“Rob, seriously,” I say with a sigh, as I feel tears in my eyes, “I know about that Emma girl, and I know there are probably more, and I know you've been -”
Suddenly I see a flash of light in the photo.
A burst of flame, reflected in the glass.
Whatever it is, it must be right behind me, and it's coming closer.
Lowering the phone, I turn and look back toward the patio door just in time to see a burning human figure racing across the lawn and up the back steps. For a moment, everything seems to run in slow-motion as I stare in horror, and finally the figure slams into the glass. The door doesn't shatter, with the floor-to-ceiling glass simply shuddering slightly in its frame, but the burning figure pounds its fists against the surface, as if it's desperate to get inside. The whole scene seems so unreal, it has to be a dream.
“Rob?” I stammer, my heart racing as I step forward.
Flames are roaring from the figure's body, but I can just about make out the dark shadows of his eyes and mouth, and somehow I immediately know that it's him. I can hear the flames now, too, and I watch in horror as the burning man drops down onto his knees, with his hands placed flat against the glass.
“This is a dream,” I whisper, trying not to panic. “It has to be...”
“Erica!” Rob screams as he hammers on the door again, his voice twisted and pained in the heart of the inferno. “Help me! Addie...”
I run to the door and try to get it open, but the key isn't in the lock. I look around, but there's no sign of it anywhere. Turning back to the door, I try to force the handle open. All I can do, however, is pull and pull as the figure slumps down outside, leaning against the glass. The flames are still burning and his hands are pressed against the window, but his head is slowly dipping as if he's losing consciousness.
“Addie,” I hear him gasping. “Addie...”
“Rob?” I shout, still trying to get the door open. “Rob, wait!”
Suddenly he starts slamming his fists against the window harder and harder, shaking the glass until finally it smashes. Instantly, he tries to drag himself through, and this time I can hear him screaming over the roar of the flames as his burning hand reaches out toward me.
“Addie!” he screams.
This is a dream.
It has to be a dream.
Erica
I hug Addie tight as we sit together on the sofa in silence. Outside, in the cold gray light of morning, police officers are examining the charred remains.
Erica
“We believe your husband was knocked unconscious shortly after getting out of his car,” Detective Brabham says as we sit in the front room. “That gave the attacker just enough time to douse him in gasoline and...”
His voice trails off for a moment, as if he doesn't want to complete the sentence.
“And then he woke up,” I stammer, my voice still trembling even though the tears have stopped. “And that's when I saw him.”
Detective Brabham looks down at his notebook.
“This is a very delicate matter, Mrs. Gray,” he continues, “but... We really need to go through every aspect of your husband's life.”
“I understand.”
Spotting movement, I look over at the door, worried that Addie might be close enough to overhear. Fortunately, it's just another police officer heading toward the main bedroom. Addie's in her room and I need her to stay there for a little while longer.
“We accessed your husband's cellphone,” Detective Brabham continues, “and...” He pauses again. “This is, um...”
“My husband was having an affair,” I reply.
He stares at me for a moment.
“I already know,” I tell him. “I mean, I knew for a while, but I didn't accept it. But I knew deep down. I left him a message about it last night. I was finally ready to talk to him and... see what we could work out. Whether he wanted to be with us here, or whether he wanted to go off with her.”
“He was involved with three women, M'am.”
“Three?” I feel a punch to the gut. Three shouldn't be any worse than one, but for some reason it is. Three means it was all about sex. Three means he was a completely different animal away from the house.
“Here's the thing,” Detective Brabham continues, checking his notebook again. “On the morning of the day he died, your husband sent messages from his phone to the husbands of each of those three women. He was basically taunting them and describing in great detail what kind of... Well, he was going into detail about his sexual activities with the women in question. If I didn't know better, I'd say it's almost like he was trying to goad the husbands, to let them know what was happening and to get them angry. I mean, the messages were very explicit.”
“Why would he do that?” I ask.
“That's what I'm wondering. It seems very strange, considering the lengths he'd gone to previously to hide his activities. I've already spoken to the three men in question, and so far they all seem to have alibis covering the period when your husband was attacked. Obviously we need to drill down into those alibis and see what we hit, but it's certainly looking possible at this stage that the situation could be linked to the car that drove off earlier in the day and the black eye your husband sustained. If one of those three men...”
His voice trails off.
“You think that one of those men came to the house, knocked Rob unconscious and burned him to death?” I ask, feeling a shudder pass through my chest.
“We're not discounting other possibilities,” he continues, “but... Mrs. Gray, when you saw your husband out there -”
“I thought I was dreaming,” I tell him.
He frowns. “You did?”
I nod.
“That seems like an odd reaction,” he points out.
“I haven't been sleeping well,” I reply. “Our daughter was very sick recently, and I started taking various pills so that I could at least get a few hours' rest each night. And then I've had to take caffeine drinks during the day, so I can stay alert. To be honest, I've felt like I'm drifting along a lot of the time. So when I saw that -”
I stop suddenly, remembering the sight of Rob running to toward the patio window, his whole body on fire. After a moment, I realize I'm scratching the back of my neck again.
“When I saw that thing out there,” I continue, “I kind of froze and... hoped it'd go away. I kept blinking, trying to wake up. I thought it wasn't real. I thought it couldn't be real.”
“I guess I understand,” he replies. “And then when the window broke -”
“I could hear his screams better. Then I knew, somehow I... I realized it was really happening.”
“And where was your daughter during all of this?”
“In her room.”
“She didn't come out?”
I pause for a moment. “No. No, she stayed in there until I went to fetch her. I had to get her out of the house.”
“Huh.” He makes another note. “It seems odd that she didn't come out when she heard someone banging on the patio door.”
“I guess she was asleep,” I tell him. “That was another reason why it seemed like a dream, really. The rest of the house was so completely quiet.”
“I'm going to need to talk to your daughter,” he continues, glancing at his notebook again. “Her name's Addie, I believe?”
***
“The first thing I heard was Mommy screaming,” Addie tells him, her face seeming strangely expressionless and blank. “I
think I'd heard someone banging a moment earlier, but I was asleep at the time so I didn't really understand. I'm just a little girl.”
“That's okay,” Detective Brabham says with a smile, clearly trying to put her at ease. And failing, miserably. “This must be very hard for you to talk about.”
“I got out of bed,” she continues, “and went to the door. When I looked out into the hallway, I saw a flickering light filling the far wall. I could tell right away that something was on fire, so I thought that maybe there'd been some kind of accident. But the conflagration was just so huge.”
Pulling her closer, I kiss the top of her head.
“Conflagration?” the detective says cautiously. “That's a big word for a little girl.”
“But Mommy was screaming so much,” she adds, “and I hate hearing Mama scream. I mean, Mommy. She's such a good, strong Mommy, that her being upset made everything seem a million times worse.” She looks up at me. “Are you still going to be able to look after me, Mommy? You're not going to send me away, are you?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, pulling her closer and hugging her tighter than ever. There are tears in my eyes again, and for a moment all I can do is hold her. “Everything's going to be okay,” I whisper. “You've still got me, sweetheart, and I'm not going anywhere.”
After a few seconds, I glance at Detective Brabham and see that he seems a little uncomfortable.
“Addie's health hasn't been great lately,” I tell him. “She's still getting over some very serious medical issues. We haven't had her home for very long.”
“So I understand,” he replies, checking his notebook again.
“I think one of those men killed Daddy,” Addie says suddenly, keeping her eyes fixed on the detective. “One of them was at the house earlier, and he hit Daddy. I think he came back later and did that awful thing to him. If I were you -”
