by Amy Cross
She stops suddenly, as if for a moment she's out of breath.
“If I were you,” she continues, “I'd talk to those men. One of them has to be the killer.”
Brabham stares at her for a moment. “Is that a gut feeling,” he asks finally, “or do you have some kind of... I don't know, maybe some kind of psychic intuition?”
“I'm sorry?” I ask. “What did you just say?”
“Sorry, M'am,” he continues, “I was just wondering whether your daughter might be picking up on certain extra-sensory cues.”
I stare at him. “What?”
He smiles awkwardly. “I'm really sorry, I guess...” He sighs. “When I said I wanted to keep my mind open to the possibilities, I should have mentioned that I...” He glances over his shoulder, as if he's worried about being heard by one of his colleagues, and then he turns back to me. “I do tend to keep my mind a little more open than the average bear.”
I open my mouth to ask what he means, but I'm starting to think that he might not be entirely sane.
“Psychic projections,” he continues. “Astral instinct. I mean, until the forensics guys picked up the signs of an accelerant on your husband's body, I was considering the possibility of some kind of spontaneous combustion incident.” He pauses. “But obviously that's off the table now,” he adds. “I think we can probably steer this investigation back into more conventional waters. Someone appears to have had a very strong grudge against your husband.”
“Rob was a good man,” I tell him, struggling to hold back tears. “We had our disagreements over the years, but he was a good man and an excellent father.”
“Was he?” Addie asks.
I look down at her.
“Sweetheart -”
“He wasn't that good,” she continues. “Not like you. You're an excellent Mommy. But Papa... I mean, Daddy cheated on you a lot, and he shouted at me sometimes.” She pauses, before turning to look over at Detective Brabham again. “I didn't mean it in a bad way,” she tells him. “Ignore what I said. Mommy's right. Daddy was great, and we're going to miss him a lot. I just hope you catch whoever did this to him. It's so awful when people get away with these terrible things.”
“Of course we'll catch him,” Brabham replies, staring at Addie for a moment before turning to me. “I can assure you, Mrs. Gray, that every available resource will be applied to this case. We'll catch whoever's responsible for your husband's death, and we'll catch them soon. On that, you have my word.”
“That's good,” Addie says, burying her face against my chest as she hugs me tight. “Isn't it, Mommy? Really, it's all we can ask for.”
***
Hearing the sound of running water in the bathroom, I realize that Addie has been in there for a while now, ever since the police left. I stay at the kitchen table for a moment, telling myself not to worry, but after a few more minutes I get to my feet and wander along the corridor.
The door is open and Addie is standing at the sink.
“What are you doing?” I ask, making my way over to her. Spotting my sleeping pill bottles on the side, I pick one up and realize that it's empty.
“All gone,” Addie says, setting the last, empty bottle aside and turning the faucet off. “They were bad for you.”
“You washed all my pills away?” I reply, genuinely shocked. “Honey, I need those so I can sleep.”
“No you don't,” she replies, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on me. “Trust me, Mommy. You won't need the pills anymore.”
Erica
The scratching sound is getting louder, and I can feel something grinding against the base of my skull. It's like a fingertip, like a little gray piece of bone scratching and scratching and scratching at me, refusing to give up, relentlessly -
“Erica?”
Turning suddenly, I find Diane standing behind me, watching me with a hint of concern in her eyes. It takes a moment before I realize that I'm in the kitchen, and when I look toward the front room I hear the sound of people talking. Still, I don't...
The funeral.
Rob's funeral was today, but I...
Rob's funeral.
Rob's dead.
“You look like you were on another planet,” Diane says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Erica, I can tell everyone to go home if that's what you'd prefer. Today must have been so hard already and -”
“No,” I reply, “I'm fine, I just...”
Pausing for a moment, I think back to the scratching sensation I heard and felt a moment ago. Maybe I should see a doctor, although...
No.
I don't have time to be sick. I'm fine.
Looking around, I see that light rain is still falling outside, tapping at the windowpane with hundreds of tiny fingertips at once.
“Where's Addie?” I whisper, before turning to Diane as a sense of panic rises through my chest. “Have you seen Addie?”
“Relax, she's in the front room. She's sitting with Suzie. Everyone's trying to tell her how brave she's being, although she doesn't really...” She pauses. “Well, I guess children find their own way to deal with grief. We shouldn't try to pigeon-hole them and make them mourn in a certain way. What about you, Erica? Are you sleeping any better?”
“I'm fine,” I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck. I feel as if there's an itch in there, not on the skin but deeper down, as if the top of my spine is irritated.
Realizing I need to get into gear, I grab a bottle of caffeine pills and take two. After a moment, I add a third, just to make absolutely sure that I get the kick I need. Fortunately, Addie missed one bottle when she was tossing the rest away, and I've managed to keep it hidden from her ever since.
“Don't,” I mutter.
“Don't what?” Diane asks.
I glance at her, and I can instantly tell that she was planning to mention the pills.
“It's only been a week since Rob died,” she continues. “A little more. You can't possibly expect to be fine. Why don't you and Addie come stay in our spare room for a few days? Still being in this house must...” She glances toward the patio door, which still has tape at the edges from where it was fixed yesterday. There'd been charring around the frame on the outside, and scratches from where Rob had tried desperately to claw his way inside.
And the flames...
“Erica?”
“Addie and I are fine,” I tell her, trying not to sound too distracted. “I'm thinking of selling, just to get us out of here and start somewhere fresh, but for now we're managing just fine.”
“Helping each other through it all, huh?”
“Something like -”
Suddenly hearing a brief, loud scratching sound, I turn and look over my shoulder. All I see is the off-white wallpaper, which looks a little gray in the low afternoon light. I remember when Rob put that up. It took him two days, shortly before Addie was born. We were young then and newly married, and he'd only just started his job at Sam's company. Everything was so positive, and I remember thinking we'd really made it. I honestly didn't understand why other people struggled so much to be happy. It had seemed really easy for us. We'd met each other, fallen in love, dated, married, bought a house, and finally we'd welcomed our first child. It was almost as if we were moving through life on rails, unable to take a wrong turn.
“Erica?”
I turn back to her.
“I'm fine,” I say, forcing a smile that I immediately realize must seem fake. I rein it back a little, although to be honest I know I probably seem very on-edge. “Maybe not fine,” I continue, feeling flustered, “but... Addie and I are doing the best we can. The police get in touch every couple of days to let us know that they're going to catch the person who attacked Rob, but I get the feeling they're not making much progress. So we -”
Hearing the scratching sound again, I turn and look toward the patio door. At the same time, I rub the back of my neck, and already I can feel a rough patch of skin. I think I might have been rubbing the same patch in my sleep over the past fe
w nights.
Sleep.
I just need more sleep.
A moment later, Suzie comes through and heads straight to Diane, grabbing her hand and trying to pull her toward the door.
“Can we go home, Mommy?” she asks. “We don't still need to be here, do we? They finished burying Mr. Gray hours and hours ago.”
“Honey, please...” Diane slips her hand free. “Why don't you go sit with Addie?”
Suzie stares at her for a moment, before glancing briefly at me and then back at her mother. “I just want to go home.”
“Go keep Addie company,” Diane replies, turning her around and steering her back over toward the door.
“I don't want to,” Suzie whispers. “She's being strange.”
“Quiet!” Diane hisses.
“What do you mean?” I ask, stepping closer. “Tell me, Suzie. How's Addie being strange?”
She shrugs.
“It's okay,” I continue, “you can be honest.” I wait, but she seems reluctant to tell me. I could just dismiss her concerns, but I'm starting to think I should meet these things head on. “Did she say something? Did she do something?”
“You mustn't pay too much attention to Suzie at the moment,” Diane tells me, while patting the top of her daughter's head. “She's a little off. Her hamster died suddenly a few days ago.”
“He headbutted himself to death against the wall of his cage,” Suzie says with tears in her eyes.
“But Suzie has learned a lot about death,” Diane adds with a wink. “I'm certain the overall experience has been a net positive for her.”
“Addie doesn't talk like Addie,” Suzie continues. “She doesn't use the kind of words Addie used to use, and she mentions weird things, things I don't understand.”
“Like what?” I ask.
She shrugs.
“Come on,” Diane says, taking her by the hand and leading her back across the room. “Don't be rude. I'm sure Addie would like to sit with you for a little longer, so why don't you go and be a good friend?”
With that, Diane pushes her through the door and then turns to me with a smile that's no less forced than mine from earlier. “Kids, huh? What goes on in their heads?”
“Sure,” I mutter, although I can't help feeling as if something's very wrong. Still, figuring that it must just be the caffeine pills kicking in, I take a deep breath. “Better get back in there, then,” I tell Diane. “I can't leave everyone hanging around, can I? They'll all want to shake hands with the widow.”
Heading over to the door, I feel as if I'm about to throw up. Still, I force myself to go through to the front room. There are so many people packed into the house today, and the noise is unbearable. So many voices.
***
The scratching sound is intense. I can feel a sharp pressure at the base of my skull, constantly digging at the bone. It's almost as if something is trying to break through.
***
Shoving the last bag into the trash, I close the lid and turn, only to find Detective Brabham wandering toward me along the driveway.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he says as he gets closer. “I actually dropped by earlier in the day, but I realized you'd all just come back from the funeral so I figured it was a bad time. I certainly don't want to appear disrespectful.”
“Everyone's gone now,” I tell him, rubbing the back of my neck yet again. That sore patch of skin feels pretty rough now.
“I just wanted to let you know that we finished talking to the husbands of the three women your husband was seeing.” He pauses, as if he's not quite sure how to explain the situation. “We've established that all three of them have cast-iron alibis for the night in question, and so do their wives. Through a combination of testimony and video footage, we've ruled them all out. It also seems very unlikely that any of them called in a hit on him. There's just nothing to connect any of them to this mess at all.”
“Did you come all the way here to tell me that?” I ask, still rubbing the back of my neck.
“Well,” he continues, “to be honest, I always find the phone to be a little impersonal. And perhaps cowardly, too, when one has to admit failure.”
“So don't you have any new suspects?”
“How's your daughter?” he asks.
“Addie? She's fine. Why?”
“I was just wondering.” He pauses. “We've been through Robert's phone records, his emails, we've spoken to people at his office, we've trawled through every possible point of contact and...” He pauses. “Your husband was a well-liked man, Mrs. Gray. I mean, I get that he might have strayed from the confines of your marriage, but we haven't found anything to suggest he had enemies. Lots of men jump into the wrong bed now and again without ending up on fire.”
Again, his voice trails off.
“I think maybe I could have phrased that better,” he adds with a frown.
“So who killed him?” I ask, making my way toward the front door but stopping and turning when I hear the scratching sound again. “Did you hit a brick wall?” Still rubbing the back of my neck, I look across the yard, but the sound has already stopped. “Or is your next idea that he set himself on fire? Or better yet, are you bringing the spontaneous combustion idea back into play?”
“Do you keep any spare gasoline around the house?” he asks. “Like a can for emergencies, that sort of thing?”
“My husband usually keeps one in the garage,” I tell him.
“Do you mind if I see it?”
Feeling as if he's wasting my time, I head to the garage and pull the side door open, before slipping inside. As soon as I pick up the red gasoline can, however, I feel that it's empty. I look around, in case there might be another that I didn't know about, and then I turn to find Brabham watching me closely.
“Empty?” he asks.
“He must have used it and forgotten to refill it.”
“He must have,” he continues, reaching out and taking the can from me. “Do you mind if I take this? I'd like to see if we can get some samples, maybe match the gasoline that was in here to the accelerant that was used in the attack on your husband.”
“You think someone used Rob's own gasoline on him?”
“It does seem unusual,” he mutters, examining the can for a moment before turning to me again. “You said that your daughter had been ill. I spoke to some people and learned that she was comatose for quite some time.”
“Nine months.”
“That's a long time to be away,” he continues. “A long time for a body to be unoccupied.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, starting to feel as if he's running me around in circles.
“And how does she seem now that she's awake again?” he asks. “Back to her old self?”
“More or less.”
“Which is it?”
I open my mouth to reply, but instead I pause for a moment.
“More,” he continues, “or less?”
Realizing that I'm scratching the back of my neck again, I pull the garage door shut.
“I'm sorry,” Brabham says, “I should get back into the box, shouldn't I?”
I turn to him.
“Sometimes,” he adds, “I spend so much time trying to think outside the box, I forget that I should occasionally curl myself up and get back in. I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mrs. Gray. Thank you for the can, I'm sure our tests will rule it out.”
I wait for him to continue, but finally I realize that I just want to get inside and make sure that Addie's okay. Still scratching the back of my neck, I suddenly feel something wet on my fingers, and when I take a look I find that there's a patch of blood. I must have scratched all the way through the flesh above my shoulders.
“Did your husband and your daughter argue?” Brabham asks.
Glancing at him, I see that he's spotted the blood.
“Why would they?” I ask.
“It's not that unusual. Fathers often come into conflict with their children.”
“He h
ad to discipline her a few times recently,” I reply. “Addie struggled to re-acclimatize to her old life. For a while she thought she was...”
I pause, realizing that there's no need to open that can of worms again.
“I should get back inside,” I tell him. “My daughter's waiting for me.”
“I'd like to talk to her again some time.”
“Why?”
He pauses. “She's an interesting little girl, Mrs. Gray. I was thinking that maybe -”
“I don't want you upsetting her,” I reply, unable to keep from snapping a little. “She's been through enough already, and I really can't see any reason why you should need to ask her any more questions. She won't be able to tell you anything you don't already know.”
“Probably not, but -”
“So that's settled, then,” I say firmly. “Addie gets left alone.”
“Of course,” he replies cautiously, although he seems less than certain. “I really just dropped by to deliver the latest lack of news in person. I should probably get this can to the lab pronto.”
“You probably should.” I force a smile, and then I watch as he wanders back to his car.
Taking a deep breath, I wait until he's driven away, and then I head to the front door. Touching the back of my neck and feeling a patch of torn skin, I pull the door open, only to find Addie standing on the other side.
“What did he want?” she asks, almost a little too keenly.
“Don't worry,” I reply, taking her hand as I shut the door and lead her back through the house. “It's just -”
Stopping suddenly, I realize that with everyone having gone home, the house seems remarkably still and quiet. I wait for something, anything, to make a noise, but after a moment I realize the only thing I can hear is the sound of Addie breathing calmly and steadily next to me.
I look down at her.
“Don't worry, Mommy,” she says with a smile. “Everything's going to be okay now. It's just you and me.”
Erica
The scratching sound is getting louder, and the sensation is stronger. Something's trying to force its way through, and whatever it is, it seems frantic now.
