by Amy Cross
The bed, meanwhile, remains stripped, although this time the wardrobe doors are wide open, revealing nothing but several empty hangers inside.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask out loud, peering closer at the back of the naked guy's head. One thing's for sure, it's certainly not anyone I recognize from the building. If it wasn't for the fact that the block is new and we're the first people in this apartment, I'd be starting to wonder whether...
I take a deep breath.
No, that kind of thing is crazy. There's a totally reasonable explanation for all of this, even if I haven't figured it out just yet, and I'm not going to let my imagination run wild. Mary's the superstitious one in this household, not me. I'm the one who keeps his head straight.
“Daddy?”
I quickly fold the print-out as I turn to see Josh standing in the doorway.
“Can I sleep in here with you tonight?” he asks, sounding both tired and a little upset.
“Sure you can, buddy,” I reply, finishing my beer and setting the bottle aside. “What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”
“No, I...” He pauses, and then slowly he turns and looks over his shoulder.
“Josh?” Getting to my feet, I wander over and see that he's looking back toward his room. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he's scared. “What happened, buddy?”
“Grandma Kate's in there again,” he replies, still staring across the hallway, “but she's... I don't know why, but I think she's mad about something. She keeps walking around my bed and she won't stay still.”
“She does, huh?” I pause, before slipping past him. “Wait right here, and I'll go check that everything's okay.”
“But Daddy -”
“It's fine,” I tell him. “I'll be right where you can see me, I promise.”
Heading across the hallway, I stop at the door to Josh's room and take a look around. The light is off, but I can already see that there's absolutely no-one here. Of course there's no-one here, there couldn't be, but I still can't quite work out why Josh's imagination seems to be causing him so much trouble. Figuring that I need to make him think that I've taken a thorough look, I wander into the room and walk around to the other side of the bed, but there's still nothing wrong.
I check under the bed.
I look behind the curtains.
I even open the wardrobe doors and take a peek inside.
“I think you're good, buddy,” I mutter, before turning and looking back across the hallway. “There's no boogeyman or -”
Freezing, I realize that I can see a faint, fuzzy figure standing in the doorway right behind my son. Its figure are too blurred to make out, save for two dark patches for eyes, staring down at the top of Josh's head.
“Josh!” I shout, clambering over the bed and racing out of the room, quickly grabbing his hand and pulling him away. “What the -”
The figure is gone, but I know what I saw. There was someone right here, right behind him, even if I couldn't make out any of the person's features. My heart is pounding as I stare at the door that leads into the main bedroom, and after a moment I take a step forward, tensed and ready in case someone appears. I've always meant to get a baseball bat for situations like this, and right now I really wish I was armed.
“Daddy?” Josh asks cautiously. “Are you okay?”
“Give me a second,” I reply, trying not to freak him out as I step into the main bedroom and look around. There's no sign of anyone, but I still kneel down and check under the bed, just in case.
“Daddy?” Josh asks again. “Are you upset about something?”
I turn to him, and I feel a flash of relief as I realize that this time I can't see a figure behind him. Still, I get to my feet and hurry back out into the hallway, constantly looking around in case anything appears. My pulse is easing a little now, and I'm starting to think that maybe I imagined the whole thing.
“I'm fine,” I say finally, turning back to my son and forcing a smile. “Sorry, I just... I guess it's late, and we're both tired, and it's time to get some sleep.”
“Why's Grandma Kate angry?” he asks.
“Grandma Kate?” I pause, before looking around again. “Do you see her right now?”
He shakes his head.
“Okay, good,” I reply, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to stay calm. “Of course you don't. Why would you? Grandma Kate's gone.”
“I can still sleep in with you tonight, can't I?” he asks.
“Yeah, buddy. Sure. Absolutely.”
As he climbs into the bed, however, I still can't put that figure out of my mind. I only saw it for a fraction of a second, but I've never hallucinated anything in my life and I swear there was a person standing right behind my son, even if its features were too blurred for me to get a proper look. After a moment, I take the folded print-out from my pocket and take another glance at the naked figure.
I know I'm just letting my imagination run wild, but I swear the figure I saw in the doorway had the same general build and body-type as the man in the picture.
“Daddy?” Josh says after a moment, his voice sounding timid, as if he's on the verge of tears.
“It's okay, buddy,” I reply, turning to him with a broad, forced grin. “Nothing bad's gonna happen.”
He stares at me for a moment, before swallowing hard.
“I don't...” He hesitates, and I swear there's pure fear in his expression. “I don't think that the figure was Grandma Kate. She was never angry like that when she was alive. I think it might be someone else.”
Chapter Ten
“So Mom will be back later today,” I tell Josh as I set some pancakes on the two plates, “and I think it would be a really good idea if we don't tell her about anything that happened last night. It can be our little secret. Deal?”
Carrying the plates to the table, I can't help noticing that Josh still seems upset. I've been trying to make him feel a little better, but so far nothing seems to be working.
“Okay, buddy?” I continue as I put the plates down. “Do we have a deal?”
He stares at me for a moment, with fear in his eyes, and then he reaches into his pocket.
“I stole something,” he admits finally.
“You...” I pause. “You did what?”
“Please don't be mad. I've never done it before and I'll never do it again, I promise.”
“I'm not mad,” I tell him. “What did you steal?”
He seems to be on the verge of tears. “Last night,” he explains, “while you were on the phone to Mummy, I heard the printer running in your bedroom, and I went through and...”
His voice trails off as he takes a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket.
“You took the print-out?” I ask, thinking back to the moment when I found the tray empty even though I definitely heard the printer running. “Well, that's okay, but it's good that you told me. Can I see?”
He stares at the crumpled paper for a moment, before holding it out to me.
“I'm really sorry,” he whimpers, as a tear runs down his cheek. “I wish I hadn't taken it.”
“It's not a big deal,” I reply as I un-crumple the paper. “It's just -”
I stop as soon as I see the printed photo. It's the same basic shot as all the others, showing the main bedroom, but this time there's a naked woman on the bed, flat on her back. I can't make out her face properly due to the low angle, but I can see lots of cuts and bruises all over her flesh, with traces of blood soaking into the bed and running down her legs to a series of spatters on the floor. Just like the naked man from the earlier photo, this woman seems to have a pale body with lots of pink and red blotches, along with patches of green and yellow. More bruises, maybe, or perhaps mold.
And strips of torn flesh are hanging from wounds on her legs, dangling down all the way to the carpet as if someone has started to peel her bare.
“This came out of the printer?” I ask cautiously.
When he doesn't reply, I look over at Josh and see that he's qu
ietly crying.
“It's okay,”I continue, hurrying around the table and kneeling next to him, giving him a big hug. “Josh, I don't know what this photo is, but you mustn't let it upset you, okay? It's not real, it's just a silly picture that doesn't mean anything.”
“The lady in it looks hurt,” he sobs.
“I'm sure she's just play-acting,” I reply, looking over his shoulder and glancing at the picture again. I've got to be honest, the damn thing gives me the creeps. “I'm sure... I'm sure nothing's wrong.”
“But she's bleeding.”
I want to tell him that everything's okay, but the more I look at the photo, the more I feel that it shows a very disturbing scene. For one thing, the woman has such extensive injuries, it's kind of hard to believe that she's not seriously hurt. In fact, I can just about tell that her eyes are wide open and that she seems to be staring up at the ceiling, and it honestly looks as if she's been subjected to some kind of brutal attack. There are dark stains on the wall, too. Blood, maybe.
“I want Mummy to come home,” Josh whimpers.
“So do I,” I reply, unable to stop staring at the photo for a moment before, finally, I fold it and pull back from the hug. “Josh, Mummy will be home in just a few hours,” I continue, “but... I really don't think we want to upset her, do we?”
With tears still running down his face, he shakes his head.
“And that means maybe not telling her about what happened,” I add. “I'm going to get rid of that printer today, so there won't be any more scary pictures coming out of it, and then we can forget the whole thing. Does that sound like a good idea?”
He stares at me for a moment. “Who's the lady in the photo?”
“I don't know,” I reply, “but it's definitely not anyone we know. It's probably not even a real person, it's probably a scene from a very horrible film. You really mustn't think about it too much, because you'll only feel more upset.” I pause, but he looks so traumatized, it's hard to believe that I can keep this whole mess from Mary. “How about we do something really fun today?” I continue. “It's Saturday, right? So why don't we go to the park, maybe get an ice cream, and just generally do some stuff out of the apartment? Does that sound good?”
He pauses. “I'm tired.”
“Sure you are now, but you'll feel better once we -”
“Can I just go back to bed?” he asks, and his eyelids actually seem to be drooping slightly. “I didn't sleep properly last night. Please, Daddy, I'm too tired to do anything today.”
I open my mouth to tell him he'll be fine once we get going, but he seems so exhausted, I actually think it'd be mean to drag him outside.
“Maybe this afternoon, then,” I tell him. “If you really want to sleep for a few more hours, you should go right ahead.”
Without saying a word, he turns and shuffles out of the kitchen, heading for his bedroom. I guess last night was pretty traumatic for him, and crazy for us both. I just hope he perks up before Mary gets home.
***
A few minutes later, I kick open the door to the storage room in the basement and carry the printer into the darkness. My hands are too full to hit the light-switch, so I use my foot to push an old can in the way of the door and then I take the printer over to our apartment's cage.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I set the box down and slide it to the back of the cage, past the various old crates we never bothered to unpack. “You'll have to stay down here 'til I get a chance to take you to the tip. End of the line.”
Closing the cage, I head back across the room and shove the can aside. Then I step outside as the door swings shut, sealing that goddamn machine away in darkness. Our lives felt so uneventful and safe until the day I bought the printer. Maybe now that it's gone, we can start getting back to normal.
Chapter Eleven
“So you admitted defeat, huh?” Mary says with a faint smile as she puts her arms around me and plants a kiss on the side of my face. “You let that horrible thing beat you?”
“It didn't beat me,” I reply, bristling slightly at the suggestion, “I simply decided it wasn't worth the effort. I'll pick up a new one on Monday, and it definitely won't be from those Maxinomoticon people. God knows what they're all about.”
“I'm proud of you.”
“For failing to get the new printer up and running?”
“For recognizing that you need to let it go. I was worried you'd get all stubborn and act like it was an insult to your masculinity. Something pathetic like that.”
I pause, wondering whether this is the kind of trap Magnus warned me about. “Do you think it's an insult to my masculinity?” I ask cautiously.
She laughs.
“Because I can go down to the basement and get it back,” I continue. “I can prove to you that -”
She places a finger against my lips, quickly silencing me.
“Don't waste another second on that thing,” she says with a smile. “Seriously. Besides, when did you get so unsure of yourself? It's just a printer, Steve.”
“I still wish we'd been able to figure out what was wrong with it,” I mutter. “I guess it must have been a crossed wire with someone else's network. If it's any consolation, someone else out there is probably just as pissed off about the whole thing as us.”
“What's going on with Josh?” she asks, stepping over to the table and checking her phone. “He seems a little quiet. He's not coming down with something, is he?”
“I think he's just tired,” I tell her, hoping that I'm right. Mary tends to fuss a little. “You know he never sleeps very well when you're not home. This time tomorrow, he'll be fine.”
“I'll go check on him,” she replies, slipping away and heading out into the corridor. “Maybe I should take his temperature.”
Figuring that she's just overreacting, I wander over to the desk and wipe some dust from the spot where the printer used to stand. I feel kind of dumb for giving up with that ridiculous contraption, but at the same time I sure as hell don't like the pictures that kept coming out. Maybe in a little while I'll go back down and take the goddamn thing out of storage and try it again, but for now -
“Steve!” Mary shouts suddenly. “Get in here! I think something's wrong!”
Hurrying through, I immediately see that Josh is sick. He looks red and flustered, and he's barely stirring even as Mary tries to lift him from the sweat-soaked bed. A trickle of blood is running from one of his nostrils, dribbling across his lips.
“We have to get him to the hospital!” she stammers, placing a hand against his glistening forehead. “He's burning up!”
***
“We're still running tests,” Doctor Considine explains, as we stand with him outside Josh's hospital room, “but for now, I think we're probably looking at some form of infection. We just need to find the source, and then we'll be able to pick the right treatment.”
“How can you not know what's wrong yet?” Mary asks, with tears in her eyes. “I thought you'd already run the all tests you needed!”
“They weren't entirely conclusive,” he replies. “Some of our initial assumptions proved to be incorrect.”
“What assumptions?”
He seems a little irritated by all the questions. “Your son's condition isn't proving easy to diagnose, but that just means we need to run a few more tests. For now, the good news is that he's stable and he's responding well to our attempts to keep him hydrated. There's no reason to believe he's going to get any worse.”
“But he's not getting better either, is he?” she asks.
“These things take time. Please, Mrs. Holland, just have a little patience until the next set of results comes through.”
As Mary pushes past us and hurries into the room, I can't help looking through at Josh. My son is hooked up to a couple of drips, in an attempt to re-hydrate him after he lost so much fluid when he started sweating, and several other machines are monitoring his vital signs. I keep telling myself that he's going to be okay, but at the sa
me time I hate seeing him like this and I can't help thinking that I might have done something wrong last night.
“It couldn't be something he ate, could it?” I ask, turning to the doctor. “What about spores? Our apartment is fairly new, maybe there's some kind of mold in his room that we haven't noticed yet.”
“I'm sure it's an infection,” he replies. “Once we know exactly what's wrong, I can give you a better idea of how it might have been contracted, but for now you simply have to focus on helping him get better. The next set of results should come through in a couple of hours. I promise I'll come straight to you once I have more information.” He pauses. “There's one other matter, Mr. Holland. Due to the bruises we found on Josh's arms and torso, we had no choice but to refer the matter to a child protection team and -”
“You think we beat our son?” I ask, instantly angered by the suggestion.
“I'm sure you understand that we have to take his injuries very seriously.”
“We've never laid a hand on him!”
“In which case there's nothing to worry about,” he continues. “It's hospital policy to bring in a team if we encounter a child with unexplained injuries.”
“We explained them!” I say firmly.
“Please understand that this is simply a precaution,” he adds. “It's in Josh's best interests that a team comes in to make sure that there are no dangers in the household. I'm sure they'll determine that there's no reason to be concerned.”
His pager beeps, and he glances at the screen.
“I'll be back soon,” he tells me, turning and hurrying away.
“No-one has ever laid a finger on Josh!” I call after him. “I don't know what you think has been happening to him, but my wife and I would never hurt our son!”
He's already out of sight around the far corner, but a couple of nurses have turned to look at me. From the look in their eyes, I feel like they think I'm protesting way too much.
Heading back into the room, I see that Mary is squeezing Josh's hand tight and talking to him. Tears are streaming down her face, and I don't think I've ever seen her look so upset. Not even when her mother died. I want to tell her that everything will be okay, that Josh is a fighter and that the doctors are on top of the situation. Those words all sound so hollow, but at the same time, I feel as if I have to say them.
