His gaze in profile froze. Below, dimly, there was a screech of brakes and someone screamed, but Paul seemed not to notice. Liddy checked. They were okay down there. Up here…
She took a deep breath and her heart speeded up. A feeling of anger too, growing, coming back.
“You’re really, seriously worried because we now know Sasha Perry was Carl’s student. That’s what’s troubling you, isn’t it? You’re afraid I’ll – what? Run to the police?”
“No,” he said softly, but didn’t look at her.
“And if Carl had anything – anything – to do with Sasha’s disappearance, that would be bad for you, right?”
“Bad for us, Lids.”
“Investigations would torpedo your paired triumph.” Her voice shook. “Not just the money but the fame, your name in the science journals – what you’ve struggled for all your life even if there’s something behind it that’s making your wife crazy.”
“No, for God’s sake.”
“What then?” She started to cry.
It came out slowly, in that same soft, sorry voice. “I’ve always sensed…known, really…that you resented my relationship with Carl. That on some level you were…jealous.”
Liddy gaped at him. “You’re not serious.”
“You’ve never liked him. You resent that we’ve been friends for over twenty years.”
“No, you haven’t. You both lost touch for years - only resumed for the research.”
“Carl has helped me more than you know.”
“He’s used you – ever since you were his boat boy - and nothing’s changed.” A tear slid to the corner of Liddy’s mouth. “Sure, he had the Big Pharma connections and got you on board-”
“He could have asked someone else.”
“Oh, but he had his” – she made desperate air quotes – “working relationship with you from way back. Tally the day’s notes, Paul, wouldja? Hey, Paul, I’m bushed, would you do the week’s accounting? Do you not see? Are you still that poor boy saying Oh thanks for letting me scrub your boat, Carl?”
Paul hung his head. Long, wrenching moments passed; then, like a limp balloon refilling, he raised his head again.
She was surprised. In profile she saw tears brimming his large, pleading eyes; his head shook back and forth as if trying to ward off an emotional storm. “This isn’t about Carl,” he half choked. “It’s…you. I’m just so…scared of what’s going on with you. I’ve tried everything, I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t change the subject!”
“You are the subject. You’ve become obsessed with this missing girl – and now because you dislike Carl you’ve seized on some connection to him because of something his drunk date said - but you’re not making sense.” Paul inhaled raggedly. “You’ve also said you’ve seen her, which means she’s alive and maybe hiding for some damned reason-”
“From him.” Liddy floundered and raised her hands helplessly. “She’d been in drug trouble. Carl’s an M.D. who can prescribe and…I don’t know, maybe he’s been dealing – and maybe a romance too and she got demanding and threatened to tell…” A terrible thought hit. “Oh Paul,” Liddy breathed, her eyes sorrowful. “Even if you suspected him…you’d still cover for him, wouldn’t you?”
“Stop, this is paranoid, oh God...I can’t…” He threw his arms up, then turned and almost fell into her arms, making her stagger back with his weight. His chest pulled in a convulsive gasp that was expelled in a racking sob.
Liddy held him, anger dissolving as she felt a new sense of alarm. Now it was him going to pieces? He couldn’t speak. His sobs were heavy and he clung to her, his face on her shoulder, almost crushing the wind from her.
“We’re going in circles.” She found herself consoling, becoming more alarmed as the awful thought came to her: just who here is crazy?
At last his sobs became words, incoherent at first, but clearer as his tears began to slow.
“…just want us…the way we were. We had every…dream and I want that back. Please, Lids. Don’t damage. Don’t destroy.”
Her breath stopped. Like last night? she thought. Let sleeping dogs lie, in other words? The thought cut her, like something cold and sharp.
He straightened, his weight coming off her, his frantic eyes searching hers. “Promise me you’ll get better, and everything will be…good, I beg you.”
She returned his gaze wearily, without a smile. “We’re tired, not thinking straight,” she said. “Come to bed.”
She led him, like a child. He was limp from emotion. She made hushing sounds as she helped him to bed, got into a nightgown, climbed in too.
His eyes were squeezed shut before she turned off the light. After she did, his voice came to her, weakly. “That thing about Carl is crazy, don’t believe it…”
Because he didn’t want to believe it.
Liddy said nothing, again seeing Nicki pushing Sasha’s sketch at Carl as he practically ducked it bleating no, no, he’d never seen the girl, and Nicki insisted, “But she only audited your class – a friend of a friend said so.”
Audited meant there’d be no record. That’s how Carl so easily dodged Kerri.
“You’ll see Minton again?” Paul’s plaintive voice again. “Twice a week?”
Liddy’s fists tightened. “He’s useless. If I say nothing he takes notes. I need every minute to catch up on work.”
“Please?”
She sighed, too worn out with her mind blown, knowing that only placating would get this to end. “Maybe,” she finally said.
“Your tone means no.”
“Lemme sleep on it, okay? Let’s both sleep on it.”
Paul mumbled something incoherent. Minutes later he was breathing heavily, with little chest-heaving shudders at first, then with breaths evening out to a steady rhythm.
Liddy lay, staring at the glowing red digits on her clock.
In the past two hours she’d gone from fury to self-doubting to holding Paul and comforting. How had that happened?
Something she’d cried out to him came back: “Even if you suspected Carl you’d cover for him, wouldn’t you?”
But he’d deflected that, just like last night: It’s you that’s crazy, go to Minton, don’t believe that about Carl…don’t damage…don’t, don’t, don’t.
She tossed and thrashed, feeling manipulated, feeling her anger roaring back…
35
Sleep wouldn’t come.
She lay for hours, her inner world hot and racing, trying to make sense out of too much that collided. The accident she couldn’t remember (why?), the young blonde’s face as it appeared that day on the glass (and did look like Sasha Perry!), and then oh God that scrawl for help she’d seen just nine hours ago in the shower. Now, at three in the morning, was her first chance to re-think that one. She’d pushed it down when it happened. Had to rush to get ready anyway, had welcomed the busyness that helped her block it…only now it came howling back in the way of all bogeymen who just lie in wait - then pounce in the darkest, most vulnerable hours. Liddy tossed and punched her pillow. The unlocked front door tormented her too - even more than again seeing Sasha and trying to chase her. Liddy was sure she had locked that damned door; could remember the rasping sound of the key as she turned it. But it was unlocked when they came back! Again and again, before her hand holding her outstretched key, she saw the door pop open and then, like a horror movie, creak open further into shadows. She remembered Paul’s sharp intake of breath; could now, lying in darkness, imagine him thinking, That’s it, she’s looney tunes. This whole damned move was futile and everything’s gone to hell…
Liddy rolled over, feeling her wild thoughts start to slow, give way to just a weary craving for peace. She even tried to rationalize - hell, why not? Rationalizing made you feel better, it was probably what helped most people stay sane.
Maybe three a.m. is even a good time in disguise, she told herself. A time to think through awfulness and deal with it in a way that busy dayt
ime doesn’t allow. Yeah, that’s it, she thought. Three in the morning might really be the best self-shrink time - kind of like a mental/emotional purification plant.
She was dimly aware of a muffled thud, somewhere just outside that last thought she’d had. Startled, she peered across the room to the doorway, a tall, silent rectangle of lighter dark. No one was lurching through it, though; just her crazy imagination again. Gotta do something about that…try try try to get better…
She rolled back on the pillow, resuming her trip down Rationalize Lane. Admit it, she thought…returning from the restaurant she’d been semi-drunk and wanting to be angry. Paul had been vehement about Carl, pointing out that after all Liddy had seen Sasha, hadn’t she? So maybe the lost, mysterious girl was alive and hiding (from what?) – but anyway there it was, re-thought and re-packaged - and oh how tempting it would be to believe that and end this self-torment, even if it did involve a lot of mea culpa. Somehow, Liddy thought, Sasha just appeared in my sketchbook and I built her up into some horror show-
But wait - if Sasha was indeed alive, why had Paul been so frantic about any connection between her and Carl?
Just nervousness, probably, from a hard working researcher whose grant had already been revoked once because of the recession, and who would naturally cringe from any association with a police-case missing person who had been in the news amid sad, awful coverage.
Liddy let out a pent-up breath. There, it was done. She’d pulled off the great gymnastic flip from fear and anger to re-thinking and accepting her own role in the craziness. A slow whisper escaped her lips. “Sasha Perry, I know you’re alive because I saw you. Which means that the rest is nothing, just my overburdened mind playing tricks-”
Thud!
She heard it again, and this time it was louder, along with something like a long, soft sigh that came from the living room.
Liddy sat up. Was there a draft? Had she closed her studio window? She could only remember having opened it to let out the turp fumes. She turned to Paul who was sleeping, breathing heavily and exhausted. Uh, how would it go, after their unhappy night and his fears for her sanity, if she woke him and said, I just heard something go bump?
She got out of bed. Crept to the hall where she stopped, just outside the open door of her studio, and felt for an air current. Nothing. No draft at all; quiet in there.
A few more steps brought her to the living room, all darkened shapes dimly lit by a thin wash of moonlight. Carefully, her feet moved from hardwood floor to a rug as she headed for the nearest lamp, listening for a draft, looking around.
Then she stopped.
At first the shape seemed like a shaft of moonlight hitting one of the white cast iron columns. But it was too wide…and it was moving…swinging every so slightly, back and forth.
Liddy stared; felt her heart explode.
She sank to her knees, her eyes wide, frozen in terror as she stared at the face, chin down to its chest, neck broken by the cruel, taut rope, blond hair spilling down.
Breath was gone. She could not scream. Could not hear for the wild drumming of her pulse in her ears. A faint, mewling cry finally made its escape from her lips, and then another cry, louder this time, and then louder-
“Liddy.”
Something crashed, and suddenly Paul was holding her. They were both on the floor with him holding her, frantic, asking what happened and watch out a lamp broke and my God, what happened, what happened. She tried to tell him, tried to point, up, up to the support beam that wasn’t there anymore, the beam where Charlie Bass had hung himself and from which Sasha Perry now hung.
“It’s her,” she managed. “It’s her.”
She felt him shaking too, craning to where she was pointing.
“There’s nothing there,” he whispered frantically. “It’s nothing, Lids…just…moonlight.” He held her tighter. “My God, what happened?”
“I dreamt…there was a draft. Got up to see…found…her.”
He was gone for seconds, got a different lamp on, then was back and holding her again, trembling, emitting words that fell over each other. “See? There’s nothing. You were sleepwalking…”
She must have blacked out, then opened her eyes again back in bed with her nightgown soaked, her body sheened with sweat. Paul was half holding her, half toweling her dry, trying to comfort. She felt a tear from his face and shut her eyes tight, struggling not to see Sasha hanging again, her head down, her blond hair tumbling past her cheek to her shoulders, her body twirling in the cold light.
Paul was babbling, saying oh Liddy you must have dreamt it…then he was gone for seconds again and back with a glass his shaking hand spilled.
“Take this.” He gave her a pill, held her head as she drank, then took one himself with the water she didn’t finish. He climbed back into bed, up on his elbow holding her, whispering and babbling, Don’t go walking out there, broken glass, broken glass.
“I saw her,” Liddy whimpered over the torrent of his words. “Sasha is dead and she’s here. Maybe she left our door open…”
“It’s just us, Lids.”
“No, I really saw her.”
The pills started to work. Paul fell to Liddy’s side and stayed that way, with his head on his pillow clinging to her as the blurry warmth of the drug finally crept over them.
Liddy’s cries eased. Paul, simmering down, tried to comfort with stories of once sleepwalking in summer camp, and being sure he’d seen a ghost too.
A long time passed, but eventually, they slept.
36
Something mechanical blared, jolting Liddy from a fitful sleep where a huge underwater chasm was sucking her down into blackness. She squinted her eyes open then squeezed them shut fast; with a moan plowed back into her pillow.
The bed shook as Paul lurched to slam off his alarm. Sunlight glared in from the drapes they’d forgotten to close.
“Hell,” he said thickly, falling back to his pillow, exhaling like a dying man. His hand, cold marble, moved to her hand, then to her chest still heaving from the dream.
“Lids…”
“I’ll call Minton,” she whispered with her eyes closed.
She felt him press his brow to her shoulder, then rolled to him, feeling her heart start a fast knocking as if she’d been running. “It felt so real,” she said painfully. “I know this sounds crazy, but it’s as if that girl is really dead and wanted me to know.”
He exhaled in a long breath. “You were sleepwalking.”
“It was horrible. There have been other things I haven’t mentioned because…I’ve been afraid. I hate this, I have to snap out of it.”
“You will, we’ll get through it,” he said, squeezing her hand. He rolled away, and with a groan got his feet out of bed and onto the floor. Sat with his back turned and his head down, shielding his eyes from the light.
Liddy lay, still seeing like a shot to the heart Sasha hanging from that rope, her head down, her body moving slowly, right to left. It had seemed so real! The light had been silver bright from the moon and she had seen it, was remembering it now, happening before her eyes.
She felt Paul look back to her.
“Lids, don’t…”
“What?”
“Stare into space like that.”
A hysterical little laugh bubbled up. “You mean like I’m seeing a ghost?” She gave another bitter laugh. “I am. She was wearing a blue shirt. It seemed so real.”
Paul shook his head; said nothing.
“That’s the second time I saw a blue shirt…the first was in a dream waking that Sunday morning, the day we saw the loft.” Liddy inhaled. “The shirt drifted against my face, choking me.”
“Call Minton.”
“Yeah, he’ll fix it.”
Paul grimaced, then shuffled in to shower. Liddy closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the pounding water, seeing the dark, underwater chasm of her dream pull her down again.
She blinked it away. Took a long, deep breath and checked
the time. It was 7:15.
Too early to call Minton? No. Shrinks got crazed hysterical calls at all hours that just went to voice mail. Liddy reached for her cell phone.
The good doctor’s recording was a slooow, infuriating drone that could make anyone crazy who wasn’t already.
“I am in conference at the moment.” Yeah, you’re still in bed, ha. “If your call is an emergency, I urge you to call 9-1-1. If your call is not an emergency, leave your name, your number, and a short message…”
Was it infuriating or hilariously funny to hear you’d be queued up with fifty other bridge jumpers? The message made Liddy crack a smile, which was a blessing. It snapped her out of herself.
She practically spat out her message. “I realize this is off-schedule, but could you see me sometime sooner than Tuesday? Like, today, possibly?”
She disconnected, struggled out of bed, pulled on her kimono and brushed her hair. Life is tough. If you don’t laugh it’s tougher. Joan Rivers said that. Oh she was God’s gift, that woman, especially if you’re terrified that you’ve really lost it, gone seriously off the deep end, hanging by your chewed finger nails. As for calling Kerri, what would she say? I saw Sasha running in the street - then I saw her hanging in our apartment that had been locked up tight?
Maybe save it for Minton.
Liddy trudged to the kitchen and force-marched herself into busyness: started the coffee, emptied the dishwasher, fast-cooked eggs and slid them into a pita pocket. Grab ‘n Run healthy breakfast, yessir. She’d always done it for Paul; wasn’t about to let little things like sleepwalking and seeing ghosts and encroaching insanity stop her from doing it now.
Her hands still shook, though, and her heart kept up its tight, painful thudding. On her way to the kitchen she’d avoided looking out at the “hanging place” - as her frightened mind now called it - where Charlie Bass had done it, and Sasha too in whatever God help me last night was.
The smell of coffee was a balm, though, and as she poured it into Paul’s travel mug Liddy bucked up enough to glance shakily out the kitchen door. The “hanging place” was now a realtor’s too-pretty picture, bathed in sunlight slanting through the arched windows, with no sign of…either of them. Charlie Bass’s beam he’d used for his rope was gone, disappeared, plastered over. The column Sasha Perry had swung from just stood there, a white, cast iron exclamation point glowing in the loft’s openness.
Fear Dreams Page 14
