“Have you ever seen him?”
“I don’t have to see him to know he’s real. I’ve seen what he’s done to people.”
“So he’s hurt more than just you?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Gordon. He cursed two friends of mine, on exactly the same day that he cursed me, so I know it’s not just in my head.”
“Do you have any evidence that he hurt these friends on the same day?”
“Not exactly. They told me.”
“And how do you know they’re not trying to validate their own delusions?”
“So you’re saying we’re all delusional.”
“I’m not trying to insult you, Nick. I’m trying to help you see the real problem, so that you can deal with it.”
“If you really want to help me, tell me what to do when I’m confronting a psychopath.”
“That won’t help you.”
I stand. “I’ll be back later tonight.”
Gordon sighs. “Spending time with these people is only gonna make the killer and the curse seem that much more real. You’ll rationalize each other like crazy. I can give you perspective.”
“I don’t want any more of your perspective right now.”
“Just one more thing, Nick. You said I slapped you that night during your experiment, but I remember punching you. How do you know you’re not remembering it as a slap to feed the fantasy?”
“How do you know you’re not the one remembering it wrong?”
“Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. That’s the fucking point. Memories are about as reliable as my eyeballs. OK, that’s overstating the fact, but you should check out the research on this stuff. You’d be surprised what deceitful little bastards memories can be.”
I head for the door. “I’m going.”
“You want to know how to stop this killer? Forgive yourself, and he’ll disappear from your life forever.”
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to do that.”
And I know:
1. This is almost the same conversation I’ve had with myself many times before.
2. Gordon’s only trying to help.
But it doesn’t matter.
I:
1. Say, “See you later.”
2. Step outside.
3. Close the door.
I don’t want to, really. I want to go back inside and believe Gordon’s words, like a child believing in a fairy tale, and I want to escape this nightmare forever.
But I can’t.
I realize now that it’s easy to tell the difference between a real problem and an imaginary one.
It’s just the terror of facing the truth that’s hard.
When I return from the bathroom, Abby’s saying, “But Kin said you can’t beat him. She said you’d only suffer.”
“And I appreciate her concern,” Cicely says. “But it’s not up to Kin to decide what I’m capable of.”
Abby looks over at me with eyes that say, “Help me.”
I look away, and check my:
1. Watch.
2. Mole.
3. Pockets.
“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me,” Abby says.
“You’re not responsible for my actions, hon,” Cicely says.
“But you’re only doing this because of what he did to my family. I think if you weren’t so angry about that, you wouldn’t still want to fight him.”
“I am angry about what he did to your family, and I’m going to do everything I can to bring them back, but I’d be doing this even if we never met. If I don’t hold this man accountable for what he’s done, no one will.”
“What if he’s not a man?”
“It doesn’t matter what he is. He violated me, and you, and Nicholas, and he’s going to have to answer for that.” She holds Abby’s left hand. The one with the missing thumb. “I won’t hold it against you if you don’t help me. I’m doing this, with or without you.”
Abby stares into Cicely’s eyes, as her lower lip trembles like a child.
Maybe she believes, the way I do, that:
1. The creature in the swirling darkness is real and more than likely a killer.
2. It’s only a matter of time before Cicely finds him.
And maybe these terrifying thoughts, combined with every other terrifying thought Abby’s had to deal with since her curse began, floods out of her in tears.
“Please,” Abby says, crackles. “I already lost too many people.”
Cicely holds her. “I’ll be careful.”
“What if that’s not enough?”
“I’ll be there with her,” I say, and take a seat in the chair beside them. “I can’t promise I’ll be the best sidekick in the world, but I do look good in tights and a cape.”
Abby doesn’t:
1. Laugh.
2. Smile.
3. Feel any better, I’m sure.
“Cicely and me, we’ll be fine,” I say. “You don’t have to be a part of this anymore. You’ve gone through enough already.”
“No,” Abby says. “I mean, I’m scared and everything, but if I can’t convince you to change your minds, I want to help.”
“Great,” Cicely says, and smiles. “I think the next step is to invite over another one of your family friends. Preferably a man, in case Kin’s right about the perpetrator being one.”
“I don’t remember any men. Only Kin and some other women.”
“Then it may be a man related to one of them. Or Kin could be wrong, and it’s one of the women. Or it could be someone completely outside of this circle. But we have to start somewhere.”
“That’s true. I’ll ask Maria. She was my babysitter.”
“Thank you.”
“I really don’t think she did it though. I don’t think any of them did it. They were always so nice to me, you know?”
“I’m sure you’re right, hon. But if it is one of these women, she could have erased bad memories, and left only good ones. We know the perpetrator’s capable of manipulations like that. So we’d better check them out, just in case.”
Abby nods.
“That’s settled then.” Cicely stands. “I’ll cook us some dinner. I was thinking fresh baked brownies. Then we could have some leftover pie for dessert.”
“Aren’t brownies already dessert?” I say.
“I’m talking about the tiny elf creatures who like to help out around the house.”
“Oh. But if they’re helpful, why would we eat them?”
“Because these ones died of old age, and they consider being eaten as one of the best ways to be put to rest.”
“Alright then. Can I help you cook them?”
“I’m not sure. Can you cook?”
“Well, I can’t promise I’ll be the best sous chef in the world, but I look good in an apron.”
“Then let’s get cooking, shall we?”
I stand.
“I’m just gonna stay here and think for a while, if that’s alright,” Abby says.
“Of course,” Cicely says.
So Cicely and me, we get cooking in the kitchen.
She:
1. Places an apron with ninja carrots over my head.
2. Ties the strings.
3. Stands back.
4. Eyes me.
5. Says, “You’re right. You do look good.”
I laugh a little.
“Now when do I get to see you in the tights and cape you were talking about?” she says.
“Actually those were destroyed in a fire,” I say. “I burned them. I can still use my powers though.”
“Good. I for one feel better knowing I have a giant gnome super hero on my side.”
“No, I’m the sidekick. You’re the hero.”
“I don’t think so, hon. I don’t have any super powers. Well, I suppose I can do this.” She juggles some potatoes with one hand.
“You have a lot of powers.”
A swarm of ideas buzz in my mind.
I don’t say, “You can tran
sform pillows into flaming marshmallows.”
I don’t say, “You can make baby chimeras rain from the sky.”
What I do say is, “You’re a really good person.”
“I don’t think that counts as a super power,” she says. “But thank you, Nicholas.”
We get to work chopping vegetables.
Moments later, I hear a woman shout, “Nick.”
And I’m sure:
1. Somehow, she knows all my secrets.
2. She hates me.
3. She’s going to slap me, hard.
I want to close my eyes.
Instead, I turn around and watch as Abby:
1. Rushes close to me, smiling.
2. Stops suddenly.
3. Yelps.
4. Slaps me.
5. Looks at me with I-don’t-know-what-got-into-me eyes.
And me, I don’t:
1. Move.
2. Let go of the knife sticking in Abby’s stomach.
3. Race for the phone.
In other words, I don’t save her.
I can’t even save myself.
#24
In my dream, Abby’s my soul mate. I’m trying to tell her how sorry I am that I murdered her, but she can’t hear me. Or maybe she’s ignoring me.
No one exists outside the window.
Then my soul mate’s body contorts. Her stomach ruptures and growls and forms a gaping fanged maw.
I can’t hide.
Outside of this nightmare, awake, I escape to the hospital.
I don’t want to, really. I want to hide in the swirling darkness with Abby’s family, where I couldn’t hurt anyone ever again.
But I can’t.
I:
1. Glance at Cicely as she sleeps in a chair, the tennis ball in a cocoon of duct tape around her hand.
2. Approach Abby’s bed.
3. Force away the memories of my own hospitalizations, so that I can focus.
Before I can get any words out, Abby says, “I’m real sorry, Nick.”
I almost laugh. Instead, I say, “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
“I slapped you.”
“I stabbed you with a knife.”
“I ran into your knife like an idiot, then I slapped you for it.”
“You’ve slapped me before.”
“Yeah, but this was different, you know? You didn’t ask me to. My body just reacted, and I hurt you. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
A tear rolls down her cheek, and part of me wants to hold her.
The other part of me says, “You only slapped me because of the curse.”
“It doesn’t matter why,” she says. “I’m just really sorry.”
“Abby, please stop apologizing.”
“Accept my apology and I will.”
I sigh. “Alright, I accept your apology. Now can I have a turn?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“You don’t need to apologize. Everything was totally my fault.”
I bite at my fingernail. “When you came at me, I could’ve let go of the knife. But I held on even tighter. I was scared, I guess. I didn’t know it was you. I’m sorry.”
Abby studies my face for a while then says, “It’s alright.”
I place the gift on her bed.
“What’s this?” she says.
“I worked on it most of the night,” I say.
She:
1. Tears at the wrapping paper.
2. Beams.
3. Says, “My ant!”
4. Scrambles off the bed.
“What are you doing!” I say. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
She hugs me.
I hug her back, soft.
“How much do I owe you?” she says.
“Abby—” I say.
“I’m just kidding. Thanks, Nick. He’s really great.” She returns to the bed, and sits there, hugging the ant.
“Have the doctors said anything new?”
“No, just that everything still looks good. It wasn’t a bad stabbing at all.”
“It wasn’t a good stabbing either.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
The moment I stabbed her flashes in my head again, and as easy as it is to blame myself for that moment, I know:
1. I’m only doing so out of force of habit.
2. It’s possible the curse brought about the stabbing so that Abby would slap me, and even if I somehow prevented this tragedy, something else would’ve happened, and someone else would’ve slapped me.
The only way to put a stop to these catastrophes is to discover the identity of the creature in the swirling darkness, so that we can:
1. Find him.
2. Face him.
3. Bring him down.
In other words, I can’t hide.
In my dream, Abby’s the little sister I never had. I’m trying to tell her how sorry I am that I called her all those horrible names, but the room shatters, and I open my eyes.
Cicely’s standing over me, surrounded by white. “Abby’s gone,” she says.
“What?” I say.
“I woke up and she’s gone.” There’s panic in her voice that I’m sure has everything to do with a monster who can make people disappear.
I:
1. Approach the bed.
2. Notice the note.
3. Pick it up.
“Thank god,” Cicely says.
“Dear Cicely and Nick,” I say. “They said I don’t need to be observed anymore, and I can go home. I don’t want to wake you guys up, because you look so peaceful, like sleeping babies. I’ll see you later. Love, Abby.”
“I can’t believe they discharged her already.”
“I’m sure she’ll be alright.” I force the note into my pocket, with all the other bits and pieces of my life.
And Cicely, she begins to unravel the duct tape from her hand.
“I’d understand if you don’t want me over at your house anymore,” I say.
“Because of the stabbing thing?” Cicely says.
“That, and I haven’t bathed in a few weeks.”
She takes my hand. “You’re a really good person, Nicholas. A little stabbing isn’t going to change that.”
“Thanks.”
“Shall we return to the bat cave?”
We return.
Abby enters the kitchen when we’re preparing sandwiches.
I:
1. Make sure I’m not holding anything in my hands.
2. Turn around.
Abby looks pale.
“Are you feeling ill, hon?” Cicely says.
“Yeah, but not because of my stomach or anything,” Abby says. “I’m really worried, you know?”
“I can go if you’d feel more comfortable,” I say.
“No.” Abby shakes her head. “I’m not worried because of you. I mean, not because you stabbed me. I just have this bad feeling in my legs. I’m afraid the monster’s gonna hurt us.”
“The sooner we find him, the better,” Cicely says. “Did you call your babysitter?”
Abby nods. “She didn’t want to come over. I called all the other women and they didn’t want to come over either. What do we do?”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“I think I’m gonna lie down on the couch.”
“I’ll bring you a sandwich in a few minutes.”
Abby gives a faint smile, then heads into the living room.
Cicely and me, we look at each other.
Maybe she’s thinking what I’m thinking, that:
1. Only yesterday, Abby was strongly opposed to us continuing our search for the creature.
2. She could be lying about the babysitter and the other women.
Before either of us have a chance to speak, Abby returns from the living room, holding her ant.
“Could one of you come sit with me?” Abby says. “I’m sort of, you know, scared.”
“I’ll finish up the
sandwiches,” Cicely says.
So I:
1. Follow Abby into the living room.
2. Sit on the chair beside the couch.
Then I check my:
1. Watch.
2. Mole.
3. Pockets.
“I feel stupid,” Abby says, lying on the couch.
“What? Why?” I say.
“I’m like a little kid, making you come in here because I’m afraid. You must think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t, and I’m not just saying that because I stabbed you.”
She laughs. “You’re just being funny.”
“No, I really do understand. I’ve been having a lot of nightmares recently, and every time I wake up, it’s like some of the nightmare is still there in the room with me. So I get out of there as fast as I can.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And to be honest, I’m more afraid of the creature who cursed us than I am of my nightmares.”
“You don’t seem very scared.”
“Well, I am. Though I guess I feel a lot safer when I’m over here.”
“Because of Cicely?”
I feel myself swallow. “Yeah.”
Abby marches the stuffed ant across her legs. “Do you really think she’ll be able to stop the monster?”
“Maybe.”
“But the monster has all sorts of powers. What if he can snap his fingers and make our heads blow up?”
“I don’t know. But if anyone can stop him, Cicely can.”
“She’s just one human being, Nick.”
Cicely enters the room with a platter and a smile, saying, “Who wants sphinx sandwiches?”
I raise my hand.
Maybe Cicely is just one human being.
But maybe that’s enough.
At the gas station, a man in a cowboy hat:
1. Smiles at me.
2. Approaches me.
3. Says, “Nickels. How long has it been?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
He takes off his hat and rubs his hair. “I know you’re fearing for your life right about now, but I’m not the same sort of man I used to be. I’m more forgiving. All I want is an apology.”
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.”
He puts his hat back on. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“I want to know what exactly you’re sorry for. You wronged me more than once, if you remember.”
“I’m really sorry about everything, but I have to go,” I say.
He:
1. Slaps me.
Cursed Page 8
