by Hunt, James
“I see,” Chuck said. “So, I give you a job, then move you down here, and your first complaint to me is that the house you’re living in for free is too big?” Chuck laughed.
“I know,” Owen said, closing his eyes and taking a breath. The sleepless night preventing his mind from piecing together his thoughts. “And, again, I’m very grateful. But the move has been tough on everyone. And with what’s happened with my father-in-law, and my son, I just think that my family is funneling a lot of that frustration into the house.”
And so Owen waited, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. It was the first time he’d felt anything but a welcoming presence from his boss, and this hardened version was someone he’d like to avoid in the future.
“There aren’t any other houses available right now,” Chuck said. “I’ll check with the real estate office this afternoon and see what we can move you into later.” He opened the bottom left drawer of his desk and flopped a few pieces of paper on top. “I’ll have a contractor come by tomorrow to look at the house, make sure there hasn’t been any damage since you’ve moved in.” He scribbled something down on the papers, then looked up. “It’s the best I can do for now.”
“That’d be great, Mr. Toussaint, thank you so much.” Owen retreated toward the door, dying to escape the room. “But just so you know, for the contractor, I think there’s something wrong with the pipes.”
“Pipes?” Chuck asked, frowning.
“Yeah,” Owen answered. “There have been a few plumbing issues since we’ve moved in. Leaking pipes, bad water. That sort of thing.”
“I’ll let the contractor know.” Chuck returned to the papers on his desk, and as Owen reached the door to leave, he stopped him. “And Owen.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I suggest you do your job well. The last foreman I had on the line was too chummy with his subordinates. I don’t want you giving off the impression that these people are your friends. Everyone is expendable here. And if you wish to make yourself valuable, I suggest that you get to work. Unless you want to find your family on the streets after you find yourself fired.”
Owen nodded, his tone flat, defeated. “Yes, sir.” A headache appeared in the center of his forehead, and he wanted nothing more than to disappear into his work, and then go home to find that his family was fine, and that the past few days had been nothing more than a fluke. But as his headache worsened, so did his doubts.
* * *
The hospital was busy. Staff and patients roamed the halls, and there was a constant echo of doctors being paged over the PA system.
Sounds of sickness, fear, and grief escaped the rooms down the halls. News delivered by doctors and nurses, some of it good, some bad, all of it having consequences. A woman’s shriek caused Claire to shudder.
Chloe squirmed in Claire’s arm as the doctor checked Matt, whose cheeks were still pallid and cold to the touch. She bit her lip anxiously, passing Chloe to her left arm. “Everything all right?”
The doctor removed the stethoscope from his ears and turned around. Thankfully it wasn’t the same old man from yesterday. “Lungs are clear, blood pressure is normal, and he doesn’t have a temperature.”
“But you felt his forehead?” Claire asked, even though she watched the doctor do it. “Why is it so cold?”
“I feel fine, Mom,” Matt said, his voice meek.
“Could be a sensitivity to cool air,” the doctor said, though his tone suggested he might as well have been guessing. “Medically speaking, your son is perfectly healthy. I’m sure he’ll be back to normal in a couple of days.”
But Claire didn’t think that Matt would be okay in a couple of days, or weeks or months. A storm cloud hovered in the distance. It flashed lightening and rumbled thunder. That storm was getting closer and it would only get worse.
Claire took a moment, trying to figure out how to explain to the doctor what she’d seen without sounding like a lunatic. And she wanted to be careful of what she said in front of Matt. He hadn’t remembered anything from last night. The only thing he recalled was waking up this morning with her watching over him, asking why she was crying.
“What is it, Mrs. Cooley?” The doctor placed a gentle hand on her arm, and Chloe finally stopped squirming, resting her head on Claire’s shoulder.
Claire set Chloe down. “Matt, take your sister into the waiting room. I’ll be out there to meet you in a minute, okay?”
“Okay,” Matt said, climbing down from the patient table. “C’mon, Chloe.”
Claire trailed both her children to the doorway, her eyes on them until the reached the waiting room down the hall. She bit her lower lip, twisting the hem of her blouse, and then turned back to the doctor. “There have been other things happening with Matt. Things that I know will sound crazy the moment I say them out loud.”
The doctor nodded and smiled politely while Claire paced the room, her head tilted toward the floor as she turned from the wall and passed the doctor. “He’s talking to himself and it’s like…” The words were there, but she was suddenly frightened to speak them aloud. “It’s like he hasn’t been himself. He’s started keeping strange animals as pets. Snakes, and… spiders.” She tossed the doctor a quick glance to see his reaction and saw that he was still listening politely. “And his eyes have been dilated.” Images of Matt’s dark eyes flashed in her memory. “It’s just been some very strange behavior.”
Claire stopped her pacing and looked back to the doctor, whose mouth had slightly parted, a creaky moan escaping the physician’s lips before he spoke. “The pets could be a way of him coping with what happened. Trying to conquer his own fears, so to speak.”
Claire nodded, looking for any reasonable explanation to grasp hold of. “Yeah, that makes sense. He’s always been a brave kid, never too scared of anything.”
“And the dilated pupils could be a side effect from the venom still working its way through his body,” the doctor said. “As could be his skin’s sensitivity to cold.” He grabbed hold of Claire’s hands comfortingly, and offered a warm smile. “I’m sure the move has been difficult for him. Plus, he’s on the edge of puberty, so those behavioral changes will become more and more prominent.” He patted her hand and laughed. “Best get used to that.”
But despite the reassurances and the doctor’s friendly smile, Claire didn’t believe him. Her mind had groped for a reasonable explanation of her son’s behavior and after everything that happened in that house, the doctor’s answers didn’t satisfy her like she’d hoped.
“It’s more than hormones.” Claire removed her hands from the doctor’s grip, and that warm smile cooled.
“Mrs. Cooley, I understand that you and your family have been through a bit of a shock, but jumping to conclusions without any facts is dangerous. Just go home and have Matthew rest, and make sure you do the same.” He placed his hand on her back and guided her out of the room, pushing rather forcefully. “You look like you could use some sleep yourself.”
Claire stepped forward, separating herself from the doctor’s hand. His arrogance and dismissal only prodded the anger that Owen had stoked in her that morning. She quickly left, grabbing Matt and Chloe by the hand, and walked toward the exit.
Chloe struggled to keep up with her mother’s pace, and Claire eventually bent down to pick her up.
“Mom, is everything okay?” Matt asked, looking up at her.
“It’s fine, sweetheart.” Claire pulled him close. “We just need to make one more stop before we go home.” If a doctor couldn’t give her answers, then she’d speak to someone who could.
A nurse played on her phone at the sign-in station, and after finishing a text she looked up. “Can I help you?”
“I need Roger Templeton’s room number?” Claire asked. “I’m his daughter.”
The nurse pointed to the hallway on the left. “Fourth door down.”
“Thank you.” It wasn’t a coincidence that her father and Matt were sharing the same strange behavior. It was
connected somehow, and she might be able to pry it out of her father’s weathered mind.
Claire stopped at the doorway to her father’s room, leaving both Claire and Matt in chairs in the hallway. She didn’t want them to see him if he was still incoherent, and she didn’t want to scare Matt by having him listen in if she did learn something. Despite the brave showing, she knew her son was nervous.
Roger lay asleep in his bed, no longer mumbling and whispering to himself, his chest slowly rising and falling with each breath as he lay strapped to the bed. Even though she’d seen him just yesterday, he looked to have aged a few years.
She was glad her mother wasn’t alive to see him like this. If there was one blessing in her death, it was that. Claire’s mom was a sweet woman, but she lacked the mind and grit that Claire inherited from her father. But she was a wonderful mom, always armed with the right words at just the right time.
Claire wished she could channel her mother’s voice at that moment. She had no idea of what to say. Hey, Dad, sorry for sending you off to a home, but you’re too dangerous to be kept around your grandchildren anymore. Or, so you’re sick now and we don’t want to take care of you anymore so we’re sending you away. We’ll try to visit when we can!
The words churned her stomach sour just thinking them. The man in front of her had driven her to all of those softball games as a kid. The same father who would call in to the school and tell them that she was sick, and then take her to the Orioles game.
“Daddy?” Claire gave him a gentle shake, and Roger turned his head toward her, blinking awake. “How are you feeling?” She waited to find out if this was her father or the stranger that Alzheimer’s had created.
“Claire?” Roger spoke her name like a child, unsure if what he was seeing was real.
Claire gripped his hand and squeezed, smiling. “It’s me.”
A single tear rolled from the corner of his right eye and trailed straight down to his pillow. He produced a sad smile and the pressure of his hand gave what strength he had left. “I can’t remember why I’m here.”
“You had an episode,” Claire said, pulling a chair behind her to sit, and she inched closer to the bed. “Owen came home and found you passed out on the floor. Dad, do you remember what happened?”
Roger squinted hard, then wiggled underneath the straps. He looked at them quickly, then up to her. “Did I hurt someone? Is that why—”
“No,” Claire answered, placing her hand on his chest to calm him. “They just didn’t want you wandering around the hospital when you woke up. But before, when I spoke to you yesterday, you said you thought you heard someone the night Matt was hurt. You said you were chasing something outside. Do you remember what it was?”
Roger sighed. “I don’t know.” He shut his eyes, shaking his head. “There was a noise.”
Claire’s heartbeat quickened. “What kind of noise?”
“Like a rattling,” Roger answered, his eyes still closed. “I heard it again, when I was alone at the house. I followed it to a room, and then…” He trailed off, opening his eyes. “There was water. Pitch black water.”
“Were there animals in there with you?” Claire asked.
Roger shook his head. “Not an animal. Something else. And it was cold. The kind that seeps into your bones. Worse than any winter up north.”
“What was it, Dad?” Claire gripped his arm tighter. “What did you see?”
Roger’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, and he moved his lips soundlessly, like a car trying to start but unable to catch. “Th-th-the eyes.” He spoke in horrified whispers now and gazed ahead of him into the empty space, like he could see the creature right in front of him. “It was death staring at me. Everything was dead.”
Claire shook her head, trying to understand. All she could see was Matt with those same black eyes, and the water, the spiders, and the snake. “Dad, you need to—”
Roger took hold of her arm, his massive hand engulfing it easily, his grip incredibly strong as he pulled her close. “Don’t go back in that house, Claire. Something is there. Something b-b-b-AAAAAHHHHH!” His mouth opened wide as he screamed. He thrashed in the bed, the straps struggling to keep him still.
The machines hooked up to her father beeped in the same wild ferocity of his body, and a team of nurses and orderlies flooded into the room as Claire stepped back with her hand over her mouth. One of the nurses grabbed a needle filled with a clear liquid and gave it a quick spurt, the fluid squirting out of the top. Her father roared in defiance as she stuck the needle into his arm and emptied the solution.
Roger’s thrashing calmed along with the machine’s commotion, and Claire fought the tears wanting to break free. She removed herself from the room, and regrouped in the hall. She drew in deep breaths, her eyes closed. What now?
If she went back to Owen and told him that her delusion father told her they needed to leave that house they’d only argue again. She needed proof of what her father said. And that’s exactly what she was going to get.
7
The whistle blew and the loud clanking of the factory ended as workers stepped away from their stations and headed toward their lockers, ready to go home for the day. Owen fell in line behind everyone, his shirt collar soaked with a ring of sweat as he removed his hard hat and glasses. It felt good to get back into a routine like that, and for at least a few hours, he felt like his life was back to normal.
But after Owen tossed his uniform into the locker, he caught his boss staring at him from his office window. Chuck’s eyes followed Owen all the way out the door, and even outside, Owen felt them linger on his back. He shivered and got into the van.
With the workday over, the troublesome thoughts of home returned. His last words to Claire had been gnawing at him all day. He didn’t want to go home without some sort of peace offering, so instead of turning right onto Main Street and heading toward the house, he took a left and found a parking spot in front of the small realty office, the sign in the window still flipped to open.
Owen checked his appearance in his rearview mirror, hoping that he didn’t look too derelict for someone to think he couldn’t afford a house, though his creditors might have a few things to say about the matter, and stepped out of the van.
A bell on the front door jingled as Owen entered. He scraped his boots on the welcome mat before stepping onto the old hardwood. “Hello?” The small space was empty with the exception of a desk jimmied up alongside the front door and the dozens of pictures hanging on the walls, all of them showing people in front of houses, smiling as the realtor handed them keys.
“Hi there!” A middle-aged gentleman stepped from a small doorway in the back, wiping his hands with a cloth. He was clean shaven, and his pearl-white teeth contrasted against his unnaturally tan skin. “What can I help you with?” He tossed the cloth on his desk and adjusted the belt around the waist of his plaid tweed suit. It was a thick jacket for such a hot climate.
“I was hoping you could tell me the properties you have in the area?”
“Of course!” He grabbed hold of Owen’s hand and gave it three hearty pumps. “Nate Covers. If you want a house, I’ve got the dream home for you.” He spoke the words like a cheesy local commercial and then gestured to one of the chairs.
“I just need to know what you have for immediate occupancy,” Owen said, taking a seat.
Nate smiled, and thrust his index finger in Owen’s direction. “Right down to business. I like your style.” He clicked the mouse of his computer, then started typing. “So do you already live in the area?”
“Yes,” Owen answered. “Just moved here actually.”
“Where from?”
“Baltimore.”
“Long way from home.” Nate laughed loud and quickly. “I see the wedding ring. Have kids?”
“Two.”
“All right, let’s see.” Nate kept his eyes on the computer screen, which was turned away from Owen, and he typed a few more keystrokes and then leaned back in hi
s chair, portions of the faux-leather armrests cracked, exposing the yellow-foam stuffing inside. “I’ve got a few three and four bedrooms on the market right now. What kind of budget are you looking at?”
“I haven’t really gone to the bank to check that stuff out yet,” Owen answered, rubbing his hands nervously. But he probably knew the answer they would give him: small. “I told my wife I’d start looking. She’s not really in love with our current house.”
“Where are you at now?”
“Fourteen Cypress Lane.”
Nate ended the light rock in his chair, and that unnatural tan color drained from his cheeks. “So you work for Chuck Toussaint then.” He drummed his fingers on his stomach.
“Yeah,” Owen said.
Nate forced another wide, cheesy smile. “He’s a great guy. Normally pays for his employees’ housing. Did you not have the same arrangement with him?”
“No, I did, but—” Owen cut himself off, suddenly embarrassed and wanting to leave. “You know what, maybe I should just talk to him about it some more.” Owen stood and Nate mirrored him. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Not a problem, and, hey, if anything changes, just drop by and I’ll see what I can find for you.”
The bell at the top of the door chimed as Owen left, and he fished the van’s keys out of his pockets, feeling uneasy about his interaction with Nate Covers. Had he crossed some sort of line going behind his boss’s back like that?
He turned toward the driver side door and abruptly stopped. Across the street he saw the sign for Queen’s, and standing outside her own shop of bizarre trinkets and bobbles stood the dread-haired woman, staff in hand, those pair of hazel and yellow glinted eyes fixated on him.
Owen fisted the keys in his hand and marched over to her. “What do you want?” he shouted from the middle of the street, but even as he got closer, the woman didn’t move. “Is it you?” He stepped onto the sidewalk, the heat of the day and his anger flushing his cheeks a bright red. “Are you the one who’s been sneaking around my house? Huh?”
