Winter Wake

by Rick Hautala

  She cried so hard her body shook, but at last the waves of loneliness receded. Having someone to hug was enough to dull the panic an pain. Sniffing, she sat back on the couch, grabbed a Kleenex, and wiped her eyes and nose.

  The living room was silent for along time as they sat looking at each other, each knowing they shared a deep bond.

  “You ought to tell your folks ‘bout what happened, you know,” her grandfather said.

  Bri sniffed and nodded, but he sensed that she didn’t mean it. It saddened him to see that same distance growing between Bri and her mother as there was between himself and John.

  Maybe, he thought, it’s just the way things are between parents and kids.

  “It ain’t just about what happened today, is it?” Frank said softly.

  Bri’s face twisted through a gallery of expressions as she groped for the words that would express what she was feeling. They didn’t have to be exactly the right words … anything close would do.

  “It’s that … they don’t understand what I’m going through,” she finally managed to say, although her voice was scratchy and raw. The fever was laying soft, hot pressure on the back of her head.

  Frank smiled, a sympathetic smile and reached out to pat her gently on the knee.

  “I don’t think parents ever understand what kids are going through. You may tell yourself when you’re a kid that, once you have children of your own, you’re gonna remember what it was like, but by the time you do, things have changed you enough — ‘n’ times have changed enough — so even though you may honestly want to understand, you just can’t do it anymore, no matter how hard you try.”

  Lord knows, I tried, he thought to himself even though he couldn’t push aside the feeling that, for him and John, it was already too late.

  His words only made Bri feel all the more helpless and alone, but the fact that he was saying them to her — and she wasn’t thinking them to herself — made her feel about as good as she could.

  “It’s up to you, you,” he said. “You don’t tell ‘em what you’re feelin’, how’re they ‘spozed to know?”

  “I’ve told them hundreds of times, but they don’t listen to me. They never do.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Frank said. “I think — hell, I know your mom and dad love you a lot, ‘n it bothers them that you ain’t happy here.... “ His voice trailed off as he thought, Because they had to come here to help me. Seeing what it was doing to Bri cut his heart like a razor.

  “Yeah … well,” she said, but before she could say more, a wave of shivers raced through. Her teeth started chattering, and when she sniffed loudly, tiny spinning lights danced across her vision.

  “What you need is some rest,” Frank said. “I was kinda hopin’ for a coupla games of checkers, but —”

  “I’ll play,” Bri said, trying to brighten up. But as she leaned forward on the couch, the sudden motion made the pressure in her head suddenly worse, and she collapsed back onto the couch and closed her eyes.

  “Maybe you oughta head on up to your room,” Frank said. “The checkers’ll wait.”

  Bri started to protest, but instead she shifted her feet to the floor and, dragging her blanket behind her like a loose robe, she mumbled a “g’night,” and shuffled slowly up the stairs.

  “Hope you’re feelin’ better in the morning,” Frank said.

  He waited at the foot of the stairs, listening as she walked slowly up to her room. Her bedroom door clicked shut behind her, and then he heard the squeaking of the bedsprings as she dropped onto the bed. He didn’t move from his position until he was sure she was asleep, but even then, he didn’t feel as though everything was done, as though everything was safe.

  Something else was gnawing at the back of his mind … something he knew he should have told her. It had come to him while they were talking, but before he could say it, it had faded again, like a tiny flame that had gotten blown out. All he knew, as he stared silently up the stairwell toward Bri’s bedroom door, was that it had something to do with that girl she had talked about —

  Something to do with Audrey, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember now.

  III

  She’s back!

  The words came crashing like a tidal wave into John’s mind as he stood in the kitchen doorway, staring in astonishment at the dim reflection in the picture window. And almost immediately, his second thought was, Why did I think she?

  They had come home late from the movie because they had had to wait for the second show. Supper at Tortilla Flat had taken a bit longer than they had planned, and by the time they found a parking space — which, on a Saturday night at the Westbrook Cinema, was close to a miracle — the early showing of the new DeCaprio movie was sold out. It was either another movie, certainly not the gory horror movie Night Siege, or wait for the late show. So they killed time wandering around the Maine Mall and got back to the cinema in plenty of time.

  Julia enjoyed the movie almost as much as John did, but it had some violent scenes where she had to press her face against John’s chest until he signaled it was okay to come up for air. As soon as they got home, Julia went upstairs to check on Bri. She poked her head into the room, saw that she was asleep, and tiptoed downstairs. Frank’s door was closed and the TV was silent. They figured, without Bri’s company, he had gone to sleep early as well.

  While Julia waited in the living room, John fixed them each a cup of tea. As he was carrying the tray into the living room, he was overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu — the feeling that this had happened before — when he glanced at the window and saw two people reflected in the window — Julia and … someone else.

  He remembered the last time this had happened, on their first night in the house.

  The sudden blast of the foghorn had awakened them, and Julia and Bri had waited on the couch while he heated up some milk for them. The living room had been dark except for the steadily blinking lighthouse beacon. Rain had been beating against the window, and he had seen — no, he told himself, thought he had seen — a dark figure hanging from the ceiling.

  This time, a single reading lamp was on in the living room. Bri was in bed. Through the picture window, like that other night, John could see the lighthouse, but no rain beat against the glass. Centered in the middle of the window, though, was that same figure — the same indistinct blur. It certainly looked like a person, but this time he told himself not to panic.

  He stopped in the doorway and stared at the window.

  “What’s the matter?” Julia asked, turning to him.

  He wasn’t sure, but it seemed as though the second reflection, which had its back to him, was slowly turning around to face him as well.

  There’s gotta be some kind of double reflection or something? he thought.

  He moved his head from side to side, studying the change in perspective.

  Everything in the room — even the weird double reflection — shifted. It was too dim, too vague to see clearly, but whatever it was, it looked like another person was there with them.

  “There’s a … “

  He shook his head and, with as few steps as possible, put the tray down on an end table and went back to the doorway. As soon as he looked at the window, he saw the double reflection was still there, but damned if he could figure out if it was Julia’s or...

  No ... It can’t be someone else.

  “Raise your hand and wave to me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Wave o me.”

  Frowning, Julia did as she was told, and John watched, fascinated, as both reflections raised their hands. The clearest reflection of Julia’s back was easily recognizable, but the second one — even as it waved its hand — looked somehow … different.

  “Come here a minute,” he said, motioning her over. “Stand right here.”

  Julia came over and stood where he indicated.

  “Now watch when I sit down on the couch.”

  He walked over and sa
t where Julia had been, turned to face her, and said, “Look at my reflection in the window. What do you see?”

  “Your back,” Julia said, frowning with confusion. “What this all about?”

  “No, no … look carefully at the reflection. Where the light from the lighthouse is.” He raised his hand and waved it from side to side. “Now … what do you see?”

  Julia leaned forward and stared at the window, but all she could see was the clear outline of her husband, waving his hand over his head like a fool. She told him so.

  “There isn’t, like, a double reflection?” He turned to a look at the window again. “Can’t you see a dimmer outline of me … like a shadow?”

  Julia shook her head. “Just you. Is this some kind of joke?”

  John was looking back and forth from Julia to the window again and frowning as he tried to see if she was standing exactly where he had been.

  “Move back and forth, and keep looking at the picture window. Tell me if anything changes.”

  Again Julia did as she was told, but after a while she shook her head, came over to the couch, and sat beside him.

  “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t go see that scary movie,” she said. “You’re too suggestible. May I please have my tea before it gets cold?”

  She reached for the tray on the end table and almost dropped it when John suddenly shouted, “Wait. Stay right where you are.”

  He got up from the couch and went back to the kitchen doorway, staring at the picture window. Julia, meanwhile, was reaching awkwardly across the couch, looking at him over her shoulder as if afraid he was losing his mind.

  “This isn’t the most comfortable position,” she said.

  “Just a second,” John said. She might not have seen the shadowy reflection — and, by Jesus, it had looked like another woman reflected in the glass — but he had … and it was there again. He moved back and forth, up and down, trying to see it more clearly, but nothing he did made it clearer. If he moved even a fraction of an inch, it would be gone like smoke.

  “John … This is getting a tad ridiculous,” Julia said. She shifted back into a comfortable sitting position and took one of the teacups. Testing the liquid with her lips, she nodded and said, “Come on and sit down and relax.”

  “Just a second,” he said.

  Keeping his eyes fixed on the window, he made his way across the living room floor, feeling his way around the furniture. He hardly noticed the jolt of pain when he bumped his shin against the coffee table.

  When he got to the picture window, he could still see something that looked like a stain, embedded in the glass. It got lighter and darker, depending from which angle he viewed it. He got as close to the glass as possible, trying to see beyond the superficial reflection of the living room. Julia watched him in amazement. Bending over, he put his fingers to the glass and rubbed it with small, circular motions.

  “I never noticed a blemish in this glass before,” he said. “Did you?”

  “Will you get over here?” Julia said, slapping the couch cushion beside her.

  He could see she was starting to get irritated with him, but damn if it still didn’t look as if it there was a second vague figure hovering at the edge of vision, like a negative on an old-fashioned photographic glass plate.

  “God,” he said, straightening up. “That is so weird.”

  “You’re the one who’s weird,” Julia said. “There’s some tiny imperfection in the glass that’s distorting the light.”

  Cupping his chin in his hand, John studied the picture window a while longer; then he went back to the couch and sat down with a heavy sigh. Julia handed him his cup of tea — now getting cold — but he didn’t notice as he sipped it.

  They carried on a casual conversation for quite a while, brushing at times on a few more serious problems, particularly Bri’s lack of adjustment at school, but John’s eyes were constantly drifting back to the window, trying to get a fix on what he thought he had seen there. Every so often, especially as he was turning to look away from the window, the dark splotch — which certainly resembled a human figure — would whisk away just before he turned and looked straight at it.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Julia finally asked out of frustration. “You’re not hearing a word I say.”

  “No — I, uh … keep thinking I see something,” John said.

  “What is it?”

  John shrugged nervously.

  “I dunno. It’s gotta be some kind of defect in the glass, but it moves even when you and I are sitting still.”

  “Maybe the house is haunted,” Julia said. A sly smile spread across her face, and she held her hands up like a witch’s claws.

  “Cut it out,” John said, pushing her away.

  “Seriously,” Julia said. “Maybe it’s your mother’s ghost.”

  “That’s not funny,” John said, frowning.

  “This is an old house. Who’s to say it doesn’t have a few spooks hanging around in the rafters? I hear sounds at night, like bumping and banging around inside the walls.”

  “Probably the rats my father was telling us about,” John said with a snicker. “Unless it’s my father trying to get down the hallway to the bathroom without turning on the lights.”

  He laughed, but the laughter sounded thin and unconvincing, even to his own ears.

  Wharf rats as big as poodles, Julia thought, unable to repress a shiver.

  Before she chalked up anything to a ghost in the house, she wanted to eliminate all of the more reasonable explanations first.

  “It’s just that —”

  He cut himself off because he again caught a hint of motion in the corner of his eye. This time he was convinced it had been there … that someone had walked past the window outside. Recalling what had happened to Bri on Halloween night, he thought was maybe Randy Chadwick was out there, snooping around for whatever reason.

  Julia jumped when he turned quickly and looked at the picture window.

  “What?’“ she asked. “Did you see something?”

  “No … nothing,” John replied.

  He drank the last bit of cold tea and glanced at his watch, surprised to see that it was already after midnight.

  “We ought to hit the sack. I’m not used to staying up so late.”

  Julia stifled a yawn and nodded agreement as she stood up. She put their empty cups onto the tray and carried them into the kitchen while John turned off the living room light. As the room was plunged into darkness, he couldn’t stop wondering about what the darkness might be hiding.

  What reflections might there be in the picture window now if his eyes could pierce the darkness?

  Or who might he see standing outside in the dark, looking in at him?

  He met Julia at the foot of the stairs, and arm in arm they went upstairs. After a quick wash-up, they tucked into bed, kissed good night, and rolled over to sleep. But as late as it was, sleep was elusive for John. As he drifted in and out of a thin slumber, his mind kept playing with what he had seen reflected in the living room window. In his dreams, thin, dark shadows kept resolving into clearer shapes … shapes that took on sharper definition as if struggling to gain substance …

  Twelve

  “Dem Bones”

  I

  After all that had happened on Saturday — some of which Bri never confessed to her parents — Sunday was a relatively relaxing day. As usual, Frank went to church in the morning and spent the afternoon visiting friends. Bri was feeling better but still not well enough to get out of bed before noon. Then, after a light lunch of toast and juice, she went back to bed. She was secretly hoping to have at least one day off from school. Julia and John had finished off the living room painting and papering last weekend, so they spent a leisurely afternoon browsing through the Maine Sunday Telegram. The one time John mentioned that he might snap on the football game, Julia threatened divorce, so the TV was quiet all day.

  From her bed, Bri could see Indian Point, and several
times throughout the day, she saw someone walking around out there. The figure was little more than a dark dot in the distance, and the rough terrain blocked her view most of the time. She was sure it was Audrey, but after what had happened yesterday — how Audrey had stood there when she had been swept away by the wave, and not gone for help — Bri never wanted to see or talk with her again.

  Julia was grateful for their free time because John finally started to unwind. Earlier that morning, he had seemed wired, but after lunch and her joking about divorcing him if he watched football, he seemed like the person she used to know before they moved to Maine — the fun, relaxed, easygoing John.

  “You said a while ago how you might want to find something else for a job,” she said. “Were you serious?”

  They were sitting side by side on the couch, the Sunday paper a fluttered mess around their feet on the floor. John was drinking a beer, which was unusual for him before evening, but Julia didn’t feel he needed it to unwind.

  Staring thoughtfully at the top of the can, his finger flicking the pull tab and making it hum, he shrugged.

  “I dunno,” he said, shaking his head. “I guess I was pissed off. I wasn’t serious about lobstering, but … it’d be kind of nice not to have so much pressure.”

  “Is there really that much pressure at work?”

  John took a swallow of beer.

  “Enough. You know, Randy wasn’t making that up about me not being the most popular guy on this island. And even if I wasn’t working for Freedom, being the new guy at Atkins and all, I feel I have to prove myself more than the guys who have been there for years. Sometimes I feel like — you know what my father used to say?”

  Julia arched an eyebrow.

  “‘Like I’ve been shot at and missed, shit on and hit.’”

  “Colorful,” Julia said, smiling in spite of herself. “But what are your alternatives?” She shifted forward and placed her hand gently on his arm. “Realistically?”