He began to plan ahead, only now fully realizing his responsibility, as he hefted Cindy in his arms and rolled her into the trunk of the car.
CHAPTER 9: DADDY MADE ME
Sometimes Mack remembered things from the past; things that terrified him. They arrived in the form of waking nightmares, intruding on his daily routine and squatting in the empty afternoons, settling around him without a sound. These shards of memory would quickly mutate into something weightless and imprecise, as though his reality was locked inside a prism. He would feel the creeping freedom of the nightmare expand, the memory turning black, his past fading away. And in its place he would see what was left: the dark figure of a man chained to a wall, repeating the same action, endlessly tearing at his face.
As he lay on his bed, Mack thought he could remember what it was like to be small. To be lost in fear and confusion as the adult world pressed in around him. He remembered sitting in a lightless room as Dark Daddy padded up the stairs. He had been naughty, though he couldn’t remember what he had done. Mommy had yelled at him and sent him to bed without any tea. She had been close to tears, her breathing loud in his ears. What on earth had he done to reduce her to such a distressed state? His memory was unclear; all he could recall was his mother’s anger and her pledge to tell his father everything when he returned home from work.
And now Daddy was here. Or a version of him was. The thing that was like a rough sketch of his father, his features shifting as though pressed up against glass, the grain of his face rippling darkly, his eyes black as unraked ash. This was how he remembered Dark Daddy, towering over him, filling him with fear, his twisted mouth hissing at him to be good. When Mack looked up, he could see a distorted imprint of his daddy’s face on a stranger. He looked like a man trying to impersonate Daddy but getting it all wrong, as though his face wouldn’t quite conform to the original. He remembered Dark Daddy trailing his long fingers along the banister and entering his room, those ash-black eyes hanging over him, promising to teach him a lesson…
Mack drew himself up on the bed and tried to dislodge the memory. He could hear raised voices in the corridor outside and he eased his feet into his slippers. He felt the past recede, images of Dark Daddy melting away. The commotion in the corridor grew louder and he opened the door of his room to discover a slew of orderlies clearing a path through the assembled ranks of onlookers. Mack shuffled to the perimeter of the crowd and saw his daddies craning for a better view.
“What’s going on?” Mack asked.
One of his daddies turned and smiled at him “Some poor bastard tried to top himself,” he said. “They’re trying to clean up the mess.”
Daddy turned back into the scrum of bodies, his face averted, and instantly became a small balding man with liver spots stippling the back of his head. Mack pressed himself into the throng and worked his way to the front.
He heard somebody say, “Stay back. We need to get this mess mopped up,” and there was another halfhearted attempt by the orderlies to hold back the crowd. Mack was jostled and struck by a flailing arm. He felt a little dazed. When he next glanced up, he felt his mouth go dry as he saw Daddy lying on the floor, his body cooling in an ever-widening fan of blood. He had hacked at his wrists, tearing open the veins. His face looked almost serene.
Mack’s knees seemed to buckle under him and he had to reach out to the person next to him for support. His cotton shirt felt damp against his skin; the tableau before him began to blur.
“Daddy…” he whispered. He looked at the face of the man lying on the floor and watched it flicker between dark and light, the features unsettled, as though Daddy were grappling with a demon, fighting to retain his identity.
Mack pushed through the cordon of orderlies and threw himself on top of his dying father, clawing at his face.
“Don’t go!” he screamed. “You have to stay…”
He was slipping in the dark blood, his clothes and hands covered in the stuff. With each clumsy shift forward, he would lose purchase and slide back, his face pressed into the warmth of Daddy’s bleeding arms.
Somewhere in the distance he heard someone say, “Shit! Get this freak out of here,” before he felt rough hands pulling him away. He was dragged from the body and began to howl as Daddy’s face receded, so far away now he could see him more clearly, the demon defeated, Daddy’s dead eyes watching him go. Mack struggled against the grappling orderlies and managed to pull free, flinging himself once again on the slumped body of his father.
“Don’t leave me!” he shouted. He swung his arms as the orderlies tried to restrain him. He felt his hands smack against flesh as he flailed at them; he heard grunts and curses close to his ear. Somebody called him a crazy old cunt and hit him hard in the midriff. It felt like a weight had been dropped on his abdomen and he briefly wondered why he was unable to breathe.
One of the orderlies—probably Aubrey, who Dr. Faber insisted was a large black man that looked nothing like Daddy—pinned him to the floor and secured his hands behind his back. He could smell the man’s scented skin.
“It’s okay, Mack,” he said softly. “You’re perfectly safe. Let’s get you back to your room.”
“I need to see Daddy,” Mack said. “I need to see that he’s not bleeding anymore.”
Aubrey paused and slowly released the pressure around Mack’s wrists.
“Then turn around and look at me,” he said. “Your daddy’s just fine.”
Mack rolled onto his back, looked at the man hovering over him, and smiled.
“I just had a nightmare,” he said, staring into his father’s face.
“I know,” Daddy said. “And now it’s over.”
Aubrey helped Mack to his feet and guided him back to his room.
“I’ll never leave you,” he said.
SESSION #F001/626
Friday 9th September, 16:30PM
Attending Physicians: Dr. Kincaid, Dr. Faber.
Faber: Good evening, Mack. How are you feeling? I hear you had a pretty rough day.
Mack: It wasn’t so bad. Just a bad dream. Daddy took good care of me.
Faber: So I hear. Would you like to tell me what the dream was about?
[Pause]
Mack: Something bad happened to Daddy. I got scared.
Kincaid: What happened to him?
Mack: I don’t know. There was a lot of blood. I think he was killing himself.
Faber: Why would he do that?
[Pause]
Mack: It was just a nightmare. People do strange things in nightmares, don’t they? Sometimes they don’t even make any sense.
Kincaid: How did the dream make you feel?
Mack: Terrified. It seemed so real. I remember looking at Daddy’s face and seeing his eyes watching me. He looked very old.
Kincaid: What do you mean?
Mack: There were lots of lines around his eyes. Like he’d grown old. See? I should have known it was a nightmare. It doesn’t make any sense, does it?
Kincaid: Did anything else strike you as being a little odd?
Mack: Sometimes Daddy’s face swam out of focus. Like I was looking at him through a faulty lens.
[Dr. Faber slides a photograph across the table.]
Faber: Do you recognize this man?
[Pause]
Mack: I don’t think so. Is it someone I used to know?
Faber: The man’s name is Frederick Statham. He’s been a resident here for fifteen years, Mack. Today he tried to take his own life.
[Pause]
Mack: Just like in my dream.
[Pause. Dr. Faber slides a second photograph across the table.]
Faber: How about this man? Do you know who this is?
[Pause]
Mack: No. I don’t know many black people. Who is he?
Faber: This is one of our senior custodians, Mack. His name is Aubrey. He takes care of many of our most vulnerable patients.
Mack: Will I have seen him around?
Faber: Yes, Mack. You’
ve seen him many times. He frequently looks after you. Remember?
[Pause]
Mack: No. I’ve never seen him before.
Faber: Look at the pictures again. Closely. Do either of these men look like your father?
[Mack looks again at both photographs.]
Mack: No.
Faber: Are you sure?
Mack: This is a picture of an old man. And this one is of a black man. They look nothing like Daddy.
[Pause]
Kincaid: Can you describe your father for us?
Mack: [Laughs] Just look in the mirror, silly. Daddy will be staring right back!
Faber: Earlier today, Mack, you mistook both of these men for your father. Do you remember?
Mack: That’s impossible. They don’t look anything like him. I’ve never seen these men before.
Faber: That’s because your mind fixes on something in your past, some part of your father that’s locked into your consciousness, and displaces the identity of those around you. We don’t understand how it works, Mack, not fully, but your ability to process and recognize familiar faces is impaired. It’s a dissociative state that affects the way you see things. We discussed it before.
Mack: I don’t remember.
Faber: I know, it’s very complicated. It’s difficult to understand, but it’s deeply rooted in your relationship with your father. That much we do know.
Mack: [Turning to Kincaid] Daddy…?
Kincaid: I’m not your father, Mack. I’m Dr. Kincaid. I work with Dr. Faber here at the hospital. You’re just a little confused right now.
Mack: Why are you saying you’re not my daddy? Don’t you love me anymore?
[Pause]
Kincaid: Your daddy loves you very much. It’s just that…
[Kincaid and Faber look at each other. There is a pause. Faber shakes his head.]
Mack: I remember when Daddy didn’t love me before. It made me so sad I began to cry. Mommy had gone away, too.
Faber: When was this?
Mack: It was a long time ago. We lived in the house. I was very young.
Faber: Why did your daddy stop loving you?
Mack: He was angry at me. I’d scribbled on all the walls. I was drawing my favorite characters. I did Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck. I couldn’t write words but I scribbled what I heard them saying in my head.
Faber: What happened?
Mack: Daddy came home and saw the pictures. He turned into Dark Daddy so fast I had no time to run away. He grabbed hold of me and shook me hard till it hurt. He told me daddies didn’t love naughty little boys and threw me into a corner of the room. I think I banged my head on the wall. I couldn’t see clearly, but I heard Dark Daddy coming towards me, reaching out with his long hands, telling me to act like a man…
[Mack looks agitated; he is rubbing his hands together, pulling at the mask on his face.]
Kincaid: It’s okay, Mack. Everything’s fine. Dark Daddy’s gone, okay? You need to calm down. There’s nothing to worry about.
[Mack slowly begins to relax.]
Faber: Are you feeling better, Mack?
Mack: A little. Maybe I could have a glass of water.
[Kincaid leaves the room. Mack looks anxious.]
Faber: What’s the matter?
[Pause]
Mack: I miss Daddy.
Faber: How many daddies do you have?
Mack: [Laughs] One, silly.
[Pause]
Mack: Except…
[Pause]
Faber: Yes?
Mack: Sometimes there are daddies everywhere. All with exactly the same face. This is when I get a little flustered.
Faber: Sometimes it’s okay to be confused, Mack. It shows that we’re questioning the world around us.
[Kincaid returns with a glass of water and places it on the table. Mack looks relieved.]
Mack: Thank you, Daddy. I feel better now. The nightmare I had this morning seems a long time ago.
Kincaid: I’m glad to hear it.
Mack: Can I ask you a question, Daddy?
[Pause]
Kincaid: Of course you can. Fire away.
[Pause]
Mack: Is all this a dream, too?
CHAPTER 10: RUN
For a while they drove in silence, listening to the sound of the rain. Neither Kate nor the McCrays felt able to articulate anything remotely resembling small talk, and Billy was once again fast asleep in his mother’s arms. Through the windshield, the horizon turned gray. Kate closed her eyes; she could hear the gossip of birds in the trees.
She stared at the empty road and thought about Jimmy; pictured the wretched opening of his damaged eye. If there was anything more terrible than love, she thought, then she hoped never to encounter it. How had she found her way onto this lonely road, clutching for dear life the sleeping body of her son? It was like her life had been twisted inside out, the rough grain of it drawing blood, showing her how easily love can turn. This was why she silently shook as the McCrays’ car carried her away: because of love and the cold landscape in which it sometimes resides. Where husbands forget who they are. And children dream of sleeping safely in their mother’s arms.
* * *
Jimmy Hopewell tried to remember why part of the sky was still dark. He had been sleeping fitfully as Maggie drove and had been jolted awake by the memory of Kate’s face lunging towards him. Now he felt woolly-headed and dazed. While he was asleep it had begun to rain. Dull light was pressing against his right eye, but his left was bitter and black. There was a distant ache where his sight used to be.
“How long was I asleep?” he said, turning to look at Maggie.
“Just a few minutes.”
Jimmy grunted and reached a hand towards the empty socket.
“Leave it alone,” Maggie said. “It creeps me out when you keep touching it.”
Jimmy looked at her. He experienced a rush of contempt and felt a detached kind of interest as he considered smacking her around the face. It would be easy, he thought. He’d done it with Kate; why not show Maggie the lay of the land, too? She’d become far too fucking disrespectful for his liking. Maybe she needed taking in hand, just like that prissy little wife of his.
He frowned, allowing his temper to dissipate. Yes, he knew when a woman needed correcting, alright. But Kate had fought back; not only that, the bitch had bested him at his own game, leaving him half-blind and bleeding on the kitchen floor. The very last thing he needed tonight was another altercation. It wasn’t Maggie he was angry with anyway; it was Kate. She was the one he needed to fix. He needed to keep his senses clear and his resentment under control. Kate was the one. He calmed himself by staring at the sky, imagining himself connected to her by its vastness, the gray clouds drawing him on.
“You sure this is where they’re headed?” Maggie said, triggering in Jimmy another quiver of irritation. “They could be anywhere by now.”
“Trust me. This is the road.” Jimmy discreetly fingered the rim of his left eye socket. “I saw it clear as day.”
Maggie glanced at him, watching him stroke the tender tissue around the socket, and shuddered. She wondered if Jimmy was losing his mind. He wouldn’t be seeing anything as clear as day ever again; for Jimmy, half of the world would always be in perpetual darkness. She turned her attention back to the road and drove.
Jimmy rested, his left eye burning; he saw Kate and his son climb out of the McCrays’ car. Watched as they approached the farmhouse in the dull gray light. Billy’s hands small and round, squeezed into tiny fists.
* * *
Eventually, Alison broke the silence.
“Kate, I don’t know what to say. I feel so—”
Kate interrupted her, sensing only more pain and heartache ahead. “Let’s not do this now, Alison. It’s been a long night—a terrible night. Nothing good can come from opening up another wound. Let’s just leave it.”
Alison turned away. She watched the rain fall on the windshield and listened to Billy’s steady breath
ing. She thought about Father Mike Hedley, a man she had always been proud to consider a friend, and felt a chill pass through her aging bones. The world was showing her sights tonight that she would never have imagined possible. Not if she lived to be a hundred. It was like being repeatedly prodded with the blunt end of a stick, each blow leaving a fresh mark, a cruel reminder of how quickly the body can be bruised. She was a woman who talked about the weather, who considered the fluctuating prices of bread, who pegged out washing on the line and enjoyed a good gossip with Mrs. Hetthelwaite over the fence. She was not a woman for whom such darkness as she’d been forced to confront tonight even existed. The mere thought of it made her feel sick to her stomach. Thank the good Lord that Kate had got to Hedley in time. That’s all her mind kept returning to. Thank God that Kate had stopped that beast in his tracks. Both of them, she suddenly thought, for Kate had wrestled two demons tonight and brought each of them crashing to their knees. It occurred to her that Kate’s power was bound up with her unwavering sense of motherhood; she would protect Billy even if it meant she had to sacrifice the last breath in her body. Alison realized that Kate would surrender it gladly, as long as her son remained unharmed, and God help anyone who stood in her way. This was Kate’s journey, she thought, a wordless, weightless odyssey that reached beyond love, to something approaching reverence. A gift Alison was increasingly aware of having denied herself: the dark ferment of motherhood.
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