He hated the pessimism, and when he analyzed it, he told himself that maybe that was the reason why he cared so much for students like Elizabeth Sera. If only Stacey understood that, he thought; but when he saw Elizabeth come out of the building, the collar of her jacket up, the breeze lifting her hair, he confessed to himself that he was playing with fire for the thrill of it. He had to end it. This gesture of his, giving her a ride home, was the last personal thing that he would do for her.
“You’re practically the only one left in the building,” she said, getting into the car.
“I know.” He looked about because he suddenly felt guilty about having her in the car alone with him. There were some students off toward the baseball field, but they didn’t seem to notice. None of the other members of the staff were around.
He pulled out of the parking lot slowly, but when he reached the highway, he sped up and drove faster than usual, mainly because he was so nervous. How silly of me to feel this way, he thought. I haven’t done anything.
They rode quietly for a while. She didn’t seem to need any small talk. In fact, when he looked over at her, she appeared quite relaxed. She had a slight smile on her face, but she kept her attention on the road before them. He had the feeling she was in deep thought, like someone who had put herself into a trance and was no longer consciously beside him. It was eerie. He stumbled through his thoughts to find something intelligent to say. He thought about turning on the radio, but then decided against it. The first drops of rain hit the windshield just as they made the turn-off toward Sandburg.
“Told you you’d get caught in it,” he said, but she acted as though she hadn’t even heard him. She continued to stare ahead, holding her head very still. “It’ll be pouring in a little while,” he added.
“Oh no,” she said.
“What?”
“It’s my foster brothers,” she said, “just ahead.”
“We’ll stop for them,” he said, smiling at how the little one was holding his coat over his head to prevent himself from getting wet. Elizabeth rolled her window down as he brought the car to a stop.
“You’re all lucky I was late today,” she said. “Mr. Knots was taking me home.”
“Hop in guys,” he called.
8
Alex was waiting for them on the secondary road. As he had expected, the children had talked Mr. Knots into taking the shortcut, an infrequently traveled road that cut through a heavily wooded area that was sparsely populated. Most of the land was owned by real estate developers, and there were signs against trespassing posted everywhere. The rain was coming down very hard now, looking more like a summer cloudburst. Little streams had formed all over the cracked macadam, forming webs of liquid thread. To Alex there was something poetic about that; he saw symbolism everywhere.
The car appeared just about when he thought it would. He saw it come to a stop; he saw little Donald begin his act, claiming an upset stomach, claiming he was about to vomit. Elizabeth had even leaned over to open the door on the passenger’s side so Donald could lean out if he had to, and Mr. Knots’s attention was directed fully to that situation.
Richard was a strong boy. In fact, those long hours of exercise with the weights had given both him and Carl superior physical development. Even so, Alex was poised to go to their aid if need be.
It went off just as they had rehearsed it. With a swift, graceful action, Richard dropped the plastic bag over Mr. Knots’s face and pulled the tie string at the bottom tightly. It happened so quickly that Mr. Knots was confused and shocked. For a moment he did nothing. Then he gasped and reached back to pull the bag off him. Carl took hold of his right arm with both of his hands and jerked his hand away from his face, and Elizabeth spun around and drove her right fist sharply into Mr. Knots’s groin. Richard made the knot in the string, fastening the bottom of the bag snugly against the teacher’s neck, and then grabbed the man’s left arm. Elizabeth turned off the car engine and she and Donald slipped outside the vehicle as Mr. Knots began to kick out wildly. His desperate breath had formed a cloud of moisture inside the thick plastic bag, but they could see his eyes bulging.
Carl was losing his half of the struggle. Knots was righthanded and that arm was obviously stronger, a fact that Alex chastised himself about later. He should have taken that into account. Richard, on the other hand, was doing exceedingly well, driven by almost as much passion and fury as the man whose life was under threat. Knots was beginning to pull away from Carl and turn toward Richard. At this point, Alex came out of the woods.
“Get to my car,” he told little Donald and Elizabeth. “You’ll catch a cold standing here.” They ran off. Quietly and casually, as though he were merely getting into someone’s car for a ride, Alex pulled the front seat forward and slipped in beside Carl. He took hold of Mr. Knots’s right wrist just below where Carl had seized it. Together, they pulled the arm back again, turning the man’s body away from Richard. The schoolteacher’s panic intensified. Inside the bag the oxygen was almost completely gone. His excitement and effort had caused him to breathe faster than normal. He was gasping so hard now he was practically sucking in the plastic material. He felt himself lose control of himself; he felt his mind reeling. He tried screaming for mercy and for help, but the sound of his own voice came back at him in its distortion and loudness.
Alex looked over at Richard. He could see that the boy’s face was filled with pride and satisfaction. He and Alex were doing this together. They were a team. Together they were strong. Alex was so strong that he didn’t seem to be exerting all that much effort to hold the man’s right arm away from the plastic bag. Carl still pulled back with all his might. They felt the pressure begin to ease.
“Just a little longer,” Alex said.
The strength in the English teacher’s arms ebbed. After a few more moments, his head fell forward and his arms went limp. Richard looked to Alex, who nodded, and they released their grips on the man’s wrists. His arms fell forward, after the slumping torso. Richard then worked quickly, following the rehearsed procedure. He undid the knot and slipped the bag up and off the teacher’s face. Then they all got out of the car.
“Sorry Alex,” Carl said.
“That’s all right,” Alex said, rubbing his hand through his hair. “It was my fault. I should have put Richard on the right. I should have remembered to first find out whether he was righthanded or lefthanded.”
“It’s not your fault, Alex,” Richard said quickly. “Carl’s been skipping some workouts. He’d be a lot stronger if he listened to me.”
“Let’s not argue about it now,” Alex said. “Go to the car.”
Both boys looked back at Mr. Knots, who had slumped over so far that his head rested against the steering wheel. The sight of what they had done, more than the continuous heavy rain, sent them running down the road to where Alex had parked. They got in quickly. Elizabeth looked back through the rear window as Alex slid into the front seat and started the engine. His hair was matted from the downpour.
“Boy, is it coming down,” Richard said.
“Everyone has to take a hot shower when we get home,” Alex said. “I don’t want to be responsible for any of you getting a cold. Sharon will say, ‘What were they doing out in the rain?’” He laughed and drove off. When he looked over at Elizabeth, he noticed that she was staring straight ahead like someone in a daze.
“My books got wet, Alex,” little Donald said. “Mrs. Bradshaw’s going to be mad.”
“They’ll dry. Put them on the radiator for a while. You know, everyone really needs a bookbag. Remind me to pick up four of those next time we’re at the Big V.”
“I want one of those backpacks instead,” Carl said. “Jerry Sampson has one and it looks cool.”
“Just be grateful Alex is going to get you a bookbag,” Richard said sharply. His face was still bright red from the physical effort. Carl’s face looked sunburnt. Carl looked at Elizabeth and then looked down quickly.
“Maybe Carl
’s right,” Alex said. “Maybe you’d be better off with that. What do you think, Elizabeth?”
“What?”
“About the bookbag.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess that’s a good idea.”
“Carl thinks a backpack would be better.”
She turned and looked at Carl, but he avoided her gaze.
“Elizabeth wasn’t listening,” Richard said. His eyes still burned with anger and excitement. Elizabeth looked at him and than at Alex.
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
“That’s OK. We’ll talk about it later. I know,” he said, his voice filled with excitement. “We’ll have a vote. Now nobody influence anybody. Everyone votes his or her feelings.”
“That’ll be fun,” Donald said. Richard leaned forward and rubbed his hair the way Alex often did.
“You did real good, Donald,” he said. “He was good, Alex.”
“I know. I saw him from the sidelines.”
“Pa was with us, wasn’t he, Alex?” Richard asked. He looked about, wanting the others to see that he had thought of it first.
“Couldn’t have done it without him, Richard. You’ll feel it tonight when we go into the sanctuary. You’ll feel Pa’s pleasure, Pa’s happiness that you were strong.”
“We weren’t all strong,” Richard said and smirked at Carl. Carl turned away and stared out the side window, hypnotized for a moment by the rush of trees as Alex drove on down the old road. But the silence in the car made him self-conscious.
“Richard’s right,” Carl said. He felt the need to confess. “I skipped a few workouts.”
“As long as you realize what you’ve done and what you’ve got to do now to make up for it,” Alex said. He looked at him through the rearview mirror. Carl was grateful for his forgiving smile.
“We did what we had to do,” Richard said. He said it as though he were talking to himself.
“Right,” Alex said. He looked at Elizabeth again. “We can be thankful,” he said, “that Elizabeth is free; that Elizabeth is safe again.” He reached across Donald’s lap and took her hand. She turned and looked at him. “Together we’re strong, Elizabeth. Together, we are one.”
“Yes, Alex,” she said. “I know.”
“That’s good,” Alex said. He put his foot down on the accelerator and they sped off toward the Echo Lake Manor.
Sharon didn’t hear them come in and go up the stairs. The dreary, cloudy day cloaked her in a depression that she had trouble shaking off. Although she had grown to love the big house, she recognized that it could feel cold and dank at times. Sometimes it was difficult to retreat to her own private corners and feel the warmth she cherished. On days like this one, the shadows stretched and reached around corners; the sounds of her activities and of her walk echoed through the long hallways. Above her, especially in the empty rooms, floorboards creaked under the footsteps of restless ghosts. She pulled up shades and opened curtains; she put on as many lights as she could, but nothing seemed to help. The gray darkness lay like a heavy fog.
She fled to the kitchen because it was the brightest and warmest of the many rooms. There she busied herself with as much work as she could find—polishing silverware, scrubbing down counters, chairs and the table, washing and polishing the floor, washing the windows, and finally, deciding on the night’s meal. She deliberately sought out complicated recipes. While she did all this, she played the radio loudly, turning in on lively rock stations, the stations that played the kind of music Alex despised. But he had been gone since early afternoon, so she didn’t worry about it.
She also went downstairs into the wine cellar and brought up two bottles of bubbly rosé, sipping the delightful liquid out of a champagne glass as she flitted about the kitchen. By the time Alex and the children did return, her face was quite flushed. She had successfully driven the dreariness from her mind. She had a glow about her and she reveled in the delicious aromas of her cooking. The wine had gone to her head, and she was singing along with the radio and swaying to the music. She never heard Alex come to the kitchen doorway.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. She turned abruptly, the wooden measuring spoon in her hand held up like a conductor’s baton.
“Oh, Alex…hi. Are the children home?”
“Yes, but thank God I had them go right upstairs. What’s got into you?”
“I was just feeling a little blue so I decided to make a special dinner.”
His eyes went to the one empty bottle of wine and the half-empty bottle on the counter by the stove.
“You’ve been doing more than that. Sharon, what kind of an example are you setting for these kids? Think of little Donald, whose parents were alcoholics. Think of what Elizabeth has been through. Think of…”
“Oh Alex, I just had a little wine, for God sakes,” she said. She closed and opened her eyes.
“You had more than a little. I can imagine what your dinner is going to be like.”
“Everything’s coming along perfectly, Alex. Here, taste the cream of potato soup.”
“I’ll wait until dinner,” he said. “I suggest you throw some cold water on your face and get yourself together before the children come down.”
“Oh, you’re such a party-pooper,” she said. She smiled, but Alex turned sharply on his heels and walked out of the kitchen. She stood there staring after him. She did feel a little dizzy now, and in fact, she had to take hold of the counter to steady herself. Maybe I do look a bit foolish, she thought. So what? she added and giggled. She turned down the fire under the soup and checked the roast in the oven. Everything was going well. Alex was wrong; she had complete control of it all.
Nevertheless, she turned off the radio, put away the empty bottle and the half-empty bottle of wine and then went to the downstairs bathroom to splash water on her face.
The quick change of mood left her feeling somewhat sick. She sat on the closed toilet and held her head against the wall for a few moments. Why did I drink so much wine? she wondered. She felt a little nauseous. Above her, the sound of the shower went on and on. The monotonous drizzle through the pipes became annoying. When she stood up to leave, the walls of the bathroom did a terrible spin. She grabbed hold of the sink to prevent herself from falling and then swallowed hard to keep the wine from rushing back up her throat and out her mouth.
“Oh dear,” she mumbled. “If Alex sees me like this…”
She stepped out of the bathroom quietly and looked up the corridor. Everyone was still upstairs. She moved directly to the living room where she thought she would sit on the couch, close her eyes, and get herself together again, just as Alex had commanded. But moments after she sat down on the soft cushions and lay her head back against the couch, she closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep. She didn’t hear Alex and the children come down the stairs. Little Donald was the first to find her. He brought the others to the doorway, where they all stood quietly looking in at her.
“Sharon got into the wine cellar,” Alex said softly. Richard looked up at him and noted that he didn’t sound angry. He simply sounded disappointed. “She’s done it a few times before. She’s like a child; she’s more like a child every day.”
“What should we do, Alex?” Richard said.
“Nothing. Let her sleep it off. Carl, turn off the lights in this room. Elizabeth, you’ll have to be the mother again tonight. Go into the kitchen and organize the meal Sharon cooked. Donald, go up to my room and get a blanket out of the narrow closet. You’ll put it on Sharon.”
“What should I do, Alex?” Richard asked.
“You and Carl, and after Donald’s gotten the blanket, Donald, will come with me into the den where I’ll read you some of Pa’s thoughts until Elizabeth calls us to dinner,” he said. “Unless Elizabeth wants someone to help her.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I can do it all myself.”
“Of course, you can,” Alex said. “All right, boys, let’s get to it,” he added, and Donald shot back up the st
airs.
It was hours before Sharon awoke. She stirred under the blanket Donald had brought her and opened her eyes to confront the dark living room. She sat up slowly and listened, but the house was unusually quiet. She rubbed her face to bring back some circulation and tried to remember what she had been doing. The dim hallway light threw a pale glow over the entrance to the living room. She leaned over and turned on the lamp at the side of the couch and looked at her watch. It was eight-thirty. Oh my God, she thought, the dinner. She tossed the blanket off her lap and stood up. Where was everyone?
When she stepped out into the hall and looked toward the kitchen, she saw that it was dark.
“ALEX?” she called and listened, but there was no response. There were no sounds from above, either. She hurried down to the kitchen and snapped on the light.
The table was cleared and clean. The counter by the sink was cleared as well, and there were no dishes piled up in the rack. All the pots were off the range and the stove was dark. Only the lingering scents of the food assured her that a meal had been indeed eaten here tonight.
Oh dear, she thought, Alex is going to be angry with me. She went back through the hall and up the stairs, but except for the hallway light, every room was dark. They went to the sanctuary, she thought. They’re having one of those eerie meetings again. She went to her bedroom and turned on the light. She was feeling so lethargic and groggy that she thought the best thing to do was to take a shower and then get herself something to eat.
When she went into the bedroom and turned on the water, something in the waste basket under the sink caught her attention. She knelt down and pulled the basket out to look at it. The strings of the plastic bag dangled over the edge. She lifted the bag out and studied it for a moment. She didn’t remember anything like it in the house and she wondered why Alex had gotten it and then thrown it out. Apparently, there was nothing wrong with it. Odd, she thought, but she put it back into the basket.
Child's Play Page 14
