by Tobias Wade
We’d just started discussing whether she felt comfortable enough to return to school when things began to unravel.
Emily came to the hospital where I worked to have lunch with me. We sat in the cafeteria, our trays of food untouched while we talked about what courses she might take. She was in the middle of telling me about a genealogy class she was interested in when she froze mid-sentence, the color draining from her face.
“Kiddo? You ok?”
I followed her fixed stare back to the register line where a trio of people were waiting to pay for their food. I looked back to her.
“I need to go,” she said suddenly.
“What’s wro—”
“Love you, Dad.”
She practically ran out of the cafeteria.
I turned back to the three at the register. Two I recognized, the chief of medicine and an oncologist, but the third I didn’t know. He was a young man around Emily’s age, and the passing resemblance he bore the chief led me to believe he was a relative of some sort, probably his grandson.
The longer I looked at him, the louder the ringing in my ear became.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
When I got home that night, Emily was sitting on the back porch, staring vacantly while our dogs wandered about the yard. She jumped when I opened the slider and took a seat next to her.
“You ok?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
The silence that fell between us was heavy.
“About today...” I started to say.
“Victor,” she said quietly.
I didn’t say anything, afraid to interrupt and cause her to shut down again.
“He goes to the same university. We had a biology class together.” Every word sounded like it was being torn forcibly out of her. “We found out we’re from the same area, so we talked a few times about classes and how you and his Grandpa work for the same place. Then we...traded pictures and stuff.”
“And stuff” was clearly things that no father ever wants to think of his daughter doing. I just nodded.
“It was going too fast, so I...I told him I wanted to just be friends again. He didn’t like that. He told me if I didn’t do what he wanted, he’d share the pictures I sent him.” Her voice cracked, and she turned away from me. “That’s illegal now in a lot of places, and I said I’d make sure he got in trouble. He got angry.”
Victor cornered her outside a club and tried to get her to go home with him. When she refused, he became violent. He dragged her into alleyway and attacked her.
“He said if I ever told, he’d share all of our texts so people would know I wanted it. He said he’d make sure you were fired, and that your career would be over.” Emily was shaking with sobs. “His grandpa’s the chief of medicine, he could’ve done it!”
I pulled her in close and held her while she cried. No matter how much I tried to tell her that we needed to call the police, she refused.
“I can’t, Dad,” she said. “He has texts and pictures. No one would believe me.”
The next day at work, I went straight to the chief of medicine’s office. I didn’t know what I was going to do or say, I just had to do something. I had barely knocked on the door when he called me in.
Before I could speak, Dr. Gladson looked up and said, “Oh, good, Martha found you. I wanted to talk to you about my grandson, Vic. He’s having surgery this afternoon, nothing too serious, but I’d like you to be his anesthetist. I’d ask Taylor, but he’s already scheduled.”
I almost said no. I almost shouted that his damn grandson was a monster. I almost told him I’d sooner see him dead.
Instead, I took a deep breath and said, “Of course.”
“Good. It’s at 2:30 with Dr. Lim.”
As I turned to leave, the ringing in my left ear seemed so loud that it was almost throbbing.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
At 2:30, as promised, I was seated at the head of the surgery table behind the ether screen. Victor, a good looking kid with a cocksure attitude about him, was lying in front of me.
“Hello, Victor,” I said.
“Hi.”
He wasn’t at all nervous, which told me he didn’t know who I was. It didn’t surprise me. Not many people bothered to learn the anesthetist’s name.
“Is this your first surgery?”
“Nope.”
“So you know how anesthesia works?”
“Count back from ten, yeah.”
“Yes.”
I made small talk while I set up, asking him about where he went to school and what he was majoring in. When it came time to put on his mask and count down, I asked him one more question.
10
“I think you might know my daughter.”
9
“Yeah?”
8
“Yeah. Emily.”
7
“Oh yeah, I think so.”
6
“She ever tell you what I do for a living?”
5
“Maybe?” He was getting drowsy.
4
“I put people to sleep for a living, Vic.” I was whispering.
3
“Huh?” He was struggling to stay awake.
2
“Sometimes permanently.”
1
The beeping in my ear was especially loud. I slowly realized that it was echoing. I looked up at his heart monitor, sitting not too far over my head. It beeped in time with the ringing in my ear.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The surgery went well for about twenty minutes, until Victor experienced a sudden drop in blood pressure. The shock to his system sent him into a violent seizing fit. The surgeon was barking orders, demanding this and that to stabilize the boy.
But there was nothing that could be done.
Anesthesia overdoses can be such terrible, tricky things. The staff struggled to revive him, and I made a show of doing the same. The steady rhythm of the ringing in my ear changed for the first time.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeep.
Victor was pronounced dead at 3:02 PM.
At the same time the heart monitor was turned off, the ringing in my ear ceased. Sound returned in a loud, almost painful burst.
I was glad for the surgical mask as they covered Victor with the white sheet.
No one could see that I was smiling.
Through The Peephole
We got the Peephole doorbell camera at my husband, Reg’s, insistence.
It started when we both got promotions at work. With it came pay raises, which then meant we could afford our very first house together. It was a cute little bungalow on a street of similar starter homes. The house would require some effort and elbow grease before it reached its full potential, but that was fine by me. Anything was better than the apartment we were getting out of.
Along with the upgrade in our living situation, we also had a bit of play money left over. Reg was finally able to get himself a noisy little car that he could compete in amateur races with. We were both excited for him to be able to pursue one of his longtime interests, although it did mean he’d be going out of town on a pretty regular basis to participate in events.
Between the new place and his travel schedule, Reg worried about me being nervous on my own. It didn’t help that we had a few instances of ding-dong-ditch shortly after we moved in. The perpetrator was always gone by the time Reg opened the door, but it still put him on edge.
I rolled my eyes a bit at his concern. The area was known to be pretty safe, and I had two dogs and a cat-who-thought-he-was-a-dog to keep me company. He suggested getting a doorbell camera for his own peace of mind, and I went along with it.
If it made him feel better and helped discourage pranksters, then I didn’t see an issue.
The device was actually pretty neat. It linked up to an app on our phones that alerted us when someone triggered the motion detector or rang the bell. Th
en we could bring up a live feed on the screen to see who was there and speak to them through the Peephole’s intercom. It also recorded any activity, allowing us to go back and review it later.
It certainly came in handy for checking on deliveries and making sure we didn’t open the door to any faith peddlers. It seemed to solve our pesky problem with late night doorbell ringers too. We didn’t have any more “mysteriously” vanishing visitors for the next couple of weeks.
When it came time for Reg to do his first full weekend race, it helped put him at ease to know I wouldn’t have to open the door to any strangers.
“If all goes well, I won’t be back until Sunday evening,” he reminded me again as I helped him load his equipment into the back of his car.
The sun wasn’t even up yet and I was still half asleep, but he was practically thrumming with nervous, excited energy.
“I know,” I said, suppressing a grin, “but if you mess up, you could be home as early as tonight. No drug fueled orgies with hookers for me then, got it.”
He made a face and I returned it. Then we kissed and he climbed into the car. I cringed when it roared into life. The unnecessarily loud metal beast was right at home on the track, but a bit less welcome at 5:30 am in the suburbs. I shooed him off, still hearing the growling and popping in the distance even after he’d turned off our street. I shook my head, hoping he’d not woken every neighbor in a five mile radius.
I was met inside by our dogs, Beauty and Merry, and our cat, Goblin, all crowded around the door and impatiently waiting for breakfast. It was certainly hard to feel the least bit alone when I was surrounded by so many wagging tails and nudges for attention. After feeding them, I went back to bed, grateful to Past Me for deciding to take that Friday off so I could enjoy a nice, long weekend.
It didn’t get much more exciting than that for the most part. I remained in my PJs long after I finally got up for good, ate far too much junk food, and watched terrible reality TV shows in between going into our fenced backyard to play with the dogs. Reg and I texted throughout; he’d update me on his race times and his current standing, and I’d encourage him and send him pictures of the pets in return.
It was an entirely lazy day, one of the few I allowed myself, and it was glorious.
That night I snuggled on the couch, Beauty at my feet, Merry on my lap, and Goblin curled in a little ball on my chest. I was watching a chick flick, a guilty pleasure that I only partook when my husband wasn’t home. My conversation with Reg had drifted into silence, as it usually did when he became caught up with his buddies or was working on his car, and I’d left my phone on the kitchen counter. I absently stroked Goblin along his back and allowed myself to get caught up in the cute, but contrived, movie I’d selected.
We’d made it about halfway through the film when Merry’s head shot up off my knees and turned sharply toward the front door. His ears perked forward. He was stiff, attentive, listening for something. Then came a soft growl from the back of his throat.
Beauty, woken by her brother, followed his gaze. After a moment, she got up and slowly approached the door. She sniffed around the threshold briefly, the hair all along her spine rising as she was backed away. Head still held low, she also started growling. Even Goblin, never one to pay attention to visitors, was sitting upright on me and staring unblinkingly.
“What is it, babies?” I asked softly, not entirely concerned with their behavior.
There’d been a raccoon lurking about the last couple of weeks. I thought it might be wandering about outside, just close enough to the house to get the dogs going.
When Merry growled again, louder and more forceful this time, a nervous knot began to twist in my stomach. Beauty came to stand beside the couch again, her hackles still raised. She looked up at me and whined. I laid a hand on her head in an attempt to reassure her.
The doorbell went off and I jumped. It seemed even louder by how unexpected it was. I Immediately suspected the same damn ding-dong-ditchers who’d been harassing us before we installed our Peephole.
“Hey, Elaina?” Reg’s voice came from outside, soft and apologetic. “You awake? I locked my keys in the car and can’t get in.”
I relaxed immediately with a relieved exhale. The race must not have gone his way and he’d been eliminated in the first stages. Unlucky for him, but I was always happy to have him back earlier than expected.
“Doofus,” I replied loudly enough for him to hear. “I’m coming.”
I started to pick Goblin up, but he sank his claws through my top and into my chest, clinging to me. Merry and Beauty launched themselves at the door, pawing and snarling madly.
“Get down!” I shouted at them, trying to untangle myself from Goblin’s painful clutches. “Damnit! Hold on, Reg. The kids are being nuts!”
The more I tried to disentangle myself from Goblin, the more he clung to me. He started yowling in defiant protest, which only drove the dogs deeper into their frenzy.
“Get off!” I snapped at the cat, who hissed in my face in return.
I finally managed to peel him off and set him down on the couch, although I was sure it hadn’t been without some bloodshed on my part. I took a step toward the door. As I neared, Beauty turned and whined pleadingly. Merry kept right on barking and clawing at the door with all his forty pounds of fury.
“One more sec, babe,” I said, reaching for Merry.
He turned and snapped at me, his teeth barely missing my fingers—the first time he’s done that in all his eight years. I drew back, my hand held protectively close to my chest, gaping at him in shock. He went right back to practically attacking the door.
Reg rang the doorbell again.
“It’s freezing out here, let me in!”
But I couldn’t stop staring at Merry. Then at Beauty, huddled at my side. Over my shoulder at Goblin, perched on the arm of the couch, poised as if he meant to jump on my back.
Then it occurred to me. In all of the noise and commotion, I hadn’t heard Reg’s car.
That loud, rumbling, popping piece of junk that should have announced his arrival from blocks away.
“Elaina!” Reg yelled again, but this time, I took a step away from the door.
With Beauty pressed so close to my legs that I almost tripped, I tiptoed over to the kitchen counter where I’d left my phone to open the Peephole app.
The front of the house was dark except for the single solar spotlight pointed at the door. It was dim now, but still enough to illuminate Reg’s familiar frame standing in front of the doorbell. I watched as he lifted his hand, balled into a fist, and brought it down against the door.
“Elaina!”
It was my husband. It had to be. Why, then, was I suddenly feeling so uneasy? Why were our animals, who had never been anything less than thrilled when he came home, suddenly turning on me?
I minimized the app and dialed Reg’s number. While it rang on speaker, I returned to Peephole, watching him intently. He was standing there with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
He was still standing just like that when Reg answered his phone.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?”
“You’re not home,” I whispered. It wasn’t a question.
“No, I’m doing well! We just finished and I qualified for tomorrow’s round. Why? What’s up?”
On the screen, the man outside my door rang the bell again.
“Elaina?” Reg’s voice sounded concerned. “Was that the doorbell? Is someone there?”
“Yeah,” I could barely get the word out.
“Who?”
“You.”
I’m not sure he really heard what I said because of how quiet I’d become. He must have heard how loud Merry continued to be, but I’m certain he recognized the raw fear which crept into my tone.
Reg told me to hang up and call the cops. He was a few hours away, but he’d be home as soon as possible. I tri
ed to argue. I didn’t want to stop talking to him, but he assured me that I could call back as soon as the cops were there.
As I was hanging up, a long, slow series of knocks sounded against the front door.
“Elaina,” I heard the man say in Reg’s voice. “Let me in.”
“I’m calling the cops!” I shouted back over Merry’s wild barks.
“Let me in.”
When I glanced down at my phone again, I saw Reg’s face: white and blank, filling up the screen, almost as if he was staring through the Peephole.
Almost as if he was staring at me.
He looked so much like my husband that I might have second guessed myself, even after our phone call, had it not been for his eyes: two black voids where Reg’s hazel ones should have been.
A scream, high pitched and short, escaped me before I clamped my mouth shut again. The man straightened without expression and rang the doorbell again.
“I promise I won’t run away this time. I’ve waited so long for you to be alone,” he said. “Open the door, Elaina.”
Run away this time, I heard him say over and over again in my head.
All those previous nights when someone had rung our door and run. We’d assumed it was bored kids, just harmless, but annoying, fun. We thought it was a prank.
Now the only thing I was certain of was that it was anything but a joke.
“Go away!” I screeched at my phone, which sent both Merry and Beauty into a renewed fit of howling.
Goblin hissed and swiped the air with his claws.
The man with my husband’s face looked down at the Peephole again, turned, and walked slowly out of view.
I gripped my phone in both hands, studying the screen with a thudding heart.
Everything outside was dark and still and quiet. Then the tapping began against the front window behind the TV. The soft tink, tink of nails against glass.
In one movement I shoved my phone in my pocket, grabbed Goblin under one arm, hauled the still barking Merry under the other, and called for Beauty to follow me as I ran for the bedroom.
Behind us, the window erupted inwards.
I slammed the bedroom door closed and tossed Goblin onto the bed just long enough to lock it. I could faintly hear the sound of more glass shattering while I called 911.
