The Nightmare Within

by Glen Krisch

  "This is my tiny apartment, and the man sitting on the stool is my husband, Andrew," Sophie said as they entered her studio apartment. She immediately lowered a heavy steel bar across the closed door, flipped a deadbolt in place and chained the door. So she did know just how bad their neighborhood was.

  Sophie left Kevin to get a plate of cookies and a pitcher of milk. Andrew didn't seem to notice him right away. He crouched over from where he squatted on a foot-high stool, dabbing a paintbrush against the wall. All of the walls and most of the ceiling was a big canvas, and Andrew was busy filling up the bottom corner of one of the walls to complete a country scene. The mural was frighteningly similar to what Kevin had in mind when he thought of his venture into the country.

  "Hello?" Kevin mumbled.

  Andrew turned away from the mural, his expression as inviting as Sophie's had been after Kevin had run into her. He had a mustache as big as the Yorkshire terrier Kevin had laughed at this morning. What was her name… Gerty? Gerty the yappy little Yorkshire terrier. Had that been just this morning? The day seemed like a whole week or longer.

  "Why, hello there. My name's Andrew. And you?" He was wearing old gaudy clothes that Kevin would have snickered at if he saw Andrew on the street, but he bit his tongue. He couldn't laugh at someone Sophie cared about; his parents had taught him better. Andrew's shirt had a wide collar and a strange red check pattern. His pants were rough brown polyester and fit snuggly on his thin legs.

  "I'm Kevin."

  The walls seemed like windowpanes peering into another world. Golden brown wheat fields seemed to sway in an imaginary wind. Cotton ball clouds cast their long shadows on the fields below, and then he saw them converge and coalesce, merging into larger and larger white puffs of cloud. Kevin shook his head. The painting was as still as a rock when he looked again.

  "What do you think? Is the sky too blue? It's been so long I can't remember what the country sky looks like." As Andrew looked at his mural, he turned his head on axis like a dog straining to understand.

  "No. I think it's good. Looks better than the real sky."

  Andrew made a soft clucking noise with his tongue. "That's the problem. It needs to look like the real sky, not bluer or deeper or cloudier. No sky is perfect. The sky in my memory has flaws, as any sky does."

  Kevin studied the wall. Different textures revealed themselves in the paint layers. At first the fields were the same simple golden brown that he had originally seen. Then he saw the layers of red and green underneath it all. The coarse fiber of the plants looked as real as a photograph. Kevin saw beyond the first stalks of wheat, and soon it felt like he was becoming lost in layer upon layer and row upon row of the field. Somehow, the tiny studio apartment smelled earthy and the closed-in air carried with it a certain heaviness, as if it would soon rain. But the vaporous paints quickly overpowered, and everything snapped back into focus. Kevin was only looking at a wall again.

  "Here we go. I even warmed them for a few minutes in the oven. You like your cookies warmed I bet?"

  "It's my favorite. My grandma… well that's how I like to eat them anyway."

  "Good enough. Come on over and sit down. I'll pour you a glass of milk."

  While Kevin finished off his third milk-dipped cookie, he felt guilty for eating in front of Andrew without offering him any. "Andrew, aren't you going to have any?"

  "I'm not all that hungry. I want to keep on painting as long as I have my inspiration," he said and turned to Sophie. They shared something with their eye contact, as if they didn't need to speak to communicate. Andrew must have been twenty years younger than Sophie. His hair was mostly dark brown peppered with gray, while his thick mustache had no trace of gray at all. His wrinkles looked new, also. It was hard for Kevin to judge people's ages, especially when they were older than sixteen or so, but it looked like Sophie had robbed the cradle. Maybe that's why she was so spry and exuded such happiness all the time.

  Kevin and Sophie continued talking for a long time. It was hard to tell how late it was in the windowless apartment, but Kevin had a feeling it was getting dark by now. Kevin learned that Sophie and Andrew had moved to the city almost twenty years ago. They had both been teachers in their hometowns after growing up as farmers' kids. Andrew had been a high school art teacher, while Sophie had taught the sixth grade. Kevin thought that he would love to be taught by Sophie, and that he would be going into the sixth grade soon--next week, if he lived that long. The thought that he might never go back to school popped into his head. He thought about Reid and all the other kids from the baseball field. It was like it was finally sinking in. He wasn't going home. He wasn't going home, and he would never make any friends. Who would he spend Christmas with, make snow forts with, and go fishing with in the springtime? All of these thoughts deluged his mind, and he had to block it out, or he might start crying.

  "You must have enjoyed my cookies because there aren't even any crumbs left."

  "Yes, ma'am, they were delicious."

  "You're dragging a little around the edges. Why not stay awhile? You could take a short nap, if you like."

  "I shouldn't have stayed this long. I should get going." Kevin got to his feet. His toes felt raw in his shoes and it wouldn't surprise him to look down and see hot metal rods poking his thighs. He was wiped out.

  "Really, now. Do you think you'll get far as tired as you are?" Sophie said.

  "I think she's right, Kevin. You look beat. Why not take a load off, and rest up. We have room enough for you to catch a couple Zs." Andrew had gotten up from his stool for the first time since Kevin arrived. He stood next to his wife and put his gangly arm around Sophie's shoulders. He was a good foot taller than her, but they seemed to fit in some odd way. Apart, they were imbalanced, but together they became a steadier whole.

  Kevin took a couple steps toward the door, but he realized they were right. He was exhausted and it didn't help that he had slept no more than a few hours the night before. Once outside, he didn't know where he would go, just away and as quickly away as possible. Once outside, fatigue would weaken his defenses. He could barely keep his eyes open as it was.

  "Okay. I guess I'll stay a little while. Not more than an hour or two. I need to be on the move." Kevin felt betrayed by his body, by the warmth and security provided by these strangers. He wanted to be mad at them, but couldn't summon the effort.

  Sophie opened a folded cot and brought over a handmade quilt and extra pillow. Kevin sat down on the cot, and was glad he could see the whole apartment from his resting place. Andrew was back to his painting, and as Kevin pulled his legs onto the cot, Sophie went over to be with her husband. Their eyes met again and they shared a moment as they had earlier. They were happy despite their meager apartment, and had enough happiness to share with a stranger they had just met.

  Sophie took up a long wooden paintbrush, and as a couple, they added fresh paint to the countryside. Sophie hummed softly as she worked, some familiar and nameless tune, and she swayed to her slight song, occasionally adding brush strokes to the mural.

  Within a few minutes, Kevin was fighting his heavy eyelids and struggling to focus on Sophie and Andrew. When he was a sliver away from falling asleep, with one foot on the other side of sleep, his eyes started playing tricks on him. The wall of reality crumbled around the lifelike murals. The three of them were no longer in a cramped studio apartment. They were in the countryside, surrounded by rolling hills of wheat heavy with ripe seed. Sophie continued to hum, but she and Andrew set down their paintbrushes. She gave a small curtsey to her husband, and he responded with a deep and respectful bow. They started to dance in a formal manner, all stiff arms and flowing gestures.

  A breeze invaded the former apartment and the earthy wheat field smell returned, clouding Kevin's drifting mind. A lone black bird flew overhead, swooping down into the wheat and out of sight. The golden field was at its peak. Sophie and Andrew were happy, enjoying each other's company. And Kevin felt safe. When he finally fully accepted slee
p, he didn't need to dream. There were plenty of dreams in the outside world to fill that need.

  When Kevin woke with a start, he had a feeling that the day was gone, that night had come and touched the land with its dark hand, and it was now morning. His eyes were gummy and his mouth tasted like a monkey's armpit. He stretched his arms over his head and stood from the cot. To his surprise, his back didn't hurt like it usually did after sleeping on his Uncle David's old mattress. The first thing he did was make sure the dried paint on the walls wasn't moving, and that nothing was about to step from the painted cinder blocks. Then he smelled breakfast food. So, it was morning. A half wall blocked off the kitchen area, but he could see the top of Sophie's head from the kitchenette.

  He walked over to the kitchenette, his feet feeling cramped and sweaty. Not figuring on staying for more than a couple of hours, he had fallen asleep with his shoes on. He especially didn't expect to sleep through the night and into morning.

  "Good morning, Kevin," Andrew said from his seat at a folding chair. Their kitchenette consisted of the kind of card table with legs that could fold under for easy transport, and was accompanied by two mismatched folding chairs. It wasn't much, but Sophie and Andrew didn't appear to need much.

  "What time is it?"

  "Just shy of 6 a.m., dear." Sophie carried a pan of scrambled eggs over to fill his plate. "Don't worry, I already ate. Have a seat."

  He sat down. "Six o'clock. Wow. Didn't know I was that tired." He felt that by staying so long and eating their breakfast, he was taking advantage of his gracious hosts. And also putting them in incalculable danger.

  "If you're going to get as far as you say you want, you'll need to fill up."

  He was in the process of standing, when Sophie put a hand on his shoulder.

  "Nothing is so pressing that you should leave without eating. Dig in," Andrew insisted.

  It sounded like an order, and he did what he was told. If Mr. Freakshow hadn't found him yet, maybe he'd lost him. Somehow, he doubted that. He let his hunger silence his better judgment.

  "That's some painting," Kevin said, cutting into the steaming eggs with a fork. They were fluffy, coated in salt, and delicious.

  "Thanks. We've been working on it for a few weeks now. Someday we'll move back to Bakersfield. It's home to us. We might have moved away, but it's always been in our hearts," Andrew said, his eyes being drawn to the mural.

  "It's pretty cool that you work together."

  "It's funny, we've always been artists, but had never collaborated on anything until recently. Now it seems as natural as breathing." Sophie cleared the plate from in front of Andrew and came back with a steaming pot of coffee. She poured until Andrew waved his hand for her to stop. He dropped in two cubes of sugar and stirred it with a teaspoon.

  "Well, I think you should keep it going. It's a shame no one can see it," Kevin said.

  "Art is successful as long as at least one person can enjoy it," Andrew said philosophically.

  Kevin didn't know if he understood his meaning, but he nodded in agreement. He finished his eggs and sopped up every last drop of maple syrup with the homemade waffles before he pushed the plate away. "I'm so full. I couldn't eat another bite."

  "You're a good eater," Sophie said. Kevin didn't think someone could be talented at something as trivial as eating. He liked the compliment anyway.

  "I should get going. It's probably six thirty already."

  "Just be careful," Andrew said. There seemed to be more depth in his words than there should be. They couldn't have known about Mr. Freakshow, or that he was after Kevin. They might just be wary in general. That had to be it. Anyone with a conscience would be concerned about a ten-year-old kid walking the streets alone.

  Andrew rose from his folding chair, pushed it under the card table and went out to the main area of the apartment. He picked up a brush and bit the end of it as he considered the wall.

  Sophie was rummaging through a drawer by the sink, taking out a plastic baggie.

  "Before you go, let me pack some of those cookies for you. They won't be warm like yesterday, but I think they're still pretty good cold."

  "If you insist," Kevin said cheerfully.

  As she busied herself with the cookies, Kevin noticed her canvas purse on a shelf next to the kitchenette. Crisp green bills stuck out from the wallet in the opening, and he realized just how little money he had. He had his seven dollars from when he ran away, and then the money from the water fountain at the park. But all that wouldn't last more than a day or so.

  He watched for Andrew, but he was engrossed with his painting. Sophie had her back to him and was filling baggies full of cookies into a brown lunch bag. He felt terrible for doing it, but he snatched the money before their attentions returned to him. He took the money, a bunch of twenties from a quick glance, and shoved them in his pocket. Next to the purse was a pad of paper and pen. The pad had a list for the grocery store, and doodles of three dimensional boxes and abstract faces. He wrote a simple note, tore it from the pad, and shoved it in the open purse.

  "Here we are. With your appetite, I bet these are gone by dinnertime." Sophie handed him the bag. It was heavy, and the guilt he felt from his spontaneous theft felt even heavier.

  "Thanks. Someday I'll repay you."

  Sophie walked him to the door, and Kevin thought something else would come up to delay his departure, but nothing did. Before he knew it, she removed the bar from the door, and had all of the locks and chains pulled aside, and the door swung open. The morning sun hurt his eyes, and after saying a quick goodbye, Kevin walked into that sunlight, feeling rested, but unsure about what even the next hour would have in store for him.

  Sophie stopped at the bookcase before entering the kitchen to clean up the breakfast dishes. She noted the money was missing from the top of her purse. "He took it, just like you said he would."

  "Feel better now?"

  "No. If a genuinely good kid like that is so scared that he would steal money from an old lady, then there is something terribly wrong with the world." Sophie started the water to fill the plugged sink. She cleared the table, putting the dishes in to soak.

  "I know. But what could we have done? We did our best. We gave him a warm bed. We fed him. We made sure he had money when we knew he wouldn't accept any if we had offered it directly."

  "We could have called the police." She rung a dishrag in her hands, and then noticing her mounting tension, threw the rag against the kitchen wall.

  "Sophie, I know you mean well, but you know the dreams are running the police around in circles. They wouldn't stop for one lost boy when they have so many other things to worry about."

  "I know, I know. We don't exactly want them traipsing through our apartment, either," Sophie said. She turned off the kitchen faucet and went over to Andrew. She put her arms around his waist, and he squeezed her shoulders, kissed the top of her head. "But it feels so wrong, letting him go like that."

  They were silent for a long while. They swayed in their embrace, and Sophie closed her eyes, as if shutting out the cruelty of the world.

  The silence was broken by a loud crash against the apartment door. "What was that?"

  Andrew cautiously stepped toward the door. Another resounding thud rattled the door. It shook in its frame, but the steel bar held it steady. It wasn't going anywhere. "I'm guessing whatever had Kevin so scared."

  "Open up! I know the boy was here. I can smell him." The voice was a shambles, rage bending its rhythm to its will.

  Sophie went up to Andrew and held him once again. She shook in his arms. "I know what that is." She didn't need to say the name. Andrew had heard all about Mr. Freakshow from Sophie's time painting at Lucidity. She continued to shake, and her legs became weak. Andrew eased her to a sitting position on the floor, and they clutched each other, even as the pounding seemed to shake the whole apartment.

  The pounding suddenly stopped, and after awhile, the Freak spoke in a placating voice, his voice tempered of it
s anger, "I just need to find the boy. He's gone missing. He's so lost. So lonely…" He was quiet again, and enough time lapsed that Sophie began to wonder if the beast had gone away. "Old lady, I know what you've done. I despise you and everything about you. Right after I kill the boy, I'm coming back for you."

  Sophie clung to Andrew for a long time. She was almost certain Mr. Freakshow was now gone for good. He was on a hunt, after all, and his prey was gaining distance. She could feel the pulse of Andrew's neck against her cheek, and it was comforting. She didn't want that steady reassurance to ever leave her. She closed her eyes, and Andrew held her, even as the adrenaline rush left her limbs and she felt weak and old, he held her. Her thoughts went out to Kevin. She hoped he was fast enough and clever enough to evade such a horrible fate.

  Chapter 19

  White noise, disinformation.

  The young man sat on a thinly-padded bucket seat aboard the trundling L-train, his brown attaché case balanced against his thigh. Everything about him was bland. Details, once recalled, someone would immediately question for validity.

  Everything about him--the embossed initials, K.L., near the handle of the attaché, his slightly tanned skin (courtesy of a bronzing agent he picked up at an out of town drugstore), his preppy, died-brown hair, his khakis and button up brown shirt--everything about him was a fake, a deception.

  White noise, disinformation.

  He looked much younger than his forty-two years. He could pass for twenty-four, maybe a year or two younger still. His goal was to appear to be a young man on the make, decked out for a job interview, or perhaps on his way to work an entry-level position in an office setting. People continually asked him for ID when he entered a bar or bought a six pack. He always smiled inside (never outwardly, for risk of losing the upper hand), knowing he'd fooled them. He could legally buy alcohol around the time of the first George Bush's lone acceptance speech.