She did not like the idea that Peterson had been talking about her to this woman.
“He seems to think you’re worried.”
“Now wait a minute, I’m worried because Evan is worried, that’s all. I’m here because Lieutenant Peterson thought it might be a good idea. Evan is frightened, and I don’t why.”
“Fear can be infectious.”
“Well, he didn’t get it from me. If anything, the other way around.”
“Are you frightened?”
“You’re putting words into my mouth.”
Helen Johnson smiled again. “There we go, onto the wrong foot again. Listen, why don’t I show you the tape of Evan.”
“Do I have to see it?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“It’s just, I’ve heard what he’s had to say, and I’d rather just hear it from you.”
“All right. Evan doesn’t remember what happened to him. He’s blocked off a segment of memory.”
“Blocked off or lost?”
“I don’t know. He suffered a trauma. He might have experienced some sort of incident prior to the accident. He might not want to remember it.”
“But he’s terrified. He’s frightened his dad will come back to get him.”
“He shows no signs of systematic abuse, either physical or psychological, over any significant period of time, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can’t say positively what happened to him. We’ll have to wait for his memory to return to know for certain. All I can tell you is, this boy has not been abused. His fears are normal childhood fears.”
“Normal? A woman with red hair trying to kiss him? He thinks his dad wants to give him to some people. What about those two girls kissing, did he tell you about them? He said their faces were falling apart.”
“He told me all about it. Could his dad have had a lady friend? Evan might have resented that, especially if he harbored feelings of love for you, which he obviously does. Resentment can transform itself into fear very easily. Believe me, I’ve seen it. As to pornography, as I said, there are no signs that anything like that has occurred.”
“You’re saying he’s making it up.”
“No. I’m saying he’s got a blank space in his memory, and he needs to fill it.”
Bonnie leaned back, confused. “So, there’s nothing wrong with him?”
“Nothing that some TLC won’t fix. There is something I’d like to show you on the tape. Would you mind? You probably haven’t heard it.”
Bonnie nodded, hardly hearing. Helen Johnson fiddled with some buttons at the top of the camera, then sat down again. The television flickered to life.
Evan filled the screen, his face pale. He looked so helpless, so small. From off screen came the doctor’s voice.
“Is there anything else that frightens you?”
He looked at the camera, a little boy, confused and lost.
“I don’t know.”
“You mentioned your mother.”
“Uh huh.”
“You’re frightened of her?”
“No, no. For her.”
“Why?”
“Because, if it comes for me, maybe it will hurt her, too.”
“You don’t want that to happen?”
“Uh uh.” He shook his head and looked down at his hands.
Dr. Johnson stood and turned off the playback. Static filled the screen.
“I don’t understand,” Bonnie said.
“It’s a nasty circle. He’s frightened, because something happened that he doesn’t understand. You’re frightened, because you think this might indicate abuse, or worse. Your fear reflects back on him. Children are very perceptive. He knows you’re frightened. He thinks that means there’s something to be frightened about. You see?”
“Wait, just wait, you’re confusing me. I didn’t start this.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest that you did.”
“Please, don’t say that we’re off on the wrong foot again. That’s not what I mean. I’ve got custody of Evan because his dad is missing. Evan’s not worried about his dad, he’s frightened of him. That’s rather unusual, isn’t it? Evan doesn’t know why he’s frightened, and neither do I. Both of us are trying to understand. Evan thinks he can find the answers in his memory. But you’re saying his memories don’t mean anything?”
“I’m not trying to belittle his memories. The question is, is he actually pulling memories out of that black space, or is he reflecting his and your fears back into it?”
“Ah.”
“You see?”
“I think so. Maybe. What should I do?”
“Most of what you’ve been doing up to now. Love and support. Just don’t give him any fear to feed off of. Calm his fears, talk them out. Give him confidence and security to fill his blank space.”
Bonnie took a deep breath, then sighed it out. “I guess I’m just not used to being a parent.”
“Who is? I’ve got two boys, one Evan’s age, one two years younger, and I still don’t understand them.”
Bonnie tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it. Back in the waiting room, Evan had discarded the nudes in favor of a Sports Illustrated. When he saw Bonnie he put the magazine down.
“Thanks, Doctor,” Bonnie said.
“If you need anything, contact me directly, or Lieutenant Peterson. We’ll help as best we can.”
Down on the street, Evan gripped her hand tightly as they walked back to the car. When they passed other pedestrians, he pressed close to her leg, and his grip tightened. Bonnie found herself studying the faces of drivers in passing cars.
Dr. Johnson was wrong. Evan was not getting his fear from her. She was getting hers from him.
Evan opened the passenger window and closed his eyes as wind blasted his face.
“Keep your arm in,” Mom said.
He slid his arm back in.
“Where are we going?”
“I have to drop by work for a minute, okay? Just a minute.”
She sounded nervous, and he did not turn to look at her. He kept his eyes closed as they wound their way through downtown streets, finally to the freeway on-ramp. Fifteen minutes later they were pulling to a stop across the street from the bookstore. Mom turned off the ignition.
“You want to come in?”
He wanted to think. “I’ll just wait.”
“Stay in the car. I’ll be back in a minute or two.”
“Okay.”
He watched her dodge traffic as she crossed the street. She disappeared into the bookstore. He could not see her beyond the window posters and the reflection on the glass.
He leaned out the window. The breeze was gentle, cooling. He took a deep breath. Even with the smell of exhaust and dust, it was nice.
Dr. Johnson had asked some strange questions. Evan shook his head thinking about it. Had his dad ever touched him? Sure, Evan had said. Lots of times. Where? the doctor had asked. Evan hadn’t known what to answer. The doctor had brought a fabric doll of a little boy out of her drawer. Show me, she had said. Show you what? Where he touched you. When Evan had held the doll, he had discovered that the doll’s pants came down. Underneath, the doll had a dink and a bum. Wow! Did he touch you there? No way! All he could think about was that he’d have to check underneath Barbie’s clothes to see what was there.
Weird.
He looked at the bookstore. He thought he saw Mom talking to somebody beyond the glass. She disappeared again.
“Evan.”
A man approached the driver’s door of the car, and it took Evan only a second to recognize him. It was the man who had been sitting in the park across from the house. Evan slid away from the open window.
“Don’t be frightened. I just want to talk.”
He could not see his mom. He pressed on the horn, but no sound came out. Broken!
“Listen, kid, don’t freak, I just want to ask a couple of questions.”
Evan opened the driver’s door and bolted.
“Hey kid! Wat
ch out! Shit!”
Horns blared as Evan darted across the street. Behind him, the man followed. Evan tried to angle toward the bookstore, but a car skidded to a halt beside him, the driver swearing, and he had to run at an angle.
“Evan! Wait a goddamned minute! I’m not going to hurt you!”
When he hit the sidewalk, Evan ran. He dodged a woman pushing a baby in a stroller. She yelped as Evan bumped her arm. Evan’s heart pounded. He could hear the man running behind him, getting closer.
“Stop running!”
Evan turned into an alley before the intersection. He had taken only six steps when he realized his mistake. The alley was a dead end.
He turned as the man came into the mouth of the alley.
“Never turn into an alley, kid.”
“Leave me alone!”
“I told you, I just want to talk.”
Evan backed away. It was still a ways to the end of the alley. There were some doorways between here and there. Maybe one of them would be open. On the street, cars whizzed by. Nobody looked into the alley.
“My mom is coming!”
“She’s in the bookstore. Now shut up. I just want to ask a couple of questions.”
Evan felt tears coming, and could not hold them back. He passed a door, reached for it. It was locked. He banged on it and shouted.
“Cut that out!”
He backed away again. “Leave me alone!”
“People are following you, aren’t they?”
The question caught Evan off guard. He said, “You are.”
“I just want to talk to you. I want to help you.”
The stranger had moved no closer. He held his hands out for Evan to see. Evan stopped backing away. There was nowhere to go.
“I’ll stay right here. I won’t move. I promise you, kid. Look.” As Evan watched, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a five dollar bill. “Answer a couple of questions, and I’ll give you this.”
“I don’t want it!”
“Lot of candy here, kid. Don’t be stupid.”
Behind the man, in the mouth of the alley, two other shapes appeared. A man and a woman. Evan held his breath and took a step backward.
“Come on, kid! Please!”
His fear had been dissipating as the man talked, but now it came back. The two new silhouettes moved closer. The man who was talking did not see them.
It’s them, Evan thought. This is them, not him.
The pair moved forward, closing in.
“Watch out!” Evan cried.
As he spoke, the man whirled around. But it was too late. They were right behind him.
Shep had heard them coming, had realized his own stupidity seconds before Evan called out. He swung his elbows hard as he turned, connected with something. It was a woman and a man. Young. Late teens, he guessed.
Their hands scrabbled at him. Their eyes were wild.
“Get the hell off of me!”
He broke their hold and scrambled farther into the alley, toward the kid. The two shapes came forward, slowly, steadily.
Evan was pressed to the stone wall at the end of the alley. His eyes were wide, his face pale. Shep backed up beside him.
“I told you, coming into an alley is a bad idea.”
The sound that came from the boy’s mouth was not a word. More of a moan, or a cry cut short.
“They’re after you, huh?” Shep asked.
The boy nodded mutely.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You sure?”
The boy shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again.
Shep reached behind him and pulled the Beretta from its holster. He let the gun hang at his side.
“Tell you what, kid. Since I got you into this, I’m going to help you get out. You think you can do exactly what I tell you?”
The boy nodded slowly.
“Then let’s move toward them.”
Evan shook his head. Shep reached out and slapped him. “These people are serious, kid. You want to get out of here, you do what I say.”
He nudged the boy forward. Together, they took shuffling steps toward their assailants.
“You want us,” Shep whispered, “you got us.”
“Let him go,” the girl said.
She was pretty in a run-down, farm-girl sort of way. The boy was slightly older. His hair was corn colored, different lengths on each side, as if it had been cut by a friend.
The boy’s long-fingered hands flexed at his sides.
“Just let him go,” the girl said again. “Don’t hurt him.”
Shep looked down at Evan. Evan was looking at the girl, frowning.
“What’s she mean?”
“Nothing. Now listen. I’m going to distract them, you’re going to run. They’ll probably follow you, but I’ll distract them long enough for you to get away. You go to the bookstore. You get with your mom, okay?”
The kid nodded. They were ten feet from their assailants now. Shep could see their faces. Their eyes watched him as if he were an insect.
“You ready?”
“Uh huh.”
“You run on three, got it?”
“Uh huh.”
“Three,” Shep said.
The kid bolted. Shep lunged forward, swinging the Beretta. He hit the boy in the stomach, knocking him backward. The girl stepped out of Evan’s way, and Evan turned his head, surprised, as he ran.
“Keep going!” the girl yelled.
Shep tried to sidestep the boy, but both he and the girl blocked his way.
The girl reached out and grabbed his arm. Shep tugged free and stepped backward. The boy stepped toward him.
“Oh, you assholes,” he said.
He held up the Beretta. They did not even look at it. They stepped backward, eyes on him.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The girl held her arms out. “We have no weapons.”
“Like hell.”
Shep shot the boy in the face. In the enclosed space, the shot sounded like thunder, reverberating the length of the alley. The boy fell to the ground as choking sounds came from his throat.
A small cry came from the girl’s mouth, and her hands lifted to her cheeks. She stared at Shep with a child’s wide, frightened eyes.
“Sending little animals to do big animals’ work. You can tell them I’m coming. You can tell them that I know what they are. And tell them that the boy is mine.”
He shot her in the right shoulder. As she stumbled backward he shot her in the right hip, then in the knee, then in the foot. Blood blossomed all over her jeans and blouse and shoes.
He left her on the ground, moaning. Whistling, he walked back to the street.
Chapter Eight
Shep sat in his car, one block over from the house with the white stucco and the green trim. He could just make out the house through the park, looking at an angle.
It was 9:00 P.M., and the sky was changing hue. To the east it was already fairly dark and the moon, a huge orange beach ball squashed flat, was sliding up over the trees. A cool breeze moved through the car. Children played on the street, screaming and laughing. Lovers walked hand in hand, looking up at the trees and the sky. No one noticed him.
A block away, on Bonnie Laine and Evan Laws’ street, it was the same story. He watched the lights come on in their house. Once, he saw Bonnie come out and sit on the front step with a beer. He envied her that luxury.
By midnight, most of the houses were dark, their porch lights off. On this street, fortuitously, a street light was burned out overhead, and so the park and everything near to it was smothered in darkness. On Bonnie’s and Evan’s street, a police car cruised by every hour or so. He wondered if it was for their benefit. Probably.
He had with him an empty milk carton, and at 12:30 he opened his fly and urinated into it. He hoped the container would hold.
At 2:00, he brought out a ham-and-cheese sandwich he had bo
ught at an all-night convenience store and ate it. The bread was stale. He drank a bottle of Pepsi to wash it down.
With the weight of the food in his stomach, his bladder relieved, he leaned back in his seat and watched.
Sleep ambushed him with very little resistance. At first, his dreams were the usual. He dreamed of shooting the two kids in the alley that afternoon. Animals. Not human. No guilt involved. He wondered why none of the killings had yet appeared in the papers, or any other kind of news. It meant that somebody was cleaning up the trail. He dreamed of their faces.
There came a point when he knew he was sleeping, knew he was dreaming, and made an effort to wake. But he could not. He had entered a new phase of dreaming, one he had never before experienced. He felt aware of his body, sitting in the car, tingling. And then he was floating, spinning.
He was in a room somewhere, a dimly lit room. The ceiling turned and turned above him. He could just make out the walls. There was a painting on one wall, heavy on the blue and gray. One of the other walls had been partially painted. There was a smell, a horrible rotting smell, cloying and thick. And as the spinning slowed, and his peripheral vision expanded, he realized that he was not alone. There were others in the room, standing beside him, watching him spin.
In the dream, Shep felt frightened. Because he was no longer sure that it was a dream. He felt drugged and sluggish.
The watchers moved closer to him, and he began to discern their faces. A big kid, very big, round faced, almost stupid looking. A man, familiar somehow, but whom he could not quite place. And a woman.
When she came closer, Shep’s heart began to pound. The vague feeling of fear turned to sharp screaming panic.
The redhead. She leaned over him, smiling, and her face spun slowly above him.
“Hello, Mr. Thomas, so nice of you to join us.”
The smell of rot became stronger then, and a noise impinged on Shep’s overloaded senses, a shuffling sound, wet and heavy, as of something pulling itself toward him, something soft and dead and smelling.
Shep woke and cried out, banging his chest against the steering wheel.
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
He was drenched in sweat. The night was dark and cool, and he was shivering. Shadows moved in the park.
His neck throbbed painfully, making his head ache. He ran a hand over the bandage, but it had fallen off. The scratch felt swollen and sensitive. His finger traced the soft ridge. It seemed to move beneath his touch, and his finger came away wet.
Nightscape Page 7
