She closed her eyes and thought about her father. She thought about the day he died because even though he was seventy, she had always thought of him as her greatest ally, her protector. After his funeral she had felt so helpless, so vulnerable. She remembered that David sensed her anxiety. That night in bed he held her against him for hours stroking her hair and comforting her, trying at the same time to give her the sense of security she had had as a little girl.
Gerald returned. He stood staring at her for a moment, his coallike eyes burning with fever, his muscled arms quivering with sweat and menace as he closed the door softly behind him. She heard something clanking over the sound of his breathing and saw that he carried a chain.
“Oh, God,” she murmured as he approached, “no, please.” She folded her legs against her body protectively, but he seized her right ankle and yanked her leg toward him, sending a shooting pain through her. He wrapped the chain around her ankle tightly and inserted a lock into two links to fasten the chain firmly on her leg. He snapped it shut while she watched wide-eyed; then he let out the chain as he circled to the right head bed post. Lifting the bed up easily, he wrapped the other end around the foot of the post and inserted another, similar lock.
“Can’t leave you on the loose,” he said. He reached down to touch her cheek, but she turned away. He caught her face in his hand and squeezed her cheeks as he turned her back to him. “You’d better start being more cooperative,” he said. “Marlene was stubborn, too, and…” He stopped and slowly released her face, red marks rising where his fingers had been. She brought her hand to her cheek and stared up at him fearfully.
“What happened to her? Who was she?”
For a moment his eyes glowed, as if he wanted to tell her. They flashed—with gruesome memories? But just as quickly the glow died, and he glared at her again. “It doesn’t matter. What matters,” he said in a deadened monotone, “is what’s going to happen to you.” He didn’t smile. There wasn’t even a threatening note interweaved into his statement. What made it more terrifying was the cold, factual way he spoke, as if he didn’t know himself what the outcome of all this would be. Was Irene in control? That mad woman in control? What or who else was there that would determine how this would end?
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. He didn’t seem to hear her even as he looked straight at her.
A moment later he turned and left the room, leaving the door open and a chill in his wake. He obviously no longer saw a need to lock the door since he had placed the chains on her legs.
Stacey sat up and looked at her shackled ankle. The chain hung just loose enough not to cut off her circulation. She rubbed the sore leg where he had grabbed her and waited, watching the door. A short while later, Irene appeared with a lunch tray, a placid otherworldly smile painted on her face. There was a glass of what looked to be skim milk and a plate with a piece of apparently stale white bread.
“Oh, you look so nice in that dress,” she said. “I just can’t get over how nice you look.” She placed the tray on the small night table and smiled. “I thought you might like a snack to perk you up, Marlene.”
“Why do you insist on calling me by someone else’s name?” Stacey asked, her words framed so slowly in so deep a voice she had trouble believing it was her own. Maybe it wasn’t. She still had trouble believing any of this was really happening. The exhaustion, and weakness from eating so little food, was obviously having its effect.
“You’re teasing me. Gerald said your teasing is going to get worse and worse. He thinks you’re going to make things very unpleasant. He wanted to put you in the basement, but I told him absolutely not. I don’t want to go down to that basement to talk to you. What kind of a place would that be for us to have nice conversations?” She paused and looked at the chain. “I couldn’t talk him out of the chain, though. You understand, don’t you, dear?”
“No,” Stacey said, her voice small and thin again. She was fighting back the tears. “I want to be free to go.”
“To go where? This is your home; this is Donna’s home now, too.”
“We have our own home.”
“It can’t be as nice as this.”
“I’m not chained up in it.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry about that.” She sat on the bed thinking while Stacey studied her for a moment. Irene’s complexion was so fair that the little veins in her temples and even some in her cheeks were visible. Her skin was nearly transparent in spots. There were patches of small freckles under both her eyes. Her eyes were blue, bright and fresh right now, like the eyes of an innocent child. Indeed, all her facial features were childlike because of their diminutiveness.
But it was exactly because of her sweet and pure look that her madness was so terrifying. Stacey had already seen how her delicate surface was so easily shattered. She imagined that what lay beneath was something that could be both ruthless and cruel in its ability to deny reality—keep it from seeping in.
“You can’t keep us here just because you want Shirley to have a playmate,” she said in as reasonable, soft a tone as she could muster. She watched the other woman closely, to see if she could make her face the truth. Make her an ally, one to help them escape Gerald and his volatile behavior. She didn’t want to end up like Marlene and Donna, whatever happened to them. She could only guess.
“It’s not right and it’s not good for Shirley to see such things. You don’t want her to grow up thinking people have to be cruel to one another, do you?”
“But people are cruel to one another, aren’t they? That’s what Gerald says.”
“Gerald’s wrong.”
“Oh, no,” Irene said. She laughed. “Oh, no. Gerald’s not wrong.” She stood up quickly. “But you don’t have to worry, dear. As long as you’re here with us, no one will hurt you.”
“But you’re hurting me. Look what Gerald did to me,” she said, pointing to the chain.
“It’s only for a little while. Gerald promised. Now don’t be contrary, dear. If you cooperate, it’ll only be for a little while,” she said, a clear note of annoyance coming into her voice.
Stacey was losing patience. She had to know—before Gerald returned. “What happened to Marlene and Donna?”
“Why, you’re teasing again…” the other began, thrown by Stacey’s sudden insistence.
“What happened to the other woman and child, Irene…did Gerald harm them?”
The other’s eyes grew smaller, and her jaw quivered. Fear flickered in her eyes. “Why…Gerald?”
“Yes, Irene…he’s brutal. You know he can be brutal, don’t you…Did he kill them?” She rushed the words to catch the other off guard.
“Kill? Why, no…”
“Don’t you see he’s dangerous, Irene?”
“Gerald? No, he just took her away…” She gasped, the green cast that had been on her face receding.
Stacey could see that whenever any changes took place in Irene’s face, they took place rapidly and obviously. There was nothing subtle about her. She was like a child—undeceiving, open about her happiness and her sadness, and her anger. The movement from one to the other was quick and without transition. Hers was a world of good and bad; there was nothing in between. “Don’t you know, or wonder where he took her, Irene?” she said.
Suddenly there was a rustle in the hallway.
They both looked to the door as Gerald entered with the chamber pot. He busied himself with it under the bed and then stood behind his wife, waiting. Irene had recovered considerably, and had obviously repressed their conversation of moments before.
“Where’s my daughter now?” Stacey asked.
“They’re in the attic,” he said gruffly. Irene looked up and smiled as though she could see through the ceiling.
“They’re dressing up in old clothes, my mother-in-law’s old clothes. We’ve saved so much. Some of it is very valuable and some of it…well, some of it just has sentimental value for Gerald. Maybe we’ll look over the old things together some time.
For now, the children are enjoying themselves. Later, we’re going to make candy apples. Do you want me to bring you one?”
“I’ve got to see my daughter again. Please.”
“Of course, dear. I’ll tell you what. Donna will bring you a candy apple. How’s that?”
“As long as I get to see her.”
“Eat your sandwich,” Irene said and started away.
“Wait. Please. Have him take off the chain. I won’t do anything bad. Please.”
“Gerald said for a little while it’s got to be this way.” Gerald shifted, uncomfortable to hear her speak as if he weren’t present. He stalked out of the room, embarrassed. “There’s nothing I can do when Gerald makes up his mind about something. He can be so stubborn, and if I disagree with him…oh, you don’t know how he can get. Remind me to tell you some stories later.”
Stacey knew the moment to press Irene was gone. But she’d gained enough to realize her worst suspicions confirmed. Wearily she glanced around the bare room. “What time is it? Why did you take my watch?”
“You ask so many questions.” She took a few steps toward the bed again. The smile that had returned with Gerald left her face. “You know what…you’re starting to give me a headache, and I haven’t had one of my bad headaches since you and Donna came back. You better not ask any more questions because if Gerald hears you, he’ll put you in the basement and then I won’t be able to see you as much.”
“Like Shirley did to Donna?”
The other woman seemed to stop breathing; her chin tilted and her lips twisted slightly. As if she hadn’t heard a word, she turned and left, the door open behind her.
Stacey stared at the bread. Despite it all, she had a need for some nourishment, if she was to do what she must do to get out of this madhouse. It tasted good, too. She practically gobbled it down and drank all of the milk as well. Then she sat back on the bed and watched the open doorway. Her eyelids grew heavy, which renewed her suspicion that Gerald was indeed sedating her—but it could have been the milk that made her feel sleepy.
About an hour or so later, she heard footsteps coming from the attic stairway. She shook herself, leaned forward, and listened keenly. It sounded like just Shirley and Tami.
“Tami,” she called softly, slurring her words, “Tami.” Shirley stopped talking. Both children had come to a halt somewhere in the hallway. “Tami, come to the door. Tami.”
There was a long moment of silence, but she sensed that they were drawing closer. She held her breath. In a few moments, they would appear. Apparently Irene and Gerald were not around. She could talk to Tami without them hearing what she would say. She made up her mind she would tell her daughter to run away. If she got down the road, maybe someone would find her and all this would end.
Shirley appeared first. She looked in with some curiosity. She was dressed in a pink sweater at least three sizes too big and a long dark brown skirt that she had pulled up over her waist so that it just touched her feet. The wide-brimmed straw hat on her head made her look comical. Stacey smiled, hoping to appear friendly and without threat so the girl wouldn’t run away and take Tami with her. She held some kind of thin strap in her hand, the end of which wasn’t visible.
“Hi,” Stacey said. “You and Ta—Donna are playing?” Shirley nodded. “Is Donna there with you?” Shirley nodded once more. “Can you tell her to come in?” This time the girl didn’t respond. “Just for a few moments. I’d like to look at her. Please.” Shirley bit her lower lip and then nodded emphatically. “Thank you,” Stacey said with relief.
Shirley lifted the thin strap and tugged it toward her until Tami appeared. Stacey saw with horror that the strap was a leash connected to a collar around Tami’s neck. Tami was dressed only in her panties. Her naked upper body had been smeared with lipstick and rouge and her face was streaked with lipstick in an attempt to make her look like a savage. Black paint had been used to trace circles around the tiny buds of Tami’s breasts, and the upper part of her arms looked as if they’d been pricked with needles, the blood now dried and intermingled with the rouge.
The moment Stacey saw what had been done to her daughter, she felt as though someone had struck her in the stomach and knocked the breath out of her. For a moment she couldn’t utter a sound, her throat closed so quickly. Then she brought her hands to her face and screamed and screamed and screamed.
Shirley disappeared instantly, pulling Tami roughly behind her, leaving Stacey uttering her cries to an empty doorway.
David spun away from the garage quickly, but when he made the turn onto Willow again, he slowed down until he came to a complete stop. What could he do differently this time? Should he walk the road? The young mechanic had said she might have circled back to the main highway unseen. That was certainly possible. His fresh effort could all be a waste of time.
The indecision was maddening. What’s more, the longer he sat there thinking, the wilder became his imagination. Maybe she had picked up a hitchhiker. It wasn’t like her to do so, but maybe she thought she needed another adult in the car if she was going to take a so-called back road. Maybe the hitchhiker looked harmless, like a college kid returning home. So she stopped after she had made the turn onto Willow. That’s why the mechanic hadn’t mentioned a hitchhiker. He didn’t see her stop for him.
So the man would have gotten into the car and then, when they had motored farther down this road, forced her at gun- or knife-point to take one of those cowpaths the mechanic had mentioned. After that…what after that? Just visualizing such a scenario in his mind caused the sweat to bead on his forehead.
He had to admit to himself, though, that it was a logical explanation for her disappearance. That was why she never had called. That was why no one on the road remembered seeing her. That was why the police were unable to locate her or the car, even though a fleet of patrol cars had been out looking. Oh God, he thought. It’s true; it’s got to be true.
He brought his hands to his face and sat there as though he had just confronted the horrible scene. Maybe he shouldn’t continue alone? What would he do if he did find them after some psychotic had finished them off? He lowered his hands to his lap and just stared ahead. He couldn’t go back and he couldn’t expect that detective, Chicky Ross, to come drive out here to join him in a pursuit based on a flimsy theory.
And then another scenario occurred to him. Since it had become painfully obvious that Ross took the traditional police line and considered him a potential suspect, what if he came upon his wife and child brutally murdered by some psychotic hitchhiker? Would the police suspect him because he had tracked them down so quickly and so well while they were off searching in different directions? On top of everything else, he couldn’t face that possibility. He couldn’t face any of it
This was a mistake; this was a mistake, he repeated to himself. He should have just waited. Despite their failure at this moment, the police were trained to handle cases like this. That was why we had them; why we paid them. Why couldn’t he be his old, logical—if distant—self?
“Stop the procrastination, Oberman,” he said aloud. “Move your ass and do what has to be done.” He nodded as if someone else, someone sitting beside him, had voiced this command. Then he took his foot off the brake and accelerated. He moved down the road less than half the speed he had traveled it before.
He came to the old farm again and experienced the same, eerie feeling. Although it was a partly sunny day and rather warm, the Victorian farmhouse looked gloomy. It was as if the rambling, multifaceted structure were forever trapped in its own shadows. The shades were drawn on the front windows, upstairs and down. There was no movement around it, no signs of life within. He paused, scrutinized the grounds, and then drove on.
A little more than a mile away, he spotted the first dirt road. It veered to the right and turned down a small knoll toward the woods. He hesitated and then thought he would take it a little ways so he could see where the road ended. He put the car in low gear and edged off the roa
d. He had his window rolled down so he heard the crunch of gravel and rocks as the car lurched forward. Because the road looked pretty solid, he sped up. The car bounced a little, but everything was all right.
When he reached the top of the knoll, he brought the car to a halt and looked down the dirt road. As far as he could tell, there were no signs of anyone having traveled on it for some time. If Stacey had been there, she would have left some fresh car tracks, he thought.
Then something in the woods, something that clearly looked like a vehicle, caught his eye. His heart began to beat madly. The forest began a good half mile down the dirt road, so he couldn’t make out the object exactly, but it did look blue. There was nothing to do but continue forward. His foot shook on the accelerator. The ruts in the road got deeper and the car dipped and bounced, but he was aware of nothing but the goal ahead of him. All he could do was stare ahead and let the vehicle bring him closer to the forest. He felt as if he was being carried along magnetically to what might prove to be the most horrible thing he would live to see. Without realizing it, he was holding his breath and his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He was as still as a manikin, frozen in terror.
Suddenly the front end of the car dipped radically to the left. There was the sound of a grinding struggle between the bumper, the front axle, and some large boulders. The noise struck him as resembling a scream coming up from the earth. He hit the brakes fast and hard, but it was too late. The left front wheel sank into a large hole and the floor of the car scraped against the earth as the car jolted to a stop.
Hypnotized by what he saw in the forest, he had stared ahead blindly and ignored the fact that the dirt road had degenerated dangerously. Rain and the weather had damaged what had once been a path for farm vehicles. At this point it was really no longer passable, but the knowledge came too late.
The Maddening Page 8