The Maddening

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Well, originally I thought this was just another case of a marriage squabble where the headstrong wife takes off, so I wasn’t terribly upset about being ordered off.”

  “Headstrong wife, I like that. What do you mean, ‘originally you thought’?”

  “Earlier, I spoke to Stark and he said something that’s got me worrying.” He paused and took a long drink. Then he stared out silently as though he wasn’t going to continue. She shook her head. What a tease, she thought. It was his way of drawing her farther and farther into the puzzle, so she’d frame some scalding questions. She knew what he was up to, and as always she played along.

  “Well, what did Stark say?”

  “Seems they have another case of a missing mother and daughter on the computer.”

  “In this area?”

  “Well, he said within striking distance of the neighborhood where Mrs. Oberman disappeared.”

  “What did he make of that?”

  “He didn’t. He just said it. I suspect Krammer told him to keep me out of it.”

  “But you just can’t keep your nose out of it, can you, Sherlock Holmes?”

  “I have this nagging feeling,” he said turning to her, “that they’re missing some vital information the way I did.”

  “Once again, you’re the only one who can do the job,” Maggie said dramatically. She raised her arms for emphasis.

  He laughed. He was finally beginning to relax, but then the phone rang. They looked at each other.

  “I’ll get it,” he said.

  It was Captain Stark of the state police. “Thought you’d like to know,” he said. “One of my investigators did bring something of interest in.”

  “Oh?”

  “Seems there’s this garage just off Route Six. The woman stopped there. A mechanic remembered her.”

  Chicky exhaled. “Good.”

  “He sent her up Willow Road as a shortcut. Today her husband stopped at the same garage, got the story, then headed out in hot pursuit. Some of the people we talked to said he had been around to speak to them.”

  “Any leads?”

  “No one saw anything and we haven’t found anything on the road. Anyway, getting back to the husband, at least you know he’s out there looking for her. If he’s covering up for something,” he said, “he’s pretty damn clever about it.”

  “Yeah,” Chicky said. Though he’d doubted Oberman before, he now gave him 60-40 credibility. He’d keep the percentages in mind, and stay skeptical but open. “Listen, Paul. When I spoke to you before, you mentioned a similar case on the computer. How long’s it been?”

  “Nearly two years. The woman was just recently divorced. Her name was Marlene Reid and her daughter’s name was Donna. They were driving up to a summer home in Smallwood. Blue Chrysler. She was motoring on the same interstate route.”

  “The same route? But the Oberman woman went off her route if she didn’t circle back onto Six. Did this Reid woman go onto Willow, too?”

  “We checked it, but no one on Willow saw her.”

  “How come the investigating officer even bothered to check it?”

  “I don’t remember all the details, Chicky. As I recall, though, it had something to do with the woman knowing the shortcut because she had gone to the summer residence a number of times. Anyway, it’s a little bit hard to believe there’s someone out there just waiting for mothers and daughters to happen by, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but I thank you for calling me. I’m sure Krammer ordered you to keep me out of it.”

  “No problem. I never liked Krammer. Always reminded me of this Boy Scout leader I once had—the guy walked like he had a stick up his ass and thought if you couldn’t make knots properly, you were a fuck-up forever. I’ll buzz you if anything else comes up.”

  “I’m not at the station tomorrow. My day off.”

  “So what? I’m sure Krammer will have everything forwarded to you as the officer on the case.”

  “Sure. He can’t wait to do that.”

  They both laughed and Chicky hung up.

  “It was about the case,” he told Maggie when he came back out to the porch. “I was mistaken about Stark. Krammer didn’t talk to him about me. Anyway, even if he did, Stark doesn’t care for Krammer and would have resented his telling him not to talk to me.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Both the wife and the husband were directed by a garage mechanic to take Willow Road, a shortcut off Route Six, but no one’s found any traces of either of them on the road. The husband spoke to some people along the road, but…”

  “No one knows where either of them went after that?”

  “Right. Now it seems that the prior missing woman and child most probably took the same shortcut.”

  “What do you make of it?”

  He paused and sipped some of his drink. “Well, it’s a common thread,” he began, “and…”

  “And a common thread always leads to something,” she recited. He laughed.

  “It’s getting so I have nothing to surprise you with; you know me too well, even down to my clichés.”

  “Never mind all that, Chicky Ross. What do you intend to do with this new information?” He didn’t respond. “Chicky?”

  “I could go down to Willow Road tomorrow and snoop around myself, if Mr. Oberman’s not back by late morning, that is.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Isn’t tomorrow your day off?”

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  “But what?”

  “But I always wanted to see Willow Road and sightseeing is permitted on your day off.”

  “I’ve got a good mind to call Chief Krammer,” she said, encircling his arm and leaning against him, a smile creasing her face. “Maybe the husband will be back,” she added thoughtfully.

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t think he will, though, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.” They both sipped their drinks in silence.

  Before he went to sleep, he called Oberman’s hotel. He waited for Maggie to go to bed and then called from the den. Once again the room phone rang and rang without response.

  “Mr. Oberman doesn’t seem to be in his room, sir,” the hotel operator said, getting back on.

  “Thank you.” He hung up.

  He should have known Maggie would anticipate what he had done. She turned over in bed when he slipped under the covers.

  “So?”

  “What?”

  “You called that man’s hotel, right?”

  “Right.”

  “No answer?”

  “No answer.”

  She said nothing else, but for some reason she had the urge to press her body against him. He enveloped her in his arm and they fell asleep like two children who had been frightened into it by ghost stories.

  Irene tucked Shirley and Tami into the bed, still mumbling angrily about their going out without permission. She had pulled both of them up the stairs, digging her nails into their wrists as she did so. Tami had been practically lifted off her feet, her arm straining at the socket.

  “You should have known better,” she told Shirley. And then, after a moment, she slapped her. It came like an afterthought.

  “But Donna wanted to see Arthur,” Shirley cried, rubbing her cheek. She turned and glared at Tami. “Right?”

  Irene stared down at her with interest, but Tami was still shivering with fear. She had never seen a man as wild-looking or as terrifying as Gerald when Gerald was angry, and now Irene seemed about to lose control, too. Surely, if she thought she was responsible for their going out to look for Arthur, she would then turn her anger on her. Worse, Gerald might be drawn in.

  Tami shook her head no vehemently and Shirley sat up in the bed.

  “Yes she did; yes she did!” she said. “Now she’s lying.”

  “All right
,” Irene said. “That’s enough. I want you two to go to sleep. We’ll talk about it again in the morning.”

  Shirley bit her lower lip so hard she nearly drew blood. Reluctantly, she lay back, but she kept her arms folded across her body. Tami stared up in silence, her eyes still big with fear as Irene hesitated a moment. “Shirley. You stay in your bed. I don’t want to hear a peep out of either of you.” At last she turned and walked out of the room, turning off the light and closing the door behind her as she did.

  In the dark, Tami fixed her eyes on the lumpish form of her tormentor in the bed a few feet away. It stirred and the cover rustled. Then came the torturously slow sound of Shirley trying to frame a sentence. “You just wait till tomorrow, Sooey-face. You just wait,” she hissed.

  Gerald put all the lights out downstairs and went up to the bedroom to wait for Irene. As usual, he slipped under the covers nude. He liked the feel of the soft linen against his body, and there was something about being naked in the darkness that reminded him of warmer, happier times. He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself, but he felt truly secure only when he was in bed with the blankets wrapped tightly about him.

  Sometimes he even resented Irene sharing the warmth under the blanket. On cold winter nights, she would press herself to him. If he was asleep, it woke him. Most often, he would grunt and turn away, but there were times when her body stimulated him and he came at her with an unexpected aggressive desire. He knew she didn’t mean for that to happen, but he thought it served her right for stirring him out of a restful sleep.

  But tonight, as he lay there and listened to her talking to the children in the other room, he had other memories and longed for other things. The tone of Irene’s voice changed while she spoke to the children now. There was a softness and a happiness in it, until she grew angry, that made him think about his earliest memories, memories of the days before he was old enough to work with his father, when he spent most of his time beside his mother.

  For a short while in his life, he was permitted to be a child. He had toys and games and looked forward to candied apples and pies and cookies. His mother spoke to him the way Irene often spoke to the children in the other room. She tucked him in at night and there was music and some laughter. The world was different then; it was almost as though he had lived a different life.

  He had even begun to have playmates himself. He remembered looking forward to the arrival of someone. Make-believe games weren’t as much fun when he was alone, nor were exploration missions on the farm. What good was a discovery if there was no one to share it with? He knew the importance of friends; he appreciated the need. It was almost as terrible to be alone when you were young as it was when you were old, he thought.

  No, he couldn’t help but be happy that Shirley had someone now, even if it was this way and even if it wasn’t for that long a time. She’d have something; she’d have the memory until…until there was another.

  He heard Irene say good night to the children and saw her switch the light off in their room. She left the light on in the hallway; it was something they always did. The moment she came through the bedroom door, he saw that she slouched from emotional fatigue. She moved quietly to her dresser and took out a nightgown. He watched her peel off her clothing, then slip on the gown. Then she shuffled to the bed and sat down, her back to him. She knew he was still awake, even though he hadn’t said a word or moved a muscle.

  “They heard Arthur,” she said.

  “It was their imagination. You know how Shirley can get.”

  “No. They heard him. I can’t sleep, thinking about him out there, struggling. He’s so tiny; he’s so weak.”

  “He’s so dead,” he said cruelly and immediately regretted it.

  “I heard him, too,” she said. She turned around and looked down at him in the darkness. She had let her hair fall around her neck and he felt a stirring in his loins because she looked so young and so soft.

  “And when was this?” He smiled with amused skepticism, but she didn’t catch his tone.

  “After you came in again.”

  “What do you mean?” The smile left his face quickly. “You took the children upstairs for bed.”

  “That’s right. Shirley kept talking about hearing Arthur, so while they brushed their teeth and washed their faces, I tiptoed back downstairs and went back outside.”

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “I said I tiptoed. When I don’t want you to hear me, Gerald, I can keep very quiet. Your father said I moved like a squirrel sometimes, didn’t he?”

  “He said you ate like a squirrel.”

  “And moved. He said moved.”

  Gerald, propped on his arms, shrugged, the dark hairs on his arms and between his eyes bristling in the light. “All right. So what? So you went back out there.”

  “And I heard him. I distinctly heard him. I think he’s come back home.”

  “Shut up,” he said, fury and resignation stamped on his face. He turned away from her. “I don’t want to hear such talk. We buried him; you know how dead he was.”

  “He was too beautiful to really die. He just became something else,” she said. She spoke like one under a hypnotic spell.

  “Go to sleep.”

  “I was thinking about going back down there. I was thinking about singing to him. Maybe that would calm him down and he would rest again.”

  “Listen to me,” Gerald said, turning back to her. “I don’t want you talking about it anymore. I want you to go to sleep.”

  “But I won’t sleep.”

  “You will.”

  There was a long pause and then she slipped under the blanket obediently. But after a few moments she started to sob.

  “What are you doing that for?” he said, rising in the bed and flicking on the lamp to glare at her. “You have someone here in the house now. You’ve got to get some sleep because there’ll be plenty to do tomorrow. You want to get yourself sick with someone in the house?”

  “No.”

  “Because they’ll have to leave if you do. I can’t take care of them.”

  “I won’t get sick. I won’t cry anymore,” she said. There was a frantic note in her voice.

  “Good. Close your eyes. Think about some of the things you want to do. Think about some of the things the children should do. That’ll help.”

  “Okay,” she said. There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again. “But I heard him, Gerald. I really did,” she said.

  He wanted to do something; he wanted to touch her softly. The thought of it brought an excitement that revived the feeling he had had before, but she turned away from him as usual and, as usual, curled herself into a tight, fetal position. He knew that in a few minutes, she would be asleep; and what he felt like doing, she would never want to do anyway.

  He was frustrated, but not defeated. His thoughts went to the woman chained to the bed. He knew she was there, soft and vulnerable. He couldn’t help being drawn to her and he couldn’t help thinking about the things he wanted to do. Her helplessness made it all the more exciting.

  Irene was helpless, too, but her helplessness was different. Her helplessness didn’t come from an inability to resist. Making love to her now was more like making love to…to a child. Sex came as a surprise. And even after it was over, she didn’t seem to comprehend all that had happened. Irene’s helplessness came from her inability to deal with reality.

  Sometimes he thought he should do something about that. He thought he should stop permitting her to have her fantasies. Like with this new woman…he didn’t have to say she was Marlene and her daughter was Donna. He could have stopped it all by forcing Irene to remember what had happened to the real Marlene and Donna. Instead, he let her pretend they had returned.

  Of course, he realized why he had done it. He had done it because it made things easier for Irene to accept the cruel things they would have to do in order to enjoy the company of these new people. Irene was really not a mean, hard person. He cou
ld bring her to tears immediately by taking her in there and forcing her to see and to admit that this woman was not Marlene. As long as he pretended, she believed. It was that simple.

  He turned away from her, but he lay back to look through the doorway into the lighted hallway. Soon Irene would be breathing softly and regularly, he thought. She’d be in a deep sleep and he could get up from the bed without her realizing it. He thought about the woman in the other room and envisioned her beneath the blanket. She’d rebelled, fought, and schemed to escape from Irene’s grasp, but she’d done nothing but swallowed the lightly sedated food he gave her, and failed in her goal. Instead of accepting fate—and recognizing what power Gerald held over her—she’d shriveled up.

  The rush of excitement frightened him. He didn’t like being out of control. He didn’t want to relinquish the sense of power he had over himself, as well as over others, especially when it came to sex. It was a game he had played with himself ever since his first orgasm. His body had to obey him. His body had to do what he told it to do.

  He remembered the way his father had embarrassed and made fun of him the first time he had had a nocturnal emission.

  “Making love to dreams,” his father said and laughed. “Who’d you dream about, huh?”

  Gerald said nothing, but throughout the day, his father kept reminding him. And sometimes in front of his mother. Fed up, he finally let his temper blaze when they were alone later after dinner. “I didn’t dream about no one. It just happened.”

  “Just keep that big pecker of yours away from my cows,” he said and laughed and laughed. “You had a great-uncle who couldn’t keep away from the cows,” he said and left Gerald trembling with anger and hurt.

  Now his body was being insubordinate, he thought. He would punish it by forcing it to wait even longer. He would torment it with his resistance. To demonstrate the point, he deliberately turned away from the door and forced himself to think of other things. He began with tomorrow’s chores, reciting in chronological order what he’d have to do.

  He felt himself soften; he felt his breathing grow more regular, and he smiled. He was in control again. True power came from knowing he could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. There was no rush. Let the night grow older. Let her fall asleep, too, he thought; so that when he went to her, she would know the futility of resistance.