The Slab

by Michael R Collings

  And, on the whole, they performed well. Mark’s grades were just above average in most subjects. Clarks dipped below now and again but he always managed to pull them up. Both boys came home with report cards bearing teachers’ notes that indicated the boys were shy and perhaps a bit socially backward-but that came with moving so often, didn’t it? They both excelled in P. E, though, and that counted for something.

  After the blazing heat of summer passed, Ariel was more comfortable, too. She had rarely left the house, not even to work in the yard, which was Jack’s self-proclaimed bailiwick. When she did, it was to drive the second-hand Kia Jack bought for her to go to the store and back. Stores were air-conditioned, so no one ever said anything about her long-sleeved shirts or full-length pants.

  And everyone in Southern California wore shades in the summer.

  On the whole, Jack was satisfied with life on Oleander Place. Since they were on the end of the street and, in spite of what he might tell Ariel, he only infrequently actually worked in the front yard-mowing and a bit of weeding now and then-they made few close friends among the neighbors.

  That was all right. Jack liked his family to be self-sufficient.

  3

  By the beginning of June, 2009, however, Jack was getting a bit worried. He knew the signs well enough.

  Then it happened.

  For once, he was glad that what seemed like every kid in the neighborhood was hanging around their back yard. For some reason, a bunch of boys had tagged home with Mark after school on Friday, and Ariel had let them stay to play. She had whipped up some lemonade, even though she knew that Jack would disapprove. When Mark lost his handhold on one of the top branches in the disease-ravaged elm in the corner, and the branch beneath gave way under his weight, there must have been ten kids standing around.

  Great.

  Witnesses.

  This time, when he took Mark into the ER at Oak Glen Hospital, none of those goddamn know-it-alls would look at him that way. This time, he had witnesses that would swear that he hadn’t laid a hand on the kid, that he wasn’t even in the yard when it happened.

  He was, in fact, sitting in the recently converted garage that now served as a family room, watching a replay of a Lakers’ game on the tube, drinking a cool one and wondering if this was the summer that he would finally break down and get rid of the old thirty-six incher and go for broke and buy a window-sized flat screen. The Lakers were even ahead for a change when he heard Mark’s piercing shriek.

  Shit, it would have to happen right now-whatever the hell was going on out there. Right in the middle of a game. And with Ariel out gallivanting somewhere, God knows where that woman gets to even though she always claimed it is only to Albertsons or Sav-on, so he would have to take care of whatever was wrong. Probably just a squabble among the brats and Mark had lost. Jack got up and hitched his pants to his waist and made his way through the kitchen-not too fast, don’t let the kid think he can control you, even if he is still screaming bloody murder.

  But even Jack knew with one glance that there was more wrong here than just a backyard fight. The bone stuck maybe an inch through Mark’s forearm, white and gleaming and stained with red. The boy was on his feet, but wobbly and white and looking like shit warmed over.

  Okay, hospital time.

  By the time Jack had buckled in and cranked the ignition, Mark was seated on the passenger side. Jack had grabbed a towel in the kitchen as they rushed through and wrapped it around Mark’s arm, so there shouldn’t be any blood on the seat.

  “Hang on, kid.”

  Mark didn’t answer. Jack glanced over. The kid’s eyes were squeezed shut and he was sweating like a pig.

  Jack floored the accelerator.

  He knew the way to Oak Glen, so it wasn’t more than a few minutes before they screeched to a halt outside the ER. An attendant was right there with a wheelchair, and Mark disappeared into the urgent-care rooms before Jack had time to follow.

  When he got to the admissions desk, the receptionist glanced up. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed.

  “Mr. Merrick?”

  “Yeah, it’s my son.”

  “Mark or Clark.”

  “Mark. He fell out of a tree. Broke his arm.”

  She nodded. “We’ve got him inside. You can go on back when you finish signing this.” She slid a form toward him.

  “Yeah, him and a bunch of kids were playing out back and Mark fell. I was watching TV.”

  She nodded again but still didn’t speak.

  “A Lakers’ game.”

  He slid the paper back to her.

  She barely glanced at it. “Go on back. You know the way.”

  He was told which examining room they had taken Mark to. When he entered, there was Mark, laying back on the bed, eyes still closed and breathing heavily. The doctor was there-what was his name, Raja-badda-bing-bang or something foreign like that. They always seemed to be foreign any more. Like the hospital couldn’t afford to hire a good old American doc. And there was another person, a grim-looking heavy-set woman in a business suit standing just inside the door.

  Jack crossed the room and laid one hand on Mark’s other arm.

  “How’s he doing.”

  “Compound fracture. But you probably guessed that. Doesn’t look terribly serious but we’ll have to keep him here at least over night to stitch him up and set the arm. Then keep him under observation. Infection, you know.”

  At least they got the one that was fairly easy to understand, Jack thought. Spoke decent English.

  The doctor had not looked up but kept his attention riveted on what he was doing.

  “He fell out of a tree,” Jack said. “Bunch of kids were out back playing in the tree. He fell.” Jack ended weakly. He’d already said that. Enough.

  The doctor shook his head slightly, up and down just sufficiently to indicate that he’d heard but not enough to invite further discussion.

  “Mark?” the doctor said. “How does it feel now. I’ve given you a shot that should help.”

  The boy still kept his eyes closed. “Okay, I guess. Numb now.”

  “Mark, what happened?”

  “I just told…,” Jack began.

  The doctor held up one hand. Jack shut up.

  “What happened?”

  “I was up in the top of the old tree and slipped. Fell onto another branch. It broke and I fell all the way down. It hurt.”

  “Mr. Merrick?” The voice came from behind Jack.

  He stood and turned to face the woman. Hatchet-faced old broad.

  “Would you step out into the hall with me, please?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Please step outside, Mr. Merrick. We can talk more freely there.”

  Jack patted Mark’s good arm, then stalked out of the room.

  “Okay, what the hell is this about? Who are you?”

  “Orinda Washington. Hospital liaison with County Child Services.”

  “Child… I don’t have to talk to you.” Jack turned and began opening the door to Mark’s room.

  “Yes, I’m afraid you do, Mr. Merrick. Here and alone with me, or in my office with a security officer.”

  Jack stared.

  “What do you mean. Mark fell! A dozen kids saw it!”

  “That’s what the boy said. Before you came in. It’s what we expected him to say, that he fell from something. Of course, we’ll have an officer at your home shortly to verify what happened.”

  “Then what…!”

  She held up a hand, not to placate him but to stop him.

  “Your son’s file was flagged, Mr. Merrick. Both your sons’ files, as a matter of fact. And your wife’s. In fact, you are the only member of your family whose file in the ER is not flagged.”

  “This was an accident! How many times do I have to tell you people that. Mark is clumsy, he climbed too high, and he fell. End of story.”

  “This time, perhaps. But we’ve established a…what shall we call it…a cut-of
f point, where the signals become too obvious to be missed. This time might have been an accident. The last time also. But so many times in less than three years? That worries us.”

  “Worries you? What the hell have you got to be worried about?”

  “Actually, Mr. Merrick, perhaps you are the one that should be worried.”

  “Are you threatening me? Because if you are, I’ll sic my lawyer on you-and this dipshit hospital-so fast that…”

  “Not a threat, Mr. Merrick. Not even a warning. Just a word of advice. We are worried about Mark and Clark…and Ariel, as well. We just wanted to know that their files are flagged.”

  “Yeah, well you’re not the only hospital that…”

  “There are only two hospitals in Tamarind Valley. Oak Glen and County. We share information about certain cases. All of our information. It would be wise if we never saw…”

  Jack turned his back on the woman and slammed through the door.

  “When can he go home, doc?”

  4

  When Jack stomped into the house a few hours after he left with Mark, Ariel knew the look on his face. She had seen it before. Her heart fell. Not again.

  She started to ask about Mark.

  “Not a word,” Jack growled. “Not a word from you.”

  He strode down the hall and disappeared around the corner. An instant later Ariel heard the door to his den smash against the jamb.

  Clark looked up from where he was half-laying on the floor, doing his homework while stealing glances at the TV screen.

  “Is Mark all right?”

  “He’s still at the hospital. They will probably keep him there for a day or two.”

  “Like last time?”

  “Yes. Like last time. But I’m sure he will be all right.”

  “Mom, are we going to move again?”

  Ariel swallowed. She knew the signs. There had been sufficient…episodes…in the sixteen years their marriage had endured. She knew the sequence-move to get a fresh start, stagger along as if they were a normal family for a while, then the excuses and the yelling would begin again. She could almost write out a time-table. But somehow, she felt that this time things were different. Frightening. Moving at a much faster pace than ever before. Deteriorating almost day by day. Jack seemed…different here, in this house. Sometimes when he emerged from his den after a…difficult evening, she almost didn’t recognize him.

  She smiled wanly at her younger son. She couldn’t find it in her heart to answer him.

  5

  “Slick, this is Jack.”

  Jack winced at the undercurrent of static coming through his cell phone. The thing was the newest model, only a couple of weeks old. The interference only happened back here in his den, and that sure as hell made him mad. Every other place in the house, clear as crystal-back here in his den, hisssss buzzzzz sssssssh.

  “Jack,” the voice answered. “Good to hear from you, buddy. How they hangin’?”

  “Not so good. That’s why I’m calling.”

  “Well, you know, nothing too good for an old roomie. What can I do you for?”

  “It’s…well…I’ve been thinking of selling this place and moving.”

  “Going upscale on us, huh?”

  “Not exactly. More like moving away. Out of state.”

  Hissss, buzzzz, ssssssh. The static surged more loudly as the voice on the other end momentarily fell silent.

  “Like that, huh?”

  “Yeah, afraid so. Anyway, you know how much I appreciate your getting us into this place. Bargain-basement price and all.”

  “No problemo. After the old fart that used to live there died, his two kids couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. Funny, though, the deal almost fell through there at the end. I couldn’t even get them together in the same town long enough to sign the papers. Not a family I’d like to know better. They didn’t so much as speak to each other the whole time. But that’s neither here nor there. How can I help?”

  “I know the market’s pretty soft right now…”

  “That’s the understatement of the year!”

  “Yeah, but it’s…I…can you help me dump this place? Fast?”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “It kinda is. Look, you and I know the condition the house is in. Will that make it too hard to get rid of?”

  “You made any improvements.”

  “Just the room conversion. The old garage is the family room now, and I had them build an adjoining garage. The property was just wide enough between the house and the fence to fit.”

  “Umm. That will add a good bit to the square footage. Any more…uh…complications?”

  “Not really. Just what you know about. Cracks along the foundation. Cracks on the inside walls. Seems to have slowed, though. Not much new recently.”

  “Okay, Jack. I think we can work with this. It’ll take a little of money, though, not as much as a major re-build but a bit.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Okay, buddy, here’s what we’re going to do…”

  6

  Jack had a bitch of a headache. It started at his temples and shot across his forehead, throb throb throb throb. His eyes watered from the pain.

  He settled deeper into his armchair, grateful once more that his den had turned out to be the quietest room in the house. Ariel and the kids were probably in the family room watching TV. From back here he could hear nothing.

  Except the throb of blood rushing through his veins and pounding against his temples.

  He took a long pull on his beer.

  Cold. Thank god for the mini-fridge back here. He didn’t think he could stand to walk as far as the kitchen right now.

  The headache had begun during the drive home. That had happened more than once in the five months since he had placed the call to Maxwell. The call for help.

  Five months.

  An eternity.

  There had been a few nibbles on the house almost as soon as it was ready to show. Two prospects had even tendered offers, but for some reason they had been withdrawn shortly after the marks had made a careful walkthrough. Slick hadn’t been too concerned.

  “That’s the way the market is right now. Mostly lookie-loos. Don’t worry. Things will probably pick up after school opens.”

  Easy enough for him to say, Jack thought bitterly. He didn’t have to come home to Ariel and the kids and these damned headaches.

  He rolled the cold can against his forehead.

  He knew that he sometimes had…problems. He tried to keep control, and most of the time he could. But every once in a while, situations arose and he just…let go.

  But for the last few months, it had been worse. Much worse. Much harder to manage…things.

  He knew from past experience what the red rages felt like, the need to lash out and hurt someone. He was careful, though. Never too much. Never too often. And usually he didn’t have to make an ER run.

  But now.

  He shuddered.

  Hurting didn’t seem to be enough. A slap across the cheek. A punch to the shoulder. A good solid whack on a naked rear end. A belt on the back of the legs-high, where it wouldn’t show. Those didn’t work.

  Now he wanted, needed more. When the mood was on him, he could close his eyes and easily-oh, so very easily-envision smashing his fist into Clark’s face, breaking a jaw and spilling teeth all over the floor like kernels of bright-red rice. Or crushing Mark’s nose with his elbow, feeling the sudden, almost orgasmic heat of blood flowing across the flesh of his arm. Shattering Ariel’s arm the next time she tried to restrain him, feeling the bones crumble into fragments, like the slab beneath his chair. Beating them all…all of them at once. Pounding them bloody. Destroying them.

  When he was in control, that seemed bad enough. But it wasn’t the worst.

  He took another long drink.

  He probably should get up and turn on the light. It was already dark, even though daylight-savings time wouldn’t end for a week or two. His den w
as shrouded in shadows…and sometimes the shadows seemed to flicker, to move.

  Sometimes they whispered to him to…to do things…horrible, terrifying things…not to Ariel or the boys but to himself.

  It was the memory of those urges that utterly froze him. His headache geared up a notch or two.

  Shit. How much more of this could he take.

  Rap. Rap.

  Small, tentative knocks sounded on his closed-and carefully locked-door. Anger flooded through him.

  The knew that the weren’t supposed to disturb him when he was in here.

  Rap. Rap.

  “What!”

  There was a short pause, then a faint voice. It was Clark. Jack could almost see the brat’s face, pale and drawn at the prospect of what he knew must be coming.

  “Dad?”

  “I told you not to…!”

  “There’s a man here to see you.”

  Jack sat bolt upright. The movement sent spikes through his brain.

  “Cops?”

  Another pause.

  “No. Just a man. He says his name is Maxwell.”

  Jack released his breath explosively and settled back into the chair. He upended his beer and drank the rest in a single long swallow.

  He rose, thumbed the lock, and pulled the door open.

  What the hell!

  He jerked back convulsively, almost slammed the door closed, then blinked.

  A phantom something seemed to be floating chest-high in the dimness of the hallway. Green glowing eyes, green glowing teeth, splotches of red glowing like baleful, fevered eruptions on dead skin. Everything else black, dead black. Black so deep it seemed to swallow what little light there was.

  “Dad?” Clark sounded worried…and terrified.

  “What are you…?” Jack hit the switch beside the door and the den light flared, casting stark shadows everywhere but emitting enough light into the hall to illuminate the figure that stood before him.

  It was a fifteen-year-old vampire, Dracula-cape and all, its hair blackened for the occasion and slicked back.