F Paul Wilson - Novel 05

by Mirage (v2. 1)

  "I left those papers with you for safekeeping. I expected you to respect my privacy. I thought I could trust my own brother not to break into my files!"

  "Trust?" Uncle Eathan says. "How does that word even pass your lips?"

  Daddy looks as if he's about to explode. He jabs a finger at Eathan's face.

  "And how does it pass yours, brother? It appears that nothing of mine is safe when you're about. Isn't that right?"

  "What... ?" A guilty look sweeps across Uncle Eathan's face. Suddenly he seems on the defensive, unable to meet his brother's eyes. "I don't know—"

  "You know damn well what I'm talking about...." His leer is all bitterness and fury. "Don't you."

  Uncle Eathan refuses to take the bait. He draws himself up and glares back at his brother.

  "Don't try to change the subject. And for the record, I did not break into anything. You left the cabinet unlocked."

  Daddy kicks the picnic table. The journals jump and one tumbles to the grass.

  Those journals—they're Nathan's. The ones you spent a last night reading. What are they doing here? Just this morning Eathan told you he didn't discover them until after the fire. And yet here he is, confronting Nathan with them.

  The shouting draws your attention back to the picnic table.

  "Damn you, Eathan! You could have left your papers scattered on my floor and I never would have so much as glanced at them!"

  "Well, I did glance at these. I was curious where your work was going. I... I was aghast.... I can't believe what you've done! It's criminal."

  "And I couldn't believe what you did!"

  "Nathan, you're incredible! Don't even attempt to gain the moral high ground here. You're a monster. I... how could you? Your own daughters, Nathan!"

  "Skinner used his own child—"

  "He didn't use drugs on her!"

  Daddy waves his hands between them. "Shut up! You'll do no one any good by opening your mouth about this." He lowers his voice and it takes on a placating tone. "I've made a mistake, Eathan. I acted rashly and I regret what I did. But what's done is done. I can't turn back the clock. And there's been no harm, as you can see. They're both perfectly healthy, normal children. Perfectly normal. So let's keep this between us—for the girls' sake."

  But Uncle Eathan isn't buying any of it. He shakes his head. "Too late, Nathan. I already told Lucy—for the girls' sake."

  In a heartbeat Daddy's angry flush fades to ashen shock. His voice is hoarse, barely audible as he sways and clutches the edge of the table.

  "No! You're lying! You wouldn't hurt her like that!"

  Shaking his head in disgust, Uncle Eathan gathers the journals from the picnic table, picks up the one in the grass, and shoves them into his brother's arms.

  "Maybe you'd better read those again—then tell me about hurting."

  He starts toward the corner of the house and Daddy chases after him. In an instant they're around the corner and out of sight.

  And suddenly Mommy's got you by the hand and she's hurrying you downstairs. You hear Daddy's voice from the front porch.

  "Stay out, Eathan," he's saying in a low voice. "You're not welcome here. You can't come in. I don't want to see you on my property again. If you even—"

  "It's too late, Nathan!" Mommy says as you reach the bottom.

  "Lucy!" Daddy rushes inside. "Lucy, you can't believe him!"

  Slowly, hesitantly, Uncle Eathan comes in behind him.

  Little Julie runs in from the rear of the house and Mommy grabs her hand.

  And now you're an observer again. You see your mother standing in the center hall by the foot of the stairs. She's flanked by her daughters and clutches one of their hands in each of hers. The look in her eyes ...

  You've never seen your mother like this. You have pictures, and she's always smiling, always looking so soft. But this woman ... the cold fury in her eyes is a frightening thing. It stops you in your tracks. For she's more than Mommy now. She's all mothers, and someone has harmed her children.

  God help whoever did it.

  Suddenly the perspective blurs and shifts again and you're little Julie now, clutching your mommy's hand and feeling very confused. Mommy's angry with Daddy and little Julie doesn't know why.

  "I don't have to believe him," Mommy says in a cold, scary voice. "He didn't have to say a thing." She points to the journals clutched in Daddy's arms. "Your own words, written in-your own hand, were more than enough."

  "But it's all a misunderstanding." He holds the journals out' before him. This ... it's all fiction. A novel I'm writing."

  But Mommy's eyes only grow colder. "Don't insult my intelligence."

  "Lucy!" Daddy's voice sounds like he's whining. "You can't? believe I'd do anything to harm my own daughters."

  Her eyes bore into his. "We both know the truth about that now, don't we, Nathan. And pretty soon your brother will know that truth as well." She starts toward the door, dragging Julie and Sammi along. "I'm leaving. I'm taking the girls with me. And, so help me, if I see you within a mile of them I'll shoot you dead."

  "No!" Daddy's voice rises to a scream as he hurls the journals against the wall and runs toward the rear of the house. "No!"

  Then Julie cowers back against Mommy's leg. She sees Sammi doing the same on the other side. It's late and she's tired, and never in her life has she heard a sound like that, especially from Daddy. Where'd he go? She's confused ... and she's scared.

  Uncle Eathan stands just inside the door, a dazed look on his face.

  "What truth?" he says. "What are you talking about, Lucy?"

  Mommy tries to smile at him, but it misfires. She looks ready to shatter into a million pieces.

  "I—I'll tell you about it later. Right now I want to get out of here. Eathan, will you help me?"

  He nods. "Of course."

  There's a bag at the top of the stairs...."

  "I'll get it."

  As Uncle Eathan runs up the stairs, little Julie looks up at her mother. "M-Mommy, are we going on a trip?"

  "Yes. A long one."

  "And Daddy's not coming," Sammi says, not sounding too upset about it. "He and Uncle Eathan don't like each other anymore. I seen them ... I seen them fighting."

  "Why?" Julie asks.

  Before Mommy or Sammi can answer, Uncle Eathan reappears, struggling with a huge suitcase on the stairs,

  "What's in this? Everything you own?"

  "Just about."

  As Uncle Eathan lugs the suitcase toward the door, everyone freezes....

  And suddenly you're standing apart again as everyone fades.

  You're in an empty house now. You rush from room to room but no one is here. You stumble back outside, into the Van Gogh night, and search the yard. You even pry among the cornstalks in the garden.

  No one.

  After one final look at the deserted grounds, you drift away from the house, looking for the tunnel back to the surface.

  But you're bothered. Why don't you remember any of this? You were there. Your parents never separated. You saw yourself in chat memory—at least in Sam's mind you were there. So you should remember. Or...

  …is this same memory buried in its own rocky niche within your memoryscape?

  But doesn't what you've just seen seem too innocuous to be repressed? No hard trauma there, just loud voices and non sequiturs.

  And when did it happen? You and Sam looked about five, but you could have been four and a half.

  You spot the wide, dark mouth of the tunnel to the surface ahead. And off to your right, another narrower, darker opening Where does that go? From its position it appears to lead to the heart of the volcano.

  Whichever path you choose, it's time to leave the Starry Night grotto.

  You glance over your shoulder for a last look. And as you watch, a tendril of fire writhes from one of the stars and snakes toward the house. It touches the roof, and suddenly—

  Flames burst from the windows, the front door.

  "Oh
, no!" you cry aloud.

  Not the fire! You can't bear to watch the fire. You've relived it so many times in your own mind, why should you have to suffer through it in Sam's memoryscape too? You can't do it.

  Wait... Sam's memoryscape. Maybe Sam has a different take on the tragedy. Maybe she saw something you didn't—or remembers something you don't. After all, you don't remember anything of what you just saw in the house. And thank God you didn't see yourself with matches....

  You hurry back, and as you do, the cypresses change to oaks and maples and elms. The sky changes too, the stars shrinking to pinpoints of light, and the moon turning full and round and staring.

  You swing too close and the heat backs you up.

  The fire has taken command inside, shooting jets of flame from the basement windows, running through the first floor, licking at the upstairs windows. It's fast, alive, terrifying.

  And then there's a figure in the front doorway, silhouetted in the flames. Carrying two bundles in his arms, he leaps from the front porch and dashes onto the lawn. He runs directly toward you, stopping only a few feet in front of you. Nathan. He drops to his knees and deposits little Sam and Julie on the grass.

  You know the next words.

  "You girls stay here. I'm going back for your mom."

  And still the scene affects you. As much as you hate this man for what he did to you, and for what he did to your mother as well—pretending you were his own daughters when he knew differently, getting even with her by using you as guinea pigs—you can't help but feel the same surge of love and trust you've felt every time you've remembered this moment.

  He saved you from the fire.

  You watch him rush back to the house, raise his arms across his face against the heat, and charge back into the flames.

  And now the worst part. The waiting. You watch reflections of the flames dancing on the tear-stained faces of Julie and Sammi as their fear grows. Where's Daddy ? Why isn't he bringing Mommy? And then the terror. Daddy! Mommy! Where are you? Don't leave us here!

  Suddenly both girls are screaming in horror. Why? Nothing has changed—unless they've both realized simultaneously that their daddy and mommy aren't coming out of that fire.

  No one responds to their screams. No one comes to comfort them. Only the pitiless full moon witnesses their plight. The stupid, grinning moon.

  And suddenly all is black—no house, no fire, no moon. Utter darkness, utter silence.

  Panic threatens for a moment, and then you hear—feel— the crunch of leaves underfoot. Light begins to filter from above. You look up. It's day now. Sunlight coming through the trees. You look around and see your sister, Sammi, beside you. Neither of you is crying—you're both cried out by now. But you're so cold and so hungry.

  Suddenly there's a man ahead in the trees, wearing a flannel shirt and dirty jeans. He stands frozen, staring at you, then he starts forward.

  "Don't be afraid, girls," he says in a hoarse voice, holding his hands out as if approaching a skittish puppy or kitten. "I'm not going to hurt you."

  You slip your arms around your sister and she twines hers around you. Mommy always warned you about strangers and how you should stay away from them, and run and scream if one tries to touch you, but you're both too tired and weak to run. You stand quaking against each other, waiting for this stranger and hoping he's not the kind Mommy told you about.

  Finally he's standing before you, towering over you. His face is all stubbly and he smells like he needs a bath. He reaches out his hands. They're trembling. He lays one on your shoulder and one on Sammi's.

  "Are you the Gordon girls?" he says.

  You're too frightened to speak. You can only nod.

  "Thank God," he says. He turns and shouts into the woods. "Hey! Over here! I found them! They're over here!" A half-sob wavers in his voice. "And they're all right!" He turns back to you and drops to his knees before you. You see tears in his eyes. "You're safe now, girls. You're gonna be all right."

  And then the man fades away, and little Sammi and Julie fade away, but the woods remain. So do the chill and the hunger. You sense it could take you hours to find your way out of these woods. You don't have time for that.

  You click EXIT.

  Thirty-One

  T. S. Eliot:

  "Footfalls echo in the memory

  Down the passage which we did not take."

  —Random notes: Julia Gordon

  1

  Julie rubbed her eyes as she leaned back in the recliner and waited for her mind to slow its chaotic whirl.

  So many questions—too many questions.

  But first—see to Sam.

  Julie got up, turned off the VCR, and then removed Sam's headset. She paused and stared down at her sister's pale, relaxed features as a rush of tender feelings almost overwhelmed her.

  "We've been through a lot, haven't we, sis? Been through hell, in fact." She touched Sam's cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Dear, dear Sam. If only I'd known then what 1 know now ... if only Eathan had told us.... It would have been so different. Maybe—"

  Her throat constricted.

  I think I'm going to cry.

  What an odd sensation. Was that a sob building in her chest? And tears pressing against the backs of her lids?

  She swallowed and the feeling passed. Don't want to break my mold. No, she wasn't going to cry. She never cried.

  But it left her wondering. Was she somehow incorporating a bit of Sam into her own psyche during each trip into Sam's 'scape? It seemed crazy... but if so, was she leaving a little bit of Julie behind?

  An exciting possibility. If true, it might be a way to undo some of Nathan's meddling. But it would take a long time. And time wasn't something they had a lot of.

  Julie called in the nurse to see to Sam's IVs and feeding tube while she stretched her legs by wandering the halls.

  Questions assaulted her—about Nathan, about Eathan, about Sam's memory of that terrible night.

  First, Nathan. Julie had hated him, utterly and completely, since reading his experimental journals. But reliving the night of the fire in Sam's 'scape had left her with mixed emotions about Nathan Gordon.

  When she stood back and considered everything, she couldn't deny that he'd been horribly wronged by his wife and brother. No matter how brief their affair, or how true Lucy had remained to him after it was over... imagine how Nathan must have felt each time he looked at the twin daughters he was raising and realized they were his brother's.

  Maybe that had unbalanced him. It didn't excuse what he did to those two little girls, but at least it provided an explanation. And the fact remained that despite whatever monstrousness he'd committed during his life, Nathan Gordon died a hero.

  No question of that.

  He could have run out alone and watched his house burn, collected the insurance money on his unfaithful wife, and lived out his years as a millionaire. But he'd carried the girls out and tried trying to save that unfaithful wife.

  Did guilt drive him to it? Was he trying to atone for what he'd done to the twins? Maybe he hoped that if he saved their lives, Lucy would forgive him.

  Which brought up another question: Sam's buried memory of Lucy learning of Nathan's experiments and leaving with the girls. When did that happen? The memory ended with Eathan, Lucy, and the twins headed out the door. Yet the next memory was the fire.

  How long between that incident and the fire? Had Lucy and the twins returned to the house? Had there been a reconciliation of sorts?

  And there were more inconsistencies.

  Only hours ago Eathan had sat in his bedroom and told her that he hadn't found Nathan's experimental journals until after the fire. That was what he said, but if Sam's memory was at all accurate, Eathan did know—he brought the journals to Nathan's house the night of the big fight.

  Obviously he hadn't known the twins were his—not yet—-but he'd certainly known about the journals. Yet he'd lied to Julie about them. Why?

  Unless ...
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  The thought stopped Julie in midstride. She had to lean on the newel post at the top of the stairs and wait for the cold, sick feeling to pass.

  Unless Eathan had something to do with the fire.

  No. That wasn't possible. Not Eathan. Anyone but Eathan.

  But he had lied to her about the journals. She couldn't ignore that. Eathan wouldn't lie to her unless he had a reason.

  But must that reason have anything to do with the fire?

  And what about the fire?

  The most disturbing aspect of what she'd just seen was that Sam's memory of that night had the same blank spot as her own.

  When she was older Eathan had told her that the generally accepted theory at the time was that the horror of the fire had propelled the pair of them into a fugue state that left them wandering aimlessly through the woods.

  But what happened between the fire and when they were found in the woods?

  And what happened in the interval—however long it was—• between Lucy walking out on Nathan and the fire?

  As much as she hated thinking about it, she had to ask herself: What if Mom told Eathan he was the father of the twins, and then, knowing what Nathan had done to them, Eathan went a little crazy.

  That didn't answer all the questions—not even close. Eathan wouldn't jeopardize his own daughters. No way would he start the fire.

  But what if Nathan and Lucy tried to work things out? What if she moved back with the twins? Wouldn't that have made Eathan even crazier?

  And with them all dead he'd have been left with two millon dollars free and clear.

  Julie shook herself. What am I thinking?

  Not Eathan. Anybody but Eathan.

  But she'd never really know, would she? Not unless ...

  I have to go back in.

  She glanced at her watch. Still too early in New York to link up with Dr. S.

  Damn! Every hour meant there was less of Sam to find in the memoryscape.