by John Saul
“It’s been one of those days. Will you do the honors, or do I have to fix it myself?”
Jack smiled, but it wasn’t a comfortable smile. “Since you didn’t make any cracks about ‘practice makes perfect,’ I’ll do it for you. Aren’t you home a little early?” he asked as he moved to the bar.
“I’ve been here since lunch,” Rose replied, settling herself on the couch. “All my work this afternoon was on paper, and the office was just too busy. I close three deals tomorrow, making us fifteen thousand dollars richer. Shall we drink to that?” She took the glass from his hand and raised it toward him. “To the recouping of the Conger fortune.”
Jack raised his own glass halfheartedly, and settled back into his wing chair.
“You don’t seem too thrilled about it,” Rose said carefully.
“The Conger fortune,” Jack said, “should be recouped by a Conger, if it is to be recouped at all. Not a Conger wife.”
“Well,” Rose said shortly, “I guess we don’t need to talk about that any more. I had a visitor this afternoon.”
“Is that unusual?”
Rose stared at her husband for a moment, fighting the urge to rise to the bait. When she was sure she had herself under control, she spoke again. “Jack, let’s not fight,” she said. “Let’s spend a quiet, comfortable evening at home, just like we used to.”
Jack looked at her carefully, trying to see if he could spot a trap. After a moment, he relaxed, his shoulders dropping slightly and his breath, which he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, coming deeply. Now, for the first time since she’d come into the room, his smile was warm.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I’m just learning to be defensive all the time. Who came by? You made it sound important.”
“I’m not sure if it was or not It was Ray Norton, and he was here on business.”
“That,” Jack said speculatively, “would have to do with Anne Forager, right?”
“You already know?”
“You forget, my love, that I’m the editor of the only paper in town. Granted, it isn’t much, but it is mine own. And in my illustrious position, there isn’t much that goes on in this town that I don’t hear about The Port Arbello Courier may not be a major paper, but it is a fine gossip center. In short, yes, I’ve heard about Anne. Probably a lot more than you, since my sources, unlike Ray Norton’s, are not sworn to stick to the facts, ma’am. What would you like to know?”
“What happened to her,” Rose said.
“Ah, now that complicates things,” he said, growing somber. “Anne Forager, at various times of the day, has been reported to be missing, to be dead, to have been raped and decapitated, to have been raped but not decapitated, and to have been decapitated but notraped. Also, she has been reported as having been severely beaten and now hovering between life and death. Or she deserves to be spanked, depending on who you listen to. In other words, you probably know a lot more about it than I do, since you talked to Ray, and everybody else talked to me.” He drained his glass and stood up. “Would you like me to fix that for you, or are you going to nurse it along?”
“I’ll nurse it,” Rose said. She continued talking while Jack fixed his second drink. She noted that it was a double, but decided not to mention it Instead, she occupied herself with recounting Ray Norton’s visit that afternoon.
“—And that’s about it,” she finished. “Ray didn’t go down to see you this afternoon?” Jack shook his head. “That’s funny. I had the distinct impression he was planning to go directly from here to your office.”
“If I know Ray,” Jack said drily, “he went from here directly to the quarry, to have a look around. Probably complete with a pipe and a magnifying glass. Was he wearing his deerstalker hat?”
Rose grinned in spite of herself. “Jack, that isn’t fair. Ray isn’t like that, and you know it.”
“How do I know it?” Jack shrugged. “Ray hasn’t had a real case to work on since the day he went to work for Port Arbello. I’ll bet he was more happy than concerned that something has finally happened here, wasn’t he?”
“No, he wasn’t. He seemed to be very concerned. And why are you being so hard on him? I thought you were good friends.”
“Ray and I? I suppose we are. But we also know each other’s limitations. I don’t think he’s Sherlock Holmes, and he doesn’t think I’m Horace Greeley. But we like to act like we are. It makes us feel important.”
“And you have to feel important?”
Jack’s guard went up immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it,” Rose said quickly. “It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. What do you suppose really did happen to Anne Forager?”
“Anne? Probably nothing. I tend to go along with the idea that she stayed out too late and came up with a good story to avoid her punishment. Children are like that.”
“Not ours,” Rose said quietly.
“No,” Jack said. “Not ours.” He stared into his drink for a moment. “Where are they?”
“Upstairs. Elizabeth’s playing with Sarah. Oh, God, Jack, what if the same thing happened to Anne that happened to Sarah?”
Jack recoiled as if he’d been slapped.
“It didn’t, Rose. If something like that had happened, she wouldn’t be talking about it at all. She wouldn’t be talking. She’d be sitting—staring at the walls—just … sitting.” He broke off for a moment, as if it was too painful to continue. Then he forced himself to speak again.
“She’s going to get better. She’ll be back in school next year …”
“She’s in school,” Rose said gently.
“I mean regular school, where she belongs. Not that other place.” The bitterness in his voice hung in the air.
Rose bit her lip for a minute, trying to choose the right words.
“It’s a good school, Jack. Really it is. And Sarah’s doing well there. You know she isn’t well enough to go to public school. Think what would happen to her. Why, the children alone …” She trailed off.
“We should keep her at home,” Jack said. “She belongs at home, with people who love her.”
Rose shook her head. “It isn’t love she needs, right now. She needs to have people around her who understand her problem, who can help her. God knows, I don’t have the time or the skills to devote to her.”
“It isn’t right, Jack insisted.” That school That’s for crazy kids, and retarded kids. Not for Sarah. Not for my daughter. All she needs is to be around normal kids, kids like Elizabeth. Look how well she does with Elizabeth.
Rose nodded. “Of course I know how well she does with Elizabeth. But do you think all children are like Elizabeth? How many other children would have her patience? Children can be cruel, Jack. What do you think would happen to Sarah if she were back in public school? Do you think they’d all play with her the way Elizabeth does? Because if you do, you’re crazy. They’d tease her, and taunt her. They’d play with her, all right, but she wouldn’t be a playmate; she’d be a toy. It would only make her worse, Jack.”
He finished his drink and rose to fix a third. Rose watched him go to the bar, and a wave of pity swept over her. He suddenly seemed unsure of himself, his step wary, as if something were waiting to trip him. As he tilted the bottle to pour the liquor into his glass, she spoke again.
“Do you think you ought to?”
“Ought to?” Jack glanced back at her over his shoulder. “No, I don’t think I ought to. But I’m going to. There’s a difference, you know.”
The scream came before Rose could reply. Jack froze where he stood, the liquor streaming out of the bottle, overflowing the glass as the terrified shriek filled the house. It seemed to root him to the spot, and it wasn’t until it had finally died away that he was able to let go of the bottle. Rose was already in the hall by the time the bottle broke on the floor, and if she heard it, she didn’t turn around. Jack glanced at the mess at his feet; then he too ran from the room.
The aw
ful sound had come from the floor above. Rose and Mrs. Goodrich met at the bottom of the stairs, and Rose came close to toppling the housekeeper as she scrambled up the single flight Mrs. Goodrich recovered, and made her way up the stairsas quickly as her age and arthritis would allow. Jack passed her halfway up.
“What was it?” he asked as he passed.
“Sarah,” Mrs. Goodrich panted. “It was Miss Sarah’s voice. God Almighty, hurry!”
Jack was at the top of the stairs when he saw his wife disappear into the children’s playroom. By the time he got to the door, he realized that whatever had happened, it was over.
Rose stood just inside the door, a slightly dazed look on her face. In one corner, Sarah sat huddled against the wall, her knees drawn up under her chin, her arms wrapped around herself. She wore a flannel nightgown, whose folds spread around her and seemed to give her extra protection. Her eyes, unnaturally wide, stared vacantly outward, and she was whimpering to herself.
In the center of the room, Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the floor, her fingers on the indicator of a Ouija board, her eyes closed tight. She seemed oblivious of her sister’s terror, as if she had not even heard the piercing scream of a moment before. As Jack came into the room, Elizabeth opened her eyes and smiled up at her parents.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Wrong? Didn’t you hear it?” Jack demanded.
Comprehension dawned on Elizabeth’s face. “You mean the scream?” she asked.
Rose swallowed hard. “Elizabeth, what happened?”
“Nothing, really,” Elizabeth replied. “We were just in here playing with the Ouija board.”
“Where did you find—” Jack started to say, but Rose cut him off.
“Never mind that now. What happened?”
“Nothing happened, Mother. We were just playing with the Ouija board, and nothing much was happening. Then Cecil brushed up against Sarah, and she screamed.”
“That’s all?” Jack asked, disbelief sounding in his voice. “But look at her. She’s terrified.” Rose was moving toward Sarah now, and the little girl shrank farther into her corner.
“Well, of course she’s terrified,” Rose said. “If that cat had brushed up against me, I would have jumped too.”
“But that scream,” Jack said.
“I guess it was kind of awful,” Elizabeth admitted. “But you have to get used to it.”
“She’s right,” Rose said, stooping over Sarah. “Sarah doesn’t react the way the rest of us do. Mrs. Montgomery tells me it isn’t anything to worry about It’s just that Sarah doesn’t react to very much, and when she does react, she tends to overreact Mrs. Montgomery says the best thing to do is simply act as if nothing happened at all. For instance, if Cecil brushed up against me and I jumped, would you make a big fuss about it? Of course not. And that’s what we should try to do with Sarah. If we stay calm, she’ll be all right If we make too much of a fuss, it will only scare her more.”
“Can you do it?” Jack asked. “Can you get used to her being this way?”
“I’ll never get used to screams like that,” Rose muttered as she gathered Sarah into her arms. For a moment Sarah seemed to shrink away from her mother, but then, as if she suddenly realized where she was, her arms went around Rose’s neck, and she buried her face in the warm breast. Rose, totally immersed in calming her child, carried Sarah from the room.
Jack, still standing at the door, moved aside to let his wife pass. He made a small gesture, as if to put a comforting hand on Sarah, but Rose was already through the door by the time he had made up his mind to complete it. His hand wavered uncertainly in the air for a moment, then disappeared into his pocket. He stared at the Ouija board.
“Where did you get that thing?” he asked.
Elizabeth glanced up. “It was in the storeroom. You know, the one where we found the old picture. How old do you think it is?”
“Not that old. Probably thirty, forty years. Those things were popular in the twenties. Everybody had one, and everybody was holding séances. I seem to remember my parents and their friends playing with one. Probably that one.”
“Want to try it with me?” Elizabeth asked. “Maybe we could find out who the girl in the picture is.”
Jack smiled at her. “We know who it is,” he said. “It’s obviously you. Same eyes, same hair. Only I don’t understand why you never wear that dress any more.”
“Oh, it’s so old,” Elizabeth said, her eyes twinkling as she joined the game. “I’ve had it for at least a hundred years. It’s really just a rag now.” She sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to throw it out.”
“Don’t. I can’t afford to buy you a new one. Maybe that Ouija board can tell me where the money goes.”
“Maybe so,” Elizabeth said, a note of eagerness in her voice. “Want to try it?”
For a moment Jack was tempted. Then he remembered Sarah, and shook his head. “I’d better get downstairs and see if I can help your mother with Sarah.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Okay. I’ll be down after a while.” She watched her father leave the room, then glanced down at the Ouija board. Then she remembered the cat.
“Cecil,” she called. “Cecil? Where are you?” She held still for a minute or two, listening, then called to the cat again.
“Cecil? I’ll find you, you know, so you might as well come out now.”
There was no telltale scuffling to tell her where the cat was hiding, so she began a search of the room. Eventually she discovered the cat, clinging to the inside of the draperies, halfway up from the floor. She pulled a chair over and stood on it while she disengaged the cat’s claws from the thick material.
“Did Sarah frighten you?” she said. “Well, you frightened her first. If you don’t want her to scream, you mustn’t brush up against her like that. But it isn’t your fault, is it? How would you know it would scare her? All you wanted was a little attention. So you let go of that curtain and come down here with me. Come on, let go. It’s all right now.”
She freed the last of the claws and, holding the cat close, stepped down from the chair. She carried the cat to the Ouija board and sank back to her cross-legged position, placing Cecil in her lap. She sat for a long time, stroking the cat, talking softly to him, waiting for him to calm down. When at last Cecil closed his eyes and began to purr, Elizabeth stopped stroking him and put her fingers back on the indicator of the Ouija board.
An hour later, still carrying the sleeping Cecil, Elizabeth came downstairs for dinner.
3
She watched the moon creep up from the horizon, watched the silvery road shoot across the sea toward the base of the cliff that supported the house high above the surf. She listened for a moment, as if expecting the pounding surf to lessen its dull roar in the new brightness of the full moon. But the noise did not abate. The end of the silver road appeared, just short of the horizon, and she felt depressed as the gap between the moon and its reflection widened. As the moon climbed out of the sea, it seemed to shrink.
“It always seems to get smaller as it gets higher,” Rose said, more to herself than to Jack. He glanced up from the book he was reading, and adjusted his sprawling position as Rose came over to the bed.
“What does?”
“The moon. It always looks so huge when it starts to rise, then gets smaller.”
“It’s an illusion,” Jack said. “Something to do with the proximity to the horizon.”
She cuddled close to him, and tried to ignore the slight drawing away she felt in his body. “That’s my Jack, literal to the core. Can’t you try to imagine it as really shrinking? As though somebody was letting some of the air out?” She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, feeling the ripple of muscles just below the skin. She reached across his stomach and snatched the book away from him. He rolled over and scowled at her.
“Hey,” he said. “I was reading that book.”
She grinned at him.
“Not any more. I’m tired of yo
u keeping your nose in that book. I want to play.” She sat up and slipped the book behind her.
“Oh? Okay, we’ll play. Give me back the book before I count to ten.” As he reached nine, Rose slipped the book into the bodice of her nightgown. Jack’s eyebrows rose a notch. “So that’s what you want to play?”
Rose lay back, striking a seductive pose. “If you want it, come and get it.” Her eyes danced as she challenged him.
Jack made a grab at the book, and as he came close to her, Rose tossed the book aside and slid her arms around his neck. His hand, caught between them, was pressed against her breast.
“Touch me, darling,” she whispered into his ear, “Please touch me.” Jack hesitated for a moment, then began moving his hand over his wife’s breast, feeling the nipple harden under his touch. Rose moved her face around and began kissing him, her tongue lightly probing between his lips, trying to find an entry. She pulled him down till he was lying on top of her, and her hands began to move over his back, caressing him, stroking him. For a moment—just a moment—she thought he was going to respond. As she felt his body go limp, felt the weight of him lying inertly above her, her fingers turned into claws, and she scratched at him violently. Reacting to the pain, Jack leaped from the bed.
“God damn you,” Rose snarled. “God damn you to hell for the no-good man you are!” There was no laughter in her eyes now, only a blinding rage that frightened Jack.
“Rose—” he began. But she got up swiftly, her sudden movement cutting off his plea, and stood opposite him as though the bed had suddenly become a battlefield.
“Don’t ‘Rose’ me, you bastard. Do you think that’s what I need?”
“I’m sorry,” Jack began again.
“You’re always sorry. That’s all I’ve heard for a year now. Did you know it’s been a year? I’ve been keeping track!”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Didn’t I? Why not? So you’d never have to know how long it’s been since you made love to your wife? So you wouldn’t have to know how long it’s been since you acted like a man?”
“That’s enough, Rose,” Jack said.