by L. L. Soares
He had only been here an hour, and already he felt the familiar nameless fears that used to haunt him. He had practically been an alcoholic those last years before he left. He'd tried to stay anesthetized as much as possible. If he hadn't, he probably would have left sooner, but the booze tricked him into thinking he could handle it.
He knew that Marlene had been trying to track him down over the years. She even found him once or twice, but he managed to slip away again. Always on the move. Never staying in one place long enough to take root. There had been some angry phone calls. Demands for child support. Somehow he'd always been able to stay one step ahead and then she'd lose track of him for another year.
One time she'd put Becky on the phone, hoping the little girl's voice would get to him. He remembered hearing that voice, soft and bewildered, asking who was on the other end. He could hear Marlene in the background saying "It's your daddy," but he never said a word. He even stopped breathing so there was no proof he existed, then gently hung up the phone.
He knew he'd done the right thing in leaving. He'd done what he'd felt he had to do, but the thought of leaving Becky behind always filled him with oceans of pain.
She wouldn't recognize him. There was no way she could. And would she really want to go with him? To live with him, a complete stranger, after all these years? No matter how many times he played the scenario over and over in his mind, it always ended with her shouting and crying, refusing to leave her grandparents, refusing to go anywhere with him.
He wasn't a father. He was some courier come to get a long forgotten package.
* * *
Greg looked at his watch. The dial glowed in the dark. It was after nine o'clock. He'd been driving around for hours and lost track of time.
It was too late to go to the Friedlands' place tonight, he convinced himself. Then again, he hadn't been specific which day he'd arrive this week. He didn't even have to call them to let them know he was in town, if he didn't want to.
He didn't want to.
There was one more landmark he had to pass before he thought about a place to sleep for the night. He got back on the highway, took the last exit before Blue Clay came to an end, and drove along the quiet country roads.
The house waited for him at the end of a long curve. It wasn't the same house he grew up in. That one had burned down long ago, and they'd built a new one since. He remembered once, when he'd been a kid, a drunk driver had taken the curve too sharply and ended up in their living room. His father had beaten him the next day, angry at the world but only able to express it through his son. Through the belt and the hand. But there were a lot of days like that. Too many to remember them all.
And he remembered his mother, stone-faced and sunken-eyed. She often hid behind a book. She'd given up trying to fight his father eons ago. Always watching, but never once saying, Stop!
Greg still dreamt of flames most nights.
Now it was a different house. A different family. It felt good that something new had replaced it and the house that still haunted his dreams was no longer there.
It was hard enough just driving past. But then he was going into the next curve, and that took him away again.
Greg got back on the highway and returned to the center of the city. There was a hotel there with a strange name: The Sidelong Glance.
* * *
Greg spent the next few hours in the hotel bar. The bartender gave him a tab, and Greg kept asking for refills.
"You're not driving at all, are you?" the man asked him.
"Naw, I'm just staying here, and then I'm going up to bed."
It was much too late to call the Friedlands now. Besides, if he called, his speech would be slurred and they'd realize that maybe he hadn't changed as much as he'd insisted he had. And then they wouldn't let him have Becky.
He couldn't jeopardize that, not now. Not after coming all this way.
"I'll have another one," he said to the bartender when the man came back to his end of the bar. "Make it a double."
The man hesitated, looking like he was going to start giving a lecture, but instead, he nodded gently and took the empty glass away.
* * *
Greg dreamt he was on the blue beach again, digging with his hands. The clay stuck to his palms and he had to shake his hands now and then in order to keep digging. But the clay was coming away easily. He was so sure that something important was under the beach. At first, he thought he was digging for Becky. She was under the clay and would suffocate if he didn't get her out. But then things changed, and he knew it wasn't her at all.
Instead, there was a source of great white light. He could barely make out its shape. Slowly, his eyes began to adjust. It was bigger than him, with a glowing, fleshy body, wriggling in the hole he'd dug, struggling to pull itself out of the clay and failing.
He knelt there, feeling the urge to reach in and put his arms around the thing, to lift it up and out of the pit.
Then he woke-breathing hard-with tears running down his cheeks.
* * *
"Hello, Mrs. Friedland," Greg said on the hotel pay phone. He'd thought of using his cell phone upstairs in the room, but he didn't feel right calling up there, on the bed. Comfortable. There shouldn't be anything comfortable about this.
"Gregory is that you?" her voice made him think of paper rustling in a breeze, but it really didn't sound that way. "Are you in Blue Clay yet?"
"Yeah," he said and winced as his hangover started acting up again. "It's been a long time since I've been back here."
"Too long," she said. "I'm so glad we were able to convince you to come back."
He thought of the private detective they'd sent to find him. The man told him that Marlene had died, and in their grief the Friedlands had wanted so badly to reunite Becky with her father. He'd liked the Friedlands back when he was married to Marlene, back when he'd last lived in this city. They were good people.
He regretted if his actions had ever hurt them.
"I'm sorry about how things worked out," he said. "It's all so complicated."
"This is a good first step, Gregory," Mrs. Friedland said to him. "You're like the prodigal son come home. It was only a matter of time. I knew you'd come back to us eventually. I'm just sorry poor Marlene wasn't here to see it."
Greg remembered about a year ago, when Marlene had called and said she'd found someone else. A man who was good and who cared about her and Becky. Marlene had asked him for a divorce so they could get married. Greg had promised to help her out, and moved on to another state later that week. Not long afterwards, she'd died of cancer. He hadn't heard the news until now.
"I loved Marlene," Greg told her. "I really did. I know it didn't always look that way."
"This is your chance to heal the past, Gregory," Mrs. Friedland said. "The fact that you've made it this far shows the sincerity in your heart."
"I'm really looking forward to seeing Becky again."
"And she's excited to see you as well. Ever since we told her her father was coming home, she's been so full of life. This is a very good thing you're doing, Gregory."
He remembered the last time he'd heard Becky's voice on the telephone. Calling "Daddy? Daddy?" over and over again. He hadn't had the nerve to reply. He remembered holding his breath. He was doing it now.
"Are you close by?"
"I'm staying at The Sidelong Glance," he told her. "I got in late last night and figured it was better to wait until morning."
"Well, you remember how to get here, don't you?"
"I'll be there soon," he said. "Very soon."
"Oh, do you want to talk to her? She's standing right here, the biggest smile on her face."
Talk to her? So soon? Greg felt his muscles tighten up.
"Sure," he said. "Put her on."
There was a moment of sounds, of the phone being passed to someone. And then the voice. Different now. Not the voice of a six-year-old but still a child's voice.
"Daddy?"
He stopped breathing for a few seconds, and remembered the last time. He forced himself to speak. "Becky? Is that you?"
"I can't believe it," she said. Her voice sounded mature for her age. Serious.
"It's been a very long time," Greg said. "And I'm sorry about that. Really sorry. But I'm going to make it up to you."
"Are you coming here now?" she asked. "Are you really coming here?"
"I'm in Blue Clay right now," he told her. "Maybe fifteen minutes away. It won't take me long to get there."
There was a soft sound. He could have sworn she was crying.
Mrs. Friedland took the phone back. "The poor child. She's so emotional."
"I'll be right there," Greg said. "I'm on my way."
"We'll be waiting for you, Gregory."
And then the phone call was over.
* * *
He parked in front of the two-story house. It was painted light gray and looked much as it had the last time he'd been there. There was a chain-link fence now. He remembered there being a taller, wooden fence the last time.
He sat in his car for what seemed like a long time, trying to get up the nerve to go inside. Then he took a deep breath and opened the driver's side door. He slid out and stared over the top of his car at this house from his past.
He and Marlene had lived in the upstairs part for a few months before they'd been able to afford their own apartment. Back before Becky was born. There was no way he would have lived with his parents, but the Friedlands had been different.
They still were. Somehow he'd been able to drag himself here. He remembered driving on the curve past that other house the night before. Being unable to stop. This house was different.
He saw a face looking out of one of the upper windows. Could it be Becky?
It was all happening so fast. Was there really any way he could go back and correct all that he'd done wrong? Was there such a thing as redemption?
The front door of the house opened and he got back into his car. He drove away before anyone could come outside.
This isn't going to work, he thought, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. It was stupid of me to come back.
* * *
Greg was back on the blue beach, staring out at the ocean and listening to the waves. The last he remembered, he'd been in his car, driving away from the Friedlands and Becky. Trying to get far, far away.
He hadn't made it.
Others had come here, too. He could see them off in the distance. The blue clay seemed to stretch forever now. The beach was a thousand times bigger than the last time he'd been here.
He stared at the ground, not five feet from where he stood, and he knew that the great glowing thing was under there, wriggling. He just knew.
He could feel it in his mind, begging him to dig it out.
He moved toward it and dropped to his knees. There was no point in fighting anymore. He'd had to come back here, whether or not Becky was waiting. She wasn't the real reason he had to return. He'd been summoned here all along. To the beach.
He dug with his hands, just like in his dream. The clay came away easily, but it stuck to his hands and he had to shake them now and again before he could continue.
It waited for him patiently. White and bloated and glowing. Ready for the next stage in its development, whatever that might be. It had been waiting a long time, and it wasn't alone. There were many of them. Some within the clay, others in parts of the city beneath the ground. He realized that he'd been aware of them all along, since childhood.
He looked down at the bright, fleshy body. It almost looked like a grossly obese human without arms and legs. Its small head rolled about on its immense shoulders with wild, darting eyes. Its mouth worked frantically behind a layer of film that covered its face. Its skin appeared to have a gelatinous texture, like that of a jellyfish.
The way it glowed so brightly, it was a beacon in the night. Influencing this place. Exerting control from beneath the ground.
Pulsating with ancient poisons.
He resisted the urge to reach in and lift the thing out of its hole. He couldn't bring himself to go that far. Besides, it would get out by itself in time. It wasn't going to be like this for much longer.
He walked out to the edge of the ocean with his back to the thing, trying to pretend it didn't exist, but knowing that it was more real than the beach. More real than him.
"Hey, mister, what did you dig up over there?" someone asked. He turned to see the girl in the red bikini again. She was blinking her eyes, even though there was no direct light on them here, except for the gentle light of the moon.
"Something awful," he said, but he could tell she already knew what it was. She'd known about it for a long time, too. If not consciously, then on some instinctual level. Just like him.
Some people were just sensitive to such things.
"No," she said. "Not something awful. Not awful at all." She spoke as if she were trying to convince herself of something she could never believe.
"Come on," he said softly. "Let's move down the beach a ways."
He took her arm and they walked farther down the shoreline, away from the hole he'd dug. She looked back at the pit one last time, at the way the glow illuminated the blue beach around it. He could feel her looking, but didn't join her.
"Come on," he said again, tugging her forward.
She walked beside him. Somehow, they were holding hands. He did it more to move her along than anything else, but to both of them, it was reassuring.
"How long have you been here?" he asked her.
"I don't know."
"Yesterday, you had friends with you, didn't you? Where are they now?"
"Out there," she said, looking out across the expanse of blue clay. And he could see spots along the beach where other holes had been dug. Where other sources of light had been uncovered.
Something about the way the lights dotted the beach made him think of Christmas.
He turned and stared out into the ocean again, at the crashing waves. He knew he'd be on this beach forever now. There was nowhere else he could go.
The girl wandered away from him. He almost reached out for her but didn't.
He found himself craving the taste of whiskey, as everything suddenly got very bright around him.
Mating Room
I. LINDA
Linda awoke in darkness and rose to her feet, feeling around. She was in a cold metal room, little bigger than a closet. The last thing she remembered was getting out of her car in the parking garage. She was still a bit groggy.
"Hello?" she said softly, not yet confident enough about her situation to make much noise.
The wall in front of her slid up into the ceiling, opening to a brightly lit room. It took awhile for her eyes to adjust. She hesitated moving forward, and the metal around her and beneath her bare feet grew incredibly hot. She yelped and stepped into the room where the floor was cooler.
There was no furniture in the room, and the bare, white walls were yellowing and stained. At the other end was a cage, and inside was a sleeping man, naked and covered in grime.
There was a large mirror across from her, and she had the distinct impression that she was being watched.
"Hello?" she said, louder now, even though she was afraid of waking the man in the cage.
It was then that she realized she was dressed only in her bra and panties. Someone had drugged her and undressed her.
* * *
Willard watched her through the two-way glass. He thought she looked prettier than he remembered, even in that room, scared and on the verge of hysteria. His eyes lingered on her long blonde hair, her bright green eyes. He hesitated before turning on the microphone.
"Hello, Linda," he said. "Please don't worry. There's no reason to panic."
"Who's that?" she asked.
"It's Dr. Raymond," he said into the microphone. "Will Raymond. There's no reason to be afraid." He'd hoped to see a look of recognition on her face then, but she seemed mor
e confused.
Doesn't she remember me at all? Willard wondered, thinking about how many times he'd gone to the library to get books for his research. How many times she'd stood behind her counter, processing those books. He'd tried to work up the nerve for idle chatter but always fell short. He was sure she would at least recognize his name.
"What have you done to me?" she shouted. "Why have you brought me here?"
He hesitated and swallowed hard. She no longer sounded scared. In fact, she sounded very angry.
"Please calm down. You're in no danger. I'll explain everything in good time."
"You'll explain it now!"
He hadn't thought she'd have the potential for that kind of anger. It was an unexpected, but not unpleasant, surprise.
"All in good time," he said.
She demanded to be set free. It had been stupidity on his part to have any contact with her, but he'd felt compelled to try putting her at ease, to let her know that she was not among strangers.
The sleeper in the cage began to wake.
"Help me," Linda said, as the man stirred. "We're both prisoners here and we have to find a way out."
The man was breathing hard as he got to his feet. He looked so dirty. Linda wondered how long he had been a prisoner here. How badly Dr. Raymond had abused this poor soul.
One of his hands covered her fingers, as she gripped the bars. At first, it felt as if he was trying to comfort her.
Then he reached through the bars and grabbed her. Linda screamed, feeling the fingers tighten around her throat.
"Stop it," Dr. Raymond said through the microphone. "Billy, let go of her now!"
Linda stared into the man's face. His eyes looked inhuman. They were the vicious, desperate eyes of a trapped animal. His face was twisted in a mask of confusion and pain. His teeth were jagged and malformed. He stared into her eyes, trying to find something in her fear.
"Let her go, Billy!" Dr. Raymond repeated.
It was only after the second command that Billy released her. She jumped away from the cage and her hands went instinctively to her throat. She stared at him through the bars, and her eyes lowered to his erection.