The further Teddy got from Dr. Kohn’s office, the better he felt. Not just because he was further from the couch, but because he was had stepped back into the outside world, which was full of beautiful things, bright things. Of course it was different at night, but Teddy didn’t go out much at night.
Never, actually.
That was a nice thing about Las Vegas; everything and anything could be delivered. If for some reason Teddy didn’t have something he needed when night came, he could just go online or pick up his phone and have that something delivered.
The bus ride home was uneventful, as usual, as was his shower, breakfast, and the morning talk show he always watched. His meds made him tired, so Teddy lay down on the couch after drawing the blinds. He had time for a good nap before his 1 p.m. shift at the Golden Nugget, and was sound asleep in a matter of minutes.
His mother met him there, in his dreams.
“Not again, Teddy!” she yelled.
He had drawn on the new wallpaper, a picture of two bears doing it and another one pooping.
“I’m going to count to five, and if you’re not in your room by the time I get to five you’re going to get it!”
She didn’t know he liked to get it. Especially with the wooden spoon.
“One!”
Teddy smiled.
“Two!” The spoon in her white-knuckled hand.
She was really mad.
“Three!” She was winding up.
“What the hell is going on up there?” his father yelled from the basement. Then Dad was there, in the living room, punching mom in the face, blood on his hand.
“See what you make me do, Teddy? Do you see?”
Teddy woke up in a sweat, his alarm beeping in half-step with his heart rate.
The sun was glaring full blast outside. August was always hot, but this one was more so. The tourists, few and far between in the bright sunlight, withered and burned red so bright it seemed like paint on their shoulders as he made his way to the bus stop.
Teddy took his seat on the 208 bus and closed his eyes. His mother was there again, looking at him with disgust. The purple and red bruises on her face looked pretty.
The bell rang on the bus; someone was about to get off. His eyes wouldn’t open to see who. His father was kicking her now, his rage pounding into Teddy’s head.
“Do you see what happens when you’re bad, Teddy?”
Teddy tapped his right thumb to his index, middle, ring, and pinky fingers, one two three four, he’s not there anymore.
Shit, that didn’t work.
He tried again, one two three four…One two three four…The bell rang on the bus again, and Teddy knew it was his stop.
He got up, eyes still closed, and rushed to the front and jumped off. He tumbled into the hot sun, his father’s fist pounding in his chest.
He’s not there anymore. He-Is-Not-There-Anymore is five words. Five was a bad number, not the worst, but not good by any stretch.
What is happening?
He had taken his medicine, and he was nowhere near Dr. Kohn’s office.
Think, Teddy.
He tapped his right thumb to his index, middle, ring, and pinky finger again. One two three four, I need to walk. He stood up, opened his eyes, and started walking down Carson toward Fremont. He could see the light show going on under the canopy that covered Fremont–The Fremont Experience as they called it. The faint sound of Elvis charging through the bright lights that always shined, even in the middle of the day. Teddy didn’t like those lights because they were red, white, and blue.
As he turned onto Freemont, the show was coming to an end, the brightly lit façade of his second home beckoning him in. Knowing he was late, Teddy rushed through the door with his access card in hand.
“Teddy! How many times do I have to tell you to come in the employee’s entrance in the back? The front door is for paying customers, not employees.” Teddy’s boss, Mr. Harmon (69, capital B-A-D) was trotting toward him from the bank of Wheel of Fortune slots that greeted paying customers with an always-growing jackpot flashing in big blue numbers. “You’re late again! Get back to the lockers and get into your uniform.”
“Will do Mr. Harmon, sorry.”
“You’re always sorry Teddy. Carrie called in today so we were short one change-cart last shift. Get back out here pronto.” Mr. Harmon stared at Teddy as he veered off toward the penny slots. Teddy made his way back to the “Employees Only” section of the casino, slid his access card one two three four in through the door and turned the lever down, walking into the bright hallway that paying customers never saw. Changing into his maroon slacks and shirt and tying his black work shoes always calmed Teddy down. He made his way down to the gates to get his change-cart, number 24.
A good number.
He swiped his card again, one two three four, get to the floor.
Since he had started working with Dr. Kohn to get to the bottom of his compulsive need to count, Teddy had managed to land this job and keep his darkness out of the real world. He would have to tell Dr. Kohn about what just happened though, when he got back from vacation. No way was he going to mention it to that Petraum lady.
Teddy was assigned to section 12 today, not a bad section or number, and spent his shift making change and small talk with the smattering of midday nickel, dime, and quarter slot players. Midday, mid-August tourists consisted mostly of businessmen and women from the Midwest, convention-goers, and people just passing through Vegas.
Teddy’s uneventful shift ended at 9 p.m., and he headed out the employee’s exit–at the back where the paying customers didn’t see him–and made his way down Freemont and back up Carson to his bus stop. Tall shadows closed in around Teddy’s feet, pooling around him like sticky mud as he walked away from the bright lights of the Strip.
He could smell it, acrid and thick in the air. Plastic was burning somewhere, gasoline stung his eyes, and the smell of freshly chopped pine overwhelmed his senses. He needed to see the woman.
Tell her you’re sorry.
“Hey mister, are you okay?” The bus driver called to him from inside, the cool air rushing out and blowing away the smells of the darkness. One two three four Teddy tapped his fingers, up through the door. He nodded at the bus driver and slid his bus pass through the reader. His seat was empty, thank God, and he slid into it and closed his eyes.
Nothing there.
The day’s heat radiated through the window. He counted the people on the bus, 16 including the driver. Not the worst number, not by a long shot.
Once the driver pulled over at his stop, Teddy hurried off the bus and down his street, running past endless pools of yellow streetlights, one after the next. If he lingered too long in the dark, he’d hear her moan. By the time he made it to the stairs of his apartment complex and up to the second floor, Teddy couldn’t open his eyes let alone breathe. He fumbled with his keys in the deadbolt, one two three four let me in the fucking door!
He had enough meds left to last him well past when Dr. Kohn got back from vacation, so he took another round. Clearly, waiting until after Dr. Kohn had put him under and brought him back had been a bad idea. He hadn’t felt so fucked up in years. Teddy went around and checked the windows, drew the curtains, then made sure all of the doors in his apartment were closed. He checked all the doors, then the closets, and even the drawers from the entrance all the way back to his room. He checked every nook and cranny, one two three four, let this day end. By the time he had slipped under the bedcovers Teddy was feeling more like his old self again. The meds were doing their job, and he drifted off to sleep.
“I’m going to count to five young man, and you better have that mess picked up by the time I get to five or else!” Teddy’s mom was glaring at him, spoon in hand, while he slowly picked up the pieces of his grandmother’s china set that he had just smashed. Dad would be home any minute, and she would get hers before Teddy felt that spoon.
“One!”
“Fuck you,” Te
ddy smiled.
She smacked him across the face with the spoon, then again on the back of the head.
“He’s going to really get you for that, you bitch,” Teddy sneered. Blood was spilling from his busted lip.
Dad’s car rumbled into the driveway.
He stormed in and seconds later Teddy’s mother hit the floor, her own blood spilling.
“Why?” she whimpered.
Teddy could smell crayons, then fresh-cut wood.
This morning, it was his alarm that pulled him out of the woods.
Daylight again.
Teddy had to count his way to the medicine cabinet, then stand there and try not to move as he willed the meds to dissolve in his empty belly. He stared at himself in the mirror.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he told his reflection.
“Yes it was,” he said back.
But Dr. Kohn had said it wasn’t, and Teddy was going to believe the doctor, not his stupid reflection.
Two years ago Dr. Kohn started putting Teddy under, hypnotizing him, trying to exorcise his compulsive counting, as well as trying all kinds of new medications.
It wasn’t working.
He was counting full time now, trying to make sure he was surrounded by good numbers, even numbers, everywhere he went. He had skipped his meds yesterday morning because there had been good numbers left in those two bottles.
Standing by his bathroom sink, Teddy didn’t want to make that mistake again. He wasn’t going to count his medicine anymore, and he certainly wasn’t going to skip a dose. He went to the kitchen and made breakfast, and by the time Teddy finished his cereal and took a big gulp of Hawaiian Punch, he was feeling better.
Yesterday was just a slippery spot, that’s all. Black ice.
Today was Thursday, his day off. It was Teddy’s day to catch up on his chores around the apartment, do his crossword puzzles, surf the net, and maybe watch TV. He sat down on the couch with his glass of fruit punch and flipped on the television. Those plans went straight to the shitter when the smoldering ruins of a passenger plane strewn about some field in The Middle of Nowhere, Idaho, came onto the screen.
The big red banner at the bottom of the screen rushed along with “…American Airlines Flight 973 crashed at 5:37 am MST. Cause of crash unknown…” as the news lady in the corner of the screen said that search teams were sifting through the wreckage, though it was unlikely that any survivors would be found.
Dr. Kohn’s flight back to Seattle for his vacation was American Airlines flight 973. Teddy was sure of it because while waiting for his appointment yesterday, he overheard the doc telling his daughter over the phone.
Teddy had wanted to tell Dr. Kohn that 973 was a bad number, but he had forgotten.
Why had he forgotten?
Now the doc was dead.
The room started to spin around Teddy, and he touched his thumb to his index, middle, and pinky fingers.
One two three four, one two three four, one two three four, one two three four.
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of the right words to say. He shouldn’t have taken the extra medicine last night. He should have waited it out. Now the doc was dead, he’d been dead for four hours already, and Teddy was going to run out of medicine. Then what would he do?
Ren and Stimpy were singing “Happy Happy Joy Joy.” That meant it was Dr. Kohn’s office calling.
“Theodore Strunk? This is Doctor Petraum.”
Nobody called him Theodore.
“Theodore, this is Doctor Petraum, are you okay?”
Of course he was not okay.
Dr. Kohn was dead, and now this one was calling him Theodore, which no one ever called him, and she was a bad number to boot.
“Theodore?”
“Yes.”
“Theodore, I’m going to come meet with you at your home, where are you now?”
“Home.”
“I know that you hadn’t expected to hear from me until next Wednesday, but we need to talk about something.”
“Doc Kohn is dead, his plane crashed.”
Silence, then, “How do you know that, Theodore?”
“My name is Teddy.”
“Yes of course, I’m sorry. How do you know that Dr. Kohn is dead, Teddy?” He could hear her shuffling papers.
“I have the news on, I can see his plane smashed and burning.” Teddy saw red lights flashing on police cars and ambulances on the television. He felt darkness closing in, whispering into his ears, as the smell of gasoline and burning plastic overwhelmed him.
Teddy moved closer to his television screen until the picture turned into little squares of color, mostly red.
Pulsing, flashing red.
Doctor Petraum’s voice was a whisper from his phone, which was now lying on the floor behind him. Teddy was tired of counting, tired of everyone telling him what to do. He receded back into his head. The flashing lights faded and he was there, surrounded by the darkness he had always known, letting it take him away.
“By the time I get to five, you better…”
There were loud voices now, agitated and yelling his name. He could feel something hot and rough cutting into his bare feet.
It’s all your fault!
Looking down at the parking lot, the pool glittering blue beyond the flashing red lights, Teddy knew he was on the roof. Teddy couldn’t make out which voice belonged to which person; some were behind him, others below him. Lights were flashing, cop cars and ambulances everywhere, flashing red lights that wouldn’t leave him alone.
They were right there.
Teddy reached out to them.
The wind rushed through his hair, his pajamas fluttering against his body. By the time he got to four the world stopped moving.
Teddy couldn’t lift his head from the hot blacktop of the parking lot. His eyes wouldn’t focus. The pain was exquisite, all-encompassing, everything he had wished it would be. He was a mixture of sharp broken pieces with an oozing thick mess. Teddy knew that some of his insides were on the outside now, and he wanted to see them, not the flashing red lights that were pulling him in.
Darkness swirled around the lights, and soon he was back at the edge of the forest, the smell of gasoline burning his eyes.
The ground was wet under his feet, seeping in through his sneakers. The car was quiet now except for the woman’s low moan in the darkness. The only light was a slow strobe of red, then dark, red, dark…the taillights blinking into the night. Teddy could smell the tree, broken under the car. It was sweet, fresh-cut pine. As he passed the rear door, which was open and buried in the mud, he saw a Smurfs coloring book inside.
He liked the Smurfs.
As he reached for it his mother called out to him.
“Teddy.”
He stood at the passenger’s side window. From the mud, little bits of glass twinkled in the red strobe.
Red. Dark. Red. Dark.
Red.
Dark.
Teddy leaned down to look at his mother.
Her legs were pinned under the dashboard, which was pulled up to her waist like a TV tray. Her feet throbbed against the floorboard. A gurgling sound came out of her, then a wet sucking sound. She reached out to him, her hand sticky as she brushed it across the side of his face.
Red. Dark. Red. Dark.
Looking past her, Teddy could see there was nothing left of his father but a mangled bloody pulp.
“Teddy. Oh Teddy, why did you do this?” She leaned over toward him, her torso hinging open. Her insides oozed out, purple and grey bulging masses, drawing with them strings of black blood. Teddy fell to his knees. Her insides pooled around him.
“You did this to me, Teddy, this is your fault.” Her voice was little more than a gurgle. Her broken teeth dripped with dark foam. Blonde hair dangled from peeled back flesh.
It was in her eyes, her dying eyes staring out at Teddy, reflecting the unrelenting flashes of light.
Red. Dark. Red. Dark.
Teddy knew it
was his fault.
She touched his cheeks, cupping them in cold hatred.
“Teddy, why Teddy? Why couldn’t you be a good kid?”
She pulled herself out of the car, pushing Teddy down into the mud. Blood spilled out of her crooked broken mouth onto his face. She leaned back and tore at her chest, flesh peeling back. Teddy watched her wet heart reflecting the strobe, dead and un-beating. She howled at him over and over, the same accusing question.
“Why?”
Teddy closed his eyes and the light still flashed.
If he had behaved himself, kept his seatbelt on, been able to live without the red crayon, hadn’t wanted his father to hit her again and make her pretty…maybe she wouldn’t have counted to five. Maybe his father wouldn’t have backhanded her and lost control of the car.
Maybe, but that wasn’t what had happened.
It was all his fault, because he was a sick, bad little boy.
Teddy wanted to go back and die there with his parents.
Opening his eyes again, exhausted, Teddy walked between the black skid marks running from one side of the road to the other. He followed them over the embankment and looked down to a hole punched through the scrub at the edge of the forest, wishing Dr. Kohn would say the numbers, but knowing that wasn’t going to happen.
Doc was dead, and now Teddy was too.
He could hear the clinking sound of metal cooling, like the coils of a stovetop. The smell of gasoline and oil came to him from the dark hole in the forest below, and he wondered if this was how he would spend eternity.
Teddy stepped over the embankment and down into the mess of broken tree limbs and torn up earth, pausing at the forest’s edge to listen for his mother, and something deep down told him she wasn’t there anymore.
There was moaning down there, moaning in a way that made him even surer about where he was headed. Teddy closed his eyes and descended into the darkness.
Horror Library, Volume 5 Page 7