by David Wood
Trey stood before the patio table, his hand pounding the metal frame. Shattered glass covered the deck in front of him, slivers of it caught in his hair. His right hand streamed blood from several open wounds. But it was the expression on his face that chilled her. His teeth were bared, saliva spitting from his mouth, as he let loose punch after punch into the twisted metal.
“Trey!”
“Die, you fucker!” he screamed at the table, smashing his fist again into the beige frame.
The metal bent further, screeching under the assault. The table wobbled and slid backwards until it rested against the house wall.
“Don't you dare fucking touch him!” he screamed again.
Carolyn ran forward, putting her arm around Trey's waist. Trey screamed again and turned, his elbow connecting with her chin and knocking her off balance.
The world went grey and she found herself falling, her ass hitting the unforgiving deck surface. The crash of pain knocked the breath from her lungs. She went down, head colliding with the deck, and for a moment, the world went away.
“Carolyn!” Trey's voice said in the distance. The blackness slowly receded. Her husband's face was inches from her own. His voice was choked with tears, droplets falling from the end of his nose and landing on her neck. “Carolyn, Goddammit, wake up,” he whispered.
“Trey?” she asked, her voice groggy and broken.
A wan smile filled his face. “Goddammit, Carolyn. Goddammit,” he whispered. He hugged her. “I called 9-1-1. They'll be here soon.”
She wiped at her nose with a lazy hand, felt it come away wet. She turned slightly, staring at the bright crimson smear staining her fingers. “Trey?” she asked again.
“Yes, baby?” he sniffed back more tears.
“You called 9-1-1?”
“Yes, baby. I did.”
“Help me up,” she said softly.
“Baby, I don't think--”
“Help me up,” she said in a low growl.
Trey stiffened, but said nothing. He stood from his kneeling position and bent at the waist. Bright red blood still dripped down his right hand.
As she put her hands in his, she felt the shards of glass caked in his skin, but he didn't wince when she pressed against him. She rose as he pulled her to her feet. Carolyn struggled to remain standing, her balance wavering. Trey tried to put his hands on her waist. She slapped at them, glaring into his eyes. The hurt and confused expression on his face increased her anger. She leaned forward and slapped his cheek. His right hand flew up to his face and he backed up a few steps.
“Carolyn?” he asked. “What--”
“You. Stay. The. Fuck. Away. From. Alan,” she said, her finger punching into his stomach with each word. “And you stay the fuck away from me.”
A fresh run of tears filled his eyes.
The furnace of anger within her made her feel as though she'd explode at any second. “You wait right fucking here and don't fucking move, or I'm sending you to fucking jail.”
Trey sobbed, his legs wobbling. He moved to the deck banister, leaning hard against it.
She slowly backed away from him, heading toward the screen door. “Stay,” she said, as though talking to a bad dog.
Trey said nothing and didn't move.
The ambulance and the cops arrived soon after. When the paramed- ics reached Trey, he was slumped in one of the deck chairs in shock. The blood loss from the open artery in his hand was too extreme for them to do anything besides rush him to the hospital.
She watched as they took him away on a stretcher, an oxygen mask on his face. As they put him in the ambulance, he reached out his left hand toward her. “Carolyn,” he said through the mask. “What happened?”
She burst into tears as the doors closed and the ambulance left the street. When the cops tried to take her statement, she waved them off, telling them to meet her at the hospital. They left her there, still covered in Trey's blood. Alan had started crying the moment Carolyn had come in. She cooed at him, carrying him to the couch. They sat there, Alan in her arms, face buried in her shoulder, her head resting against his.
“Where's my Daddy?” Alan had asked. Carolyn started to answer him, but he cut her off. “I want my Daddy back,” Alan sobbed.
The vision of Trey's horrified expression when she slapped him, his ashen face as he called to her through the oxygen mask, and the broken, lost, hurt sound of his voice, flashed through her mind. That was Trey. Not the man who'd been smashing the table, the man who'd elbowed her in the face, the screaming madman on the deck.
“I want Daddy back, too,” she whispered.
Once she had calmed Alan, and herself, they left for the hospital. They found Trey in the ER, already in a bed with a blood bag hanging from a metal stand. One of the cops from the house stood by the bed. “Are you prepared to make a statement?”
She pulled a chair up to Trey's bed, and placed Alan in it.
Trey's eyes fluttered. “Alan?” he asked in a whisper.
“Daddy,” the boy replied.
Trey smiled and then closed his eyes again.
Carolyn fought hard to keep her voice steady and forced a smile. “Alan?” He turned to her in the chair, his face sad, but calm. “Can you watch over Daddy for a minute?”
He smiled back at her. “Yes, Mommy.”
She nodded to him and looked at the cop. “Can we talk outside?”
The cop smiled at the boy and then looked back at her. “Sure, Ma'am.”
The two of them walked out into the hallway. A stretcher passed by them and the noise in the ER increased. The cop led her to a small out of the way corner.
“What do you need to know?” she asked as he pulled out a battered notepad.
“Ma'am? Your husband called 9-1-1.” She nodded to him. “Do you know why?”
“I-- I passed out?” she asked.
The cop tapped a pen on the notepad. “You don't know?” She blinked at him and then shook her head. The sad smile on his face faded into a thin line. “Your husband said someone hit you.”
Carolyn opened her mouth and then closed it. The officer stared at her, his pen still tapping against the notepad. “Did Trey say who?” The officer said nothing. What does he want me to say? she wondered. “Officer...”
“Hutchins,” the humorless cop said.
“Officer Hutchins?” Carolyn asked. “Did Trey say who hit me?”
Hutchins said nothing.
With an exasperated sigh, Carolyn put her arms across her chest. “Okay. I get it,” she whispered. “You think I've got battered woman syndrome or some shit like that.”
“Did your husband strike you, Ma'am?”
She blinked at him again. “Whoever hit me was not my husband.” She punctuated the last three words.
“Then who hit you?” Hutchins' eyes glittered.
Carolyn leaned forward. “I. Don't. Know.”
The officer nodded. “You're not going to tell me the truth, are you?”
She smiled at him. “I already did, sir.”
He nodded again. “Your husband,” he said with another sigh, “called 9-1-1 and reported that you'd been attacked. He said the attacker was still in the house, and that we needed to help you.” He paused. “I find that kind of interesting,” Hutchins said. “Not that we needed to help him, but help you.”
She shivered. “I don't see what's so important about that.” Her voice trembled with each syllable.
He smiled at her. “Of course you don't. Do you know how your husband hurt his hand?”
Trey, screaming at the top of his lungs, fist battering into the table's broken glass and metal frame. His face filled with panic, fear and rage, his hand throwing up great loops of blood with each punishing blow.
“He accidentally put his hand through some glass.”
“Accidentally,” Hutchins said to himself and scrawled into his notepad. “That's very interesting, Ma'am. He told us he broke it,” Hutchins said, flipping the notepad back a page, “while he was d
efending the boy from the attacker.” Carolyn opened her mouth and then closed it again. Hutchins nodded. “Now,” he said, placing the notepad in his front pocket, “you want to tell me what really happened, Ma'am? Because I'm getting a little frustrated with the run-around.”
Carolyn dropped her eyes. “My husband is ill,” she said softly. “He--” She swallowed hard. “He has a mental disorder and sometimes he sees things that aren't there.”
Brows furrowed, Hutchins narrowed his eyes. “He hallucinates?” Hutchins whispered. She nodded. “Then he was--”
“Protecting us,” she said softly.
“From what?” Hutchins asked.
“I don't know,” Carolyn said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Look, I don't want to press charges--”
“Lady?” Hutchins said, hands on his hips, “that's your business. And maybe it's none of mine, but you should keep yourself and that kid as far away from that guy as possible.”
A flush of anger filled her, her vision tinged with crimson. “It. Is. None. Of. Your. Business.”
Hutchins took a step back, raising his hands. “Ma'am, you don't--”
“Fuck you,” she growled. “That's the father of my son, and he is my husband. And don't you dare fucking judge me or my family.”
“Okay, I--”
“So you write down whatever the fuck you want,” she whispered. “But I won't press charges.” She glared at him, breathing through her nostrils. “If you'll excuse me, I'm going to see my husband.” She walked past Hutchins, her heels clicking on the tile floor.
“Ma'am?” he called to her.
Carolyn didn't turn around, and said nothing as she re-entered the room. Alan was sleeping in the chair, his tiny hand clasped in Trey's. She smiled at them.
“Carolyn?” Trey asked in a whisper.
She leaned down and brushed her hand against his cheek. “Yes, honey?”
“Love you,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and started snoring again.
She reached for his side of the bed, knowing he wasn't there. That first episode was ten times more frightening than this latest one. He'd gone away for several weeks, and she'd barely been able to bring herself to see him.
The bruise on her cheek had faded with time, just as the pain in her nose.
Trey. Protecting them from something that wasn't there. Four years ago. Four years without any major incident. She held back a sob.
“I miss you,” she murmured.
Carolyn fell asleep, remembering the frenzied expression on his face, the blood flying from his hands as he protected them from a monster only he could see.
Chapter 24
“Alan.”
His eyes snapped open and he stared into the darkness.
The rain had stopped pattering against the sides of the house, leaving only the sound of the heater.
“Alan,” a voice whispered from the side of the bed.
Alan shivered beneath the warm blankets. He knew if he looked toward the voice, he'd see nothing.
“Alan,” the voice whispered again.
He scrunched his eyes together and listened to the mad drumbeat of his heart in his ears.
“There is no Closet Man,” the voice chuckled in the darkness. “But there is an Ice Cream Man.”
His eyes flew open and he turned his head to the left side of the bed. Two gleaming yellows globes glowed in the darkness.
Alan threw the covers off the bed and flung himself toward the nightstand. Unable to breathe, he snapped on the lamp. The darkness was obliterated in an instant, leaving him staring at an empty room.
“I'm under the bed,” the thing whispered.
“No, you're not,” Alan whispered back, his words broken by rapid breaths. “You're not here,” he said. Fighting back the urge to run screaming from the room, he dropped to all fours, his eyes scanning beneath the bed. Nothing was there. “You're not real,” Alan said and stood. Shivering from fear, Alan rolled up the blankets and dragged them toward the door. “You're not real,” he whispered to the room, closing the door behind him.
Chapter 25
It was still dark in her bedroom when she opened her eyes. Her alarm hadn't gone off yet. Her hand reached for Trey but found only sheets and his pillow. “Not this morning,” she said to herself and managed to choke back the sob.
Morning. Time to get up. Time to get Alan some breakfast and get him to school. Then she'd have to call about Trey.
She threw back the covers and stared at the ceiling. Cold air tingled across her bare legs and chest. She shivered. Hot shower. Yes, a hot shower was exactly the thing. Carolyn put her feet on the floor, slid out of bed, and started for the bathroom. A shape on the floor stopped her from putting her foot down.
Carolyn froze, unable to exhale. Covers? Blankets? The bundle twitched and rolled. Carolyn held back a scream. She stepped over the cloth-covered blob and into the bathroom. She flipped on the lights and turned, ready to face whatever it was.
A small hand rested on the floor, stretched outward from a Spiderman blanket. Carolyn finally managed to exhale, her heart beating so fast she thought it would explode. She moved toward Alan, and then realized she was naked. Feeling embarrassed, she grabbed her robe from beside the bed and cinched it around herself.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Why the hell had that scared her? Just a bundle of blankets, dammit, with her sleeping son beneath it all.
Once she felt her heart rate had slowed to an acceptable rhythm, she knelt down beside Alan. She peeled back the blanket and stared into his sleeping face. He didn't look peaceful. Instead, his teeth were locked tight, his eyes scrunched together.
“Alan?” she whispered.
The boy didn't move.
Knowing it was going to hurt, she slipped her arms beneath him and lifted. She grunted with the effort and ignored the pain in her lower back as she placed him on the bed.
“Alan?” she asked again.
The boy said nothing. With a sigh, she straightened him on the bed, practically dragging his head toward Trey's pillow. She covered him in blankets and turned back to the bathroom.
“Want Daddy to protect me from the ice cream man,” Alan mumbled from behind her.
She spun on her heel and stared at the bed. Alan rolled over onto his side, his breathing deep and level. Her heart rate had risen again, hammering in her chest.
“Alan?” she asked.
He didn't respond.
She closed the bathroom door with care, ensuring it wouldn't bang and wake him up. He had at least another hour of sleep before she needed to push him out of bed.
The ice cream man.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
Was Alan already starting to see the same things Trey did? Was he going to end up in an institution talking to people who weren't there?
She shivered. “Just sleep talk,” she whispered to herself.
She pulled off the robe and stepped into the shower, trying to take deep, even breaths.
Chapter 26
She'd awakened Alan from her bed by stroking his cheek and saying his name. The boy's eyes fluttered open and he stared into her face, a look of surprise that transformed into a thin smile.
“Good morning, Mommy,” he said.
“Good morning, baby.” Her hand still brushed his cheek. “Do you know where you are?”
“In your room,” he blushed.
“Yes, you are,” she giggled. “Do you remember why?”
Alan yawned and put his small hands over his face. “No,” he said through his fingers, the word muddled and muffled.
She nodded and squeezed his shoulder. “It's time for you to get dressed and ready for school.”
He dropped his hands from his face. “Okay, Mommy.” Carolyn stood up from the bed to leave just as his hand reached and grabbed the hem of her robe. “Mommy?” he asked.
She turned back to him with a sigh. “Yes, Alan?”
“Will Daddy come back to keep us safe?”
Her brow furrowed. “Keep us safe. From what?”
Alan frowned. “I don't know.”
“Get dressed, kiddo. Have to get some breakfast in you.”
Alan smiled and slid off the bed.
She watched him leave the room and then closed the bedroom door. As she turned from the door, the smile faded. “Will Daddy keep us safe?” Alan had asked. She shivered.
While she dressed, she thought of all the things she had to do. First, call work and tell them she wouldn't be in. Second, get Alan to school. Third...
It was the third one that worried her. She had to call Kinkaid, find out Trey's condition, and whether or not she could see him. But even if Kinkaid said no, she was going to be there, dammit.
Not like last time.
Carolyn picked out a clean pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. No makeup. Well, maybe a little. She slipped on the jeans, a practical bra, and then the sweatshirt.
With a sigh, she stared at herself in the mirror. A worry line was forming and her eyes had dark circles. Four hours of sleep. Fuck. She wondered how much sleep Trey had managed.
Would he still be in the hospital bed, his skull wrapped in bandages? She took in a sharp breath and then let it out slowly. “I'll see you, Trey,” she whispered. “I promise.”
Carolyn braided her long hair, tying the end with expert fingers. She stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like shit, but she knew Trey wouldn't care and on a morning like this, she didn't give a damn who saw her. She flipped off the light and headed downstairs.
Alan was at the breakfast table, munching on cereal. She walked up behind him, and squeezed his shoulder. He turned around to her, his teeth still crunching.
“Are you going to see Daddy today?”
“Don't talk with your mouth full, son,” she said with a smile. “Yes.” She headed to the coffee maker. “I'll see him while you're at school.”
Alan clinked his spoon against the glass bowl. “Can I see him tonight?”
She paused and then clicked the coffee maker button. “I don't know if you can see him tonight, baby.”
“But--”