by David Wood
Kinkaid held his hand for a long time.
Chapter 36
The cold felt invigorating. Sitting in one of the benches beneath the hospital's overhang, the winter chill was unchecked by the sun. Trey shivered a little. He was wearing the same clothes as the night he'd been admitted. His shirt still had droplets of blood on it from where he'd smacked into the concrete. As people walked in and out of the hospital, some saw those stains and gawked. He didn't mind. His arm throbbed. The scuffle with Tony hadn't re-broken it or harmed the cast, but it had certainly hurt like hell.
Carolyn would be there relatively soon. He might have to wait another thirty minutes or so. But again, he didn't mind. The envelope they'd given him with his statement, insurance receipts, prescriptions for pain killers and Dr. Kinkaid's new drug regimen, sat beside him on the bench. Just more stuff to file. More slips of paper to take to the pharmacy.
He and Kinkaid had talked about the Closet Man, the grubby man. Trey knew they were the same, knew that one was in the past and the other in his mind. The green eyes were nothing more than illusion.
“I think I'm ready to go home now,” Trey had told Kinkaid.
She'd stared at him, unblinking for a moment. “You want to go home.” She sighed. “Are you sure?”
“I'm not--” His voice broke. He cleared his throat and started again. “I need to get home. I need to see Alan and Carolyn. At home.”
Kinkaid had nodded. “Why are you in such a hurry to get home?”
“I just,” Trey whispered, “have to get home. I,” he said, motioning to the room, “don't feel right here. Need to be with my family.”
She bit her lip, the same way Carolyn always did when unsure of something. “I think you should probably stay a while longer.”
He shook his head. “Doc, I promise that if I have any other problems, I'll come right back here.” She bit her lip again and he sighed. “I promise. I may be crazy, but I keep my promises.”
“Can I call Carolyn?” Kinkaid had asked.
That was how they'd left it. Kinkaid had called Carolyn, allowed Trey to check himself out on the grounds that, psycho or no, he kept his promise.
“Hello, Trey,” a voice said from his left. Trey turned. Tony Downs smiled down at him. The man wore a leather duster that hid his long sleeve shirt. “How are you feeling?”
Trey blinked. A flash of anger rose within him, but he managed to batten it down. This wasn't the man. This wasn't the grubby man. He'd only become the grubby man for a moment.
Trey cocked his head. “I'm fine. How's your, um--” Trey said rubbing his chin.
“Oh, that,” Tony laughed, “I've had much worse. Much worse.”
“I'm sorry,” Trey said.
Tony waved his hands. “No worries, Trey. It happens.” Tony gestured toward the bench. “Mind if I sit for a moment?”
“Um,” Trey stammered, “um, sure.”
“Cool,” Tony said. The man walked past him to the empty part of the bench. He blew a sigh between his teeth. “Afraid I hate hospitals. I'd much rather freeze to death than stay in there any longer than I need to.”
Trey turned to him. “Um, then why are you still here?”
“Because,” Tony grinned without looking at him, “I was hoping to have a moment of your time.”
Trey blinked. “Um, okay. But shouldn't you have done that--”
Tony turned toward him. Tony's deep, brown eyes had no pupils; they had become a sea of color. Trey felt for a moment like he was drowning in them. The concern he'd felt at this man being so close to him evaporated, as did the thoughts of the grubby man.
“I wanted to speak to you alone, Trey.”
Time seemed to slow, or maybe it was just that his calm, the old calm, was back. As long as he'd been taking meds, the world around him had moved fast. But this was more like what he remembered as a child-- lazy, time to think. “Okay,” Trey said.
“Good,” Tony said. He shifted his weight on the bench, turning more to face Trey. “I want you to understand something, Trey.” Tony leaned in just the slightest bit. The scent of coffee and cigarettes filled Trey's nostrils as Tony spoke. “The drugs are never going to cure you. The drugs are never going to remove memory. The drugs and therapy are never going to heal you.” Tony leaned closer still, his eyes growing large. “You have to face your fears, Trey. And your past.”
Trey felt something click inside his mind and suddenly the world started moving in that rapid-fire manner again. Tony was no longer leaning toward him, but facing outward back toward the circle.
“They say it's going to get really cold tonight,” Tony said with a shiver. “Well,” Tony said as he removed a pack of cigarettes from his duster pocket, “I guess I've had enough fresh air.” He stood, turning toward Trey. Tony slipped something from the pack of cigarettes and handed it to Trey. “Here's my card, Mr. Leger. Please call me if you need to talk about--” He paused as Trey took the card. “About today.” Tony popped open the pack and lifted out a cigarette. He placed it between his index and middle finger, holding it by the filter. “Nice to have met you, Mr. Leger,” Tony said. He tipped an imaginary hat and walked away toward the parking lot.
Still holding the card in his hand, Trey watched as Tony crossed the circle. “What the fuck--” Trey mumbled aloud. He stared at the card. “Tony Downs,” Trey said aloud. The face of the grubby man flitted into his mind. He felt cold all over, bone-chilling cold. He opened the envelope and placed the card inside.
As Kinkaid had been signing Trey's release papers, Trey had asked her who Tony Downs was.
She'd looked up at him, a smile on her face. “He's a friend of mine.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Trey said, “but what does he do?”
She shrugged. “He's a psychologist. Forensic. He consults for the police department, teaches classes, writes strange papers.” She chuckled. “He's just a guy.”
Trey had nodded. “How did he know--”
“He just does, Trey,” Kinkaid said, her eyes glancing back down at the papers. Her pen scratched at it, ticking boxes and writing initials. “What he does is nothing more than a parlor trick, really.”
“What do you mean?”
Kinkaid tapped her pen against the table. “You told him where to go, Trey. He asked you questions and guessed. When he was wrong, you put him on the right path.”
Trey frowned. “He was never wrong, Doc.”
She shrugged again. “It's nothing, Trey. Do you feel better?”
He thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I do.” She smiled at him.
“But, I, I don't know what to do now.”
Kinkaid nodded, her smile fading a bit. “Yeah, you do, Trey. You live. You cope. You deal.” She finished signing the paper work, shuffled the papers into one neat stack, and put the pen back in her valise. “And, of course, you keep coming to see me.”
“Of course,” he chuckled.
“Starting next week, I want you in my office every Tuesday. I'll get Vivian to set it up. But I want to make sure you're doing okay.” She turned from the papers, locking eyes with him. “Are you really sure you're ready to go home?”
He'd smiled at her. “Yes, I'm ready.” That was more than an hour earlier. “Doing okay,” he mumbled.
As Carolyn pulled into the circle, the conversations and worries evaporated. Her smile was all he needed to see.
Chapter 37
Jimmy wasn't at recess. His three friends didn't bother Alan. Alan was smart enough to know the two were connected. Without their large leader, they were just like the other children they regularly terrorized.
When the school day ended, Alan stepped out into the brisk air. The winter sky was bright, clear, and warm enough to make a jacket unnecessary. Alan walked with a measured pace as the other children flooded past him and into the schoolyard. Most were headed toward the copse of trees. He stopped for a moment, watching his classmates run with reckless abandon, backpacks slapping against their shoulders, to be first in the queue.
The ice cream man was there, of course. The van's side door was already open. From this far away, he was just a cream colored figure, the hat slung low over his face.
The first kids made it to the van. For a moment, nothing happened. Then there was the sound of children shouting orders, their voices a disjointed shout. Alan heard a laugh that set his teeth on edge. The ice cream man.
Why was Daddy so afraid of the Ice Cream Man? “Why am I?” he mumbled aloud.
In reflex, Alan looked toward the parking lot, expecting to see his father standing there with that bright smile on his face, the one he always had when he saw his son.
No Daddy. Not today. Alan looked back toward the tight knit pines. Was it the Ice Cream Man whispering to him at night? Alan shivered. He had to know. He started walking.
With each step, the words became more clear. “Icy Pop” “Zots” “--Sandwich!” “--Taffy!” Names of different treats shouted at the vendor who deftly kept up with each request, palming money, making change, and handing out each desired item like an automaton.
As Alan approached, small groups of children brushed past him, opening their candy or already enjoying their treats. The crowd was thinning. Five minutes had passed and Alan wasn't sure just how many of his classmates had already been served.
No more than ten feet away from the van, Alan peered at the Ice Cream Man. The long sleeves of his uniform covered his arms. Skin-tight gloves, the exact same color as his suit, covered his hands. The man's neck, chin, his smile, and long nose were the only features visible. Alan stared at the man. The smile was wide and inviting, yet it could have been a dog's face set in a snarl.
The Ice Cream Man's falsetto voice brimmed with exuberance as he repeated back the orders. He reached down, his fingers gingerly sliding dollar bills from hands. “Oh, that's too much,” he told one of the children, handing back an errant dollar and some change.
Alan couldn't help but smile at the man. It was just a man after all. Just a man making a living. One who liked kids.
“Then why am I so afraid of him?” Alan wondered.
He watched the crowd until there were only a few kids left. The Ice Cream Man looked at him as he counted out some more change. The smile grew wider. He nodded to Alan. Confused, Alan took another step forward. The Ice Cream Man knew him?
The last child at the counter received his treat and walked past Alan. Alan stared up at the Ice Cream Man. The man leaned over, his hands on the counter. His smile dropped a bit. “Hey, kid. You, um, Trey Legett's son?”
A shiver ran up his spine. That falsetto voice saying his father's name jarred him. “Leger, sir” Alan corrected.
“Ah,” the man nodded, “yeah, Leger. I remember now.” The man blinked at Alan and then looked around the playground as if to see if any more customers were coming. “Um, how's your Dad?”
Alan shrugged. “Okay, I guess. He broke his arm, sir.”
The Ice Cream Man laughed. “You can call me Reggie, son.” The man leaned forward, offering his hand.
“Reggie,” Alan repeated back. He grabbed the offered hand and squeezed, just as his father had taught him. “Nice to meet you, Reggie.” The man's hands felt thin and bony beneath the gloves.
“Likewise,” the man said. They shook. Alan let go and the man laughed. “Quite a grip you got there, partner. Your Dad teach you that?”
Alan nodded. “Told me it's how men greet one another.”
Reggie laughed again. It was an infectious belly laugh and Alan couldn't help but smile. He didn't want to like this man. He didn't want to. “Your Dad's right,” the man said. Reggie paused, his eyes staring into Alan's. “So,” Reggie's voice dropped in tone, “what can I get you?”
Alan blushed. “Oh, I don't want anything, Reggie.” Reggie's smile dimmed. “I just wanted to meet you. Thank you for helping my Dad.”
The man nodded. “You're a good kid,” Reggie said, his voice dropping again, the tone now barely recognizable. Alan shivered. “Time for me to pack up.” Reggie held one hand beneath the overhang as he punched a button with the other. Alan heard a click and saw the door shudder. “Nice to meet you, Alan Leger,” Reggie said.
Reggie's face was covered in shadow now, but his eyes still gleamed. “Tell your Dad,” the shadow said, “I said get well soon.” Even in the shadow, the man's grin was still visible.
Alan's mouth opened as he watched the grin elongate, the corners turning up impossibly high. The overhang clicked as it slid closed.
Alan stepped back from the curb, his skin freezing despite the warm sunlight. The van shuddered. Alan saw movement behind the driver's side window. He watched as the van pulled away leaving him alone by the curb. The van's music started as soon as it turned the corner.
The Ice Cream Man. Alan shivered.
Chapter 38
The sidewalk path followed in the Ice Cream Van's wake. He had thought about taking the back way home, but as loud as the music was, he'd have heard it no matter which direction he went. Besides, the normal route would be fastest and if Jimmy Keel was waiting for him, there would be other people around to stop a fight.
As he rounded the corner and headed down the sidewalk, he saw the van in the distance, a few kids beside it. As he approached, the side door closed back down and the truck moved on another block or two until adults or children stopped it again. The cycle repeated itself. Alan never got closer than a block away before the van began moving again.
As the road wound and snaked, the bells became more and more distant and he completely lost sight of the van. The roiling in his stomach quieted. The Ice Cream Man hadn't really been what he expected. Until the end.
Alan shivered. The voice had dropped. The grin had changed. The man had become... He didn't have a word for it.
“Is that what Daddy saw?” he wondered. Alan continued putting one foot in front of the other. This part of the road was lined with pine trees snaking toward the sky, their needles bright green with the recent winter rain. As he walked, he heard the shuffling of something in the trees. Squirrels. Possum, maybe. Or perhaps a stray dog. The feeling of being watched made him walk a little faster.
The road finally began to straighten again and around the bend, he saw the back of the Ice Cream Van. The vehicle was parked on the shoulder, hazard lights on. Alan halted. The tingling in his spine was electric. The birds chirping in the trees stopped. Alan let loose a long breath. He turned and saw only the empty road behind him.
Alan looked both ways and then ran to the other side of the road, as far from the ice cream van as he could get. As he made it to the other side, he heard the sound of a car behind him. He looked and watched a blue sedan drive past. A dark haired teenager behind the wheel was singing to a song Alan couldn't hear. The sedan disappeared up the road and around the next bend.
Alan let out another long breath. “Being stupid,” he thought.
Something rustled on the other side of the road. Alan turned his head. Behind the white van, something was moving through the thick pines. Alan took a step backwards and the movement stopped. He squinted, trying to make out exactly what it was. White. No, cream-colored. He took a step forwards and it matched him. Alan's heart beat rose in his chest like a thrash drum beat, loud enough to block out any other sound. Alan ran.
He could hear it running through the brush, crunching dead leaves, snapping through dead falls, and breaking branches to keep up the pursuit. His pack smashed into his middle back again and again, flapping in time to his pounding heart. Alan was afraid to look across the road, afraid he'd see his pursuer break through the tree line and fly toward him.
Alan was barely aware he was nearing the end of the road's dead space. A car honked as its brakes squealed. Alan was halfway through the intersection, stumbling to a stop. He skidded on his Nike's and fell to the concrete, rolling in front of the car. He ended up facing the sky, the car's engine growling in his ears.
“Hey, kid! You okay?” a woman's voice said from above him.
“Yeah,” Alan
muttered, rolling over on his chest. He tried to lift himself from the road on lacerated and bleeding hands. Arms snaked beneath his own. A slight moan of effort from the person behind him and he was on his feet. “Thanks,” Alan said.
“Jesus, kid,” the woman said as he turned around, “you need to be more careful.” Alan stared up into her kind, pale face. “What the hell were you running from?”
He turned to look back from where he'd come.
The Ice Cream Van's music had started up again. Loud. Coming closer.
He looked back at the woman. “Nothing,” Alan said. “Just got spooked,” he said.
“Where do you live?” she asked. Alan pointed down the T. She nodded. “You want a ride?”
The Ice Cream Van's engine downshifted as it passed the T. Through the dark, tinted window, Alan could just make out the driver's silhouette, eyes forward, head straight.
Alan shivered. “I can walk,” he said.
“God I hate those bells,” the woman said from behind him.
Alan nodded. “So do I.”
Chapter 39
As Trey slid into the car, Carolyn smiled at him. “Kinkaid said you're sane,” she said as he closed the door. Trey turned to her, leaned in, and kissed her. “
No, she didn't,” Trey grinned. “She just told you I was ready to come home.”
Carolyn sighed. “Are you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Trey said. He turned and looked out the windshield. “Are you ready to take me home?”
She reached out and patted his shoulder. “Yes, Trey, I am.”
Trey turned back to her. “Let's go, baby.”
Carolyn put the car in drive and headed out from beneath the hospital awning. “Before you ask,” she said as she wheeled the car through the turn, “Alan's doing fine.”
Trey nodded. “Okay. Glad to hear that.” He tapped his fingers on the console “Question is, are you okay?”
She smiled. “Will be. Missed my man,” she said, placing her right hand on his knee.