Watch

by Cass J. McMain

  “I’m fine. I just wanted to make sure you were still… OK with me. You know. After the other day. I still feel bad, kinda. I probably should have asked you, you know. If you wanted that. To watch that.”

  “Oh… well. No. I mean, yeah. I’m OK with it. You freaked me out a little, but you’re right. It wasn’t anything really.” Corky sipped wine and traced patterns on the floor with her foot. She looked up when Seth poured more wine into her glass. He smiled and toasted her silently.

  “Did you give any thought to what I said, about the… thing?”

  Corky coughed slightly. Grey had invited her to come back. He was having a gathering. Rick and Allie, and… others.

  Others. Corky swallowed a mouthful of wine, and coughed again. “I don’t um… I don’t know. I might come. Maybe not.”

  “It’s totally up to you. You know that. I’m not trying to pressure you. It’s just an offer.”

  “Grey, I just… well, it just feels like a private thing. Intimate, you know?”

  “It is; it is intimate. But you’re a friend, and you’re... different. You let me in on your family secret, with the diary. I feel close to you. It’s a small party, you’d be fine.”

  “And you’d protect me, is that right?” Corky giggled lightly. She became aware that Seth was watching her, and she blushed. “I… look, I’ll think about it. OK? I need to go. I have… company here.”

  After she hung up with Grey, she started the hamburgers. Seth returned with the wine, refilling their glasses.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “Nobody. Nothing.” Corky shrugged, patting the patties down.

  “Didn’t sound like exactly nothing.”

  “It was nothing. Just a guy I know.”

  “Oh. A guy? Who?”

  Corky flipped the burgers and pressed them again. “Just a guy, I said. It’s nothing. Do you want your onions sautéed with this?”

  “Onions… sure.” Seth sat down on the stool nearby and watched her. “So where’d you meet this guy?”

  “What’s the big deal? Can’t I have friends? He’s just a guy, I met him at the bookstore.”

  “You said something about it being intimate.”

  Corky flipped the burgers again. “It’s not really. I told you he’s just a guy. It’s not like it’s some big deal. Just drop it.”

  Seth shrugged, and sipped wine. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be… you know. But it sounded…”

  “Well it wasn’t. Whatever you think you heard, it wasn’t. Just drop it, Seth. It’s not something I want to talk about.”

  “What the hell is it then, Cork? You’re acting very weird. Guilty.”

  “It’s not something I have to be guilty over, dammit. I met a friend at the bookstore, that’s all. He’s just a friend.”

  “An intimate friend.”

  “If you insist on looking at it that way, fine.” Corky poked a fork into a hamburger; it oozed blood and she winced. “Look. I told you about this guy. He bought all those vampire novels. The guy with the earrings.”

  “The sicko blood guy? Now you’re buddies? He has your phone number?”

  Corky looked away. “I loaned him the diary. It wasn’t anything.”

  “Not anything? You let some sick nutjob who drinks blood have your home number. I think that’s pretty strange, Corky.”

  “He doesn’t drink blood. He just… donates it. It wasn’t as gross as it sounds.”

  Seth goggled at her. “It wasn’t— You watched? You watched him do it?”

  The phone rang again. Seth moved swiftly to answer it. “Does he know you have a boyfriend?” he called over his shoulder as he picked up the phone. “Because if he doesn’t, he’s about to find out.”

  But it wasn’t Grey. Seth paused, listening. “Who?” His eyebrows knitted. “Oh. Hold on.”

  He passed the phone to Corky. “It’s your cousin Bruce.”

  In the kitchen, the hamburgers started to burn. Seth turned them off, checked the potatoes, and poured another glass of wine. He considered, then took another one to Corky, as well.

  Chapter 8

  …my children are watching me now. Do they know why? These wires are growing worse every moment. Any moment, my eyes will bleed out, and the truth will be everywhere like a rug.

  Corky held the phone to her ear. “Bruce?”

  “Hi, Corky. I hate to call you like this. Well, I don’t really know how to… it’s Pam, she… well, Pam passed away. Night before last.”

  “She… Pam? What happened?”

  There was a silence on the other end, and then Corky heard muffled, breathy sobs. When Bruce spoke, his voice was a whispery waver. “She… it was an overdose, they think. Accidental. She… she was on some medications. For stress, you know? Pain and stress… they think she just mixed them up by mistake, took too many.”

  “Bruce. I’m sorry.” Seth handed her a glass of wine and she gulped long swallows of it. “I don’t know what to say. That’s just… what about the boys? Are they alright?”

  “Scotty found her. He’s… well, they both seem a little in shock, you know? The doctors gave me some pills to give them, but they both refuse to take them.” He laughed a hollow laugh. “Can’t really blame them. Ironic, right?”

  “So, they’re staying with you?”

  “For now. A few weeks, until their dad can take them. Maybe let them finish the school year here. He’s out in Florida, you know. He’s going to try and arrange… well. He’s going to try.” Bruce wept again, this time right into the phone. “I’m sorry, Corky. It’s just been a long day.”

  Corky nodded as though Bruce could see her. “I guess it has, Bruce. Are you OK?”

  “Oh. Well, you know. Have to be, right? The funeral’s on Monday. I know you and Pam didn’t… well, I know there was some… friction, I guess. But I wanted to let you know about the funeral. In case, you know, in case you wanted to come.” Bruce let out another long, hiccupping sigh. “Same church as Dad’s. Funeral. God… life goes by fast.”

  “It does.” The tears in Bruce’s voice brought out tears of her own. “Of course I’ll be there Bruce. Of course I will. Do you want me to come up early? Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Bruce thanked her for the offer, but told her there was nothing she could do. After getting a few more details, Corky hung up and finished the wine.

  Seth raised his eyebrows at her.

  “My cousin died. Pam. Uncle Moony’s daughter. She’s dead.”

  “Wow.” Seth moved to Corky’s side and put an arm around her, drawing her in for a peck on the cheek. “What happened?”

  Corky shrugged. “Bruce said she mixed her meds up and O.D.’d. Accidental overdose. Poor Scott, he found her on the floor.”

  “God. How old is he? Young, right?”

  “Hm… yeah, he’s young. Ten or eleven, I think. Not sure. Todd’s gotta be at least fifteen now. Bruce is taking them for a couple of weeks.”

  “So, another funeral.”

  Corky nodded, and her eyes took on a distant look. “Same church. Same damn church. God. It wasn’t even a year ago.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Another nod. She did want Seth to come with her. This time, she did.

  They moved into the kitchen, where the forgotten dinner waited. Nothing seemed appetizing anymore. They ate it anyway.

  Chapter 9

  Corky took time off work, and they left for Colorado late Sunday afternoon. It was normally an eight-hour drive, but Seth said he could do it in six.

  “No wonder,” Corky remarked, glancing at the speedometer. “You’re going almost ninety.”

  “It’s a straightaway, no cops. Why not? Get there a little early, get checked in. Maybe we can go for a walk or something. Or are you going to have dinner with Bruce and them?”

  Corky shook her head. She hadn’t thought about it. “I guess not… he’s not gonna want company. I’ll just see him tomorrow.” Her eyes drifted closed briefly, tired already.
They’d only been on the road three hours. She glanced at the sunset forming up in the west, and remembered the line from the diary about the dancing, watching sun. “Not watching you anymore,” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “Just something Moony said. In the diary. Near the end, he said the sun was watching him. That it was like a dance, going back and forth on the wall. Teasing him.”

  Seth shrugged. “Sounds strange. Did he really believe that, you think? Or was it just poetic stuff?”

  She looked out of the window on her side, away from the sunset. Grey had asked almost the same question. Somehow it had sounded different when Grey asked. Maybe because he had more interest. More reason to understand where Moony’s head had been. Grey had studied the thing, like a textbook.

  Grey had said, “It starts off being about the brother, and about trying to protect people from him, right? But it evolves, doesn’t it? Then, in a way, it’s really all about Cici. He didn’t ever actually make a move until it was for her. And then when he did make a move, and it failed, he got obsessed with that failure instead.”

  “But he was still looking for Edgar,” Corky had said.

  “He wasn’t,” Grey had argued. “He seems to be, but what he’s really doing at the end isn’t so much about where Edgar is. It’s all about making sure where he isn’t.”

  He’d been right. Corky had read the whole thing over again when she’d taken it back, and Grey had been right. Moony had been watching Edgar, but then he’d taken up watching Cici instead. To make sure she was safe. His entries had sounded less and less sane as they went along. After Cici died, he’d just lost it completely.

  All that stuff about the wires behind his eyes, and the electricity. It got more prevalent at the end. The things he heard in the walls. The sun teasing him. The fucking mirror. It had gotten crazier and crazier. By the end, it sounded… well, by the end it sounded...

  “He really thought all this was true, didn’t he?” Grey had asked her. “He wasn’t just writing for effect. You knew him. He thought it was all real?”

  Corky had looked at Grey then and nodded. Now she looked out the window at the roadside grass sailing past at ninety miles an hour, and nodded some more. Moony had certainly believed it.

  “He believed every word. Crazy,” she said, and her eyes flicked down at the overnight bag between her feet. She’d packed the mirror, hadn’t she? Who was crazy? She’d packed it to bring to the funeral, and she wore the cross around her neck. She’d been wearing the cross every day, even though she now knew, knew for a blessed fact, it wasn’t effective against vampires. Not against real ones. No protection at all.

  No, she was wearing it now more as a penance. A reminder of someplace she’d gone totally wrong. If that wasn’t sicko-crazy, what was?

  Corky shook her head and turned in time to watch the last of the sunset.

  It was beautiful.

  Chapter 10

  Scott crouched in the hallway, listening to Uncle Bruce on the telephone. He’d been calling people and taking calls all day. Giving people information about the funeral, directions to the church. Explaining in a soft voice again and again that they thought it had been an accidental death, just a simple accident. Scott waited for any new information to come out, but Bruce had just kept saying the same things: It was an accident, it could happen to anyone, it’s such a shame, yes the boys are fine. The part about it happening to anyone was sometimes followed by “it happens all the time.” The boys being fine part was usually followed by “we’ll manage.”

  He fiddled with the fringe on the floor runner, thinking about that. He wasn’t sure he was fine. Todd might not be, either. How could Bruce tell? Did this really happen all the time? How did he know?

  The phone rang, and Scott scooted closer to the doorway again, listening to Bruce and waiting for the familiar pattern. But this time, it wasn’t the same. This time, it was the boys’ father, who’d already been told where the funeral was and that it was an accident and a shame. Scott had listened to that one a few days ago.

  “…I see. Yes… yes, I see. I’m sure the boys will understand …of course. Of course, it was short notice …no …oh, yes. The boys… we’ll manage...”

  He wasn’t coming to the funeral. Scott shrugged. He didn’t remember his father, so he didn’t care much. He guessed Todd might be more disappointed by that news. Scott braided the fringe on the carpet and listened to Bruce’s voice: accident, shame, could happen to anyone. Then Bruce said something new, something he hadn’t heard Bruce talk about yet.

  “… No… well, the cuts weren’t deep at all… No, they don’t. The coroner said… yes. Yes, that’s… yes… well, sure… she would…”

  So someone else had seen the cuts after all. Scott hadn’t been sure. So far, nobody had mentioned them. It had all been about the pills, and the wine. Too many of one, too much of the other. Now Bruce was talking about the pressures of raising a family, and Scott finished braiding the fringe and started unbraiding it.

  It was possible to make a whole rug out of braided rags. He knew, because he’d taken one apart once and ended up with a pile of rags. This wasn’t that kind of rug, though. He pulled up the corner of it to check. Rubbery stuff on the bottom; not braided stuff. He guessed if he tried to take this one apart, he’d end up with just fluff. He tugged at the fringe and untied one of the small knots. He slipped the thread free and leaned against the wall, twirling it in his fingers. The rug didn’t look any different without it.

  Todd stepped into view and sat down on the rug across from him. “What are you doing?”

  “Shh. I’m listening to Uncle Bruce.”

  “That’s eavesdropping,” Todd said, but then went silent. He was listening too. “Who’s he talking to?”

  “Our dad.” Scott twisted the little thread up and tied it in a knot. “He’s not coming tomorrow.”

  Todd shook his head and lay on the floor, arms outstretched, knees in the air. He didn’t ask why, and Scott didn’t explain.

  “…no… thanks for letting me know, Len… I’ll tell them… I will…” Bruce spoke briefly about pants for the boys, and began wrapping up the conversation.

  Todd started to say something, but Scott held up a finger. “Wait,” he whispered. He crawled carefully to peek around the corner.

  Bruce was sitting at the kitchen counter, one hand on the telephone, one hand rubbing absently at his hairline. “We’ll manage. Thanks,” he said, and hung up.

  Scott frowned. Bruce hadn’t said the boys were fine that time.

  Bruce looked over. “Hi, Scotty. That was your father on the phone.”

  “So he’s not coming?”

  “He can’t get away right now.” Bruce wove his fingers together and dropped his hands into his lap. “Go find your brother and tell him we need to see if the clothes I brought will fit. If they don’t, we need to go buy some this afternoon.”

  Scott nodded, and turned to Todd, still right behind him in the hall.

  “Yeah. I heard.”

  Chapter 11

  …everyone is my brother…all men are dangerous…they are all him. If they are, maybe I am, too.

  Todd held up his dress pants. “These won’t fit. Here, see if they’ll fit you.”

  Scott buttoned his own pants. “Mine are OK. See?” He pointed down. “They fit.”

  “They don’t either fit.” Todd snorted. “Look. They’re like two inches too short. Try mine.”

  “How come they still fit me in the middle?”

  “You grew up and not out. Mine don’t fit me either way. Uncle Bruce is gonna have to get me some new ones, for the… you know. Thing.”

  Scott nodded and looked away. He knew.

  “How come we had to stay with Uncle Bruce? Why couldn’t we just stay home?”

  “They don’t let kids live alone, dummy.” Todd crouched next to Scott and held up the other pair of pants against his waist. “They’re too big, but maybe we can get them taken in. Someone can hem them. Ma
ybe.”

  “You’re old enough to watch me. You used to. When Mom went out.”

  Todd flinched. “Don’t talk about Mom, ’kay? And that was different. It’s way different to watch you by myself for a few hours, not like watching you all the time.”

  Scott tried on the jacket Todd handed him. It, too, was too big. He flapped his arms and let the jacket flop loosely around his hands. He grinned at Todd, and Todd grinned back briefly.

  “Why’s it different? If they let you take care of me for a few hours, why not for all the time?”

  Todd sighed. “It’s just different.” He took the jacket back and threw it on the bed. His face got red and he turned away quickly.

  Scott watched him. “Are you crying?”

  Todd shook his head. “I was just thinking Mom could hem the pants for you. Right? So you could wear them. I’m sitting here thinking ‘Oh, I’ll just take them to Mom and she can fix them.’ I keep forgetting.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Mom? Of course I miss her, right?” Todd sat down on the floor across from Scott and folded his legs underneath him. “Do you?”

  “I guess so. I don’t know, yet. It’s only been a few days. And we’ve been here, so it’s like she’s still at home.”

  “Yeah.” Todd looked around the room. It was pink. The whole room was pink: the walls, the ceiling. The furniture. Even the sheets. It was Bruce’s daughter’s room. “This pink is driving me batshit.”

  “If his daughter lives somewhere else, why does he keep this room like this?”

  “She still visits, right? He gets her one weekend a month or something.”

  “So, just for those two days, he keeps this whole room?”

  Todd shrugged. “I guess, to make her happy. She might be mad if she came back and it was all different.”

  “Oh.” Scott smoothed his hands over the carpet and then traced patterns into it with his finger. “When we move in with Dad, will they change our rooms back home?”

  “Sure, I guess. They’ll sell the house, probably. Some other kid’ll live there.”