The Waiting

by Joe Hart

  “You got your mom’s smile, you know that, buddy? I’m so glad I still get to see it.” Tears filled his eyes. “I’m sorry I left you.” His voice became hoarse, the horrible ideas of what could’ve been flowing through his mind. “I didn’t think anything would happen. I’m sorry you got cold, I’m so sorry you got cold.”

  “Ky?” Shaun said, his brow furrowing.

  “I won’t cry,” Evan said, wiping at his eyes before leaning forward to kiss him on the brow. As he sat back, he glanced over the back of the sofa.

  The basement door was open a few inches.

  Evan stood and took a step toward it, waiting for it to fly open all the way, pushed from something behind it. But it stayed motionless. Had it been closed when he left? Yes, he was almost sure.

  “I’ll be right back, honey,” he said over his shoulder.

  After grabbing the flashlight from the kitchen, Evan went to the basement door and opened it fully. He flicked the flashlight on, then went down the stairs, playing the light off the treads and walls. Reaching the bottom, he flipped the light switch on, but nothing happened. He tried a few more times, toggling the switch up and down, as fear rose in his guts. Evan illuminated the doll, still facedown where he’d left it, and swept the beam around the space. Nothing looked out of place. He pointed the flashlight at the ceiling, panning it across each of the dark light bulbs. It looked like they’d all blown.

  He moved down the last few steps and stopped, turning in a circle. Slowly he swung the beam toward the clock, its darker shade already drawing his attention. It was as he’d left it. Knowing more of its history didn’t make him any more comfortable in its presence. Someone once said fear was the result of not understanding something. Standing in the cloying darkness with the clock only feet away, Evan didn’t agree.

  “Hello?”

  The sound of his voice startled him. He hadn’t meant to speak. Now he waited, stomach churning, dreading a response.

  Silence.

  “Da?” Shaun called from the living room.

  “Be right there, buddy,” he yelled, then turned and headed back up the stairs.

  ~

  Evan made dinner for Shaun and then called the hospital and told the woman in the PCA department about Becky’s strange behavior.

  “I’ll check to make sure she made it home okay,” the woman whose name he thought was Marissa said.

  “Could you please give me a call back after you talk to her?” he asked, feeding Shaun a bite of hot dog.

  “I will, sir.”

  The phone rang fifteen minutes later, and Marissa told him that Becky had made it to her parents’ home and that her father said she wasn’t feeling well. Marissa apologized for Becky’s behavior and said she would take it up with their administrator.

  “That’s not necessary, I was just concerned about her. Thank you for calling back.”

  Evan held the phone for a long time, almost expecting it to ring again, but didn’t know why. He wanted to call Selena, but the idea of smothering her with his problems made him put the phone down.

  You took her on a great first date, fella. She’ll definitely want to run right out here and have dinner again really soon.

  He smiled.

  After putting Shaun to bed, Evan went down to the basement. First, he replaced the dead bulbs with new ones he found in the entryway closet, and made a point of fixing the one going down the stairs. When he unscrewed it and looked at the filament inside, it appeared whole and unbroken. But then again, you never knew with light bulbs. Next, he walked around the basement, telling himself that he wasn’t searching it. Searching would mean he was looking for something, and if he was looking for something, what was it? Every so often his eyes would stray to the clock, and he would avert them as Cecil’s words came flooding back each time he did: Destroy it, Mr. Tormer. Break it, burn it, do whatever you must before it takes everything from you like it did to me!

  All at once he remembered the email from Jason. His heart sank, and he stopped moving, standing in the glow of the newer and more powerful bulbs. What point was there to keep digging on the story? Justin didn’t want the article. Any effort he made after this would be solely for his own interest.

  And what interest is that?

  Evan found a broom standing against the far wall and began to sweep, something to do while he thought. Maybe Jason didn’t explain the central idea well enough to Justin. The article could be excellent, possibly a serial story spread out over several issues of Dachlund. If Justin could hear what he’d learned today, there would be no way he could turn him down.

  Evan paused and nodded to himself. With few more sweeps, he gathered up the small pile of dust and dirt he’d accumulated into a dustpan and carried it upstairs to deposit in the trash. As soon as the basement door was shut, he brought his laptop to the table and opened it. After only a few minutes of searching his email, he found Justin’s office number from the previous time he’d published with him. Normally Jason handled the in-between area of selling an article to the editor in chief, sometimes joking about being his agent, but now there was no choice. This was different.

  Evan punched in the number on his cell phone and waited until Justin’s voice mail picked up. Clearing his throat, he waited for the beep.

  “Justin, this is Evan Tormer. Sorry to bother you, but Jason mentioned you wouldn’t be interested in the article about the clock, and I wanted to let you know that I came upon some interesting information today. If you would hear me out, I’d really appreciate it.” He licked his lips before continuing. “There’s a story here, Justin, something really odd. Give me a call when you can.”

  Evan left his cell phone number and ended the call, feeling powerful somehow. Maybe it was going over Jason’s head, even though his best friend had been the one to introduce him to Justin. Maybe it was being proactive in some small way. He didn’t know. All that mattered now was getting the clock running again.

  He froze in mid-movement, his hand hovering above the laptop’s lid. Had he just thought that? Getting the clock running again?

  The article, he needed to get the article running. A cold channel coursed through his stomach like an icy spring river breaking free of winter’s grip. It was like the thought hadn’t been his, but that was stupid. He’d experienced strange ideas and images drifting off to sleep at night and then coming to, the obscure and peculiar thoughts completely alien to him. But this was different; he was wide-awake.

  Evan shook his head. “Long day, lots of activity, that’s all.”

  He closed the laptop and stood, putting the computer away before noting the time. It was late, and he needed sleep. He would tackle this again in the morning.

  Weren’t you planning on leaving the island only a short time ago?

  “Shut up,” he muttered, and flipped the light off in the kitchen before heading toward his room.

  He stopped in the hallway and pushed open Shaun’s ajar door. Shaun lay on his side, his light hair sticking up against his pillow. Evan walked into the room and knelt beside the bed, held the soft fingers poking from beneath the quilt.

  “I won’t ever let you get cold again,” he whispered. “You’re all I have left. I know I haven’t said this before, I don’t know why, but Mom didn’t want to leave us, honey. She tried, she tried really hard to stay, but she couldn’t, and I couldn’t do anything to help.” His voice shook. He didn’t understand where the wellspring came from, only knowing he couldn’t stanch it. “I wish we could all be together again, and that this had never happened to you.” He traced a finger down the pale scar on Shaun’s head. “I dream about it sometimes, our life without everything that happened. Someday we’ll be whole again, I promise.”

  He stroked Shaun’s hair one last time and stood, hearing the slight creak of his knees. “Good night, son.”

  Evan slipped out of the room, closing the door only a little, and got ready for bed. It was early in the morning when sleep took him, and the last coherent words that he th
ought while drifting off were tomorrow will be better.

  17

  Dawn was like something out of a vacation pamphlet.

  Sunlight streamed across the lake, coloring the water with shining blazes that hurt the eye when directly looked at. The air held a humid quality that spoke of summer heat, the kind that drove people to the beach and drink beverages from coolers packed to the top with melting ice. The foliage became greener, more alive after the gray of the day before. Evan soaked it all in, his spirits lifting despite waking in a cold sweat that morning.

  He didn’t remember the dream, only the terror. He came awake to his heart thudding like a dual bass of the metal bands he used to listen to in high school and his legs rubbery, as if he’d run a long distance with something chasing him only a few steps behind. But the morning stripped the feeling away almost at once. After a cup of coffee taken on the porch, the strength returned to his legs, and by his second cup, with Shaun stirring in the other room, he felt completely normal.

  As he helped Shaun get dressed, he grasped the boy by his shoulders and peered into his upturned face.

  “How about we go fishing again today?”

  Shaun grinned but gave him a querying look.

  “Fishing, like we did the other day.”

  His mood dimmed a little when Shaun motioned to the TV in the living room.

  “No, not TV. Lake—we’re going to go out on the pontoon.”

  “Pun,” Shaun said, raising his arms so Evan could carry him.

  “How about boat?”

  “Boat!”

  “That’s good, buddy. Boat, we’ll go out in the boat today.”

  Evan took Shaun to his chair at the table, now washed down from the sand and dirt that had clung to its feet from the night before, and began to make breakfast. As the eggs sizzled in the pan, his attention kept returning to his phone. After dishing up his and Shaun’s plates, he finally gave in and dialed Selena’s number, amused that he now had it memorized. She answered on the second ring.

  “Good morning.”

  Her voice sounded bright as the sunshine outside, and he smiled, a flutter like a trapped bird tickling his stomach.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d answer after the wonderful time you had yesterday.”

  She laughed. “That was nothing compared to my Monday.”

  “Good, I hope you weren’t too put off.”

  “By an old, creepy house? No, not at all. You should hear the things that people tell me on a day-to-day basis, some of it would make you cringe.”

  “I bet.”

  “So is that the only reason you’re calling me this morning? To see if I had a good time yesterday?”

  Evan chuckled and moved Shaun’s plate closer to him.

  “Actually, Shaun and I were going to go fishing, and I thought you might like to come. Maybe bring back some memories?”

  The line grew quiet, and Evan sat, his spirits falling.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds.”

  “No, it’s not that at all, I’d love to come. It just caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s the anniversary of my dad’s passing.”

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

  “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s weird that you asked today, that’s all. But I can’t really think of any better way to spend the day. I always take it off, so I’m free.”

  “You’re sure? You don’t have to.”

  “No, I’ll be out within an hour. Fishing’s always better in the mornings, you know.”

  Evan smiled. The girl knew her stuff. “We’ll see you soon.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  He set the phone down and helped Shaun with a large bite of egg.

  “Selena’s going to come with us. Is that okay?”

  Shaun chewed and stared at him with large eyes that almost always seemed to ask a question. How much did he understand?

  Evan scooped up another bite of egg, and Shaun coughed, his eyes widening as he opened his mouth and made a gagging sound.

  “Shit, are you okay?” Evan said, leaping to his feet.

  All at once the kitchen was too hot, cloying and close. Shaun struggled in his chair and gagged again, spewing out the chewed eggs in a gelatinous clump that fell onto his pants legs.

  Terror gripped Evan and he became immobilized by it, crushed in a palm that showed him a future alone, with two graves to visit instead of one.

  “Shaun!”

  He broke free of the paralysis and unbuckled the chair’s straps. Shaun coughed again, a strained, ragged sound that came from deep in his stomach.

  Out of air, he’s out of air!

  A barrage of first-aid posters and Red Cross handouts flooded his thoughts as he leaned Shaun forward and slapped his back with a solid whack. Air flew from Shaun’s lungs, and to Evan’s relief, he gasped some back in. His airway wasn’t totally plugged.

  Picking him up from the chair, Evan clutched Shaun to his chest, his arms threaded beneath his son’s, hands locked over the boy’s sternum. Trying to maintain a semblance of control, Evan pulled one, two, three times in rapid succession. With each movement, a thin stream of air jolted from Shaun’s lips and he gasped a little back in. A small amount of vomit dribbled out of his mouth when Evan pulled again, and he stopped, sweat coating his entire body.

  Would this be how it ended? With a bite of egg and his lack of memory of the Heimlich maneuver? Would this be the day he feared above all others, the day when Shaun would slip away from his frantic grasp, somehow slighting all his measures to keep him safe?

  “No,” Evan grunted, his eyes tearing up with moisture born of panic and premature grief. “NO!”

  He spun Shaun over and laid him on his back, kneeling beside him. Shaun heaved in a little air and then gagged, coughing out streams of spittle and mucus.

  “Open your mouth, honey, open your mouth,” Evan said, forcing his fingers past his son’s spasming teeth.

  He swiped an index finger to the back of his throat, searching for an obstruction but feeling nothing. Another pass came up empty.

  Evan fell back on his ass, pulling Shaun into his lap.

  “Open your mouth, Shaun, open it!”

  Trying to ignore the wavering alarm of his voice, he pried Shaun’s mouth open and looked inside, ready to reach in and grab any soggy chunk of egg that might be there.

  Several white strands poked up at the back of his throat, their bright color catching the light.

  Evan’s face contorted as he reached with two fingers and managed to grab the hairs. With a revulsion so pure it bordered on horror, he pulled the white hairs out of Shaun’s mouth, watching their length extend far, much too far, into his son’s throat.

  “Uhhhhh,” Evan moaned, and instantly remembered Becky’s incoherent mumblings down by the beach.

  He pulled and the hairs kept coming, impossibly long, stretching, catching the natural light of the room until they seemed to shine with a glow of their own.

  Just when he thought his arm would not be long enough and he would have to re-grip the hairs, they slid free of Shaun’s mouth and hung suspended from the tips of his fingers, limp, like pale parasites. With a cry of revulsion, Evan flicked them away, knowing, somewhere in the deep cellar of his mind where all morbid thoughts were birthed, that the hairs wouldn’t fly free of his fingers. They would wrap around his hand, entwine themselves to him, and begin to slither toward his own face, seeking the wet darkness of his mouth.

  But they did detach from his fingers. After an almost graceful flight, they landed in a coil on the kitchen floor and flattened there, unmoving. He looked down at Shaun, who breathed fully and deep, tears running from his eyes in streams that tracked sideways toward his temples.

  “You’re okay, honey, you’re okay,” he said, clutching his son close in a hug.

  The sound of Shaun’s heavy but easy breathing was like music to Evan’s ears, and he relished it the only way a person who knew the loss of
something precious could.

  “Da,” Shaun sobbed, and Evan held him tighter.

  “I’m right here, buddy, you’re okay, you’re fine.”

  He rocked him as if he were an infant, for what seemed like hours, his eyes straying to the white hairs from time to time, which shone like threads of snow in the morning sun.

  ~

  “Are you okay?”

  Selena’s soft voice brought him out of his fugue, and he blinked, sitting up straighter in the pontoon’s seat. The sunlight glared off the water, and he felt it tightening the skin on his face. He’d have to be careful not to get burned.

  Burned. Burn it. Destroy it.

  “I’m great,” Evan said, and tried to smile. “Thinking.”

  “You were miles away.”

  “Yeah, busy morning.”

  Of pulling white hairs that couldn’t have been there out of your son’s throat—out of his stomach.

  He shook his head, silencing the voice.

  “Do you want to talk?” Selena asked, setting her rod against the pontoon’s railing.

  “You keep trying to do your thing, don’t you?”

  “Can’t shut it off.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Is it the article? Is that what’s bothering you?”

  Shaun kicked his legs out and squealed with delight as the pontoon drifted over a wave. Evan watched him for a moment before he answered, telling himself he wasn’t waiting for him to begin choking again.

  “Yeah. I got an email from my friend saying the editor wasn’t interested in the story.”

  Selena frowned. “I’m sorry. Is there any other magazine that might buy it from you?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. I’m giving it one last go with him, see if I can convince him it’s worth printing.”

  “So the mystery woman you went to see yesterday wasn’t a dead end?”