by Rick Hautala
That was all if things fell into place, and just last week, the town planning board had given final approval for the entire project. They were waiting to hear if the clients could get financing, and if they did, Edward might be able to start clearing the land for the first house in a matter of weeks.
With the hurdle of getting town approval behind him, and the pressure of beginning actual construction still in the future, Edward took a few days off to do a few fun things with his family. The problem was, as she had since her accident, Dianne was feeling too miserable to travel very far. In fact, she hardly left the house at all, choosing instead to sit in the living room most of the day, either watching TV or reading. She still blamed the medication she was taking for messing her up, so she stayed home the day Edward took Brian to Funtown U.S.A., in Saco.
Edward wondered why Brian still hadn’t made friends around town with any of the kids his own age. Brian had told him he’d made a few attempts but had obviously backed down, complaining that he didn’t find anyone he met interesting. They were just a bunch of “skate-rats,” as he put it. This bothered Edward, who, other than a four-year stint in college, had lived his entire life in Summerfield and had plenty of friends and acquaintances around town. But most of his friends’ children were older, many of them already in college. Besides, Edward was aware that he couldn’t live his son’s life for him, so he decided not to push him too hard.
“Boy, that Astrosphere was some fun, wasn’t it?” Edward said on the drive home from Funtown.
Brian nodded and said, “Yeah,” but his expression seemed to indicate otherwise.
“You know,” Edward said, nudging Brian’s arm, “your mother’s going to be mad at me.” When Brian didn’t respond, he went on, “You’ve been here well over a month now, and you still haven’t gotten a tan. She’s going to think I kept you locked up in your room all summer.”
“I got plenty of sun yesterday,” Brian said, wincing as he raised his shirt sleeve to show the bright red burn on his shoulders he’d gotten after a day at Crescent Beach. He eased his sleeve back down and turned to face the window beside him, seemingly content as he watched the scenery slide silently past.
Edward wanted to confront Brian about what he was really feeling. He knew the boy had been miserable ever since coming to Maine, but as much as he wanted to do something about it, he wasn’t sure what he could do. Dianne’s accident and his own mother’s death certainly had started the summer off horribly, and he wasn’t at all confident that he would be able to pull the time they had left together out of its tailspin. He certainly was trying the best he could. His hope—which he knew was mostly selfish—was that things would be better now that he was going to start working on the new house. Maybe Brian could help him out at the construction site if he felt like it.
“So—”Edward said after they had ridden along in silence for a while. “Do you feel as though you’re getting to know Dianne any better?”
Brian stiffened noticeably, his hands clenching into fists in his lap.
“I hope you understand,” Edward continued, “that she’s under a lot of pressure. I mean—she’s not usually the way she’s been … since the accident. She’s a great person—a lot of fun. I wish you could see her under better circumstances.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s still in a lot of pain, and I think the medication she’s taking is messing her up quite a bit.”
“I’ll say,” Brian said, his voice barely audible above the steady hum of the car.
“Well … I hope you realize that she genuinely likes you,” Edward said, casting a quick glance over at his son. “She really does. I realize this has been a horribly tough situation—for both of you, and I hope you can—you know, get to like her better once you get to know her.”
Brian took a deep breath but said nothing.
“I suppose you’re aware that she has to go back into the hospital in a couple of days to have that second operation.”
Brian nodded.
“The doctor explained everything to us yesterday. They’re going to take the metal plates out of her face and do the first bit of facial reconstruction. You know, bone grafts and stuff like that to put her face back the way it was before the—the accident.” Edward heaved a deep sigh. “You know, it’s going to be tough … on all of us, so I just want you to know—”
He reached one hand out and gripped Brian’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Brian pulled away as he turned toward his father, but he kept his eyes focused downward.
“Your stepmother feels genuinely bad about how you and she don’t seem to have hit it off so far.”
“We don’t have to hit it off,” Brian said. His voice was trembling, and his lips pursed tight and nearly bloodless as he looked his father straight in the eye. “Besides, I already have a mother!”
Edward sucked in a breath to calm himself and held it for a second before speaking. “That’s true,” he said, pushing back the small stirring of anger and resentment just thinking about how their divorce made him feel. “But Dianne’s my wife now, and while I would never expect her to take the place of your mother, I would hope—I really want you and her to get along better. When she comes home after this next operation, she’s going to have more than enough to deal with without you getting on her nerves, all right?”
Brian stared straight ahead and said nothing.
“Do you understand me?”
“Don’t worry,” Brain said, hissing with frustration as he looked away, out his side window. “I’ll do everything I can to avoid her!”
A soft wash of moonlight skimmed the windowsill like a dusting of blue powder. The night wind was warm, sighing gently as it wafted the bedroom curtains back and forth like translucent bellows. From outside, the soft, steady whirring song of crickets filled the night with a lulling buzz. The sound wasn’t loud enough to mask the steady, deep sawing of Edward’s slumber.
But sleep wouldn’t come for Dianne.
She lay next to Edward, her eyes wide open as she stared up at the ceiling, which glowed eerily gray in the dim light. A sheen of sweat stood out on her forehead like cold dew. Her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides, and she seldom blinked her eyes. She waited until her lungs actually hurt before taking another shallow breath. The sound of her pulse in her ears was like steady hammering, distantly heard through the bedroom walls.
Her mind was filled with turmoil as she struggled to sort out her thoughts and feelings about what was going to happen to her in the morning. Two days ago, Dr. Collett had reviewed the surgical procedure with her and Edward to help reassure her; but since then, all she could think was, It’s going to hurt! Hurt like hell! Maybe not during the surgery, while they’re removing the screws and plates that are holding my jaw and cheek in place … but afterward, once the medication starts to wear off, it’s going to hurt like hell!
She rolled over onto one side and stared at the glowing red numbers of the digital clock.
11:57.
Almost midnight.
Shit!
She was scheduled to be admitted to the hospital before seven o’clock the next morning, so even if she fell asleep right now, she wouldn’t get a full eight hours of sleep. Would they still operate, even if she wasn’t well rested? She couldn’t postpone the operation—she didn’t want to—but it was something she dreaded and would just as soon not have to face. She wished there was some way she could simply avoid it.
“But there’s no way out,” she whispered out loud. She cringed at the thin, papery rattle of her voice in the still night.
Tension roiled like acid in her stomach, sending cold, rippling waves through her arms and legs. Her body trembled as though racked with fever. The heat underneath the elastic bandages that were wrapped around her face grew intense, almost intolerable. It was like a steady blast of flame from a blast furnace, searing her flesh. She imagined that some horrible, multi-legged creature, like the monster in Alien, had wrapped itself around her face
and was squeezing … squeezing ever tighter, crushing her face, caving it in on itself. She could feel her skull collapsing inward, could hear the bones breaking, crackling like a snapping campfire. She wanted to scream out loud, but the wires held her jaw firmly shut. Anxiety and fear twined through her body like cold snakes. She was filled with the impulse to leap out of bed and rip the bandages from her face just so she could breathe.
To hell with it! So what if she spent the rest of her life looking like a twisted, scarred monster? That’s what she was, wasn’t she? That’s what her face and her life had become! Nothing more than a horrible, mangled ruin! And she was losing her mind, too! Why not just say to hell with it all?
Her breathing came faster, roaring and hissing into her throat through the metal grill that held her jaw in place. Her vision became blurred as she stared up at the ceiling, swirling and pulsating in time to the heavy throb of her pulse.
I can’t stand it! I can’t stand it! I can’t stand it!
Strong rushes of panic swept through her like a churning ocean tide. Her body felt like it was no more substantial than a feather, being tossed back and forth over towering, black waves … rising and falling … rising and falling … and tomorrow morning, it would crash below onto the dark, rocky shore.
She tensed as the pure white sting of terror gripped her. Her mind replayed brief, brightly underlit fragments of her fall down that cliff. Once again, she felt her foot slip away from underneath her, almost as if the narrow ledge had been greased. Lying in bed, she experienced again that terrifying instant when she was falling backward, her arms whirling wildly as she tried to grab onto something—anything substantial, but she found nothing but air. She imagined hearing her scream echo off the distant mountains as she rolled down the slanting rock face and then, in an explosion of bright light against a black velvet background, slammed hard against the sharp rock at the base of the cliff.
Help me! Please! Help me!
A voice cried in her mind, wailing in the close darkness that held her. She couldn’t move. Lying in bed—at the foot of the cliff—her body felt like an inert lump of clay, nothing more. She could feel nothing now … not even the pain.
Ashes to ashes … dust to dust …
She was vaguely aware of Edward as he moaned in his sleep and rolled over onto his back. His hand flopped to one side and brushed against her hip. The touch, although light, spiked through her like an electrical jolt, making her body spasm.
Wake up! she thought, struggling futilely to make some sound—any sound to alert her husband to her rising panic. Please, Edward! For God’s sake, wake up! Help me!
But Edward snorted once and slept on undisturbed, unaware of his wife’s raging torment.
Dianne’s breathing was a rapid, ragged hissing as she sucked air through the metal mesh that filled her mouth. Her pulse raced jackrabbit fast. The room was nothing more than an indistinct, watery blur of pulsating shadows that deepened to pitch black and, at the edges, took on vague, hand-like shapes that reached out and grabbed her, tugging at her, pulling her further down in a trailing, dark, backward tumble.
“No!” she shouted.
Twisted and muffled by the wires in her mouth, her voice thudded like a body punch in the darkness. She bolted up out of bed, feeling every muscle, every bone in her body, cry out in agony. She whimpered softly because she was unable to scream aloud as she swung her feet to the floor. Completely disoriented, she felt as though the motion continued, tumbling her over and over as she spiraled forward into darkness. With a sharp intake of breath, she straightened up and grabbed at the mattress. She looked, terrified, at the moonlit windowsill, wishing it looked more substantial, more stable. Her pulse raced high and fast in her neck.
Just a dream, she thought. I drifted off to sleep, and it was just a dream!
The sound of the crickets outside in the darkness started to lull her. She forced herself to take several steady, even breaths as she took an edge of the bed sheet and wiped her face. Her gaze was fastened onto the billowing curtains as they shifted back and forth.
“Just a dream,” she murmured, mildly surprised at the sound of her own voice.
But as she leaned forward on the edge of the bed, commanding herself to calm down, she became aware of something else—a sound that was dancing just at the edge of hearing. Once she was consciously aware of it, she wondered how long it had been there. Her first thought was that Edward was moaning softly in his sleep, but then she realized that the sound—a faint, hitching cry—was coming from outside.
Could it have been there all along? she wondered. Was this what had disturbed her sleep and initiated her panic in the first place?
Someone was crying!
Again Dianne tensed, but she was vaguely grateful that at least now the threat seemed to be external. The sound curled in the darkness like a fluttering ribbon of smoke. It was there; then it was gone; then it was back again, teasing and weaving through the night.
Is that Brian, crying in bed? Dianne wondered.
Weak and trembling, she stood up. Her legs felt unable to support her as she took a few quick steps away from the bed, then turned to look back at her sleeping husband. She held her breath and listened to determine if it might have been him, but he slept on, his breath sipping in long, steady draws. She strained to listen but realized that the sound was gone. It had vanished as though it had been swallowed by the night. Dianne was almost convinced that she had imagined it along with everything else when it came again, rising and falling in the night, this time sounding like the distant, lonely howl of a wolf.
No … That sounds like a baby crying!
A light shiver raced up her back.
Moving carefully through the darkened bedroom, she reached blindly for the doorknob, turned it, swung the door open, and stepped out into the hall. Blackness as deep as sin filled the hallway. It fairly vibrated as she looked down toward Brian’s bedroom. His door, like the rest of the hall, was lost in darkness, but she knew that it was closed, just as he kept it every night. With one hand on the wall for guidance, she felt her way down toward her stepson’s room, moving haltingly, shuffling forward a few steps, then stopping and craning her head forward to listen for the sound to be repeated. When it came again, it rippled teasingly in and out of hearing, sounding both fainter and closer at the same time.
Is it in my head?
As soon as she reached Brian’s door, the sound stopped. Dianne held her breath and listened, but all she could hear was the muffled beat of her own pulse in her ears. She found the doorknob in the darkness and twisted it slowly, careful not to make a sound that might wake him up. The door angled open, and she peeked into the room, her gaze gravitating toward the indistinct lump on the bed.
“Brian …?” she whispered.
She touched the wall switch, wanting desperately to turn on the light, but she was afraid the sudden brightness might startle Brian too much if he was asleep.
“Psst! … Hey, Brian … You awake?”
She waited for a response—or to hear the low crying sound again—but the room was as silent as a tomb. She knew Brian might indeed be awake and simply not wanting to answer her, so she waited a second or two, then whispered, “Are you okay?”
Still, there came no reply.
Her throat was dry with tension as she stepped back and eased the door shut, cringing when the latch clicked loudly into place. Then she made her way slowly back to her own bedroom. Sighing deeply, she eased herself gently onto the edge of the bed, then swung her legs up off the floor.
Maybe I dreamed that sound, too, she thought as she settled her head onto the pillow, momentarily enjoying the feeling of cool cotton.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to put all thoughts of that mysterious crying as well as her upcoming operation out of her mind. She told herself she could handle the anxiety and agony of the next few days simply because she had to.
As she courted sleep, though, her memory spiraled back again to the day of the a
ccident on Mt. Chocorua. And other memories stirred—flashes and fragments of pain and surprise, as she snuggled her head down into the cool well of her pillow. When the soft sound of someone crying in the darkness came to her again like the lightest of touches, Dianne stirred but didn’t rouse to wakefulness. Instead, she let the sound lull her off to sleep, carrying her deeper and deeper. The crying seemed to grow louder, and she felt herself rocking gently back and forth in time with it. At first she didn’t know what was happening; then she realized that her arms and legs were confined; she was strapped onto a stretcher, and the stretcher was swaying gently back and forth as it was hoisted into the grasshopper-shaped belly of the helicopter that hovered overhead. The helicopter’s rotor blades made mushy, thumping sounds as they beat the dark air. Below those sounds, the faint crying grew steadily louder.
At last, Dianne realized what it was.
From somewhere in the darkness around—outside the house? on the mountainside? from inside the helicopter?—a baby was crying. Its breath caught in sharp hitches between long, keening wails that rose louder and louder, filling the night.
Dianne’s body swung back and forth with a steadily increasing rocking motion. When she looked up again, the dark underside of the helicopter had stretched out into something else—a thick, gray line that bisected the dark sky above her. A cold ripple of panic filled her when she saw that it was a gnarled tree limb.