Lies.
With the bat clutched to his chest, Harry staggered back into the den. Afraid to look out the bay window for fear of what might be looking back, he kept his head down until he’d reached the recliner, then forced a peek.
Rain sprayed the pane, dripping and sluicing along the window. As the water beaded and rolled it left something behind. Forming on the glass in its wake, the same strange hieroglyphic-like symbols he’d seen on the mailbox appeared, as if a film had previously concealed them but had now been washed away by the rain. They faded as quickly as they appeared, gone before he could make any sense of them or even be sure they’d been there in the first place.
Grimacing, Harry turned away as shockwaves of nerves, disbelief and fear throttled him from head to toe. Goddamn it, this is real.
Night was coming, rolling in with the thunder, and the only other thing Harry could rely on, the one constant that would calm and center him, was his son and the love they shared. He unceremoniously hacked up a ball of phlegm, then grabbed the cordless phone and scrolled through the numbers programmed into speed-dial until he found Garret’s dorm.
The call was answered by Hank, Garret’s exceptionally grating roommate.
“It’s Mr. Fremont, Hank, is Garret in?”
“Yo, Mr. Free, what up with that rumble, play-ah?”
“Pardon?” He watched the other windows, eyes bouncing from pane to pane in a search for additional signs or symbols. They revealed nothing more.
“You all raspy, dude.”
“I’m a little under the weather. Can I speak to Garret please?”
“Aw-ight, hoed-up.” The phone clunked down. “G-dog! Phone!”
After what seemed like forever Garret finally came on the line. “Hello?”
Just the sound of his son’s voice somehow made everything seem a little better. But it was no longer the voice of a child. Garret had become a man. “Hey, it’s Dad.”
“Whoa, are you all right?”
“I’ve got the flu, G-Dog.”
Garret laughed, and it was the most comforting sound Harry had ever heard. “Hank has no idea he’s a white boy from Ohio with red hair and freckles.”
Though it took effort, Harry laughed too. “Somebody should probably break it to him.”
After an awkward silence Garret said, “So is everything OK?”
“Everything’s fine, I just wanted to check in.”
“Is Mom sick too?”
That’s one way to put it. Could be she isn’t even close to the person you and I have always believed she was. Maybe she’s lost her mind…
“No she’s in San Diego on a business trip.”
Or maybe I’ve lost mine.
“So you’re sick and all alone?”
Harry felt himself smile. “Yeah but I’ll be fine. How are things there? How are classes going?”
“It’s all good, but actually I’m sort of heading out, we’re going to a party on campus. You know, being Saturday night and all.”
“Sure—right—I understand, I—”
“It’s just, you know, we’re already running a little late.”
“No problem. You and Vanilla Ice have fun.”
Rather than laugh he said, “Dad, are you sure everything’s OK?”
Nothing’s OK. I’m lost in the dark and I can’t find my way out.
“Everything’s fine, pal, relax.”
“You don’t usually call just to say hi.”
“Well shame on me then.” Harry swallowed back the emotion. How did he know for sure this wasn’t the last time he’d ever speak to his child? I don’t. That’s the reality. I don’t. “I was just thinking about you, that’s all. Wanted to see how you were doing.”
“OK,” Garret said, though it didn’t sound like he’d quite bought it. “I hope you feel better.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyway, I should go.”
“I love you, son.” Though he often told Garret he loved him, he knew this time he’d said it with unusual intensity, and he could almost see the confusion drifting across his son’s face. “I love you very much. No matter what, I want you to know that.”
“Yeah, I love you too, Dad.”
“Night, pal.”
“Bye.”
The line clicked and Garret was gone. Harry disconnected, put the phone down and tried to picture his son up in New Hampshire hurrying around his dorm room getting ready for a party. He could scarcely remember what those carefree days of youth were like. But he had experienced them…hadn’t he? Or was his past a lie too? Was he chasing real memories or simply tracking wishes and fantasies honed to memory?
Harry checked his watch. Had enough time passed for him to pop another Amoxicillin? Whatever; close enough. He shuttled back to the kitchen and downed the antibiotic with a glass of orange juice, somehow managing to do so without coughing. He eyed the cough syrup with the codeine a moment. One quick swallow of a couple tablespoons and all he’d have to do is lie down and drift off. Appealing as it was he couldn’t risk it. Turning his attention to the inhaler, he took another blast from that, and once the dizziness had gone and he was able to breathe better, he paced around the kitchen awhile, rehearsing what he was going to say to Kelly. If at all possible, he’d approach the situation with her first, because at least he had some idea where and how to begin. And if he didn’t get these things under control soon he knew the entirety of this madness would engulf and shut him down completely.
Line them up and knock them down one at a time. That’s how he always tackled challenges in his life, in an organized and efficient manner.
But this is different. This isn’t a minor problem around the house or some stupid situation at work that needs to be resolved. My entire life’s unraveling, coming apart at the seams. Nothing’s right. It’s all confused and wrong and—
“How could you do this?” he said aloud, staring at the tile patterns on the kitchen floor. “Why would you do this?”
Hurt, angry and still not quite able to believe the things Gloria had told him, he grabbed the wall phone and dialed Kelly’s hotel.
“Good afternoon, Great Night Suites.”
A female this time, but with the same condescending monotone delivery.
“Can you tell me if you have a Kelly Fremont staying there?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but security and privacy reasons prevent us from divulging any information regarding our guests.”
Harry bit his lip. “She’s my wife.”
“If you have a suite number I’d be more than happy to—”
“136.”
The phone rang endlessly. Finally, the woman at the desk returned.
“I’m sorry, sir, that suite’s not—”
“Yeah, not answering, I got it.” He slammed the phone down, wiped perspiration from his forehead, then resumed his pacing. In the tug-of-war between anger and fear, anger was winning. With his wife’s face filling his mind’s eye, Harry yanked the phone free again and dialed Kelly’s cell.
It rang once, then went to voicemail.
“You’ve reached Kelly Fremont. I’m unable to take your call at this time. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon as I can. Thank you.”
“It’s me,” Harry said after the tone sounded. “I don’t care what time it is when you get this, call me back. I need to talk to you.” He hit the pound key and listened to his message. If his incensed tone wasn’t enough, his voice sounded like he’d spent the afternoon swallowing rusty nails.
He hung up and waited, listening to wind and rain crash the house.
Now what? Do I try to find evidence of an affair? Where the hell would I find that? I don’t even know where to look.
Her computer seemed as good a place to start as any, but she’d taken her laptop with her, and as she never used his there was no sense in even searching that one. The only other computer in the family was Garret’s desktop, but that had taken up residence in a dorm room in New Hampshire.
Fa
r as he knew Kelly didn’t keep a diary, blog or anything like that, and even if she’d made incriminating calls, they’d be on her cell not the home phone. And what exactly did incriminating calls look like anyway? Maybe numerous calls to one number at odd times or calls made at times that didn’t coincide with where she was supposed to be? What other evidence could there possibly be?
Behavior…
Her behavior had been a bit off of late, but he’d dismissed it as stress over her job and the upcoming move. Had he missed something? Their sex life had always been good. They didn’t make love as often as they used to but usually still went to bed two or three times a week unless Kelly was away on business (which recently she had been an inordinate amount of times).
And Aaron Searcy almost always made the trip.
Did everyone else know some alternate Kelly Fremont, a freewheeling party-girl version Harry had no knowledge of, one she only let him see in tiny snippets or if and when it suited their life together?
She’s been his sex toy for years.
Surprised his latest wave of nausea hadn’t turned into full-scale vomiting, Harry begrudgingly trod back upstairs. Once in their bedroom he slowly took it all in, trying to study everything as if he’d never seen any of it before. It proved more difficult than he imagined. He wasn’t even sure what he was searching for.
What did you expect to find?
He couldn’t help but feel he was the one betraying her. Considering Gloria’s accusations as real possibilities seemed disloyal, and yet if any of them were true he had every right to…
It’s all coming down, he thought, all of it.
Balancing a multitude of emotions Harry returned downstairs, and after arming himself with another cup of coffee, decided to hunker down for what was sure to be another long evening. When Kelly called back he’d deal with her then, but there was a bigger picture here he could not ignore. It was time to batten down the hatches and prepare for imminent night. Only this time he’d be in control. He’d remain awake not as a helpless victim but because he chose to, determined to face the darkness and all its mysteries head-on. Exhaustion and illness weakened his body and mind with each passing moment, and the fear in him continued to rise, to inexplicably grow and take shape all around him like the carnivorous organism it was. But Harry refused to be broken.
He checked the mudroom again. The coyote lifted his head from the blanket, troubled eyes locked on Harry’s. It’s just us now, you and me.
“Yeah,” Harry replied through a sigh. “And whatever else is out there.”
Trees on the edge of the property rocked in the wind like they had all day, branches swaying as if controlled by something greater than the elements, and the notion that he was being watched had evolved from suspicion into certainty. Harry could feel a presence prying deep inside him, someone or something decidedly hostile peering into his soul, and unsettling as it was, he remained powerless against it.
An ancient oak tree near the mouth of the cul-de-sac stood firm and defiant against the wind, its barren branches decorated with numerous blackbirds weathering the elements as best they could. Like sentries, they watched the house in silent vigil.
Vigil. From the Latin vigilia, meaning wakefulness, a state of observance, of purposeful sleeplessness. Harry had no idea where he’d obtained such information, it simply came to him, whispered from the darkest corners of his mind as if to remind that even his thoughts were no longer his own.
Purposeful sleeplessness…yes…
As Harry stood hypnotized by the graceful motion of violently writhing trees, night crept closer.
Off to Never Land.
* * *
With newfound purpose Harry moved through the house, securing everything and double-checking all doors and windows to be sure they were locked. In the downstairs bathroom off the kitchen he took his temperature, and upon learning it was down to 100, popped a couple Tylenol. After splashing cold water on his face he retrieved the cough syrup from upstairs, deciding to keep that, the baseball bat and the cordless phone with him. The satellite signal was still down, so he had no television, and though the phone and his Blackberry were both fully operational, he wanted a backup, a secondary connection to the outside world, so he removed his laptop from his briefcase and set up something of a command center in the den. Positioned in the recliner with the computer on a small folding table, powered up and accessing the wireless signal in the house, he leaned the bat against the side of the chair, and along with a box of tissues, his medicine, the thermometer, and a large travel mug full of steaming hot coffee, had everything he needed for the time being within reach. From where he was sitting he could see out the bay window and was only a few steps from the kitchen and the view through the back door.
The wind howled as if mortally wounded.
I know you’re out there, but you’re not getting in. Not tonight. Not ever. I won’t allow it. This is my house.
Harry heard and felt his chest gurgle as he drew a breath. If there was to be a siege on his home tonight, he’d be ready, provided one could ever truly be prepared for such a thing. This was his fortress—that’s how he needed to view it—and along with his body and mind, heart and soul, past and future, his reality and even his dreams, he’d defend it all as best he could.
To the death, if I have to.
As darkness descended, Harry sipped his coffee, put his glasses on and turned his attention to the Internet. His homepage, CNN, showcased mostly bad news and the more recent horrors taking place all over the world. Doom and gloom dominated the headlines, most articles centering on the rapidly declining economy, the worsening recession, the continued drops in the stock market, the housing and mortgage crisis, and government bailout money being spent on bonuses for already bloated and overpaid business executives. The rest covered various genocides and atrocities happening in places few knew anything about or even cared to, the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and some celebrity-flavor-of-the-month’s latest arrest. It was all so hopeless and dark, which was why months before Harry had begun limiting his exposure to the news. He’d once been a voracious newspaper reader but now kept up by checking the CNN page or occasionally watching network news on television. Being informed came at an awful price these days. Perhaps it always had.
Convinced there was a connection between his lack of sleep and all these strange occurrences, he manned the laptop and logged onto his favorite search engine. He entered the word: INSOMNIA. A series of website links appeared.
***Natural Remedies for Insomnia***
***Get Relief for Insomnia***
***Insomnia causes, symptoms, diagnosis and treatment***
***Got Insomnia? Horny Sluts in Your Area Need Sex Tonight***
He returned to the search page and tried: SLEEP DEPRIVATION.
***Sleep Deprivation Research***
***Sleep Deprivation Studies and Analysis***
***The Effects of Sleep Deprivation***
***Sleep-Deprived Nude Amateur Wives & Girlfriends***
Certain one could enter literally anything into an Internet search engine and get at least one porn hit, Harry clicked on the third link. A page appeared citing various risks associated with getting insufficient amounts of sleep. Symptoms included the more obvious, like irritability, drowsiness, depression and an inability to focus, but also covered such things as increased risk for cancer, the weakening of the immune system and even hardening of the arteries.
After surfing numerous sites over several minutes, his eyes began to cross. Returning to the main search page, he downed more coffee, then clicked the next page for further results. Amidst numerous sites, some relating to the topic and some not, he noticed one in particular at the bottom of the page that read: Sleep Deprivation Experiments.
Inexplicably drawn to the link, he clicked on it and discovered a site that documented and chronicled numerous sleep-related experiments that had been conducted over the years in the United States. The first section covered experiments spon
sored and conducted by numerous universities across the country from the late 1950s to the present, and though interesting, the pages that followed promised to be far more provocative. The subsequent section concerned several sleep deprivation experiments conducted by the military and/or government intelligence agencies, and included documents that had only recently been made public through the Freedom of Information Act.
Sleep, a voice in his head whispered, while you still can.
Perspiration beaded along his forehead yet he suddenly felt cold, as a chill fell across his shoulders like a shawl of ice. His eyelids grew heavy and his sinuses were running like a faucet, so he sipped more coffee, then blew his nose. After a coughing fit he carefully brought the cursor to rest on the first link. Though shaken, he was convinced he’d been led to this site for a reason. He had to move forward.
Croatoan.
He hesitated. Another shiver left him trembling as earlier memories and worries returned to assault him a second time.
If anything happens, no one will ever know what took place here. No one will ever know for sure what really happened to me.
Harry knew then he had to begin chronicling these events as best he could. As he attempted to explore the various ways he might achieve this, his mind dragged along with infuriating lethargy, unable to keep up with everything he wanted and needed it to process.
I want them to know. I want Garret to know.
A few years before, Kelly had gotten him a digital camera for his birthday. Although he’d never learned the intricacies of it he knew the basics well enough to use it effectively should more visual evidence arise. Along with a nylon case, the battery and some other accessories, the camera was on the shelf in the front closet next to the stairs. He retrieved it and put it next to the recliner.
The video angle covered, he next found a handheld Dictaphone in his laptop briefcase he often used at work for reminders and taking notes. Nervously fumbling with the unit, he yanked the tiny tape free, threw it aside and dug a fresh one from the case. Once he’d liberated it from its plastic wrapping he slapped it into the Dictaphone and snapped shut the cassette door.
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