by David Nickle
Ann took a shivering breath, and reached for the button to signal the nurse. Her thumb hesitated over it for just an instant before she pressed. She got back into her bed and pulled up the sheets—and only then, began to scream.
MISTER SLEEPY
i
9:55 p.m.
Ann: Hey
Jeanie: Hey grlfrnd! How was the honeymoon?
Ann: Bad. U didnt hear?
Jeanie: Hear what?
Ann: Michael died.
Jeanie: OMG! I didnt!
Ann: http://www.miamiherald.com/2013/11/03/307680604/1-dead-after-727-forced-down-in-freak-storm.html
Jeanie: Oh my God. I saw that on CNN. I didn’t know . . . had no idea it was you.
Ann: It was yes.
Jeanie: You home safe?
Ann: Not exactly. Check these out:
http://www.miamiherald.com/2013/11/05/3080609/feds-probe-death-of-canadian-lawyer.html
http://www.miamiherald.com/2012/11/05/3080610/mile-high-club-more-than-a-myth.html
http://www.miamiherald.com/2012/11/06/3080612/mile-high-widow’s-lawyer-succumbs-to-stroke-in-meeting.html
10:05 p.m.
Jeanie: Oh God, grlfrnd. You home safe now?
Ann: On the road. Soon as I could, checked out and rented a car. I’m in
10:07 p.m.
Jeanie: Ann?
Ann: I’m in Alabama. Sorry. Thought I shouldnt say. But doesnt matter. Not like I was being charged with anything. Driving home off highways. Staying in motel.
Jeanie: Driving home? Glfrnd, thats a long haul. Why not fly? Take train?
Ann: No public transit. Just me.
Jeanie: You sure that safe?
Ann: Safer travelling alone. Nothing will happen if I travel alone.
Jeanie: Why would anything happen if you werent? U ok?
Ann: Im ok.
Ann: Im not ok. Obviously.
Jeanie: Im sorry. Michaels gone. Of course ur not ok. Didnt have time to get to know him but he seems like a great guy.
Jeanie: *Seemed*.
10:15 p.m.
Ann: Michael was a liar.
Jeanie: Ok.
Ann: He never wanted to be with me.
Jeanie: Did he cheat on u?
Ann: Yes. Not in the way you think.
Jeanie: Was it some internet thing? Did u catch him in a chatroom? I was with a girl who was into RP, some real weird shit. With strange Dudes. Dumped her ass when I found out.
Ann: Good 4 u.
Jeanie: That what he was doing?
10:25 p.m.
Jeanie: Ann? Grlfrnd? U there?
10:29 p.m.
Ann: Sorry. Hard to describe in chat.
Jeanie: But he was cheating.
Ann: Worse. Dont want to get too specific here. Google keeps these things recorded.
Jeanie: Dont buy the Do No Evil mission statement, hmmmm?
Ann: lol
Jeanie: Me neither.
Ann: Grlfrnd, I need u to do me favour.
Jeanie: Ok.
Ann: call up lesley.
Jeanie: BIG FAVOUR!
Ann: dont want to call her myself.
Jeanie: U 2 have a fight?
Ann: i need u to get her to check on philip.
Jeanie: y dont u just have that rickard dude check? Hes helping.
Ann: no.
Jeanie: y not? lesley & I barely spoke at ur wedding. really awkward.
10:44 p.m.
Ann: i really need you to. need u to erase this chat when done. cant call lesley. U need 2. tell her to check on philip. pls.
Jeanie: U arent ok. Where in alabama are u?
Ann: just pls do this.
Jeanie: OK. Where he staying?
Ann: Hang on.
Ann opened another tab and googled the Hollingsworth centre, copied the link into their Gchat, and when Jeanie asked again, once again didn’t say exactly where she was: in the “business centre” of a woodsy little motel complex outside of Mobile. The midsized car she’d rented on her credit card was parked outside her cabin. Her luggage, filled with honeymoon clothes and toiletries and such was still in the trunk. As she evaded another question from Jeanie, it was finally sinking in that although she had left the hospital in Miami with only mild protest from the airline, and the intensity of the FAA investigation suggested by Hirsch had not materialized—she ought to be taking matters more seriously.
The fact was, she was on the run.
The last call she made on her mobile phone was to Krenk and Associates. That was outside Tallahassee. After a short, teary conversation with Krenk’s assistant Noah—during which she assured him she’d take as much time as she needed and he told her to see that she did—Ann popped the battery out and tossed it and the phone into a drive-through garbage bin. She was staying off interstates and taking secondary roads as it was, but her knuckles whitened as police cars drove by—and then as she thought about it more, and realized that the police might not be her problem—her breath stopped when she observed the same car behind her for more than a few minutes.
She stopped at an ATM in Gainesville to get a cash advance on her credit card, and then, although it would have made more sense for her to continue north, she cut west through Alabama—and found this motel, this sort-of motel, that was willing to take cash and no credit card as an advance on a room for the night. She was exhausted, she explained, which was true, and then lied: she told them her name was Ann Brunt, and she made up a confused story about a stolen wallet at a diner down the road—a wallet that didn’t contain a bank roll of mad money she kept in her pocket. The place was family run, had the look of being off the grid—she’d been banking it was the kind of place that would let her do these things.
And after a while, Ann established that it was, and they understood, and even let her use the “business centre,” which was really just an adjunct to the front office with a couple of old PCs hooked up to the old router. As Jeanie signed off, Ann cleared the cache and shut the browser. She sat a moment, rubbed her temples and shut her eyes.
“Y’okay in there?”
Ann looked up and made herself smile. “I am,” she said. The owner’s name was Penny. She was middle-aged, a little on the heavy side with short-cropped blonde hair and cheeks rosy like there was a chill, which there wasn’t tonight, particularly. Ann liked her.
When Ann had come in, she was met at the desk by a whip-thin man who wasn’t at all comfortable not seeing a credit card.
But Penny had set him straight with a few questions. “How much we charge a night? She got that much there on the counter? Okay, then what’s your problem?”
The man turned out to be Roy, her husband and co-owner of the place, and as it turned out, not the final word on payment policy. Also, not the one who took the overnight desk duty.
“Been a hard time, losin’ your wallet like that,” said Penny as Ann packed up at the computer. “Lucky thing you got your driver’s licence and all.”
“Lucky,” she said. The word felt funny, saying it.
“Okay. Well you need anything else?”
“Think I’m okay,” she said, and Penny nodded.
“You don’t mind if I help you clear the cache,” she said. “You missed a couple steps.”
Ann blinked. “Sure,” she said, and Penny scooted a chair over, and laughed.
“Don’t worry—I wasn’t snooping on your chat. But I got a feeling you don’t want to leave a trail of breadcrumbs right now.”
“I—”
“Shush,” said Penny. “Wasn’t snoopin’, but couldn’t help noticing you sobbing as that chat went on. Brought back memories. I been where you are.”
Ann thought she might not have been there exactly, but she didn’t say that. “Thank you,” she said.
“He do that to you?” Penny motioned to the bandag
e on Ann’s head. Ann shook her head no.
“An accident,” she said. “But thank you.”
Penny nodded as she clicked through preferences windows on the browser.
“Mine hit me,” she said. “Not this one—he’s husband number two. But husband number one—he had a temper. And he had his views on things.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ann.
“Don’t be. He’s gone now. But it sure wasn’t easy making it that way. I had to run off in the night—took his truck, so he wouldn’t follow me. ’Course he called the cops, like I knew he would. So I ditched it next town over. Hopped on a bus, headin’ to Mobile, which decided where I was going.”
Penny closed the browser and shut off the machine like she was folding a set of towels.
“But oh, I was scared. Thought I might wind up in jail, or worse, back home. With him. And I did at least five stupid things that’d make it easy for him to track me. I was jumpin’ at
shadows.”
“I know about that.”
“I know you do,” said Penny.
Ann looked at Penny, Penny looked right back. Ann wondered for a moment: did they have her picture in the Miami papers? Did they put that picture on CNN, or on the internet on some blog that innkeepers in rural Alabama looked at to while away the day? Had Penny seen her picture—worked out that she was that “mile high” widow from Florida?
“Easy, girl,” said Penny. “I understand, that’s all I’m sayin’. If you like, I know some numbers of folks in Mobile—they can set you up someplace safe, where you can think things through. Y’aren’t alone.”
Or not, Ann thought. She smiled, weakly and said thank you to Penny.
“Things aren’t like that,” she said. “But thanks. I’ve been on the road for a long time, and it’s better that I just get some rest. You and Roy are a real godsend for that.”
“Sure,” said Penny. “I apologize for intruding. It’s just that when you been through something, you start seein’ it in everyone else.”
“You’re a good person,” said Ann.
“I am,” she said. “And in that spirit, here’s a word of advice.”
“Yes?”
“Park that rental car you got around the side of your cabin.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” she said. “It’s harder to see from the road. Just move it, or I can get Roy to if you like. Then you’ll have done one less stupid thing than I did.”
ii
The motel was called the Rosedale Arms, and it, like the sign that advertised it on the road, was ticky-tacky cute.
The sign was lettered in sweeping cursive script, all meticulously cut out of a wooden board with a mitre saw, and painted rose red on the whitewashed background. The cabins had the same colour scheme, brilliant red on the eaves and white on the side. They were tiny, but well enough appointed—and they were set reasonably far apart from one another.
That was another reason that Ann had picked this place. She didn’t want to be too close to any other travellers as she tried to hold it together through the night.
There wouldn’t be many in harm’s way this evening. As she crossed the grounds from the office, she saw only one car: an old-model station wagon, parked by a cabin three away from hers. Ann hoped that might be safe enough. Of course if she did things right, it’d be safe enough next door to her.
She popped open her trunk and moved her bags to the front door to the cabin. Then, she did as Penny’d told her, started the car, backed it up, turned it to the side and tucked it around the side, nudging it up to the front of the propane tank.
As she shut the ignition and the lights off, the little girl standing there waved at her.
Ann sat frozen in the dark. There was a moon out, not full, but casting just enough light to see her.
The girl was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans cut off at the knee. She was black-haired. She was standing by the propane tank. Not smiling.
Ann opened the driver-side door.
“Hello?”
There was no answer; really, Ann hadn’t expected one. The Insect had been quiet since she’d left the hospital. It had let her drive, let her do her business, given her the time she needed to deal with things.
If it manifested now—well, no apology necessary.
Ann stepped out of the car. The air was warm and rich with the sweet smell of the trees, a faint tang of vegetable rot.
Nothing moved outside; not even the cicadas sang.
Ann drew her fingers together in fists and held them at her side.
“Fine,” said Ann finally. “I’m going to bed.”
She shut the car door and locked it, and went around to the front of the cabin. She didn’t check the back seat of the car to see if the girl had gotten in there now; she didn’t look over her shoulder as she opened the door. She didn’t bother to check corners in her room, or make a note to see if anything had moved, seemingly of its own devices, while she was outside.
Almost a day ago, the Insect had nearly killed a lawyer from Miami, just a day after it had killed Ann’s husband.
But Ann was starting to work it out. As far as her own safety was concerned, the Insect wasn’t a problem. It was the people around her who were at risk—who so often came to harm.
The cabin had two rooms; a bedroom-kitchen, and a bathroom off to the side. There was a TV, old CRT-style, and a little kitchen with a microwave and a small fridge. Three lights, two on either side of the queen-sized bed. One in the middle of the ceiling. In the middle of the fan. There was an air-conditioner built into the wall. There were a couple of chairs and a little table. But aside from those, there was little that wasn’t nailed down.
Ann lay down on the bed. She shut her eyes, and descended the ladder of colours that put her in the place where she had thought things were safe, without realizing . . .
For her, everywhere was safe but there.
“I’m here to talk to you, if you want to,” said Ann into the unformed dark.
That was how it was, now; since the hospital, since the airplane, she hadn’t been able to properly imagine the tower, the place where the Insect might be held at bay. It was an imaginative exercise from the get-go. And now, Ann’s imagination felt used up; or at least, the images she’d used to hold things together, drawn from her fantasy Dungeons & Dragons world, were just too childish to do the work.
Maybe that was it.
Perhaps the darkness was empty, perhaps not. When she tried entering it, during little rest stops on the way, she certainly imagined her share of ghosts. Her mother visited her once, clad in a fleece vest and a pair of blue jeans, her eyes difficult to discern. She asked Ann if she were happy, over and over, so much so that Ann found herself speaking the question aloud to the empty car. “Are you happy? Are you happy? Really happy?”
The ghost of Michael sometimes made his presence known. Ann saw him in the shadows, balancing a saltshaker on the tip of his finger, whistling tunelessly with his back to her, once looking at her directly, idly masturbating as he rocked back and forth. He didn’t say anything, and Ann didn’t prompt him.
As she lingered in a filling station restroom, Ann thought she might feel the presence of Eva, even though the darkness at that moment was absolute.
Who knew if any of it was real? Eva claimed clairvoyance for herself, but never presumed that was what she was teaching Ann.
When she’d agreed to help Ann through the loss of her parents—when Ann had confided in her, about the Insect—Eva had made
it plain.
You’re letting this thing rule you, that’s the problem. It thinks it runs things. For a while, the exercises you learned from those other people did the trick. Now, it’s found a way around them. So. We’ve got to find a way to tell it to be quiet, and keep it quiet when you’re not talking to it. So let’s play a game, she said.
And that’s w
hat the game was—another exercise for gaining control. Ann thought these manifestations were nothing but a signal that she’d lost control; pieces of her unconscious, coming up to talk to her like waking dreams.
She had to get past that. She called out into the dark again: “I’m right here. Talk to me, please.”
There was a rustling, a squeaking of wheels—the sound of a sheet being drawn.
“Hey, sis.”
Ann didn’t answer immediately. Once again, the Insect would not speak with her, and her unconscious mind supplied her with a different companion.
This time was the cruelest yet.
“Philip,” she said.
“Don’t sound so excited to see me.”
“I can’t see you.”
“No? I can see you fine. Must be a trick of the light.”
“Or you’re a ghost.”
“Can’t be a ghost. I’m alive and well. Ghosts are the dead.”
“Or the Insect.”
“Or the Insect, that’s true. You think I’m the Insect? Because I can see how you might. Fucker’s done everything else to you. To me. Why not fake my voice here in your head?”
“Except the fact that you’re saying this, now disproves the assertion.”
“Because the Insect would never think of that.”
“Do you want me to just open my eyes and stop talking to you?”
“It, um, would be the sane thing to do, sis.”
Ann found herself smirking.
“All right,” he said. “Crazy as she ever was.”
Philip’s voice was the voice he had at seventeen, at Christmas, as he helped Ann make up names for imaginary cities and speculated about his romantic fortunes and occasionally stuck up for Ann at the dinner table. When his spine was whole and he didn’t
need help.
When she could rely on him.
“Michael’s dead,” she said.
“No way.”
“They didn’t tell you?”
“Folks don’t tell me much,” said Philip. “I think I must make them uncomfortable.”