The Ceiling Man

by Patricia Lillie

  [10]

  Carole

  FOUR-WHEEL DRIVE ISN’T ANY help on ice.

  When I hit the ditch, the Jeep rolled. I thought twice, but wasn’t sure. After the first, everything blurred.

  My head ached and blood dripped into my eyes. When the airbag went off, I hit myself in the head, and my ring left a gash in my forehead. I’d probably end up with a black eye. The good news—I wasn’t upside down. The shattered windshield was still in place. As far as I could tell, I was still in one piece.

  Blevins. Did I hit him? He wasn’t on his bike. Of course not, you idiot. The road’s a mess.

  Abby. I needed to get to the school.

  Five is just enough.

  Sirens came my way and went right past. If they were looking for me, they had bad directions. I dug around and found my purse—in the back seat—and took out my phone. No Service. Of course not.

  My door wouldn’t budge, and the passenger side was no better.

  Breathe. Take your time. Think. Breathe. I crawled over the seats and got a back door open.

  “Blevins!” He didn’t answer. I was about to leave the scene of an accident and felt obliged to at least make a token effort to find out if I hit him. The Jeep’s damage appeared to all be from rolling. No blood in the snow. If I didn’t find him dead in the ditch, I was good.

  I wore boots, but they were boots for warm cars and salted sidewalks, not for trudging through a field of drifted snow, and certainly not for crossing ditches full of freezing water and slush. By the time I made it to the road, my boots were ruined, my toes frozen, and my head wasn’t the only thing hurting. Still no sign of Blevins.

  “Blevins! You jerk! Are you here? Alive? Dead? Hey!” Had he answered, I might have killed him.

  It took me some time to get my bearings. I was directionally challenged under normal circumstances. When I hit the brakes—stupid move—the Jeep spun around and skidded into the other lane before going off the road. I was lucky no one was around to hit me head-on. Blevins could be in the ditch on the other side, and if I was going to hitch a ride to the school, I had to get over there anyway.

  Getting across the ice and slush would be an adventure.

  I remembered the extra boots in the Jeep. Warm, waterproof boots with heavy duty treads. The boots I kept stashed for emergencies. Like this one.

  Shit.

  It wasn’t like I was going back for them.

  I hoped any cars that came my way would be driven by sane and sensible types. Slow drivers. Drivers who would see me in time and not end up in the field with my Jeep. Or run me down. I almost made it to the other side before I slipped and fell. Getting up was impossible. Every time I tried, I ended up back on my knees. Or my rear-end. I gave up and did the butt-slide over the last few feet.

  Blevins wasn’t laying in the ditch on that side either, at least not where I could see him. I hollered for him one more time and got no reply. He’s probably somewhere warm and dry by now. Next time, I run him over.

  Adrenalin from the accident had propelled me forward, but it was running out fast. I shivered from the cold, from nerves, or more likely, from both. My feet burned from the wet and cold. I cut my hand when I fell, and the ache crept up my arm to my elbow.

  I reached for my purse to try my phone and realized I’d left it in the Jeep. With the nice warm boots. I didn’t know what time it was. I quit wearing a watch years ago. With all the gadgets bearing the time, it seemed redundant. Silly me.

  I wasn’t crying. The cold made my eyes water.

  The party must have started by now.

  I had to get to the school.

  Walking hurt. Not just my feet. Everything. Along with the tears, my nose ran.

  It’s the cold. I’m not crying.

  Sooner or later, a car would come, but I couldn’t wait. I stopped searching for Blevins. If he was dead in the ditch, I’d either find him or I wouldn’t. I didn’t much care.

  Tromping through the packed snow alongside the road took work, but it gave me traction. I didn’t want to end up on my ass again. Two cars came and went. The drivers either didn’t notice me waving my arms like a windmill and screaming at the top of my lungs, or they were just dicks.

  What time is it? The party.

  The third car stopped—Macey, Twyla’s mother.

  “Good god. What happened to you?” she said.

  “I wrecked my Jeep.” I didn’t tell her about Blevins, afraid she would want to go back and look for him.

  “Get in.”

  I did. The car was an oven, but I couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Are you going to the party?” Macey and me make seven.

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “What?”

  “The school’s on lockdown.”

  My tears weren’t from the cold.

  [11]

  Abby

  “ABBY. ABBY,” MS. COLLEY SAYS.

  “Huh,” I answer.

  “All clear. Repeat. All clear.” The intercom speaks in Principal Halstead’s voice.

  “Are you with us?” Ms. Colley says.

  “Step Seven,” Devon says. “Do not evacuate the building even if the audible fire alarm is heard. This could be a ruse to get people into the hallways. DO NOT respond to anyone at the door until Administrators announce ALL CLEAR. After the ALL CLEAR signal is given, remain in your room until an Administrator or Police Officer knocks. Do not open the door until the Administrator or Police Officer slides identification under the door.”

  The clock says 2:47. My bus leaves at 2:40-on-the-dot.

  The bus driver says, “If you are not in your seat at 2:40, I’m leaving without you.”

  I am not in my seat and neither are Devon and Twyla. If my mom is here, she will drive us home.

  She is late and she is not here.

  “We are left behind,” I say.

  Ms. Colley kneels next to Mrs. Lamb. She gets up and slips the red paper under the door.

  “Classrooms or offices bearing red papers will be opened first,” Devon says.

  “He is gone,” I say.

  “Who?” Devon asks.

  “The Ceiling Man.”

  “Abby, who is the ceiling man?” Ms. Colley is still trembly and her words are trembly. I think that is a bad thing and I cannot find my words.

  “Idunno,” I say.

  Devon writes The Ceiling Man on his list.

  Twyla sticks her finger into the cake and eats red frosting.

  I think Twyla needs a new favorite color.

  [12]

  The Ceiling Man

  AS BLEVINS WOULD SAY, FUCK.

  He hid in the woods behind the school and licked his wounds. Whatever the girl did to his head was bad, but his ego had taken a worse hit.

  He swore he heard Blevins laugh at him.

  “Ha ha, asshole. Taken down by a little girl.”

  He wasn’t down. Slowed a bit, maybe. But not down. Never down.

  But he was right back where he started, and the girl was still alive.

  “That was supposed to be fun,” Blevins said. “You said it would be fun. All we got out of it was a fucking headache.”

  «We? You’re only along for the ride.»

  His host irritated him, but the girl was problematic. He wasn’t sure exactly when he first noticed her watching him. Maybe before he arrived in this podunk town. He’d only run across a few watchers over the years. Most considered him a nightmare. Not the girl. In the beginning, she simply watched, not emotionless but not afraid either. Accepting. If anything, he sensed pity. He’s hungry.

  He should have hopped into Blevins and moved on, but the pity pissed him off. She wasn’t quite right, even for a human. He got that. Who was she to look down on him?

  She didn’t feel sorry for him anymore.

  “Taken down by a little girl.”

  «Shut up.»

  Blevins snickered.

  The idiot had more gumption left than he should. Annoying.

  Sirens
. Shouts. People were coming. Searching for him. Searching for Blevins. His host had a well-earned reputation. The guard wouldn’t be talking, but someone else might have seen him and no doubt recognized him. Identified him. The police were looking for Blevins. For him.

  “I am pretty famous around here,” Blevins said.

  Another reason to move on, leave Port Massasauga, and forget about the girl.

  A cloud of fear and panic surrounded the building and billowed toward him. He wanted to breathe it in, enjoy it, but it was time to leave. Worn out from both the jump to Blevins and the battle over the old woman, he needed rest.

  “A battle you lost.”

  «Shut up.» It wasn’t a battle. It was a skirmish. The girl didn’t know what she did. She ran on instinct, like the animal she was, but she intrigued him. He couldn’t leave yet. She was a loose end, and loose ends bothered him.

  The sensible route was to get rid of her and move on.

  “Tried that. Didn’t work,” Blevins said.

  «Temporary setback.» Not even a setback. There was more to her than met the eye. Maybe she was more than meat. Maybe she had something else, something he could use.

  Blevins’s teeth—his teeth—chattered. He needed to find a warm place. Regroup.

  New plan. He’d figure her out. He’d break her. And then, after he took what he could, one last meal in Port Massasauga. She’d locked in on five, but the number meant nothing to him. Nice full meal, but that was all. She was one of three. She wouldn’t see him coming.

  Dogs. He smelled dogs.

  “I hate fucking dogs,” Blevins said.

  «You’ve stooped that low?»

  “Huh?”

  «Still an imbecile.»

  [13]

  Carole

  THE CREEKSIDE PARENT HANDBOOK ASKED that parents not go to the school during lockdowns and promised authorities would provide timely updates on the situation. They shouldn’t have wasted the paper.

  Every student with a cell phone—which didn’t include Abby—called their parents the minute the alarm sounded. Most parents dropped everything and headed to the school. Some of them made it to the parking lot before the roadblock was in place. We weren’t among them.

  Five is just enough. We’re too late.

  “Crap,” Macey said.

  If she hadn’t stopped for me, she might have made it inside the barriers. Five. Twyla was in there too.

  “I know the guy on the barricade.” Not well, but I’d met him at police department picnics. I didn’t know if Rodgers was the type to cut me some slack because I was Jim’s wife or go in the opposite direction.

  “You look like you need medical attention,” Macey said.

  “I’ll play it up.” Even in the warm car, my shivering made talking hard.

  “I really don’t think you need to.”

  I got out of the car. My knees buckled, and I ended up, once again, on my rear in the snow.

  “Hey. We need some help over here!” Macey jumped up and down and screamed.

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  She caught Rodger’s attention. When he reached us, I tried to stand and didn’t make it. Macey was right. I didn’t need to act.

  I heard her say something about Betchel Road and an accident, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the back door of an ambulance wrapped in a blanket.

  “What’s your name?” An EMT pointed a light in my eye.

  “Why are there ambulances here?”

  “Standard procedure. What day is it?”

  “Friday. Where’s my daughter?”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Would I be here if I wasn’t from Port Massasauga? What’s happening? Why the lockdown? Why—”

  “She’s fine. She’s always like this.” Jim. Rodgers must have found him. “Why are you here? You know better.” He was pissed. He sounded a lot like his mother.

  “I didn’t know about the lockdown. I was going to the birthday party.”

  “You should have been sleeping.”

  While the EMT checked my feet for frostbite, I told him what Abby said. Five is just enough.

  “She’s fine.” His tone softened. “All of the kids are fine.”

  EMTs rolled two gurneys out of the building. They weren’t empty. Jim stepped in front of me and blocked my view.

  “Not Abby,” he said. “She’s safe.”

  “How do you know? Did you see her?”

  “Look at me. She is safe. Now, tell me what happened to you.”

  My EMT—his name tag said Jed—pronounced me okay, lucky even, but asked if I wanted to be taken to the hospital.

  No. I wasn’t going anywhere until I saw Abby.

  Someone handed me a hot drink. Tea. Weak, but all I cared about was the warmth. I told Jim where the Jeep was.

  “May I have your attention.” The principal’s voice boomed through a bullhorn. They were releasing the students. Parents who insisted could pick up their children, but they were encouraged to let the students ride the buses, which would make their normal afternoon runs.

  “We have to go get Abby,” I said.

  “I think we need to let her ride the bus. It’s her normal routine.”

  He was right, and I hated him for it. “I need to get home. She can’t be alone.”

  “I’ll call my mother. You’re a mess.”

  “No. Normal routine. You said normal routine. I need to be there. Get me there.”

  “I’ll arrange something,” he said.

  Rodgers took me home in a patrol car. I even convinced him to use the lights and siren. When the bus dropped Abby off, I was still freezing—I felt like I’d never be warm again—but I was clean and dry and, I hoped, not too scary looking.

  • • •

  THE JEEP WAS TOTALED. Neither the police nor the tow-truck driver found any evidence I hit anyone. They also didn’t find my purse or my phone. Somebody cleaned out anything worth stealing, including my boots. I figured it was Blevins.

  Jim dealt with calls to the insurance and credit card companies while Abby and I huddled together under a blanket on the couch. Since ASD kids aren’t big on physical contact, I should have enjoyed snuggling with my daughter, but although she initiated the cuddling, she remained sullen and withdrawn. I tried to get her to talk about the afternoon, both the lockdown and my accident. All I got out of her was a series of Idunno’s.

  I tried to convince myself the lockdown had nothing to do with Abby or five or anything related to my family. Coincidence. I tightened my hold on Abby, and she squirmed out of my embrace. Snuggles were over, but she stayed next to me on the couch.

  Like a good husband, Jim fielded all the incoming calls. Like Macey’s. And Evelyn’s.

  “Mom says maybe now you’ll get a more suitable vehicle.”

  “I liked my Jeep.” I liked it so much I drove it for fifteen years, which was what bothered Evelyn.

  “That was supposed to make you laugh,” he said.

  “Didn’t work.” They didn’t even make Cherokees like mine anymore. Maybe I’d find a used one, just to irritate her.

  Jim made us hot chocolate, added a little something extra to mine, and joined us under the blanket. Abby kept her distance, but I was grateful for the extra warmth he provided.

  As much as I enjoyed the togetherness, I finally suggested Abby go to bed and dragged myself off the couch to go upstairs with her.

  “I’ll do that,” Jim offered.

  I shook my head. I needed to see her safely tucked in, but as soon as she fell asleep, I intended to sneak out and talk to him. To find out what exactly happened at the school. Who was on the gurneys. She usually dropped off fast and didn’t wake up for a couple of hours. Please don’t make tonight an exception. I would be back in my usual place before she woke up. It was safe to leave her alone. I hoped.

  I settled into the big chair and waited for her to nod off—and tried not to nod off myself. Keep
ing my eyes open was harder than I expected. Maybe Jim added more than Irish Cream to my cocoa. Maybe I was just exhausted, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

  “Mrs. Lamb was screaming,” Abby said. “She hurt my ears.”

  “Why was she screaming?”

  “Idunno.” She turned her back on me and went silent.

  Abby fell asleep, and I went to talk to Jim.

  • • •

  THE SCHOOL’S MAIN office was at the front entrance, separated from the hallway by a glass wall. The receptionist looked up, saw Jack Parisi, the guard, on the floor and a man walking away. She immediately hit the alarm. Jim said the lockdown procedure went according to plan. Teachers and students all did exactly what they were supposed to do. Everything was calm. I had to dig for more information.

  “Abby said Mrs. Lamb was screaming.”

  “Nobody reported screaming,” he said.

  “Who did they take off in the ambulances?”

  “Parisi and Mrs. Lamb.”

  “Why?”

  “Strokes. Heart attacks. I don’t know.”

  “Are they going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why did they both have strokes or heart attacks at the same time?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”

  “Did you catch the intruder?”

  “No, but the receptionist said it was Blevins. We’ll find him.”

  “What time was this?” Blevins was on Betchel Road. I saw him.

  “We got the alarm just before one.”

  “It wasn’t Blevins. He’s the reason I ran off the road.”

  “I know that’s what you said, but—”

  “There is no way he could have made it from where I saw him to the school in that time.” I knew what I saw, and I was adamant.

  “The receptionist is positive it was him.” He may have intended to sound gentle, but I heard patronizing.

  “I know I saw him.”

  “I have no doubt you think you saw somebody. But if you did, it wasn’t Blevins.” He channeled his mother. I wanted to slap him.

  “Think I saw? If I did? Who are you going to believe? Me or some receptionist you don’t even know?”

  “You’ve barely slept over the past forty-eight hours. You shouldn’t have been driving.”