The Ceiling Man

by Patricia Lillie

  “I heard you had all the cool tools. You really do.” He kicked the unconscious man on the floor. “I might have hit you a little harder than I intended.”

  The woman whimpered like an injured animal.

  “Don’t worry. He’s still alive. I like my food fresh. It’s a health thing, fresh and raw or nothing. However, I refuse to go vegan.”

  He needed to do something with the man before he woke up, if he woke up. The quilt frame in the corner looked interesting.

  He pulled it to the center of the living room.

  “Do you think this is strong enough to hold him?”

  She didn’t even squeak.

  “You know, it’s rude not to answer a direct question. You could at least nod or something. Blink. Once for yes. Twice for no.”

  She shut her eyes.

  “You’re very bad at following directions, aren’t you? We’ll work on that.”

  He shook the wood frame, then put both hands on the half-finished quilt stretched across it and pushed.

  “Nice quilt, but it could use a little more red.”

  She didn’t offer an opinion.

  “I should apologize. I don’t usually play with my food. It’s unseemly. But you two, well, you get to be special. Since you’re such good neighbors and all.”

  Her eyes opened, and she tracked his movements. He picked up the man and laid him on the stretched quilt. Not a perfect fit, but it would do.

  “Seems sturdy enough. Is it an antique? The modern stuff is all made of matchsticks.”

  “Such cool tools.” He picked up the nail gun.

  “Have you ever read anything by Temple Grandin?”

  Her eyelids fluttered. More than two blinks.

  “I’ll take that as a no. I sent my friend Chuckles to the library. I thought Miss Grandin might help me with a little problem I’m having. Now, where can I plug this in?”

  He located an outlet.

  “She might have, but Chuckles brought me the wrong book. Something about Mayan architecture. He had to steal it—no library card—so he didn’t ask for help. And he’s not very bright.”

  He plugged the gun into the wall socket and examined it.

  “Looks easy enough.” He pressed the tip against the cherry wood mantel above the fireplace. The gun made a satisfying ker-chunk as it drove in the nail.

  The woman groaned.

  “Don’t worry. This isn’t for you. At least, not yet.”

  He laid the nail gun on the man’s chest.

  “Back to Miss Grandin. Or is it Ms.? Wait, I think it’s Doctor. Doesn’t matter. I saw her on television. Aside from first hand knowledge of my little problem, she seemed to be some sort of expert in slaughtering animals for food. I know a bit about that myself, but I have no interest in keeping you calm.”

  Sweat soaked the woman’s thin nightshirt.

  “But, maybe I’ll make you a tad more comfortable. Now, where’s your thermostat?”

  He didn’t think she meant to answer. Her head was still, but her eyes flicked to the left.

  He found the thermostat in the next room and set the temperature to twenty-six. The furnace clicked off.

  “You’ll cool off now. Eventually.”

  Where was the girl? She should have shown up already.

  “Did you know that your hamburger probably had a bolt shot into its forehead? Well, not into, but close enough. Sometimes they shock the beasts, but I don’t mess with electricity. It scares me. I couldn’t find a captive bolt gun. Pete doesn’t have all the cool tools. The nail gun will have to do.”

  He was enjoying himself, even more than he expected.

  “It’s been a long time since I had a real conversation. You really aren’t holding up your end.”

  She didn’t reply.

  The girl. She didn’t speak, but he sensed her. She watched. Showtime.

  «Took you long enough, Little Piggy. I was worried you’d miss all the fun.»

  “Hmmmm. Let’s see.” He turned the woman and her chair. “Maybe a little more to the center.” He moved her over a foot. “And just a little bit closer.”

  Her fear invigorated him.

  “You need a front row seat for this.”

  He spread the man’s arms and lined up his hands on either side of the quilt rack. He picked up the nail gun and shot nails through his palms into the rails, first one hand then the other. The rack wobbled, but the man didn’t flinch.

  “I really didn’t mean to hit you so hard.” He felt the man’s neck and found a weak pulse. “I may have to hurry things along. Shame. I was looking forward to a leisurely meal. Fine dining shouldn’t be rushed.”

  Tears ran down the woman’s face. She closed her eyes again.

  «Watch me.»

  Her eyelids shot up. She was weakening.

  So was the girl.

  “I wonder what kind of tools you have?” Her sewing box, bigger than the toolbox, stood on four feet next to him. At first, he’d thought it was a table. He opened it.

  Inside the lid was a row of shiny scissors and craft knives. A box of long t-pins held possibilities.

  “You seem like the type to keep your blades sharp. Hmm. I think I’ll start with this one.”

  He made a long incision on the man’s chest and flayed him.

  “I knew these would come in handy. Hope they’re sharp.” He opened the box of pins. They slid smoothly through the man’s skin as he pinned it to the quilt.

  “I think we’ll call this pattern Devoted Husband.” He sniffed. “Oh, really. Did you have to? I’m about to eat here.”

  The woman’s bowels had released.

  “Did you ever eat lobster? I’ll bet you’re one of those dainty ones who crack the shell and carefully pick out the meat, leaving all the best parts behind.”

  He picked up the top piece of folded fabric from the basket next to the sewing box. All pale pinks, blues, and greens, the pieced quilt top was a miniature version of the blanket she gave the girl.

  “Were you making this for a baby? How sweet.” He tied the unfinished quilt around his neck like a bib.

  “If I ate dead things, I’d be one of the messy ones. I would rip that lobster apart.”

  The quilt, soaked with blood, sagged in the center of the rack. He needed to get busy before the whole thing collapsed.

  “Bon appétit. That was for me, not for you.”

  The woman’s terror was good, but the girl’s pain was better. It filled him, provided seasoning, spice, that extra dollop of flavor he craved.

  He dove in.

  • • •

  “DELICIOUS,” HE SAID. He moved around the quilt rack and knelt in front of the wife.

  “Now, you, young lady, are a problem.”

  She stared at his face, not looking into his eyes but avoiding the quilt frame and what it held. Bits of her husband clung to her hair and blood dotted her face.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so sloppy, but sometimes I get carried away when I eat.”

  He prodded. Explored. There wasn’t much left inside her. Her terror swallowed any other thoughts or emotions.

  «Blink. Twice.»

  She did.

  “There are a lot of things I could do to you, and some I even want to do.”

  «Nod your head.»

  She complied.

  “But I really don’t have time for fun and games right now.”

  «Do the hokey pokey.»

  Her arms and legs heaved against the restraints. He stopped her before the chair toppled over.

  “What’s important is, how can you best serve my needs?”

  «Don’t breathe.»

  “I’m talking long term here, not immediate. Well, long term as far as you’re concerned.”

  She was completely his. At least for the time being.

  He wanted her as a witness. He wanted her to tell exactly what he’d done to her husband, but he didn’t want her to identify Blevins. Despite his threats to Blevins, he didn’t have the time to bre
ak in a new host. Not until he took care of the girl. Unless—

  “Hey!” Blevins said.

  «Shut up or you’ll be gone and I’ll be walking around with lady parts.»

  “I need to clean up. Maybe find some new clothes. Hubby is about the correct size. Was about the correct size. He’s lost some weight. Stay right here and wait for me, okay?”

  Her face was purple.

  “Oh, if you really must, go ahead. Breathe. See you soon.”

  • • •

  THE EYES ARE the windows to the souls.

  He didn’t believe in souls, but eyes were windows to something. Whatever it was, wifey had it back.

  He nudged. She twitched, but her face didn’t change. Not fear. Her expression was pure hatred. Some of these creatures were so resilient.

  “Got your groove back, huh? Too bad. You’re no use to me now.”

  Tears and mucous mixed with her husband’s blood and ran down her cheeks and over her duct tape gag. On her nightgown, a pink stain blossomed.

  “Oh, don’t be a baby. I’m not going to eat you.”

  He picked up the nail gun and stood behind her.

  “This is your own fault, you know.” He pressed the gun to the base of the woman’s skull and pulled the trigger.

  “Cool tools, indeed.”

  “Can I talk now?” The girl’s screams almost drowned out Blevins’s words. Almost, but not quite.

  «I really wish you wouldn’t.»

  [38]

  Carole

  ABBY STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of the living room. Livvy’s quilt puddled around her feet. Her eyes showed only white. Her mouth stretched open wider than I thought possible, and her screams filled the room and thickened the air.

  The scene went red. Not now. Abby’s shrieks battered me and pierced my shell. All of the pain and fear I’d lost in the last twenty-four hours hit me like bricks.

  My house is gone. My daughter’s next. I couldn’t breathe. The red darkened to black, and Abby’s screams faded.

  No. I fought the pressure, but it was too much. I had to give in, let it crush me.

  No more dirt and pennies. Abby’s voice. I lashed out and pushed against the blackness. Something snapped. The dark lifted, and the room came back. Sami barked, and the television blared.

  Abby still screamed. It couldn’t have been her I heard.

  Evelyn babbled in the background. “She just jumped up and started shaking and—”

  Jim spoke. I couldn’t understand what he said, but I hoped he was telling his mother to shut up. If he did, she didn’t listen. None of them did. The noise pummeled my ears, and a dull ache spread through my body.

  Abby still screamed. Her lips turned blue.

  “Everybody shut up! Abby! Breathe!” I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed her and shook her.

  She didn’t flinch, but her screams became a wail. Not the sound of terror or grief, a howl of torment. I didn’t hear it. I felt it. I let go of her and fell to my knees.

  Paralyzed by her agony, I watched her face go from deep red to purple and knew I’d lost her.

  Jim ran around us and grabbed her from behind, his arms around her waist. The Heimlich manuever. He thinks she’s choking.

  Sami jumped and snapped at him. I wanted to tell him it wouldn’t work. She wasn’t choking. She was drowning and I was going down with her, but I couldn’t force the words out.

  A quick movement from Jim, and Abby’s body jerked.

  Her wails stopped, and my head cleared.

  It worked.

  Jim let go, and Abby dropped to the floor.

  She sat cross-legged in front of me. Her eyes returned to normal, but remained lifeless. She stared straight at me, but I didn’t think she saw me. Sami quit barking and lay down beside us. She stuck her nose in Abby’s lap, but got no acknowledgment from Abby.

  “Breathe, Abby. Breathe.” I used my meltdown voice although this was beyond any meltdown I’d seen. She didn’t move. The deep color drained and left her face pale, almost transparent.

  Someone finally shut off the television. Behind me, Jim questioned his mother.

  “What were you watching?”

  “Little House on the Prairie. It wasn’t even one of the sad ones.” Evelyn’s voice shook.

  Abby sat ramrod straight, but she still looked limp. I picked up one of her hands. It was icy, and when I let go, it flopped back to her lap.

  Sami whimpered and nuzzled her. Abby opened her mouth, and I leaned forward to hear her. She didn’t speak. Her mouth opened and closed, not quite in silent conversation.

  “Jim, call an ambulance.” I’d watched my grandmother move her mouth the same way hours before she died.

  “Are you sure there was nothing that could have scared her?” He hadn’t heard me.

  “No, it was the episode—”

  “Jim! Call 911!”

  In an instant, he was on the floor next to me.

  “This isn’t a meltdown. I don’t know what it is. She needs help. Get an ambulance.”

  “Abby?” He spoke softly, but Abby turned to him.

  “Daddy? Help Livvy.” Her voice was hoarse.

  All that screaming.

  “Abby, tell me what you’re talking about,” Jim said.

  “No more Pete. No cool tools. Livvy needs the Woodsman.” She gulped air between her toneless words.

  She’s going to hyperventilate. Or scream again.

  “Too much red. Help Livvy. Help Livvy. Helplivvy. Helplivvy. Helplivvyhelplivvyhelplivvyhelplivvy. . .” Her eyes rolled back.

  As she chanted, her breathing steadied. I no longer worried she’d hyperventilate, but I didn’t know how to help her.

  “Jim. Evelyn. Somebody call an ambulance.”

  Jim got up.

  “Abby, come back.” I took both her hands in mine. Still limp and even colder than before. Dead. No. I rubbed her hands in mine. Their chill crept into mine.

  “Jim?”

  “Helplivvyhelplivvyhelplivvyhelplivvy. . .”

  “Just do a drive through the neighborhood. Check on the neighbors—the ones across the street.” Jim gave whomever he was talking to Pete and Livvy’s address. “I know. I’ll explain later, but with everything that’s going on, just do it. Please.” He paused. “Thanks.”

  “Abby? I called the station. A policeman is going to check on Pete and Livvy. They are safe.” Jim tried to wrap Livvy’s quilt around Abby’s shoulders.

  She pushed it off.

  “Too late. Too red. Pete’s gone. The Woodsman can’t help.”

  “Abby? Look at me.” I got no response. Instead she retreated to—not Abby-land. When she went there, I could still see her. Wherever she’d gone, the Abby in front of me was a blank. She sat and she breathed. Other than that, she was a mannequin. A bad, expressionless mannequin.

  “Abby?” Jim didn’t get a response either.

  “Did you call the ambulance?”

  “We’ll take her to the hospital ourselves. It’s faster.”

  “I’m going with you,” Evelyn said.

  I’d forgotten she was there.

  Abby stood when we pulled her up. Jim and I shepherded her to the car, him on one side of her and me on the other. She didn’t resist when we tucked her into the backseat and buckled her seatbelt.

  Evelyn tried to tuck the quilt around her. Abby flinched, and her strangled gasp communicated more than words could have. Pain and fear hit me like a jolt of electricity.

  Evelyn snatched the quilt away and threw it on the ground.

  In the front window, Sami watched us back out of the driveway.

  • • •

  EVELYN SAT UP front with Jim. “We really weren’t watching anything scary,” she said.

  “It’s not your fault.” I doubted Jim’s words had any effect on his mother. They didn’t reassure me.

  In the back seat with me, Abby sat motionless and silent.

  “Can we hurry it up?” I said.

  “I’m going as fast as I c
an.”

  No. As fast as you’re willing. I wanted to scream and jump out of the car, to run and drag my daughter along with me. Instead, I took Abby’s hand. She didn’t flinch or pull away. Slumped in the seat, she was vacant.

  We stopped at a red light. We were the only car at the intersection. Just go through it. I bit my tongue. Screaming at him wouldn’t help.

  “What good is it to be married to a cop if you can’t have lights and sirens when you need them?” Not a joke, a whispered plea, too quiet for Jim to hear.

  We finally made it to the hospital and pulled up at the emergency entrance.

  “You take her inside while I park,” he said.

  Evelyn and I got Abby out of the car and steered her inside. Puppet-Abby went where we guided her. No resistance.

  The woman at the check-in was engrossed in her computer and didn’t look up when we entered.

  “My daughter needs a doctor. She had a. . .seizure.” Seizure was the best word I could come up with.

  “Just a second.” Her name tag said AMBER. Patient Liaison.

  “Now.” Port Massasauga Medical Center had a terrible reputation, especially the emergency room.

  Amber looked us over. Evelyn wasn’t her usual immaculate self, but she looked respectable enough. Abby was propped up between us, limp and glassy-eyed, but dressed in her new pajamas. I looked like an escapee from a meth lab. None of which should have made any difference. It did to Amber.

  “There’s no need to shout.”

  I didn’t think I was.

  “Why don’t you take her to the chairs and sit down while I get some information. Now, do you have your insurance card?” The latter was addressed to Evelyn.

  “I’m her mother. I don’t have my card. Please, we need to see a doctor now.”

  “The triage nurse will be out soon. How about some form of identification?”

  “I don’t have my insurance card or identification. My husband is parking the car. He has that stuff. I want to see a doctor.” I hoped Jim had his card. Mr. Always Prepared made it out of a burning house with his wallet and phone. There was no reason he shouldn’t have his wallet and card.

  “If you don’t have insurance, I have a few forms for you to fill out.”

  “We need to see a doctor. Now.”

  “Without insurance, I need to see some form of identification.”