WISHBONE II: ...Some Wishes Should Never Be Made

by Brooklyn Hudson

  “Of course, Mrs. Dwyer, we all do.”

  Lily’s ringtone erupted and Bale watched her hurry to answer. He stood up from the table, but Lily sprang into a stern debate regarding a hair appointment she needed to reschedule. He leaned forward and waved a hand beneath her view.

  Lily looked up at him, impatiently.

  Bale smiled and mouthed, thank you, I’ll be in touch, then walked off, heading for the elevator.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The sound of a match strike, sizzle then ignite, drew Julien from a blissful state of sleep; his first night void of dreams for longer than he could recall. Lying on his side, he watched his silhouette dance against the bedroom wall in the flickering glow of candlelight. He moved to sit up, but a familiar searing pain burned within him like molten rods contained by his flesh. He attempted to drag himself into an upright position, revealing the spiky shapes and brackets now taking form in his shadow. His eyes panned slowly from the wall to his lap and he looked down through the darkness at the barbaric device he remembered too well. Metal screws protruded from bloated flesh and he felt panic mutate his gut. Before he could react, movement caught his attention from a shadowy corner of the room.

  She stood guarding the candle’s flame with a cupped palm then moved quickly toward him, once again, helpless on the bed.

  He whimpered; trapped by his affixed cage.

  No…

  No…

  Not again…

  No!

  Julien reached for the apparatus, grabbing hold of the icy metal. Weak and teetering, propped up on one arm, his strength gave way and he collapsed. His hand jerked against the metal scaffolding, which broke free from his body. His thigh crumbled like fork tender meat, and in his grasp, fragments of bone and decaying flesh dangled from the screws of the dismantled pieces of framework, held up before his eyes.

  Sarah grinned; so happy to see him.

  Julien’s eyes snapped open and he scrambled off the edge of the bed on all fours. On the floor, he gasped for air and glanced about the room attempting to make heads or tails of his surroundings in the dark.

  P’tain…

  So fucking real.

  He knew it was all a bad dream, but he caught himself probing at his leg for reassurance. Still clothed in a pair of cargo pants, he felt a subtle throb, but nothing more than the usual aftereffect of his twisted dreams. He exhaled a sigh of relief then shifted to lean back against the foot of the bed. He felt around in his pockets for his smokes and lighter. In the dark, he brought a much desired cigarette to his lips and flipped open the Zippo. He tilted his head to the left, aligning the flame with the cigarette’s tip then closed his eyes for a long, calming drag. He flicked the lighter closed and leaned his head back against the wood, sinking down into the plush throw rug beneath him. He refused to give the dream another thought and, having gotten some rest, was anxious to focus on his plan to find Arlette and get Jessica back, safely in his arms. Again, he lifted the cigarette to his lips and drew slowly. The glowing red embers cast a dim light around him and, in it, he saw her face, looming over the foot of the bed, upside-down in his view.

  Sarah greeted Julien with a broad smile.

  The cigarette tumbled from his lips and he flipped over to quickly crawl away. He dashed to the corner beneath the windows and spun around.

  Ed Bale arrived at Fair Oaks just forty minutes prior to the end of visiting hours. At best, they would allow him an hour with Rachael Grenier before insisting he be on his way. A security guard, who seemed to be on the lookout for him, directed Ed to an office where he sat down with the chief of psychiatry.

  Lawrence Scott was younger than Ed imagined he would be. There was no silvery beard or tiny spectacles threatening to slide down a boney nose, but rather an athletic man in his mid-forties, who might spend weekends on a handball court or rock climbing.

  Dr. Scott did most of the talking and Ed was fine with that.

  “First, Detective Bale, Rachael does not know her daughter is missing.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that on the telephone, but…”

  “Therefore, it would not be in her best interests to mention this, and you should know, the subject of Jessica is also a trigger for Rachael’s psychosis.”

  “What do you mean by that? Trigger...like, in what way?”

  “Confidentiality, Detective Bale. There’s a fine line here. I want to help you find this child, but I must also protect Mrs. Grenier’s confidences. I was reluctant to allow this interrogation…”

  Bale interrupted, “Interview, Doc. It’s just an interview. And I won’t bring up the little girl with Mrs. Grenier.”

  “There will be a nurse with you. In the event that Rachael becomes distressed, we’ll ask you to stop the…interview, immediately.”

  “Not a problem, Doc, I understand.”

  “Detective Bale, if this isn’t going to be about the missing child, may I ask what you will be questioning Rachael about?”

  “I really don’t know yet…her home life, her marriage…I kind of wing it with these things,” Bale admitted with a subtle laugh.

  Dr. Scott leaned back in his chair, unamused, “Well, you’re in for quite a tale then, Detective. I doubt the information she gives you will be of any use.”

  Bale grew serious again, “Why is that?”

  “Well, Rachael is living in a fictional world, detective. Anything she tells you will be the creation of a schizophrenic mind. We usually stop her from delving too deeply into that world and, in her current treatment, we no longer encourage her to express the details. Perhaps this sounds rigid, but we feel it is for the best and, with medication, we hope to see improvements in her condition over time. I have to admit, I’m concerned that your interaction could put Rachael a step backward. I hope you will keep that in mind and, for this reason, keep your interview short and your questions mindful.”

  “I certainly don’t want to mess her up, Doc, but the Grenier’s have a young child out there, missing, and I don’t know how to find her without a bit more information. Information pertaining to what was happening in the lives of this family, prior to Jessica’s abduction.”

  “I do understand…and, with Mr. Grenier out of town, Mrs. Grenier is your only source.”

  Bale’s eyes darted up to meet Dr. Scott’s, “Out of town?”

  Dr. Scott looked down at Rachael’s file and flipped a page, “Yes, he was here late last night, after hours. Our overnight staff allowed him to visit, under the circumstance.”

  “Did he mention where he was going?”

  “I don’t see any notation here. I can ask, but Debby Pence was the floor nurse in charge. She is consistently very thorough. If she knew where Mr. Grenier was going, she would have noted this in Rachael’s file.”

  Dr. Scott picked up the telephone and tapped out a short series of numbers.

  “Yes, can you have Nurse Pence bring Rachael Grenier to the visitor’s lounge, please?” He hung up, “You can ask her yourself.”

  Bale followed Dr. Scott to a fourth floor recreation room, where both paused at the doorway. Ed glanced inside, seeing Rachael for the very first time since the home invasion, years earlier. Her back to him, she sat propped in a wheelchair facing a window; a nurse standing at her side.

  Ed’s heart sank. From a distance, he could see her short hair, plastered to the back of her head from too many hours lying flat in a bed. Her frail shoulders cloaked in a thin hospital gown, her posture balanced on boney, protruding elbows, from a body, hardly filling the width of the wheelchair. Every ounce of his being fought not to thank the doctor, apologize for wasting his time, and run from the facility.

  “Awe, Geez…” Ed mumbled inwardly.

  “Go on in, Detective Bale.” The doctor nodded then turned to walk away.

  Ed stood there for a moment, collecting, first, his thoughts, and then, his courage.

  Ed had never been good with hospitals. They were an unnerving reminder of his own mortality and how fragile life could be. One
minute you are running around, too busy to smell the roses and the next, you are hooked to some machine, dying…show’s over. He whispered the phrase he uttered often these days; there but by the grace of God go I.

  Ed walked up beside her and looked down at Rachael. Her eyes fixated on the scenery beyond the windows, unblinking and vacant. He absently shook his head in disbelief then remembered he was being watched.

  He addressed the nurse first, “Nurse Pence?” He extended a hand behind Rachael’s back. “Ed Bale,” he offered.

  She shook his hand, “Please, just Debby.” She stepped closer to Rachael, protectively.

  Ed got right to the point, “I understand Mr. Grenier stopped by yesterday?”

  “Yes, last night. He was leaving and didn’t want to go without seeing Rachael, but she wasn’t aware of his visit. He left her note.”

  “He left a note? Did he mention where he was heading?”

  “Work. Business. I think he’s a salesman… something like that. He never mentioned where he was travelling. Just out of town.”

  “Advertising actually. Jingles, slogans, commercials…” Embarrassed by his quickness to correct her, Ed stopped himself.

  “Is it possible for me to see the note he left?” Ed looked at Rachael, but she had yet to acknowledge his presence.

  Debby looked to the door then back to Rachael, “I really shouldn’t,” she said, reluctant to leave them, “but her room is right down the hall, if it’s important, I’ll only be a minute.” She walked away.

  Ed thought back to his mother’s final months in the hospice center and how he resented every moment visiting her there.

  “Rachael, I’m Detective Ed Bale, do you remember me?” He took a seat on the wide ledge of the window.

  Rachael turned to look at him, surprising Ed. She moved slowly, reaching out and taking his hand in both of her own. Her strength was unexpected and an eerie feeling washed over Ed. His first instinct was to pull away, but he didn’t. She looked like she wanted to speak, but no words came from her lips. He saw the desperation in her glazed over stare. Her lips were cracked and peeling between white crusted saliva at the corners of her mouth.

  Such a beautiful girl, he recalled.

  “Rachael, do you remember me?”

  She nodded with hesitance.

  “How do you know me? How did we meet?” he asked, more for his own sanity and hoping she would bring up the home invasion.

  “The apartment,” she murmured, “my anniversary.”

  Rachael shifted forward in the wheelchair. Knobby knees peeked out from beneath her gown, now riding up her thighs as she shimmied closer to Ed.

  He hated to do it, but he needed to be sure, and with the nurse gone, this was possibly his only chance.

  “What happened on your anniversary, Rachael?”

  Rachael’s lips quivered around unintelligible words.

  He pressed her on, “What happened there?”

  Debby returned to the lounge. Ed sat back instinctively. The nurse glanced in their direction then stopped halfway across the room, where she took a seat at a table, respectfully giving them space. She held the note left by Julien in her hand.

  If he could manage to ask his questions and keep Rachael calm, he was sure the nurse would not overhear their conversation from where she sat.

  He spoke softly, “Rachael, I need to know. If I’m going to help you, I need to know what happened on the night of your anniversary.”

  “It wasn’t…” She paused and Ed could feel the weight of her intense anxiety suffocating the air between them.

  He wanted, desperately, for her to feel safe with him, but he didn’t know how to convey it. The sincerity in his eyes was the best he could offer, as she watched him closely.

  “It wasn’t what, Rachael?”

  “It wasn’t that night. It wasn’t the night of the rape.”

  Bingo!

  Ed’s sanity confirmed, he glanced at the nurse peripherally. She sat, disinterested and flipping pages in a gossip magazine.

  Bale took his chances, “Where is Jessica, Rachael?”

  Rachael pulled away and sat back.

  Ed glanced cautiously at the nurse again, but she never took her eyes from the glossy pages in her hand.

  “I want to help you. I want to find your daughter and I’m worried that Julien is in some kind of trouble.”

  Rachael shook her head.

  “Talk to me, Rachael. Your daughter is missing and I need to know where she might be.”

  Rachael’s eyes darted away and she began running a private conversation with her mind, babbling inwardly, disagreeing with herself in a manic fashion, which Ed genuinely tried to decipher.

  “No, I don’t care, I don’t care. Let it go, let her go, let her go. It wasn’t natural,” she rambled.

  “Let who go? Jessica?” Ed lowered his voice, glanced at the nurse again then leaning in close. He took her hands and she quieted down.

  “Rachael, I know they don’t believe you here, but I do.” Perhaps he would believe her and perhaps he would not, but he had a feeling there was something more to Rachael’s delusions and he needed to hear them for himself.

  “I want you to tell me what happened. I will help you, Rachael. I will help Julien, I promise.”

  At the sound of her husband’s name, Rachael came to meet Ed’s eyes again.

  “The wishes. We wished for these things. Terrible things.”

  She shook her head; her expression riddled with shame and guilt. It pained Ed to see her in such a state.

  “We all wish for things, Rachael…” he tried to comfort her.

  “No,” she demanded, “the wishes…they come true. They’re all crazy there. Arlette, Lind, Sarah…Jessica,” she said in a whisper.

  “Your daughter?”

  “She’s—not—real. I made her. I wished for her. She should never have been. I lost her and she was never meant to be. Julien was right.”

  Ed sat listening and utterly lost. He tried to pick through the details she fed him, but nothing made sense.

  “Who are these people that are crazy? Who are Sarah and…Arleen?”

  “At the Victorian. The property in Kings Hollow.”

  Ed vaguely remembered signs for the Kings Hollow exit en route to a rundown Catskills resort his father often took the family to, more than fifty years ago.

  “What about Kings Hollow?”

  “The house.”

  “The Victorian house. Where Arleen lives. What was Julien right about, Rachael?”

  She began to show signs of panic, “We have to wish her away. We have to make everything right again.”

  Ed sat back. He had no clue where to go from here. Rachael spewed partial statements at him without any bridging details and he wondered if their conversation was a mistake after all.

  Rachael continued, “Julien knows. He knows what I did to him, but he thinks, by denying it, he can protect us…protect me.”

  Ed was about to give up and call the nurse back over.

  “I killed her,” Rachael muttered. “I killed her and I almost killed Julien.”

  Rachael’s confession reeled Ed’s attention back to her and he asked, “Who did you kill?”

  Rachael looked out through the window. Her eyes fell vacant and her gaze distant once again.

  “Rachael, is Jessica dead? Did something happen to Jessica?” Ed quickly tried to construe how Rachael could possibly have hurt the little girl while institutionalized.

  Rachael’s voice fell to a nearly inaudible whisper, “I killed Sarah. I used Jessica as bait and I killed Sarah in the barn and then I brought Julien back with a wish.”

  Ed leaned back and sighed. Frustrated, he watched Rachael for a few seconds then nodded at the nurse the moment she looked their way.

  “Rachael, thank you for talking to me.” He leaned close to her ear, “You do whatever you need to do to get well. Julien needs you.”

  Ed got up from the window seat and Rachael followed him with
her eyes.

  Ed thanked the nurse who handed him the note written by Julien.

  “That’s a copy. You can keep it,” Debby said.

  “Thank you.” Ed turned to walk away and as he reached the door, he heard Rachael speak again.

  “He went to find her,” she said softly.

  Ed stopped and looked back.

  “Arlette and Sarah want her back. That’s good. She belongs with them.”

  Debby offered a tight lipped smile, suggesting Ed should disregard the statement. Ed Bale smiled back with sadness in his eyes, he nodded at the nurse then saw himself out.

  Jessica, in a fully neurotic state, stood facing a corner of the bedroom. She worked her fingers, tapping the tip of each to her thumb in methodical order, as if she were counting. She stepped back and forth, from one foot to the next, legs spread and rocking from side to side as her ticks intensified, causing her to flick the muscles of her neck, shaking her head in rapid spasms.

  Arlette was in no mood. She drew a bath for the girl, who had refused to eat her dinner and would be going to bed hungry that night.

  “C’mon now, enough of this, it’s bath time,” Arlette said, exhausted and disappointed.

  Jessica continued to rock and tick, mumbling to herself. She did not acknowledge Arlette.

  Arlette rushed up behind her, “Do not ignore me,” she snapped. “Now turn around,” she jerked the little girl around to face her, giving Jessica no choice but to comply.

  Arlette tugged at Jessica’s shirt, pulling it crudely over her head. Jessica’s expression soured and Arlette wondered if she might begin cry.

  “Thank God for small miracles,” she said aloud when neither tears nor sobbing followed. She unbuttoned and unzipped Jessica’s jeans and pulled them down. Standing there in only tiny yellow underwear, Jessica continued to rock as Arlette struggled to untangle the pants from the child’s ankles.

  Jessica turned back to face the corner, rocking more aggressively. Arlette grabbed her arm yanking her across the room.