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

by Brooklyn Hudson

  “Don’t lie, Jules. I saw you,” she wiped at her face again.

  “No. What you think you saw is not what you really saw. She lays in the bed, but that is all. You do not believe I actually want her there, do you? You cannot.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if it matters anymore,” she looked out toward the house.

  “Of course this is mattering.”

  She laughed at his English then grew sullen and serious again, “What I mean is, it doesn’t matter if it bothers me, or if you want her there or not, it will be however she wants it to be, and neither of us have a choice.”

  He leaned back on his hands, “Well, this is true.” He too looked out at the house. There was no sign of anyone in the windows.

  Rachael looked back at him; taking him in for a long moment, as he stared off into the distance.

  “Jules,” she shook her head, “I don’t know what comes over me in there.”

  He continued to study the tree tops, “I know.”

  “No, really. Something happens in that house…” she winced and tears welled in her eyes again, “I don’t like who I become in there.”

  He looked at her and offered a tight lipped smile, “Me either.”

  She turned away and hugged her knees close again; mortified by her own behavior.

  Julien sat forward and took her hand, “It is not your fault. I do not know these things she is doing or how it works…but, it is not your fault.”

  She looked at her hand in his; her nails bitten to the quick.

  “Jules?” She brought his hand to her face and rested her cheek against it, “Will we…is there any way…?”

  He looked down at his lap, embarrassed to admit, “I do not know, Rachael. I am very afraid to try.”

  Rachael scooted along the floor, close to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and they both sat quietly watching the sun slowly disappear behind the trees.

  Julien held open the front door, “Go in first and go right to your room, no matter who is speaking to you.”

  Rachael nodded and moved through the house with determination, straight to the staircase and up to her room.

  Julien closed the door behind him and followed to the stairs.

  “So, no one is eating tonight, I take it,” Arlette said.

  Julien turned around and saw their plates, full and waiting on the table. He walked over and picked them up, trying to keep the peace.

  Arlette sighed, “We’re back to brooding in our bedroom now?”

  Julien turned back to her, “Arlette, enough. Everything is fine. Tomorrow is another day, alright?”

  Arlette shrugged and dropped the subject.

  Julien turned to Jessica, “Come with me, Sweetheart.”

  He looked to Arlette, daring her to say a word. She smiled smugly.

  Jessica ran by him and started up the steps. Julien carried plates up the stairs behind her.

  Arlette sat forward and placed her book down on the coffee table. Her eyes were starting to close and she looked to Carl, already snoring in a chair beside the fire.

  “Carl,” she hollered, “go to bed! You’re snoring. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  Carl looked around then sat forward. He rocked twice in the chair for momentum then stood up and shuffled to the stairs.

  Arlette watched him disappear to the second floor then gathered her tea cup and entered the kitchen. She looked at Sarah pumping a plunger up and down in the sink.

  “Oh, just have him do it already,” she tipped her head toward the Golden Retriever and picked a piece of chicken from the remainder of the roast; now cold on top of the stove. She popped it into her mouth and sucked her fingers clean.

  Sarah blew a strand of damp hair from her eyes then wiped at her sweaty brow with the back of a hand. She mumbled to herself angrily then crouched before a cabinet, removing a rattling work belt, weighted by dozens of keys and tools. She stood up then dropped the belt to the floor. The dog scampered over.

  Arlette placed her mug on the counter, “Make yourself useful, Randall.” She turned around and looked at the handyman, standing beside Sarah, “And you better deal with Rachael, Sarah. You’re too soft with her lately. She’s starting to act up. Fix that!” she said and walked off to go join Lind in the bedroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sarah removed the last glass from the drain board and meticulously dried it with a dish towel. Having no help from Rachael and a clogged drain, her day had been long and trying. She folded the towel and laid it over the sink’s edge to dry. As she moved to shut off the kitchen lights, she spotted the wishbone, left resting on the stovetop; another task of Rachael’s left undone. She huffed back to the stove, stomping her feet in protest.

  At the sink, she rinsed the bone and scraped the tiny, remaining bits of flesh free, allowing them to run down the newly free-flowing drain with warm rushing water. She shut off the faucet and shook the bone hard. Removing a paper towel, she folded it around the bone, working it delicately with her fingers and drying its every crack and crevice. To be sure, she held it up to the light and slowly turned it with the tips of her long, slender fingers. Satisfied, she crumpled the paper towel and discarded it in the trash before heading to the cabinet beside the sink.

  All the glasses put away, the small gift box sat hidden at the back of the bottom shelf, behind them. Sarah sighed, exasperated. One-by-one, she removed a row of glasses, placing them carefully on the counter, and then slid the powder blue box forward, taking it into her hand and lowering it before her. Holding the bone in her left hand to protect it from injury, she removed the box top with her right. She looked at the tangled pile of bones and paused. Her back stiffened and her chin raised. She stood staring ahead; her jaw tensed. Her hand began to tremble, rattling the bones in the box. She slammed it down; bones spilling out onto the counter and scattering across the slippery surface. She spun around and glared at the doorway then tramped out to the living room where she stopped at the base of the staircase staring up to the second floor. From the darkness behind her, the shadowy figure of Jérome slowly leaned forward in his chair below the windows. Sarah marched up the steps; Jérome silently rising.

  Sarah stopped at Julien’s bedroom door. The dimming glow of a dying fire cast her shadow, massive on the wall above the bed’s headboard. Jessica slept soundly beside Julien, her legs drawn up tight; her rump pressed into the small of her father’s back. Julien, one arm dangling over the side of the bed, slept on his side, facing the windows.

  Sarah walked methodically into the room, her shadow grew bulky and stretched higher, spreading up onto the ceiling over Julien’s body, as she approached. The sound of Jérome grew louder, gradually taking the steps, one thudding boot at a time, echoing through the silence of the house and vibrating the bedroom windows like the tail of a rattle snake.

  For a long moment, Sarah quietly watched Julien sleep, and then turned her head slowly, as far as it could pivot to the left. She circled around, systematically scanning the room then stopped at the dresser. She paused, looking over the items resting on the shellacked-wood finish. Her arm came up and with a violent sweep, she cleared the dresser, sending everything crashing to the floor.

  Julien jumped up, bracing himself against the mattress on all fours. He dropped onto his hip squinting in the dark at his surroundings. Jessica came up onto her knees, groggy and trance-like, she rubbed at one eye with a clenched fist and began to whine.

  Sarah spun around and grabbed hold of Jessica’s hair, jerking her through the darkness, to crash on the floor against the wall behind her.

  Julien came awake in an instant. He dove across the bed after Jessica who immediately began to cry. Sarah, her strength intensified by anger, bent over and hoisted the mattress upward, knocking him backwards and off the bed, before he could reach her.

  The mattress came down on top of him and he found himself caught between it and the wall, as he attempted to find his way out from underneath. The sound of Jessica wailing
and the crash of tipping furniture, created a chaos that Julien, muddled by sleep, could not yet wrap his mind around. He came out from under the mattress and got to his feet. He spotted Jessica crouching behind a toppled nightstand.

  “Jessica, get in the bathroom. Now…go! Close the door!” he ordered.

  Jessica, sobbing, scurried into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

  He turned his attention to Sarah, “What is wrong? What are you doing?” Julien, baffled and desperate to make it stop, came toward her.

  Sarah threw a blanket, and then a pillow to the other side of the room. She threw open drawers in toppled furniture, searching. She spun around and came at him.

  Julien took a few steps back, “Tell me, Sarah…tell me what you want,” he pleaded.

  The bones…

  She knows you took the wishbones.

  “Sarah, wait, I will explain,” he tried to stall her, “there was a boy…”

  Before he could react, Sarah raised her arm up and brought her hand across his face with a deafening crack.

  Julien, teeth gritted, grabbed her wrist and bent her hand back, twisting her arm as he stepped in closer.

  Sarah swallowed hard. She pressed her lips together tight, grunting and attempting to contain any trace of pain. Her nostrils flared as she drew a long breath. She stared angrily into his eyes.

  She is in your head…

  She wants your thoughts…

  She wants the bones…

  Julien thought about anything and everything, but the bones. Concentrating with all of his might, he thought of Jessica, terrified and hiding in the bathroom. He thought of Rachael and wondered if she knew what was happening in the room. He thought of his grandfather and the dairy farm he had long ago left behind.

  Sarah’s entire body began to shake. Julien could see the mixture of fury and frustration in her eyes. He was beating her at her game, yet, he could snap her arm in two and she would still not give up. She licked her lips, a tear rolled down over her cheek and she whimpered.

  Julien thought of the revolving door where he entered his office building on Madison Avenue each day. He let his mind wander, feeling himself walk in an arch behind the glass, circling into the building then nodding to the crew at the reception desk and security. He could see all of their faces so clearly, as his mind drifted further and further from the information Sarah longed for.

  Their eyes locked, he saw a muscle bulge in her cheek, followed by a slow, drawn curling of the corners of her mouth. Her smile threw him off guard and he tried to decipher its meaning.

  Jérome’s fist met Julien’s back square between the shoulder blades, vaulting him forward into Sarah. They crashed to the floor; Julien unable to draw a breath as Sarah twisted out from under him.

  To his right, Julien heard the bathroom door creak open and Jessica’s muffled cries grow louder. Before he could catch his breath and attempt to speak, Sarah stepped over him and slammed the door open against the bathroom wall. Leaning in, she grabbed her then dragged Jessica out into the bedroom.

  Julien lifted himself onto his hands, he struggled to reach for Jessica as they passed over him, but Sarah was too fast, hauling her across the debris; the little girl screaming at the top of her lungs. Julien fell over onto his side, Jérome looming over him. He could only watch as Sarah pulled Jessica up off the floor by her hair.

  Jessica kicked hard and fought to get away, but couldn’t find enough strength to break free. She refused to stand, attempting to throw herself to the ground, but Sarah was relentless, jerking her back up, time and time again.

  Do not fight, Jessica…

  Julien couldn’t bear to watch. He shoved a piece of furniture aside and began to lift himself again when his father’s boot collided with his ribcage throwing him over onto his back.

  Jessica screamed in the background as Jérome bent down and grabbed hold of Julien, throwing him against a fallen dresser.

  “Papa, Papa, Papa,” Jessica cried then shrieked again.

  Jérome grabbed hold of Julien’s leg and slid him closer then flipped him over onto his stomach again. Julien grabbed hold of the bedframe as his father began dragging him to the hall.

  Jessica…

  Do not leave Jessica…

  A loud thump sounded and Jessica’s shrill cries went silent. Julien held onto the bedframe, but his father’s strength pulled him free. He slid along the floor momentarily then found a second hold on the doorframe. The fingers of his left hand pressed hard around the wood molding. He found strength he didn’t know he had, giving Jérome a brief challenge, but Jérome jerked his leg harder and Julien heard the loud crack of his ring finger snapping back; his hand lost its grip once more. He kicked with his free leg and managed to turn over in his father’s grasp. Skidding along the wood floor in the hallway, Julien kept kicking, attempting to knock Jérome’s hand free, but it was useless.

  They came to a stop beside the stairs. Sarah standing safely, a few feet away, watching as Jérome brought Julien upright and bent him backwards over the banister. Julien didn’t dare breathe as Jérome snarled above him. He looked to Sarah peripherally and tried to form the words to beg for mercy, but Jérome’s hand was pressed deep into his throat, choking his airway. He felt his feet lift from the floor and his body teeter over the thick, wooden railing. He grabbed his father’s wrist in a weak attempt to hold on. Seconds felt like minutes as he hung precariously, nearly upside down over the living room below. He looked into his father’s soulless eyes then to Sarah again. He tried, one more time, to beg, but only a breathy sound escaped him. He knew he was going over that railing, regardless, but refused to go without a fight. He called upon every ounce of the last of his strength and brought his fist up against his father’s jaw. Jérome turned his face quickly and Julien missed. His father’s low guttural laughter erupted and Julien closed his eyes. Everything fell silent, all but the tinny buzz of electricity coursing through the walls. Julien felt himself teeter on the railing in his father’s hold; he felt the wood creak behind his back then felt his surroundings spin, as he flipped through the air and came down on the floor below. He lost consciousness.

  Jérome followed Arlette’s orders, rebuilding the bedroom around Lind, as he finished treating Julien; now sedated and back in bed. Lind pulled the blankets up and slipped Julien’s splinted hand beneath the covers. He sat down at the edge of the bed and rubbed at his face. He looked up and watched Arlette whisper orders then send Jérome away. The sun had yet to come up, but Lind was too agitated to attempt to go back to sleep.

  Arlette could see the concern on his face, “How is he?” she asked.

  Lind sat up, “Surprisingly resilient. She could have broken his neck on those stairs.”

  “And she would have saved him if she had.” Arlette sat down on the bed beside him, “Anyway, she might be done with him now. Finally over her little crush.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. She never lets them go that easily. She likes the fight…welcomes it,” he shook his head, “it’s all part of the game.” Lind peeked over his shoulder at Julien again.

  “We all like the game, Carl. Don’t kid yourself.”

  Lind turned to look at her, “No, Arlette…I don’t. I’m over it. Been over it. I told you that a while ago. There was a time, perhaps, but now, I just want peace. For everything she gives us, we pay dearly. We’re always looking over our shoulders for what she might be up to. You…always having to be in control and on top of her. It’s too much work and it gets more difficult with each passing year.”

  “I told you, only Jessica. I just need some time to work with her and then…”

  “No, Lettie, no. We don’t need either of them.”

  Arlette sighed and stood up, crossing her arms and heading for the hallway, “Leave then, Carl. Do what you see fit. What can I tell you?”

  Lind listened for the sound of their bedroom door closing at the far end of the hallway. He allowed his mind to wander. He watched the snow start up again; having been c
oming down on and off since late evening, the night prior. Several moments passed, when he heard a noise behind him. He turned to face Rachael in the doorway.

  He smiled at her, “How is Sarah?” he asked.

  “She’s calm now. She fell asleep,” Rachael came to the side of the bed. She looked down at Julien, “How bad?”

  Lind could see remorse in her eyes, “He’s going to be fine. He’ll sleep most of today. You’re married to a very strong-willed man,” he laughed sympathetically then changed the subject, “How is the little one?”

  Rachael broke her gaze from Julien and shrugged, “Sleeping…in my bed.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t stay long,” he tipped his head to the hallway, warning her to keep one ear open for Sarah or Arlette, “I’ll leave you to spend a moment with your husband. I think I’ll go make myself some coffee and see if I can’t find some of that leftover crumb cake,” he grinned. “I’ll bring a comfortable chair up here and keep an eye on him throughout the day.”

  Lind finished packing up his medical bag and walked away, surprised to find Rachael rushing past him in the hall. She entered her room and closed the door. Lind shook his head, puzzled.

  “You’re probably the smartest one of us all,” he whispered then descended the stairs.

  Five-year-old Julien ran along the side of the farmhouse, barefoot in the cool grass. He stopped to pick up a small stick then ran again, scraping it along the wall and listening to the sound of it vibrating, rhythmically against the shingles. He came to the end of the wall then threw the stick as hard as he could, watching it drop only a few feet away. The soft sound of distant mooing turned his attention and he spotted his grandfather stepping out from the barn amid a herd of dairy cows. He ducked behind a small mowing tractor and peeked up over the seat. His grandfather disappeared back into the barn. Julien looked around then spotted a cluster of dandelions. He plucked one and smelled it, crinkling his nose at the smell of dirt. He popped its bright yellow head off then split the stem, running his thumbnail along the shaft and scraping a milky white liquid to the end. He threw it down and wiped his fingers on his shirt. He bent over and plucked another, already in seed form, he blew at the white cottony fluff jutting from its stem. He watched the tiny seeds disperse into the air then lept up and swatted at them, sending them tumbling and floating higher, above him. They drifted out of reach and he lost interest. He looked up at the old shed ahead. The door was open no more than an inch. He walked quietly toward it, slinking along the storage barn then crawling on the ground below the shed window. He stopped just before the door and listened. The sound of his father crying alarmed him. He froze still then slowly rose to peek through the filthy, dust smeared window. His father sat in an old rocking chair staring at a photo in his hands; a bottle balanced in his lap. Jérome took a long swig then shook his head, repulsed by the burning fluid he relied on to survive each day. He swiped his lips against the back of his hand then cried out dramatically to the heavens, waving the photo through the air.