Blackwater

by Paul McParland

  What had she said?

  Me for a web.

  What the heck did that mean?

  Karen wrote it down on the pad by the telephone. She picked the pad up and stared down at it. She thought of something she hadn’t before.

  What if I'm spelling it wrong?

  Karen scribbled out the ‘me’ and replaced it with ‘mi’. She stared at the nonsense again.

  Mi for a web

  Or was it ‘foer’...hard to tell, Karen told herself. Innocuous enough, but a start, she thought.

  Karen took the pad into the living room where she sat and rearranged the letters, trying to figure out what Emma and the child had warned her about.

  Mifoeraweb.

  Wait a second....mihfoeraweb....yes that would make...

  ‘Beware of him’.

  Backwards!

  Karen sat back in her armchair and stared at the phrase she had written. She hoped that the conundrum was not as simple as that, for if it was, she knew too well now what the spirits had been warning her of all this time.

  82

  Karen heard a soft squeaking. It was a slow, repeating pattern. It brought her out of her doze. She looked bleary eyed to the foot of the bed.

  James was sitting in the antique rocking chair, moved from its original position by the window.

  He cradled a spade in his dirt-crusted hands. His clothes were soiled as well and he had a fine sheen of sweat covering his face and neck. He glistened in the moonlight.

  She sat up and noticed muddy tracks from the door to the chair. James feet were almost black with the thick soil.

  “James? How did you get here? Did the police release you already?”

  Karen gathered the covers about her in a futile defense.

  There was no reply from the stoic man.

  Karen lifted herself out of her comfort and the inviting warmth of the bed to approach James. She placed a delicate hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s done.” He mumbled.

  “What was that, honey?”

  “I buried the secret, just like he asked. It will please him. He will be pleased and I won’t have to kill you.” He looked at her now. His eyes were not James’ eyes.

  Karen slapped him and suddenly as if awakened from a slumber, James’ eyes cleared and her husband was looking at her again.

  “How...how did I get here?”

  “Doctor, I don’t know what happened...one minute I'm in a prison cell and the next I'm sitting in my room with a spade and covered in dirt!”

  Karen stood by the window. She was looking out at the view of Main Street and smoking.

  Dr. Hendrix chewed the end of his pen and studied James. “And you don’t remember how you got to the police station either?”

  Hendrix looked at the Detective who was quietly observing.

  Krasinski was dubious of James’ story, but he doubted the attorney was a jail breaker. The Police Department were willing to release him without bail pending their investigation. The stipulation that he visit a doctor was part of the deal; something that Karen was anxious to finally arrange.

  “No. I only know ‘cos Karen told me...I was shocked! I would never hurt the kids...”

  Hendrix looked over at Karen. She had turned her attention back to her husband and the doctor. She had reduced the cigarette to the filter.

  “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, haven’t you?” Hendrix asked suddenly. The question could have been for either Dawson.

  “What?” James shook his head in confusion. “Oh right, with the house and the practice?”

  “Yes, James.”

  “Well, I guess...”

  “Here. I'm prescribing you some anti-depressants. These will help relax you. The recent stresses with the house have probably compounded the issue and affected you more than usual...”

  Hendrix handed a scribbled bit of paper to James. He looked at the scrawl and frowned.

  “I'm not depressed though...” he said confused.

  “I know, James. It’s the effect the drug has on you. That's what we are after. If you are relaxed and unfazed, your behavior should begin to return to normal.”

  “I don’t wanna be a zombie.”

  “You won’t be. It’s not that strong...it just gives you a buzz!” Hendrix winked.

  “Okay.” James nodded. He stood and shook the doctor’s hand.

  “Thanks, Greg.”

  “Good luck!” The doctor said as James closed the door of the office behind him.

  Krasinski watched the Dawsons leave. He moved to one of the chairs in front of the Doctor’s desk.

  He sat down, retrieving a notepad and pencil from his left breast pocket. Krasinski retrieved a pack of cigarettes from the other.

  “Do you mind?”

  The doctor shook his head.

  Detective Krasinski used a lighter to ignite the cigarette. He took a few drags before speaking.

  “So, Doc...you believe him?”

  Greg Hendrix pushed his glasses up with one hand. He rubbed his right eye with the back of his hand.

  “Detective, mental illness is a very difficult problem to diagnose. James is an intelligent guy; he potentially knows what to say. On the other hand, my wife and I have ate with the Dawsons...they were in my home!”

  Krasinski raised an eyebrow but his face was unreadable.

  “I’m inclined to think that Mr. Dawson is genuinely sick. I just hope it’s something I can fix...”

  James had avoided looking at the Detective during the consultation with Dr. Hendrix. The Detective still did not trust the man, no matter what he told the doctor.

  Later that evening, the family were sitting in the front room. Karen was relieved that she had succeeded in drawing her husband away from the basement. He seemed more habitual.

  Karen looked at James. His eyes were deeply set and he was pale.

  “You feeling alright, James?”

  His eyes lazily turned to her. He stared blankly at her for a second and then shook his head.

  “You don’t look great. You want to go to bed?”

  “Yea...” He slurred. “I think it’s the tablets.”

  “Okay.” Karen smiled. “We’ll try and get different ones tomorrow.” She said reassuringly.

  He nodded and Karen helped him stand. James held onto her arm as they laboriously made their way up the stairs.

  At the top, on the landing, James stopped. He breathed deeply.

  “Come on, honey. Just a little further.” Karen encouraged.

  They pushed on and arrived at the top of the stairs. James staggered into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

  Karen wrapped the duvet around him and kissed his forehead. She felt much safer now. Even if he was still ill, he wasn’t in a fit state to do anything now.

  Karen came back into the living room to find the kids sitting in front of the TV. They were watching ‘Happy Days’.

  “Don’t sit so close, guys. Your eyes will go square!”

  Sophie gasped and clutched her tiny hands over her face.

  Marcus laughed. “They won’t actually go square, Soph! She means it’s not good for them.”

  “Exactly! Now sit back.”

  The children pushed themselves up and sat back down on the sofa next to their mother.

  Karen resumed her knitting. It had been so long since she had been able to knit. She had thought moving to Blackwater would mean she could knit more than ever, but with everything that had happened, it was the last thing she wanted to do, never mind be able to.

  Suddenly, there was a large bang from above. Karen looked at the kids. They, too, looked worried.

  The three of them ran upstairs.

  At the foot of the stairs to the attic, lay James. He was unconscious.

  “James! Call an ambulance!” Karen cried.

  “Daddy!” Sophie howled and ran to her father.

  “No, Sophie!” Karen cried, pulling the girl back to her. “He might be seriously hurt. We don’t want
to touch him in case we make it worse!”

  Oh, James, Karen thought. Why did this have to happen now?

  The ambulance arrived and the paramedics carefully felt around the base of James neck.

  “Is it broken?” Karen asked over their shoulder.

  “No, ma’am. It’s fine. He was very lucky though...” The older one said.

  They lifted James onto the stretcher and then out to the ambulance.

  “Marcus, Sophie, get in the Ford.” Karen called back into the house.

  “We’ll see you there, ma’am.” The young paramedic told her. He was showing signs of age; the hair prematurely graying, his eyes; not the bright, happy eyes of a young man anymore. She knew the job was taking its toll on him. “I'm sure your husband will be fine...” He offered her an anaemic smile. Karen took it anyway.

  Anything I can get, she thought.

  Karen asked Marcus to take Sophie to one of the vending machines. She gave him five dollars and whispered to Marcus to go for a walk and distract Sophie; she didn't want her around while their father was undergoing tests.

  Over the next two hours, James went under a barrage of tests. His physical injuries were limited to cuts and lacerations. Bruises would scatter his body in the coming days, but there was no visible long-lasting damage.

  Blood tests proved little help in explaining James’ condition. Blood glucose levels were high, but the Doctor felt there was no explanation or connection to what was happening.

  To discount brain damage, the hospital performed an MRI scan on James. The results showed activity in the required areas of the brain, discounting any issues. The Doctor did observe one unusual feature to the scan however.

  “Mrs. Dawson, your husband shows elevated activity in the amygdale portion.” The specialist pointed to a section on the screen. It was the front of James’ brain. “This controls the senses, muscles and release of hormones. Along with the Hypothalamus, it is the section of the brain reasonable for the reaction to fear...that explains his heightened blood sugar – the body releases sugar to aid the muscles for running from danger.”

  “Fear?” Karen whispered

  “Indeed.” The Doctor said. He was intrigued.

  “You said his scan was normal though...” Karen said.

  “It is...apart from this activity. I do have an explanation however – he’s dreaming.”

  “He’s having a nightmare?”

  “It seems so.”

  “Can we wake him up?”

  “I'm afraid it may prove safer to let him come to consciousness naturally. The medication may cause this side effect. We don't know how he may react when first awakened.”

  “Is this a common side effect?” Karen said, stunned.

  “No,” the doctor said bluntly. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t the cause, Mrs. Dawson. We will wake him, don't worry!”

  The Doctor said goodbye and continued on his rounds, leaving Karen to wait outside James’ room.

  Karen was roused; the doctor was knelt down in front of her chair outside James’ room.

  “I'm afraid he has slipped into a coma.” The doctor said.

  “I don’t understand, I thought the MRI scan showed there was no brain damage.” Karen peered through the glass into her husband’s room. He lay prone and unmoving.

  “We can’t explain what happened. Physically, he’s fine.”

  I bet I can explain, Karen thought.

  83

  James woke with a start. He was back in his own bed. He had the strangest dream about falling.

  Falling from the attic?

  He could’ve sworn that he heard Karen and the kids shouting. He was telling them he felt okay but they didn’t seem to hear him.

  Kay was not beside him.

  There was a strange light, or lack of it, coming from outside the window.

  James walked over to the window and looked out. He could see the forest below. There were figures in the tree line.

  He stepped back and felt chills escalate throughout his body.

  James moved out into the hallway and looked around him. He checked the rooms; the bathroom, the study that remained empty still and the kids’ rooms. There was no one in the house.

  “Karen?” He shouted. “Marcus, Sophie?!”

  Not a soul answered.

  James wandered around the vacant house. As he turned to enter the living room, James noticed two things: the painting of Henry Clark had returned to the wall, and there was a man standing admiring it.

  “Who are you?” James asked, wishing he had a weapon on hand.

  “Don't you recognize me, James?” the man said. His voice was a velveteen texture, seductive almost.

  James looked to the portrait on the wall. The man standing in front of him was the subject.

  “What do you want?” James’ voice quivered. The man edged closer.

  “James, my boy, I want you to continue my legacy.” Clark smiled and placed his hands on James’ shoulders.

  “Your legacy?”

  “Yes. Kill your family!” He grinned and laughed. His laugh was bellowing and evil. “You were oh, so close as well! Those damned pills foiled the whole thing unfortunately...” Clark’s smile contained razor sharp teeth. His black eyes edified the shark visage that James saw form in front of him.

  “Why would I kill my family?” James backed into the hallway behind him, but Clark continued to close in on his prey.

  “Because I told you to, dear boy! I can be very persuasive...” He sniggered again.

  84

  “Now don't forget!”

  “I won’t, Mom!”

  “You better not! ‘Cause if this isn’t done right, your father nor I may come back!”

  Karen fixed Marcus with her sternest look and he nodded.

  “I’ve got this!” he said firmly.

  “That’s my boy.” Karen stroked Marcus’ face and smiled sweetly. “When the alarm goes off.” She added.

  Marcus nodded once.

  Karen picked the tablet up and swallowed it. She picked the next one up as well and swallowed. Karen continued until she had taken the entire bottle of sleeping pills.

  By the time she swallowed the last pill, Karen felt drowsy. She tried to focus on the children but she found it hard and eventually closed her eyes and lay down on her side. A sofa had never been so comfortable.

  A voice spoke to her.

  “This isn’t you, Karen. You would never be so reckless as to leave your kids like this!”

  Karen slurred in reply, “I don't know what else to do...I have to stop this...I...”

  She dropped off.

  “What’s happening, Marky?” Sophie whispered.

  “Mom’s just going to sleep. She’s going to find Dad and bring him back.”

  “When do we call the ambilance?” Sophie asked.

  “In ten minutes, Soph. Just sit down and watch TV. It’ll be time to go before you know it.”

  Karen felt herself slip further into the unknown and then...

  “James!”

  Her voice sounded like it was coming from under water. Karen startled herself from slumber; her voice calling for James.

  Had she woken herself up?

  Karen was in her bed, but she knew this was not the world she had left behind. She had drifted into the nameless place where her husband now resided. She did not know what version of her husband she would find there, but she knew if she had any chance of bringing the man she loved back, it was here.

  The green haze that shone in through the bedroom window made Karen’s blood thicken in her veins.

  She knew the tree line would contain a hundred Clarks. She could hear their incessant screeching already. They were ready for her.

  This time, though, so was she.

  Karen did not have much time. She had to move quickly. The last thing she wanted was for the alarm to go off and for the paramedics to arrive and resuscitate her before she could get to James.

  She slid down the banister
, pulling herself along as she did so. Her feet scuffed the stairs and she used them to propel herself faster.

  She skidded to the bottom hall and ran into the front room where she came face to face with Clark. His angular face tightened before its ‘V’ shape deepened and his demonic appearance became more evident.

  “You know you’ll never take him back alive?” He grinned.

  “I will not let some dead creep break my family apart. I have worked too hard and long for you to ruin us!”

  The malevolent corpus crowed at this.

  “Poor little Karen...”

  “Where is he?”

  “In his favorite place now that your coffers have run dry!” He brayed.

  Karen hated that disgusting face. She turned and made for the basement door.

  “Nooo!” she heard Clark rage behind her. She felt him yank on her hair and she came crashing to the ground.

  Clark was on top of her in an instant. His rotting fingers dug into her eyes. Karen brought her knee up and connected with his soft undercarriage.

  He let out a howl and retreated. Karen gave him a kick in the face to emphasize her point.

  She scrambled for the door again and managed to yank it open.

  “James! Can you hear me?” She shouted.

  She let her head fall back onto the wooden floor.

  When she heard nothing, she threw herself on her side and crawled inside the doorway. Clark was furious now and he lashed out at her feet as they disappeared inside the doorway.

  Half blind, Karen crawled on her belly down the steps. She slipped the last few and her head connected with the concrete.

  It’s just a dream, Karen told herself. It’s not real!

  Stars danced in new constellations before her eyes.

  “James!” She called again, and as she opened her eyes, she spotted him. There he was, sitting in the corner, pouring over old folders and albums.

  “James!” she seethed. “Come on! Let’s get the hell outta here!”

  “I can’t!” he said, panicked. “I haven’t finished. There's so much to do! I have so much to do before I can go!”