"I'm telling you, look at FMLA."
He rubbed his head. "Yeah."
"Seriously. If Kal can take six weeks for depression - and I'm pretty sure that was all bullshit - you can sure as hell take some time to get level. You have a lot going on."
He looked at her. "For what, though? I don't need medical leave. I'm not sick."
"That didn't stop Kal. Talk to a doctor, tell them what's going on. You know, the stuff you don't tell me."
He double-clicked the little phone icon and positioned his headset. "Really nothing to tell." My son died. I saw him buried, and now I see him in the window.
"You're grieving." Billi tapped her temple. "It's mental."
25
He had a microwave meal for supper, one of those salisbury steak deals. He ate it in the living room, watching a Law & Order rerun.
He'd tried sitcoms, reality, the news, The Daily Show. Only Law & Order and maybe the occasional infomercial really let him escape. The show was weirdly comforting. They didn't always catch the bad guy, but they usually did. The cops on Law & Order would never let themselves get diverted from something important (a kidnapping) by a sudden high-profile case (a rich girl's kidnapping). They had too much integrity.
Of course, they didn't handle kidnappings, usually. That was the other Law & Order show, SVU. Ian couldn't watch that one.
He threw the plastic tray in the garbage in the kitchen. He was fighting hard not to let the house go to shit. One day, a few weeks after Alina had left, he'd come home from work and recognized the growing pile of dirty dishes and old pop cans in the living room as the sign of a man sinking back into bachelorhood. He'd gone on a rampage of cleaning that night. His life was falling apart, but he didn't have to let the seams show.
Alex was sitting on the couch when he got back to the living room. "Daddy, will you play hide and seek with me?" The couch was too high for him, so he was kicking his legs over the side.
Ian stopped short, felt a familiar pang like his chest was getting wrung dry. That's how I'll know I've lost it, he suddenly realized. When I stop getting surprised. When I expect to see him. That's how I'll know.
He approached the couch carefully, picked up the remote and muted Detective Green's wry dialogue. Alex looked up - he'd been watching the TV when he spoke first - and smiled. "Daddy, can we play hide and seek?"
Ian knelt in front of his son. He wanted to take his hands, like he'd used to when they had to have a serious talk. But it seemed like every time he touched him, Alex disappeared.
"Alex, listen, okay?"
The smile faltered; the boy's brilliant eyes started to wander.
Look at me. It's what he would have said if Alex had been alive.
Alex looked at him.
"You have to tell me why you're here."
His son fidgeted. "But, I just want to play hide and seek."
"Alex..." He felt a whisper of anger in his gut. "There's no more time for playing. Okay? God, I wish there were." How many times had Alex asked Ian to play with him, and Ian hadn't had time?
It was a stupid, pointless recrimination. He couldn't take back his refusals now. And they had been valid: he couldn't play with his son every moment of every day. They played sometimes, and other times Alex had to play by himself. He had to learn how to do that. And Ian needed time for himself, sometimes, just to think - and time with Alina, even just a few minutes to talk, and touch...
Alex's eyes were heavy with rejection. "Do I have to do jobs?" he asked. In the boy's mind there had only been two types of activity: playing, and jobs.
Ian made a hoarse sound, something between a chuckle and a sob. He reached for his son's hands, and became alone.
26
Somehow he made it to work on time the next morning. He spent the time between calls Googling the Family Medical Leave Act. At lunch he tried to call Alina, but hung up when he got voicemail.
On the way home he indulged in another Friday Best Buy stop. He flipped through the video games, then the movies, then the computer games. He looked at the cell phones and the digital cameras, fended off at least half a dozen attempts to help him out today.
After dinner, Alex was on the couch again. "Daddy, can we play hide and seek?"
Ian looked at his son's brilliant azure eyes and broke.
"Sure, pal."
27
Alex's face lit up; he leapt from the couch like he had weasels in his pants. "Me first, me first!" he shouted.
"All right," Ian conceded. He didn't want to smile, but he couldn't stop himself. "I'll count to twenty."
"And close your eyes," Alex urged.
"And close my eyes." Ian obeyed the rule. As he counted he heard Alex tearing off, a herd of elephants condensed into two tiny feet. The boy was always loud when he set out, which gave Ian a good idea of which direction he went, but he was surprisingly good at hiding once he found his spot.
"...eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Ready or not, here I come!" Now Ian would look at Alina, and they'd share a secret smile. She would creep toward the bedrooms while he went into the dining room and then the kitchen, checking to make sure the basement door was still closed. Alex wasn't allowed down there alone.
Except when he opened his eyes, the living room was empty.
He's gone. Just like in the mornings, when Ian would look in his room after hearing him play.
Ian's unfounded anticipation shattered. His guts were twisting. I can't do this. I can't keep doing this.
Alex, why are you doing this to me?
From the kitchen, he heard the distinct creak of the basement door.
That simple sound froze everything, made his ears prick like a cat's and his arms turn cold with sweat. He tried to tell himself it was nothing, that he was imagining it or the house was just settling.
It couldn't have been Alex. He'd never changed or moved anything. He appeared, spoke, and disappeared. He couldn't actually affect -
Yes, he can. The curtains, the other morning, when he looked out after you.
Ian drew a deep breath and sneaked into the kitchen. The basement door was ajar. The lights in the stairwell were still off.
You're not supposed to go downstairs, Alex! You know that!
He padded to the door and eased it the rest of the way open, fumbled for the light switch like a man slapping at ants, and saw his little work table and computer waiting in the sterile light at the bottom of the stairs. The threadbare carpet, the fading white walls, regarded him as silently as a painting.
"Alex?" he called, but there was no response.
He's gone. Close the door and go back. But instead he crept down the stairs, each wooden step like ice beneath his bare feet as his brain whispered warnings.
The door to the utility room, that secret lair where the furnace and the water heater labored on black, naked concrete, hung open. The space beyond gaped with darkness and must.
"Alex?" Ian said again. His legs carried him to the door, and he waved blindly for the pull chain. Alina always made him turn this light on for her. She was scared of bugs.
Click.
The room was like a cave, walls bulging with the weight of the house's foundation, stained with moisture and neglect. At its far end was a rickety wooden door to an old cellar pantry he and Alina had never touched.
It was open a crack.
Okay. Enough. Go upstairs. This isn't even real. You're probably imagining it.
But he had told Alex to call for me. He had told Alex they'd play hide and seek. So he pulled the door open.
Alex was naked, his arms splayed out, bruised at the elbows. He lay spread-eagled on a bare, dingy mattress, and something Ian couldn't see was on top of him, thrusting -
Ian fumbled for a scream, but his voice was gone. His son's eyes were clenched shut, his face streaked with tears, his lips murmuring pleas.
Ian crawled forward, choking on horror, and grabbed his hand. When the boy disappeared, Ian vomited until he had nothing left.
28
"Who is this?"
"Derek, do you mind if I come over there tonight?"
"Ian?"
"Yeah, please. You still have that guest bed, right? Or the couch?"
"What? Yeah. Yeah, of course. What's going on? Are you okay?"
"I just can't stay here tonight. I can't... I can't fucking be in this house. I can't..." He swallowed a gag. He would scrub out his eyes if it would make him stop seeing -
"Of course, sure. Yeah. Do you need me to pick you up?"
"No." He fought for control of his voice, of his thoughts. "I'm already on my way."
29
"Ian. Jeez, you look terrible. Are you sick?"
He ushered him in, closed the door. A swirl of cold air ruffled the papers on the nearby kitchen table.
"No. I mean... No. I don't think so."
"Sit down, okay? You don't look good." Derek took his coat, and Ian sat down in the living room, the images from the basement lashing him like whips.
Had that happened to Alex? Is that how he had spent the last days of his life: getting raped by Leroy Eston?
Where the fuck were you, Ian? Where the fuck were you?
He shuddered, felt his stomach quake again. He glanced around as if suddenly becoming aware of his surroundings. He was alone. Alex would come if he stayed alone.
"Derek?" Ian took to his feet. "Where are you?"
"Kitchen," Derek called. "Getting you a beer, you fucking need one."
Ian got up and went to the kitchen. Derek was closing the fridge door. "Ian, god, would you sit down? Seriously. You're freaking me out here."
I don't want to be alone, Ian almost said. When I'm alone I see things. "Okay. Sorry."
Derek gave him a Coors Light as they sat down. Ian turned it in his hands, feeling the cold aluminum, staring at it like he'd unearthed an alien artifact.
"Light?" he finally observed. "You must not be too worried about me."
Derek let out a relieved sigh, like his friend had been in a trance and he had just been starting to wonder if he needed to call 911. "Yeah. Well. Jake doesn't like the hard stuff."
"Things going well with him?" Ian asked, not because it had been on his mind, but because he needed time.
"Yeah, I think so. He doesn't love the raiding schedule. You know how that goes. But he's smart and funny and has a great ass." Derek waggled his eyebrows.
Ian looked at his friend, but he wasn't really seeing him. He was seeing the cellar pantry. "That's good."
Derek's grin faded. "Ian, come on. Are you gonna tell me what's going on? Did something happen with Alina? Did she...?" He stopped. They both knew what he was going to ask.
"No. No, we're still happily married." Ian shook his head. He was profoundly grateful to have company, but maybe it had been stupid to come over here. He couldn't tell Derek what had happened. He couldn't tell anyone, unless he wanted to end up getting committed.
"What then?"
"I just... I couldn't stay in that house tonight. You know? Not tonight."
Derek watched him. "Getting pretty quiet over there, I bet."
Ian nodded at his beer.
"Well, you know you can come over anytime. And you have a key, right?"
Ian had forgotten about that. Derek had proudly shared keys with a few of his closest friends when he'd bought the house last year.
"I mean, you know. Call first. But yeah. Whenever."
"Thanks."
They were quiet for awhile.
"Were you raiding tonight?" Ian asked.
"I was going to. I cancelled when you called. You freaked me out."
"Go ahead, if they still have your spot. I'll watch."
"You sure? Do you want to play?"
Ian shook his head. "Not tonight."
30
He came awake suddenly, coughing back a snore, drool sticky on his cheek. A scream of light was stabbing into his eyes.
"Ah, shit. Sorry about that." Derek repositioned the curtains, blocked the sun. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"S'okay," Ian croaked, and cleared his throat. "What time is it?" He pushed himself to a sitting position. Apparently he had passed out on a bean bag. Last night he had lounged in it, briefly, watching Derek's game.
"Little after eleven."
"Holy shit," Ian stated. He groaned to his feet. "Fucking hell. I am getting too old to sleep on beanbags."
Derek chuckled. "You didn't look very comfortable, but you were sleeping like the dead. I was gonna bring you to the guest bed, but I figured I wouldn't fuck with it. You were out cold."
"Fuck," Ian answered. He stretched his stiff arms, tried to roll the hard knot out of his neck. It ignored him.
They got breakfast at the Osseo Cafe. Derek paid, despite Ian's insistence to the contrary. Then Ian tagged along while Derek ran some errands: Target, Cub, the post office. They shot the shit, made fun of people, and generally behaved like they were still in high school. Ian couldn't remember the last time he had relaxed so much.
"So what's the plan?" Derek asked as they drove home. The sky was bruising already. Daylight Saving would be over soon, and the days would start ending at like five o'clock.
It was nice not to be driving; to just be the guy in shotgun, fiddling with the iPod. Ian clicked his tongue. "I don't want to go home yet. If that's cool."
"That should be fine. Jake's out of town this weekend anyway."
"Sweet." Ian cracked a smile, still looking at the iPod menu. "Just make sure you keep your fag paws in your bedroom."
Derek cackled. "Whatevah, niggah. Like I'd want to tap that anyway."
31
"You know what's weird?" Ian said. They were in the living room, watching a rerun of Star Trek: TNG, eating delivered pizza. Derek arched a brow.
"I see kidnapped kids everywhere now. Billboards, milk cartons. Those ads for Jarrid Kalen's daughter that are always on. Everywhere.
"It's just like when Alina got pregnant. Both of us started noticing all the pregnant women. It seemed like there were a million of them, all of a sudden. Or when Alex was born, and we both started seeing kids every place." Ian smiled. "Ours was the best, of course."
"Yeah he was," Derek agreed.
"Those blue eyes," Ian said. "Those blue eyes just kill me." He'd said it a hundred times before. He indulged anyway.
"They were... captivating, is the only word," Derek said, and smiled. "He was gonna slay the ladies, that's for sure."
Without transition, Ian said, "I've been sleeping like shit."
Derek picked up on the comment, turned the TV down a bit. "No surprise there, I suppose."
"Well, yeah. But I mean, even when I do get to sleep, I have these dreams. They're just... so real. I feel like I'm not sleeping at all."
He waited. Derek said, "What kind of dreams?"
"They're about Alex."
Derek's face softened. "You remembering him?"
"Well... yes. I mean, he's always doing something he did when he was alive. Playing with his cars, or..." His stomach clenched. "Or playing Hide and Seek."
"That sounds nice, but from your face... they're not?"
"I'm not just remembering him. In the dreams, I'm walking around the house. You know? The empty house. It's just me, just... just like it is now. And he's there. I know he's dead, but I'll just come across him all of a sudden, just sitting on the couch."
Derek let out a low breath. "Wow."
"Yeah. And these dreams are so vivid, a few times I've..." Ian stole a glance at his friend, his stomach still twisting. "Gotten confused. I'll wake up and it seems like it really happened.
"You remember when I called you last week."
"Yeah."
"That was the first time it happened."
"Wow," Derek repeated. He sounded like he didn't know what else to say. I can't even imagine, Ian heard Justin saying. It was probably true.
He suddenly felt like an asshole, cheapening his son's memory by telling ghost stories. The fact that
he was talking to an old high school friend only made it worse. Grow up, he told himself.
But now that he'd started talking, he couldn't stop.
"It's always like he's trying to guilt me," Ian said. He couldn't look at Derek; he looked at the wall instead, saw Picard holding forth on some grave matter of Starfleet protocol from the corner of his eye. "We had this talk before he... before he got kidnapped. And I told him to scream for help, and to bite and fight back. And he throws that back in my face. He says, 'I'll just call for you and...'"
Ian's throat closed off. While he fought for control, Derek waited.
Finally, Ian whispered, "Can you imagine how many times he must have called for me?"
"Ian." Derek leaned forward, tensed his elbows against his knees. "No. You did everything you could."
"Did I? I could've been in Shakopee."
"You had no way of knowing that's where he was. You were counting on the police for -"
"Yeah, and he was counting on me. I should've been there, and he wants me to know."
Derek clapped his mouth shut. Ian could feel his eyes but still wouldn't meet them.
"What else have you dreamt about him?"
Ian wasn't ready to answer. Giving voice to the thoughts left him certain they were right. Alex had every reason to torment his father: the man who had promised to keep him safe, to come home every night, to die to protect him. Big words that had meant nothing.
There was no answer for Alex's accusations.
"Come on," Derek pressed. "What else? Are they all about that? I thought you said you dreamt about him playing."
Ian flicked a glance at him, then away. "Yeah. Playing with his cars. I've had that one twice. He wants me to play with him."
Derek gestured, as if to say, Well, there you go.
"What?"
"Is it a good dream?"
"Well..." Ian remembered the furious need in his chest, the crippling pain when Alex disappeared. "No. Because it's like he's back, even though I know he's dead. And when I try to touch him, he disappears. Every time."
Again, Derek exhaled. "Wow. It sounds... horrible."
"Yeah." Ian nodded. "It is." He had hoped talking about it would help get it off his chest, put it in perspective. Instead, it was just making him feel more trapped.
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