"But still," Derek said. "It sounds better, at least.
"Look, I wasn't his dad. But I knew Alex. He was an incredible kid. Gentle, and a ton of empathy for a five-year-old. I can believe you're beating yourself up. I would too. But have you considered that your brain is just using the idea of Alex to do it?
"I only say that because I don't think you should let that fuck up your memories of him. I just don't see Alex coming back to you in your dreams and... accusing you like that. I can see you doing it to yourself, but don't pin that on him."
"He'd have every right."
"Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. But I don't think Alex would do that."
Alex had also said, "Daddy, you're home!" and "I need a hug." Part of Ian yearned to accept what Derek was saying.
But if he did, it meant the visions weren't real. It meant that he was seeing things. Was that better or worse?
"I know they're just dreams. I know that. And I'm not religious or anything, I haven't been for years, but..." Ian looked at the floor. "Do you think there's any chance... I mean, they're so real. What if he's trying to talk to me somehow?" He looked up, to catch Derek's reaction.
Carefully neutral, weighing. Finally, he answered, "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"
Ian felt a sad smile on his lips. "And what does that mean?"
Derek shrugged. "It means, who fucking knows?"
Ian scoffed. "Great."
"Well, seriously. There's nothing I'll be able to say to convince you one way or another. You're the one having the dreams. But if it really is Alex, I think you should focus on the good things. I think it's far more likely that he'd come back to say goodbye. You know? I just don't see him coming back to make you feel bad.
"Look, if there's a heaven, Alex is in it. You know that."
Ian hadn't believed in heaven for years, but the question was hypothetical. He imagined a place of eternal peace, reserved for those who had suffered, and found himself nodding.
"And that kid would not hold a grudge, from heaven, against his daddy. He just... he wouldn't.
"He was too good for that."
32
Sunday night. Home again. He hesitated at the door, autumn leaves whispering in the breeze behind him.
He felt like he had as a kid, after coming home from spending a weekend at a friend's house. When the limitless possibilities of the weekend had all been realized or wasted, leaving a taste of disappointment in his mouth.
He opened the door and went into the empty house. The familiar glare of the streetlight splayed past him into the dark entry. He listened and heard nothing.
Like an old movie reel grinding to life, his brain supplied an image of Alex getting raped in the dark. He turned on the light to dispel it.
On the dining room table, his forgotten cell phone blinked at him. Low power, it said, and Voicemail.
"Hi Ian, it's your mom. Just wondering about Thanksgiving this year. I know it's a month out, but I just want to start making plans. I hope you can make it. Alina is welcome, too. Should I call her?"
Ian winced. Mom, god.
"I won't call her unless you want me to, just in case. But anyway, I think it's gonna be at three. Let me know if you're gonna bring anything. You don't have to, but you can if you want. Give me a call. I haven't talked to you in a long time. I love you, honey."
"End of message." He erased it.
"Second. New message. Left? Yesterday, at nine. Eleven. PM. From ALIHNUH KOL-MES."
The phone was still sitting on the table, on speaker mode. Ian paused on his way to the kitchen, turned toward it.
Click. "End of message."
33
He woke around four in the morning and stumbled into the bathroom to pee. Alex was on the toilet already, his pants and underwear in a crushed jumble on the floor.
"Sorry I scared you, Daddy." He sounded resigned, but reticent. "I only didn't think you could hear me. So that's why I yelled so loud."
That's okay, pal. When he was three and four, Alex had needed help cleaning up after using the toilet. He hadn't mastered that skill until he turned five. It's hard to hear you from downstairs. Next time I'll stay up here.
"Okay. Will you wipe my butt now?" Alex hopped down to the floor, and was gone.
Ian flipped the light on, still bleary and unsteady.
"That's okay, Alex," Ian said to the empty room. "No more hide and seek, okay?"
34
On Monday he filled out the online application for the job Justin had sent him. It wanted him to attach a résumé. He crafted one between calls.
Billi caught him working on it. "You bailing on us?"
"Trying," Ian said.
She lowered her voice. "Where you applying?"
"Just the senior job on Kate's team."
"Oh. I thought you were applying elsewhere." She gestured at the wall.
"Nah. I need a reference though, can I put you down?"
"Sure. You'll like it. It beats being on the phones. You only have to talk to the real jackasses." A grin.
"What a treat." He matched her tone. "Mainly I just want to get away from..."
She caught his nod toward Sheila, answered with a nod of her own. "Just don't mention that as your main reason in the interview."
"Nope, I know."
"You'd be good at it. Kate's less of a stickler on the whole time thing. I'll put in the good word."
He was coming in late nearly every morning, had trouble lately keeping his temper with his coworkers and sometimes with callers, but Billi would put in the good word.
"Why?" The word took him by surprise; it hung in the air like he'd just coughed up a fur ball.
Billi looked at him. "Why... will I put in the good word?"
He felt like an idiot, wished he'd kept his mouth shut. "Never mind."
She scoffed. "Ian, come on. You can't mean that. You're fantastic."
It had been so long since he heard praise, he wondered at first if she was mocking him. His skepticism must've shown, because she said, "You get the right answers, the first time. You hardly ever ask me for help. You don't need it. Everybody's comfortable coming to you, you don't put anyone down, you're easy to understand and approachable."
"I'm late every goddamn morning and I feel like I'm sniping at everybody all the time."
Billi shrugged. "You snipe at Sheila, maybe, but she deserves it. Jorge was telling me the other day he didn't know what he'd do if you weren't here for him to bug."
He must've still looked confused, because she went on. "Look. You are going through things none of us can even comprehend. But you're still one of the best people working here. So you're coming in late. So what? You never used to. You'll get there again.
"You just can't rush something like this."
35
At lunch he drove to Burger King and ate in the parking lot with the engine off. On the way back he called his mom and confirmed that he'd be coming to Thanksgiving.
"Okay. Do you want me to call Alina?"
Ian sighed. "No. If she wants to come I'll call her."
"Are you sure? I don't mind -"
"Mom, I don't want you to call my estranged wife and invite her to Thanksgiving. Please. I'm seeing her every Wednesday and I'll talk to her about it then."
"She's still married to you, and she's still part of the family. You two are good for each other. I know what happened was terrible, Ian, but don't let it ruin your marriage."
"Thank you. That's a great idea. I'll keep it in mind."
A stung silence. God dammit.
"Mom, I'm not trying to be mean. But really, you don't think I've thought of that? She's my wife, I love her. Yes. I think she still loves me, okay. But we can't just pretend like nothing's happened. That's not... I'm not gonna do that."
"All right. I'm not trying to nag."
"I know."
In the rearview mirror, Ian saw Alex in his booster. He was looking out the
window and kicking the back of Ian's seat.
"I just want you to be happy."
Thump. Thump. Like a squirrel jumping across his back. He twisted around. Alex smiled and waved at him.
"You know?" Mom said.
He faced forward again, slammed on the brakes as he nearly ran a red light.
"Ian?"
"Yup, okay. Bye, Mom." He fumbled at the End Call button.
"Dad, what's that noise?" Alex screamed.
Ian flinched. His phone tumbled between the seats.
"Alex, please don't -"
"Dad, what's that noise?" he yelled again, louder.
"I don't - what noise? What are you -"
"Dad, what's that NOISE?" Alex shrieked, and Ian whipped around in his seat.
"Alex, goddammit, not right now! Not right now!"
The car behind him laid into its horn. The light was green.
He lurched an arm toward the back seat, flailing toward Alex, but couldn't quite reach him. Another honk screeched.
He started across the intersection as Alex screamed again. He turned on the radio, blasted some classic Metallica until he couldn't hear him anymore.
At the office, he left Alex in the car and ran inside.
36
Four times that afternoon he put himself into After Call Work to stop the calls for a minute, and went out to make sure his car was empty. When he went to the bathroom, he expected to find Alex on the toilet. When he came back to his desk, he expected to find him playing in the chair.
He got home as the sun set. To delay going into the house, he detoured and got the mail. The box was nearly overflowing.
He grabbed it all, stuffed it under his arm, and went inside. Flipped the light on right away. Went into the dining room and tossed the mail on the table, where it splayed out like a bug splatting on a windshield.
The mortgage bill. The Visa bill. The other Visa bill. DELINQUENT, the last envelope admonished, in case he'd forgotten.
He snapped up the mortgage bill and ripped it open. He hadn't been able to make a full payment last month, and the balance had carried over. Alina had said she'd keep contributing to the house payments, but he didn't want to bug her with it.
That's all I fucking need, is to call her asking for money. He tossed the bill back on the table, with no idea how he was going to pay it. It knocked aside another envelope, and suddenly, Alex's face smiled at him from a mailer.
MISSING SINCE MARCH, the caption said. LAST SEEN IN HOPKINS.
Another boy's face was next to his son's. Edward Jameson, missing since September. And next to that, Silvia Kalen, missing since April. There were three more on the other side.
He remembered, all at once, how bleak it had felt to see his son's face on that piece of paper for the first time.
The boy was dead now, but Ian still had to endure his picture -
He grabbed the mailer and punched out the number on it. A live voice answered.
"Hi, I just received your mailer. It shows a picture of Alex Colmes. I'm his father. He died six months ago. Please take his picture off."
The voice said he'd look into it.
"Please do. Please. I can't keep seeing his face every time I come home and get the mail. There's been some kind of mistake."
Of course. The voice assured him if there was a mistake, they would fix it.
Ian hung up.
37
He went to the counseling session Wednesday night. He didn't see Alina outside, but when he got to the gym she was there, sitting in the same place as last week, her coat on her lap.
The group talked mostly about their feelings for their kids that night: how much they loved them, how much they missed them, how much their lives had been changed by them. He spoke when Shauna dragged something out of him, but kept his tongue the rest of the time. He didn't want to piss Alina off again, but more than that...
"Love" was not a strong enough word to describe how he felt about his son. "Miss" didn't begin to describe the hole the boy's murder had left in his life. He couldn't talk about those ideas like they were just words. They were too much more than that.
"I didn't even know there was a feeling like this," Ian had told Alina one night as he held the sleeping baby. Alex's heartbeat was warm and trembling against Ian's chest. "I don't just love him. I've fallen for him. I'm infatuated. I mean, you know... it's platonic, obviously. But it's more like when I fell in love with you, than anything." His effort to explain himself was pathetically inarticulate, but Alina had smiled at him anyway.
She understood.
He thought about trying to explain that feeling to this group, and rejected the idea. Sometimes that moment felt so close, he could still imagine the warmth of Alex's weight on his chest. But those times were getting further and further between, and tonight, while he still loved his son, he was angry with him, too. Angry, and scared.
Whether intentionally or unintentionally, the boy he loved so much was driving him mad.
After the session, Alina turned away to put her coat on. He thought she was going to leave without speaking, but she touched his arm as they stepped into the parking lot.
"You were quiet tonight."
Being quiet is wrong. Saying what I think is wrong. What the fuck do you want me to do? But her eyes weren't accusing. Maybe she hadn't meant it that way.
"I think... sometimes, it helps just to listen."
She nodded. Her face was gentle. "I can understand that."
"You can?"
"Yeah."
"Listen, I'm sorry about last week. I didn't mean to go off on Shauna."
"You should give her a chance, Ian. She's not as bad as you think."
"Yeah. I'll try. I'm just... I don't know, ever since... they found him, I'm just so angry all the time.
"All the time."
Her face was unreadable. "I know."
He had forced her out. She said it when she left: "I can't breathe in this fucking house anymore." Of course she knew.
"I don't mean to be. I'm trying... I just don't know what to do."
She touched his face. "Thank you for trying. It means a lot."
He remembered her being at home, smiling at him when he came in, making furious, quiet love to him in the dark so they wouldn't wake their son. I need you, he wanted to say. I still love you, and I need you back.
Then he thought: If you're at home, Alex won't be. It cheapened the urgency of his desire, turned her into a tool he was trying to use. The words died on his tongue.
Because there was nothing else to say, he said, "Next week?"
She smiled and nodded before hurrying to her car. It was getting cold.
38
Alex was in the backseat again. "Good," he said, as if Ian had just asked him a question.
Ian turned the engine to let the car warm up, watching the boy in the rearview. Alex, you have to stop talking to me like this. You have to stop.
But saying that wouldn't do anything. He'd tried reasoning with Alex already. It didn't work.
"Good, Daddy," Alex repeated.
"What's good?" Ian asked.
"It was good."
"What was?" But suddenly he knew. "Your day at Rita's?"
"Yeah. But it was not... not quite... it wasn't quite fun."
"It wasn't quite fun?" His heart hammered. This is it, he realized. He's trying to tell me something. She was involved. She had to be.
"No," Alex drawled. He was looking out the window. "There were too many kids."
"Too many kids at Rita's?" His heart sank. He remembered this conversation now. It wasn't anything new.
"Yeah, Julie was there. And Big Alex was there. And Delilah was there."
Delilah? Is that a new girl?
"Yeah, but she's only three. I'm older than her... than her is, Daddy."
Than she is.
"Yeah, than she is."
Well, that's good, maybe you can help her out. You were three once, you know.
"But now I'm a big boy!"
You sure are! Does she know her alphabet?
"Yeah, but... not quite."
You can teach her, I bet.
"Yeah, I can teach her! And also we can do some puzzles!" Alex bounced up and down in his booster, excited.
That sounds good. I'd be so proud of you if you taught someone their letters, kiddo.
"Yeah. I'll do that tomorrow. Right, Dod?" Alex grinned, hoping to bait Ian into their old game.
Ian closed his eyes. This has to stop. It has to. If it was in his head, maybe there were some drugs he could take. He remembered taking something a few years ago for overactive dreams, when he was having trouble sleeping at night. Maybe he had some of those left at home.
When he opened his eyes, he flipped the rearview mirror up so he couldn't see Alex. He'd rather face the glare of other cars' headlights.
39
He searched his cabinet for the pills when he got home, but couldn't find anything. Maybe he'd thrown them out. Probably shouldn't take them anyway, they're probably not for this. But he didn't care about that. He just wanted to stop seeing his dead son.
There was probably something else he could get, that would treat - What? Overactive dreams? These aren't dreams. If you're looking at medication, you need something for schizophrenia.
Was there even a treatment for schizophrenia? He thought there was. Pills, weren't there? He seemed to remember that a lot of patients had to be forced to take them. They were fine while they were on them, but they would never take them on their own.
Was that right?
He wanted to Google it, but he couldn't bring himself to open the basement door. He hadn't been down there since last weekend, when they'd played hide and seek.
I won't go into the basement. I don't like to shower. I check Alex's room every night before I go to bed. This is getting bad, Ian.
But it didn't change anything. He left the basement door and turned on Law & Order.
Is every night going to be like this, from here on out? He dreaded coming home. He was always looking over his shoulder.
How long could he live like that?
40
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